#and she was ONLY 18. that's literally younger than i am now.

[heartshapedhackjob]

People in my mom's side of the family are like, either you will die right now or you will be fucking immortal

[natsaffection]

Redline. pt 6 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), 18+! MINORS DNI! sexual tension, trauma, violence, crashs

Word count: 12,1k

A/N: Okay…a really great time has now come to an end. I want to thank everyone who interacted with the fic, it literally blew up so much, I never expected it. I gained so many new people here and some lovely anons because of it, and I’m truly grateful. Thank you!

I hope I made the ending worthy of the story (even though Tumblr shortened it due to the word limit). I really hope it doesn’t feel too rushed. 🫶🏼🍾

Part 5

1 Month later

You were lying in Natasha’s bed scrolling through your phone, half-awake when the articles started popping up.

Romanoff’s Favorite – The Relationship Between Natasha and Her Rising Star.

Not Just Business? Photos Capture Natasha Romanoff’s Rare Smile at Y/N’s Victory.

More Than Just Racing? The Paddock Buzzes Over Y/N and Natasha’s Dynamic.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t new that people speculated about you and Natasha. The media was always looking for a story. Always waiting for something to tear apart.

But this? This was the first time they had proof. There were pictures.. Natasha, standing with the team, a champagne glass in hand, watching you on the podium. Natasha, smiling. Actually smiling. Natasha, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Your breath caught. Oh, fuck…

“You’re up early.”

You nearly jumped at the sound of Natasha’s voice. She was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, still in the loose sweats she wore when she wasn’t dressed to terrify the entire paddock.

“Did you see this?” you blurted out, shoving your phone in her direction.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, stepping closer to take the device from your hand. She scanned the articles, lips pressing into a thin line. “Of course they’d make a story out of this.” she muttered.

“This is bad..” you groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “The press conference today is going to be a fucking disaster.”

Natasha hummed. Then, to your absolute horror, she smirked. “What?” you demanded.

She tilted her head slightly, tossing your phone onto the bed before leaning in closer, so close that you could feel her breath against your cheek. “You’re nervous.” she murmured, clearly amused.

“Of course I am, Natasha, this is a mess-”She cut you off with a chuckle, straightening up. “Let them talk.”

Your stomach flipped. She wasn’t worried. She wasn’t freaking out. She was enjoying this.

“You’re not serious..”

Natasha shrugged. “It’s inevitable. They were always going to figure it out.”

You blinked. “Figure what out?”

Her smirk widened, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned towards the door, pausing just long enough to glance at you over her shoulder.

“Get dressed. We have a press conference.”

The room was buzzing with anticipation by the time you stepped in. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured among themselves, and the air carried the weight of a dozen unanswered questions. The energy was different today, sharper, more expectant. You knew exactly why.

Natasha walked beside you, her presence as commanding as ever, a steady force in the chaos. Dressed in her usual sleek suit, she radiated an untouchable authority, but there was something else today. Something in the way she moved, the way her gaze flickered across the room before settling on you.

She was prepared. Always. But this wasn’t just about the race anymore. You took your seat, adjusting the mic in front of you, your fingers brushing over the cold surface as the press officer nodded for the first question.

A journalist from Racing Line leaned forward, eyes sharp with intrigue. “Y/n, first of all, congratulations on your win yesterday. A phenomenal drive. But beyond that, there’s been a lot of talk about your dynamic with your team principal.”

He paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Care to comment on the pictures circulating? Romanoff looking unusually pleased with your performance?”

You clenched your jaw, pulse spiking. Of course. The photos had been everywhere this morning. Natasha, standing at the pit wall, watching you with a look that was unmistakably soft. For her, at least. And then on the podium, the way she’d lingered, the rare glimpse of a smile.

Natasha’s presence beside you remained steady. No reaction. Just sharp focus, like she was calculating every possible outcome of this moment. You exhaled slowly, forcing a small smirk as you leaned forward. “I think any team principal would be happy when their driver wins.” you said, voice level, playful even. “It’s kind of their job.”

A few chuckles echoed through the room, but the journalist wasn’t backing down. “True, but this seemed more personal. Some might say.. more invested than usual.”

You barely had time to process it before Natasha spoke. “If you’re implying that I don’t take every win personally, then you clearly don’t know me.” she said coolly, her gaze locking onto the journalist with a pointed sharpness. “I push my drivers to win. That’s my job. Y/n delivers. That’s hers.”

The response was effortless, perfectly calculated to dismiss any rumors while still standing firm. But you knew her too well now. The way her fingers tapped lightly against her leg under the table, the slight tick in her jaw, it was irritation masked under absolute control.

Another journalist jumped in. “Y/n, this season has been a defining one for you, but given your history with crashes and the challenges you’ve faced, do you ever feel like you still have something to prove?”

Your stomach twisted at the question, but you didn’t let it show. You straightened, fingers flexing against the table. “Every driver on this grid has something to prove. That’s why we’re here. But if you’re asking if I doubt myself? No. I wouldn’t be sitting here if I did.”

The room went still for a second, the weight of your words settling before another voice cut in. “Natasha, you’ve worked with some of the best drivers in the sport. Where does Y/n rank among them?”

Your breath caught. Oh. That was a trap. Natasha didn’t play favorites. Ever. Her entire brand of leadership was built on ruthlessness, on absolute control, on never showing anything that could be perceived as bias. But then, she turned her head slightly, eyes locking with yours, just for a fraction of a second.

“She fights harder than most..” Natasha said finally, voice even, measured. But there was something in her tone, something more. “And no. She hasn’t finished proving herself yet.”

The tension in the room shifted. You weren’t sure if anyone else caught the unspoken weight behind her words. But you did. The questions continued, each one sharp, some pressing about the championship fight, others about your rivalry with Walker, about strategy, about what came next. You answered, playing the game, maintaining your composure, even when the topic of your previous crash came up again.

By the time you made it back to the team’s facility, you barely managed to get your stuff done before heading straight for Natasha’s office, needing to breathe, to think, and the moment you stepped inside, she was already there.

Natasha stood near her desk, arms crossed, watching you. The way her eyes scanned you, calm, assessing made your stomach twist. She had felt it. She had seen it.

“What’s wrong?”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “It’s just..They talked like they know anything!”

“They don’t.”

You huffed, pacing the room. “But they think they do! They’re making this entire thing into some huge scandal, ‘Natasha Romanoff smiles? Must be because of Y/N L/N-

Natasha smirked slightly. “It’s not entirely false.”

You froze mid-step, whipping around to face her. “Natasha.”

She shrugged, completely unbothered. “What?”

Your frustration only grew. “How are you so calm about this? You know what people are saying-”

“I don’t care what people are saying.” Her voice was steady, unwavering. You stared at her, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides. “Well, I do.”

Silence stretched between you till Natasha moved. One second, she was standing by her desk, and the next, she was right in front of you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from her.

“You do?” she murmured, voice dropping. You swallowed hard. She tilted her head slightly, studying you, her gaze flickering to your lips for just a second before locking back onto your eyes. “What exactly is it that’s bothering you?”

Your breath hitched. “The attention?” she continued, her voice softer now. “The rumors? Or the fact that they might be right?”

Your stomach twisted, your body betraying you with the way your pulse spiked. She saw it. Of course, she saw it. Her fingers brushed against your wrist, light, teasing, but enough to make you shiver.

“I..” You didn’t know what you were going to say. Didn’t get the chance to find out. Because Natasha took another step forward, crowding into your space, her presence consuming, her scent, leather and something unmistakably her wrapping around you like a trap you didn’t want to escape.

“Tell me.” she murmured, her breath brushing against your cheek. You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could lie. You should lie. But you didn’t. Instead, you whispered, “I don’t know what this is..”

Natasha’s lips curved into a smirk, but her eyes softened just enough that your chest ached. “You will.” And then she kissed you. Slow. Purposeful. Like she had decided. Like she had always known. And for once, you stopped thinking.

Race 22

The moment you crossed the finish line, your grip on the steering wheel tightened. P2. Not the win, but damn close. And after the chaos of the rain, the battle with Walker, and the near spin that nearly sent you into the barriers, you’d take it.

“P2, Y/n! Well done!” Your race engineer’s voice crackled through the radio, but there was something else beneath it. A small pause.

Then Natasha. “Good job, Y/n.” her voice was controlled, professional, but you swore there was something more. A flicker of pride just under the surface. “You handled the conditions well.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, a slow grin tugging at your lips as you leaned back against the seat, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. P2. The points were crucial, but more than that? Your parents were here today.

You knew exactly where they were standing in the paddock, right at the edge, watching from behind the barriers. Your dad had always been more subtle with his pride, but you could imagine the small nod of approval he was giving right now. Your mother, on the other hand, had probably been clutching his arm the entire race, barely breathing each time you overtook.

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you pulled into the pit lane, the sound of the crowd still roaring around you. The podium celebration was nothing short of euphoric. The champagne bottle was cold against your palm, the pressure inside ready to burst. You popped it, aiming the spray at the crowd, the golden bubbles soaking into your race suit as you laughed, high off the victory, the energy, the moment.

Walker was there, of course. You could feel his presence, could practically sense his frustration at not clinching the championship today. It fueled you. And then, the press again. It happened fast. The podium celebrations ended, and before you could even get a second to breathe, the paparazzi descended.

“Y/N! P2 today, how do you feel after that battle with Walker?”

You expected the questions. You were prepared for them. You kept walking, still riding the high, your team’s mechanics clapping you on the back as you moved toward the garage.

“Were you worried about the rain conditions?”

“Your spin almost cost you the podium- what was going through your mind?”

You answered, giving them just enough without revealing too much, your voice still buzzing with the rush of the race.

“The next race is at Silverstone. Your Silverstone. Are you ready for that?”

You froze. The air in your lungs thinned, and suddenly, the roaring of the crowd, the flashing cameras, the overwhelming everything..felt too loud. The wreckage. The fire. It slammed into you all at once. You blinked hard, forced the memories down, and made yourself breathe. Your voice, when it came, was calm. Controlled. “It’s just another race.”

A lie. But one the world didn’t need to know. You started moving again, Natasha keeping pace beside you, her presence unwavering. She didn’t say anything, but you felt her watching. And when the press had finally been left behind, when the cameras were no longer in your face, when it was just you and her walking toward the garage, she finally spoke.

“You okay?”

You nodded, too quickly. “Yeah, let’s go.” Her silence was sharp. Calculating. You knew she didn’t believe you.

The road stretched ahead in quiet darkness, the soft hum of the engine filling the air. The city lights flickered past the windows, casting brief flashes of neon against your skin. The rain had stopped, but the roads were still damp, the reflections of streetlights shimmering on the slick asphalt. You barely noticed. Your mind was elsewhere.

Silverstone.

Every corner. Every turn. Every shadow of the past that lurked beneath the floodlights of that track. You could see it. Feel it.

The way the car had snapped away from you in that fraction of a second, how the wall had rushed toward you. The helplessness, the terror. The excruciating pain that had followed. The fire. The pressure of the seatbelts locking you in place as you fought to stay conscious. The memories clawed at the edges of your mind, threatening to pull you under.

Would it feel the same next weekend? Would you hesitate when you reached that same turn? Would you flinch- You didn’t get to spiral too far before a hand suddenly waved something in front of your face.

A phone.

You blinked, snapping back into the present. The scent of Natasha’s car, the low music playing through the speakers, the woman herself sitting beside you with an expectant look.

“Order food.” Natasha instructed, smirking slightly. You furrowed your brows, still trying to shake off the ghosts of your past thoughts. “What?”

Natasha waved the phone again. “Food. You know, the thing we eat to survive?”

“Right..” you muttered, grabbing the device and pulling up the app. You scrolled through options, selecting your usual choices, though your mind was still distant. It wasn’t until you reached the address confirmation screen that you hesitated.

“Nat…” you said slowly, glancing toward her. “This isn’t the track. Where are we going?”

Natasha’s smirk widened as she turned onto a quieter road, one that led away from the team facilities and the usual places you stayed.

“My place.” she answered simply.

You stilled. Natasha’s home. You had spent countless nights together, hotels, at Natasha’s track, but never at Natasha’s place. It was private. Personal. Hers.

You swallowed. “Your place?”

“That’s what I said.”

You could feel your heart beating a little faster. Natasha flicked you a knowing glance, clearly sensing the shift in your demeanor. Then, with a devilish smirk, she added, “Relax, printsessa. If you’re thinking about it, I wouldn’t have bothered ordering food.”

Your face heated instantly. “I-I was not thinking about..!”

Natasha let out a low, amused chuckle, her fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Sure you weren’t.” You groaned, slumping back into your seat. God, this woman.

When you arrived, Natasha pulled into the private driveway of a sleek, modern home tucked behind high walls and tall trees. The moment you stepped inside, you were hit with a sense of quiet intimacy.

The place was hers. Clean, organized, yet undeniably lived-in. The walls were lined with dark wooden shelves, books and old records stacked neatly. But what caught your attention the most were the photos.

One by the entrance, Natasha in her racing suit, helmet under her arm, a victorious smirk on her face. Another by the bookshelf, her with her family, a rare moment of unguarded happiness shining in her eyes. A framed picture of her and another driver, a teammate from years ago, grinning with champagne in hand. You took it all in, feeling something warm settle in your chest. This was Natasha’s life. The parts she didn’t show to just anyone.

“You gonna stand there all night?”

You turned to find Natasha leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that same infuriatingly attractive smirk.

“Just looking…” you murmured.

Natasha’s expression softened. “I don’t let just anyone in here, you know.”

Yeah, you knew. Your eyes met, and the air between you shifted. The teasing edge faded, replaced by something warmer. Deeper.

Natasha pushed off the counter and stepped toward you, slow and deliberate. You tilted your head up, your breath hitching slightly as Natasha’s fingers brushed against your jaw.

The kiss started soft, gentle, unrushed. But as soon as your hands found Natasha’s waist, pulling her closer, the heat between you ignited. Natasha’s hands were firm, sliding against your waist, gripping just enough to make your stomach tighten with anticipation. The kiss deepened, needier, hungrier. Your fingers tangled into Natasha’s jacket, pulling her in-

The doorbell rang, and you both froze. Natasha exhaled through her nose, dropping her forehead against your shoulder. “Are you kidding me?”

You laughed breathlessly, still gripping her jacket. “Food’s here.”

Natasha groaned but finally pulled away, muttering something about terrible timing as she went to get the food.

You sat on the couch, food spread between you, the glow of warm light casting soft shadows on the walls. The tension between you had shifted, not gone, but different now. It simmered beneath the surface, intertwined with something softer, more vulnerable.

Natasha watched you pick at your food, your fingers tracing absent patterns against the edge of the takeout container. You weren’t fully present, still lost in thought.

“Talk to me.” Natasha said quietly, resting her arm against the back of the couch.

You hesitated, then exhaled, setting your food aside. “It’s just…”

Natasha said nothing, just watching and waiting. “It’s not just another race..” you continued. “I know I should be past it by now, but… I don’t know…”

“You don’t just ‘get past’ something like that.” Natasha interrupted gently.

You huffed a soft laugh. “You’d think nearly dying would be enough for me to quit racing.”

Natasha tilted her head. “But you didn’t.”

“Yeah…” Natasha reached out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary, her touch soft. “Because it’s who you are. You’re not afraid of fighting for what you want.”

You met her eyes, something settling in your chest. Then Natasha smirked. “And for the record? You’ll be fine. I’ll be there the whole time.”

You let out a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help.”

The tension had lightened, but it still buzzed beneath the surface, the kind of pull that never really went away between you. Then, in one smooth, calculated move, you climbed onto Natasha’s lap. Enough with depression.

Natasha raised a brow, but didn’t move, didn’t protest, just watched. You settled yourself, your legs bracketing Natasha’s hips, your hands pressing lightly against the older woman’s shoulders.

“Thought you were nervous.” Natasha murmured, tilting her head up slightly, amusement flickering in her green eyes.

You smirked. “Maybe you’re just really good at distracting me.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her fingers instinctively settling against your waist. “Mm. And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Natasha asked, voice low, teasing, her hands barely moving, just resting there, warm and steady. You leaned in slightly, your lips just close enough to brush against Natasha’s ear. “Distracting myself.”

Your voice was soft, sultry..a promise and a challenge all at once. Natasha exhaled, her grip tightening just the slightest bit. But she didn’t move to take control. No..she was going to let you play your game.

And you took your time. You let your fingertips graze down Natasha’s arms, featherlight, teasing, slow. You leaned in again, pressing an almost nonexistent kiss just below Natasha’s jawline, barely there, just enough to make Natasha’s breath hitch, before pulling back again with an innocent expression.

Natasha smirked, tilting her head. “You’re dangerous, printsessa.”

You smiled, shifting just enough that you could feel the reaction you were pulling from Natasha. A slow, deliberate roll of your hips, just a fraction of movement, but it was enough to make Natasha’s jaw tighten. She was watching. Letting you put on a show. Not stopping you. Not rushing you.

You ran a hand up Natasha’s chest, fingers lingering at the collar of her shirt. You played with the fabric for a second before leaning down, just close enough that your lips barely brushed.

Natasha wasn’t chasing. Not yet. You smirked. “Something wrong, boss?”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her control almost infuriating. “Not at all.”

A challenge. You leaned down again, pressing a slow, unhurried kiss to the corner of Natasha’s mouth, not quite giving in.

Natasha’s grip on you tightened just slightly. You were playing with fire now. You kissed along Natasha’s jaw, soft, teasing, dragging it out. You could feel Natasha’s patience thinning, the way her breath was a little heavier, the way her fingers dug just slightly into your hips.

You smirked against her skin. You were winning. Or at least you thought you were, until Natasha’s hands suddenly shifted, flipping your positions in one swift move. Now, you were on your back against the couch, Natasha leaning over you, hands braced on either side of your head.

You swallowed. Your heart stuttered and Natasha smirked. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing?”

You licked your lips, looking up at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about..”

Natasha leaned in, not kissing you, just hovering, watching. Watching your breath hitch, watching you squirm just slightly under her gaze.

“I let you have your fun..” Natasha murmured. “Now, it’s my turn.”

You barely had time to react before Natasha’s lips finally crashed into yours. This time, there was no hesitation. Natasha kissed you like she was claiming you, like she was making up for every second you had made her wait. It was deep, hungry.

Her hands moved, no longer still, no longer restrained. One gripping your waist, the other sliding up your back, pulling you in as close as possible.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers digging into Natasha’s shoulders, trying to keep up. You had started the game. But Natasha was the one finishing it. You barely noticed the way Natasha’s lips moved lower, kissing along your jaw, trailing down just enough to make your toes curl.

Until..The phone rang.

The sound cut through the moment like a blade. You both froze, Natasha’s lips still pressed against your skin. You groaned. “Nooo!!”

Natasha let out a low chuckle against your collarbone before pressing a quick kiss there and pulling back. She reached for the phone, but you grabbed her wrist, shaking your head. “No. It can wait.”

Natasha smirked. “Impatient?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t start something you’re not going to finish!”

The phone rang again. Natasha sighed, glancing at the screen. She smirked, then, a knowing, smug little smile.

“Oh, this one can’t wait.” she murmured, amusement flickering in her gaze.

You frowned, still breathless. “Why?”

Natasha picked up the call, holding you in place. “Because, it’s for you.” she murmured against your lips before answering.

Here voice was low, calm, businesslike..echoed from the hallway as she wrapped up whatever conversation had interrupted you. You barely registered the words, still feeling the ghost of Natasha’s hands on your skin, the heat that had been building, building, building before that damn phone had stolen her attention away. The soft sound of the phone being set down made you glance toward the doorway.

Natasha was back.

She stood at the edge of the dimly lit living room, watching. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without a word, Natasha moved. She crossed the room with the same quiet, predatory grace that made her dangerous both on and off the track. Unrushed and in control.

You barely had time to process it before Natasha was climbing over you, bracing her weight on the couch, her hands framing your face, her knee pressing just enough between your legs. The breath hitched in your throat.

Natasha smirked. “Now.” she murmured, her voice like velvet and steel, “where were we?” And this time, nothing stopped her from finishing what she started.

—

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the sheets. You stirred, feeling the warmth of the bed beneath you, the soreness that came with exactly how last night had gone. A lazy, satisfied smile curled on your lips as you stretched, fingers reaching for the familiar presence beside you-

Only to find empty sheets. You cracked one eye open, frowning slightly. Natasha’s side of the bed was cool. She had been up for a while. You groaned, rolling onto your stomach, letting yourself melt into the mattress for a moment longer before you finally forced yourself upright. Your muscles ached in the best way, your body still humming from the night before.

That’s when you saw her. Natasha stood near the dresser, already fully dressed, the perfect picture of composure. She fastened the last button of her team-issued shirt, the usual red and black livery fitted perfectly to her frame, like the night before hadn’t just happened.

You huffed, your voice still rough with sleep. “You really have a habit of getting up and leaving.”

Natasha glanced over, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “I didn’t leave.” she countered smoothly.

You raised a brow. “You weren’t in bed when I woke up. Feels the same.”

Natasha chuckled, stepping closer. She leaned down, one hand braced against the mattress, the other tilting your chin up so your eyes met.

“I finished what I started, didn’t I?” she murmured, her tone edged with amusement.

Heat flashed through you at the memory. Natasha took full advantage of your silence, pressing a brief but thorough kiss to your lips before pulling back, still smirking.

“Come on..” she said, straightening. “We have to leave.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the pillow. “Too earlyyy..”

Natasha nudged the blanket off of you, ignoring the way you tried to pull it back up. “It’s not early, you just don’t want to get up.”

You peeked up at her, eyes playful, teasing. “And whose fault is that?”

Natasha only tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “Mine, obviously.”

You rolled onto your back with a sigh. “Where are we even going?”

Natasha simply grabbed her phone, checked something quickly, then looked at you. “You’ll see.”

You sat in the passenger seat, your fingers curled into your lap, your gaze fixed out the window as the world passed by in a blur of muted colors. The closer you got, the more the tension coiled in your chest, wrapping tight around your ribs.

You had already seen it. From a distance. The track. The place where it happened. Even from far away, it stood like a specter in the distance, a shadow of something you had never fully escaped. The floodlights, the sharp turns you once knew like the back of your hand, the long straights that had once filled your veins with nothing but adrenaline.

But now..now, it was different. You hadn’t set foot here since the crash. Since you had nearly lost everything. Your chest tightened. The closer you got, the harder it became to breathe, the air suddenly too thick, too heavy. Your fingers curled against your thigh, your body going rigid as the memories threatened to surface.

Natasha sensed it. Of course she did. Without a word, she slowed the car, pulling over to the side of the empty road leading toward the track’s private entrance. The engine idled in the quiet, but she didn’t move to keep driving.

Instead, she turned her head. “Hey.”

You exhaled shakily, keeping your eyes forward. Natasha didn’t push. She just watched, her voice low, steady. Grounding.

“Look at me.”

You hesitated, your pulse still hammering. But you turned. And there it was. The thing that always managed to steady you no matter how loud the world got. Her eyes. Green. Certain. Unshaken. Like there was not a single doubt in her mind.

“You’re safe.” Natasha said softly, reaching over, her fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

You swallowed. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Natasha challenged gently, her fingers tightening just slightly. “Because you’re acting like you’re back in that car two years ago.”

You pressed your lips together, inhaling sharply through your nose. The older woman’s thumb traced slow circles against your skin, her voice unwavering. “You already won this battle, Detka. You made it out.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling. “I thought I was past this. I hate it.”

“You will be.” Natasha assured. “But not by running from it.”

Silence settled between you, thick, heavy. But Natasha waited. She always did. And eventually, you nodded. Natasha studied you for another beat, then, without another word, she put the car back in gear and drove.

The entrance to the track loomed closer. Your fingers curled against your knee again, but you kept your breathing steady. Inhaling, exhaling. The gates opened as Natasha pulled through, leading into the pit lane, the vast emptiness of the track stretching out before you.

She stopped the car near the garage. For a second, neither of you moved. Then, Natasha unbuckled her seatbelt, stepping out. You watched as she rounded the car, her movements unhurried, purposeful. When Natasha reached your door, she opened it, the cool air from outside slipping in. And then, she stepped back.

She didn’t say anything. Just tilted her head slightly, gesturing to the driver’s seat. Your heart stuttered. You looked at Natasha, eyes wide, uncertain. But Natasha’s gaze didn’t waver.

You took a slow breath as you slid into the driver’s seat, fingers wrapping around the wheel. It felt familiar. The weight of it, the smooth material beneath your hands..it should have been comforting.

But it wasn’t. Not here. Not on this track.

Natasha shut the door behind you. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. She simply slid into the passenger seat, settling in like this was any other drive. Like this wasn’t the place where everything fell apart.

You swallowed, shifting the car into gear. You started slow. The track was eerily quiet, so unlike the last time you had been here. No roaring engines, no deafening crowd, no radio crackling in your ear. Just the low hum of the car beneath you, the whisper of tires on asphalt.

But you already felt it. The weight. The pull of the past creeping in. Every turn was one you had memorized. Your body still knew the angles, the braking points, the racing line that had once been second nature to you. But then, The trees. They appeared in the distance. And you knew. You knew what was coming.

The curve.

Your breath caught, your grip on the wheel tightening. Far before you even reached it, you saw it. You saw everything. The way the road bent, the familiar angle of the wall. You saw the moment your car had lost control, the sickening snap of the tires, the helpless spin.

You saw fire. And suddenly, it wasn’t just memories. The beep of machines. The sterile scent of antiseptic. Pain. A deep, agonizing pain that wrapped around your body like it would never leave. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the voices. Your parents. You couldn’t open your eyes fully, but you heard them.

“Will she walk again?” Your mother’s voice, raw, desperate.

A pause. Too long. Then, the doctor’s voice, flat, measured, carefully spoken like he was trying not to shatter them completely.

“We don’t know yet.”

Not a real answer. Not the one they wanted. Silence. Your father, his voice quieter, heavier. “You mean she might n-not?”

Another pause. “We can’t say never. But the spinal damage, the nerve trauma, her body went through extreme conditions. It will be a long recovery. She may regain movement, but returning to full functionality? To racing?” He shook his head. “It’s unlikely.”

You wanted to scream. You weren’t a body. You weren’t something to assess. You were here. You could hear them. You could feel the pain, the weight of your own broken body on the hospital bed. But you couldn’t move.

Your mother’s breath hitched. “S-She just turned twenty-one..” she whispered. “She..she’s supposed to have her whole life ahead of her!! Her career. Her dreams. You’re saying that’s just- gone-“

“You’ll race again!” It wasn’t a doctor. It wasn’t your father. It was Natasha. Her voice was sharp, unwavering. Unshaken. You gasped, staggering back into reality. You blinked rapidly, hands trembling at your sides. The track was still there. The sky was still open, the wind still cool against your skin. You weren’t in that hospital bed. You weren’t trapped. You were here. Alive. Walking. Racing. And..Natasha was here, too.

You blinked rapidly, gasping as reality slammed back into you, but it wasn’t enough. The car felt too small, too tight. The air too thick. You needed to get out. Now.

Before Natasha could say anything else, you ripped off your seatbelt and shoved open the door. The rush of cool air hit you as you stumbled out, barely keeping your balance as you walked away, fast.

Your boots scraped against the asphalt as you stopped a few feet from the car, your back turned to the curve. You placed your hands on your knees, trying to breathe, trying to focus on the present, but the past kept clawing at you.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t, not yet. But you heard Natasha’s breath as she stepped closer, heard the patience in her voice as she spoke.

“You’re not there anymore, Y/n.”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “I..know.”

Natasha didn’t correct you, didn’t push you to turn around just yet. Instead, she took another step, coming close enough that your arms nearly brushed.

“You think this track is what almost killed you.” Natasha murmured. “But it’s not.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shaky. “You made it out.” Natasha continued. “You fought. You survived. And now…”

You felt the warmth of Natasha’s fingers grazing against yours. “You came back.”

Your chest tightened. You exhaled. Slowly, cautiously, you turned around. And this time, You didn’t look away. The fear was still there, pressing against your ribs. The memories still whispered in the back of your mind. But they weren’t pulling you under anymore. They weren’t controlling you.

“Go finish your round.”

You glanced back at the curve. Then at Natasha. She just raised a brow, her smile soft, knowing. Like she already knew your answer. You inhaled deeply. And then, you nodded.

Without a word, Natasha gestured back toward the car. And this time, you got back in. You settled into the driver’s seat, your hands firm on the wheel. Your pulse still pounded, but this time, it wasn’t from fear.

It was from something else. Determination. Natasha shut the door beside you and leaned in slightly through the open window. “You good?”

You exhaled slowly, your grip tightening. “Yeah.” Natasha studied you for a beat, green eyes sharp, assessing. Then, without another word, she stepped back. You pressed your foot to the accelerator.

The car moved. The track stretched ahead, the tires gliding smoothly over the asphalt as you built up speed. The engine hummed beneath you, steady and strong, your hands guiding the car as if it was an extension of yourself.

And then, the curve. It came into view, and for a split second, you felt the flicker of hesitation, the whisper of memories trying to crawl back in. But you didn’t let them. Not this time. Your body knew what to do. You adjusted the wheel, keeping your line smooth. You hit the apex.

And you took it cleanly. No fear. No ghosts. Just racing. As you exited the turn, your heartbeat steadied. Your breathing evened. And for the first time since the crash, it felt like yours again. The track. The moment. The control. You slowed as you reached the pit lane, pulling up where Natasha stood waiting. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers flexing against the wheel.

“Again.”

You blinked, catching your breath. “What?”

“Do another lap.” Natasha said, tilting her head. “This time, without stopping.”

You gripped the wheel and pressed your foot to the accelerator, feeling the car respond instantly. The low growl of the engine vibrated through your chest as you sped down the straight, the track stretching endlessly in front of you.

This time, it felt different. This time, there was no fear clawing at your throat. No weight pressing on your chest. No ghosts chasing you. Only you. And the car. Natasha’s words echoed in the back of your mind.

“Again. This time, without stopping.”

So you did. The corners came faster now, the rhythm of the track flowing beneath your fingertips. You moved through each turn with precision, your body and mind in sync, your breathing controlled. Like you had never left. And then, the curve.

It came up ahead, just like before. But this time, you didn’t brace for impact. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t freeze. You just took it. Clean. Smooth. Fast. You barely registered the moment you exited the turn. Because suddenly, it didn’t feel like a monster in the dark. It was just a turn.. Just a part of the track. And you had taken it like you were born for it.

You exhaled, gripping the wheel tighter as you pushed forward. One more sector. One more straight. The finish line appeared before you, this time, not a symbol of survival, but of victory. You crossed it at full speed. And for the first time in years, you felt free. The car rolled to a stop. The sudden silence was almost deafening, the echoes of the lap still buzzing in your ears.

Your hands were still on the wheel. Your heart was still pounding. But you weren’t shaking anymore. You exhaled, letting your head fall back against the seat for just a second before finally pulling yourself together. You pushed the door open, stepping out, the cool air hitting your flushed skin. You turned, and before you could even speak, Natasha was there.

Close and proud. There was no teasing remark. No smug comment. Just a look. A look that said everything. You swallowed, your throat thick. “I did it.”

Natasha’s smirk softened. “You did.”

You blinked up at her, your chest still rising and falling with the weight of everything that had just happened. Natasha studied you for a moment, and, without warning, she reached forward.

Her hands cupped your face, pulling you in. And she kissed you. Slow. Deep. Unrushed. Not like the night before, not with heat, not with hunger. But with something else. Something heavier.

Something that tasted like pride. Like relief. Like I knew you could do it. When you finally pulled apart, Natasha rested her forehead against yours, exhaling softly. “That’s my brave girl.” she murmured. You smiled, breathless. And for the first time in two years, you really believed it.

Race 23

The paddock was alive with the chaotic energy of race day. Engines roaring in the distance, mechanics scrambling over last-minute checks, media teams swarming in every direction. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. But you? You had drowned it all out. Headphones in. Music blasting.

Your fingers tapped against your thigh in rhythm with the beat as you leaned against the side of the garage, eyes closed, trying to steady yourself.

Silverstone.

The track where everything almost ended. You had studied the turns, visualized every sector, forced yourself to relive the crash over and over until it didn’t hold power over you anymore.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. Natasha stood just a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes trained on you, her gaze calculating, unreadable. She was watching. And she wasn’t letting anyone interfere. Every few minutes, someone tried. Engineers, strategists, team personnel, all waiting to talk to you.

To brief you. To check in. To discuss last-minute adjustments. And every single time, Natasha stopped them. One sharp glance. One curt shake of her head. Not now. She wasn’t letting anyone break your focus. She’d made sure everything was in place. That all your data was locked in. That your team was prepped.

That you were untouchable. Until he appeared. “Still seeing the wall in your sleep?”

Your entire body went still. The music still played, but you weren’t listening anymore. Your breath hitched, hands clenching into fists. And that was when Natasha turned.

She saw the way your body stiffened. She saw your reaction. And in less than a second, she was on him. She grabbed him by the front of his race suit, shoved him backwards against the garage wall, the force of it making his head jolt.

Hard. His smirk vanished. Natasha leaned in, her voice a razor-sharp whisper. “I should have done this the moment you put her in the wall last time.”

Walker tried to mask the fear flickering in his eyes, but Natasha saw it. And she fed off it. She tightened her grip, voice deadly calm.

“You think you’re clever?” she murmured. “You think you can get in her head?”

Walker swallowed. “Romanoff-”

“I am not one of these fucking PR reps who’s going to slap you on the wrist and tell you to play nice.” Her nails dug into his race suit, jaw clenching.

Walker scoffed. “You’re losing it..”

Natasha’s lips curled into something dark. “I haven’t even started.”

Cameras were on them. Photographers had gathered outside the garage. Whispers spread like wildfire. But Natasha didn’t care. She was seething. Yelena was the first to try to pull her back. “Nat.” Her voice was sharp. “Let it go.”

But Natasha wasn’t letting go. Not yet. Not until he understood. Not until he felt what she had felt. Not until he knew, without a doubt- That if he touched you again, if he even so much as breathed the wrong way in your direction— She would end him.

“Stay the fuck away from her.”

The second you and Natasha stepped into the privacy of the team garage, the noise of the paddock muffled behind the heavy doors, the weight of what had just happened came crashing down on both of you.

Her jaw was tight, eyes burning with residual fury, her breath coming in short, sharp exhales. She was holding back. Holding everything in. Because she had lost control. And Natasha Romanoff never lost control. The second the doors shut behind you, she yanked her arm free, running a hand through her hair.

You had never seen her like this. Not like this. She had always been calm, sharp, precise. Every move calculated, every emotion locked down.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Yelena threw her hands up, her Russian accent thick with frustration. “Are you trying to get suspended before the championship? Or, I don’t know, arrested?”

Natasha didn’t react. She just stood there, silent. Yelena scoffed, shaking her head. “Jesus, Natasha.”

Then she turned to you, eyes scanning you up and down. “And you.” she muttered, gesturing vaguely. “Why the hell are you letting her act like your attack dog?”

You blinked. “I- what?”

“You know she would burn the entire paddock down for you, right?” Yelena said bluntly. “Like, full villain origin story.”

Natasha sighed. “Yelena.”

Yelena ignored her. “You have her wrapped around your little driver finger.”

Your face heated. Natasha shot her sister a warning glare. “I will kill you.”

Yelena smirked. “See? She’s in denial.”

You bit back a laugh, rubbing your face. “Can we focus on the fact that the media just saw that?”

Yelena shrugged. “Oh, yeah, you’re screwed.”

You groaned. Natasha ran a hand over her face. “How bad is it?”

Yelena pulled out her phone and tilted the screen toward you.

BREAKING NEWS: ROMANOFF EXPLODES ON WALKER IN PRE-RACE CONFRONTATION!

“Natasha Romanoff LOSES CONTROL—DRAMA before the final races!”

“TENSION RISES: WALKER VS. L/N, BUT IS ROMANOFF THE REAL FIGHT?”

Before you could say something, Your parents stepped in and Natasha’s blood ran cold. She recognized them instantly. She had met your parents once before, but this? This was different. Your father’s eyes flickered to the scene again behind him, the cameras, the tension, the way Walker was still adjusting his suit, trying to shake off the encounter.

And then? He turned back to you. He searched your face for a moment. And then, he sighed, shaking his head with a small, tired smile. “You never did back down from a fight, did you?”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t realize you had been holding it until then. And for the first time that day, You let out a laugh. Your father stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. And suddenly? You weren’t a racing driver. You weren’t the girl who had just been shoved into the spotlight again.

You weren’t the girl who had almost died here last time. You were just his daughter. And God, you had missed this. When he pulled back, he placed both hands on your shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. And he believed you. Your mother was next. She didn’t hug you. She didn’t smile. But she stepped forward. And that, alone, was enough.

“I still hate this.” The words weren’t cruel. They weren’t judgmental. They were just honest. You exhaled, nodding. “I know.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “But.”

Your heart stuttered. “But I also know how much you love it.”

She looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time since your accident, she saw the joy in your eyes instead of the scars. And when she spoke again, it was softer. “Just promise me you’ll be careful this time.”

Your throat tightened. But you nodded. “I promise.”

Natasha had been standing just a few feet away. She had given you space. But now? She stepped closer, until she was by your side. Your father looked at her. Then at you. And then? A slow smirk. “Romanoff causing trouble for you?”

You let out a soft laugh. And Natasha? For the first time since she nearly killed Walker, her lips twitched into something close to a smile.

“She does that.” And for the first time, your mother didn’t argue. She just sighed. “Then I guess you two are a good match.”

The roar of the crowd was deafening as you sat in your cockpit, hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity. Even through your helmet, you could hear the thunderous energy of the fans, the commentators hyping up the moment.

“After years of fighting her way back, Y/N L/N is back at Silverstone, the very track that nearly ended her career. And now, she has a chance to take another victory here.”

“The nerves must be unreal. This is the track of her nightmare.”

You exhaled sharply, steadying yourself. This wasn’t just any race. This was Silverstone. The last stepping stone before the championship. And even more than that, it was the race. The one that left scars on your body, that nearly stole everything from you.

Your fingers twitched against the steering wheel, tension coiling in your chest. A voice crackled through the radio.

“Radio check.”

It was Natasha. Firm, steady. The only anchor keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts. You pressed the button on the wheel, your voice tight. “Copy.”

A pause. “You good?”

Your throat was dry. “I don’t know.”

Another pause. Then, softer. “Breathe, Detka. I’m right here with you.”

The Russian curled around you, grounding you. It wasn’t something she used often, only in moments like these, when she knew you needed something solid to hold onto. You inhaled deeply. Held it. Exhaled slowly.

“Just another race.” Natasha murmured, voice smooth. “Just another grid. Just another set of lights. You know what to do.”

You clenched your jaw, nodding slightly. “I know.” But before you could settle into that thought-Walker. He was right in-front of you, P1 on the grid, his presence a venomous reminder that he was still in the fight. You caught a glimpse of him over the halo of your car, his smug expression barely visible under his helmet. Even from here, you knew he was going to make this difficult.

A tap on your helmet made you turn your head, Yelena. She crouched beside your car, her green eyes searching yours. “You ready?”

You scoffed. “Yes.”

She grinned. “Good. Now go kick his ass.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “That’s the plan.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the comms again. “Grid up.”

You pulled your visor down, locked in, fingers twitching on the wheel. This was it. “Let’s hunt.”

Five red lights flickered overhead.

Five… Four… Three…

Your breath caught in your throat.

Two… One…

The world held still.

Lights out.

The explosion of sound and movement was immediate. Engines howled, tires screeched, the smell of burnt rubber filling the air as the pack lunged forward. Your reflexes kicked in, instincts sharper than thought.

“Nice start.” Natasha’s voice was smooth over the radio. “Hold it, don’t rush.”

Turn 1 was pure carnage. Cars dove aggressively, desperate to gain positions before the field settled. You barely had time to process before reacting, threading through the chaos.

Lap 3 emerging worked perfectly.

Lap 7 Box stop. Your team executed flawlessly, barely 2.4 seconds before they released you back into the fray.

“Perfect stop.” Natasha praised, her voice low in your ear.

Lap 10 Walker was directly in front of you, his car a flashing red target in your sights.

“Don’t rush it.” Natasha warned, already anticipating your aggression. “You’ll get him.”

Lap 18. Your breath stilled. The curve. The very turn that had nearly taken your life was right in front of you.

Your fingers clenched around the wheel. Flashes of the past crept in, the moment you lost control. The helpless spin. The wall rushing toward you. The sound of metal crushing.

Your vision blurred for half a second. Terror curled its fingers around your throat. “Breathe.” Natasha’s voice was softer now, private. Just for you. “You’re in control.”

Your chest rose and fell too fast. “Let it go, Y/n.” Natasha coaxed. “This track doesn’t own you anymore. You own it.”

Your breath hitched. The car rocketed toward the turn. This was it. You committed. Full throttle. The car hugged the track, smooth, controlled, perfect. No oversteer. No panic. No fear. A single tear slipped down your cheek. You did it. The pit wall erupted. Mechanics cheered, Yelena whooped in celebration.

Lap 20 You held firm, but he was defending every inch.

Lap 25 Final lap.

He lunged, reckless, aggressive. But you knew him. You baited him into Turn 6, letting him think he had the overtake. At the last second, you switched lines, cutting back perfectly. The move was flawless. You heard the frustration in Walker’s engine as he locked up behind you.

And then, the checkered flag.

“Y/N L/N WINS AT SILVERSTONE!”

Your vision blurred, heart slamming against your ribs. The radio exploded. Shouts. Cheers. Yelena screaming. “You did it.”

You exhaled sharply, swallowing the lump in your throat. You did it.. The car rolled into the pit lane. The moment you stopped, you ripped off the wheel, launching yourself out of the cockpit. A sea of bodies swallowed you, mechanics, engineers, your team, screaming, shaking you, holding you.

Natasha stood at the pit wall, arms crossed, her lips twitching at the corners. And for the first time, in front of the entire world, She smiled. And in that moment, you knew. You weren’t just fighting for yourself anymore. You were fighting for her.

And fuck..You were going to win this championship.

——

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but when you walked into the team’s headquarters the morning after Silverstone, still buzzing from the victory, you were met with something entirely unfamiliar. Silence. No scheduled briefings. No physical drills. No mechanical debriefs. Just a single message on your phone.

“Meet me at the hangar. Be ready.”

You arrived at the hangar, dressed in your usual training gear, expecting something, anything, resembling a preparation session. But instead, Natasha was standing next to a private jet, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, watching you approach.

Your brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

She smirked. “Your final week of training.”

You stared at her. “What does that mean?”

She pushed off the frame, stepping closer, voice softer now. “You’ve pushed yourself hard enough, detka. Now, you rest. You reset.”

You blinked. “And you’re deciding that for me?”

She arched a brow, tilting her head. “Do you trust me?”

Your heart clenched at the sincerity in her voice. You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Yes. I do.”

Her smirk returned, this time softer. “Then get in the plane.”

You followed, still confused but knowing better than to question her now. The flight was peaceful. No talk of racing, no debriefs, just the soft hum of the jet’s engines. You sat beside her, fingers drumming idly against your thigh. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Natasha didn’t look up from her tablet, scrolling through something unreadable. “Nope.”

You huffed, shifting in your seat. “You know, normal people discuss things like this.”

She smirked but still didn’t look up. “And since when have we been normal?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into the plush seat. “Fair point.”

The destination remained a mystery until you landed. When you stepped out of the jet and into the warm, sea-salted air, your breath hitched. A private villa. Hidden away, far from the chaos of the racing world.

“You brought me to an island?” you asked incredulously.

Natasha just grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “You needed a reset.”

You blinked. “And your idea of resetting is a literal paradise?”

She glanced at you over her shoulder, smirking. “Would you rather be back at the track?”

You scoffed. “No. Absolutely not.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Then shut up and enjoy it.”

For the first time in months, you woke up without an alarm. Without the weight of race strategy meetings, without the looming stress of upcoming battles. Instead, you woke up to the soft rustling of waves, the distant call of seagulls, and the scent of coffee drifting through the open villa.

And her. Natasha was sitting on the patio, her laptop open on the table, a cup of coffee in hand, her eyes flicking between the screen and the ocean. You leaned against the doorframe, watching her, arms crossing over your chest. “Do you ever stop working?”

She hummed, tilting her head in your direction but not looking away from the screen. “Do you ever stop overthinking?”

You scoffed, stepping closer. “Touché.”

She finally looked up, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Coffee?”

You nodded, sitting down across from her. The moment you took the first sip, you exhaled, the warmth spreading through you. “Okay. Maybe this was a good idea.”

Natasha chuckled. “Told you.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the waves providing a soothing backdrop. After a moment, Natasha leaned back, closing her laptop. “How are you feeling about Abu Dhabi?”

You hesitated, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t push. Just watched. Waited. You sighed, setting the coffee down. “I feel ready, but also… it feels different now. Everything does.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Because of the championship?”

You swallowed. “Because of you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. A beat of silence. Natasha’s expression didn’t change immediately, but there was something in her eyes, something soft, something unreadable. You looked away, suddenly nervous. “I mean—”

“I know.”

You met her gaze again. She exhaled slowly, like she was choosing her words carefully. “I feel it too.”

The confession was quiet. Almost vulnerable. Your breath caught. “Natasha-”

She shook her head, a small smile ghosting her lips. “Not yet. Not before the final race.”

Your chest tightened, but you understood. This..whatever this was, was too big to unpack before the championship was decided. But that didn’t stop you from reaching across the table, from sliding your fingers over hers. And Natasha didn’t stop you either.

The week passed in a haze of quiet moments. Soft touches. Unspoken words. Natasha never pushed you to talk about the race, never brought up Walker, never made you think about anything except being here.

But the night before you left for Abu Dhabi, everything shifted. You stood on the balcony, staring at the ocean, lost in thought. You felt her presence before she spoke. “You’re thinking again.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t help it.”

She moved beside you, resting her arms against the railing. “Tell me.”

You swallowed. “What if I lose?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You won’t.”

You turned your head toward her, searching her face. “How can you be so sure?”

Natasha met your gaze, eyes burning with something fierce. “Because I know you.”

A pause. “And you’re mine.”

Your breath hitched. She turned toward you fully now, stepping closer. The tension between you snapped taut, electricity crackling in the space between. She lifted a hand, fingers brushing against your jaw. “And I don’t lose, dorogaya.”

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. And this time, this time, there were no interruptions. Her lips were on yours before you could even process it, warm, insistent, desperate. You melted into her, hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, needing more, needing everything.

The final race was tomorrow. The world was watching. The championship was on the line. But right now? Right now, the only thing that mattered was her. The atmosphere was electric.

Final Race

The Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi was alive with tension, the air buzzing with anticipation. Fans crowded the grandstands, waving banners, their cheers blending into the deafening roar of engines warming up in the pit lane. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden hues over the track, the last race of the season set to unfold under the lights.

This was it. The championship decider.

You stood in the garage, your fireproof suit already zipped up, helmet in hand, heart pounding in your chest. You had never felt this level of pressure before—every decision, every overtake, every second would determine whether you would leave this track as a world champion.

“Welcome to the final race of the season, the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix! And what a season it has been! It all comes down to this, two contenders, one final battle, and the championship on the line!”

“That’s right! Y/N L/N and Walker have been at war all season, and now, after 23 grueling races, it all leads to this moment. Whoever finishes ahead tonight will be crowned the world champion!”

The camera feed cut to Walker, standing a few garages down, already locked in conversation with his engineers. You caught his gaze for a split second, and he smirked, giving you a mocking two-finger salute.

Your jaw clenched. Natasha, who had been standing beside you, caught the interaction immediately. “Ignore him.” Her voice was firm but steady, grounding you. “He wants to get in your head. Don’t let him.” You exhaled sharply, nodding.

The pre-race ceremony was grand. Fireworks lit up the sky, and the national anthem echoed across the circuit as drivers lined up for introductions. Cameras panned across each contender, zooming in on your face as the commentators continued hyping the moment.

“This is the most anticipated title fight in years. The young challenger versus the reigning champion. Y/N L/N has defied all odds this season, recovering from injury, fighting back from setbacks, and proving she belongs at the top.”

“And let’s not forget the woman behind her success, Natasha Romanoff, the enigmatic and ruthless team principal who rebuilt this team from the ground up. This isn’t just a battle between drivers, it’s a war between philosophies, between two teams that have fought tooth and nail to get here.”

As your name was called, the crowd erupted in cheers. Your stomach twisted with nerves, but you forced a steady breath. Then, Natasha’s hand found your lower back, just for a second, a silent reminder.

“You’re ready for this.” she murmured, barely audible over the noise. You swallowed hard, nodding.

The camera moved to Walker, his confident grin plastered across the screens. He thrived under the spotlight, waving dramatically at the crowd. The moment passed quickly, and soon, you were making your way to the car, slipping into the cockpit for the final time this season.

The formation lap was tense. The weight of the championship sat heavy on your shoulders as you weaved through the turns, warming up the tires, getting a feel for the grip under the lights. Natasha’s voice came through the radio. “Alright, Y/n. This is it. We’ve prepared for this moment all season. You know what to do.”

You exhaled. “I do.”

A pause. Then, softer “I’m proud of you.” Your chest tightened, your grip firming around the wheel. “Let’s win this.”

This was it. The moment everything had been building toward. The last race of the season. The championship on the line. The crowd was deafening, their cheers vibrating through the grandstands, but inside the cockpit, it was just you, the machine, and the voice in your ear.

“Radio check.”

You exhaled, adjusting your grip on the wheel. “Loud and clear.”

A pause. Then, her voice softened, just slightly. “You’ve fought too hard to let this slip away. Start strong. Control the pace. And bring it home.”

Your heart pounded. Natasha had never been this soft over the radio before a race. It settled something in your chest.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Lights out.

The engine screamed as you launched off the line, your tires gripping perfectly, carrying you smoothly into the first corner. You held your position, P1. Exactly where you needed to be.

Walker was right behind you.

Lap 5

Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms. “He’s pushing early. Don’t let him dictate your race. You control this.”

You kept your breathing steady. “Copy.” Walker was testing you, feinting a move on the inside, but you covered the line perfectly.

Lap 10

“Box, box.”

You dove into the pits, your crew flawless. 2.3 seconds. You rejoined the track in P3, behind two drivers who hadn’t pitted yet. Walker followed, just seconds behind.

“Cold tires. Build them up. He’s going to attack.”

Lap 15

Chaos. Two cars behind you collided violently. A massive impact. Debris scattered across the track. One car spun into the barriers at high speed.

“Safety car.”

Your grip on the wheel tightened. Your eyes flicked to the mirrors. “Are they okay?” Your voice was sharp, urgent.

A long pause. Then, “Both drivers are out of the car. Medics are on them.”

You let out a shaky breath. The race was neutralized. But the tension didn’t fade. Natasha cut in, voice steady. Grounding.

“Don’t think about it. This isn’t your past. This is your present. This is your win.”

You nodded to yourself. You were not the same driver who crashed before.You were stronger. Smarter. Better.

Lap 20

The safety car pulled in. The race was back on. You timed the restart perfectly. Walker was right there, trying to lunge up the inside, but you blocked him cleanly. He was getting desperate.

And then, Lap 27.

He made his move. Too aggressive. Too reckless. Your rear tire was clipped. The car twitched violently. Your breath stopped. For a second, you felt it happening again. The Silverstone crash. The helpless spin. Your lungs locked. Natasha’s voice was calm, urgent.

“You’ve got it. You’re in control.”

You held it. You corrected, stabilized the car. Walker was still pushing. Still desperate. “Don’t let him rattle you. You have him.” Natasha’s voice was sharp.

Lap 35

Final one. Walker lunged forward. He was too aggressive. He clipped the curb badly. His car twitched. Your eyes widened. He lost it. His car slid sideways, full speed into the barriers. A brutal impact. Carbon fiber shattered. Metal twisted.

The crowd gasped. Your lungs locked. Your voice broke through the radio. “Is he okay?!”

Silence. Then, Yelena’s voice. “He’s moving. Medical is there.”

Natasha followed, controlled but tight. “Stay focused.”

Your eyes flicked up. The finish line was ahead. One more corner. You had done it.. The realization hit you all at once. You erupted in a scream. “YEEEESSSS!” Your hands trembled on the wheel as you crossed the line, the weight of everything crashing over you.

You had won.

Not just the race. Not just the championship. You had won yourself back. The sound of your own screams of victory echoed in your ears, blending with the deafening cheers from the crowd, the roaring engines, the overwhelming rush of adrenaline that flooded every inch of your body.

Through the radio, your team was exploding with excitement, voices overlapping, Yelena’s unhinged screaming, engineers shouting your name—everyone losing their minds.

And then, Natasha. But this time, her voice wasn’t just professional. It wasn’t just the sharp, controlled guidance of your team principal. This time, she laughed. A real, genuine laugh, the sound crackling through your earpiece, warm and unfiltered.

“Jesus, Y/n, you’re insane.”

You let out a breathless laugh in return, blinking back the sting of emotion. “I fucking did it...”

Her voice softened, low, proud. “Yes, you did.” The realization hit you like a freight train. You were the world champion.

The second you parked the car, you ripped off the wheel, unstrapping yourself as fast as possible. Before your brain could even catch up, you were climbing out of the cockpit, the weight of everything crashing into you.

They were everywhere. Your mechanics swarmed you, hands grabbing your suit, shaking you, hugging you, their cheers ringing out in celebration. Tears burned at the edges of your vision. This was real. You were on top of the world.

You hugged every mechanic who got to you, arms wrapping around engineers, feeling every ounce of their pride, their joy, their belief in you. But then, your eyes flickered up. And there she was.

Standing just beyond the chaos, arms relaxed, her lips curled into a rare, small smile, her green eyes locked onto you. And that’s when you felt it. The sting of emotions rising too fast, too sharp, the sheer weight of this moment overwhelming.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your legs were moving. You ran. Straight to her. Natasha barely had time to react before you crashed into her arms. She caught you effortlessly, her hands gripping tight, holding you like she had no intention of letting go.

Your breath was ragged, your heart hammering against your ribs. You buried your face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her, leather, champagne, and something unmistakably her. You felt her laugh, the softest thing, as her hand slid to the back of your head, holding you close. And then, before your brain could even fully process what was happening, Natasha leaned back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up, her eyes flickering between yours, searching.

And then, she kissed you. Right there. In front of everyone. The crowd erupted. The cameras flashed. The team roared. And none of it mattered. Because Natasha Romanoff was kissing you. Not rushed. Not hidden. Real. Raw. Completely, unapologetically hers. You melted into it, your hands gripping her suit, pulling her closer, desperate to feel every inch of this moment.

When she pulled back, her forehead pressed against yours, her breath warm against your lips. And then, she finally whispered it.

“I love you.”

You blinked, your chest tightening painfully. She had never said it before. Not once. Not when she held you after long, exhausting nights. Not when she whispered Russian against your skin. Not when her hands traced over your scars like they were sacred.

But here..in front of the world..she did. And fuck, you had never loved her more. Your fingers curled into the fabric of her race suit, your voice shaking as you whispered back.

“I love you, too.”

She smiled, a real, genuine, unguarded smile. And just as the cameras continued flashing, just as the team lost their minds, she pulled you in for another kiss. Because now, you were champions. Together.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as you made your way through the pit lane, your body still buzzing with pure, unfiltered adrenaline. Every muscle ached, every heartbeat pounded against your ribs, but none of it mattered.

You had won the fucking championship.

As you walked toward the podium, your crew and engineers lined up, cheering, clapping, some even grabbing your shoulders, shaking you with pure joy. The mechanics who had spent countless hours perfecting your car, the engineers who had studied your every move, your team, your family.

You grinned at them all, shaking hands, hugging anyone who reached for you. But then, your eyes flickered forward. Natasha Standing just beyond the team with your parents, arms crossed, her stance effortlessly composed as always. But this time, her green eyes weren’t filled with sharp calculation. They weren’t focused on data, strategy, or performance.

They were on you. And for the first time, in front of thousands of cameras, in front of the world, Natasha let herself smile. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t obvious. But to you, it was everything.

She lifted a glass of champagne, a silent toast from where she stood, her expression laced with something you’d never seen from her before, not in front of the cameras. Pride. Pure, unguarded, unmistakable pride.

Your chest tightened painfully. She was proud of you. And that? That made your throat burn more than anything. Before you could even begin to process it, an official gently tapped your arm, ushering you toward the podium. The crowd erupted as you took the steps, standing in the middle, on the highest platform. The place only one person got to stand. The champion’s place. Your team principal’s place. Natasha’s place.

Your breathing hitched as you stood there, the weight of it finally crashing over you. You had done it. Walker was a few steps below you, his expression tight, controlled. He wasn’t looking at you. Good. He didn’t matter anymore. Because this moment? This was yours.

The anthem played, the flags waved, and you felt the world shift beneath you. The bottles were handed over, the anticipation buzzing through the air. You grabbed yours, shaking it violently before popping the cork, the liquid bursting forward like a dam breaking.

And then, chaos. You turned the bottle, drenching the second-place finisher, who cursed but laughed, retaliating immediately. The third-place driver joined in, and suddenly, it was an all-out war of champagne and celebration. The golden liquid soaked your race suit, your hair, your skin. But you didn’t care. You laughed, heart soaring, the feeling unlike anything else in the world.

For a moment, you let yourself breathe. Let yourself feel it. You had climbed back from hell, from the crash that nearly ended your career, from the doubts, the nightmares, the whispers behind your back. And now? Now you were at the top.

Your eyes instinctively flickered past the cameras, past the roaring crowd. Straight to her. Natasha was still standing there, watching, her glass still in hand, her lips curled just slightly.

And this time, she lifted it higher. The acknowledgment. The silent toast. The unspoken message. Your vision blurred for half a second, but you blinked it away. And then? You did something you hadn’t planned. Something natural. You lifted your own bottle in return, mirroring her.

A toast. To the one person who had been there through it all. To Natasha fucking Romanoff.

The second you stepped down from the podium, the cameras swarmed. Questions flew at you from every direction, reporters desperate for the first statement from the new world champion.

You barely had time to process them.

“Y/n, how does it feel-”

“What a comeback! What do you have to say to your doubters-”

“What does this mean for your future-”

The questions were a blur. Your mind was still racing, your body still buzzing from the victory. “Alright, that’s enough.”

The reporters stilled. You turned, heart skipping a beat. Natasha was right there, her body angled just slightly in front of yours, the presence of a shield, a protector. And just like that, the questions stopped. Because when Natasha Romanoff spoke, people listened. She glanced over at you, her green eyes softer now, just for you.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

You nodded, exhaling softly, letting her take your hand, your fucking hand, right there, in front of everyone. The world had no idea what had just changed. But you did. And that? That was all that mattered.

The End.

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🏷️ TAGLIST: @l0nelyish @ayrtonwilbury @ima-gi--na-tion @whatthesnoodle @blackswanxzn @ivyasproperty @seventeen-x @wandanatlov3r @nebthetautora @casquinhaa @veroeuqin @1234mockingjay @artemisarroxvolkov @natashasmuse @cactuslover2600

[ihavethedreamies]

Good Enough | Jisung [NSFW]

Park Jisung - NCT Dream

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~6.1k [more than half is smut btw]

Pairing: Jisung x AFAB!Older!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot, Friends/Roommates-to-Lovers, Absolute Filth

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Summary: Jisung is tired of his noona treating him like her little sweet baby.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Noona, Sweetheart), Swearing, Very Dirty Talk, Kissing, Lots of Tongue, One Spank, Oral (M! & F! Receiving), Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Rimming (Just a tad), Size Difference, Size Kink, Soft-Dom! Jisung (oof), Sub! Reader, Breeding/Creampie Kink, Overstimulation, Squirting, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill)

Author's Note: I had a mental breakdown while writing this lol. This might not acutally be the filthiest thing I have written, but it feels like it because of who it's for…for some reason. It's hard for me to believe that Jisung got so fucking hot, because I remember him sitting on Taeyong's lap, but he's a MAN now. i'll sit on his lap

P.S. FUCK

Revised (1/31/25) - I forgot to change the name to (Y/N), so I fixed it!

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

“He’s my precious.”

“Your roommate…is your precious?” Jisung hears voices creeping in from the living room. Groggily, he glances at the clock on his nightstand, head peeking out of his blanket cocoon. He’s still jet lagged after getting back from Korea, so it’s about 3 pm.

“Yes. And he’s not just my roommate-“

“He’s your precious?”

“Yes. But! I was going to say he’s my best friend… and my precious baby boy.

“Seriously? Isn’t he only like two or three years younger?”

“My precious baby Jisung.” He huffs at your coo, dropping his head back on his pillow in annoyance. For some reason his summer trip back home to see his parents triggered something in him. He missed you horribly and you were pretty much the only thing he talked about. Once he was informed by his mother that he’s likely fallen in love with you, he’s…upset. More with himself at first for not realizing it, but then looking at how you two interact, he got cranky. He is not your precious baby Jisung, he’s a man dammit, has been for nearly four years. Do you see him that way though? Not even remotely. He’s a step above a puppy, at least you accept he’s human. But you constantly go on about how cute he is, and sweet, and ‘a bean’; whatever that means. You’d even called him your son on a few occasions, and ever though they’re mostly in jest and unserious, now they really piss him off. Jisung doesn’t want you to see him as your son (maybe give you one) but what really is bugging him barely makes sense. He’s only heard you say it once, but it sticks in his mind…

“You realize half of the people on campus want to fuck him, right?”

He’s in his final year of college, and the only reason you’re still in college is because you stuck around to work for the IT department. Your friend’s question is not news to him, but he’s much too shy to go for any of the advances he’s received. He’s also much too in love with you, but he hadn’t known that till literally last month, but it makes sense.

“Not allowed.”

“Why?”

“Precious baby.”

“He’s not a baby, (Y/N). Not even close.” You don’t reply for a bit, and he can vividly picture your distasteful expression.

“He might not actually be one, but he’s my baby. My baby Jisung.”

“(Y/N).”

Your friend’s annoyed tone is not nearly strong enough to match the level he’s feeling. Definitely not able to continue his nap, he sits up aggressively from his bed, kicking at his blankets before wrangling his comforter and throwing it to the floor. Resting his elbow on his knee, he then rests his forehead on his hand, trying to breathe out his ire so he can leave his room without being visibly grumpy.

“My sister wants to ask him out.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“No one is good enough.”

“No one?”

“Nope, not even me.”

That’s it. You said it. That simple thought is what really sets him over the edge. You’re the only one good enough, no one else can even be close to you in his eyes. Finally, the anger boils over and he climbs off his bed, putting a sweatshirt on so quickly that he has to wrestle it in his haste. You keep the apartment so freaking cold… You must hear him wrench his door open because your conversation immediately stops. He storms down the hall, even his socked feet are heavy on the laminate wood floor, so much so that when he comes to the mouth of the hallway, you’re looking at him with a shocked expression. You’re sitting at the coffee table with your friend Yuna, various papers spread on the surface while your friend studies for her graduate classes. Your green snake Squishmallow sits on your lap, and he wants to grab it and throw it across the room, suddenly jealous with how close it’s pressed to your chest.

“Ji?” It’s clear you don’t think he heard your conversation, but Yuna immediately realizes, starting to gather her homework.

“I’m gonna go.” She nearly shoves the papers into her folder and throws everything else in her bag.

“What? Why?” You turn back to her, and he then realizes what you’re wearing. Your slightly damp hair has moved out of the way, revealing the design on the back of your baggy t-shirt. It’s his.

“Wait, Yuna?!” You try to get up and go after her as she dashes from your apartment, shooting Jisung a look as she shuts the door. You have to shove the table to get up quicker, and even as you stand, you still clutch the plushie to you. Jisung exhales harshly, storming forward and grabbing your Squishmallow and yeeting her onto the floor.

“Woah?! What’d she do to you?” You motion to her with your hand, giving him a questioning look. You start to bend to pick her up, but his hand grabs your wrist, pulling you back up and toward him, making your balance falter. Your bewildered eyes scan over his face, but you still have no anger in them; not even annoyance. You can’t get mad at your baby boy.

“Ji?” His big hand easily holds your wrist, and you squeak when he drags you even closer to him, so much that you can feel his breath flutter your hair over your forehead. His brow is furrowed, lips pressed tight to each other, but he can’t seem to meet your eyes.

“Hey, you okay?” Your other hand comes up to brush some of your hair away from your face, only leaving it down so it can dry. Your fingers then move to his face, trying to brush his bangs out of his eyes. Having you so close and seeing how far you have to reach makes him realize just how small you are. He’s well over half a foot taller than you and he wonders how small you’d look under him… When your fingers brush his cheek, his other hand grabs yours, easily swallowing it in his grip. Jisung holds your hand, pulling closer, and lays your linked hands over his heart. With his other, he yanks you the last little bit closer, so you’re pressed to him, wide eyes rapidly scanning his face. Your head’s tilted back, almost painfully so, still not recognizing what’s happening. The hand around your wrist moves so his thumb can rub your skin till it presses against your palm. Your gaze goes to your hand then, shocked at how small it is compared to his, and you seem to be registering how small you are compared to him in general. Had he really grown so much since you’d met him four years before? Your gaze goes back to his face, finally seeming to notice that his face has changed as well. Yes, he’s still cute, but he’s become devastatingly handsome, maturing into a…man. No, he isn’t a baby anymore, but you’re in denial. Even now, pressed against him, even able to feel his toned muscles through his sweatshirt, you keep trying to convince yourself he's still your baby Jisung.

“Jisung?” You exhale his name, so quiet that if he wasn’t so close, he wouldn’t have heard. Your eyes follow his when they flick down to watch your lips move when you whisper his name.

“What makes you think you’re not good enough for me?” His voice rumbles through you, its deepness shocking you for some reason. When did that happen? You’re so thrown off by the pitch of his voice, you barely register his question.

“Huh?”

“No one else is good enough for me…because they’re not you.” His hand drops your wrist so his arm can wrap around you, and he presses his cheek to the side of your head. He nuzzles your soft hair, the familiar scent of your shampoo soothing his anger some.

“What?” You stand still, stiff even, trying to process what’s happening.

“I don’t want to be your baby Jisung anymore, noona. I just want to be yours.” He’s a bit surprised with his sudden eloquence, but he just chocks it up to all his upset burning away any shyness he as in the moment. The anger’s faded, and he’s just upset, tired again, praying in his head that you’ll get the fucking hint. Your hand, the one he lets go, has rested on his chest for balance, then he feels your fingers clutch the fabric of his sweatshirt. With his fingers wrapped around your right hand still, he can feel that your pulse has quickened, and you’re minutely shaking.

“Y-you…?” You swallow hard, tongue running over your lips, mouth feeling dry.

“I thought I just had a crush on you. I don’t. I love you.” His softened voice floats right into your ear with how his head rests on yours. The back of your nose and throat burn as you swallow hard, tears sparking in the corners of your eyes. When you hiccup, snigging, he flinches, pulling back from you. It’s only just enough that he can see your face, his arm still around you, hand still in his over his heart.

“Noona.” He sighs softly, dipping and kissing the corner of your eye where a tear has slipped down your cheek. Nope, that makes it worse. You burst into tears, chest heaving, and he pulls you back into him. You’re…dramatic sometimes, cry easily…too easily, even. Jisung loves to tease you for crying at a commercial where a little girl brings a quilt out to her sheep in the barn close to Christmas. You also tend to cry around puppies.

“I-I…I-!” Your breath is heaving too much for you to really talk. His nose nuzzles your hair, and he kisses the crown of your head. You sniff, taking a few deep breaths.

“I love you too…” You whisper, if you were to speak any loud, your sobs would take back over. He doesn’t know, but while he was gone you had been in a much similar situation. You went to visit your parents as well, but it’s just an hour or so drive, not practically across the world. You missed him so much, and wouldn’t shut up about him, but your mother knows you well enough to read between the lines. Because it startled you, having romantic feelings for Jisung, you became even more dramatic with the ‘baby Jisung’ talk. He is your best friend, and so of course you love him, but you can’t admit you’re in love with him. You’re so worried about ruining your friendship that you just ignore your logical thoughts and pretend you haven’t fallen for him. Nearly fighting him when he pulls back from the hug again, you stay pressed to him, not wanting him to see your face. Not only is it red from your blush, but it’s also blotchy from your crying and your nose is close to running.

“Noona.” He huffs a laugh, trying to get you off of him. You grip his sweatshirt tighter.

“(Y/N).” Jisung is fully laughing at that point, partially from your actions and partially from how ecstatic he is that you love him back.

“No.”

“Noona.”

“No.” Finally, with a bit more force, he pulls back so you can see each other’s faces. The warmest smile you’ve ever seen is on his face and you freeze when he leans in closer. His forehead bumps your and his nose crinkles, cringing a bit at his own actions, but it makes you giggle; which makes it all worth it.

“Since when?” you ask. He laughs bashfully, lips pursing.

“I didn’t realize how bad it is till a few weeks ago when I was still in Korea. But…I knew before that. Something made me realize…”

“What?” You’re shocked when his giddy but shy face falls into one of panic.

“W-what?” His face blooms red, all the way to the tips of his ears and he tries to bow his head to avoid your gaze, but you can just look up into his eyes.

“Uh, well…” He clears his throat, trying to pull back further but he doesn’t let your hand go.

“Jisung?” You press with a fake stern tone.

“I…had a dream.” He fakes a cough to try and hide his voice crack.

“Yeah?” You’re clearly not understanding that he’s so reluctant to say what it was, because it was filthy. It even had made Jaemin blush. The extreme embarrassment in his eyes when they finally meet yours clues you in better. You step closer, a coy look spreading over your own face, and he takes a step back. His hand is still holding yours though, so he isn’t that desperate to get away. He clenches his other hand into a fist, bringing it up and pressing his mouth to his forearm to hide his face.

“Was it something bad?”

“No! Uh…” With each step you try to get closer, he backs up, till his back hits the wall.

“Was it naughty?” You tease, and he sneers at the cringey word. Your eyes, still a bit puffy from crying, are creased with amusement.

“Uh, I mean…”

“Did we do something dirty?” Your head tilts up to look at his face as he tries to hide, fingers clenching yours jerkily, the digits desperate to wiggle.

“M-maybe.”

“What?” You smirk, trying not to giggle. You’re always more open about sex stuff, not quite like Jaemin or even Donghyuck, but still more than him.

“No.” He’s throwing your method of deflection back at you.

“You know,” you get up on your tip toes so you can whisper into his ear, “if you tell me, we can do it~?” Your suggestion makes his whole body freeze, blood turning to ice. He nearly gasps when his blood then rapidly heats, the sound of his pulse whooshing in his ears.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, needing to make sure because even just the slightest detail would reveal too much if you aren’t. You nod with a hum, then gasp when he switches your places, hand cupping the back of your head, so it doesn’t thud into the wall as he pins you to it, his other forearm holding him up over you’re your head. You can only blink in response, looking at the conflicted expression on his face.

"I don’t want to hurt you.” What the hell had he dreamt? You’re dying to know…

“You won’t.” Jisung’s eyes meet yours, brow furrowed in worry.

“I could.”

“You could, but you won’t. Plus…” Your hands come up to mess with the strings of his hoodie.

"Sometimes a little pain can feel good." Jisung searches your face and sees the determination in your eyes. The hand on the back of your head buries harshly into your hair, tugging at your scalp as you gasp when his mouth seals against yours. Your teeth clack against his with the force of the kiss and you whine, trying to match his fervor. You can’t. His leg nestles between yours, pressing close and against your core, and you have to rise up onto your tip toes. The fingers in your hair twist the strands around them and he tugs harder, tipping your head back more, compensating for him looming over you. His knee hits the wall, his leg literally hitching you up an inch and you moan at the pressure. Jisung sneaks his tongue into your mouth then and your breath is rough out of your nose, saliva drooling from the corner of your mouth. Panting hard, he pulls back, eyes searching yours. His arm against the wall moves down to your side, still holding him up but also pressing into your waist. The hand in your hair leaves, the tips of his fingers soothing the slight sting he left on your scalp, then cups your jaw. Your face looks so small cupped in his palm and something carnal -feral- rises in him.

“You’re so little, noona.” Jisung’s tone is nothing like you’d even heard from him. His hooded gaze focuses on your mouth when his thumb easily reaches to press against your lips, his fingers still stroking the back of your head. You watch his brow quick up when you take his thumb between your lips, sucking on it. You expect a blush to erupt, for his voice to sputter, or for him to pull back. No. He smirks.

“Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?” Your head has to tilt up once again when he presses even closer, chest to chest, leg still wedged between yours. You wonder if you’d soaked through your panties and thin shorts, and if he could feel it. Then again, he’s in sweatpants, but you can feel the fabric clinging to your folds and he’s only kissed you. Yes, his thigh is pressing against your covered cunt, be he isn’t moving you on it.

“Tell me?” you whisper when he removes his thumb, eyes focusing on the shine of drool left on it. If you didn’t know him better, you would take his intense expression for anger, but even with knowing him so well, you can’t read his face. Jisung slips his hand off your jaw, fingers pressing to the back of your neck, thumb resting under your chin. His face comes close once more, so close his lips brush slightly over yours as he speaks.

“I want to fuck you so hard you can’t walk for the next three days. I want to fuck you so stupid you can’t even speak, just whine, and beg for more. I want to make you cum so much that your cute little pussy stings. I want you to swallow my cock and I want to cum down your throat.” You’re going to pass out, you’re sure of it. With how quickly the blood rushes to your core, your head swims. Where’s your sweet little Jisung gone? How long has he been thinking like that? He can’t even meet anyone’s eyes if sex stuff gets brought up around friends. But his words are thick with lust, and they swim into your ears and fog your brain like a drug. Your thighs twitch, body shuddering when a devilish grin spreads over his gorgeous face. He isn’t cute right now; he’s destructively sexy, and it takes your breath away. You don’t think you can ever see him as your sweet little friend again…

“What do you want, noona?” The pet-name even comes out different, he says it with near reverence, the single word a one-eighty from the four words preceding it.

“I want… I need you to do anything you want to me.” His grin falls, he groans, and his tongue is back in your mouth. He can taste the candy you’d been eating while you spoke those fateful words, eagerly circling your tongue with his. You keen a whining moan when the hand at your neck tightens slightly, his thumb pressing into your windpipe. Your breath hitches, somehow where he grips it gives the same heady feeling without actually restricting your breathing. What steals your air is the pleasure you’re feeling just from his kiss. Your hips jump, desperate for some friction, grinding your covered pussy against his thigh. Helpfully he presses into you more, lifting you against the wall more, the weight of gravity pulling you onto him harder. The arm at your side that’s been holding him up moves -he's just using his knee now for balance- and his fingers tease along the waistband of your shorts. You whimper when his hand continues, sneaking its way into the back of your shorts and panties, the hot pads of his fingers meeting your slick folds. You shiver and take heaving breaths when he removes himself from the kiss. His other hand’s still at your throat, but he releases the light pressure, making your heavy breaths easier to control.

“You’re soaked, noona. For me?”

“Fuck, yes, Jisung.” Expecting a kiss when he moves closer once more, he grips your jaw, tilting your head back, thumb hooking your bottom lip. You let him move your jaw, holding your mouth open, waiting for his next move. His grin breaks when he lets a glob of spit fall from his lip and into your awaiting mouth. Without needing a prompt, when his thumb leaves your mouth, you swallow.

“Good girl, noona.” Slowly, he pulls away from you and the wall, stepping back only enough that he can take his hoodie off. He goes ahead and lets his shirt underneath go along with it and your heart leaps.

“Fucking hell.” You gasp, reaching forward to eagerly run your fingers over him. While he isn’t necessarily to the level of Jeno or even Jaemin, for having a dancer’s body he still has muscle. When had that gotten there? He barely wears anything tight, let alone without sleeves, so you had no idea. He feels a wave of bashfulness rising, so he takes control once again, pulling your small hands from his skin.

“Off.” He prompts and you grab the hem of his shirt you’re wearing, and he finishes the job, tossing it down the hall. Clicking his tongue at your bra, you start to reach around your back to undo it, but he beats you to it. With an easy flick, it snaps open, and you let it drop, wide eyes staring at him. Where the fucking hell had he learned to do that?

“Jaemin.” He must’ve read your mind and that makes plenty of sense. Not able to even process your next move, he scoops you up easily, pressing you back into the wall. You squeak, wrapping your mostly bare legs around his waist, fingers digging into his shoulders. He’s more or less eye-level with you now. He drops you a bit, preferring you under him more, and his nose nuzzles under your ear. He feels the goose bumps rising on your skin against his, his top just as bare as yours. His hands once again bury under the waist band of your shorts, fingers so long that the tips slip out of the leg holes of your panties, cupping your ass perfectly.

“God, Jisung~!” Your body twitches when his light nuzzles immediately turn into open mouth kisses, then he sucks hard, working the skin with his lips and teeth. Popping off of your neck, his tongue runs over the flesh, blood rising and pooling at the surface. The fingers on his shoulder tighten, the blunt edges of your nails digging into his skin, and his own hips jump then. You’ve been trying to ignore the tent in his pants, but he grinds his hardened cock against your cunt, only a few layers of fabric between. Jisung seems to be big in every way…

“You still on the pill?”

“Yes, why?” You shudder once more as he licks at the third hickey he’s left, this one on your collarbone.

“I need to fuck you raw.” He groans as your cunt throbs, easily feeling it against his cock even with the clothing barrier.

“Want to pump you so full, my cums dripping out of you for hours.” Your eyes roll back as you whine, throwing your head back. You squeak when he jostles you up higher, those beautiful and surprisingly sinful lips sucking in a nipple. Sighing at the feeling, he isn’t pleased with the gentle noise, and so he nibbles your peak instead. You yipe like a dog -ironic since he’s planning on fucking you like one- a little dazed by how high up the wall he has you. Despite the altitude, he seems to be easily holding you up, though he’s able to use the wall for help. When his mouth moves to your other breast, he smirks at the red and swollen nipple he leaves. Your body feels like it’s on fire and you both still have your pants on.

“Can I fuck you raw, noona? Feel your pussy cling to my cock?” His mouth is at your ear again, having dropped you back down to an easier level. His dick hasn’t even entered you and you feel too stupid to talk.

“Please~” You mewl, and your submissive tone makes him groan. Jisung’s hands leave your shorts, shoving them down off of you as he partially lets you go. Your feet dangle slightly as you toe off the last of your clothes, then you yelp as he slings you over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“J-Jisung-?!” You yelp as his hand smacks your ass, most likely leaving a big red print on your skin. The sting of the spank sends tendrils of fire right to your cunt as he storms down the hall toward your room, your bed is bigger than his. You flinch at the slam of your door as he closes it, huffing as he practically drops you.

“Knees.” He prompts -orders- and your body easily obeys. Going down the rest of the way to the floor, you sit with your knees in an ‘M’, gazing up at him with big glossy eyes. You’re trying hard not to gape at the bulge in his sweatpants, or to run your gaze hungrily over his bare torso.

“Go ahead, noona.” He nearly laughs at your eagerness, quickly reaching for the waistband of his pants and pull them off, his hard cock bobbing in the air before you. Your wide, enraptured state on his dick gives him a rush of nerves and pride all at once. While you come to terms with your fate, he shoves his sweatpants to the side, and you shuffle forward. Whimpering, your hand wraps around the base of his cock, big and pretty like him. Swallowing, your eyes meet his.

“C-Can I get something?” Your request throws him off, but he nods, and you scramble up and to your nightstand. Trotting back over, you stand demurely before him, holding the item out with both palms up. He takes the little bottle from you, looking at it.

“Throat numbing spray?” His brow crooks and he looks at you, biting your lip with a giddy glaze over your eyes. It still has plastic wrap on the nozzle. Nodding once, you sink back to your knees, and he groans low when you open your mouth wide, tongue out.

“Why do you have this, noona?” His tone is slightly patronizing as he tears the plastic off, then spritzes the watermelon flavored spray into your mouth. Swallowing a few times, the dull sensation you could even register before fades, leaving a very minute feeling in your throat.

“Guess.” You giggle, hand wrapping back around his cock. Jisung buries his hand in your hair again, tugging hard to make you look back up at him.

“You’ve used it before?”

“I’m not a virgin, Ji.” Your normal, casual tone doesn’t sit right with him in the moment, and he twists your hair again, the stinging twinge makes you moan softly.

“One for me now?”

“Yes~” You nod to further emphasize your point, and his grip loosens. With a much softer hold on your head, he presses you closer, letting you take over. Swallowing a buildup of saliva, your tongue swirls around the head of his dick, eagerly lapping at the salty taste of his precum. He’s barely half-way in your mouth when the head hits your numbed throat, your jaw protesting some already. His eyes shut as he groans, only fluttering open to watch you take his cock even deeper down your throat. The spray helps you not to gag, and you swallow over and over, holding your breath, your nose pressing to his groin. Your hand falls, landing next to your other one as you press your hands to the floor. Pulling back enough that you can breathe, you twist your head like a curious dog, eyes searing into his.

“Ready?” You moan and his hands are back in your hair, hips jumping, burying his cock back inside your throat. Despite the numbing, tears spring to your eyes, a slight gag leaving you. Holding still like a good girl, Jisung pumps his fat cock into your mouth and down your throat, breathing harshly through your nose when you can.

“Fuck, you feel so good, noona~” He sighs, head thrown back, making sure not to use full force as he rolls his hips. Even with him holding back, you can feel the strength of his movements and you feel a puddle of wet forming on the laminate floor under you, cunt clenching around nothing.

“You better swallow it all, (Y/N).” He tries not to whimper, but he can’t help it, letting you inhale deeply before burying his cock all the way down your gullet, pumping thick strands of hot cum down your throat. Your core spasms, eyes fluttering as you eagerly swallow over and over, the heat of his release warming through you. When you woke up this morning, you never dreamed you’d be eagerly swallowing Jisung’s cock as he cums buckets down your throat. As the last little wave dies, he quickly removes his still half-hard cock, brow furrowing with worry as you gasp for air. Tears are flowing down your cheeks, face red and messy, but you open up, tongue out, to show him you obediently swallowed every drop.

“You’re so fucking good, sweetheart.” You gasp softly, the pet-name going straight to your needy cunt. Jisung uses his index finger to gather the saliva and pre that dripped down your chin, letting you lick it off.

“Get on the bed, it’s my turn.” As soon as his fingers retracts, you stand quickly, albeit shakily and go to stand by the bed.

“W-which way?” His hands on your shoulders turn you to face the bed, back to him. With a shove, you fall onto the mattress, chest pressing to the surface, hips bumping the end of the bed. You then hear a light thumb, and his hands are back on your ass-

“Fuck!” You gasp as his thumbs spread your soaking folds, blowing a stream of air against your fluttering core.

“Did you cum when I did, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl~” You can hear his smirk, then you cry out as you bury your hands into the sheets, his tongue burrowing into your hot cunt. Jisung easily holds your hips still, his arm wrapping around the front of your legs, his free hand splayed over the small of your back. When his tongue leaves your pussy, it swirls over your clit, and he sucks it in once before running through the slit of your folds and wiggling back inside. He does this a few more times, eagerly drinking your slick.

"Fuckfuckfuck-" You shudder, not even able to warn him as you next orgasm hits, much stronger than the small one you had not even five minutes prior. He holds you down as your body shakes, gummy walls fluttering and throbbing around his tongue.

“You taste so good, noona.” You barely hear him lick his lips, pulse still whooshing in your ears.

“A-ah?!” You squeal when his hands part your ass cheeks, his tongue moving up from your soaking cunt and swirling over your pucker.

“J-Jisung!?” You gasp harder, not sure hot to feel about the sensation. Grateful you took a shower not even two hours ago, you still aren’t really expecting his tongue to go from your pussy to your ass.

“Don’t worry, noona, I just wanna taste today.” He laps over your pucker once more, then pulls back, huffing in amusement at your still twitching thighs. You’re already tired, he can tell, but he’s painfully hard again. Jisung’s thoughts run rampant as he tries to decide how he wants you as he fucks you first. Your pose will do just fine…

“Hm, so wet, sweetheart.” He stands so he can lean over you on the bed, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other hand leading his cock to run through your folds. You know it was big in your mouth, but feeling him at your entrance makes you shiver. As the head of his cock starts to breach your walls, the burning sting makes you sigh in delight, the heat of his skin scorching through you. Breathing hard, trying to relax, your cunt flutters still as he buries deeper, slowly. His deep, low groan fades into a chuckle as he watches your pussy suck in his cock. At the last inch, he snaps his hips, filling you fully, head pressing against your cervix.

“Ah, fuck~!” You white-knuckle the sheets, toes curling, forcing you to tip-toe, his pelvis presses against your hips. You breath raggedly, getting used to not just the burn his fat cock forces from your walls, but the stinging pleasure the same burn forces through you. You haven’t been fucked in way too long, and you’re already sure no one will ever feel as good as Jisung does right now. You’d needed him, not just any guy, but him. That’s why you haven’t tried looking for a date, your subconscious knowing you need your sweet friend to rail you stupid. Jisung breathes hard as well, trying to let you get at least a little used to the stretch, but your sticky, wet heat feels too good.

“I need to move, (Y/N).”

“Please~” You whine, squealing with delight as he pulls back no more than halfway, then slowly back in. It’s like he’s sucked the air out of you, then forced it back in, but his next thrust makes you see stars. As he leans over you, hips battering your ass with hard, shallow thrusts, his hands lie over yours, weaving his fingers through yours. The sweet move is overshadowed by his animal pace, your whimpers and squeaks just as feral. He’s still trying to hold back some, but when he can’t hold back a hard snap, he feels the same flutter as before and grinds his cock into you as you cum, spurts of slick coating his groin and balls as you squirt around him. Your shudders and pulses last nearly twice as long and when you finally lie still, he starts back up himself. Your cunt stings slightly, not ready for the friction once more, but the pain just fuels the pleasure. Without the bed underneath you, you’d have melted onto the floor, not strength left. Wanting to protests when he unweaves your fingers, he falls forward, his chest to your back. Not too tightly, he wraps his arm under you, across your collar bone, then down to your chest, pulling you up just enough that the arm around you restricts you, forcing your elbows to stay at your hips. Your nails dig into the fabric under your lower stomach, Jisung easily holding you up just a bit from the bed. His other arm also snakes around you, his hand splaying over your lower stomach. You’re sensitive there, more than most people, and just the pressure alone makes you mewl. Jisung presses harder, able to feel the bulge of his cock below your skin and as he settles into position, you realize why he’s holding you so tight: he’s holding you in place. His next thrust starts with only the head of his cock inside, then he barrels his dick back into you, fucking you with abandon. You gasp, not able to even squeak or moan, mouth open in a silent scream, drool dripping from the corners of your mouth.

“Ji-Jisung~! Please, fuck-!” You breathe out, your next orgasm washing over you, leaving the friction painful. The pain crests hard and fast as he continues to pound into you, fading back into pleasure. So much of your release and wet spill from your fluttering cunt that it drips onto the floor, down both of your thighs.

“I’m going to cum, noona. Full you up, yeah?” He whimpers deeply, almost groaning, hips faltering slightly.

“Yes, yes~! Jisung~!” He drops both of you to the bed then, pressing you down into the mattress, gouging his cock as deep as he can, and pumping your protected womb and cunt full of his hot cum. It spurts out in globs with your own cum, dripping a bigger puddle onto the floor, the hard pulse of his cock even stronger as he fills you. Your vision blurs, ears ringing as you cum once more, grateful that he stills, actually really hurting at that point. Reveling in his full weight on your back, he then registers he’s laying on you like that and pulls up just a bit.

“You okay?” He nuzzles the back of your ear.

“S-stings…” You get out hoarsely.

“Ah…” He winces with you as he pulls his still half-hard length from you, more globs of jizz and slick leaving your cunt.

“I don’t think I’ll walk for four days…” You mutter. It takes him a second to register what you mean before her bursts into laughter, pressing his sweaty forehead to your shaking shoulder.

“Good enough?” You ask and he hums.

“Fucking perfect.

Master-Master List

NCT Master List

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Your assistant?

Devil!reader/Wanda maximoff

Words: 2,400

Summary: So your typical story of a devil being owed money from a family but instead of paying Wanda’s parents give her to you instead, her first day with you is an eventful one to say the least, I’m sure you two will get along great!

Not a slow burn but we don’t have Wanda in our grips yet, not willingly anyway

Warnings: 18+ only! MINORS DNI swearing, some inappropriate language I think, lmk if I missed any more

*********************************************

You glared at the woman across the table from you, her whole body stiffened when she glanced up and saw you looking, that made you chuckle glancing at the redhead next to you “I think she’s nervous Natty” you chuckled but the Russian just rolled her eyes “you snatched her up from her dorm room before her classes, she’s probably worried about her attendance”

You nodded “I never understood why humans are so concerned with keeping schedules, life is short just go out and enjoy yourself, kill some men and fuck their wives, what else do they need to do?” You looked back at the woman across from you leaning forward to be closer “hey pretty girl, sorry for snatching you up but I really needed to talk to you”. She finally looked up again at you “if this is a way of asking me out then it’s really fucking stupid” you heard Natasha suck in a breath and you smirked knowing full well how Nat gets when someone younger than her swears, she was weird like that “watch your fucking tone miss Maximoff and don’t you dare speak to us like that!” See? Weird, she hates swearing but will swear at anyone who swears at her.

“Natty my aggressive little spider monkey how about you go outside and find Maria, use her body for a little bit to calm down okay?” You patted her slammed fist and she sighed agreeing to leave you alone with the woman, when she exited the room you moved across the room sitting next the woman smiling “little one do you know how much debt your family is in?”

Wanda shook her head “I know mama and papa like to bet on the horses but they said we were okay and had nothing to worry about” you nodded along with her and held out your hand for her take which she did “I understand they told you everything was fine but unfortunately you’re still in debt and as you can imagine I would like to be payed Wanda, be it money or other favours I choose”

Wanda snatched her hand away standing up shocked “oh so that’s why you snatched me?! Am I becoming some kind of prostitute for you and the crazy bitch out there to pay off my family’s debt?!”

You eyes widened and you had to hide your laughter “I mean if you wanted to skip around the place wearing barley nothing while the women here grope and use you then sure you can become our little plaything” her face dropped in horror and she went to speak again but you held your hand up stopping her “no pretty girl I won’t make you become our plaything, but I do need your help, you’ll become my assistant, you know helping with documents and accompanying me to events and meetings, your parents have already agreed”

Wanda was shocked, her parents really agreed to this? How could they, she had to call them.

“You can’t call them honey, from the moment you were taken by my security all communication was terminated between you and them, I can’t have you telling them what kind of activities you have gotten up to”.

“Like what?” She was curious but also nervous, you couldn’t do things that bad right? Also how did you read her mind?

You stood up stalking toward Wanda pressing her against the wall “I need you to trust me Wanda” your hand found it’s way to Wanda’s waist rubbing small circles there “do you trust me?” She shook her head no “I don’t know you, you literally snatched me up from my dorm and now you’re touching me inappropriately”.

You laughed “inappropriately? My fingers are on your waist not inside your pussy so don’t you dare tell me I’m being inappropriate right now, so I’ll ask you again, do you trust me?”

Wanda sighed relenting “sure” you smiled “good, your first job is to accompany me to a meeting in 20 minutes, you’ll stay quiet until I say you can speak, if you step out of line Natty will slit your throat faster than you can say sorry, got it?”

Wanda nodded her head so quickly you thought it would fall off “well done princess now to business” she didn’t have time to do anything before you lent down to kiss marks down her throat, sucking harshly against her skin she tried pushing you away but your hands gripped her keeping her in place “stay.still” you said sternly and Wanda relented standing still and letting you continue, you pulled away admiring the dark purple mark now blooming on Wanda’s neck “perfect”

Wanda let out a breathy sigh “I thought you said I was just your assistant, why’d you do that?”

You smiled kissing Wanda on the cheek “you are, but if I don’t mark you as mine then our conversation about you not becoming our plaything would’ve been for nothing Carol can be ravenous with an unmarked human”

“Why do you keep saying humans? It’s a little strange” Wanda had an idea but she really hoped it wasn’t true, being snatched was bad enough but adding in some weird supernatural thing would be even worse “it’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about, just know that you belong to me and I won’t let them touch your pretty body, now come on my assistant we have a meeting to go to”

**************************************************************************************************************”Took you long enough” Nat looked at Wanda’s neck and smirked “you work quick Y/n, that should keep the others away, maybe Carol will behave herself for once-

The double doors before you slammed open and the before mentioned Carol appeared with dark red eyes honing in on Wanda who quickly moved behind you clinging to your arm “are you our lunch? You look delicious!”

You growled at Carol keeping her in place “she’s mine and if you don’t stay away I will tear you limb from limb and make you eat the limbs” the woman held her hands up smiling at you “I love it when you threaten me Y/n, gets me all hot and bothered” she stepped towards you kissing you and biting your lip

“I miss you baby” she whispered and you rolled your eyes “you can’t say that when I walked in on you eating out Val, clearly you don’t miss me that much” You pushed the blonde away from you and Wanda and laughed at Carol’s expression, “you know she tricked me”

“How? Did she tell you there was candy in there? I’m guessing it was something sour” it was Wanda’s turn to let out a laugh now but she immediately shut up when everyone turned to look at her “was that funny princess?” You asked and she nodded “you’ll fit right in Wanda”

You pushed her through into the room and dragged her to a chair where you sat and she looked around confused “where do I sit?”

You pointed to your lap “either here or the floor” you stated matter of factly and Wanda blushed “w-why don’t I get a chair?”

“Because you’re mine and it’s a great way to keep a close eye on you if you’re on my lap, now sit” you pulled her onto your lap clumsily making the group laugh “god she’s adorable” Carol chuckled making her way next to you “forgive me yet?” She asked kissing your neck “no and I probably never will” she whined sadly “please forgive me I haven’t done anything since-

“Carol sit the fuck down!” Nat shouted jolting both Carol and Wanda “fuck me Nat you need to calm down” Carol scoffed moving away from you and avoiding the angry redhead’s gaze “I’ll calm down when you learn to not to stick your tongue where it doesn’t belong, I had to deal with Y/n’s heartbreak for weeks after she found you”. Carol rolled her eyes “we’re not children okay, how about we just carry on with the meeting”

You laughed “for once being an adult Carol, well done” you turned back to Wanda kissing her cheek “we need you to do something special, will you do that for me?”

Wanda shrugged knowing she couldn’t really say no “sure- she squeaked, when you jumped up with her in your arms suddenly “perfect!” You stood her up pointing to a bag on the table that she didn’t notice to begin with “can you take this dagger and stab the bag?”

Wanda looked at you questionably “what?”

“Just simply take the dagger and pierce the bag like a cook in the bag chicken” you pushed the dagger into Wanda’s hand making her face the bag guiding her hand “there’s nothing to worry about, stab right here” you pointed to a slightly raised part of the bag “what if I don’t want too?”

You shrugged “then I let Carol have her way with you” she glanced over at Carol who had her eyes glued to Wanda’s body and when she met her eyes Carol smiled “I would ruin you-

Wanda didn’t hesitate stabbing the bag but instantly regretted it when the bag spurted out blood and all over her, she heard roars around the room and heard Natasha’s voice “she hit the jugular vein! Like a pro!” Wanda couldn’t move her hand still grasping the dagger and the voices being drowned at by the blood rushing to her head

You cautiously removed Wanda’s hand from the dagger and pulled the stunned woman away from the group whispering in her ear “you did so well princess, what a good girl”.

Your voice went unnoticed by Wanda still shocked at what she did, she didn’t register you took her away until your forced her into a room and she could breathe again

“I can’t believe I did that….I killed someone…I fucking killed someone!” Wanda was shouting and panicking unable to calm herself down until you wrapped your arms around her waist leaning in close to her ear “shh shhh honey I understand come on now…shhh everything’s okay, I’m so proud of you” while your words did calm her down they didn’t stop tears from falling “I hate it here” she whispered and you kissed her cheek turning her around to face you “it’s been 3 hours, give it time”

Wanda had no fight back, instead she fell into you letting you lay her on the bed “rest for a while princess, take it all in”

*****************************************************************************************

Nat found you drinking whiskey like a movie villain in your chair in a dark area of the front room “why are you sat in the dark like a movie villlian?”

You shrugged turning on the light illuminating the room and making you squint “why are you dripping blood all over my floor?” Looking at Nat covered in blood wasn’t anything new, in fact if she don’t have blood on her you’d be very concerned “Carol and I went out hunting and she can’t keep things clean”. You nodded along passing Nat a comically small napkin to wipe her face “thanks bud soooo helpful, how’s the assistant?”

“She’s a little upset about killing someone which is typical but I’m sure she’s fine” Nat sat down opposite you taking the bottle from the table and taking a long drink “I guess human’s do struggle with killing another living person, silly really”.

You agreed taking the bottle back and taking a swig sitting in silence with the woman for a few minutes. “I think she’s awake” Nat spoke up, you hummed in response turning your head to the stairs seeing your new assistant standing nervously on the stairs “feeling better Wanda?” She didn’t say anything instead she just walked downstairs and sat herself on your lap “oh? What do I owe the pleasure of this?” She pulled you into a kiss surprising both you and Nat, while you were definitely enjoying this you didn’t notice Wanda pulling a small knife from her pocket and plunging it into your stomach

You both stilled and Wanda’s breathing was heavy while you remained stoic staring into her eyes “did you really think that would work princess?”

Wanda felt a hand grab her hair and drag her off of you and throw her to the floor, when she looked up she saw Nat pointing a gun at her “give me a reason not to shoot you right between the eyes”.

You gently pulled the knife from your body discarding it on the floor and standing up and looking down at Wanda “you kill one person and now you want to kill me? Nat couldn’t even kill me so you don’t have a chance”. The tears gathered in Wanda’s already red and you started to feel bad making Nat lower her gun “Nat give us a minute”

The assassin sent you a questionable look but you just repeated “give us a minute” Nat sighed and put her gun away sparing Wanda one last glare and then she left you two alone “get up” your voice was stern yet gentle and Wanda immediately stood up wiping the tears that had fallen

“I know you don’t want to be here and I don’t want your experience to be horrible but you need to help me too, you’re here because of your parents they’re the ones you should be angry with, not me, if I didn’t step in for you you would’ve been sent to Steve and his group, they wouldn’t of hesitated to make you their plaything”

“I feel like I’m in a bad nightmare”

“Do you like to paint?” Wanda cocked her head to the side at the sudden change in sentence direction “what?”

“I said do you like painting? I have an art studio and it helps when I’m stressed, maybe it’ll help you adjust here”

Wanda gave a genuine smile “I do like painting, that would be nice”

You nodded walking through your house followed by the girl keeping close to you she didn’t get lost, finally coming to a door you opened it revealing the huge room with canvases and paints and even some pottery pieces

“Wow, this is a stark difference to a few hours ago” Wanda commented and you held back a laugh by biting your tongue “well I do have layers to me, take some time to paint or just look at some paints-

Wanda turned to face you stopping you talking

“Are you okay?” You asked and Wanda shook her head “I’ve killed someone, stabbed you, been threatened with a gun between my eyes by a crazy woman and now you’ve given me a nice room to paint in”

You shrugged “I need you be in a good mood to be working with me, otherwise I don’t have any use for you”

Wanda’s smile dropped “oh okay, I thought you were being nice”

Why were you being like this? What is the human doing to you, god Nat would never let you hear the end of it if you started to soften

“I just don’t want you to put yourself in any danger, then I’d have to deal with the consequences”

Wanda have a halfhearted smile and turned back to the room sitting down on the chair “can I have some time on my own, to process all of this?”

You sighed “sure, I need to do things, I’ll have to lock the door though and you’ll stay here for the next two hours then I’ll come and get you, the bathroom is over there” you pointed to a painted door “enjoy yourself, I won’t be this generous again”

You quickly left before she said anything and make you feel weird again, Natasha was waiting for you outside the room making you jump “fuck me nat what the hell?!”

The woman crossed her arms “why didn’t you let me kill her?”

“What?”

“You could find another one, she stabbed you and instead of killing her you just show her your painting room? Is the devil becoming soft?”

You pushed her hard against the wall and kept her pinned there with your arm “I’m not soft! She’ll break I’ll break her, todays just a learning day”

The Russian rolled her eyes “sure you will-

“Y/n!” Carol ran up to you stopping whatever Nat was going to say

“What do you want Carol?” You sighed and she grabbed you kissing you hard “please take me back! I need you I’m really sorry about Val I swear she means nothing to me”

Nat laughed at Carol’s poor attempts at getting you back but then you did something unexpected “I don’t forgive you Carol but I need to do something stupid and here you are, come on”

You dragged a happy Carol away to your room leaving the shocked demon behind “why do I put myself through this? Take me back to poking humans with a hot poker in hell over this any day”

[jeio-kimi]

Lost In Translation

For context please consider reading:

Part: 1

So, I've made my case on why the four main characters are most likely not in middle school. Then, what are are their ages? I must convey, that Old Xian has never mentioned within or outside of the series what the ages of the characters are. All anyone can do is assume. But, there are in fact, context clues that are given to us in the chapters of what their ages might be.

Most of the "evidence" I'm including in this part are more so logical fallacies. I am just going by the "Affirming the Cnsequent" theory. Which, refers to the statement of: "If X is true -> then Y is also true." So nothing here is gospel, just my own interpretation of given context clues.

I will not be using any non-story related art created by Old Xian, due to me wanting to count the chapters within the story as canonical events.

Some Thoughts:

Mo Has a Job

In what is probably the most crucial confirmations of the characters not being in middle school. Mo Guan Shan has a job.

As apart of child labor laws in China, 16 is the minimum working age nationwide. Meaning Mo Guan Shan has to be at least 16 years old. I guessing that the woman Mo works for is not a relative being that she fires him later on.

What's interesting about this is that not only does it confirm that Mo's age is at least 16 years old, but in tandem, confirms that He Tian is above 16.

So what's important for context here is understanding Chinese honorifics.

What He Tian is calling mo whenever he says "little Mo" in Chinese is 墨子 (Mò-zi). " 子" (Zi) literally translates to "young one" or little one" but in context is an indication that Mo is younger than He Tian.

"Big Bro" is 哥哥 (Gēge) and "Brother Mo" is 墨哥 (Mò-Gē). "Gē & Gēge" is an honorific that conveys the person being spoken to is older. Mo's friend Cun Tou has always referred to Mo as "Gēge" meaning Mo is most likely older than him.

Since it is confirmed that He Tian is older than Mo,

He Tian is probably jokingly referring to Mo as "Mo Ge" to putting Mo metaphorically above himself.

This means that if He Tian is older than Mo, and Mo is 16, then He Tian is above 16.

He Tian's Hotel Room Purchase

Another interesting idea here I that He Tian is able to purchase a hotel room.

So He Tian has his account frozen here, so it's more than likely a joint account (I'm guessing with He Cheng since his account is frozen after they fought). Since He Tian is also told beforehand that he can not purchase the hotel room without a legal guardian, he's probably not 18 (age of an adult in China). I do feel as if he is above 16 due to the fact that he is able to purchase a hotel room later, without a legal guardian.

Since you must be above 16 to purchase a hotel room in China. And, at least 16 to apply for a joint bank account, I'm assuming that the hotel room he was trying to purchase originally was for adults only (ie. Had purchasable alcohol or was a "Love Hotel").

Anyways... that's where I'll leave it for now. I have a lot more thoughts on this that I could make a whole other post. But the rest is mostly circumstantial, so I didn't want to include it here. Just know, there's so much more about the characters' ages in this. If you made it this far, thank you for reading! And let's continue this discussion together! I would love to hear everyone's thoughts and opinions on this, as well as anything I might have missed! ❤️

[therogueflame]

The Bronze Reign Chapter 6 - Of Ancestors and Ash

hi beautiful babies!

okay fuck it i want attention so im posting this early. ch 6 was so fun to write, and i am SO EXCITED for you guys to read ch 7. its slated to come out on my birthday so expect a spicy chapter hehehe. Very little dialogue, lots of introspection and atmospheric building. yes i know it is short. you will be okay. next week's is literally twice as long. i did edit this before posting (everyone cheers) :D Enjoy!

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Summary: Dragonstone is waiting. The mountain breathes, the dragons watch, and the fire does not forget.

WC: 5.1k

Warnings: 18+, Daemon Targaryen, Slow Burn, Angst, Loneliness

previous chapter

MDNI!

The journey across Blackwater Bay had been uneventful, but the weight in Vysaria’s chest had only grown heavier with every passing mile. She stood at the prow of the ship, watching as Dragonstone emerged from the mist, its jagged peaks rising from the sea like the blackened bones of some ancient beast. The castle loomed above the waves, carved into the mountain itself, its towers twisting into the sky. The stone was darker than she remembered, as if the fires beneath the island had stained it with their heat. The closer they drew, the more she could feel it, the pulse of something ancient, something alive beneath the surface.

The scent of sulfur clung to the salt air, thick and heavy, coiling in the back of her throat. This was not King’s Landing. There were no sprawling streets, no golden towers, no bustling docks filled with merchants and traders. There was only stone, smoke, and the slow, rhythmic crash of waves against the cliffs. The sea was restless today, the water churning beneath the hull of the ship, waves breaking against the black rock of the island with relentless force. The wind howled through the stone peaks, a haunting sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

Dragonstone had never been meant for comfort. It was carved from fire and fury, a place built not for kings who ruled from velvet-draped thrones but for conquerors who rode beasts of flame. She had imagined this moment before, years ago, when she was younger, when she had not yet stood before the dragons and walked away with nothing. When the idea of Dragonstone had not yet tasted like failure. Now, standing at the edge of the ship, watching as the harbor neared, she felt nothing but the weight of what was to come.

The crew worked swiftly, lowering the gangplank as the ship eased into place. A few sailors cast her uncertain glances, as if wondering whether she would hesitate. She did not. She moved forward without a word, descending onto the docks with careful, measured steps. The moment her boots touched the worn planks, she felt it, the shift, the severing. The last tie to King’s Landing slipping away.

There was no grand welcome, no gathered court, only a handful of figures standing at the edge of the docks, their faces shadowed in the morning light. The steward of Dragonstone, an older man with weathered features and a measured expression, stepped forward first. He bowed, deep but without warmth.

"Princess," he said, voice steady. "Welcome to Dragonstone."

The welcome was formal, but nothing more. Behind him, a small retinue of household attendants, guards, and castle servants waited in stiff silence. They bowed, but none held her gaze for long. There was no hushed awe, no open curiosity. Only duty. She had been expected. That was all.

Her gaze flickered beyond them to where a group of dragonkeepers stood a distance away, clad in dark leathers, their faces unreadable. They did not approach. They only watched. The island was watching her.

Vysaria forced her shoulders back, lifting her chin as she met the steward’s gaze. "The castle has been prepared?"

"It has," he confirmed. "Your chambers are ready, and the maesters stand at your disposal should you have need of them."

She nodded, glancing briefly toward the towering keep. It was colder than she remembered, despite the heat simmering beneath the island. The castle itself seemed to breathe, the mountain rumbling deep within its core, a reminder that fire still lived beneath the stone.

"Your things will be sent ahead," the steward continued. "If you wish, I can arrange for a tour of the castle, though I imagine you are already familiar with its halls."

Familiar. The word felt strange. She had been here before, had run through these corridors as a child, following Daemon’s shadow like a second one. But it had been years since then, and this place did not belong to her anymore.

"No need," she said. "I will find my own way."

The steward hesitated but nodded. "As you wish."

Vysaria turned toward the path leading up to the castle, the stone steps carved directly into the mountain. The climb was steep, the wind tearing at the edges of her cloak, but she did not slow. The attendants followed at a respectful distance, but no one spoke. She reached the top and paused just outside the castle gates, her gaze sweeping across the courtyard. The familiar statues loomed, their stone dragons worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain. The great keep rose before her, its towers disappearing into the mist. The air smelled of ash and rain, of something old and waiting.

She had returned, but no one was waiting. No lords to bow at her feet. No father with reassuring words. No mother to promise that all would be well. Only the hollow castle, the quiet keepers, and the distant, echoing sound of something low and primal.

The stone halls swallowed her footsteps as she moved deeper into the castle. Dragonstone was quiet in a way King’s Landing had never been. No bustling courtiers whispering in alcoves, no servants hurrying through their tasks, no distant hum of city life filtering through the windows. Only silence, stretching unbroken, save for the occasional gust of wind howling through the corridors or the low crackle of a dying torch.

Her chambers had been prepared, just as the steward had said. The hearth was lit, the heavy drapes drawn back to let in the gray morning light. A trunk sat at the foot of the bed, unopened. The room was large but unadorned, its walls carved with twisting dragons that seemed to watch her from every corner.

She did not linger. The bed remained untouched, the fire crackled quietly in the grate. The weight of it all settled deep in her chest.

She had come here alone, without attendants or ladies, without the company of those who might soften the edges of exile. She had thought she wanted that—freedom from the whispers, from the weight of expectation. But Dragonstone was not freedom. It was something else entirely.

By the time she stepped out of her chambers, the halls were as silent as before. The maester’s chambers were in the eastern wing, tucked away behind a heavy wooden door lined with iron bands. She did not knock. The door creaked open, revealing shelves lined with old scrolls and weathered tomes, the air thick with the scent of dust and parchment. The maester, an older man with thinning silver hair, glanced up from his writing, his quill hovering over the page.

"Princess," he greeted, his tone polite, if mildly surprised. "What may I do for you?"

"I need records," she said without preamble. "Scrolls. Texts on Old Valyria. On dragonlore. Anything of value."

The maester hesitated only briefly before inclining his head. "There are many such texts, though few that hold truths rather than myths. If it is knowledge you seek, you will find that history has a way of choosing which pieces to keep."

"Then I will read all of it," she said.

He studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well." Rising from his seat, he gestured toward the far shelves. "Some are fragile with age. They will need care."

"I will handle them carefully."

The maester moved, gathering what he could find, setting them in neat stacks before her. The bindings were old, the parchment brittle beneath her fingertips. She did not know what she was looking for, only that she needed something to occupy her mind.

She would read. She would learn. And perhaps, somewhere in the faded ink and forgotten records, she would find what she was meant to do next.

The first week unraveled in slow, measured days. Vysaria read until the words blurred, absorbing fragments of Valyrian history, forgotten customs, and old dragonlore, but none of it silenced the unease settling in her chest. She filled her hours with study, sending for more scrolls, more records, anything that might offer clarity. Some were so ancient the ink had nearly vanished, the parchment crumbling at the edges, yet she pored over them all the same. But knowledge was a poor companion. It did not speak. It did not fill the silence.

Dragonstone loomed vast and hollow, its corridors stretching long and empty, its silence pooling in the spaces where voices should have been. The Red Keep had been alive, full of whispers and movement, the ever-present hum of power shifting beneath polished floors. Here, there was only stillness. Each morning, she walked the great halls, trailing her fingers over the stone-carved dragons coiled along the pillars and walls. They watched, but they did not answer. Cold, eternal, unmoving.

She saw no one beyond the servants who drifted through the keep like specters, their steps soft, their eyes averted. They bowed as they passed, then slipped away before she could speak. It was not fear. It was something else. A carefulness, a quiet restraint. As though they were waiting. For what, she did not yet know.

The air was thick with the scent of the sea, the salt clinging to her skin and hair. The mist curled through the castle’s open walkways, creeping in through high stone windows, wrapping around pillars like a living thing. It was colder than she expected, the wind cutting through the corridors and rustling the long banners that hung from the vaulted ceilings. The castle was not unwelcoming, not exactly. But it was not hers. It belonged to the dragons, to the conquerors who had come before her, to the ghosts of a dynasty that had ruled from fire and shadow.

She rode in the afternoons, taking her horse along the narrow paths that wound up the cliffs, searching for the highest point where the wind howled the loudest. The view stretched endlessly before her, the dark waves crashing against the blackened stone far below, the horizon swallowed by mist. But there was no freedom in it. No sense of escape. She had been sent here, not by her own will, and no matter how far she rode, she could not outrun the truth of it.

She wandered the halls at night, when the torches burned low and the silence became too much to ignore. The flickering flames sent dragon-shaped shadows crawling across the walls, twisting and shifting as if they were alive. Sometimes, her steps carried her beyond the keep, following the worn path toward the base of the mountain. The ground beneath her boots radiated warmth, a slow and steady pulse rising from the depths. She would stand there, the wind tearing through the cliffs, listening for something beyond the quiet, waiting for a voice that never came.

She spent her nights reading, poring over accounts of the first Valyrians, the dragonlords who had shaped empires with fire and blood. She traced the faded ink of maps detailing lost lands, ruins swallowed by time. She read the names of dragons long dead, their bones left behind as relics of a vanished age. There were records of hatchlings that never grew, of would-be riders who reached for a bond that never came. Some had called and received no answer. She read their stories over and over, though she did not know why.

Days passed with no change, no shift, only the heavy weight of time pressing against her, smothering her beneath its stillness. The castle, vast and sprawling, felt more like a tomb than a home, and despite the books, despite the endless hours spent wandering the halls, the isolation crept beneath her skin like a sickness.

She felt it most at night.Lying awake in the great chamber that had been prepared for her, she listened to the wind howl through the narrow windows, rattling the shutters, filling the darkness with its restless song. The air smelled of salt and stone, of something deeper, something old. When she closed her eyes, she could feel the mountain beneath her, the slow, rhythmic pulse of heat rising from its heart. The dragons were there, deep within the island, their presence a constant thing just out of reach. She knew they were watching her. Waiting, just as everyone else seemed to be.

The servants, the guards, the dragonkeepers—they all observed her, though never openly. Their eyes lingered when they thought she would not notice, their gazes shifting when she turned to meet them. The maester answered her questions without question, provided her with scrolls and books upon request, but she could sense the unspoken words behind his careful replies.

They were all waiting. She could not decide whether it angered her or unsettled her. She could not pretend forever.

One afternoon, while wandering the eastern wing of the castle, she passed a pair of servants speaking in hushed tones. They did not notice her at first, too absorbed in their conversation, but when they did, they fell silent. A tense pause stretched between them before one lowered his head respectfully.

“My lady,” he murmured before stepping away, the other following quickly behind.

Vysaria did not acknowledge them, her steps never faltering, but her thoughts lingered on their expressions and the quiet words she had caught just before they noticed her.

"The dragonkeepers have been busy."

The words followed her as she left the corridor.

It was nothing. An idle remark, a passing comment between those who served the castle. And yet, it settled in her chest like a stone dropped into still water, rippling outward, touching something she had tried to bury beneath layers of distraction.

That night, she dreamed of wings.

She stood in the middle of a great, scorched field, the air thick with smoke, the ground blackened beneath her feet. The sky stretched endlessly above, gray and endless, swirling with heat, but there was no sun. She could hear them before she saw them, the deep, guttural sound of something ancient breathing, the slow rasp of scales shifting against stone. A shape moved in the distance, massive, coiling through the smoke like a shadow with no form.

She called to it, but no sound left her lips.

When she woke, the room was dark, the only light coming from the embers smoldering low in the hearth. The wind rattled the windows, the distant storm churning the sea beyond the cliffs, but that was not what had woken her.

Her heart pounded. Her skin burned.

She sat up, breath quick, fingers curling in the sheets. The dream clung to her, vivid and unshaken, but it was not the dream itself that left her restless. It was the feeling that something had shifted.

The next morning, she rose with a purpose she could not name. She did not reach for a book or lose herself in scrolls. She did not wander the halls or take her horse along the cliffs. Instead, she stood at the window, staring down at the path that wound beyond the courtyard, past the lower terraces, toward the Dragonmont.

She had spent days avoiding this, pretending she could ignore it, that she could fill the hours with something else. That she did not have to face what had been waiting for her since the moment she arrived.

She had read the stories, had memorized the histories, had studied every name of every dragon who had ever soared across these skies, and yet none of it mattered if she did not take the next step. She could not stay in this limbo forever.

She left her chambers without hesitation, her steps steady, her breath even. The servants she passed turned their heads as she moved through the corridors, as if sensing something different, as if sensing that today, something was about to change. 

She crossed the courtyard without stopping, her pace unwavering, the black stone warm beneath her boots. The further she walked, the more the heat grew, rising in the air, a slow, creeping burn that coiled around her like unseen hands.

The entrance to the Dragonmont loomed ahead, an archway carved from the mountain itself, its threshold dark and yawning, leading down into the depths where fire still slept. The dragonkeepers at its edges straightened as she approached, gripping their staffs, the sharp ends catching the dim light. None moved to stop her. She did not look at them.

She stepped forward, past the threshold, past the last remnants of the world above, and into the shadows beyond. The air in the Dragonmont pulsed with heat, thick and stifling as it curled around her skin, seeping into the stone beneath her feet, into the very marrow of the mountain. The deeper she walked, the more it surrounded her. The walls, scorched and worn by centuries of fire, flickered with veins of molten rock, casting an eerie glow through the cavernous tunnels. The sound of breathing filled the space, slow and deep, rising from the unseen depths. It was not human. It was too vast, too ancient, something primordial and waiting.

She hesitated for the first time. The descent had been easy, her feet moving with purpose, her mind set on this path. But now, standing here, feeling the pulse of the mountain beneath her, the sheer scale of what she was about to face pressed against her ribs. The dragons were here. She had heard them before, distant, calling through the skies, their cries carried by the wind. But this was different. The sound of them, the heat of them, the sheer force of their presence wrapped around her, pressing against her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

She was no longer in a castle of men. She was in their domain now.

For a long moment, she did not move. Then, from the depths of the cavern, she heard it. A low, rumbling growl, deeper than the others, vibrating through the stone, rattling through her chest like distant thunder. A warning. Or a challenge. She exhaled slowly, willing her pulse to steady, forcing her fingers to remain still at her sides. She had come here for a reason, and she would not leave without seeing them. Without facing them. She took another step forward.

Far above, the skies trembled with the sound of wings. The wind howled through the cliffs, the sea churned restlessly below, but the island remained still. The sentries at the castle gates lifted their heads, hands tightening around the hilts of their swords, though none moved to draw them. They knew that sound. The steady, rhythmic beating of great wings. The sharp, piercing cry that cut through the air, high and keening, like a blade through silk.

Caraxes.

The Blood Wyrm descended from the clouds, his massive, serpentine body twisting through the sky, red wings unfurling as he angled his descent. The moment his claws struck the stone of the courtyard, the earth seemed to shudder beneath his weight, dust rising in thick clouds. He moved with slow, measured grace, long neck curving as he let out a low, guttural snarl, steam curling from his nostrils. The guards did not speak. They did not need to. There was no fear among them, only the quiet recognition that came with familiarity. Caraxes had flown these skies too many times for his arrival to be cause for alarm.

Elsewhere, beneath the mountain, the air remained thick and unmoving. The heat pressed against the walls, seeping into the stone, pulsing through the cavernous tunnels like a heartbeat slowed to a crawl. In the stillness, nothing stirred. No voices, no sound beyond the distant crackling of molten rock far below. The weight of the mountain muffled the world outside, swallowing whatever storm might have raged beyond its walls, whatever force had descended upon the castle. Here, deep within the heart of Dragonstone, there was only silence.

Daemon slid from the saddle with practiced ease, landing lightly on the scorched ground, one hand idly stroking the ridges of Caraxes’ neck. The dragon let out a final snort before stilling, his great golden eyes flickering toward the castle ahead. Daemon did not immediately follow his gaze. He stood there for a moment, rolling his shoulders, as if shaking off the long flight, as if reacquainting himself with the place he had not seen in too long. He had returned to Dragonstone before, but it had never been like this.

The wind carried the scent of salt and fire, the distant heat of the mountain threading through the air. He scanned the castle with an assessing gaze, noting the changes in its silence, in the absence of those who should have been present. The wind carried the scent of salt and fire, the distant heat of the mountain threading through the air. He scanned the castle with an assessing gaze, noting the shifts in its silence, the absence of those who should have been present. No sigils marked his arrival, no hurried steps echoed through the courtyard to receive him. The castle was not abandoned, yet it felt unnervingly still. He had expected that. What he had not expected was the unease woven into it, subtle but lingering, like something left unsaid.

He had come to Dragonstone before, seeking solitude, seeking distance from the court and its endless demands. It had always given him what he sought. This time, it was different. He could sense it before he had even landed, a shift in the air, something lingering just beyond his reach. He had not sent word ahead of his arrival, but he had no doubt that those within the castle had already been informed. The dragonkeepers would have heard Caraxes long before he had touched the ground.

A steward approached, cautious but composed. “Prince Daemon,” he greeted with a measured bow. “We did not know you were coming.”

“I did not know I was coming until I left,” Daemon replied idly, his gaze still drifting toward the castle’s high walls. “I assume I am not unwelcome.”

The steward hesitated for the briefest moment before shaking his head. “Of course not, my prince.”

Daemon nodded once, barely listening as the man spoke of rooms being prepared, of the castle’s upkeep, of whatever trivial details he assumed might matter. None of it did. His mind was already elsewhere, reaching beyond the moment, beyond the walls around him. Something was off. It was not obvious, not enough to name, but it clung to the air, subtle and unshaken. It was in the way the servants moved, quick and restrained, in the way the guards held their posts yet avoided his gaze. He had expected Dragonstone to greet him as it always had. It did not.

The deeper she walked, the hotter the air became. The warmth that had been subtle at the entrance now wrapped around her fully, sinking into her skin, pressing against her lungs. The tunnels were vast, their walls streaked with blackened stone and glowing veins of molten rock, remnants of a time when the mountain had not yet been tamed. The flickering light cast shifting shadows along the walls, their shapes twisting like living things, like the dragons who had once ruled these depths unchallenged.

She did not know how long she had been walking. The descent had been slow, careful, each step measured against the uneven stone. The path was carved from the mountain itself, winding downward in great spirals, its purpose clear. This was no mere cavern. It was a domain built for creatures far older, far larger than herself. She paused at a widening in the tunnel, her gaze sweeping over the walls, over the deep claw marks etched into the rock. Not man-made. Not shaped by tools. This was a place where dragons had once walked freely, leaving their presence behind in ways that would never fade. The sheer weight of history pressed against her, thick as the heat curling through the air.

Her heartbeat was steady, but there was something else now, something restless beneath her skin. She had always felt it, in some way or another, since the moment she had set foot on Dragonstone. A sense of expectation, of something lingering just beyond reach. The knowledge that this place, this mountain, was waiting for her to make a choice.

The ground rumbled beneath her feet, subtle but undeniable. A sound, distant but real, rumbled through the tunnels ahead—a shift in breath, in movement. Not one dragon, but many. The air changed. She swallowed, tilting her head slightly, listening. The sound of her own breath, the faint crackle of molten veins in the rock, the shifting of scales against stone. They were close.

She moved forward, deeper into the tunnels, her steps quieter now, slower. The heat became overwhelming, beads of sweat forming at the nape of her neck, but she ignored it. The walls seemed to pulse, carrying the living heartbeat of the mountain itself. The flickering veins of fire within the stone cast an eerie red glow across her skin as she passed.

The passage opened ahead of her, revealing the first chamber. It was vast, wider than the great hall of the Red Keep, its ceiling lost to darkness above. The walls bore deep scorches, places where fire had blackened the stone beyond recognition. And there, in the farthest reaches of the cavern, shifting against the deep shadows, were the dragons. Their massive forms coiled in the dim light, their breath rising in slow, steady clouds of heat. Their scales caught the faint glow of the molten rock, shimmering in hues of deep crimson, midnight black, and burnished gold. Some were still, their great wings folded neatly at their sides, their tails curled around themselves. Others shifted, their heads lifting slightly, nostrils flaring as they caught the scent of something unfamiliar.

Her.

A few of the smaller dragons moved first, their golden eyes fixing on her, blinking slowly. They were not young, not hatchlings, but they were not the behemoths of old either. They watched, assessing, but did not stir beyond that.

Then came the growl. Low and resonant, a sound that rumbled through the stone, settling deep in her chest. It was ancient, carrying the weight of years, of fire and war, of a creature that had ruled the skies long before her name had ever been spoken. Her breath caught, her steps faltering as she turned toward the sound.

The shadows shifted. From the darkness, something vast stirred. He emerged, his sheer size enough to make the air quiver. Scales dark as aged bronze, wings edged in gold, a massive head lifting as golden eyes locked onto her, steady and unreadable.

Vermithor.

She did not move. Neither did he. The air was charged, thick with something she could not name. He exhaled, slow and steady, the sound rolling through the cavern like distant thunder, his breath washing over her in a wave of heat. She should have stepped back. She should have lowered her gaze, shown deference to the king who stood before her. She didn’t. She held his stare, feeling the weight of his presence press down on her like an undeniable force.

The air around them was thick with an unspoken tension. He exhaled slowly, the sound like distant thunder, the warmth of his breath brushing against her skin. She should have stepped back. She should have bowed her head, lowered her gaze. But she didn’t. She stood there, meeting his eyes, feeling the weight of his stare press down on her like fire. She had come here to face him. And she would not look away.

Vermithor did not move. He did not rise, did not lash his tail, did not bare his teeth. He only watched, the low rumble of his breathing filling the chamber. His golden eyes, sharp and endless, flickered over her, measuring something unseen.

Vysaria did not speak. There were no words that would matter here. Words were for men, for courts and councils, for halls filled with expectation and judgment. Here, in the belly of the mountain, words were nothing. The dragons spoke a different language, one of breath and presence, of fire and fearlessness.

She took another step forward, slow but deliberate, her boots scraping against the uneven stone. Vermithor’s nostrils flared, his head tilting ever so slightly, the great golden eyes narrowing as if to say, Are you certain? She did not know if she was. She did not know what she was supposed to do next. But she had spent her life following the rules set before her, walking the path carved by men who had never held the weight of expectation the way she had. If she was to carve her own path, it would begin here.

Heat curled through her lungs, not from fear, but from something deeper, something that hummed beneath her skin. The cavern had fallen silent, as if the other dragons had stilled in anticipation.

Then, he moved. It was not a threat, not a warning, but a shift, a slow unfolding of something immense. His great body lifted slightly, wings shifting, the sound of scales brushing against stone sending a ripple of tension through her spine. She stood rooted in place, watching, waiting. His head lowered just enough for her to see the ridges along his snout, the deep, jagged scars marking the edges of his jaw.

For the first time, she truly understood what she was standing before. This was not an opportunity to be seized, not a choice made by her alone. Vermithor had ruled these caverns long before she had drawn breath, long before her ancestors had claimed the skies. He had nothing to prove to her. It was she who needed to prove herself to him.

A muscle in her jaw tightened. She exhaled, steadying herself, hands at her sides, fingers curling slightly. She did not kneel. She did not bow. She simply stood, waiting.

The moment stretched. The fire in the mountain burned, the heat pressing against her skin. Then, finally, Vermithor exhaled, his great golden eyes still locked on hers. He did not move forward, but he did not turn away. Neither did she.

Behind her, deep within the tunnels she had left behind, a gust of wind stirred the dust along the stone, faint but unmistakable. Daemon Targaryen had entered the mountain.

She did not hear him, did not sense him, too lost in the presence before her. But the moment would not last. The world beyond these caverns was shifting, and soon, she would have no choice but to turn back toward it.

next chapter

All roads lead to war. Read ahead on AO3 (Ch 1–17).

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for purposely ruining a woman's hair?

I (19f) am a licensed hairdresser fulltime. A bit of backstory My best friend (same age) got married this year to a man who is older than 28 but younger then 35. I tried to discourage her and explained that the age gap is fucked considering the guy is the same age as my mom (like if my mom dated someone my age it would be fucked and my friend said that but its fine because "we grew up with him" and i said that made it worse).

He actually was my neighbor for most of my life. He wasn't a bad person, always seemed good, but obviously I dont think highly of him now. We all went to similar events like festivals and saw each other, but we never hung out. He saw me and my best friend a lot together and when we became 17 he started talking to her. It was a whole "meetcute" story according to my friend. Neighbor who she saw and thought was cute for years happened to invite her over in the pouring rain because I got delayed and didn't meet her at my house in time and her parents had already dropped her off.

They started dating the day she turned 18 and got married soon after she was 19.

Mary, the mother of my neighbor and now my best friends MIL (turning 50f) has been vocal about not liking me for literally my whole life. I've been called trouble, a nuisance, trash, etc. Made slutshaming comments because I got a belly button ring, called me a exotic dancer to my face because I was dancing and shaking my hips and butt, and then a whore when I wore a tank top and shorts...just The stereotypical "Christian" white woman.

Mary is talking constantly to my friend, her son adding in, that I'm a bad influence and now my friend is pulling away.

Well long story short (too late i know sorry want to give background info but it turned out to be like a lot) Mary came into the shop. She asked for a cut and color and I was the only one available. She visibly sneered but agreed and made snide comments the entire time I tried to figure out what she wanted. She wanted red. A natural red. And I was going to do it, but then she said I needed to make sure I washed my hands so I didn't get her dirty and then when I glared at her and asked what she meant by dirty because my hands were clean she laughed and said "oh I didn't mean no offense sweetie".

So I went and brought out the book that has hair color samples and stsrt showing her reds. I asked her if she wanted E3 or 5A for example, those aren't at all but you get the idea. She said she wanted red, so I went "oh like 4A" which was FIRE HYDRANT red. I knew she wanted naturalish and NOT that but she verbalized yes yes that 4A.

So I did. It came out bright red and she started yelling and screaming. My coworkers heard her say which one she wanted and we pulled the book out and showed her thats what she had verbalized, so I'm off the hook.

But now im like...that was a bit mean? I mean she can redye it, and my work gave her a discount. I didnt chop her hair off or do anything out of what she asked, but I know damn well she didn't want that. My friend texted me really upset accusing me and I played dumb. She's already pulling away from me and now I feel its going to be worse because of this...aita?

What are these acronyms?

[badfictropes]

Danny/Dani and Clark/Conner

(Warning: This is just my opinions and while I would love to hear other thoughts please be polite in your comments.)

Now I want to start by saying I don’t think Clark is wrong in feeling the way he does about Conner and about not wanting to be a father to him. But the way he dealt with and expressed those feelings is my problem. The way Clark treats Conner as if he isn't a real person with emotions and feelings and refuses to acknowledge Conner's personhood is fucked up.

Clark doesn’t want to be Conner’s father and while this is deeply unfair for Conner and will no doubt leave a scar it would be far worse to try and force Conner on Clark, I don’t doubt Clark will not be able to be the parent Conner needs.(Side note:does Lois or Clark’s parents ever find out about Conner in canon?) In DpxDc fics and prompts the JL trying to force Clark to play daddy is not going to do any good for Connor or for Clark. Clark does not see Conner as his own person/a person at all; all Clark sees is evidence of his violation and while this sucks for Conner forcing the two together isn’t going to help.

I read one DpxDc fic where Clark got therapy about this(Side note: this fic also pointed out how unethical it is to have a therapist that not only works under you but is also your personal friend ie Dinah. A lot of fics have her as not only the JL’s counselor but individual teammates personal therapist which just can’t be ethical.) and his therapist pointed out that Clark talks about Conner worse than he does Lex who actually violated his consent. I thought this was a very good point and definitely something Clark needs to think about. How is his opinion of Conner(who is the innocent and also a victim in this) worse than his one of Lex?.

Now for the Dp side. I personally am a fan of Danny being a mom(gender-neutral) to Dani(and Dan) and it’s my top 3 favorite Dp tropes but I know not everyone prefers it. While I imagine that after everything was over the full force of his violation at Vlad’s hands hit him I don’t think Danny ever wished Dani didn’t exist at all, I don’t think it ever even occurred to him to think that way. I could see him wishing the circumstances around her existence was different(after all Neverborne are a thing and it would be just like Danny to make one by accident) but he could never regret Her no matter how she got here. I’ve seen people mention that Dani manipulated and betrayed Danny and I’m just like while Dani has Danny’s memories she was literally created a few months ago cut her some slack, Dani was also being manipulated and used and Danny knows that he understands that; it why he not only helped her but forgave her. And I know people are going to be like forgiving someone is not that easy or quick but sometimes it is especially when your not even 18 and full set in your stubborn mindset and when your an empath like most people hc ghost to be(a little hard to stay mad for long when you can literally feel someone’s regret and remorse, it doesn’t hurt Danny no doubt saw Dani as someone smaller and weaker that needed his help and protection.)

Onto DpxDc. Now I think Danny would be sympathetic to Clark’s feelings and circumstances but I think his sympathy would end when he hears/witnesses how Clark treats Conner. Clark’s feelings are valid but how he deal with/expresses those feelings are not. Clark is a grown ass man and should know better than to take out his anger and pain on a child(Side note: Do you think Clark wouldn’t be as cruel to Conner or that the JL would be more intolerant of Clark’s behavior towards Conner if Conner was younger/a baby?). Danny would find Clark’s treatment/opinion of Conner deplorable after all Neverborn/Mirror born are precious no matter how they came to be and while it understandable Clark can’t be a parent to Conner that doesn’t mean someone shouldn’t be. Conner deserves to have a parent, a family that loves and cares about him; he deserves to be treated his own person and choose how he wants to live his life(not just be a hero) and since he won’t get that from Clark, the JL should find him a good foster parent he can get that from.

So in conclusion I think Danny would be sympathetic and understand of Clark’s circumstances until he sees Clark’s treatment of Conner/hears his opinin of Conner and then the sympathy is over; Danny will then focus on Conner and helping him/helping to figure out what’s best for him.

[saintmagx]

✨ Cruel Summer ✨

pairing: Solo Sikoa x reader, Jey Uso x reader (briefly)

AN: Literally making this for myself, so if I do ever end up publishing - enjoy I guess? 🤪

w/c: 1198

⚠️ Warnings: 18+ , swearing, violence (this is the WWE after all) slight smut, infidelity(if you squint), jealous Jey, toxic behaviour, bad/embarrassing writing ⚠️

doesn’t follow a specific timeline however it is more recent, total divas making a return.

✨ I love you ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard - he looks up grinning like the devil ✨

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“I dunno Trin, the thought of being recorded for 12 hours of the day, like, I enjoy my privacy”.

“Think about it as an opportunity, having the fans see a different side of you. Showing them how hard you work your ass off.”

Trinity is my best friend, she helped me out so much when I joined the WWE 6 years ago. She and her husband Jon took me into their family and helped me adapt into the crazy world of being a WWE superstar.

“Just think about it is all I’m saying. It’ll be fun” trin says nudging me.

Ever since I moved here, we have had a weekly tradition of Wednesday Girls Night, its just snacks, Chinese takeout, and movies, it’s just time for us to catch up and wind down from the gruelling travel schedule.

Right on queue at exactly 11:30pm Jon walks in the door.

“Times up ladies” he says, which is swiftly followed by two pillows being thrown at his head.

“Come on uce, you know better than to interrupt gIrLs NiGhT”

The couch beside me dipped and once again I felt the heat from the body of Josh Fatu, my one weakness. His hand falls to his side and creeps closer to me caressing the side of my bare thigh. You see what people don’t know is Josh and I have an ‘agreement’ - no feelings, just sex and friendship, and it was going great until it wasn’t, feeling were caught, specifically by me and I’m stuck between a rock and hard place as I’m falling hard for him, but I cant let this agreement end because I would rather have him this way than not have him at all.

“Spoke with Joe today, Hunter is bringing him up to the main roster, can’t wait to have my other younger brother fighting by my side”. A third pillow is thrown at Jon from the direction of Josh.

“We are twins, and you are only older by 8 minutes”.

Never a dull moment where the Fatu boys are concerned.

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First day of filming (TD Interview Segment)

Okay, so lets start with a basic intro okay? Ready, go!

The room falls silent the light shines bright on me, I have at least 6 pair of eyes on me, goading me into starting. Gosh why did I sign up to do this!!!

Hi there, my names yn, I am currently on the Smackdown roster and I am the current WWE Women’s Champion.

I’ve been with the WWE for 6 years now and I wouldn’t have survived if it wasn’t for my adoptive sister Trinity, she took me under her wing and I’ve been there ever since. As you guys know – and if you didn't know, the accent should be a huge giveaway, I’m originally from the United Kingdom, I came to the states with a dream in hand and no one there to help me through this bumpy ride. I can never repay her or Jon for the way they have accepted and welcomed me into their little dynamic. Although, travelling the world with Jon and Josh is hard work, they boys are chaotic, I don't know how Trin managed to do it herself for so long!

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Friday Night Smackdown, Atlanta Georgia, 8 weeks before Survivor Series

Walking into the arena for Smackdown I get a message from Hunter asking to meet him in his office. A mixture of anxiety and curiosity fill in the pit of my stomach. In his office I’m met with the familiar faces of Jon, Josh, and Joseph, smiling I look over to Hunter who invites me to sit.

“I got your message, what’s up?

“We have been toying with the idea of a cross brand rivalry - for Survivor Series. Now that Joe has come up to the main roster, we think the Usos and Solo v The Judgement Day would pique interest from the WWE universe.”

“So why am I here?”

“Demi is the Women’s World Champion and part of Judgment Day; it would only seem right that she faces the Women’s Champion”.

Without hesitation I accept. Hunter debriefs us on how it’s going to play out over the next few weeks. We will have to be on both RAW and Smackdown over the next few weeks, so looks like it will be me and the brothers travelling together since Trin is exclusive to Smackdown!

Gorilla, few hours later (TD segment)

Tonight, I have a singles match, however Demi has to interfere and cost me the match – thus starting our road to Survivor Series.

I see Hunter in his usual place over at the screens with his headset on talking to Randy Orton, Randy spots me and immediately comes over to me.

“There’s my favourite girl.”

“I wouldn’t let your wife hear you say that Randy”.

Randy Orton, he is exactly how you would imagine him to be, a cocky little shit, flirtatious as hell, a menace but he has a heart of gold. Many nights we would hit the gym together and training with him before his injury really improved my in-ring ability. He is another one I would call my family away from family.

A familiar scent fills my nostrils, Josh. He stands next to me wrapping his arm around me pulling me closer, as if to stake his claim in me.

“I’ve been looking for you, come on let’s go”.

I smile apologetically at Randy, he just waves me off laughing, as much as I say people don’t know anything about me and Josh, it’s not to say there isn’t rumours flying around, people have their own take on it, and that’s okay, we just laugh it off.

Trin and Jon (TD Interview segment)

“You see yn and josh think they are so slick hiding their little late-night rendezvous” says Jon

Trin sighing, “I just wish they would bang their heads together and realise they are meant to be. Think of the double dates we could finally have Jon.”

Jon’s laugh fills the small interview room, “yeah it would be sweet, and yn is already like family, it would be an easy transition.”

Away from the cameras

“What were you talking to Randy about?” Josh quizzes

“Nothing, you came in and ushered me away before I could say anything.”

“Good, I don’t like it when you get attention from other guys, just me, okay?”

“I think you’ll find Josh that I can speak to who I like”. I say frustrated with his behaviour.

You see as much as I love Josh, this, this right here the way he wants to have his cake and eat it too drives me insane. I so much as look at another guy and he is right there to remind me I’m his, yet he can look at and speak to as many girls and I can’t say shit.

“I’ve got a match to get to, I’ll see you later J.”

“Goodluck out there baby girl, not that you need it.” Before he can come any closer to me, I slip out the room and let my frustrated sigh out. How much longer am I going to keep torturing myself.  

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[starburstdragon]

oh Please elaborate on n in sinnoh i have to know now

OKAY SO. As I mentioned this is part of a big mega au that exists in my brain so there’s a timeline here ok. Below the cut because it got comically long for something I haven’t actually touched in literal years and am not looking at any notes for

1. N goes to Sinnoh pre bw because he’s like. Not exactly catching on to Ghetsis’ shit yet? But he’s at the point he needs a less curated environment or he’s gonna reach the “something’s hinky” stage sooner rather than later. So Ghetsis sends him to Oreburgh Mine because something something coal pollution exploitation of nature etc. he’s like 12 here

Side note; Ghetsis has some sort of communication with Team Galactic. Everyone in this arrangement is manipulating each other, so Team Galactic makes sure to abuse some Pokémon in the Oreburgh area so he’ll give them. Money or Colress’ notes or some shit idk

2. N meets Dawn, Barry, and Lucas. The three are trainers and they’re doing the gym circuit but they’re also kinda on the run. It’s complicated. AU stuff. I can elaborate later if you want. So while they ARE trainers Barry’s the only one who’s really excited about it. They are also 12 btw

3. N learns about how sometimes even if you’re not really excited to be a Pokémon trainer you might have Pokémon with you anyways. For just in case battles. That’s a surprise tool that will help us later (his boss battles in bw). Also he learns a lot about Sinnoh league custody laws but that’s not really related

4. N agrees to accompany the group to Eterna where Ghetsis is gonna pick him up and take him back to Unova to keep getting ready for the whole Team Plasma thing except he doesn’t really tell them about that part. This means he experiences the Valley Windworks with them, most importantly Mars. They get held up a while here so they’re like 13 now. Huh Dawn and Lucas have the same birthday that’s weird anyways

[N voice] wow organizations that aren’t team plasma are forcing Pokémon to do such awful things! I gotta tell the gang

5. N says bye to the Sinnoh squad and goes back to Unova. BW happens when N is. A little younger than canon? When he’s 17 or 18 instead of 20 this is mostly for the sake of some stuff that happens later. I could probably shift things around so he’s a little older when everything happens but that’s beside the point.

6. Post BW when N leaves the region he goes to Sinnoh. Dawn and Lucas are more comfortable as trainers and Barry is more responsible and N ends up traveling with them again (they’re still traveling due to the previously alluded to situation, and the incident at Spear Pillar hasn’t actually happened yet <-important).

7. N meets Groudon. Her name is May and she and her best friend Brendan run into the gang up in Snowpoint. This isn’t really relevant I just wanted to bring it up.

8. The incident at Spear Pillar happens. It includes spacetime warping chicanery and when it does N ends up! Back in Unova! Just in time for the end of BW2! Damn that’s crazy!

9. He does eventually head back to Sinnoh. Once certain other things are settled he winds up becoming a janitor at Rowan’s lab and it’s the happiest he’s ever been

[bobaboob]

stardew valley canon-ish ages

My take, anyway. I tried to base this as much on canon evidence as possible, but I am 21 myself, so this will likely be influenced a little by that.

So, from youngest to oldest, starting with the children:

KIDS (0-18)

Vincent: (8-9) He’s old enough to have remembered Kent well before he was deployed 3 years ago, but young enough to care mostly about himself still (like most kids before 10-11).

Jas: (9-10) She’s clearly really intelligent (see Penny’s lines about her), and old enough to understand what happened to her parents/why she lives with Marnie and Shane, but she still plays with dolls and jump ropes in her spare time, so I feel like this is a good age for her.

Leo: (11-12) He’s just a little guy. He remembers his life before washing up on Ginger Island, and speaks to the player like they’re equals moreso than the other kids, but he’s young enough to have a crush on Jas and be unsure of the world. A little guy. 

BACHELORS AND BACHELORETTES (19-40ish)

Younger (<27):

Sam: (20-22) The youngest bachelor, and with clear evidence. Kent has been deployed for 3 years when he returns in Year 2, and he claims Sam has “become a man” since he’s been gone. I took this to mean he literally came of age, but it could also mean ‘become an adult’ in mindset or appearance. Either way, he’s probably not much older than his early twenties.

Abigail: (20-22) The youngest bachelorette. Abigail’s graduation party is mentioned in one of Emily’s voice lines as having happened sometime in the recent past before the farmer showed up. Since she’s currently enrolled in online college courses (see her and Caroline's voice lines), this is referring to her high school graduation. Like Sam, she’s also more childlike in mindset than some of the other marriage candidates.

Maru: (21-23) I think Maru is a recent college graduate (and knowing Maru, it likely took her less than the full four years). She seems content working in her father’s lab and the clinic for now, and seems to have no designs on grad school anytime soon, or a career outside of the valley. Furthermore, she’s the youngest child of her and Sebastian, who judging by their relationship is probably several years older than her. That places her in her early twenties as well.

Alex: (21-23) Alex mentions high school like it wasn’t that long ago in his lines about being on varsity. Even assuming Alex’s mother Clara had him young, given that his grandparents are able to live, clean, cook, and travel on their own, it makes sense for him to be in his twenties. He also aspires to go pro in gridball, which places him just out of range of college gridball but before he would be considered ‘out of his prime’ in IRL football terms. Plus, his only job is the ice cream stand in the summer, so he’s likely not in the career-seeking stage of his life.

Penny: (24-25) With Jas and Vincent being in the 3rd-4th grade range, it’s likely Penny has been teaching them for a few years now. Her shy demeanor and social skills might be indications of youth, or she might just be like that naturally. Regardless, I don’t believe that she’s older than 25, as she appears to still have trouble standing up to her mother and she’s still very optimistic about the future, given her circumstances. She could feasibly be older, but it feels to me like she’s one of the younger bachelorettes.

Haley: (24-26) Haley’s old enough to ‘know better’ in her attitude in early dialogue and heart events that she later regrets. She and Emily’s parents also seem to have no qualms about leaving them alone and in charge of their property. However, like Sebastian and Maru, I think there’s several years between Haley and Emily by how they interact and speak of each other. A lot of Haley’s hobbies are also that of a young unemployed person (shopping, sunbathing, etc.), and she hasn’t yet learned to cook or clean for herself at the start of the game. All of this puts her in her mid-twenties to me.

Older (>27):

Sebastian: (27-29) Like I said, he and Maru seem to be several years apart. He already has significant skill in programming, and hates that no one seems to ‘respect’ his work, so he takes pride in his career. He still hangs out with Sam and Abby, and hasn’t seemed to save enough money to move out of his parents’ house, so I doubt he’s thirty yet. Other than that, I have no proof but vibes. He feels like late twenties to me.

Emily: (30-32) Definitely one of the older bachelorettes. She’s one of the most mature in terms of emotions and conflict, and her parents left both Haley and their house to her charge. She’s clearly old enough to bartend, and be friends with Shane and Clint, two men likely in their mid-thirties. She could easily be older than this, but I don’t think the age gap between her and Haley is more than six or so years, so I’m putting her in her early thirties.

Leah: (32-34) Old enough to have had a long-term romantic relationship several years in the past (as she moved here after Kel, and she’s been here some time already). She’s also had years to practice her art and make a career out of it, and the funds to own her own home. To me, the only real limit to her age is personal preference. For me, I think she’s in her mid-thirties, but like Emily, she could easily be older.

Elliott: (34-36) Confirmed ‘older’ in secret note #7, as with the next two. Has an established writing career and the money to own his own cabin. He also expresses discontent at the thought of growing “grow[ing] old as a lonely hermit.” Elliott is melodramatic by nature, though, and also claims to have only moved to the valley a year before the farmer. He could be older, but I think mid-thirties makes sense.

Shane: (33-37) Probably looks older than he is, thanks to his habits. He’s young enough to not have taken sole charge of Jas as her godfather when her parents died, but old enough to have been a legally viable guardian when it happened. Other than that, could be anywhere in his thirties.

Harvey: (38-42) Clearly one of, if not the, oldest bachelor. Medical school is eight years, plus a residency afterwards, and all before he moved to the valley. He also alludes to getting older several times and emphasizes the farmer’s comparative youth in several voice lines. Harvey is however old you want him to be, and to me that’s late thirties to early forties.

TOWNSFOLK (40ish - 80s)

Sandy: (28-36)* Could be anywhere in this age range for me. She’s friends with Emily, and owns her own shop, but that’s all we know. 

Clint: (35-38)* Other than Sandy, the only single character of ‘marriageable’ age who isn’t a marriage candidate. Judging by his demeanor and overall vibes, I don’t think he’s forty yet, but I do think he’s approaching it. He wonders how he ‘ended up’ in the valley and laments being lonely amongst a bunch of families at festivals, but he also sees Emily as a prospect and doesn’t hang out with the older crowd of townsfolk. Fittingly, Clint is at a sort of awkward in-between age of the young folk and everyone else. Poor guy.

Jodi: (38-40) Old enough to have a young adult son, young enough to dream about travelling and living for herself. I also subscribe to the headcanon that she and Kent had Sam young, just before Kent enlisted. 

Kent: (41-43) See Jodi. Old enough to be Sam’s father, young enough to still be considered for the draft.

Pam: (43-45) Stay with me. Like Shane, she definitely looks and acts older than she is because of her habits. I believe she had Penny young, like Jodi, which would explain more about her and Penny’s father’s dynamic. She could easily be older, but I think it’s more tragic if she isn’t.

Caroline: (45-48) Old enough to have a young adult daughter. Young enough, however, to have either had a daughter with Rasmodius or be the daughter he had, depending on your interpretation of the Wizard’s line about that.

Robin: (48-50) On her second marriage with two kids, one of whom in his late twenties. Still has no problem with her carpentry work, though, so probably not far into her fifties.

Demetrius: (45-50) Also on his second marriage (see books in bookcase in their bedroom), and Maru is at least 18. Could Demetrius be younger than Robin? That would be fun.

Pierre: (49-53) See Caroline. Has an established business in town and seems to have lived in the valley for a long time, hence why JojaMart is so heinous to him. Youthful enough to beat Morris’s ass in that one cutscene after you finish the community center, though.

Morris: (50-55) I dunno. Manager-aged.

Gus: (50-55) Both an established business owner and a friend to the older crowd. No grey in his hair or mustache. Pretty safely assumed as middle-aged.

Marnie: (52-56) Old enough to be the sister of one of Shane’s parents, and also old enough to find Lewis attractive. Young enough to have no problem doing her own farmwork (see line about spilling her cow’s milk bucket while milking).

Willy: (58-60) Could easily be older, but I like to think the sea-weathering makes him look older than he is. That said, he’s clearly one of the old-timers of the valley.

Gunther: (55-60) I dunno. Curator-aged.

Linus: (60-65) If you buy the headcanon about him being an ex-CEO, this age fits. Regardless, his hair is visibly white, but he’s limber enough to get around just fine.

Rasmodius: (60-65) See Caroline. Other than that, I dunno. Wizard-aged.

Marlon: (63-68) White-haired with a bad leg. Despite this, the only bed present in the adventurer’s guild is a bunkbed, and the guy he lives with uses a wheelchair, so we can maybe assume Marlon climbs up to the top bunk to sleep. Good for him? 

Lewis: (63-68) Grey-haired and old enough to have been in the valley when the farmer’s grandfather was living on the farm. Young enough to find Marnie attractive and garden his plant beds by himself.

Evelyn: (73-78) Also old enough to have known your grandfather. Pretty clearly an old lady. Still cooks for herself and George, though, and takes care of the town flower beds. Maybe not into her eighties yet.

George: (75-80) Pretty clearly an old guy. The mining accident that paralyzed him was thirty years ago, and before that he claims to have been just as capable and strong as the farmer, so I’d put him at 45-50 back then.

Gil: (75-80) Same as George. Maybe he was injured in the same accident. Visibly grey-haired and rarely leaves the adventurer’s guild, so probably pretty old.

[neuroprincess]

Broken Rules - Larissa Weems/Female Reader

Larissa Weems/Female Reader

Summary: An unfair deal, that's all Y/N gets from Larissa and was enough until it wasn't anymore. After a few glasses of wine and sudden courage she questions the woman, this could work or ruin everything for good.

Classification: +18, Angst, Slight Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, arguing, harsh words, swearing, slight sex, injury, denial of feelings, unrequited love, jealousy, hurt/comfort

Word count: +6400

Unrevised

There are three essential rules for this deal, in black and white, very clear imposed since the first night they spent together. The third is crystal clear, not least, never spend the night, this one is understandable considering the academy and how awkward a teacher leaving the principal's living quarters so early would be. That's the excuse Y/N gives herself every time she has to sneak through the halls of Nevermore in the middle of the night. Second rule, never tell anyone. This kills her inside, in these months all she wants to do in good and bad moments is to share with someone about how she feels, not even with the blonde can she talk because it would imply the first and most important rule. No falling in love, which means they don't talk about anything but professional matters, they don't kiss unless they are having sex and that is all Y/N can get out of this deal. Sex. Stress relief. Sometimes some sexual gift, nothing personal.  

The teacher repeats the rules mentally as she serves herself with a glass of wine, standing with back to her mistress who finishes paperwork at the office desk. Well, she arrived at the appointed time, but Larissa ended up delaying some important matters and now has to finish. Y/N asked if she should leave, receiving only a negative nod. The week was more exhausting than usual, a visit from a couple of parents for an unexpected situation, some student managed to break the plumbing of the bathroom sink and a gorgon accidentally petrified his friend, all problems that earned her complex resolutions, headache and extra paperwork to fill out. 

"So, why the parents came here?" she asks, still not turning around, putting the bottle in the same place and raising the glass to lips, sipping the sweet liquid "Both Nikolas and Lucinda are great kids." 

"They really are, but none of their families support the relationship between vampires and werewolves. Nothing that you, being a normie, understand."  

"Well, I may not be an outcast, but I live with them every day and I am in this world. You are one of those who advocates harmony between normies and outcasts, I don't understand..."  

"It's not the same thing." the blonde says simply and shrugs, her tone of voice unchanged, eyes still fixed on the printed words.  

Y/N huffs and takes a generous sip of wine, feeling the burning in the throat from alcohol, sorrow and a little bit of anger. She stares at her boss, clothes perfectly clean and well ironed, the red lipstick highlighting her fleshy lips, hair styled, long fingers wandering across the surface and blue eyes standing out in the whole scene, literally a sight to take breath away and maybe the rest of the sanity the younger still possesses after swallowing the entire contents of the glass in seconds. The glass is filled again and soon is empty, this repeats until she drinks the fourth in a row, the burning no longer bothers her, the heat rises through her body, head spins for a millisecond before turning to face Larissa again. She sighs and walks at a slow pace until she is in front of the large desk, her mind once full of things to say slowly becoming blank, void, just as it always is around the tall woman. Perhaps this is the spell and reason for them to continue in this unfair deal, it's like the white witch has put a spell on the simple peasant human, who would kiss her feet in adoration. 

"What?" Weems asks raising her gaze for the first time since the other entered the room, a little annoyed by the sudden proximity "Did you drink before coming here?" the teacher just denies with a nod, continuing to stare at her with a neutral expression "So why do you look like shit? You know, I don't care, as long as you didn't show up in front of the students like that."  

The words sound normal to her, but to Y/N it's a painful feeling in the chest similar to an anvil being thrown, hurts, weighs down and she can't move staying in the same place. The neutral expression falls apart, eyes instantly getting watery and whole face burning as she fights the imminent cry, in fact she only realizes she is crying when a drop hits the document in front of her, the first of many that start to fall even though she tries to contain them. She knows she doesn't look like shit but at most blushing after drinking. There is no way she looks like shit because between the end of classes and going to the principal's office passed by her own dorm to get ready, try to look impeccable for their weekly "date", put on her new dress bought a few weeks ago on a visit to Jericho, touched up the daily makeup, brushed hair and put on her favorite perfume, the only one that didn't make Larissa complain.  

"Y/N?" the voice is low and nonchalant when she calls her, with a hint of concern that goes unnoticed.  

"I don't look like shit...I've tidied myself up, my hair is in place, I'm smelling good.... Why the hell do you hate me?" she asks finally after trying to defend herself uselessly, they are simply unimportant words when a dull expression takes over the blonde's face and then surprise at the question "You always act like I'm inferior, then say I look like shit and accuse me of getting drunk around the students, something I would never do because I love and respect them. Am I such a cheap person to you?"

"I didn't mean that..."  

"Then what did you mean?" the question is angry, totally emotional, and the voice comes out ragged, raw with genuine desire to understand the other woman.  

"Y/N, you are on dangerous ground, this is against our deal." Larissa says gently after pulling herself together from the initial shock "Don't do something you'll regret."  

"Damn, so that's what I am to you? I try to lie to myself that I am someone for you, someone you can.... Just can..." she tries to find words that get stuck in the throat and mind turns to blank mist again when she realizes that the principal is staring at her, an almost smile rising on lips, not a smile of encouragement, seems almost cruel like a hunter waiting for the hare to fall into the trap and the younger would not give her this taste or reason to smile "I am and always will be just sex for you, right?" the blonde just nods in agreement "Right." 

The teacher just nods while kneeling, which leaves the taller one momentarily confused until she finds her crawling to the middle of her legs, no longer caring about the condition of the dress, makeup drips down cheeks, eyes are distant and face is flushed, not in a positive way, now Y/N looks like shit and it's not a good feeling knowing she's the cause of it. Something presses Larissa's chest making the smile that was rising die instantly. Everything is too fast, the usually gentle fingers of the younger are quick and imprecise, desperate to lift the gray dress up to waist length. The woman lifts her hips helping, soon the lace panties are exposed, framing the path between the long pale legs. The fabric is just set aside as the head disappears under the table and fabric of the dress, the principal's hands grab a handful of the girl's hair pulling her to herself hoping to feel more pleasure, but there is nothing but a shiver and the slight sensation, she simply cannot delight in the skilled tongue circling the clit, nor touches that usually make her melt. A nagging sensation seeps into her chest and stomach churns, even as she closes the eyes trying to erase the pitiful image of the younger, unsuccessfully, the blotchy and weeping face invades her mind, it's intrusive and strangely... painful. Blue eyes open, she stares into the ceiling mirror feeling a little nauseous at the sight and a hand pulls Y/N's hair back, stopping her from continuing, also making her unbalanced falling on the floor and hitting the back of head against the wooden end of the desk. She just groans in pain, confused in a drunken state and not understanding exactly what had just happened.  

"What is it?" she asks taking a her own hand to head where it hurts, a little surprised to find the part slightly moist, but she doesn't care, everything hurts and that's the lesser of it "Isn't that what you wanted?!"  

"It was, actually it is. But not like this. Clean yourself up first, look decent."  

"So I have to look decent to fuck you? Got it." Y/N laughs humorlessly but stands up to do it, hands resting on the woman's thighs to stand without caring that she is being ignored, the blonde looks at some specific spot on the wall avoiding looking down "I'll be right back." she walks with slow steps to the bathroom attached to the office, closing the door behind her.  

"Shit!" Larissa lets out the air she didn't even realize was holding and lowers her gaze, the memory of the girl there still present, a shiver runs through her body and eyes widen as she notices contrasting crimson on the pale knees, the perfect mark of fingers stamping across skin. She barely has time to think about it as the sound of something falling in the bathroom makes her jump out of the chair "Y/N?" without an answer. 

She waits a few seconds still unanswered until walking quickly to the bathroom, opening the door without knocking or asking for again, extremely relieved to find the younger bent over the sink rubbing her face with the running water, black mascara staining the white sink, a little red mixed in. A decorative plant is scattered on the floor, that is the less important thing. The image scares Weems, she freezes in place for an instant and the next is running around the bathroom looking for a towel or something that can wipe the head of her, grabbing a white hand towel from the cabinet. Without a second thought she pushes Y/N lightly, opening space so she can moisten the cloth and gently presses it where the injury was.  

"What are you doing?" the teacher asks confused as she lifts the face, finally seeing her condition clearly in the reflection of the mirror, feeling even more miserable.  

"You hurt your head..."  

"And? Not like it matters." she shrugs, grabbing another towel from the cabinet to dry her face, wiping the last remnants of makeup off "You can drop it and go back to your place, I just need a moment."  

The woman drops the towel and walks away with hands outstretched in surrender, almost rolling the eyes at such stubbornness.  

"I'm going back to the paperwork, you can go to your dorm."  

 "You don't want to anymore?" Y/N asks with head down, not having the courage to look her in the eye.  

"No." she replies simply and walks away, her conscience seemingly clear that she seems to be physically fine despite everything. 

She sits down in the chair again, staring at nothing, and eyes wander to the table in the corner of the office, the bottle of wine reserved for the night practically empty. That explains everything. Y/N is weak to alcohol, one glass is enough for her to be a complete mess for the rest of the night, one bottle can be... terrible. After two minutes without any movement or sign of life from inside the bathroom the worry takes over, what if she fell in the bathroom? No, there would be noise. Or she sat down and lost consciousness? If she is feeling sick... Larissa interrupts her own thoughts trying to tell herself that Y/N is a grown woman and can handle it, while she can barely control the panic with the idea that something serious is happening. It is a bloody cut, the one on the back of the head, one of the most fragile and dangerous places to hit. She is brought out of thoughts when she hears the door being opened, immediately looking for the younger and sees her struggling to walk, barefoot with the shoes in one hand and the other holding the towel. Face now clean, hair pinned up and she looks a little more sober, only looks, because legs cross each step, causing her to almost fall over after losing the support of the door frame. 

"Leave me..." she whispers when feels the presence of the other woman, who has run in stride to support her "I'll handle this on my own."  

"Fuck off, stop being stubborn." the tall takes her in arms ignoring the protests to leave her on the floor and walks quickly to the other door attached to the office, this one leads to a private bedroom "Be quiet." she says harshly when the younger doesn't stop complaining, trying to get out of her arms. That manages to make silence reign.  

Everything goes by like a blur, Y/N being placed on the soft bed, large elegant hands working to push the hair aside so that the severity of the injury can be checked, to great relief discovering it to be something superficial, but still needed some extra care. The small cut is carefully cleaned with cotton, saline and antiseptic, then gently dried, Larissa improvises a bandage with gauze and adhesive tape. The pain makes the girl moan from time to time, no matter how hard she tries to hold herself together it's almost impossible, the drunkenness that washes over her body also takes away any extra resistance. When the bandage is finished she tries to get up, being stopped by the same hands that took care, making her sit against the mattress again. They stare at each other for a few seconds before the older one turns her face away not supporting the eye contact.   

"Now can I leave?" Y/N asks after a few minutes of awkward silence.  

"No. Lie down." the blonde orders and gets up, walking to the closet from where she pulls out extra pillows and blankets, when turning around she almost drops everything on the floor at the sight "Please, put your clothes back on."  

Y/N props herself up on elbows and stares at her confused, sex is the only thing Larissa wants from her, she has made that clear many times and half an hour ago too. It's just sex. That's what sums up the "relationship" and the reason for the deal that makes her days miserable. And in the same night the woman denies it twice, in fact now seems even disgusted to look at her. She rises feeling defeat coursing inside, from flesh to bone, everything hurts, but nothing compares to the pain that forms in her chest every second she spends in this place. Soon her underwear and dress are put back on, the fabric already crumpled, a bit mismatched, very different from how it was before.  

"Here." the principal places two pillows on the left side of the bed, fluffing them and indicating with a hand for the other to lie down, which she does without asking questions despite the extremely confused look, as if it were nothing more than a strange dream "You need to stay awake for at least an hour, to make sure it was nothing more serious, after that you can go. " the younger just nods, carefully laying down, a groan of pain escapes as head reaches the pillow, soon a pill is placed in front of her "Painkiller." 

"Is it dipyrone?"  

 "No, ibuprofen, I know you are allergic to dipyrone."  

"Thank you."  

"Okay." Larissa shrugs and walks to the other side of the bed, sitting up "You know we can't continue after today, right?!"  

"Why?" her voice comes out broken, a lump forming in the throat at the mere thought of not being with the woman anymore, even if only for sex.  

"We broke the rules, you talked about feelings, I took care of you and now I'm letting you spend the night, none of that is part of the deal." they don't look each other in the eye for different reasons, the blonde sighs before continuing "That breaks the idea of friends with benefits."  

"To be friends with benefits we should be friends in the first place, but I don't think we ever were. You despise me." Y/N whispers bitterly and turns away, she would not give the other the pleasure of seeing her cry.  

"You're right."  

Time passes torturously slowly, Y/N tries not to cry again, which becomes impossible with the indifference and tension that builds more and more every second, then concentrates on not letting it become obvious, holding back sobs and shaking body. Everything hurts, face, chest, hands gripping hard on the pillow and an annoying headache, despite having taken ibuprofen earlier. For an hour and a half Larissa calls her sporadically to check if she is awake or not, occasionally asking if she feels nauseous or anything else, soon discovering that these are symptoms of post-drinking so she stops asking little by little until is completely quiet. That's when the teacher finally falls asleep, the blonde and usually kind (to others) principal in her mind, still trying not to believe it's over. Trying to fool herself with the idea, maybe the slightest possibility, that it's a nightmare where everything they had just slipped through her fingers because of a bottle of wine. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A week later Y/N finds herself running through the halls of Nevermore, dressed impeccably in a casual women's suit set in her favorite color, high heels tapping against the floor, hair brushed presentably, makeup light and she was glad to finally have the bandage off, it would surely spoil the perfect look to finally meet her students' parents. It has been six months of preparation for this moment, of course there are parents who were not very receptive to the idea of their children being taught by a simple normie who was not even raised in Jericho, just as there were those who supported her hiring and seem equally excited to meet her. Parents' Weekend is the opportunity to do that. She stops in front of the door and sighs, smoothing the fabric of the suit so that it is totally flawless, then smoothed the thin tank top under the blazer, for some reason it seems to be looser against the chest and dangerously close to the edge of the neckline, a few necklaces adorning majestically. The teacher knows she should be feeling fabulous with this look and the greetings she has rehearsed for hours memorized, but nothing takes her away from the miserable state she has been in for a week since she woke up alone in Weems' bedroom, with only a note on the bedside recommending that she go to the doctor and the best way out, without the danger of being seen, would be through the side door. Since then she has been trying to pull herself together, which means trying to avoid the woman as much as possible until it stops hurting.  

"You can do it, Y/N. You can take anything for 10 seconds, so just start over and everything will work out." she whispers to herself, closing the eyes in concentration "Allons-y!"  

And it all worked out, better than she could have imagined, the principal was nowhere to be seen, at least not in her field of vision. The first parents to show any interest were a vampire's parents, of the youngest, who complimented her highly on how she helped him adjust away from home, the three greeted each other happily before a gentle conversation. Which caught the attention of another vampire family, these were quieter, but equally kind. After an hour of the event she couldn't even count on fingers how many parents she managed to talk to and captivate, all making clear that despite initial reservations they had a good surprise and results with her hiring. This cheered the younger up a bit, at least something seems to be working out in her life, it's that saying, lucky in gambling and unlucky in love. 

"So you are the beautiful young lady my son talks so much about?" a voice comes up behind her after saying goodbye to Ajax's parents, when she turns around finds a tall man with striking features, sculpted body highlighted by the cut of his suit and a pair of mesmerizing chocolate eyes "Lucien Corbyn..." 

"Elijah's father?!" the parental connection between them is obvious, the boy being a souped up image of him "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Corbyn! Your son is a great student and very kind." she extends a hand expecting the man to shake, being surprised by the touch of his rough hand leading hers to his lips, where he leaves a lingering kiss, staring her in the eyes the whole time.  

"The pleasure is all mine." he whispers and smiles lowering his hand, still holding hers "Of course Eli is, he's my son and was raised by me...only me. All credit to his father." and blinks, trying to hint that he is a solo and consequently single father  

"I'm not surprised, you two are so much alike. Strong genes." Y/N comments nonchalantly, not realizing how this affects the instinct of the werewolf, who raises an eyebrow feeling audacious and also lucky to have finally found the perfect woman after the former wife's leaving.  

She may not have noticed, but the tall woman across the courtyard did and felt extremely uncomfortable at the sight, Larissa was present at the event the entire time, the first 40 minutes spent solving small problems and talking to the parents who donate money to the academy funds. Trying to be as invisible as possible, at the same time her eyes were always on her, the girl who torments days and takes away sleep at night with the simple fact of existing. Sometimes she got lost in the topic of some parent because her focus was too much on the teacher interacting with the families and giving attention to each one of them, after she pulled herself together, she excused and tried to dissipate it from mind, uselessly, since in the next second she was already doing the same thing. And she mentally thanked for repeating the behavior. Corbyn is a wealthy werewolf, leader of the wolf pack, they went to university together, in fact the man was a great conqueror until he married and had the son, but werewolves like big families, have lots of children to make the pack bigger, and he has made it clear in the last two years that he is in search of another mate to give him that.  

She greets the mother of some siren she can't even remember the name of, and walks slowly over to where the pair are talking, watching the interaction from a distance. Lucien still holds her hand, his other hand caressing her elbow, but Y/N barely notices because she is too excited talking about his son, one of the favorite children. His eyes are no longer on her face, the blonde can see the lust stamped on the werewolf's face as he stares at a lower point, the teacher's breasts. The two mounds are partially exposed by the neckline of the tank top she wears under her blazer, showing flushed skin and a small part of her lace bra, shit, even she can't look away and has been there, she knows every detail by heart, the softness to the touch, the nipples and how sensitive they can be tearing out sinful moans. Everything about her is sinful and Larissa was once the greatest sinner. As approaches she unconsciously takes off the gray coat, which is landing on Y/N's shoulders in seconds, she is startled by the touch and almost cannot believe it when she hears the familiar voice beside her, nor that the soft delicate gloved hands she misses so much are around shoulders holding her tightly, if it were someone else she might say it feels like a possessive touch.  

"I believe Elijah is expecting his father to spend time with him and not with the teacher." she says with venom in voice, a huge fake smile on the lips, staring at his hand hoping the man gets the hint.  

"You are right, Principal Weems. I am here for my little wolf." Corbyn agrees with an even more fake smile as he understands the message, instead of letting her go he squeezes the hand even tighter and brings it to his lips again "I hope to see you soon, beautiful young lady. The pack can't wait to host a dinner on your behalf." he winks and finally lets her go, looking directly at the blonde "See you later, Principal!" and doesn't get a response.  

Y/N keeps a neutral expression until Lucien disappears from sight soon after finding his son in the crowd and as soon as she doesn't see him uses the arms to try to get rid of the coat, but the long arms stop her and Larissa turn around so that they are face to face, without saying anything she adjusts the piece against the girl's body, covering her breasts and then fastens the buttons quickly. They stare at each other in the process, feeling the strangeness of the moment hit the pit of their stomachs, one feeling nauseous and the other boiling with anger inside, sunk in a feeling similar to jealousy, even if she denies it to herself.  

"It's cold." she says shrugging and adjusts the collar of the coat, not failing to notice how big this looks on Y/N, like a big fancy dress, it's almost.. cute to look at.  

"I have coats, you can have yours back." her voice comes out in a whisper and she tries to take off the coat again, but is stopped by the taller one, arms wrapping around her again so she doesn't do that "Principal Weems..."  

"Let's go inside."  

Before she can refuse she feels herself being held by the hand and dragged across the courtyard, barely able to keep up with the woman's steps, partly because of the height difference and also the heavy piece of clothing larger than her, which drags along the ground, none of them caring. On the way some parents observe the scene, from curious to pitying looks, thinking that maybe the teacher was in trouble for some reason, none of them had seen this angry expression on the principal's face before. She just lowers the gaze as just lets be led, knowing that there is no point in arguing, making a scene in front of parents is the last thing she wants.  

"What the hell were you thinking flirting with a student's father?" Larissa asks loudly, holding herself back from screaming, once they enter her office.  

"I wasn't..."  

"Yes, you were. Corbyn is the leader of a wolf pack, an alpha looking for a wife and someone to have his little wolves." she interrupts the younger angrily dumping the facts on the table.  

"And?" the answer is simple and mocking, increasing the tension in the room. The blue eyes fill with more anger.  

"You don't really know the werewolves, the alphas...they are...you are more than that. More than a trophy to exhibit, than a... breeding slut." the words coming out of her mouth surprises them both, vulgar language compared to her exquisite vocabulary.  

"What if marriage and children is something I want? At least Lucien would treat me well, not even hide me." Y/N teases and shrugs, even though she is completely disgusted inside at the idea of that man touching her in this way, besides, she really doesn't know much about werewolves and the classes of the species "And maybe I would be loved."  

In less than a second she finds herself practically lying on the armchair with the woman's body on top of hers, kneeling on the floor not caring about the expensive dress, faces inches apart, warm breath against lips and their eyes meet once again, there is fragility in both, many buried feelings suddenly showing. One hand of Larissa's holds the smaller wrist to the top of the armchair, above head, and the other lands below thigh, lifting the leg for the younger to wrap around her waist, so she does instinctively. 

"I can give you all of this, right now if you want me to." the older whispers without leaving her eyes, for the first time since they met she showed some vulnerability and to their surprise tears emerged, falling down her face faster than it came "Y/N, I can and want to give you all of this, whatever you wish."  

"Then why?" she is confused and shocked, for the past few months the thing she wished most is that someday hopefully her feelings would be reciprocated, receiving only coldness and indifference, accepting the crumbs of the deal they had, it was enough until no more, "Larissa, you despised me for months, as if I was nothing, invisible, even professionally, doubting my abilities just for being a normie. You made me feel...worthless, unworthy of love."  

"And I'm miserable for doing that to you, it was never my intention, but when I realized I was already putting up barriers and more barriers to keep you away, yet I couldn't. My romantic past is terrible, I've been hurt a lot by people whom I gave myself to and trusted blindly. For a blind person, as I was, pushing you away and hurting you seemed better than letting myself be hurt once again. I know, that's no excuse for all the shit I put you through. But I was broken emotionally when I met you, so that's why..." the principal stops talking when she feels Y/N's free hand gently wipe away her tears, thumb resting on the now flushed cheeks "I'm not trying to justify it, but I really was afraid to let you in, then when you were gone I realized that being afraid of losing you is bigger, also hurts more. That night I cried hiding in the office after you slept and uselessly tried to convince myself that it was the best thing for both of us, even if it was burning me up inside. And now that I saw that disgusting man touching you hurt like hell, I realized that I can't stand the idea of someone else being in your life like that."  

"I..." 

"Please forgive me, you were never worthless, I never despised you, never thought you were any of that, fuck, I don't even care that you are normie and I hired you precisely because you are fucking bright, a great teacher and role model for our students. I just can't say I'm sorry for being an asshole and for all the cruel words I've said, if you want I'll wash my mouth out with soap. Y/N, listen very attentively to my words now." Larissa leaves the wrist and long fingers run across the girl's face, admiring every detail, feeling her chest heavy as she remembers that damn night when she was a complete idiot, hurt her in so many ways and made her cry, when she thought lost her forever "You are worthy of all the love in the world, all the happiness, all the affection and you deserve only good things, I made a lot of mistakes, I was the worst person. But..." she sighs and tries to wipe the new wave of tears, anxiety taking over mind and heart "Can you give me a chance? To reward you and show you how much I appreciate you, if you want the world I'll try to give you just to show how deeply I love you."  

"You what?" both are shocked at the sudden declaration.  

"I..." red painted lips quiver and her eyes become clearer, like crystal water, Y/N sees the pure truth about her feelings behind them "I love you." she finally says, word for word, loud and clear.  

"I love you too." the younger whispers, those words meaning more than that, it's forgiveness. They draw closer and slowly bring their lips together.   

It's gentle and soft, as if this is the first time and they are discovering each other, very different from the real first time their lips touched months before, which led them to start everything. Neither can believe that this is really happening, or how amazing they feel with a simple kiss after having done so much more than that before. Lips move in sync, hearts racing and they engage in a tight hug, the blonde's arms taking the smaller body to herself, holding her lovingly by the waist and the back of neck. What makes Y/N groan in pain between the kiss, they separate momentarily only for Larissa to check if she is okay, that injury haunted her for a whole week, only reassured after threatening the doctor to tell about the health condition of her beloved. She soon discovers that the teacher is fine, as she is pulled in by Y/N to continue kissing, this time more intense, tongues meet immediately, feeling and exploring each other's mouths with affection and desire, so much desire that makes the skin burn, feverish with love. It's a kiss that is full of all the feelings hidden for months, of the pain they have gone through in different ways, but about the same thing, the desire to be together. 

"What are we now?" Y/N asks as soon as their lips part and they are looking at each other again, this time instead of tears there are genuine and almost shy smiles "And what are we doing?"  

"Well, I was planning to take you on a date and propose formally..."  

 "Really, Weems? I thought your silly hand was driving us to another thing..." she points to the long fingers under the coat, between the fabric of her tank top and the waistband of the pants.  

"I'm sorry." she is about to take the hand away from there, but is stopped and feels the soft lips against hers again in a quick kiss.  

"It's okay..." the buttons are slowly unbuttoned, the tank top showing and when Larissa moves closer to kiss her the fabric is accidentally pulled, exposing even more breasts along with the lace bra that almost drove the principal crazy earlier.  

"If I didn't know you I'd say it was all planned." the two laugh and the taller one nods in denial, then pulls on the coat wrapping herself in it, bodies pretty much attached inside "Please, never let Lucien come near you like that again. Just seeing him touching and looking at you like that made me boil inside, I wanted to kill him."  

"He wouldn't have come close if I already belonged to someone."  

"Fair enough. And that brings us to the previous question, are we more than girlfriends?" the blonde asks a little fearfully afraid she's jumping the gun, they've been sleeping together for about six months now, but under her stupid terms, fruits of damn insecurity "Or...?"  

"We are whatever we want to be." she thinks of an objective answer, but not even she, who has always wanted this relationship, knows how to define what they have.  

"Then you will be mine, in every way. Body, soul, and mind." they intertwine fingers and Larissa has to fight back new tears when the other nods in agreement, the fear of speaking this fading, her heart speeds up even more "We have a lot to fix, I have a lot to make up for, but I want to be better for you, to be worthy to call you girlfriend and one day wife."  

"You are already worthy, you just didn't know it." Y/N whispers with emotion in voice, fighting back her own tears as she faces the woman she loves in the same state, their heads touch and both close eyes just enjoying the moment, feeling the calm after the storm "It's okay now."  

"It's okay now." she agrees opening a smile and they gap a little, staring at each other "Damn, I can't believe I finally had the courage to say I love you." 

"Neither do I, it's like you're a different Larissa, a better Rissa, who talks, gives affection, knows how to express yourself." the younger's hands run down the principal's neck and rest on the soft face, caressing cheek, then the temple, eyebrows, nose, chin and finally the fleshy lips that quiver at the gentle touch "And love me."  

Their lips come together again in a delicate and emotional kiss, still a new feeling to be able to touch and be like this after all they have been through. What they are doing is no longer relieving stress or satisfy horniness trying to control all the built up sexual tension, there are no sloppy kisses, rushed hands, cold touches and even less the usual neglect. It's exactly the opposite of that, affection is conveyed with every touch and the kisses seem simply addictive, like they could live this moment forever and if at some point they parted it would fade away, just like their dreams before.  

"I knew I couldn't kiss you this way before or I would fall to my knees in love..." Larissa murmurs between the kiss and points to how she stands in front of the armchair, on knees between her legs, hands holding her "And I was right."  

"You're such an idiot, Rissa." they smile and the blonde pulls her around the waist, rubbing hips against Y/N's intimacy, both moan at the friction "My Rissa..."  

"Only yours. And you only mine."  

"I have never been so happy to break rules in my life."  

"And I thank you for it."  

They feel deep happiness and peace, nothing matters around, Parents' Weekend, not even the rowdy students, this is their moment. As soon as their lips touch again calmness hangs over heads, there is no more fear, pain or anything like that, just the feeling of being realized and complete after letting love speak louder.  

"I love you, Y/N..." 

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[sadbigemini]

So, to start off, Happy Pride! And I'm here with more MHA shit. We have ourselves a long one today. I have nothing else to say, let's get into it!

First, Just Some Tidbits You Can Add To Fics

Midnight's persona is so ingrained in her that she forgot and didn't think of how that would affect her students or how they would feel about it

The class is super close and trauma bonded. They find comfort in each other after nightmares, they help each other with panic attacks, with flashbacks, etc. Aizawa lets them break the not staying in each other's dorms rule bc of it

Dadzawa offers his capture weapon to comfort his kids/students like a weighted blanket

Where Aizawa was a vigilante before he got into the hero course

Dadzawa sees the Three Dumbingos in Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki or Kaminari, Sero, and Kirishima or a combination of the two lol

Quirk accidents are a common occurrence, especially In stressful or highly emotional situations. Regardless of age, though probably more common in children

Roki has a slight phobia of fire

Midoriya Hisashi as a good dad bc their isn't enough fics with it that way

A Whole Lotta Smallish Fic Prompts

Villain/Vigilante EraserMic(Cloud?) ‘adopting’ a bunch of kiddos that need homes. And creating an army against the HPSC. They'll be like the mob lol

MHA group home AU ran by you guessed it EraserMic or by Nezu and they're just caretakers

Todoroki Shouto gets OFA and is mentored by Good!All Might. It's mostly to piss off his sperm-donor but also because he is a secret AM fanboy

Sentient quirks, whether that's expanding on Tokoyami and Dark Shadow or giving someone else a sentient quirk too

Jirou knows about OFA. She overheard the knowledge of All Might's no might form and OFA, his quirk, with her own quirk. Not purposely ofc

Mido with a pyrokinesis quirk! Which has been done before but not enough! Mido's kinda a pyromaniac... Was he born with it? Did it manifest when he was four? Did it manifest much later and he was thought to be quirkless?

Sero with a cartoon physics quirk. Vigilante. Named Toons? He also listens to some tunes on patrol lol I think he'd love puns ngl. Pranks, an ungodly amount of pranks. So bad endeawhore will be sobbing in the aftermath. SeroRoki besties.

Chisaki Izuku. Mido as Chisaki Kai’s younger brother. Has an Activation and Deactivation quirk (Superpower wiki for more info). Anything he touches that can turn on and off he can turn them on and off, quirks to bodily functions (kinda the same thing I think lol) to technology. He defies Overhaul at every turn bc of Eri. He escapes with Eri and is found by Aizawa. Dadzawa, PapaMic

Shirakumo Oboro is reincarnated into one Toogata Mirio. Shirakumo Oboro died on July 15th (I think he died around this time but the timeline isn't that clear) and on the same day Toogata Mirio was born. Okay, but if I remember correctly Shirakumo was made to give Aizawa a friend like Mirio is to Amajiki. So, like it's literally perfect lol– ah! But the ages, he died 13/14 years ago and Mirio is like 18. Sooo???

Someone give Sero, our resident tape dispenser, OFA, so he can have Danger Spidey Sense. Ig there's Black Whip too, which would help with mobility. A bit like Spider-Man’s Iron Spider Armor/Suit. Sero would be living his little Spider-Man fanboy dream!

Hatsume Mei being Nezu's only personal student. The chaos– the shenanigans, the hijinks they would get into! This could just be pure crack but I think some of you could put a serious spin on this.

MHA/Soul Eater crossover. Think more MHA and heroes than Soul Eater or finding a way to mesh the lore well enough

Aizawa infiltrates the LOV and redeems them

More class B and Shiketsu fics

Shiketsu AU. Quirkless Midoriya accepted? Monoma will be there and his class B is better shtick, now Shiketsu is better shtick. Shinsou there too?? Camie helps them find their class on the first day

Jirou as MC with medical training and a quirk called Body Manipulation (look on Superpower wiki for more info). Vigilante armed with a Monster High metal bat (I think Jirou, Mina, and Toga would love Monster High). Operator is her vigilante name. Fellow vigilante and partner in crime Toga Himiko. Toga has a blood portal quirk. Vigilante name Transfusion. The two act as paramedics for an underground hospital. Future Proteges of Recovery Girl. And it's pride month so maybe you can do a rare pair with those two, Jirou/Toga

Aizawa is practically adopted by the Midoriyas! All the Midoriyas either see him at the park, cat cafe, or they share the same train sometimes. Quirkless Midoriya Izuku or he helps him with OFA. Aizawa teaches Bakugou how to control his anger and that quirkless doesn't mean useless. So, no bullying! Pining EraserMic! Aizawa kinda becomes like the Midoriya adults’ younger brother while he's like an uncle to the youngest

Twice-Centric fic. Twice is Mic's CI (and friend) who infiltrates the LOV for him

Technomancer. Mido has a technopathy and mental continuation quirk (again Superpower wiki). Mido commits sewerslide and gets this quirk (they are mixed into one). He is a tech/electro ghost, he's kinda like an AI. Now he helps different heroes especially his favorites like Eraserhead and Present Mic. But also his favorite vigilante Kaminari?? Tokoyami?? Tokage?? Roki??? His hero and vigilante name is Technomancer. Takes over the HPSC?? Nezu is intrigued by him immediately ofc. Our beloved Power Loader loves him. Absolutely loves him they work on support gear projects together. Hatsume and Power Loader can make him a robot body to possess basically!!!

Oh, How The Tables Have Turned (and how you have turned on each other): This AU(?) is lots of world building fun. A fic about how the quirked were first oppressed heavily by the quirkless and how the roles swapped. How there still is quirk discrimination but now it's more the quirked against each other than another oppressor. How quirks are everything in society now.

A Couple Quirk Ideas

Add Insult To Injury. Insult Empowerment. The quirk allows the user to get stronger when insulted. Talk shit, get hit

True Self Recognition Quirk (again Superpower wiki for both)

One Big One For The Road (Midoriya Tears™ is a quirk)

Midoriya can manipulate them from the volume to the strength to where they go. He needs to drink lots of water and will get dehydrated with quirk overuse

Mido thought he was quirkless because his mom has a secondary passive quirk that's very similar to him. That many other family members have possessed. Hence the Midoriya Tears term. And maybe he is a false negative for quirklessness

BUT HOW DID NOBODY ACCOUNT FOR IT BEING A QUIRK?!! I'LL TELL YOU–!!

–because everyone heard quirkless and that's all they paid attention to. Also the Midoriya Tears are very much a reoccurring trait with various power levels. The person who originally had the quirk was from ages ago– maybe at the dawn of quirks? And it steadily appeared or didn't and was still passed on to the next regardless.

Obviously our Mido’s quirk is the strongest version yet bc MC privilege lmao. And no one knew bc he obviously never trained it. Why would he when he thinks he's quirkless? And it's just a ‘Midoriya thing’. ALSO plot armor lol

Maybe Bakugou guesses but everyone is like, 'your delusional.' and then he's like, ‘Deku is still delusional even if he has a quirk!’?

Or good Bakugou from the start who is driven crazy trying to convince his best friend he has a quirk while scaring his bullies away as he tries to get him to stand up for himself too??

In this fic please give Sero, our beloved tape dispenser, OFA, so he can live his truth and have his little Spider-Man fanboy dream!

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

[loversj0y]

For your 200 follower event you should do Invisible String with Wil! Maybe inspired by him being on tour, and once you guys connect, you realize all the similarities/close calls you’ve had to each other?

invisible string

event masterlist

pairing: wilbur soot x gn! reader

tws: bars/references to drinking

notes: this might be tphe longest one bc it felt wrong making it Not long, i guess so i hope you enjoy :3

word count: 2.5k

taglist: @l0veb0mb1ng / @core-queen / @zooone / @lillylvjy / @melunnek

You hated heartbreak and the way it seemed to accompany you like an old friend. Several bad breakups led to the collective feeling of needing to leave, wanting to run, so you did. It wasn’t hard to find a university you could study abroad in and accommodations, especially with the proficiency in your courses meaning a scholarship wasn’t hard to find. Choosing a place to go was the hardest part; you knew you wanted to go to the UK, but you didn’t know where. Thankfully, there was a pretty simple solution: throwing a dart at a map. Leading you here: Brighton. The taxi drove you to your new apartment, and there was a rock song playing you’d wished to have gotten the name of before you got dropped off. 

After a week of unpacking and settling in, you’d gotten notably bored. So you decided to look for a place to go, or something to do, and you stumbled across a pretty small club that seemed quite nice. You walked in, and at first it reminded you of the dive bars back in America, but a bit nicer. You went up to the bar and ordered quickly, trying to speak a bit quieter given the glaringly obvious American accent. It wasn’t enough to entirely hide it, though. Once you got your drink, a blond boy who’d been next to you at the bar spoke up, loudly.

“Are you American?”

You looked at him and nodded. He seemed a bit younger, but given that he was in here meant he was probably at least 18. “Yeah, I just moved here.”

He perked up, grinning, “Follow me!” He didn’t give you much a choice before grabbing your arm and dragging you over to his friends, “My name’s Tommy, by the way! My brother Wilbur loves America, so he’ll be excited to meet you, c’mon!”

You chuckled, allowing yourself to be dragged over by him. He brought you to a group of five people, two of whom were incredibly tall. All five of them were giving an incredulous look at Tommy, making you laugh a bit. 

“Wilbur!” Tommy basically yelled as he pulled you over, “I found an American!”

You fought the urge to hide your face in your hands, instead taking a sip of your drink.

One of the taller guys, who you presumed was Wilbur, sputtered at Tommy, “Tommy! You can’t just drag someone over because they’re American, for fucks sake.”

“Yes, but you love America and you needed some cheering up, so ta-da!”

Wilbur just facepalmed, sighing and looking over at you now. He was an attractive guy, light brown curls and a tall frame, plus a good fashion sense if the Doc Martins were anything to go off of. “I am so sorry he abducted you. He is a child with no sense of manners.”

You chuckled softly, especially as Tommy gasped dramatically in response. “It’s alright,” you smiled softly, “Beats the alternative of sitting alone at the bar for an hour, so.” You shrugged.

Wilbur gave you a bit of a thoughtful look, but before he could speak up, the girl next to Tommy spoke.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, even if he literally just dragged you over. I’m Molly, Tommy’s girlfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled softly, before Tommy took charge once more.

“Yes, right! Introductions! I’m Tommy, obviously the coolest one here, Molly is my wonderful and only wife, Jack over there is an dick, don’t be friends with him, but that’s his girlfriend Ellie, she’s too cool for him. You spoke to Wilbur, my lame brother, already, and the only one taller than him is the very gorgeous Ranboo,” he explained.

Not a single person looked pleased with his explanation, but they also didn’t exactly look surprised by him.

“Right, well, nice to meet you guys. I’m Y/N.”

“So, you’re actually from America? Are you visiting?” Jack asked, a kind smile on his face.

“Yeah, uh, I just moved here actually. I just needed a change of pace, I guess, so I actually transferred to the university out here.”

He nodded, and you could feel the entire group’s eyes on you for a moment. It was a bit unsettling, but that was more just the nerves.

“Cool, fellow American,” the tallest one, Ranboo, spoke up. You looked up at him (he was really tall), and you smiled. 

“Glad to know I’m not the only one out here. How’d you end up out here?”

“Uh… work, actually. It’s kind of a long story, but I had to move out here for my work stuff, so I did.” He shifted his eyes a bit as he spoke, and you just nodded, assuming he didn’t want to be pressed on the matter.

“Wilbur,” Tommy spoke, “tell them some cool America facts.”

“Tommy, they very likely know them better than me given that they actually lived there.” Wilbur chuckled softly.

I smiled softly at Wilbur, “I’d still like to hear them. Maybe I can tell you if you’re mistaken about any of them.”

He looked over and gave you a grin, and the conversations paired off. You and Wilbur discussed America and where you lived, and the fact that Americans need to stop building parking lots, which you agreed with.

After nearly an hour and a half, he disengaged, turning to Tommy, “I have to head out now, Toms. I’ll see you tomorrow though, yeah?”

Tommy nodded, then gave Wilbur a bit of an evil grin, turning to you, “Did Wilbur tell you he’s a big musician? He’s got to leave early because he’s got a gig tomorrow and has to do boring musician things.”

“Really?” You grinned softly, “That’s really fucking cool.”

“Yeah, well, Wilbur’s lame, but his band is cool. You should come to the gig!” Tommy exclaimed, and Wilbur’s cheeks dusted red, eyes widening at Tommy.

“I’d love to, but, only if it’s okay with you, I guess,” You looked up at Wilbur, raising your eyebrows.

He nodded a bit stiffly, “yeah, no, that’d be great. The more the merrier. I’ll see you both tomorrow then.” He waved, heading off quite quickly after.

“Is… he going to be mad at you for inviting me?” You chuckled, looking over at Tommy.

“Eh, he will be at first. I’ll probably wake up to an upset text, but it’s just because he gets nervous playing in front of people he wants to impress. Once he does fine after, he’ll text me all ‘Oh, Tommy, you’re so smart and right, thank you for inviting them since I was too much of a pussyhole to ask myself,’” he mocked Wilbur’s voice, and you laughed a bit. You blushed slightly at the implication that Wilbur wanted to impress you.

After a bit longer, the group dispersed, and you headed home. You actually ended up living pretty close to Tommy, who was about two blocks down from you. As you headed inside to your apartment, you smiled and got excited at the idea of going to the gig tomorrow and seeing Wilbur again. You fell asleep excited and wondering what type of music you’d hear from him and pleased with the people you’d happened to find. 

You managed to get to the gig without too much trouble the next day, and you were shocked by the sheer amount of people waiting outside. Tommy had texted you about going to a back entrance, which thankfully wasn’t too hard to find. He was waiting by the door to help you in as well, and you felt immediately starstruck. 

The place was pretty big, and Wilbur was already standing in the centre of the stage, practicing something on his guitar. The lights were hitting him perfectly, and he looked like an angel. You struggled to look away, until Tommy came up and basically draped himself against you.

“Stop simpin’ after Wilbur, c’monnnn, we’re heading backstage. He needs his little ‘rockstar-practice time’ or whatever.”

You flushed, turning away from Wilbur, “I’m not simping, I’m just in awe. This is really cool.”

“Yeah, yeah, well,” he walked further backstage with you following him, “you should’ve seen how long it took him to get used to it. Whole band did a bunch of fake shows to get used to performing.”

“Really? That’s smart, actually.”

Tommy just shrugged, taking you to room backstage where there was a much larger group of people than the night before. You recognized Molly and Jack, but the other three were complete strangers.

“Oh, Y/N, you came!” Molly grinned, waving. You waved back at her, nodding a bit. 

“These lot are more of the band. They are much cooler than Wilbur, you’ll find. That’s Ash, Leandra, and Mark.”

You waved, saying a quick hello, before allowing yourself to become an observer of the conversation.

The show started not too long after, with you, Jack, Molly, and Tommy watching from the side stage. You quickly discovered that the band, Lovejoy, was incredibly popular, and their music was fantastic. And Wilbur.

Wilbur was something else on stage. He was fully in his element, lights covering him in halo glows. His voice was melodic, and it made you want to melt. From the side stage, you could see how he leaned against the mic, the passion in his voice, and the intensity he matched in each song. It was about halfway through the show though, that you felt you blood run cold.

The song you’d heard in the cab when you moved in. It was their song. And if that wasn’t just the biggest coincidence slapping you in the face than god knows what was. You didn’t know what to make of it, other than feeling incredibly overwhelmed by fate and the new friends you’d made.

By the end of the show, you felt strange. You felt incredibly uncertain about your place in the world most days, but for some reason, as you watched Wilbur approach you and the group, you felt like there was no where else you belonged.

“Hey,” he walked over with a grin, “You came! What did you think?”

He looked almost nervous as he asked, sweat still dripping from his forehead as you chuckled, “It was amazing! I actually recognized one as well!”

A startled look crossed his face for a moment, “You did? Which one?”

“The, ah, I didn’t catch the name of it originally, but I want to say it’s Call Me What You Like if the setlists are correct. It was playing in my cab when I was dropped off in Brighton.”

He grinned, “Really? It was on the radio?” 

You nodded, “Yeah! I thought it was fantastic, but I didn’t have time to catch the name. At least now I don’t have to worry about forgetting it.”

“Oh, trust me, I wouldn’t let you,” he gave you a grin that shined brighter than any light on that stage, and you felt butterflies flood your stomach as you considered that maybe it was fate that brought you here.

Sometimes you didn’t consider the ways that time worked. In the span of one year, so much more had changed than you’d ever even considered. You moved to a new country, started a new school, made new friends. You cut your hair, changed your wardrobe, got a better music taste. You became much more social, started dating Wilbur, learned to feel more confident in yourself. 

The relationship probably was the most shocking of anything to happen. But it happened quickly, and it felt so right and so easy, as if your previous heartbreaks never occurred. You still had problems, mind you, however, there was something within you telling you it was fate constantly. 

You thought about fate a lot when you thought about your relationship. The random effect of the universe tended to have a weird way of making you think about stuff like that. The statistical chances of choosing to move to Brighton by throwing a dart at a map, of hearing Wilbur’s song play in your cab. Then there were the numerous things you’d learned over time, small coincidences that pointed to a string of fate tying you together. Of the color of his first album being the color of your first prom dress. Of the time he visited America and ended up staying twenty minutes from where you lived. Of your first boyfriend sharing Wilbur’s middle name. Of all these tiny clues of parallel moments within your lives that you could only see now in retrospect. 

The biggest thing within this string was the connection you felt to him that first night. It felt like that little string pulled you straight into that bar. When all of a sudden, all the stress and feelings you’d had about heartbreak and needing to run felt soothed, all past mistakes feeling fuzzy in comparison to something that was so right. 

“Darling,” Wilbur chuckled softly, “What are you thinking so hard about?” He smiled, walking over to where you were already laying down, ready for bed. 

“Do you ever think about fate?” You asked as he gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“Not often, I guess. Why?”

“I just think about us, and I just feel like there’s been a string connecting us, tying us together, and we just couldn’t see it.”

He smiled softly, slowly getting into bed next to you, “You think?”

“I don’t know for certain. But I know that there’s way too many coincidences to be normal. And that in one year, just by moving here… I don’t know it feels like I wasn’t living before being here, and even more now that I’m with you. I actually feel in charge of my life. Like time just changed everything for the better, and I have to at least believe that maybe it’s because fate brought us here.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into him, “Yeah. I’ve never quite thought about it like that. I like that idea though. I mean, the chances of us actually meeting were so slim. As much as I don’t love the concept of fate, I’ll love fate for this. Because if fate is what brought me to you, then I owe it so much.” 

You smiled lovingly at him, leaning forward to kiss him gently, “I owe it so much too. That- that little thread of gold tying us together.”

He held you a bit tighter, turning off the lamp next to him, “You think it’d be gold?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

He chuckled, “Why is that?”

“Because it’s your last name. And the leaves were gold when I moved here in the fall. What about you?”

“Hm,” he hummed, “Gold could be fitting. But I think it’d be some sort of blue or purple, like the sunset we watched on our first proper date.”

“That’d be nice,” you smiled softly, “I’m just glad it was there, if it is real.”

“Me too, love,” he whispered, before pulling you into a slow and gentle kiss. 

[leviraaaaaa]

I can't write.

I literally can't.

Yk the stuff I wrote before, I thought they were shit and I never read them again lol. But today I was going through some of my old works and wtf, it's not that bad? Why were they actually so good? How did 16 year old me manage to spout those out of her brain but nearly 18 year old me can't piece a sentence together?

Today, I read one of my juniors writing. Like I'm so proud of her, SHE'S SO GOOD GUYS HEE VOCAB IS SO GOOD AND HER SENSE OF HUMOR AND HOW SHE KEEPS THE PLOT GOING FORWARD?? 10/10. I love it. She's going to go sm far and I'm so proud of her.

But I also hate it. I cried like a pathetic bitch. It sounds miserable but yes, I cried. How is it that kids years younger than me could write so well? What the fuck am I doing with my life?

I hate that the one thing I could distract myself with, I can't. It's not that I don't have ideas, I do, but for some reason I can't explore them enough or even jot it down. Maybe it's because I'm growing up, maybe because my obsessions wearing off, maybe because I no longer daydream 24/7, but whatever's the reason, I can't write.

I can't write. Every sentence I write, it's terrible and I want to throw up. Even if I force myself to write like a certain amount of word limit or pages, the story pacing is so fucking awkward I want to die.

I used to be able to draw. Now I can't. I used to read books. Now I don't. I used to write. I used to write sm. All the time. About everything. My friends. How the day went. How I felt. Now I write nothing.

Highschool is draining the shit out of me. All I could think about is what if I fail this exam and that exam and I only have like a year left till admissions and the way I study is not enough for med school and I'm scared I don't have what it takes for med school because I'm lazy and I want to write because that's the only way I feel relaxed but I can't write so now I'm just overwhelmed 24/7.

Fuck. I even hate this post. What a terrible way to describe my feelings.

[biggie-chcese]

rain code age headcanons because i have literally only ever been choosing ages based on what's funniest but now i wanna cast away my grand layers of irony and be genuine for a moment. also. this goes pretty in depth so be prepped for the long haul when you click read more lmao.

spoilers for the whole game below and it's because of one specific character iykyk

Yakou - this man has the soul of a guy in his late 40s going through what would be his midlife crisis if not for the fact that he's fully aware he passed the midpoint years ago. but that soul is trapped in the body of a guy who doesnt look a day older than 28. what moisturizer does he use? i doubt he even uses anything other than that 13 in 1 shampoo. anyway, i think he's 32.

Halara - 26. nothing really to justify this other than they've got that mid 20s swag but 25 didn't feel right. adult enough to be as competent as they are yet young enough to look like that. moving on.

Desuhiko - 19. i think he's the youngest of the NDA because. well. idk man have you read his dialogue? he's got a whole lot of growing to do and is still very lost on his direction in life. he's giving 'bitch fresh outta high school (or in this case, detective training) and relishing in his freshly obtained freedom."

Vivia - 28? yeah i got nothing for this i am going purely on vibes here. 28 just feels right.

Fubuki - 23. she's clearly still a bit young but is also clearly a grown ass adult who wasn't raised right so i think this makes for a happy medium, especially if she's already been on some worldwide adventures n shit before the game. works out quite swimmingly methinks.

Kurumi - 18. for my personal comfort bc we'll get to yuma later but im not gonna sit here and ignore the way the game constantly grovels at the audience's feet to ship them so id rather she not be any younger than this. anyway, more about her: she tends to hold her own as an informant with more competence, maturity, and effecience than most of the NDA. but she also has a pretty childish black and white view on things, like believing her beloved detectives are always right (girl if you were real you would be ENTRENCHED in stan culture oml do NOT get into minecraft youtubers) but i've... seen 18 year olds on the internet that are exactly the same so whatever

Aetheria girls - putting them all at 17-18 because, based on honorifics, they are treated as upperclassmen by their peers in the Japanese dub. i think waruna is the youngest and kurane is the eldest.

Yomi - 25. he has that vibe. old enough to be taken seriously as an adult but young enough to act like That™. yknow?

Martina - 32. she's giving older woman sexy librarian vibes and generally carries herself with a certain level of poise and maturity but is also a freak in a way that can best be explained by being a woman in her 30s. not elaborating on this

Swank - 41. to me he's like those awful surly businessmen who go to cabaret clubs to drink and smoke their office job woes away and cheat on their wives. but he also has extreme mafia boss swag about it so i kinda love him for that. dunno what this has to do with age tho. moving on.

Seth - 22 because he's giving youngest brother. i think he's the youngest of the peacekeepers in general. guillaume definitely bullies him about this.

Dominic - 34. bro is built like a jojo character what else do you want me to say. he's still got that youthfulness about him that makes me think he's still not going through his midlife crisis, so i wouldn't place him any older

Guillaume - 23. guillaume is so girlypop manic pixie dream girl core that she's definitely got the energy of someone who is young but also strikes the balance of being someone who has a job and a mortgage. dunno how she does it. id like to think she isnt even much older than seth but still bullies him for being the baby of the peacekeepers. do u understand my vision. please. they have so much annoying coworker potential.

shinigami - idk like 1000. she's a death god who cares.

yuma - okay. yeah. look i dont give a singular fuck about age discourse- headcanon whatever you want- but from looking at canon material i genuinely think that he could not possibly be any younger than 21. 20 if we wanna push it. yes, i know he looks young. i have eyes. but also, im in my 20s and the most common thing people tell me when i reveal my age is "oh, i thought you were 15." one time a person asked me if i was 12. at my job. that i was actively working at. i was 20. adults can look young, and contrary to the classic 1000 year old loli dragon trope he doesnt act overtly childish. he acts like a normal fuckin guy. yes he cries but like. you wouldn't in his position? bro speedruns lifelong trauma so skillfully that he's backwards long jumping into alternate universes where everything is somehow worse. i'd be freaked out if he didn't cry. also im aware that the child prodigy detective trope is a thing and that kodaka has written that before but... he was number one three years ago. and the training takes two years. which means, if he is a minor in the game's present day, he started working at the WDO at 12 and became number one at 14... at the oldest. have you ever met a 14 year old? forgive me for not suspending my disbelief here. and really the kicker for me is that yuma has a line where he says he's not sure if he's drinking age (which would be 20 in japan), but you know who would be sure? you know who knows yuma's age better than yuma?

makoto kagutsuchi - this megacorporation CEO has a fully stocked minibar installed in his penthouse. <- sentence i cannot bring myself to believe if it's about a child. since i also cant picture him becoming CEO at age 14 without yomi at least once angrily pointing that out (he only ever mentions that makoto is an outsider, or has his head in the clouds), id like to think both him and yuma, at their youngest, earned their top spots at their respective organizations at 18. it keeps their gifted kid syndrome and young prodigy-ness without making things comically ridiculous or uncomfortable for the sheer amount of sexual situations yuma gets put into.

anyway that's my silly little ramble on age headcanons. this was actually really fun to think about. shoutout to kodaka for leaving out the ages. funniest choice he could've made