#and yes i did make some changes to part 1

[angelluv16]

Finding our way back

Max Verstappen x reader

✩: Weeks after letting you walk away, Max finally faces what he’s been running from, and he’s not willing to lose you again.

Want to be added to my taglist?: Click here

pairing: max verstappen x reader

request: Yes!!

warnings: Fluff ending, Emotional conversations, and past conflict. breakup recovery

part 1

You hadn’t heard from him.

Not in a text. Not in a call. Not even in a passive-aggressive like on your story. Nothing.

You thought you’d be relieved after walking away, after choosing yourself for once, but instead, you felt like you were floating in some strange limbo, somewhere between heartbreak and healing. The days blurred. Your apartment was too quiet. And your heart… your heart still beat like it was waiting for his.

It had been three weeks.

You thought maybe Max was done. Maybe he’d let you go that easily because it really didn’t matter that much anymore. That all the time, all the nights you’d stayed up waiting for him to come home, all the soft I love you's whispered into his collarbone, none of it was enough to make him fight for you.

But what you didn’t know was that Max hadn’t slept right in two weeks either.

He’d wake up and reach for your side of the bed, forgetting you weren’t there. He’d go to tell you something about his day, a dumb moment from the garage, a text Lando had sent that made him laugh, but you weren’t there. He’d scroll through old photos at night, fingers lingering too long on the ones where you were looking at him, not the camera.

He had let you walk away.

And that silence? It was loud. Louder than your voice ever was when you begged him to let you in.

It was after the third night in a row of sitting in the dark with your photo pulled up on his phone that Max realized he hadn’t just lost someone he loved. He’d lost the one person who saw him, even when he was too stubborn to let it show. And worse, he hadn’t even tried to stop it.

So he did what he should’ve done weeks ago.

It was a Saturday morning when he showed up.

You heard the knock at your door, three soft taps. You almost didn’t open it. You thought maybe it was your neighbor again, asking about your WiFi or whatever. But something in your chest tightened, like it knew. Like it had been waiting for this moment the whole time.

You opened the door.

And there he was.

Max, standing there in a hoodie you’d stolen more times than he could count, hands in his pockets, eyes tired, lips parted like he’d rehearsed something but forgot every word the second he saw you.

You blinked. “Max…”

“Hi.” His voice cracked, like it hadn’t been used in days. “Can I come in?”

You stared at him for a second longer, then stepped aside silently. The second he crossed the threshold, the air shifted—thicker, heavier, but not angry. Just quiet. Cautious.

Like you were both walking on old wounds.

Max stood there for a beat, looking around your living room like it had changed. Like it wasn’t his second home for so long. “You moved the couch.”

You let out a breathy laugh, sitting on the edge of said couch. “It’s been two weeks. I’ve been trying not to think about you every time I sit down.”

His eyes dropped. “I deserve that.”

You looked at him—really looked at him. He looked like hell. He probably thought the same about you. “Why are you here?”

Max sat down slowly, but not too close. His hands wrung together like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Because I owe you the conversation I should’ve had that night. And I—” he paused, swallowing thickly, “I owe you an apology.”

You crossed your arms, not cold, just guarded. “You said a lot of things, Max.”

“I know,” he said quickly, almost desperately. “And I didn’t mean them. I was angry, and scared, and—I don’t know—I thought I could push you away before you walked away yourself.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Why would you think I’d leave you?”

Max’s eyes finally met yours. “Because I’ve spent my whole life preparing for people to walk away. I thought… if I didn’t need anyone, then losing them wouldn’t hurt.”

He laughed, bitter and small. “But losing you hurt. Worse than anything.”

You were quiet for a long time, your chest tight and your heart beating so loud you swore he could hear it. “Why didn’t you say something before? All I wanted was for you to talk to me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “And I hated that I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to—but because I didn’t know how.”

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking slightly. “I was always taught to stay focused. Stay locked in. And somewhere along the way, I started thinking that being vulnerable made me weak. That needing you, showing that I needed you, meant I wasn’t strong enough to handle everything on my own.”

He shook his head, eyes glassy now. “But God, I was so wrong.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and all you saw was the boy underneath, the one who loved deeply but had never learned how to say it out loud. The one who let silence do the talking until it was too late. The one who finally looked like he was ready to try.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect, Max,” you said quietly. “I never was. I just wanted to be let in. I just wanted to know you trusted me enough to carry it with you.”

He nodded slowly. “And I do. I always did. I was just too proud to admit it.”

A beat passed.

“Do you still love me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Max didn’t even hesitate. “I never stopped.”

Something cracked inside you—something you’d been holding together with duct tape and denial.

“I love you,” he said again, clearer this time. “And I know I messed up. I know I let you walk away and didn’t fight for you when I should’ve. But I’m here now. I’m ready to be better. I want to fix this, if you’ll let me.”

You blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall. “I don’t want perfect, Max. I just want you.”

Max scooted closer then, slowly, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “You have me,” he whispered. “All of me. If you still want it.”

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the storm. “I do.”

He reached out then, his fingers brushing against yours, and it was like breathing again for the first time in weeks. Like the silence had finally broken. Like maybe, just maybe, love really could survive the silence.

And when he pulled you into him—arms wrapping around you tight, nose buried in your shoulder—you knew something had shifted again. Not back to what it was.

But to something stronger.

Something rebuilt.

You found your way back.

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @Ale-522 @meadhbhcavanagh @fulla02 @fanficfanatic77 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @lottalove4evelyn @edgyficuselastica @nebarious @fanny2811 @greantii @norstappenvibes @mary-op81 @jiggly-puff-12 @ana-23-03 @nichmeddar @honethatty12 @camillyb @mynameisangeloflife @galaxygurlll @esw1012 @rere10

[maxdibert]

You took the words out of my mouth. Yes! That is the problem with Marauders stans - they take their OCs, slap a name sticker on them and claim its canon.

Severus becomes the most evil of incels, when he was 9 years old he was already lusting after his first friend, sometimes he is rich, sometimes he is poor - but he always deserves being ganged on 4 on 1 since he was 11, maybe he kicked a puppy in Potter's vicinity, who knows? - sometimes he is even more evil than Voldemort himself (makes you wonder why he wasn’t kicked out of the school already, its not like he is a gryffindor and Dumbledore is protecting him like he did with the Marauders);

James becomes the queer hero (read a fic where he was teaching purebloods in gryffindor about labels and pronouns - Sir, this was the 70s, not 2016), defends the innocent, saving everyone from the evilest of them all: Snape;

Sirius becomes a poor baby, his mother uses the cruciatus curse on him all the time (and somehow he didn’t go mad like the Longbottoms or died) - he goes around with every girl in Hogwarts but the one he really wants is Lupin, look at his puppy eyes.

Lupin, he is brave, he is assertive, he growls, his eyes glow yellow all the time and he acts like the alpha of the group, James and Sirius trust and respect.

Regulus becomes the poor victim (he totally doesn’t have a Voldemort shrine in his room, what are you talking about? XD), he is abused by his mother, by other Slytherins, by Snape, he is prideful and goes against his mother all the time, he is a crybaby in need of a queer hero, he cries himself to sleep thinking of Potter's strong arms.

Peter, he is a cowardly rat, always snickering something evil (you wonder why Potter would ever trust him with the life of his child).

And Lily, hmmm, she a secret lesbian and is going out with Mary/Marlene/Dorcas/Pandora (chose your flavor, its the same either way, she only appears to cheer on the boys) and would absolutely loooooove to carry Jegulus's baby.

Rinse and repeat.

And they come and say they are just "exploring" with the characters - what characters? If you change so many parts of their personality and history are they the same characters?

No. They are just your OCs.

Look, it’s not about the characters, it’s not about the Marauders, it’s not Snape, it’s not Regulus—it’s not the people you see in the actual series. Not even Lily is really Lily, because they always portray her as some kind of girlboss feminist icon when Lily Evans was a girl completely alienated by the patriarchal views of her time. I mean, we’re talking about someone who chose to marry a guy who had abused people right in front of her. But not only that—she got married and pregnant as a teenager. She was a very traditional person, just like her sister Petunia, so I don’t know where this whole Gloria Steinem fantasy comes from because she was nothing like that. In fact, she doesn’t even seem to have female friends—the only one vaguely mentioned is Mary McDonald, and the only real friend she has throughout her life is Severus. After that, it's just her boyfriend/husband’s friends. She’s the furthest thing from a feminist icon, but whatever.

They just make up characters who didn’t even attend school with them. Suddenly Barty Crouch, who canonically was three or four years younger, is in their same year. And not only that—he’s portrayed as this super spicy, sarcastic icon, when canonically even the Death Eaters were shocked to find out Barty was a loyal servant of Voldemort because everything indicated he was the kind of guy who tried to blend in and pretend to follow his father’s orders. Dorcas Meadowes was supposedly a pretty powerful witch and only gets two sentences in the books, but that’s enough to infer she not only didn’t go to school with the Marauders, Snape, and Lily, but was significantly older. The McKinnons are mentioned as a family, suggesting Marlene McKinnon was older than the Marauders and probably married with kids. So what the hell are they talking about? Why are all these people suddenly the same age and in the same year? And why are we suddenly in a senseless teen soap opera with a bunch of pop culture references from 2025 in the middle of the 1970s? Why is just saying “David Bowie” and “the Beatles” considered “period accurate” when these characters clearly think with a 2025 mindset? Even if they kept some traits from canon, it would still feel totally off. You have to understand the historical context you're writing in.

James being queer or James being POC is something I’ll never understand because James Potter represents the progressive elite who, despite having socially acceptable views, are still classist, abusive, and discriminatory. James thinks he’s better than other pure-bloods because the only thing he sees as wrong is blood purism—he doesn’t realize he has a deeply classist, possessive, and dominant mindset, and he’s jealous as hell. He bullies a much poorer boy, with no resources or stable family structure, just because that boy is friends with the girl James likes. He blackmails the girl he likes into going out with him. People say Snape couldn’t be Black because it would make his “obsession with Lily” look bad, but James can be? When he literally blackmails her into dating him? When he bullies her friend out of jealousy? Like, another one they portray as a feminist ally (one of the most absurd and vomit-worthy claims I’ve seen) who was canonically a total macho douchebag. He was the average jock in your high school—the guy who bullies people out of boredom, who torments people he knows won’t fight back because there are no consequences, who behaves like a piece of shit. So I don’t get it. I don’t get why they turn him into a golden retriever, why they whitewash his actions like that. I don’t think people realize how terribly problematic that is. James Potter was not a queer ally—James Potter reeked of toxic masculinity and probably would have made the most homophobic comments. He literally gave Severus Snape a nickname referencing his failure to meet conventional standards of masculinity, and people imagine him as some kind of Che Guevara or something? Get out of here.

There’s no proof that Walburga physically abused her children. In fact, Regulus was considered “the golden boy”—Sirius’s own words—because he followed the family ideology. He had posters of Voldemort in his room, his mother spoke well of him—where is the traumatic childhood? Sirius had a really sadistic and cruel side. He tried to commit murder. He used a supposed friend as a weapon. He felt zero remorse for his actions. He was tall, aggressive, girls swooned over him—he had bikini posters in his room, for God’s sake. So where the hell did this image of him as a crying little baby come from?? We’re talking about Sirius Black, whom Rowling explicitly created as the epitome of traditional masculinity. She repeatedly described him as this incredibly handsome man that girls would swoon over. In contrast, Lupin was always described as shy, hiding behind his friends, unable to tell them to stop or speak up when he thought their actions were wrong. They’ve literally killed these characters, mutilated them, annihilated them.

But the thing is—no, that’s not what happened. What happened is they don’t know the characters. They say there’s not enough information about them, but that’s a lie. There is. You just have to read the damn books, not just watch the movies or read fics or watch TikToks. One of the people replying to the post yesterday told me she hadn’t even read the books—then what the hell are you talking about? What characters are you referring to? Because the ones in the movies don’t even match either. Movie Severus Snape is very different from book Snape, same with Remus and Sirius. In the films, we know nothing about their school days because they’re barely shown. Everything we do know, we know from the books—and it’s more than enough to work from canon and come up with headcanons that are respectful to the canon and make sense within it. Which these so-called fans don’t do. Because these so-called fans aren’t fans of the Marauders—they’re fans of a bunch of OCs someone invented and kept developing, and just slapped the names of real characters from an existing lore on them so people would read their fics. That’s it. And they have the audacity not to warn people that the characters are out of character or that the world they’ve made is an AU. And then they complain about lack of tagging? You want to talk about lack of tagging? How about their audacity to pretend something is canon when it’s not, and not tell people that what they’re doing is just an AU or completely OOC. When they respect tagging, then I’ll respect it too.

[a-queenoffairys]

Code Lyoko Chronicles 2.0

The Code Lyoko Chronicles are a series of 4 sequel books originally released in Italian in around 2010. Set a short while after the season 4 finale, parts of book 1 recap a story similar to the TV series but with a number of small changes (there's no RTTP for example) while the gang uncover some new secrets in the Hermitage that set them on the path to finding Aelita's mother, Anthea. But XANA survived and is coming back for revenge, and the gang's investigation into the secret history of Franz Hopper, Project Carthage and the Supercomputer puts the men in black on their trail as well, not to mention the shady Green Phoenix organisation who funded Hopper's work.

The books were published in a number of languages, but not in English - so that's where the fans come in. As one of the first translation projects we did for CodeLyoko.fr, finishing in 2014, the original completed English release was pretty rough. 10 years later, armed with more translation sources, better resources and many years of translation experience, I decided to take another crack at it. And after many months of hard work and procrastination, I've produced a version 2.0 that I'm pretty happy with.

Links and notes on the various changes under the cut!

New translations!

My co-translator Kelsey and I didn't have a lot of serious translation experience when we picked up where Rhys Davies left off in his English translation project, and we were definitely prone to making mistakes. And it didn't help that for books 3 and 4, a few things got lost somewhere in the process of the text being translated from Italian > Spanish > French > English. I revised our original translation and this time I referenced multiple sources to try and make sure I got the interpretation right. It won't be perfect, but it's definitely better than our original attempt!

The second half of book 2 was based on the official French version, which I discovered was slightly condensed and abridged to lower the page count. The new English translation expands the text to restore the parts that were omitted. I also changed the title from The Nameless City to The City with No Name - there was never an official English translation, but I did find a marketing document with the titles listed in English, and that was the only one that differed.

Here's a page comparison with a few changes, mostly minor, but one big change to the context of Odd and Ulrich's conversation. With my apologies to Kiwi for the original mistranslation.

New formatting!

I got better at formatting Word docs and realised I should have the text alignment set to justify. The books look a lot neater now!

Accessibility!

I added alt text descriptions to all the images, and the PDFs all have a proper table of contents now so you don't have to scroll to the end of the book to find the navigation.

(Note I don't have a lot of experience with detailed image descriptions and I haven't done much testing with a screen reader - feedback is welcome from people who know more about it!)

New scans!

The centre of each book has several colour pages with images and text to supplement the story, and some of the original scans were quite small or had part of the image disappearing into the spine of the book. And the only way to fix it seemed to be to obtain physical copies of the books (probably in Spanish), pull the pages out and scan them flat. So I did. And I think they look great. (Black lines added to hide spoilers.)

My original intention was to upload these to CodeLyoko.fr, but I haven't been able to do that yet, so for now they'll just be available on Google Drive. This translation wouldn't have been possible if not for the other people on the fanslation team - not just my fellow translators, but also all the people who worked on scanning, formatting and editing. Special thanks also to Rhys Davies for kicking off the English translation. You can read more about the Chronicles and the fanslation project here on the website. (Yes I still need to revise the translation of those pages too. Someday.)

So yeah, it's taken a while, but I'm glad I can finally put out a better version of these books for people to discover. Enjoy!

Version 2.0 PDFs here! (Google Drive) ePub versions coming soon.

[nakidoriii]

See You Later, Mr. President (Part 6)

Hawks x Fem!Reader Mini Series

FIND PARTS 1-5 HERE

Warnings: allegations of sexual assault, adult themes || MDNI

Art: Pinterest (if you know the artist please tag them!)

“Should we be on the same laptop or on separate ones?” You ask as you set up the webcam.

“Let’s just join the call together. Nothing to be worried about okay? No matter what, we will persevere.” Keigo states.

You give him a thumbs up, followed by a determined look on your face. You set the laptop on the kitchen island counter, making sure your background was clear. Keigo comes and sits next to you on the barstool, his hand planted on your thigh. You adjust the camera so that you both are in frame. You start the call.

“Good afternoon, Mr. President. Y/N.” Your boss says.

“Good afternoon.” You both say in unison.

“I’ve requested this call in light of the recent video that’s been circulating of you, Mr. President. We have some speculation that the woman in the video is Y/N. People are speculating that the actions in the video were non consensual. So let’s address the elephant in the room, is that you, Y/N?” He asks.

Your heart was beating so intensely, it was hard to think. All you had to do was be honest but you felt scared in the moment. It’s not that you didn’t want to clear Keigo’s name, it’s more so that the career you’ve worked your whole life for is about to shatter into a million pieces. Your breathing starts to hasten. Keigo squeezes your thigh as an attempt to calm you down.

“Yes, the woman in the video is me.” You admit.

“And was it consensual?” He asks.

“Yes.” You both say in unison.

Your boss lets out a sigh and begins writing things down.

“As you know it’s a violation of your contract to be romantically involved with our collaborator. You will be facing some consequences as any employee would.” He says as he continues jotting things down. “HR will need a week to go over and investigate your case. During that time, you will be on an unpaid one week suspension. All your accommodation that we pay for will be on hold as well. That means your employee card and hotel will be cancelled. If we decide to further employment you will have access to those things again.”

“May I interject?” Keigo demands.

You raise your brows in reaction to the change in Keigo’s demeanor. He was pissed. He couldn’t sit there and watch you get scolded when you are their best employee. You squeeze his thigh under the table, begging him not to say anything.

“Yes, Mr. President.” Your boss says

You look at him with pleading eyes, trying to stop him once again. He looks at you and then back at the laptop. He was going to do what he wanted.

“This whole thing is entirely my fault. I pursued her in hopes that your company wouldn’t find out. I mean look at her, she’s stunning.” You kick him hard as fuck under the table to redirect him. “In fact, we’ve been together for an entire month and in that month did her work fluctuate?” Keigo questions.

Your boss checks the work you’ve submitted in the past month. You’ve recruited the most kids for the hero program. He nods his head and says, “It’s improved. She had the highest number of recruitments last month.”

“And you’re penalizing her? Her heart is more in it than anyone else's. She really cares about the next generation and it shows in her work.” Keigo states.

“You’re making good points, Mr. President. However, I don’t get to decide her fate. It’s in the hands of the higher ups. All I was sent to do is let her know the consequences.” Your boss says.

“Give me their contact information, I’d like to have a word with them.” Keigo demands once again.

“I will send that over in an email. Regardless, Y/N’s suspension starts tomorrow. Plan accordingly and we will be in touch. You two enjoy the rest of your day.” Your boss says before he ends the call.

The band aid has been ripped off. You don’t feel as sad as you thought you would. Maybe because it hasn’t hit you yet? Keigo watches you to see your reaction. You two just stare at each other for a moment.

“Where am I gonna live?” You ask softly.

“You have two options: I’ll pay for your hotel or you can stay here. You’re not paying for a damn thing this week.” Keigo says as he comforts you.

“What? Noooo. That's so much, Keigo. I have some savings I can dip into.” You say as he pulls you into a hug.

“I got you into this mess. I am paying for everything. I wasn’t asking.” Keigo says as he runs his fingers through your locs.

“I’d rather stay at your place, that way you don’t have to pay for my living expenses. I’ll clean and cook in exchange.” You say looking up at him.

“You can sit on your ass the whole week for all I care. You deserve a break. You work so hard, Y/N. Let me do this for you, it’s the least I can do. If the company doesn’t want to show you your worth, let me show you it.” He pleads.

“You know what you’re so right…….fuck them!” You say as you go upstairs to find your purse. “I had the most recruitments last month and they wanna fire me just because of who I’m fucking? FUCK THEM!!! Let’s go to the hotel and get all my shit. You’re so right! I need to call Mira!!” You shout as you angrily call your best friend.

Keigo couldn’t help but smile. He’s relieved that you aren’t in pieces about this and that you know it’s just a load of corporate bullshit. He’d rather you be mad than upset.

“That’s my girl. I’ll wait down here. Gotta check some emails and make some calls. I’ll be ready whenever you are.” He shouts upstairs to you.

He sits down at his laptop and calls his publicist.

“Good Afternoon, Mr. President, how’s everything going?” She asks.

“We just got off the phone with Y/N’s employer. They’re putting her on an unpaid suspension while HR investigates.” He says while responding to emails.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Give her my best regards.”

“Any updates on your end?”

“The public is creating serious allegations. We’ve scheduled you a televised PSA addressing them with several news media outlets in attendance. It will commence in two days from now. We will announce the PSA once you give us the greenlight.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Do you think the public will believe that Y/N is my girlfriend or do we have to stretch the truth a little?”

“Stretch the truth. The public might think she took hush money to play along so we have to really sell them on this relationship. You need to buy her a ring and say that she’s your fiancé.”

“Woooaahhh, as much as I would love that, I don’t know how she will feel about that. It’s only been a month.”

“You can make up any story you need to make it make sense, Mr.President. You’ve got two days. Brainstorm with Y/N.”

Keigo takes a deep breath and agrees to lie. He hates lying but yet again he has no choice. His phone starts vibrating during his phone call. He looks at it and sees that it’s Ochaco.

“I got another call. Call you later.” He says before swapping the calls. “Hello.”

“Hey Keigo, I was just calling to check on you. I saw the video...” She trails off.

“Did you? I’m so glad the camera got my good side.” He jokes, causing her to laugh. “I’m doing alright. This has just been a pain in the ass to deal with.”

“Let me know if this is prying but is that Y/N in the video with you?”

“You have great eyes, Urvavity. It is her. That was the day you and Ashido stopped by her hotel room. I was ‘Mister. Hottie’ or whatever Ashido said. We’ve been together for a month.” He admits.

“Ahh, that makes sense. I had a feeling you two were seeing each other but you both hid it well. I’m sorry this is being blown out of proportion. You deserve a happy ever after, Keigo. If it means anything, I will be a witness or speak at any conferences. Routing for both of you.” She says.

You come down stairs ready to go, hearing Keigo talking on the phone. You walk into the kitchen and kiss his cheek. You mouth the words, “Who is that?” He mouths the word, “Ochaco.” He puts the phone on speaker so you can hear and speak to her.

“I hope you’re not upset that I couldn't tell you, Ochaco.” You say as you wrap your arms around Keigo’s shoulders.

“Not at all, girl. I know your employers have some crazy rule in place so I get why you didn’t tell me. How have you been since the video leaked?”

You fill her in on everything: your one week suspension, the sexual assault allegations, and about them cutting your accommodations.

“That’s awful, Y/N. Just know I’ve got your back through this. I’ll hold it down at the organization since you’ll be busy, Keigo.” Ochaco says.

“That would be great. Don’t be afraid to call if you need anything.” Keigo reassures her.

“Will do! Same goes for you guys.”

He hangs up the phone and asks, “You ready to go?”

You nod your head yes and you head out to his car. During the drive you start thinking about your life and what the next steps are. If you lose your job, you’ll have to go back home. You’re still paying rent on your apartment there. What about Keigo? There’s no way he’d be able to move with you, he’s the president of the HPSC. Why stress about it when you know Keigo will say, “It’ll all work out. I promise.”

Once you get to the hotel, you collect your things and check out of the room. Keigo managed to not get recognized, just by putting on a hat and shades. During the drive back to his place, it seemed as if he wanted to tell you something. You place your hand on his thigh and say, “thank you for helping me get my stuff.”

“Anytime.” He says short. He’s clearly thinking intensely about something.

“Daijōbu desu ka?” You ask in the little Japanese you know.

He chuckles, thinking it’s cute you’re trying to learn more of his language. He lifts your hand from his thigh to his mouth, plantings small kisses on the back of your hand.

“I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m just thinking. I spoke to my publicist while you were upstairs talking with Mira and she thinks we should each deliver a statement during a televised conference. She also thinks we should say that we’re engaged.”

“Why’s that?” You ask.

“Her concern is people could think you were paid to stay quiet and play along. She said she wants to avoid any more misperceptions and honestly, I agree with her.”

“That does make sense…” you trail off.

“But it’s only if you want to. I only care about your happiness.” He says kissing your hand while he steers.

You take a moment to think. It’s not a bad idea. You want your words to hold weight when you make your statement and it’s going to take more than a “it was a drunk night out” speech. How is he going to navigate through all these questions?

“How did we meet?” you question him.

“At the corporate event your employer held last year.”

He was right. He did attend that corporate event. He spoke with the CEO the entire night.

“How long have we been together?”

“8 months. We were long distance but I would come to visit for a few days every two months.”

That checks out too. Before you relocated to Japan, Keigo would visit your workplace every two months to talk business with the owners. You couldn’t believe how he fabricated such detailed lies that he could back up with ease. You get that he was a hero that did spy work often but you weren’t aware that he was this talented at it. Matter of fact, you just realized you barely knew anything about him. You knew surface level things: his favorite food, color, etc. But nothing deeper than that. Who is he and what exactly has he been through?

“Any more questions?” He says intertwining your fingers.

“No…” You answer, deep in thought.

Keigo furrows his brows and shoots you a look of confusion. He felt your energy shift completely and he knew something was off. Why did you get all cold with him all of a sudden?

“Daijōbu?” He asks as places his hand on your thigh.

“Just overwhelmed is all.” There was some truth in that lie.

I love a good cliffhanger 😭 Part 7 is starting off smutty! Hope you all are liking the series. 4 more chapters to go! Comments and notes are greatly appreciated!

Taglist: @beautifulsandwichcrown @beabamboo @seijuroww @zinflo [open]

FIND PARTS 1-5 HERE

Please don’t alter or steal my writings. ©️

[colonelkaboom]

GROWING PAINS 🍎

Sour Note・Part 2 (Part 1)

❥ Caleb has always been your best friend and your protector, but as you both grew older something in him seemed to change…

A series of short stories from Caleb and MC’s teenage years

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

✎ AN: Part 2 of Sour Note, the first installment of my new Caleb series Growing Pains! You finally got out of the house ready for your first date, but of course Caleb follows you. He just can't stay away... Word count: 1.6 k

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Sour Note・Part 2

Caleb couldn’t help himself, he had to follow you. What kind of friend would he be if he left you unprotected with some guy? He always hoped he could have been a part of your first date, but sitting quietly in a dark car park watching you converse with someone else through the window was not exactly how he imagined it.

You looked beautiful in that blouse. The blouse he had helped you button just an hour ago. The guy had his back toward the window, positioning you directly in Caleb’s view. Pretending the guy wasn’t there, Caleb lost himself in your smile. But it was blatantly obvious that this was not your truest smile. It was easy to see that you were holding back, focusing more on how your smile looked rather than whatever was causing it. There were fewer crinkles by your eyes, and a fewer number of teeth were visible. Caleb knew how to incite that smile, this guy didn’t. 

The air in the car was getting stuffy and used, and Caleb was growing restless. His next move still unknown to him. How could he get you out of the arcade without making you hate him? There was no more time to think as you were on the move. The guy got up from the table first offering you his hand. Caleb felt his lip slightly curl upwards as he saw the hesitation in your response, however you did take his hand. Without wasting any more precious time, Caleb quickly got out of the car and hurried toward the entrance. 

His hand, he’s offering you his hand. Should you take it? He’s been a very decent first date so far, it would probably be rude not to accept it. So you did. He gracefully guided you toward the back where the private karaoke rooms were located. Even opening the door for you. You slip in and the door closes with a soft klick. 

The sudden close proximity to your date made you feel uneasy. Other than Caleb, you had never been this physically close to a guy. It was never uncomfortable with Caleb though, not like this anyways… 

“So, ready to become the next iconic pop-duo?” He asks as you sit down on the cushioned bench together. He hands you a microphone and offers an awkward smile.

“Iconic might be a stretch, but…” You laugh. The lyrics start rolling on the screen and you’re getting ready to sing as you feel his arm wrap around your shoulder. Slightly startled by the gesture you instinctively turn to face him. His microphone is resting in his lap begging to be used, crying out for his touch. His hands are however busy sneaking their way around your body. He looks almost as nervous as you. The cold plastic of your microphone serves as a protective barrier between your lips as he suggestively glances at it clearly wanting it out of the way. 

The horrifying moment is thankfully cut short by someone flinging the door open allowing the brighter lights of the hallway to flood the darker room. 

“Whoa, what’s going on here guys?” Caleb jokingly asks. The look on his face is one of pure terror, but playing it cool is a must.

“Looks like I got here just in time. Let’s go Pip-squeak.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” You ask, knowing he probably just wants you out of there.

“Uhm, you’re Caleb right? Her brother?” Your date get’s up to try to shake Caleb’s hand.

“Adopted brother, yes. Now If you’ll excuse me, I need to get this little one home. Grandma’s orders Pips.” Caleb shook his hand, keeping his cool the whole time. Although the thought of roughly tugging your date out the door to teach him a lesson for putting his arms around you did cross his mind.

“Grandma said I could stay a bit late, what changed her mind?” 

“C’mon, just come with me. I have better things to do than being your personal chauffeur.” You angrily stomp out of the room coming to terms with the fact that your first date probably couldn’t recover from Caleb’s sudden visit anyways. 

“What about you little fella, you need a ride?” Caleb smugly glares down at your date, clearly using his size to assert dominance.

“I’m good, I drove us here.” Your date doesn’t seem too affected by Caleb’s intimidation tactics which seemed to rile him up even further. 

“Oh, and I bet you were hoping to drive her home too, right? Taking your sweet, sweet time saying goodbye hoping that if you call her pretty one more time she might give you a little something before she leaves? She is too smart to fall for such cheap tricks.”

“Caleb, you’re being rude!” This Caleb was your least favorite one, the scarily possessive one that came out to play a bit more often than you’d like. 

“I’d say the hand on your thigh earlier was fairly rude too though, right Pips?” He was talking to you, but his eyes were focused on the guy in front of him.

“It was barely on her knee, and I’d never do anything unless she wanted me to. Don’t make lewd accusations.” The tone of your date’s voice surprised you, despite Caleb’s threatening nature he kept his cool. 

“Look, we’re both guys, we know that your mind was going places it shouldn’t have.” Caleb leaned down to whisper. His statement seemed to perk up your date, and you feared what words might escape him next.

“If your mind is going to the same place as mine when you touch her, you have bigger issues than me, big brother.”

You have no time to react before Caleb has the guy pinned to the wall. His strong fists clutching the soft cotton t-shirt, finally putting your date in his place. Now he seems intimidated. Caleb was in total control.

“Say that again.” He hissed. When your date remained quiet and the fear in his eyes grew, Caleb seemed satisfied and released his shirt. 

“Let’s go Pip-squeak.” Caleb strode over to you wrapping an arm around your shoulder and not so gently guiding you back to his car. 

He opened the car door, ushering you into the passenger seat before buckling your seatbelt. In a matter of seconds he was buckled in next to you. 

“So, good thing I got here when I did, right?” He chuckled, keeping his eyes forward as he started the car. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I was having a nice time!”

“Well I don’t think you’d be having such a nice time if he had been allowed more time with you alone.” The thought disgusted him.

“I wouldn’t have let him do anything I didn’t want, you know that. You taught me how to defend myself.” The hours you had spent sparring, and yet he’d never leave you in a position to actually test your abilities.

He remains quiet focusing on the dark road ahead. Annoyed, you huff and cross your arms whilst turning as far away from him as you’re able to do in the tight space. After staying quiet for most of the ride home he finally speaks.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you. So when I know I can prevent a situation, I’m going to prevent it.”

“But Caleb, I’m not yours, this is not how big brothers are supposed to act!” You frantically turn to face him desperate to make him understand that he needs to loosen your leash. 

I’m not yours… There are few words you could utter that would hurt him more. Caleb returns to driving silently, but you could tell you had deeply upset him. Tears are slowly forming in your eyes, threatening to spill at any second. You swallow the lump forming in your throat determined to not let your emotions control you. 

“Caleb, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that… But we need to talk about this.”

“Did you hear what he accused me of, disgusting, right?” He had meant for it to come out as a statement, but it sounded more like a question eager to hear your response. You hadn’t heard everything when their voices were lowered, but from what you did pick up it sounded like your date implied he and Caleb shared similar thoughts about you. In fear of crossing any lines, you didn’t respond. Once again he looked hurt. 

Why is he so bothered by this, he can’t have thoughts like that. Out of the corner of your eye you could tell he was clenching his jaw and shifting in his seat. His grip on the steering wheel tightened and his knuckles went white from the strain. 

No more words were exchanged until you were back home standing in the living room.

“Where is Grandma?” You asked. Caleb looked at you confused by your question and pointed to a clock on the wall.

“She’s sleeping, Pips.”

“You said Grandma wanted me to come home?” He looked confused again before he seemed to remember what he said when he had ordered you home. 

Now you’re certain he lied to get you to come with him. He looks at you with shameful eyes as he rubs his neck nervously. He should feel ashamed.

“I can’t believe you would do this… Actually, I can believe it, this behavior is exactly what I’d expect from you big brother.”

Those were the last words you exchanged that night as you left Caleb to deal with his shame alone in the living room. He attempted to knock on your door several times, but you ignored him every time.

“Please Pips, let’s talk.”

“I went too far this time, I’m sorry.”

“I just have to make sure you’re safe.”

You were not ready to forgive him so easily and take him out of his misery. He had to feel how much he hurt you, even if leaving him in pain hurt you too.

For once you decided to leave things on a sour note.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

✎ AN: Hope you enjoyed this, let me know if I should try to do a part 3 in the future. I have more stories to add to this series, so stay tuned! English is not my first language, so I hope you'll cut me some slack.

- Colonel Kabooom

[floweryvibes]

Puppet Darling - Part 9

I said I was back, and then I was so not back lol (blame college and finals. I am innocent)

Warning: Rhysand is really pulling out all of his emotional manipulation abilities for this one.

Credit: Inspired by @wallflowers-in-the-wind’s post here.

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

Feyre snuggled close to Nesta, hugging her sister. Nesta groaned softly, but remained asleep.

I am sorry.

Feyre wasn’t sure how many times she had uttered and thought these words by this point but she was pretty sure it was still not enough. 

Apparently while they had been left alone for that week, Eris and Tamlin had been busy staging a coup in the Autumn Court. According to Tamlin, Eris fought his father and won, claiming the throne as his own.

Deeming the court safe enough, they secretly moved her and Nesta into the palace after a couple days.

Nyz snoozed quietly, shifting slightly in his new crib.

He really was taking the constantly changing environment like a champ.

Feyre sat up as the mating bond hummed, throbbing with annoyance. 

Did you trust Mor so much to get me back that you didn’t bother antagonizing me during our fight, or were you busy with something else?

The latter thought made Feyre shiver, forcing her completely out of bed. Quietly, she pulled a shawl around herself, walking down the hallway of the private wing of the palace. 

I wonder if there’s any snacks around here?

She paused before the door to the kitchen space, hearing Tamlin’s and Eris’s voice.

“We can’t simply launch an assault.”

“Well, we can’t wait around either.”

“Then what do you propose?” Eris sighed. 

“We have our men search for Elain and Lucien while we’re at the meeting with all the High Lords. They can scout out and gather information. If we’re lucky they get them out. If not, we shall use the recon work to make a plan of action.”

Feyre knocked, not wanting to eavesdrop.

The two males went quiet.

“It’s me.” she said softly.

Tamlin opened the door, “Feyre, why are you awake? Is something wrong? Is Nesta in pain again?”

“No, Nesta is alright. She’s recovering from her injury well.” Feyre smiled, “I just couldn't sleep. Thank you for having such good healers treat her.”

“It’s nothing.” Eris muttered, looking away.

“Are you discussing how to save Elain?” Feyre decided to not dance around the subject.

“Yes.” Tamlin sighed, running a hand through his hair, “We’re currently creating a list of places where she and Lucien could have been taken.”

“He most likely took them to a prison in the Night Court.”

“He could be hiding them in a separate palace. Doesn’t Rhysand own several homes? Azriel could be using any one of them.” Eris countered.

“Azriel is practical in that way.” she shook her head, “Why waste time on fancy rooms if the goal is to merely contain?”

He’s not Rhysand.

“We’ll prioritize the prison then.” Tamlin nodded, noting it on the map stretched out across the mahogany kitchen table.

“What is this about a High Lords meeting?” she tilted her head.

“Oh, nothing much. A continuation of the previous gathering to be truthful. Not as many trading deals were agreed upon as people would have liked.” Eris chuckled.

“The meeting is in about two weeks but we’ll be leaving early to investigate the kidnapping.” Tamlin said, “Eris has arranged for several servants and trusted officials to remain and watch over you. I will also have some of my people here, just in case chaos attempts to break out. So, just focus on recovering with Nesta, alright?”

Feyre nodded, eyeing the map, “In how many days will you be leaving?”

“Three.”

Soon.

Tamlin and Eris winnowed to the palace of the Dawn Court, arriving at the designated area for High Lords.

Eris stretched, “Good thing that Nesta is recovering.”

“Yeah.” Tamlin nodded.

Although, her justified grouchiness grates on my nerves.

“What’s with you?”

“What do you mean?” Tamlin grumbled, walking ahead down the hallway, ignoring the servants that bowed to them.

“You’re brooding.” Eris sighed.

“Aren’t you rather chipper for someone who just stabbed their father like eight days ago?”

“No, I am in fact not chipper enough!” Eris smiled coily, “The joy I felt…yeesh Tamlin you should have seen me.”

“Yes, yes, I am sure it was spectacular.”

“You can be dismissive all you want but it was. I sat on a bloody throne.”

“Let’s just hope your rule won’t be as such.”

“It won’t be.” Eris’s smile dropped, a serious tone returning, “I will make sure of it.”

Tamlin hummed, “As to what is on my mind…I am concerned about how we’re going to deal with Rhysand.”

“Nothing much we can do in public.” Eris sighed, “Even though we have some of the powder left, we can’t exactly waltz in and just expose this to all of them.”

“We have to be cautious.” Tamlin agreed, “Let’s observe during the meeting and see what Rhysand’s angle will be. We should try and approach Helion in private to try and explain the situation. How is the investigation going?”

Eris nodded, “No news yet but my officers are on it. We’ll hear back from them soon.”

Their conversation died down as they approached the meeting hall, Thesan greeting them first, “Lord Tamlin…Eris, it’s good to see you two. Will Lord Beron be joining us soon?”

“Unfortunately my father has passed away.” Eris smiled, a little too widely, “I am here in his place. Permanently.”

“Ah.”

Autumn’s intelligence works well at keeping things under wraps when needed.

Tamlin couldn’t help but smile at Thesan’s surprised expression.

I am sure your soldiers will have no problems finding what exact cell Elain and Lucien are being kept in.

“Well, I am happy to have you both here.” Thesan smiled politely, leading them over to the main sitting area.

Helion was already there, chatting with Kallias while Viviane laughed at something Tarquin said. 

“Rhysand must be running late.” Thesan noted, sitting down at the head of the table, “While we wait, would anyone like some te-”

The door to the spacious room swung open to reveal Rhysand, with Feyre on his arm. 

Tamlin blinked. He then looked at Eris who was just barely masking his confusion.

What was happening.

Tamlin stared at Feyre as she sat down beside Rhysand.

“Did something catch your eye Tamlin?” the High Lord of Night smirked, wrapping an arm around Feyre.

Eris narrowed his eyes.

“No, just wondering why you’re late.” Tamlin kept his voice even.

Something was seriously wrong. Why in all of Prythian is she here? Was Autumn Court compromised? There’s no way he launched a full on attack on them and won, especially not without one of us getting notified. 

“Well, what a married couple does on their own time is none of your business.”

Who is the one making crass comments now?

Tamlin gritted his teeth, “No it isn’t. However, punctuality is preferred for political matters.”

“Since when are you an expert in what’s preferred for politics anyways?” Rhysand tilted his head, “I don’t think you are fit to be giving me any sort of criticisms.”

Tamlin growled, unable to restrain the rage boiling underneath.

Was it a lie? Just another trick?

He looked at Feyre, the woman’s eyes blank, staring off into the distance with a slight smile. 

This wasn’t the Feyre he had interacted with the past half a month. Not the Feyre he had yelled at or spoken to. Not the mother he watched tenderly take care of her child.

What if she tricked them?

“What game are you playing at Rhysand?” he snarled.

“What do you mean Tamlin?” Rhysand laughed, “Seriously, did you only have enough energy to be presentable and respectful for one meeting?”

“Difficult to be respectful to someone who uses their daemati powers on others.”

A hush went across the group.

“Tamlin-” Eris pulled him down into his seat.

“No. Eris, we can’t just-”

“Do you want a full out war?” Eris asked quietly.

Tamlin didn’t answer.

“Then sit your ass down.”

Tamlin looked back at Rhysand’s smug expression.

I’ll tear out your throat like I did with Amarantha.

I probably should say I am sorry, but I really am not. 

Feyre gently kissed her sleeping baby as he tugged on the blanket covering himself and Nesta.

I will be back before you two know it.

Feyre got out of bed, pulling on proper clothes.

I can’t wait for Tamlin and Eris to go and save Elain.

She shuddered, imagining the possible ‘punishments’ Rhysand could inflict onto her sister or Lucien.

It’s my fault.

Feyre shook her head. 

This is no time for such thoughts. I need to focus! Mor mentioned that Azriel was the one who took Elain and Lucien. He most likely took them back to the Night Court’s prison.

Highly doubt Rhysand would give them a warm welcome.

Feyre glanced one last time at Nest and Nyx.

I promise I’ll be back soon.

Taking a deep breath Feyre began the journey to the Night Court.

Feyre was grateful Tamlin and Eris had left early, permitting her the time to go rescue Elain. 

It would work out well, while they distracted Rhysand at the meeting, I can get them out. She sighed, avoiding a wagon passing through the shimmering streets of the Night Court.

If only I could winnow longer distances. Of all the powers the cauldron gave me it couldn’t have invested a bit more energy into granting me the most useful and practical ability of all?

She felt exhausted from walking and riding her horse but it would all be worth it in the end. Pulling her hood up close, Feyre made her way past the familiar vendors of Velaris. The sparkling light of the lamp posts reflected off the cobblestone, and the stars in the sky shining brightly. Customers haggled with the shopkeepers, and kids happily ran past her, playing hopscotch. 

I missed this place.

Feyre did appreciate the beauty of this city. Adored the liveliness of it. The memories she had made with him…

She shook her head.

I am not here for that. These thoughts will do no good.

Feyre paid for a room at an inn and left her horse there, sneaking up to the palace using one of the many beloved pathways Rhysand had shown her that he had used to avoid his classes or parents when he had the chance.

Carefully knocking out several guards and slipping in through a back entrance of the castle Feyre tiptoed down the hallway, checking corners for fae. Carefully she made her way downstairs to the prison. The floor was moist and slippery. Feyre gripped her hand into the stone walls, making sure to keep herself stable.

The prison was dark. Soft groans echoed off the walls, quieted as Feyre approached the cells, trying to see who was inside. The further she went however, the more her stomach twisted into an uncomfortable pretzel. 

Where are they? They have to be-Wait. Azriel works as a torturer. Perhaps he has his own jail? To keep the people he was interrogating?

Feyre frowned. 

If that is the case, how am I supposed to-

“Feyre?”

She whirled around to face Cassian.

“By the Mother, we’ve been looking for you!” he took a step forward. She matched.

Feyre looked behind him.

No reinforcements. I can run.

“Are you hurt? We heard you were staying in Spring, and then moved to Autumn. Did Eris or Tamlin hurt you? Did they kidnap you?”

“Cassian, I left of my own accord.”

“Yeah, Rhys said you argued and so you left to take a small break. But I know you wouldn’t willingly ‘take a break’ in either of those places.”

I don’t think I would ever choose a fae court as a vacation spot at this point.

“Cassian, Rhysand has been controlling my mind.” Feyre decided to be honest.

In my current state it will be hard to fight. I have recovered partially but…

She eyed the sword on his hip. 

I don’t want to test where his true loyalties lie in battle.

Feyre knew deep down they were not with her.

“Huh?” Cassian gaped, “What are you talking about?”

“It was after he began teaching me how to use my daemati abilities.” she rambled, “It didn’t happen immediately, but slowly he took power from me and I…I confronted him and he just…took over completely.”

Cassian remained quiet.

“I haven’t been in control since then.” she whispered, “Cassian, please. I didn’t leave to ‘take a break’ I ran for my life. You have to help me free Elain and Lucien, I am scared for them.”

“You’re saying he did this to you?”

“Yes.”

“Rhysand…hurt you like this?” Cassian looked conflicted.

“It’s the truth!”

Cassian shook his head, “For him to do something like this…there must be an explanation.”

“Cassian…”

“There has to be more to it.”

“Cassian, he kept me trapped inside my own mind.” she felt anger tint her tone, making Cassian look away, deep in thought.

“I didn’t realize a reunion was being held down there.” that obsidian voice, as dark as the walls of the cells around them made Feyre scramble back, her eyes falling on Rhys who descended down the spiraling stone steps.

“Feyre, welcome back. If you had told me you were returning I would have greeted you properly.”

Cassian turned to his brother in arms, a small frown on his face, “Rhys, Feyre just said something…strange.”

“Oh?” Rhysand looked concerned, “Not something bad from Spring I hope?”

“She said you used your daemati powers on her.”

Rhysand laughed, not missing a beat, “That was a part of our argument. A huge misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding my ass!” Feyre growled, “You forced me!”

“I didn’t force you to do anything darling.” Rhysand corrected, keeping his tone collected and even, “You asked me for help and I delivered.”

“So, you didn’t manipulate her mind?”

“Of course not Cassian.”

His brother nodded.

No!

“That’s not true!” Feyre yelled, “He’s lying to you Cassian! He has been lying to everyone! ”

You have to believe me!

Cassian glanced between the two of them, his expression conflicted, “Rhys…maybe we should-”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Rhys, are you sure?”

“Yes, my mate looks like she’s about to attack us no? Let me handle it.”

Feyre broke her fighting stance, straightening her back, “You’re twisting this.”

“It’s just an observation.” Rhys smirked, “I admire your spirit.”

Cassian nodded, “I trust you…”

Feyre had nothing to yell at the Illyrian, as she watched with betrayed eyes as he left, his own a bit glassy.

“Shouldn’t you look at your mate rather than another male?” his cold voice brought her attention back to the scene.

Feyre snarled.

“Oh, Feyre, darling, I have missed you.” his voice became sweet again, approaching her slowly, as if she were a wounded animal.

“Stay away from me!”

To her shock he obeyed, raising his hands as an act of surrender.

“Feyre, you’re scaring me.”

I am scaring you?

She backed away from Rhysand even though he didn’t approach her.

I have to run.

“You’re not acting like yourself. I understand the argument we had was serious, but we should stop this madness.”

“Argument…?”

“Yes darling, argument.” he smiled.

“W-What are you talking about?” Feyre felt panic bubbling under her skin.

“We had an argument.” he explained slowly, “You thought I did something that I didn’t do. So, we decided some space would do us both some good. Are you ready to have a proper conversation now?”

“No! You mind controlled me! Y-You…”

The expression of confusion, betrayal and hurt that he gave her made Feyre want to tear her eyes out.  

“I didn’t ‘mind control’ you dear. That’s an over exaggeration.”

She blinked in confusion.

“Do you really think I could hurt my own mate?” he whispered, “It pains me to see you get hurt. My heart breaks. In fact, do you know how scared I was when I heard you went to Spring?”

“I left you willingly. You hurt me. You…you’re the monster here!”

“What is this about going there willingly?” he brushed a stay lock of hair out of her face, “Did you forget how he treated you?”

Feyre gasped, feeling the panic she had felt back then resurge, the scenes of her begging and crying to be set free replaying in her mind.

“Oh darling.” Rhysand cooed, pulling her into his arms. 

Stop that!” she shoved him away, shaking the images out of her brain.

“I am just reminding you of what happened dear.” he smirked.

“I don’t need a reminder.” she growled.

“Everyone sometimes does.” Rhysand hummed.

She glared, “Where is Elain and Lucien?”

“Elain…? Darling, what are you talking about?” Rhysand chuckled.

“Where did you take my sister?!” she yelled, grabbing him by his nice dress shirt.

Rhysand looked bemused, “I don’t know because I didn’t take her, sweetest. However, you’re welcome to check every cell in here if you like?”

Feyre narrowed her eyes and the man raised his hands in surrender again, “Promise, no games. Every room is yours to check down here.”

She took a step away from him, seeing if he would try to stop her. When he didn’t, Feyre continued further down the dark hallway, scrunching her nose at the rotting and moldy scent that hit her nose.

But no matter where she looked, she couldn’t find them.

Feyre turned back to Rhysand with narrowed eyes.

He merely raised an eyebrow in response, “Well? Any luck?”

“Fuck you. You’re hiding them somewhere else!”

“Maybe, maybe not.” he drawled, “Does it really matter when you’re not going to find them anyways?”

“What?”

“I mean, can you actually do anything by yourself successfully, Feyre?”

“What kind of question is that?!”

“Well, whenever I see you try to do something independently, you need help.”

“That’s not true!”

“Is it not? It’s okay to need help Feyre. You’re doing your best but you need someone to do the heavy lifting. “

Her heart skipped a beat, feeling his hot breath against her ear, “All you need to do is ask and I am right there for you.

“Fuck off, dickhead.” she shoved him away, walking back to the staircase.

“What are you without me?”

“What?”

“I mean, what can you even do?”

“I protected my family. I fed us.”

“Ha…protected? You sure are one hell of a protector. Ran off with a fae the moment he gave you the chance at a better life.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Is it not? You seemed happy to enjoy your time at the Spring manor.”

“I was taken, I wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t been lied to!”

“You thought you deserved it. The luxury, the power.” he leaned in, “I concur my dear. You do deserve all that and above. With me you can actually have those things.”

“I helped defeat Amarantha!”

“Feyre, darling, please…truly, what were you under that mountain?”

“I…”

Because what I recall is a pretty little thing dancing in the palm of a faerie’s hand. Ah well, and in other places too.

Feyre went red.

“No need to be ashamed darling. It was quite pleasant, and when it comes to skills it’s something you’re actually good at.”

She looked away.

“You could barely read before me. You only got through those puzzles because of my generosity, my love for you.”

Feyre couldn’t come up with a rebuttal.

“Oh, dear. I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be so forward with you.” he brushed her hair back again, gently turning her to face him, “I know how sensitive you are.”

“I am not-”

“You must have been so frightened all alone.” his fingers felt nice against her scalp, “Tamlin can truly be a brute.”

What…can I even do?

Feyre stared down at the ground.

I always thought I was a good fighter, but I can’t fight him off. He’s right, I didn’t beat Amarantha…I had so much help.

“Darling, look at me, please.” his voice was soft, so gentle. 

Feyre obeyed, tentatively looking up at Rhysand.

“There are those pretty eyes I missed so much.” he smiled, “You had me so worried. We searched everywhere for you. Knowing the way you are, I couldn't just let you get hurt. You understand, right?”

I constantly need help. When was the last time I actually rescued myself? Have I ever even done such a thing?

Feyre felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I am sorry.” she mumbled, “I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry-”

“Shh.” he pulled her into a tight hug, one that Feyre couldn’t help but find comfort in, “It’s okay. I am here now. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

I am scared.

“Relax for me darling.” he ran a soothing hand up and down her back. 

Feyre felt so tired. Everytime she tried to help or do something to change her situation it only got worse. She only mustered a wriggle as his power gently creeped into her mind, slowly enveloping her thoughts and worries.

I am weak.

I am powerless against him. 

I am nothing.

‘Where the fuck did you put Nyx you poor excuse of a mother?’

She blinked inside the void, watching as he sifted through her memories of the time she had been away.

Nyx.

He can’t know where Nyx is. 

She grabbed onto her recent memories of her child, pulling them down with her into the dark abyss.

The last thing I want to be is a terrible mother. I won’t let you know where he is.

Feyre blinked slowly.

Rhysand hummed, “Have you calmed down now darling?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” he kissed her, “Cauldron, how I have missed you.”

“I missed you too…” she mumbled.

“Let’s get you to bed, you must be exhausted after everything you’ve been.” his eyes narrowed, still searching for where exactly Nyx was being kept, “Although, I must say, I would love to not only have you back but our son too.”

“Of course dear.”

“Mind telling me where you put him?”

“I…” her body blanked, unable to recall the memory with Feyre hiding it.

“Hmm, maybe I shook her up a bit too much.” he said quietly, “No matter darling, we’ll get him eventually, just focus on remaining calm for now, okay?”

“Okay.”

‘Have any fun fighting words for me now dearest?’ his triumphant voice echoes throughout her mind.

Feyre said nothing.

‘Darling?’

I am nothing.

Masterlist

Tag list: @rcarbo1, @planet-faerie, @fox-in-flowers, @bookishfeylin, @mythuzalasheir3, @ahsnazg, @lifeisabiscuit, @wildinspring, @impossibelle, @thefatesofspring

If you want to be added to a tag list let me know :D

[architect-of-the-last-act]

Part II. On Spring Cleaning, the Lingering Frost

or alternatively: No weight is heavier than regret.

+ Spring follows the harshness of Winter. Though seen as a 'soft' season, it is associated with rebirth—bloody flesh transforming into itself, skin rupturing at the seams. A renewal of sorts. Soft it may seem, Spring is simply as kind as the winter allows it to be. ... In this life, how many ghosts haunt these halls? How many will you allow? Maybe it's time for an upheaval. Such is the role of Spring.

Part I | Part III | Part IV

authors below:

Illustrations from A Stepmother’s Märchen | Unknown | Spring Equinox, Jeanette Winterson | The Years, Virginia Woolf | We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Shirley Jackson | South London Forever, Florence & The Machine | a letter, Germaine de Staël (translated by Kathleen Jameson-Cemper) | West Wind, Mary Oliver | Letters From Medea, Salma Deera | tumblr post, @/inelegancies | Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda, Becky Albertalli | Japanese Breakfast | The Letters Of Sylvia Plath, Sylvia Plath | Vincenzo Bellini | I, Carrion (Icarian), Hozier | I Don’t Smoke, Mitski | The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller | When the Sun Loves the Moon, Reinaeiry | Soul Mates, Lang Leav | a letter, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry | This Is How You Lose The Time War, Amal El-Mohtar | Circe, Madeline Miller | a letter, Friedrich Nietzsche | Daily Haiku on Love, Tyler Knott Gregson | Ivy, Frank Ocean | The Vow | Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe | Mind Over Matter, Young the Giant | Great Expectations, Charles Dickens | I, Carrion (Icarian), Hozier | The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller | This Side of Paradise, F. Scott Fitzgerald | Light, Sleeping at Last | Thought Catalog, Kim Quindlen | Jay Vespertine | Unknown | Light, Sleeping at Last | City of Bones, Cassandra Clare | James Joyce | Night Walk, Franz Wright | Unknown

[curryshesus]

jeon jungkook fics that had me going feral

hi guys, here's a part 2 to my favorite jjk fics on tumblr! note that many of these fics contain 18+ content. you are responsible for the content you consume! as always, if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, please take a moment to send some love to the authors! part 1 | other bts members

➺ cold nights & blurred lines - by @awrkive

summary: jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

➺ night crawlers - by @alphabetboyluvr

summary: jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

➺ this is how you fall in love - by @jeonqkooks

summary: after years of drinking and clubbing most days of the week and leaving every gig with a different girl on his arm, jungkook feels what it’s like to want someone with his entire being.

➺ the dilf installments - by @mercurygguk

summary: this series follows jungkook’s life as a divorced father. but wait, how exactly does one balance being a father, a boyfriend, a friend, and a respectable boss at the same time? read the installments below to find out!

➺ ultimatum - by @parkmuse

summary: your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

➺ a hero's journey - by @hansolmates

summary: jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story

➺ tempest - by @kooktrash

summary: you’ve always considered your life to be more mundane than you would like to admit. it was a constant cycle of the same things over and over again that when you meet jeon jungkook at a bar, of all places, you didn’t expect to see just how much he would change your life and those around you. he’s got an air of mystery around him with his charming good looks and a violent past that you slowly begun to unravel when it feels like everything is going perfect.

➺ by its cover - by @gimmesumsuga

summary: the one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression.

➺ slow dancing - by @yoonia

summary: when your countdown appeared on your wrist right in the morning of your eighteenth birthday, you had thought that perhaps the universe was on your side, especially since the final seconds were already ticking so soon. You just never expected to have your first meeting with your soulmate to be the day when you had to let him go. But hope was not lost when you still found love without the bond, and Jungkook showed you that it was possible to find happiness beyond the system that was written for you. Except that the universe doesn’t seem to have enough of its game, when your past sacrifice comes back hitting you straight in the face, just when you had believed that you had written off the perfect ending to your bittersweet tale.

➺ e s p r e s s o - by @joonberriess

➺ hold me closer - by @ahundredtimesover

summary: when you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up… Not if your brother can help it, though.

[hurtspideyparker]

If Civil War didn't end in divorce and everyone lived together Part 2

Read Part 1 and Part 3

Tony: Why is Underoos mopping the ceiling?

Sam: Told him since he's sticky that's his chore

Bucky: It's only fair he helps out around the house

Tony: Hm. Makes sense

-

Vision cooked dinner:

Peter: *pushing around food to make it look eaten*

Natasha: *surreptitiously spitting into napkin*

Steve: *taking small bites with tons of water*

Bucky: *just stares at full plate*

Tony: Well this is disgusting, I'm ordering pizza

-

Sam: C'mon man stop moping around, you gotta get yourself a girl

Bucky: Ok.

Sam: Ok? Okayyyyy! I know-

Bucky: Give me your phone

Sam: Oh you got a number in mind already hotshot? *hands phone over*

Bucky: *ring* Hi Sarah ;)

Sam: BOY-

-

Peter: Ned thought you would seperate your colours from your lights but he also thought you'd be homophobic so I don't pay him much mind cuz clearly I'm more of a superhero expert than him but he does have a 2% better average than me in history so like maybe you do hand wash your clothes and that's why I asked what underwear you wear because-

Steve: *listening intently with apprehension and alarm*

Natasha: I can't believe you found the one person on Earth who talks more nonsense than you

Tony: I know right, it's incredibly unnerving. I'm planning on adopting him

-

Peter: Mr. Stark I have to tell you something. I think Vision is a... *whispers* pervert

Tony: Um, why?

Peter: He keeps floating through my room without knocking! He saw me changing, he saw my nipples !

Tony: Well if anyone's a predator here it would be you. I mean showing your nipples to a 2 year old? Deplorable.

Peter:

Peter: Oh god, I'm the pervert...

-

Bucky: Y'know animosity isn't good between teammates. I think we should spend more time together

Sam: Am I being punked right now? Where's the camera

Bucky: I'm serious. I think it would be healthy for us to bond

Sam: Okay fine I'll bite... what did you have in mind

Bucky: Wanna go for a run?

Sam: *slams door in Bucky's face*

-

*staring at Bucky's sparkly clean metal arm*

Bucky: Dishwasher?

Peter: Dishwasher :)

(later that day)

Bucky: I've decided to let the child live

Peter: YoU wHaT?!

-

Thwip

Tony: Who took my coffee cup, It was right here

Thwip

Bruce: Um, has someone seen my book? I just had it

Thwip

Steve: I could've sworn I was holding a pen a moment ago

*giggling from the ceiling*

Tony: Young man I will take those webshooters away if you use them for shenanigans and rascality

Peter, muffled: Mr. Hawkeye told me to!

Clint: Oh so you're just gonna rat me out like that?

Peter: Sor- OOF

*falls out of ceiling vent*

-

Sam: You're in my spot

Bucky: There are no spots, it's a common area

Sam: Well that's my spot

Bucky: Did you buy the chair??

Sam: No, but everyone knows that's where I sit. Right Steve?

Steve: Oops I forgot something in my car, be right back *leaves*

Sam: Still my spot

Bucky: Still not

Sam: *sits on him*

Bucky: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL THE COUCHES ARE FREE-

Sam: IT'S MY SPOT YOU CAN'T TAKE A MAN'S FAVOURITE CHAIR-

BUCKY: YOU HAVE ISSUES GET OFF ME-

(one hour later)

Steve: Hey so turns out I don't have a car! Isn't that funn...

Sam & Bucky: *Squeezed awkwardly on the chair together*

Steve: I think I left something in my car

-

Steve: Leave the bedroom door open when you have Vision in there

Wanda: UGH you're so protective

Tony: Teenagers, am I right? Caught Pete reassembling my particle accelerator at midnight because he needed to neutralize a miniature nuclear bomb he nabbed off some guy he neglected to tell me was trying to kill him

Steve:

Steve: Wanda y'know what do whatever you want

Wanda: Really?

Steve: Yes just keep being normal. At least I can read about our issues in a parenting book

-

Thor: Ah, new warriors I see! Good to make all your acquaintance. But why are you so grumpy my friend?

Bucky: *glaring*

Peter: He's always like that. It's um, P- P- PMS? Wait -

Natasha: Yes it's PMS

Wanda: He's got it bad

Steve: *genuinely concerned* Bucky you didn't tell me something was wrong. What can I do to help?

Bucky:

Bucky: I like chocolate

-

Wanda: Welcome to the first annual girls night! This place reeks of men, so I thought we needed some women time

Pepper: Why is Vision here?

Wanda: I get sad when he's gone

Natasha: Why is Pietro here?

Pietro: Slay queens

Wanda: Moral support I think

Maria: Why is Peter here?

Wanda: He looked really upset when I said he wasn't included and I felt bad

Wanda: Anyways... yay girls! Who wants me to paint their nails?

Peter: ME ME ME

-

Steve: Pancakes or waffles?

Natasha: Pancakes

Steve: Good because I don't have a waffle maker

Natasha: Then why would you ask-

Steve: It's important for your voice to be heard, as team leader I value your opinion

*2 minutes later*

Steve: Good morning Clint, pancakes or waffles?

Clint: Waffles

Steve: Oh no.

-

Some of these were based on requests (ex. more Sam & Bucky, dad Steve w/ Wanda) so if you have certain dynamics you enjoy let me know !

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [THINGS THEY SAY DURING 'IT'] ¡! ❞ @ - Part 1.

TW: MDNI - NSFW, sexual themes obviously lol

SUMMARY: Title :)

CHARACTERS: Aether Albedo Al-Haitham Ayato Baizhu Capitano Childe Cyno Dainsleif Diluc Dottore Freminet & Gorou x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.044

A/N: idk just a random new idea, watch me get more and more unserious with every character you pass

Aether

❝Agh-...shit...❞ - he holds back his sounds as he moans and curses into his hand

❝ Mh-no, like that, yeah...move like that...good❞ - he bites his lip as his lust drowned eyes stare up at you, holding your thighs tight for stability

❝Slower?...okay❞ - speeds up with a slight laugh, stopping seconds later to slow down again

Albedo

❝This spot? Yeah?...knew it...❞ - it's rare for you to see him smug, but that smirk he will give you when he finds out his guess was right is something else

❝Hold still for me...yes?❞ - he pushes your thighs apart, settling down comfortably between them as he dives in

❝Some interesting sounds you make...❞ - and he will carve them into his mind. When you're away he will remember them, will miss them, miss you and everything about you

Al-Haitham

❝Keep quite...❞ - there's no harshness in his words, just slight desperation as he breaths those words in your ear as he fucks you on the couch in his shared house with Kaveh, while he is asleep in his room

❝Tell me what you want...come on, you can do it. Speak up.❞ - sometimes the way he talks to you is infuriating, like he's talking to a stupid child. It not only embarrasses you when he speaks so teasingly, it makes you angry, frustrated, and maybe a bit turned on

❝If you can't watch your hands i won't watch my teeth.❞ - you tugged on his precious hair, so he can't help but tease you even more as he eats you out

Ayato

❝Mmm...yeah...❞ - he's rather quite, Ayato hums more, right in your ear with such a disgusting smirk because he knows any sound he does will drive you wild

❝Don't overestimate yourself, hm?❞ - he always says the same as you sink down on him. He knows exactly that his tip just puts too much pressure on your cervix. He might tease you, but he doesn't want to hurt you

❝I got you...don't worry, i got you...❞ - while you come down from your high...did he came himself? No, but it's okay. You're his number 1 priority

Baizhu

❝So...warm...❞ - no matter how many times you two have sex, your warmth will always overwhelm him

❝Shh...you don't know who might come in.❞ - he doesn't take many risks but god he can't hold himself back when you help him out in Bubu Pharmacy

❝I'll take care of it...don't worry.❞ - look, he's a doctor, a people pleaser and helper, ofc he only takes care of you and not of himself

Capitano

❝Take it slow, theres no rush.❞ - says the big guy with the prettiest cock and he doesn't even know it

❝Do you need a break? No?...heh...alright then...❞ - proceeds to rearrange your guts

❝What did i tell you?❞ - he means please, tell him please, ask nicely with manners like he taught you

Childe

❝Naww, someones needy huh? It went riiight in, with no problem.❞ - I bet you can practically hear and see the smug look on this abominations face

❝Look baby i don't wanna hurt you, yeah? You need to tell me when i go too hard.❞ - just a little nice check in for him. He wants to make sure you know you are always free to tell him off, he doesn't want to force himself on and in you

❝Good? Hah-ah-...yeah...thought so...❞ - sometimes the smugness will flatter, especially once he's close...you don't know who enjoys it more, him or you

Cyno

❝You hear that?...Thats you...❞ - he pumps his fingers in and out of you, slow and fast, changing pace. But no matter how fast or slow, he absolutely loves when you're as wet as you can get

❝Are you certain that you really want th-! Ouch why'd you slap me-❞ - he always asks the same, over and over again, it's nice that he keeps asking for your consent but at this point it annoys you like...bro you already been between my legs for like 30mins I had enough time thinking about it

❝Where?...ah-quick tell me-❞ - whenever he doesn't wear a condom and realistically...I don't think condoms exist in genshin lol

Dainsleif

❝So desperate...it's almost cute.❞ - he knows it's basically a long distance relationship considering he's almost never there. That's what makes it even "better" for him when you two see each other. He can't help but tease

❝Calm down, we're not in a rush.❞ - basically the first, same vibe, call me lazy lol

❝Still...gh-taking it so well...❞ - uhhh yeah we have a theme here

Diluc

❝You look cold...i could warm you up...❞ - sometimes him being smooth works, sometimes not, and sometimes he just sounds like a cheaper version of himself (Batman)...or sometimes he does what Kaeya says-

❝Where's the 'please'?❞ - he's so well mannered it's scary, so he expects the same for you too. Say please and thank you

❝Maybe if you would've behaved like I told you to, we wouldn't be here right now.❞ - he says it so calm as he fucks you against the cold stone wall behind Angels share in the middle of the night where any drunken idiot could see...or the patrols...that are very much sober (hopefully???)

Dottore

❝Hm? This? Oh, thats just for documentation.❞ - he records your voice...he literally studies your reactions and change in voice.

❝I won't tell you again, hold still.❞ - he isn't scared of tying you up at all so either hold still or be held still

❝...hm...you're too quite...❞ - he literally wants the Tsaritsa to hear like???

Freminet

❝Ngh-h-hey-calm down or else-!❞ - WE LOBE SUB BOYS, I WANNA HEAR YOU SCREAM, WE LOVE SUB BOYS

❝This is...new...yeah...❞ - he's a explorer but he also wants to be explored sksksksksk

❝So-warm-!❞ - uhm...self explanatory. When he enters you it's warm lol

Gorou

❝Wdym I'm in heat AGAIN?!❞ - he can't help but not be horny like?? Have you seen yourself??

❝Agh-...i tried to br gentle but you just-❞ - no self control, smh

❝Right there? See...told you i won't forget.❞ - he's eating you out, and still remembers your most sensitive spots like it's craved in his mind...because it is

[heyimkana]

Pillow Talk (1/4)

AO3 Link

Sequel to Come Home to Me but can be read separately.

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: Marriage AU, fluff, smut

Summary: Your husband, Sung Jinwoo, has been trying to restrain himself from touching you in the last few weeks, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable as you're dealing with the first trimester of your pregnancy. But today, his patience is running thin. He needs to be with you, in one way or another.

Content Warnings: Teeth-rotting fluff, cute family moments, and sweet, slow, passionate sex with Husband/Papa!Jinwoo (in part 2)

Word Count: 7K

Sung Jinwoo has always loved taking on treacherous dungeon raids, especially by himself. He can gain all the experience he needs to level up, gather more magic stones to build a stronger guild, and, of course, extract more shadows to join his army. But these days, as he enters a gate with a silver wedding band wrapped around his finger, he wields his daggers with a smile solely because of one reason: so you can pamper him once he gets home.

It’s not easy, you see, pretending to get hurt and act weak and sluggish all day when you’re an S-Rank Hunter famously known to be invincible. He practically is, isn’t he? With thousands of undying soldiers beneath his feet, how could anyone imagine him getting hurt? Every raid should be light work for him, which is true. Your husband could quite literally just stand there on the sidelines with both hands buried inside his coat’s pockets, smirking to himself as he imagined all the ways you could make him feel better after a supposedly long, exhausting day inside the gate (and best believe, he’d be creative with it, maybe even a bit naughty about it).

And he did, most of the time, just occasionally yawning as he watched his generals—Beru and Igris—shred the dungeon monsters to pieces. The only thing that kept him entertained during his waiting was the thought of seeing you again, of coming home to you and being welcomed with a kiss, of holding his daughter in his arms while she babbled about her “super dangerous” trip to the nearby supermarket.

Being a married man changed him, but only for the best.

Today’s raid is no different, just as tedious and time-consuming as always.

“O most noble majesty,” Beru, the former Ant King who once massacred several S-rank Hunters in a matter of seconds, kneels before his master in a deep bow, his claws clutched against his heart, one that he dedicated solely to his king. “I bring tidings of great import. The fell beast, Guardian of the Dungeon Depths, hath been vanquished in glorious combat by mine hand, thy most true and loyal servant—”

“Speak normally, or I’ll take the TV away from you.”

“Y-yes, my liege, my apologies. I hereby inform you that I have defeated the dungeon boss as you commanded. The shadow knights are now collecting the magic stones. The ants are dealing with the remaining beasts. We shall finish this raid before the sun sets low, my king.”

“Good,” Jinwoo stretches his arms over his head, his muscles taut from all the waiting. He hasn’t done a single thing since he entered the gate—aside from daydreaming about you, that is. It’s partially your fault, really, for wearing that sultry nightgown to bed last night. You were well aware that he was still too afraid to touch you ever since you discovered that you were pregnant with his second child. He could see just how uncomfortable you were dealing with your hormonal changes and your constant morning sickness. The last thing he wanted to do was to wear your body down even further by attending to his needs. And yet, you still wore that satin lace gown to bed, driving him insane with how smoothly the fabric slid across your skin, hugging your curves in all the places he’d been itching to touch. You didn’t mean to lure him in, of course; the gown was just so comfortable to sleep in, but goddammit, he wanted you so badly he had to take a bathroom trip twice to give himself some relief. 

“Great work today, Beru,” Jinwoo says. “There’s only one more thing I need you to do for me.”

“Anything, my liege.”

He looks down at him, still with his hands stuck in the pockets of his black trench coat. A smirk graces his lips with a glimmer of impishness sketched over it. “I want you to hit me in the face.”

“M-m-my liege?!” Beru’s shadowy figure was drenched in all black, but even then, it was clear that he turned pale at the request. “H-how could I, Beru, your most humble servant, do such thing to your gorgeous, most absolutely divine face, my king?”

“Don’t ever say that again,” he almost shudders from the excessive compliment before a shrug follows. “You said you’d do anything for me, right? Or was that a lie?”

“I-it is not a lie, my liege, but—”

“Should I just ask Igris instead?” He huffs loudly to the air. `“I know he wouldn’t think twice if I asked him to do something for me, especially this one. It’s a dire need, after all.” 

If there was one thing that could easily agitate the ant king, it was being compared to another shadow soldier. It was endearing, really—and borderline creepy—the way Beru was so possessive over him, always wanting to be the one who could impress the Shadow Monarch the most, to be the only one worthy of standing by his side. “Even so, my liege, I am not sure if I should—”

“Hit me.” Jinwoo’s patience runs thinner than usual. Is it really because he’s so touch-starved, yearning for you, that he’s grown this irritated? “Do it as hard as you can. If you hold back, I’ll never summon you again.”

Beru cowers at the thought. “No, please, my liege, have mercy. Anything but that.”

“Then, do it.”

“B-but—”

“Igris, come here—”

“I SHALL DO IT, MY LIEGE!” ***

Being pregnant is a mix of wonderful and trying times. Your first pregnancy was the perfect evidence of that, but since you managed to go through it somehow, you thought the second time would be easier, assuming that your body had learned enough from the previous experience to withstand it this time. You hoped you could recover from your morning sickness much faster this time around, but no.  

It’s not any easier. It’s ten times worse. And it fucking sucks.

You’ve been throwing up more today than the amount of hours you spent sleeping through the night. No matter how often you rinse your mouth or brush your teeth, you still feel the aftertaste of your bile coating your tongue. Everyday is a long day to get through. From doing chores and caring for your daughter—who has now turned four—you haven’t gotten much chance to rest. Your mood is all over the place. Every time your toddler throws a tantrum, you’re so tempted to imitate and throw a bigger one. It’s a childish thought, you know that, but if lying around the floor with your limbs flailing around could make you feel better, you would’ve probably done it.

Your body is weary. Your daughter is still running all over the place, making a mess out of the potpourri you just placed on the coffee table to chase away the pet odor in your home. The scent only lingers faintly in the air—Mr. Whiskers never smells terrible, all thanks to the High Orcs who take turns to wash him regularly—but ever since you have a life growing inside you, your sense of smell is heightened, and nearly everything makes you nauseous. If you weren’t pregnant, you wouldn’t have been bothered by the odor at all. 

Right now, you’re staring blankly at the dirty plates sitting on the sink, waiting to be washed. You don’t feel like finishing your chores. You don’t feel like doing anything at all, honestly. Whenever you feel like this, there’s only one thing that can fix your mood and boost it quickly, or rather, a person, and that is—

“Jinwoo…” You sigh out his name longingly as if it were a mantra that could magically restore the life within you. You speak it like a prayer, and perhaps it is, just wishing for your husband to come home soon so he can console you like always, giving you the warmest of back hugs before he plants comforting kisses down your neck and says—

“Yes, my love?”

Your husband’s voice reverberates right beside your ear, and you jolt, shrieking in surprise as a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around your waist from behind. Jinwoo has just appeared out of thin air—no, out of your shadow—smiling at you with one corner of his lips rising higher than the other. You can hear a peal of laughter tumbling off his lips at your reaction, his mouth brushing against the side of your neck, light and tender, with a promise of something more if he’s not careful.

“Mmm, seems like someone has been missing me all day,” he comments, visibly delighted, his husky voice vibrating right onto your sensitive skin.

You whirl around to face him, your heart still caught in your throat as you throw a playful smack on his chest. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop. doing. that?” You punctuate each word with a slap.

He chortles softly, catching your wrist with ease. Your hand appears much smaller than his, but then again, your entire body is. You're not aware of this yet, but this is one of the reasons why he’s so attracted to you. Something about you being short and tiny (compared to him, that is), your body soft and warm in his arms—it drives him crazy, shrouded him with this need to protect you, to take care of you. “Doing what?” he asks despite knowing the answer. He kisses the dip of your palm, perhaps as a token of his apology, although it doesn’t seem fairly sincere with how he’s impishly grinning at you. 

“Popping out of nowhere!” You chastise with a glare. “I swear to God, Sung Jinwoo, one of these days, I’ll get a heart attack, and you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

He continues to chuckle fondly at your attitude. Placing both hands on the kitchen counter, he has your body trapped in between. Jinwoo towers over you, his body caging you in, and he still smells so wonderfully pleasant, like the perfume you bought him even after going through long hours of fighting beasts in the dungeon (your gullible self never realized that your husband was just lazing around all day during the raid, doing nothing but having questionable thoughts about you).  He’s dressed rather formally today, wearing the same white button-down shirt and the black trousers you’d prepared for him this morning. You wonder if his meeting with the higher-ups went well. It’s always the most tiresome part of the day for him, even way more than all the hours he spends inside the gates.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” Jinwoo apologizes with a playful kiss on your forehead. “I just can’t help it. You look so cute when you’re surprised.”

You continue to glower at him.

“And even cuter when you’re angry,” he adds, his grin boyish and irritatingly charming. “Where’s my welcome home kiss?”

Oh, the audacity. “You don’t get any until you learn your lesson,” you grumble as you spin back toward the sink, switching on the water and snatching a dirty plate. “Thank goodness, I was just doing the dishes. Remember the last time you did this? When I was…” You continue with your scolding, bleating one line after another, but each word is brushed aside as Jinwoo takes in the sight of you, enthralled. 

It warms his heart to see you like this, his love for you brimming in his chest simply from seeing you do something domestic in the heart of his home. Your delicate frame, your beauty showing so naturally without anything to cover your flaws—the sweet imperfections he adores. The sight of you dressed in one of his shirts, comforted by his scent, its fabric falling loose around your curves, your hair tied up in a messy bun with soft, baby hairs curled around your nape. If you had known he would come home so soon, you would’ve showered and made yourself more presentable for him, but Jinwoo loves you like this. This is the version of you that only he can see. You’re so unbelievably sexy in his eyes, and it just adds more gasoline to the scorching desire within him.

“Jinwoo, are you listening to me—ah!” An involuntary moan escapes you when he mouthes against your nape, his tongue pressing flat against your sensitive spot, your knees buckling at the sensation. He plants one kiss after another as he maps his way down to your shoulder, tugging on your collar just enough to reveal more of your skin. His kisses are no longer the featherlight ones he gave you before. They’re now laced heavily with lust, the thirst he’s been trying to constrain but failing every time. He tastes your skin, his teeth itching to sink in, disrupting your thoughts at once. 

Your plate slips off your fingers before you grip tightly onto the sink, his hand slithering past the hem of your shirt, skating over your stomach and leaving fire at its trail. “Jinwoo, w-wait…”

“If you’re not gonna give me a kiss, Sweetheart,” he whispers, his lips grazing against the shell of your ear. “Maybe I should just steal it away.”

 Before you can react, his fingers frame your jaw, forcing you to face him and claiming your lips at once. Your heart rate accelerates, his torso glued to your spine, and the second you moan into the kiss, he turns you over in his arms, his self-restraint thinning into a thread. Now fully facing him, you feel your body being pushed forward, the edge of the kitchen counter digging into your back as your husband recaptures your lips with his own, slanting them even deeper. He sighs into the kiss, pleased and relieved as if he had been on his best behavior all day and the taste of your mouth was the prize he’d been waiting for. 

Taste of my mouth…?

Oh, no. 

“W-wait, stop for a bit.” You place a hand on his chest, quickly ending the kiss and tossing your face to the side, embarrassed. “You shouldn’t kiss me. I taste like vomit—” 

Jinwoo tugs you forward before you can end your sentence, his fingers clasping firmly against your wrist, keeping you under his control. He kisses you harder, fiercer, as if your little act of pushing him away elevated the hunger inside him. His free arm winds around your waist, guiding you closer to him until he can drown himself again in your warmth. 

“Jinwoo—”

“Just one more.” He thumbs the edge of your mouth, parting your lips open for him despite you trying your best not to. A low grunt erupts from the back of his throat the second he has the chance to taste you a little bit more, his desire so insatiable that he grabs you by the back of your neck, holding your body possessively without leaving you the opportunity to escape. To him, your mouth tastes like ambrosia, and he can’t help but devour you the second he gets the chance.

“Sweet,” he moans softly against your mouth. “You taste so fucking sweet, baby.”

You almost whimper in response, your hands fisting against the front of his shirt. There’s something different about him today, this sense of urgency that takes hold of him like a vice. It makes your body ache with need, too, the need to have his mouth on you, on every place he can reach and more.

Screw it. You can get angry with him some other time. You wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer to you as if you wanted to fuse your bodies into one. The sweet sounds he makes grow louder, turn a pitch higher, and when he feels your fingers tugging on the roots of his hair, he almost growls, his teeth grinding against the side of your neck.

Amidst the heavy breaths, you can hear the sound of gushing water coming from behind. Right, the tap! I haven’t turned it off. “Wait, Jin—the water—mmph—” Your husband doesn’t let you speak, doesn’t want to let another second lay to waste, not after he spent the whole day—no, the whole month—waiting to touch you like this.

It’s not until your daughter (who you both seem to have forgotten, shame on you) tugs on the edge of his coat that you break away from each other, leaving the two of you standing with your faces flushed, your hairs disheveled, and your minds reeling. 

“Daddy,” she gives it another pull, her lower lip jutted out in protest. The current babysitter in charge, a High Orc with a messy braid (courtesy of your daughter) and two huge, ivory fangs protruding from the bottom of his mouth, stands gawkily behind her, feeling awkward for interrupting… whatever the hell it was that was happening between you and his master. He then notices the running water, silently turning off the tap while sending you a look.

“T-thanks,” you say to the beast, ashamed. “I was… gonna get that.”

He simply nods, and thank goodness these High Orcs can’t speak because the line, “Mm-hmm, sure,” seems to be written all over his face.

Meanwhile, your husband, the one responsible for all of this, bends forward almost immediately, scooping your daughter up in his arms. “Oh, no, Daddy forgot to say hello to his little princess, didn’t he?” She nodded in response, her cheeks all puffed out. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I got distracted for a bit, but don’t worry. You have all my attention now.”

“All of it?”

“All of it,” he promises with a smile, sweet and soft, a stark contrast to the man he was just a few seconds before. “Do you want to give Daddy a kiss?” 

With a happy chirp, his daughter leaned in almost immediately, brushing her plump lips once on each of his cheeks. “Again, again,” she says, planting another kiss between his eyebrows and a peck on his nose. Both of them grin happily at each other, rubbing the tips of their noses together as her giggles fill the spaces between you. “Welcome home, Daddy.”

No matter how often he’s heard it, his heart melts just the same every time she echoes those words with her angelic voice. “Thanks, Sweetie. Hey, listen.” Still carrying his daughter in his arms, Jinwoo whirls around to have her place her attention on you. “You wanna know why I forgot to greet you today?”

“Why?”

“Because Mommy was about to cry.”

Her doe eyes widen adorably as she gasps out, “She was?”

You restrain the urge to roll your eyes as your husband continues sprouting his bullshit. “Yes, she was. You see, she missed Daddy so much todaythat she felt like crying while doing the dishes.” Now that he says it like that, you can’t help but feel abashed. That was a bit pathetic, wasn’t it? “Daddy had no choice but to go and cheer her up. Isn���t that right, Mommy?”

Your hand itches to toss him another punch. “Oh, yes, God, I was so lonely,” you mutter in your best robotic voice, sarcasm lying thickly in your voice.

“See?” Jinwoo tosses you a shameless grin, amused by your reaction. No, not just that. Happy. “Mommy could barely live without me.”

“Mm. Barely.” You land a kick to the back of his shin. Of course, that does absolutely nothing to an S-Rank Hunter like him. If anything, it only makes him want to chaff at you even harder. 

Fortunately for you, your daughter doesn’t seem like she’s seen the kisses you shared with your husband—or maybe she did, but she chose not to care. “Daddy, did you get cupcakes for me?”

“No, Sweetie, I’m sorry.” Your husband gently strokes her hair, tucking a few loose strands behind her ear. “I was in a rush on my way home.”

She blinks her eyes innocently. “Why?”

“Because Daddy misses you, of course,” Jinwoo smiles warmly, affectionately, the kind of fatherly smile that you didn’t think he could display so naturally on his lips when you first started dating him. “I missed you so much, Princess. I was thinking about you all the time during the raid that I could hardly concentrate.” Well, that and how you looked in your sexy nightgown, to be exact. “I was only gone for a few hours, but I just couldn’t wait to see you again. So, the second the gate was closed, I ran straight home.” 

Teleported, you grumble inwardly with a snort, even when I’ve already told him not to.

“Is that why you got a cut on your cheek? Because you were distracted?” Your daughter questions him, staggering you. 

What?

You quickly turn to your husband, examining his face with your eyebrows sewn in concern. Although it’s barely visible, it’s true. There’s a cut on his cheek, a thin line of crimson on his smooth, pasty skin, like an accidental brush of a pen on paper. This kind of injury is nothing and will naturally heal within a day or two, but still, it frightens you somehow that there’s a being out there who could lay a finger on him—on someone who’s supposed to be untouchable. You were certain that he was only clearing an A-rank dungeon today. Surely, it couldn’t have been so dangerous? 

“Are you okay?” You ask him softly, almost motherly, carefully holding his face as if that little cut made his body a million times more fragile. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Jinwoo bites down on his lip as your anxiety grows. Is it so bad that it’s hard for him to say? You wonder worriedly. Of course, you don't realize in the slightest that he’s only catching it between his teeth because he’s afraid that his mischievous smile will break on his lips and give his plan away. Jinwoo has been craving to be loved, touched, and spoiled endlessly by you today. With you looking this concerned, he’s already walking the path of success. He’s not going to let his little grin betray him at the last minute. 

“No, nowhere else, Sweetheart,” he says with a tender smile. “Just this one on my cheek. I’m okay, though. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a cut.” Because that was all Beru could manage to do, he continues inwardly, almost releasing a disappointed sigh. Three chances. He gave that stupid ant three chances to wound his face as best as he could without putting any defense whatsoever, and this little cut on his face was all Beru could do. To be fair, knowing his immense durability and his tremendous physical strength, landing just a scratch itselfis considered a feat, but still… Had he had a bigger bruise blooming on his face, you’d take better care of him, wouldn’t you?

You breathe out in relief at his reply but continue to press further. It’s not a matter of pain; it’s the fact that there’s somebody out there who can lay a hand on him. What happens if it gets worse? What if he comes home with a wound next time instead of a cut? No, what if he doesn’t come home at all? 

“Jinwoo…” You twine your fingers around his lean ones. “Did something happen in the ga—”

“IT WAS BECAUSE OF ME, MY QUEEN!” A voice suddenly bursts into your hearing, coming from a small, shadowy figure that seeps out from beneath your husband’s collar. It’s Beru, you realize, but shaped in a different form. Instead of taking his usual humanoid figure, he’s much smaller in size, a floating head with a pair of antennae, so tiny he could fit in your daughter’s palm. 

“B-Beru?”

“Yes, my queen, it is I, Beru, your faithful servant,” the shadow soldier speaks. “With the deepest regret, I must confess that I have brought harm to our king’s heavenly face. To atone for my sins, I shall accept any punishment you bestow upon me, milady.” 

Your frown only deepens.“Wait, I don’t understand. What happened exactly?”

The shadow seems to fidget. “H-Half an hour ago, inside the gate, my liege requested me to—”

“Beru got distracted during the fight,” Jinwoo explains casually, cutting him off so smoothly with his smile intact. “I got this cut when I tried to save him. Isn’t that right,” he turns his head slightly to the side to face the shadow, his eyes gleaming eerily like a purple moon in a pitch-black sky, his voice turning an octave lower, “Beru?”

You can hear the shadow whimper in horror before it flies back to his collar, hiding behind the fabric. Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why is Beru acting weird?”

“When is he not acting weird?” Your husband responds nonchalantly. You can’t trust him when he’s smirking like this. No matter how good he looks with it, you can’t. You shouldn’t.

“I’ll put a bandaid on it, Daddy!” Your daughter chirps before jumping away from his arms, rushing to get the first aid kit. When she returns with the box, running toward her father with her little feet, Jinwoo kneels before her. His smile, his posture, the soft look on his face—everything reminds you of the prince in your daughter’s storybook, the one she’s fallen hopelessly in love with.

No wonder she loves her daddy so much, you think fondly to yourself, your heart thawing at the sight of your daughter applying a bandaid to his cheek. She looks so serious as she does it, mustering all her brain power to ensure she covers the cut perfectly. Once she’s done, she plants a kiss over it, sweet and adorable. “There, there.” She pats his cheek. “You’re all better now.”

Jinwoo’s face radiates with joy, but the bow of his lips remains sweet and tender as always. “Thank you, Princess.”

“You’re welcome, Daddy.” She pecks his nose once before she tugs on his hand. “Now, come on! Let’s have a tea party! You can be the queen, and I’ll be the princess, and Mr. Whiskers can be the king!”

“Right now?” Jinwoo chuckles, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. He has the energy to play with you all night, but having tea parties with an overexcited toddler can be quite draining indeed, especially when he has to play the role of a noblewoman—who’s married to a cat, for some reason—to keep her entertained. “Can Daddy take a shower first?”

“No! The tea will get cold if you do that!” 

“All right, all right. Can I, at least, play a more masculine role this time? A prince, maybe?”

“No, we need to have a queen in the story!”

“Why can't Mommy be the queen, then?”

“Because Mommy is busy doing her chores,” you answer with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, completely ignoring the pleading look your husband is sending you. "Remember to use your girly voice, Husband.”

Jinwoo squints his eyes at you. "Is this your payback from earlier?”

You flaunt your coquettish grin. “Maybe.”

He sighs despite his little smile threatening to crawl back to his lips. "You're lucky I love you, Sweetheart.”

“Daddy, come on!” She hops on her feet, tugging him even further toward the living room. “And you too, Orky, hurry up! You’re the maid. You need to serve us some cake!”

The High Orc releases a sigh. Tossing his messy braid over his shoulder, he retrieves his apron from the counter—one that you’d sewn yourself for him as a gift for being an exceptionally patient babysitter—and follows after their steps. 

To anyone else’s eyes, the sight of South Korea’s 10th S-Rank Hunter, a fluffy yet somewhat demonic cat, a brawny High Orc, and a toddler with messy pigtails having a tea party on a tiny plastic table in your living room might be too absurd to take in, but this is just an everyday scenery in your lovely home. Even so, you’ll never take this for granted. The sense of relief of being safe and sound, the happiness of being together, the warmth that spreads right to your center…. These are the things that you pray every night to last forever.

And it is something that Sung Jinwoo protects more than the universe itself. ***

A sigh slips out of you as you slide underneath the blanket, the bed’s soft and almost heaven-like the moment you lie down. It has been an exhausting day, and you still haven’t gotten to bring much food into your system. Tomorrow will be better, you convince yourself. Hopefully, all the healthy juice and vitamins you’ve consumed throughout the day could replenish the nutrients your baby needs.

The bathroom door clicks open, shining light into an otherwise dimmed room. Steams of hot water cloud the room as your husband steps out with a towel hanging over his head. He’s dressed in nothing but his black sweatpants, his body lean and toned, still glistening with water. He’s mesmerizing as always and effortlessly so. You avert your gaze away, however, as you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being ogled at and have him tease you about it all night—because he definitely will if he catches you drooling at the sight. He’s done that before, and he’s only eager to do it again.

Jinwoo exhales as he sits on the edge of the bed, sounding just as tired as you are. Little did you know that this was just an act to have you indulge him in more ways than one until his thirst for your affection was quenched. 

You roll around to face him, lying on your side and making a pillow out of your arm. “Long day at work?”

“Just a little,” he answers. You notice how water droplets are still dripping from his hair, drenching his shoulders and… rolling down his… broad, muscular back…

You swallow, forcing yourself not to stare—not too much, at least—at how the muscles in his shoulder blades contort when he lifts his hand to rub the towel against his hair but damn it, it is getting very distracting. You can’t help it, really. It’s just been so long since you two have been intimate with each other, and that… session you had with him in the kitchen only made your longing for him a million times worse. “You do look more weary than usual. Did the bath help? I used the expensive bath salts for you.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, it was relaxing. We should’ve taken a bath together.”

“We wouldn’t have been relaxing if we bathed together.”

“Really?” He arches an eyebrow suggestively. “And why is that?”

Your voice reduces to a mumble when you reply, “You know why.”

His little smirk tells you that yes, he does know, but he just wants to see you grimacing from shame when you say it out loud. “Were you worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself?” 

The truth was, you were worried that you wouldn’t be able to, but your husband doesn’t need to know about that. “Isn’t that exactly what happened last time?”

“Only because you didn’t ask me to behave,” he cocks his head to the side, his lips curving devilishly. “You should’ve asked me to be a good boy for you, Sweetheart. I wouldn’t have touched you if that was the case. And I always keep my promise, you know that.”

Oh, he does, all right. The same way he did during your honeymoon phase when he promised you that he wouldn't stop fucking you until the sun came out. Underestimating his stamina was the biggest mistake of your life. He had your legs trembling so badly the following day, you had to call off work. 

But that’s it, isn’t it? That's exactly what you want to happen right here, right now. Jinwoo has been so considerate of your pregnancy that he decided to put a leash on himself. It’s a sweet thing for him to do, but sometimes, you just wish he’d tear it apart and set himself free. It would be nice if he could just be a little rough with you right now, not caring too much about how you feel and just focusing on what he wanted to do. But he’s not that kind of man, and that’s why you married him.

Despite his aloof, stoic demeanor and how vicious he can be during battles, he’s the most gentle lover you’ve ever been with, especially when he knows you’re not ready to deal with anything like that yet, both physically and emotionally (or so he thought). He’s truly all a woman could look for in a husband. Protective and strong. Loving. Caring. Treating you with the same amount of tenderness as he treats his own mother. But, still, a slight change wouldn’t be too bad, would it? If he could just be a little selfish in bed today, succumbing to his desire to touch you and make love to you without restraint… That would be nice, right?

“Baby, you okay?”

His deep voice startles you, dragging you out of your stupor. “Yeah, I was just, umm…” You clear your throat, heat filling your cheeks. “Your hair’s dripping. Want me to help you dry it off?”

His lips part in what seems to be surprise before he wrings them together into a smile. First mission, clear, he claims triumphantly in his head. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course not.” You make your way toward him, your legs sliding against the sheets before you kneel behind him, giving his shoulders a little squeeze. “You’re my husband. It makes me happy when I get to take care of you, especially when you’ve worked so hard all day.”

“Mm. Yeah. I’ve worked so hard today.”

Oblivious to the demonic cackle he’s trying to bite down, you step down from the bed, searching for the hair dryer you stored inside the drawer. Jinwoo waits in silence, leaning back with two hands propping his weight on the sheets behind him, his legs spread wide open. His eyes roam over your body, following every curve and dip, his fingers itching to just tear your nightgown away and replace every inch of satin with the softness of his kiss and the heat of his desire. 

You notice the way his hooded eyes cascade to the valley between your breasts as you walk toward him, your stomach swirling at this thrilling thought of being so physically wanted. With how he chews on his bottom lip as he gazes at you, his thoughts wandering to places they shouldn’t be, he makes you feel like you’re the prettiest woman in the world, a goddess he’s so close to touch and taste, yet the heaven forbids him for it.

“My eyes are up here, Husband.”

He lets his gaze linger for one more second before they flick back to you. “I know,” he smirks, shameless. After watching you plug your hairdryer in the nearest socket, he gestures you to come close and settle yourself between his legs, his smile welcoming—no, inviting. “Come here,” he suggests with a couple of pats on his thigh. 

You know what he’s asking, and God, you want to just give in and obey whatever he commands you to, but you decide to ignore him at the last second. Sitting on his lap right now when you’re nearly consumed by this aching need to be touched is just too risky. You have to be careful if you don’t want to appear so… needy. 

“Sometimes I think you’re not older than five. Look at how wet your hair is.” You reprimand him playfully as you try to shake away the excess water from his hair with his towel. You let yourself move closer to him, standing between his legs, your face hovering close enough to entice him but not enough for him to feel the sweetness of your breath caressing his skin. “Did you even use your towel? You’re still soaked and—” 

Your line ends shortly in a yelp when Jinwoo easily lifts your body with one arm coiled around your waist, placing you down on one of his thighs. He lets his arm linger protectively around you, making sure to keep you safe and secure on his lap. “Comfortable, Sweetheart?” He asks with a puckish grin. 

No, it’s not comfortable. It’s torturous. 

See, the thing is, it’s easy for you to touch him first, to reach out and kiss him and explore his mouth until he groans and has no choice but to take you. But the last time you approached him first, the last time you were so clingy, and needy, and just desperate for his touch, it boosted his ego so much that he ended up smirking every time he saw you. For the whole fucking week, that is. He didn’t even say anything when you asked him with a suspicious glare, “Why do you keep smirking at me like that?” He’d just shrug and continue to smirk even more, and it annoyed you—flustered you—terribly because the words, “Nothing, I just keep remembering how cute you looked when you were begging me the other day,” were painted vividly all over his face. You’re not going to give him that satisfaction again. Never. 

If he wants to make love to you tonight, if he wants to even touch you for a bit, he’s going to have to ask for it.

But when he looks this fucking handsome with his mysterious, sapphire-like eyes, his hair wet and pushed back by your hand, his lips slightly parted as if he was waiting for yours to close the space between them… It takes you everything not to fall in his arms.

Despite all these thoughts gyrating in your head, screaming to be turned into actions, you keep yourself composed on the outside; your stare remains flat. “Do I really have to dry your hair like this? While sitting on your thigh?”

“What, I just don’t want my pregnant wife to get tired from standing too long,” he argues, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “It makes me happy when I get to take care of my wife, too, you know.” His eyes droop a little as he says the line, and fuck, fuck, he definitely just stole a glance at your lips there.

This little devil. “I know you didn’t use your towel. You’ve been plotting this whole thing right from the start.”

“Plotting is such a dramatic word,” Jinwoo replies, followed by a small laughter. “I just want my wife to spoil me for a bit.” He places a hand on your leg, his thumb rubbing against your inner thigh. It brushes against the hem of your gown as he purrs, “Is that so wrong, Sweetheart?” You watch his digit slip underneath the fabric, never going further up, aiming just to tease. “For your husband to ask his wife for some love?” 

Even just that already causes you to swallow your breath. “I think I’ve loved you enough today.”

“Hmm, I don't know.” He leans close to your ear, his warm, minty breath swaying your soft strands with each word spoken. “I’m a bit greedy, after all. I might need you to pamper me all night long.”

Your head swirls under temptation but you keep yourself strong. You return the safe distance between you, placing a hand on his… bare chest. God, he needs to put on some shirt. “You could’ve just asked me to dry your hair instead of drenching the sheets.” 

His little smile, the way he’s tilting his head slightly to the side, staring at you with his eyes turning all soft, lost in your own… Curse you, Sung Jinwoo. “You’re right, sorry.” He’s not sorry. He’s already planning to drench the sheets in one way or another, you can tell, and you’re excited about it. Though it won’t take long for that excitement to turn into frustration with the way he keeps touching you but not actually touching you. 

Why won’t he just do it? Why won’t he just say that he misses me as much as I miss him, wants me—no, needs me as much as I need him? It would’ve saved us a lot of time if he could just kiss me right now.

What you don’t know is that, from his side, your husband isn’t really seeking a chance to make love to you tonight. He wants to—God, only heaven knows just how much he wants to devour you right now—but he won’t force you to do something so physically straining when you already look so weary. Still, he needs to touch you today, to explore you, to taste you, or otherwise, he’ll just lose his mind. He doesn’t even care if he gets no relief himself. He just needs to be with you in that way, but being the little shit that he is, he wants to tease you about it. After all, what makes your sex life so fun and adventurous is this little game you always play, seeing who’s going to yield to their desire first, and start begging the other for mercy.

So far, Jinwoo is winning, but that doesn’t mean you can’t turn the tides. “Come on. Let’s dry your hair.”

“Mm.” Jinwoo lowers his head (yes, even when you’re sitting on his thigh; he’s still taller than you), cutely nuzzling his face against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “I’ll be in your care, Noona.”

N-Noona?! Your face catches on fire. Turning the tides has never been so difficult. It’s been years since he last called you that way that you’ve forgotten just how easily he could make your heartbeat soar with merely a single word. You’re only a year older than him, which is not a big deal, but he surely takes it to his advantage—an effective way to cause your stomach to flip with every call.

“Hmm? What’s wrong, Noona?”

Stay calm, stay calm. “Nothing.” Exhaling a bit too harshly, you switch on your hairdryer and draw it closer to his hair, your fingers carding through the locks, sometimes ruffling them. He smiles to himself, looking all pleased and giddy—well, as giddy as someone as cool as Sung Jinwoo could be. Seeing how he leans further into your touch, silently pleading for another touch the same way a little boy would ask for praise, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter at the sight. How can a 190cm tall, muscular S-Rank Hunter—the Lord of the Undead himself—be so adorable? 

“You’re like a dog,” you comment with a hint of mirth in your voice, “wanting to be petted.”

Jinwoo responds by playfully trying to bite your hand, clamping his teeth together, his pointy fangs bared. And you wish he had. You wish he’d sink his teeth into your skin, leaving marks on you again after so long. He always does that in bed, doesn’t he? Leaving love bites all over your neck, his teeth grinding against your shoulder as he drove himself in and out of you. It was as if he wanted to remind you again and again that you were his, only his, to give himself the satisfaction of knowing that he was the only man who you’d allow to do whatever he wanted with your body. 

 And when he gets rough… When he turns feral in bed because you just rile him up so much… When he flips you over to your stomach, one hand binding both of your wrists together before he presses his weight onto you—

“You’re stopping again,” Jinwoo says with a coy smile. “What are you thinking about, Sweetheart?”

You, fucking me from behind. “N-nothing.” You work your hand; your movement’s no longer as poised. 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” he simpers.

“Oh, shut up. I’m just thinking about…” Think quickly, think quickly, think quickly. “Your hair.”

"What about it?”

“It’s just… really soft. Surprisingly soft.” It amazes you how you manage to keep yourself composed with those filthy thoughts raging like a storm in your head. You continue to ruffle his hair, shaking the water away. “Fluffy, even.”

“You say that as if you’d never touched my hair before,” he titters softly. His eyes then flick back to yours, the blue in them sketched thickly with the desire he’s been trying to rein in. “When you’ve done so much more than that.”

You don’t know what drives you to do it—perhaps it’s some kind of reflex as the sultry nights you’d spent with his head trapped between your legs comes to your recollection—but you yank on his strands, and he lets out this low, deep groan from the back of his throat, his gaze turning dark and heavy when he warns, “Careful, Sweetheart.”

He’s not reminding you to be gentle, not at all. He’s warning you not to push his buttons more than you already do. He’s already suffering as it is, trying to hold himself back from having his way with you, and you tugging on his roots like this, reminding him of all those times when you were pleading for him to thrust his tongue deep inside your core, is not helping.

“Then, don’t make it weird,” you reciprocate with a little pinch on his nose. After combing your fingers through his hair one last time, you switch off the hairdryer. “Done. You’re all dry now.” You return to your feet, itching to get away from him before you’re swallowed by the urge to yank his hair back again and latch your mouth against his throat. “Let me tidy this up first and—”

Your sentence ends in a short gasp when his arms tangle around your waist once more, and the next time you blink, you find yourself pinned down to the bed, his knee placed just between your thighs, dangerously close to your core. His face hovers just above yours, his lips twitching into a smirk as he gazes down at you with a hint of naughtiness in his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he says, leaning in until the tips of your noses are mere millimeters away from brushing against each other. “Making my favorite food for dinner. Preparing my bath and drying my hair. You’ve been so good to me today.” With your chin trapped between lean fingers, he angles your head to the side, his breath fanning the skin below your ear. “I think my sweet girl deserves a little reward.” His voice is beyond seductive, awakening all the butterflies inside you. “Tell me what you want, baby. Let me take care of you this time.”

You grip the sheets underneath you, your heart thumping in anticipation. “I can ask for... anything?”

He chuckles, the sound low and tantalizing, his nose probing against the pulsating vein on your neck. “Anything.”

You swallow thickly, a thousand different wishes bursting into your head at once. 

“T-then… I want you to…” ***

Continue to Part 2

[hyperfixiation-station]

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him. 

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face. 

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you  could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room. 

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you. 

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.” 

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable”  and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you. 

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around. 

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge? 

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies. 

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in. 

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound. 

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening. 

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out. 

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies. 

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again. 

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05  @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz  @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

[somnoir]

Gotham's newest Crime Lord - Part 1

Prompt: Dan kills the joker and unintentionally becomes a crime lord

Dan didn't mean to become a Crime Lord. It wasn't his fault that the Joker was fragile and easily killable with one punch to the head. He didn't know that the seemingly immortal clown was easily killed once the impact practically snapped his neck. So yes, Dan didn't mean for this shit to happen. Not when all he wanted to do was go to college, make sure Danny and Elle weren't attracting trouble back in Gotham academy.

It wasn't his fault that the crazy bastard thought it was a good idea to nab his siblings and try to use them for ransom. It's not his fault that his first instinct was to introduce his first to that pennywise knock-off. It'd not his fault that this city was haunted by vengeful ghosts that wanted to tear that motherfucker to shreds.

They were supposed to lay low after the mess with their parents and their name changes.

But nooooo!

They had to have an absolute hatred for clowns and now he's somehow made himself a crime lord. Why the fuck were the Joker's goons so fucking stupid?! They either tried to kill Dan for killing their boss or they tried to fall under him and make him their new leader. It was like a fucking cult in his eyes. Seriously, what the absolute fuck was going on with this shitty city?

It's not like he could call Jazz and say "Hi sis! I killed a crazy clown and I'm now the boss of his weird goons. I also might end up on the local vigilante's hitlist."

Yeah, no. He's not doing that.

But this might not be so bad... Not really. Being their boss could be treated as a source of income if he utilized the Joker's shit properly. I mean, he couldn't always rely on the fruitloops money, not when Vlad could turn traitor and use the money against them. He needed to find a way to support his siblings, one way or another.

And Clockwork did say to get a hobby. If not mass genocide then he could resort to carefully planned crime. Yes. This could work. He'll make it fucking work for the sake of his siblings.

Besides, if he was a crime lord—in motherfucking Gotham—he doubts that the GIW will even try to fuck around in a city where a ghost controlled some part of the criminal underworld.

Oh... Oh, he was gonna fucking do this.

(Clockwork watched as his most troublesome child shifts from world ender to crime lord. At least it was an upgrade from mass genocide.)

Nightwing didn't particularly know what to make of this mess. There were rumors of a new crime lord, of a new rogue.

One day, Joker's body was dropped into the harbor and found by the workers, all confused and scared as to why the Clown Prince of crime was dead in the water. It was humiliating in the Joker's standards, to be discarded like trash into the sea rather than have his body displayed for everyone to gawk at. The clown would have adored being glorified but whoever the hell killed him knew this and fucked the guy up bad.

His head snapped and his corpse tossed out like leftovers.

Jason had laughed, outright celebrated and Crime Alley was as festive as it ever was with the Red Hood blasting music through the streets and partying like there was no tomorrow. All of Gotham was celebrating, parading through the streets with pinatas that looked like the Joker. Harley would drop down from whatever roof she was on and swing her bat at the pinata, spilling red candy as everyone cheered and laughed. It was morbidly glorious.

But the festivities didn't erase the fact that someone had killed the Joker and knew what to do to disrespect him in the worst ways possible. It wasn't long until Joker's old lackeys were rallying to someone—a new boss. It wasn't odd for goons without bosses to move on to find different jobs, but for all of Joker's old minions to work for the same person? This was definitely the guy who killed the Joker.

No name, no appearance, nothing. Just quiet activity with organising his new goons to do strange errands. Stuff that didn't point them in the direction of criminal activity.

"You got anything?" Dick murmurs as Tim slouches over the batcomputer, watching as his younger brother sneered at the screen.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He snaps, "All footage of this new rogue is immediately corrupted."

Babs hums, "And it's not like it's altered after it's been taken. The distortion happens live. They either have some tech on them or they're a meta who can avoid cameras." She adds, taking a leisure sip of the tea Alfred kindly offered them. "Whoever this is doesn't leave a trace aside from this shitty footage."

Tim groans, "I officially hate this guy!" He almost tosses his mug out of anger, shaking his head.

"Does Jason have any info on this one?"

And like the fucking menace he was, Jason pops up without another word. "He goes by Wraith." No one was startled, just sparing him a glance before nodding.

"That's it?"

"The goonions adore him." Jason shrugs, "Guy's been quick. Dealing with shit like Black Mask and other trafficking operations. Some of the kids he's saved wear clothes that have this specific symbol on them. It's a good tactic mind you. Tells people to fuck off and don't come anywhere near the kid or else he'll sic whatever bullshit he has in someone."

Dick narrowed his eyes, "Is it effective?"

"Hell yeah! One of the kids got kidnapped just last week. I went to save the poor thing but he walked out of that warehouse while the kidnappers were bleeding and sobbing." Jason once again grins, "Little Tommy threatened me if I try to arrest Wraith."

"So more anti-heri than villain. Good enough, at least." Dick sighed, shaking his head as he narrowed his eyes on the screen. More distorted footage.

"Thanks for the info, little wing."

"Just updatin' you guys. Heard some rumors that Harley's on the hunt for Wraith to thank him."

Great...

It's been a solid two months since the death of the Joker. Batman and the rest of his birds were increasingly wary of the Wraith and his two new associates that went by Phantom and Specter. No footage on the three could ever be recovered, making them all assume this was the work of a meta.

Most of them weren't sure if this guy was a threat or not. Red Hood, on the other hand, had a fairly positive opinion on the guy who's been hanging traffickers by their legs and immediately staking their claim on the kid to keep them safe.

The new crime lord was slowly dismantling the criminal underworld and building it back up to their design.

"FUCKING HELL!" Dick glared at the screen again, "That's Wraith's doing, isn't it? No way did the Riddler blow up that building."

"Wraith's only been dealing with traffickers so far. Why would he do this?" Steph murmurs, staring at the recording of a building that had suddenly went off. Numerous were dead, some barely survived.

"That's the motherfucker's symbol." Dick pointed to the glowing green symbol that looked liked a fire with some obscure letter they couldn't really make out. (Was it a D or a P?)

"Okay... Why would Wraith blow up a building and kill everyone?" Jason immediately asked, seeming to be defensive of the man. "He doesn't just kill people, Dick."

"Even so..." Bruce grunts, clearly displeased with the bloodshed. All that death...

"We're going after him." Bruce announced, "I'm not putting of the Wraith investigation anymore."

Dan stared at the pictures of the bodies, pudding out smoke without a cigarette in sight. His new minions—they preferred the term goons—were clearly apprehensive and continued to observe their new boss's expressions. This explosion had been his first act of pure and utter violence, a massacre of sorts.

He glances at Danny who melted out of the shadows, startling his goons.

"Can't say I'm not upset but I get why you did that shit." He begrudgingly admits, sitting across Dan. Phantom was a reluctant associate to his new organization of crime—ish.

"They weren't just trafficking kids, squirt. Pimping them, killing them and selling their organs, hosting matches and making meta kids fight to the fucking death." Dan clicked his tongue, "No redemption in that, Phantom."

"I get it, alright!" Danny snapped, "But the you've gotten the direct attention of the Bats now. They're gonna come for us, Wraith."

"Boss?" One of the goons—Dan remembers him as Jeremy Nelson. One guy just trying to support himself and his kid, trying to keep his sweet little daughter in school with as much money as he could get. Dan remembers giving the man a raise and a jacket with their family's symbol stitched into it—one for little Marigold.

"I'll deal with it. For now, you guys spread the word on that shit. I don't want anyone thinking I killed a bunch of kids." Dan growled, "My reputation can burn for all care, but like hell am I letting people think I hurt kids."

With Jeremy leading the other goons, he nodded and hurried out of the office to spread a word. The former Joker goons had taken a liking to their new boss, preferring his ways rather than their dead one.

"Jazz won't like this, y'know." Danny sighs, "I'm not gonna tell her. Never. But she'll find out, one way or another."

Dan frowns, "You think I don't know? It's Jazz, Danny."

"Yeah, yeah. I just didn't expect you to be like this. Crime Lord and everything."

Dan snorts, "I was the world ender, brat. This is mild compared to what I've done."

"Yeah, sure."

He shook his head, "You've got your own problems, brat. The Observants are still fussin' about you being king, your majesty."

An identical scowl looks back at Dan, and he's reminded that this kid is him. An alternate version of himself and yet they were brothers now. "I know. You killing the Joker fucked some stuff up. Apparently, the motherfucker was cursed to hell."

"Meaning?"

"He's got a lifetime of people in his shadow. Vengefu souls that want him dead." Danny huffs, "Had to deal with the paperwork cause everyone's wantin' a taste of him. I'm workin' on letting Walker release him so his victims can execute his soul."

"Cruel, little king."

"I'll give you his file. Bastard deserves to have his soul destroyed." Danny viciously grins. And once again, best reminded that this twerp is him. They were one and the same, different as well.

"Alright, alright. Fuck off now. We've still got some bats and birds to deal with." Dan immediately showed him away, noting Danny's eye roll.

"Better prepare a birdcage then."

Part 2 | Masterlist

[timmydraker]

PART 2 OF CLONE BABY

Bruce: You need to tell the rest of the family, but mostly Dick.

Tim: why...?

Bruce, remembering how mad Dick got when he didn't tell him about Jason or literally any other kid: just trust me, it's not worth it

Tim: but I haven't told Kon yet *biggest pouty face ever made*

Bruce: Tim, he's still dead... isn't he?

Tim: I mean... for now.

Bruce:

Tim: FINE. Give her back to me then.

Bruce: ... five more minutes?

*Later:*

Dick: Hey guys, what was so important I had to get here so quick? Is everyone okay? Did someone... y'know?

Bruce: Opposite, actually.

Tim: I had a baby

Dick: you fucking what.

Tim: I had baby.

Tim: lil bubba

Tim: I made it myself :)

Tim, holding up his baby girl: see!

Dick, rapidly going through several emotions at once before letting out such a high pitched squeal that Clark Kent breaks a mug out of shock: A BABY!!!

Tim: a baby!

Bruce: a baby...

Damian, who had come out of his room as soon as he saw that Dick had gotten to the house via his trackers: a baby?

Tim: not for you, go away

Bruce: Tim.

Tim: what? She may have been a scientific miscalculation but she is mine and I will not risk her being stabbed by your miscalculation baby.

Damian: what did you just call me?!

Tim: you heard me!

The baby stirring and whining:

Tim: shhh, it's okay little one. Did Damian's shouting upset you? That's very mean of him, isn't it? It's okay, it's okay

Dick: omg im an uncle

Tim: yes you are!

Dick: and who's the mother?

Tim: 1 am.

Dick: oh... okay, then who's the dad?

Tim, in all seriousness: Kon.

Dick, naturally assuming Kon came back to life like people do all the time: oh, he's back?

Bruce, making a silencing motion:

Tim, trying not to cry: not yet...

Damian: I am confused, why does Drake have a child?

Bruce: he was trying to clone his dead best friend and accidentally mixed his DNA with one of the subjects and made a clone hybrid baby.

Dick: more like dead situationship but okay

Damian: oh, like my brother but an acciden

Bruce: your WHAT?

Tim: yeah! But she's going to grow up like a normal human/kryptonian clone baby and not in like a week.

Damian: very well, I will craft some training weapons for her so she can at least have a chance fitting into this family.

Tim: no the fuck you will not Tim: I mean fudge

Damian: she will also grow up without a father apparently.

Tim: oh like Slade is a better option? And also, so did you???

Damian: beside the point. This baby will be too much like its parents, you are better to let someone else raise her so she won't be a blubbering fool.

Tim: BLUBBERING FOOL?!

Dick: hold on, go back-

Bruce: so l don't have a second blood son?

Damian: and anyway, you can hardly be a n when you practically weren't raised at all, 1 other hand was raised by an exceptional woman-

Damian: and anyway, you can hardly be a mother when you practically weren't raised at all, I on the other hand was raised by an exceptional woman-

Tim: oh HELL no

Tim: first of all, my parents have nothing to do with how I myself will parent! I will be everything in wanted to have and I will not let my baby girl feel unloved for a single second of her life, thank you very much.

Tim: secondly, you're saying that Taliah is a good role model for parenting? When was the last time you spoke to her that didn't involve her using your or Bruce for your granddaddy? Huh?

Damian: ...

Tim: that's what I thought.

Bruce: maybe we should calm-

Tim: and anyway, now that I'm a mother I understand a lot more and I'm not letting you raise my kid because you are a kid, Damian. I know your almost fifteen but that doesn't change the fact that you have Child Developmental Syndrome as well as severe CPTSD and deserve to be carefree and not hold as many responsibilities as some people, *glares at Bruce* seem to think is okay!

Tim: so, no, you can't take my baby but you can be in her life because while I still kind of hate you and think you should suffer for trying to kill me and cutting my line, I can truely see now that you are a baby yourself.

Tim: now, who is going to help me pick out a paint for the nursery l'm making at my apartment?

Damian: ...

Bruce: ...

Dick, who has been slowly inching forward to try hold the baby: ...

Damian, still seething but also a little... honoured?: may I suggest the colour China Rose?

It will go well with the rest of your apartment.

Tim, smiling happily and rocking his baby: good idea!

Tim: Dick, you can hold her while I find Alfred.

Dick: oh thank god, gimme, gimme, gimme, oh hi baby!!! Oh, just look at those chubby wittle cheekies~! Aren't you the most precious wittle thing? Yes you are! You are! Awww!!

Bruce: I forgot to ask, do you have a name?

Tim: oh yeah... that's a thing

Dick and Bruce, integrally: *He is not going to be able to do this alone.*

ーーーーー

QUESTION: what should the baby be called?????

Also wonder how long it will take to end up on

TikTok lol

[pucksandpower]

The Interview

Max Verstappen x journalism student!Reader

Summary: when you are given an assignment to interview someone, you can’t resist asking your boyfriend to be the subject … it’s just a shame that your professor doesn’t believe the interview actually happened

The classroom smells faintly of old books and freshly printed handouts as you sit in your usual spot, third row from the front, slightly to the left. The room is slowly emptying out, the hum of post-class chatter gradually fading as students make their way out into the hallway. You’re gathering your things, sliding your notebook into your bag, when you hear Professor Carter clear his throat.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone firm but not loud. “Could you stay behind for a moment?”

You pause, your hand gripping the strap of your bag. His voice isn’t one that invites argument, and you’re already running through the possibilities of what this could be about. Your mind flickers to your most recent assignment — the interview with Max. The nerves you’ve been trying to suppress all week twist in your stomach.

You watch as the last few students shuffle out, closing the door behind them. Professor Carter leans back in his chair, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he flips through a stack of papers. His desk is a mess, as usual — books stacked haphazardly, coffee stains on nearly every surface, but his eyes are sharp when they finally meet yours.

“So,” he begins, tapping a finger on the paper in front of him. “Your latest assignment. The interview.”

You nod slowly, trying to gauge his mood. “Yes, sir.”

He holds up the paper, and you can see your neat handwriting sprawled across the page. “You interviewed Max Verstappen.”

It’s not a question, but you nod again anyway. “Yes.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Tell me, Y/N, how exactly did you manage that?”

Your heart skips a beat. You knew this might happen — knew that choosing Max, of all people, might raise some eyebrows. But you hadn’t expected it to be this ... confrontational. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Well, I’ve known Max for a while,” you say, carefully choosing your words. “I asked him if he’d be willing to help me with the assignment, and he agreed.”

Professor Carter leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Known him for a while, you say?”

“Yes,” you reply, trying not to sound defensive. “We’ve been ... friends.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Friends.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you stiffen. You know what he’s implying — he doesn’t believe you. You fight the urge to fidget under his gaze, forcing yourself to stay calm.

“Professor,” you start, choosing your words carefully, “I understand that it might seem unlikely, but I assure you, the interview was real. I can-”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “Y/N, let’s be honest here. You’re a student at the University of Sheffield. Not exactly the kind of place where one casually befriends a Formula 1 driver.”

Your stomach twists tighter. “I’m not lying,” you say, a little more forcefully than you intended. “Max and I-”

“Enough,” he says, his voice rising slightly. He sets your paper down on the desk, his fingers drumming against the wood. “If you’re going to fabricate an interview, at least make it believable. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, you know. Students who get desperate, who think that stretching the truth — or outright inventing it — will get them the grade they want.”

You stare at him, disbelief coursing through you. “I didn’t fabricate anything,” you insist. “I really interviewed him.”

Professor Carter’s expression doesn’t change. “Then prove it.”

You blink. “Prove it?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “Show me some kind of proof that this interview actually happened. Otherwise, I’m going to have to give you a zero for academic dishonesty.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. A zero. That would tank your grade — maybe even your entire semester. But the worst part is that he’s asking for proof you can’t provide, not without exposing the relationship you’ve been so careful to keep private.

You hesitate, your mind racing. What do you do? Do you tell him the truth? Risk everything to save your grade? But the thought of Max — his need for privacy, the way you’ve both agreed to keep things quiet for now — weighs heavily on you. You can’t just throw that away. Not for this.

You swallow hard. “I ... I can’t.”

Professor Carter’s eyes narrow. “You can’t?”

“I mean, I can’t give you proof,” you clarify, your voice wavering slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Y/N, you’re a smart student. You should know that in journalism, credibility is everything. Without proof, your story doesn’t hold up.”

You bite your lip, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I’m telling you the truth. I did interview him. Just because I can’t show you proof doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“And just because you say it did happen doesn’t mean it did,” he counters, his tone cool. He taps the paper again, a final, dismissive gesture. “I’m sorry, but unless you can provide evidence, I have no choice but to give you a zero.”

You’re stunned into silence, your mind reeling. You can’t believe this is happening. It feels unfair, like you’re being backed into a corner with no way out.

“Professor Carter,” you try again, your voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Please. I’m not lying. I wouldn’t risk my grade like this if it wasn’t true.”

He regards you for a moment, and for a split second, you think he might relent. But then he shakes his head, resolute. “I’m sorry, Y/N. My decision stands.”

The weight of his words presses down on you, and you feel a sharp sting behind your eyes. You blink rapidly, determined not to let him see you cry. This is supposed to be a professional conversation, and you won’t let your emotions get the better of you.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I understand,” you say, though your voice is tight. “Thank you for your time.”

He nods curtly, already turning his attention back to the stack of papers on his desk, dismissing you without another word. You force yourself to walk out of the classroom with your head held high, even though every step feels heavier than the last.

When you finally make it out into the hallway, the reality of the situation hits you full force. You lean against the wall, your bag slipping off your shoulder as you press the heels of your hands to your eyes, willing yourself to keep it together. You can’t believe this is happening. A zero. All because you refused to betray Max’s trust.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out with trembling fingers. It’s a message from Max.

Hey, just finished training. Want to grab dinner later?

You stare at the screen, a lump forming in your throat. How do you even begin to explain this to him? Do you tell him everything? Or do you keep it to yourself, like you’ve been doing for the past year?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, the words you want to say tangled up in your mind. Finally, you type a simple response.

Yeah. Let’s meet at our usual spot.

As you hit send, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. You’ll figure this out. Somehow. You have to.

***

The restaurant is quieter than usual, the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware blending into a muted backdrop. You sit across from Max in your usual booth by the window, the warm glow of candlelight casting soft shadows on his face.

He’s already ordered for both of you, the way he always does when he gets here before you. It’s a small thing, but it makes you smile — a reminder of how well he knows you, your likes and dislikes, the little details that make up your routine.

But tonight, the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You can feel the weight of what happened earlier pressing down on you, a knot of tension in your chest that you can’t seem to shake. Max is talking about his day — something about the latest adjustments they’ve made to the car — but the words are barely registering. You nod along, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting back to the conversation with Professor Carter, the way he looked at you, the disbelief in his voice.

“Hey,” Max’s voice cuts through your thoughts, gentle but insistent. “You okay?”

You blink, realizing you’ve been staring at your untouched glass of water for the past minute. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just ... tired.”

Max studies you for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. He’s not convinced, you can tell. But he doesn’t push, not yet. Instead, he leans back in his seat, taking a sip of his drink. “Long day, huh?”

“Something like that,” you murmur, picking up your fork and poking at the salad in front of you. You’re not really hungry, but you force yourself to take a bite, if only to keep your hands busy. The last thing you want is for Max to start asking questions. You know him too well — he’ll find a way to make this his fault, even though it’s not. And you can’t handle that right now, not on top of everything else.

Max is still watching you, though, and you can feel the weight of his gaze. He’s always been able to read you like a book, and tonight is no different. After a few more moments of silence, he sets his glass down with a soft clink.

“You’re doing that thing,” he says, his voice carefully neutral.

You glance up at him, confused. “What thing?”

“That thing where you say you’re fine, but you’re not.” His tone is gentle, but there’s a firmness underneath it. He’s not going to let this go. “Come on, what’s going on? Did something happen today?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly drop your gaze back to your plate. “No, nothing happened,” you lie, trying to sound casual. “It’s just been a long week, that’s all.”

“Right.” He doesn’t sound convinced, and you can feel his eyes on you, searching for cracks in the facade. “Because you’re always this quiet when nothing’s wrong.”

You sigh, pushing the lettuce around your plate. “Max, I’m fine. Really.”

There’s a pause, and then you hear him exhale softly, like he’s trying to be patient. “You know, you’re a terrible liar.”

Your stomach twists at his words, but you keep your eyes on your plate. You know he’s right — you’ve never been good at hiding things from him. But this ... this is different. You can’t just blurt it out, can’t just tell him what happened without worrying about how he’ll react. He’ll get upset, maybe even angry, and he’ll blame himself for something that isn’t his fault.

“Just ... drop it, okay?” You say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Max’s expression softens, but the concern doesn’t leave his eyes. “Y/N,” he says gently, leaning forward. “If something’s bothering you, I want to help. You don’t have to deal with it on your own.”

You shake your head, still not meeting his gaze. “It’s nothing you can help with.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Max’s hand is on yours, warm and solid, grounding you in the moment. “Let me decide that,” he says quietly. “Please.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks you, but you bite down on the words that are clawing at the back of your throat. You can’t do this, not here, not now. So instead, you pull your hand away gently, offering him a small smile.

“Really, Max, it’s fine,” you say, trying to sound reassuring. “Let’s just enjoy dinner, okay?”

He hesitates, clearly torn between wanting to respect your wishes and wanting to press for answers. But eventually, he nods, though the worry doesn’t leave his eyes. “Okay. But if you change your mind ...”

“I know,” you say softly. “Thank you.”

You both lapse into silence after that, the conversation stilted and awkward. You try to focus on the food, on the comfortable routine you’ve built together, but the knot in your chest only tightens with every passing minute. You hate this — hate that you’re keeping something from him, hate that you’re letting it affect your time together. But you don’t know what else to do.

It’s Max who finally breaks the silence, setting his fork down with a sigh. “You know, I’m not very good at this.”

You look up at him, frowning. “At what?”

He gestures between the two of you. “At ... whatever this is. The whole ‘let’s pretend nothing’s wrong’ thing. It’s not really my style.”

You can’t help but smile at that, despite everything. “I know.”

“So why are we doing it?” He asks, his tone gentle but probing. “Why are you pretending that everything’s fine when it’s clearly not?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Because ... I don’t want to ruin dinner?”

Max’s lips quirk into a half-smile, but there’s no humor in his eyes. “Dinner’s already ruined if you’re not happy.”

The words hang between you, heavy and honest, and you feel the walls you’ve been trying to keep up start to crumble. You take a deep breath, feeling the tightness in your chest loosen just a fraction. Maybe ... maybe it’s time to tell him. Maybe he deserves to know.

“Okay,” you say quietly, setting your fork down. “But ... promise me you won’t get mad.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Mad? Why would I get mad?”

“Just promise.”

He sighs, nodding. “Okay. I promise.”

You take another deep breath, steeling yourself. “It’s about my journalism assignment. The one where I interviewed you.”

Max nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

“So ... my professor — Professor Carter — he, um ... he thinks I faked it.”

Max’s expression darkens immediately, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What? Why would he think that?”

You shrug, trying to keep your voice steady. “Because ... well, because he doesn’t believe that I actually know you. He thinks I made the whole thing up to get a good grade.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Max says, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. “Why would he assume that?”

“Because I’m just a student at Sheffield,” you explain, your words tumbling out faster now. “And you’re ... well, you. He doesn’t think someone like me could actually know someone like you.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and you can see the anger simmering beneath the surface. “That’s-” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. “What did he say?”

“He said ... he said he’s giving me a zero for academic dishonesty unless I can prove that the interview was real.”

Max’s eyes widen in shock. “A zero?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Max sits back in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s insane. You shouldn’t be penalized for telling the truth. Did you explain to him that we’re ... you know ...”

You shake your head quickly. “No, I didn’t tell him about us. I didn’t want to ... I mean, we’ve been keeping things private for a reason, right? I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

Max frowns, his frustration evident. “Y/N, you shouldn’t have to choose between protecting our privacy and your education. That’s not fair.”

“I know,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t want you to feel guilty. I know you would have found a way to blame yourself for this.”

Max looks at you, his expression softening. “I don’t want you to suffer because of me,” he says quietly. “I’d rather the whole world knew about us than have you lose out on your grades.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault, Max. I made the decision to keep things quiet, too. I don’t regret it.”

“But now you’re paying the price,” he mutters, frustration lacing his tone.

You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours. “We both knew there would be challenges. We’ll figure this out.”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just hate that this is happening to you. If I could talk to your professor-”

“No,” you cut in firmly. “I don’t want you getting involved. That would just make things worse.”

Max frowns, clearly unhappy with your decision, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks down at your joined hands, his thumb still tracing soft circles over your skin. “But what are you going to do?” He asks quietly.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I’ll figure it out. Maybe I can talk to him again, try to convince him without bringing you into it.”

Max shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “It’s not right, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to prove yourself like this.”

“I know,” you say, your voice soft but resolute. “But I don’t want to drag you into it. We’ve worked so hard to keep our relationship private, and I don’t want this to be the thing that changes that.”

Max looks at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Finally, he sighs, squeezing your hand one last time before letting go. “Okay. I’ll respect your decision. But if it gets worse, if he keeps pushing ...”

“I’ll let you know,” you promise, trying to offer him a reassuring smile. “But for now, let’s just try to enjoy dinner, okay?”

Max nods, though the tension in his shoulders doesn’t quite ease. “Okay,” he agrees, though there’s a note of reluctance in his voice.

You both lapse into a more comfortable silence after that, the conversation slowly returning to more familiar, lighter topics. But even as you talk about other things, you can feel the weight of the situation lingering between you. Max’s concern is palpable, and you know he’s still thinking about it, even if he’s trying not to show it.

But for now, you’re both doing your best to push it aside, to focus on the time you have together. You know you’ll have to deal with the situation with Professor Carter eventually, but for tonight, you’re content to just be here with Max, to enjoy the quiet moments that are yours alone.

No matter what happens, you’ll figure it out together.

***

Professor Carter’s classroom is as stifling as ever, the air thick with the scent of old books and the faint smell of chalk dust. You’re sitting in your usual spot near the back, trying to focus on the lecture. But it’s impossible to concentrate. Every time Professor Carter glances in your direction, your stomach twists with anxiety. The weight of his accusation still hangs over you, and you can’t shake the feeling that everyone in the room knows what happened, that they’re all silently judging you.

Your notebook lies open in front of you, but the words on the page blur together. You can barely pay attention to the lecture, your mind constantly drifting back to the conversation with Max. You told him you’d handle this on your own, but now, sitting here under Professor Carter’s scrutinizing gaze, you’re starting to doubt yourself. What if you can’t convince him? What if you really do end up with a zero on the assignment?

As if sensing your distress, Professor Carter pauses mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he looks in your direction. “Miss Y/L/N, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” He asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You snap out of your thoughts, your heart racing. “No, sir,” you mumble, trying to shrink into your seat.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your response. “Then I suggest you pay attention. This material will be on the final exam, and I’d hate for you to miss out on any more important details.”

There’s a smattering of laughter from your classmates, and you feel your face flush with embarrassment. You nod quickly, your fingers tightening around your pen. “Yes, sir,” you say quietly.

Professor Carter smirks, clearly pleased with himself, and turns back to the board. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. But just as you’re about to refocus on the lecture, the door to the classroom swings open.

Every head in the room turns to look at the sudden interruption, and you feel your heart stop when you see who’s standing in the doorway.

Max.

He’s dressed casually, in a black T-shirt and jeans, but there’s no mistaking who he is. The entire room goes silent, the air thick with shock and disbelief. You can see the recognition in your classmates’ eyes, the way they start whispering to each other, nudging each other and pointing in his direction.

Max strides into the room with the kind of confidence that only he possesses, his gaze scanning the room until it lands on you. His expression softens for a moment when he sees you, but then he turns his attention to Professor Carter, who is staring at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Can I help you?” Professor Carter asks, his voice sharp, though there’s a note of uncertainty beneath it.

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, actually, you can,” he says, his tone polite but firm. “I’m here about Y/N’s assignment.”

Professor Carter’s eyes widen slightly, and you can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to piece together what’s happening. “I’m sorry, but this is a private class,” he says, his tone regaining its usual authority. “If you have concerns about a student’s work, you can schedule a meeting during my office hours.”

Max crosses his arms over his chest, unfazed. “I think we can sort this out right here.”

You feel a mix of panic and gratitude welling up inside you. You didn’t want Max to get involved, but now that he’s here, you can’t deny the relief that floods through you. He’s taking a stand for you, and you can see that he’s not going to back down.

Professor Carter, on the other hand, looks like he’s trying to maintain his composure, but there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “Max Verstappen, I presume?” He says, his tone clipped.

Max nods. “That’s right. And I’m here to prove that Y/N didn’t fake her interview with me.”

There’s a collective gasp from the students, and you can feel the tension in the room spike. All eyes are on Max now, and you can see the shock on your classmates’ faces as they realize what’s happening. Professor Carter, however, doesn’t seem impressed.

“I see,” he says slowly, his gaze flicking to you for a moment before returning to Max. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Max’s expression hardens, and you can see the determination in his eyes. “Simple. I’m here, aren’t I? She couldn’t have faked an interview with me if I’m standing right here.”

The room falls silent again, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. Professor Carter opens his mouth to respond, but for a moment, no words come out. It’s clear that he wasn’t expecting this. He was so sure of himself, so confident that you couldn’t possibly know someone like Max Verstappen. And now, here Max is, standing in front of him, making him eat his words.

“I ... appreciate your enthusiasm,” Professor Carter finally says, though his voice lacks its usual bite. “But this doesn’t prove anything. For all I know, you could be here out of some misguided attempt to protect her.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and you can see the frustration building in his eyes. “You think I would waste my time lying for someone? If she didn’t do the interview, I wouldn’t be here.”

Professor Carter’s gaze shifts to you, and you can see the doubt still lingering in his eyes. “Miss Y/L/N, I told you that if you could provide proof, I would reconsider your grade. But this ...” He gestures to Max. “This isn’t exactly the kind of proof I had in mind.”

You feel a surge of anger rising within you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re standing up, your voice trembling but firm. “What more proof do you need? He’s here, in front of the entire class. He’s telling you the interview was real. What else do I have to do to make you believe me?”

The room falls silent again, and you can see the shock on your classmates’ faces as they watch you stand up to Professor Carter. He looks taken aback, his usual smug expression faltering as he stares at you.

For a moment, no one speaks. Then, Max steps forward, his voice calm but filled with conviction. “Look, Professor, I get that this might be hard to believe. But Y/N isn’t lying. She interviewed me, and she did a damn good job, too. If you don’t believe me, you can check with my team. They’ll confirm it.”

Professor Carter hesitates, clearly torn between maintaining his authority and acknowledging the reality in front of him. He glances around the room, seeing the way his students are hanging on every word, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

Finally, he exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Verstappen. But I expect Miss Y/L/N to submit any additional documentation that can verify this interview. Understood?”

You nod quickly, relief flooding through you. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Professor Carter waves his hand dismissively, clearly eager to move on. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to continue with the lesson.”

Max glances at you, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips. “I’ll wait outside,” he murmurs, and with one last look at Professor Carter, he turns and walks out of the classroom.

As the door closes behind him, you sink back into your seat, your heart still racing. The tension in the room starts to dissipate, and you can feel the curious stares of your classmates on you, but for the first time since this whole ordeal began, you feel a sense of calm. Max believed in you enough to do this, to stand up for you, and that’s all that matters.

Professor Carter clears his throat, trying to regain control of the room. “Alright, everyone, back to the lesson. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

You open your notebook again, but this time, the words on the page seem clearer, more focused. You can do this. You’ve got this. And no matter what happens next, you know you’re not alone.

***

When you step out of the building, the late afternoon sun is warm on your face, but you barely notice it. The adrenaline from the confrontation in class is still coursing through your veins, and all you can think about is getting out of here, away from the stares and whispers that followed you as you left the room.

You spot him immediately.

Max is leaning against his car, casually checking his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But you can see the way his shoulders tense when he catches sight of you, the way his eyes soften when they meet yours.

The sleek black car gleams in the sunlight, and you can’t help but notice the way people are staring, some pointing, others whispering to each other. Max Verstappen waiting outside a university lecture hall is not something anyone expected to see today.

You make your way over to him, trying to ignore the attention and the pounding of your heart. You had told him not to do this, told him you’d handle it on your own. And yet, here he is, right in the middle of everything, like he promised he wouldn’t be.

“Hey,” Max says casually, slipping his phone into his pocket as you approach. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, like he’s waiting for your reaction.

You stop in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You promised me you wouldn’t get involved,” you say, your voice tight.

Max raises an eyebrow, looking entirely too calm for your liking. “I said I’d respect your decision. And I did — until I realized your professor is a jerk who needed to be put in his place.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to maintain your anger, but it’s difficult when he’s standing there looking so smug, so unbothered by the situation. “That’s not the point, Max. You went behind my back.”

He tilts his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Did I, though? Because I seem to remember you didn’t explicitly tell me not to.”

You huff in frustration, knowing he’s right but refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Max shrugs, unbothered by your accusation. “Maybe. But I’m also right.”

You want to stay mad. You really do. But the way he’s looking at you, with that infuriating mix of confidence and affection, makes it impossible. You try to hold on to your irritation, try to keep the scowl on your face, but you can feel it slipping away.

Max must see it, too, because he steps closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. “No, you’re not.”

You look away, trying to maintain your resolve, but Max reaches out, gently turning your face back to him. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and you can’t help but lean into his touch, your anger melting away as quickly as it came.

“Stop trying to be cute,” you mumble, though your voice lacks any real bite.

Max grins, clearly enjoying this. “I can’t help it. It’s just who I am.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile that tugs at your lips betrays you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you still love me,” Max counters, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can say anything, Max leans down and presses his lips to yours, effectively cutting off any protest you might have had. The kiss is soft, gentle, but there’s an undeniable intensity behind it, a promise that he’ll always be there, even when you tell him not to be.

For a moment, you forget where you are, forget about the stares and the whispers, the anxiety that had been gnawing at you all day. All that matters is the feel of Max’s lips on yours, the way his hand cradles the back of your head, anchoring you to him.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your heart racing for a completely different reason now. Max looks down at you, his eyes dark with affection, and you can’t help but smile up at him, any remnants of anger long gone.

“Okay, fine,” you admit, still slightly dazed from the kiss. “Maybe I’m not that mad.”

Max chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before pulling back completely. “I knew it.”

You shake your head, but there’s no real frustration behind it anymore. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “I know.”

You glance around, noticing the continued stares from the students passing by. You sigh, knowing this moment of privacy is short-lived. “We should probably get out of here before someone decides to take a picture.”

Max follows your gaze, nodding in agreement. “Good idea. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He opens the passenger door for you, and you slide into the car, trying to ignore the curious eyes still on you. Max walks around to the driver’s side, getting in and starting the engine. As the car purrs to life, he reaches over, taking your hand in his again.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, his tone more serious now, the teasing edge gone.

You nod, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m okay. Thanks for being there, even if I didn’t ask for it.”

Max smiles softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You don’t have to ask. I’ll always be there for you.”

And just like that, the tension that had been weighing on you all day finally eases. You know things aren’t completely resolved with Professor Carter, but right now, with Max beside you, it doesn’t seem as daunting. You’ll figure it out — together.

***

The classroom buzzes with the usual energy as students shuffle into their seats, chatting with friends or tapping away on their phones. It’s a typical day, but there’s a different kind of tension in the air. Today, Professor Carter is returning the results of the investigative journalism assignments, and no one is quite sure what to expect.

You settle into your usual spot near the back, trying to shake off the nerves. It’s been a few months since the whole incident with Max interrupting your class, and while things have calmed down somewhat, Professor Carter’s stern demeanor hasn’t wavered. You still catch him eyeing you from time to time, as if he’s waiting for you to slip up.

The door slams shut as Professor Carter strides in, a stack of papers in hand. The chatter in the room dies down instantly. He’s never been one for small talk or pleasantries, and today is no different. He doesn’t bother with a greeting, just dives straight into it.

“Good afternoon,” he says curtly, his voice slicing through the silence. “As you know, today I’ll be discussing the assignments you all turned in. Some of you excelled, others … less so.”

You swallow hard, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. You did everything you could to make your article stand out, but now that the moment of judgment is here, doubt begins to creep in.

Professor Carter begins pacing the front of the room, flipping through the stack of papers as he speaks. “Several of you chose topics that were predictable but handled them with enough depth to warrant commendation. For example, Miss Klein tackled the opioid crisis in rural England — an important and underreported subject.” He glances up at a blonde girl in the front row, who nods in acknowledgment, her cheeks flushing slightly at the attention.

“Then we have Mr. Patel,” Professor Carter continues, stopping briefly to peer down at a lanky guy two rows in front of you. “Your examination of government surveillance policies in urban areas was thorough, albeit a bit heavy on the technical jargon. But it’s clear you put in the work.”

You watch as Professor Carter moves on to the next paper, calling out names and offering critiques with the same detached professionalism. The topics range from environmental justice issues to the economic implications of Brexit — serious, weighty subjects that demand rigorous analysis. The longer he speaks, the more you feel the sinking sensation in your stomach. Your topic, in comparison, feels like a joke. An entertaining joke, sure, but still …

And then he pauses.

Professor Carter reaches the last paper in the stack, and his expression falters for a moment before he collects himself. He clears his throat and addresses the room, his voice taking on a more formal tone.

“And then we come to one particular assignment,” he begins, his gaze sweeping across the room before landing squarely on you. You freeze, every nerve ending on high alert. “An assignment that, while unconventional in its subject matter, demonstrated an impressive level of dedication and — dare I say — ingenuity.”

A ripple of whispers spreads through the room. You feel the heat of a dozen eyes on you but keep your gaze firmly on Professor Carter. His words are oddly measured, as if he’s trying to make sense of them himself.

He raises the paper in his hand slightly, glancing at it before looking back at the class. “Miss Y/L/N,” he addresses you directly, causing all the whispers to stop. “Your decision to investigate whether or not Toto Wolff, the team principal of Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 Team, dyes his hair … was certainly unexpected.”

You hear a few muffled snickers, but you keep your face neutral, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“However,” Professor Carter continues, raising his voice slightly to silence the snickers, “the lengths you went to in pursuit of the truth were nothing short of remarkable. Going through Mercedes' trash? That shows initiative. Questionable ethics, perhaps, but initiative nonetheless.”

There’s a stunned silence in the room. You feel the urge to either laugh or shrink under your desk. You aren’t sure which. Instead, you nod slightly, acknowledging his words without letting the grin you’re fighting show.

Professor Carter takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say next. “In a field where skepticism is necessary, and where finding the truth often requires unorthodox methods, your work stood out. So much so that I found myself contemplating the absurdity of the situation. Here I am, reading about a billionaire’s grooming habits as though it were a matter of national importance.”

This time, the laughter from the class isn’t stifled. It rings out freely, and you feel your own lips twitch despite yourself.

“But,” Professor Carter interjects, silencing the room once more, “that is precisely the point of investigative journalism, isn’t it? To find the story others overlook, to dig deeper, even when the subject seems trivial. Miss Y/L/N, your article was, in its own way, insightful. You followed the evidence, and you made your case with conviction.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at you. “Though I must say, I’m not entirely convinced that your methods were ... strictly ethical. Dumpster diving isn’t exactly taught in this classroom.”

You finally allow yourself a small, nervous laugh, shrugging lightly in response. “All in the name of journalism, right?”

Professor Carter lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “I suppose so. Regardless, your paper has made an impact — certainly more than I anticipated.”

He drops your paper onto his desk and addresses the class one last time. “Let this be a lesson to all of you. Journalism isn’t always about the grand topics. Sometimes, the most interesting stories come from the strangest places. I encourage you all to think outside the box.”

With that, he begins handing back the assignments, and the classroom slowly returns to its usual rhythm. Conversations pick up again, but this time, they’re punctuated by curious glances and nods in your direction. You try to focus on the papers being passed down your row, but your thoughts are still stuck on Professor Carter’s words.

When your paper finally lands in front of you, you can’t resist flipping through it. There, scrawled in red ink at the top of the page, is your grade — a solid A. Next to it, Professor Carter has written a brief note: Keep pushing boundaries, but remember — ethics matter.

You smile to yourself, feeling a mix of relief and pride. The assignment had been a gamble, but it paid off in the end. And while the ethical considerations may have been a little murky, you can’t deny that the thrill of the chase had been worth it.

As class ends and students begin to file out, a few stop by your desk, offering congratulations or asking for details about how you managed to pull it off. You answer their questions with a grin, reliving the absurdity of your investigative methods. And though it feels surreal, you can’t help but feel a sense of validation.

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Professor Carter catches your eye and nods in your direction, a rare hint of approval in his usually stern expression. You nod back, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between the two of you.

Stepping out of the classroom, you feel lighter than you have in weeks. The whispers and glances no longer bother you. Instead, they serve as a reminder that you’ve proven yourself, in your own way.

And as you walk through the corridors of the university, you can’t help but think about what Max will say when you tell him about today. Knowing him, he’ll probably tease you about your methods, but you also know he’ll be proud — just as you are.

Because sometimes, in journalism and in life, it’s the unconventional stories that make the biggest impact.

[alice-angel12x]

The complicated heart

I want some Angst so here is some Pure Vanilla x Y/n knight cookie. Also pt.1 of overall fanfic story.... I guess. (Blue Knight)

Part 2 -> this way

This is the last thing Y/n Cookie wants to wake up to? Especially on the first night when the two of them share a bed together. They could only silently stare at Pure Vanilla's sleeping form. He is a bit of a sleep talker.

That one sentence fills Y/n's mind with so many questions. From "Is that what he really feels? If he still feels that way, why is he with me? I can never measure up to someone like her."

Suddenly, sharing this space didn't feel right. Y/n slowly tries to wiggle out of the entanglement of Pure vanilla's arms. Only for him to cuddle closer to them, clinging onto them. With a sigh, they twist and turn, eventually escaping Pure Vanilla's grip. Y/n quickly replaced themselves with a pillow in his arms.

Y/n could feel their heart twist in their chest as they decided to sleep on the couch in Pure Vanilla's chambers. As emotions run high inside Y/n, they do their best to suppress them with logic.

'Of course. Those two have been friends since the beginning. '

Y/n thought to themselves, but it did little to hold back tears and the ache in their chests. They shut their eyes and tried to sleep it off. Thankfully, morning couldn't come any quicker.

Pure vanilla woke up with a yawn as he slowly opened his eyes. Which widden in shock when he found himself alone on the bed. Jolting up his eyes search around his room, soon landing on a lone figure by the window.

"Y/n? Good morning." Pure vanilla smile as he walks over to them. "You're up early."

"Yeah," Y/n says, trying to put on their best smile. It's very weak.

"Are you alright, Y/n?" Pure vanilla asked as he gently wrapped his arms around them. Giving a light peck on their shoulder

Y/n was silent for a bit, contemplating what to say. They turned to face Pure Vanila and gently returned the hug.

"Can I be completely transparent with you?" They asked the ancient healer.

"Of course, love," Pure vanilla welcomes as he guides them to a chair.

So Y/n would tell Pure Vanilla what he said at night, and how it makes them nervous about where his heart truly lies. Eventually, the two sat in an awkward silence.

“So where does White Lily cookie place in your heart?" Y/n asked with a calm sorrow.

Pure vanilla opened his mouth to say something, but there was no sound. Y/n could already see the conflict in Vanilla's expression. Their heart wanted to shatter than and there, but sucking in a deep breath they put on a brave face.

"Seems you need some time to search your heart," Y/n sighs as they stand to leave.

"Y/n... Im sorry. After all this time, I thought I would be past this," Pure Vanilla apologized, gripping his knee in, shame? Sorrow perhaps.

"I mean... You two have been through almost everything together for hundreds of years. Childhood friends, schoolmates, and a close team of heroes, and you lived long lives together. Something like that won't be washed away with-," Y/n stops themselves. "I've only been with you for a year or two now.

"Don't say that. I loved the times we shared together," Pure Vanilla said as he stands to stop Y/n with a hug. "I don't know why the thought of White Lily came rushing to me like this. It's been happening for a few nights now."

"It's a sign prehaps. That you might see her soon," Y/n says with a sad smile.

"Do you think so? White Lily Cookie... Changed and became Dark entress Cookie. How would that be possible?" Pure vanilla asked with surprise.

"If she is like how you describe her, then I wouldn't put it past her to actually seek out the witches. And we have no idea which one she met, meaning anything could have happened," Y/n said, thinking deeply. "Tell me, along with your dream. Did anything else stand out to you?"

"Yes, a voice. It was calling out to me, to go to beast yeast," Pure vanilla said as he recalled his dream.

"Then you have your path. And if I'm not mistaken, Entranchress cookie has a strong hold there," Y/n said when suddenly images flash in their mind.

A Map, a shattered soul jam, fairy wings, a giant tree, and a bright light over beast yeast.

"Y/n? Y/n, did you think of something?" Pure vanilla asked.

"You... You might actually are being called. You must go quickly," Y/n said suddenly.

"Wha- Why so suddenly?" Pure vanilla asked in surprise.

"You might find who you're looking for there. I believe that white lily cookie might be there," Y/n said. " White Lily's soul is still out there."

As Y/n held his hands, they could see it. Hope and a bit of something else flash in Pure Vanilla's eyes.

"Thank You Y/n! I shall depart to Beast yeast," Pure Vanilla cookie thanked with a bright smile. "Wait for me, White Lily cookie."

Pure vanilla quickly leaves to prepare everything for this dangerous journey. Y/n stood there, trying to hold back tears.

'Don't cry, Y/n. He thought he had lost his friend and might see her again. Don't be selfish,' Y/n silently scolded themselves.

Days passed as Pure Vanilla spent all his time gathering all that he would need for such a journey. One day, from morning to noon, Y/n mindlessly wandered the streets when a familiar voice calls out to them.

"Y/n Knight Cookie!" Gingerbrave called out.

"Ah, Gingerbrave, strawberry Cookie, and wizard Cookie. How can I help you?" Y/n smiles warmly at the young cookies.

"Pure Vanilla cookie has asked us to accompany him to beast yeast, and we wanted to ask for you to come with us," Gingerbrave said.

"What?! Why Me?" Y/n asked nervesly.

"Beast yeast is a big unknown to us, so we need as many strong cookies to help," Wizard cookie explained.

"And we've seen you fight waffle bots by yourself. Your help would be appreciated," Strawberry Cookie said.

Y/n wanted to say no, but the three younger ones looked up to them with baby doll eyes. Crumbling their resolve to turn them down. The three practically dragged them to the airship.

"Gingerbrave! Everything is ready. did you find what you-" Pure vanilla pauses, surprised to see Y/n before him.

Another awkward silence falls between them. The ancient hero was a bit embarrassed after remembering how their last conversation went. Pure vanilla wanted to say something, but Y/n raised their hand.

"We have a friend to save, and that is more important right now," Y/n Cookie said a bit strenly.

Gingerbrave and co, could feel the strange tension. So they hurried onto the ship.

"Y/n cookie," Pure vanilla said softly.

"I am your knight and am ready to serve," Y/n kneeled, stoic.

They get up to walk onto the ship.

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

Part 2 out