#3 deaths................ busy day! only day 2!!

[maddiedott]

It Will Come Back

Pairing: Logan Howlett x GN! Reader

Warnings: Very rushed ending, Logan through various different movies/timelines, gn! reader, fluff and tad bit of angst, sexual implications but not explicit, alcohol consumption (let me know if i missed anything)

Hi! Hope everyone is having a great day! I've been struggling with some Wolverine hyperfixation and Deadpool Wolverine being released on Disney+ like 2 days ago didn't help much. So, I decided I would finally post this fic thats been in my drafts for like a month now? It's heavily inspired by Hozier's 'It Will Come Back', so please enjoy!

Time was always a fickle thing for someone who could never age, who had lived centuries and watch as it affected everyone you loved and yet hasn’t graced you with the same courtesy, a long stretch that dipped into the horizon and melted against the inevitable void. There were times when you yearned for the ice cold grip of death, the blissful eternal sleep that most try to run away from, to prevent. But that was before you had met him, before he whispered life back into your hollow bones.

It was a fleeting encounter, words exchanged in a fraction of a second. You couldn’t recall how long this cat and mouse game played out, but you eagerly waited for the next moment you would see him, even if just for a glimpse. It started out slow, the long pull and stretch of time that came with his absence.

The first time you had met was in 1932, a time where many longed for the cold, dark Earth to envelop them so they wouldn’t have to suffer much longer. The interaction was brief, a swift knock to the shoulder as you passed down the street. He grumbled an apology, his voice rough and with an accent that didn’t quite stick in your head enough to name. There was a hesitation in his step as his gaze met yours, more of intrigue than anything else. He stopped completely as you called out, brows furrowed in annoyance. He turned towards you, apology leaving his lips. He introduced himself as James Howlett. An odd last name. You gave your name in kind with a smile.

He looked exhausted, although there wasn’t anyone in This Depression that wasn’t. So, despite your better judgment, you offered him a place to stay and some lukewarm meals to hold him over until he could find work. You never were much of a cook, even now you struggle to prepare much of anything, but it’s not without lack of trying.The rundown country home had been your home for a little before the dust bowl and the drought begun since you had moved into it, trying to busy your lonely mind with farm work. You had set the loft in the barn on your sparse and dusty property for him, giving him plenty of blankets and cloth that would make for a functional and maybe comfortable bed. He mentioned a brother who you had seen only briefly every now and again entering the barn before leaving a few minutes later, always snarling. And even though your instinct was shouting at you to question it, you never did.

There was always an objection to the kindness you showed him when you would bring meals, to leave him to the land as that’s all he knew- how he sleeps, to not be kind. But each time he only came back. It was routine until you found a small note etched in charcoal with the words ‘I come back’. And just like that he had vanished as if he had never existed, disappearing and leaving a strange ache in your chest.

You couldn’t tell when the next time we met was as the years turned to decades. People like you had gained a name; ‘mutants’ and they were becoming more and more common around the world. As narcissistic as it sounded, you thought you had been the only one, cursed to roam the Earth for eternity while watching everyone grow old and die around you. You hadn’t expected to run into him, not after 3 decades, and you surely did not expect for him to look just as the day that you last saw him, nor to recognize you.

You sat beside him on the barstool, not speaking until a whisper of your name fell from his lips as if he had figured out the answer to all of the prayers he’d whispered in the dead of the night to an unseen God.. A smile graced your face before you could stop it, turning in the seat to give him your undivided attention.

“You shouldn’t smile at me like that, you know better.” He gruffly spoke.

You didn’t realize how easy it would be to miss someone’s voice until you heard his. It was as if his words were a melody and you had been searching for the right tune all your life. Just the sound of his voice had been enough to cure you of any ailments for the day. You continued to show him the kindness he so desperately wanted to refuse. To offer him a hand and a soul, one that he feels less deserving of. This time was shorter than the last.

A few drinks, some chatting, walking, and a stumbling mess of feverish, open-mouthed kisses as we reached your apartment and found your way to the couch, the floor, and then the bed. He had ruined you, that much you knew from the very first press of his lips against yours, from the whisper of your name in the bar just a few blocks away, or perhaps it was the very first time his shoulder hit yours.

Towards the end of your euphoric highs, you had noticed the extension of bones from between his knuckles as they dug into your mattress and utterly destroying it. It led to a pensive conversation that eased as you revealed your own curse, your lack of morality. He showed off his claws, explaining his own hyper senses and regenerative properties. You admired the bone that extended from the divots between his knuckles, fingers ghosting over the claws. The night morphed into day as you both recounted stories, although you could tell his were vague and lacking details, keeping them for the darker parts of his mind away from the light.

You hadn’t realized him to be an army man before that night, but sure enough he was being shipped out that next day. So the reunion was cut painfully short and you had to wish him farewell from the comfort of your apartment’s sheets, tangled and damp with cold sweat from the previous night.

It was the middle of winter the next time. You moved from place to place as to not raise suspicion on why one of the neighbors never aged, stuck in a younger body than that hasn’t changed in the last few years of where you stayed. You could never forget James, he was always a lingering thought, a distant wish to run into him once again. As the seasons transitioned from to another, that wish slowly fizzled out.

It burned brighter one particular night, when there was a strange howling outside your door. There had been wolves hanging around, but they sounded nothing like this. So, with little fear to your well being, you opened the door.

He looked different, scruffier and wild. There was a metal contraption on his head that wired down to two boxes on either side of hips. The machinery and mechanism was complex as if he were some part of someone’s cruel experiment. There was a snarl sound emanating from his throat, sitting on his haunches. But his state of undress in the dead of winter was not what caught your eye but the sharp metallic ‘shik’ as metal drew from the divots where bone once did. A sharp gasp left your lips as he slowly stood to his full height, eyes locked and unwavering. He sniffed the air like an animal before taking a step forward, his instincts fueling his muddled mind, the movement subconscious.

He had found his way back, but at what cost? What had this poor man endured to become this way? This feral?

As he took a step forward you mirrored in a step backwards, crossing the threshold of your home and he simply followed. His wild eyes darted from corner to corner, sniffing once more and then taking a deep inhale. He visibly eased up, although still had the behavior of a cornered animal. You let him into the warmth of your home, let him wander and orient himself with his surroundings despite your conscious telling you not to.

It took multiple hours of gentle coaxing and many more attempts of snapping from him until you managed to get him to sit and settle down enough to remove the headpiece and electroids from his body, having them fall to the floor with a thud onto the carpeted floor. He just stared, even a whisper of his name had his head cocked to the side like an animal in a state of confusion.

There was dried blood under his nails, hair greasy and filled with mud and- you didn’t think you wanted to know what else it contained. Bathing and feeding him was no easy feat, metal meeting flesh and red decorating the floor; but, you eventually got it done and even had him dressed in sweatpants that were a bit too tight and the cuffs raised to his mid calf. It would have been comical if he wasn’t so out of his wits.

The next few weeks were awkward, each time you tried to leave he would grab your arm and tighten his hold in an attempt to get you to stay, but you needed food and he needed clothes that actually fit him. He still didn’t speak, just low huffs and grunts. When he finally did speak, it was low and broken as if he had forgotten how.

“Lo… gan…”

The words confused you. Why was he saying a stranger’s name?

“Is he the one that did this to you?” You ask softly, swiftly sitting beside him on the couch. You received a shake of his head in return and another mutter of the man’s name.

“I don’t understand.”

He ruffled into his pocket until a small clink of metal emerged and he withdrew dog tags with the name ‘Logan Howlett’ engraved. It was his last name, but the first one made no sense. On the opposite side it read ‘The Wolverine’. Was that his army name? You had heard of getting nicknames when in service but had no real idea about it.

“You’re Logan?” You clarify, eyes moving from the metal within his palm to his own eyes, still wild but tamed for now.

You received a nod from that, signifying you were correct in your assumption. That would make sense why he had never acknowledged me when you had called him James. So, from then on you referred to him as Logan.

You try not to think about the time during which you helped bring him back to a state of humanity, finding out his memories were scattered and he held no recognition in his eyes other than finding the smell of your home, of you, familiar. You cared for him, allowed him a place to stay and took him with you until he suggested a RV bed for an old truck. With the stash of cash you had dwindling, not expecting to care for another person, you hastily agreed. From there you traveled. City to city, province to province, finding cage fighting bars for cash while trying to bring peace to Logan’s mind and retrieve the memories lost or stolen from him.

Finding Rogue was a blessing, even more so when Scott and Ororo had rescued you both. You had been given a home and a lead on Logan’s missing memory and a chance for him to be a part of a team. So, when he was given information on a location that might jog his memory and insisted he would go alone, giving you his dog tags as a promise, you held some worry of course, but knew that he will come back.

[intotheelliwoods]

princess!!! PRINCESS!!!!! AHHH!!! YOU!!! HEY YOU!! IM GOING TO BURST INTO TEARS PRINCESS!!

Ok I’m a little (a lot) late but I heard its been a year since a certain Big Leo died and it’s very important to me that I drew something for it so here @intotheelliwoods

[moonstruckme]

hiiiiiiiii mae <3 i have an idea for thawing out series. what about if reader has a 'moment' w one of them and the other boy gets slightly cranky bc of it but then is also confused bc he doesn't know if he wants r or the other boy.........and then EPIPHANY 😈

Thanks for your request! The mood of it got altered some but I hope you like it :)

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12

cw: modern au, chronic pain, some hurt w/o comfort but dw we'll fix it down the line

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.6k words

“Pads!” Remus shouts across the ice. “Focus!”

Sirius’ cheeks pinken slightly as he tears his stare away from the Russian soloist practicing her quads. You laugh and say something to him that makes him pinch your waist meanly, as if you’ve been acting any better. 

You and Sirius are completely starstruck. Remus wants to be irritated at your distractibility, but it’s sort of adorable. You nearly fall on your bum watching the Austrian team run drills, Sirius is too busy eye-flirting with a Swedish skater to remember he’s supposed to be going into a turn, and you both stop your routine entirely when the Canadian duo steps out onto the ice. 

You and Sirius draw plenty of stares yourselves, though naturally only Sirius appears to notice. He shoots a wink at a skater admiring him and a glare at another looking too closely at you, his hand possessively on your lower back anytime you’re not running your routine. 

Altogether it means you have to spend a couple of extra hours learning to work through this specific brand of stage fright and running your drills again after you all get your heads turned multiple times, but Remus lets it slide. He remembers being just as dazzled during his first Olympics, seventeen years old and feeling like he’d somehow snuck into the hall of fame, an imposter among legends. 

Part of him hopes that the embarrassment of having to do a half-ass death spiral in front of so many professionals will make Sirius finally go all the way, but no such luck. He keeps you firmly above where you ought to be, expression impassive even as Remus can see you pleading with him with your eyes. Still, the rest of the routine goes well, and Remus tries not to let it get under his skin. He hopes you’re right and Sirius really will pull through in the final hour; your faith in your partner is absolute, and Remus finds it easy to put his faith in you. 

He lets you loose to spend the afternoon as you’d like, but it comes as no surprise when he sees you both on the ice again. Remus knows you’ve likely got plenty of nerves to work off. It’s one thing to compete in your home country, another entirely to represent your home country while competing amongst the best figure skaters in the world. He calls you off the ice before one of you can overexert yourselves and pull something. Sirius swears up and down that his ankle hasn’t bothered him since the day after he hurt it, and Remus hasn’t seen anything to make him suspect differently, but he knows better than to take risks with a healing injury. You spend the rest of the afternoon playing cards and gambling for candies in Sirius’ room. 

Eventually you disperse to go to bed. Remus’ hip has been bothering him since the flight the previous day, so he goes on a walk to stretch it out. It’s odd, he thinks, how easy things have come to feel between the three of you. When he first arrived, Remus had every intention of setting up strict professional boundaries, of knowing you only as your coach and seeing you only during practice times. And then you started practicing together, and it seemed like his boundaries wouldn’t even be necessary. Sirius hated him, and besides that the two of you existed in a bubble no one could penetrate, intimate and trusting only each other. Now, after learning about what your former coach did to you, Remus understands why that was necessary. You were protecting each other, safeguarding your partnership and your careers. It would have made sense for you to keep Remus at more than an arm’s length, taking his coaching with grains of salt and keeping him well away from your private lives. 

But then there have been days like today. Still bickering with Sirius, still watching the two of you interact with a familiarity only years of history can grant, but feeling warm and welcome despite it all. It feels easy, to tease Sirius and let him snipe back. To let you lean your shoulder into his and not move away. It feels good. 

Remus’ hip is feeling fairly good too by the time he gets back, sore from the exercise but not so stiff. As he makes his way to his room, passing Sirius’ and then yours on the way, he sees light sneaking through the crack underneath your door. 

He frowns. It’s late, and you’re meant to practice again early tomorrow morning, your last day of practice before you compete. You should be well rested. As he approaches your door, he hears sound coming from inside. Low, crackling voices, and a song that tugs at the fringes of his memory. Then a sound he knows too well, the shushing of skates on ice.

Remus knocks. The door is thin enough that he hears your little gasp and a quiet snap, and when you say “come in,” it sounds like a question. 

He suppresses a smile, opening your door cautiously in case you didn’t really mean it. 

You’re sitting on your bed, one hand atop your shut laptop. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “It’s late.” 

“I know.” You look almost shy. Between that and the pajamas you have on, plaid little shorts and a bulky sweatshirt, Remus has the urge to pinch your chin between his fingers. “Sorry, I was just watching some, um…”

“Figure skating videos.” Your lips part, and he says, “I could hear them from outside.” 

“Oh.” You laugh. It’s a nice sound, one Remus can happily say he’s come to know well, but this one is woven through with nerves. “That’s embarrassing.” 

“Why is it embarrassing?” he asks honestly. “It’s normal to want to study your competition. And they’re fun, I still watch them all of the time.” 

“It’s not…” You give him a tentative look, then scoot over on your bed. “Do you want to see?” 

Remus can’t imagine you’re watching anything he hasn’t seen a million times, but he is curious which are your favorites. He’s careful to sit on top of your covers, a few inches between your leg and his. The bed doesn’t allow for anything more. 

“Fuck, did they really have to go back to making them out of cardboard?” 

That gets another nervous laugh out of you as you open your laptop screen, playing the video. And Remus knows then where he’s heard the music before. It’s his music. You’re watching his old routine, a niche one from a small competition back in Wales. Remus was fourteen when this was filmed. 

He glances at you, and you’re watching the video with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, the colors of the screen dancing across your eyes. 

“I’ve always admired how tight your form was,” you say. “You were so young, but it was obvious you were putting the work in.” 

“I practiced a lot,” Remus agrees. “Too much, really.” 

The nostalgia he feels for figure skating is bittersweet when he watches videos like this. He remembers spending all his time in the rink, every hour he wasn’t in school or at home, nothing spared for friends or hobbies. He did love it, but in loving it he forgot to build a life outside of it. Life was constant motion, training and competitions and awards whirling around him like the rink during a spin; by the time he had his accident anyone that might have been his friend had their own friends, and Remus realized he may have been lonely for years. 

“I’m really glad you agreed to coach us.” You’re still watching the video, young Remus doing a camel spin. “You’ve made us a lot better, both of us. I know Sirius is going to end up fixing the spiral, and I’m going to try my best, and…I really hope we can make you proud.” 

“You will,” Remus says, instead of you already do. It feels wrong to take any credit for how incredible you are, either one of you, but that is what he feels when he sees you out on the ice. Proud. He looks at you carefully. “You’ve seemed wound pretty tightly lately.” 

Your eyes drop, no longer looking at young Remus but not at the older one either. 

“It’s alright to be nervous,” he says gently, “so long as you know that you deserve to be here. You’re going to do great.” 

You rub your lips together. “Were you nervous during your Olympics? Is it okay for you to talk about?” 

“Yeah,” Remus says, a bit surprised, “it’s fine. I was nervous. I was…” he chuckles “I was freaking out, honestly. But when I got out there, it was really just like any rink. The music and the routine were the same, so I just let myself get lost in it. I almost forgot where I was until it was over, and people were waving flags at me and all that from the stands.” He feels his lips curve with the memory. Bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “It’s not so bad. Anyway, I think it’s got to be better to go through it with someone else. I was on my own, but you’ll have Sirius with you.” 

You give him a little sideways smile. “And you, right?” 

A fond warmth blooms in Remus’ chest. “And me.” 

“Has it been difficult for you to coach us?” you ask him tentatively. “I mean, to come back?” 

Remus takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says after a minute. “At first, it really was. I’m not proud of it, and I don’t think I really knew it at the time, but I was jealous of both of you. Anytime you did something differently than I would have, I got so frustrated that you were throwing away these opportunities I would kill to have again. It was easy to look at either one of you and wish I was in your place.” 

You’re nodding, not a trace of hurt or offense in your expression. You look at him like you understand. 

“But that stopped a long time ago,” he says. “After I worked with you for longer, it became clear you’re both very different skaters than I was.” You huff a laugh, and Remus nudges your shoulder admonishingly. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. I think early on I wasn’t a very good coach to you because I couldn’t see your individual strengths. But now I think I can, and it’s really a privilege to watch you skate together. It’s lovely. And I’ve loved getting to know you and Sirius, too. So, yeah, it was difficult at first, but I’m really glad I came on. And I’m glad you were patient enough to let me stay.” 

That got a bit more earnest than he intended. Remus feels heat rise to his face, but you’re still nodding, thoughtful, like you’re trying to wrap your head around it. He sees you rub your lips together again. 

“I really want to do well,” you say softly, “but I’m not the skater Sirius is. I don’t have his natural talent, and I don’t flourish under pressure the way he does. I—that’s usually when I mess up.” Remus’ chest aches at the vulnerability in your voice, his hand moving unconsciously to cover yours on the bed. Some of the tension goes out of you at the touch. “I’ve tried my whole life to keep up with him, but I’m never quite there, and you guys, you’ve both been these incredible, talented skaters…” Your eyes meet his, timid and ashamed. “I’m afraid I’m going to let you both down.” 

“Are you kidding?” You drop your gaze, and a surprised little laugh trips off Remus’ tongue as he ducks his head to follow, holding your hand more securely. “I’m sorry, that was rash, but really. How can you think that? You’re one of the most talented skaters I’ve ever seen.” 

You’re still avoiding his gaze. He takes your chin in his hand, gentle, an encouragement more than anything, but you let him turn you towards him. 

“I don’t care how much of it comes from natural aptitude,” he says firmly. “You’re an incredible skater. Even when I didn’t know you at all, it was obvious that you care about this more than Sirius or I likely ever have. That’s important. You can see it in how hard you train, and in how you move on the ice.” Remus shakes his head, expelling a breath. “It’s mesmerizing. You’re beautiful to watch.” 

You’re not shying away from him now, but Remus doesn’t let go of you. Your expression is wide open, diffident but curious. He goes on.

“The way you skate, it’s not just about the motions or the art of it, it’s joyous. Anyone can see how happy you are out there. That’s what makes you so good. You really love it.” 

“You did, too,” you murmur. 

His voice softens in kind. “I did. But not the way you do.” 

Your eyes lower, but this time he allows you it. Remus is suddenly acutely aware of your leg where it's pressed up against his, of his own heartbeat. He’s still holding your hand. 

You wet your lips. “Do you really mean all that?” 

“Why would I give you a whole speech I didn’t believe?” 

You crack a smile. “Some coaches call it a pep talk.” 

“You’re beautiful to watch,” he says again, voice dropping to a murmur as he realizes you’re staring at his lips. He breathes in, and the distance between you lessens. “You’re beautiful.” 

Remus knows he’s judged you rightly when your hand comes around his waist, pressing into the softness of his jumper to glean an impression of the skin underneath. You kiss like you skate, with a sweet eagerness, ready to explore and wanting to learn. Your lips part, inspiring a similar parting in Remus, and you let out a breath with a soft humming sound. 

Remus' nerves are alight underneath your hand on his side. He angles his torso to get you closer, free hand coasting up your thigh. Your fingers bunch in his jumper, kisses picking up heat as he lets his hand settle at the small of your back, an echo of how Sirius touched you this morning when—

Sirius. 

Remus draws away from you so suddenly he hears you gasp. He still has your face in his hand, can feel the flustered warmth of it before he removes that too, putting distance between you. 

“Sorry.” His voice is hoarse. Guilt burns in the back of his throat. “Sorry, it’s not you. I just, I—”

Sirius. Sirius. Sirius. 

“I didn’t think that through.” He can feel his heartbeat in his mouth. Sirius is in love with you. Remus is only just starting to feel like a part of your team, but this could send you all back in time. Kissing one of his skaters, who the other is in love with? His stomach hurts. “I’m your coach, and you—we have a big competition coming up. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

He edges off your bed, looking at you while he does. Your lips are still parted, eyes wide. 

“It was a really shit idea,” he says, “and I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” 

You rub your lips together. Remus feels it like you’re still moving them against his own. “It’s fine,” you say on a breath. “We can forget it.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he says again. 

“It’s okay.” You’re shaking your head, and he’s backing away, both of you like deer caught in headlights. “You’re right, it was silly. We’re professionals, we can get past it.” 

Remus feels himself nodding, feels the handle of your door in his hand. 

“Practice in the morning?” you ask weakly. 

He pushes out a breath as he opens the door. “Yeah. Six thirty.”

[nymphea0]

Until Death My love

Part 2.

Yandere husband x Wife Reader

Very long story, might be bad grammar or language in this story, so please correct me if theres any bad word or bad grammar. This story will came out with 4 chapter , so stay always love🦋🦋

word count around : 2000 words

Story Part 1 : Until Death My love

Story Part 3 : Until Death My Love

.

.

.

.

The sound of many vehicles and street lights were the only things that decorated the darkness of the night' You don't know how it could end like this, there are so many moments that you have gone through with Alex, your beloved husband.

It shouldn't be like this, but it happened so fast.

That night as usual, you became an obedient and very good wife waiting for your husband to come home from work, you prepared dinner that you cooked yourself, even though the servants really wanted to help you cook, that night you were very stubborn and made several dishes such as shrimp pasta alfredo, and roast chicken.

You waited as usual in the dining room, like the nights you had gone through before. But that night, Alex came home early in the morning, your husband came home a little later than usual.

You looked at the street with a sad face and remembered what had happened to you before, that day you learned another secret from your husband, alexandrovic Reigent.

You learned that Alex was the leader of the mafia association, the same association, that destroyed the place where you worked as a staff of a famous restaurant. You think that Alex is an ordinary man that you dated during school, you spent your days so happily with Alex, then you graduated from school and continued to college, you and Alex even studied in the same place with different majors.

Then you graduated with mediocre grades, until Alex said he wanted to build a business in the mining sector.

At first you didn't think that Alex's business would be very successful, but you were very happy with the success of Alex's business. Until one day Alex proposed to you to be his wife, right when it was your birthday.

That day you felt like the happiest woman in the world. .

.

.

.

'Date 05 01 19xx'

That was the day Alex went on his business trip as a CEO of a company that handles coal affairs. Like a normal day you prepared your husband's clothes, helped him put on his shirt.

"Alex how long will you be away on business?"

"Love ...I won't be gone for long, just 5 days .... hmmm? Do you miss me already?"

Your husband, Alex, coquettishly pouted at you who was busy tidying up his work needs.

"No, I don't miss you."

In a playful tone you answered Alex who seemed ready to tickle you.

That morning was filled with laughter and happiness flowing in the residence you shared with Alex. .

.

.

That afternoon was very boring without Alex, your husband for the next 5 days, at that time you for some reason really wanted to clean the room where Alex worked.

Alex's work room. As usual the servants at home really didn't want you to work, they looked as if they were afraid of something wrong with you.

Until you forced them and they had no other choice but to let you do what you wanted, well who would dare try to stop the wife of the Reigent house?.

Carrying a broom and cleaning equipment, you opened the door to Alex's work room, the room had a luxurious impression as Alex's job as a CEO of a coal company.

A room polished with African black wood, walls that are added with furniture such as classic lamps, lots of bookshelves and a document shelf.

A small pantry table that provides coffee and tea editing tools when Alex wants to drink something.

A polished work desk with additional high-quality marble with additional computers and also some documents scattered on the desk.

In short, this room is very comfortable and has a distinctive Alex smell, a blend of mint and a little musk aroma.

At first you tidy up and clean the desk where Alex works. Until you clean the bookshelf where Alex keeps books containing world history.

You clean the bookshelf carefully, rearranging the books. Each bookshelf is given a little space between 1 bookshelf and another, with the placement of a flower pot and also a classic lamp on the wall as a divider between shelves 1 and the others.

But when you were about to go to another shelf that you were going to clean next, your feet accidentally slipped between the black carpet that was the base of the shelf, with human instinct you held onto anything so that you wouldn't fall or get hurt, expert at holding bookshelves, you actually held onto the handle of a classic lamp that was quite low and you could reach.

With strong pressure you held the lamp, unfortunately when you thought it wouldn't fall, the chandelier was actually pulled down as you were going to fall, and you ended up falling with the wooden lamp that looked bent downwards.

After standing up and getting rid of the pain from the fall, you tried to fix the lamp to its original position.

But before you could even fix the poor lamp, you realized that the bookshelf you had previously cleaned was slightly tilted from the wall and showed a small gap, out of curiosity you tried to pull the bookshelf.

And there you see a small room with an area and size of 2 footsteps, the room is empty with 3 walls covered in black wallpaper and only lit by 1 lamp on the wall, on the floor there is a round carpet the same color as the walls in the room.

You think, what is this narrow room built for?, with slow steps you enter the room, trying to feel the walls but nothing happens. At that time when you think maybe this small room was built to store Alex's useless files.

When you was about to get out of the small room, my feet accidentally tripped over a lump protruding from the black carpet. Get up slowly and stand up, you try to push the carpet out of the room.

At that time, instead of the floor you saw, you saw a wooden door that was attached to the floor. Looking around, you exit the room and walk slowly towards Alex's study door, then with one turn, you lock Alex's study from the inside and walk back into the room.

Making up your mind, you open the wooden door, it's a little hard to open, but finally the door opens and reveals a staircase leading down, you don't see anything, it's very dark down there.

A dark basement!

When you look around the bottom of the stairs, you see a small light switch that is integrated into the wall right on the first step.

With a 'Click' a light shines under the room, holding a broom, you go down the stairs. Every step you take on the stairs creates a very unpleasant sound to hear.

Until the last step, you can clearly see this basement.

This room is very classic but looks luxurious. There are leather sofas lined up around a glass table, there is a bar table and also a billiard table, there is a television with a wide and thin screen and is very luxurious which is displayed facing the leather sofa.

Slowly you look around and realize that there are many shelves for storing wine bottles and other liquor, you always knew that Alex really liked alcohol beyond your expectations, but you didn't know that this room even existed in this house.

.

.

.

.

The house where you and Alex live, a 3-story house, with a very large front and back yard, equipped with flower gardens and also a small lake that flows behind your house.

During the 2 years of your marriage with Alex, you didn't know that this room existed.

Walking through this basement, you see about 3 gold and black framed picture displayed on the wall, approaching the picture.

The first picture , is a picture of you and Alex who have just finished their wedding, in the picture you are very beautiful and beautiful, sitting smiling happily while holding a bouquet of flowers, while Alex stands behind you while holding your left shoulder, Alex is wearing a black shirt combined with a collar decoration and also a gold hanger on his jacket pocket which is united with roses.

Under the picture is your name and Alex's name and the date you got married.

Picture of alex and his family wearing all black suits, you don't know much about alex's family.

But when you married alex, only his mother and father came, you don't know why his other family didn't come, alex only told you that his other family was anti-social, and after that you didn't ask much.

On the wedding day, his father and mother didn't talk to you, but you only got a soft smile from his mother and a cold stare from his father.

In the picture there are so many people you don't know, they all sit in rows on the benches, but there's something strange, there are several women sitting on their knees below among several men you don't know. Then you see alex and his mother and father sitting in the right row that doesn't blend with the middle row, there you can see alex with an unfriendly and expressionless face, a facial expression that you didn't even know alex could make.

Under the frame, there is a bold text that contains.

'ARCEINT REIGENT FAMILY'

You don't think much and just guess that Arceint is Alex's extended family name.

Then, the last frame is a picture of Alex and his parents, and 4 people you don't know, they each sit on a bench, while the 4 people you don't know, 2 of them are men and they sit on a bench, but the other 2 are women, and they kneel beside the seats of the 2 men.

Blinking slowly, under the frame contains the name Alexandrovic Reigent Arceint, followed by Alex's father, Rovalnov Reigent Arceint, then Alex's mother, Ilvanna Rosye.

And the names of the 2 men whose names you are not sure which one is correct are Xirent Reigent Arceint, then the other one is William Reigent Arceint.

You can only guess that maybe these 2 people are Alex's older or younger siblings. Since dating and getting married, Alex has been very secretive about his family.

Looking at the other names there are 2 other names written there, you guess it is the name of 2 women who are sitting on their knees side by side.

The names there are written as, Lilya Ergevan, and also Belleriya Woods.

You think that why their names seem so beautiful and elegant?

Looking around the room again, you think to continue cleaning up Alex's work room that was delayed and only conclude that this basement room could be a room where Alex relaxes when he misses his family.

Just as you are about to step on a step, your eyes accidentally catch a corner of the room that is quite dark, and there is a white door in the corner.

People used to say, curiosity can be your death, so be careful.

.

.

.

.

*Source image : Pinterest

©️Nymphea0 2024 , OG story . Project Dark Romance Story 1.

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions , Always be good people Dear. Much love , Neva🦋🦋.

@snowflakes666

[verstappen-cult]

I have a request for max!

Reader is a strategist for Mercedes. Max and her, they got married in secret and have a 2 year old daughter together.

I know this is not much to work with but you do you!

(I love your fics <3)

hi bestie! i left the mercedes’ strategist plot out of this, but i hope you still like it! btw this was gonna be really short and ended up being this other thing. <333

You look out the car window and then to your daughter playing with her favorite plushie next to you. She doesn’t know that you’re about to be the topic of conversation for the next week — month even. She only knows that there are gonna be a lot of people trying to take pictures of you both, and that you’re gonna see Dad’s friends too. 

“Hey, baby.” You whisper, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face. “You’re ready to see Daddy?” She smiles at the mention of her favorite person in the whole world, forgetting all about her toy. 

“Where are we?” She asks, looking out the window. 

You lift her up onto your lap, placing a kiss on her temple. “We’re gonna watch papa just like we do from home every Sunday.”

“We have fun watching papa.” 

“Yes, so,” You take your bag and her plushie before taking a deep breath. “let’s go and have some fun, then.”

It’s no secret to anyone that you and Max have been dating for quite a few years now. You used to be more public about your relationship, but then you got pregnant and Max decided that it was best if you kept things a little more private, and you were more than happy to do it until you started to miss going to the races and seeing him more often. 

Max was a bit reluctant at first, but after some — a lot — of convincing he accepted. The two of you agreed to put some boundaries and to take things slowly. The first step was going to the Monaco Grand Prix, so, you wouldn’t have to travel and he could be home by the end of the day with his favorite girls. And, if things become too much, you can just go home. 

The moment you set foot on the paddock, you know there is no going back. You feel nervous and like your whole body is on fire, but when you look at your daughter’s smile as you hold her in your arms, you forget about everything.

“Mama, look! Papa!” She points to the giant banner to your left. And there he is, alongside a few of the other drivers. 

“Oi!” Dani calls from a few meters away. You wish he would not have done it because it draws attention you really didn’t want. 

“Uncle Dani!” 

You see the exact moment people recognize you, reporters starting to make their way to you at the same time you hurry to Dani’s side. He has a big, bright smile on his face, he’s always smiling but you think he’s genuinely happy to see you and your daughter. 

“Hi, Dani.” The Aussie wraps an arm around your shoulder and kisses your cheek as a greeting. 

“Hey, angel.” Your daughter makes grabby hands at Dani and, obviously, he immediately takes her in his arms. “Did you miss uncle Dani?” She nods, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. 

“Have you seen Max?” You ask him, but he shakes his head, too busy paying attention to whatever your daughter is telling him in the ear. 

You don’t feel comfortable. It’s been so long since you’ve been in the paddock that now feels like you’re attending your first race for the very first time. You were nervous then, you are terrified now as you see reporters approaching, calling your name and asking about your daughter. It’s not that they don’t know you and Max have a daughter, you and Max have been pretty open about her but always leaving her face out of the family photos you share on social media. However, this is news to everyone. This is a headline. And you know they’re just doing their job.

“Let’s go find him, okay?”

You barely hear him, trying to politely tell the reporter by your left that you will not give any interview and to stop asking about your daughter. Daniel has to give you a little pat on the back to make you walk, sending death glares to the people surrounding you in the process. 

There are phones and video cameras following you along the paddock, and you think you should’ve accepted Max’s offer of waiting for you at the entrance. But you didn’t want to be a burden. You were pretty confident about handling things by yourself but now… not so much. 

“Hey, are you okay? You’re a little pale.” Dani’s voice is soothing. You’re glad he’s carrying your daughter because you don’t feel strong enough to do it. Someone behind you — one of the many, many people following you — pushes you, making you bump into another person by your side. “Watch out! There’s a baby here!”

Daniel is mad and doesn’t hesitate in wrapping an arm around your waist, guiding you inside the nearest place that turns out to be the McLaren hospitality. 

“I’m gonna call Max, alright?”  

“What’s happening outside? Oh, you’re here!”

“Uncle Lando!” Your daughter’s voice is what finally pulls you out of your head. 

You walk to Dani, taking her in your arms. “Did you miss Uncle Lando too?”

“Is something wrong?” Lando asks again, bopping the little girl on the nose. 

“So many people,” You breathe out, closing your eyes for a second. “I didn’t think it was going to be this way, really.”

“Well, it’s a big deal that you’re here. Both of you.” Lando looks outside, reporters and cameras ready to catch a glimpse for when you have to leave. “Do they know? The media, I mean, about…” He looks to your hand, right where your wedding ring is. 

You groan, hiding your face in your daughter’s neck, making her giggle. “No, but I’m sure it will be worse when they notice.”

There’s a huge commotion outside that draws your attention. When you look, you find Max trying to make his way through the mass of people. Seeing him makes you relax immediately, but then he’s pushing a man when this shoves a microphone in his face and you don’t feel so relaxed anymore.

“Shit, shit” Daniel is quick to open the doors and go outside, a few members of McLaren following him. “Can you hold her, please?” 

Your daughter goes willingly with Lando as you run outside. Daniel stands between the reporter and Max, his hand on your husband’s chest trying to stop him from jumping over him to get to the man. 

There’s a bigger commotion when they see you, everyone shouting your name and asking questions that you don’t pay attention to, but it’s enough to make Max forget about fighting the reporter.

Max runs to you, hands cupping your face. “Hey, baby. Are you okay? Something happened?” 

“I’m okay. Just—let’s go inside, please.” 

Max doesn’t hesitate. He grabs your hand tightly, not caring about being seen going inside McLaren hospitality, not when you and his daughter are there needing him.

“Papa!” 

Your husband’s face lights up, that pretty smile you love so much making its way onto his face. "Mijn mooie meisje.” The tension on his face goes away the moment he takes her in his arms. 

“You wanna go home?” Lando asks you, handing you a glass of water. 

“Yes, you’re going home.” Max answers for you, hugging his daughter tightly against his chest. 

“We are not. We knew this would happen, well, not at this scale but,” You shrug, taking a sip of water. “I don’t wanna go. We should’ve planned this better.” 

“Yeah, you should have.” Daniel jokes, but when no one laughs he just stands there awkwardly. “Look, she’s already here. You’re not gonna send her home, are you?”

Lando bites his lip before saying, “You won’t be able to hide forever.” 

“I know!” Max sighs, putting down his daughter on one of the sofas. “Why don’t you play while I talk with your uncles for a bit?” Unaware of everything, she just takes her plushie and waits for you to be finished. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or feel unsafe.”

“We’re safe here. Everyone will take care of us, I know that.” You take his hand, thumb caressing the back of it. “It was just the shock of experiencing all of this again. It reminded me of the first time I attended a race.” You say, shyly. 

“Oh, I remember that.” He has that special glint in his eyes that tells you that he remembers every little detail of that day. 

“Uh, gross.” Lando pretends to throw up, earning a playful push from Daniel.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Yes, love. Besides, how are you gonna tell her she won’t be watching papa race?” You look at your little baby, talking with her plushie and showing the toy around. “I don’t know which one of us is more excited.”

“You know it’s only a matter of time before they notice this?” Max takes your hand to his lips, kissing your wedding ring.

“I want them to know.” 

“Oh, thank God!” He exclaims, peppering kisses all over your face. “I hate not wearing my ring on race weekends.”

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 12)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Part 12:

It felt like hours went by, and it looked like your suspicion was correct- as indicated by the deepening red of the skies of Hell, compared to the pale pinkish hue it was when Alastor teleported the two of you up here.

The entire time, Alastor hardly said even a single word- a rare occurrence, knowing his occupation and personal love of hearing himself talk. If anyone ever knew that Alastor just purely listened attentively to you for hours, they'd probably think you're lying.

You told him about how your parents and in-laws treated you like a bargaining chip for their own businesses and social standing to prosper- then for everyone to turn their backs on you as soon as you were married off. You were treated like a circus animal in a cage.

Even after that, he didn't say a word. He just rubbed his thumb across your hands as reassurance before you continued.

When you told him about how your ex-husband used and abused you, but then paraded you around as the trophy wife like nothing was wrong, all Alastor did was tighten his grip on your hands.

As you explain in full detail the emotional and physical distress it all caused you and the impact that meeting Alastor had on your life, which then spurred the meticulously planned murder of your then-husband, you could swear you feel his hands trembling ever so slightly.

Many more tears had fallen from your eyes during this whole process, your throat sore from talking so much at one time.

Then, you looked up at Alastor.

He looked at you with nothing but love and the most gentle smile you had ever seen.

Without saying a word, he stood up and walked over to you, helping you stand up. Then he gave you a warm embrace. You gasped in response. It was very rare for either of you to initiate much physical touch, but it was even less common coming from Alastor.

Not letting this opportunity go by, you wrap your arms around him.

Alastor pulls back from the embrace slowly to gently caress your face and says, "And here I thought I couldn't possibly love you even more, my dear. You're just as perfect to me as the day I first laid eyes on you..."

A chuckle escapes your lips as you lean into his touch.

"My vows still hold true, you know. As I put that ring on your finger that night you left me too early, I said to you...' 'In life and in death, I am forever yours, as you are forever mine. I love you, dear.' with only the moon and stars as my witness."

A huge smile spreads across your face, "Oh Al, honey... Looks like you were right after all, in life and in death, I'm yours". You say as you pull him into a kiss, that he happily obliges to indulge you in.

"My dear, I think we will have to have a proper exchanging of vows soon- one that isn't interrupted by a certain someone- banging on the DOOR!"

You hardly even noticed the muffled yells and banging noises that were present at door that then disappeared with a yelp as Alastor whipped around to unlock and open the door.

"Why Vaggie, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from you all the way up here?" He answered the door with a low growl to his voice.

"Alastor! You just up and kidnapped our guest and haven't returned for HOURS! You can't just do that! Especially when you were threatening their life!"

"Ahahaha! Funny thing! Yes, yes I can!"

"Why you... ALAST-"

"Hey, hey! Vaggie, don't worry. I'm okay, we're okay." You quickly shoved yourself between the two of them as you felt the tensions rising.

" (y/n)! What did he do to you?? What's going on here???"

You sheepishly smile as you slink back to Alastor's side and link your arm through his, "Just uh.. reuniting?"

Vaggie took a step back and raised an eyebrow while asking, "Hold on now, what did you just say?"

Alastor clears his throat, "Ahem, why I do believe I owe you and Charlie an apology of sorts! Perhaps a 'thank you' as well for saving the love of my life, my soon-to-be fiancée from when we were still alive!"

"Excuse me- WHAT???"

-> Part 13

Tag List:

@mysticwitchcraftco @lil-bexie @lonely-burger @cherry-cola-100 @angelxx7 @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 @avitute @justhellacesome @mcrtrashfan @spookysisters @galaxywing-has-adhd @ggyalruu @trashbin-nie @fudosl @night-shadowblood-writes2 @memospacexx @yuraaahs @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @ghostdoodlen @moschinski @cannibalcoyote @missam @reader3 @yourworstgf @justaproudslytherpuff @milkspong3 @xdolls-crownx @1potato2rulethemall @1rxsemary1 @xxcrispxx @zardward @robin-the-enby @mylenapony11 @silvermoondarksky @bootylimpics @amarokofficial @euphoricaphrodite @blueyobsessedgirly @need-a-therapist @knifukiller @huayan @hwrimonsjer @no1sillybilly @kimmikreates @icarus-has-falllen @watchinthestarz @lady-lik3r @yunxi-11085 @luzzbuzz @tsukilover11 @plntmxrss @houmi @demoarah @papas-ghoulette @trashbin-nie @d-darlingyourbleeding @hallothankmas

[some-bunniii]

Lucifer meeting an artist reader

・❥ The King of Hell admires your paintings

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

x: reader is g/n :) no use of pronouns or y/n

warnings: some raunchy details of your painting & mild swearing

When you arrived in Hell, the first thing you did was scream.

Where were you? Why was it so hot? What happened to your bed?!

“You’re in Hell, kid.” A blue bat-faced man had broke the news, as you stood helpless and confused on the street.

Hell? Like, demons and dark satanic magic kind of Hell?

That couldn’t be right. Were you that bad of a person to deserve such a fate? Did the few times you passed the Salvation Army donation bucket without dropping a coin damn you to this place?

Your death was fuzzy, a trail of shattered memories that could only give you bits and pieces of your final days. Did you go quickly in your sleep? Maybe, you hit your head so hard it caused you some kind of post-death amnesia?

Whatever had happened, you were here now with no way out.

During your first few days scouring for answers, you began to notice that Hell had an eerie similarity to life above ground. There were clubs, casinos, concerts. Heck, even TV! Sure, the things broadcasted were dark and sometimes disgusting.. but at least you had something to watch.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all? At least, compared to being thrown into dark, fiery pits for all of eternity like some cruel game of sink or swim.

Minus the people, of course. Most of them were pretty bad. Your first day watching a man get shot in the chest and lines of cocaine across tables in a diner made you decide to stay away from the streets of the city.

Which meant you had to get busy making a life for yourself. It started with working odd jobs as a bartender or a bell-hopper. You’d scrap together enough money to head to the nearest art supply store, and fill your bag with paints and charcoal pencils.

“You an artist or something?” The clerk had asked you as she scanned your items, taking note of your vast amount of diverse tools you were slowly collecting every time you stopped by.

“I usually paint, but yes, I used to do all kinds of mediums professionally when I was.. alive,” You had whispered that last part out with a pang of sadness, the reality of your situation still a fresh wound in your mind.

You had found an ad for an art studio, ran by a demon named Alexandre. You had showed him a few of your pieces, some pretty landscapes, a rendition of the Starry Night Sky which you had replaced the backdrop to be Pentagram city instead of whatever little village it was originally, and a self portrait.

“You got talent, i’ll give you that,” He had hummed, as his eyes scanned your paintings with intrigue, “But the subject? Not really what we’re looking for.”

“What do you mean?” You had asked, confusion evident in your voice.

“We’re in Hell, demons ain’t into pretty ponies and happy, little trees. They want more— eh how do i put this — sinful behavior?”

“Like…?”

“Like tits or anything that can be turned into a kink. They like blood and guts, and dead people splayed around. Dead angels too. Stuff like that.”

Tits? Dead people? You didn’t have much practice with that! At least not enough to make a career out of it.

But you had agreed anyway, this was your only shot. You stayed up late into the night, sometimes even into the early mornings, perfecting your skill when it came to much more risqué visuals. You would buy stacks of pornograohic magazines, flipping through for poses to memorize.

Slowly, you began to master the craft, and your time at the studio increased as you finally settled into life in Hell.

All you had to do was churn out painting after pastel after acrylic in the little cramped room you now called home. Alexandre would then take your pieces and sell them to the highest bidder. You’d get a percentage of the commission, using the money for whatever necessary.

Seeing as you could be mugged at literally any point in time, or anywhere for that matter, you made sure to keep a large sum of cash locked away in a double-bolted safe.

“You know Ozzie’s, that club down in the Lust Ring?” Alexandre had approached you one day, excitement in his eyes.

You shook your head as you sat behind the easel, your brush an inch from the canvas.

“Run by Asmodeus, one of the literal seven deadly sins?”

You shook your head once more.

“Fuck, you still have a lot to learn. Well, he really likes your art. He wants to buy a bunch of paintings for his club, and he’ll drop a shit ton of cash too. Ya think you can handle it?”

Your eyes had widened when he told you the exact price this sin guy was willing to pay. You had jumped from your seat, shaking his hand in profuse thanks, before scurrying off to gather more supplies.

And for a time, that’s how it went. You’d sell your steamiest paintings to Asmodeus, and other private commissions you took one after the other.

Apparently, your painting hung up in Ozzie’s was getting a lot of attention. Especially from a certain spider demon named Angel Dust.

After hearing Charlie’s decision to look for another member of their staff— someone who’d be in charge of decorating the premise with promises of love and tranquility up in Heaven— Angel Dust had taken a few snaps of your work with his phone, before showing it to Vaggie and Charlie. He had complimented your work, claiming it was ‘the best’ oil paintings he’d ever seen.

Although, in his line of work, he probably hadn’t seen many to compare yours so.

“ls this what we want in our hotel?" Vaggie had asked, motioning to a woman on the canvas that was drenched in sweat and white fluid, her private parts exposed to the audience as she posed suggestively on a stripper pole.

To which Charlie has responded, "I think it's... unique! You can definitely see she knows how to, um, really bring the scene to life! l'm sure she'll be open to creating our vision!"

Your phone had rung one night, with a voice on the other end begging you to come to her hotel and at least hear her offer for a new job.

Which lead you to the Hazbin Hotel, a slightly run down building that obviously needed more work. Inside and out.

“Oh my gosh! Hi there! My name is Charlie, and this is my hotel! it’s such a pleasure to meet you!”

“Thanks.. but I don’t see many guests around.” You had told her, your eyes darting around the lobby as you absorbed your surroundings.

“Well, we’re still trying to get our name out there. We’re not just any hotel, we’re a hotel set on redeeming sinners!” She exclaimed with pride.

“Redeem?” You had asked her, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

She shook her head vigorously, “This hotel.. it’s going to be amazing! We’re going to turn Sinners into well.. non-sinners! They’ll be rehabilitated, and have morals! And honor! Heaven won’t be able to do anything but welcome them as angels!”

This idea had sounded a little far-fetched when you first heard it.

“You’ll be in charge of making art that reflects such views! Something that will make Sinners go, ‘Wow! Now that’s where I want to go!’”

“What’s in it for me?” You had asked.

“Well you’ll have your own room, and your own little studio too! I’m sure it’s much bigger than the one you already have. Plus we have a bar, and good company!”

You turned your head to the small crowd of demons a few feet away. A pornstar, a gambler, a snake guy with weird little walking eggs, and a really creepy man in a red coat that shot you a wide smile with eyes that seemed to stare right through your soul.

This was good company?

You contemplated her words, thinking deeply. Did you really need to leave the studio you were already a part of? You already had a room and place to paint, anyway.

Charlie must have noticed your hesitation to accept before quickly adding,

“Anddd you can sell your pieces here too! Plus, you can keep a hundred percent of the earnings.”

You perked up at that, the money made from your art would be... all yours? And, you’d get a breather from the drawing people having sex? That didn’t sound so bad after all!

“Deal!” You had reached out a hand, shaking hers with delight.

It had taken you a day or two to map out the interior of the hotel and figure out what could go where. You began to slowly brainstorm, what could make a sinner stare at a canvas and want to redeem themselves?

During your time on earth, you studied many artists through history. Most notably however, were those from the Renaissance. You remembered walking through the Sistine Chapel when you were younger,

staring at awe of the paintings of winged angels and heavenly skies.

You perked at that thought. That was it! The inspiration for your paintings, an ethereal perspective on what one would find in heaven. The feelings of bliss and care-free joy.

You spent your first few days in an undisturbed area of the hotel, it was a large room on the farthest side of the lobby. It must’ve been a guest room at one point, but other than a bed and few cushions that the ‘Radio Demon’ had placed for you, it was empty.

It was quiet enough that you could sit there, undisturbed, as you drew upon your memories and vast knowledge of histories in art as you slowly began to bring your ideas to life. Slowly, the room also took form into being yours, personal knick-knacks and stacks upon stacks of blank canvases waiting to bring your visions to life.

At the end of every day, you'd come out with your hands covered in charcoal and paint, your hard work on full display.

You had even grown closer to the other residents in the hotel, beginning to see them as more than their initial appearance. Even Alastor, who still kind of gave you the creeps, you had regarded as someone you could speak to without hesitation.

You’d sit on the couches with Angel Dust, drowning in popcorn as you watched whatever was on TV for the night. Sometimes, you’d sit with Husk at the bar as you listened to his stories from his days at the casino and as an Overlord.

It was there, when Charlie had summoned the courage to call her father, Lucifer, the King of Hell, to come visit the hotel and decide on getting her that meeting with the higher powers in Heaven.

Upon hearing about Lucifer's impending visit, you felta mixture of nerves and excitement. You've heardstories about him-his charisma, his power--but you never expected to meet him, let alone showcase your art to him. Would he even like them? He's no doubt seen much more beautiful sights.

As preparations for Lucifer's visit got more chaotic by the minute, you found yourself back in your Atelier, quickly cleaning up your room and berating yourself for any little mistakes you found in your paintings. Each stroke of the brush carried with it a sense of urgency, a desire to impress not just your friends at the hotel, but also the King of Hell himself.

The current piece you were working on was your most intense one yet. It depicted that of an almost nude man, flying high in the skies. His back was faced towards you, his face hidden from view. He was faced towards the sun, which bathed him in a warm glow. Arms outstretched, knees curled in, it seemed as if the angel was going to give the sun a large bear-hug.

It wasn’t until you heard loud commotion in the lobby did you realize Lucifer had arrived. Quickly dropping the brush you were holding, you sneaked down the stairs and quickly neared the archway of the lobby.

Peaking your head out, you canned the large room. Until your eyes locked in a pale figure. Lucifer.

He was beautiful, definitely held the looks of an angel that fell from heaven. His light blonde hair curled elegantly around his face. The candles from the chandelier above basked him in an ethereal glow, as though he could replace the sun itself. Just like the angel from your painting.

His eyes reminded you mostly of a snake. Calculating and cold, but holding so much wisdom and depth. There was a slight sadness there as well, as though itate at him slowly, consuming his soul. It was masked incredibly well though, and you only caught a glimpse before it disappeared.

His attitude toward his daughter made your heartmelt, it was obvious he cared about her in the way heacted and spoke to Charlie, even if his absence didn't speak so fondly of him.

As Lucifer and Alastor butted heads, you quickly scurried back to your room. You had hoped to finish your work-in-progress by the time he arrived, but the struggle to get those damn angel wings to be anatomically correct was a pain.

You hurriedly continued your work, trying to calm your nerves by busying yourself with the painting in front of you.

Charlie's voice broke you out of your concentration soon after, multiple footsteps closing in on where your room lay. You shot up from your seat, and stood up straight, ready to meet the man of the hour.

You couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation mixed with apprehension as they approached your make-shift gallery.

Charlie, Vaggie, and— wow, he looked so much better up close— Lucifer stepped through the doorway.

“Dad, this is the newest addition to our staff! They are in charge of helping to inspire our future guests through the power of art!" Charlie proclaimed with glee, pulling you by the arm towards her father.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesty. I apologize for being so messy, I was just finishing up another painting." You had greeted him softly.

"Don't worry, you look great," He assured, a gleam in his eyes, "and the pleasure is all mine, anyone who is willing to help my little girl is someone worth meeting,"

You stood there for a moment. Unsure of where to go next, before you felt a slight nudge from Charlie that pulled you back to reality, "Why don't we take a look at your paintings? I promise you, Dad, they are amazing!" She squealed softly.

Beckoning Lucifer forward, you took him through each painting. You described your feelings for each piece, and what made you choose them for the hotel.

You rambled on and on, and Lucifer never said anything, he just listened as you spoke.

Which made you nervous, what was he thinking? Did he like them, or was he just waiting for you to stop talking so he could quickly escape to something of more interest to him? The thought made sweat dribble down your forehead.

To your surprise, Lucifer's reaction to your art was not what you expected. Instead of dismissing it as mere frivolity, he studied each piece with genuine interest, his expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He mostly stayed quiet, but once in awhile would throw in a joke here and there if he noticed anything of interest in the paintings.

His goofy nature that you caught onto watching him earlier was barely evident though, unlike when he was trying to impress his daughter.

After finishing the small tour, you turned to him in anticipation. Your hands nervously rubbing together, as you shot a glance to Charlie, and she gave you an uncertain look. You both held the same question in your gaze: What is he thinking?

"These paintings.." Lucifer began, his voice low and melodic, "Are different than most i've seen down here, not just some scandalous display, but with real meaning. They evoke emotions long buried, memories of a time before.. all this."

His words caught you off guard, and you found yourself nodding in agreement, unable to tear your gaze away from his intense eyes.

The one he was staring at in particular was a recreation of The Garden of Eden by Jan Breghal, a painting that depicted the place where humanity was birthed, and where it fell.

“Does it look like.. how you remembered?" You had asked slowly, if anyone could validate the truth in your work, it would be him.

"Actually, this is much prettier. The real deal doesn't do your painting justice," He replied, "It was so boring, just green on green."

Also," He added, "An unfortunate lack of ducks. Humanity should be grateful that I got them out of that forest, so they could see something actually worthwhile.. and with ducks."

You giggled softly at his words, have you ever met someone that seemed to love ducks as much as him?

As Lucifer continued to explore the room, you couldn’t help but notice the way he lingered on certain paintings, his fingers tracing the delicate lines with reverence. It was as if he saw something in your art that no one else did, something profound and personal.

Perhaps your choice of baby-faced angels, and ethereal landscapes brought back memories of his time in Heaven. Hopefully, that wasn't a bad thing.

When Lucifer finally turned to you, his gaze softened, a hint of something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. "You have a rare gift," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To create beauty in a place like this... it's truly remarkable."

He looked at you for a moment, before a smile crept onto his lips. He was Lucifer, he knew exactly what you meant. It's what drove him to manipulate Eve to eat from the Tree of Life in the first place.

Was he finally getting a glimpse of the good free will brought to humanity? Was there actually meaning in his past actions that sent him to the depths of Hell?

His gaze narrowed in on the canvas behind you, and he slipped past you. "What is this?" He asked with intrigue, pointing towards your unfinished painting.

“My final piece. I've been working on it for days, but I just can't get the wings right.. believe it or not, i've never actually seen angel wings in person." You said that last bit as a joke.

His smile sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For the King of Hell, it was surprisingly warm, and kind.

Then an idea struck you, but you tried to desperately to push it down. Except it seemed like the only time you could ask someone with angel wings to let you use them as a reference. How many fallen angels were in Hell, anyway?

"I'm so sorry if this is out of line, but. could I, um, borrow you for a little bit? I've just been having trouble drawing the wings correctly and you, well, have them?”

His eyes widened, and his chest puffed slightly at your question. He shot you a toothy grin, “Paint me? Why didn't you mention that earlier?! I have the perfect figure for such a thing.”

Behind him, Charlie rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips. You smiled too, you should've known he'd have no problem with it, he was the embodiment of pride after all.

He plopped down on a stool before you, and removed his overcoat. Beneath what seemed to be a red and white gatsby vest that hugged his frame perfectly. Jeez, he was almost too good looking.

He stretched out his large wings, folding the otherfour behind him, only revealing the two much largerones. They were breathtaking, truly. They looked so fluffy too!

You guided him on the exact position you needed them to be in, before making your way to the canvas and getting to work.

Assuring the group you only needed to get a visual on the canvas, the actual work you would do on your own. Slowly, you traced the frame of his wings, etching out the soft lines of his feathers and the curvatures of its form.

You could only imagine how soft those feathers were and what it would be like to curl around them like a pillo-

You shook your head to rid those thoughts. Why were you thinking such things about Lucifer like that? It's not like he would even want to let you go anywhere near him or his wings.

Would he?

You continued your painting, trying not to meet his gaze as you would occasionally peak your head from behind the large canvas to get another good look at his wings.

There was a moment when you two did lock eyes, and he sent a half-lidded smirk in your direction. Thankfully the large object between you two helped hide your growing blush. He was obviously just trying to get you worked up, you assured yourself. Just like he did with Alastor. In a different way, of course.

"This reminds me of when Charlie was younger" Lucifer began, filling the silence, "We sat for a good few hours trying to get a family portrait painted and she would just not sit still!”

“Dad.. please, not right now." Charlie growled out in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. Vaggie only smiled beside her, listening intently as Lucifer filled everyone in on her younger years.

“lt got to the point where I had to summon her favorite toy to get her to stop squirming, everything was smooth sailing after that.

"And what was her favorite toy?" You inquired softly behind the canvas

“A rubber duck! Like the ones you play with in the bath? She could not get enough of it whenever it squeaked. One time the squeaker broke, and I went to my workshop and crafted her a magical one that meowed instead! Haha!"

Okay, this family really has a thing for ducks!

“She hated it, but that only inspired me to keep making more. Sometimes, we'd sit together on the work bench, and I would just come up with ideas like confetti-spitting, or color changing ducks. She wasn't too good at speaking at that time, so every time she'd laugh that was my clue that she liked it!"

It was sweet, the way he rambled about his daughter. He never spoke of himself or his accomplishments, despite embodying the sin of pride. It was almost like his only pride was his best creation, Charlie.

He continued, the room full of jokes and laughter, even from Vaggie, regarding Charlie's life as a youngling. You listened intently to his stories, his voice dripping with amusement as he recounted story after story.

lt was so sappy and you loved it. Which made you grumble quietly to yourself, why did you have to have a thing for DILFS?! Concentrate on the painting!

After a moment, Lucifer's eyes turned back to the paintings around him, his gaze scanning each painting once more. "I've noticed that you seem to have a repetition in your work.. not that that's a bad thing!" He quickly corrected.

“But in all of your paintings featuring angels, there's always a swan swimming or resting nearby. Do they hold any significance, or are they just a passion for you?"

You looked up from the canvas, and also traced the angelic figures across the room. He was right, with the images of the divine beings also came the appearance of the large, white water fowl. Lying lazily beside the angels, or swimming across pools of water as the care-free beings danced and frolicked.

You contemplated for a moment, before speaking truthfully.

“I just think Swans are elegant and ethereal creatures. They embody the purest of souls, untouched by the taint of sin that consumes the world, just like how their feathers remain untouched from the waters they glide on"

Lucifer's eyes lit up slightly, drinking up your words.

“Plus," You continue, "they mate for life, and allow themselves to just.. decay once their significant other departs from the world. It's very romantic, and love is one of the purest emotions in the world."

Lucifer wasn't looking at you when your eyes met his again, his stare was far off. Past the room entirely, as your words echoed through him. There it was again, the glimpse of sadness that he tried to hide so painfully well.

“Does such love like that exist?," he murmured so softly you had to strain your ears.

There was a few moments of deathly silence before Charlie piped up, asking her father something about heaven. You tried to listen, but your mind was stuck on his words. Lucifer was in heaven once, and he still didn't fully believe in such things?

If there weren't others in the room, perhaps you would’ve asked him.

It took a few more minutes before you were able to wrap up fully, but you had no regrets of asking this man for help, the angel on the canvas actually looked like he had wings, not just stumps of white tuft.

You got up from your seat and walked towards him, noticing that Charlie and her girlfriend were not present anymore. It was just you and Lucifer in theroom now.

“Well, thank you, Your Majesty. You really helped me out here, and it'll go a long way to make the hotel look even better"

“Please, call me Lucifer. The formalities are only for subjects, not friends," he replied, "l did really enjoy getting to see your paintings, you are quite a phenomenal artist. I wasn't lying when I said your work was different from the rest. If only you were around for those family portraits."

You were so taken aback by his praise that you only shrugged it off, like it was no big deal. Even though, coming from the King of Hell, it was.

Glancing behind him, you saw Charlie and Vaggie whispering to each other in the hallway outside of the door. You assumed they probably wanted to finish up so they could get him to agree to the meeting with Heaven.

lgnoring his previous statement of formalities— he was the king, you thought, you weren't going to just pat him on the back and say 'see ya! —you lowered your head and bent down to curtsy, just like you were taught when you were younger, placing your hand slightly in front of you.

Usually, you'd use that hand to shake or grasp the other person's, but it felt wrong to treat this powerful angel like any other man.

Suddenly, you felt the soft touch of fingers gliding across your hand. In confusion, you looked up at those golden eyes and that charming smile. Trying to get a glimpse of what he was thinking.

His hand gripped yours gently, and with a bow of his own, lowered his lips, and pressed a soft kiss your knuckles.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you feared to blink, soaking in his beauty for as long as you could before he had the chance to pull away. You wanted to say something, but your tongue was refusing to work as your mouth opened and closed silently.

When he finally released your hand, he adjusted his hat and turned towards the door. Leaving you standing there, your face burning hot

He cleared his throat, and turned his head slightly, his eye catching yours. A playful smile dancing on his lips.

“l look forward to our next portrait together, hopefully where I am the motivation behind your strokes. Not just these dull wings."

And with his words hanging in the air, you were left alone, with the growing itch to press your face into a pillow and squeal.

——————

awww man, my first fic! I was trying to make this more dating-centric, but i couldn’t stop writing for their first meeting and it got too long haha! If y’all like this one enough, i’ll make a dating version!

let me know what you think 🙏 i reallyyyy appreciate all comments and criticisms!!

wonderful art i commissioned by DawnDrawnS on twitter! <3

[yuri-is-online]

A really stupid idea I had and I can't even decide where I want it to go 😩

Anyone of the first years heard from a guy in their club that their boyfriends bestfriends roommates cousins friend has a thing for Yuu and a bad reputation for using love potions, suddenly first year of your choice is taking his bodyguard duties for Yuu even more seriously than ever and watching them like a Hawk until one day Yuu seemingly receives a nice gift package from an "secret admirer" and the boys panic, snatching the treat from Yuu's hand and chowing down themselves because they're dumb and impulsive and in love.

What follows is either;

A. The "secret admirer" was actually Grim who wanted to do something nice for his Henchhuman by making them tuna filled muffins as thanks for their service and now not only did they inhale the worst cake ever, got a tantrum throwing Grim to appease.

B. There was a love potion in those cookies, but whoever laced them is actually kinda bad at potionology and they're "Puppy love" potions, cue our freshman acting like The Prince from Mirror Mirror (2012) when he had a puppy love potion. His reputation at school will never recover from this but its worth it because Yuu now looks at him like he's the sunrise itself for taking that bullet for him.

C. There was no love potion. No shady business. Just normal brownies and now a very upset Yuu. Even if they understood his concerns, do you think between their allowance and Grim's appetite they want to hear excuses for them stealing food from Yuu!? He promises he'll make it up to them just stop hitting him! 💦💦

D. There was no love potion.2 but man. These pretzels...really suck. The freshman almost feels bad for whoever sent them because if this was their pickup attempt then they lost before they even began. Wait, what? Yuu made these to send as a secret admirer to their crush!? Now he's got even more complicated feelings about this whole ordeal while Yuu sulks about how the guy they wanted to give these to just said they suck to their face.

E. There was no love potion.3 but Yuu doesn't have to know that. Now the Freshman is free to "pretend" all his flirting and affection is thanks to those croissants AND play the hero. Its full proof! Until Ortho runs a diagnostic to find a cure for him and reveals that there was no potion that is. Hey, he can always try and claim a placebo effect, right?💦

F. The love potion was actually an aphrodisiac and now Yuu has t[I AM BEATEN TO DEATH BY KING MICKEYS KEYBLADE]

So the problem with this ask is that I really love all of these options and they could all work for a small fic for each of the options. That being said, there are specific ones that suit certain first years more than others.

A. The Great Grim's Perfect Surprise- Ace

Floyd is the one who gives Ace the heads up that someone with a bad reputation was interested in Yuu. And hey that was technically true! It's just that Floyd also over heard Grim bragging about the cupcakes he made and had a brilliant idea.

It's the worst possible case scenario for Ace, the cake tasted horrible, Grim is throwing a tantrum, Floyd is there and he brought Jamil to laugh at him too. This fucking sucks he hates his life man. Well until you shoo everyone out and shush Grim with some praise before turning your focus to him.

You're so concerned about him it makes his heart hurt. You get him something to drink and fuss over him for the rest of the day in a way that makes him fall in love with you all over again. Those half hearted scolds about there being better ways to get rid of poison don't land at all, doesn't matter how he does it he'll keep you safe and that's a promise.

B. Puppy Love Potion- Jack

The captain of the track team tells Jack and Deuce together, he knows the two of them are your friends and that they'll make sure you stay safe. Unfortunately he's not fully aware of how... delusional Jack is about how not into you he is.

The puppy love potion has him acting like even more of a puppy than usual. His tail won't stop wagging and he is actually smiling at you, thank the seven he's so willing to listen to what you have to say so you can keep him in Ramshackle until the potion wears off. He manages to reclaim his reputation just fine, Jack's a scary fucking guy when he tries to be and you'd have to be really stupid to mess with him when he's in a mood.

... not that you can really tell the difference between puppy love Jack and normal Jack when the Ramshackle Prefect insists on looking at him like that. He must really hate his tail.

C. How Dare You Eat my Food- Deuce

Same as before: captain gives the heads up, Jack and Deuce are really concerned, and Deuce decides to do something about it because he's in love and doesn't want to see you get hurt.

He doesn't realize there was nothing wrong with them until you point it out and he's beyond heartbroken. Please you have to understand he didn't mean it! Sure those brownies were really good and yeah maybe he should have realized that they were normal about half way through the pan but- he's so sorry! He's not above getting on his knees to beg for forgiveness and especially not from you.

There is a rule in Heartslabyul about returning things after you take them, so as soon as Deuce learns he took your food he's already planning on replacing it. Maybe you would let him borrow your kitchen? He won't let you help since he's fixing his own mistake but he doesn't see why you can't hang out. You'll get fresh brownies out of it and he gets to look cool Task failed successfully?

D. This is... Adequate I Suppose- Sebek

Only someone with an actual death wish would come up with this sort of plan in Riddle's presence. He's screaming, the paddock is on fire, and no one is really stopping him because hey idiot deserves it and also has anyone seen where Sebek went? Would have thought he'd have something to say too given that whole "crush he has on the prefect thing"

Well that's because he's too busy eating your pretzels with a trademark look of disgust as he tells you about what happened at Equestrian club today. These suck, he has such high standards for what you are worthy of and if it weren't for the potential danger posed to you he never would have-

Your wry disappointment silences him immediately, his look of concern and shock is really cute so it sort of makes up for how much his words hurt. He's aghast, you have someone you... admire? Someone you are too shy to confess to? And you made them something with your own two hands, he actually wants to cry he's so embarrassed, jealous, and in love all at the same time.

"You shouldn't have to do this. You- You are the one who deserves to be pursed. But if it is something you wish to do-" He draws himself up into a proper knight's stance, stiff as board and deeply determined to be seen as reliable. Safe. A... friend if you will allow it and something more if he could be so blessed. "-then we shall begin training immediately! Back to the kitchen, human!"

E. Placebo Effect- Epel

Only someone with an actual death wish would come up with this plan pt. 2 except Leona is a lot more reasonable than Riddle with how he handles it. He tells Epel to go check on Yuu while he goes to dump the guy on Crewel. That way he doesn't have to be the one to fill out all of the annoying disciplinary paperwork.

So he knows by the time he shows up at Ramshackle that there really is no threat to your safety but still... this sort of opportunity is just too good to pass up. And he's such a good actor too, if this wouldn't get him in trouble with Vil he'd rub it in his dorm leader's face.

See Vil! He doesn't need no fancy manners or etiquette, Yuu's flushed and charmed by his old fashioned gentlemanly behavior. He's holding doors, pulling out your chair, giving you all of the compliments he thinks about but never says for fear of looking uncool. He even gets to bake apple pie with you until Ortho calls his bluff. Sure, he should have some shame, but this is Epel we're talking about. He claims the placebo effect and pretends to be super embarrassed while gauging your reaction for any trace of disappointment.

If he's satisfied with how sad you are he just might make it up to you with a real date~

Like I was saying all of these prompts could really work for any of them and- huh could have sworn there was a sixth one. Weird anyway thanks for the ask!

...

....

..... ok so now that the coast is clear:

First thing's first, they're all mad as hell that someone tried to drug you with an aphrodisiac. That's so beyond disgusting, who does this guy think he is?

Ace's focus is entirely on you. He doesn't outright admit what's wrong, he actively teases you for being into him when you express concern as if it doesn't send a painful pang of arousal through him when you don't deny it. You have to make a move, he'll ask for it half serious half joke, but he wants you to do this because you want him and not as some sort of favor please don't say it like that- He starts taking shots at the other guy when he regains enough of his ego to flip you on your back and start taking the lead. Really, how stupid was that guy to think he had a chance when you only have eyes for him, prefect? Now don't you dare try to hide your cute expressions from him, he's been looking forward to this.

Jack is convinced he can just lock himself in his room and endure. He tries thinking of it as a training exercise, sure he might have had some... similar feelings before. Similar thoughts, painful dreams that felt real until he woke up alone, drenched in sweat, painfully unfulfilled and deeply embarrassed. But nothing can compare to the real you, he's almost angry that he ever thought that at all now that you're underneath him. He's so lucky that you're his mate, that he can bite into your neck and thrust into your body and have you accept him even as he locks you together in a sticky mess of sweat and slick. He's beyond embarrassed when he wakes up still balls deep with your fingers running through his matted hair. This would be the worst if he didn't have a cute, very human, bite of his own on his neck.

Deuce's anger is made so much worse by him being horny. The other guy is terrified, everyone around him is terrified Deuce is aware he's gone full delinquent and he can't seem to stop. By the time you find him his knuckles are bruised, he's sweaty, with rumpled clothes, and taking great heaving breaths unable to deny the effects he's feeling and asking you to forgive him. Deuce has an idea of what he wanted your first time to be like. He wanted to take you out on a real date, he wanted to be honorable with you. He didn't expect you to be the one to push him back against the shower stall and take him just as quick and dirty as he feels. You're so beautiful, he's so powerless in the face of your naked desire and very eager to please. Just tell him what you want him to do; he's all yours.

Sebek can't lie about how he feels to save his life. All of NRC knows he's horny because he's screaming about how not horny he is right now and how much he doesn't think your flesh looks super supple, bitable even seven he just wants to- Lilia doesn't let him ignore those feelings after confirming you aren't the slightest bit uncomfortable being the center of Sebek's attention. He's shy, in denial. He is proud of his honorable intent and self control. But he is in love with you and with that love comes a deep, fathomless desire edged with obsessive devotion that all fae pride themselves in. He needs your guidance, he's unused to this. That obsessive attention hangs on your every gasp and moan, when he finds a noise he likes he hammers at the source again and again until you reward him with the most wonderful noise of all. When the potion has worked its way through his system the hunger still remains; his appetite is voracious. A potion is nothing compared to his own desires, hopefully this little accident left you prepared.

Epel's anger is also made so much worse by being horny. But Leona already dealt with the scumbag so it's not like he can work out his aggression on the creep... so won't you let him take it out on you? He's completely serious, the drug has gone straight to his dick and he's not interested in pretending like he doesn't want you prefect. No taking care of it himself won't work, no don't be shy it really can't be anyone else. You want a real man? Well he's right here and he wants you something fierce. Epel wouldn't be this confident if he didn't have so much adrenaline running through him, but he can't bring himself to be embarrassed when he comes to his senses and sees you bent over your desk and much more out of breath than him. He's going to be riding this high for the rest of the year, and he's going to make sure you feel it for just as long too.

[bunnyhugs77]

Daddy Daycare

Pairing: Technician! Jungkook x Teacher's Assistant! Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Part: 1, 2, 3

Series Content: daycare au, suggestive themes, love at first sight? dilf jk, mentions of antidepressants, mint jk and blonde jk, jk cant sleep, sexual themes, he's so whipped, toxic ex, minor baby mama drama, gold diggers, mentions of death, complicated family history, cute kid cameos, reader can't drive, jk is good with his hands, mentions of abusive relationships, so much fluff.

Other Series Content: soft dom! jk, muscle kink, pussy puts his ass to sleep, unprotected sex (just don't), oral sex (f! and m! receiving), brief choking, minor breeding kink, hickeys, brief dom! reader, reader makes him wait, intimate cuddling, praise.

"And the kiss. Oh, Vanessa, the kiss was something else!" You exclaim, helping to set up the Christmas decorations around the class.

It was only the day after Thanksgiving which means the Christmas season was now in full swing. Stepping up on the small stepping stool to hang the green tinsel over the whiteboard.

"It sounds like you had a good night. What's the problem then?" Vanessa sets up the miniature Christmas tree in the corner.

"I did. Everything was going so well. Dare I say perfectly, until his phone was going off non stop from someone named Hanna saying things like 'when am I gonna see you again' and 'I can't stop thinking about our night together'"

Vanessa gasps. "So what did Jungkook say?" You chew on our bottom lip, "He was putting Ryan to bed in the other room, so he wasn't there when I saw those messages pop up." She tsks.

"I tried to tell you. Nothing good comes from dealing with a parent." You sighed heavily, looking out the window at the playground that was covered in a thick white blanket of snow.

"I know, but I couldn't help it. Him and his stupid smile and his pretty eyes." Vanessa hums smugly. "I'm sure Hanna thinks the same thing." You groan. She's right.

"You're right, I shouldn't get involved. She could be the mother of his child for all I know."

"For your own sake. You better pray she's not. Ex's are a royal pain in the-"

"Good Morning." Vanessa interrupts her own words as she greets the parents that walked in.

Crouching near the bookshelf while you organized the fallen books, from the corner of your eye you were able to pick up on the entrance of your minor headache. Not Ryan, of course, his father.

Ryan was just a sweetheart who greeted you with a hug so tight that he'd knocked you out of your crouched position onto your bum. "Ryan! Be careful." You'd never heard Jungkook's voice so stern. You make sure the boy is okay and help him back to his feet before moving your hair back to where it should be.

"Sorry, Ms. Hill." He apologizes with those big brown eyes that he clearly gets from his dad. "It's okay, I'm fine." You reassure with a smile and he runs off.

Jungkook offers you his hand to help you up but you stand on your own, dusting off your jeans with a clearing of your throat. "Are you okay?" He asks.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I promise. I landed on the carpet."

"That's not what I meant." He says.

Taking a quick glance around the classroom, noticing some parents still making their way in and out of the classroom and the kids making their way to their seats. "You know, now really isn't a good time-" About to move out of his way, he steps in front of you.

Instinctively your eyes rolled, trying to remember what Vanessa told you. Not to get involved. "I know you saw the texts. Let me explain." You shake your head, "It's none of my business, there's nothing to explain. You should get going. I wouldn't want you to be late for work."

With that said, you walk away, heading towards the desks where your students waited patiently for instruction.

Jungkook walked out of the daycare that day deflated and unable to think about anything aside from you, and that look in your eyes. Like you were disappointed, as if you had high hopes for him and he let you down.

He thought he could just move past it, maybe even accept that things wouldn't work out between the two of you, but seeing you everyday, smiling with all the other parents and giving him nothing more than a simple head acknowledgement was killing him.

As much as he wanted to explain himself, he didn't want to force himself into your life. He wanted you to want to hear him out, even if that meant the two of you not talking much or at all for a few weeks then he was going to have to be okay with that.

But there were some days he had to physically restrain himself from breaking the no-contact. He remembers the day vividly. It was the first week back from winter break, maybe he was so pent up because he hadn't been able to see you for two weeks or if it was how good you looked in your leggings.

All he knows is that somewhere between that mix and you squatting to pick something from off the ground, for the briefest of seconds he'd caught sight of the strappy black thong that rose over your hips before they were hidden once again under your bottoms.

No one would've noticed it. No one that wasn't mildly obsessed with you that is. He quickly sent Ryan off and left for work. Managing to somehow squeeze in 13 hours of work into an 8 hour shift, he'd overcompensated as a means to distract himself.

"So you guys just haven't talked since you shooed him?" Vanessa asks for clarification, wrapping her scarf securely around her neck, getting ready to head out after offering you a ride which you couldn't object to, weather conditions were worsening as you were entering the heart of winter in the middle of January.

"I didn't shoo him, but I definitely would've handled things differently if I knew he would start avoiding me. I didn't want things to end like this." You explain, digging your hands deep into your pockets the moment the two of you stepped outside. The chilling air blew in your hair and around your earmuffs with determination.

You strapped yourself in passenger seat, "So you didn't actually want things to end?" With your head laying back on the headrest you puffed out a stressed breath, unintentionally making a small circle of condensation on your window. Like a child you drew a little heart in the middle.

"I thought I did, y'know? Wanted to do what you said and stay away, but maybe I got hasty." She hums oddly, making a ominous "Mhm" sound. "What does that mean?" She pulls out of the parking lot slowly, the snow was really falling tonight, laying on the ground in thick increments.

"Nothing." Turning to face her with your body, "No, no. Say it."

"I've been here. You know I've been here, I've been in a very similar position, but I did somehow manage to get a decent outcome, but things could've gotten much worse, not just for the relationship but for his kid at the time. So, I guess what I'm saying is, take this little break to really think about if this is the kind of thing you want to get yourself involved in."

You nodded, sitting with your hands in your lap like an obedient child. Really taking what Vanessa was saying into deep consideration. Deciding to reflect on it for the rest of the car ride to your building.

"What a day." You sigh, as you drop your keys onto the small counter you kept near the door.

The first thing you noticed was how cold it was inside your apartment, as if trying to compete with the flurrying outdoors. "Why is it so cold in here?" You whisper to yourself.

Flicking on the lights, or at least that's what you wanted. "What the--" the switch flies up then down then up again with the tip of your finger as you restlessly try to turn the lights on. "You've got to be joking."

Wrapping yourself tighter into your jacket as you walk through your dark apartment, relying on the sheer memorization of the layout to get you to the bathroom where you tried turning on the tap. Nothing.

The pipes must've frozen. and the snowstorm blew out your power.

This was great news for you, you'd always loved the movie Frozen and now you get to experience it first hand!!

"You've reached the voicemail box of--"

"Fuck you!" You shout at your phone after 5 hours and the twelfth attempt you'd made at calling your landlord. He's always been an asshole but ignoring his tenants when they were freezing to death is an all new low even for him.

You'd managed to wrap yourself in a blanket burrito surrounded by the 4 candles you were able to light before your hands began to freeze. Your body was barely managing to keep warm until you remembered the small cheap space heater you'd bought from a thrift store a few years back.

But it was buried deep in your closet. However, it took you no time to find it as you dug through the mountains of miscellaneous objects and finally pulled it out from the bottom.

Rushing to plug it in with desperation. Then you remembered. There was no power. As badly as you wanted to scream and toss the heater across your dimly lit room, you didn't. Instead you sat quietly in your burrito and began to cry.

What if this was it?

Tomorrow your students would find out their teacher had frozen to death. Were you being dramatic? You weren't even sure. You're not even sure how they would react, but you're sure the parents would be shocked- and Jungkook.

Jungkook.

"Jungkook!" You gasp. Your freezing hands reaching for your phone, trying to type in his number as fast as you could but your joints felt like they were dead locked in place and moved 1 key per minute.

The phone began to ring, and ring,,,

On the other end of the line, Jungkook was also having a pretty rough night. Laying on his bed with his bare stomach facing the ceiling eyes wide open and his brain a never ending circus.

He tried to focus on his breathing, but he couldn't sleep.

He hasn't been able to get a good sleep for a few months now.

Turning on his side he looked at the picture of him and Ryan at his third birthday party. He was so much smaller then. 'I looked so happy' he thinks to himself with a sad smile on his face.

Beginning to wish that Ryan was with him in that moment but he knew it was for the best that he'd dropped him at his parents' for the weekend. He was beginning to enter one of those episodes and he couldn't stop it, no matter how badly he wanted to, no matter how hard he tries to.

Ryan deserved a father who could be happy all the time-- He sits up. Holding his head in his hands, taking deep breaths. Erasing those thoughts- trying to. Slowly letting his vision roam back to his night stand drawer where he kept his pills.

God, was it always going to be like this?

Lifelessly he reached for the handle and pulled it open, his hands blindly reaching for the cylindrical bottle and unscrewing the cap taking the recommended dose before putting it away.

He lays back down with a soft grunt, staring up at the ceiling tumultuously. Resting his hands on his firm core, focusing on the way it rises and falls with every breath, thinking about the day it stops. The day he's no longer sentenced to the time he's currently serving in his own mind-

"I should try to get some sleep" He mumbles to no one in particular.

His eyes shoot open after a mere 3 seconds of being closed. He listens to it ring, ring and ring, not sure he's in the mood to be taking any calls right now.

Though, it may be his parents with an emergency. He finds himself rolling onto his stomach, more than shocked to see your name pop up on his phone.

"Hello?"

"H-Hi! It's me. I'm sorry if I woke you up," Your voice was refreshing, like the first ray of sunshine after a dark and stormy night or the smell of fresh coffee in the morning.

"No, you didn't wake me. What's up?" You weren't sure if you were looking too deep into things but he sounded different. His voice was flatter, none of that familiar bubbly hint to be found in it, then again, It was nearly one in the morning.

"You probably don't remember but you gave me your card, and said if I ever had any technical issues I could give you a call," your teeth were chattering, prompting you to wrap yourself even tighter.

"I remember." How could he forget.

"Yea! Well, my apartment has no power or running water, so its pretty cold over here, and I was wondering if you had any tips or tricks on how to get something to work."

He sits up abruptly. "What?"

"Yeah, my landlord is pretty shitty and hasn't answered my calls, I'm not even sure if maintenance is available or even knows about the situation themselves." You hear some muffling on the other end assuming he'd dropped his phone but it was actually Jungkook rushing to put on a shirt.

"Hello?" you say blankly, wondering if you'd lost connection.

"It's a fucking snowstorm outside. You'll freeze." You laugh, and that stops him in his tracks for a moment, "Oh I know, I'm getting a little taste of that right now actually. Do you by any chance know what the first signs of frostbite are?"

"Send me your address, I'm coming to get you."

"No, Jungkook. I wont let you do that, the roads are terrible." He doesn't respond, or maybe he does, you couldn't hear over the sound of keys jingling.

Clearly it was useless trying to change his mind, and the last thing you'd want is for him to go out of his way for nothing so you sent him your address.

What would usually be 15 minute drive had turned into 40 with the poor weather conditions but it wasn't any more than an hour before you heard knocking on your door.

Still wrapped in your thick blankets you opened it.

"Are you alright? How do you feel?" Jungkook inspects you, taking your hands in his, "You're ice cold." He says, reaching into his jacket pocket and placing his hand warmers in yours. "Keep those, they'll help you warm up." He insists.

"Do you have everything?" You nod while briefly raising your overnight bag. "Okay, let's go."

The drive over was silent, you somehow managed to fit your seatbelt over your jacket and blanket that you couldn't part with. Jungkook periodically looked over to se if you were okay, never actually saying anything but the concern in his eyes was evident with every glance.

The first step inside his place gave you chills, the good kind, finally. Not the ones that left you shaking for warmth. It was so warm, Jungkook took your bag while walking you towards the living room as he turned on the fireplace, suggesting you warm up before doing anything else.

"Here," He hands you a warm mug of hot chamomile with a bit of honey for sweetness. "Thank you, Jungkook. For everything." You say sincerely, afraid you'd be repaying him for all the times he'd saved your ass in this life and the next.

"Don't mention it." Unwilling to accept such a humble response, "No. I'm serious. I disturbed your night, and you dropped everything to help me." He smiles for the first time all night, it was a small one but it was still a smile.

"I told you, already. I wasn't doing anything. I'm actually glad you called, it was nice to get out of my head for a bit." your head tilts unconsciously at that last part. "Nevermind." Checking his watch, it was nearly three in the morning.

"I set up your stuff in my room. It's getting pretty late, you should get some rest." Your eyes were feeling pretty heavy now that he mentioned it, you didn't fight it. Slowly standing from the pile of throw overs you'd buried yourself underneath making your way upstairs.

"Wait." You pause at the first step.

"Where's Ryan?" You should've realized sooner, but what could you say, you were a bit wrapped up earlier. Literally. "He's at his grandparents, probably snoring right now as we speak." You smile.

You'd gotten ready, taking a much needed shower and tying your hair back into two braids so that they would have some soft waves for tomorrow.

You sat cross legged on Jungkook's bed with your MacBook on your lap as you went through some of the classroom picture's you were yet to send to parents from the Winter Wonderland Concert the daycare had put on last week.

"Hey," Your head snaps up to see Jungkook peeking his head through the door, "I just wanted to say Goodnight." He says and you smile, but you'd just come across something you're sure he would love to see.

"Come look at this video of Ryan singing his interpretation of the opera singer we had perform last week." Jungkook sits beside you on the bed with his legs stretched out in front of him.

He paused when he turned to look at you, "What?" Your face is puzzled at his concentrated expression. "I didn't know you wore glasses?" He says and it reminds you that this was the first time he'd seen you with lenses on, or anyone for that matter.

"Yeah, I usually wear contacts-- Look! This is the part," You get distracted as the video begins to play. And somehow one video turns into five and the computer slides off your lap into the gap between the both of you as your head laid against his padded shoulder.

You'd fallen asleep. Slowly Jungkook closes the laptop and places it on the nightstand, even more carefully removing your glasses and placing them on top of the stowed away device.

Letting you down gently until your head hits the pillow, he sneakily begins to slip out of your grasp. "Stay." You say, your eyes closed and body still. Maybe he was hearing things. He shakes it off and begins to step away.

"Please, m'Cold." You mumble into the pillow with your eyes still shut.

"Do you want me to turn up the heat?" He offers like the gentleman he is, for the first time he saw a sign of consciousness as you slightly shake your head. "I want you to stay, please?"

He was nervous. Settling himself under the convers with you, remaining as far as possible and turning off the bedside lamp. Within two minutes his body froze as you'd rolled over from your side until your head was on his chest.

He wonders if you could feel the way his heart was racing.

you could.

"Relax," you quip, half-awake. Oddly enough, that actually does help him to relax, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist for comfort. Feeling your body against his didn't trigger his perversions as he once thought it would.

It felt so much better than that. He felt, comfortable. The way your body radiated a calming heat onto him and reassured him that someone was both physically and emotionally present was just enough to lull him to sleep.

As the night morphed into a radiant sunrise you began to stir in your sleep. Your limbs stretching across the the grey sheets and soft blankets while the tips of your fingers roamed the surface.

Slowly remembering where you were and realizing you were in the bed alone. Though you specifically remember going to sleep with him. When did he get up?

Tugging down the leg of your sweatpants that had rolled up at the ankle at some point during your blissful sleep. Rubbing your eyes as you stepped into the bathroom to brush your teeth before finally following that pleasant scent that was wafting around the house.

"Still avoiding me?" You joke as you laid your eyes on Jungkook's broad back that was facing you as he flipped pancakes. He turns to you with a lopsided smile.

"Avoiding you?" Nodding, letting your hands trace the back of the chair before taking a seat at the island, watching him.

"Yeah, you've been avoiding me since thanksgiving." His brows furrow then raise in a mix of confusion and astonishment. "Me? I have not been avoiding you. I was giving you space."

Bracing your hands down on the countertop you shake your head. "Yes you have. Every day you see me and just leave, not a good morning or anything."

Jungkook flips this battered treat a little harder than he should. "Yeah, because the last time I had tried to talk to you, you made it pretty clear you didn't want to talk, so why would I force it?"

You sigh. Vanessa was right, maybe you did shoo him. "I didn't mean to disregard you so inconsiderately, I was just-- I don't know what I was feeling in that moment, honestly." He turns to face you once again, leaning back on the counter.

"I know, that's why I wanted to explain myself." Your eyes watch his buff chest raise and fall as he takes a deep breath, "My eyes are up here." He points between the two of you, and you felt like you could just fall over and die.

You clear your throat, deciding that you simply couldn't make eye contact with him at all after that!

He notices your embarrassed body language, "Hey, I was just joking, I don't mind your eyes wandering a little." He teases and it somehow made your face even hotter, you were afraid you would burst into flames.

"Just-Just go back to what you were saying." You almost plead as you run a hand through your wavy hair.

Jungkook plates the last pancake on to your elegantly presented plate, before sliding it in front of you. Making a plate for himself he decides to eat standing up in front of you with his plate on the counter you could maintain direct eye contact.

"I met Hana about a year ago at Ryan's old school before we switched here. She's another parent I'd met at one of their events. I was going through a lot of shit back then, so relationships were the furthest thing from my mind but one night about 6 months ago, our kids were away at a summer camp for 2 days; and after a few play dates over the prior months, she'd called me to let me know that Ryan had left one of his toys at her place. So I went to pick it up, but we ended up talking, had a few drinks and one thing led to another and then shit hit the roof." He sighs before taking a bite of his breakfast, which is delicious by the way.

Your head tilted to the side ever so slightly, subconsciously of course but Jungkook took it as an indication to explain. "I made sure it was clear to her it was just a one time thing and she agreed. For the first few weeks I thought we were on the same page, but then she started calling me and leaving these... desperate voicemails. After that I already knew I wouldn't be be bringing Ryan back to that preschool, besides their teachers were terrible." You nod, no longer eating as the story kept you fed and engaged.

"At first I thought she would stop over time, but she didn't. It only got worse, so I finally called her back to let her know she needed to stop but she wanted to have the conversation in person, which sounded reasonable to me at the time, but I should've seen right through it because low and behold, the same mistake was made, once again."

"Wait," You pause him, "So when did you guys hook up the second time?" His eyes look up to the ceiling as though the answer was written on it, "Sometime around the end of August, just a few weeks before school started." The twinge of jealousy that bubbled in your stomach was undeniable but you had no right to be jealous. He literally had no idea you existed at the time.

"And she kept calling your phone all the way until Thanksgiving?" you say with a weird tone, unsure how Jungkook would've let her continue to bother him for so long. Almost with shame he nods,

"I kept saying I would get around to cutting her off once and for all, but I went to a pretty dark place, y'know how life can get sometimes. I didn't care much for anything at all, but when I saw what it had done to us," he gestures between the two of you, "I realized my negligence was driving away people that were important to me, and I didn't want to lose you. So I had ended things with her once and for all shortly after new years. Y'know, wanting to start off the year fresh and shit like that."

You swallow, "I had no idea, you were going through such a hard time." You say almost sadly but maintain the soft smile on your face. A similar one creeping onto his face, "Well then that's good. Means the antidepressants are doing their job." He chuckles and you didn't know whether to laugh along or be concerned.

"It's okay Y/n, you can laugh." You smile, "I-I just don't know what to say. All this time I was thinking I was some kind of home-wrecker or that you were seeing someone else, but to hear you explain what was actually going on makes me feel like such an idiot."

Jungkook scoffs jokingly, "Homewrecker? If Ryan's mother was still in the picture, a 'homewrecker' would be exactly what I would need, and a bullet to the head if I'm being honest." he shakes his head, remembering what he describes as the worst time in his life. Your hand boldly clasps over your mouth stifling a laugh at his dramatic expression.

He laughs, "I'm serious, though." His smile fades, "Those are seven years I can never get back." You flinch at the number, that's almost a decade. Calculations begin to roll around your head autonomously. "So-" You begin to say but he already knew where you were going with this.

"We met at 15, had Ryan at 21 unexpectedly, but no regrets of course, and broke up at 22, thank god." Releasing a calming breath of air as he says that last part, clearly they didn't end on good terms if he feels so at peace every time he mentions her absence.

"But that's enough about me for the day. How's your apartment? Any updates on the power?" You shake your head, digging back into your food, "Hopefully it should be fixed by tonight, I'd hate to over stay my welcome." Jungkook rolls his eyes, "You know I want you here more than anything, and I'm not letting you go back to your place until things are up and running again."

You didn't bother fighting him on it, you knew it would be you fighting a losing battle so you let him have it.

It would be a lie to say that you didn't enjoy your lazy Saturday with Jungkook, the two of you lounged around the house talking the day away. You watched breaking bad and kept saying that you had to stop to do some schedule planning for the kids but you couldn't seem to leave the couch, or his arms. "Just one more episode" becoming a meaningless statement.

He was seriously invested in your stories from your travels in Europe over the summer, expressing how he dreams to visit one day.

Time seemed to have zoomed for the next 3 hours, now bringing you to a dark sky and the crackling fireplace keeping you warm as you played a childish round of truth or drink.

The two of you sat comfortably on the carpet with the game cards stacked neatly on the coffee table which was also responsible for holding your shot glasses.

Your chest was already warm from the consequences of three passed questions while Jungkook only had passed two.

"Your turn," your voice bubbly and excited as you pick up the card for Jungkook, flipping it over to ask him. "What's something you've never told anyone?" He sits there, and you can see he really thinks about it. Glancing back and forth between the shot glass and the card in your hand.

"I'm a millionaire." He says it so casually, with a bit of booze in your brain you begin to die of laughter. "Yeah, me too." You snicker, slwoly beginning to quiet down as you realize he wasn't laughing with you.

"Oh my god, are you being serious?" He shrugs, "I guess so. Remember when I said I was going through a lot of shit a year ago? Well part of that stems from me getting some cryptic ass letter that basically announced the death of some rich guy who claimed to be my biological father and left me his inheritance."

You sit there quietly, "I showed my parents the letter as a gag, expecting to get a good laugh out of it and that turned out to be one of the most depressing conversations I'd ever endured." Jungkook honestly wasn't sure why he was telling you all this, he'd told you things today he never thought he'd share with anyone but there was something that let him feel like he could be open with you.

"So you're telling me, you found out you were adopted and suddenly a millionaire on the same day." A slow nodding of his head was all it took for you to see he clearly wasn't thrilled about it. "I still haven't touched the money, really. Although I did use it to cover my parents' mortgage for the next few years. I don't really know what to do with the rest of it."

A small hum escapes your throat as you ponder, "If you ever feel like it's a burden to you, don't hesitate to just pass it on to me. It'll be hard but I'm sure I could think of something to do with it." His head falls back as his body shakes slightly with his laughter, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Your turn," He says, hands reaching to flip over a card as he reads it out to you. "How many people have you slept with?" He makes a certain face at the card as if he was displeased. "This is a bit invasive, do you want me to pick up another one?" You shrug, "I don't mind answering. It's one."

"Like one this year?" It slips out before he can catch it, and he regrets it, you can tell. "No. Just one person, ever. My ex. I'm not really one to have any sexcapades. I have a rule." You're sure if he had bunny ears, one would flop up in curiosity. "Oh?"

"I never go all the way with someone until at least six months of dating them so I can see that they're all in for the right reasons. hence why only one has made it so far. Everyone else usually thinks they can like persuade me three months in." Suddenly your throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. "Is that a deal breaker for you?" Intently you watched the way he played with the ring hooped in his bottom lip with a serious expression.

"Are you saying we're dating, Y/n?" A teasing smirk spreads across his lips. You look away, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze on your from a mere foot away. "If that's okay with you-" A gentle hand cups your jaw as he turns you to face him, taking your breath away with a sweet kiss. His lips were as soft as you remembered them to be.

You could feel a certain shift in the kiss, turning from gentle and sweet to something a little deeper. It were as though there were magnets between your bodies, you found yourselves impossibly close to the point Jungkook forced himself to pull away from you, only to welcome you to straddle his hips.

"I'm okay with that." he grins before resuming his passionate attack on your lips.

2:04am

Your glasses were on and your hair was up, that was a sign that it was time for you to finally go to sleep yet here you were. Sitting up at the table with a stack of files you'd brought from your place that you needed to go through.

The border around your eyes were tinted red as you strained to stay up and finish, but you weren't even close.

"You're still up?" Jungkook says softly as he comes down in nothing but his black sweatpants. "I could ask you the same thing." Hardly sparing him a glance as you write down numbers onto the papers.

"You know I don't sleep much ever since I got my prescription. I can get 3-4 hours at night if I'm lucky." You frown, finally looking up at him, proud of yourself for not letting your jaw hit the floor as you patrolled him as he went to fill a glass of water from the fridge.

You knew he had a sleeve of tattoos, it was one of the first things you'd noticed about him, but you had no idea his back had its own art as well. The sleeve of tattoos that creeped over the back of his shoulder as it morphed into the most beautiful pair of inked angel wings that spread out across the expanse of his upper back.

You swallowed, shaking away your filthy thoughts. "What's got you up so late?" He leans over you to get a glimpse at the papers. "Regulatory compliances." It was so cute when he was confused. "Basically I have to cross reference the curriculum with our lesson plans and report that everything we're doing is aligned with the boards' outline." It dawns on him in the form of a soft 'ah'.

"When does this have to be done by?"

"Wednesday," It comes out with a rough tone and exhausted groan, you were clearly stressed. "Okay, Y/n, it's only Sunday. How about you put a pin in it and get some rest, hm?" Warm hands are placed on your shoulders and you nearly fall asleep right there but you shake your head, "I'm fine, I can keep going-" You yawn for what must be the 4th time since Jungkook came down.

"Okay, That's it. Come on, we're going to bed." He closes your files and takes your hand, letting you hop out of the chair and follow him up the steps debatably against your will as you're sure you would've given up no longer than 15 minutes later.

The moment your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light. Jungkook chuckles to himself softly at the thought that you truly tried to argue that you weren't tired.

He slips in beside you, loving the way your body naturally detected him and began to roll over towards him just like you did the night before, slotting yourself into his side. Once again, your warmth and the soft feeling of your heartbeat on his ribcage mixing together, prompting his brain to release enough melatonin until his eyes closed.

-

"Good news." Is the first thing you say as you walk into the living room at 2pm after your well needed shower. "The power is working again at my place," Jungkook pouts at what he took as bad news, he was not-so-secretly hoping you would be staying a little longer.

"Don't look so sad, you see me literally every day." the dimple in your right cheek making a brief appearance as you smiled, making your way over to him on the couch.

"I know, but I really like having you here." You poke his cheeks that puffed up with his sad expression. "If you want to see me a little longer, then would you be okay with giving me a ride back to my place?"

He scoffs, "It's funny you thought I wasn't going to drop you off in the first place." he leans forward to drop a quick peck to your lips catching you off guard before bouncing up out of his spot, hardly giving you a chance to process.

The two of you making comfortable conversation with small giggles as you begin to put your jackets on, preparing to return you back to your apartment. Tugging your hat on with a firm pull before you picked up your bag and declared that you were ready to go.

Jungkook opened the door, stepping out with you closely behind him. Not sure if your eyes were blinded by the gleaming light that was reflected off the snow or the bright flashes of light emitted from the dozens of paparazzi camped outside the driveway.

Jungkook's name was shouted from various different people as they waved to get his attention as if being outside his front door wasn't alarming enough. Jungkook's face had been covered in disbelief just like yours, but differently he was able to shake it off and maintain his composure.

Taking your hand in a reassuring manner, he continued his path down the steps, whispering to you to keep your head down as you followed behind him. "Is it true that you're the secret son of the late business tycoon Jeon Jaehoon?" The woman holds a microphone to Jungkook, looking for an answer, and she most certainly got one.

"How about you ask me again when I make sure you're all behind bars for trespassing and harassment hm? How does that sound?" The flashes finally stop and some photographers begin to leave, Jungkook doesn't even wait for them all to leave, trusting that he got his point across clearly and makes his way to the drivers seat.

Once the doors closed it was as though you'd trapped in a foot deep layer or tension within it. Jungkook's chest rises slowly, flared nostrils and tensed brows before a slow and agitated exhaled. "It wasn't you right?" He asks.

Your posture straightens as you face him.

"What?"

"Tell me that it's all just a coincidence, Y/n. I tell you about the inheritance last night and suddenly there's paparazzi buzzing outside my house today?" Your head juts back, offended. "Are you implying that I told someone what you told me in confidence last night? Are you being serious right now?"

"I'm paranoid, okay? I'm sorry."

You sigh. As pissed as you wanted to be, you had to see it from his perspective. A swarm of paparazzi showing up less than than 24 hours after he shares the information with the first person outside his family doesn't exactly work in your favour.

"It's fine, I get it. I'd be paranoid too." He starts the car, leaving his now vacated lot behind. "Then who would do this?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

-

The following day was as hectic as any other day but you loved your job. Working with such big personalities that were bursting out their small bodies.

But you did love the end of the day too, sayin goodbye and mentally preparing for some relaxation when you finally got home. All day you'd be fantasizing about drawing a nice warm bath with eucalyptus and lavender oils.

You thought of it as the perfect way to wind down after a long day. Although seeing Jungkook's face for a few minutes while he picked up Ryan.

"I'm here to pick up my son." You turn around with a smile, to the new and unfamiliar face. She was tall with dark long locks that were curled at the ends, her heels were high and her face was looked like it belonged billboards and magazines.

You were a bit confused, you'd never seen her before, and you're sure you'd remember someone that brought in such a domineering aura the way she did.

"Sure, if you don't mind me asking who you are." You wanted to remain as polite as possible not wanting to offend her.

"I'm Ryan's mother."

Tags; @talyaaas-blog, @chaconnelatte, @tokkiggukie, @skzthinker, @fangirls94, @xumyboo, @sugakookie132, @katsels, @appleh4ad, @cassies-cookies, @cassies-cookies, @bangtans-momma, @kissyfacekoo, @coralmusicblaze, @busanbby-jjk, @hrndez2008, @looneybleus, @gimeow, @jungkookslittlecarrothoe, @aiselle90210, @jungkookieeee97, @aloverga, @lovelytaes-blog. @itstiredteenager0207, @keiarajm, @junecat18, @nellyboosworld, @imaginethatblog, @gyukookswhore, @chxnb97, @jeodoll, @parkinglot-nights, @jjk97091, @rahullhere, @chaewonsrealgf, @thehxoe, @lpgirl2324, @coconchanel, @minaamhh .

[peppermint-whiskers]

Introducing:

An au by myself and @emositecc (all artwork here done by her, btw! 💖💖)

Premise: Because snake forms aren't common in Heaven, Pentious has to change forms per Sera’s orders in order to not make waves. At the same time, she places a spell on him that prevents him from speaking about who he was before and his time in Hell. Using the nickname Pen, he's sent down to Hell every once in a while to help them with redemption, acting as the representative. While there, he has a lot of trouble reconnecting because of the spell and because of the weird deja vu the others get whenever he's around. It also doesn't help that they're still mourning Pentious—he can't tell them that he's okay and that redemption works.

He does succeed in reconnecting with them, but only as “Pen.”

It'll be done in 3 acts:

Act 1: Reconnection

Sir Pentious, under the alias Pen, is sent to Hell every once in a while to help them with redemption. There, he struggles to reconnect with his friends, who are still mourning his supposed "death."

Act 2: Mind Wipe

After a disasterous event caused by Alastor, Pentious begs Sera to wipe his memories of his life before as it's the only way he can think of to ease the pain. This works for only a while, and the confusion between his two forms makes him restless. Emily smuggles him back to Hell to help him regain his memories.

Act 3: Consequences

After resolving the mind wipe, Sera realizes the error of her actions and tries in earnest to help Charlie's hotel with redemption. However, the reveal of the mind wipe and redemption causes waves in both Heaven and Hell.

Some artwork and snippets (written by me) under the cut!

No spoilers yet, obviously uwu

Snippet 1:

“The envoy is supposed to come today!” Charlie exclaimed, positively bouncing around the hotel lobby. “I'm sooooo excited! What do you think they'll be like??”

“Sexy,” Angel immediately said with his usual teasing tone.

“Respectful,” Vaggie sighed. After failed extermination, they've had countless meetings with Heaven, and the head seraphim has been . . . less than helpful. As much as she hated to admit it, dealing with Emily was much preferred to dealing with Sera.

“I just hope you know what you're doing,” Husk chimed in. “Inviting an angel to stay longterm here could be dangerous.”

“It’ll be fine,” Charlie assured them. “We'll keep them safe, and they'll help us with redemption! It's a win-win!”

A circular portal opened up just outside the hotel. Squealing with joy, Charlie rushed outside to meet their newest friend and staff member. Out stepped a tall gentleman with dark skin, white hair, and a pale blue suit. His eyes seemed to look over the hotel with nostalgia—Charlie would bet anything that in life, he was a hotel manager himself. That would be just perfect! She could use a little more help than Alastor deigned to provide.

Snippet 2

Their new guest wasn't doing so well. Somehow, through fake coughs and weak insistence, Pen managed to convince Charlie that he didn't need to come out of his room, thank you very much. Charlie wasn't dumb, of course, and her sympathetic nature was just one of the many reasons Vaggie loved her. Instead of pressing the issue, she let Pen stay in his room for the day and let him continue claiming he was sick.

He may have convinced the others, but Charlie and Vaggie both knew better. Angels couldn't get sick, but this was one hell of a bout of homesickness.

Charlie herself brought meals up to his room and coaxed him to eat, and Vaggie went when she was busy, but he never once opened the door. After two days of this, Vaggie finally took it upon herself to see him herself and get to the bottom of this. Breakfast in hand, she headed up the stairs and prepared herself for a battle of wills of which she was sure she would win.

[pathologicalreid]

angst masterlist

main masterlist

note: italicized titles denote requests; asterisks (*) mark all retired!reader fics; plus signs (+) mark hurt/comfort.

buried alive (2), (3): in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

the archer: in which a trip to your hometown leads an exposed past and a wrongful arrest, you can't help but wonder who could stay

brilliance: in which reader goes into labor after a fight and spencer is nowhere to be found

a father's daughter: in which your father doesn't approve of your relationship, but who knows how he'll react when reid jumps into action after a threat against your life

*stuck between a rock and a hard place: you, an undercover agent, uncover a hidden secret of the country's largest operation, putting your life in danger and under the protection of the BAU.

*the space between us: the adjustment between never being home and always being home starts to take a toll on you

*this is the job: you and Spencer (almost) get into a fight about the demands of your job.

sense memory: after eight months, you and Spencer reunite after he was in prison and you were in WITSEC.

no sign of danger: when SWAT makes a mistake that puts you in danger, your boyfriend is... displeased

next of kin (2):disaster strikes and you and Spencer try to take custody of your younger sister

perennial: unrequited love brings spencer to his death bed, unless you can rescue him

work song: no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her

can you come get me? when you manage to escape your captor, and your first call is to spencer

epiphany: a story in four parts, before, during, after, and epiphany

+resilient: in which your boyfriend lends you and hand when your own are working against you

+dazed days: your job at the FBI is hard, but life with spencer is easy

+your needs, my needs: washing spencer's hair after his attempts to save a life go awry

+don't lose your head: a stalker uses your work as a tudor history professor to follow your every move, so you go to the only place you can think of for help - the BAU

+the ninth step: spencer starts to make amends after mexico - and he's starting with you

+don't look in the mirror: in which spencer helps you when you're using sex as a poor coping mechanism

leave a message after the beep: when you go missing on a business trip in texas, the bau travels to investigate, but the situation might be more than they anticipated.

for the fear of falling apart: following her gunpoint confession, your sister pressure you into airing your grievances at Rossi's wedding

+and now i have to act like i can't read your mind: your sobriety is broken by an old 'friend', and spencer's there to help you navigate a new reality

extraordinary measures: in which your life hangs in the balance after a brutal attack, and Spencer has to hold himself together for the sake of you and your baby

[forteafy]

A House, A Home | CL16 & CS55

Summary: A loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. You've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you.

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: Hard Angst, Cheating, Mentions of Sex, Death.

Note: This piece has two heavy inspirations. The first is @lxclerc's amazing pieces 'Moth to a Flame' and 'Call out my Name.' They are both incredible pieces and I highly suggest you give them a read. The second is from a TikTok Account called 'ForPercival,' they are currently doing a social media AU which I cannot recommend enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Charles Leclerc is a husband. 

At least, he was your husband on paper. One year ago, a hidden agreement had been put in place between Scuderia Ferrari and the Leclerc Household; their son, the ‘Il Predestinato,’ of the team, (albeit one whom had had the most terrible season,) could continue to drive for the team, so long as he married the daughter of one of their longest-running investors.

That so happened to be you. 

You had been against the entire idea since the first day. After being introduced to Ferrari’s driver, you had instantly felt the divide between the two of you. You’d reluctantly shaken his hand and since then, had been thrown through a mixture of fake dates, a fake engagement and the fakest wedding that could possibly be imagined. The ceremony hadn’t even ended with a kiss, per tradition. 

It didn’t take long for your walls to crack; living with Charles, seeing him at his highest and lowest points, his most vulnerable behind the four walls of your home had caused your heart to soften. Forget being forced into this marriage, you’d grown to care, to adore the man who’d once burdened you with his presence. You dreamed of the day he would return your affection; how long would it take for you to realise you lived in denial? In your late-night fantasies, lying alone in one of the guest rooms you’d sought refuge in on moving into this ­house, you’d dreamt of lying in his arms, lazy morning breakfast, slow kisses when he would come back to you. To your home.

A home, however, is where you feel safe, warm, protected. You lived in a house with Charles. The man who would barely glance your way and after three months of your marriage, started coming home, smelling of rich perfume and lipstick marks littering his jawline.

The first anniversary of your marriage should have been special, even if he despised you in every known form to man. You’d woken up in your room, slipped on the silk robe which had been lying on the empty bedside and slipped out of the bedroom. In your heart of hearts, you knew there would be no significance of today; no flowers, no card, not even a simple text from your husband to signify the date in question. The only text you had received that morning, was a stern reminder from your father, that you were due to attend the Monza Grand Prix in less than one week. 

A soft sigh emitted itself from your lips; it was a routine you knew all too well. Every few races, the more significant ones; Monaco, Silverstone, Spa-Francorchamps, Monza, you’d play the doting wife; cheering for your husband whilst dressed in soft summer dresses, a forged grin if he managed to battle his way into the points. On those rare days when he would obtain a podium position, he’d greet you on the barriers with a soft kiss. It was all fake; a routine which had been performed so many times. Yet, each time his lips met yours, you could dream he meant something behind the affection. 

The train of thought had played through your mind for so long that you were unaware of the tears pooling on your lower lash line. So, what if Charles wasn’t at home for your anniversary? It was your thought for feeling any kind of emotion towards him in the first place. It was a business deal, after all. Did your husband enjoytreating you like this? His disappearance on that morning was a cold reminder that he felt nothing towards you. No sentiment, no adoration. 

Despite the tears which had bade your eyes that morning, until the mid-afternoon, you had a productive day. Of course, leaving the house was out of the question; what would the media say if devoted wife of Ferrari’s driver was seen without him, on their wedding anniversary of all days? 

Instead, you’d played soft music whilst re-organising your wardrobe, something you’d put off for a while now. Cooking a meal whilst lazily treading around the kitchen, experimenting with the spices that Yuki had gifted to you on your previous visit to a Grand Prix. The meal itself was too big to eat alone. Instead, you boxed up the remainders of what was left in the tray, carefully placing it in the fridge, knowing Charles wouldn’t actually eat it. 

Your evening had been…less productive. You’d found solace in a glass of red wine, lounging on the sofa of the main living area; usually, you kept as far away from that zone as possible. Charles would spend his evenings in the couch, eyes flickering between the television and his phone, no doubt sending longing messages to his mistress whilst his wife was in the home. 

The ­third glass had just about been drained. You were adamant upon gaining a fourth, no longer caring of any commitments you had the next day. Instead, you sat up abruptly from the sofa, hearing the gentle click from the front door. 

He had come back to the house. 

His green eyes barely took a second to meet yours, slipping off his shoes and placing them into the rack situated by the front door. A rustle of his jacket signified his option to stay. You saw him carry the garment over his arm as he trudged into the living area, set to lie in front of the television for some personal relaxation. 

With his entry to the room, you suddenly remembered your position. You’d hastily stood up from the couch, collecting the half-finished bottle from the low table, holding the glass to your chest to draw the attention away from your beverage. 

Charles said nothing; he’d unlatched the top two buttons from his dress shirt; faint purple marks nestled on the lower joint of his neck; a clear mark that his mistress had previously made, a sinful reminder of his adultery. 

“I left you some dinner in the fridge.” You mumbled, voice barely picking up over the sound of the television. “There’s some clean loungewear on the end of your bed, too.” You finish your sentence. Your husband doesn’t even attempt to tell you he’s acknowledged your words, eyes transfixed on whatever news was currently playing on the television. 

“Happy Anniversary.” You mumble, feet leading you back to the kitchen, the bottle of wine against your chest now seemingly the only attention you’d ever get. 

Charles Leclerc is an actor. 

The entire drive to the track had been bade in complete silence; not even the radio had been switched on to drown out the undeniable tension in the car. You had originally tried to make light conversation with the man; he couldn’t even be bothered to make a sound in response to any of your questions. 

You couldn’t handle the harsh tone he had snapped at you with the previous time you had been in the car; instead, you watched the rolling hills and glistening sun of Monza. It was always one of the highlights of the year. If not for the racing, you would have come here in your own time, to bask in the sun and to enjoy the secluded section of Italy as an individual. 

The incredible views soon began to fade out, instead replaced by expensive cars and adoring fans, leaning over the barriers in an attempt to see their favourite drivers; there was an uproar as your husband drove past the crowds; he was clearly the home favourite, as any member of the Ferrari crew would be in this location. Silently, you slipped on the sunglasses which had been resting in the pouch of your bag, knowing the paparazzi would be blistering your eyesight sooner rather than later. 

Charles effortlessly parked his car in the allocated spot. Silently, he switches off the engine, removing the keys and shoving them into his jean pocket. The man doesn’t so much as register your presence as he opens his door, leaving you to venture out of the car yourself. You’d carefully adjusted the flowing fabric of your dress; the patterned fabric flowing gently around your calves. 

You looked beautiful. You just wished your husband would care enough to tell you.  

Instead, his priority is the cameras leaning over the barriers. He doesn’t even look in your direction, instead firmly grasping your hand in his own; an act the two of you had performed for the crowd oh-so-many times. He waves towards the crowds; neither of you miss the adoring sounds, the coos for many of the fan’s favourite ‘couple.’ To so many, his affection seemed to clear to you, and yours did to him. 

Charles didn’t hold your hand with any adoration. His grasp was harsh, palms roughly mashed together, no intent to keep your grip safe against his own. You were certain that if you were to let go, he wouldn’t think to remedy the situation. Your theory is proven when you gently let go, instead keeping in step, just behind his figure; Charles’ hand seems as if it’s gone into idle mode. His eyes, however, stayed alert, vigilant. Silently, the two of you pass through the paddock security, pausing every few moments for Charles to sign a cap, take a photograph with a fan. 

It isn’t until you reach the outskirts of the Ferrari Building that you see her. Soft hair around her shoulders, clothing exquisite, her eyes flickering to your husband, offering him a sympathising smile. 

He may have been a devoted husband towards the press, to Ferrari, even to the majority of his team. However, the moment that the cameras were turned off, microphones pushed away, he was sneaking to his mistress, one he had shamelessly invited to so many Grand Prix’s over the past nine months. She was what he wanted; a fun and fancy-free lady, rather than the wife whom stood by his side. There’s a glance between the two of them, as if a whole conversation is had in that moment. 

You stay silent as you follow Charles into the Ferrari Building. Instantly, you’re overwhelmed by the welcomes that your husband obtains; so many of them pass onto you. Upon the questions of how married life is treating him, he smiles, fakes a laugh as he pulls you into his side, one hand firmly resting upon your waist. 

“Married life is perfect.” He insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, one which you falsely giggle about, ignoring the butterflies which were nestling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s even better when she’s standing right here, beside me.” 

The entirety of the room buys the staged scene, all except for two people. The first, obviously, is your father. He’s always there, watching that the driver is performing well. He knows of his affair, but in his mind, as long as the affair is kept out of the light, and his marriage was still official, their deal continued. Besides, he would speak to you both sooner rather than later upon extending the family; that would seal both of your fates towards one another. Nobody liked a husband whom left a wife and child. 

The second was Carlos Sainz; the second driver for Scuderia Ferrari. 

The Spaniard was all too aware of the affair between Charles and his mistress; after qualifying from Baku, Carlos had found his teammate behind the garage, his hands with a firm grip on her waist, their kisses entirely formed of tounge and teeth. The man had furiously ripped Charles from the woman, bellowing in his face about the wife he had, whilst this woman warmed his bed. A deep blush had formed over both of their cheeks, Charles explaining that you were aware of his actions. 

Carlos didn’t want to believe it; he’d frantically messaged you that evening, to which you had answered his question, confirming you knew of the affair. That evening, you had revealed everything to him, watching his eyes get glossier as the cruel details were flickered in front of his eyes. It pained him; he’d cared for you since the moment you’d first stepped foot into the paddock alongside your father. His heart shattered upon finding out that you had been betroved to Charles, that he had missed his chance, all that time ago. 

He waits; waits until later in the day to approach you. By this point, you had made yourself comfortable in Charles’ driver room. Of course, your husband isn’t actually there. After a brief encounter with most of the members on his team, he’d excused himself. Carlos knew that he had snuck away from the crowds adorned in red to see his mistress, likely stealing kisses and rough fumbles between one another. Whilst that was happening, you, were sat in his drivers’ room, skirts spread across the soft lounger, eyes engrossed in a book which had been enclosed in your bag alongside your sunglasses.

 You were the epitome of beauty in Carlos’ eyes. He could have stood at the ajar door to the room, watching you as you engrossed yourself in the story. Instead, he offers a light cough, drawing your attention from the book in your lap. He’s engrossed by your eyes, how the light reflected off them, the glow they offered. Your smile, how you presented your real smile to him so naturally, not the one you forged next to your husband on every single encounter. 

“Good morning, Carlos!” You greet him with a bright tone, standing up from your position on the couch. You offer him a hug, feeling his warm arms wrap around your waist, his breath against your face when he kisses your cheek gently. ‘In another life,’ you always tell yourself. One where you were happy, free to marry a man who would return your affection. 

“Good morning, Mariposa.” The nickname rolls of his tongue; one he had presented ever since you had once showed up in the paddock, the most beautiful butterfly-imprinted dress flowing in the soft breeze of that Monaco weekend. “You’re hiding out in here today, yes?” He teases. You offer him a small shrug, eyes not able to meet those sweet brown ones of the man stood in front of you. 

“Charles is…busy.” You finish the sentence abruptly. Carlos knows not to question further; the two of you have a mutual understanding as to where he would be at this point during the day; wrapped up in the arms of another woman. “He’s probably on his track walk…maybe. I’m just…keeping occupied.” You motion towards the window, looking onto the first straight of the track. “Plus…it looks windy out there.” 

“Well…” Carlos invites himself into the room now, looking down at your attire, seeing that your feet were enclosed with the brilliant white trainers you’d left home in that morning. The man shrugs off his own windbreaker, holding it in his arm. “If I give you my jacket, would you like to come on my track walk?” He offers, holding out the garment to you. 

You knew you would probably live to regret that moment. However, if you stayed resting in Charles’ driver room much longer, reading the same line of your book whilst your thoughts trailed away to how he would be with his mistress, you would go crazy.

“I’d love to.” You finally respond, slipping your arms through the large sleeves of Carlos’ jacket. Offering you a pat on the shoulder, he motions towards the exit of the driver’s room, determined to keep you on his side whilst walking across the track loved by fans far and wide. He hopes that everybody misses the longing gazes and soft smile on his face every time you make a comment, or your hands brush a little too closely. 

Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser. 

It’s not as if you would know this. The only kisses you ever had were those for show. Cold, meaningless interactions between somebody who attempted to show unconditional love and one who could dream of being anywhere else in that moment. 

You’d carefully unlatched the front door of the house, your wireless earbuds resting comfortably in your ears, unable to hear any other sound apart from the music playing. Slipping off your shoes, hanging up your jacket; your only intention for the afternoon was to go through some of the notes you had made regarding education courses in the area; sitting at home day after day was truly aggravating. You couldn’t pick up yet another hobby. Maybe some form of learning would interest you. 

But first, you needed a drink to cool yourself off from the sun. You’d remembered the smoothie packs you made earlier in the week; one of those and going through your notes seemed a perfect plan for the current moment. 

The second you rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen, you wished that you could have taken the scenic route home. 

His mistress was sat up on the kitchen island, back straight, legs wrapped around the waist of your husband, her hands grasping at the soft curls atop of his head. Charles’ hands slid across her back, soft grunts coming from his lips, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along her slender neck. She was loving it, at least, that’s what you could judge from the noises leaving her mouth. 

Before either of them could clock your arrival, both too wrapped-up in their embrace, you’d stepped out of the kitchen, hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which were threatening to escape. In a moment, you’re out of the hallway, letting your feet carry you up the carpeted stairs. 

The only intention now embedded in your mind was to drink so much you would forget the scene unfolding in front of your eyes. 

Charles Leclerc is a slow replier. 

The smell of tequila and sweat is strong in the cramped hallway of the club. It was insane to believe that less than three hours ago, you had been cocooned in your king-size duvet, lips slightly parted as you strung a meaningless thread of text messages to one another; you didn’t truly care how one of your friends felt in that moment, the heartbreak shattering in your chest was stronger than any other emotion you could begin to comprehend. 

No, your sole reason for texting was to leave this god-forsaken house. You kept telling yourself not to care. Charles’ eyes were all you could think about as you picked out your shortest, slinkiest dress; one which enhanced every curve and dip in the most elegant way. Charles’ dimples were all you could think about when your attention was drawn to outlining your lips with a deep red gloss. Charles’ lips were all you could think about, your foot sliding into the black heeled shoe, your feet finding no solace in being propped up within six inches of their life. 

Your friend had messaged you the location of the designated club. How anybody could enjoy one of those places sober was beyond your comprehension. Instead, you had taken the route of every other supposed being in that club; one shot of a suspicious-looking liquid had turned into sixteen – his number, you couldn’t help remembering. That was the reason you had found yourself stood motionlessly in the hallway, trying to navigate yourself back to the bar. At least seventeen wouldn’t have been tied to any other emotion. 

The plan, however, was short-lived when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Turning too quickly in your ridiculous heels, you’re met with the figures of Kelly Piquet and Max Verstappen, hands linked together, clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as you were in that moment. 

Kelly moves first; you had always enjoyed her presence, spending time with her around the Paddock when you were bade to attend. Penelope was one of the sweetest three-year-olds you had ever come across, always greeting you with a toothy grin and a story of her and ‘Maxie’s’ escapades. When her mother encloses you in a hug, you can feel the tears fall, your drunken façade falling immediately. The woman simply cups your hand in her face, delicately wiping the tears from your lash line, making sure to remove any heavy clumps of mascara. She asks you where Charles is, where your husband is. You can’t make any sound which you believe is cohesive, something about him being back at the house.

Max by now, has his own arm resting around your shoulder. You were Charles’ wife, after all. He knew Charles would do the same for Kelly if she was ever to be found in this state. Something strange stabs at his chest; maybe he was too protective, but he would have never of let Kelly get into this state, at least, not on her own. The driver carefully fumbles in his back pocket, unlocking his own device and filing through his contacts to phone Charles. 

The phone goes straight to voicemail, not even a dialling tone. Max tries a second time, a third time. Instead, he leaves messages. How on gods earth did Charles feel relaxed, knowing his wife would be out, probably on some form of alcohol, and not think to check that she would be safe returning home? If only he knew. 

The duo moves to a second plan. You needed some fresh air before they could attempt to get you into a car and take you home; standing in the corridor of a nightclub was not an ideal situation, instead moving you to the exit. Your eyes widen, looking up to Max and Kelly as if you had shrunk right down to Penelope’s age, as if they would be the saviours to get you home. By the way Max was holding you by his side and Kelly stroking your hair behind your ears, you may as well been their daughter. 

Conversations are had; neither of them is sober enough to drive you home, nor do they think it’s wise to try and sneak you into their hotel room when they had already issues when checking in a little too late. Their prayers are answered when a group of men wander past, one of them stopping to smack Max, his fellow driver on the back. His dark eyes, ones you know so well, widen when he sees your figure, looking so fragile in the light of the early hours in the city. 

“Mariposa.” He murmurs, running a hand across your cheek, wanting nothing more than to hold your frame against his chest. Your soft eyes meet his own dark ones, glossed in concern for how on earth you could do this to yourself. The man murmurs something to Max and Kelly, ensuring them that he’d been the sober friend out of his group; promising he would get you home himself. The duo has no reason to not trust him, both of them leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek before retiring to their own hotel. 

As the couple walk away from the club, you can only feel the warmth of Carlos’ hand, still resting on your face. When he at last turns his attention back to you, he simply wraps a strong arm around your waist, supporting you to stand in those awful, heeled shoes. At the pace you’re walking back towards his car, you would get there just after the sunrise. Instead, he scroops you into his grasp. 

The affection, the physical contact is all too much for you. It had been so, so long since anybody had held you, cared for you like this. Your clouded mind, now overwhelmed by warmth and alcohol allowed you to lean your head into Carlos’ sturdy chest. If you were sober, you’d be able to feel the way his heart raced when feeling you rest against him. 

“Why do you do this to yourself, Mariposa?” He murmurs, settling you into the passenger seat of his car. He can’t help but remove his own jacket, wrapping the soft fabric around your arms, letting you nuzzle into the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Once settling himself into the driving seat, he begins the route back to the house, one hand gently resting atop of your leg, some form of comfort for the world in your mind which seemed to be caving in. 

“I’d never do this to you.” He whispers, turning into the driveway that he had become accustomed to since the marriage. 

Across the city, Max Verstappen is sound asleep. His phone, plugged in on the dressing table across the room buzzes once, notifying a text from his racing rival. 

03:21: Charles Leclerc

Hey, sorry, was busy with something. Is everything good?

Charles Leclerc is a traveller.

You hadn’t expected anything to awaken you after the way your body had reacted to the previous night. A natural awakening, however, would have been a lot nicer than hearing the clicking sound of wheels against flooring. Whatever, whoever was outside of your room most certainly had a death wish to awaken you that morning. 

It felt as if pins had been pressed into every square inch of your head, the task of even sitting up and forcing yourself towards the door of your bedroom, still dressed in your slinky garment and…somebody’s jacket? The night for you had truly ended as soon as you had that ninth shot of tequila; you thought you could remember Max and Kelly in the same location at some point, maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you, longing for people who enjoyed your company. 

You were pulled back to the present when the figure of your husband appears at your doorway. He’s dressed already; loose hoodie and tracksuit bottoms cover his frame; his hand is clasping tightly onto a suitcase. There wasn’t a Grand Prix this weekend, you were certain. He would have left days ago for that. There was-

“I’m going to stay with…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the correct way to word the fact he would be staying with his Mistress until further notice. Even in your state, you understand, simply raising your hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t want to hear her name, you didn’t want to know that he would be spending the next nights wrapped in her arms, because for once…you didn’t care. 

They say alcohol causes dangerous mistakes, but in this moment, your hangover seemed to be your best friend. Every single time, you would think later, Charles would come back from seeing her, would leave to spend an evening by her side or sneak away during your paddock appearances…and you would be focused, your sole attention being on when he would return. Now? Your sole focus was on throwing up the remains of alcohol in your stomach, placing on a facemask and ordering some kind of comfort food to your home. 

You didn’t care about him, not right now. Your actions relay this, simply offering him a nod before speaking, your voice surprisingly clear for how much your throat was weeping for a drink.

“Okay.” You pause. There’s nothing left to say after that. What does he want you to do? Wish him a happy time? Charles looks equally taken aback, usually expecting some kind of warm drabble on how he needed to stay safe. In that moment, he can’t help but…want it.

“I’ll be back on Wednesday to pack for Singapore.” He pauses this time, taking in your appearance, your face so…gentle, soothing. “You’re coming, yes?” He remembers a conversation had many a time; his wife should be there to support him as much as possible, even if he wasn’t a fan of the sly ways he would have to leave her in front of his team members.

He isn’t expecting a shrug of the shoulders, bringing a hand up to rest on the door, clearly ready to close it at any given moment. 

“I’m not sure.” You offer him, sighing as you begin to close the door yourself. “My father said that race isn’t a priority.” That was the last sentence you offered him before closing the door. You obviously do not see it, but on the other side of the wall, Charles stands in confusion for a full twenty seconds before snapping back to his reality, his clutch on the suitcase a little tighter as he begins his decent down the stairs, wondering where on earth he had seen that jacket you were wearing before?

Your own priorities that morning was in full swing; you had placed your phone on charge, messages beginning to thread through as you stepped into the shower, the cool water savouring your skin. A fluffy robe is tied around your waist, brushing your hair around your back whilst your attention focused on rehydrating your skin, brushing your teeth and cleaning the dirt from underneath your eyes. 

The silence is strong when you walk back into your bedroom. In that moment, you opt for some music whilst changing into some comfortable loungewear, easy to roam around the house in and let your hair dry naturally. Sitting at the end of the bed, you’re able to check notifications, seeing Kelly had sent you a photo of Penelope that morning, smiling for her favourite aunt. You see your most recent text had come through from none other than Charles’ teammate, following one which had been sent early that morning. 

03:45: Carlos Sainz

Sweet dreams, Mariposa. Let me know if you need anything please. 

11:51: Carlos Sainz

Just seen on Twitter Charles is at the airport, he’s not off to see her, is he?

His message brings so many emotions to you, and also answers the question of who’s jacket you had been wearing that morning. Your heart can’t help but soften, knowing already that Charles is on his way to see...her. You think back to your mindset from earlier, how it was the last thing you wanted to care about. Why on earth would you care about them, when you could be focusing on ordering your favourite food and calling your nail technician to come to the house? That would make you feel better, better than he ever had.

You first drop a message to Carlos in response, wanting to let him know you had woken up from potential alcohol poisoning. 

12:25: You

Yeah, he is. Didn’t seem so happy that I couldn’t care less. Thank you for the jacket last night, I hope you had a good evening. 

12:28: Carlos Sainz

All the better for seeing you. Hoping the hangover isn’t too bad today. 

The messages spring backwards and forwards between the two of you for the afternoon; you’re smiling whilst you go through your favourite meal, the taste of it filling your mouth in the best way possible. There’s still a smile on your face when your nail technician arrives, painting some delicate designs into your fingers and toes, subtly asking who on earth has you smiling that much.

It isn’t until that evening; you’re sat in front of the television, a series you had watched one-too many times playing, your eyes glued to the storyline as if it would change again. The notification on your phone instantly drew your attention away from the screen, looking down to see a text on your screen.

21:03: Carlos Sainz

Why don’t you come and stay in Madrid for a few days? I’m sure we could both do with the company.

Charles Leclerc is a stalker. 

Well, maybe stalker was too strong of a word. However, his intentions were identical, having watched your latest Instagram story three- no, four times. Since leaving the home several days earlier, his mind could not stop thinking about the fact you truly could not care less about where he was going. This wasn’t you, was it? 

He’d arrived at her house, being temporarily distracted by luring himself into her bedroom, an afternoon of escapades and touches until she had rolled onto her side, telling him she was going to shower, and he would be more than welcome to join her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, seeing if you had done your usual; texting him to check that he had arrived safely, asking when he could be coming back to the house. 

There’s no messages, no notifications. Huffing to himself, Charles instead pulls up your Instagram, seeing that you had posted a new story that evening, a suitcase in hand, an emoji of an aircraft and a Spanish flag. You were off somewhere, and hadn’t told him? No, no. You always told him where you were going, you always-

“Are you not joining me, then?” Charles’ mistress’ voice suddenly draws him out of his trance, a towel wrapped around her body, hair around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as soft and as gentle as yours was, he realised in that moment. He eventually nods, pulling himself from his phone and following her into the en-suite. 

He’s so…distant for the remainder of his visit. When the two of them go to a secluded spot for lunch, when they go for a drive in a car they had hired for the afternoon. When she’s lazily pressing kisses along his neck, trying to grind into his crotch, desperate for his attention. When she finally falls asleep, Charles pulls out his phone, looking through any of the photos you had posted from that day. The soft sands of the beach, a hugestrawberry ice-cream cone, a mirrored selfie of yourself in the most beautiful sundress, hair curled and clearly ready for an evening in the Spanish sun. 

The routine continues, he sees your adventures, day after day. You’re touring small markets, trying local delicacies. One day, you’re simply lounging by a pool for the afternoon, a fat paperback resting on your stomach, clearly engrossed by the story which was resting on your stomach. Each time he sees a post, he can’t help but be drawn to how he wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe that’s why he drops you a text message, trying to gain some sort of traction from how you were doing. 

23:54: Charles Leclerc

Are you home? I’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.

You don’t respond; now, your phone is at the bottom of your bag, resting on the inside cabin of Carlos’ boat. For your final day in Madrid, he had insisted on taking you for a boat ride. You’d shyly mentioned earlier in that week that Charles had never taken you on his own boat, despite the fact that you were indeed married. 

The sun began to set over the rolling waves of the ocean; the boat is gently rocking, the sounds of water lapping over one another was music to your ears. You were sat at the edge of the now stilled boat, contemplating dipping your toes into the water. Your attention is so drawn to the scenery that you don’t hear him step away from the wheel, crouching next to you. 

“You could just go in.” He teases, “rather than staring at the water. You know how to swim.” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, simply looking to the Spaniard on your right-hand side. 

“What? And have you speed off without me?” You retaliate, using your shoulder to nudge his body. Carlos clicks his lips together, mumbling something incoherent, before he’s suddenly scooped you up into your arms; despite your sounds of protests, he simply holds you against his chest tighter. His dark eyes flicker between yours and the ocean water below the two of you. Before you can say anything, his feet have made their own choice, jumping off the edge of the boat, both of you tumbling into the sea. Your briefly submerged entirely, before your head pops out of the waves, blindly reaching around until two strong arms encircle your waist. 

Both you and Carlos laugh for a moment, in pure awe that you just did that. He moves first, one of his hands releasing from your waist, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. There’s a silence between the two of you, where the only sound emitting from your surroundings is the gentle waves of the sea. In that moment, Carlos Sainz wants nothing more than to lean forward, pressing his lips to your own. They look so…soft. He craves to give them the attention they had been longing for so long. But…you’re married. And even if your marriage is loveless, to a point where your husband is openly in an affair, he would never do that to you. Instead, he settles for resting one hand on your cheek, gently kissing the top of your forehead, murmuring some Spanish wording you would never remember. 

If you did understand it, however, you would have known that he said there and then that he would always be devoted to you. 

Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter. 

His voice seemed to travel for miles, you were almost certain the entirety of the secluded neighbourhood could hear him at this current moment. The man had returned home from his secluded stay with his mistress to an empty house; at that point, you were still in the depths of Madrid, packing up your own suitcase, wishing Carlos luck on the Singapore Grand Prix. You had intended to return to the house after Charles had left himself; the heartbreak of seeing him littered in love-bites, his eyes transfixed to his phone from her messages was too much for you.

However, if you had been at the house when he had arrived home, you would have seen his neck clear, phone shoved into his back pocket as he called out your name, wondering if you had returned home yourself. Charles notices your trainers haven’t been left on the shoe rack; there’s no music to signify your afternoon relaxation. A light knock to the door of your room signifies there’s nobody home. The house feels empty. 

Maybe, Charles Leclerc was beginning to understand how you felt. 

His first instinct is to message you. Surely, you would have seen his text from his previous message by now; what would it hurt to check in once more. The man feels against his rough jean pocket for the device, swiping away from the multiple notifications from his mistress, instead scrolling to your contact’s name, seeing you hadn’t been active in almost twelve hours. You hadn’t even opened his message. 

His thumb hovers above the keyboard, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Instead, he opts to call your number instead; you had always picked up to him; whenever he needed you to stay away from the house, or to remind you to be ready to leave at a certain time. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, your voicemail comes through the speaker, signifying him that you were too busy to pick up the telephone. 

Charles didn’t grow concerned during the evening; he grew angry. You were his wife. You were supposed to be at the house to greet him, to welcome him with open arms, ask about his day. Even if…even if he had chosen to ignore your welcoming’s and kind heart for over a year. The man found a distraction in going through the information that Scuderia Ferrari had sent him for his journey tomorrow, making sure his passport was in the correct place. He hadn’t needed to pack; you had made sure to do that for him before your own departure, making sure his comfortable clothes were packed and sunglasses safely secured in the pouches of the case. 

It was late, late for you when the door finally opened, signalling the arrival of a second being. Charles immediately sits up from his slouched position on the couch, stepping up from the sofa, almost ready to give you a piece of his mind. Upon reaching the hallway, he sees you, slipping off your trainers, leaving the suitcase next to the front door. Even underneath your jumper, he can see your skin is glowing from the Mediterranean sun, yet your eyes are watering, tears leaking from your lower lash line. 

“Where on earth have you been?” He snaps, not actually wanting to hear an answer. You open your mouth to respond, but the man cuts you off before you can speak. “I am your husband. You’re supposed to wait for me!” His temper is getting the better of him, green eyes flickering with anger. 

At this point, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed from the news you had received on your drive home, and for this man to question your loyalties to your marriage? You can’t help the scoff which falls from your lips, the emotions building a little too much.

“You’re my husband?” You mock in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my husband was around at long last, not wrapped in the arms of another woman!” Your temper flares, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, grasping the suitcase to take upstairs and repack. 

“You didn’t pick up your phone once.” Charles retaliates. Oh, the cheek of-

“Like when you pick up your phone when I call?” The tears are beginning to flow freely now, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs and completely ignore what has been happening. “You don’t Charles. You’ve done nothing to show that you’re my husband in the past twelve months!” You can’t help yourself now. Instead of seeking the new suitcase, you simply turn around on the step of the front door, slipping your trainers back onto your feet. 

“Where are you going?” His voice is now laced in concern; you couldn’t leave yet, surely? You’d only just returned; you wouldn’t be safe to drive in this condition. Why on earth did he care now? His question is answered, but not in the way he desired. 

“Like you would care.” It’s the last thing you say before the door to the house is slammed shut. 

Charles Leclerc is an investigator. 

When arriving in the Ferrari Garage of Singapore, there’s already an eerie feeling through the air; there are no smiles, sympathising looks thrown towards the back end of the garage. The driver isn’t stupid, he knows something must be wrong. He’s unsure of who to ask; who would know what is going on? 

His original plan was to ask Xavi, maybe during their morning briefing, until he is told that his flight has been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the late afternoon. Eventually, he spots his racing partner, nestled in the corner of the garage, his eyes flickering across his own phone screen, rapidly typing a message to somebody he would rather not admit to. 

“Hey.” He speaks softly, not wanting to startle the man. Silently, Carlos looks up from his device, offering his teammate a small nod, not wanting to prolapse the eye contact for too long. Charles can sense he knows what has happened, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why is everybody so…quiet?” 

The look on Carlos’ face signifies he’s said something wrong. His eyes darken, shaking his head in disappointment rather than fury. It correlates to the kind of look his father would give him during a long talk, when he had broken something and not admitted to it. The Spaniard isn’t sure he should even tell his teammate what had happened. Instead, he changes his phone application to the Emails App, handing the device over to Charles. His eyes flicker across the screen, taking in the information. 

Ferrari’s biggest benefactor, your father, would not be attending the race weekend after the untimely death of his wife. Your mother. It suddenly correlates; how the night before, you had seemed inconsolable, despite the fact you had obviously had an incredible vacation. You’d tried to simply walk away, to let yourself grieve without bothering him. Instead, you had found comfort in Carlos as he had driven you to the airport, whispering sweet words of comfort, promising that everything was going to be okay. 

Charles feels his blood run cold, he feels sick. The look on the man stood in front of him tells him enough; he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Murmuring an excuse, he leaves the garage, stepping to the secluded back area, the realisation that he is everything his mother never wanted him to be, hitting hard. He still had the ability to run to her, to ask for her advice. You didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t have anybody, least of all your husband. 

The first thing he does in that moment, is pull out his phone, scrolling to the contact of his mistress.

10:09: Charles Leclerc

We need to talk. 

Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.

The past day had been filled of tears, clinging to your father, to your younger siblings, to your elder cousins. How on earth your mother had left this world early was beyond you. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Your mother was the one whom had been your rock for the past miserable year of your marriage. If not for her, you were almost certain that you would have thrown your silvery key to the house down a drain so long ago.

Without her guidance, without her tutoring, you felt like bird trying to fly individually for the first time; surrounded by fears and almost certain you’d fall into compromising position. 

You hadn’t rested. Not since you had arrived at the bleak family home. As customed, every curtain was drawn close, doors to each room sealed, no natural light emitting to the large house, making every shadow and crook of the building seem more terrifying. Eventually, your father had retired to his own bedroom, your younger siblings tucked into their beds, butterfly kisses pressed against their foreheads, a silent promise you were only down the hall if they so desired you. 

The bedroom you had grown up in remained almost identical to the one you had painted in your mind; pale pink wallpaper, a luxury bed lined with a rosebud-patterned quilt set. The vanity you had last used to get ready on your wedding day remained pristine, the perfumes and scents which had been your favourite still sitting atop of your shelf. And the photographs. A polaroid of your two closest friends from your childhood; one of your sisters on her christening day, the entire family dressed so elegantly; Charles is in that photograph, off to the side alongside his brothers; you had no idea there and then that boy with the ocean eyes would become your estranged husband. 

You could have continued going down memory lane, if not from the buzzing which was coming from your bed. The phone you had carelessly thrown atop of the blankets when first entering the room had finally got some service, a thread of text messages and missed phone calls beginning to filter through. Silently, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes flickering across each message. Some are from members of the Ferrari team, others from family members you hadn’t heard from in what felt like centuries. 

There’s one. One from the man whom you had spent the previous week with. The one who had consoled you whilst travelling to the family home. Your husband’s teammate. 

23:05: Carlos Sainz

Mariposa, please let me know how you are doing. I’m so worried about you. Let me know if you need anything at all. 

23:31: You

Thank you, C. I should be heading home tomorrow, with a bit of luck I’ll be able to swing by and say hello. 

You hadn’t expected anything else that evening. You were settled, ready to focus on yourself for the remainder of the evening; in your eyes, there was a high likelihood that your siblings would be burrowing into your blankets later. Once dressed in nightwear, the makeup that had stained your cheeks removed, you noticed the soft glow of your phone screen. Another message had just been received, and in your wildest dreams, you could not have imagined whom it was from.

00:24: Charles Leclerc

I heard about your mother this afternoon; I am truly so, so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I mean it. 

Your eyes had barely had time to view the message which had just been received, before your phone screen changes, taking the message away from your sight. The message thread is replaced by a photograph of your husband, his name lighting up on you phone screen. You don’t even think; instead, your thumb swipes across the screen, pressing the green button and holding the device to your ear. 

“Charles.” You speak one word, hearing your husband visibly relax on the other end of the line. You realise it’s the first time you’ve said anything coherent in hours; the tone of your voices echoes around the room. Did you always sound that sad when you spoke to him?

“Hey.” He isn’t too sure what he wants to say; the lack of conversation between the two of you means he isn’t aware if there are any boundaries, anything you wouldn’t discuss with him. No, he just wanted to speak to you, to check in. In reality, he had realised how lonely the house was as an individual. His mistress was gone from his contacts, not inviting her around to fill the void had made him realise how you had felt for oh-so-long. 

“How…” He pauses, not sure on how to finish his question. He doesn’t need to, because despite the lack of understanding of one another, you know he’s trying, trying to make you feel better.

“I’m…yeah.” You can’t find the correct words to say; ‘sad’ is an understatement, ‘fine’ is a rude response. Neither of you can find the words, but in that moment, you crave somebody who isn’t mourning the loss of your mother as heavily as you are. 

“We have some new neighbours.” He’s trying to find anything to create some conversation. It’s almost as if he knows the quiet of the room is making you feel uncomfortable. “They left us an invitation to join them for a tennis session- not that I’m any good.” He laughs to himself, remembering the previous time he’d attended a tennis game alongside his fellow drivers; he’d had to step out after a few minutes, completely terrified he would end up breaking his hand. 

He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the line but continues to talk. “Are you…” He catches himself for a moment. “Are you coming back soon?” His voice turns into barely a whisper, as if saying the wrong thing will cause you to hang up immediately. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, taking a gentle sigh and awaiting your response. 

“Yeah.” You pause. Are you doing this? Are you having a conversation with your husband? “I’m going to fly home tomorrow afternoon. I think my father wants space.” Your sentence closes, looking around your room. The silence is deathly; in that moment, you don’t care about everything that’s happened. All you want is for somebody to hold you in their arms and tell you it would be okay. 

“I’ll come and get you.” Charles has spoken before his mouth has had time to catch his brain. Your eyebrows quirk in confusion. The only time your estranged husband ever drove you himself was on your endless journeys to races; you would sit silently, curled away from his figure, eyes transfixed as the world passed by around you. The man not only offering but wanting to pick you up from the airport was a new-found curiosity. 

“It’s okay.” You don’t let him continue. If previous standings have taught you anything, it’s that behind those mesmerising eyes cannot be trusted. You knew the secrets that lied beyond the ocean settled in his eye. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.” Part of your heart is craving to bring up his mistress; how she would probably be warming his bed in the current moment, walking around the house which you ached to find comfort in. 

“You wouldn’t.” Charles is quick to respond; in his heart of heart, he knows getting you to trust him again would be a monumental task. He’d do anything to prove he would be the husband who would look after you. Who would love you unconditionally; the husband you deserved.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed, okay?” It’s your final compromise. The woman whom you had been twelve months ago would love nothing more than to run into Charles’ arms; whether he cared for you the way you did; you would always desire his attention and affection. You’d had to learn through the months that some of life’s biggest temptations had to remain untouched.  

Charles Leclerc is your husband.

Landing back in the country was almost eerie; despite being away for only a miniscule amount of time, you felt changed; changed by the loss of your closest companion, changed by the fact your husband had been the one to call you, and not to throw some crazy request down the telephone line. 

Arrivals, as always, were completely smothered; couples reuniting, children screaming at the sudden change of scenery. After obtaining your own bag, your eyes flicker through the never-ending crowds, desperate to find some recognition. 

Standing apart from the crowd, looking effortlessly rugged in his athletic shorts and hoodie, hair pushed underneath a snapback. His eyes are trained on you, as if he had sensed your presence into the room in less than a moment. The breath catches in the back of your dried throat, a pair of eyes that you trusted undoubtedly. Stumbling, your feet carry you over to the arms of your favourite Spaniard, your head instantly finding solace in the joint between his shoulder and neck, the cologne you were used to from his attendances around the paddock creating a cloud of comfort. 

Carlos’ hands effortlessly lock around your torso, pulling you tighter into his chest, one palm rubbing up and down your back. It was the first time, the first time in a long time that anybody had offered you this sort of affection. Mindlessly, the soft tears begin to pool at the bottom of your lash line. Soft snuffles emitting from your lips cause the man to hush you gently, pulling your face away from his body, cradling your head between his larger hands. 

He mumbles something quietly, something about taking you back to the house. If it was him, the man would bundle you into his car and drive to his own home. He’d nestle you under his bedroom blankets, dress you in one of his hoodies. Instead, his rough palm finds your soft fingers, intertwining your hands together. Carlos takes your suitcase in his free hand, guiding you to his car parked outside of the airport. 

Not much is said during the shortening journey back to the house; the tears glossing your eyes reflect the streetlights, transfixed on the roads which you had left for a few short days. The tears will continue to fall; her loss had taken a part of you that you would you never thought would return. The man to your right, eyes focused on the road can sense your heartbreak. He doesn’t wait to push you; he had spoken to you shortly after the news had originally broken, in that conversation, you had barely been able to say ten words before your voice cracked. Instead, Carlos rests a warm hand on your leg, a silent promise that he will be there no matter what. 

The journey feels too short; eventually the driveway to the house rolls into sight, Carlos slowing down the car. When it comes to a halt, he steps out immediately, obtaining your suitcase from the rear of the car, placing it down on the wheels. By this point, you’d wiggled from the seat, ready to wheel your case into the house. However, before you can move, his arms engulf you once more, clinging so tightly, your feet began to lift from the floor. You had clung back just as tight, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek; a silent ‘Thank you,’ for everything. 

The embrace ended, Carlos awaiting until the door had unlocked, nodding when he saw you safely enter the house. The building is practically silent; no television sounds, no gentle music, not even the whirr of Charles’ simulator in his downstairs office. Ears pricked, you could hear the jets of a shower from upstairs, the assumption that he must have been in the shower. Paranoia threads your mind, she wouldn’t be showering alongside, would she?

You don’t let your mind wander; instead, you focus on lugging the suitcase along the staircase, silently glad you had gotten further with it since your trip to Madrid. Beelining towards your room, the suitcase rolls behind you, resting it in the corner of the room, a silent promise you’d wash everything tomorrow. However, a delicate bouquet of soft, pink and fresh flowers decorated the vanity of the room; you knew you hadn’t bought flowers since Madrid, and these…They looked as if they’d been placed mere minutes ago. 

Overthinking had always been dangerous; instead, you keep yourself busy, wiggling your skincare bag from the suitcase, padding into your bathroom with that and a fresh set of long pyjamas; the late-night breeze had begun to tickle your skin since removing yourself from Carlos’ warm arms. The relish indulges your body, shampoo trickling through your hair, body wash bubbles tickling your body. You’d stepped out a few moments later, changing into the soft clothing, sitting in front of the mirror, brushing your hair out as carefully as you could have. 

Silently, your feet carry you from the en-suite towards the main bedroom. Standing at the head of the doorway, is none other than your husband, hair own hair damp from his shower, dressed in soft tracksuit bottoms and a tight tee-shirt. He’d seen your suitcase nestling in the corner of your bedroom, your phone had rumpled the blankets of your bed. Charles had been the one to hear the shower this time, deciding to wait, just to see your soft eyes.

They’re bloodshot; you look so…frail. The years of heartbreak littered across your face. Charles’ heart practically breaks; before you can say a word, he’s across the room, arms pulling around your torso, pulling your head under his chest. Your instinct tells you to fight it, why on earth would you accept some form of affection from a husband who had openly destined you for so long? 

And yet, you subcome to his affection, hesitantly holding your own arms to his chest. His scent, his warmth.You felt as if you were dreaming, eyes wet from the overwhelming care, feeling gentle kisses press to the top of your head. 

You don’t remember when Charles scooped you to his chest, tucking you into your fresh blankets before nestling in behind you himself. You remind yourself; this is a one-off. You’re almost certain that by tomorrow, he’ll be back in the arms of his mistress, your moment tonight will be an absent moment to your husband. You’ll take it; if it’s one night in his arms, feeling his breath against the back of your neck, tip of his nose pressing into your back, one hand pressed against your stomach in comfort, you’ll take it. 

Some point during the night, your phone buzzes, the sound barely audible on the blankets of your bed. You groan slightly, the bubble of yourself and Charles giving you a true form of sanctuary, a true form of home. Curiosity in the night takes the better of you, lifting the dying device to your eyes, slightly blinded by the glow of the screen. 

Despite being wrapped in the arms of your husband; you can feel your blood turn cold when you read the one sentence which had been left for you to find. 

01:46: Carlos Sainz

I’m in love with you. 

[bluenotes75]

Trust

Miles Morales ! 42 x Fem ! Reader Synopsis : ''I messed up princesa, I messed up bad.'' wc : 1,6k Warnings : spoilder for atsv, angst, THEY ARE AROUND 19 YEARS OLD, possessiveness, this is angst but like good one, no proofread, what I could remember from my spanish class 3 years ago. pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3

You glanced at your phone for the hundredth time this minute.

Still no sign of life from Miles.

You were worried, more than you should as you had seen him for the last time the previous day. Yet, you were used to texting your boyfriend every day. It was now nighttime and he had not answered any of your messages. You scrutinized with a frown the last texts you had sent him. He had left you on read.

Miles never left you on read.

Well, he did but only for two reasons. First, when he was mad at you. Thus the first contradiction because the boy was rarely mad at you. Even if he was, he would always confront you directly and talk things out. He hated being on bad terms with you. Life was already rough without you by his side and he wouldn't let anything strip him of any quality time with his girl.

The other situation was is… street activities with his uncle. He used to disappear for days without telling you why, convincing you to not get concerned about him. However, after that one night when you yelled at him, crying, for worrying to death after he ghosted you for two days straight, he promise to always send a quick message to tell you when he would get really busy.

So as you sat on your bed, plunged in the darkness of your room, you knew that none of these cases applied to the current situation. You two hadn't fought and he hadn't told you anything about his prowler activities. Well, nothing that you knew of, which left you insanely troubled.

Your last words together were when he left for a party the previous night. You were supposed to go with him but dropped at the last minute because your mother felt sick. You preferred staying by her side, making sure she get better. At first, Morales wanted to stay with you and spend the night at yours, but you refused. You couldn't remember the last time he got to catch a breath and just enjoyed life like the young man he was. He was always either hanging out with you - making sure you were safe by the same occasion- or working with his uncle. So like the good girlfriend you were, you convinced him to go to the party without you. You just wanted him to have fun and even though he was reluctant, he couldn't say no to you.

Since then you had heard nothing from his side. It was already far in the night and you should be sleeping, but you couldn't close an eye.

At this point, you were contemplating directly calling his mother or even his friends. But you knew Miles despised you talking to other guys. Even if they were his own friends.

Your train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a bang on your window. You jumped at the sound and gawked when you catch sight of the boy tormenting your thoughts out of the corner of your eyes.

You hurried up and opened the window for him and he stumbled inside your room looking…awful. You could see the dark circles painted under his eyes and the frown settled on his forehead. Before you could say anything, he clenched his jaw and wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging your body to his. He pressed your bodies tightly against each other, leaving no room for anything else and the heat of your skin warmed the iciness of his.

You were left speechless as he leaned down and nestled his face on your chest. This sudden display of physical affection was unusual from your Miles. You were the one initiating the cuddles, the kisses, the hand-holding. So you couldn't help your heart from fluttering at this new attention. However, the feeling quickly vanished as you remembered the context. Your worry came back like a slap on your cheek.

“My love, what's going on ?” you broke the silence and wrapped your arms around his neck to hug him back, sensing that he needed it.

You received the silence treatment.

“Miles,” you frowned and leaned back to look at his face, only for him to stop you by tightening his arms around the low of your back.

“You haven't answered any of my texts since yesterday, what happened? Is it your uncle? You can talk to me. ”

He took a deep breath against your skin but still left you with no explanation, which made you upset.

“Miles, you can't just disappear for a whole day and come back as if it was nothing !”

“Lo siento Mami, I messed up,” his pained voice came out muffled by your shirt. You scowled at his words. ‘uh ?’

“What do you mean ?”

''m' so sorry. I messed up princesa. I messed up bad.''

You moved your hand to his hair to caress it and comfort him.

''What did you do ?''

''I-don't make me say it.''

Whatever he has done had to be really bad for him to be that panicked. You could definitely tell that it had been eating him all day.

''Tell me,''

''….I messed up last night, because of another girl.''

As soon as the words escaped his mouth, your hand froze in his hair. All the worries slipped out of your body as your blood ran cold. This couldn't be what you thought right?

''W-what ?''

''I kissed another girl.''

There it was.

Your hands fell to your side as your heart dropped. This was the last thing you could have ever imagined. You took a shaky breath trying to process the wave of emotions that invaded you, but your stare was already lost in the wall facing you.

Sensing your lack of reaction, Miles leaned back to look at you.

''You don't know how much I regret it-''

''Let go of me.''

The boy tensed in your arm at the unusual coldness of your voice.

“No mami, let me explain-”

“Let me go !” This time you yelled.

You thought back to all his possessiveness. Him not letting you talk to your guy friends. You thought back to these sleepless nights you spend worrying about this safety, just like tonight. To all these efforts you pulled to break the wall he build around him after the loss of his father.

All that for him to fumble and betray you in the end.

You felt your eyes water but you refused to cry in front of him. He couldn't see you weak. He couldn't see how much he had wounded you.

“Get out,”

“I won't, you can't end us.”

“What?'' You scoffed at his nerve. ''You ended us the moment you prioritized having fun over our relationship. Get out !”

Yet, he stayed still.

And that's all it took for you to lose it. He didn't have enough of betraying you, now he had to stay and insensitively watch you break down. He was a mess on the inside. He had never seen you this upset, and he loathed himself for being the cause of it.

“How could you do this to me !” Tears rolled down your cheeks.

There, you had failed to maintain your facade and Miles watched in horror as you fell apart in front of him. Through your blurry sight, you didn't notice that he was also crying. He stood there, towering over you, eaten up by remorse. He was supposed to protect you. He had accepted the prowler job to protect both you and his mother, but he had done the total opposite.

But he couldn't bear to lose you.

He let go of your waist and wrapped his fingers around your wrists to stop you. You tried to escape his hold but he was too strong.

“Querida, mirame por favor. I will make it up to you. I'll buy you everything you want. Tu eres mi mundo and you know-” he tried but you wouldn't hear anything.

“Who do you think I am? You can't buy me with money! Stop being selfish and leave !”

The boy tried to make eye contact with you but you looked sideways, taking deep breaths to calm down. You were overwhelmed with so many emotions that you didn't know what to feel anymore. However, you knew you couldn't bear to see him anymore.

For some reason, Miles seemed to catch the message as he finally let go of your hands and stepped back.

''I hope you can forgive me, mami.''

''Don't. I hate you. I wish I never met you.''

You spat those words purposely to hurt him. You didn't mean them at all. If anything, you still loved him as hard as before. Yet, when you noticed his hurt expression, it brought you a bit of consolation. It was tiny and it only lasted a second, but it was something.

You turned your back to him and eventually, you heard the window open and close behind you. Only then, you tumbled to your knees and let all of your tears fall, becoming a sobering mess in the silence of the room.

You had heard a lot about heartbreak. From your friends to your mother and even your aunt. What you didn't know was how aching it would be. Because even after he betrayed you, even after he made you feel like you weren't enough, you couldn't stop your heart from beating faster for Miles.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Guilt

Character: Mob!Bucky x Police!Female Reader

Summary: "Of all the women in the world, does she have to be a cop?" Bucky, a gangster, fell in love at first sight with a policewoman.

At the golf course, two outstanding men in the mob world are playing golf together to have a quiet time, to forget the worst day at the club they owned.

Steve, the second person in charge, still feels frustrated, while Bucky, the leader, is the only one enjoying the game.

"Of all the women in the world, does she have to be a cop?" Steve, his childhood friend, asked as he watched Bucky hit the golf ball.

Bucky clenched his fist in frustration as he made the shot. Turning to Steve, he replied, "I can't help it. She just took my breath away the first time I saw her."

Steve sighed, recalling the first encounter between Bucky and the policewoman when their club was unexpectedly visited by the narcotics police force.

Steve sighed, "She's known as a scary person, even among her colleagues," he said, relaying what he had learned from his connections.

"And from what happened last night, I feel like she holds a big grudge against people like us," Steve continued, reflecting on the recent events. Most of the cops he knew turned a blind eye to their business dealings, never getting involved with drugs.

Bucky remembered how composed you had been last night, effortlessly throwing punches and giving orders to make arrests. He even recalled the moment you pushed him to the ground and handcuffed him.

At that instant, he knew you were different from other women.

Bucky took another swing at the golf ball, causing it to fly too far. With a smile, he declared, "I will make her mine."

Steve sighed deeply, realizing that once Bucky had made up his mind, no one could stop him.

As Bucky began his courtship, he tried various approaches to get closer to you:

1. He sent you flowers with cryptic notes, hinting at his admiration and interest.

2. Bucky strategically positioned himself at events where you were present, making sure to catch your eye without being too obvious.

3. He orchestrated chance encounters, bumping into you at coffee shops or restaurants, always ready with a charming smile and a casual conversation starter.

4. He even went as far as anonymously sending you a gifts or helpful tips related to your work, trying to show his support and understanding of your profession.

But you didn't give any reaction; you consistently ignored him.

Bucky didn't mind your game of "playing hard to get." He was confident that in the end, you couldn't resist him.

However, his confidence wavered when you finally spoke to him, your words cutting through the air like icy daggers. "In 2022, Bobby Smith died because of a gunshot. He was my fiancé."

Bucky's face drained of color, his body going rigid with shock. The revelation hit him like a sledgehammer, the weight of guilt crashing down upon him. His mind raced as he realized the implication: Bobby Smith's death was because of him.

After the revelation, would Bucky give up his pursuit, or would he persist despite the overwhelming guilt?

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business ( Series Masterlist)

WandaNat x Reader [complete]

Mafia Au

The Maximoff’s take you in as one of their own after a night that will forever haunt you. You join the family business and in it you find yourself falling madly in love with your best friend's sister and her wife.

Ch. 1- The passing of your older brother forever changed your relationship with your parents. After a particularly brutal incident with your mother, the Maximoff's welcome you into their home.

Ch.2- Wanda was sent away on important business, by the time she comes back you're all grown up and a part of the family company. Wanda doesn't come back home empty handed in fact she returns with a brand new wife.

Ch.3- Natasha has heard stories of you from Wanda. It has her doubting your current day skill level. With Dragos and Wanda in a meeting, you get the chance to tell her a bit about the person you've become.

Ch.4- Natasha is nervous about finally having some personal time with Wanda’s family. You help her fight through those nerves. Meanwhile Wanda struggles to come to terms with how much of your growth she missed.

Ch.5- The guilt Wanda feels for missing your important milestones boils over and you're left trying to comfort her.

Ch.6- The after math of the fallout between Wanda and her family leads to an all too important business meeting the next day.

Ch.7- Y/n, Wanda, and Pietro are forced to prepare for the worst after learning of the one on one meeting Dragos has set up with Kingpin.

Ch.8- The family copes with the situation revolving Dragos.

Ch.9- After last night's events things only grow more complicated between Wanda, Natasha, and the reader.

Ch.10- Natasha and Wanda have a talk about their feelings for you. After that emotional conversation they meet you at the hospital to visit Dragos.

Ch.11- Fisk is not happy with the way things turned out regarding the docks. He makes his own power play in retaliation that puts everyone on notice.

Ch.12- Natasha and Wanda reveal their feelings.

Ch. 13- Fisk Gains and unexpected new ally.

Ch.14- Things quickly escalate as Fisk tries to end this power struggle once and for all.

Ch.15- After effectively taking care of the Fisk problem, you struggle with the moral reprocussions of that action, while also trying to deal with the truth behind your mother’s death.

Ch.16- The Future of the family business is discussed between Wanda, Natasha, and yourself.

Ch.17- The family has a meeting to discuss the events that happened in Dragos absence. The aftermath of that meeting forever changes the landscape of the business and the family.

[fakescenarios-tohelpyousleep]

they weren’t the first part 2| finnick odair

part 2 of they weren’t the first

summary| finnick lost you in the 65th hunger games, but district 13 is full of many surprises

warnings| angst (ig), mentions of past hunger games, mentions of death, no smut but there is a makeup session, talks of Finnick’s past

A/N| glad yall liked the first one cause this was so much fun to write

__

you don’t know how you get here really. one moment a prisoner of the capital, the next a new member of secret district 13. you don’t really remember how you escaped, you don’t know how you ended up at district 13.

lately it’s been chaos. the bombing of district 12, the influx of survivors, the quarter quell, having to see Finnick’s face after all these years, for the first time in years. 

you wonder if Finnick ever thinks about you, about your games, about if you’re still live. did he feel you move before the peacekeepers dragged you both away from one another? because you remembered him, you’ll always remember him. he saved your life in your games, and you’ll never be able to repay him for it. 

as the quell dragged on, you couldn’t watch. you couldn’t watch cause at any moment your mentor Beetee could be killed, Finnick could be killed. you’d rather live in blissful ignorance for at least a little longer.

it was hot in that basement that day, you’re gray jumpsuit was half unbuttoned, tied around your waist, your top being able to breathe better through your undershirt. you’re hair, pulled back uptop of your head to keep the frizz out of your face. the last time you’re hair was this long it had been cut by finnick to keep you from overheating in the arena after your hair tie broke... you haven’t cut it since then.

you were working on some weapon suspended in the air rewiring part of it. once from district 3, always a smarty.. at least that’s what Coin thinks. Beetee would be proud, you think. When you refused to train during your games, Beetee taught you most thinks he knew because it made you happy. That’s all Beetee wanted to do before sending you into that arena, make you happy. 

It feels like a lifetime ago, being reaped, being thrown into that arena knowing you weren’t going to make it out, meeting finnick, being captured by the capital, escaping, being rescued by district 13. you don’t remember the majority of it all you remember is finnick, finnick, finnick. 

some all you dramatic. it was 10 years ago now, but while everything else feel like a lifetime ago, finnick feels like just yesterday. you’ll never forgot that moment you realized he wasn’t going to kill you when he caught you in that net. you were only 13, never even thought about the idea of love but something about looking at finnick made you fall. Never did you see someone and think of them as attractive, everyone to you was just another passing face, but not finnick. finnick, still to this day, was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. you understand why he was a capital favorite, he was sweet and put everyone he loved before himself... that’s why you jumped like you did. you knew finnick wouldn’t kill you and you weren’t going to kill him. jumping was your only option, and hey, you guess it worked out because you’re still here, at least you think finnick would like that. 

“Y/N!” The voice of Boggs startles you, if it wasn’t for the cord holding you up you would’ve fallen. “Apologizes Y/N!” Gale chuckles as he apologizes besides Boggs for them scaring you. You couldn’t put your finger on it but Gale irked you, perhaps it was because he left so many behind in district 12 to die. you think you have a problem with all men near your age, because no one will live up to finnick. finnick would’ve picked up and carried as many children as he could if they didn’t automatically follow him, Gale didn’t. 

“What do you want? I’m busy here!” You call down, returning your gaze to your work, keeping your ears open to listen to whatever Boggs and Gale have to say... well mainly Boggs. “Come down Y/N, this is important.” You look down at Boggs again and the look on his face makes your heart drop. Finnick. you motion for the people on the ground to lower you, shaking you’re barely able to undo your harness. 

“Well speak!” You snap at the pair as you stand in front of them, neither say a word. “Katniss broke the arena.” “What?” “Katniss broke the arena, we sent in a recuse party, they just arrived, they’re in the hospital wing.” run. your brain says but you’re feet won’t move. If you run, and he’s not there, you don’t know what you’ll do. “Who- who did you recuse?” Gale and Boggs look at each other, and your heart sinks even more. “Katniss and Beetee but they’re unconscious.” you gasp at Beetee’s name. “and-” you snap your head to Gale as he begins to speak again, but Boggs elbows him. “and who? Boggs?!” “Finnick is conscious but he doesn’t know-” Without another word your feet finally listen to your brain. and you run.

“Finnick! Finnick!” “Y/N!” In the distance your name is called and the wind is knocked out of your body at his voice. he’s alive. he’s here. “Finnick!” you scream louder, booking it in the direction of his voice. as his calls get louder, you’re feet pick up speed until you freeze in place, almost falling over yourself and the momentum. Finnick Odair in the flesh. you both looked like idiots, just standing in the hallway of the hospital wing. Finnick slid out of a room, Haymitch quick behind him, but at the sight of you he retreated back into the room. 

it felt like you were 13 all over again, seeing finnick for the first time. he was taller, more broad, more built.. obviously he’s a 24 year old man and not a 14 year old boy anymore. however, his blue eyes and blonde hair is exactly the same as when you were just kids trying to keep each other alive... or him keep you alive more specifically, finnick never needed your help. 

“you’re alive!” you don’t know when you collided or who made the first move but you were wrapped in finnick’s arms. it felt strange, someone hugging you. after finnick, you never let other people touch you, let alone hug you. “you’re safe?” you were both frantic. pulling back, looking at each other, grabbing each others faces and bodies just making sure you weren’t going crazy. he was here. “I’m safe? you’re safe.” finnick hands couldn’t stop moving around your face and hair, he couldn’t actually believe it was you. you were here. alive. you looked so much different, but the same. 

your lips collided before you could even process him moving closer to you. last time his lips were on your he was bringing you back to life, you guess you could say the same for this time. finnick was bringing you back to life. a fire lit in you the moment his lips touched yours. the thought of it being your first kiss didn’t even run through your head until he pulled back, both of you smiling like idiots. 

“I guess I always knew you were going to be my first kiss.” you joke, tears of joy running down your face as you cling to him. Finnick laughs at you, his head falling into your hair, kissing your head. Tears falling from his eyes making your hair wet. He pulled back once again, cupping your face, pushing pieces of your hair back behind your ears. “I can’t remember the last time I saw your hair long.” you laugh at the ridiously statement. “you’re here.” you breath pulling him back into the tightest hug. He hugged back, lifting you slightly off the ground before returning you. “and I’m not going anywhere ever again.” 

___

“How is this even possible?” Finnick still spoke in disbelief as you laid between his legs in bed that night. his arms wrapped tightly around you, your hands tangled in your lap, finnick playing with your fingers. his chin rested on your shoulder, you never wanted to leave his position. 

“I don’t know, I honestly don’t remember.” you laugh at yourself, truly you have no idea how you got from point a to point b to point c. at your response, finnick turns you over to sit in his lap, face to face. 

“What happened Y/N.” finnick’s serenity startled you, and the tears forming in your eyes startled finnick. “I can’t remember.” he wiped the tears the fell into your cheeks, and you turn away quickly wiping them. “I remember hitting the water, and I remember being somewhat conscious when they got us from the arena. I remember this like- this white room and then boom. nothing.” 

“I’m glad you don’t remember anything.” “What?” “The capital is worse then if hell was on earth, trust me I know. I wouldn’t want you to remember anything that did to you or told you.” “What do you mean, you know?” Finnick’s eyes fall, he shouldn’t have said that. “Finnick? Finnick!” finally he looks up at you again, he looked broken and that broke you a little on the inside. “what did they do to you?” “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.” Finnick deterred the conversation and you let him. He didn’t want to talk about it and part of you didn’t want to hear it. as you nod, pieces of your hair falls from your ponytail and onto your neck. you hated the feeling, you always have. before he could process it, you were up, across the room to your desk grabbing scissors. “cut my hair off.” “What?” “cut my hair off finnick. I never cut my hair since you did it in the arena, that was the last time I was with you. this-” you grabbed your hair, “isn’t me. so please, cut it off.” 

__

“I always thought you looked better with short hair Y/N.” you chuckle besides table where Beetee was. ever since he has woken up you and therefore finnick has been by his side. Beetee was the first and only father figure you’ve ever had, working besides him on new technology in district 13 was a full circle moment. “Thank you Beetee.” “I call it the Haymitch look.” Finnick and Beetee laughed as you threw a piece of food across the table at finnick. 

within the next second the sounds of their laughter was quickly covered by the sirens of an air raid. the noise send you into fight or flight mode and you black out of reality. “Y/N! Y/N!” you black back in to Finnick frantically shaking you, and Beetee nowhere in sight. “you’re okay, we have to go!” he grabs your hand and start running to the shelter as you make it through the door, finnick walks behind you, hands covering your ears. 

tucked up against finnick, you jump every time a bomb hits. finnick lays behind you, hands still cupped over your ears as some sort of protection from the noise. boom. “7″ boom. “8″ boom. “9″ as the bombs exploded, you counted. you didn’t realise you were safe, in your mind, you were back in the arena. 9 people dead, 10 people dead, you might be next. finnick caught on quickly to this as you shook more and more with each passing number. you open your eyes once and look to the ceiling, trying to bring yourself back down only to see cracks in the ceiling, quickly with a yelp you flip over, burying yourself in finnick’s chest. 

“you’re okay Y/N, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” he whispered into your hair, arms wrapped as tightly as possible around you. “I’ve drown in water before I don’t wanna be buried in cement next.”

__

you were the love of Finnick’s life, he’s done this so many time before, so why can suddenly not stomach that fact that’s he’s doing it. 

“finnick.” your voice and hand pulling him closer by his belt loops pulls him back to reality. somehow a kiss turned into this, you below him in nothing but your his shirt and underwear and him with no shirt on. “mmh?” is all he replied, leaning down to kiss you again, but you turn away from him. he looks at you in confusion. “what’s going on inside your head finnick.” has he really been so far in his head he hasn’t noticed? “nothing, I’m okay I promise.” he kissed you again, this time lowering his hips to meet yours and you let a moan leave your lips, to your surprise. finnick knows you’ve ever done this, hell you never kissed someone until he came along. “finnick.” you voice again makes him pull back, you look nervous. “I’ve never done this before.” finnick chuckles lightly, “I know, it’s okay.” “Have you?” “with no one important.” you at up at his confession, pulling your knees to your chest. “what do you mean?” finnick sighed to himself, he had to tell you at some point. “come here.” he reached out, allowing you to climb into his lap, face to face. “after our games, Snow wanted to keep me in the capital. the people wanted me to themselves, so when I was 16 Snow started selling me to people in the capital for short periods of time. he said if I didn’t he would kill my family, and probably you.” without a word, you wrap your arms around him, hugging him. “Thank you for trusting me Finn, I love you.” at your words he relaxes into the hug, burying his face in your neck. 

“I love you so much Y/N, marry me.” 

___

5 years later

“Y/N are you okay?” finnick’s voice pulls to back to reality, just like it always does. you turn to see him coming to join you on the balcony of your shared house. it was summer and the other victors and friends were all in district 3 for a summer get together, a yearly thing. every year a new person hosts in a new district and this year it was your and finnick’s turn. 

5 years ago, after the death of Coin and President Snow, we were free to live for the first time in our lives. everyone returned to their home districts to help rebuilt it from the ground up, after finnick had district 4 in order he moved to 3 to be with you. 

your first child, a son, was born shortly after the war ended. not ideal, but it helped ground you both back into a reality without the games. his name, finnick jr, could not be more wrong as he looked identical to you and not finnick. ironically, 2 years later when your twins were born and named joule and techen,  district 3 inspired names, she looked exactly like finnick and techen was the perfect little mix. crazy how the world works. 

“Yeah, I just needed a minute.” you turn back to the view of the city, looking down into your backyard you spot Peeta running around with Finn, Joule, Techen and his and Katniss’s two kids, Ember and Mason. they were catching fireflies. you envied your kids, they got the childhood you and finnick never had.

“It’s hard to believe it’s almost been 5 years.” finnick spoke, placing his hands on either side of you on the railing, caging you in. “5 years since we escape hell.” “We did it together, and look, we bought those beautiful kids into a better world.” 

“I love you Finnick Odair.” “I love you too, Y/N Odair.”