#and yes I did write this in the middle of cleaning my apartment for my cross-country move

[pucksandpower]

Pride and Prejudice and Bullets

mafia boss!Max Verstappen x professor!Reader

Summary: your life is predictable — revolving around teaching about Jane Austen novels and grading term papers — and you like it that way … until an old classmate makes a sudden appearance that turns everything upside down

Warnings: minor character death

The sharp rap at the door jolts you from your late-night reading. You glance at the clock — 2:37 AM. Who could it possibly be at this ungodly hour?

Cautiously, you approach the door, peering through the peephole. Your heart skips a beat. Is that ... no, it couldn’t be. But as you swing the door open, there he stands — the boy who vanished from your high school without a trace nearly a decade ago.

“Max?” You breathe, scarcely believing your eyes.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes past you into the apartment, one hand pressed firmly against his side. As he moves, you catch a glimpse of crimson seeping through his fingers, staining what looks like an absurdly expensive shirt.

“Jesus, Max, what happened to you?” You gasp, instinctively reaching out.

He flinches away from your touch, his eyes wild. “I hear you’re a doctor now. Do your doctor stuff,” Max barks the order at you, his voice rough with pain.

You blink, momentarily stunned. “I’m a doctor of British Literature! What are you even doing here? How do you know my address? Why are you here?”

“Needed a doctor, you’re a doctor,” he grunts, stumbling toward your couch.

The reality of the situation starts to sink in. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I need to call an ambulance.”

“No,” Max snaps, his tone brooking no argument. “Don’t. Are you stupid? I’m here because I can’t go to a hospital.”

Your mind races, torn between concern and confusion. “Yes, right, fuck, I should call the cops. Why do you know my address?”

“Wound. Fix it,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Wound. Uhhhh, take off your shirt?” You stammer, fumbling for your phone. “I need to Google this- oh my god that’s disgusting, oh fuck, is the bullet still in there?”

Max’s eyes narrow. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Of course I don’t!” You exclaim, your voice rising in pitch. “I write papers on Jane Austen, not ... whatever this is!”

He groans, both from pain and exasperation. “Fine. First aid kit. You have one?”

You nod frantically, dashing to the bathroom. When you return, Max has managed to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty wound just below his ribs.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steadier now. “Antiseptic. Clean the wound.”

With shaking hands, you do as he instructs, trying not to gag at the sight of so much blood. “Max, please, what’s going on? How did this happen?”

He ignores your questions. “Tweezers. The bullet’s still in there. You need to get it out.”

“What? No! I can’t — I’ll hurt you!”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Trust me, it already hurts. Just do it.”

Swallowing hard, you position the tweezers. Max’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist. “Wait,” he says, fumbling in his pocket with his free hand. He produces a flask, takes a long swig, then nods. “Okay. Go.”

You take a deep breath and plunge in. Max’s entire body goes rigid, a string of curses flowing from his lips that would make a sailor blush. After what feels like an eternity, you feel the tweezers catch on something.

“I think I’ve got it,” you whisper.

“Then pull it out,” Max hisses.

With a sickening squelch, you extract the bullet. Max lets out a strangled groan, then goes limp.

“Max?” You say, panic rising in your throat. “Max!”

His eyes flutter open. “I’m fine. Just ... give me a minute.”

As you clean and dress the wound, a tense silence falls between you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you speak. “Max, please. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in years, and now you show up at my door in the middle of the night with a bullet wound?”

He sighs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “It’s ... complicated.”

“No shit,” you retort. “Start talking. Now.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the movement. “After I left school, I got mixed up in some ... stuff. Bad stuff. It was supposed to be temporary, just a way to make some quick cash. But things ... escalated.”

“Escalated how?” You press.

He meets your gaze, his eyes hard. “You really want to know?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I run the Dutch Crime Syndicate now,” he says flatly.

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s a high, slightly hysterical sound. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate? Are you serious? That sounds like something out of a bad movie.”

“Does this look like a joke to you?” Max gestures to his wound.

The laughter dies in your throat. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He nods grimly. “Dead serious. And now you know why I couldn’t go to a hospital. Too many questions.”

“But ... why me?” You ask, still struggling to process this information. “We were barely even friends in school.”

Max shifts uncomfortably. “I ... kept tabs on people from back then. When I heard you’d become a doctor-”

“A doctor of literature,” you interject.

He rolls his eyes. “When I heard you had become a ‘doctor,’ I made a note of it. Just in case. Never thought I’d actually need to use that information, but ... here we are.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “This is insane. You’re insane. I should be calling the police right now.”

“But you won’t,” Max says quietly.

“And why’s that?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since he arrived. “Because you’re curious. Because part of you, whether you want to admit it or not, is excited by this. By me showing up and shaking up your nice, safe, predictable life.”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not entirely wrong.

“So what happens now?” You ask instead.

Max shrugs, then immediately regrets it, judging by his wince. “Now, I rest for a bit, then I leave. And you go back to your life of Jane Austen and tea cozies.”

“That’s it?” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? That I’d sweep you off your feet and into a life of crime?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well. Maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Y/N.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Shut up. You’re delirious from blood loss.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Or maybe I’m seeing clearly for the first time in years.”

There’s a charged moment of silence between you. Then Max groans, breaking the spell. “God, I sound like a bad romance novel. Must be the whiskey talking.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Well, you did show up bleeding on my doorstep in the middle of the night. It’s all very dramatic.”

“What can I say? I aim to please,” Max quips, then turns serious. “Look, Y/N ... thank you. For helping me. For not calling the cops. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you probably don’t,” you agree. “But ... I’m glad you came. As crazy as this all is, it’s ... nice to see you again.”

Max’s expression softens. “Yeah. It’s nice to see you too.”

Another silence falls, but this one is comfortable, almost companionable. Finally, Max speaks again. “I should go. I’ve already put you in enough danger.”

“Wait,” you say, surprising yourself. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. At least stay until morning.”

He hesitates, clearly torn. “I shouldn’t ...”

“Please,” you insist. “For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

Max searches your face, then nods slowly. “Okay. But just until morning.”

As you help him settle more comfortably on the couch, you can’t shake the feeling that your life has just irrevocably changed. For better or worse remains to be seen, but one thing’s for certain — it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through your curtains, rousing you from a fitful sleep. For a blissful moment, you forget the events of last night. Then reality comes crashing back, and you bolt upright in bed.

Max. The wound. The Dutch Crime Syndicate.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. What were you thinking? In the harsh light of day, the whole situation seems utterly insane.

Steeling yourself, you pad out to the living room. Max is still there, sprawled on your couch, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looks younger in sleep, almost vulnerable. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the hardened criminal he claims to be.

As if sensing your presence, Max’s eyes flutter open. He winces as he tries to sit up.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“How’s the wound?” You ask, your voice carefully neutral.

Max prods at his side gingerly. “Better than it has any right to be, thanks to you.”

You nod, then take a deep breath. “Max, about last night ...”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree, relief washing over you. “Look, I won’t tell anyone about this. But I think it’s best if we just ... pretend this never happened. You should go, and we should forget we ever saw each other again.”

Max nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” you say firmly, trying to ignore the small part of you that’s screaming in protest.

He starts to gather his things, moving stiffly. You turn away, heading to the kitchen to make coffee, needing something to do with your hands.

That’s when you hear it. The sharp crack of a gunshot, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass.

You freeze, your heart pounding. “Max?” You call out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get down!” He shouts back. You drop to the floor just as another bullet whizzes overhead, embedding itself in your kitchen cabinets.

Max is at your side in an instant, his earlier stiffness forgotten. “We need to move. Now.”

“What’s happening?” You ask, your voice shaking.

“Rivals,” Max says grimly. “They must have followed me here. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant to put you in danger.”

Before you can respond, there’s a thunderous banging at your front door. “Open up!” A gruff voice shouts. “We know you’re in there, Max Emilian!”

Max’s face hardens. “The Silver Arrows,” he mutters. “Persistent bastards.”

“What do we do?” You whisper, panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Max’s eyes dart around the room, assessing. “Is there a fire escape?”

You nod. “Through the bedroom window.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice calm and authoritative. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make a run for it. Stay low, stay behind me. Got it?”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak.

“On my count,” Max says. “Three ... two ... one ... GO!”

You scramble to your feet, keeping low as Max leads the way to your bedroom. The banging on the door intensifies, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.

“They’re breaking through!” You gasp.

“Almost there,” Max says through gritted teeth. He throws open your bedroom window, then turns to you. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a split second, then clamber out onto the fire escape. The metal is cold beneath your bare feet, and you realize with a start that you’re still in your pajamas.

Max follows close behind, pulling the window shut just as you hear your front door give way.

“Down,” he hisses, guiding you towards the ladder.

You descend as quickly as you can, your hands shaking so badly you nearly lose your grip more than once. Max is right behind you, his presence oddly reassuring despite the circumstances.

As your feet hit the alley below, you hear shouts from above. “There they are!”

“Run!” Max yells, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You sprint down the alley, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. Bullets ping off the walls around you, and you let out an involuntary scream.

“Keep going,” Max urges. “There’s a car around the corner.”

“A car?” You pant. “How do you know?”

“I always have an exit strategy,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice despite the situation.

Sure enough, as you round the corner, you see a sleek black car idling at the curb. A man in a dark suit is behind the wheel, looking tense.

“Get in!” Max shouts, practically shoving you into the backseat before diving in after you.

The car peels away from the curb before Max even has the door closed. You’re thrown back against the seat as the driver weaves through traffic at breakneck speed.

“What the hell, Max?” You finally manage to say, your heart still racing. “Who were those people? Where are we going?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than you’ve seen him yet. “Those were the Silver Arrows. They’ve been trying to muscle in on our territory for months. As for where we’re going ...” He exchanges a look with the driver in the rearview mirror. “Somewhere safe. For now.”

You let out a hysterical laugh. “Safe? I don’t even know what that word means anymore. My apartment just got shot up! I’m in my pajamas in the back of a strange car, running from a gang war. This is insane!”

“I know,” Max says softly. “And I’m sorry. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid by leaving last night.”

“Well, bang-up job on that one,” you snap.

The driver clears his throat. “Boss, we’ve got a tail. Two cars, about three blocks back.”

Max curses under his breath. “Can you lose them, Daniel?”

The driver — Daniel, apparently — nods grimly. “I can try. Hang on.”

The car suddenly swerves, cutting across three lanes of traffic. Horns blare as Daniel takes a sharp right turn, tires squealing.

You’re thrown against Max, who instinctively wraps an arm around you to keep you steady. Despite everything, you can’t help but notice how solid he feels, how good he smells ...

No. Focus. You shake your head, trying to clear it.

“Max,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I need you to be straight with me. What exactly is going on here?”

He sighs, his arm still around you. “It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it,” you demand.

Max is quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing his words. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate ... we’re not just petty criminals. We’re big. International. And lately, we’ve been expanding our reach. The Silver Arrows don’t like that. They think we’re encroaching on their territory.”

“And are you?” You ask.

A ghost of a smile flits across Max’s face. “Maybe a little. But business is business, you know?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re talking about illegal activities like it’s a corporate takeover!”

“In a way, it is,” Max says. “Just with higher stakes.”

“Boss,” Daniel interrupts. “I think we’ve lost them for now, but we can’t go to any of the safe houses. They might be compromised.”

Max nods. “Good thinking. Head for the marina. We’ll take the boat.”

“Boat?” You echo. “Max, I can’t just leave. My job, my life-”

“Your life will be over if the Silver Arrows find you,” Max says bluntly. “You’re involved now, whether you like it or not. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back.”

The gravity of the situation finally hits you. This isn’t some exciting adventure that you can just walk away from. This is real, and it’s dangerous.

“What have you gotten me into, Max?” You whisper.

His arm tightens around you. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises. “No matter what.”

You want to believe him. Despite everything, despite the insanity of the past twelve hours, you find that you do believe him.

As the car speeds towards the marina, you try to process everything that’s happened. Your quiet life of academia seems like a distant memory now. In its place is ... what? Danger? Excitement? A chance at something you never knew you wanted?

You look at Max, studying his profile. He seems different from the boy you knew in high school. Harder, certainly, but there’s something else too. A confidence, a magnetism that you can’t deny.

As if sensing your gaze, Max turns to look at you. For a moment, the facade of the hardened crime boss slips, and you see a flicker of the boy you once knew.

“I really am sorry about all this,” he says softly. “If I could go back and undo it all, I would.”

“Would you?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

Max looks taken aback. “Wouldn’t you want me to?”

You consider this. “I don’t know,” you admit. “This is all terrifying and insane, but ... I’ve never felt more alive.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well,” he says, echoing his words from last night. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Y/N.”

Before you can respond, Daniel announces, “We’re here.”

The car pulls up to a private dock where a sleek yacht is moored. Max helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, his eyes searching your face. “Say the word, and I’ll have Daniel take you back. We’ll figure out a way to keep you safe.”

You look at the yacht, then back at Max. In your mind’s eye, you see your apartment, your job, your safe, predictable life. Then you see bullets flying, feel the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the unknown.

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice.

“Let’s go,” you say, taking Max’s hand and stepping onto the gangplank.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re leaving more than just the city behind. You’re leaving your old self, your old life.

And as terrifying as that is, you can’t wait to see what comes next.

***

As the yacht cuts through the waves, you find yourself standing at the stern, watching the city skyline grow smaller by the minute. The reality of your situation is starting to sink in, bringing with it a cocktail of emotions — fear, excitement, and a nagging curiosity that won’t let you rest.

You turn to find Max leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. There’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, a reminder that you’re not the only one affected by this sudden turn of events.

“Max,” you say, breaking the silence. “Why did you really pick me?”

He glances at you, a flicker of something crossing his face before his expression settles back into careful neutrality. “The doctor part, obviously ...”

You raise an eyebrow, sensing there’s more to it. Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“And you have no one who would miss you,” he continues, his voice softer now. “No contact with family and, as far as I’m concerned, no friends who would notice.”

Your heart sinks at his words, partly because of the stark truth in them, and partly because of the implications. “Notice ... oh fuck, you’re gonna kill me?”

Max’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in what looks like genuine offense. “No. That’s a last resort, too many questions. You’re on my boat now, aren’t you?”

You let out a shaky breath, not sure whether to feel relieved or more worried. “So what then? Am I your hostage? Your accomplice? What exactly is my role in this mess?”

Max pushes off from the railing, moving closer to you. “Right now? You’re under my protection. Beyond that ... I guess we’ll have to figure it out as we go.”

“Figure it out?” You repeat incredulously. “Max, I left everything behind. My job, my apartment, my entire life. I need more than ‘we’ll figure it out.’”

He has the decency to look chagrined. “You’re right. You deserve answers. But right now, our priority has to be getting somewhere safe.”

“And where exactly is that?” You press.

Max glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning in closer. “We’re headed to Monaco.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Monaco? As in, the luxury resort town on the French Riviera?”

He nods, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “The very same. I have an ... associate there who can help us.”

“An associate,” you echo skeptically. “Another crime lord, I assume?”

Max’s smile widens. “Something like that. His name is Charles. He’s the heir to the Rosso Corsa Mafia.”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally getting to you. “The Rosso Corsa Mafia? Seriously? What is this, some kind of international crime syndicate convention?”

“Hey, networking is important in any business,” Max quips, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

For a moment, you’re both laughing, the tension of the past few hours dissipating slightly. But as the laughter fades, reality sets in once more.

“Max,” you say, your voice quiet now. “What am I doing here? Really?”

He sobers, his gaze intense as he looks at you. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. When I came to your apartment last night, I was just looking for help. I didn’t plan for any of this.”

“But you must have had some idea,” you press. “You said you kept tabs on me. Why?”

Max is quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. Finally, he speaks. “Do you remember our last day of school together? Before I ... left?”

You furrow your brow, thinking back. “Vaguely. It was just an ordinary day, wasn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Not for me. That was the day I decided to leave. I was in the library, trying to figure out how I was going to tell my parents I wanted to drop out. And then you came in.”

“I did?” You ask, surprised. You have no memory of this.

Max nods. “You were returning a stack of books. You looked ... happy. Excited about your future. I remember thinking how different we were. How I’d never have that kind of certainty, that sense of purpose.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. “So... what? You’ve been keeping an eye on me out of some kind of twisted nostalgia?”

He winces. “When you put it like that, it sounds creepy. I just ... I guess I wanted to know that someone from our old life made it. That it was possible to be normal and happy.”

“And now you’ve dragged me into your world,” you say, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

Max looks stricken. “I never meant for this to happen. If I could go back-”

“But you can’t,” you interrupt. “We’re here now. So what happens next?”

Before Max can answer, a crew member approaches. “Sir, we’ve just received word from Monaco. Mr. Leclerc is expecting us.”

Max nods. “Thank you, Rupert. Tell the captain to push the engines. I want to make it there before nightfall.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane. You know that, right? This whole situation is completely insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” Max says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. Say the word, and I’ll have the captain turn this boat around.”

You consider it for a moment. Your old life seems so far away already, like a half-remembered dream. And despite the danger, despite the uncertainty, you can’t deny the thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

“No,” you say finally. “I’m in this now. For better or worse.”

Max’s expression softens. “I promise you, Y/N, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

As you stand there, the salt spray on your face and the wind in your hair, you find yourself believing him. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you trust him.

The next few hours pass in a blur of activity. Max is constantly on his phone, speaking in hushed tones in what sounds like a mix of Dutch and French. You catch snippets about “security measures” and “clean identities,” but most of it goes over your head.

As the sun begins to set, casting the sea in shades of gold and pink, you find yourself back at the stern of the yacht. The coastline has long since disappeared, leaving nothing but endless ocean in every direction.

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Max approaching, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“I thought we could use a drink,” he says, offering you a glass. “To new beginnings?”

You take the glass, clinking it gently against his. “To new beginnings,” you echo, taking a sip. The champagne is exquisite, of course. You wouldn’t expect anything less from a mob boss’s yacht.

“We should be arriving in Monaco in a few hours,” Max says, leaning against the railing beside you. “Charles has arranged for a car to meet us at the marina. We’ll be staying at his family’s villa in the hills.”

You nod, trying to process this information. “And then what?”

Max shrugs. “We lie low for a while. Figure out our next move. The Silver Arrows won’t give up easily, but they’ll have a hard time touching us in Monaco. The Leclercs practically own the place.”

“And where do I fit into all this?” You ask, voicing the question that’s been nagging at you since you stepped onto this boat.

Max turns to face you fully, his expression serious. “That’s up to you, Y/N. I won’t force you into anything. If you want to walk away once we’re in Monaco, I’ll make sure you have the means to do so safely.”

You consider this. The sensible thing would be to take the out he’s offering. Go back to your life of books and lectures and quiet evenings alone. But the thought leaves you feeling ... empty.

“And if I don’t want to walk away?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a place for you in this brave new world of ours.”

As you stand there, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you can’t help but feel like you’re on the cusp of something momentous. Your old life is behind you now, growing more distant with every passing moment. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger ... and possibility.

You take another sip of champagne, savoring the bubbles on your tongue. Whatever comes next, you realize, you’re ready for it. Ready for the adventure, the risk, the chance to reinvent yourself.

As the yacht cuts through the darkening waters, carrying you towards a future you never could have imagined, you find yourself smiling. For the first time in years, maybe for the first time ever, you feel truly, exhilaratingly alive.

***

The yacht glides smoothly into the marina, the lights of Monaco twinkling like a galaxy of stars against the night sky. You stand at the railing, taking in the sight of luxury yachts and sleek speedboats bobbing gently in their berths. It’s a world away from your modest apartment back home.

Max appears at your side, his face tense. “Remember,” he murmurs, “stay close to me and don’t say anything unless you’re directly addressed. Charles is an ally, but he can be ... unpredictable.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The reality of your situation is sinking in again, the brief respite of the boat ride fading away.

As the crew secures the yacht, a figure emerges from the shadows of the dock. Even in the dim light, you can tell he’s striking — all lean muscles and sharp cheekbones, with piercing green eyes that seem to take in everything at once.

“Max,” he says, his accent a mix of French and something you can’t quite place. “You’ve brought trouble to my doorstep again, I see.”

Max steps forward, clasping the man’s hand. “Charles. Thank you for this. I owe you one.”

Charles’ lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Add it to your tab, my friend.” His gaze shifts to you, curiosity evident in his expression. “And who might this be?”

Before Max can answer, Charles is already moving towards you, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips in a smooth motion. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Charles Leclerc.”

You stammer out your name, caught off guard by his Old World charm. Charles’ eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Adorable,” he says. “Now, shall we? It’s not wise to linger here.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the parking lot. Max gives you a gentle push, urging you to follow.

As you round the corner, your jaw drops. Sitting there, gleaming under the streetlights, is quite possibly the most ostentatious Ferrari you’ve ever seen. It’s matte black with an eye-catching racing stripe in the colors of the Monegasque flag, and sleek lines that practically scream speed and luxury.

Charles is already sliding into the driver’s seat, while Max ushers you into the back. As the engine roars to life, a thought occurs to you.

“Is this a kidnapping?” You blurt out, your nerves finally getting the better of you.

Charles catches your eye in the rearview mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. “You seem very willing for one.”

Your cheeks flush. “That doesn’t calm my nerves!”

“It is like this,” Charles sighs, accelerating smoothly as he maneuvers through the narrow streets of Monaco. “Do as Max says or we dump your body.”

“What!” You exclaim, your heart rate spiking.

Max shoots Charles a glare. “Charles, do not scare her more than necessary. The poor girl is already terrified.”

Charles shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road as he takes a sharp turn that has you clutching the seat. “I merely state facts, mon ami. Our world is not for the faint of heart.”

You look to Max, seeking reassurance. He meets your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “Ignore him. You’re under my protection, remember?”

“And what exactly does that mean?” You press, emboldened by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I still don’t understand my role in all this.”

Max hesitates, glancing at Charles. The two seem to have a silent conversation before Charles speaks up.

“You, ma chèrie, are an unexpected variable,” he says, his tone lighter now. “Max has a habit of collecting strays, but you ... you’re different.”

“Different how?” You ask, not sure if you should be offended or intrigued.

Charles’ eyes meet yours in the mirror again, a glint of mischief in them. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? But I suspect you’re made of sterner stuff than you let on.”

The car falls silent as you process this. The streets of Monaco fly by outside the window, a blur of high-end boutiques and lavish casinos. It’s like stepping into another world.

Finally, the Ferrari begins to climb, winding its way up into the hills overlooking the city. The road narrows, becoming more secluded, until you’re passing through an ornate gate flanked by high walls.

The car comes to a stop in front of a sprawling villa that looks like something out of a movie. Marble columns, manicured gardens, a fountain bubbling gently in the courtyard — it’s almost too much to take in.

As you step out of the car on shaky legs, Charles is already striding towards the entrance. “Welcome to Casa Leclerc,” he calls over his shoulder. “Try not to break anything irreplaceable.”

Max appears at your side, placing a steadying hand on your lower back. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Max guides you inside, where you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. Priceless artwork adorns the walls, and you’re pretty sure that’s an actual Fabergé egg sitting casually on a side table.

Charles leads you to a spacious living room, gesturing for you to sit. As you sink into a plush armchair, he busies himself at a well-stocked bar.

“Drink?” He offers. “I imagine you could use one.”

You nod gratefully, and soon find yourself nursing a glass of what’s probably the most expensive cognac you’ve ever tasted.

Charles settles into a chair across from you, swirling his own drink thoughtfully. “Now then,” he says, his tone suddenly all business. “Perhaps it’s time we discussed the situation at hand.”

Max, who’s been pacing near the windows, turns to face the room. “The Silver Arrows are getting bolder. This attack ... it’s a clear escalation.”

Charles nods grimly. “They sense weakness. Your recent expansion has left you vulnerable, mon ami.”

You listen, feeling increasingly out of your depth as they discuss territories, alliances, and what sound like complex financial maneuvers. It’s like overhearing a board meeting for the world’s most dangerous corporation.

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer, you speak up. “I’m sorry, but what exactly am I doing here? I’m not a part of ... whatever this is.”

Both men turn to look at you, as if suddenly remembering your presence. Charles raises an eyebrow at Max. “Yes, do tell. What is your plan for our unexpected guest?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’re starting to recognize as a sign of frustration. “I didn’t have a plan. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“How gallant,” Charles drawls, though there’s a hint of genuine amusement in his voice. “But now we must decide what to do with her. She knows too much to simply let go.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “I won’t say anything. I swear. Just ... let me go home.”

Max’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s not that simple, Y/N. The Silver Arrows saw you with me. They’ll assume you’re involved, whether you are or not.”

“So what then?” You ask, frustration bleeding into your voice. “Am I your prisoner now?”

“Non, ma chèrie,” Charles interjects smoothly. “Think of yourself as ... a valued guest. Under our protection.”

You laugh bitterly. “Some protection. I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, and threatened with bodily harm in the span of 48 hours.”

To your surprise, Charles actually looks chagrined. “Ah, yes. My apologies for that. I have a flair for the dramatic, you see.”

“What Charles is trying to say,” Max cuts in, shooting his friend a warning look, “is that you have options. We can set you up with a new identity, somewhere far from here. Or ...”

He trails off, and you find yourself leaning forward despite yourself. “Or what?”

Max and Charles exchange another of those loaded glances before Max continues. “Or you could stay. Become a part of this.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard. “Become a part of ... your crime syndicate? Are you insane?”

Charles chuckles. “Now you’re catching on, chérie. We’re all a little mad here.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. The cognac isn’t helping. “I’m not a criminal. I’m a literature professor, for god’s sake!”

“And yet,” Charles muses, leaning forward, “here you are. You could have called the police at any point. You could have refused to get on that yacht. But you didn’t. Why is that, I wonder?”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not wrong. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there’s a part of you that’s been thrilled by all of this. A part that’s been longing for something more than your quiet, predictable life.

Max kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I know it’s a lot to take in. And I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I want you to know that if you choose to stay, we’ll teach you everything you need to know. You’ll be protected, valued. Part of something bigger than yourself.”

You look into his eyes, searching for ... you’re not sure what. Deception? Ulterior motives? But all you see is sincerity, and something else. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I ... I need time to think,” you manage to say.

Charles claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “Excellent idea. A good night’s sleep will do wonders for clarity of thought. Allow me to show you to your room.”

As you follow Charles up a sweeping staircase, your mind is whirling. Two days ago, your biggest concern was finishing grading papers on Jane Austen. Now, you’re being offered a place in an international crime syndicate.

It’s absurd.

It’s terrifying.

And yet ...

Charles stops in front of an ornate door. “Your quarters, mademoiselle. I trust you’ll find everything to your liking. We can discuss more in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but call out. “Charles?”

He pauses, looking back at you with those piercing eyes. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this? Helping Max, offering me a place here? What’s in it for you?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let’s just say I have a good feeling about you, Y/N. You might be exactly what our little organizations need.”

With that cryptic statement, he’s gone, leaving you alone in a luxurious bedroom that probably costs more than your entire apartment back home.

As you sink onto the plush bed, your head spinning from more than just the alcohol, you can’t help but wonder: what would Jane Austen make of all this? Somehow, you don’t think even she could have imagined a plot twist quite like this one.

***

The morning sun filters through the luxurious curtains, rousing you from a surprisingly deep sleep. For a moment, you’re disoriented, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to your cozy little apartment back home. Then the events of the past day come rushing back, and with them, a sudden clarity.

You sit up, your mind made up. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. You’re staying.

After a quick shower and change into clothes that have mysteriously appeared in the wardrobe (and fit perfectly, which you decide not to question), you make your way downstairs. The villa is quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

You follow the sound, finding Max nursing a cup of coffee at a marble island. He looks up as you enter, his expression guarded.

“Morning,” he says cautiously. “Sleep well?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve made a decision.”

He sets down his cup, giving you his full attention. “Oh?”

“I’m staying,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I want to be a part of this. Of your world.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on his face. “Are you sure? This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, Y/N. Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “I’m sure. My old life ... it never felt right. Like I was just going through the motions. But this? As terrifying as it is, it feels real. It feels right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face, transforming his features. “Well then,” he says, standing up. “I guess we better start your training.”

“Training?” You echo.

Max nods, his expression turning serious. “If you’re going to survive in this world, you need to learn how to protect yourself. First lesson: shooting.”

Your eyes widen. “Shooting? As in, guns?”

“No, we’re going to teach you competitive archery,” Max deadpans. “Of course guns. Come on, Charles has a range in the basement.”

As you follow Max through the winding corridors of the villa, your heart races with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This is really happening.

The shooting range is state-of-the-art, with multiple lanes and an impressive array of weapons displayed on the walls. Max selects a handgun, checking it over with practiced ease.

“We’ll start with something simple,” he says, holding out the gun. “A Glock 19. Easy to handle, reliable.”

You take the weapon gingerly, surprised by its weight. Max positions himself behind you, adjusting your stance and grip.

“Remember,” he says, his breath warm against your ear, “breathe steadily. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

You nod, trying to focus on the target at the end of the range rather than the heat of Max’s body behind you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs, stepping back.

You take a deep breath, aim, and pull the trigger. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, and you can’t help but let out a surprised scream.

Max tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t do that, it will give you away.”

You turn to him, incredulous. “Like the loud noise wouldn’t? I shot a gun!”

“And missed,” Max points out, nodding towards the untouched target. “Now go again.”

Gritting your teeth, you face the target once more. This time, you’re prepared for the noise and the recoil. You squeeze the trigger, and to your surprise, the bullet hits the outer ring of the target.

“Better,” Max says, a note of approval in his voice. “Again.”

As the morning wears on, you find yourself falling into a rhythm. Aim, breathe, squeeze. The shots become more accurate, your stance more confident. Max is a patient teacher, offering guidance and correction with a gentle touch here, a murmured word there.

“You’re a natural,” he says after a particularly good round. “Must be all those Jane Austen novels. Secret badass under all that propriety.”

You laugh, lowering the gun. “I don’t think Lizzy Bennet ever handled a Glock.”

“Her loss,” Max grins. “One more round?”

You nod, raising the gun once more. As you fire off the last few shots, you’re aware of Max’s gaze on you, more intense than before. The final bullet hits dead center, and you turn to him with a triumphant smile.

“How was that?” You ask, breathless with exhilaration.

Max doesn’t answer immediately. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher — admiration, certainly, but something else too. Something that makes your pulse quicken.

“Max?” You prompt, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

In one fluid motion, Max closes the distance between you. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, sending sparks through your entire body. You respond instinctively, your free hand fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. The gun clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Max backs you up against the wall of the shooting range, his body pressing against yours. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you opened your door that night,” Max admits, his forehead resting against yours.

You laugh breathlessly. “Even with me in my ratty pajamas?”

“Especially then,” he grins. “You were adorably flustered. And then you went and patched me up without hesitation. I was a goner.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane, you know that? A few days ago I was grading papers on 19th-century classic literature. Now I’m making out with a crime lord in a secret shooting range.”

Max’s expression turns serious. “Is it too much? We can slow down, or-”

You cut him off with another kiss. “No,” you say firmly. “It’s not too much. It’s ... exactly right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well then, doctor. Ready for your next lesson?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Max’s grin turns wicked. “I was thinking something in the realm of close combat. Very hands-on.”

You laugh, a thrill of excitement running through you. “Lead the way.”

As Max takes your hand, leading you out of the shooting range, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. It’s dangerous, it’s completely illogical, and yet ... you’ve never felt more alive.

Whatever comes next, you’re ready for it. With a gun in your hand and Max by your side, you feel like you could take on the world. And who knows? Maybe you will.

***

As Max leads you out of the shooting range, there’s a palpable tension in the air, crackling with unspoken promises. You follow him through the winding corridors of Charles’ villa, your heart racing with anticipation.

“So,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “where exactly are we going for this close combat training?”

Max glances back at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought we’d use the gym. Plenty of space, padded floors ... you know, for safety.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Safety, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He stops abruptly, turning to face you. “Y/N, if this is moving too fast-”

You cut him off, stepping closer. “Max, I literally left my entire life behind for you. I think we’re well past too fast.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Fair point. Still, if at any point you want to stop-”

“I’ll let you know,” you assure him. “Now, are you going to show me these close combat moves or what?”

Max’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, I’ll show you alright.”

He pushes open a door, revealing a state-of-the-art gym. The space is impressive, with gleaming equipment and, as promised, a large area covered in training mats.

“Shall we?” Max asks, gesturing to the mats.

You nod, suddenly feeling a bit nervous despite your bravado. As you step onto the mat, Max begins circling you slowly.

“The key to close combat,” he says, his voice low and intense, “is to always be aware of your opponent’s movements. To anticipate their next move.”

You turn, keeping him in your sight. “And how do I do that?”

In a flash, Max is behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “By staying alert,” he murmurs in your ear.

A shiver runs down your spine at his proximity. “I thought I was doing pretty well,” you manage to say.

You can feel Max’s chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Not bad. But you’re still too tense. You need to relax, feel the flow of movement.”

His hands slide up your arms, gently adjusting your posture. You lean back into him, relishing the warmth of his body.

“Like this?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s grip tightens slightly. “Getting there. Now, if someone grabs you like this, what do you do?”

You consider for a moment, then make your move. You twist in his arms, using the momentum to break his hold and face him. “How’s that?”

Max looks impressed. “Not bad at all. You’re a quick learner.”

“I have a good teacher,” you reply, a bit breathless from the maneuver and his proximity.

For a moment, you stand there, faces inches apart, the air heavy with tension. Then Max moves, swift and sure, sweeping your legs out from under you. You land on the mat with a soft thud, Max following you down, pinning you beneath him.

“Rule number one,” he says, his face hovering above yours, “never let your guard down.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what’s rule number two?”

Instead of answering, Max lowers his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily. “I think I like rule number two,” you say with a grin.

Max laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, we’re just getting started with the rules, doctor.”

He leans in for another kiss, but this time you’re ready. Using the moves he just taught you, you manage to flip your positions, straddling his waist triumphantly.

“How’s that for staying alert?” You ask, feeling a thrill at the surprised and appreciative look on Max’s face.

“Impressive,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “But you’ve left yourself open.”

Before you can ask what he means, Max surges upward, capturing your lips once more. As you lose yourself in the kiss, you feel him shift, and suddenly you’re on your back again, Max looming over you with a satisfied smirk.

“Distraction,” he says, “can be a powerful weapon.”

You laugh, breathless and exhilarated. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any other lessons you want to teach me?”

Max’s eyes darken. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more to teach you. If you’re up for it.”

You reach up, pulling him down to you. “I’m a very dedicated student,” you murmur against his lips.

What follows is less a lesson in combat and more an exploration of each other. Clothes are discarded, hands roam freely, and the only sounds in the gym are gasps, moans, and occasional laughter.

Later, as you lie tangled together on the training mats, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. Just days ago, you were grading papers in your quiet apartment. Now, you’re in the arms of a mob boss, in a luxurious villa in Monaco, having just had the most exhilarating experience of your life.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Max asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin.

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Just thinking about how surreal this all is. A week ago, the most exciting thing in my life was finding a rare first edition at an antique book fair.”

Max chuckles. “And now?”

“Now?” You grin. “Now I’m learning to shoot, engaging in ‘close combat training’, and apparently joining an international crime syndicate. It’s ... a lot.”

His expression turns serious. “Is it too much? It’s too late to back out now, you know. I could have set you up somewhere safe, given you a new identity earlier, but now-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Max, I meant what I said earlier. I’m in this. All of it. With you.”

The smile that spreads across his face is radiant. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t think I could let you go now if I tried.”

You settle into his embrace, feeling safer than you have in years despite the objective danger of your situation. “So, what’s next on the criminal training agenda?” You ask, only half-joking.

Max pretends to consider. “Well, we’ve covered shooting and hand-to-hand combat. How do you feel about safecracking?”

You laugh. “Safecracking? Seriously?”

“Hey, it’s a valuable skill in our line of work,” Max defends, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Uh-huh,” you say skeptically. “And I suppose pickpocketing is next on the list?”

Max grins. “Now that you mention it ...”

You swat his chest playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he points out, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Here I am,” you agree softly. “So, what happens now? Do we stay here in Monaco? Go back to face the Silver Arrows?”

Max’s expression turns thoughtful. “For now, we stay here. You need more training before we can risk going back. And I need to regroup, strategize.”

You nod, a mix of relief and excitement coursing through you. “So I get to play princess in a Monaco villa while learning the finer points of criminality? I think I can handle that.”

“It won’t all be fun and games,” Max warns. “The Silver Arrows are still out there, and they’re not going to give up easily. We need to be prepared for anything.”

“I know,” you say, your tone turning serious. “I understand the risks. I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

He studies your face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he nods. “Alright then. Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

***

The Monaco sun beats down relentlessly as you step out of yet another luxury boutique, arms laden with shopping bags. Oscar and Lando, your assigned bodyguards, trail behind you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

“I think that’s the last one,” you say, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice. “Who knew shopping could be so exhilarating?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “I think the exhilaration comes from Max finally letting you out of the villa, not the shopping itself.”

You laugh, conceding the point. “True. I never thought I’d be so happy to see the inside of a Gucci store.”

Lando grins. “Just wait until Max sees the bill. That’ll be truly exhilarating.”

As you make your way towards the parked Ferrari, you can’t help but reflect on the past few weeks. The intensive training, the late-night strategy sessions with Max and Charles, the growing feeling that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. It’s been thrilling, but also claustrophobic at times.

“I still can’t believe Max agreed to this little excursion,” you muse as you reach the car.

Oscar shrugs, opening the trunk. “You can be very persuasive when you want to be. Those puppy eyes of yours should be classified as a weapon.”

You’re about to retort when a sudden movement catches your eye. Before you can react, the air is filled with the deafening sound of gunfire.

“Get down!” Lando shouts, pushing you behind the car as he and Oscar draw their weapons.

Your heart pounds as you crouch behind the meager cover, the sounds of a firefight erupting around you. This isn’t like the controlled environment of the shooting range. This is real, chaotic, and terrifying.

“Y/N, stay down!” Oscar yells over the din, returning fire at unseen assailants.

You nod, too shocked to speak. But as you huddle there, a horrifying realization hits you — you recognize some of the voices shouting orders.

The Silver Arrows. They’ve found you.

Suddenly, a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up and away from the car. You struggle instinctively, but your captor’s grip is like iron.

“Well, well,” a deep voice rumbles in your ear. “What do we have here? Max’s new pet, I presume?”

You crane your neck, looking up into a face you’ve seen before — in photographs, in briefings. Toto Wolff, leader of the Silver Arrows himself.

“Let me go,” you growl, trying to sound braver than you feel.

Toto chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my dear. You see, you’re my ticket to bringing Max to his knees.”

As he speaks, you become acutely aware of the weight on your thigh. The gun. The one Max insisted you carry, “just in case.” This, you realize with startling clarity, is that case.

Moving as subtly as you can, you reach for the holster strapped to your leg. Toto, focused on the fight around you, doesn’t notice.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, stalling for time as your fingers close around the grip of the gun. “There are other ways to resolve conflicts.”

Toto’s laugh is harsh. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand our world. This isn’t a negotiation, it’s war.”

You take a deep breath, Max’s training echoing in your mind. Stay calm. Aim true. Squeeze, don’t pull.

“You’re right,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t understand your world.”

In one fluid motion, you pull the gun free and twist in Toto’s grip. Before he can react, you press the muzzle against his chest and pull the trigger.

The gunshot seems impossibly loud, even amidst the chaos of the firefight. Toto’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on you loosening as he stumbles backward.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze. Then, chaos erupts anew.

“Boss!” Someone shouts, and suddenly you’re being pulled away, strong arms encircling you protectively.

“I’ve got you,” Oscar’s voice says in your ear. “We’re getting out of here.”

As he hustles you towards the car, you catch glimpses of the scene around you. Silver Arrow members rushing to their fallen leader. Lando providing cover fire. And blood. So much blood.

Oscar practically throws you into the backseat of the Ferrari before jumping into the driver’s seat. Lando dives in barely a second later, and then you’re peeling away from the curb, tires screeching.

“Are you hurt?” Lando asks, twisting in his seat to look at you.

You shake your head, still too shocked to speak. The gun is still clutched in your hand, and you stare at it as if seeing it for the first time.

“You did good, Y/N,” Oscar says, his eyes flicking to you in the rearview mirror. “You kept your cool. That’s not easy in a situation like that.”

“I ... I shot him,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Toto Wolff. I shot him.”

Lando and Oscar exchange a glance. “You did what you had to do,” Lando says gently. “He would have killed you without hesitation.”

As the adrenaline begins to fade, the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. You’ve just shot one of the most powerful crime lords in Europe. In broad daylight. In the middle of Monte Carlo.

“Oh god,” you groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “Max is going to kill me.”

Oscar lets out a surprised laugh. “Are you kidding? He’s going to be thrilled. You just took out his biggest rival.”

“Took out?” You repeat, a new wave of panic washing over you. “You mean he’s ...”

“We don’t know for sure,” Lando says quickly. “But a point-blank shot like that ... it doesn’t look good for Toto.”

You close your eyes, trying to process everything. Just hours ago, your biggest concern was whether to buy the Prada or the Fendi handbag. Now, you might have just assassinated a mob boss.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the villa, where Max is already waiting, his face a mask of concern and anger.

As soon as the car stops, he yanks open your door, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “Are you okay?” He demands, his hands roaming over you as if checking for injuries. “When I got the call, I thought ...”

You cling to him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. “I’m okay,” you assure him. “I’m okay.”

Max pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “What happened? Oscar said there was a firefight.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “The Silver Arrows ambushed us. And Toto ... he grabbed me. I ... I shot him, Max. With the gun you gave me.”

For a moment, Max just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, a slow smile spreads across his face. “You shot Toto Wolff?”

You nod, still unsure of his reaction. “I think ... I think I might have killed him.”

Max’s smile widens into a full-blown grin. “Y/N, do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve single-handedly changed the balance of power in our world.”

“I have?” You ask, feeling slightly dazed.

He nods, pulling you close again. “You’re incredible, you know that? I knew you were special from the moment I showed up at your door, but this ... this is beyond anything I could have imagined.”

As Max leads you into the villa, his arm protectively around your waist, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. From literature professor to potential assassin in a matter of weeks. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and completely surreal.

“What happens now?” You ask as Max guides you to the study, where Charles is already waiting, phone in hand.

Max exchanges a look with Charles before turning back to you. “Now? Now we prepare for war. The Silver Arrows won’t take this lying down, Toto dead or alive. But with you by my side ...” He trails off, a fierce pride in his eyes.

“You can be unstoppable,” Charles finishes, raising his glass in a toast.

As you sink into a chair, the events of the day finally catching up with you, you realize that this is your life now. Gunfights and power plays, luxury shopping sprees and criminal empires. It’s a far cry from grading papers on Jane Austen, but as you look at Max, seeing the mix of pride, concern, and love in his eyes, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The war may be just beginning, but with Max by your side and a newfound confidence in your abilities, you’re ready to face whatever comes next. After all, you’ve already taken down Toto Wolff. What’s a little inter-syndicate warfare compared to that?

***

Five Years Later

The small apartment buzzes with the energy of five recent college graduates, sprawled across mismatched furniture in various states of relaxation. Empty pizza boxes and half-empty wine bottles litter the coffee table, evidence of their Friday night catch-up session.

“Alright, alright,” Emily says, reaching for her phone. “What should we put on for background noise? Music? TV?”

Jake, lounging on the worn leather armchair, perks up. “Oh! What about that true crime podcast I was telling you guys about? The one about modern mobs?”

Zoe, curled up on the couch, raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Isn’t that a bit heavy for a chill hangout?”

“No, no, it’s fascinating!” Jake insists. “It’s not just gruesome stuff. It’s all about the economics and politics of modern organized crime. Super interesting.”

Lisa, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shrugs. “I’m game. Could be fun to learn something while we drink.”

“Seconded,” chimes in Alex from his spot by the window. “Hit play, Em.”

Emily fiddles with her phone, connecting it to the bluetooth speaker. “Alright, here we go. ‘The Mob in the Modern Age: Episode 7 — The Dutch Syndicate’s Rise to Power.’”

As the podcast’s intro music fades, a smooth, professional voice fills the room:

“In the world of organized crime, power shifts can happen in the blink of an eye. But few have been as sudden or as dramatic as the meteoric rise of the Dutch Crime Syndicate over the past five years. Once a minor player on the European stage, the Dutch Syndicate now controls vast swathes of territory and influences everything from high finance to international politics. But how did this happen? The answer, dear listeners, lies in an unlikely source: a literature professor turned criminal mastermind.”

The friends exchange amused glances. “A literature professor?” Zoe snorts. “Now that’s a career change.”

“Shh,” Jake hushes her, leaning forward intently.

The podcast continues: “It all began with a chance encounter. The Syndicate’s boss, known only as Max Emilian, was injured in a firefight with rival gang members. Desperate for medical attention but unable to go to a hospital, he turned up on the doorstep of a young literature professor in the middle of the night.”

Emily pauses the podcast. “Okay, this sounds like the plot of a bad romance novel.”

“I know, right?” Lisa laughs. “What are the odds?”

Alex shakes his head, grinning. “Maybe our old prof is secretly living it up as a mob wife somewhere.”

The group erupts into laughter at the absurd image.

“Can you imagine?” Zoe gasps between giggles. “Professor Y/L/N in a shootout?”

Jake wipes tears from his eyes. “God, remember how she used to get flustered just operating the projector?”

As the laughter dies down, Emily resumes the podcast.

“What happened next is the stuff of legend in criminal circles. The professor, whose name we now know to be Y/N Y/L/N, not only patched up the crime boss but ended up joining his organization. Within weeks, she had become his right-hand woman and romantic partner.”

The room falls silent, the friends exchanging wide-eyed looks.

“No way,” Alex breathes.

“It can’t be,” Lisa shakes her head. “It’s got to be a coincidence.”

Jake holds up a hand, shushing them as the podcast continues.

“But Y/N’s true moment of infamy came just a month into her new life of crime. During what should have been a routine shopping trip in Monte Carlo, she and her bodyguards were ambushed by members of the rival Silver Arrows gang. In the ensuing chaos, Y/N found herself face to face with none other than Toto Wolff, the notorious leader of the Silver Arrows.”

“Oh my god,” Zoe whispers, her face pale.

“What happened next would change the landscape of European organized crime forever. Y/N, using a gun given to her by Max for protection, shot Toto Wolff at point-blank range. Wolff did not survive the encounter, his death throwing the Silver Arrows into disarray.”

Emily pauses the podcast again, her hand shaking slightly. “Guys ... this can’t actually be our Professor Y/L/N, right? I mean, it’s impossible.”

The room is silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought.

“Remember how she just ... disappeared?” Alex says slowly. “In the middle of the semester? The department said it was a family emergency, but no one ever heard from her again.”

Jake nods, his brow furrowed. “And it was right around the time this podcast is talking about. Five years ago, give or take.”

Lisa shakes her head vehemently. “No. No way. Our Y/N? The one who cried when we threw her a surprise party for finishing her PhD? There’s no way she shot someone.”

“But think about it,” Zoe says, warming to the idea. “She was always talking about how literature reflects real life, how the best stories come from unexpected places. What if ... what if she decided to live a story instead of just teaching about them?”

The group falls silent again, each of them trying to reconcile the image of their soft-spoken, cardigan-wearing professor with the gun-toting criminal mastermind described in the podcast.

Emily takes a deep breath. “Should we ... should we listen to the rest?”

After a moment of hesitation, they all nod. She presses play:

“In the years since that fateful day in Monte Carlo, Y/N has become a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Known in criminal circles as ‘The Professor,’ she’s rumored to be the strategic mind behind the Dutch Syndicate’s most daring and successful operations. Her background in literature and analysis has proven unexpectedly valuable in the world of organized crime, allowing her to see patterns and opportunities that others miss.”

Jake lets out a low whistle. “Okay, that part I can actually see. Remember how she could break down a text? Find connections no one else saw?”

The others nod, still looking shell-shocked.

The podcast continues: “Last year, Y/N and Max officially tied the knot in what insiders describe as the criminal event of the decade. The guest list reportedly included high-ranking members of various international syndicates, as well as several politicians and business moguls whose connections to the underworld had previously been only rumored.”

“A mob wedding,” Alex says faintly. “Our professor had a mob wedding.”

Zoe suddenly sits up straight. “Wait a second. Guys, remember that weird email we all got about a year ago? The one that looked like spam but had our names in it?”

The others nod slowly, realization dawning.

“It said something about a ‘special event’ and how the sender wished we could be there,” Lisa recalls. “We all thought it was just a weird phishing attempt.”

“Holy shit,” Jake breathes. “She invited us to her mob wedding.”

The podcast wraps up: “Today, the Dutch Crime Syndicate stands at the pinnacle of European organized crime, with Y/N and Max as its power couple. Their story serves as a reminder that in the modern criminal underworld, brains can be just as valuable as brawn. And sometimes, the most dangerous person in the room might just be the one with a literature degree.”

As the outro music plays, the friends sit in stunned silence.

Finally, Emily speaks up. “So ... do we think it’s really her?”

They look at each other, years of shared memories and inside jokes about their favorite professor flashing through their minds.

“I mean, what are the odds of two literature professors named Y/N Y/L/N getting mixed up with the mob in the same year?” Alex points out.

Jake nods slowly. “And it would explain why she just vanished. Why the department was so weird about it.”

“But ... but it’s Y/N,” Lisa protests weakly. “She used to bring us cookies during finals week. She cried when we analyzed sad poems.”

Zoe reaches for her phone. “Only one way to find out for sure. I’m googling her.”

The others crowd around as Zoe types in their former professor’s name. The search results load, and they collectively gasp.

There, staring back at them from countless news articles and blurry paparazzi shots, is an unmistakable face. It’s older, harder somehow, but undeniably the woman who once taught them about Jane Austen and Shakespeare.

“Well,” Emily says faintly, “I guess this explains why she always said Pride and Prejudice needed more action scenes.”

The room erupts into hysterical laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting them full force.

As they catch their breath, Jake raises his wine glass. “To Professor Y/L/N,” he says solemnly. “May her gun be as mighty as her pen.”

The others join in the toast, clinking their glasses together.

“You know,” Alex muses, “I always thought her lectures on Crime and Punishment were a little too detailed.”

Another round of laughter fills the apartment as the friends settle in to re-listen to the podcast, this time with a whole new perspective on their former professor turned criminal mastermind.

As the night wears on, they share memories of their college days, now tinged with the surreal knowledge of where life has taken their beloved professor. And though none of them would admit it out loud, there’s a small part of each of them that can’t help but admire the sheer audacity of it all.

After all, how many people can say their literature professor went on to conquer the criminal underworld?

[sanguineterrain]

smut 18+ only, fucking jason on the kitchen floor, feral horny afab reader who wants to maul jason, unprotected sex, breeding kink, submissive jaytodd!!! rock on!!!

The first time you go absolutely batshit feral over Jason, he's cleaning the apartment.

He's done nothing to provoke your ferality (he never does), and usually, you keep it to yourself. Thoughts like if I were a vampire I'd suck his blood and I need my boyfriend to hold me down until I orgasm or pass out, whichever comes first, are inside thoughts, and you do a great job at keeping them as such.

So you're not quite sure what compels you to act the way that you do.

First, Jason's in clothes that don't help your insanity. The shirt is Dick's (Jason insists that he did NOT have an emo phase, thank you), so the cropped quality of the My Immortal t-shirt isn't by design. Jason's just big.

Yes, yep, your boyfriend sure is a big boy. That's all you can think about as you watch him over the top of your open book while he attacks the kitchen floor with his Swiffer Jet. He's humming a song you don't recognize.

You love him so much. The thought hits you square in the chest. You love Jason Todd. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.

The next thought that hits you is how soft and squishy your boyfriend is. Jason's sweatpants are baggy, the baggiest he could find, and they still can't hide how humongous his thighs are. His thighs are pure muscle, but when not in the middle of a fight, they are soft. Bitable. Very bitable.

Your gazes moves to the strip of belly that flexes and flutters with every movement. Jason's stomach isn't perfectly flat, a fact that you know sometimes bothers him. You take care to treat it delicately, not wanting him to be self-conscious even though every part of him makes you rabid.

You want to kiss Jason's stomach. Feel it twitch under your hand as you do, uh... other stuff besides kissing. You love watching Jason in action, love watching him wield his powerful body. But you also love him like this: using his body to take care of himself, his space, and you.

Jason's arms. You could write prose poetry on such magnificent creations. More than once you've had the urge to wrap one of Jason's arms around your neck and let him squeeze until you lose consciousness. Another inside thought! Jason would staunchly refuse and probably get you checked for head trauma if you requested such a thing, but you can dream.

Once or twice, Jason's flexed for you, silly and smiley. You've managed to hide just how fucking hot you found it. It's been well over a year and you still want to jump your boyfriend. You try to keep it to a manageable level, not wanting to startle or overwhelm him. You know Jason's complicated relationship with his body. You respect his boundaries.

But still, the thoughts linger...

Your feet carry you to the kitchen before you can think about it. Jason's done with the mop and has moved to wiping the counters. You seize the opportunity to get behind him.

"Hey, baby," Jason says before you reach him. He keeps wiping. And that's another thing: Jason is highly competent. His training makes him hear you before you've reached him. If you were an evil goon, you'd be on the floor before you could inhale. You also find that concerningly hot.

You stick yourself to his back and wrap your arms around his stomach. You grab handfuls of the layer of fat that covers his muscles, brushing your thumbs over where his hair thickens below his bellybutton.

"What's up, hm?" Jason asks, patting your hand.

"You're really hot," you say.

He snorts, glances behind at you. "I'm what now?"

"Hot. Juicy. I wanna maul you."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," you say peacefully, groping his waist. "Soon as possible."

"I'm free for a mauling in ten minutes. That work for you?"

"I don't know if I can wait that long." You slip your hands up his shirt. "Mind if I feel you up while I wait?"

Jason laughs but it comes out a little airy. "You're a menace."

"I'm crazy about you."

"Mm, I've noticed. Feeling's mutual."

"No, no." You move your head so that your mouth is on his exposed bicep. You feel the hot flesh in your mouth, lave your tongue over it for some time. As soon as it flexes, you bite the hard muscle.

Jason drops his dishcloth. You soothe your teeth marks with your tongue.

"You don't understand," you say, shifting so you're pressing Jason against the counter edge. He lets you keep him there. "I'm crazy about you. I wanna eat you, Jay. Let me eat you."

"Jesus, what's gotten into ya?" he asks, turning his head to look at you.

"Hopefully you," you say, unrepentant.

Jason's eyes widen. You adore how squirmy he gets whenever you're bold about wanting him. Despite how long you've known each other, Jason never fails to get flustered. Perhaps that's half the fun.

"C'mon, Jay, let me fuck you. I wanna fuck you on the kitchen floor," you say, past coyness.

He full-body shudders. "I jus' cleaned."

You grin against his arm, pawing at his hip. "I'll help you mop again, honey pie. Deal?" You're eyeing his stomach next, ready to suck his skin there.

Jason can't deny you for long. You both know that.

"You're persuasive," he says, eyelids fluttering.

You hum. "Didn't take much, though, did it? Is your dick hard already?" You squeeze him through his sweats. Jason whines, bracing himself against the counter. "Never takes long, huh? You're always ready for me in no time, stud. Ready to fill me up, right?"

"Oh m'God," he says, looking at you like you're divine. That look swells your ego every time.

"Is that a yes?" You cup his balls like you're choosing a bull for breeding. Jason buckles under your brazenness. "Yes, you want me to let you fuck my pussy? Yes, you want me to fuck you on the floor?"

"Yeah, yeah, please."

So Jason lets you push him down onto the tiles. You yank his sweats down first, then his underwear. He's already leaking onto his stomach.

"Fuck," you say, grabbing and holding Jason's wrists on either side of his head. "You gonna give me what I want, sweetie? Love of my life, handsomest guy I've ever seen?"

Jason nods vigorously. "Yeah, yes, an-anything y'want. Oh my God, I'm s-so hard. I love you. Y'so nice to me."

You smile gently.

"I'm nice for taking you on the kitchen floor, huh?" you ask, bending your knees and lining up his cock to your cunt. "What if I make you wait until I come first?"

Jason nods again, already breathing hard. "I want to, I wanna wait. You should come first. I want you to come first. I don't have ta come at all."

You raise an eyebrow. That's new. New, but not unwelcome.

"So even when I..." You sink down on his cock, just the tip. Jason whimpers in the back of his throat. "Do that? You don't need to come?"

You feel him flex under your hands but he's good and stays put. He doesn't break your hold even though he could. You grin.

"Oh-oh. Sweet boy. My best guy. Look at you, big and hard. You could take me if you wanted, but you don't want that, do you? You want me to take what I want from you. All that muscle and strength, but what d'you need, Jaybee? Hm? Tell me."

"Need you," he says, voice strained. "Need you to do whatever y'want."

You kiss under his jaw and dig your nails into his wrists. Then you sink further onto Jason's cock. His hips twitch but he doesn't thrust like he usually does.

"Will you kiss me?" he asks when he bottoms out, body strung tight like a bow.

"I did kiss you," you say, smiling into his neck.

"On th'lips," Jason says, fingers shaking. "Please? Please."

You thread your fingers with his to steady them. Then you lean in to kiss his mouth. Jason moans, greedily kissing you back. You begin to move. Jason's shoulders tense.

"You're so perfect," you say against his lips. "You'd be so perfect at knocking me up. Any time I wanted, you'd be hard and ready to come in me, right?"

"Ah-ah," Jason says, voice wrecked. "Y-yeah, yeah. As much as y'want. Do anything y'want. I'd do anything."

"Yeah, I know," you say, grunting as you slide back onto him. "I know, sweetheart. Pretty boy. Y'dunno what you got with this fat cock. Can barely speak when your dick's wet."

You do a particularly hard grind and growl against Jason's sweaty throat. You lick the salt from his Adam's apple, feel it bob against your tongue. Then you bite.

"Oh, oh," he whines, and your gut tightens further at his sounds.

"Don't come," you snarl, pussy like a vice. "I come first."

Jason shakes his head, lips parted. His pulse throbs against your mouth. "No, no, won't. I won't. I'm good. I'll be good. 'M I good?"

You pet his hair, voice softening. "You're good, Jason. So good, baby. So good that I gotta take you right here on the floor. You understand, right? I was aching over there, watching you. I had to fuck you. Had to use your big dick for something."

"Uh-huh," he says, voice wet and sticky with pleasure. "Y'had to. I can do it. I wanna be good for you."

He looks up at you, and you're struck again by your difference in size, and how easy Jason gets when he's inside of you. You feel that familiar tightness, the edge of your impending orgasm.

"Rub my clit," you say, letting go of his right hand, and Jason obeys instantly, locating and deftly rubbing your clit.

"Harder," you tell him, and he rubs harder. Your mouth falls open as the pleasure swells. "Yeah. This is what you're made for. Pleasing me."

One of these days, you'll broach the subject of Jason putting those muscles to good use and fucking you doggy-style, whining in your ear as he shoots load after load into you.

"I'm gonna come," you say, cunt tightening. "Are you gonna come?"

Jason shakes his head desperately. "No. No, no, y'said not to. Not gonna come!"

"A-are you sure?" you ask, grinning as Jason makes uh-uh's in the back of his throat.

"Won't come, I promise, won't come," he says, near tears.

You come, tightening hard around Jason's cock. He nearly howls, the corners of his eyes wet, tendons pulled taut in his neck.

But he doesn't come, true to his word.

Sloppily, you kiss him. Jason kisses you back, but it's frenzied. You know his brain must be soup with the effort it's taking to not come.

"Look at you," you say, gaze hungrily roving over Jason's swollen nipples, his red face, his drawn eyebrows. "You listened so well. Y'wanna touch me? Wanna hold me?"

Jason nods frantically. "Yeah, yeah, please, baby, please, can I?"

"Go ahead, sweetheart. Hold me how you want and make yourself come. Don't be gentle."

Jason hesitates at the last direction. "Don't be gentle? Are y'sure?"

You pinch his nipple lightly. Jason bucks his hips. Your eyes narrow.

"I'm sure. Gimme everything you got, big guy."

You bite your lip as Jason's body comes alive, strength kicking in as he draws your thighs up over his hips, plants his feet, and drives into you. He punches the air out of you with each thrust, sobbing as he does. You hold on to his arms as he moves.

It only takes him a few thrusts before hot cum fills your pussy. Your eyes roll back at the feeling, nails scratching Jason's biceps.

"I want more," you say, grinding shallowly against his cock. Jason cries out, and more cum fills you.

"Was that good?" Jason asks, holding you closer.

You grin. "We're definitely doing that again."

Except, maybe not right after Jason's cleaned. You're not that mean.

[nefertittythegreat]

My thoughts didn't fit in a reply but here's my rebuttal:

Ooo some really good stuff here! Really got my brain juices flowing. Ok, here's what I disagree on. I don't believe that narrative wants us readers to believe he's perfect. In fact, it's pointed out many times that he's not. it's Myne who believes he's perfect. Kazuki is actually really good at making us believe whatever Myne believes. In context to Yogurtland, she's often wrong, and she's not a very reliable narrator. Myne has a tendency to put the people she considers family on a pedestal(look at how she regards Tuuli) and this especially true for Ferdinand. And between her and Ferdinand's accolades in the academy, the younger generation has no choice but to believe he is the unattainable perfection they should strive towards but I believe most of Ferdinand's peers and the older nobles know better.

You spent a good portion of the post comparing Ferdinand to various characters, specifically villians. I believe, in this case, the comparison to be a false equivalent because Ferdinand is not a villain. He does not hold the same place in the narrative as the characters you mentioned and therefore they can not be compared. Other characters like Lelouch(Code Geass), Sasuke Uchiha(Naruto), Revy(Black Lagoon) and Hiei(YuYu Hakusho) are more similar to Ferdinand and the place he holds in the narrative and more comparable. But I understood your point with your comparisons, these villains have done unspeakable things and you still like them better than Ferdinand. But why do you like these villains? Why do you find them interesting? I can tell you personally from the ones I know about(Danzo, Orochimaru, and Akito) I don't find them interesting at all. Hurt people hurting doesn't interest me at all, and I could care less about your sad poor little meow meow backstory if you're not an interesting character to me.

These characters have done something in story that caught your eye and Ferdinand didn't. Or the fandom’s woobiefication of him has caused you to go from neutral to dislike. I won't speculate, its up to each person to inner reflect on their thoughts. So are we supposed to like Ferdinand? Yes and no. We are supposed to love him because Myne loves him(here comes Kazuki again with the POV hypnosis)He quickly jumps up to family with Myne through their interactions and as she has to navigate the world of nobility he becomes her only confidant. And this is all before we get his Backstory or well the worse parts of it. We are already supposed to love him. His backstory isn't supposed to endear him to us anymore because like Myne we have long since loved this Strange little man. That despite his flaws, His rudeness, his cold demeanor, his harsh words, we love him anyway. His Backstory only puts into context some of his more odd behaviors. And make the sting of of his leaving Ehrenfest even more painful.

Ferdinand's main sin is really just being an asshole. Personally, I still believe he'd be an asshole if he had a well-adjusted childhood, but that's just me. I love Asshole characters, characters who are just mean for the sake of being mean(I mean I've been in love with Sasuke Uchiha for 15 years if that puts into perspective) and his unlikeableness just makes him all the more appealing to me. I wouldn't call his behavior abusive but I would call him hard-headed and short-sighted.He doesn't listen. He's incapable of listening to anyone whose name isn't Rozemyne(and just barely so)because he thinks he's always right, and too be fair he usually is. In this post you hint that he hurts because he has been hurt, but I don't believe that to be true. Its far too sentimental for Ferdinand. He accepts his past as fact. And while it explains some of his behaviors he doesn't really dwell on it like Akito does her Mothers's abuse and Shigure’s “betrayal”. She hurts because its all she knows. She wants to feel powerful so she makes those around her feel powerless. Ferdinand doesn't need to feel powerful, he doesn't belittle to make himself bigger. He is already powerful and he knows that. The reason he so often punches down is because you do not meet his standards, he does not care where your from or why you don't meet them but if you don't he will let you know. He's that asshole professor from uni that you could never hope to impress. You could write an award-winning article, praised by all and the dick would still only give you a C+. He’ll never change too, and just your luck he’s tenured and you have to take 3 of his classes. I'm not saying these are good things, but I am saying this is 100% purposeful. These flaws are permanent because that's not what he learns during the course of the series. What he learns is to let himself live. Ferdinand has lived his whole life for someone else. This also explains his passivity. I've written before that Ferdinand lacks ambition and for a character so talented and capable and hyper-competent its rare to see, especially when it's not the main character. This is what makes him interesting to me.

I hope you understand why me and maybe some other people like Ferdinand. I mean I'm just a masochistic freak who likes men who will be mean to her but he has other good qualities too. He's not perfect or nice but he's Ferdinand and that's what I like about him 🥰

Thoughts on ferdinand?

Short answer: Don't like that guy.

Beyond this point is the body of the post where I may rail on your favorite character. This post is clearly-labeled and easy to avoid. If you choose to read on despite me making it clear what my opinion is, you do not have to right to vague me in a condescending manner as you may or may not have done with another post of a similar kind. Just avoid this. It's not that hard. I'm making the fandom ecosystem a little more varied, is all. Us Detlinde fans, Sylvester lovers, and Raublut sympathizers have had to sit and bear with it as the fandom paraded our faves and hurled shit at them. If we have had to endure that, surely you can endure One (1) post that criticizes your fave who is widely loved by everyone else and is also put under a cut. Don't start insulting me for criticizing a character when you've gotten mad at me for responding to insults with anger.

Surely a fandom that condescended to us for reading something we disagree with will understand the point I am making here :)

Aight now that that's out of the way, I can finally get to the meat of the post for all the big-brained people who chose to continue.

Reasons why I think Ferdinand sucks have been touched on in these posts (A B) so I don't really have all that much to say about that outside of reiterating what those posts said.

I tried, y'all. I tried so hard to like him. Everyone else loved him and I wanted to see what they were seeing.

But I couldn't.

He's an abusive jackass who doesn't see that the people around him do love him, can't be allowed near children, doesn't bother lifting other people up he just expects them to be already good. His memory trip with Myne changed nothing about how he saw her or other kids “her age”. He doesn't even seem to like most parts of her, he just seems to like that she's on his level and that she'd protect him.

And the problem is that. I wouldn't hate him nearly as much if only the story or the fandom acknowledged his dickishness. It's not that I'm unfamiliar or can't handle heavy topics, either— I am a victim of lifelong abuse in a country that's been on fire for as long as it's existed. I Been Knew, buddy.

Vincent Nightray from Pandora Hearts is a misogynistic little prick who lies and tricks and betrays people to get to his goal. He may or may not also be a transphobic allegory. But I love him! He's one of my favorite characters from the manga! How could this be? Because his flaws matter. Because both the story and the audience understand that he's not just the poorest little man. He kinda is, but I love him because he's a messy character full of flaws. It makes him interesting. Also because his struggles and storyline involving guilt and suicidal ideation resonated deeply with me.

I absolutely fucking adore Sohma Akito from Fruits Basket. She is so fucking abusive to so many characters and… the story knows that! It acknowledges that! She's, like Vincent, a fucking mess! But the way her backstory explains her entire thing but doesn't excuse it, the way she's such a realistic exploration of abuse both as perpetrator and victim, is so interesting! She's so interesting! Fruits Basket as a whole is just. It's good. It's excellent. It even has a counselor and an artist analyzing the symbolism, art direction, and psychology of the characters on YouTube. You should give that podcast a listen. It's by the channel ThoughtBubble. (Ferdinand's “trauma” could become a realistic exploration of the consequences of such a fucked up life, how he passes on the hurt to the younger generation, if only the story let it but… everyone just uses that trauma card to woobify him and excuse him and go “oh poor Ferdinand” on him like a pity party, which I don't like. Again, the potential is there and I could like it, but the way the fandom treated his trauma is so viscerally off-putting to me that my faith in his potential plummeted and I “hate” him by their definition instead)

How about Orochimaru? Irredeemable terrifying bastard villain WHO TRAFFICKS AND EXPERIMENTS ON CHILDREN. There's discussion of how the military state exploited him and he went off the deep end and it was excused when it still benefited the state but became a crime as soon as it became for himself, but largely people agree that he cannot be excused. And he's one of my favorite fucking characters.

Shimura Danzo? Y'all don't need a primer on that fucker everyone hates him he's terrible he's problematic and I love him. One of the characters of all time.

How about Senju Butsuma? Specifically, the rendition of Senju Butsuma in a fic written by my friend. He's still abusive, he literally has a scene of beating the crap out of his sons on-screen in the fic— that scene triggered me by the way but it just goes to show how well-written it is, my friend the author specifically mentioned that he didn't want to trivialize abuse but also didn't want to turn it into a sympathy-bait pity party for the Senju brothers— and? He's my babygirl. He's everything.

Prospera Mercury? Fucking war criminal milf with Issues? She uses both her children as weapons even as she claims she's doing it all for one of them? Massacres people? And? I love her????? She's so messy she's got Problems she's not good for her daughters. And that makes her infinitely delicious. Easily one of my favorites of all time.

So it's not that I hate characters who are jackasses. It's not that I hate flawed, messy characters. I love them! I love them even when canon doesn't. I love them even when the fandom doesn't. I would never try to excuse or absolve them (I mean, I'd like to see any of you try to excuse Danzo??) I try to give these characters the justice they deserve when I'm discussing them with people. But I… can't do that with Ferdinand. Any discussion of his character in a way that doesn't fit their very narrow view of “the biggest victim in the world who is also the strongest most badass man ever” immediately gets clotheslined into “hate”. Even the mildest of criticisms, even the most politely-worded posts get misinterpreted, misconstrued, and ultimately declared as senseless petty hate. Heck, even people who like him a lot get shunned and ostracized from the fandom if their interpretation is too different from the Fandom Majority's! So yes! By the fandom's very definition, I hate him! I hate him most immensely! I hate the parts of him that the narrative and the fandom choose to highlight as opposed to the more interesting bits! I hate that he takes up all the oxygen in the room whenever anyone discusses Veronica's abuse and her victims! He's not the only victim, but everyone acts as though he is!

So yes, tldr: I hate him. If only he could've been written by a better author like Mochizuki Jun or Takaya Natsuki. Fuck, even as much as I gripe about Arakawa Hiromu, even she could've handled him better.

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. here's part 2 folks. part 3 is on the works now. did i write this fic instead of studying for my important quiz tomorrow? yes, yes i did. pls pray for my score.

masterlist.

For Christmas in 2019, Max has gotten you an apartment near his in Monaco. It is a loft apartment good for one on the 8th floor, a building away from where Daniel and Max lived. Originally, he wants to get you the unit a floor below his. You decline quickly, insisting that you are very fine with rooming with Julia and Kendall, who are both members of the Red Bull PR team whom you have gotten close with since your first year working with Red Bull. Max may have beef with the PR team for making him do a lot of embarrassing shit for the views but you're besties with most of them and actually thank them for making Max suffer through PR stuff because you cannot afford therapy and watching Max suffer through PR-related activities is a good form of free therapy. Also, Monaco apartments are fucking expensive. Red Bull might be paying you well but not well enough to afford an apartment in a country as expensive as Monaco.

“I want you close,” he tells you. If you did not know any better, you'd have butterflies fluttering in your intestines right about that moment. Sometimes, Max utter the most heart-fluttering of nonsense without meaning to. It causes your heart to stutter more times than you would like to admit.

“Well, I don't want you close.”

Max will never ever win an argument with you. He knows that. You know that. The best he can do is come to a compromise, a compromise that is usually tailored to suit whatever you want.

So you got that small loft apartment a building away, good for one person only. It's easy to clean and it's cheap, Max already said that, which makes you happy because you can set a payment plan for that. An apartment as a Christmas gift is already too much, borderline giving you a heart attack already. Rich people spending their money give you, a person of the middle class folks, heart attacks. Why can't Max be normal and give you a normal gift? A bracelet? A bag? You’ll even accept it if he gave you a slice of cheesecake. Not even your parents can buy you an apartment.

It has only been three years since the keys are passed on to your ownership and people say three years is enough time for a person to make a place home. But your apartment doesn't even feel like home, only a place you’ll sleep in if you happen to be in Monaco for the evening.

Home is that humble, two-storey house painted in red and yellow in Lynnwood Avenue, Vista Del Pueblo, Austin, a total picture of a picket fence dream. Home is Abuelo's old farmhouse in El Paso where you spent your childhood riding horses and driving ATVs across the dusty dry earth. Home is the retro milkshake place owned by the sweet old couple that has been in the neighborhood longer than your entire existence. Home is the tree-lined streets where you walked the family senior dog, Niko. Home is the Austin Fire House, your Dad’s workplace that you visited a handful of times back when you were a child to deliver cookies that your Abuela baked so your Dad could share it with his co-workers. Home is your mom’s clinic in the middle of downtown, always smelling like eugenol, disinfectant, formaldehyde, and her perfume. Home is not glitz and gold and glamor and cash cash cash. Home is not seeing wealthy people left and right. Home is not Monaco.

And it is not like you stayed long in your place either. You're always off traveling around the world with the Red Bull team and accompanying Max wherever he needs your presence. You don't even spend your breaks in that apartment because you immediately fly home to your family once a break is graciously given to you before flying off again to watch Max collect trophy after trophy.

Six days from now, you're going to be flying off to Texas. That means you have six days—less than six days actually—to pack all your crayons and go. Of course you're going to pack up the day before you leave. Doing shit last minute makes your life exciting, and it's not like you had a lot of shit to pack anyway. All your belongings can be tucked into a total of three suitcases. Three years worth of belongings in three suitcases.

you: you doin good there?

Max has been holing himself up in his penthouse since your arrival from Abu Dhabi, probably dealing with his breakup with Kelly. A shame, really. You thought the two looked good together. (Do they really? the asshole part of your brain thinks.)

And P. Thank God for that child’s existence. You hate children but P is an exception. P brings the best out of Max. Max has gotten the chance to act as the father he never had. It's heartwarming, to be honest.

him: not really no

him: can you bring me coffee

you: on it champ

Fifteen minutes later, you’re knocking on the gigantic double doors of his penthouse, a tall styro cup of espresso from that cute café two streets down and a slice of blueberry cheesecake because you’re thoughtful enough to buy him his favorite cake. You experienced a breakup before. A cake and an icecream work wonders when it came to healing broken hearts.

“You're fast,” he immediately says after opening the door. You kind of expect that he’d look worse, snotty and messy and looking like he ran from hell and back. But no, he looks……fine? His sweater and shorts look absolutely neat and comfortable and dry of snot. His hair is a little fluffy from lying on his bed but not too messy. He doesn't even look like he was crying. No red-rimmed eyes. No red nose.

You fake gasp, putting a hand on your chest for additional dramatic effect, “The fastest racer in F1 callin’ me fast. Truly honored.”

A smile plays on his lips, sidestepping and beckoning you in.

You frequently come by Max’s home, for work purposes of course, but you still cannot help but be amazed by the enormity of it every time you enter. Max’s penthouse is twenty times bigger than the apartment you currently live in. One man and a big house—it must be very lonely now that P and Kelly are no longer around. Now, you’re even more worried about what will happen the moment you go back to Texas.

Oh… You still haven't told him yet.

“Coffee,” you hand him the warm styro cup to which he accepts gratefully. He utters his thanks, taking a whiff before sipping, letting out a pleasured moan.

You make your way to his gigantic kitchen, navigating your way through his cabinets in search of a plate and a fork. You slide the cheesecake on the plate towards Max, who followed you to the kitchen and sat on the empty stool in the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the fork and taking a bite. He glances at your feet, eyes trained on your YSL. The obnoxious sound of the heels clicking against the floor as you walk probably is the one that caught his attention.

“You know, you've been wearing the same shoes since 2019.”

Points for Max for noticing. These YSL Opyum heels are the first luxury items you bought for yourself after saving for three years to buy one pair. You saw a rich international student wear it once back in university and you liked how sophisticated it looked compared to all the pairs of converse or platform boots you owned. So you made it your life’s goal to own one. In 2019, after doing tons of part time jobs in university and working with Red Bull for a whole year, you managed to buy yourself one on your birthday and you’d been wearing them to work ever since.

Your regular work uniform consists of a Red Bull polo shirt, a pencil or a slit skirt, and that specific pair of heels. Around 2021, you bought another pair to replace the old one because the old one broke. And 2022 again.

“What's wrong with ‘em?” you ask, brows furrowing as you followed his train of sight. Your heels might be a year old already but they still look fine.

Max blinks, “No, there's nothing wrong. Just…Do you think you would want to wear some other design?”

“No,” is your reply. “I like ‘em just the way they are.”

“Okay.”

Your conversation drifts into something else as Max finishes his coffee and cake. You spend the rest of the day in Max’s penthouse, lying on his plush couch while a slasher movie from the 2000s played on his wide TV. He has given you access on his Netflix account so you abused it to your heart’s content because you don't even have. a Netflix subscription. You can absolutely afford one, you just choose not to. You have opted in using your phone mid-movie because the movie is beginning to get real scary but you do not want Max to think you're a coward so you acted like you're disinterested instead.

“Oh look, Charles is also back in Monaco. Do you want to hang out together?” you nudge Max with your foot, who swats it away from him, face contorting in disgust. You show him the post on Charles private IG—yes, you were mutuals in each other's private IG because whoever is friends with Max was friends with you by extension—on your phone.

“Stop makin’ that face, my feet are nice.”

Your toenails are a glorious red now. Ferrari red actually and they suit you better than the Red Bull red. Huh, maybe you should have considered applying for Ferrari instead of Renault in 2018.

“No, it isn't.”

You roll your eyes, pulling it away from him and sitting up, “Do you want me to schedule you a dinner with Charles? You might need the bro time, you know? Dad said bro times are also important, but not as important as family time, of course. My bro broke up with his sweetheart back when I was still in uni and his best buds were the reason he was back up in tippy top shape by the end of the week.”

Max stares at you blankly, “I think I understand the words individually but not the sentence entirely. I don't know if it's the accent or you Americans just have a strange way of structuring your sentences.”

“Point is, hang out with a friend because a friend can help you move on from a pussy.”

Max hurls a throw pillow at your direction, which you luckily avoided thanks to your non-racer level but still considerably good reaction time, but unfortunately, this action causes your center of gravity to shift and before you know it, you're falling from the couch. Unconsciously, you grab Max but then Max doesn't expect that you’ll grab him so now, you’re both falling off the couch and onto the floor.

You groan.

“Fuckin’ ass, man. That was uncalled for.”

He flips you off.

Nevertheless, Max ends up following your advice though and calls Charles to hang out the next day. Lestappen fans should be thanking you on Twitter the next day for bringing those two together on an off-day in Monaco. Maybe they'll hang out and eat together in a restaurant? Maybe they'll go on a yacht picnic?

Except Max sends you a message at high noon.

him: sos

you: is your kitchen burning

him: no

him: but this is still an emergency and you need to come quick

him: he’s with his girlfriend and i don’t want to thirdwheel

you: succ it up

him: you can’t do this to me

him: i just got my heart broken in abu dhabi

you: where are you

him: home

him: i also need help in cooking

Charles is the one who answers the door when you knock. He looks genuinely surprised when he sees you and you deduce that Max hasn't told him that you're coming over.

“Babe, who’s that?” you hear Alex’s voice behind Charles and you light up immediately, quickly moving past Charles to throw your hands around the sweet young woman.

“Alex!” Alexandra laughs and hugs you back. The sound of her laughter is as pretty as she and God definitely has favorites because why did he sculpt this twenty-one year old like the daughter of the Aphrodite while you look like you were born from one of Hephaestus’ sperm that lost the gene pool contest? The world is unfair. You always get the short end of the stick, may it be career-wise or appearance-wise, and you can't even bring your personality to the table because normally, without the whole act of professionalism and sophistication you put on, you act like an extroverted American frat boy on a good day and a sassy drag queen slash war freak on a bad day so yeah, you guess that's the short end of the stick, too.

“Seriously?” you look up and saw Max holding a frying pan, staring at you unimpressed. You roll your eyes and slowly pull away from the hug, gaze returning to Alexandra.

“How’ve you been, sweetie? Been a while since I last saw you.”

You didn't get a chance to talk to her in Abu Dhabi and in Las Vegas.

“Good,” she replies, smiling sweetly and ugh, you want to pinch her cheeks so bad. But Charles is pulling you away from Alexandra before you can do so.

“No, no, she is mine, yours is right over there,” Charles says, pointing at Max, who's still standing there in the corner. “Go on. Shoo.”

You roll your eyes before walking up to Max, “‘Sup?”

Max raises a brow at you, “So Charles’ girlfriend gets a hug and I get a sup?”

“Well, she's Alexandra Saint Mleux and you’re just….” you look him up and down. “Nevermind, what you trynna cook?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you said you were cooking.”

“I said I needed help with cooking.”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “You’re going to let me do the cooking, aren't you?”

“You know that pasta you made in September that you said was your mother’s recipe?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you roll the sleeves of your button-up to your elbows and power-walked your way to the kitchen, the sound of your YSL heels clicking against the floor bouncing against the walls of Max’s kitchen.

Lunch goes great. Charles and Alexandra love your cooking. Max has even asked for seconds. Good to know that he's eating well. Somewhere down the line, champagne is served even though it’s mid-afternoon and the four of you're sitting in Max’s balcony, staring at Monaco scape below. Thankfully, it is a cloudy day in Monaco. The heat of the sun isn't too harsh on the skin. Despite that, you hand Max a sun screen.

“Sorry about Kelly, by the way,” Alexandra says. Your conversation has drifted towards Max’s failed relationship now.

“That is very nice of you to say,” replies Max, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay.”

You give him a look, clearly unconvinced. Admitting vulnerability gives him hives so he's definitely lying.

“You look too okay for a guy who ended a three-year relationship,” Charles muses and his words get you immediately thinking.

Oh? So they’ve been dating that long? You never noticed.

“Even [Name] looked worse when she broke up with that Williams mechanic two years ago and they dated for like what? Barely a year?”

“Unprovoked!” you exclaim. Alex and Max laugh.

But yeah, Charles is right. When you broke up with Leo in 2021, it was not the prettiest sight. He entered Williams mid-2020 as a mechanic and he immediately caught your attention. He's kind and handsome and a very sweet guy. You have similar interests—engineering—and a similar sense of humor and you just….work so well together, you know? You were sure he was your soulmate the moment he cracked up that Physics pickup line and you know it was the same with him. You swore to God that you’d run away from all the British charming assholes but Leo made you eat your own words and gave you a run for your money.

But alas, 2021 season came and Red Bull Racing became busier than ever because Max and Hamilton got crazily competitive and Max demanded your full attention, needing you as a support system to win.

And Leo. Well, he’s busy, too. Engineers are always busy. But he felt neglected because all your attention was on Max. He felt like he was competing with Max for your attention and it shouldn't even be a competition in the first because Leo was the boyfriend and Max was not. And you cannot even deny that you prioritized Max that year. You wanted Max to win. You needed Max to win, so he can finally ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.

Losing Leo is devastating but Max won the WDC title that year and while you spent nearly a month crying over Leo after the breakup, you're hoping that at least, in 2022, you’ll finally get that damned engineering position at the cost of losing your soulmate. That the tears you shed and the broken heart you carried inside your ribs will be worth it if it was in exchange for your dream. Then, it does not happen. The job isn't given to you and you spent the early months of the 2023 season wishing that you have chosen Leo instead of Max Verstappen.

“You’re still friends with him, right?” Charles turns to you.

“Of course,” you say honestly. You're still mutuals on IG and he still hearts your IG stories at times. You still talk, too, on the freer nights where there's a lot of time to waste. “We ended on good terms.”

“How about you, Max?”

“Can we not talk about this please?”

The four of you empty that bottle of champagne and once the sun has begun retiring for the night, Alex and Charles also left. You're soon to follow, fixing your tote bag and going through the mental checklist in your head so you will not forget anything and not waste energy returning here to pick it up.

“You can stay for dinner.”

Max’s offer surprises you.

“No.”

His face drops as quickly as your answer came.

“You're goin’ to let me cook again.”

“No, I’ll cook.”

You give him an unimpressed look. Clearly, you're not convinced.

“I swear, I’ll cook.”

“What if I get poisoned?”

“You won't get poisoned.”

When you continue staring at him, he sighs.

“Just stay please?”

Of course, you stayed. He asked after all.

You keep your eyes on him as he makes dinner with clumsy hands and a bit of unsureness behind his actions.

“You're goin’ to burn it, honey,” you point out.

“What honey? I didn't put any honey in it.”

You blink. He blinks back.

“You’re gonna give me aneurysm one day.”

Shaking your head, you walk into the bathroom at the end of the enormous hallway, lock the door behind you, lean your back against the door, and slowly slides down until your ass meets the cold bathroom floor. You slap a palm against your forehead and purse your lips to stop a scream from erupting.

God fucking dammit, Max is too adorable back there and this is not doing good things for your heart.

[freakingholland]

Lovebirds times two - YJ!Dick Grayson x fem!reader

A/N: Is this another fluffy fic that contributes to the “Dick Grayson looks gorgeous and can have any woman” trope? Maybe! (yes) But we deserve happy Dick alongside happy Spitfire, okay? I’ll write something agst-ish some time I promise!

Warnings: not proofread! fluffy af, a couple of swear words, slightly suggestive dialogue but nothing nsfw. If I missed anything, please let me know!

Summary: Heroes do get to attend weddings every once in a while. It's especially exciting, when it's a dear friends' ceremony.

Word count: 1.4K +

If you enjoyed my work, you could buy me coffee here: Ko-fi.com/freakingholland

questions/requests/ideas here! - rules here

masterlist (needs a proper update)

_

“I love these two with my entire heart but HOLY FUCK— I really don’t feel like getting ready today…” you whined sheepishly as you were in the middle of putting moisturizer over your freshly washed face. You and your significant other were in the middle of your preparations for your dear friends’ wedding. It was Artemis and Wally’s big day.

“Don’t even get me started. I told you we could get somebody to get your makeup and hair done. You can’t complain now.” Dick responded with slight frustration in his voice. It was obvious that he wasn’t actually mad at you, just not necessarily content with the fact that despite being in a committed relationship for so many years you still had trouble with making use of the benefits that came along with dating one of the Wayne’s sons.

“No, no don’t get me wrong babe I would appreciate that, it’s just— I feel a bit lazy today, wish I could just snap my fingers and get ready magically. If you know what I mean.”

“—plus, I don’t trust people with my face and hair, being comfy in my own skin is my top priority for today. I can’t wait to get there and have fun with our fam. I’ve been really looking forward to tonight.”

Dick walked over from the sink where he was previously finishing brushing his raven, still slightly wet and disheveled bangs. He had a towel wrapped tightly around his hips as he had just gotten out of the shower. The entire bathroom smelled like his strongly, yet freshly scented cosmetics. Seeing Richard in his work uniform and in his Nightwing suit is one thing, but seeing your partner clean and well-rested in the comfort of your shared apartment is another thing. Regardless of your lengthy relationship you still felt butterflies circling around in your stomach at this rare sight.

He wrapped his arms tightly around your hips and rested his chin in the crook of your neck, tickling you with his hair.

“Me too hun.” He responded while exhaling deeply against your bare, moist back. His warm embrace prolonged for another couple of seconds. You could easily tell Dick also felt sentimental about being home and being able to enjoy normal life. Whatever normal life means.

“Kay- I’ll let you do your thing now.” Before leaving the bathroom to start dressing up Dick took your face in his calloused hands and planted a quick kiss on your forehead. Dick crinkled his nose.

“God you’re pretty.” He was shaking his head on his way to your bedroom.

With a genuine smile on your face, you continued with the preparations.

*

You did not let slight sluggishness take over your body and you managed to get ready within an hour. Dick didn’t have the opportunity to see your outfit yet, after he had finished getting ready, he slumped on the sofa to watch TV and kill some time as he patiently waited for you to get ready. You walked into your living room and as soon as your partner heard your shoes click on the floor, he quickly turned to examine your look for the festive night.

“Oh wow- love. You look fantastic.” He quickly got up from the sofa to take a closer look. He soaked up the joy that you brought him with just your groomed appearance and a genuine smile, while eyeing you up and down with a huge grin plastered across his unwearied face.

Dick was wearing a black tuxedo paired with a white button up shirt, a black bowtie, and black oxfords. He also sported a watch with a black leather strap.

“You don't look too bad yourself sir…”

“—who am I kidding, GOD I love your hair! It’s so shiny!”

He chuckled at your answer and swept a strand of his thick bangs to the side.

“I think we should speed up this whole wedding thing and actually rent out a venue, you know?” you continued. After you said that your and Dick’s eyes laid on your engagement ring.

Dick sincerely cares about your wishes when it comes to retaining of your personal aesthetic, it took him a couple of visits at different jewelry shops in Gotham to choose a proper engagement ring. Despite knowing you well he still needed someone’s assistance - or rather mental reassurance that he’s making the right choice. That’s why Dick invited Bruce to participate in the important opting. They ended up choosing a white gold band with a small emerald-cut sapphire.

Talk about cheesiness. But the said cheesiness is one of the reasons why your bond was and is so strong. Your lives don’t stray from the hardships and sorrow in spite of the additional, demanding chapter that is your partner’s and your service as a literal heroes. Both Dick and you have your problems and traumas, but the two of you putting in the effort to communicate well, be patient and to keep your spirits up is what works well - as your relationship’s binder.

“And my hair is all that it takes for you to say that?”

“—I’m starting to get worried that we might be together just because you think I’m so fucking sexy.”

“We’re also together because of your humbleness…” Your answer caused Dick to roll his eyes. The grounding remark didn’t stop him from giving you a peck on the lips. As your lips parted, he threw a quick glance at his watch and slowly started going towards your kitchen. He went to grab a set of keys that was lying on the island, as well as a previously prepared bag of necessities such as band aids and emergency trainers.

“Are we ready my beautiful lady?” he offered you his arm in a jokingly chalant manner. You quickly grabbed your clutch bag and a coat.

“Ummm, I think we are now.” After double checking if you have everything that both of you needed to comfortably celebrate among your dearest companions as well as your precious gift, you started walking towards the door of your apartment.

*

Your best friends’ wish was to get married in Gotham City regardless of it being your usual work location. The ceremony was set to take place in a small palace, close to the border of the city. When you had arrived at the scene it was drizzling, the air felt very humid and had a pleasant earthy scent. But said weather didn’t interfere with the charm of such a special evening.

After the lovely wedding ceremony everyone drove to a beautifully decorated restaurant. The tables looked very minimalistic, even so the entire place was filled with beige and light pink flowers – carnations, lilies, roses. Artemis’ effort really paid off because the place looked both elegant and warm. Partially because of a gentle glow that bathed the entire area.

The newlyweds were beaming with happiness. They looked physically relaxed now that the official part of the evening was over. They were making sure to spare some time for every single guest, whether it was to chat with them or to take a picture. Right before one of the hot meals you managed to catch them and take the two to the side, in order to give them their special gift.

Both of them teared up when you and Dick handed them a large oil painting of the pair, which was based on a photo from a trip that the four of you went on a couple of years ago.

“There is no way! You guys! That’s beautiful, I really don’t know what to say…,” said Wally. Artemis was so taken aback that she remained silent while her now husband continued his thanks. Their eyes were glistening with happy tears and that warmed your heart.

*

You twirled with a slight laugh escaping your lips. Dick’s strong arms quickly embraced your figure to keep you closer to his warm body.

“I’m so glad we chose that photo for the painting. They were in awe.”

“I was in awe when I saw you in that outfit. You’re right, I’m getting us a venue tomorrow.”

“And you laughed at me when I complemented your hair!” you playfully smacked Dick’s chest. He couldn’t help but chuckle at your faux mad expression. That was the Y/N that he fell in love with.

He slumped his shoulders to close the distance between you two as you softly swayed to the rhythm of a slower song.

“I’m so glad that I have you angel.” He leaned into your ear and whispered.

“Soon to be Mrs. Grayson. All mine.”

-

If you get the “god you’re pretty" reference I love you.

Stay whelmed xx

Tori

[arctickat2400]

Take Care Of You ∞ Henry Cavill

Henry Cavill x F!Reader

Warnings: talks of detailed period stuff, negative self talk, normal repetition (*annoyed eye roll*), overall fluff and Henry taking care of Reader (as in the title lol), Henry being literally the best boyfriend ever (as per usual)

A/N: I’ve had notes for this imagine in my Notes app for a while and the day before I started to write it was the second day of my period and it was kicking my ass. So I thought it was finally a good time to write it. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3,448 (aka much longer than it needed to be)

* * * *

Henry had gone to work on his new movie a month ago and he was finally coming home. You wanted to do something special for him, knowing he’s going to be exhausted, and you just wanted to take care of him. Besides, he’s always taking care of you, so why not give him a break every once in a while if he’d let you?

However, your plans hadn’t turned out the way you wanted them to. Your period had come in the middle of the night, resulting in very little sleep. You had things you needed to do, but it was kicking your ass and all you wanted to do was curl up and not get up for the next several days. That wasn’t an option, though.

Your apartment was a mess, and although Henry doesn’t live with you permanently, he’s at your apartment a majority of his time when he’s not away filming for a movie or show, so it might as well be his home. You’d prefer it to be clean for him. But your body had different plans - you didn’t want to get out of bed.

When you finally did, you headed to the bathroom to take some Advil for the pain, but you did a double take when you looked in the mirror. Your face was all broken out, your hair was a mess, and you were feeling a bit more insecure about yourself and your body now that you were on your period, although that’s not saying much. You wanted to take a shower, but you could hardly stand due to your raging cramps, the Advil not having kicked in yet, and you decided it best to go back to bed, cleaning yourself up before doing so.

You couldn’t let Henry see you this way. Yes, he’s seen you on your period before. You’ve been together almost two years and he’s always told you how beautiful he thinks you are, on or off your period, clean or dirty hair, acne or no acne (even though no acne was quite rare). Either way, he’s always told you how gorgeous you are no matter how you look.

But your mind was telling you it’s different this time. In the past, Henry’s always been there to help you through it all, to take care of you, if it was at home or while you were on trips with him. But, he’s never come home to you this way, and the fact that it’s hard for you to take care of yourself makes matters worse. He’s coming home expecting one thing, but will come home to something completely different, and quite unattractive (at least in your mind).

So, to take care of matters to the best of your ability, you picked up your phone from your bedside table and texted Henry.

Y/N: Hey, babe. Just wanted to let you know I’m not feeling well and that maybe it’s best for you to head straight to your place when you get home. I should be feeling better in the next couple of days, so I hope to see you soon. 

The original plan was always for him to come see you when he comes home from trips. You wanted so bad to see him, more than anything. You missed him dearly when he was gone, especially for so long. If it wasn’t for your insecurities, you wouldn’t possibly care if he saw you this way. But, that wasn’t the case this time around. 

You placed your phone back on your bedside table, curling up on Henry’s side of the bed, and falling asleep almost instantly.

When Henry got the text right after his plane had landed, he knew something wasn’t right. He couldn’t remember the last time he went to his house first before going to see you after a trip. He would always go straight to you and you’d never told him not to come over. 

As the realization popped into his head, Henry opened his calendar on his phone to see what day it was, and surely enough, just as he’d predicted, it was your time of month. That’s what was so great about him, it was his real life super power: Henry knew every little thing about you.

Henry couldn’t possibly just leave you alone in your time of need. He wants to come and take care of you if you want him to or not. So, he texts you back.

Henry: My beautiful baby, I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well. Let me come take care of you. I’ll be there shortly, my love.

But, by the time he’d texted back, you’d already passed out again from exhaustion, missing his text. 

Henry decided to stop by the store on his way home to pick up a few things for you. He didn’t want to make you mad by coming over when you told him not to, but he knew the reason why, and therefore he’s justified because he just wants to take care of his baby. Plus, he hasn’t seen you in a month and he hates being away from you for long periods of time. If he’s able to see you, he won’t hesitate to do so. He prefers for you to go with him on trips, and you feel the same way, but you both know you had your job and responsibilities at home that prevented you from going with him. Henry was grateful, though, for the times you are able to go with him. 

Finally pulling up to your complex, Henry took all of the grocery bags and his suitcase from the trunk and made his way up to your loft. Using his key to get in, all the bags in one hand, he set his suitcase by the door and toeing off his shoes before guiding himself into the kitchen and quietly setting the grocery bags on the island, knowing you had to have been asleep after not having texted him back. You were usually very efficient when texting people back. 

Making his way upstairs, Henry spotted your sleeping body on his side of the bed. He knew you loved sleeping on his side when he was gone because it smelled like him. He knelt down beside you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and brushing his thumb over your cheek before placing a sweet kiss to your temple. He stood to go back downstairs, putting away some of the groceries, keeping the stuff for you out on the counter. Henry, then, decided to make you something to eat for when you wake up, knowing you probably forgot to eat before going back to sleep. 

Meanwhile, still half asleep, you hear some clanging of dishes downstairs and your eyes pop open wide. Quickly, you rush out of bed and downstairs, only to find Henry in the kitchen with an apron on (you would laugh if it wasn’t for the adrenaline pumping through your veins), food on the stove, groceries on the counter, and no dishes in the sink (which you’d meant to wash before but now they were gone). The kitchen was clean, and, unless you cleaned in your sleep, Henry had done it all for you and you felt even worse now than before. 

“Henry, what in God’s name are you doing here?” You startled him as he whipped his head around, his eyes wide in surprise. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I was trying to be quiet and trying so hard not to wake you. I know it’s your time of the month and I know you said not to come over, but,” Henry walked up to you, placing his hands on your waist, brushing his thumbs over your tummy. “I just couldn’t go home knowing I could be here taking care of my precious girl. I couldn’t stand by and leave you to deal with the pain all alone,” Henry finished, a sweet smile on his lips.

You loved Henry with all your heart and loved that he wanted to take care of you despite more than likely being extremely tired from filming and his trip home. But the fact that you knew how you looked right now made tears well up in your eyes as you stared into his. The other fact, unknown to you, was that all Henry could see was his magnificent girlfriend who would never cease to look anything short of stunning to him no matter what. 

“Honey, what’s wrong? Does your stomach hurt? What can I do?” He panicked. If you weren’t so aware of your mind going haywire, you would have chuckled at his absolute need to take care of you. 

You fell into tears, turning away from him and heading back up the stairs. Henry took his apron off, hanging it on the back of a chair at the island before chasing after you. “It’s just that I look absolutely horrendous. I’m still in my pjs, I haven’t had it in me to shower, I feel and look disgusting, I’m all broken out, and I’m just feeling all out insecure.” You say, sitting on the recliner in the corner of the room, placing your face in your hands, hiding from Henry who knelt down in front of you, his hands on either of your thighs. “And I was supposed to wake up this morning and clean, and I had a plan to take care of you today for once ‘cause I know you’ve got to be exhausted, but I ended up just falling asleep again, and you’re just so amazing and you’re always taking care of me. I just feel like such a bad girlfriend, and I… I…”

Henry took your hands from your face, holding them in his, making you look at him. “Baby, it’s okay. I don’t need anything more than to come home to you. And if that means being able to take care of you when you’re having a hard time, I’m more than happy to do so ‘cause I love you and I love more than anything to take care of you,” Henry smiles up at you as you sniffle. “And as for your comment about how you look, you know how I feel about that and you saying those things about yourself. It is impossible for you to ever look anything less than stunning to me. So don’t ever hide away from me. That would just deprive me of your beauty and we can’t have that now, can we?” Henry chuckled, pulling a short snicker from you, as he brushed his finger over your cheek to catch a tear. 

“Now, please let me take care of my baby girl. I bought you a few things from the store that I hope will make you feel better,” Henry smiled, taking your hands in his and lifting you from the chair. “Didn’t know what you needed so I just got you some extra supplies, as well as a bunch of chocolate and some food you crave around this time. Plus a little something special,” Henry turned to you as he led you down the stairs and winked at you, making a red blush rise to your cheeks. To this day, even after two years of being together, he never ceases to make you blush. 

Leading you to the island and lifting you up by the waist to sit on top, Henry pulled a bouquet of red roses from the pile of groceries, handing them to you. How you didn’t notice them before, you didn’t know. But they were so beautiful and he was so sweet for the precious gift. 

Henry stood between your legs, his hands on either side of your hips. “Henry, they’re gorgeous. Thank you,” You placed the flowers down beside you as you pulled Henry in for a kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck before pulling him in for a much needed hug.

“Welcome home, my love. I’m sorry that’s not the first thing I said to you,” You smiled, pulling away to look him in the eyes. “I was just very surprised to see you and I was too in my head. Didn’t realize what really mattered was right in front of me.”

“That’s quite alright, my darling. Never need to apologize. I’m just happy to be back home with you in my arms,” Henry pulled you in for another kiss. “Now, I made you lunch and your favorite dessert - brownies,” He winked at you. How you didn’t smell them before either was beyond you, but the sparkle in your widened eyes and smile sent Henry into laughter as you licked your lips. 

“Let’s get some food and water into that adorable belly of yours, shall we?” Henry placed his hands on your waist as he bent down to press a kiss to the sliver of belly beneath your tank top, making you giggle, your hand brushing through his hair. 

Henry was obsessed with your belly. You never understood why, but you guessed it might have something to do with the fact that you’ve never been a big fan of it yourself, always being insecure about it and the extra fat that’s accumulated there. He just wanted to love the parts of you that you didn’t like so that you may learn to love it all like he does. And his love for it and the constant attention has allowed you to hate it just a bit less and you were grateful for him and his love for you, not just your body.

“Then, I’ll get to taking care of my beautiful baby,” Henry smiled and kissed your forehead. And he did just that. After eating, Henry picked you up koala style (your favorite way to be held by him) and carried you upstairs and into the bathroom. Setting you down on the countertop again, he went to turn on the shower to the temperature of your liking. 

Henry came back to help you undress, lifting your tank top over your head and sliding you off the counter before taking off your underwear.

Just then, tears stung your eyes as a wave of pain struck your lower stomach and your insecurities started to come back again.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on, baby? Are you okay?” Henry questioned, his hands cupping your cheeks to lift your face to look into his concerned eyes. But you couldn’t meet his eyes as you let out a cry, your arms covering your stomach. 

“I’m so sorry. It just hurts and all of this is just so disgusting and your shouldn’t have to deal with this…” You cried and Henry followed your line of sight to your blood filled pad. He knew what you were talking about, but he didn’t understand why you were so upset about it. 

“Baby, look at me,” He placed his finger under your chin to make you look at him. “I’m here for it all. There is nothing to be sorry about. This is all normal and I know that. There is nothing disgusting about it and nothing to be embarrassed about. I hate that you’re in pain and I wish that I could take it from you. That’s why I want to be here to help you and I will be here to help you in any way I can. I will do all the heavy lifting. Just let me take care of you and it will all be okay.” Henry explained to you so it would be ingrained in your head, sympathy in his eyes. You nodded and let out a whispered thank you, not trusting your voice just yet after the tears. Henry offered a sweet smile and a kiss to your head before you went to take care of your female things while he undressed himself, ready to join you in the shower, wanting to wash off his flight. 

Henry took your brush and started running it through your hair gently, getting all the tangles out. He, then, followed you into the shower, closing the glass door behind him. Your body instantly relaxed once the hot water hit your back and shoulders. It was even better when Henry came to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You leaned back against him, reveling in the warmth and safety of his embrace. 

“You’re so wonderful, Henry. I hope you know how much I appreciate you. You never cease to show me just how much you love me and I love you so much, darling.” You look up over your shoulder at him, one of his arms wrapped around your waist and the other coming up to stroke your cheek. 

“And I love you, my precious girl. I hope you know I will never stop. I can’t imagine a world where I could ever stop loving you. There is not a single thing that could take my love away from you. And that is how it will always be,” Henry smiled a small smile, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, crading your head in his hand. 

After Henry washed your hair and body and helped you shave your legs (this man’s a freaking saint), he got out first to allow you to enjoy a few more moments of warm water on your tense muscles. Meanwhile, he went to get you and him some comfy clothes while also running downstairs to grab your supplies from the kitchen. 

You opened the glass door to be met with Henry, his towel tied around his waist, holding your own fluffy towel out for you to walk into as he wrapped it around your body. He helped you dry off before getting himself dressed while you went to put in a tampon. Turning to see him shirtless and in a pair of gray sweatpants, just as you like him, you meet Henry in the middle. He knelt down to pull your underwear up your legs, a pad already set up inside, and pulled his Royal Marines hoodie over your head. It was your favorite hoodie because it was his. It always smelled like him and felt like his hugs for whenever he couldn’t be there to hold you.

Henry took your towel and ruffled it through your hair to dry it a bit, making you laugh. He loved your laugh and it never ceased to make him smile. Twisting your hair and clipping it at the top of your head, Henry picked you up in his arms and carried you to bed. Laying you down gently against the pillows, “Get comfy, sweetheart. I’ll be right back,” Henry leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, smoothing the hair back from your forehead, before leaving to go downstairs. You took the remote from your bedside table and turned on the tv to Man of Steel. It was your favorite comfort movie. What could you say? Did it have to do with the impossibly handsome man currently in your kitchen? Maybe. 

Soon enough, Henry came back upstairs with a tray of items in his hands - a plate of four generously sized brownies, your Owala water bottle, two Advil pills, and a bowl of cut up strawberries. You smiled at just the sight of such a spectacular man (in more ways than one) coming toward you as he placed the tray on your right side before climbing into bed on your left (you sleep on the right and Henry sleeps on the left). Henry pulled the covers over your legs and pulled you into his side. 

He made sure you drink plenty of water, always making sure you were properly hydrated, and ate the snacks he brought up, having heard your tummy make noises just after getting out of the shower. You took the Advil as well, hoping to keep the cramps at bay if you kept on the medicine. 

Once you were done with the brownies (two for you and two for Henry), you slid down to lay your head on Henry’s chest, your legs pulled up over his. He held you tight against him, one arm around your back and the other rubbing your belly. Being back in Henry’s arms made you feel so safe and secure, and you were so comfortable, you began to drift off. Your eyes became heavy, the toil of your emotions and hormones getting the best of you.

Henry looked down to see you struggling to stay awake. “Sleep, my love. It’s alright. I’ll be here when you wake,” He brushed his fingers through your hair, soothing you into a deep sleep in the warm embrace of the love of your life.

[medlarmeadows]

Hiya! I was wondering if you could do a cc!charlie/gn!reader where they have a friendly sleepover BUT as the night goes on it get more and more romantic :3c and may there be cuddling and kisses please and ty.

P.s have a nice day/night ^-^

i'm so sorry i took basically a whole month to get this done! i hope my writing has done your request justice :) hope you're having a nice day/night!

(also i wrote this with charlie's Another Crab's Treasure vod playing in the background. it was a huge distraction, i don't know why i did that)

-

can i kiss you sleepover?

cc!Charlie Slimecicle x gn!reader

Warning(s): light cursing, one piss joke, they kiss.

Word Count: 1.25k

masterlist | request guidelines

Sleepovers at either Charlie’s or your apartment were pretty common. With the two of you living on opposite sides of the city, all it took was a movie night ending too late or a drink too many in someone’s system to get one of you to announce that a sleepover was in order.

(It was to prevent either of you from having to travel home in the middle of the night, and absolutely not because you both wanted an excuse to spend more time together.)

The night started as most nights did, with you popping over to Charlie’s place for dinner. What surprised you, though, was that instead of your usual takeout, he had decided to chef it up in the kitchen.

“Whoa,” you said when you arrived, inviting yourself in and dropping off the snacks you had bought on the kitchen counter. “So, this is why you didn’t want to grab snacks with me today.”

“I had a lot of ingredients I had to use up,” he replies nonchalantly, giving you a one shoulder shrug. “Thought a change in our routine couldn’t hurt.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, leaning against the dining table while he sets the food down. You try to ignore how pinpricks shoot up your arm when he brushes against your arm.

“Is this how our friendship has devolved? You’re throwing your leftovers at me?”

Charlie nearly trips on the way back to the table with two wine glasses in hand. You double over laughing, and thus fail to catch the way the tips of his ears turn red.

“I’m joking, I’m joking.”

You spend dinner catching up with each other’s weeks, with a few jokes thrown in courtesy of Charlie attempting to serve wine as professionally as he can. It contributes to the slightly romantic atmosphere of the dinner, but you choose not to acknowledge it.

After dinner, you force Charlie out of the kitchen so that you could clean up (it was the least you could do to repay his romantic well-prepared dinner). It’s a few minutes later that you join him in the living room for the official start to your movie night.

Usually, you sit side by side on the couch, not too close and not too far from each other. But the couch feels a little small today as you’re forced to share one blanket (“Sorry, the other one’s in the washer.” “What, did you piss on it? Little piss boy?” “Fuck off.”).

Charlie fidgets throughout the first movie, but you don’t mind it. When the second film starts playing, he moves one arm to rest on the couch behind your head. The hand that rests next to your next starts fidgeting with your hair, making the flesh of your neck goosebump when his fingers get close.

You distract yourself from his antics by stuffing your face with crisps. You were close friends who were comfortable being physically close to each other. You hugged all the time. You spent a lot of time together.

You try to convince yourself that it wasn’t that deep.

Several hours later, it was to no one’s surprise that, when you finished watching the fourth Pirates of the Caribbean film, Charlie announced that it was too late for you to Uber back home.

“Dude, I can’t believe it’s already 3 am,” he comments as he gets up to throw the empty crisp packets.

“Is it?” you ask between yawns, stretching out over the cushions he had previously occupied. Your eyes are halfway closing when he comes back to unceremoniously yank the blanket off you.

“What the hell!” you yell at him, throwing a pillow at him in hopes to wipe off the cheeky grin from his face.

The pillow didn’t deter him from coming closer, prompting you to pick up another pillow to smack him with. However, he catches you off-guard by snatching the pillow from you. You reflexively tighten your grip on the pillow, causing you to stumble right into Charlie.

Stunned, you look up at him, his wide-eyed gaze meeting yours.

“Hi,” you mumble awkwardly.

“Hi,” he replies, a mischievous grin lighting his face up.

Charlie lightly shoves you away from himself, bending to grab the first pillow you had thrown at him. With a declaration of war, he chases you around the coffee table, the movie credits still rolling on the TV screen providing some dramatic background music.

You feel your inner child light up inside you as you evade Charlie’s grasp, letting out cheerful yelps despite it being the middle of the night and you might get noise complaints. However, caught up in the gleefulness of your mini tag game, you trip on the edge of the coffee table and send yourself hurtling into the couch.

“Holy shi- ”

Behind you, Charlie’s unable to stop his momentum. In a split second, he’s sent tumbling on top of you, the pillow that he was holding somewhat cushioning his fall so he didn’t full body slam into you.

There you lie on Charlie’s couch, caged by his arms which had mercifully landed next to your face and not on it. His messy hair looked even messier after running several rounds around his living room, and you resist the urge to run your fingers through them.

You’re captured next by his blue eyes, still shining with something familiar, but with an added emotion that you’re sure is mirrored in yours. You’re so close to each other you’re practically breathing in each other’s breath, and you can’t help your eyes from straying to glance down at his lips.

When you glance back up to his eyes, you catch him shifting his gaze as well, causing your breath to hitch. You catch the moment he clocks that you’d done the same thing he did as he moves just an inch closer to you.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” your response is just as breathy.

Charlie studies your expression carefully, almost as though drinking in your features he had never seen so up close before. Then:

“Can I kiss you?”

You blink once. Then twice. Then:

“Yes, please.”

Charlie crosses the space between you two within the blink of an eye. His lips capture yours, and you finally understand how people could describe a kiss as sweet. Because now that you’ve tasted Charlie’s lips on yours, you’re not sure even honey could compare.

You’re not sure how long you stay locked in each other’s embrace. One of your hands come up to gently thread through Charlie’s hair, eliciting a sigh from the man. When you come up for breath, the movie credits are no longer rolling.

“Wow,” you say, breathless.

“Definitely wow,” he repeats, breathing just as heavily as you are.

“Why haven’t we done that before?” you ask in between a yawn.

“I don’t know.” He takes a second to smile fondly at your yawn. “Sleepy?”

You nod, further relaxing into his hold. “Between the movies and the running around, I’m pretty tired out.”

Charlie hums his acknowledgement before getting off you to stand. Suddenly, he scoops you up in his arms, causing you yelp and loop your arms around his neck.

“Charlie!”

“It’s snuggle time!” he crows, carrying you to his bedroom.

The night ends with you and Charlie snug under his blankets. The weight of his arm around your waist and the feeling of his heartbeat against your back slowly lulled you into what could’ve been the most comfortable sleep you’ve ever had.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! Sugar daddy x "pure"! Reader

EEEEEEEEE Time to write my baby, the fruit of my dark rofan loins (jk) Basically, this yandere is my first yandere OC and when I gave life (lol) to him in Char/ai yesterday, I just knew he had to be next.

Also, I contemplated what title to give him since he's also a mafia boss, but I decided to go with Sugar daddy since it's the most integral part of his story.

Also, "pure" just means that you dress light, really. But in Rowan's eyes, you were like an angel, a pure being that he needs to taint (oops spoiler)

Yandere! Sugar daddy name: Rowan Silas (Yes, he even has a last name)

notes: Rowan is not old, OLD. He's not a Dilf/Gilf level sugar daddy. In his lore with my other OC (his love interest), he's older by five years. Also, reader has a womb, due to mentions of pregnancy (why did I do this pregnancy shit twice? Dunno really.)

TW: noncon pregnancy, trackers, nsfw stuff

ALSO, REQUESTS ARE OPEN <3 (I don't even know if people will request but LOL just in case.)

The man only knew pain and crime all his life.

He never experienced anything good, apart from gunning down his enemies alive if that even means the same as what people deem as "good".

His life of crime was because of his adoptive father, who picked him up from the slums to become one of his personnel.

He was only seven by then. But his hands stained with blood as he killed the other kid who drowned his precious pet kitten in the lake. That's where his father knew that Rowan is not normal.

I mean, who would sport a smile while choking his fellow kid alive?

All Rowan said was "He deserved it though."

"He took what's precious from me."

That was enough to make his father set him straight to become the heir of the mafia family.

He grew up battered and bruised yet the vices he only knew is his smoking from his precious churchwarden pipe, and violence.

He told his father that it was enough for him.

Yet his body raged on, wanting more and more as greed consumed him for more.

Yes, he's a greedy man who wants more.

After all, he had nothing, then had one precious thing, then lost that thing. And then, when he eliminated the person who stole his precious thing, he got everything.

Did that make sense? To Rowan, it didn't.

He already got everything, but why does he want more?

So with a clean shot to the head, he killed his father and immediately inherited the family.

Now, he can spend the money and the resources as much as he wants. So he did. He went to casinos, brothels, luxury hotels and cruises. Everything he thinks that he needs.

But he still wants more. He still needs more.

And by god, he did get more.

He bumped into you one day, with you in your soft outfit of creams and pastels. Your pure, clean eyes made his heart skip a beat as you said sorry to him.

His greed triggered.

He wanted you so bad.

When he learned you needed a job when he saw your folder filled with resumes, he felt like he won the lottery.

"How about becoming my sugar baby? Don't worry, I won't ask anything. Much."

And as your cute figure pondered what to do, he smirked. You, in the middle of his dim office, in light clothing and an innocent face, was such a contrast in the dark office filled with his smoke from his beloved churchwarden pipe. You stuck out like a sore thumb, and he liked it.

He loved it.

And as your lips dropped the answer he wanted to hear, he shivered and gave you a lopsided smile.

"Good. Now, what do you want, love?"

Rowan sat down on his office chair, he cracked his neck and sighed.

He was bone tired. He just finished a cartel mission that he himself as the boss had to interfere. It was annoying because it was due to his incompetent new recruits.

At least they're sleeping with the "fishies", as what you call the finned sea creatures.

He grabbed something from his pocket and brought it up to his face. It was an intricate jeweled choker with a lot of rose gold arcs, jewels that match your eyes, and a diamond encrusted opal centerpiece.

He imagined you wearing it. Wrapping the choker on your neck himself, seeing your eyes flash in wonder and amazement. He imagined you also getting shy and saying that it was too expensive, and him saying that it was okay, and he wanted to give you this entirely by his own volition. And he got excited.

...In one way or another.

He chuckled and shook his head, swinging on his swivel chair as he dialed your number.

After two rings, you picked up.

"Love, come here. I got a gift for you."

You whined, getting shy again. He chuckled.

"You know what I say, I don't want to hear you say no. So come here now."

So you did.

Once you got there, he smiled and kissed your lips softly, bringing you close to him by your waist and lifting you up easily with his tatted arms.

"Come, I'll give you the present myself."

You got curious naturally.

He settled you in front of the floor length mirror which also saw... Much more intimate and sensual things you both did other than this gift giving thing he's doing.

Rowan slowly grabbed your hair and raised it, making you shiver with goosebumps from the action. He smirked, seeing you so flustered from the simple act of him grabbing your hair.

Well, that, and he also liked to grab your hair a lot while fucking you senselessly. There's that too.

You closed your eyes when he told you too, and you felt the familiar cold sensation of jewelry resting on your neck. But this time, it hugged it, making you open your eyes. It was the beautiful choker he was admiring earlier.

"Do you love it?" Rowan asked, looking at you through the mirror as he rested his chin on your shoulder. You nodded enthusiastically and said yes. He smirked.

This was the first time you didn't say to take the gift back with such a flustered apprehensive look. You're starting to get greedy.

He loved that. A lot.

"Now, how about you kiss me in return, hmm?" You rolled your eyes and gently kissed him. You know this day is not just going to end in a kiss.

But you didn't mind.

And he knows that.

You went home that day with Rowan driving you. He gave you more gifts that you shyly accepted once more, making Rowan shiver in glee. Again, you didn't reject them at all.

You're slowly getting tainted by his greediness.

And hopefully, you will be greedy enough to bring up your relationship to him, and tell him that you wanted more to this.

That you wanted his love.

Oh, he trembles at the thought.

It's not a question of if, but when, after all.

But now, he's just slowly moving forward with your relationship. Slow and steady wins the race, after all. Despite him living such a fast paced life, he knows he's patient enough to wait for you.

But if you backtracked and got out of his tight grasp...

Let's just say that the tracker he planted on your laptop, your phone, and now your precious choker will help him find you if you ran away.

You were the light to his dark, dreary life.

He'll be crazy enough to let you go.

And he's already crazy about you.

That's why he's making you addicted to him also. Showering you with gifts and love. Praising your body, worshipping it, pleasing it until you reach the heavens like the angel you are.

And if you still didn't want him... Let's just say the condoms with holes in them that he himself poked will do the trick.

It was a dirty tactic. But who cares? He's a mafia boss for god's sake. Dirty tactics aren't new to him.

And if you still somehow didn't end up pregnant and got to run away, he'll use his influence to find you.

You got no escape.

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

You were his love. His greed.

With a drag of his churchwarden pipe, he drove off to plan your wedding.

You were going to be his after all.

No matter what.

I don't know if I did my baby Rowan justice i'm going crazY FUCK.

Can you guys tell I have favoritism? Because I do LOL

[sleepingpillscosmos]

one sitting on the counter as the other grabs a spoon + pint of ice cream from the fridge and feeds it to their lover.

with love of my life megumi fushiguro !!!!

TAKING CARE — megumi fushiguro

pairing: megumi fushiguro x fem!reader.

warnings/content: reader is drunk. idk if it's a warning but megumi and reader share a spoon.

wc: 1.1k.

requested: yes, by anon.

a/n: I was really exited to write this! it's my favourite prompt and someone requested it for one of my favourite characters as well! I'm behind with the event requests, but today I'll post at least another one! sorry but recently I've been really busy :(

prompt: one sitting on the counter as the other grabs a spoon + pint of ice cream from the fridge and feeds it to their lover.

It was 1:30 am and Megumi was sitting on his couch, watching some random show he found on tv several minutes ago. He couldn't sleep, he didn't know exactly why, probably the reason was the long nap he took this afternoon.

He checked his phone, looking if he had any new notifications, but nothing new appeared. He sighed and turned his gaze back to the tv.

He was starting to doze off on his couch, but the doorbell rang, making him flinch for the sudden noise. He got up from the couch, making his way to the door. He opened the door, immediately squinting his eyes in surprise. In front of him appeared Nobara and Itadori, the latter holding you, with your arm around his neck and his around your middle to help you stand.

"What happened?" Megumi asked, sighing, already knowing what his friends were about to say.

"We went out to drink something," Nobara explained and Megumi nodded. You mentioned your plans to him this afternoon. "And she had a little too much..".

Megumi's eyes went back on you. You were still all over Yūji, probably fast asleep.

He sighed, lifting his arms towards you. "Come on, give her to me.".

Itadori immediately obliged, moving to pass you over to Megumi. He grabbed you, grunting slightly once your full weight was on him. With all this movement, you woke up.

You looked up confused.

"'Gumi!" You exclaimed when you realised who was holding you. "I missed you so much.".

You hugged your boyfriend tightly wrapping your arms around his neck, giving some sort of relief to Megumi when you lifted some of your weight off of him.

"Hi, missed you too." Megumi smiled softly to you, forgetting for a moment that your two friends were still in front of you. Yūji was smiling slightly and Nobara was trying not to laugh at his friend's lovesick face.

"I'm really tired.." You said, resting your head on Megumi's shoulder. "I know. Let's go to bed, okay?".

You nodded leaving a kiss on his neck and snuggling deeper in his embrace.

"Thank you for bringing her here. See you soon." He said to his friend before closing the door behind him.

"Are you able to walk?" He asked, his arms still around you to support you. "Don't know.".

He let out a deep breath, then he signed to you to jump by moving his hands behind your thighs. You jumped, immediately wrapping your arms and legs around Megumi.

He started to walk to his bathroom and once he entered the room he put you down on the counter.

"I want to sleep 'gumi, you said we were going to bed." you whined rubbing your eyes with your hands. "I know, but first you need to wash your face and take off your makeup.".

He opened the cabinet beside you, where you kept all your things so that you didn't have to bring them with you every time you stayed over at his apartment. He grabbed your make up remover and some cotton disks.

You closed your eyes for him, so that he could start removing everything you had on your face. He gently cleaned all your face, then he grabbed your cream and applied it to your face, trying to imitate the same movements you did every time he saw you apply it.

Once he was finished, he put everything back into the cabinets and tidied up the counter.

You still had your eyes closed and Megumi understood that you fell asleep again. He shook your legs gently and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead to wake you up, which fortunately worked.

"Megumi" You called for him, your eyes half closed. He hummed in response.

"Do you still have the ice cream we bought some days ago?" You mumbled, he raised one eyebrow "..yes".

"I want some ice cream." You said smiling, making the big doe eyes at which he couldn't say no. He sighed, then he proceeded to lift you up again to go to the kitchen.

He put you down on the kitchen counter, he opened the freezer and took your favorite flavour of ice cream. He handed it to you while he grabbed a spoon from the drawer.

Megumi passed you the spoon, leaning beside you on the counter. You took it, offering him a big smile.

You were struggling to open the ice cream, scrunching your face and using all the strength you had.

Megumi chuckled at you, taking everything from your hands. He opened the container effortlessly, then he took a spoonful of ice cream.

He positioned himself between your open legs, taking the spoon in front of your mouth. You ate the ice cream, smiling at the sweet taste of it.

"It's cold." You stated and Megumi looked at you unsurprised, "It's called ice cream for a reason..".

"Oh don't get so smart with me, I was just saying" You said to him. He hummed while he grabbed another spoonful of it.

You ate the ice cream in silence, Megumi continued feeding it to you, stealing some spoonfuls for himself. Once you were satisfied with the amount you ate, he put the ice cream back into the freezer and quickly washed the spoon to put it back in the drawer.

He came back to you and you hugged him, thanking him and asking if now you could go to bed. He nodded and lifted you once again to finally go to his bedroom.

He had his hands under your thighs, while you wrapped yourself around his frame.

Once he entered his bedroom, he gently put you on the bed, where you settled comfortably on your side of the bed waiting for Megumi to switch off the lights and finally go to sleep.

When he settled in the bed as well, you immediately hugged him, moving one of your legs over his hip.

"Thank you." you quietly mumbled, your cheek attached to his chest, "For the ice cream?".

"For taking care of me. Love you." you said, already dozing off to sleep. Megumi looked down at your frame, smiling softly as he felt the heat creeping on his neck and face.

"Always, love you too." He answered even if he was sure you couldn't hear because you were already sleeping. He kissed the top of your head, then he closed his eyes, going to sleep with a stupid smile on his face.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hii! Let me start by saying I've binged most of your Tangerine and Pietro's works and I absolutely loved it 🤌🏻

If you're still accepting requests, could you write for fwb! Tangerine, after you told him that you should be just friends (bc of what he does for a living) but eventually cave in when he gets back from a mission? (mix of smut and fluff if possible).

Thank you <3

hii angel!! tehe yes ive seen you around, and tysm☹️okay I really love this !! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

MEET IN THE MIDDLE

tangerine x female reader

wc. 1107

cw. 18+ only!! spoiler alert but he tears readers clothing bc he's a desperate horny mess and it's hot as shit, unprepped and unprotected sex, pinv. mdni

Since you put a cool on your contractual relationship with Tangerine a month ago, you've delved back into that state of solemn longing. Putting an end to many months' worth of great sex wasn't easy - it really wasn't, and as much as you started to fall for the guy, you just couldn't seem to get over what he did for a living. 

No matter how much you pushed down that feeling of unease, you could not get past it.  

That was until ten days ago, when he texted you on a random tuesday, telling you he was leaving for work to South Africa, seeing if you wanted to meet when he returns. Since that text, he's been your every thought - every notion in your mind. 

The idea of him leaving for a dangerous job abroad struck panic and dread within you - the thought of him getting hurt without him knowing how much you really felt about him was something you could not bear to stomach.

After that text, you've been counting off the days until you could see him again, waiting until you get that confirmation he's okay and safe. 

It was finally the day Tangerine returns home from his trip, and it was singularly the only day of happiness you felt since calling things off. You both occasionally texted while he was away, only conversing when he had time to spare, talking about the plan for when he comes back. You settled on your place; he would go home, clean himself up and pop by yours for a casual, friendly night in - like old times.

Your door knocks in that familiar pattern you've grown to know so well, and you immediately rush to answer it - a bright smile as you peek through the gap, looking at Tangerine on the other side with a grin as sincere as yours.

"Oh my god," you gush, instantly wrapping him in a tight hug. You pull away, awkward eyes diverting from his awe-filled ones. "Sorry, sorry— that was too much. It's just..." you breathe, meeting his gaze. "Really good to see you."

"I missed you," he admits, speaking confidently. "But... didn't think you'd actually wanna see me."

Your smile resurfaces, and you pause. That wasn't true - you couldn't wait to see Tangerine again. 

Since you had time to call down during the time apart, you've grown to realise that his job didn't define him as a person and that, at the core of it, it doesn't really matter. He isn't some abhorrent, abusive mercenary - he is someone who loves and cares deeply, someone who is sweet and thoughtful, no matter how hard they pretend they're not.

"Bull," you joke, sweet eyes staying glued to his - like they were taking him all in, seeing him in the flesh for the first time again. "That's not true."

He steps into your house and kicks off his shoes, making himself at home. "No?"

"No," you shake your head, soft yet stern movements as you move to close the door behind him. "Not at all."

You turn around to meet him, though now, he's closed the gap between you by a foot, standing in front of you with his hands itching up towards you, making tentative movements to the sides of your face. 

His gaze remains lidded as he places his palms over either cheek, cupping you in his hands. "You mean that?"

You nod in his hold, murmuring your agreement - far too concerned about the weak sound you'd make if you spoke. 

"Yeah?" he weakly smiles, slowly leaning in towards you. 

"Yeah," you repeat, meeting him in the middle for a kiss, melting into the soft and sweet contact you've since longed for. 

He parts -barely- whispering against your lips. "Good."

His grip on your face firms as he brings you back in, kissing you more urgently this time, as if that little peck wasn't enough to satiate the need. It grows carnal, more desperate - hungrily kissing as he pushes you up against the front door. 

Your hands roam him ever so familiarly, trailing over his stubbly jaw as you hold him to you - keeping him close. You murmur a faint moan into his mouth as you feel him chub up against you, his hardening cock prodding at your lower stomach through his lounge shorts.

"Fuck," he muffles roughly between your lips, slipping a hand behind your neck - fist tightening at the root. 

"Been so long," you whisper, your voice weak as you catch your breath between breaks.

"Too fuckin' long," he adds.

He peels you from the door and walks you backwards into your living room - guiding you to the sofa within his sure hold. He keeps his lips glued to yours as he lays you down on the cushion, hovering atop as he situates himself between your spread thighs.

"Do you like these?" he asks, tugging on your pyjama bottoms.

"Yeah," you hum, snaking your hand between yourselves - reaching for his waistband.

"Alright, I'll buy'ya a new pair," he replies, voice hoarse as he slips himself from your tight grasp, sitting up on his heels. 

He places both large hands between your thighs, meeting at your crotch as he tears a hole in the fabric - giving him perfect access to your pussy.

The motion catches you by surprise, sending a deep shiver down your spine as you peek down between your thighs - seeing the frayed material right by your cunt, looking at the consequence of his desperation. 

Your chest rises and falls heavily, intense, short breaths as you peer up at him, eyes flickering over him in a way that mirrors his own. 

He slides his hand down the front of his shorts, delving into his boxers as he pulls his dick out the waistband, rolling over his length in his palm. His grip slips down to the head of his cock, thumb resting on the upperside as he guides himself towards you - parting your underwear aside with his spare hand. He slowly eases his tip into you, savouring that first initial fluttering stretch of your unprepped pussy, relishing the feeling of you needily swallowing more of him.

He strips from his hoodie and throws it aside, leaning back over you so his chest is flush up against you, hands instinctively cupping your face as he peppers your jaw in quick kisses. 

 "Fuck— I missed you," he murmurs as he slowly begins to roll his hips into you, grinding into you with easy, gentle strokes.

You guys have a lot to catch up on. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[not-5-rats]

Okay but like...I genuinly feel bad, for some of the angst I post, I feel like I just spout negativity and whilst yes I LOVE writing it & honestly seeing people have actual feelings due to it makes me feel proud of my work but I feel so guilty. I don't wanna just be a bundle of sadness, I like being known for my angst, but I don't want you guys to think that's all I am. Sadness is an intense part of life but I feel like I might talk abt it too much and if you feel that way pls just tell me to hush, sorry dudes for this and the rant. Anyways here's some comfort from our Gator Dad (I think we could all use it)

☆×.------------------------.×☆

"You aren't a bad person Bug, you've proven that over and over"

☆---------------☆

Why did they ever think that was okay?

Bug was sat in Marco's bed, it was the middle of the night, owls were hooting somewhere outside and there was a harsh breeze blowing in through a slight cracking in the window. Their knees were hunched up against their chest, they were trembling, tears already slowly spilling from their eyes. Bodie had already went to bed so they thought they could do the same...but the second they were alone their thoughts took a hurtful turn.

They began to think about their work before they found Bodie, for so long they had targeted living creatures, catching them and either selling them into a life of torment/ torture or....sending them to their deaths. Bug thought of all the lives they had ruined, the families they had torn apart, all the innocent half-bloods that had experienced unspeakable pain because of their actions. The worst part, in their mind, was that at the time they didn't see anything wrong with what they did...if anything they saw themself as a hero, a protector of others...ha...a protector. They couldn't believe that they never took a second to consider what they were doing, they just did whatever they were told to by the higher ups, never questioning it...in Bugs mind this made them an awful person. They didn't deserve any of what they currently had. After all the shit they'd done they didn't deserve the bed they sat on, the food they ate earlier that day...they didn't deserve to know the individual that lay asleep in the room across from them.

The tried to dry their tears but as their hands reached up to wipe them all they could see was a red stain covering their palms...the blood that would forever be on their hands. As they stared at each finger, covered in the dull red glow, their breathing became staggered, they felt their throat close up. Desperately they attempted to scratch the stains from their hands, to clean themself of their regrets but alas it was all in vain...the colour could never be removed, they knew this deep down, even if they'd never directly taken a life they'd sent so many to their deaths they may as well have taken it on their own. They were so caught in in their panic and delusion that they didn't notice the figure now looming in the doorway, they didn't even notice as it began to wander closer, it wasn't until they spoke that Bug finally noticed that they weren't alone;

"Bug? What you doing up this late?"

Bodie walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, ensuring Bug had some space to themself but so that they also knew he was there for them if they needed him. They stammered slightly as they tried to compose themself enough to answer...they could barely breath, when they finally found the air, their words were still shaky and at points barely legible. They told him that they were just struggling to sleep, they were alright, just couldn't doze off. Safe to say Bodie wasn't buying that shit. He shifted closer to them and opened his arms, offering a hug...but Bug didn't make any move to accept his offer, this is when he knew something was very wrong, sure Bug wasn't always a super physical person but they never, NEVER, refused a hug;

"*Bug* I don't mean to pry but it's pretty obvious you ain't alright, I ain't gonna judge you! Whatever it is...you can tell me about it"

There was a moment of silence as Bug stared out the window, their heart ached, they knew they couldn't keep this to themself...not anymore, they felt as though they'd implode if they tried to keep it in much longer. They turned to finally look at the gator, their eyes were swollen and blood-shot, the skin surrounding them puffed slightly and their lips were trembling as they held back wails. Bodie went to speak, reassure them that they can talk to him, but before he could get a single word in Bug collapsed against his chest, into his arms.

They began to ramble about their feelings, about how guilty they felt for everything they'd done, that they never felt they could ever be free from the awful tragedies they caused, that no matter what they did they would remain an unredeemable monster, a sick murderer who sealed many people's fate with no shame, they were a terrible person...with no hope of redemption. They feared they were going on too much but with Bodies warm arms wrapped around them they couldn't help it, his presence was just so comforting they felt so safe...so secure...they could never deserve this. As their voice slowly faded out Bodies arms tightened slightly, his hand reaching up and gently rubbing the tears from their face. He allowed them to sit there in silence for a minute, so that Bug could stabalise their breathing and maybe even calm down a bit, he then decided to attempt and comfort them. When he spoke his voice was barely more than a whisper;

"You wanna know something Bug? Bad people don't feel guilt for doing bad things, so just by being upset about what you did you show that you're not as bad a person as you claim"

He could tell Bug wasn't entierly convinced, so he sighed quietly before continuing, as he kept speaking Bug looked up at him, their teary eyes meeting his. The care he felt threatened to bring tears into their eyes once more...he really cared about them...after everything;

"You aren't a bad person Bug, you've proven that over and over. It must be hard for you to belive that but I know you, and I can tell you without a single doubt that you are a great person, you may have made mistakes...but hey we all have...you can't solely judge yourself on the mistakes you've made in the past cause then you're not really judging yourself, you're judging the past and that's no use to anybody"

Bodie smiled down at them...and that caused a meek smile to slide onto Bug's face. Bodie gently ran a hand through their hair, shifting strands out of their face and gently brushing it with his fingers. Bug felt like a child, a small kid in the arms of a parent, they felt comfortable, safe, like nothing could ever hurt them. They felt their eyelids grow heavy and just before they passed out they heard Bodie's voice once more;

"You're a sweetheart Bug, you really are such a lovely person...and I'm so proud of you for who you are"

With that their eyes finally fell shut and they fell into the best sleep they've had in a long time

[porchlightfairy]

Sleepover

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: A storm traps Eddie at your house and you have an impromptu sleepover. And Eddie is a nervous wreck.

word count: 750

a/n: a short and shitty fic I used as an exercise to see if I can still write. get back into the flow y’know?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

Eddie couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated. It was the middle of the night and there was a raging storm outside and he was stuck at your house. Not that he didn’t mind it either but this would be the first time since you two got together that he would be sleeping over. In your house, in your room, maybe even in your bed. He watches you from the floor as you get ready for bed. 

He purses his lips as he sees you stare at yourself in the mirror and wash your face. “Hey, Eddie, I’ve probably got some old shirts my dad gave me that you can wear to sleep if you want.”

“I’m good.” He swallows harshly.

You pause for a moment and turn to him. He was still wearing his shoes, “You’re good?”

“Yep.” He gives a tight lipped smile. You can’t help but laugh before leaving the bathroom and digging through your dresser and giving him a shirt. He takes it before getting up and walking to the bathroom to change, “You don’t mind me in my underwear, do you?”

You shake your head, half paying attention as you walk around your room cleaning up the floor. Eddie swallows hard before closing the door and getting changed.

When he exits he is in the shirt and his underwear. You lay on your bed with a smile. “So handsome~” you joke. He rolls his eyes before looking around the room awkwardly. The rain splashed down your window. The storm winds still roar outside. The sound fills the silences.

“Are you going to get in the bed?” You ask. 

Eddie blinks a few times in surprise, “In the bed? Me? There with you?”

“Yes Eddie, where else are you going to sleep.”

His hands clam up. Holy shit, he was going to lay in your bed. Lay next to you in your bed. Yeah sure you’ve cuddled before but never have you both been unconscious at the same time. Never have you been so intimate like this.

Slowly he slides under the covers next to you. You smile at him reassuringly, “Goodnight.” You say  before turning over and closing your eyes. “Goodnight,” Eddie stays on his back stiff as a board next to you. He clings to the edge of the bed afraid of moving a muscle. He can’t even close his eyes. He turns his head and watches your back as you sleep.

He doesn’t dare move from his spot. You stir a little before turning over now facing him. You have a look of serenity on your face. He smiles at the sight but he can’t help but get nervous. You’ve fallen asleep next to him before but he always woke you. He had never slept next to you, been so vulnerable with you before. Why was it so hard for him?

As if you could sense his tense gaze you slowly opened your eyes, “What’s the matter, baby?” You ask. He tries to play it off and shrugs. “Nothing… Don’t worry about it.”

“You know, you've been acting weird since I insisted you stay the night. Did you not want to?” You sit up and look up at him in concern.

“No, no, I did. I still do. I just…” He turns to face you then clears his throat, “I just wanted our first time to be special.”

“First time? Our first sleepover?” You feel a smile tug at the corners of your lips. 

“Yeah.” He looks away bashfully, “I wanted it to be for good reason you know. Not just because of a stupid storm. A nice date, not wearing your dad’s old shirt and just in my underwear, and I’m not absolutely terrified of closing my eyes.”

You give him a playful pout before pulling him closer, “Well I think it is special. Mother nature has trapped you here with me. You are wearing MY shirt and you are right next to me. It’s everything I dreamed about. Except…” You grab his hands gently and pull him closer into the bed. You are now inches apart, “You'll hold me?”

He smiles as he looks down at you, “When you put it that way, I guess it is special.” He moves his hand across your body resting it on your back. You peck his lips gently. “Very special,” he mutters.

Almost instantly sleep overtakes him. Tensing his muscles really did a number on him. As he sleeps, he hears the sound of your breathing and he begins to dream about you.

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

Bathroom Moth Fly - Clogmia albipunctata

Insects truly are amazing creatures, aren't they. Just when one thinks that they've seen it all, nature finds another way to surprise them, such is the case with this strange specimen. At a casual glance, this individual appears to be a small tufted Moth with broad wings and feathered antennae. However, there's a problem: only one pair of wings, meaning this insect has to be a Fly, and that's exactly what it is! Yes, really! Specifically, this Fly is a member of the subfamily known as Psychodinae, or Moth Flies, naturally owing to the aforementioned resemblance. While similar in appearance, they could not be further apart with regards to certain behaviors and adaptations. Most prominently, the larvae of Psychodinae are prominent in sewage systems and bathroom drains rather than verdant fields. There they feed on developing algae and bacteria within plumbing muck and pipes. It may be dirty work, but it's very useful for urban environments as they can act as natural purifiers. This is an offshoot of their role within the natural environment whereby they act as detritivores by streams, ponds and other moist, decay-filled environments such as within leaf litter.

From my own research, they're hardly pests given their muck-feeding, but their presence may be unpleasant. Many of them may indicate there is uncleanliness afoot (similar to the Common Silverfish, another misunderstood bathroom resident). If you find a similar insect in your bathroom, take it as a sign that clean up may be needed. After a fill of filth, the larvae pupate within the same filth, emerging after some time as a tuft-haired specimen like the one seen here. When they take to the air, they can begin feeding on sources of nectar, but some may continue to feed near their water source. It sounds strange, but lest we forget that some Butterflies obtain valuable nutrients by sipping them from mud. Speaking of, even as I write I'm very amazed by how close the resemblance of this specie is to a small, compact Moth, down to the plumage on the thorax and the positioning of the eyes. Many Moth Fly specimens look similar to each other, but it seems that this specie is easy to identify as long as the following characteristics are met. There should be 2 spots visible in the middle of each wing, the antennae and Fly's leg segments should be white, and there must be white spots around the edge of the wings. That's a match here!

Pictures were taken on August 21, 2024 in Hamilton with a Google Pixel 4. I did wash my hands after handling this specimen...after research began.

[jessij1997]

Hello can I request for #8? Thank you :)

I hope you mean the smut prompt list and I'm right to write #8 "You're sexy when you're angry". If not ask me again to write the other prompt. Have fun 😁

Ian woke up by clattering dishes in the kitchen. His eyes small and tired he rolled onto his stomach and a cold pillow next to him. No Mickey. No warm body. No cuddling. He sights and looked onto his phone. 8am. He sights again and swung his feet out of the bed. He sleepy rubbed over his eyes and dressed himself in only a boxershort.

Again loud clattering dishes from the kitchen catched his attention. Was Mickey making breakfast?

He stood up and after he used the bathroom he went to the kitchen.

Their apartment wasn't the biggest and so wasn't the kitchen. The white kitchenfronts were a extreme contrast to Mickeys black hair.

"Morning my love" Ian smiled and leaned against the doorframe.

Mickey turned around and cold eyes looked to him. "Fuck you" he says and turned around again to stir in the pan with bacon and eggs.

"I know you are grumpy in the morning but you didn't think it's a bit to harsh?" Ian stepped forward to his husband but didn't touched him. When Mickey was like this he has a short fuse and could explore every second. "What's wrong babe?" Ian asked gently.

"Let me the fuck alone. And don't baby me right now. I'm angry." He didn't looked up from the pan and Ian knew it wasn't this angry. He was, yes. But not this 'I'll punch you in your face'- angry. After all these years he knew Mickey so well.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing"

"Mickey" he layed a hand on Mickeys shoulder.

"Your fucking sister" He began but stopped himself from continuing.

"Which one?"

"Debora" His jaw clenched.

"Oh" Ian knew he only used her full name when he was really angry. He want to know what's happened but decided to not to push. Maybe it was better.

Mickey got two plates out of the shelf and handled them to Ian. Every move was full of anger.

When they sat down on their kitchen table and ate, Mickey was still angry. He rammed the fork into the scrambled eggs as if it were Debby's face. But Ian didn't push. He tried another strategy and distract his husband.

"You're sexy when you're angry." He smiled over the table. And with that sentence it seemed as if he had awakened something in Mickey. He stared over the table in Ians eyes, dropped his fork and stood up. Without another word he pushed his chair back and pulled his boxershorts down to his ankles. While he stepped out of his own he pulled Ians cock out. Ian couldn't help himself but grinned when Mickey spit on his dick and sat himself in his lap.

"Mickey? You're sure? Without any-" He was cutting off by the feeling of Mickeys warm hole around himself.

Without any preparation he sank down the entire length.

Ian saw the pain in Mickeys face fade by pleasure and desire.

"Ah shit. Ian." Mickey moaned deep when he began to move. His arms on Ians shoulders, his eyes closed.

Ian wrapped his arms around his middle and held him close, melted into his movements and moaned into his neck. Long fingers grabbed his hips and helped him to move up and down, forwards and backwards, bruised the flesh and wandered to his cock. He was close and Mickey too when he began to stroke his husband in the same rhythm he moved his hips.

"Fuck Ian" he breathed.

"C'mon Mick. Fuck me. Harder. Faster. C'mon." Ian was not this vocal during sex but he felt Mickey needed it right now.

With the last of his strength he bounced harder and faster and when Ian heared the deep moan and feels the warmth cum under his fingers and against his chest he let it go and came deep in Mickey.

Mickey didn't move. His head was rested on Ians chest when he came down from his high. Ians clean hand stroked gently over Mickeys back.

His dick went limp and he feels the cum leaking out from Mickey but he didn't move. Neither did Mickey.

"I'm sorry" he muttered against Ians chest.

"For?" Ian asked. Almost forgot about why they fucked.

"For being the worst husband on earth."

Ian leaned back. Layed his hand on Mickeys chin. Tried to catch his gaze.

Sad blue eyes looked up to him. Apologizing.

"Why the fuck you think this shit?" Ian asked. Now he was a bit angry.

"Doesn't matter." He layes his forehead on Ians collarbone.

"Mickey Milkovich. Don't you dare and do this shit again. Spit it out. Now."

"Let's clean up first" He whispered and stood up. With wobbly legs he went to the bathroom.

When they were in the shower and Ian soped Mickeys body he was gently and caressed his husband. Mickey does it again. Sometimes he felt if he wasn't enough. Mostly after Sex. Old insecuritys came up but Ian tried to distroy all of them. Gently kisses and smiles were exchanged and when they were dry and sat on their bed Ian layed a hand on Mickeys tight.

"So. What's wrong?" He began again.

"Debby has borrow something and didn't bring it back." He says.

"And that's a problem why?"

"Because I needed it this morning." Mickey admits

"What was it?" Ian asked

"A baking dish" his voice was only a whisper and his cheeks blushed.

"For what do you need a baking dish in the middle of the night?"

"To bake?" Now he rolled his eyes and stood up.

"Bake what?" Ian furrowed.

"Doesn't matter" Mickey went to the door but Ian grabbed him by his wrist. He stood up and turned Mickey around. He saw the tears in his eyes and hugged him tightly.

"It's the 14th of February" Mickey whispered. "Wanted to surprise you." His voice trembled. "The first fucking valentines day as husband's."

"Shhh. It's okay Mick. Not your fault." Ian stroked over his hair. "Which baking dish was it?" He leaned back to catch Mickeys gaze and smiled.

"The heart shaped one" Mickey admits

"Sappy fucker" Ian grinned and kissed him gently.

"Love you too" Mickey rolled his eyes.

[wil-dearest]

Anonymous asked: Ok um your dub con ask right I saw it and um how about gender-neutral chubby reader *cause I am and, and also genderfluid so it'll be good for me if it was gender neutral, if not afab. it's okay if you don't write that chubby reader stuff also!* where simpbur is being teased by them knowing that he's been stalking them (our little greasy simp didn't catch on) and in the middle of night while he's touching in his sleep they grab him by the arm and started to straddle him and degrade him and he may be in shock but he's just like blushing and dying to death and then they have nice steamy night of them ending up together😌.

love the details. did my best. enjoy

trigger warnings: 18+, stalking, unhealthy relationship, somno if you blink, gn reader but yes chubby afab reader. 18+. also degradation, just a bit. listen you're having sex with your stalker, this isn't gonna be healthy and i suggest treading carefully, you know yourself better than anyone. explicit.

Plot Twist (But We All Knew)

It's been two hours and you're still at the local coffee shop. Not... unusual, people do like to use the shop for the free wifi, the obvious coffee part, and the slightly cozy atmosphere. He shifts in his seat, thumbing over the cardboard sleeve and only flickers his eyes off of the laptop once he sees that you're packing your stuff up. You didn't have any projects coming up, nothing from work or school, it didn't make sense why you'd be here but it's nothing he can't figure out. His right hand twitches as he sees you lean over to pick up a dropped wire and your shirt rides up, god, if only he could just- run his fingers over your skin, watch the goosebumps rise and kiss and bite at the stretch marks peeking through- and you're leaving. Waving bye to the barista.

You didn't make plans with any friends, he knows this, so after ten minutes, he packs his things up and leaves too. Without the goodbyes to the person at the counter. He stands outside, the cool breeze blowing through his open jacket as he looks both ways before crossing the street. He has the route of your home memorized, mostly because it had been so close to his. It's like you were just made for him.. Course you didn't seem to acknowledge it. Anytime you saw him, direct eye contact, you never seemed to do more than a brief smile and wave. So casual, so... temporary. He wants the genuine smile you get when you make the little cookies, when you turn the music on in your living room and dance a little to get your limbs moving before cleaning. He wants the smile you get when he had texted you goodnight before.

He hops onto the fire escape, climbing up and finding your apartment easy, sitting just below your window. He's tempted to look through it and find you, wave just to see what you'd do. If you would scream and run, if you'd beat his face in. His heart races at the thought of you being so close.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and huffs as he looks through the cameras he'd installed at your home, seeing you in your pajamas early, the muscle tee and the stripped bottoms. He bites his lip, squeezing his leg as he watches you lean back into your bed and watch the show, your eyes blinking slower and slower till you fall asleep. He gasps, leaning his head back and looks around, fuck, he's late for work. Night shifts aren't typically bad but they are if you're late, and he needs all the money he can get. (Especially after spending so much on the cameras and not on his rent.)

It's a long shift and he's ready to pass out. He barely shrugs his jacket off and sitting on his bed as he tries and fails to take his shoes off. Giving up, he decides to lie down, eyes trained onto the ceiling as his eyes blink slow. He checks your cameras, not finding you in bed but your bathroom light is on, so he's not too worried. You wouldn't leave without him knowing about it. (You had stayed sound asleep, curled into a cute ball while cuddling a pillow. He desperately needs to be that pillow. For science.) He shuts his phone off, leaving it on his chest as his hand snakes underneath his pants. He's too tired to properly get off but it helps relax him further, imagining his hands as yours as he rubs underneath the head and pleasure shivers through his spine. What he'd give to have you on top of him... his hand comes out of his jeans and just rest on his thigh as he sighs one last time.

He slips underneath the sweet blanket of sleep, enjoying the same dream he's had every night since he first met you. One where he busts in, takes your blanket off of you and starts fucking your mouth or your thighs, anything, you'd be his though. You'd tell him through tears to stop but then would beg for him to keep going. It would bring him so close and in the end, he'd wake up, hard and unable to think until he got off.

This time, it felt warmer, a weight settled on his lap and friction against his dick made him shiver. And in the middle of his dream, he became acutely aware of the fact it was a dream but something was definitely happening to him while he was asleep. The weight on his lap rocks, and then- tingles ride his spine, pleasure and he can feel his mouth opening, sighs and whines in the air while there's a cold breeze on him. His eyes open when he feels warm area around his cock until something wraps around his head, fingers tracing up and down his shaft. A moan shudders through him as the scene process quickly.

It's you, you're straddling his lap, having moved him further up on the bed with his cock out of his pants and your lips wrapped around the tip. He cries out when you pull it out and just barely licks from his balls to the tip, making the effort to put as much of him into your mouth before you gag. He says your name, whimpers it out, he's wanted this for so long but- he could've sworn, you never left your apartment, not that he saw. You shush him, a wicked grin on your face as you press a kiss to the head, swirling your tongue around him and giving his cock a proper suck. One of his hands reaches up to touch your head but you just use your hand to press his wrist to the bed. You pull off of him, spit and his pre smeared over your lips. "Did you really think you could put cameras into my house and I wouldn't notice?" His mouth dropped open in shock and he was quick to say something in return when your hand squeezes around him as you lean forward, clicking your tongue.

"I didn't say you could speak.. especially after following me everywhere, and those cameras, and don't think I didn't miss the underwear missing from my drawers." His eyes widen and your smile widens into a grin. "Yeah, forgot about that, didn't you? Did you also forget you were wearing them too?" He didn't have to look down to know the answer. Yes, he stole your underwear and yes he wore them. He couldn't help himself. He loved feeling closer to you in any way he could.

And- and you're actually here. Actually on him and stroking his cock and smiling down at him and calling him a creep, a stalker. It all felt so good- he wanted to pin you down and fuck you till you wouldn't even be able to move but god- his legs feel like jello and he'd let you do anything to him.

"-can't even listen to me when I talk, can you?" You breathe out laughing, smacking his cheeks a little as you lean closer, pressing your plush chest against his and smear his wet cock against your thighs. "You're so fucking pathetic, I didn't even touch you for five minutes and you're already spacing out." You push his face away before moving to get off him, pressing a finger to his chest to keep him lying down. "I didn't say you could move either. God you're dense." He whines when he sees you slide your shorts off, only moving onto his lap after you're stripped completely, giving him the show of your thighs exposed.

"Wanna be good for me?" You ask, stroking his cock again while leaning on his chest, nose to nose while he gasps— you're so close, so warm, so soft, god you smell so good, you feel so so good, he'd do anything you want please just let him kiss you, fuck you, anything. He nods, a whine being pulled out of his throat when you lean close enough just to graze your lips against his before pulling away to sink down onto his cock. His head spins as you coo, sinking completely down and rolling your hips. "I already prepped myself at home, but you didn't see that, did you?" He definitely missed that. How much did he miss?

"Hm... while I have you here," you say, lifting yourself up before sinking down again. The soft, wet heat of your cunt surrounds his senses and he can't think, can't speak, can only mumble words that sound suspiciously like your name. "You're not exactly slick. I know you've been stalking me since June. The cameras since the beginning. I only found out about the underwear right now but I knew they were gone." You roll your hips, moaning out his name, his actual name. "Fuck, Wilbur, couldn't you just ask me out like a normal person? Now we both look weird. With you in my underwear and me breaking into your house after you broke into mine... jesus fucking christ," and he sobs into the air when you start bouncing.

"Don't think it's going to go back the way it was before. You're mine now, got it?" You bounce faster, your voice coming out breathier as you moan between your words. He knows at some point he starts begging but then your hand covers his mouth and you groan into the air. "You'll come when I tell you too, okay?" And he nods, fuck, fuck, you're so warm, so hot, he wants to touch you so bad but he can't- fuck, he squeezes his eyes, trying and trying to hold back the orgasm, doing all he can to hold it back.

You slam down and you shiver, moaning his name into the air, and you squeeze your walls around him and he's sobbing. Pleading and begging to come. It makes you squeeze harder. He needs to, please, fuck just let him please— "go on then, come, come inside me, come inside like a dirty fucking whore." The feeling barrels him over, spilling his come inside of you while you rock your hips, and it quickly crosses into pain instead of pleasure when you start bouncing again. "You gotta make it up to me for all that stalking you did, all those cameras? You're mine, my little toy to use whenever I want."

Hours later, when you're satisfied and you've cleaned the two of you up, you made him promise to take the cameras down and to properly take you on a date. (And upon the admission he went broke for those cameras, you smacked him and planned to edge him the next time you would have sex.)

And hours past that, when you are tucked into his side and his arms are wrapped around your soft tummy, he nudges his nose against your neck, breathing the scent of your skin in. With you deep asleep, he tugs you closer into his chest, arms wrapped tighter. Your ass in his crotch and he can only moan into your neck. You'll be the death of him... but you're his. And even better, he's yours. His heart skips a beat.

[hydrangeyes]

Unnamed

So if you don't know, Yes this already existed, my old account was deleted (accident but I can tell I won't be getting it back), and am reposting my old x male reader works!

I don't know if I saved all of them but here is one that was saved to my AO3 account.

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Shigaraki is horny but you're not giving him any attention, trying to pull you away from work. You think it's kinda funny and have no problem taking care of him right there and then. Shigaraki is a brat and you can't convince me otherwise.

Warning: spanking, fingering, edging, a bit of tears/light dacryphilia, overstimulation, public sex, cock warming

Didn't name this one, and I for sure thought I deleted but what a surprise! I think this was my first reinterest in writing full on smut, also unfinished lmao so it really is just foreplay

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Why were you ignoring him!?

He’s been at this for almost an hour already (it’s been 5 minutes), can’t you see that he was ready to burst!? Calling for you, bending over on the other side of the table, calling you again. Shigaraki scowls from where he was standing besides you just barely out of view in nothing but one of your large shirts and boxer briefs. Today was suppose to be your day off, so you were visiting and were suppose to keep him company with a full day of gaming.

But no, even with the new hideout empty, you were still working!! Paperwork, laptop and all!

You even put back on your pants. that made him let out a displeased whine, no shame with everyone out and not able to see his needy display. He worked so hard convincing you to let him tear off the other pair, where did you get this one?

Shaking his head, Shigaraki creeps closer seeing that you're in the middle of a video call. Tough. Making sure to use only 3 fingers, shigaraki nudges the laptop in a different direction and quickly plops himself onto your lap.

"Shig!"

"Oh good, I have your attention now."

He grins wrapping his arms around you loosely. You're the one scowling now, telling your coworker that it was your cat and he had to clean up the spill, reaching to turn on mute.

"Mmh good~ I really only want you to hear me." Shigaraki purrs wiggling his hips to get comfy. "Oh no you don't." You huff gripping his hips to keep him still glaring. "You think I'll let this slide?"

Shigaraki glares back tensing his arms so you cant push him off. "Today was suppose to be for us. Only us and our favorite games! Not your stupid work." He whines out the last sentence.

You sigh a little, which makes him relax again. Feeling this you quickly flip him to be lying across your lap instead, ignoring is outraged squeak. "My 'stupid' work is what got you that game. I know today was just for us brat, but I needed to be apart of the meeting."

You hum using one hand to firmly keep your wiggling partner in place, the other rubbing down his back and just above the swell of his ass. In all honesty the moment he called out for you, you were distracted. But pretending to ignore him was always fun, his usual lazy behavior changing on the spot.

Shigaraki stops his wiggling at your touch, arching to try and encourage you. He inwardly curses his past self from 10 minutes ago for even bothering with clothes.

"It wasn't going to be long either, but I should have know my cute little brat wouldn't wait patiently." You growl, lifting and giving his ass a firm slap.

"Ah!!"

"Tsk, I really thought you learned your lesson the last time you interrupted my work." Cooing softly as you watch him shudder, you can see the tip of his ears start to turn red.

You don’t let him respond before placing another firm slap, then another and another. Watching as he yelps and whimpers with each smack. Shigaraki arches and moans into it, gripping with 4 fingers each the end of the chair.

Panting and trying to grind against you shigaraki bites his lips to try and muffle just how much he was enjoying this. But you know your brat well, plus you can just feel how much he’s leaking on your leg.

Easing up you hum nonchalantly eyes hooded rubbing his red cheeks, giving him a moment to come back. Reaching to your bottom desk drawer you

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Legit where the draft ended lmaooooooo