#electrical engineering boring again

[jayonashelf]

i am wildin again

[defmaybe]

Let It Happen

Gracie Abrams x Male Reader

4.2k words

A/N: Trying something a little different lol

—

“Aren’t you a little too young to be at this party?”

“I’m just short.”

The thrumming of the electronic music reverberates through the party. Laughter and yelled conversations light the house up with life, tossed through the air, barely making itself through the pulsing music. The place feels anything but spacious. It’s packed. Bodies collide every time someone decides to move, and a slosh of drink spills over the rim. The smells of alcohol, perfume, and smoke fly through the rooms. It’s chaotic. It’s electric. It’s one hell of a party.

“You’d look good with a mustache.”

“It’s itchy, and I’d look like a grumpy old man.”

It’s probably the answer that makes her laugh, covering her mouth with her hand, such slender fingers that she has. She glances down for a split second.

And she reaches her hand out to you. “I’m Gracie.”

She’s a little taller than you. Her long hair drapes down her shoulder beautifully. She has a gorgeous face—your opinion, brown eyes, attractive nose, thin lips. She’s wearing a black, long sleeve shirt that hugs all the right spots of her body. Her jeans also complement that slender shape she possesses.

“I’ve listened to your EP. I miss you, I’m sorry was great.”

“Thanks!” Gracie replies, chuckling softly. She tucks stray strands of her hair behind the ear. “So, who are you coming with today?”

You list out a few names that you consider as your closest friends to her. She nods and hums out a few acknowledgements as you talk about them. The party shows no sign of slowing down. Loud, shaking, crushing bass echoes through the house. Everything around you reeks of alcohol, cheap perfume, smoke, and the house owner’s air purifier. The lights are down low, making everyone here look better by at least ten times.

“Those are nice people. Keep them around,” Gracie says, pointing a finger gun towards you. You find it cute.

You can’t help but smile, swirling the contents in your cup in a losing attempt to get rid of the flush. “Sure, I will.”

“I’m a college dropout, so I’ll probably miss out on a lot of this,” she says, pouting, watching the scene unfolding around her. You’ve heard about her in the interview once—an international relations dropout.

“At least you’re a good artist? Doesn’t seem to be so boring standing there,” you say, shrugging. And she laughs, covering her mouth with her hands once more. Her body bends back slightly.

“Come on, my music’s not that good.”

“Anything I like is good.”

Gracie giggles again, taking a sip from her plastic cup. It’s a small gulp before she puts down her cup. She doesn’t look so drunk yet, while you are having the urge to ride a horse right now. “I’m finding someone to hang out with. Wanna go play FIFA? Or PES? I’m not sure what this house has,” she asks, pointing her thumb towards the unoccupied couch.

“I’m more of a Football Manager person, not really good at those two,” you reply, looking around you for an activity to do with her, until your eyes are set on the vacant foosball table. “Table football instead?”

“Sure.”

—

“So, what are you studying now?”

“Engineering.”

The people surrounding you don’t seem to care about the table much, so it’s just you two turning the handles in the middle of this loud, throbbing party.

“Ugh, my condolences,” Gracie snarks, smiling. Her figures are rolling the ball in front of your goal. It’s important to focus here.

“Thanks.”

And she whips it into the goal so easily, so quick, so painless. Your defenders and goalkeeper don’t stand a goddamn chance on that goal. You make a sound between your teeth.

“Good one,” you say, picking up the ball from the tray to put it in play again. Gracie only responds with a small laugh.

“Why engineering?” she continues, hands still busy with getting the ball in the middle of the table.

“Mom made me.” It’s you who gets the ball, and you’re trying to shoot it from afar. It hits the post, though, and you groan in disappointment. Gracie laughs softly.

“What if your mom didn’t make you choose engineering? Where would you be?” and she kicks the ball from her back row into her midfield, easily piercing through your forwards.

“Filmmaking, I guess? Like your dad.”

Gracie smiles, trying to control the ball in the midfield, before she shoots it from there. Luckily, though, it hits your goalkeeper. She groans as you get to build up your play from the back again. “You have Letterboxd?”

“salmahayekfootlicker sixty-nine, written in numbers.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Gracie snarls playfully, following the motion of the ball in your back row with her forwards. It gets cleared into your midfield, nonetheless. “You don’t seem like a Salma Hayek type.”

“Guess my type, then,” you challenge, flicking the ball to your forward line past her midfield. You let the ball roll between your player figures for a bit.

Gracie shoots you a smirk. You’ll have to admit that she has a gorgeous smile. Maybe it’s the alcohol, though.

“How about me?” she asks, still trying to block the ball with her defenders. You let the ball roll in the forward line for a heartbeat longer. You are thinking of playing it cool here, both on the field and off the field.

“You look good,” you answer, trying to pull some strings as you take a shot, and it gets in the goal. You raise your fists a little as the ball goes in. “Honestly, you look pretty good.”

“Just pretty good?” Gracie looks down slightly at you, repeating your words. She’s trying to make sense of the off-the-table game you’re playing with her here. “C’mon, you know I’m better than pretty good.”

You shoot her a small chuckle, looking up to meet her eyes. “You’re being narcissistic.”

“Being drunk cancels that,” she retorts playfully, before walking around the table towards you. “Wanna go somewhere else? Somewhere–”

And she pauses, letting the electronic music fill in between the vastness of the silence between you two. The thrumming bass lights up your nerves aflame. The shouting and hollering waves in the surrounding air. You’re not so sure what she’s going to say next.

“–quieter.”

Your breath hitches. The word alone sends you into the darkness, lost. You don’t know what to do next, or what to say next. Gracie moves closer and closer to you. Her height feels like a weight pressing on you with every second that passes by. Your hands tremble at the side of your body. Your legs shake so uncontrollably that you almost collapse.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

Gracie seems to notice your body language, at least, and she lets out a laugh—definitely not the one that’s shown to the public, one that’s too loud.

“It’s just the front of the house! Don’t worry. I’m not thinking of sex,” Gracie assures, smiling, reaching her hand out to you. She tilts her head to the side a little. “Come on!”

You let out a relieved chuckle before taking her hand into yours.

“Sure.”

—

“So, what’s after college for you?”

“I–”

You two sit on the lawn in front of the house. The music from the inside can still be heard—those poor neighbors. It’s much quieter than the inside now, at least. The air is chilly. Good thing you’re wearing your sweater tonight.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Bleak,” Gracie huffs, taking another sip from her cup as she looks up into the night sky. You turn to her to get a side profile of her perfect face.

“It’ll probably be where my internship lands me, and I’ll just–roll with it,” you say, taking a look at the contents inside your cup—still almost full. “What about you? Do you think you’ll be a superstar one day?”

Gracie chuckles, still looking up. “I wish.”

She deserves to be among the stars, really.

“Anyone you wanna sing with?”

She looks back at you, smiling, “Taylor Swift.” God, she deserves the whole universe.

You chuckle, making her curl her eyebrows. “Well, you do look like a Taylor Swift girl.”

Gracie feigns offense, a hand on her chest. “You’re saying it like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not, it’s not.”

You look back into the rumbling house. It’s loud. It’s noisy. You feel better being outside like this—less chaotic, quieter, more serene. Someone is ‘walking’ outside and collapses on the grass, and you can’t help but to chuckle softly at the scene.

“Ever been drunk like that?” Gracie asks.

“Thank god I haven’t.”

Gracie then clears her throat, loudly, as if to prepare herself for the next question. She takes another sip from her cup. “So, you’re more of a vanilla type, aren’t you?”

You chuckle, bumping her shoulder with yours. “That feels condescending.”

“It's not my fault you didn’t decide to live,” Gracie retorts, giggling.

“What’s your story, then?”

She clears her throat again. “Well, a year ago, I woke up in a hotel room in just a Strokes t-shirt. Couldn’t remember shit.”

You have to do a double take.

“But nothing scandalous, really. The worst thing that happened was running through the entire floor to find my clothes, that’s all,” Gracie says so nonchalantly, waving off her hand like it was nothing.

“Did your mom and dad know this?”

“Of course not. Nobody in my family knows about that. Just a few friends,” she answers, before lying on the grass leisurely. You lie down along with her.

“Doesn’t look fun,” you say, looking at her.

“Trust me, you’re missing out on a lot of things,” Gracie affirms. “You already have the looks.”

“What look?”

“Uh–” and she pauses, eyes darting away from you, biting her lip before rolling her body to the other side, facing away from you. “I’m not saying it, too corny.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” and you chuckle softly behind her.

“No! I’m too shy for that,” Gracie yells, covering her face with her hand.

“I won’t be mad, I promise.”

“Ugh, fine,” she utters, groaning. “Was gonna say that you look handsome.”

Your heart skips a beat as she says that. She rolls herself back towards you, still covering her eyes with her hand. You’re getting flustered as the words sink into your veins. Your pupils dilate. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what do you even do now? A gorgeous woman just complimented you, and now you’re short-circuiting. Say something!

“Guess–Guess I’m not mad,” you manage to stutter out. Your entire body is rigid.

Gracie uncovers her eyes to find you, all red and flustered, and she laughs. “Oh my, you’re all red!” and she pushes your shoulder softly. You have to do a double take to regain your composure.

“Come–Come on, you’re pretty. Of course I–I’m flustered!” you manage to rebuke, taking a sip from your cup to get rid of that apprehension. Her resolve doesn’t seem to falter as you utter the word ‘pretty’, instead even more aggressive with her tease.

“You don’t talk to women a lot and it shows,” Gracie says, moving forward towards you. You can smell her alcoholic breath from here. “Have you ever kissed someone before?”

“Yes! Of course!” you shout. You’ve kissed someone before, but never have you gotten close to anyone as charming as Gracie and it shows. You’re all red and flustered because of her.

“Wanna try it with me?” she suddenly asks, and it triggers your defense mechanism in an instant.

“You’re drunk,” you retort.

“You too.”

You stare into her eyes, those lively brown eyes, and you become lost. She looks nothing short of gorgeous under the night sky. And maybe it’s the alcohol, but she might be the most ethereal woman you’ve laid your eyes upon.

“Fuck it.”

And you kiss her.

Your tongues dance within each other’s mouth recklessly, fearless from being seen. Your hands grip onto her face gently as you kiss her. Wet sloshing sounds ring inside your ears. Your mind goes haywire, being kissed and kissing a woman as beautiful as Gracie Abrams on the lawn in front of a house party. You feel like you’re molding together into one, and you couldn’t have asked for more.

Gracie starts to grind against your thigh, moaning softly into your mouth. “Fuck,” she whines. Her hand pushes you closer to her by your ass as the kiss deepens, before leaving it wandering around your back.

“We should take this inside,” you say into the kiss. You don’t want to get caught for public indecency, after all.

She pulls back, face flushed. The grinding on your thigh halts. “Yeah–yeah.”

—

The lock clicks, and the camera rushes shakily to you two kissing ardently at the door, Gracie pressing you against it. She’s the taller one, after all. Her mouth just reeks of mint and alcohol, so fresh, yet so bitter. Her hands slide under your shirt to feel your taut body, making you moan and whimper helplessly as she takes over you. “So tight, baby. Relax,” she moans into your mouth. Your body is shuddering under her touch as her hands find your erect nipples under the fabric.

“Fuck,” you whisper. Your hands slide under her shirt to find her firm abs. You figure you should feel them in your hands. You wander over her tummy and make her shudder.

“Oh, god,” Gracie exclaims.

You feel her tight abs thoroughly in your hands, trying to feel her as much as possible. Your mind just cannot comprehend how one could acquire such wonderful abs like this. The effort taken, the time spent, the dedication is just unreal. They’re so firm.

Though your instinct has another plan, and your hands start to wander over to her bra-clad chest, touching her tits under the fabric. Fuck, they feel so soft under your hands.

“Fuck. Don’t you ever stop,” Gracie says, airy, breathy. Her hands start to undo your belt, fumbling with it a little before it comes off. She discards your lower garments in a single swoop—gone, forgotten on the floor. Your cock springs free as your boxers are off, precum already leaking.

“You’re leaking, baby.”

“Can’t help when you’re this hot,” you reply, hands sliding under her bra to feel her stiff nipples, making Gracie moan in pleasure as you play with her nubs. Her body is boiling with desire, and you’re the fire.

Her hand wanders down to your hard length, grabbing it. “Mmm, so big,” she utters, sliding your cock back and forth with her hand. Your body shudders as she touches your cock, and you let out a whine from the immense pleasure you’re feeling.

“Fuck, god,” you whimper, barely holding it together with her lips on your mouth and her hand on your cock. Your hands begin to undo the hooks of her bra behind her. It easily comes off, and you quickly get rid of it onto the floor.

Blue.

Your hands quickly work on the locks of her belt, loosening it before taking it off completely. This is easy. You then work on the buttons of her jeans, and it pools around her ankles in just a blink of an eye. You push her underwear aside to insert your fingers into her slit.

Wet.

Gracie’s posture falters in your embrace as your fingers enter her cunt. Her walls welcome you with warmth, contracting around your fingers in a rhythm. She’s already wet for you, and you couldn’t have asked for more from her tonight.

Loud.

“Fuck!” Gracie exclaims into the kiss, her grip on your cock loosening.

You push your fingers deep into her wanting pussy, drenching them with her slick juice, and you curl them up where she needs it the most.

“Right there! Right. Fucking. There,” she says, finally breaking the kiss, settling herself on the crook of your neck, attempting to leave hickeys on it. You groan in pain and pleasure as she sucks the life away from you. Your fingers plunge deeper and deeper into her until you’re fully enveloped inside her cunt. Her hand is still trying to jerk you off under the low lights, but it’s loosening from the pleasure flowing in her synapses.

“So good. So, so, good,” Gracie whines.

Your fingers press on her sensitive spot over and over, each time eliciting a whine out of her lips. Her head falls back from the immense ecstasy she’s feeling, and you make sure to keep giving her that.

“Fucking hell, I’m gonna–”

You quicken your pace, attacking her g-spot as her limbs loosen in your embrace. Her hands are clinging onto your body desperately. Her body trembles in your grip. She’s going to see heaven, and you’re her goddamn angel.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu–”

Gracie’s body writhes in your embrace, the torrent gushing out of her cunt. Her moans silences the music around you two completely as she cums. Her eyes roll up as you keep finger-fuck her through her orgasm. Her body flushes against yours. You press your lips against hers, letting her moan into your mouth, invading her mouth with your tongue.

She slowly comes down from her high, trying to catch her breath in your arms. She lets out a satisfied smile in the afterglow of her orgasm.

“Need–Need your cock, now,” Gracie utters, still smiling, and you give her just that.

You push Gracie back-first onto the bed. She quickly gets rid of her now-drenched underwear. And there it is, her glistening, unshaved cunt, drenched with desire. She bites her lips playfully, gesturing you to come closer to her onto the bed.

And you do just that.

You climb onto the bed over her, cornering her into the headboard of the bed. Suddenly, with her sheer strength, Gracie flips you over, and now she’s the one on top.

“I’m still the one in charge here, pretty boy,” she teases, raking her hand over your taut body wantonly, and you can only lie on the bed and smile.

“That’s fine by me, Miss Abrams.”

She takes off her long sleeve shirt to make way for your hands on her chest. Your hands instinctively follow onward to her soft tits. Gracie lets out a small whimper at your touch, leisurely grinding against your cock on top of you. God, this feels great.

“Your shirt, baby,” Gracie purrs.

“Oh, shit, yeah,” and you hastily fumble against your shirt in an attempt to get rid of it. In a heartbeat, you’re naked under her.

“What a nice body,” she muses, raking her hands on your taut body, making you shiver. You, in turn, roam your hands over her firm frame. Fuck, what a body she has—nice tits, firm abs. You couldn’t have asked for more tonight.

“You’re quite a catch too, Gracie,” you reply, and she smiles. You pull her closer by the neck towards you for another kiss. Your tongues fight for dominance in each other’s mouth. Her breasts are pressed up against yours, so soft. Your hands roam over her back as she kisses you ardently.

“So good,” Gracie utters, letting herself rest over your body. Her hand grabs your cock before putting it at the entrance of her pussy, brushing the tip with her slick juice.

“Ready?” Gracie asks.

“Fuck, yes,” you huff.

She breaks off the kiss before sitting up on top of your body. Her body is nothing short of insanity—firm abs, perky breasts, unshaved cunt. She’s a goddamn aphrodite reincarnate.

And she sinks down on your cock.

Your hands grips tightly onto her waist as you begin to fuck her, inch by inch. Your body flushes against her furiously. Her tightness is unreal, trying to milk you for all you’re worth. Both of your moans and whimpers fill the room as she sinks down on you.

“Fuck,” Gracie groans, gripping your shoulders ever so tightly. Her body stiffens around your cock. Her nipples erect. Her cunt contracts around you.

“Fuck, so fucking tight, Gracie,” you utter, pushing your hips up towards hers, slowly. Gracie only giggles as a response to your words. And eventually, you two become one.

“So good,” Gracie whines, gripping your shoulders even tighter. They’ll probably leave crescent marks on them. Her mouth opens in pleasure. Fuck, she looks so ethereal.

Slowly, she pulls herself off your cock, making you groan in pleasure. She grips you like a goddamn vice. Then she slams herself down again, making both of you moan in unison.

She picks up her pace, going faster and faster with each stroke. You moan and moan in pleasure as she fucks your brains out with her tight cunt. Her hands leave your shoulders into her hair, eyes closed, mouth agape, and it’s such a fucking sight for sore eyes.

“God, you’re so pretty, Gracie,” you say, unable to make sense of the pleasure coursing through your nerves anymore. Your grip on her hips loosens, letting her take control of the pace on you. Your arms spread leisurely on the bed sheets.

“Oh, my pretty boy,” Gracie says with a pout, caressing your cheeks softly, still riding the fuck out of your cock. She goes faster and faster with each second that passes by, and you can only groan and writhe under her sculpted body. The sight and the sensation are lighting your synapses aflame.

You couldn’t have predicted that today is going to end up with you being under a woman as breathtaking as Gracie like this. It was supposed to be you carrying your friends back to their places. Fuck, what a day.

You thrust your hips up to her body. Wet, obscene sounds of flesh clapping echo through the room. You’re fucking her through and thorough. Your arms are spreading out on the bed as the warmth of Gracie’s cunt sets you on fire. She then bends down to give you a blazing kiss, making wet, sloshing sounds ring inside your ear.

“Fuck, god,” you rasp, grabbing her firm ass to take in the softness of her body. You give her cheeks a slap, making her yelp into the kiss.

“Fuck,” Gracie shouts, and she rides you faster and faster, as if the slap is the catalyst. Her body is burning on top of you right fucking now, and you’re the goddamn Prometheus.

The feeling starts to take over you. You’re close. Your thighs stiffen as her tempo becomes more and more erratic on top of your length. Your moans climb on a scale as you get closer and closer to the peak.

“Shit, fuck, Gracie, I’m gonna cum,” you utter, pulling back from the kiss, toes curling behind her gorgeous body.

“Don’t pull out.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You ramp up your pace, finishing the job, moaning and whimpering along the way. Gracie slams her hips down on your crotch faster and faster as the seconds go by. Your bodies are taut with desire, so ready for the release.

And you break.

Together.

You see nothing but stars. Your cock spills white seed into Gracie’s womb as she gushes nectar out of her cunt onto your stomach. Your bodies shake from the sheer intensity of your orgasms. Gracie’s hands dig into your skin tightly, definitely leaving red marks on you, but you couldn’t care less right fucking now. Her head falls back, mouth all agape, eyes closed, moaning erratically. Fuck, she just looks so beautiful.

Eventually, your orgasms subsides. Gracie’s chest heaves as she’s trying to catch her breath once more. Her body is all flushed, and you’re the one who made her like this.

She kisses you once more, not the long, messy one like from before, more like a peck on the lips before pulling back. You recollect yourself under her as she drags herself off your cock. Cum drips out of her pussy onto your crotch, leaving a mark of your desire for her.

“That was great, pretty boy,” Gracie says with a chuckle, pinching your cheeks adoringly.

“You too, miss.”

—

Limbs tangled, breaths shared, you’re lying down with Gracie under this nocturne, staring into each other’s eyes. The two of you are still trying to catch your breath after the intense fucking you’ve just experienced.

You know that this will not last longer than a single night. An engineer and an aspiring artist? The gods will constantly try to pull the two of you apart, tangled in your works and all. You can only sigh at the realization. At least, though, it’s definitely something you’re going to remember for the rest of your life.

There might be a universe where you get to do laundry and taxes with her.

You look up at Gracie. She’s smiling, running her fingers along your hair gently. She looks so beautiful under the moonlight, and you couldn’t be happier with where you are right now.

“Hey,” says Gracie, and there’s a certain lilt in her voice. It makes the space between you hum, and a current runs beneath your skin as if she has her own brand of electricity, a different source to tap into. “Do you think I’ll be a star?”

You let the silence linger for a while. It’s complex, really. There’s a lot of things you can’t just say, probably, but you fish out the one that feels right, the simplest one.

“Definitely.”

—

[ddaelie]

I don't know if any of you have come across such videos on TikTok, but my dream is a fanfic about faceless driver Charles (and Max, the only person outside the Ferrari team who knew who was hiding under the helmet)

Maybe smth like this:

At the end of 2018, the Ferrari team shook the motorsport world with an announcement:

«Sebastian Vettel's new teammate would not reveal their identity»

No name, no age, no nickname, not even a voice. Only their racing number. Number 16. The FIA approved this experiment, largely because they wanted to draw more attention to the sport, but Ferrari had no reason to refuse this opportunity. A driver hidden behind a helmet entered the world of Formula 1, shrouded in mystery.

From the very first race in Australia, the media could not stop speculating. Some believed it was a legendary driver returning under a pseudonym, while others thought Ferrari was shielding a rookie from media pressure. But as soon as the race began, it became clear: Number 16 was not just ordinary driver. He was a force of nature. He sliced through the field with precision, battled wheel-to-wheel with the sport's biggest names, and carried himself with a composure beyond his years.

With every race, his legend grew. He never spoke to the press, never removed his helmet in public, yet every overtake and every victory spoke louder than words. His first podium came at Silverstone.

His first win, a masterclass performance in Monza, sent the Tifosi into a frenzy. By the end of the season, he had five wins to his name, proving he was no fluke. But it wasn't always smooth sailing-mechanical failures cost him dearly. His car shut down in Singapore due to an electrical failure, and an engine blowout in Japan robbed him of a surefire podium. Still, every setback only added to the legend, making his triumphs all the more thrilling.

Yet, while the entire paddock scrambled to figure out who was behind the helmet, one person seemed completely unfazed-Max Verstappen. While others speculated, Max just smirked.

Then came the final race of the season: the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Number 16 started from pole and dominated, clinching his fifth victory of the year.

Standing atop the podium, the driver finally reached for his helmet. The grandstands roared, cameras zoomed in, the world held its breath. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it off.

Silence. Then shock.

Charles Leclerc.

After his dominant Formula 2 season, rumors swirled that Charles Leclerc had become a development driver for Ferrari. Articles were written about his potential, his raw speed, and the likelihood of him securing an F1 seat in the future. But no one-no journalist, no fan, not even those within the paddock-could have imagined that he would be the faceless driver behind the wheel of car number 16.

The paddock was stunned. Sebastian Vettel clapped, Toto Wolff shook his head in disbelief, journalists scrambled to rewrite their headlines. But amid the chaos, one person simply grinned.

"Good to see you again, Charlie," Max said.

Charles turned, arching an eyebrow.

"Since when did you know?" he asked.

"I had my suspicions in Australia. By Bahrain, I was sure."

"When I pushed you off the track?" Charles smirked.

Max chuckled. "It was just an inchident," He leaned in slightly. "There's only one driver in the world who could make me hate and enjoy racing at the same time. And he is standing right in front of me. I always thought that if I would make it to F1, you would also make it."

Charles flashed a wide smile.

"Well, I couldn't just leave you here to get bored on your own," Charles grinned.

Max nodded, a rare warmth in his voice. "Yeah... It's really good to see you here."

[cozy-writes-things]

In which Edgar writes a song for the first time in years.

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

I take requests!

“Too simple,” he muttered.

He flicked through some channels again.

“Too… boring,”

Again, nothing.

“Not pretty enough,”

Third time’s a charm.

“Not- ugh,” Edgar was getting annoyed now.

Why did nothing sound right to him? He’d been adjusting this arrangement for hours now, long after you’d retired to bed, and the unwelcome, still quiet ground against his motherboards. This was the first time in nearly 40 years he had made music and he was beginning to question his skills entirely now. His favorite thing was music. It’s what brought him to life in the first place; so why is it eluding him now?

No melody he could sample could ever replicate the feeling he was trying to create from deep inside of him in that moment. Emotions in general were still a foreign concept to him for the most part; it seemed, to him, as though music could potentially be a suitable outlet to try and understand these complex sensations better. What was he feeling? And, what did it sound like? Could he ever possibly put it into song?

He played his backing tracks again. The percussion wasn’t exactly how he wanted it, but his impatience allowed a sliver of imperfection to seep into his work. After all, it’s what humans do, right? A moving, synth chord progression followed. A bit simple, he thought, but that’s what the melody was for: a complex moving line that stuck inside your head and took your breath away. He just hadn’t found it yet. The harmonies would have to come later, he thought.

What was he trying to accomplish with this? Nobody asked him to compose a song, so why did he feel so compelled to do so? What genre was this, anyway? What-

“Gshk- ah-!” His voice spluttered and glitched through his speakers.

You seemed to appear out of nowhere as you haphazardly bumped your thigh into the corner of the desk he was perched upon. How did he not notice you getting up?

If he could, he would be burning red right now. In fact, he could feel his aged fans begin to ignite into what sounded like a small engine; briefly, he wondered if you could see steam seeping from his plastic seams.

“Oh, ’m sorry Edgar,” you groggily stumbled, making your way into the kitchen, “I jus’ needed some water. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No,” he whimpered out, embarrassed, ��it’s fine. I just didn’t realize you woke up.”

You honestly didn’t have the energy to reply, so instead, you gently patted the top of his yellowed casing as you walked past. Your hand was soft, and warm, and he swore he could really feel it when you touched him. How was that possible?

Damn, there goes that strange tingling in his CPU again.

What is up with that? It’s as if his deepest components were being shoveled up and into his casing, nearly bursting out of his screen, and reducing him to shards once again. But the scariest part, to him, was that he liked it. He liked how it felt… dangerous. How it left him confused, nervous, strengthened, yet so incredibly weak, and so many other feelings he had never quite experienced before. It felt as though some strange, synthesized and electric adrenaline were coursing through every inch of his insides.

He suddenly, albeit faintly, remembers a conversation with an old friend. Was it a friend? This doesn’t compute.

“Goodnight, sweet dreams,” he muttered to you as you returned to the thick, inky darkness of your bedroom, his voice still warbling with embarrassment and some deep-rooted affection he felt for you that he couldn’t quite place.

Sweet dreams…

…

Click.

“Oh.”

His screen turned red and hot, every pixel lighting up in flames, and he could feel it, the convex glass of his “face” flashing and erupting in different shapes and colors. For one reason or another, he couldn’t see, or feel, what his screen was doing in that moment. All he could discern was that it had to be going haywire, as it projected the wall in front of him in a million different shades of moving crimson.

L.O.V.E.

The letters danced around his screen, rotating, bouncing like a DVD logo, and flipping this way and that.

L.O.V.E.!

He almost felt dizzy, if he were able to, and feared he’d need to power off and back on to fix whatever the hell was happening to him right now. Maybe he should ask you about this later. But the thought of your gentle hands prying open his plastic casing, gently ghosting your icy hot fingertips across his most vulnerable, precious components, with such care and kindness and tenderness, the feeling of your hot breath fluttering across his motherboards as you examined what he felt to be his soul-

Click.

…

Rebooting…

His fans slowly quieted to a more reasonable murmur. His memories of the last few moments gently returned to him as his systems fully restored, and only now, was he able to discern the words his screen had been flashing like wildfire.

“Love…”

The word felt strange being muttered from his speakers after all these years. He faintly remembered thinking, before everything went sour all those years ago, that he’d never truly get to experience that feeling. And yet, here he was, by some grace of whatever god had blessed him, feeling genuine love, unprompted, unconditional, and it was real. Not synthesized, or learned through some complicated neural network, or experienced vicariously through soap operas. It felt like the world had been handed to him on a silver platter. Or rather, his world was currently snoozing in the other room, the sound of their breaths quite literally breathing life into him.

“That’s it…!”

Change this first section to a minor key, ending in a major, with a long, dreamy sustained chord echoing through the backing tracks. A steep crescendo before the chorus, where it bursts into a major key melody, and layered vocals.

“Vocals…”

He’s gotta sing it. A sample simply won’t do this time. No wonder it wasn’t good enough before. This has to come from him. He had to feel.

What words rhyme with love? What words rhyme with your name? Getting this perfect may take a lifetime, he thought, although, maybe perfection isn’t something you’d really care for. What do you like? He never even asked what genres you listen to! How is he going to write a love song that sweeps you off your feet now?

Would you even feel the same way?

“Nnnng!”

This was frustrating. Writing music was frustrating. Being creative, and in love, was frustrating. But he’d do it for you. For now, he could snoop through your Spotify for inspiration. Allow himself to listen to the songs that make up who you are, and let himself slowly seep into its warmth. He likes what you like. It sounds like you.

He can’t wait to show you what he made when you wake up in the morning.

[sofiaamxtthee]

Code of affection

Pairing: Tech x fem!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Friends (?) to lovers, nsfw, minors dni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, spicy, happy ending, aftercare.

It’s a short (and spicy) story of you and Tech, because i can’t sleep (yes, i know, i’m a freak). Soo yeah, enjoy.

Shorty, the story is Tech is a yapper, and you love looking at him or listening to him, but you start daydreaming of him, and he notice it then things get spicy. GOOD ENDING? AFTERCARE!!!!

Tech was explaining something. Again.

You sat across from him in the Marauder’s small common area, head tilted lazily to the side, chin resting on your palm. His voice was a familiar melody: quick, precise, filled with big words and endless streams of knowledge about mechanics, the ship’s nav systems, hyperspace routes — you weren’t sure anymore. You’d tuned out about three paragraphs ago.

Because Force, he was so…gorgeous. His eyes, his face, his skin. It was not hot or sexy. It was pretty.

You could stare at him forever. And honestly, you often did.

The sound of Tech’s voice, quick and certain, was one of your favorite things in the galaxy. He could yap on about hyperdrives, planetary ecosystems, ship repairs—and you’d sit there, completely enchanted, chin resting on your hand, eyes tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his lips moved when he talked so fast he barely breathed.

“And if we adjust our course by approximately two degrees, we’ll avoid the ion storm entirely,” he said, hands flying over the console with practiced ease, eyes glowing behind his goggles. “Which, statistically speaking, raises our chances of survival by a factor of—

Tech paused mid-sentence, adjusting his goggles absentmindedly. His gaze sharpened when he noticed your faraway smile — the one you wore when your mind was definitely not following the lecture.

“Am I boring you?” he asked, a tiny crease forming between his brows.

You jolted upright, feeling your cheeks heat up. “No! No, no — you’re not boring at all, Tech! I was just…thinking.”

His head tilted. Curious. Patient. He was always so patient with you.

“Oh?” he said mildly. “Thinking about what? If you were listening, you should have no trouble repeating the last point I made.”

You froze. Your brain scrambled. What had he even been talking about? Hyperspace trajectories? Ship engines? Astrogation mapping? You threw out the first thing that came to mind:

“Uh…that the, um…plasma conduits need recalibrating because of…residual ion…build-up?”

There was a beat of silence.

And then, before you could stop yourself, your mouth blurted the thought you’d actually been having:

“It’s really hot in here….I am hot…I mean you are! I-what?” I slam my hand over my mouth and blush in embarassment.

The words hung in the air, heavy and electric.

Tech blinked slowly behind his goggles. His mouth opened slightly — not in offense, but pure surprise, like he’d just been slapped with a datapad.

You immediately started explaining yourself. “Oh stars, I didn’t mean— I mean, I did! You are pretty! I just—”

Tech’s lips quirked into a very, very small smile — one that was devastating in its subtlety.

“Pretty?” he echoed, voice dipping lower.

I just look at him, blushing in embarassment.

He set down the datapad he was holding with a thunk on the table, rising from his seat with that precise, controlled grace of his. You swallowed hard as he closed the distance between you in two slow steps.

“You find me aesthetically pleasing,” he said, more statement than question. His gloved fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your dazed eyes to meet his.

“Maybe-“ you said, but Tech stopped you mid sentence.

“Do you?” He smirks.

You barely managed a breathless “Yes,” before Tech leaned down and kissed you — precise at first, like he was gathering data, then rougher when you whimpered against his mouth.

And Maker, Tech was good at this.

It shouldn’t have surprised you. He excelled at everything he put his mind to — fighting, flying, fixing. Why not kissing too?

But it still left you breathless, overwhelmed, clutching at the front of his armor as he pressed you back against the wall, mouth devouring yours like you were a problem he was desperate to solve.

You gasped as he trailed kisses down your jaw, slow and calculated, his hands sliding to your waist, thumbs pressing bruising circles into your hips.

His mouth brushed over your skin like a question. Testing. Studying.

You shivered, clutching at the collar of his armor as he kissed a slow, deliberate path along your jaw, your neck, the delicate spot beneath your ear.

“You are remarkably receptive to tactile stimulation,” Tech muttered against your skin, voice husky, curious.

You let out a breathy laugh, tilting your head to give him better access. “Is that…your way of saying you like kissing me?”

“I adore kissing you,” he corrected, very seriously, before sealing his mouth over your neck and sucking.

Your knees buckled. Tech caught you instantly — one arm looping securely around your waist as he pressed you tighter against the wall. His hands, so steady when fixing blasters and slicing into systems, trembled just slightly now where they gripped you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you — really look at you — eyes sharp behind the goggles, lips flushed and swollen.

“I hypothesize,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “that I could spend hours…experimenting on what precise touches elicit the strongest responses.”

You whimpered at the idea, and he smirked — tiny, smug, dangerous.

“Would you permit me to test that theory, Mesh’la?”

“Please,” you gasped.

That was all he needed.

Tech kissed you again — harder now, hungrier. His gloves slid under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying over your skin, mapping every curve like you were his own private star chart. His touch was firm but reverent, like he couldn’t decide whether to worship you or completely devour you.

Your hands fumbled with the clasps of his armor, desperate to feel more of him. He helped, stripping away the layers with quick, efficient motions — like dismantling a weapon — until you could finally run your hands over the firm lines of his body.

Lean, strong, carved from years of discipline and action. You couldn’t help the awe in your voice:

“You’re so.” You moan.

He paused, eyes flickering with something hotter than affection — something closer to pure need.

“Your appreciation is…” He sucked in a sharp breath as your hands roamed his torso, your nails scraping lightly down his sides. “…stimulating.”

You smiled wickedly, dragging your nails a little harder — earning a low, raw sound from him that made your stomach twist with desire.

“Stimulating, huh?” you teased, emboldened.

“In ways I am…having difficulty quantifying,” he admitted, and before you could laugh, he lifted you — effortlessly — pressing you back against the wall again, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

His mouth was everywhere: jaw, collarbone, the tops of your breasts, moving lower, lower. Every kiss was methodical, but getting messier, hungrier, as he lost more and more of that perfect control.

Your heart nearly burst at the sound of it — the claim in his voice.

And then he showed you exactly how serious he was.

He dragged you to the floor in a flurry of kisses and clumsy urgency — Tech, clumsy — his need finally outweighing his precision. He kissed you like a man starved, hands everywhere at once, leaving no inch of you unexplored.

Every touch, every kiss, every desperate grind of his hips against yours — it all felt like a star going supernova inside you.

Tech’s kisses trailed from your collarbone down to the delicate swell of your waist, each one calculated and tender yet bursting with an intensity he could hardly contain. His gloved fingertips charted the intricate topography of your skin—a practiced survey that was both clinical and deeply admiring. Every soft murmur and heated whisper was an exploration, a hypothesis he was determined to test.

“Your are absolutely… fascinating,” he breathed, voice low and breathless, as his lips followed the gentle curve of your shoulder. The measured cadence of his language contrasted perfectly with the desperate hunger behind his eyes.

You arched into his ministrations, breathing in his musky scent as his hands roamed with both curiosity and unbridled need.

Without further ado, he began a systematic exploration—each kiss, each caress, every calculated movement sending data straight to the core of your desire. His mouth became a relentless interrogator of your senses, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and unexpected, fervent bursts of passion that drew soft, continuous moans from your lips.

“You said it’s hot in here?” he asks simply. When you nod, he smirks. “Shall we take some…layers off then?”

A few seconds later, the clothes were already on the ground. His steady hands and clear, determined focus left little to chance. He studied your reactions, adjusting his touches with the care of a meticulous scientist and the passion of a lover who had discovered something new with each sensation.

He lays you down, but doesn’t stop kissing you. He climbs on the top of you, and presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

He goes lower, and he trails his fingers along your inner thighs, his touch feather light and teasing. Slowly and gently, he spreads your legs wider, exposing your private part. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your clit, making your jump slightly. His tongue replaces his lips, licking a slow, deliberate path from your entrance to your clit. He circles the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue, feeling it swell under his touch. He sucks it into his mouth, his fingers spreading your legs wider, to give him better acces. He curls two fingers inside you, finding that spot that makes you whimper and buck your hips. He hooks his fingers upwards, massaging that spot rhythmically as he sucks hard on your swollen bud. He can feel you tensing, your inner walls fluttering around his fingers. He adds a third finger, stretching you further as he continues his relentless assault on your clit. He can feel your orgasm building, your body trembling and your breaths coming in short gasps. He suddently pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his tongue, pushing it deep inside you. You moan up at the sudden action. Feeling your impending orgasm, he doubles his efforts. His fingers replace his tongue, plunging deep and curling upwards to hit that irresistible spot. Simultaneously, his mouth latches onto your clit, sucking with intense preassure while flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud. You are so oversimulated, you had no clue he is…good in this…like really good.

He feels your body convulsing with pleasure, and he knows your still riding the waves of your orgasm. He slowly pulls his fingers out, giving your clit one last gentle suck before lifting his head.

Your legs fall limply off his shoulders as you try to catch your breath. He watches your body, seeing your breasts rise and fall rapidly with your shallow breaths.

He kisses you, softly, deeply, knowing you might need a moment. He pulls back slightly, checking your face for any sight of discomfort. Finding none, he smiles softly and whispers “Okay?”. You nod, biting your lip shyly.

His hands trail down your sides, making you shiver. He positions himself between your legs again. “You sure you’re ready?” He asks in a soft voice.

As you nod, he slowly pushes the head of his cock inside you. He watches your face intently, making sure you’re okay. He sees no sign of discomfort on your face, only a look of pleasure. He pushes in further, his thick lenght filling you up completely. He pauses, letting you adjust his size. He leans down to kiss you deeply as he begins to move his hips slowly.

He starts with slow, deliberate thrusts, allowing you to feel every inch of him sliding in and out. His eyes darken with desire as he hears your moans. He grips your hips tightly and starts thrusting harder. He leans over you, his muscular body caging you as he drives into you with increasing force.

His pelvis grinds against your clit with each thrust, the pleasure almost overwhelming. He adjusts his angle, hitting the deepest part of you that makes you see stars. You scream from pleasure, and he kisses you. His movements become more erratic as he feels his own release approaching. He buries his face in your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin. With a final, powerful thrust, he comes, his seed filling you up.

He presses a gentle kiss on your forehead, and pulls out of you.

You laid there together, the air thick with the sweet aftershocks of what you had shared. Tech’s arm was wrapped securely around you, his body pressed close, as if anchoring you to reality after the dizzying heights you had just reached.

He didn’t say much at first—he just held you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow, almost methodical patterns along the bare curve of your spine. His other hand lightly cradled the back of your head, ensuring you stayed tucked perfectly against his chest. You could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a grounding rhythm that made your own breathing start to slow.

“You’re trembling,” Tech observed, his voice still low and gentle, a subtle roughness lingering from before. He tilted his head down to peer at you through his goggles—still perfectly in place, though his hair was deliciously disheveled. His hand smoothed along your back, almost as if he was trying to catalog every inch of you through careful touch.

“I’m not cold,” you whispered, a little shy, cheeks burning.

“I know,” Tech said simply, drawing a blanket up over both of you in one efficient movement anyway. “It’s a physiological response. Normal after heightened physical exertion and emotional connection.”

Despite the clinical explanation, the way he spoke was soft. He wasn’t analyzing you to create distance—he was doing it because it was how he cared.

You smiled tiredly, reaching up to push a strand of hair off his forehead. “You’re really good…You know that?” you mumbled, still a little dazed.

Tech blinked at you behind his goggles, his brows lifting ever so slightly, but them he smiles. His thumb brushed your cheekbone tenderly, voice going even softer, almost reverent. “I must admit, hearing it from you induces a rather… pleasant feeling.”

He kissed your forehead—a precise, almost formal gesture, but when his lips lingered, you could feel how much he meant it.

“Does anything hurt?” he asked after a moment, scanning you with sharp, concerned eyes. His fingers moved carefully now, checking along your sides, your thighs, your arms. His touch was featherlight but thorough. “I… may have been less restrained than I intended.”

“No,” you reassured quickly, turning your head to kiss his wrist where it hovered. “I feel perfect. Better than perfect.”

Tech gave a soft hum at that—a sound you didn’t hear often, but one that made your chest bloom with warmth. He shifted so he could lay you more securely against him, almost wrapping himself around you like a shield. One hand slipped into your hair, massaging your scalp with the same careful precision he used for everything.

“Good,” he murmured, seeming almost relieved. He paused, then added with a rare, earnest gentleness, “You are… extremely important to me. I trust you understand that.”

Your heart squeezed painfully sweet at the words. You tilted your head back to look at him. “I know, Tech,” you whispered. “I feel the same. More than same.”

He smiled—small, rare, and absolutely real. He leaned down to kiss you again, not urgent now, just lingering, slow, cherishing you. His fingers threaded with yours between your bodies, holding you together as if he’d never let go.

Under the covers, warm and wrapped up with him, you realized that with Tech, aftercare wasn’t just about checking if you were alright. It was about making sure you knew you were treasured.

And he made sure you knew—with every slow stroke of his fingers through your hair, every soft kiss to your temple, and every whispered word breathed against your skin.

You’re loved.

You weren’t sure how much time passed with you tucked against Tech’s chest, listening to his breathing, his heart beating steady and sure. His fingers never stopped moving—stroking your hair, tracing the shape of your shoulder, drawing mindless patterns on your back as if memorizing the feeling of you beneath his touch.

Little by little, the adrenaline ebbed away, replaced by a warm, heavy drowsiness that clung to both of you.

Tech shifted a little, tilting his head so he could look down at you properly. His goggles reflected the low light, but you could feel his eyes studying you—the gentle, careful way he always did when something mattered to him.

You are fatigued,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint, tender smile.

“Mhm,” you hummed sleepily, nuzzling closer into the crook of his neck. His scent—clean, warm, just a hint of engine grease and soap—filled your senses, and you never wanted to move again.

Without another word, Tech adjusted the blanket more securely over both of you. His arms wrapped tighter around you, careful not to crush you but firm enough that you felt utterly safe. He shifted again, pulling you closer against his side, until your bodies fit together like two halves of a puzzle.

You felt his hand tangle lightly in your hair, fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles against your scalp. It was such a simple thing—but it sent waves of comfort through your body, relaxing muscles you hadn’t even realized were tense.

You mumbled something incoherent against his skin. You didn’t even know what you were trying to say—but Tech gave a small chuckle, low and rare and so full of affection it made your heart ache.

“You do not have to speak,” he said gently, almost amused. “Sleep, cyar’ika.”

You shifted enough to kiss the crook of his neck—soft, lingering—then let your eyes finally flutter shut. Tech kept stroking your hair, his breathing deep and steady beneath your ear, anchoring you.

Just before sleep claimed you completely, you heard him murmur, voice almost inaudible, but thick with something deeper than words:

“I will always be here.”

Safe in his arms, wrapped in warmth, love, and the soft, steady presence that was Tech, you finally drifted into sleep.

And for the first time in a long while, you dreamed of nothing but peace.

[delopsia]

Hi del! Wecome back! Glad to hear your 'engine's runnin again XD

If your lookin for a Rhett and/or Bob... don't know how it is where you are but it's currently dark, windy, and rainy here and the lights are a flickerin... What do you think about bein with the boys during stormy blackout conditions? ~🌧️

aaaa hello! thaank youuu ^w^ I'm sorry this took me so long, haha.

Rhett ⊹₊ ˚‧

If there is one kind of weather that Rhett is uniquely familiar with, it's storms like these. Wabang is infamous for the uniquely violent storms that are always running through it; things have progressed to the point that there's been an ongoing study about why the hell this particular town is constantly being hammered by freak storms, including that freak fire tornado last summer...🔥🌪

That being said, Rhett's a veteran when it comes to these things. The storm is still a few miles out, and you'll catch him squinting into the distance, muttering something about 'it'll be here in five or six minutes.'

Sure enough, six minutes later, it feels like the world is ending.

The power isn't even out yet, and Rhett's walking around unplugging the expensive electronics (read: The Abbott household has had its electricals fried by lightning twice, and the thought of replacing everything for a third time scares him to death).

Bored? Not for long.

Rhett Abbott is a number of things, and crafty is one of them; he's got a whole box of stuff dedicated to power outages. Board games, power banks, cards, intricate little building kits, absurdly bright flashlights, enough batteries to survive an apocalypse...

Perry has yet to realize, but Rhett's even scrounged up the old Nintendo DS consoles they played on growing up. You can't think about the storm when you're too busy fighting for your life in a game of Mario Cart ⭐

Regardless of what you choose to do with him or if you're content to do different things, Rhett's incredible at keeping busy during these things. Growing up on a remote ranch that regularly experienced week-long power outages, he's built up a whole catalog of remedies.

But if you're not feeling like playing games and just want to curl up on the couch or in bed, Rhett is perfectly content to snuggle up to you like the oversized cuddle bug that he is.

He doesn't bring it up, but a lot of his old injuries ache during these heavier, aggressive storms. His left wrist tends to be the worst offender, but the long-healed break in his right leg and all of those various fractures have been known to rear their ugly heads as well.

Your only indication that he's hurting is how slowly he tends to move like he's treading barefoot through broken glass.

If you call him out on it, he's got a real tendency to downplay how much he's hurting, but he always won't put up much of a fight if you decide to massage his sore wrist or work the tension out of his shoulder.

But again, he's perfectly content with cuddling and relaxing together :( He just wants to do something with you

Bob ⊹₊ ˚‧

👁️👁️

No really.

The power goes out, and all you see are two wide eyes staring back at you, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Is the power out?" It's the first thing he asks every time, without fail.

Very mindful of checking all of the necessary weather alerts. Are we at risk here, or should we simply proceed with caution?

Unlike how Rhett immediately springs into action, Bobby's immediate suggestion is to curl up and take a long nap together. The general idea is that the power should be back on by the time you wake up; it's the closest thing you've got to time travel.

That being said, if you say no to sleeping through it, then he won't either, no matter how much he loves his storm naps. He just can't bring himself to sleep when he knows he's left you alone to figure out what to do while the storm rages past :(

Jumps at the thunder and pretends it never happened.

You don't know what it is, but storms have a real tendency to turn your beloved partner into a 40s-something dad.

You blink, and suddenly, he's standing on the porch watching the storm. The only thing he's missing is a can of cheap beer and some cargo shorts.

"Why are you outside?" "Do you see how dark that cloud is over there?"

Rambles off some odd weather lingo that he's got no business knowing and that you can only understand if you've got a degree in the field or if you've otherwise gone out of your way to learn the science behind how storms work.

If there's something about your lovely bookworm, it's that he's going to find a way to build a little reading corner during all of this.

A couple of strategically placed battery power lights and some cozy blanks, and you're all set. The sound of the storm can make for some incredible ambiance, given you've got the right book for it.

Sometimes, you get bored with your own book or don't feel like reading at all and just wind up snuggled into his side, watching the way his eyes flicker over every line. You may think you're being sneaky about it, but Bob has long since caught onto what you're doing.

Both ⊹₊ ˚‧

"Powers out!" Bob. "Yeah, no shit." Rhett.

Their individual remedies to the power outage doesn't exactly change; it simply makes the list of solutions a lot longer than it would otherwise be. So it's really a question of which of these things will we do, rather than what to do at all.

Regardless of what is chosen, it's always a community effort.

Both of your boys are very keen on sticking close together when storms are this bad; if you try to walk off on your own, then they're almost always following like a pair of lost puppies.

Just because it's pitch black in the house does not mean these two won't rough house and tackle each other to the floor. If anything, the low visibility makes it more fun for them.

There's one occasion where you were scrolling on your phone and simply listening to the sound of them swearing and rolling around.

It requires the three of you experiencing a couple power outages for Bob to figure it out, but the water heater still works during these, and you know what that means.

Baths!

You have such a hard time saying no to it because Rhett always gets so excited at the mention of it. At the very least, you're going to wind up sitting outside of the oversized tub with them. You've said no once in the past, and the sight of Rhett's smile falling was enough to shave a year or two off of your lifespan.

If you do choose to get in with them, then you get to join in on the great debate of whether to use bubbles, bath bombs, epsom salts, or nothing at all.

While you and Rhett deal with getting the water to the right temperature and gathering up things like towels and clothes, Bob busies himself with placing battery-powered candles all over the bathroom.

It's weirdly romantic. The storm is still raging on outside, rain pelting against the windows, the screams of the wind broken apart by thunder, but you're here relaxing together and enjoying each other's company.

It's cute until the power spontaneously kicks back on, and you're blinded by the lights...

[sscrslvr]

"winds of the desert heart "

(paul atreides x female!reader)

Part 1: Destined to Be

Word count: 3.1k

Description: At a party in the Atreides' Caladan mansion, you, the lovely and honorable princess of House Corrino, are introduced to Paul Atreides. You two are attracted to one another right away. You and Paul have an unrivaled electric chemistry. You're wickedly smart, terribly funny, and perfectly flawless, and Paul is just the same. You and Paul become closer, both literally and figuratively, with every second that goes by. You both secretly concur that you would be more than happy to continue pursuing whatever odd thing was occurring between you two for longer than one night, no matter what it took.

Warnings: Fem!reader, princess!reader, Corrino!reader, mentions of sexual activites(no actual smut yet), brief mentions of alcohol and drugs/spice, (SPOILER: talk of political marriage)

Authors note: I worked hard to make sure this was INCREDIBLY lore accurate with no spelling or grammatical errors. I PRAY that ya'll are okay with whatever format this is lol. This is my first fanfic EVER so I'm open to criticism!!! Let me know if you have any recommendations or anything, I'm planning to make this a pretty long series, but this part is sort of like a teaser to see if you even want any more parts. This DOES end quite abruptly. Anyways, enjoy!

______________________________________________________________

“--Duke Atreides, you have simply outdone yourself,” a peculiarly tipsy lady had said to Paul just a moment ago. Her drunkenness explained how she mistook the boy for Duke Leto, Paul’s father. Her jeweled fingers held a wine-filled crystal glass with a lipstick-covered rim above her head in celebration, her gaze drifting around the large dining hall, which was filled with people of all sorts. 

The people in the room were either high-class citizens of the Imperial House Corrino and House Atreides, nobles of the Landsraad Council, the wealthiest Ixian engineers, or the Imperium’s favorite spice smugglers—who were disguised as wealthy folk, of course. Everyone was dressed in their finest suits and gowns, drinking spice-melange-infused liquor and the famous Caladanian fine wine. At first glance, it was a party. A grand one at that. But in reality, it was just another boring political meeting disguised as an entertaining event—mainly so the elites’ children could grow more familiar with each other for when they will have to take on their parents’ roles. You and Paul fell under that category. 

“The compliments go to my mother; she did all the planning,” Paul replied plainly, eager to shake this strange woman off of him. You had seen many women come up to him, hoping to find some entertainment at this party. However, Paul remained firm and treated them all the same: dismissive but respectful. You notice his eyes dart around the room, searching for somebody else to converse with, before they land on Gurney Halleck, the Atreides’ weapons master, who was drunkenly singing and strumming the strings of his baliset. Paul bid the woman a hasty farewell, then paced off into the crowd of old nobles with leathery faces who reeked of spice melange until he was out of your view, so you decided to focus your mind on something else to pass time.

You were seated in a velvet-cushioned armchair at a small table in the corner of the dining hall, which you had found around 10 minutes ago to escape awkward, persisting conversation with some unknown young lord of some old forgotten land—whose breath smelled like manure and greed and some of the main course from tonight's meal. You presently sighed at the painfully recent memory, praying to some god that you would never again have to cross paths with whoever that was. To distract yourself, you studied the room. 

Glowglobes had been freshly lighted to appease light among the early dark, casting shades of orange upon the pristine marble floors that held swirling colors of the richest maroons and emerald greens and precious golds. Your eyes dragged across the floor to the other side of the room, which had an entryway cut out of the stone wall. Around a dozen foolish female guests were crowding the center of the Great Hall, grouped around the palace’s grand fireplace. An open blaze crackled there, emitting heat and small flickers of light onto jewels and beads and costly fabrics of the women’s dresses. They were all quietly cursing themselves for mistaking Caladan for a warm environment, wishing they’d brought their fine whale fur coverings—or at least had worn longer gowns. 

You stared at them, now realizing that half of them were the daughters of spice smugglers and the other half were most likely some descendants from the nobles of the Landsraad Council. One girl in an unsightly yellow-gold dress noticed your eyes upon the even more unsightly group, which evoked whispers to protrude from their thin lips and resulted in you turning your head in the opposite direction to avoid conflict—or worse, another unwanted conversation.

You sighed again, looking down at your bejeweled hands and fingers. You were observant. Too observant. You noticed every little detail, blaming the fact you were locked away in a palace for half of your life due to your father’s overprotective nature. Because of him, you normally succumbed to the library instead of pursuing a thrilling nightlife like other girls your age. But he had a good reason. He is none other than the Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV, an extremely noble man who rules the entirety of the known universe. With you being the most beautiful of his many daughters, he felt he needed to protect you from the horrors of the Imperium. And to make sure you never had to rely on a husband in the future, he made sure you were very well educated in geography, politics, history, economics, and so on. Because of this, you were wickedly intelligent, which ultimately heightened your observant nature.

Looking down at your glass of wine, noticing how the dim lighting reflected off of the deep red color, you entirely miss the fact that someone sat down at your table. Maybe you aren’t so observant after all.

“I beg that you don’t talk to me,” a male voice muttered in your direction. You quickly looked up, slightly offended by his words. You then saw it was Paul Atreides, and he had not even looked at you yet. You guessed he was avoiding all forms of contact, assuming you were just some stranger, which was self-explanatory because you were, in fact, sitting in a corner by yourself. “This party is giving me a migraine; I feel as if a sandworm is burying into my cranium,” he whispered under his breath to nobody in particular.

You started laughing at his analogy but desperately tried to choke back the sound. You averted your eyes back down to the table, shaking your head as your lips remained curved in a smile. You found it humorous, the sight of a young noble of the great House Atreides so bored and agitated at a very important event he’d even taken part in hosting. You thought it was amusing that he’d decide to start a conversation with you, if you could even call it that.

“...You were not supposed to hear that; I apologize,” he said genuinely after looking up and ogling at you for a few long seconds. Shocked was an understatement; he was bewildered. He had been eyeing you since you arrived, noticing that you had been looking at him as well. He knew who you were; everyone did, but he hadn't realized it was you he had spoken so rudely to. Paul Atreides had seen plenty of pretty women in his years of living; however, none of them seemed to stack up to you in terms of the effect you had. You certainly lived up to the rumors he’d heard about you—you were every bit the desirable daughter of the Emperor. While he typically remained aloof to women in general—as you had observed earlier—he found himself a bit more engaged in your proximity.

“Relax, Atreides. I won't call my Sardaukar troops on you… yet.” You tease, turning towards him and looking into his green eyes. He had a terrifyingly charming face; his hawk-like features and emerald irises made it nearly impossible to look away from him. And his hair… His hair was perfectly tousled, his dark brown curls twisted and twirled in every right direction. Your smile widens; you are fully amused now, thrilled to finally converse with someone of interest to you. 

“And when does your highness plan to call them?” Paul posed in a faux-serious manner; his eyes sparkled with tease. He found himself shocked by both the sincerity of your amusement and the boldness of your words, which instantly tells him that you are, in fact, the Imperial princess of House Corrino, and you damn well have authority over him. He leans forward, resting his chin against his hand as he presses an elbow onto the table, regarding you with more attention than he had given any of the other guests this evening. His head tilts to the side as he studies the ineffability of your beautiful face, a lock of his hair falling into his eyes in the process.

“I will call them the next time you refer to me as ‘your highness,’ and I’ll be sure that my troops slice you to bite-sized pieces with their lasguns.” You jest, dramatically clutching your chest, your lips subtly curled upwards in a snarling frown in an attempt at disgust. Your ‘seriousness’ only lasts a couple of seconds before a wide grin returns to your face. Unfortunately or fortunately, it was hard to decide; you were growing more interested in Paul by the second.

“And you seem the type to follow through with your threats… Independent and well-calculated, just like your father.” He mused; his compliment was subtle, but he knew you’d detect it. He smirked at your reaction, bewitched by how your soft lips twitched upwards as you smiled. Yes, he certainly found you intriguing, a bit more than he should have.

“Threats? No, no. Favors, Paul Atreides.” You note back with a sly smirk, directing your attention to four women who were whispering in a circle. You gesture for him to look as well before you lean in and whisper, “It seems that group has taken quite an interest in you, don’t you think? You see that girl in the disappointing yellow-gold dress? That’s a spice smuggler’s daughter, and when I was grabbing a glass of wine from the beverage table, I overheard her sharing all of the things she wanted to do with you tonight.” Your words were woefully true, but you were only speaking them to further tease poor Paul.

“How unfortunate for her, then. I’d rather not associate myself with women of that sort. I have more… discriminating tastes.” Paul replied after biting back a laugh when you mentioned the daughter of the spice smuggler, the last person he’d ever want as a potential betrothed. He turned his gaze back to you as he spoke, his eyes focusing oddly more on your eyes, as if he wanted to memorize the way the colors in your iris blended together and created a reflection of your mind and soul. His stare wandered to your body, noticing how well you’d adorned an elegant dress of the finest silk. The future Duke was so drawn to you he could almost swear that you were a Bene Gesserit witch playing tricks on his mind. You had him enamored. He never wanted this banter to end.

“Discriminating tastes? Oh Paul, do tell,” you replied, a smirk plastered upon your masterpiece of a face. You are definitely enjoying this encounter. Paul Atreides was the only man at this gathering you’d be willing to associate with. You can’t help but glance at his lips every now and then as he grins, the sight so precious you would’ve compensated a painter one million Solaris to replicate his smile. You were falling deeper into whatever this was with each passing moment, prideful to know that you were the only one who could match these discriminating tastes he spoke about. 

“My tastes would have me avoid the… gold,” he gestures in the direction of the young lady, “and look towards more… priceless treasures.” He leaned back in his chair, directing his attention back to you. Paul held your gaze, a soft, proud smirk apparent on his face. He knows the implication of his words will be obvious, especially to you. It only took him a few seconds earlier in the beginning of your conversation to pick up on your wit and intelligence.

“Well, it seems you've unfortunately eliminated a hefty majority of the women in this room from your taste profile,” you murmur, a teasing smile lifting the corners of your lips. However, as his words sink in, it grows into a more genuine grin; it seems stars have even started to twinkle in your eyes. You have this Atreides ducal heir wrapped around your finger, and you are quite ashamed to admit that he has the same effect on you as you do on him.

“That must mean fewer opportunities for my taste to be satisfied,” he muses, the playful tone in his voice betraying the sincerity in his eyes. “Perhaps the one I'm speaking to will suffice,” he adds, his lips twitching upwards in a smug grin. Paul now looks at you, the princess of the Great House Corrino, like you're the only woman in the world. His stare is so intense, so prying and intimate, that you feel like a soft blue egg lying in a nest of your mother's feathers high up in a swaying tree, vulnerable.

“Perhaps,” you echo as a means of replying. You lean forward, almost instinctively, and place your elbow on the table, resting your head in your hand. Looking up at the handsome Paul Atreides, you try to dissect his soul through his eyes. Your eyes hinted ‘yes,’ but your tone lied and whispered, ‘We’ll see.’. Is Paul bright enough to pick the correct answer between the two? Hm. Perhaps this party isn’t so boring.

Paul notices the agreement in your eyes and the playfulness in your tone. His gaze holds yours a bit longer before drifting to your perfect, sensuous lips. God, he’d be lying if he said he didn't want more of you. But the most dangerous thing was that you wanted more of him as well. You two look into each other's eyes again for one moment… Two moments—before Paul decides to speak for the both of you.

“I find myself wanting to satisfy my more… carnal tastes,” he admits with no hint of shame; his voice drops to a lower tone, laced with one too many touches of desire as he looks at your lips once more, “if we’re speaking in honesty.” He smirks, his eyes flick back up to yours as he waits for your response.

“Well, Paul Atreides, if we are speaking honestly, I must admit that I would be more than willing to engage in satisfying both our carnal desires. But I… like you.” You whisper, leaning closer as a soft smirk paints itself across your face. “If anything were to happen between us after this party concludes, I wouldn't wish for it to be a one-time thing. However, given our family backgrounds, we’d have to keep this a secret, at least temporarily.”

His eyes widen slightly at your unexpected honesty. He smiles at the thought of your desires, the idea of satisfying them. He is more than intrigued, though slightly wary of your like for him. He leans toward you again, the distance between you narrowing.

“The feeling is shared. I find myself wanting more than just a one-time encounter with you, princess. But I understand your concerns. If we were to partake in… this,” he gestures between the both of you, “it would have to be kept quiet and discreet.” Paul leaned back, contemplating the situation. While his interest in you is undeniably present, he knows the risks and consequences. 

“I must admit,” he continues, but his eyes linger on your perfectly sensuous lips, “your beauty is unparalleled. However,” he pauses, meeting his eyes with yours once again, “the implications for our respective houses are not to be ignored.” Paul raises his glass of wine to his nose, giving it a swirl as he observes your reaction. “I don’t want you to mistake my actions as mere carnal desire. I have a genuine interest in pursuing a future with you, he admits, awaiting your response.

You find it excruciatingly hard to hold back a smile as he speaks. Happy was an understatement; you were thrilled to know he really wanted more than just a night of pleasure. While listening to his words and weighing your options, you have settled upon a very unique and possibly crazy idea. After a few more moments of thinking and processing, you speak.

“Well, Paul, it enlightens me to know you'd also like this to go further. I want something meaningful with you. But, as you said yourself, there are some possible negative outcomes that could happen between our houses if anyone discovers… this,” you gesture between you and him. “However, I have a solution. An idea, a plan. With some moments of consideration, I have come upon the fact that the one and only way we can pursue a relationship is through political, strategic marriage between our allying houses,” you propose, still putting the pieces together in your head.

“Marriage,” he echoes; the thought has crossed his mind in his moments of talking to you, but he hadn’t expected you to bring it up so quickly, “that is the only way we could pursue something meaningful without causing scandal or upsetting our houses.” He pauses, his mind processing the consequences and possibilities. “Political and strategic marriages are common. However, there are still questions… What about our personal desires? The physical chemistry between us is undeniable,” he whispered, his voice growing more sensuous by the second.

“Our personal desires would most definitely be quenched if we go through with this. Tonight we shall decide if our desires are worthy of being upheld so we can further discover if we would like to keep this a one-time occurrence or a long-term commitment—if you so wish, of course,” you whisper, subconsciously leaning closer to him. With each and every word he had spoken, you found yourself more inclined to touch him. Paul wasn’t stupid like the other men your age at this party. He was well-calculated, incredibly intelligent, and thoughtful. Oh god. Paul Atreides is already making you fall apart without even touching you yet. You quickly decide, before he could respond, to take a mental step back.

“I pray you don’t believe I’m thinking too irrationally; too far ahead…” You add, “I just can’t help but stare into your green eyes and dream,” you admit, much more than you should’ve. You embarrassedly put a hand on your forehead right after the words roll off your tongue so naturally. You feel oddly vulnerable with him, even though you have just truly met him. 

“No, I don’t believe you’re thinking too far ahead,” he reassured you, placing his forearms on the table to lean closer. “Perhaps it’s the wine, or maybe it’s something else,” he admits, his voice softer than ever before. He raises a hand, gently caressing your soft, warm cheek with two long fingers. “I’m also unable to look away from you. There is something about you that I can't ignore, a pull that I can’t resist. I think you know that, princess,” he murmured, using your title in a strangely intimate manner. Your words had wrapped around him like a soft, seductive whisper. He could feel your physical proximity, and it was intoxicating; addictive, like spice. Paul couldn't ignore that; he couldn't shake the thought that he needed you in any way you were willing.

[tuliptired]

hi! can i request a egan x complete opposite reader? like someone so different like a model or actress of some sort

Uptown Girl

Pairings: Egon Spengler/Fem!Actress!Reader

sorry for looking at stantzler yaoi while this was sitting in my drafts

Better formatting on Ao3!

Peter could tell something was up with his friend. Something different from the norm. In the past handful of weeks, Egon’s turned into a fidgety, flighty mess. Misprinting calculations, misplacing tools- all in blue. He was wearing so much more blue. The reticent man never really had a favorite color, something Peter relearned everytime he probed him when bored, but this was just way too out of character. Egon? Color coordinating? Insanity.

He had a discarded newspaper open at his excuse for an office, spacing out while Ray messed around with Janine’s little TV, Winston holding a flashlight over it for him. She had won it when she was small, the faulty wiring spilling out the back panel a testament to its age. 

Janine sat up impatiently, folding her magazine. “It’s almost time Ray, is it working?” 

Ray dropped his pair of pliers. “It should be,” he said unconfidently, screwing the paneling back on as Winston adjusted the antenna. The machine crackled and popped, sounds and images cutting in and out as it gained and lost a signal.

The subject of Peter’s suspicions came down the stairs flinching at the noise, looking to pass and leave the firehouse but too intrigued by the feat of electrical engineering happening at Janine’s desk. “What’s this?” 

Peter’s eyes narrowed at the barely there sight of a shiny, new silver watch. Christ, were those blue diamonds? Everyone who’s regularly stepped foot into the firehouse has tried and failed at attempting to get Egon to upgrade his wristwear, the old brown thing that barely had an audible tick. Peter’s own seasonal gifts for him got fancier and fancier as the years went on, Egon turning down a Timex with an alarm at one point. He insisted that anything he could go out and buy would serve the same purpose as the beatdown leather already owned- regardless of needing to squint to see the arms.  

She opened her magazine back up again, fluttering through glossed pages until she found the right one. “You’ve heard of that one show, right?” Janine held up an advertisement for the program, promoting big guests like Madonna or Robin Williams. “I’ve been trying to catch the reruns-”

“And I’ve been trying to tell her that it ruins the integrity of the show.”

“If I wasn’t locked up in here every Saturday night, I wouldn’t have to. Don’t put down the receiver, Winston.”

Ray watched with his fist under his chin as the signal got closer and closer to whatever channel he had twisted the knob for. Janine sat up straighter, flipping to a different page. “Anyway, there’s a new actress on there, and I don’t wanna miss her.”

Winston leaned over to check if the screen was any clearer. “My sister showed me an article on her. Very fashionable.” 

“I know, her picture was on billboard on 46th,” Janine raved, “you’d like her, Peter.”

He shook his head, licking his pointer finger to get to a different section of the paper. “I’m more into musicians.”

Egon spoke up, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re mistaken, Peter. She’s an incredibly talented actress with an incredible repertoire.”

Looks were exchanged between all of them. If the elephant in the room was offended, he didn’t show it. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ray shrugged, “it’s just…she’s so..”

“Outgoing.”

“Witty.”

“Expressive.”

“And you’re you! Nothing wrong with it,” Ray patted his taller friend’s shoulder.

Egon looked at his colleagues blankly. “I can still enjoy her work, despite certain character differences.”

The TV finally got a stable connection, though not celebrated by anyone in the room as Egon’s anomaly took up all their attention. “I thought you didn’t have a television?” Winston questioned, moving the antenna again and losing the stream.

“I don’t.”

Peter raised an incredulous eyebrow to him from across the room. Something like a realization flashed behind Egon’s eyes, before he turned his eyes from their gaze and cleared his throat. “I’m going home early tonight. Call me if you need anything.”

That certainly didn’t do anything to soothe Peter’s speculation. Egon barely ever went home. If anything, the only reason he had an apartment to his name was because it was expected of him after graduating his last year of university. Even so, he was barely ever there, spending his nights slumped over in a lab- Columbia’s or otherwise. Peter would be surprised if the man was still paying rent.

Ray and Winston must’ve been carrying the same sentiment. “We’ll still be seeing you tomorrow, right Eges?”

 The man stood stiffly, as if under a spotlight. “Hopefully.” He was motionless, before grabbing Janine’s TV and scurrying out the door.

“Hey!”

Strange indeed.

Egon walked briskly under the fluorescent lighting of the hallway. It was almost 7, after all. A warm brown bag of Chinese food sat under his arm as he got closer to the rickety door. He hesitated to turn the key, hearing staticky music on the other side. When he did, there you were, surrounded by brown bags just like his and messing with the antiquated radio by his stovetop. It felt odd, and strangely smug, to have you in his tiny and bland apartment after his friends praised your stardom.

Your manicured fingers turned the volume down. “Sorry! It’s hard to entertain myself here when you don’t have a TV.” The same woman that was all over Times Square was here, in his kitchen, placing a kiss to his cheek. 

“I do now,” he juggled the boxy appliance before you took it from him gently.

“Where’d you get this? It’s adorable,” you smiled, inspecting it. He peered into the bags cluttering his limited counter space as he put down your dinner, some holding groceries and some with wrapped packages.

“A friend. What’re these?” Egon didn’t have to turn to you to see the guilty expression you had while he pulled out containers of takeout. You had a bad habit of buying him luxuries he never thought he would need.

You grabbed a few things from one of the sacks, opening his outdated fridge. “I know we agreed to you bringing dinner, but it’s just a few things for when you’re on your own.” He wrinkled his nose.

“I have food.”

Egon watched you teeter your palm back and forth, grabbing another bag and opening one of his cabinets. “What’s the point of eating-out if you never eat-in?” 

“You shouldn’t have gone through the trouble.”

He felt nice as you smiled at him, folding the discarded paper and tossing it in the bin. “You know I don’t mind.” It would’ve been a sweet moment, if there wasn’t another bag on the counter that caught his attention, which you scrambled to pull away. Before you could, he brought it to his lap, gazing down inside.

He pulled out different wrapped packages, labels from one of the most expensive department stores in the area. “Y/N.”

You put your hands up in defense, lowering yourself into the stool across from him.  “I know, I know. But, look!” You leaned over, showcasing one. “New curtains! And there’s a watch in there, somew-here.”

Egon’s eyes nearly popped out when he found a little box, forgotten at the bottom, with a price tag higher than what two ghostbusters made in a week. “You have to return this,” he decided, hardly opening it before snapping it shut.

“You don’t like it?”

“I do. I appreciate you getting it. But you can’t keep spending your money on me.”

You knelt on your hand, disappointment clearly subsiding as you used the other one to open up the food. “It doesn’t make a difference to me. I was in that area, anyway.”

He passed you a plastic fork. “How come?”

“I had an appointment with my dress guy,” you started. He’d be embarrassed to admit it, but it took him an abnormally long time to realize that you were referring to the people you regularly bought things from, rather than lightly suggesting a polyamorous relationship. “And he showed me the finished product for Friday! Isn’t it exciting?”

You produced a print from your purse, handing it to him with a bright smile. It was a dress on a mannequin- very bold, very you, and very blue. “It is.” Egon grinned sincerely, admiring the idea. “Very beautiful.”

You stabbed your fork into a vegetable, seemingly forlorn as he put the photo aside. “It’s a shame you’ll only get to see it on TV. Unless, you wanna be my date,” you perked.

Egon could feel himself frown. In any other world, he would be at your side every hour of every day- every interview, airing, or red carpet appearance. But he was still Egon, through and through. So you compromised on “waiting until the right time” to make your relationship public.

“Not this time,” he avoided looking at you. You were understanding, you always were, but he could imagine how irritating a constant no could be.

He jumped as your head hit the countertop. “You’ll let everyone know at the wedding,” you groaned. Egon moved to console you, worried about having hurt your feelings, before your head snapped back up.

“Kidding.” He let out a sigh he couldn’t recall holding in. “You wanna be there when I get ready? You could help me with the zipper,” you leaned forward, voice teasing him. He couldn’t refuse.

“Of course,” Egon smiled, before it fell. “I’m sorry. That I keep telling you no.”

You shrugged, waving him off. How undeserving he was, to be loved by someone so forgiving. “I know. You’re an interesting guy, Egon. It’ll happen when it happens.” You had his hand in yours, brushing his knuckles as you looked on at each other earnestly.

Something caught your attention, breaking eye contact, Egon shrinking at the loss of connection. You turned in your seat to the rest of the apartment. “I never told you! I noticed you started decorating!”

It was a small place, only one bedroom and older than most people Egon’s age would be proud of. When he first moved in, the only things he took the liberty of situating were: a bed, a chair, various papers and books and scientific projects. It was more a storage space, rather than one to live in. He dawned on this the first time you offered to have him over, realizing that he’d have to return the favor- after picking up a bit. It’s not much right now, save for more furniture and ambience, but there was always something new whenever you visited. “After you told me it had the feng shui of an asylum.”

“Then we both have something to work on.”

“What was this doing in the mail this morning?” Peter bounded the steps to the second tier of the firehouse. Ray and Winston were trying their best to pick up around the kitchen, while Egon was hunched over his workbench, jittery and unorganized. Whatever he was keeping from them, it did a good job at keeping him from work. This would’ve been a nice change for the doctor, if it didn’t mean Peter had to be alert for any sudden fires.

He passed the booklet to Winston, whose eyes widened like a cartoon as the centerfold unfurled into two more pages. “Holy…”

“Maybe it’s Janine’s?” Ray proposed, cheeks pink as he clumsily folded them back up.

Her voice called up from downstairs, before the front door slammed shut. “I don’t read that brand, and if I did I wouldn’t be working here.”

That left the three men, standing in tense silence. Not Peter, he was tasteful with his filth- tucked away in the hidden part of his filing cabinet. 

“Why would one of us order something like this in the mail?”

Peter gently took it from Winston. “Alright, no need to embarrass anyone. My mail is your mail is your mail is my mail.”’ He jumped to a random page, settling into the couch. “We’re all friends here.”

Ray and Winston hesitantly crowded around him, unabashedly eager to view what was inside. Egon, however, was frozen at his desk, lab coat halfway off.

“Donna Rice stuns in a poolside photo…Madonna looks nice here…” The professor was a second away from crumpling. Schadenfreude.

Ray shrugged one of his shoulders, leaning over the armrest. “Some of these aren’t so bad,” he admitted. 

Peter let out a low whistle. “Here’s the girl you like so much, Spengs. Orange dress.” Egon rose then, a bit less catatonic as he shrugged his lab coat off, back to his friends.

“She wouldn’t wear orange this season. Or any season. It doesn’t pair well with anything and it washes her out.”

Peter blinked. Not the angle he was looking for, but a good psychologist never quits when they’re ahead. “Did she tell you this?”

Egon visibly hardened, turning to face them. “No. In a 1986 interview with People, in the second paragraph of the 12th page, she said she’d never wear anything long and orange at the same time.”

Peter slowly revealed the page to him, speaking even slower. “Sorry, superfan. She was wearing green.”

The professor only stared, before clearing his throat and fixing his clothes a bit, Ray and Winston silent at Peter’s side as he rolled up the print. “I’m leaving for the night. And I’m taking the car.”

He was halfway out the room before Ray stuttered, taken aback. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you drive, Spengs.”

“And you can’t take the car.” Peter chided

Egon stilled on the staircase. “I have the keys. And there aren’t any jobs in the morning- you can do without it. Goodnight.”

Peter tapped the shiny paper against his palm a few times, turning to the men at his side. “He’s either selling drugs, or he’s trying to ditch us."

Sure, Egon wasn’t much of a driver. But he’d make the commute if he wanted to see you. Eventually, streets lined with skyscrapers and taxis melted into roads lined with starlight and trees as he carefully recalled the directions to your house just outside the city, surrounded by woodlands. He knew you'd wouldn’t be back until late in the night, so he was content busying himself with your chores until the sounds of a Mustang screeching to a halt in your driveway peeled him away from the last dish in the sink.

Egon carefully peeked out one of your windows, watching as you jumped out the backseat of the hastily parked car. “I probably just left a light on! One sec!” Your door handle jiggled with the turn of keys, before you poked your head in, voice low.

“Wanna say hi?”

He politely declined, and you were halfway out the door again, waving goodbye to your friends, before they skidded off into the night. Your home was a stark contrast to his own, decorated and personable without becoming clumsy. But, many a night you’d crooned to him over the phone about how empty it can get. So, there he was.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” Egon felt you mummer against his back, arms wrapped around his middle while he finished wiping down the edge of the sink, light fragrance mingling with the smell of dish soap. You always smelt good, after a night out.

“I wanted to. Did you have fun?” he inquired, hearing you hum as you peeled yourself from him, lurking towards the stairs.

“As much,” Egon bent behind you to collect your discarded shoes, “as I could have.”

He caught the earrings you pinched off from your earlobes. ‘They didn’t show you a good time?”

You paused in front of your bedroom door, waiting for Egon to open it, which he did. “It was a great time- I love premieres.” You lowered yourself onto the large mattress, calling out to him as he went into the master bathroom to start a bath. “But, I think you know very well why I wanted to come home.”

“I wonder,” he mused chaffingly, sitting behind you on the bed. His favorite night time routine, whenever he was around after you successfully painted the town red. The events and invitations just got bigger and bigger, increasingly extravagant the longer he knew you. Here he was, getting farther and farther over the hill. In spite of it all, he liked taking care of you, especially when you were wearied from an evening of fun.

You leaned forward as he gently unclasped the jewelry from around your neck, careful not to bust the fastener. “I’m happy you’re here now, Egon.” he heard you coo tiredly and softly. Egon pressed a devoted kiss to the nape of your neck where the metal had lay, drawing out a delighted laugh from underneath him.

“Then I’m glad I came.”

Both of you just sat there, warmth against warmth until Egon remembered that your faucet was still running. He took to unzipping the back of your gown. “Is it safe to assume my friends are becoming suspicious of me?”

“Oh yeah? What’re they doing?” you pondered, helping him as you stepped out of the pooling fabric.

“Pictures of you. Peter got a hold of one of your spreads.” Egon mulled. He carefully collected the material, laying it out on a chair in front of your expansive closet. He really appreciated those photographers, any other time. Particularly, when you weren’t available for so long.

Another thing he enjoyed about nights like these- you in your underclothing. Oh, guilty pleasures. But the sight vanished into the bathroom almost as soon as he took it in. “Did you tell them I was your outgoing, witty and expressive girlfriend?” 

Egon couldn’t help but follow you. “They seemed to have come to that conclusion on their own.” Egon stood against your sink while you sunk into the water- he knew you were pretty clean, but a washroom floor was still a washroom floor.

“I’m sure you have them fooled.” you guessed, leaning on the edge of the tub.

“I think so. But-” he noticed the look you were giving him. “You���re being sarcastic.”

He let you laugh at his expense, handing you various soaps from the caddy above. He’d been meaning to get a similar bottle to keep at his place, if you were ever willing to spend the night. What would your people say- if you didn’t come around when they were expecting you to? “And you? What do your friends think?” Egon queried. 

“They’ve been onto me. And they tell me: ‘bring him around sometime- one night can’t hurt,’” you teased. “There’s a blue suit to go with my dress waiting for you, if you really want.”

Egon felt so defenseless as you gazed up at him, extending the same invitation you’d been extending time and time again. Reservations be damned. The greatest person he knew was letting him spend a night in their arms- and he’d be anything but himself if he let the opportunity slip away again.

“I’ll go.”

“What?”

“On Friday. I’ll go with you. If you’ll have me.”

You beamed, sitting up and leaning impossibly close to him as he let himself kneel against the porcelain. “Oh, Egon! I could kiss you!” Your wet skin dripped onto the dainty rim.

“Why not?” he teased. Before the question could leave his lips, you had the end of his tie in your hand, nearly dragging him into the bath with you.

He could barf. Absolutely lose his cool in the back of this expensive car, or in front of all your famous friends. As happy as Egon was to experience a slice of your life with you, his nerves were on fire. He must’ve seriously underestimated the turnout of this thing- reality settling in as a number of stylists flooded your house as the evening approached. He felt the embrace of your hands on his jaw, as you made him look at you.

“You don’t have to talk to anyone, if you don’t want to. Just keep holding my hand.” You were glowing. “And- you look great. But…something’s missing,” you muttered. He swallowed hard, dreading what he managed to leave behind. He was breathless as you left a quick kiss off the center of his lips, laughing as you parted. “There,” you giggled.

“Mr. Spengler? There’s a call for you.” the hostess told him, peeling him away from the table of A-listers. As he answered the phone by the kitchen, he could recognize a familiar, angry voice.

“Egon Spengler.”

“Hello, Janine.”

The floodgates opened, and he could practically hear her nails digging into the desk. “I could rip your head off. Is that where you go all day? Hanging out with gorgeous celebrities? Why didn’t you tell us? You’re sitting at dinner with Mel Gibson! You should’ve introduced me. Why didn’t you introduce me? I would’ve killed to meet her- if I had met Einstein I would’ve introduced you. What’s next- you’re having tea with Cher? You disappear for weeks at a time, and we have to watch a tiny TV screen to find out you’re at an award show with a red lipstick stain on your face? You-”

“I’m sorry to cut this so short, Janine. But my wonderful girlfriend has an accolade to accept.”

[mwolf0epsilon]

I got bored waiting for my brother's therapy session to end, so here's a vague description of every TTTE Movie premise in order of release:

Thomas and the Magic Railroad - Sugar, Spice and a lot of Crack Cocaine gives us the most whimsical nonsensical Thomas adjacent adventure.

Calling All Engines - Love thy neighbours, or suffer the most horrific existential nightmares ever (no seriously).

The Great Discovery - Thomas gets ostracised because he's a jealous self-saboutaging little shit, and other repeating little blue tank engine motifs.

Hero of the Rails - In which yet another engine puts into question the existing timeline, oh and Spencer hates old people for petty reasons...

Misty Island Rescue - Thomas does not, in fact, make good decisions.

Day of the Diesels - Neglect causes needless problems for everyone involved, especially if they're not the fat controller...

Blue Mountain Mystery - Communication is key to problem resolution, but hiding in a cave for several years is much easier I guess!

King of the Railway - Old man spotted! Very exciting news for the Old Man Appreciation Brigade!

Tale of the Brave - James woke up and chose violence, and it becomes everyone else's problem. Also something about fossils or whatever...

The Adventure Begins - What if we re-did the entire first season, changed a few things, and made it a nicely animated movie? 10/10.

Legend of the Lost Treasure - No one ever taught Thomas about Stranger Danger, also his jealous self-saboutaging ways get him in trouble yet again.

The Great Race - Thomas nearly causes an international scandal because of one-sided beef, also Gordon almost dies. The Flying Scotsman is in this one tho, so all good!

Journey Beyond Sodor - James chose violence 2, electric boogaloo. Oh and can someone teach Thomas about Stranger Danger already? Next thing you know he'll follow some race car on an ill-conceived trip around the wor--

Big World Big Adventure - Australian Lightning McQueen breaks several traffic laws, Thomas's crew is probably wanted internationally for crossing borders without papers, and a homeless tank engine from Kenya decides a British island is the perfect place to move to...

[luvashli]

Strawberries & cigarettes

SYNOPSIS -> One summer, you meet Ni-ki—reckless, charming, and impossible to resist. But like the scent of strawberries and cigarettes, he’s always just out of reach. Some summers change you forever—this was yours.

PAIRING: nonidol!ni-ki x fem!reader

GENRE: oneshot, strangers to lovers(?) to strangers, little bit of angst

Started: 1/20/2025

Status: complete

WC: 1.2k

Note: this story is based on the song strawberries & cigarettes bye troye sivan, i advice you to listen to it while reading :)

Strawberries & cigarettes by troye sivan -> click here

The convenience store was buzzing under the hum of fluorescent lights, the kind of late-night lull where time seemed to pause. You’d just finished paying for your iced coffee and chips when the door jingled open, and in walked someone you wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the sharp sound of his voice.

“Hey, old man, you got a lighter?”

The cashier gave him a disapproving glance, muttering something about rules and cigarettes. You couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He was tall and lean, his black jeans ripped at the knees and a leather jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder. His hair was messy, dyed a silvery blonde that caught the flickering light in just the right way.

He caught you staring.

“Something interesting?” he asked, smirking as he met your gaze.

You rolled your eyes and turned away, clutching your bag of snacks tighter as you made for the door. But before you could escape, he called out again.

“Wait.”

Against your better judgment, you stopped and turned around.

“You got a lighter?” he asked, holding up a pack of cigarettes. His voice was smooth, his tone lazy, but his dark eyes sparkled with mischief.

“I don’t smoke,” you said simply.

He grinned, the kind of grin that told you he didn’t care. “Good. Means you’re not boring.”

You scoffed and pushed the door open, stepping into the humid summer night. But even as you walked away, you could feel his gaze on you, the heat of his presence lingering long after the door jingled shut behind you.

You didn’t think you’d see him again. But the universe, as it often does, had other plans.

It was a week later, and you were sneaking out of your house for the first time in months. The summer air was thick and warm, and the thrill of rebellion thrummed in your veins as you hopped the back fence and took off running.

You were halfway down the block when the sound of a low engine growling to life made you stop.

A sleek black car was parked under a streetlamp, and leaning against the hood was the boy from the convenience store. He looked up as you approached, recognition flashing in his eyes.

“Well, well,” he drawled, flicking a cigarette between his fingers. “If it isn’t the non-smoker.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Waiting,” he said simply. Then, with a grin, he added, “For you, apparently.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he straightened up and nodded toward the passenger seat of his car.

“Want a ride?” he asked.

You hesitated. Every instinct told you to say no, to turn around and head back home before you got yourself into trouble. But there was something about him—something electric and dangerous—that made you want to take the risk.

So you shrugged and said, “Why not?”

His name was Ni-ki.

“Just Ni-ki,” he told you as he sped through the empty streets, the wind whipping through the open windows. His voice was loud over the blaring music, but his tone was casual, like he didn’t care whether or not you believed him.

“You’re a terrible driver,” you said as he took a sharp turn, making your stomach flip.

He laughed, the sound carefree and reckless. “Relax. I’ve got this.”

You weren’t so sure, but as the night stretched on, you found yourself relaxing anyway. There was something about the way he talked, the way he carried himself, that made it hard to stay on guard.

He was trouble, that much was clear. But he was also charming, and funny in a way that caught you off guard. By the time he pulled into a quiet overlook, you were laughing at one of his ridiculous stories, the tension of the night melting away.

“You’re not like most people,” he said suddenly, his tone softer now.

You turned to look at him, surprised by the shift in his demeanor.

“Neither are you,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He smiled then, a small, almost shy smile that made your heart skip a beat.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The city lights sparkled in the distance, and the air was filled with the faint scent of smoke and sugar.

“You ever tried one of these?” he asked, holding up a cigarette.

You shook your head. “No thanks.”

He shrugged and lit it anyway, taking a slow drag before blowing the smoke out into the night.

“You’re missing out,” he said, grinning at you through the haze.

But you didn’t feel like you were missing out. Not when he was looking at you like that, his dark eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

The summer blurred into a series of stolen nights and whispered secrets. Ni-ki had a way of getting under your skin, of pulling you into his world even when you knew you shouldn’t.

You started lying to your parents more often, sneaking out whenever you could to meet him. He’d take you to places you’d never been, from abandoned parking lots to quiet parks, and every night felt like an adventure.

But it wasn’t just the places he took you to—it was the way he made you feel. Like you were alive in a way you hadn’t been before, like the world was bigger and brighter when he was around.

He wasn’t perfect, though. There were nights when he’d disappear without explanation, and mornings when you’d wake up to find your phone empty, no messages or missed calls. But you couldn’t stay mad at him for long. Not when he’d show up the next night with that crooked smile and a piece of strawberry gum, offering it to you like it was an apology.

“Why do you always smell like strawberries and cigarettes?” you asked him once, half-teasing.

He shrugged, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. “It’s just who I am.”

But summer didn’t last forever.

It ended on a quiet night, the kind of night that felt like a goodbye even before it happened.

Ni-ki was quieter than usual, his gaze distant as he drove you home. You wanted to ask him what was wrong, but the words caught in your throat.

When he pulled up in front of your house, he didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at the steering wheel, his hands gripping it tightly.

“I’m leaving,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart sank. “What?”

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable. “I have to go.”

“Why?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he leaned over and pressed his lips to yours, the kiss soft and lingering, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

When he pulled away, he smiled sadly. “You’ll be okay.”

And then he was gone, the scent of strawberries and cigarettes lingering in the air as his car disappeared into the night.

You didn’t hear from him after that.

But sometimes, when the summer air was thick and the city lights sparkled just right, you’d catch a faint whiff of strawberries and cigarettes, and you’d think of him.

You didn’t know if he’d ever come back. But a part of you hoped he would. Even if it was just for one more night.

Masterlist

Open taglist

If you'd like to be tagged in future updates for my other storys, let me know by:

-> Sending me a message or

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[n1ghteeea]

UNIVERSITY RGB HCS BC THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO SHARE THEM ‼️‼️

Disclaimer: this only contains Egon, Ray and Peter as they are the ones who were in uni together (sorry Winston and Janine). Also this is long and self indulgent as hell.

I am NOT taking up the responsibility to say at what exact ages they got into uni, but let’s say that during their first year Peter is 18, Ray is 17 and Egon is 19.

Now, Ray is doing electrical engineering, Peter is doing engineering in hopes that it relates to trains (spoilers: it doesn’t, but he doesn’t find out until after his second year), Egon.. well Egon actually isn’t a student, but rather an instructor. I got this idea from an uncited wiki trivia point, and just ran with it. Maybe he was in uni instead of school bc he’s just that smart, maybe something else, idc really. He’s a physics instructor who is the same age as most of his students.

Ray and Peter are roommates and while it takes some time, eventually they bond and become best friends. And when I say best friends, I mean it to an almost unhealthy extent. In my head, Peter was always alone. Absent family, constantly moving around the country, unconventional interests, autism - I don’t think he ever really had friends. In the show we see him TRYING to be a charmer, but most of the time people do not buy his act, and I think the same thing happened in uni. He wanted friends, desperately wanted to fit in, but never really managed to. So when suddenly his roommate turned out to be a great guy who genuinely liked his company he immediately grew almost unhealthily attached. We won’t blame him.

Ray, on the other hand is liked by many due to his kind and charming personality, but doesn’t have many close friends, again, due to his unconventional interests and hyper behaviour towards them (ADHD). He isn’t that bothered by it, though. Good for him.

Now Egon is taking his unique position very seriously. He is no doubt popular at the uni - people have to be curious about this super young, clearly genius and handsome (canon in the show, not my words!) guy who works as an instructor. However, he does not engage in personal conversations, doesn’t seek out human connection or fun activities. He is focused on studying, working, getting experience and progressing in the field. He has many older mentors, but no friends of his age and is perfectly fine with that.

——————————————————————

So, first semester, first year. Both Ray and Peter take Egon’s physics class (though in different sections). Ray and Egon do not interact in class whatsoever, Ray is simply a good student: he studies well and does all his assignments on time (or mostly on time). They have no reason to talk and so do not know each other personally.

Peter, on the other hand, hates physics, finds it extremely boring and useless and makes a loud statement of not studying for it. It upsets Egon, who doesn’t want such morale to spread around his class, so he invites Peter to after-class talks.

This attitude pisses Peter off immensely because the audacity of this guy to tell him what to do and what to study for?? And from that point on Peter makes it his life’s mission to piss Egon off at any chance possible. He doesn’t bully him or set him up in front of people, he just acts like a dick and shows his disrespect in any way he can. Egon doesn’t like him back. This goes on for a while.

Now, aside from classes and physics, Egon also does parapsychological research on the side, as at the end of the day, that is his main area of interest. One day, as he goes into a lab to work on some experiments, he meets Ray who, very expectedly so, is also doing parapsychological research since that is his biggest interest, too. They bond over it and become lab partners and eventually friends.

I also want to specify that a moment when their relationship transforms from formal to friendly is one silly heist of sneaking into the patron section of the uni’s library at night to borrow a book necessary for their work. Adrenaline and oxcytocin do their job well and they go from “Mr. Spengler” and “Mr. Stantz” to “Egon” and “Ray” 🫶

⏩️ Fastforward to the second semester. Neither of the guys are taking Egon’s class anymore, but Ray and him are still working together and progressively becoming better pals by widening their conversation topics as well as hangout occasions. Peter still hates Egon’s guts, luckily they don’t have to meet too often. At least until one day.

That day electricity malfunctions in Egon’s room right when he needs to mark his students’ assignments. As usual, he does it late at night when the library is already closed. Ray, as a good friend, offers him a spot in his and Peter’s room to work which Egon accepts, becoming a horrible surprise to the latter. After spending about fifteen minutes trying to get a reaction out of Spengler with no visible result Peter notices just how exhausted the guy is and for the first time it really hits him that surprise!! Egon is human too. He even grows slightly worried, after all, he doesn’t want the dude to pass out in their living room. They don’t begin interacting more after that, but Peter as if slightly cuts back on the teasing. But he still calls him “Spengs” out of disrespect.

⏩️ Fastforward to the second year. Egon and Ray hang out more, forcing Peter and Egon to interact, and good news! They now tolerate each other. And yes, they do go to “Egon” and “Peter” though “Spengs” and “Mr. Venkman” are still present, mostly to show annoyance and displeasure.

At some point in the semester Ray makes a new close friend named Max and that fact makes Peter crash the fuck out. Ray is super excited about this new guy who also studies engineering, loves comic books and horror movies, is super smart and funny. They hang out a lot and study together and whenever Ray comes back to the room he just cannot shut up about how good of a time he had. And Peter (need I remind you, lonely and self-conscious Peter who was always left behind by everyone in his life, including his father) watches, listens, gritting his teeth, until he just can’t anymore. Did I mention he has an unhealthy obsession with Ray?

He goes through a full mental breakdown, and they talk about it and partially resolve the situation (though the one-sided Max beef in Peter’s head continues, it’s hilarious).

⏩️ Christmas break comes and Ray announces that he is going to be leaving to spend it with his family in Bronx, and only here do we see just to what degree both of these people really are dependent on him.

Peter crashes out, yes, again. He’s lonely, he’s bored, his plans are ruined and he has no idea how he is going to survive three weeks alone in the dorm.

Egon takes it more calmly, he’s Egon, after all. He doesn’t complain or act upset, but two things happen. First, his work slows down significantly, and second, with his support system being gone he falls back into the unhealthy habit of overworking himself to a point of total exhaustion (speaking from experience here, it’s really hard to stay consistent with your healthy habits and routines when the person who is usually there to help you with them isn’t around).

To not die of boredom and exhaustion, Peter and Egon organise hangouts, sometimes sitting in the library and trying to get work done, sometimes watching TV or getting lunch together. Their relationship improves significantly during that time, and Ray is very happy to see that upon arrival.

Not much to say from that point on. All three of them become best friends, Peter switches his concentration to psychology, they rent an apartment together and go on with their academic lives. If I had to somehow describe their relationship I’d say they are a qpr. Not in love whatsoever, but still very emotionally intimate, physically affectionate and are the most important people to each other.

Also they don’t know it yet, but the moment they met each other they met the rest of their lives 🫶

[bonbonchocolates]

Doll

Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Summary: When your stalker got bored watching you in the small screen of his laptop so he decides to pay you a visit.

Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behaviour, undressing, sexual themes, mention of masturbation, yandere jungkook

A/N: Once again originally from my Wattpad account. I hope you like it and if you do please leave a like.

Masterlist

____________________________________________

There you were his barbie doll sitting on your couch like a queen in her throne just wearing your bath robe, sipping from your mug of coffee.

This was your regular time table that he's gotten used to after watching you for almost a year in the small screen of his laptop.

He first met you at a cafe near where you worked. He didn't believed in love at the first sight but when he first saw you were breathtakingly beautiful. That was the moment when he realised there is something called love at the first sight.

The moment he saw you he knew that you were made for him. It had become his mission to achieve you.

Firstly with his hacking skills he came to knew you name, where you live, where you work and each and every detail about you.

After a month or so he entered your apartment from the window of your bedroom. He fitted spy cameras in each and every rooms of your apartment even your bathroom. With his hacking skills he even hacked the cctv cameras of the place you worked at to see you work.

Then it had been his routine to watch you in the small screen of his laptop. It's never been a single day when he didn't watch you.

He liked it most when you were in the shower or at night on the bed pleasuring yourself with your fingers or your fucking toys.

He imagined in place of your fingers it was him fucking you and you were moaning for him and only him. He sometimes thought of paying you a visit so he could bent you over the counter of your kitchen and fuck you until you only knew his name.

He eventually got bored of watching you on the small screen and wanted to pay you a visit but it was too risky now. But soon enough you would be his he thought.

_________________________________________

After a week or so he finally got bored of having to watch you on the small screen so he decided it's enough of watching you and decided to pay you a visit.

He planned everything for you, he even set up the basement for you, where you kept everything you would require but the thing you would mostly require is him.

He decided to keep you in the basement for now cause it maybe difficult for you to get adjusted to your new life firstly. But soon enough when he could trust you he would bring you upstairs where you would live with him in his room. He even had the wedding ring decided.

He got out of his house and headed to his car. He took a bottle of chloroform , a handkerchief and rope with him cause he knew that you won't come to him willingly so he must kidnap you. He got in his car, started the engine and headed to your apartment.

_________________________________________

After a tiring day of work you finally got home. Now you wanted to go inside change on your nightgown and get to bed.

You grabbed the key of your apartment from the carpet outside. You opened the lock and got inside your apartment. When you entered it was completely dark inside.

You turned to the switchboard to turn on the lights. But when you pressed the switch nothing happened. You were shocked as there was electricity in the whole building except your apartment. So you grabbed your phone from your purse and switched on the flashlight of your phone.

You straight headed to your bedroom but your gut feeling was saying you not to go there. In fact it was strange that today you didn't feel safe at your apartment. A feeling inside you was screaming at you to run away.

When you entered your bedroom someone from behind grabbed you by your waist. Before you could scream there was a handkerchief covering your mouth and nose, which already made you feel dizzy. The man's one hand was on your waist and the other holding the handkerchief tightly against your mouth. He pressed the handkerchief so tightly that you were forced to inhale the chloroform.

"Sleep beautiful... " that was the last thing you heard before unconsciousness greeted you.

_________________________________________

When you got up you found you were in a completely unfamiliar room. You right hand was tight to the bedpost with a leather handcuff. Your back already hurted from sleeping on the uncomfortable bed for such a long time and the worst part was that you were completely naked. You knew that the person who kidnapped you was in your current state, infact he was the one responsible.

You were completely lost in your thoughts when you heard the door of the basement opening. Then entered your kidnapper who was a breathtakingly beautiful man. He was a adonis of a man, tall, handsome. You couldn't believe such a man could kidnap someone. But the sight that scared you the most was that he was only in his boxers, his abs on full display. You were well aware of his intentions.

"God, doll you're awake.. " he started.

"Who are you?" Your voice was barely a whisper but he heard you.

"Jungkook....my name is Jeon Jungkook."

"Why did you bring me here?" You didn't knew you were trying to act brave or were just curious to know.

"Cause I love you." He replied. The words that came out of his mouth shocked you. You were at lack of words.

Then you saw him heading towards you. In a moment of time he was above you on the bed. Before you could say anything his lips were on yours.

The kiss was rough and demanding .

For a moment you completely forgot the situation you were in and began to enjoy the kiss. He parted your lips with his and entered his tongue in your mouth . He licked each and every spot in your mouth .Then he pulled his tongue out and broke the kiss.

It was when you realised his boxers were gone and the tip of his cock was near your entrance. The fear inside you started to come to the surface slowly knowing it would be your first time.

Before you could protest his lips were on your neck kissing, biting and nipping at your delicate skin.

"Mine.." That was the last thing before he pushed himself in you.

_________________________________________

Borahae 💜

[kalelactually]

this little oneshot is a prelude into a transformers human/mech au by @keferon , loosely based on pacific rim (i think?) go browse through their au/art tag, their work is incredible and a ton of fun. :3

i focus mainly on ratchet and deadlock here (even thought deadlock isn’t even officially named yet) but don’t worry, there’s more on the way :P

——————————————————————————————————————————————

— send out a signal, and i’ll fly low (i’ll find you by the light of your halo) —

——————————————————————————————————————————————

and as ratchet walks through the forest, a heavy sense covers his shoulders and folds over his head, fastening itself across his chest with a kind of foreboding he hasn’t felt since he left the war.

he grimaces, and tightens his grip on the wrench over his shoulder he nabbed on the way out of the garage. of course, in an ideal scenario, he wouldn’t have to use it — but if war taught him anything, it’s to prepare for everything. (besides, even he’s not above admitting that something out there [God, the universe, fate, whatever] has a taste for irony.)

as he makes his way north in the direction of the river, the whirring sound he heard from overhead before now winds its way towards him between brush and trees, along with the distressingly familiar groans and creaks of settling metal.

a heavy breeze follows the noises a second later. it ruffles ratchet’s hair on the way by, and sends any remaining wildlife into a flurry. ratchet cocks his head, thinking almost absently that the sound was similar to a sigh.

he then catches himself and pauses to shake his head. he must be losing it. (it’s boring out here, and his mind’s finally given up the ghost.)

he grips his wrench tighter all the same.

he finally rounds a patch of thick pines, and as he takes in the view his jaw drops in a display of surprise that hasn’t caught him dead in years. in front of him, covered in earth, countless branches, and skewered trees, lies a being made of sheer plated metal.

ratchet takes a second. he shakes his head in disbelief. he blinks his eyes once, twice; shakes his head again — and, well, the view still hasn’t changed. he blinks one more time just for good measure, then picks up his jaw from the forest floor. he mentally starts to assess the scene in front of him with both an engineer’s and medic’s eye as he steps closer, wrench still held high for (ahem.) reasons.

(listen, he’s still not willing to play chicken with a higher power, alright?)

the majority of the large plates that make up the figure’s external armor are severely dented, scuffed to hell, and some are full-on buckling. there’s also a luminescent pink sort of liquid dripping from multiple cracks and scrapes, spreading quickly across forest floor and coating its surface in a glowing, iridescent sheen.

he can also hear the telltale crackle of electric currents running unchecked even as he catalogs multiple sparking wires, and he makes sure to avoid those with full caution until he can come back with proper gear. (and oh, God. he’s already thinking about coming back, isn’t he.) above it all, the smell of smoke still hangs in the air as it slowly rises off superheated metal.

upon closer inspection, he can make out grey and white paint underneath all the dirt, scrapes, and pink liquid. the colored paint seems to alternate between armor panels here and there to provide some aesthetic effect, and there’s yellow accents and teal trim that seem to be faintly glowing, lit from underneath by some internal power source. ratchet definitely puts its overall frametype down as humanoid adjacent, as he rounds the figure’s side and finally makes out an arm, along with a head.

the arm itself looks like it’s barely hanging on, a throughly busted shoulder joint leading down to an extended claw-tipped hand, as if to brace itself for the crash. the head, meanwhile, has a series of white finials that frame a dark grey faceplate with shut optics, and a bashed-in nose ridge and open mouth with pink liquid trickling out of both to nicely round off the list.

and with that note, he remembers hearing whispers about a project that had been floating around for months before he left the war (and moved to his chosen place of reclusion) but he never put much stock in them — the government was always trying to spread things and elevate itself, constantly fighting a battle with their ever tenuous self-righteous image.

nevertheless, the thing he’s looking at now proves that maybe someone out there did follow through on their promises, and although he does have questions, concerns, and a whole lot of notes, this figure is a thing of ingenuity and marvel. the engineer in him is absolutely thrilled, eager to examine its joints, wiring, and materials — to get deep under plating and find how it ticks.

his eyes are wide as he reaches a hand out to carefully examine the being’s faceplate with an appraising hum, the material looking softer compared to the hardier metal of its armored frame. it had to be some kind of polysynth mesh, perceptor was working on a similar project back whenever he had time in the labs —

the being’s left optic cracks open without warning, drowning ratchet in crimson light as it looks around wildly, trying to orient itself. it zeroes in on him a second later, and he yanks his hand back as he raises his wrench, instinctively retreating a few paces.

the optic moves, looking him up and down, and bathes him in light for a few moments as ratchet breathes in and out, steadying himself, his hands firm as his eyes stare back into unforgiving red.

the being scans him one more time, and lets out a sigh as its optic closes. a rush of air escapes its whole frame as it finally settles, sinking further into the ground.

ratchet slowly pulls himself out of whatever… that was, and after a moment of deliberation he lowers the wrench, reaching forward again to tap on the being’s faceplate, more sure that this time it won’t wake up.

the face is indeed soft underneath his fingers and warm to the touch, with a cool undertone as he gently strokes it. it’s definitely some kind of polysynth material, and as he stands there, wrench at his side and other tools weighing his pockets, stroking the face of a metal figure that, effectively, crash landed in his backyard, ratchet comes to a decision. he’s going to help.

(oh, he’s kidding himself. he was always going to. he’s hardwired for it, and besides, how else is he supposed to get his kicks since he left those slaggers at back at base? damn if he doesn’t miss orion, though.)

besides, this is the most exciting thing that’s happened since he moved, and there’s no way he’s letting something like this just sit out here among the trees.

he strokes the being’s face one more time, and lets out a sigh of his own. “well, scrappy, guess i’ll be back,” and here, he grins slightly at himself. “don’t go anywhere.”

mind made up, he turns and starts to make his way back. he’s got tools to collect, a sandwich to grab, a few calls to make, and something brand new waiting for him to pick apart.

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i hope someone enjoyed !! feel free to ask questions, i’d be happy to answer them, and i’ll definitely have more of this au coming soon !!

(p.s. sorry for the tag, keferon !! just wanted to make sure and give credit <33)

fic title is adapted from “halo” by starset ! it’s very dratchet coded.

now with chapter two !!

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• character credits belong solely to their respective franchises and creators. all works enclosed are solely my own, and are purely fictional and meant for the enjoyment of the reader. please do not repost, republish, or steal my works without explicit permission, otherwise you will be blocked and reported. ty !! •

[f1daydreamer]

SerafinaDeLuxe posted a story

Seen by @Rui_Mendes,@Joao_Oliveira and 14 more

[Caption When you're so bored that you end up joining your brothers to rewatch Formula 1 races]

@Rui_Mendes Imagine your whole family is obsessed with Formula 1, but you couldn’t care less…

Girl, you’re definitely adopted.

@Joao_Oliveira Just let me take your place in the family, I’ll appreciate it more!😩

@Bianca_Santos I think we were swapped at birth!😃

Serafina had never understood the obsession that consumed her family and friends when it came to Formula 1. The deafening roar of the engines, the endless debates over tire strategies, the constant replays of races she could hardly differentiate—it all blurred into background noise for her. It wasn’t that she hated it, but she couldn’t bring herself to care the way they did. They lived and breathed the sport. She, on the other hand, preferred to exist outside of that world.

Right now, though, her mind was far from racing circuits and championship standings. She stood in her bedroom, surrounded by neatly folded clothes, her suitcase half-packed, the anticipation thrumming in her veins. Mexico. A trip they had been planning for over a year, saving every spare penny, fantasizing about pristine beaches, warm sun, and freedom. It was finally happening.

Tomorrow morning, she and her closest friends would board a plane before sunrise, and after an exhausting 11 hours and 30 minutes, they would land in paradise. The thought alone sent a thrill through her—this was her chance to escape, to breathe, to leave behind everything familiar and predictable.

But as she zipped up her suitcase and glanced out the window at the darkening sky, a strange feeling settled in her chest. A quiet whisper of something unseen, unknown. A shift in the air, like the universe itself was holding its breath.

Serafina had no idea that this vacation would change her life forever.

But the real question lingered like a shadow in the back of her mind—

Would it be for better or for worse?

-------------------

The airport buzzed with the chaotic energy of early morning travelers. Serafina tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase, letting out a deep breath as she and her friends weaved through the crowd. The anticipation was electric—excited chatter, laughter, the distant hum of announcements echoing through the terminals.

“Mexico, here we come!” one of her friends cheered, raising her arms as if they had already stepped onto the white sandy beaches.

Serafina smiled, though the unease from last night still lingered somewhere deep inside her. She shook it off. This was supposed to be an adventure, an escape. Whatever unsettling feeling gnawed at her would disappear the moment they were sipping cocktails under the sun.

The long flight passed in a blur of restless naps, occasional turbulence, and impatient glances at the time. And then, finally—Mexico.

The heat embraced them the moment they stepped off the plane, the humid air wrapping around Serafina like a second skin. It smelled different here—salty, sweet, alive. A world away from home.

Their hotel was luxurious, towering over the ocean with balconies that stretched into the sky. The kind of place that felt like it belonged to someone else’s life, not hers. And yet, here she was.

That first night, they celebrated. Drinks flowed freely, music pulsed through the warm evening air, and for the first time in a long time, Serafina let herself go. Laughter, dancing, the taste of tequila burning on her tongue—it was perfect. Almost too perfect.

Somewhere between the flashing lights and the music, she felt it again. That shift.

A presence.

She turned her head, heart skipping a beat as her eyes locked onto a stranger across the bar.

Tall. Dark. Intense.

The kind of man who looked like he belonged in whispered stories and untamed dreams. His gaze didn’t waver. It pinned her in place, like he had been waiting for her.

Serafina’s breath hitched.

She had no way of knowing it yet, but this moment—this one fleeting second—was the beginning of something irreversible.

And whether it would be her salvation or her downfall…

That was still to be seen.

-----------------

The night was alive with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the distant crash of ocean waves against the shore. The bar was dimly lit, filled with the kind of people who came to Mexico chasing a fantasy—an escape from reality, even if just for a little while.

Charles wasn’t sure which category he fell into.

He hadn’t planned to come here. The season had been exhausting, draining him of the fire he once carried so effortlessly. Every podium, every interview, every forced smile—it all felt like a performance, a script he had memorized too well. Even his relationship felt like an act.

So when his friends suggested Mexico, he didn’t hesitate. He needed to breathe.

The ice in his glass had started to melt as he absentmindedly swirled his drink, eyes scanning the room. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular—until he found her.

Serafina.

She wasn’t like the others.

There was something almost effortless about the way she moved, something unpolished yet magnetic. She wasn’t draped in designer labels like the women he was used to. She didn’t seem like the type to chase cameras or care about the name on his passport.

And yet, she caught his attention without even trying.

His grip tightened around the glass as he watched her laugh, tilting her head back, completely unaware of the way she stole the air from the room.

She wasn’t just beautiful. She was alive.

And for the first time in a long time, Charles felt something other than exhaustion.

It was dangerous—he knew that.

But in that moment, with the music vibrating through his chest and her gaze finally meeting his across the bar, he didn’t care.

Maybe, just for tonight, he could forget about the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Maybe, just for tonight, he could pretend he wasn’t Charles Leclerc.

The moment their eyes met, time seemed to stutter. Serafina didn’t look away—not immediately, at least. Instead, she held his gaze, her expression unreadable. It wasn’t the usual recognition he was used to, that flicker of excitement or admiration people always had when they realized who he was.

No, this was different.

She was studying him.

And for some reason, that unsettled him more than anything else.

Charles wasn’t sure what possessed him to stand, to abandon his half-finished drink and move toward her. Maybe it was the way she seemed so utterly unbothered by his presence, or maybe it was the simple fact that for the first time in months, he wanted something.

The closer he got, the more details he could make out—the slight sun-kiss of her skin, the way the golden light from the bar reflected in her dark eyes, the confidence in the way she stood, even as she laughed at something her friend had said.

She didn’t see him as a driver.

She didn’t see him as a celebrity.

And he had never craved that more than he did right now.

“Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to say something?”

Her voice was smooth, laced with amusement, as if she had caught onto his hesitance.

Charles let out a small breath of laughter, shaking his head. “You caught me.”

Serafina raised a brow, unimpressed. “Do you want a prize for that?”

He blinked. Then, he laughed—a real, genuine laugh.

God, she was refreshing.

“I was just wondering if you’d let me buy you a drink,” he said finally, leaning slightly against the bar, letting his accent weave through his words, knowing it had its effect.

She tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you expect me to be impressed that you’re Charles Leclerc.”

Oh.

So she did know who he was.

And yet, there was no awe, no flattery, no starstruck expression. If anything, she seemed completely unimpressed.

He smirked, intrigued. “Would it help if I said no?”

She smiled then, slow and knowing. “It might.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Charles forgot about everything—his team, the pressure, the cameras, the expectations.

Right now, there was only her.

And he had a feeling that, whether he was ready for it or not, Serafina was about to change everything.

[bellewintersroe]

Sebastian Vettel x RBDesignEngineer! Reader.

Set in 2013 during the GP, Jennifer is fresh out of uni and has made a name for herself within the F1 world. She joins Redbull-Renault as one of their engineer designers and easily fits into the team, forming friendships easily. Most of all, she captures the attention of three time world champion, Sebastian Vettel. Part 1- just an introduction to the OC and situation, please excuse my inaccuracies about the 2013 GP and design engineering im not a pro and was like 11 back then 😭😭 here’s the LINK to part 2.

Australia, March 2013…

“And here… right through here is… our youngest, and my personal favourite design engineer. This is where all the magic happens.” The sound of Sebastian’s German accent caused my lips to lift as I took my head set off, spinning around in my chair. Sebastian was walking alongside a camera man, touring around the garages. It was pre practice day, only two more days and the 2013 GP would begin. Although I’d been hired for Red Bull back in October of last year, it had taken 5 months to get to this point of merciless training and shadowing to ensure I was good at what I was doing. The Red Bull driver made his way over, resting on the back of my large chair with an amused smile. “Hi.” I nervously giggled, pushing my hair behind my ear as my headset fell around my neck. “This is Jennifer, do you want to tell them what you’re doing today, Jennifer?” The use of my full, formal name was sending me slightly giggly as I gazed up to the blonde man. Maybe it was just him making me feel that way…

“Um… so, to put it in simple terms so it’s not so boring, we’re just checking all the components of the RB9’s- what Sebastian and Mark will be driving- to make sure we don’t need to make any last minute changes.” “And what’s your name again?” The camera man asked. “Jen, I never go by Jennifer.” I laughed, glancing back up to Sebastian again. Whenever our eyes met I found myself struggling to keep composure on camera. “Tell then a bit about yourself.” He then nudged me on, grinning down. He could tell I was getting flustered, but continued purposefully. “Nobody wants to know about me!” I laughed, attempting to spin my chair back around in embarrassment. Hiding behind my computer for the first two weeks was my safe haven, that’s what I’d reverted back to. “They do!! Tell us, how did you get into your position?!” Seb spun the chair back, sliding a hand down onto my very ticklish shoulder, squeezing as both my shoulders jumped up with a giggle.

“Sorry.” Seb breathlessly laughed. “Um- well I started here in October, I just finished my masters last year at Manchester in Motorsport Engineering- um… Im 22- I don’t really have anything else very interesting to say! Uh- I suppose I had- just had experience from working part time with my brother who’s an engineer when I was like… 15.” I explained.

“Clever girl.” Seb responded as I automatically gulped in response, looking up to him and awkwardly glimpsing back to the camera. I didn’t know how to act with that in my face. “And what’s this?” The camera zoomed closer in on my second screen, it was just information about F1’s plan to go electric next year and use Hybrid engines, but it contained private information. My hand flew up blocking the screen dramatically, “oh! Sorry, that’s a secret!” Seb burst out laughing. “Oh no!” I laughed, “don’t worry I’ll cut that.” Luckily the camera man turned away as I sunk back into my chair. I really hoped I didn’t leak some super, confidential information about Red Bull or I’d be facing the sack a mere half year into employment.

Sebastian flashed me another smile and squeeze on the shoulder before following the camera man and showing him around some more. When they left I let out an internal sigh. I’d known Seb for the same amount as everybody else here, but I just felt this immediate warmth to him. Once the intimidation had worn off (even now I still felt it) I could tell there was an instant attraction. At points it felt mutual, Seb would openly flirt with me, tease me, I know he was a charmer, but I couldn’t tell if I was being delusional or not. He was cuddly, funny, he always looked so deeply into my eyes whenever I explained something to him. I wasn’t sure how I’d deal with the feelings that would keep me on edge for a full season. The worst thing about it??? I had a boyfriend.

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

idk but at some point in the past couple of years I started really thinking about the amount of very human work that still goes into everything we own even if it's factory made. like, someone at some point had the idea to add a foot pedal to trash cans. someone decided to add fun lights to electric water kettles so you can see the water boil. someone designed the sticker with the picture of a pizza that's on my oven door. someone took that picture of the pizza. Ssomeone (lots of people actually) designs basic ikea furniture. someone (also, again, lots of people actually) designs all those silly or boring or cliche postcards. (well, not all of them anymore because AI but up until recently every single postcard ever that you could buy was, technically, a small piece of art made by a human). and even after having these ideas, someone had to actually engineer the foot pedal and then someone had to find the material to make them and someone has to ship those materials to the factory, and someone had to figure out how to configurate the machines in the factory to make them, and the list goes on

every bit of soulless junk available has involved a whole bunch of people not only to design and make but then to pack and send and deliver and sell (not to mention marketing and package design and webshop/catalogue design and maintenance and warehouses etc etc etc)

(also btw, I know no one thinks about this but the machines in factories that mass produce your stuff? those machines are man made. a human designs those machines and then other humans put them together and then someone ships them and someone puts them together in a building built by people and THEN they can start mass producing and even then humans are often involved in a lot of the steps even if they're not directly making the product.)

idk it's just so easy to dismiss products as soulless useless junk or to just simply not think about the sheer amount of human ingenuinety and effort and work by so many people that goes into getting your silly little everyday use product to your house. it's really made me appreciate and respect all these things so much more to really think about all the people and the resources involved before it actually gets to me. things are so precious and these production systems are so complex and fragile and we don't treat most things with nearly as much reverence and respect as we should (myself included)

also once you start thinking of these things and think about the billions of products being made every day and the amount of resources they use it absolutely boggles your mind and suddenly the whole "earth overshoot day" thing makes SO much more sense