#I did not watch the press conference when it aired but a question I had was answered during the PC 😂🤣😅

[teafiend]

[nanivinsmoke]

❥ Chauffeur .

❥ old!manlogan x fem!reader

summary: mean old logan can’t help but to push the best thing away in his life. and you can’t help but to let go of your worst.

❥ tags: stubbornness, age gap (readers in her late 20s), reader is a mutant, old man logan having a wet dream, car sex, riding, creampies, possibly pregnancy, reader is very rich and established, brat taming, reader’s boyfriend is an ASSHOLE, logan is an asshole but that’s nothing new, etc…

note: we all wanna ride, old man logan. also, stepping away from jjk for a bit. wc: 4.9k

Everyday was the same when you got into the car. There was a smile on your face and you greeted him, even if you didn’t get a response most of the time—you still treated him with kindness. He was your driver after all and you were trusting him with your life.

“45th and Madison, please.” You placed your purse into your lap and buckled up as he pulled off from your house, keeping his eyes on the road.

“How was your night Logan? Get any rest?” You stared at the side of his face, taking in his rugged features. “Good.” Was all he grunted, hands gripping the steering wheel as he navigated the busy streets of New York. You didn’t bother to question him anymore, not wanting to piss him off on this beautiful morning.

The car ride was silent on the way to your company, the only thing that couldn’t be heard was the soft hum of the car and the sound of the air conditioner blowing its cool air. And when he pulled up to your job, you opened your mouth to speak, “thanks, and here—.” you leaned over and handled him an envelope full of money, the scent of cigars and cologne invading your nostrils; making you swoon.

He muttered a thanks and you quickly got out of the car, “I’ll text you what time to pick me up! Later Logan~” You waved and smiled, watching the old man pull off into the nearby traffic—before you entered the double doors to your million dollar company.

You were one of the top businesswomen in the world, employing the most mutants and paying them fairly. You started this company when you were just a teen, not seeing any jobs for mutants when you were growing up—so you decided to make that change. You wanted a safe place for mutants to be able to work in, something like your mentor; Charles Xavier wanted.

You had to do it for your people, especially when the whole world was against you all.

Even though you were a multimillionaire and you owned a license, you didn’t have time to drive yourself around. You hired Logan after a friend recommended him. They praised him for everything that he did for them, he was more than a driver, and when got the chance to meet him in person—you were sold.

You grew very fond of the older man as time passed. He plagued your mind as you worked, his face clouding your thoughts while you were in important meetings—driving you insane. It was clear as day that you had a crush on him, however despite how you felt; you knew he would never think of you like the way you thought of him.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight? Wear that red dress that makes you look like a fucking supermodel?” The voice of your business partner and boyfriend broke you out of your daze, while the two of you ate lunch in the high-end lounge your company acquired.

Eric, was a guy you met at a press conference that supported you when you wanted to have more mutants employed and treated as normal in the world, when the public was against your kind. He was intelligent and an all around amazing person, and when he asked you out one day—the two of you immediately hit it off. You were happy to have him…..but there was something you didn’t like. He would put himself first before you.

He did this a couple of times, putting him and his buddies before you; and you called him out on it—but he always apologized and told you it wouldn’t happen again. Liar.

“Will it just be us this time? Last time it was me and your frat brothers. And I hate that night, you left me all alone.” You pouted and he chuckled before leaning over to kiss your lips. “It’ll just be us this time, I promi—hold that thought,” his phone started to ring and he quickly pulled it out; talking to whoever was on the other end. You sighed and continued munching on your food, before you headed back to your office; alone.

Logan was already outside of your office when you finally exited your company’s building. You hopped into the truck and he pulled off once you buckled up, heading into the direction of your house. “How was your day Logan?” You looked at him through the mirror, studying those hazel eyes of his, which connected onto yours as he answered you.

“Good.” You smiled and relaxed into your seat, enjoying the ride back home. “Oh, Eric’s and I are going out to eat. You can come inside while I get ready, it shouldn’t take long.” You beamed and he tensed up in his seat. You couldn’t see it, but Logan rolled his eyes and gripped the steering wheel at the mention of your boyfriend. He wasn’t fond of him, thought the guy was an asshole from the moment he met him. He felt like you deserved better, he knew you did.

But, who was he to judge? He was no saint himself.

After he pulled up to your house and the two of you entered, you were immediately greeted by your calico—Persia. She purred and rubbed against your leg before she spotted the tall man a few steps behind you. The cat inched over to him and sniffed his pants leg, before she rubbed herself against him; purring once more. Logan grunted and you smiled, reaching down to rub the soft furred animal, “she’s never don’t that before, she usually hisses at strangers. she must really like you.”

As you stepped deeper into your house, putting down your things and slowly stripping out of your work clothes, before turning to the grumpy old man standing at your front door, “He wants me to meet him there. I’m going to get ready, in the meantime are you hungry? Food’s in the fridge.”

“I’m good.” His voice was gruff and his face was blank, when he connected eyes with you, moving away from your cat. You unbuttoned the last black button to your matching button up, leaving you in your deep green matching underwear set—causing him to look away. “I have a huge liquor cabinet, help yourself.”

He watched as you ascended up the stairs before shaking his head and entering your kitchen. He admired your boldness, comfortable enough to undress in front of him, but he felt like he didn’t deserve to see you like that. No one did. Especially that fucked face motherfucka, Eric.

Logan took a look at your cabinet, impressed with your collection of wines, cognacs and other strong liquids; but he was more impressed to see this thirty year aged whiskey you had. Hibiki Whiskey, his favorite. He smiled to himself and grabbed it along with a glass, pouring a nice bit into it; before downing it—the smoothness flowing down his throat beautifully.

He sat on your couch, sipping on the dark liquor, while taking a look around your house. He found comfort in the decor, your home felt….safe. Something he hadn’t felt in ages. It was so safe that he couldn’t help but drift off into sleep, something he hardly did lately.

He must’ve been sleeping for a while, deep into his dream; this one a little different from the one’s he usually had about you.. You had frequented his dream world on occasion when he did sleep. Your warm smile was something he saw on a daily basis; when you were cooking for him or sometimes the two of you appeared in a field of flowers—your smile overshadowed the sun. But, this one was a lot different. You were on top, riding him.

Everything felt and looked so realistic. The same emerald green set you wore was glued to your body. The panties were pulled to the side, your essence sticking to them and his cock; while you bounced. Your body looked so beautiful and he knew he shouldn’t be dreaming about you like this, but he couldn’t help himself—especially when you turned around; face contorted in sheer arousal. And then he lost it, when you opened up your mouth and moaned his name.

“Logan~” fuck, he could feel you clench down on him, as you brought your ass down on him again—moaning his name once more. But this time you were louder, repeating his name over and over again; his tired hazel eyes shooting open, staring at your own. You were standing in front of him, wearing a beautiful ruby red dress; which clung to your body and accentuated your curves, smiling at him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. But, I need your help zipping up my dress—please~.” He nodded, shifting in his spot to hide the boner that was poking through his black corduroy pants—reaching over to help zip you up. His rough fingers melted into your soft skin, as he held his hand on your upper back for support; his mind going right back to his dream. Fuck, he was going to hell for dreaming about you like that.

You looked beautiful, standing a little taller than usual—thanks to your gold heels that matched your jewelry. You decided to curl your natural hair, which framed your soft made-up face. He could stare at you all day.

“Thanks. I’m ready to go!” And there you go with that smile, that slowly melted his cold heart.

You waited outside of the restaurant in the car, waiting for Eric to show up. It had been ten minutes since you arrived and he still wasn’t there, wasn’t answering his phone either. Your gut told you to leave, but you couldn’t bring yourself to it—you were hoping he would show up. So, to get your mind off of him, you sparked a conversation up with Logan.

“Hey Logan, tell me about yourself. What do you do besides driving?” He clenched his teeth and kept a grip on the car’s steering wheel.

“Nothing.”

“Really? I heard you were a bodyguard and a hitman. What was that—“ He turned around and glared at you, cutting you off as he spoke. “Listen. I’m not one of your fucking girlfriends you sit and gossip with. Got it?” His voice was deep and scary, while his eyes told a different story. However, you nodded and looked away, blinking back the tears that wanted to leave your own.

Then, your phone rang and you immediately answered. On the other end of the line was Eric, apologizing about not showing up and begging for the two of you to reschedule. You swallowed the lump in your throat and told him that it was alright, saying you were tired anyways; before hanging up and slumping into your seat. “Take me home.” Was all that you could muster up to say, before a stream of tears cascaded down your face—ruining your makeup.

The car ride was silent, besides the sounds of your sobs—which slowly broke the old man. He kept glancing at you through the mirror, feeling like a dick because he played a part in your sadness too. But, an apart of him felt angry, he wanted to kick Eric’s ass for standing you up. How could he not see what was right in front of him?

As the car halted in front of your house, you immediately got out, slamming the door behind you before you sped walked to the front door—not looking back—too embarrassed to speak to him. And one he saw that you were safely inside, he drove off and headed into the direction of the nearby bar—ready to drink the night away.

This was one of the worst nights ever and neither of you would forget it.

The following days were like a blur for you. You hadn’t been to work for a week, taking some time off to try and understand your mental.

That day played in your mind over and over, you were hurt twice that night. But, the look on Logan’s face haunted you. You could tell there was more behind those eyes, besides all that anger, something else laid behind them—and you wanted to know more. No matter how much he tried to push you away.

Currently, you were sitting on your couch with Persia by your side, eating ice cream and watching whatever was on tv—ignoring the spam calls from Eric; when you were startled by a loud pound on your front door. You looked at the door then at Persia, fists clenched as your powers started to surge; before you started to creep towards the door. You swung it open, ready to pummel whoever was on the other side, until you saw who was standing on your porch.

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped, looking at the older man who was covered in blood and holding onto his arm. “Logan! What the hell happened?” You asked, helping him into your home and shutting the door afterwards—to hide him from any nosey neighbors; before you ushered him into your downstairs bathroom. He sat down on the toilet with a clang, before he started to remove his clothes; with your help.

“Whose blood is this?” You asked, putting his bloody beater into the hammer behind you before inspecting his scarred face. “Most of it was someone else’s. Don’t worry, I’ll heal.” He moved away from your touch, but you immediately pulled him back; your eyes piercing him.

“I know, but until your healing factor kicks in, im gonna help. And i'm not asking.” He chuckled and nodded his head, before you used your powers on him—stopping the blood from leaking out until his own power’s kicked in. One of his thick eyebrows raised in confusion, before you answered him.

“Blood manipulation. Now let’s put that shoulder back in place. Here, bite down on this.” You handed him a washcloth, but he declined.

“Just do it, princess. I can take it.” He reassured and you stared at him for a moment, before whispering an ‘okay’. Without warning, you gripped his arm and pushed it back into his socket, making him yell out in pain—his claws unsheathing in the process.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You apologized, making him shake his head in response. His claws retracted and he pulled you in by your waist—his body heat warming you as you stood next to him. His hazel eyes searched all over your face, lingering on your plump lips before backing up to your soft irises, “need a drink, right now.”

The two of you sat in your kitchen, sharing a bottle of ten year old cognac, while Logan shared stories about what he did—answering your question from last week. “I also take care of Charles….Charles Xavier.” You swallowed the smooth liquor, before responding.

“Oh, I knew that already.” He raised an eyebrow and you giggled, continuing. “He accidentally called on your phone, thinking I was Taco Bell, until I spoke with him. He’s a funny guy, I’ve always imagined he was……I was a big fan of his when I was younger.” There was some silence, as he thought about the Professor and his current state.

You got up from your spot and put your glass in the sink, done drinking for night, before going into the fridge for a snack—until his deep voice made you stop moving. “Look, princess….about the other night—“

“It’s fine. No need to apologize.”

“No, but I need to. I was a jerk and you just wanted to get to know me. So, I'm sorry.” He was now standing in front of you, towering over you, still shirtless from earlier. Your eyes trailed over his hairy, toned abs, before you looked up at his beautiful rugged face—pressing your thighs together as you felt that familiar pulsing between your legs. You nodded and turned on your heels to leave, but his rough hands pulled you back; making you stumble, before he caught you.

“What happened to you and what’s his face?” He spoke and you snorted, rolling your eyes at the thought of Eric. “He’s an asshole, who likes to waste my time.“

Logan clenched his teeth, feeling himself get upset at the mere thought of him mistreating you. “Dick can’t see what the hell he has right in front of him?” You blushed, and bit your bottom lip, your smaller hands reaching up to toy with his platinum dog tags. “Neither can you.”

He froze and you stopped moving, eyes slowly looking up at his, until he leaned down and pulled you in a wet, sloppy kiss. His hands immediately went down to your ass, squeezing the soft fat through your tiny black shorts; something he thought doing for a while now. You squealed when he picked you up and placed you onto the countertop behind you, never breaking his lips from yours. Despite being an old man, he still had the same strength he did when he was younger.

He kissed down from your lips to your chest that was hidden behind your hot pink beater, nipples standing at attention. He circled the imprint of them with his tongue, making you moan out, before he made his way down to your clothed cunt; your arousal plaguing his nose.

“Knew you wanted this since earlier, could smell her calling out for me~” He swiped his tongue over your clothed slit, slick already staining the dark fabric. He pulled the shorts down with ease, hazel eyes growing darker as he was met face to face with your bare cunt; your essence making your puffy lips glisten.

“Shit.” He cursed, loving the sight of your pretty pussy dripping just for him, he couldn’t help but to dive in and enjoy the meal you had set right in front of him. The sensation of his beard and his tongue rubbing against you, made you moan out; back arching off of the counter and your hands tugging on his salt n pepper colored hair—grinding against his face.

He worked wonders on your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud, forcing more and more of your sweet translucent arousal from your aching hole; building up your orgasm. Logan spat against your soaked cunt, using his fingers to rub it all over soft lips; before pushing a thick finger into your hole—making you yell out a series of curse words.

“Gonna cum—f-fuck! Just like that Logan!” He continued to lap up your juice and pump his fingers in and out of you, curling them—making them punch your spot over and over; making you gush all over him. The grip you had on his hair was tight as you came, but he ignored it and continued to draw out your orgasm; before pulling away and pressing his wet lips against yours.

The kiss was sloppy, filled with nothing but hunger as you licked every inch of his wet face, tasting yourself; a low hum leaving his lips. And as your hand reached down to feel the bulge in his pants, he pulled away—making you whimper. But, when he backed further away and wouldn’t look at you, you noticed something was wrong.

“Logan?” You started, slipping off the counter, legs wobbling as you stood and walked over to him; only for him to back away once more.

“Gotta go. This was a mistake.” And before you could protest, he made a beeline to your front door, opening it and shutting it behind him; not bothering to grab his shirt or turning to look at you.

What the actual fuck?

You returned back to work the following day. Logan dropped you off of course, but he barely acknowledged you—evident he didn’t want to talk about what happened yesterday. But, you needed to talk about it, wondering what made him stop. Surely he didn’t think you would just be alright with him eating your pussy and making you cum, and not feel something about him?

However, you would deal with the grumpy old man later. Today, you had to face the asshole of the year, Eric. You left the car with a simple ‘bye’ to Logan, before taking the elevator ride up to your office’s floor, trying to push yesterday’s events out of your mind.

Your baby blue heels clicked on the wooden floor as you sashayed down the walk way, making heads turn and people cheer; excited for your return. However as you approached your office, you were stopped by your assistant, who had a look of worry on their face.

“What’s the matter?” You questioned, looking at your office before going back to your assistant. They gulped and prepared themselves to tell you what lies in your office.

“Mr. Eric’s in there...and he’s not alone. He’s with another—“ you cut them off and storm past them, opening the wooden door, eyes glued to the horrific sight in front of you. Your boyfriend was balls deep into your new intern, having her bent over your crisp white desk.

The sound of the door slamming shut startled them and the girl screamed, scrambling to pull her skirt down, while apologizing to you frantically. You held up your finger and shushed her, motioning to the door so she could leave. And once she did, you immediately sauntered over to the guilty male—body temperature increasing by the second.

“How long?” You questioned, your tone flat and emotionless. He stuttered, but then he looked down and looked back up—a devious smirk on his face.

“A good couple of months now. Why’d you think i pushed for you to hire her? What, did you think I’d actually love someone like you?” He chuckled, circling around you, while you raised an eyebrow. “And what does that mean? Someone like me?”

“Your kind! A fucking mutant! I’ve been using you from the beginning, I just wanted to get my hands on this company—have you mutants under my control. Starting with you—“ You set him flying back with a punch to his cheek, making him fly through the door; knocking it down.

All you saw was red as you marched over to him, your employees shocked at what was going down, but none of them dared to step in. “This….this is what I expected from you people! Pure chaos and violence.” He smirked, blood pooling from his mouth as he spewed his hate.

Using your powers, you were able to make more blood flow out of him; making a wound in his lung—which caused him to cough up some more blood. And as you raised your fist to punch him once more, your wrist was caught—stopping your movements. You turned to see Logan, his hazel eyes begging for you to stop.

He smelled danger when he was on his way up to your office, since you had forgotten your phone in the car he wanted to bring it to you. Only to be met with you about to kill a man.

“He’s had enough. Let him go.” You knew better than to protest, so you used your powers to close the internal wound on Eric; calming yourself down as Logan pulled you back into his arms. “Get him out of here, he’s fired!”

You were fuming in the car. Angry was an understatement, you were pissed. You were humiliated. You were hurt. Logan couldn’t stop checking on you through the rear view mirror, until he decided to pull over to the side of the road—putting the car in park. He hopped out of the car and opened up your side door, nodding for you to get out.

“Logan—what are you—“

“Let it out. It helps to let everything out.” You squinted and chuckled. How ironic of him to try and help you not keep things bottled inside.

“You can���t be fucking serious! You of all people, trying to give advice on their feelings? You’re the fucking king of keeping things in!” You stepped closer to him, but he didn’t budge, letting you get it all out of your system.

“You pushed me away from the beginning! Then you come in my fucking house like a wounded dog and then on top of it all—you made me have the best orgasm of my life and let me fall in love with you! Who does that!” Hot tears rolled down your pretty face, while you poked into his broad chest with each word.

You were right. He did push you away. He couldn’t open his heart, his stubbornness would allow him. But, he couldn’t let his past haunt his future, not anymore. So, he decided right then and there to finally open up and let you in.

Logan pulled you in close, the smell of his cologne and the cigar he smoked earlier was soothing; it warmed you—which made it easier for you to accept his kiss. All of that anger washed over you while your tongues danced with one another. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck; while gripping your hips and picking you up—making his way over to the car and placing you in the seats, laying you on your back.

He wasted no time and tugged off your clothes, your grey dress falling to the floor; along with your panties and bra. He stepped back, taking a moment to bask in your glory. You were beautiful and he was going to cherish this moment forever.

His slacks dropped to his ankles and you watched with lidded eyes as he pulled his cock out, making them widen. “Knew you were huge~” you said, your slick pooled and dribbled down your crack, making the black leather seats glisten underneath you.

Logan grabbed his girth, rubbing against your swollen clit; eliciting moans from your sweet lips—coating himself in your fluids. Angling himself at your entrance, he pushed himself in; stretching you as he eased himself in.

“Good—…..girl. That’s it, princess—take all of it” He grunted, praising you as you were able to take all of him in one go. You winced, his tip pressing into your cervix, making you inch away from him—only to be pulled back in. He wanted you to sit there and take it. He was going to give you exactly what you wanted. Some dick.

He held your hips, your legs wrapped around his waist, as he began to move inside of you—his strokes were deep and powerful; making your eyes roll back and your lids flutter. The more he moved, the more you grew aroused—making you a moaning mess while he fucked the shit out of you.

You clung to him with each stroke, making the older male grunt. Your tits bounced and clashed against each other as the two of you moved, hypnotizing Logan. He leaned down and plopped one of them into his mouth, sucking on your nipples like it was a peppermint. You moaned out, hands clawing at the back of the seat right next to you—pleasure too intense for you.

He was fucking you so good, splitting your pussy open with each movement; orgasm rising inside of you. “Please! Logan, I'm gonna cum! Wait—slow down—fuck!” He ignored your pleas, his pace increasing by the second. Who knew that this old man could have that much stamina?

Continuing to make a mess out of your pussy, he continued to rub against your g-spot—making your orgasm course through you. You clung to him and clenched around him sporadically, creaming all over him. He growled, feeling his own orgasm creeping up on him—but you pulled out, causing him to groan.

“Sit. Wanna ride you.”

His hands clung to your waist, helping you bounce on his dick—filling you up completely. You gripped his shoulder for support, as the car rocked with your movements. The sound of your pussy and the clapping of your ass against him, made him feral and he couldn’t help but to grip your ass—hard, pushing you further down on him.

“Fuck, princess. Where do you want it?”

“Inside! Deep inside of me.” You didn’t care what would come afterwards. You just didn’t want him to stop fucking you. Logan pressed another kiss to your lips, rough hands smacking your ass as you moved wildly—walls getting ready to milk him dry. And with a few more hard bounces, he spurted deep inside of you, inner walls being painted a nice shade of white.

Rocking your hips against him, another orgasm made your body shake; cheeks jiggling against him as you came—moaning his name repeatedly.

The two of you stayed like that, his cock softening inside of you, while he continued to bottom out—before he pulled out, tip hitting your ass. You kissed him once more, content with how the night ended; finally with the man you deserved to be with.

“I love you….promise to not push me away?”

He smiled, the first time you saw it on his face, and nodded.

“I love you too.”

[sistertotheknowitall]

Some guy gets arrested

Inspired by @medium-sized-ghost addition to the Original Post.

Masterpost

“So sorry about this, Mr. Wayne.”

“No, I understand. I’m just glad to see the law doing their job so well.” Bruce continues pleasantly through the police station with Commissioner Gordon leading the way.

“We’ll get this sorted out as soon as possible, but in the meantime you will need to unfortunately be placed in holding.”

“Of course. It’s really no problem, it was my mistake missing my court date like that. Time just gets away from me sometimes, you know?” Nevermind the fact that Bruce hadn’t even known about said court date or the speeding ticket it was for. He couldn’t prove which child had taken his car for a joy ride, but his prime suspects were Jason or Dick. (He would later find out that it was Stephanie upon a dare from Duke. He already attempted to banned them from playing Truth or Dare after Tim convinced Dick to do a handstand on Jason’s bike going 95 down the freeway. Not that Dick really needed any convincing.)

“Well you’re in luck, one cell is mostly empty.” It was a small cell closer to the front. Bruce could see a teenager laying on the bench to the right. Gordon opened the door and stood to the side so Bruce could enter and locked the door behind him. “Would you like anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

Bruce smiled, “No, thank you.” Gordon nodded and looked past Bruce at the only other occupant in the cell, “What about you kid? Anything?”

Bruce watched as the kid, one he unfortunately recognized, lifted his arm from where it was thrown over his eyes and waved it in the air at the commissioner, “I’m good.” The arm went back down. Gordon grunted, “alright Officer Mitchell is keeping watch, call out if either of you need anything.”

With that Bruce was left alone with the boy who had befuddled and befriended his many children. He sat on the opposite bench and thought about how best to approach the young man. Danny had never responded well to Batman and there was no telling how he would respond to Bruce. According to Tim, Danny actually had some respect for Bruce and the money he dumped into bettering Gotham. (When it was announced that the public library was being renovated Danny had interrogated Tim about it and then offered his own opinions on how to involve more of the general population.)

Bruce didn’t think the time called for his “Brucie” persona and he couldn’t be Batman at the moment. He could approach the boy in a “fatherly” manner but that approach rarely worked on his own kids, he didn’t think it would work on this one.

“Have you called anyone?”

Danny looked out from under his arm and stared at Bruce suspiciously. In hindsight it was a creepy question.

Bruce brought his hands up and breathed a laugh, “I’m sorry, I meant have you been given your one phone call?” Danny didn’t move. “Why? You a lawyer?” He eyed Bruce in his nice suit and watch.

Bruce smiled at the boy, “goodness no, I don’t have the attention span for law school. I actually did pre-med before dropping out.”

Danny seemed too curl a little more into himself. It was the most cautious Bruce had ever seen him. He was locked in a Gotham police cell with a man in an expensive suit who seemed completely unconcerned about being arrested, it was wise on Danny’s part to be wary.

Bruce stuck out his hand, “Bruce Wayne.” Slowly, Danny sat up and crossed his arm scoffing, “why would Bruce Wayne be in a holding cell?” Bruce continued to smile at the kid and shrugged, his hand still in the air, “speeding ticket I’m afraid, missed my court date. I do have to say, though, the updated traffic cameras are a good investment by the police department.” “Wayne Enterprises payed for them.” “We did?” Bruce asked, knowing full well it was to give Oracle better camera footage. “You were at the press release.” “Huh.” Bruce looked thoughtful for a minute, “mm no, not ringing any bells. I go to so many of those press conferences, they just bleed together after a while.” “Mhm.” Danny still didn’t take the offered hand. Bruce sighed and let it drop back to his lap, “I’d offer to show you my ID but I don’t exactly have it on me.”

They sat and watched each other for a minute. Danny shifted and seemed to make a decision, “I work at a coffee shop and one of your sons is a regular.” Bruce slapped his thigh as if a light bulb suddenly went off, “You’re Danny! Tim’s mentioned you! You know he’s the only one with a weakness for caffeine, the others like to tease him but I don’t think he has an addiction. However, he does seem to spend a lot of time at that shop.” Bruce leaned forward as if confiding a secret, “to be honest, I think he has a bit of a crush on you.”

Dropping his own arms, Danny sighed. “Yeah, he’s not really that subtle.”

“No, I’m afraid he’s never been good at that. At least not when he’s interested in someone.” Tim was great at subtlety when it came to the mission but never in his personal life. The funny part was he didn’t even draw that distinction on purpose.

“I called a family friend. To answer your question. He should be here soon.” Bruce nodded, “so you do have people you can rely on in town?” “I could have a whole family I can rely on in this city.” Danny said, catching the older man's slip. He shifts further in his seat and stared hard at Bruce.

Bruce knew Danny had no one in town. He did the background check, Danny's whole family lived in Ohio with the exception of his older sister who was in one of the top psychology programs in the country. They seemed to visit each other often but rarely their parents.

The older man dawned an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, I assumed when you said ‘a family friend’.” Bruce leaned back against the wall behind him, “are you from Gotham?”

“No,” Danny shifted further back in his seat and didn’t take his eyes off Bruce.

It was different from how the boy interacted with Batman. To the billionaires alter ego Danny was defiant and outspoken. He always seemed to say what was on his mind, completely uncaring of the audience he had.

——-

“Mr. Fenton, your god-father is here for you.”

Danny never thought he’d feel this relieved to know Vlad was picking him up. While Mr. Wayne had been nothing but polite, something about the man felt off. Danny also didn’t appreciate the questions. What was it to this man if Danny had family near by or not?

One of the cops opens the door with Vlad in his nice suit and overly polished shoes right behind him.

“Daniel, let’s not make this a habit.”

“I was just feeding the homeless dogs!”

“Strays.” Vlad corrected, “while trespassing?”

Danny rolled his eyes and continued pass his “uncle”.

“How am I supposed to know an abandoned building is considered ‘private property’?”

Vlad just sighed.

——

Bonus:

Stephanie would continue to stick to her story, thank you very much. She had every right to punch the creep and she wasn’t backing down. Not even if “the creep” was apparently the son of a very influential prosecutor. A corrupt one, but he was influential nonetheless. Such is the justice system in Gotham.

Even if it landed her in a police station, handcuffed to a desk while said creep cried about the bloody nose she gave him.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she crossed her legs and continued to glare at the door way that led to the holding cells. It was her night off and she still had to deal with this godforsaken city’s degenerate citizens. God forbid she have a day off.

It was while glaring at said door that Steph noticed a familiar boy walking out with a gentleman she wasn’t familiar with. He was a little behind Danny but reached out and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him just before leaving the hallway. Steph slid her gaze away but kept her ears open, grateful she was close enough to hear.

“You need to be more careful, Daniel.”

Danny didn’t respond and Steph looked over to see him pull his shoulder away and start walking again.

“You didn’t have to come all this way to bail me out. I could have called Jazz or Sam.”

“Nonsense, it’s good to get out of Wisconsin.”

Steph wrinkled her nose, Wisconsin? The pair continued out of ear shot and shortly out of the station.

When Bruce was released a few minutes later, Stephanie smiled and took great joy in his obvious (to any member of his family) despair and exasperation at seeing her.

Part 8

[yzzart]

౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS! ── PART TWO.

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of emiko, mina, emi and professor sato, Kenji and you being Emi's parents, ultraman form and first part here!

── word count: 683!

⭑.ᐟ Becoming a warm routine, you and Kenji watched his old matches together, which were recorded by his mother, and it was, devoutly, impossible not to be moved by little Kenji in the presence of his teammates and Emiko's screams of celebration; who offered support and support for his son.

⤷ So, whenever you noticed the momentary change in his posture, caused by the commotion and emotion that was moving in his chest, leaving him vulnerable, you would rest your head on his shoulder and wrap one of your hands around his arm, signaling that you would always be there. supporting, loving and respecting him.

⭑.ᐟ Kenji, at every moment, in fact, always looked at your lips while you spoke, explained or even hummed something; it was automatic, he didn't know how to control it or moderate himself about it. — And he didn't even hide it, casually, he had given up trying to hide the action. — Well, it's not his fault if your mouth is so irresistible.

⤷ Yes, every time you opened your mouth, telling him how your day was or scolding him for getting hurt during a battle, there were Sato's eyes traveling over your lips.

"Emi's reflexes are improving, and Mina will examine her once more." — You said, correcting your posture on the sofa to admire the baby, who was playing with Mina, and finding it adorable. — "Oh! And she's learning another dance, you've got to see it." — Turning your head towards Kenji, you find his eyes, completely, immobilized on one part of your face, specifically, on the region of your lips. — "Ken? Can you hear me?" — No answer. — "Kenji?"

⭑.ᐟ During the beginning of your relationship, Kenji occasionally referred to you as his wife; he simply loved calling you that. — Because he felt, in his heart, that, in the future, it would be true and, in fact, official; he believed it. — Soon, it had become something so natural and special, also, very deep.

⤷ There were times, and some press conferences and magazine articles, when Sato mentioned you as his wife and didn't worry about questions from journalists. — Mainly, in his interview with Ami, when asked who he attributed his important change to.

"I wouldn't be here without my family, simple as that." — He explained, with an air of confidence and determination, focusing on his words. — "My dad, mom, wife…"

⭑.ᐟ Furthermore, Kenji refers to you as the mother — temporary, or also the second mother — of Emi; and Mina reinforced the insinuation, showing photos and videos of you to the baby, just like she did with Ken's. —Usually, when she didn't obey his orders or refused to learn something new, like a child, Kenji would declare that you wouldn't like to know about her stubbornness.

"Listen here, young lady!" — In the form of Ultraman, lurking and trying to reach the baby lizard, which was running and having fun around the base, Kenji didn't like the current situation. — "If your mother knows you don't want to take a shower, she won't be happy with you. — The robotic voice exclaimed from the place. — "And not even with me."

⭑.ᐟ You know that scene where he, in his Ultraman form, is sleeping with Emi and his father? This keeps happening between you! — Due to tiredness, exhaustion from the care you are taking with her, you and Kenji fall asleep with the big baby. — With Ken around, holding and protecting you from everything.

⭑.ᐟ When he woke up, with his clothes wrinkled and his hair completely messy and unruly, accompanied by the mug "I hate mornings", Sato found you and Mina watching Emi, who was sleeping peacefully. — After hours of singing an old and graceful lullaby, your voice had captivated the child. — He was still dazzled, but not surprised, by this situation.

"So, she fell for your charms?" — His morning voice, so hoarse and pleasant, compromising with good humor, even if a little exhausted. — "Huh?" — Arriving from behind, he rested his head on your shoulder, fitting in, as usual.

"Oh, yeah." — You answered, with conviction and grace, moving your hands to his messy hair, stroking it.— "Just like you one day fell!"

[soleilapproves]

Boxer!Sukuna who dedicates his first ever win to you

Note: female reader

Masterlist

Your heart was racing. Sukuna had prepared you for the fact that boxing arenas could get overwhelming with the constant yelling and cheering for violence, but you still felt uneasy watching your boyfriend receive punch after punch.

You knew your boyfriend was just a rookie boxer but you couldn’t help but pray that by some miracle, he would be able to defeat his opponent. He had been training specifically for this match for the past two months and had sacrificed his blood, sweat and tears for it. It didn’t help that his opponent was a seasoned winner.

Your chest tightened as Sukuna was struck down once again. All you could think about was how he would study his opponent’s moves late at night while you stayed up with him. You pressed your hands together, hoping that he would win by some miracle.

Almost as if on cue, Sukuna managed to dodge a critical hit and wound his arm to absolutely knock out his opponent. The other fighter fell on to the ground and did not get up even after the countdown. The referee grabbed Sukuna’s hand and raised it in the air as the crowd erupted in cheers.

You let out a sigh of relief and clapped as loudly as possible for your boyfriend’s triumph. It was his first win as a professional boxer. He was going to start making a name for himself pretty soon and you could only imagine what was to come after. He deserved this. It was all because of his hard work and resilience.

Sukuna’s tired eyes searched for yours in the VIP box and you smiled at him. He returned an exhausted one back to you and proceeded to do something you never expected.

He kissed his fingers and pointed to you, all your friends and in the VIP box began clamoring with teases and giggles.

Even while being adorned with his belt, Sukuna’s eyes never left yours. He mentioned earlier that your presence was integral to his success but you never knew it was to such a degree. You blew him a flowing kiss and he chuckled at the sight. He didn’t even bother to look at the cameras looming around him until his manager told him to pose for the pictures.

Of course, after his first win, he was immediately subject to a press conference. He sulked at first, hoping that he could share at least a moment with you before being bombarded with questions but he decided to get it over with so he could go home soon.

“Mr. Sukuna, how do you feel after your first win.”

“Fucking tired.” Your bruised and battered boyfriend replied. The crowded erupted into a few giggles and murmurs at his deadpan reply.

“Would you like to mention any people that helped you become a good fighter?”

“Aside from my coach, I want to dedicate my win to my girlfriend. She put up with a lot of my shit while training.”

You giggled at his reply from backstage. Supporting wasn’t a chore but it was extensive work. Cooking twice the amount of food so he could bulk, constantly having your sleep disturbed because he would train in the early hours of the morning, and not go too crazy when you ate out on dates was difficult but well worth the effort.

-

After the press conference, you two were back home. Sukuna had retired to your bedroom while you did the finishing touches of your night time skin care.

“The winner of today’s fight commands his woman’s presence.” Your boyfriend called out, urging you to hurry up. You put away your containers and walked to the bedroom. “I’m here, your majesty.” You sarcastically replied as you laid down next to him. He had a frown on his face from being alone.

He opened up the blanket to let you in and slotted you next to him with your back facing his chest. His arms wrapped around you as he tucked your head under his chin. “I forgot to congratulate you earlier.” You speak out.

He hums and squeezes you. “Thanks. Only took you 3 hours to say that.” You could almost feel him sulk.

“Can you blame me? You were surrounded by people. I needed to let you have your moment.” You reasoned.

“What about when we were driving back? It was just you and me in the car.”

“You fell asleep as soon as your ass touched the seat.”

He scoffed at your reply and pushed you away. “Whatever, it’s not like getting a congratulatory kiss from my girlfriend was the only thing I wanted.” He said as he turned his back you.

This man was a big baby. The world saw him as an upcoming and fearful fighter but here he was sulking over the fact that you didn’t give him attention.

You giggled and rubbed his back to soothe him. “I can still give you a congratulatory kiss if you want.” For a second, you swore that he almost turned around but he gave you the silent treatment instead. “Kuna,” you whined. As much as you cringed while saying it, you knew using that nickname was his weakness.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, baby. Let me give you the kind of kiss a winner deserves.” You said as you rubbed his stomach. The man turned around, eyes not meeting yours. He was still sporting the frown from earlier.

You held his face in your hands. Your fingers traced his tattoos and you could see his eyes rapidly moving because of your touch. You giggled and moved your fingers to his lips. Luckily, his opponent missed them during the fight so you could easily kiss him.

You slowly pressed your lips against his and he immediately reciprocated. While your touch was delicate with your hand on cradling face, his touch was rougher. His hand entwined in your hair as his body pressed to yours. Your tongue entered his mouth and he gladly welcomed it which a slight suck.

His free hand travelled down to your waist and rolled you on top of him. The kiss would’ve gotten more heated if he didn’t wince all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong, Kuna?”

He propped you back down on the bed. And grabbed the area right beneath his chest. “Ah shit, I forgot about my rib getting bruised.” You grimaced at the thought of him being in pain.

“Want me to get some ice? I can always sleep on the couch so I don’t end up accidentally kicking you.” You said out of concern.

His eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not that bad.” He grabbed ahold of your waist again and just pulled you close to him. “I didn’t win that trophy so my girlfriend could sleep on the couch. And since I’m a boxing champion, I can handle a few punches from you.”

“But-“

“Shush.” He pecked you on the lips to keep you from protesting. “This is how I wanna celebrate my first win. With you next to me.”

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 - chapter two jenson button x fem! driver! reader ( fluff / smut ) series summary . . . a mortal who dared to defy the impossible. Of grit forged in fire, and dreams that refused to yield. In a world where heroes are born, and few rise to become legends. You are a force to be reckoned with. Unshakable. Unstoppable. Indomitable. (2.7k words)

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous | next )

II - MANEATER . . . ( Your second and third years in Formula One, 2013 -> 2014 content warning . . . ( contains mature sexual themes, threesomes (sebastian+yn+jenson, fernando+yn+jenson), very light mention of anal, Yn is 20 and 21 years old in this chapter )

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The press conference room is filled with the buzz of flashing cameras, the stifling heat of too many bodies pressed into one space, and the noise of too many voices talking at once. You’re sitting at the front, your legs crossed with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where she belongs, who knows exactly what she’s capable of. The reporters are already eyeing you, a mixture of admiration, curiosity, and something else, something they can’t quite put a name to.

Your heels click against the floor as you shift in your chair, adjusting the fit of your outfit with a small smile. The suit you’re wearing feels like armour—a sharp, tailored black number with an edge, a visual statement of who you are now: fierce, untouchable.

“You’re having a great start to your season, Yn. But the question on everyone’s mind is—did you sleep with your teammate to secure your seat?” A bold, daring journalist throws the question at you, as if expecting you to stumble, to blush, to shy away.

You tilt your head, a smirk tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze, never backing down. They want a spectacle. Let them have it.

“You really think I needed to sleep with someone to get my seat?” you ask, voice smooth and dripping with challenge. You let the words hang for a moment, and the room quiets, waiting for your response, sensing that you’ve got them exactly where you want them.

With an almost imperceptible roll of your eyes, you answer, “I got the seat first. If anyone had to sleep with the other for the second seat, it would be Jenson sleeping with me for his seat.”

The laughter that ripples through the room is stifled, but you know it’s there, thick in the air. You can feel the tension around you as the reporter’s face pales, the realization dawning on him that he’s crossed a line.

“Keep an eye on your email,” you add, lowering your microphone slowly, leaning into the moment. Your gaze doesn’t waver from the journalist’s, your eyes locked in a challenge that’s now personal. “My lawyer will be in contact with you.”

A beat of silence. And then you smile—sweet, easy, too innocent to be anything other than menacing—and you lower your mic.

That’s who you are now. The girl who doesn’t let anyone walk all over her. Not anymore. Your high heels click with power, with authority, each step an unmistakable reminder of who you are. You’re not the innocent girl from the beginning of your career anymore. You’ve turned into someone who’s unafraid to strike back when provoked.

The younger generation loves it. They see you as the new sex symbol, an icon in heels, a force they can’t look away from. When they see you on the covers of magazines, they think they know you—they think they understand you. But they don’t. Not even close.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The hum of the bar surrounds you as you walk, your heels clicking against the floor in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic cadence, making men all around you turn their heads to watch as you stride past. The bartender’s smile is instant, a knowing look in his eyes as he slides your drink toward you—your usual, a martini with just the right amount of bite.

“Congrats on the win,” he says, his voice low and appreciative, nervous, you could see it in the way he stands. “It was impressive.”

You give him a nod, a flirtatious grin curling at your lips. Impressive. It was more than that. It was perfect. The rush of the race, the feel of the podium beneath your feet—it never gets old.

“Thanks,” you reply, voice smooth as silk. You tilt your head to meet his eyes, your smirk widening. “I know.”

Taking the drink, you pause just long enough to give him a teasing glance as you take your first sip before you turn, weaving your way through the crowd to where Jenson sits. He’s deep in conversation with a group of men, but you know he’ll notice you. He always does.

Jenson is sat down with a group of men, his laughter filling the space between the conversations. He notices you immediately, a glint in his eyes as you approach. You don’t give him a chance to speak yet. Instead, you hand him his drink, and he takes it with a grin that’s far too familiar.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, playful.

You raise an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your gaze. “And you love it,” you reply, your tone smooth, teasing as you lean your forearm on his shoulder to use him as an armrest, taking a sip. The spark between you is there, always there, even if it’s become a little less exciting over time. You watch as he takes a sip of his drink, eyes tracking every movement of yours.

But you're not here for Jenson, not entirely anyway.

You turn your head, and just as you do, one of the men in his group, the one standing a little further from the conversation, makes his move. He steps toward you, his smile charming and smooth as he offers his hand. “I’m Allison,” he says, his voice rich with confidence. “I just wanted to congratulate you on the win. I watched the whole thing from my balcony. You were incredible out there..”

You pause for a second, assessing him. The sharp cut of his jaw, the way his confidence bleeds into the air around him—it’s clear he's used to being the centre of attention. But you’re the one people can’t take their eyes off tonight.

You don’t shake his hand. Instead, you raise your martini glass, giving him a small nod. A flick of a smile. “Thanks. A win in Monaco always is,” you reply coolly, before taking a slow sip of your drink, letting the tension between you linger. The man, Allison, hesitates for a moment, clearly thrown off by your disinterest, before pulling his hand back with an awkward little laugh.

You let the silence stretch, letting him squirm just a little. With a small wave, you turn your back on him, leaning your other hand on Jenson’s shoulder as you join the conversation, the night calling to you more than any empty pleasantries could.

You catch Jenson’s gaze once more, and this time, it’s different. There’s an understanding between you two, something unspoken, something that doesn’t need words. He watches you with that knowing grin of his, the one that always tells you he sees through the layers.

Before you know it, the world blurs around you. The conversation, the clinking of glasses, the soft hum of voices—all of it fades into the background as you find yourself being led out of the bar, your body pulled toward the warmth of Jenson’s penthouse. You’re drunk, but not too drunk to care.

Clothes hit the floor in a flurry of forgotten intentions, lips meeting messily in a frenzy of need as you unbutton Jenson jeans and help him hop out of them. The pull of his hands, the heat of his body—it’s too easy to give in. Everything else fades into the haze of pleasure, and you don’t think—don’t care about anything except the now. The bed, the heat, the way his hands travel over you, igniting every nerve. The way he fucks you into his bed with steady thrusts, his fingers gripping your hips tightly enough to leave faint bruises as he whispers your name like a prayer over and over.

It’s messy. It’s passionate. And it’s always like this between you two, this tangled mess of sex and race weekends. Jenson. You. The bed. The escape. The thrill of the moment. There’s no love in it, but it’s consuming all the same.

And as the night continues, with bodies entwined and hearts caught in the aftershocks of desire, you can’t help but wonder what it is about these fleeting moments that make them feel so real.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The hotel room feels oddly quiet, despite the chaos of everything that led you here. Another win, another podium, but the thrill of victory feels different now. It's not as satisfying as it used to be, not when there’s this unexplainable craving inside of you that needs more. 

You’re not sure when it started, but now, you're here, tangled between Jenson and Sebastian Vettel—an unspoken agreement between all of you. The rush of the night matches the pulse in your veins, but it’s not just victory you seek anymore. No, it’s the feeling of release, of being completely caught in the moment, and somehow, the three of you are drawn together in a way that feels inevitable.

Jenson’s voice is low as he grins at you, his fingers brushing against your skin with a mix of care and mischief. “You know YN, you’re not the only one who likes to take things fast, darling,” he says, a wink in his tone that’s both playful and dangerous.

You glance over at Sebastian, who’s already grinning in that cocky, childlike way he does, his eyes full of fire. He’s always been the one to push boundaries, never afraid to take risks, to go too fast, too hard as he holds your legs above your chest from the back of your knees. And right now, that speed is all-consuming. You’re lost in it, caught between them, each touch, each movement driving you wild.

But when it’s over, you don’t feel that emptiness. There’s no satisfaction in just the act itself; it's something else that keeps pulling you back. Something deeper. Something raw.

The second time it happens, it’s not just Jenson and Sebastian. Jenson, always the one to push the envelope, has a look in his eyes—a little too knowing—and asks, “What if I invite Fernando next?”

You don’t say no. You don’t even hesitate.

Fernando looks at you with that familiar quiet confidence of his, and you can’t ignore the way his presence feels different. He’s older, more deliberate, and there’s something in the way he looks at you that feels different. He doesn’t just see you as another conquest. There's something deeper there, but you can’t quite place it. His touch is gentler than the others, every stroke of his fingers soft, almost reverent.

When the night unfolds, it’s not about the rush. It's not about the wild abandon that Sebastian brings or the playful dominance Jenson demands. It’s about the way Fernando holds you close, his every movement thoughtful, and tender, like he’s taking care of you. His hands are gentle as they guide you to ride him, and when Jenson gets a little too rough as he takes your ass for the first ever time—too fast—it's Fernando who’s the one speaking for you when all you can let out is squeaks, whimpers and whines. His voice was low and commanding, in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

“Jenson,” he murmurs in that thick accent of his, pulling Jenson’s attention from you, “slow down. She’s not just some . . . quick ride.”

There’s something in Fernando’s eyes that stirs something deeper in you. He’s not just acting out of desire; he’s looking at you like you’re something more—something fragile, something to protect. It’s confusing, but it's comforting all the same.

Afterwards, when everything settles and the tension fades, Fernando’s voice softens again. He brushes the hair from your face, speaking in quiet Spanish, his words unintelligible to Jenson but somehow still so intimate.

“Te cuido, cariño,” he whispers, his fingers lingering on your skin. I’ll take care of you, darling.

His hands are soft as they clean you up, as if you’re something precious. It’s a stark contrast to the usual detachment, the fast-paced lust that you’ve become used to. With Fernando, it’s different. It feels like he’s there for something more than just the physical.

You wonder, briefly, if he sees you the way he sees everyone else—or if there’s something more between you two. But as he wraps you in his arms and presses a kiss to your forehead, you push the thought away. It’s not time for questions. Not now.

The thing is, you don’t know if you want to answer those questions. You don’t know if you want to know why he’s different. Maybe it’s enough that he is different. And you’re starting to realize that, somehow, you crave him the most.

Even as Jenson pulls you into another embrace which you snuggle into eagerly, his body pressed against yours, it’s Fernando's touch that lingers in your mind, his voice that echoes in your head.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you're just another driver, just another woman. You feel like you're someone to him.

That’s something you haven’t felt in a while.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The final race of the season. Brazil. The crowd is electric, the tension unbearable. But for you, there’s something else gnawing at your gut. Jenson is retiring. This is the last time you’ll race with him as a teammate, the last time you’ll share a podium with him. And it stings.

You secured the championship. You should be over the moon, ecstatic. But the pit in your stomach refuses to go away.

After the race, in the quiet aftermath of victory, you find yourself alone with Jenson. The moonlight spills into the room, soft and silvery, illuminating the chaos of limbs tangled beneath rumpled sheets. The afterglow of your championship victory still lingers in the air, as thick and intoxicating as the champagne that’s long since been consumed.

The silence is thick with the weight of all the unsaid things, all the moments you shared—the late nights, the laughter, the camaraderie. You kiss him, a soft, lingering kiss, one more before you go your separate ways.

Jenson lies beside you, his breathing slow and steady, his chest rising and falling in that comfortable rhythm that always calms you. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"You were incredible out there today," he murmurs, breaking the silence.

You smile, but it's not a carefree grin. You’ve won the championship, but it feels different tonight—heavier. “I—. We did it.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you’re not sure if it’s from the adrenaline or something else.

Jenson shifts closer, pulling you into his side, and you let him, your head resting on his chest. The familiarity of his warmth soothes you.

"I’m so proud of you," he adds, his voice soft, laced with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in places you didn’t know existed.

You trace the contours of his chest with your fingers, the comfortable silence stretching between you. But there's a question hanging in the air, one neither of you is brave enough to voice.

“What now?” You ask it quietly, but the weight of it feels like a bomb in your chest.

Jenson shifts, the smile on his lips almost bitter. “You’ll keep winning. You always do.” His fingers trace the curve of your arm as if he’s trying to imprint your form into his memory.

And for a moment, the silence is comfortable again—until it’s not. The tension between you builds, the unsaid words filling the room.

You break the silence, rolling to face him. “You’re really leaving, huh?”

Jenson’s eyes soften, his hand finding your face, gently cupping your cheek. "You knew this day would come, Yn. I’ve always known."

His words slice through you. They’re a sharp reminder of what you’re losing, and you’re not sure how to process it. But before you can respond, his lips are on yours, silencing whatever words you had in mind. His kiss is slow, lingering, a finality in every brush of his lips against yours.

It’s a kiss that tastes like goodbye, but it’s still so sweet that you let it consume you, let it take you to that place of pure comfort and vulnerability.

This is the way this world works, isn’t it? You win, you lose, you fight, you fuck—but you never get to keep it all.

You start to wonder . . . why not?

[37sommz]

�� : monaco . . .

✼. masterlist — taglist — request. ✼. genre: fluff & angst. ✼. wc: 7.1k.

all the glitz and glamor of monaco drives everyone on the grid a bit mad. amid revelations and setup failures, the redbulls seem to be the most mad.

✼. warnings: language, mclaren in general. ✼. notes: none :)

000.⠀⠀MAY 26, 2022    ›    Monaco

The custom McLaren-branded jacket practically glimmered against Michaela's skin as she strode towards the press conference room. It was media day in iconic Monaco and the Monegasque sun warmed her skin as she pulled her sunglasses over her squinting brown eyes. The smell of the Mediterranean ocean spray filled the air, a familiar scent that reminded her of the value of a victory here in Monte Carlo.

Inside, the press room buzzed with excitement. Photographers snapped away as the drivers took their seats. The lights were as hot as the competition between the teams, and the anticipation was palpable. The press conference was a dance of allusions and vague hints, each driver revealing just enough to keep the audience intrigued without giving away their strategy for the weekend.

Michaela remained poised, her smile never wavering, as she took her seat between Lewis and Alex. The Williams driver's smile was bright as he watched his friend collapse onto the couch with an exaggerated huff. Lewis' attention was occupied by the phone in his hand though he gently hummed a soft greeting to the Australian to his left.

"You're late," Alex spoke as he leaned over to her. His smile didn't quite reach his tired eyes, the same way hers didn't quite reach her voice when she replied, "Only fashionably so." The room filled with light laughter, a welcome release of the tension that seemed to hang in the air like the ever-present pressure of performance.

"Daniel's not even here yet, why're you attacking me?" She continued, gesturing to the empty space to Lewis' right.

The British driver looked up from his phone, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Someone's eager to start the party." He joked as he finally pocketed his phone. Michaela was left without a chance to reply as the other Australian on the grid ran into the room, his press officer hot on his tail. His apologies fell on deaf ears as the photographers clicked away at a chance to capture his brilliant smile.

The conference began, and the questions rolled in, each more insightful than the last. They touched on everything from car upgrades to personal lives, but not once did they pry into the strained dynamics at McLaren or even Alpine for that matter. It was a welcome change, but the feeling of the unusual civility of the press left Michaela with a nagging suspicion that it was all a facade, a prelude to the storm that was to come once the racing weekend truly began.

As the conference drew to a close, Lewis leaned over to her, his smile genuine yet tinged with curiosity. "Dinner tonight?" He asked casually, and she felt the weight of his gaze, knowing that he had something he wanted to discuss.

It was far from an odd request. Lewis and Michaela had become quite close in the four seasons she had been racing in Formula 1. But she was aware of the look in his eyes that seemed to scream 'I know something'. Michaela had admittedly avoided Lewis since their out of character interaction in Bahrain which left her believing he knew more than he let on about her newfound ease around Jenson.

"Alright, but I'm not letting you pick the restaurant," she quipped, trying to keep the conversation light as they stood up. Lewis chuckled, "Fair enough. How about my place?" He offered, his eyes shimmering with mischief.

Michaela felt her heart jump a beat. This was it. The moment she had both dreaded and anticipated. But she played it cool, nodding in agreement as they stepped out of the conference room. The paddock was a whirlwind of activity, team members darting around, setting up for the weekend's events. The sound of engines roared in the background, a song of power and precision that was music to her ears.

As they approached the hospitality suites, she could help but feel as if the stares were more pronounced, the whispers louder. It was as if the paddock had turned into a stage, and she was the main act. She pushed the unsettling thoughts aside, reminding herself that paranoia would only distract her from her peace, focusing on the dinner ahead instead. Maybe this was her chance to finally tell Lewis the truth and get his advice on how to handle the looming media circus.

The evening rolled around, and she found herself at Lewis' place, a stunning villa nestled in the hills overlooking sparkling Monte Carlo. The smell of the sea mixed with the aroma of something delicious coming from the kitchen. They greeted each other with warm hugs, and she followed him through the effortlessly expensive interior to where they would be cooking.

Michaela's nerves simmered as they chopped vegetables and sautéed tofu for their vegan stir-fry. Lewis had always been the kind to read the room, and she could feel his curiosity about to spill over. "So..." she drew out the question, trying to sound casual as she tossed ingredients into the wok.

"So..." Lewis echoed, his eyes darting up to meet hers with a knowing smile. "This boyfriend of yours. Anything you want to tell me?" He stirred the food, his lips quirking up in a playful grin that didn't quite hide the seriousness of his question.

Michaela's hands paused over the chopping board, a carrot suspended in mid-air. She took a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. "Not necessarily..." She hummed, attempting to keep her cool as she continued to chop.

Lewis raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for her to continue. She felt his gaze on her, the tension in the kitchen thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, she set the carrot aside and turned to him. "Okay," she sighed, "You're obviously onto something. What's going on?"

He chuckled, "I've just noticed some... interesting changes in your behavior. And I've heard some whispers that might just be the wind, or might be something more."

Michaela's eyes widened. "What kind of whispers?"

"You know how this paddock is," he said, tossing the tofu into the sizzling wok. "Everyone knows everyone's business."

Her heart raced, and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She didn't know whether to be upset or relieved that the secret was out. She decided to be brave and face it head-on. "Okay, I'll tell you. But promise me, it doesn't go beyond these walls."

Lewis nodded, his curiosity piqued. "I promise."

Michaela took a deep breath, her heart racing. "It's Jenson," she blurted out, the words slipping from her lips with surprising ease. She watched as Lewis' expression morphed from mild interest to shock and then into a knowing smile.

"I knew it," he said, turning down the heat on the wok and leaning against the counter. "You've been dodging my questions about your love life for over a year now."

Michaela felt a blush creeping up her neck as she stirred the vegetables, trying to keep her cool. "Because you're a nosy bitch, Lewis Hamilton."

Lewis' laugh filled the kitchen, a sound that had become increasingly warm and familiar to Michaela's ears. "Fair point," he conceded, "But I wouldn't have had to be nosy if you would've just told me, Michaela Sommers."

Michaela couldn't help but laugh along, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. "You're right. But we wanted to keep it private. To figure us out before the media did." She glanced at him, her smile tentative.

"I get it," Lewis said, nodding understandingly. "It's a tough situation, especially with little Myla in the mix." He paused for a moment, stirring the food with more thought than usual. "But you know how this sport is. Secrets have a way of getting out."

Michaela nodded, feeling the weight of his words. She had seen firsthand how quickly rumors could spread through the paddock. But she had also seen how people respected each other's privacy. "I know," she said, her voice surprisingly stable. "We've been careful about it. Trying to give Myla time to adjust to this new thing in her life, you know?"

Lewis nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he flipped the tofu. "And how is she taking it?"

"Myla?" Michaela's voice softened at the mention of the little girl. "She's fantastic. She's so bright and full of life, I adore her, Lew. And Jenson's amazing with her. They're so in tune with each other, it's so sweet to see him like that."

Lewis's smile grew as he listened to the affection in her voice. "I think the first time I met Myla was maybe 2017," he hummed, adding a batch of final touches to the dishes as he plated them. "She was only two but had more personality than half the drivers did even in their thirties."

Michaela chuckled, taking a plate from him. "And she still does," she said, sitting down at the sleek dining table that overlooked the twinkling city landscape. The silence between them grew, filled with the occasional clink of silverware on porcelain as they enjoyed their meal.

"So," Lewis started, after a pause that was long enough to be uncomfortable but not awkward, "What's the plan now?"

Michaela took a bite of the stir-fry as she considered his question. "We were hoping to wait until the season ends," she said, chewing thoughtfully. "But if it's going to come out now, then I guess we'll have to deal with it."

Lewis leaned back in his chair, his plate pushed aside slightly. "It's your call," he said, his gaze serious. "But I think it's better if you control the narrative. Keep that line between your personal and professional life clear."

Michaela nodded, swirling the last of the water in her glass. "I know," she murmured. "But it's not just about us. It's Myla too. We don't want this to take over her life. Her mum just got remarried this past August, and she's still getting used to having two new parental figures in her life."

Lewis leaned in, his eyes understanding. "I get it," he said firmly. "But if it's going to come out, it's better that it's on your terms. You guys have a good relationship, and it's clear that you're happy together. The media can't tear down something so strong, not if you make it clear that you're together for good."

Michaela nodded, taking a deep breath and letting his words sink in. "I already know they're gonna throw the distraction card to try to discredit the relationship. And I'm sure the age difference will be a hot topic too." She laughed bitterly.

"Michaela," Lewis said, his tone turning serious, "You can't let that get to you. You know the truth, Jense knows the truth, and Myla knows the truth. That's all that matters."

Michaela nodded, feeling the tension ease slightly. "You're right," she said, taking a sip of her water. "Honestly, I'm ready to be able to talk about it openly. It's just... I don't want to jinx it. We're happy, and I want to keep it that way."

Lewis reached across the table and placed a reassuring hand on her arm. "You will. Beata's a PR genius, as long as she can guide you through this, you'll be alright."

Michaela nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. Before they could move on to the topic of tomorrow's race, her phone buzzed with a call from Jenson. Lewis gave her an amused look, and she shrugged, answering the call and hitting the speaker button.

"Hey, babe," she answered, trying to keep her voice light. "You're on speaker with the nosiest man on the grid."

Jenson's laughter filled the room, and she could almost see the smile on his face. "Lewis Hamilton," he greeted, the warmth in his voice unmistakable. "How's the old man doing?"

Lewis chuckled. "I'm feeling very informed, JB. Thanks for asking."

Michaela rolled her eyes, the tension in the room dissipating. She could feel the warmth of Lewis' smile, grounding her as Jenson's voice filled the room. "So, what's on the agenda for tonight?" Jenson asked.

"He knows, Jense," Michaela responded, her voice carrying a hint of relief. "We talked about it."

Jenson's laughter continued, and she could sense his curiosity peaking. "Alright," he said, "What's the plan now?"

Michaela looked over at Lewis, who nodded his encouragement. She took a deep breath. "Well, we were thinking of waiting until the season ends, but it seems the universe has other plans." She paused, a smirk playing on her lips. "But I've got a pretty good PR team, and a boyfriend who's been on the front page of the tabloids for much worse."

Lewis chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, the stories I could tell," he teased, and Jenson's laughter grew richer.

"Keep them to yourself, please," Michaela shot back, though she couldn't help but grin. "I've had enough of you for one night."

Lewis' laughter bellowed through the room as he took a seat beside her. "Alright, alright," he conceded. "But you guys have my support, no matter what happens. I'm really happy for you two."

Michaela felt a warmth spread through her chest as she listened to her boyfriend and their friend banter back and forth. It was a strange dynamic, but it was theirs, and she wouldn't trade it for anything.

000.⠀⠀MAY 27, 2022    ›    Monaco

The next morning rose with the sun as Michaela prepared herself to officially kick off the race weekend with the first practice session. She walked towards the McLaren garage under the late morning sun, feeling the weight of the secret she'd been carrying around for so long slowly lifting off her shoulders.

Michaela climbed into her cockpit, the familiar sound of the engine roaring to life enveloping her. She took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. The Monaco Circuit was notorious for its tight streets and challenging corners, and she needed to be at the top of her game if she was going to keep up with the Ferraris and Red Bulls that had been dominating the season so far.

During the first practice session, she gently pushed the McLaren to get a sense of its limits, feeling the tires grip the asphalt as she sped around the iconic track. The session was rough, the car not responding to her inputs as seamlessly as she'd have liked, but she kept her cool, relaying the issues to her engineer calmly. Despite the car's troubles, she managed to keep her times respectable, but she knew she had her work cut out for her.

After the session, she climbed out of the cockpit, her fireproof suit sticking to her sweat-damp skin. Her engineer, Rob, met her with a furrowed brow, already discussing potential adjustments with the team. She nodded along, trying her best to keep calm instead of panicking on the engineer.

"Michaela," he said, holding up a hand, "Take a deep breath. We'll get it sorted."

She nodded, trying to shake off the frustration. "I know, I know," she said, taking a sip of water. "It's just... Monaco. It's so much pressure."

Rob nodded, understanding her stress. "I'll talk to the team. We'll work on it." He patted her shoulder before walking away to consult with the others.

Michaela took a moment to herself that was cut short as Zak approached her cautiously. "Where's your head at so far?" He asked pensively.

"I'm okay," she replied, her eyes on the bustling garage. "Just a bit off with the car today."

Zak's gaze sharpened. "Is it the usual?"

Michaela nodded, her eyes stuck on her car. "Just some setup issues. I trust them to figure it out."

Zak's eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of doubt. "And the other stuff?" He prodded gently.

Michaela took a deep breath, her gaze finally meeting his. "What other stuff?" She asked, feigning ignorance.

Zak leaned closer, his voice low. "You know what I mean. The business end of it."

Michaela's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's fine," she said, her voice a mix of confidence and challenge. "Let's just focus on the race."

Zak nodded, the tension between them palpable. "Alright," he said, "But I want to be clear, we're behind you. Whatever happens outside of this garage, it doesn't change how you perform in that car."

Michaela took his words to heart, nodding firmly. "Understood," she said. "Let's just focus on getting the car right."

The second practice session went smoother though still not up to Michaela's preference, the team still not quite nailing the setup. As she pulled the car back into the garage after the conclusion of the session, the tension lightened, the crew working more efficiently.

"We're making progress," Rob assured her as he handed her an energy bar. "We're just a few tweaks away."

Michaela took a bite, nodding in acknowledgment. The sweet and salty bar didn't do much to ease her nerves, but she knew that Rob and the team were working tirelessly to give her the best car possible for qualifying tomorrow.

As the team dispersed to their various tasks, she found herself in a rare moment of solitude in the garage. The hum of the other teams' cars and the distant chatter of the paddock couldn't quite drown out the thoughts racing through her mind. In the lull of the sound of engineers working at the car, Luisa approached Michaela with an energy drink.

"You're not looking too pleased," she observed, her eyes assessing the driver.

Michaela took the energy drink with a nod of thanks. "It's just... everything," she sighed. "The car, the contract, the..." she trailed off, glancing at her phone. "And now, I have to go to the press pen."

Luisa leaned against a wall, her eyes on the floor. "Christian Horner," she murmured. "He's been asking around about you."

Michaela's grip tightened on the energy drink. "What do you mean?"

"Just that he's been talking to a few people about you," Luisa said, her expression unreadable. "I don't think it's anything to worry about, but I figured you should know. Has he approached you about your contract?"

Michaela's brow furrowed, her thoughts racing. "No, not directly," she replied, taking a sip of the energy drink. "But driving for Christian Horner with Jos Verstappen potentially breathing down my neck doesn't sound appealing at all."

Luisa tried and failed to hide her amusement. "I can't say I blame you," she said, a hint of a smirk playing at her lips. "Being Max's teammate sounds... intense."

Michaela chuckled despite her nerves. "Understatement of the year," she quipped. "But seriously, I don't know what he's playing at. He knows I'd never take second seat to Max."

Luisa's smile faded, her gaze turning serious. "Well, just keep your head down and drive," she advised. "Let the results do the talking."

Michaela nodded, taking the advice to heart as she made her way to the press pen with Beata, her thoughts racing. As Beata briefed Michaela for the press' questions, Max Verstappen slinked over to her side. His knowing smile bringing a disapproving look to Michaela's features.

"So," Max began, his voice low so that only they could hear, "I hear congratulations are in order."

Michaela stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "For?"

"Oh, you know," Max replied noncommittally, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Michaela felt the blood rush to her cheeks, but she kept her cool. "You're going to have to be more specific, Max," she said, her voice steady.

Max leaned in closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't play dumb," he whispered. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Michaela felt a knot form in her stomach. "Max Emilian," she huffed, trying to keep her voice low. Max simply winked at her and walked away, ducking into the press pen, leaving her feeling more unsettled than before.

Beata looked at her, concerned. "He might be the oddest boy I've ever met." Michaela couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out. "Don't let him get to you," Beata said, patting her back. "I'm sure he won't go talking to the media about it."

Michaela took a deep breath and stepped into the press pen, her smile plastered firmly in place. She knew the drill—keep it professional, keep it clean. But as she took her spot in front of a journalist's microphone, she couldn't shake the feeling that the walls had eyes. Every question felt loaded, every glance a silent probe. She danced around the topic of race strategy, keeping her answers tight and her emotions in check.

After the press conference, she retreated to the McLaren hospitality suite, the weight of the day's events already pressing down on her. The quiet moments with her thoughts were interrupted when Beata returned with a worried look. "Christian Horner's been poking around," she said, her voice hushed. "Asking questions about your future plans."

Michaela's eyes rolled. "Luisa told me earlier. Make sure Guido knows not to indulge him, I'm not interested."

Beata nodded. "I will. Now, get out of here, try and rest before qualifying tomorrow. You need to be on point."

Michaela agreed, slipping out of the suite and into the cool evening air of Monaco. She took a moment to appreciate the scenic view of the marina before heading back to her hotel room to review the data from the practice sessions. Though Rob had reassured her that the crew was working to reconcile the issues Michaela had pointed out in the sessions earlier, she couldn't stop her mind from formulating possible solutions to her setup problem.

As she lay in bed that night, her thoughts swirled around the whispers of Christian Horner's interest and Max's knowing glances. Despite her attempt to push the concerns aside and focus on the race ahead, the fear of her relationship with Jenson being dragged into the spotlight weighed heavily on her. She knew that once the media caught wind of it, the narrative could spin out of control, affecting not just her career, but the lives of those she cared about the most.

Unable to bring herself to sleep, she reached for her phone to call Jenson. His calm voice was what she needed to soothe her nerves. The call connected through on the second ring. Michaela's eyebrows rose before furrowing as she heard the distant sound of the television in the background of the call.

The creases in her forehead smoothed over as she finally heard an excited, "Hi!", ring out from the other side of the call. Myla Button had answered her father's phone, her young voice echoing with an unusual amount of energy for a girl that was supposed to be in bed two hours ago.

"Hi, baby bear," she said with a smile she hadn't felt all day. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

"I know," Myla whispered with a giggle, "But Daddy said I could watch a movie before bedtime. But he fell asleep so now I'm watching it by myself!"

Michaela's heart melted at the sound of her voice. She missed the little moments like this, the everyday routines she had become a part of when she was with Jenson and Myla. "Oh, really? What's the movie?"

"Tangled," Myla replied with a yawn. "It's so good, but I wish you were here to watch it with me."

Michaela felt a warmth spread through her chest. "I wish I could be there too, sweetie, but I'll be back in London soon," she promised. "I've got a big race in two days, so you and your dad will have to cheer me on from there, okay?"

Myla's voice grew serious. "I know, and Daddy says you're going to win it all."

Michaela chuckled, her heart swelling with affection. "Well, I'll do my best for you two," she said, her eyes misting over. "Now, let me talk to your dad before the two of you doze off."

After a moment, Jenson's voice filled the line, groggy with sleep. He muttered incoherently on the other side as Myla giggled at his drowsiness. Michaela could hear the 8-year-old shaking her father awake as she attempted to communicate to him that his girlfriend was on the line.

"Hey, love," he murmured once he was fully conscious. "Everything okay?"

Michaela took a deep breath. "Yeah, just had a weird day," she replied, the stress evident in her tone. "Red Bull seems to have completely lost their minds. Horner's sneaking around asking about my contract and Max is... Max but odder?"

Jenson chuckled sleepily. "Just ignore them," he advised. "You've got a job to do and we've got a secret to keep."

Michaela rolled her eyes. "Easy for you to say all the way from London," she said with a laugh. "But I'll try."

000.⠀⠀MAY 28, 2022    ›    Monaco

The next day, the tension was palpable as the third practice session approached. The McLaren team had worked tirelessly overnight to refine her car's setup. As she climbed into the cockpit, she felt the weight of their effort and her own ambition pushing down on her. The practice went smoother than the previous two, but Michaela couldn't bite back the nagging feeling that the car still wasn't reaching its full potential on the track.

During the final minutes of the session, she heard a strange crackle over the radio, followed by a brief silence before Rob's voice came through, strained. "Michaela, we're seeing some anomalies with your car's data. We need you to box this lap."

Her heart sank. "What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes scanning the dash for any signs of trouble.

"We're not sure yet," Rob said, his voice tight. "Just play it safe and come back in."

Michaela nodded, her gaze focused on the circuit ahead as she pulled into the pit lane, the car's performance causing more trouble for the crew. The team's tension was palpable as she climbed out, her engineer and mechanics swarming around the car, checking every inch. Despite their assurances that they hadn't found anything alarming, the whispers of doubt lingered.

"I think we can get more out of the car," Michaela spoke through tight lips as she moved to stand next to Rob. She held her helmet in one hand as the other removed her ear pieces, laying them to rest against her chest. The engineers and mechanics around them were in a heated discussion, gesturing at the car's telemetry.

Rob nodded, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "We're working on it, but we don't want to push our luck. Remember, this is Monaco. It's not the place to take risks."

Michaela knew he was right, but the thought of not being able to perform at her best gnawed at her. "I trust you guys," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "But if there's anything we can do to improve it, we should go for it."

The team huddled around, talking in hushed tones about potential adjustments. It was a delicate balance—make the car fast enough to win, but not so different that it could be a problem for Michaela to handle during qualifying in just a few hours. The whispers grew quieter as they approached the final decision. The mechanic nodded to Rob, who turned to her. "We're going to tweak the suspension a bit," he said. "It's all we can do without risking major differences. You're going to have to trust us."

Michaela took a deep breath, nodded, and disappeared into the garage to prepare herself mentally for the qualifying session. The tension was thick in the air as the final minutes before qualifying ticked down. When she emerged from her spot, her helmet was on and her game face was set. The car felt slightly different as she took it out for the first qualifying lap, but she pushed aside her reservations and focused on the track ahead, choosing to trust her team's decision. Each corner, each gear change, every brake point was a routine she knew by heart.

As the session progressed, she could feel the car beginning to work with her just the way she liked, the adjustments seeming to click into place. The crowd grew restless, eagerly waiting for the moment when their favorite drivers would battle for pole position. The air was electric with anticipation, and she fed off of it, pushing her car to the limits.

Michaela's final lap was a dance of precision and power, her tires squealing as she took the tight turns of the Monaco street circuit with ease. She knew it felt good—really good. Her heart raced as she pulled away from the racing line to begin her cooldown lap. Her head throbbed with the beginnings of a headache as she awaited the final times from the other drivers.

The silence on the radio was deafening as she waited for her engineer to confirm the time she had just set. The crowd's roar grew louder, and she could see the Ferrari and Red Bull crews looking up at the timing screens, their faces a mix of hope and trepidation. Finally, Rob's voice crackled through her headset. "Michaela, that's pole!"

Her heart soared as she pumped her fist in the air. As she pulled into parc ferme, she could see Charles and Carlos pull into the next two slots. Their red cars contrasting against her papaya orange one. She stepped out of the car, her heart racing and her cheeks flushed with excitement. The mechanics and engineers swarmed around her, pulling her into their arms and congratulating her on a job well done.

In the post-qualifying press conference, she sat between the two Ferrari drivers, a knowing smile playing on her lips. The tension between Ferrari and McLaren was palpable, but she felt a sense of victory as she had outsmarted the car and the track. The journalists threw questions at her, eager for her thoughts on the session and the race ahead.

"We had a frustrating start to our weekend," she began, her voice steady. "But the team did an incredible job making the changes. It felt like I was driving a different car from yesterday out there." She paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on the screen displaying the qualifying times. "And to be honest, I think we're all pretty surprised with the result."

The room was alive with murmurs, the energy of the impending race buzzing in the air. The journalists leaned in, eager to hear more about her strategy for the race. She knew that the pole position was crucial in Monaco, where overtaking was virtually impossible to do successfully for even the most technically sound drivers.

"So, what approach will McLaren take in terms of strategy for the race tomorrow?" A journalist from the back of the room called out, a hint of a smile in his voice.

Michaela's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Just to keep it on the street and out of the barriers," she quipped, causing the room to erupt in laughter. She knew the importance of playing the media game, keeping her cards close to her chest but giving enough to keep them intrigued.

After the press conference, she returned to the McLaren garage, where the team was already dissecting the data from qualifying. The atmosphere was a mix of relief and excitement, with engineers and mechanics sharing high-fives and slaps on the back. Rob met her with a knowing smile.

"You've done well for yourself Sommers," he said, handing over the table in his hand to Michaela's empty hands. "That issue we were having earlier was, in fact, suspension-related. You were right to push us to tweak it again."

Michaela felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Am I ever wrong?" She joked, as her eyes swept over the data, still enjoying the rush of pole position.

"Devastatingly, not very often," he huffed playfully as Michaela stuck out her tongue mockingly in response.

Night fell over the paddock as the lights of Monte Carlos settled an artificial warmth over the garage. As the McLaren crew broke down and packed up the garage for the night, a sense of pride and excitement filled the space in anticipation of the race tomorrow afternoon. Luisa allowed Michaela space to say her final goodnights to the team as she left to start the car.

As Michaela made the walk to the car, she caught sight of a familiar head of dark curls bounding toward her. It was Daniel Ricciardo, looking unusually serious. "Hey, what's up?" she called out, eyebrows furrowing in a mirror of the worry on his face.

"I just had a chat with Max," Daniel began, his voice hushed. "It was weird. He asked me a question about you and it kinda caught me off guard."

Michaela sighed with a sense of defeat. "I think he knows about Jenson and I. He was on one yesterday before press."

"Well, if he does, he's keeping it to himself," Daniel said, his eyes searching hers. "But why would he ask me? Unless he's trying to gauge the waters?"

Michaela shrugged, trying to push the concern aside. "Probably just his usual messiness," she said, but the doubt lingered. "I'm not worried about it. Jenson and I spoke last night about it, I think we're fine with more people knowing as long as it stays private, you know?"

Daniel nodded, a hint of relief in his expression. "Well, if you guys are cool with it, that's all that matters. I'll keep my mouth shut." He leaned in closer, whispering, "But beware of Horner, he's got his eyes on you, and he's not one to miss an opportunity for drama."

Michaela rolled her eyes. "I've been hearing about Horner all weekend. I'm starting to think I should go down there myself."

"No need," Daniel said with a smirk. "But maybe keep your cool. Who knows what he's after?"

Michaela nodded thoughtfully before climbing into the passenger seat of her car, ready to head back to the hotel. She knew Daniel was right—Horner's motives were always a puzzle wrapped in a hidden goal. As the car pulled away, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the impending race and the secrets she now knew were floating around the paddock.

Back in her hotel room, she tried to push aside the whispers of doubt and focus on her race prep. The walls of the room were plastered with notes and diagrams of the track, each turn and braking zone meticulously marked. She went through her mental checklist, visualizing every lap she had driven so far and planning for every possible scenario she could encounter tomorrow.

Her phone buzzed, and she saw it was a message from Jenson.

Congrats on pole, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you. Can't wait to watch the race tomorrow. Give 'em hell!

Thank you, my love. I'll do my best. Give Myla a kiss for me.

She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as she received an oddly angled selfie of Jenson with Myla, both of them sporting their matching goofy grins. With a sigh, she put her phone away and turned to the window, looking out over the twinkling lights of the Monaco harbor. The serenity of the ocean in stark contrast to the turmoil in her head.

000.⠀⠀MAY 28, 2022    ›    Monaco

The next morning dawned bright and early, the sun casting long shadows across Monte Carlo as Michaela made her way to the track. The air was thick with anticipation and the lingering smell of burning rubber and gasoline. The sound of engines warming up echoed through the streets, a show of power that sent chills down her spine. She took a deep breath, centering herself.

In the garage, the McLaren crew worked efficiently, their movements a well-choreographed dance. They checked over her car with meticulous care, ensuring every nut and bolt was in place. Her heart raced as she stepped into the cockpit, her mind racing through the strategy for the day.

The race started with the usual chaos of Monaco. Cars battling for position, tires screeching, and engines roaring as they hurtled through the narrow streets. The Ferraris, usually so dominant here, seemed to be struggling with their pace. Michaela smiled to herself underneath her helmet as she began to pull away from the pack after the first few laps.

As the race unfolded, it became clear that the McLaren was the car to beat. Despite several safety car interventions and the tight, twisting nature of the circuit, she managed to keep her cool, executing perfect restarts and flawless overtakes. The crowd roared as she held off the charging pack of Perez and the Ferraris.

On lap 40, disaster almost struck. A sudden downshift error caused her heart to race, and the car jerked violently. She wrestled it back under control, but the momentary distraction allowed Sergio Perez to close the gap. Her engineer's calm voice in her ear reminded her to keep her focus, to push through. She took a deep breath, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, and set off in pursuit of her earlier rhythm. The laps ticked down with agonizing slowness. The tension grew unbearable, the crowd on the edge of their seats. Each corner was a battleground, every inch of asphalt a potential trap.

The McLaren garage sat with held breaths as Michaela began the final lap. The pit wall was the picture of tension, eyes glued to the monitors, fingers crossed. As she approached the last corner, the hairpin at Rascasse, she could see the checkered flag waving in the distance. A fiery determination filled her as she floored the gas pedal, pushing the car to its absolute limit.

With the sound of the crowd's roar in her ears, she took the checkered flag, crossing the finish line in first place. The relief and elation washed over her as she slowed down for the cool-down lap, her heart thumping in her chest like a drum.

Back in parc ferme, the team erupted in cheers and applause, slaps on the back and high-fives flying as she climbed out of the car, her helmet still secured to her head. The weight of the week's secrets and tension lifted with the final lap. The podium ceremony was a blur of flashing cameras and spraying champagne, the sweet victory bubbles mixing with the salt of her sweat.

Michaela felt the warmth of the sun on her face and the welcome weight of the trophy in her hand. The podium interviews were a mix of questions about the race and subtle nods to the off-track drama, but she remained poised, her answers focused on the victory at hand.

"A brilliant drive, especially after that scare in the final laps," the interviewer said, holding the microphone close to her face. "Your thoughts?"

Michaela grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It was a tough one, that's for sure. The team did an amazing job with the car setup and strategy. And thanks to the crowd's energy, I found that extra bit of motivation to keep pushing." She took a moment to soak in the applause before continuing, "But let's not forget about Ferrari and Red Bull. They were breathing down my neck the whole race. It's a true testament to our teamwork that we managed to pull it off here in Monaco."

As the press conference wound down, Michaela decided to take the long way back to McLaren hospitality. With a gentle hum, she told Beata to go on without her, requesting a few moments of quiet before the celebrations continued.

She walked through the quiet convention center, finally reaching the elevator that would take her back up to the main level. She slipped inside the empty container just as someone called out for her to hold the doors open. With a polite smile, Michaela reached out a manicured hand to keep the doors from closing. Her smile dropped once she saw Christian Horner enter, his shrewd eyes looking her up and down.

"Congrats on the win," he said with a tone that didn't quite match the cheerful words. "Quite the performance you put on today."

Michaela nodded curtly. "Thank you, Christian."

The elevator ascended, the tension palpable. She could feel his gaze on her, analyzing every twitch of her body language. "You know," he began, "I've always appreciated your technicality. You're so precise throughout the entire race, like Prost. I hope you've been told a million times over that your driving is very Prost-esque, very clean."

Michaela raised an eyebrow, not missing the underlying meaning. "I've heard that before," she replied coolly, her voice even. "But today was about more than just me. I couldn't have done it without my team."

Christian leaned against the railing, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Ah, yes, your team. McLaren. They've got quite the gem in you, don't they?" His tone was sly, hinting at something unsaid.

Michaela resisted a roll of her eyes as she realized what he was implying. "What do you want, Christian?"

He shrugged, his gaze never leaving hers. "Just making conversation, enjoying a well-deserved victory. It was quite the statement really. A great way to silence those whispers about distractions."

Michaela felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She knew what he was referring to, but she wasn't going to let him bait her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Christian leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "That's alright. I admire your ability to separate the professional from the personal."

Michaela took a deep breath, her eyes focused on the floor numbers. When she didn't indulge Christian further, he decided to continue talking.

"But let's not beat around the bush," he said, his tone shifting to something more serious. "I'll be the first to congratulate you for keeping it under wraps for so long. But be careful with how you play this game, Michaela. It's a small world, and secrets have a way of becoming nasty headlines."

Michaela's jaw tightened in annoyance. "Thank you for the advice, Christian."

"I know I'm the last person you want to hear this from. But I genuinely hope things work out for the two of you. I enjoy the challenge you bring to this grid, it's been the honor of a lifetime to watch you drive. And as always," he leaned in even closer, his breath a whisper of mint and ambition, "There's always a seat open for you with Red Bull. We'd love to have you."

The elevator dinged, interrupting his sales pitch. The doors slid open and the murmurs of the lobby flooded in. He stepped out, leaving her with the weight of his words hanging in the air.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Best Laid Plans

Summary: Y/N has a plan to torment Jensen a little. But we all know what they say about the best laid plans.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: It's just smut. 😁 Teasing. Sexting. Slightly dom!Jensen & sub!reader. Semi-public nudity. Orgasm denial (sorta). Masturbation. (sorta). Dirty talk.

Pairings: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 1,500

A/N: So, I've been planning on writing something with this picture since it was released during JibCon 14. I have no idea what he was talking about, thinking about, or what was being discussed at this moment. So, context has been completely removed in deference to my lust-filled, trash-heap mind. So...enjoy, I hope! 😁❤️

A/N 2: As always this story is about a Jensen from a different part of the multiverse who is single. This is a complete and utter work of fiction. 😊

Jensen Ackles RPF Master List || Main Master List

He had plans for you. So. Many. Plans…

You had been teasing him for hours and hours, sending him naughty pics that he tried to ignore, but simply couldn’t. He opened your latest text on stage, knowing it was going to be filthy, but incapable of waiting. He let Misha answer the question while he pulled his phone out of his pocket and clicked open the text.

You could see him struggling not to react. 

The photo had been taken from above. That had been a bit tricky to rig up. You’d been afraid someone would come in and think you were some creep trying to take pictures of people in the bathroom. But you’d managed to get the shot without an audience. 

The shot in question was of you in a bathroom stall, leaning against the door. Your tight sweater was pulled up and you gripped one fleshy breast in your hand, squeezing hard. Your short skirt was lifted, hips thrust forward while your hand was buried in your panties. Your head was thrown back, a look of ecstasy on your face, as you touched yourself.

At the bottom, in pink puffy letters, were the words, “Thinking of You.”

From the front row you watched Jensen shift restlessly on the tall stool he sat on, discreetly adjusting his jeans. His gaze found you in the audience, and he leveled a steely look your way. The look said he had plans for you. So. Many. Plans.

It was such a long panel after that. That look had shifted the game between you two. Now it was you who couldn’t sit still, shifting and trying to subtly press your thighs together. Every once in a while, Jensen stared you down again with another heated look and your core muscles clenched and your stomach almost ached with want. 

You’d never felt so empty, you were desperate to have him fill you up, and by the time the panel ended you were practically panting. You rose with everyone as they left to go to photo ops with the boys. But when you walked out of the auditorium, Jensen was there.

People shouted out greetings and he smiled and gave them a wave, but he quickly ushered you down the hallway, his hand possessively resting on the small of your back and propelling you forward.

He pushed you into an empty conference room. It was much smaller than the hall you’d come from, but still spacious. But when Jensen clicked the lock on the door, it seemed to shrink to a very tiny space, consisting of only the two of you and the air you breathed.

Jensen turned to face you and that same look was back in his eye. You let out a nervous giggle, anticipation singing in your veins. 

“Did you like the pictures?” You asked coyly.

Jensen smirked and shook his head. “Think you’re pretty funny, don’t you, baby? Trying to distract me on stage? Make me stumble over my words? Make me fight to stay calm? To do my damnedest not to get a fucking hard on in front of everyone?”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded. “Yeah, it was fun. You should have seen your face.”

That expression was back, the one that said he was going to ruin you; god knew your panties were already ruined.

Jensen tilted his head and a devilish smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Why don’t you recreate that last picture for me now?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jensen’s voice was low and demanding, “go lean against that wall and pose for me. Just exactly how you did in that bathroom.”

You shook your head. The point had been to make him hot and bothered so he wouldn’t wait, wouldn’t hesitate to fuck you stupid the second he was off stage.

You started to protest. “But I-”

“Now.” His voice didn’t get any louder, but it was firm and hard and brooked no argument.

With butterflies in your stomach you moved over to get into the pose. Nerves made your hands shake as you lifted your sweater up and slid down a bra strap so you could pull out your right breast. 

Suddenly you were wondering; how strong was that door lock? How many people had keys? 

God! What if they have cameras monitoring the room? You thought frantically. 

But despite those worries you did as Jensen said, raising your skirt and slipping your right hand into your panties as your left hand crossed your body to take your tit into your palm and squeeze. 

A soft cry fell from your lips as your sensitive nipples reacted to the pressure.

“Perfect.” Jensen said quietly.

He moved over to pull a chair out from one of the tables, and sat down on it, crossing his legs to rest his ankle on his other knee. He folded his arms over his chest and just stared at you for nearly a full minute. You began to tremble slightly under his scrutiny. 

“Jensen?” You asked softly, slightly confused with his plan now.

Jensen held a finger up to his lips. “Shh! No talking sweetheart. I want you to show me what you were doing in that stall. Touch yourself. Rub your clit and tug on your nipple.”

“But I thought, I mean I want you to fuck me.” Your voice was a whine.

Jensen raised an eyebrow. “I know what you want, baby. But you spent all morning and afternoon teasing me, so you don’t deserve to be fucked just yet.” He nodded at you. “Now, do as I say.”

With a little whimper you followed his instructions, rubbing your middle finger in circles on your clit and tugging roughly on your breast. Your breath caught as you chased your high and your head thumped back against the wall as you panted out your need. 

You started to slip your finger into your opening, but Jensen shook his head. “No!” He barked out. “I didn’t say you could fuck yourself. I said to touch yourself.”

You moaned out your misery. “I’m so empty, Jensen, please. I need you, need your cock to fill me up.” Your hips fucked the air, as your finger twirled around your clit. 

"Aww, poor baby.” Jensen teased you with a wicked smile. “Are you uncomfortable? Can’t find satisfaction when you’re aching for it? That must be tough.”

You knew you deserved the torture for all your impish delights throughout the day, but you still whimpered as you continued the torment on yourself.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and you squeaked, pulling your hand out of your panties and starting to adjust your clothes, but Jensen held up his hand, finger raised. “Don’t even think about it. Stay the way you were.”

“Jensen!” You whispered loudly.

He shot you a look that said, “obey” and you could only comply, resuming your previous position.

Jensen walked to the door and opened it slightly. Thankfully you could stay hidden on the other side of it.

The person on the other side sounded rushed. “Jensen, you’re supposed to be at your photo ops. They’re waiting for you.”

Jensen nodded. “K, give me just a second.” He closed the door and walked towards you. He reached forward and pushed your hand aside to rub you through your panties. You bit your lip hard to keep from moaning.

“I’ve gotta go, sweetheart. But I want to see you in this exact position when I get back.”

Your eyes got round and wide. “What? You can’t leave me here like this!” You squeaked at him in a pseudo-whisper. 

But he ignored you. “If I come back and you’ve moved, I’ll make sure you don’t come for days, I promise you that.”

“Jensen.” You whined. The idea of being left in this room, half naked and waiting for him to come back, had your slick dripping down your inner thigh.

He took his hand away from you and then leaned forward to kiss you swift and hard. He trailed his lips across your jaw and then whispered into your ear, his breath hot. 

“Can’t let my naughty girl get away with anything, can I? Be good, be patient, and when I get back in an hour, I’ll bend you over that table and fuck you till you can’t walk.”

He pulled back to see your face, and then bent forward and licked your lips open, kissing you again, deeper and more lingering. Before you could really be satisfied with it though, he stepped back from you.

He gave his head a shake. “God, I fucking love you like this, sweetheart. All desperate and dripping, and just aching for my cock.” He groaned lightly. “Trust me, this is gonna hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.”

With that he spun away from you and walked out the door, leaving you there to try and figure out just how your plan had backfired so magnificently.

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[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Postcard Marks the Spot

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Canon typical torture that's about it in this one.

Author’s Note: Soooo..... I lied. There's definitely going to be more parts to this. All because I can't control myself. And if the muse wants to see this through, then I'm gonna do just that. You'll need to read the first two parts of this to understand what's going on. Don't forget to follow @xxwritemeastoryxxlibrary and turn on notifications just in case tumblr doesn't notify you with the tags.

I do not and will not ever give permission for my fics to be copied and posted on other sites. Don’t do it. Don’t be that person that ruins it for me and everyone else.

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. While likes are appreciated, reblogs are gold. Seriously, if you enjoyed this in the slightest, please reblog ♥

Phantom Masterlist || MCU Masterlist || Taglist

Her throat was raw from screaming. If it hadn't been for the mouth guard she was sure she would have broken teeth from clenching her jaw tightly as the electricity pulsed through her. The numbness she felt once the machine stopped barely gave her relief. 

Fight it. You can fight it. The words she constantly repeated on a loop from the moment they first placed her into the chair. You are strong enough to fight this. You made it through worse.

"Who are you?" A woman's voice filled the air but she refused to find the source. 

This wasn't the first time she heard the question and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. It was a question to see how much of her memories had been taken. To gage how much more they needed to subject her through. 

Her answers varied with each time. At first she only told them to fuck off. Or occasionally she'd get the chance to spit in the face of the doctor that stood too close to her. The more they began to chisel away at her, the more her answers changed. 

Just a random stranger. 

The person that's going to kill you when I get out of this chair. 

An ex Avenger.

Y/N. 

Phantom

The moment the mouth guard was pulled from her lips. She panted out her birth name. The name she had barely remembered from her time in the Red Room. The name that had been taken from her the moment she sat in the chair for the first time. 

It was the name that held no real meaning to her anymore. She had felt more of an attachment to the fake name she had been going by for the last handful of years than the name she had been born with. Yet at that very moment, that's the only name she remembered. 

She watched as the woman standing in front of her wrote on the clipboard after she had spoken. As she did, she tried to remember how she had gotten there or how she even ended up strapped to the chair. The more she tried to remember the more her head hurt, and not just from the process they subjected her to. 

"Do you know who this is?" 

Another question they kept asking her before holding up a series of photos. Sometimes it'd be a group photo of the Avengers at a press conference or individual photos of each of them. Other times it'd be a photo of her original handler or several other faces recognizable through Hydra’s history. And each time she gave the appropriate answer to ensure they knew her memory was fine. 

Until it wasn't. It was taking her longer to answer. Longer to figure out if she actually knew who she was looking at. At the beginning she'd easily say their names without any hesitation. But as each session progressed, she'd fight harder to remember their names. Sometimes she couldn’t at all. 

A photo of Bucky was held up for her to see this time. By the looks of it the photo had been taken on a mission. His brows had been furrowed in concentration as he held a gun up, ready to pull the trigger when needed. 

There were plenty of things going on in the photo, but she could only get her eyes to focus on his eyes. How familiar they had been to her no matter how many times she had seen them before and during her current situation. 

With the familiarity came a sadness that filled her chest. A pain that she no longer understood why it had been there as she looked at his eyes. But it lingered in the pit of her stomach. But she knew him. Otherwise there'd be no familiar feeling as she looked at the photo. 

Her brows furrowed as she tried to get her brain to work. To pull the information out from behind the wall that is being put up. After a moment an echo of his laugh filled her mind. 

His laughter had been contagious the whole night. It was a sight she hadn't seen before and she was enjoying every moment of it, committing it to memory as if it was the last time she'd ever hear him laugh like that.

His vibranium arm had been holding several bags filled with merchandise he had acquired through the night. Y/N had enjoyed watching him go from booth to booth and taking everything in before deciding that what the vendor was selling was worth the price and bought it without second guessing himself. 

Taking Bucky to a smaller fantasy based convention for his birthday was something that he never once expected to ever do. But seeing the excitement on his face as he went through the whole day pulling her to the different booths that caught his attention had been worth it. 

For the first time since completely turning her back on Hydra, she got to really get to know who Bucky was. And from the moment she found the flier advertising the convention, she knew she had to take him. 

"You have no idea how much I needed this." Bucky said as he pulled her closer to his side and put his arm around her shoulder. "I don't know how to express how much I appreciate you pushing me to give this a chance."

"Seeing you this happy and excited is all the expression I need." She kissed his cheek before giving him a smile. "Happy Birthday Bucky."

"His name is James Barnes." She said a moment later as she lifted her head up slightly to look at the doctor in front of her. "He's an Avenger. Former Winter Soldier and hostage of Hydra, just as I am."

A small tsk followed by a sigh came from the doctor. Before she knew it, the mouth guard was being forced back into her mouth. 

She braced herself for the blow. But no matter how many times she had experienced it, her body was never prepared for the current of electricity being sent through her. 

At the sound of the door opening, the doctor didn't bother to look up from the page she continued to write notes on. "This process would go a lot faster if we had her book." 

"That was never recovered." A soldier responded as he came to a stop beside the doctor. His eyes moved over to chair the moment a new wave of screams left her mouth. "We can only go by the pages we've found that Pierce had copied during his temporary time as her handler." 

"And nothing has come up from when you captured her?" The doctor looked up at the soldier before checking the watch on her wrist. 

"No." The soldier responded. "For all we know she could have destroyed it along with the base." 

"What are the chances of inserting new commands?" The doctor asked as she wrote a few more things on the clipboard before nodding her head to her assistant, indicating to turn off the machine. 

He watched as Phantom sagged in the chair, panting. He had seen the fire in her eyes the day they brought her in. As she opened her eyes, he could tell that fire had been snuffed out. There would only be a few more times needed if they were lucky.

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "There's only one way to find out. "

___

It wasn't long after Bucky explained the meaning of the postcard that the team found themselves back on the quinjet. There was no actual plan of action or data to go off of. Only a destination based off of the location on the front of the postcard.

"What are the chances of her still being there?" Natasha asked, looking over at Bucky. 

Their destination was only a few minutes away and all of them, especially Bucky were getting antsy. They weren't sure what would come from this trip. For it being 3 weeks since the postcard had been sent, they expected to almost find nothing once they landed. 

"Slim to none." His attention was on the postcard in his hand. He hadn't put it down since Sam had handed it to him. His fleshed fingers would occasionally run along the grooves of her writing. "For her to send this, there had to be no other way of getting out of it." 

"Then why send the postcard?" Sam asked. 

Bucky’s eyes looked over the writing on the back for the millionth time. He could hear her words play through his mind. Okay, worst ever possible case scenario. He realized now that it wasn't just a random scenario. It was a just in case idea if either of them would ever need it. 

He now understood why she had done it. They both had a past with Hydra. It was only a matter of time until someone attempted to get them within their grasp. Y/N knew she would be the easier target with the programming still locked within her mind. 

This was her way of subtly adding in the details just in case something came up. And while the first stake out with the potential scenarios had been a few months after her escape from Hydra, she wanted it embedded in any way she could. 

"It lets us know where to start looking." He responded a moment later. "Someone could have seen something. Or if she was keeping anything with her, that'd be where she left it. If we're lucky, we'll find something that will let us know at least in what direction Hydra went."

"Not to be the downer on the thought process," Sam began as he leaned forward in his seat. "What if that is the only thing we have to go on? She's been damn near impossible to even get a trail on after she stopped using the safe houses. For Hydra to find her, they've got something we don't and any trace of that could be gone." 

That had crossed Bucky’s mind several times on the way over. Each thought process comes to the same two ends. On one hand there was a possibility that there'd be nothing else to go on. On the other, there was ache in his chest that screamed she'd leave something behind for him to find. 

"What is it?" She asked as she finished wrapping her wounded hand in gauze. Bucky's brows had been furrowed as if he'd been thinking hard about something.

"Your hypothetical today." He said with a sigh. "I couldn't stop thinking about it." 

She ran her good hand along her face. "Was it the Hydra question?" She watched as he nodded before she closed the distance between them. "If there's one thing I know, you'll always be free from them." She placed her hands on his cheeks as she looked up at him. "You're strong enough to fight without them getting into your head. And I'd be there guns ablazing to pull you out before they could try anything." 

He chuckled as he placed his hands on top of hers. "Humor me. What's waiting on the other side of the postcard?" 

She shook her head slightly, a smile pulling at her lips. "There’d be hope waiting on the other side. Whatever we have with us. My heart." They both chuckled. "If I ever needed to use Siberia, I'd make sure I'd leave whatever I could to help you find me. No matter how small or big it may be." 

"You just have to trust me when I say this might be more than just a postcard." Bucky said as he looked over at Sam. 

____

Once landed, the team had split up. Bucky took one look at his surroundings and gave the others several locations to search. Especially places he knew would have vantage points of the town. While any other time he'd willingly go searching for any sign of Y/N, he knew he had to be the one to go to the shop on the postcard. 

He, along with Tony and Natasha, began making their way through the center of the town. Vendors lined both sides of the street. And as the town normally did, crowds gathered at each vendor.

Bucky’s eyes had constantly been scanning the area. They never settled in one spot for too long. They were scanning for the shop or anything that could be lurking around. If Hydra was still around, he didn't want to be caught off guard. 

When the small shop came into view, Bucky’s pace picked up as he made his way over. He hadn't cared if the others had taken a second longer to realize where he was going. He hadn't cared how the bell rattled loudly against the door as he roughly pulled it open moments later. He just hoped that there was something. Anything to lead him in the right direction of Y/N. 

As he scanned his eyes over the shop, he noticed three things. One, the way a glare formed on the shop owner's face before his eyes widened in surprise. Second, was the empty spot in the aisle that Bucky could only assume once held shelves. And third, his nose could pick up on the lingering scent of bleach. 

There was no doubt that something had happened within the shop. He felt some relief that something had happened instead of coming up empty the moment he walked in. He felt it in his gut that she had been there. That the postcard hadn't led to a dead end. 

He could almost imagine the path into the shop she would have taken before she reached the rotating shelf of postcards. The back and front entrance was visible no matter where she was within the shop. Several aisles filled with anything she could possibly grab to help her. He understood why it had to be this shop. 

"You're the Avengers." The shop owner noted as Tony and Natasha began to walk towards him. Bucky followed behind shortly after and noticed how the shop owner's face quickly steeled over as if he was supposed to be that way from the beginning. 

"At least that makes things easier." Tony said  as he looked at Bucky and Natasha before looking back at the shop owner. Tony opened his mouth to continue when the shop owner quickly interrupted. 

"Are you safe?" Bucky watched as the man asked Tony. He seemed not to care about what Tony may have wanted to ask and it made Bucky curious as to why. 

"Safe?" A confused look formed on Tony’s face. "Of course I'm safe." Tony then pulled up a projection of Y/N. "Have you seen her come in?" 

The owner looked at the projection for a moment before shaking his head. "No." He looked towards Natasha. "Are you safe?" 

The three of them looked at each other for a moment before Natasha nodded her head. "I'm safe. We're all safe. We're just looking for our friend to make sure she is safe." 

It was Natasha’s words that clicked something in Bucky’s mind. Anyone else would have just given an answer about if they had seen Y/N or not. But this man had been intentionally avoiding any questions about Y/N. 

All he cared about was asking if they were safe. A question that seemed pointless given the current circumstances. But Y/N had sent him a postcard with a coded message. A code that had been tied into the steps he had created with a scenario she had come up with for the sake of making a stakeout easier to handle. 

The owner shook his head slightly before looking at Bucky. There was a look in his eyes, almost pleading that one of them knew how to respond. "Are you safe?" 

An annoyed sigh passed Tony’s lips at the words but Bucky nodded his head. "Pancakes."

"What?" Both Tony and Natasha said at the same time. 

"I'll explain later."  Bucky shrugged. 

A smile pulled at the shop owner's lips as he kept his eyes on Bucky. "Your preference?"

Bucky chuckled at the memory that crossed his mind. One that left him and Y/N tangled in each other before the smoke alarm went off. "Regular, but the burnt ones made the memories." 

The shop owner nodded his head quickly. "One moment." He moved away from the counter and made his way towards the back room. 

Bucky looked over to find Natasha and Tony sharing the same look of curiosity. Bucky shrugged his shoulders. "Y/N played this smart. Anyone else would have given you an answer about if they saw her. Not look directly at an image of her and lie before asking the same thing to the person standing next to you." He looked over at Nat. "He completely ignored what you said after asking. But when you mentioned we were making sure Y/N was safe, it hit me what the phrase was. So I gave it to him." 

Before Natasha or Tony could respond in any way, the shop owner came back carrying a decorative box. One that was decent in size but small enough to be held in one hand. 

"Your friend said to give this to you." He held it out for Bucky. Bucky gently reached out to take it from him. "She told me she'd only trust the person who could answer correctly. Said what was left of her life was in that box." 

"Thank you." Bucky said as he brought the box closer to him. His eyes never left the lid of the box as he had. 

I'd make sure I'd leave whatever I could to help you find me. No matter how small or big it may be.

Part of him was afraid to even look inside of it. If this was all she had kept with her, it added to the guilt that was already hooked within him. The other part of him wanted to know what items the box contained that would help put him in the right direction in finding her.

"Was this where she was taken?" 

Bucky had heard Natasha’s voice ask the question. But his brain wasn't fully latching onto the conversation as his focus was now on opening the box. 

"No. She killed two of them here before she left. Tourists saw soldiers take her down at the next block over." 

She fought her way out.That would explain the empty space and smell of bleach. Bucky thought as he placed the box and the lid on the counter top in front of him. The box had been filled halfway with items Y/N had put in there. 

At first glance Bucky could see some pictures. Pictures that made a small tick of a smile pull at his lips. A strip of photos from a booth stuck out and he gently pulled it out taking in the images. 

His heart longed for the moments the camera had captured. The smile on both of their faces as they looked at each other instead of the camera. How her eyes had shined so beautifully as she looked over at him. Or how he kissed her at the right time for the last photo. The first time he ever kissed her was captured for them in a small square photo. 

His face fell as that guilty feeling poked out at him. He hated himself for forcing her to leave. He hated that he waited so long to start visiting safe houses and leaving her messages. Messages that had been left unanswered as those safe houses stayed vacant. 

Sighing, he placed the picture strip back on top and lifted the pile of photos to stand against the edge of the box. Underneath the photos were a few folded maps. 

Maps of the different locations she had been in over the last year and a half. Circles and Xs were visible in certain locations. No doubt places she deemed safe and places to stay clear of. On the top right corner of the first map, her writing had caught his interest quickly.

If you're reading this, thank you for coming. You didn't have to, but you did. You are the only person who would understand the contents of this. Keep it safe. Keep it hidden. I trust you with it. 

His eyebrow raised as he lifted the maps. Beneath them were two journals stacked on top of each other. One of them he recognized right away. The other not so much. 

The one he recognized had been Y/N’s journal. One that she had kept with her on every mission, every vacation, and that she wrote in nightly. Her favorite color protected the pages she had been writing on. And by the simple glance of it, there were only a few more pages left untouched. 

When he pulled the second journal out, his heart dropped. The black leather journal stared right up at him. The white lettering on the front was bright against the cover. The journal is newer in comparison to the one that still occasionally haunts his dreams. 

His fleshed fingers ran over the etched lettering in the leather. Each letter he traced with his finger proved further that Y/N did her best to make sure no one could just come along and surprise her. She'd go down as herself and not as the asset they made her into. 

As his fingers came to the last letter on the cover, flashes of a red journal appeared across his mind. How he loathed the memories of sitting in that suppressing machine and seeing the soldier in front of him read from the journal. How a journal such as that one, and the one in his hand, had the capability to take away a person's free will in an instant. 

Phantom. The front of the cover stated. It wasn't a symbol like the one he had seen being used during his time in Hydra’s hold. A single word that held more secrets than a symbol. 

Every detail about her time as Phantom was sitting in his hand. Her trigger words, the torment and conditioning she had been subjected to, along with notes from her handlers about her missions would be within the pages of the journal. The one thing that kept her from ever falling into the wrong hands without a fight and he now had it. 

She trusted him with the very detailed past she tried so hard to keep hidden from him. Trusted him with the very thing that could be used against her time and time again if allowed. He had it in his hand and he wanted nothing more than to watch it burn.

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[gabessquishytum]

I have a dom/coach dream and sub/tennis pro hob expansion!

With dream as hob’s coach and his dom, all rolled into one package, you can’t call what they have a typical relationship. Dream isn’t buying him jewelry or flowers and hob isn’t taking him to dinner and pulling his chair out. But they are utterly wrapped up in each other and hob’s tennis career. It is too all-encompassing for the word boyfriend.

They don’t even really talk about it other than arranging their boundaries and communicating about it what is off-limits (which is not much.) dream takes excellent care of hob. he prides himself on it. But it isn’t a relationship.

Dream punishes and rewards hob. He picks his meals and checks over every inch of his body to ensure he is at peak performance. He knows all the ways to make hob cry and beg and promise to be good. He’s had hob on his knees warming his cock for hours but it isn’t a relationship.

Of course one night hob is caught with a hickey he didn’t quite disguise and suddenly everyone is wondering who his secret lover is.

Hob laughs it off like he does whenever he gets hit on and he plays along at press conferences and events, but he has no idea what to do. Is he supposed to confirm that he isn’t single? When Dream isn’t his?

(He certainly is Dream’s, but he knows so little about Dream beyond how his fingers feel twisting inside his needy hole, or how hard Dream is going to spank him based on how furrowed his eyebrows are.

So hob lies and pretends it’s someone else. Anyone else. While dream can only seethe at the very idea that anyone else could own hob, could do even a fraction of what dream can do for him.

It’s going to come to a head. Hob wants more. He wants everything. But he isn’t sure he can have it.

Oh I am rolling around and kicking my legs in the air!!! My emotions!!!!!! I'm obsessed with this "relationship" being both everything and nothing. They spend nearly every day together, they're completely wound up in each other and it's SO intense... but at the same time it doesn't feel properly intimate. There's a coldness. They don't talk about anything that isn't tennis, Hob’s career, Hob’s progress and potential. They're both desperate for more but what if it ruins everything?

Maybe Hob picks up an injury. It's not super serious, it's not going to take him out of the season completely. But it happens during a match and it's painful, and Hob is trying very hard not to cry in front of everyone because it hurts, and he'll have to concede the match and Dream will be so disappointed. But. Dream is there. On court with him, helping him pack up his stuff, shielding him from the crowd and the TV cameras. Once they make it to the locker room Hob is crying hard and saying sorry over and over while his physio checks out the injury. Dream cradles Hob’s head against his chest and hushes him, comforts him. He still holds him when Hob is all cried out and exhausted.

Back at the hotel with his injury treated, Dream gets in between Hob’s legs and gives him the most tender, loving blowjob. He kisses Hob’s hole over and over and slips his tongue inside, and Hob is wondering why? Why is Dream rewarding him like this? When all he did was fuck up in front of all those people?

All Dream will say is "I want to take care of you." Which sounds suspiciously like "I love you." But Hob isn't going to push him. He falls asleep in Dream’s arms, and in the morning Dream is awake and watching him closely - instead of good morning, he says "you belong to me." It's not a question. It's not a demand or a threat. It's just a fact.

And Hob is in pain, but he can't stop smiling. He's going to win every trophy and lay them all at the feet of this man, this man who owns him. And loves him, too.

[strangernstranger]

I’m On Fire

Eddie x Fem Reader (request)

Summary: It was a harmless crush what you and Eddie shared yet so damning you were forced to keep him at a distance. It would be hell for you if your father found out but you just couldn’t stay away…

(Contains descriptions of abuse, alcoholism and violent behavior.)

Part 2

——— Back pressed to the door, you counted the footsteps just outside. Three from your bedroom, ten towards the living room, twenty to the kitchen. The footfalls grew quieter with each number. Like counting claps of thunder after a lightening strike, you were measuring the distance of a passing storm. It seemed you were finally in the clear. The breath hitched in your throat released in a quiver as the tension in your posture softened.

You blinked past the tears as you approached your vanity. You assessed the damage under the warm lamplight. Red indentations from your father’s grasp colored the soft skin of your upper arm. You could still feel the pressure of his fingertips pressing into the muscle as he held you in place. Not that it was necessary. You knew better than to walk away when he talked to you. Still, he grabbed you harshly during your berating to remind you of your place. To remind you that you were ungrateful and an overall disappointment as a daughter. You lifted your arm to further examine the sensitive skin. It was going to bruise. The remaining blemishes from the last altercation with your father still hadn’t healed. Fading from violet and gray to a sickly shade of yellow, they were gradually getting better but more would take their place. At least your father had the decency to leave marks in places easy to conceal. Not that it was for your benefit. Instead it was meant to save his own ass. Ever since a parent teacher conference was called to discuss a bruise on your cheek you refused to explain, the injuries became more elusive though just as frequent.

You’d gotten good at hiding the hell that was your home life. Adept at burying the hurt so that you could carry out daily tasks like going to school without question. The next morning, you slid your hair over the collar of your flannel over shirt and primped in the mirror one last time before heading for the door.

“Hey.” A unwelcomed voice grated. Your hand froze on the door knob. You were seconds away from a clean escape.

“Yea, Dad?” He was leaning against the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in hand, watching you past the door frame as if he were waiting for you. His hair was disheveled. Eyes still bloodshot from a previous night of drinking. It was rare that he was sober anymore. You weren’t a psychiatrist but you would assume it had something to do with the fact he hated himself just as much as the lack-luster life he had earned for the two of you.

“I’m working late tonight. Now, I want you home right after school.” He pointed a finger as he spoke. Not even 8AM and he was already coming across as confrontational. “You come straight home and clean some of this shit up. Hear me?” You would’ve rolled your eyes if you didn’t think he’d smack the hell out of you for it. Since your mother left, your father had appointed you to take over her thankless chore list, never lifting a finger of his own.

“I will, promise.” Other families typically say ‘I love you’ before leaving, but you didn’t see the point anymore. It was an empty phrase that hadn’t held a meaning since you were a child.

———

The misty spring air drove away the remaining tiredness resting behind your eyes. It was a cool caress against your cheeks as you pedaled your bike down the still waking streets of Hawkins to the high school. You liked school okay enough. Your grades were consistently passing and for seven hours a day, you were out of your father’s reach. Above all else, there was Eddie. He was a loud mouthed senior with an intimidating aura and reputation to match. A lot of your classmates avoided him. You did too. That is until you were partnered together for an assignment in Mrs. Click’s class. Turns out the second degree senior was actually pretty smart. Just lazy, dubbing himself as more of an ‘idea-man.’ He was unmotivated. You could understand that. Your motivation was more of a looming threat scented with bourbon and haggard by poor life choices and coping mechanisms.

Eddie didn’t know about your dad. At first he thought your concern about the assignment was silly. Your grades were good enough. No sense in being an overachiever he thought. It wasn’t until he caught you after class one day after everyone else had left. You were crying. Your arms circled your face as you sobbed into the textbook lying on your desk. He didn’t know you were that stressed about it. He didn’t know that a failing grade would likely result in injury in your case. It may have been an invasion of privacy but he pulled up a chair beside you. You startled at the sound of the metal legs scooting across the concrete floor.

“I-I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What do you want, Eddie?” You wiped the tears away with the back of your sweater sleeve. Your previous interactions were short and often quarrelsome, always pertaining to the assignment.

“First off, I want you to take a breath.” You did so in vain. Not because he told you to but because you hated anyone to see you cry. “May I?” Eddie’s ring clad hand slid the textbook off your desk and into his lap. He shuffled through the notes stuffed between the pages that you had so meticulous taken. Ink bled on portions of the paper soggy from tears. He’d never seen someone so hung up over a grade before. He felt guilty that he didn’t share even half of your concern. “Take the night off. I can finish this.” Your eyes snapped to him, bloodshot and skeptical.

“You are gonna finish it?” Your tone was unintentionally mocking. He had barely put in an effort since your were unfairly partnered at random.

“Yea?” Eddie answered cooly. “I’ll throw the presentation together so you can take a break. I can just reference your notes. Seems like you’ve covered every possible base.” Nonchalantly, he flipped the lined, loose-leaf paper over, further noting the nuances of your handwriting. Bubbly cursive with little hearts that accented the i’s. Cute. The idea of Eddie taking over the assignment was worrisome to say the least, but you could use a break. Between the stress of school and your father’s constant demands, you were overwhelmed.

“But what about-”

“Y/N…I’ve got this, okay? I’m sorry I haven’t been doing my part. Let me make it up to you. If you don’t think I’m capable of finishing it on my own, I could just come to your place. We’ll work on it togeth-”

“No!” You were quick to shutdown the idea. No one was allowed to come to your house. Your own personal rule. Logically thinking, your father wouldn’t hit you in front of another person, but he had surprised you before. Inebriation always ran the risk of trumping logic. Eddie winced at how quick you were to decline his self imposed invention. It was strictly out of kindness but maybe a bit too forward? “It’s a school night…I’m not allowed to have friends over on school nights.” The excuse was weaved out of thin air. You had years of practice in improvising white lies to hide your families broken dynamics.

“Okay…maybe I can get your number then? Y’know to talk about the assignment?” Eddie closed the book in his lap, resting his forearms on the hard cover. A trailing tattoo of bats peak-a-booed under his pushed up sleeves. You weighed the pros and cons for a moment. Your father would kill you if he answered the phone to hear a man’s voice asking for you. We’re you willing to risk it?

“…Alright. But no calling after 6:30 and if my dad answers, hang up immediately.” You laid out your conditions and watched Eddie smile in confusion.

“Uhh, yea… I guess I can do that.” The smile stretch to brilliancy. He stood triumphantly, nudging your shoulder just before leaving. “Dry it up, L/N.” You followed his stride out the door with your eyes, savoring the lingering scent of his cologne. No way you were crushing on the outcasted king of Hawkins High.

———

You totally were. With Eddie’s help, the assignment was given on time. Earning you both a respectable B+ Even after your two week sentence of partnership ended, he still called you (within the boundaries you set.) Still talked to you in the halls and during lunch. You suffered through every class and mind numbing lecture with one thing on your mind. Eddie. Baring witness to his hyperactive, exaggerated mannerisms were the best part of your day. Just hearing his distinctive voice greet you with a “hey sweetheart”over the crackle of the landline. It was enough to give you butterflies. Still, as much as it hurt you to do so, you kept him at arms length. You didn’t want him caught in your mess and you certainly didn’t want to provide anymore fuel for your father’s misplaced outrage. That meant turning Eddie down anytime he’d ask for a date. Rushing off the phone the second your father’s truck roared into the driveway, cutting Eddie off in the midst of flirtatious conversations. It didn’t go unnoticed. He thought you to be playing hard to get. You gave every indication you were into him. You didn’t shy away when he’d brush your hair behind your ear. When he’d grab your hand under the cafeteria table, you’d lace your fingers with his. Eddie always made little jokes over the phone about how he was gonna climb through your window just to see you. You’d never take the bait, but you’d always bite your lip as your twirled the cord between your fingers. Eddie swears he could hear it in your laugh. It was a spark that threatened to burn him from the inside out. He’d lay in bed at night thinking of you, hoping you were doing the same.

But your life outside of school was a mystery. You never talked about what happened after you biked away from the parking lot. You never saw friends on the weekend. It was puzzling. You were such a sweet girl, but Eddie felt like he still didn’t truly know you. Only parts of you. You were shrouded in secrecy. He used to ask questions. Your answers were short and always followed by a swift change in subject. The only information he could gather was that your mom was no longer in the picture and your father kept high expectations of you. Nothing out of the norm. But you were peculiar in the way you’d shift in place and hide your eyes anytime Eddie attempted to talk about him.

———

The cool, overcast day gave way to torrential rain, peppering the cracked pavement and sidewalks as the last bell of the day rang out. Teens scramble across the parking lot, text books and bags covering their heads in lieu of umbrellas. You watched as they boarded buses and settled into nice cars, gifted by their parents. You on the other hand were preparing for the freezing bike ride back home. Already feeling defeated, you kicked up the bike’s stand just as the stench of exhaust and rumble of thrash metal crept across the parking lot.

“Please don’t tell me you’re riding home in this?” Cigarette smoke wafted from the open window of Eddie’s van. He held in a laugh. You were pitifully hilarious. The hood of your beloved sweatshirt that lived in your locker was pulled tightly to your head and tied below your chin. You were rendered a moon faced blob of wet and darkened fabric.

“Beats walking.” You mounted your bike while shrugging the weight of your backpack up your shoulders.

“Nonono, come on. I’ll give you a ride.” What kind of man would he be if he just let you go off on your own in the middle of a downpour? “The heat works now.” Eddie patted the dash in praise. He’d been working on that for weeks. “I know you’re cold.” You were. Freezing in fact. “Just let me take you home.” He pleaded. He really didn’t want to resort to begging but was prepared to. You chewed your bottom lip in consideration. What was it about him that made you so careless with your circumstance? Was it his eyes? The way his frizzy curls framed his perfect jawline? Maybe it was his gentlemanly gestures juxtaposed to his “fuck you” attitude. Christ. It was all of it. Your dad did say he was working late…What could it hurt?

“What about my bike?” You shouted over the loud spatter of raindrops.

“Allow me.” The driver’s side door of the van opened with a groan. His black boots tread through the puddle you were standing in so that he could take your bike. With minimal effort he tossed it into the back of his van. Wiping his palms on the front of his jeans, he turned to you proudly. “Hop in, sweetheart.”

———

Eddie shook his curls like a wet dog, cursing the cold rain between little shivers.

“And you wanted to bike home in this.” He tsked, side eyeing you playfully.

“I didn’t want to! I had to!” You laughed as you ringed water from your hair.

“No, see. That’s a lie. And you know it’s a lie. I offer to drive you home all the time.” That was true. You’d never take him up on the offer though. It was too risky.

“Wouldn’t it be a pain in the ass to drive out of your way all the time just to take me home?” Your rubber toed shoes squeaked together in the floorboard as you adjusted yourself closer to the heat vents to thaw your fridges fingers.

“You act like we live hours apart. Curly isn’t far from the trailer park.” He reminded you. You knew that but you were running out of excuses.

“I just…don’t think my dad would like it.” There it was again. The brief mention of him had you grabbing at your arms, making yourself as small as possible on instinct. Eddie watched you slouch in the passenger seat. Your smiling eyes now trained to the rain droplets racing down your window. It was happening again.

“….I don’t think I like your dad.” Eddie casually determined. That’s makes to of us you thought but didn’t dare to say.

“You’ve never even met him.” You hoped the conversation would be short but something told you it was only the start.

“I don’t have to. He sounds like a dick. Like, he just wants to keep you in your room, away from everybody else. That’s not fair to you.” The atmosphere grew tense as the van splashed through puddles down the two lane. You got quiet. Eddie had seen this before. It’s like you’d shutdown anytime he tried to talk about him. A clear sign he should stop but he knew there was something you weren’t telling him. He wanted to press on but he finally had you all to himself outside the crowded halls of your school. He wasn’t about to let your time together go to waste. “It’s damn sure not fair to me.” He pouted in an attempt to get you talking again.

“And why is that?” You turned to him with the corner of your mouth ticked up into a smirk.

“Because I can’t take you out! We can’t go for milkshakes or any of that cutesy shit!” Eddie huffed, earning the smallest giggle from you. “No steamy make out session at skull rock either.” He teased, wagging his brows as he reach across the center console to squeeze your knee. He was courteous but never subtle. Playfully, you slapped at his arm while a blush warmed your still frozen cheeks. You wanted those things. You wanted the whirlwind romance you’d read about in books. You wanted Eddie. But instead you were lead actress in your own personal Lifetime drama or after school special about the dangers of alcoholism. We don’t always get what we want. You flipped his palm over and locked your fingers in his. It can’t hurt to pretend though.

You were so entranced by the way Eddie’s cigarette danced between his plush lips that you didn’t even realize you were almost home. He was rambling on about the bluesy riff in Sabbath’s ‘Fairies Wear Boots’ which played over the tape deck. With the crash of a cymbal your heart dropped to your stomach. In the driveway sat a rust eaten and weathered Chevy pickup.

“Fuck FUCK!” You immediately began scrambling to unfasten your seatbelt and grab your bag.

“WHAT?” Eddie shouted in confusion.

“My dad is home. He said he was working late tonight!” You were visibly panicked. Eddie rushed to mute the music but it was too late. The rumbling bass line had already sold you out on your arrival. Eddie peered out the windshield past the wiper blades to see a gruff man swing past the screen door of the modest home. He watched as he slumped over the dinghy, white and algae stained porch railings. A bottle hung loosely between his fingers. Eddie watched you through the rear view. You were struggling to pull your bike out of the back.

“Let me help-”

“NO. Stay in the van.” You snapped. Shaky hands gripped the metal frame, finally pulling it free. Eddie’s eyes flicked back to your father who was suddenly staring daggers at him. An uneasy feeling settled in his chest watching you push your bike up the driveway, not bothering to spare him a goodbye. Against his better judgment, he threw the van in reverse and left. He took one last look at you through his side mirror. Your head dipped low as you followed the man into the house.

———

You prepped dinner on the stove. The skillet’s simmer was the only thing staving off the earth shattering silence. The tension that could be cut with a knife. Your father was sat at the table bouncing his leg as he watched you. You could feel his eyes even with your back turned. Was he intentionally drawing this out? Reveling in your stiff shoulders and dry gulps as you plated his food? This wasn’t the kind of thing he was going to let slide. You knew that and found no sense in delaying the inevitable. If he wasn’t going to speak up, you would.

“I thought you were working late.” You sat a plate in front of your father before taking your place at the table. You hoped the gesture of a hot meal would lessen your punishment. “What happened?” It was likely another altercation with a coworker. He had verbally been reprimanded about that kind of thing in the past. While his violent tendencies lived beyond the closed doors of your home, he carried the same anger with him everywhere he went. Quietly seething at the fact he had lost control of his life. Now a divorcee with a dead end job, living paycheck to paycheck. He turned his focus to you. You, he could control.

“Who was he?” Your question went completely ignored. He stabbed at his pork chop, watching your face intensely. Searching for any indication of a lie.

“Just a friend. It was raining so he offered me a ride.” You kept your eyes on your food. Anxiety starved your appetite so instead you pushed your peas around the dish.

“And what did you offer him?” Your father smiled at you in a mocking manner.

“I don’t…I don’t get what you mean?”

“Don’t act stupid, Y/N. Men have all got one thing on their minds. I know that boy didn’t waste his gas bringing you home…for nothing in return.” He wanted to get under your skin. He wanted you to bite back. He wanted an excuse to pin his shitty day on you.

“Do you seriously think I’d sacrifice my self respect for a ride home?” You were visibly angered by the notion. You weren’t sure what you found more offensive. The fact he thought you’d trade sex for a simple favor or that Eddie would expect that of you? He took a harmless situation and twisted it into something perverse.

“Watch your fuckin’ tone!” He stabbed the air in your direction with his fork. “I’d like to think I raised you better than that but I really shouldn’t be surprised. Figures you’d turn out to be a whore like your mother.” You could feel your hands shake under the table. He knew that would get you.

“Don’t put that shit on me!” You snapped. “If you would’ve treated mom like a person instead of your servant she’d still be here!” You missed your mom. You wished she would’ve taken you with her. Instead she found someone to take your father’s place and skipped town. You didn’t blame her, but it still hurt. It was probably just easier for her to make an escape and start over without a teenaged daughter weighing her down. “Im not hungry.” You pushed your plate back on the table and made the attempt to head back to you room. The fact he was sitting down made you think, maybe you could make it to the door before he caught up with you. You moved quickly but were stunned in place by the shatter of a glass on the floor.

“Don’t fuckin’ WALK AWAY FROM ME.” Your father barked. In the heat of fight or flight situations, you froze. He followed you into the hallway, face burning hot with misdirected rage. You screwed your eyes shut the second his hand tangled into your hair. “I CAUGHT YOU WHISPERING ON THE PHONE WITH THAT BOY THE OTHER DAY!” His shouting shook you to the core. Your heart raced remembering how your father made it home fifteen minutes early last week and managed to make it into the house without you noticing. Your mind fought to recall your conversation with Eddie and hoped it wasn’t damning.

“I’m sorry, Dad!”

“Now, I want you to tell me…” He wiped the sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “WHO IS HE?” He tugged your hair at the roots causing you to wince in pain.

“HE’S JUST A FRIEND! Please let me go, PLEASE!” You hated how weak you sounded.

“I WANT HIS FUCKIN’ NAME!” With one sharp motion, the side of your face slammed into the wood paneling of the wall. You dropped to the floor instantaneously. Any other time you’d just accept your fate. Take the beating and allow the moment to pass but something in you screamed run. Unable to make it to your feet, you staggered a crawl towards the living room. Your father followed your every movement, squatting down to grab your hair once more.

“ANSWER ME GODDAMN IT!” Your trembling hands stretched to reach the cord of a nearby table lamp. The last digit of your middle finger managed to moved the wire enough that the light fell to the carpeted floor. Before you even had a chance to think of the repercussions, you grabbed the lamp and swung it at your father making direct contact. He stumbled backwards holding his nose. Trickles of blood began lining the spaces between his fingers. Now was your chance. You looked to the front door. A beacon of hope merely feet away. You pushed past the ache in your head and the fear in your stomach, finally making it to your feet.

“YOU FUCKIN’ BITCH!” Your father screamed through a cupped hand, attempting to grab you before you were out of reach. His fingers grazed the cloth of your T-shirt before you slipped away from his grasp. He tried to chase after you, but his vision was obstructed by the blow to his face. You ran out the door and off the porch, frantically mounting your bike. Your father followed, stopping at the porch steps. The rain beat hard as he screamed.

“GET BACK IN THE GODDAMN HOUSE.” But you were already gone, petaling rapidly down your street. Not daring to look back. The reflections of streetlights on the wet asphalt illuminated the road to freedom. You weren’t sure of where you were going but then you remembered. Curly isn’t far from the trailer park.

———

Smoke circled overhead in Eddie’s room. An ash tray rested on his naked chest as he flipped through the pages of some macabre comic. A record spun on the turntable. The needle bringing the voice of Robert Plant to life. His zen was interrupted by a pounding at the trailer door. What he fuck? He pulled himself off the mattress and lifted the arm of the record player. He observed the silence beyond the rain, hearing the frantic knocks again. Who in the hell? He grabbed his leather jacket off the desk chair and made his way to the door, the sound pestering on.

“What?” He answered sharply but was immediately caught off guard. You stood on his door step, shivering and drenched to the bone. “Y/N, oh my God! Are you okay?” He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and guide you inside.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” Your voice was strained. Broken. Your threw yourself into his chest, collapsing in the comfort and warmth of his skin, not considering how crazy you looked in that moment. You just needed to feel safe. Eddie rubbed your back as you cried. Soft shooshes cooed from his lips. Something was very wrong.

“What happened, Sweetheart?” He pulled away to face you. Eddie swept the wet strands of hair behind your ear, revealing your swollen face. A knot raised just above your temple, red and swollen skin trailing below and tracing down to your cheekbone. “Jesus Christ…Y/N.” You had never seen Eddie’s face so concerned. “Did- Did someone do this to you?” You couldn’t speak. You were fighting to regain your composure but you managed to nod a reply. Sadness swelled in Eddie’s chest. How could anyone find it in themself to hurt you like this? “Who did this!?” He gently cupped your face in his hands, tilting and lifting in search of any other marks. Your father’s face flashed in his memory. The look in his eyes as he dangled the bottle in his hands. The pieces began to fall together. Why you’d tense up anytime he was mentioned. Why you spoke in whispers on the phone. How did he miss all the signs? “He did this to you.” It wasn’t a question. It was an understanding. He locked his deep brown eyes on you. You nodded in his hands. Tears brimmed and threatened to spill over when he saw the way your lip trembled.

“I can’t go back there, Eddie.” Your chest heaved as you choked back another sob. He pressed your face into his chest, his hand cradling the side of your head. His skin burned hot while yours was ice. You melted together in the embrace.

“You don’t have to. We’ll figure something out.”

———

“These looked like they’d fit. I tossed them in the dryer so they’d be extra warm.” Eddie handed off a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt smelling of fresh dryer sheets. You smiled up at him through your lashes while you sat on the edge of the bathtub. The towel Eddie drape over you still rested on your shoulders. He was an excellent caretaker. You moved your makeshift ice pack/bag of frozen peas off your temple so you could shake out the clothes.

“I really appreciate this…all of it.” There was no way to properly thank him or express how sincere you truly were.

“Don’t do that.” He smiled.

“Do what?”

“Don’t thank me for being nice to you, it’s weird!” You chuckled a little at that. It was weird having someone care about you like this. You lifted your soggy tshirt over your head, separating it for the tank top that clung to your body. For the first time, Eddie could see what your father had done to you. Bruises on your shoulder and across your arms. All varying in size and color. Some fresh, some old. He dropped his breath.

“No sense in hiding them anymore I guess.” You shrugged off the initial embarrassment. You shouldn’t be the one who felt ashamed. Yet you did.

“Does it happen a lot?” Eddie sat down on the lid of the toilet seat and twisted his body towards you.

“Couple times a week.” You shrugged. “It’s getting worse. Since mom left…it’s like he looks for reasons to hurt me. I-I don’t know if he blames me for what happened or if he just takes it out on me because I’m the only one there…” You’d never talked to anyone about what you’ve been through. What you continue to go through. But with Eddie, you felt like you could be transparent. He absorbed every word, not daring to speak until you got it all off your chest. Your honesty cut him like a knife. It took him back to his days of being a confused child. Wondering why his dad would strike him. What he could’ve done to deserve it. Eddie wanted your father to pay for what he did to you but chose to keep his anger to himself. You didn’t need more talks of violence, even if it would be justified. You needed comfort and understanding. “He treated my mom like shit. She met this guy who made her feel like she was worth something, yknow? She packed up in the middle of the night. Left. No clue where.” You shook your head. “But after that…Dad wasn’t the same. He started drinking all the time. Picking fights with me for no reason…and it just kept getting worse.” Your eyes started to wet. “Now I’m here.”

“All the bullshit aside, I’m glad you’re here.” Eddie reached over to grab your hand. He let his thumb run circles along the back. His heart was heavy for you. He knew what you were going through and it was something who wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

———

You and Eddie sat up on the couch for a while watching reruns of some dated sitcom. Something about the sounds of canned-laughter with Eddie’s arm draped around you soothed your jangled nerves. Your eyes were grew heavy as you rested in the dim light of Eddie’s living room. You were utterly exhausted by everything that had transpired that day. Your head would droop and pop back up with fluttered blinks. The cycle repeated at least three times before Eddie spoke up.

“Just close your eyes, sweetheart. I know you’re tired.” His voice was soft and hushed.

“I don’t wanna leave you up though.” You rubbed your knuckle into your tired eyes to try and drive the sleepiness away.

“Don’t worry about me.” He laughed. “I’m practically nocturnal. Now, c’mon. Lay down.” Eddie swung his legs up on the couch and pulled you into him so that your back could rest against his stomach and head to his chest. He shuffled between so many emotions as you finally drifted off to sleep against him. Happy he could finally hold you. Saddened by your circumstances and what brought you to him. And ultimately guilty for enjoying every second of it.

The morning light cut through the blinds in blue ribbons across the walls of the quant, mobile home. Wayne had just finished up his shift at the plant. Tired and overworked, more than anything he wanted to stretch out on the couch and close his eyes. Eddie had thrown his uncle for a loop a time or two in the past but that didn’t prepare him for when he opened the front door to see his nephew all snuggled up with some girl.

“Eddie!” He boomed, sending a shockwave through the boy’s body. He sprang up to a sitting position, nearly toppling you over and into the floor.

“Hey-Hey, Wayne! Can we, uh-can we talk for a second?” Wayne was not amused in the slightest by his nephew’s sheepish behavior.

“Oh, we’re gonna have a talk alright.” He crossed his arms over his chest, not bothering to look at you. His attention was focused solely on Eddie.

“I guess I should-….I have to go to the bathroom.” You made yourself scarce and pitter pattered to bathroom. You knew you shouldn’t but you left the door cracked so you could eaves drop on their conversation.

“Okay, Wayne���I know what it looks like.”

“It looks like your sneaking girls home!”

“I know, I know but it’s not like that!” Eddie huffed hoping the other man would understand. He dropped his voice so maybe you wouldn’t hear him. “She needs help, Wayne. Her dad abuses her. She showed up here crying last night because she didn’t know where else to go. What was I supposed to do, send her right back to him? He grabbed her by the hair and rammed her head into the wall, for Christ’s sake!” Eddie spoke in whispers so you couldn’t hear. “I just wanted her safe. Honest.” His eyes were pleading. Wayne ran a hand over his scratchy beard recalling how he felt when he first learned of Eddie being abused. He thought back to that scared little boy crying in the cab of his truck because his mommy and daddy were two pieces of shit who couldn’t figure out how to love their own flesh and blood. It was a sensitive subject for Wayne. He turned towards the bathroom feeling your eyes peak through the cracks of the door. You tried to shut it in a hurry but we’re already caught.

“Hey! C’mere a second.” It was a request but his stern voice made it feel an awful lot like a demand. You walked slowly back to the center of the living room where the two men stood, watching you. Wayne stepped in front of you, examining the fresh bruise along the side of your face. His heart screamed ‘I’m sorry this happened to you’ but his face remained neutral. “That’s a shiner alright.” He shook his head in disgust. You nervously looked the other way. You weren’t used to people remarking on your father’s doings. It was your own secret shame and not one you’d willingly share. “Still hurt?”

“Y-Yea. A little.” You wanted to sound brave and unphased but you sounded more like a child than anything.

“There’s Tylenol in the medicine cabinet.” Wayne huffed and began pacing the floor. “I’m sure you’ve noticed we’re a little limited on space here.” He gestured to his work clothes that hung on a rack in the corner of the room. You dropped your head sensing that you’d soon be sent away. Eddie waited with bated breath, praying his uncle wouldn’t make you go back. “But you’re welcome to stay here until we get this mess sorted out.”

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Millie Bright x Reader

The All Clear

AN: just a quick lil thing I’ve written to celebrate today 💜

At the physio your girlfriend Millie was undergoing yet another fitness exam. The buzz around the World Cup squad announcement had spread through the building but Millie was hoping to be on the road back home by now. There had been a delay with some scans and paperwork she had to fill out for the end of season.

Millie’s perspective:

Glancing at my watch I knew time was running out to get back home in time for the 2pm announcement. I know I’m being announced on the team as Sarina called me a few weeks ago to see how my rehab was coming along. What was still up in the air is if I’m actually getting on the plane. I’ve been working so hard to be ready for the cup as it could be my last but I still haven’t been fit enough to train properly and the season ended without any minutes under my belt for a few months now. I’m nervous. I so desperately want to be on that plane, I want to take (y/n) to another country to watch me play, I want to be surrounded by my friends all summer. Now if this bloody knee could start cooperating that would be great please!

“Millie, can you see for a minute please?” the words of the lead physio echoed through the empty room and interrupted my negative thought spiral. Pulling myself up off the bench and into the office, I felt like I was a naughty school kid going into the headmaster’s office. “So, I know you’ve been talking with Sarina about making the World Cup and you’re worried about being ready in time. You’ve been working really hard on your rehab and I’m happy to tell you that you’re clear. You’ll be on the plane.” The words I’d been longing to hear didn’t sink in, just bounced off my ears and around the room until it hit me. A very delayed celebration came in the form of jumping into the air and screaming, slightly crying but extremely elated. “Thank you so much!” hugging my physio who’s done absolutely everything for me to get to this point, “you’re free to go” he said with a huge smile on his face.

Throwing my bags into the car and leaving the crutches behind - I need to get home, I need to tell (y/n). Glancing at the time, I think I should just about make it home for the announcement.

Your perspective:

“Mum’s late isn’t she?” petting the dogs on the sofa and glancing at your phone to see no new messages. Millie should be home by now and you were starting to get worried as you set YouTube up ready for Sarina’s press conference. It’s unusual not to hear from her in so long and she always texts you when she’s on her way home, maybe she’s been held up at the office. Flicking through your phone until 2pm came and your social medias were flooded with the squad sheet. There she was, your girlfriend’s name in black and white. You had no doubt that she’d be called up, it’s whether she actually makes it there that worries you. Nevertheless, you’d started packing for your trip abroad anyway. Millie always takes the mick out of your over preparation for holidays - starting to pack months in advance of the impending trip but you always remind her that she’s the one that forgets everything by doing it last minute. Sending your congratulations to the girls who also got called up, Sarina’s voice broke the silence in the lounge as all of your attention turned to the TV.

First question - are Millie and Lucy fit to play? Her answer vague yet a positive one. Listening intently to the rest of the interview until something made you rewind to play it again. ‘Did I hear that correctly? Millie being announced as captain? Oh my god, I did! Millie’s captain! My girlfriend’s the captain!’ Your mind racing with no one there to celebrate with apart from the dogs “did you hear that guys? Mummy’s the captain!” you stroked them excitedly as they climbed on top of you with their tails wagging. You barely listened to the rest of the conference just wondering where the hell your girlfriend had got to, has she heard the news? Did she already know and not tell you? Your phone calls didn’t connect as you started to get worried but you didn’t need to as soon after your third unanswered call you heard the familiar hum of her car pull up on the driveway.

Launching the dogs off the blanket as you ran to the front door and flying it open with excitement. The dogs ran out to the car, tails wagging and jumping up at your beautiful girlfriend exiting the vehicle. “Hey skipper” you winked as she approached you, met with a puzzled expression as she leant down to kiss you. “What are you talking about?” Omg, she doesn’t know! “You’re the captain! Sarina just announced you as captain!” your voice high and loud as you grabbed the remote to rewind the interview. Turning the sound up you let it play out, watching the news sink in on her face as her jaw dropped. “I’m so proud of you!” wrapping her arms around her neck watching her mouth turn from shock to pure happiness. Millie squeezed her arms around your waist as she picked you up off the floor “woah, watch your knee!” yelling and slapping her shoulder to put you down. Looking into your eyes she said the words - “I got the all clear, we’re getting on that plane baby”.

[peterxwade24]

Safety Found in Red Sleeves

Chapter 12

Jason looked at Duke, watched him take several deep breaths as they stood on the roof of an abandoned building. They hadn’t had much time to just, breathe together since they found out that their sister was in the city. They hadn’t really had time to talk since then either, but Jason had made time today to talk to his brother. Damian had been left with Dick and Wally today, so that all of the kids could run around and play at the park.

Duke looked blankly across the city, not seeing anything but seeming to see everything. “Do you think she knows we’re alive?”

Jason dragged his hand through his hair before sighing. “I hope so?” Jason gave his brother a cursory look before looking back out across the city. “That dumb press conference aired before they would have gotten on the plane. Hopefully she saw us and knows we’re alive.”

Duke nodded before turning towards Jason. “I think she does. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be trying to keep tabs on us.”

Jason nodded, looping his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “So, what do you say? Do you wanna go freak out Dickie and steal some kids to give them ice cream?”

“Hell yeah.” Duke laughed and together they vaulted off of the roof with a laugh.

---

Dick called them thirty-five minutes later, in a panic. “Hi Jason. How’s it going?”

Jason smiled at his son and niece, watching them enjoy their ice cream. “Hey Dickie. It’s going good. Duke and I had a good chat. How’re the kids?”

Damian looked at Jason with a slight pout, clearly confused.

“They’re, uh, having fun?” Dick sounded very scared and panicked. “So uh, hypothetical question. If Dami was ever to, uh, disappear or run away, where would he go?”

Jason stifled a laugh, knowing that Dick and Wally had just realized that all four kids were no longer in the park. “Dick, did you lose my son?”

“No! No no no no no. Nothing like that. We’re just, uh, playing hide and seek, right Wally?”

“Dick have you seen Irey or Jai? Have you seen Mar’i for that matter?”

Jason and Duke shared a look before laughing and hanging up the phone. Jason hit the FaceTime button and smirked at Dick when he answered. “It took you guys thirty-five minutes to realize you no longer had the kids?”

Dick looked mad, for just a moment before Mar’i weaseled her way in front of the camera.

“Hi, Dad!” Mar’i had the added benefit of having strawberry ice cream in her hand while she waved.

“Jason! Did you pump our kids full of sugar without telling us? What if we wanted ice cream?” Wally tried to look sad and angry at him.

“All of the kids got ice cream,” Jason panned over all of the kids with ice cream in their hands, including Duke, “and if you two hurry I might even buy you two bozos some ice cream.”

---

Jason smiled at Selina, pressing a kiss to his surrogate mother’s cheek, before welcoming her into the apartment, for probably the last time. “Hi Ma.”

“Hello my little bird.” Selina ruffled Damian’s hair as they walked into the living room. “What did you need to talk about dear?”

“Tim found us a house, in Old Gotham. This little family we’ve made is outgrowing my apartment faster than any of us ever thought.” Jason looked around, at all of the things scattered around that belonged to the various members of their family. “He and Steph and Cass made sure it wasn’t in the Bat’s patrol route, it’s technically in Dick’s. But it’s perfect Ma, there’s even a room for you. Well, if you want it, there’s five rooms, but these days we all seem to end up in one room. You and Alfie and Thana will all have rooms, and-”

Selina cupped Jason’s face and smiled at him through happy tears. “Little bird, my poor little bird. I’m so proud of you and who you’ve become and I promise you that as soon as you get your sister back she’ll be stuck to you like a barnacle again.” Selina pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you little bird.”

“I love you too Ma.” Jason covered Selina’s hands with his own and smiled at her. “I’m going to get her back, and then you’ll have another chaotic child.”

“I’ve always had her, she just hasn’t been around lately. Too busy with John and Edward and Oswald.”

“They are basically her uncles.” Jason’s tone was wistful, full of longing for days long past when he and Thana had roamed the streets together.

“But she’s just as much mine as she is their’s, well, Oswald might have more of a claim to her but whatever. I’ll just be happy all of my kits are together again.” Selina glanced over at Damain, who had quietly coloring at the coffee table for the whole conversation, and new tears sprang into her eyes. “I’m so happy your sister is here in the city, and I’ll be even happier when you bring her home.”

-*-*-*

Thana looked at her uncles with disdain, they knew better than this but they still insisted on sitting in the lobby of the hotel her class was staying in with her as she waited for them all to come downstairs.

Jon and Ed smiled at her and waved, which just irritated Thana more as she just drank her cup of really, really terrible hotel coffee. Some uncles they were, didn’t even bring her good coffee.

Kim slumped down in the chair next to her and rested his head on his folded arms on top of the table. “How are you so awake?”

“Shitty coffee, mostly. Also spite since Uncle Jon and Uncle Ed didn’t bring me good coffee.” Thana made eye contact with her uncles as she took a sip of the terrible hotel coffee.

Chloè sat down across the table from Thana, partially blocking her view of her traitorous uncles. “Thana, dear, whatever are you drinking?”

“Swill, because my uncles no longer love me.”

Nino plopped down in the chair on Thana’s other side. “That’s not true. They wouldn’t be here in they didn’t love you.”

“You’re just saying that because Alya can’t talk to you when they’re around because you’re always with me and they won’t let her near me.” Thana frowned at her cup of coffee and sighed. “I know a great cafe just a couple blocks away from here, we’ll literally go past it and we can duck in to get something.”

Adrien and Alix had joined them at some point while Thana was talking. They simply nodded while they slumped into chairs on either side of Chloè.

Madame Bustier clapped to get their attention after everyone had trudged down to the lobby from their rooms. She gave them just a few moments to give her their attention before smiling brightly. “Okay everyone. Today’s going to be a little more relaxed than some of the other days we’ve had, as Mister Wayne had something come up unexpectedly and will be out of the city on business for today and half of tomorrow. So, we’re just going to walk to the nearby park.”

The class started to get up and get around as Thana and her friends made sure their various red sleeved accessories were in place and the girls pulled their purses closer.

Adrien adjusted the tie of his black and white top, making sure it was centered over his black high-waisted jeans. His dark red, rhinestone bedazzled undershirt sparkled in the overhead light and matched the laces in his combat boots. Nino, standing next to him, wore baggy jeans adorned with chains under a black loose-fitting croptop paired with a dark red almost black fishnet shirt. He paired a teal hat with the teal laces in his black combat boots wrapped in chains. Kim, on the other hand, had baggy black track pants under a black sleeveless crop top with red sleeves attached with decorative straps. He wore black combat boots as well, with navy laces.

Chloè wore a formfitting black and white checkered dress with a burgundy red sheer cardigan, with her hair braided away from her face and her signature sunglasses perched atop her head. She wore black heeled boots with orange laces to match her orange nail polish. Alix had a pair of black jeans with pentagram designs over the knees paired with a black crop top over a red long sleeved bodysuit with silver chains criss-crossing around her waist which matched the chains wrapped around her black combat boots with light green laces. Thana had a pair of neon yellow fishnets under her black shorts paired with a black halter croptop with fishnet material over the uppermost part of her chest. She had a blood red leather jacket drapped over her shoulders under her pair of bubble braids. She wore black heeled boots with dark green laces and had dark green polish on.

They looked intimidating all put together, with their matching outfits all in black, so the rest of the class gave them a wide berth. Mlle. Bustier, even, kept shooting them looks as if she had never seen them act like this before.

The class left the hotel, with John and Ed in tow, to walk to the local park so that a majority of the class could run around and use up their energy. Jon and Ed, however, had other ideas for Thana and her friends. They deviated from the path merely a block from the park and headed towards a seemingly abandoned part of town.

“Where exactly are you taking us?” Adrien asked, a little skittish around the two men even after having spent time with them over the rest of the week.

“We,” Jon started, a giant smile on his face, “have a surprise for a certain niece of ours.”

“From everybody, not just us.” Ed added, nudging his idiot of a partner.

Thana laughed, a light little noise her friends had seldom heard. “Oh? Did you guys catch he who shall not be named and string him up so I can finish him off?”

“Not exactly.” Jon and Ed pushed open the doors to the building and revealed the surprise.

“Hello pumpkin.” Jerome smiled at his niece, and caught her when she threw herself into his arms. “Welcome home.”

Taglist:

@amigotasbien @maribat-is-lifeblood @mystery-5-5 @our-preciousss @mochegato @chocolatecatstheron  @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen  @2confused-2doanything  @wannajointhecrabcult  @dreamykitty25  @tomanyfandomsonmymind  @moonlightstar64  @justafanwarrior  @mialuvscats @pheony1882  @pepelachanel  @moongoddesskiana  @abrx2002  @ladybug-182  @greatcatblaze  @vixen-uchiha  @superbwhispersconnoisseur  @sauseyyy @susiej1118  @bluesimani  @thatonecroc @mizzy-pop @animegirlweeb

[eastwindmlk]

I'll show you mine if you show me yours... 😁 Speed Dating Chaos?

As you might imagine, this WIP was prompted by the same prompt from last Jilytober. This one. Though what I wrote then was nowhere near chaotic enough. Nor was there actual speed dating involved. But I did write some more here and there.

While it is on the list for this year and I hope to make a little more progress! But under the fold there is a little snippet of what it's turning into.

Back to the WIP tag game

Mariam had outdone herself, the room was filled with beautiful women and James had a hard time believing they were there for him. He wasn’t bad-looking by any standard, but he definitely wasn’t fit enough for most of these women. Hooking a finger into his collar, he gave himself some air and looked at the matchmaker beside him. “Are you sure they’re all here for me?”

His question was met with a disapproving look and a sarcastic reply. “No, I just invited them all here to show you what you can’t have.” She flicked a lock of straight black hair over her shoulder as she surveyed the room. “It does help that they have no idea what to expect other than You’re a young, family-oriented heir to a pharmaceutical empire. And if they have half a brain, which I made sure they did, you have a thing for redheads.”

It wasn’t like he had not noticed the trend before, a range from strawberry blonde to deep auburn. “I can’t help but feel like this is giving the wrong impression,” James commented, only for the answer to be interrupted by a phone call. Her iPad was pressed into his hand while she tucked the phone against her shoulder. “There is something I need to take care of. You stay here, don’t even think about going in without me.” She warned, her eyes flashing dangerously at him. All he could really do was nod and watch Mariam stalk off.

James wasn’t opposed to having another minute to himself, occasionally peering down at the pool of potentials waiting for him. Impatient as he was, it took all but three minutes for him to start pacing. Lingering near the door, wondering if he could peer his head through, just to check how she was going on.

Just as he decided to have a little peek, the door swung open, and a young woman rushed inside. Reeling to a stop right before colliding with him. “Oh bullocks, I’m so sorry I am late.” She started, tossing her trench coat his way. “You must be Duke.” James blinked at her confused, following her eyes gaze to the tablet in his hands. “So, you’re not my matchmaker?” Still nothing. “Goodness me, can you hear me?” His eyes travelled up to meet her, slowly. Taking in the trail of freckles that lead from a rather generous cleavage to the hollow of the throat. Soft copper waves framed her impatient expression.

Stammering for a moment, he managed a shake of his head. “No, sorry I’m not.” He smiled apologetically as if somehow this was all his fault. “I swear my calendar said conference room B.” She muttered to herself, and suddenly James’s eyes lit up. “This is D. I think you’re in the wrong room.” At his words, she marched back to the door and pulled it open, peering at the plaque on the side. “Oh piss it! You’re right! I am so sorry! Well, off I pop.” The woman laughed lightly, the sound like wind chimes.

Before he could do more than raise his hand to wave, she disappeared. Leaving him as startled as she had found him. Staring at the closed door, still smiling to himself when Mariam reappeared.

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

With A Flap of Wings, Part 6

Nie Xunyao quietly watches his youngest cousin play with the cousin he has not yet gathered up enough nerve to meet. 

Being placed in a proper resting place with a proper tablet seems to have given Nie Huaisang a little more... weight, for lack of a better word. Though he is translucent as ever and still cannot speak, he can now draw pictures in the earth under the tree for his little sister that she eagerly tries to copy in ink and paper. 

If her steadily improving skills are any indication, his cousin would have become quite the artist… if he had lived.

Nie Xunyao lets out a shaky breath and leans against the door frame. 

'If he had lived' is a phrase that carries so much water. 

It's the reason he has yet to introduce himself. Even if they are family, how can he simply go up and greet someone he has already unknowingly owed a debt to for almost his entire life? 

Though Nie Huaisang had never confessed it in words, even though the adults will not say it in front of them, it's obvious what the first calamity would have been. Nie Jinghe may have been gentle on her, but Yun-ma had never truly recovered from the nightmare that was her first pregnancy.

And if she had died in childbirth, there would have been no one searching for his mother. 

Especially not his father. 

He remembers vividly the day his mother had walked out of a conference being held in the great hall with tears in her eyes and had taken him aside to fold him in a tight hug and apologize for having ever believed his father would do right by them. 

He also remembers vividly the first time he saw one of his -apparently numerous- half-siblings thrown out of Koi Tower like a piece of refuse. 

His cousin has saved them from all that foolish hoping and the bitter fate that might have come with it, and instead arranged for them to have a proper place in the world with a family that loved and wanted them. 

'If he had lived.' 

How does he even begin to pay that back? 

Better... better to wait, he decides. Until he has an idea.

Though it turns out not to be his decision to make. 

When his little cousin spots him watching, he doesn't react fast enough to keep her from running over to grab him by the arm and drag him off the porch with all her weight. 

Ugh, she just had to take after her brother and father in both strength and stubbornness. 

"Sang-ge~! You haven't met Yao-ge yet!"

Nie Huaisang looks up and Nie Xunyao feels a little chill creep down his spine. Though his cousin's gaze is as smooth as the polished pale jade it takes its color from, the air between them ripples with emotion; Love and Hate and Betrayal and Regret all twisted up and tangled together like kites in a windstorm.

Well. 

That answers the question of whether or not they'd somehow crossed paths despite the loss of a tether between them in the form of Yun-ma. 

Steeling his nerve, he kneels in front of the ghost, then looks at the drawing materials scattered around them. "He-mei, go get more paper." 

"Aw-!" 

"Unless you want me to have to write on your drawings...?" 

"No! Don't you dare!" she huffs, running back towards the porch. "I'll make Huahua bite you if they're messed up when I get back!" 

It's not much of a threat, given that the bird in question is a toy, and he can't help the way his mouth twitches in amusement before he gets himself back under control. 

As soon as the door bangs shut, he forces himself to look his remaining cousin in the eye again. "What fate did you save my mother and me from? Was it whatever created all that hate between us?" 

Nie Huaisang tilts his head, but otherwise gives no indication that he heard the question. 

"Did we ever know we were related?" Nie Xunyao presses. 

That earns a flinch. A little twist of Regret. So... not before Something Important had gone very, very Wrong. 

Nie Xunyao involuntarily bites the inside of his lip to fight back the dread threatening to close his throat. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

Until he's in control again. 

He leans forward, gaze intent. "What do I owe you, biao di?" 

The silence stretches between them. But, just as he thinks Nie Huaisang is going to simply block him out entirely, the ghost closes his eyes and sighs inaudibly, all of the tension in his body bleeding out, then bows his head and stretches out a hand towards the ground.  

Nie Xunyao looks down and watches as the words emerge under the scratch of his cousin’s nails -right side up for him, rather impressively- in the earth. 

'Be content with this family.'

Nie Xunyao frowns, wondering what exactly that's supposed to mean. Of course he knows he's doing much better here than he could have been, why would he need to be reminded to...? 

Oh. 

Wait. 

"Did the life you saw me living involve me trying to join my father?" 

A nod. 

Nie Xunyao's breath leaves him in a sharp wheeze, as if the ghost had outright punched him in the stomach. "Ha. Ah… You won't have to worry about that. My mother and I know better now." Screwing up his nerve, he reaches out and takes hold of his cousin's free hand. "But that... that can’t be all you want from me, can it? After all of this? Everything you gave up?" 

Another head tilt, this time of consideration. 

Then a second nod. 

And he understands. Whatever else had gone so horribly Sour between them, it must have been born out of that desire to be with his father. 

Before he can ask anything more, the door bangs open again and Nie Jinghe comes running out with several blank scrolls and sheets of paper. "You better not have done anything cool without me!" 

Nie Xunyao smiles at his little cousin. "Just boring grown up talk." 

"You're not a grown up! You’re ten and a half!" 

"I’m still more grown up than He-mei is," he retorts just to tease, all the little nervous knots in his stomach vanishing as he catches his other cousin hiding a small smile behind his sleeve at their bickering.

[fukanouna]

Bound by a Thread: Chapter One - Avengers Compound (2015)

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: After Ultron's defeat, Wanda moved to America and began her new life as an Avenger under the mentorship of Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. Wanda doesn't know what to do with these new budding feelings she's experiencing around the redhead, while Natasha discovers she still does have a heart after what happened with Bruce. However, Natasha's dark past resurfaces and comes between them, and Wanda finds out that her powers might not be strong enough to stop it.

Chapters: ( Prologue )

Chapter Word Count: 2569

A/N: Present day - and by present day, I mean set after AoU

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"On your left."

Profusely sweating, Sam grunted in exasperation when Steve lapped him for the fifth time.

"On your right."

Moments later, Natasha smirked as she passed Sam, making better progress at keeping up with the blonde super soldier than he was. Sam's brow furrowed in annoyance but kept pressing on.

"Above."

Before Sam could even question who the voice belonged to, Bucky dropped down from the air several feet in front of Sam and chased after Steve and Natasha without looking back at the former Air Forces soldier.

"OH, COME ON! YOU GUYS ARE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE!" Sam cried out in annoyance and pushed himself to close the distance between him and the others to no avail.

From a rooftop of a building beside the compound's track field, Wanda stood beside Vision and giggled at the sight of Sam complaining to the other three runners at the finish line. Steve didn't break a sweat, not even a strand of hair out of place, but still tried to placate his friend. Natasha stood off to the side and leaned against the fence while sipping from her water bottle to hide her smirk. Even Bucky, who took residence at the compound not too long ago, was expressing amusement when he was characteristically more aloof and stoic.

It had been several months since Ultron's defeat. As there was nothing left for her in Sokovia, Wanda took up Tony Stark's offer to move to America with the rest of the Avengers on a green card. The transition to another country was difficult, experiencing the concept of culture shock firsthand, but she couldn't deny her curiosity or excitement. She was always fascinated by American culture ever since she was a little girl from all the American sitcoms she watched with her family, and though those sitcoms were old and dated to the present, it was still an eye-opening experience to walk through the bustling streets of New York with the team or the more suburban areas of New Jersey on days they took off from training.

Despite the terrible things she did when she was on Ultron's side, the members of the Avengers were surprisingly welcoming and oddly protective. She was never near the conference room or the lab whenever Steve and Tony were discussing her presence and living arrangements in America with Secretary Ross, but she heard from Sam that the two veteran Avengers fought for her right to stay at the Compound.

Wanda was already surprised by the fact Tony Stark stood up for her, even though he was well aware of her feelings towards him, but she was even more shocked to hear that it was Natasha who managed to convince Ross.

"I don't know how she did it either," Sam agreed with a shrug. "But considering the type of woman Nat is, I'm sure she had several methods up her sleeves to convince that hardass Ross."

Natasha Romanoff.

The Black Widow.

The former assassination barely spoke to Wanda when she first officially joined the team. She thought Natasha held a grudge against her for causing terrible memories to resurface. When Wanda witnessed the redhead's memories back at the shipyard, she felt remorseful for causing Natasha to relive those memories, even though they were on opposing sides. The things she saw in Natasha's memories… no one deserved what the other woman went through.

When she approached Natasha to ask her why she defended Wanda, Natasha answered without hesitation.

"You deserve to be here just as much as anyone of us."

"But I couldn't protect the drill," Wanda protested. "Everyone trusted me, and I failed."

Natasha's green gaze bore into Wanda's. "You saw your twin brother, the only family you had left, get buried in bullets. No one can blame you for letting down your guard after witnessing something like that."

That was when Wanda discovered that Natasha wasn't as heartless or emotionless as she originally believed, and not long after, she was assigned to train directly under Natasha's supervision.

Wanda snapped out of her thoughts when she realized that Steve and Natasha were calling out to her and Vision. Together with the synthezoid, they both slowly descended in front of their mentors.

"We'll take an hour break before resuming today's training itinerary," Steve announced to the team as they gathered around in a circle. He points two fingers at Vision and Sam. "We'll resume Monday's focus on team formations in the forest conditions."

Natasha looked over at Wanda and nodded towards her. "You and I will be in the good ol' gym. I got something new for you."

"That's just another way of telling me to prepare myself for another beating," Wanda whined. Natasha never seriously injured her during they've sparred and when the redhead tested her physical endurance, but that didn't mean Wanda wasn't going to feel the burning ache in her muscles the following day.

"You'll be fine. You're a tough girl," Natasha smirked in amusement, which only made Wanda let out a defeated groan.

From the corner of her eye, Wanda watched as Bucky quietly walked away back into the compound. The former Winter Soldier was the latest addition to the team, although Ross was not aware of this. About a month ago, Steve and Natasha went on a mission alone to bring Bucky back when there were rumored sightings of him in Romania. Neither Avenger went into detail how they managed to bring him back, but Steve was happy and that's all that mattered. Tony made it mandatory for Bucky to undergo a special type of neurotherapy every day in the lab to remove the troubling psychological conditioning HYDRA forced upon him because they'd eventually have to inform Ross of Bucky's presence in the compound. Better that the former sergeant was free from his mind control if they were to get on Ross' good side.

Within moments, everyone else followed right behind Bucky. Wanda fell into step with Natasha, walking beside the older woman. "Would you be willing to tell me what this new form of training you have is?"

"Patience, Maximoff. Take advantage of your one-hour break and don't worry about it."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who is going to be sore tomorrow morning," Wanda huffed. She made a mental note to herself that she caught Natasha smiling again, something that became more common when the two of them talked. Before, she only saw the former Widow smile around Steve and Clint, but now knowing Natasha smiled around her made Wanda feel special in the form of her heart doing what she could only describe as flips. It was a silly feeling, sure, but it mattered a lot knowing Natasha felt comfortable around her.

"Pain only makes you stronger," Natasha responded with a wry smile.

"I'm starting to believe you enjoy seeing me in pain," Wanda muttered flatly, which drew out a chuckle from the redhead.

"I take pride in knowing my training shows results, that's all."

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After washing her face and changing into another plain tee and comfortable sweats, Wanda made her way to the gym once it was time for her training with Natasha. She always had to be punctual and put in effort to be at the gym ten minutes early just in case, or else the spy would make her run laps until her legs actually gave out.

Once Wanda pushed through the double doors of the gymnasium, she saw Natasha standing on the mats as usual. What caught the Sokovian's eyes was a long, black cloth in Natasha's hands. "I'm assuming that has something to do with this new training you have in store for me," Wanda commented as she pointed at the piece of material in question.

"Very perceptive of you, Maximoff," Natasha grinned slyly. "You'll be blindfolded during your training today. You will also be using your powers."

This surprised Wanda. Ever since she began training as an Avenger, it was always with no powers. Steve put emphasis on improving Wanda's physical strength and stamina, toning her body as a whole, and under Natasha's mentorship, the brunette has seen and felt a difference in her body's physique. The sudden switch to her powers made Wanda nervous.

"Did… did I do something wrong?" Wanda carefully probed. She wondered to herself if her powers went out of control when she was asleep, like times when she'd doze off in the common area while reading. The Sokovian was certain she could control her powers when she was conscious, but she couldn't throw out the possibility that her powers could be a risk if she wasn't conscious and aware.

Natasha easily picked up on the underlying concern behind the question and immediately shook her head. "You didn't. I promise," the older woman assured her. "You've done well in your physical training, and I thought it was time we start to mix things up and implement training with your powers." Natasha walked over to Wanda and stood behind her, already putting the blindfold over Wanda's eyes without warning. "Today's focus is what I call sensory training. For you to be ready for field missions, you need to hone your other senses in order to increase awareness of your surroundings. In Novi Grad when you were fighting against Ultron's sentry units, you destroyed so many on your own with ease, but you had all of us to watch your six. However, there will be times when you'll be alone in enemy territory, and you will need to be able to pick up on the quietest of sounds because not reacting to defend yourself in time is the difference between life or death."

Wanda simply gave a firm nod as Natasha tightened the knot of the blindfold. What the other woman said made sense. This was another skill she needed to learn and quickly master if she wanted to be chosen for missions like the others. "What will I be doing?" she asked. She tried to look through the blindfold, but the thick material made it difficult, only able to see darkness.

"You must use your other senses to gauge where I'll be attacking from. Once you've discerned which direction I'm coming from, you will put up a shield with your powers to block my attack," Natasha instructed.

Wanda held her breath when she could hear Natasha walking around her and tensed when she could no longer hear the other's footsteps. Suddenly, she felt hot breath on her right ear.

"I could come from your right."

That same breath suddenly shifted to her left ear in less than a second.

"Or your left." Natasha's voice was low and gravelly, and Wanda felt goosebumps form on the back of her neck. She could have sworn she felt Natasha's lips on her ear just now. "Now the test begins."

When silence followed, Wanda stiffened in anticipation and her palms glowed red, temporarily burying her previous thoughts for now. She desperately tried to hear the spy, but Natasha's footsteps were too quiet, and the anxiety bubbling in her stomach began to grow.

"Wanda." The Sokovian instantly put up a barrier in front of her out of panic. She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment when she heard Natasha tutting at her, an indication that she was incorrect. "I'm still on your left," Natasha revealed to the younger woman. "You need to take slow, deep breaths, Wanda. I can tell from the rise and fall of your chest that you are stressed. You won't be able to listen for me when all you can hear is the blood pumping in your ears. Calm yourself. Breathe."

"Sorry…" Wanda mumbled but did as she was told. The Russian was right; all she could hear was the loud throbbing of blood in her ears. She deeply inhaled through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth, over and over until there was better clarity in her hearing. Once she felt her heart slowed down, the pulsating feeling in her ears started to go away, and Wanda could listen with a bit more clarity. It was very faint, but she could pick up on the sound of Natasha's footsteps, though she couldn't pinpoint which direction. The next thing she knew she was being shoved to the ground, falling onto her back with a yelp.

"Concentrate," Natasha commanded. "You must control your breathing while remaining aware of your surroundings." To Wanda, it seemed that Natasha's voice was coming from every direction, as if the spy was constantly circling her. "You have other senses than just hearing and sight; you also have touch. I can control my footsteps, but I cannot control the air around me as I move around, especially when I move swiftly. Learn to feel the shift in the air around you."

For the next fifteen minutes, Wanda was either pushed or kicked down to the mats. It was frustrating that she couldn't guess the correct direction, but with each attempt, Wanda was learning. She began to notice the feel and direction her hair would move in just before Natasha would attack, committing the sensation and direction to memory. The brunette wasn't sure when it happened, but she was no longer anxious while waiting for Natasha to make a move. Wanda was able to maintain her composure while being alert to any sound or movement.

Then Wanda felt a slight breeze flow past her right. Without turning around, she created a misty crimson barrier to protect her backside followed by the sound of something colliding into her shield. A low, thoughtful hum came from Natasha. Wanda interpreted the sound that the redhead made indicated that she was impressed. Wanda really hoped she impressed her mentor. Her body unintentionally froze when she felt Natasha's lips near her ear again and couldn't stop her cheeks from growing warm.

"Well done, Maximoff."

Wanda bit back a smile as she lifted her blindfold to meet Natasha's deep green eyes that shone with pride.

"Hello, ladies. Hope I'm not interrupting girl's night."

Both women turned their heads to the double doors to find Tony wearing a business casual outfit and glasses that were still transitioned from the sun.

"Stark." Wanda acknowledged his presence with a dip of the head. She knew that under his egotistical and cocky nature was a genuine kind and thoughtful man, but she still had trouble figuring out how to act around the billionaire.

"First off, it's only four-thirty in the afternoon," Natasha pointed out with her hands on her hips. "You were only interrupting my training with Wanda, but we were just about to wrap up."

"Great! I just finished telling the others that we'll be flying to Seoul tomorrow morning so make sure you pack a duffle or suitcase tonight," Tony announced with a boisterous voice. Then he turned to Wanda with a grin. "I heard back from Dr. Cho."

Wanda immediately perked up at the mention of the South Korean city. "Does that mean…?"

Tony nodded. "That's right. We're going to see your brother."

Tears brimmed Wanda's eyes as she broke out into a broad smile. Natasha came over to her and placed a delicate hand on her shoulder. "I'm happy for you, Wanda."

Wanda could only relay her appreciation by directing her smile at Natasha, the emotions that were welled up in her throat making it difficult to speak.

Pietro… I'm coming.

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A/N: Yep, Pietro survived and is alive :) Meanwhile, Wanda and Natasha's relationship is beginning to bud. Please let me know your thoughts and thank you for reading! :)