#but his uneasiness is tethered to hers

[justplainmels]

“Well you do have a penchant for pulling brilliant ideas out of your butt.”

“I mean, sometimes you have a way of seeing things at…at their simplest.”

6.01 | Redemption Part 1

“Not that you’re an egghead…”

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part seven

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Seven - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

The road stretches out before us, a seemingly endless ribbon of asphalt cutting through the desolate landscape. The car, a beat-up old muscle car with a purring engine that speaks of too many miles and too many battles, rumbles beneath us. The seats are worn, their once-plush leather now cracked and faded, much like the people riding in them. The air inside is stale, carrying the faint scent of gasoline and sweat, mingled with the metallic tang of blood that seems to cling to everything we touch.

I lean back, my body sinking into the seat as I close my eyes, trying to find a moment of respite. The gentle vibration of the road beneath the tires lulls me into a light, uneasy doze. But it’s not enough—never enough—to ward off the nightmares that wait just beyond the veil of sleep. Images of my world, my friends, everything I’ve ever known, shattered and dying, claw at the edges of my consciousness. The sounds of their screams, the scent of burning flesh, it all lingers, just out of reach, waiting to pounce the moment I let my guard down.

When I open my eyes again, the car is still moving, the road still stretching endlessly ahead. The world outside is a blur, the trees we’ve been driving in continue on for ages, but I can tell we’re close. Inside, the only sound is the soft strains of music playing from the car’s ancient radio, a static-laced tune that feels like a ghost from a time long past. It’s quiet—too quiet—yet I cling to this moment of calm like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

“You enjoy your power nap, pumpkin?” Wade’s voice slices through the quiet, shattering the fragile peace I’d managed to find. The nickname, as ridiculous as it is, grates on my nerves. I groan, my eyes fluttering shut again, hoping to block him out.

“It was so peaceful before you opened your mouth,” I mumble, my voice thick with irritation. There’s a part of me that just wants to hold onto the silence, to bask in it a little longer before reality comes crashing back in.

Wade’s gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror, his expression playful, as if he’s completely oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface. “I don’t hear Logan complaining.” 

Logan, sitting stoically beside Wade, rolls his eyes. The subtle gesture, the way his knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel, tells me more than words ever could. I chuckle softly, a hollow sound that barely covers the unease gnawing at my insides. 

Then, as if he’s compelled to break the fragile truce, Wade blurts out, “Okay, I’m just gonna ask it. What’s with the suit?”

My gaze drifts to Logan, to the yellow X-Men suit he’s wearing. It’s a jarring sight, one that doesn’t fit the image I have of him—rugged, battle-worn, but never in something so bright, so out of place in this bleak world. The realization hits me hard: I’ve never seen him wear it before.

“The first thing I did when I flamed out, I took mine off,” Wade continues, his tone light, almost mocking, but there’s a sharpness beneath it that makes my skin prickle.

Logan’s response is immediate, his voice low and edged with warning. “Drop it.”

But Wade, relentless as ever, presses on. “It’s not that ugly.”

“Stop talking about the suit,” Logan snaps, his irritation growing palpable in the confined space of the car.

Wade, ever oblivious to danger or perhaps simply indifferent to it, persists. “Did you make it yourself? Been there.”

Logan’s tone darkens, a growl rumbling in his chest. “Quit now.”

But Wade doesn’t quit. He never does. “The X-Men make you wear it? Those sons of fucking bitches. They are not your friends, I’ll tell you that. Friends don’t let friends leave the house looking like they fight crime for the Los Angeles Rams.”

The words hang in the air, and I feel the tension coiling tighter, a noose around my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the mention of friends—our friends—who are no longer here, no longer anything but ghosts in a broken world.

“Shut the fuck up about the suit,” Logan’s voice is a razor, slicing through the air. It’s ice-cold, and for a moment, I flinch at the intensity of it.

Wade raises his hands in mock surrender, but there’s a seriousness to his tone that wasn’t there before. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Watch your frown lines, angel baby. I’m just trying to bond a little bit.”

“Yeah, well then talk about something else,” Logan’s patience is fraying, each word a thread pulled taut, ready to snap.

“Fine.” Wade’s voice shifts, losing its edge. “If they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out of here? Rubbing alcohol shots? Maybe a wiper fluid chaser?”

The word “If” lodges itself in my mind like a splinter, unraveling the fragile grip I have on my emotions. My ears start ringing, and suddenly, I’m not in the car anymore. The world blurs, and I see it—Wade, punching Logan in the face. The vision is jarring, disorienting, and then, just as quickly, I’m yanked back to the present.

“What did you say?” Logan’s voice is sharp, pulling me out of the haze, grounding me in the here and now.

Wade, his confusion plain, repeats himself. “So when you get back, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

“No, no, no, before that,” Logan insists, his eyes narrowing, his suspicion flaring.

Wade hesitates, and I can see the moment he realizes his mistake. “If… they can fix your world?”

Logan’s expression hardens, anger and betrayal flashing in his eyes. Without warning, he slams on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt. The sudden stop jolts me forward, but it’s the look on Logan’s face that makes my heart skip a beat. “What do you mean if?”

“I mean…” Wade falters, his bravado crumbling as he struggles to find the right words.

Logan’s voice is a dangerous growl, the kind that makes your blood run cold. “You lied to me. You don’t have a fucking clue if they can help me fix things, do you?”

“No, I mean… No, fuck! Fuck!” Wade stammers, but it’s too late. The truth is out, and Logan’s claws are already extending, a deadly promise in his eyes. Before Wade can react, Logan stabs him in the leg.

Wade yelps, the pain clear in his voice. “I didn’t lie!”

“You lied,” Logan hisses, his voice as cold as the steel in his hands.

I sit in the back, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of guilt and the crushing realization that there’s no undoing what’s already been done. I could have stopped this. I should have stopped this. But it’s too late now—too late to change anything.

Wade, his tone desperate, tries to explain. “No, I made an educated wish. Because I need you.” He pulls out a photo, his hands shaking slightly as he holds it out for Logan to see. “This, this is why. Right here. Because if we don’t do something, they die. I don’t know anything about saving worlds. Why would I even care? Because my entire world is right here in this picture. It’s only nine people, and I have no idea how to save it alone. I know how to fuck people up for money, but you, you know how to save them. At least the other Wolverine did.”

Wade’s voice cracks, a rare moment of vulnerability slipping through his usual bravado. “Oh, fuck!” Logan twists his wrist. “I guess I’m stuck with the worst one.”

Logan’s eyes narrow, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Did you say you made an educated fucking wish?”

“They call me the Merc with the Mouth,” Wade tries to regain his usual humor, but it falls flat. “They don’t call me Truthful Timmy, the blowjob queen of Saskatoon.”

Logan’s hand twitches, his control slipping. “One more,” he demands, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Please, give me one.”

Wade, ever the joker, tries to lighten the mood. “Gubernatorial.”

But Logan is beyond reason now. He goes to stab Wade again, but Wade screams, the sound tearing through the car, reverberating off the walls of my mind. I’m sitting in the back, too shocked to move, too numb to process what’s happening. There’s no saving what I’ve done. No changing the hurt I could have stopped.

Logan turns to Wade, his voice dripping with contempt, his words a knife twisting in the wound. “You know what, you’re a fucking joke. No wonder the Avengers didn’t take you. Or the X-Men—they’ll take fucking anyone. I mean, you are a ridiculous, immature, half-wit moron. I have never met a sadder, more attention-starved, jabbering little prick in my entire life. And that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than 200 fucking years. I’ll tell ya, that bald chick was right. You will never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with a goddamn stripper. Motherfucker, I wish I could say you’d die alone, but it’s one of God’s best jokes that you can’t die, except that’s on all of us!” He slams his fist on the top of the car, the metal groaning under the force, and I flinch, my heart skipping a beat. The tension in the air is so thick it feels like it’s suffocating me, wrapping around my throat and squeezing until I can hardly breathe.

Logan stares at him, his eyes filled with a mix of pity and disgust. “You got nothing to say, Mouth?”

Wade flinches, the words cutting deeper than any blade ever could. His usual bravado crumbles, and for a moment, he looks like a lost child, the weight of everything finally breaking through the armor he’s built around himself. He looks away, his eyes dull, and when he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “I’m gonna fight you now.”

Logan chuckles darkly, the sound devoid of humor, and I feel my stomach churn, the dread pooling in the pit of my gut. The vision hits me again—flashes of blood, violence, and something far worse waiting just beyond the edges of my mind. My hands start to tremble, and I know I can’t stay in the car. I push the door open and step out, the cool air hitting my face like a slap. My legs feel like jelly, but I force myself to move, taking a few shaky steps away from the car.

Behind me, the fight erupts with a sudden, violent force. The car jolts as their bodies slam against it, and I hear the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh, the wet splatter of blood as it sprays across the ground. The smell of iron fills the air, sharp and acrid, mixing with the earthy scent of the forest. My stomach turns, and I barely manage to keep myself upright as I stagger over to a tree and collapse against it, sliding down until I’m sitting on the ground.

I curl up, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to block out the sounds of their fight, the horrible, animalistic grunts and growls that seem to echo in my head. But it’s no use. The vision is getting stronger, more vivid. Bright, flashing lights sear across my mind, and I hear a scream ripping through the vision—a scream that’s mine, raw and terrified.

And then, as if the world itself is breaking apart, there’s a loud crash. Logan is shot through the front window of the car, his body flying through the air before crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. He rolls past me, his body leaving a trail of blood in the dirt. I tuck my legs closer, curling into a tighter ball, trying to protect myself from the onslaught of sensations that are threatening to tear me apart.

The vision crescendos, a blinding storm of light and sound, and then, just as suddenly as it began, everything goes dark. There’s nothing left—no sound, no pain, no fear. Just an endless, consuming void.

Next Part

A/N: I’m so tired, I need sleep updates will probs be slow.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

[agustdiv1ne]

telepathy (m) — cbg [TEASER]

OUT NOW! READ HERE!

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to ???, mind reader/telepathist!beomgyu, funeral home employee!beomgyu (it's for the plot ok??)

wc: tbd (projected to be around 7-8k)

synopsis: most people would abhor a packed subway car — but beomgyu, telepathist extraordinaire, relishes in it. with a career in the funeral business, he finds his morning commute to be the only thing that keeps him relatively sane. reading the mundane thoughts of mundane people maintains his tether to his humanity, but when he goes to read your mind...oh, things get a whole lot more interesting.

warnings: mdni!! 18+ only, there isn't much in this teaser, but here are the warnings for the rest of the fic so far: mentions of dead bodies, embalming, and funerals (though not very descriptive — it's only bc of gyu's profession), reader is a freak that listens to nsfw audios on her way to work!, gyu is a perv so it's a match made in heaven (hell?), explicit consent is given before anything happens bc consent is sexy <3, mind manipulation (he makes it feel like he's touching her), exhibitionism in a way...it will all make sense, trust 🙏

note: this is inspired by a p*rn audio LMAO,,, lmk if you'd like to be tagged via an ask, or just drop a comment below ^^

masterlist

☆ TEASER ☆

the rest of the weekend passes without fanfare, and monday returns to rear its ugly head once again. monday is beomgyu’s least favorite day of the week; it brings a raging headache from his 5 a.m. alarm, a bone-deep fatigue that lingers for the rest of the day. it brings grumpy commuters whose knees and elbows uncomfortably bump against his own. it brings people who think that he should give up his seat, and silently tell him so with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. how selfish, they all think whenever he actually bothers to read their thoughts. what a fucking dick, some of them even snarl within the so-called impenetrable walls of their minds, walls he so easily breaks down. he levels those ones with a half-awake glare, pupils gloomy and lifeless. internally, their uneasy reactions make him want to laugh, hysterically cackle in their faces because wow, is he really that scary? he shouldn’t be, but maybe the dark under eyes are doing something for him.

surprisingly, the subway car he frequents is less crowded than usual. not as many people stand in front of him, and he’s actually able to see directly across the car for the first time in a while. doors shut, and he’s left to look around at the regulars and the new patrons that often don’t show up again. they’re easily less interesting than the regulars. really, what can he say? the daily life updates satisfy his nosy tendencies. 

still, he hates mondays. mondays suck. mondays make him want to crawl into a hole and eventually join the bodies at his workplace. they bring out the worst in his mind. all they do is remind him of the neverending cycle that he has trapped himself in — wake up, work, go to sleep, and do it all over again the next day.

mondays bring a lot of things he fundamentally dislikes, but this particular monday also brings you. 

it’s split-second eye contact. nothing more, nothing less. your eyes grow wide, your lips parting just the slightest bit in surprise. though he has not invaded your mind (yet), he can already tell what you are thinking. fuck, he isn’t blind — he knows that he is handsome.

your eyes shoot downward, your head hanging low with your phone clenched between your fingers. one of his eyebrows raises while a small smirk plays on his lips — you’re new, and even better, you’re cute. his dark, seemingly bored gaze trails over to the earbuds nestled in your ears, then to your crossed legs. you glance up at him again, eyes blowing wide again as your thighs press together just enough for him to notice the movement. his own eyes narrow slightly, evaluating the sight. 

you seem...interesting. prim, proper, sitting in a modest-length skirt and a plain blouse and coat that paint you as an unassuming character, just another random person in this sardine can of a train car. yet there’s this glint in your eyes that tells him there is so, so much more to you than what meets the eye — that the innocent, put-together little front that you display to the world is a complete and utter lie. it’s intriguing. new patrons come and go from this particular subway car every day, but you and your fresh face have caught his interest — and so has your odd behavior. 

then, without warning, realization punches him square in the gut.

you were there the other night, with those girls at the bar. the one sitting at the end of the table with the small glass of water as you scrolled through your phone. the one who shot a piercing glare at him as you looked out for your inebriated friends. your current behavior is a far cry from the strong front he first encountered that night, small and oh-so meek and lacking the sharp, piercing edge to your gaze that initially piqued his interest in you. the change, for some reason, intrigues him more. what happened to that feisty glare, that confident air to your posture? he wants to know why you seem so meek, so he taps in to your mind and—

“you’re my dumb little slut, aren’t you? fuckin’ say it—”

beomgyu flinches in his seat, the door to your mind slamming shut as he sits there in shock. did he really just hear that? are you listening to fucking porn on the subway? what the fuck?

he’s never had this happen to him before. he’s accidentally stumbled upon the occasional horny thought before, sure, but listening to porn on the subway? that’s a new one. he decides to give you another glance; your lips are pressed together now, eyes pointed towards the floor as you further shrink into yourself. fuck, you’re so cute, but now he knows you’re also awfully perverted — and for some reason, he feels himself getting hard in his trousers at the thought of entering your mind again.

he should do something about this little development, shouldn't he?

again, if you would like to be tagged, shoot me an ask or comment down below!! and if you'd like to join my permanent taglist, please do so through this form!

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 55: Lily's Illusion

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: blindness, conditioning, hypnosis, body control, abuse, aftermath of hand whump

October 1925

Oliver's sleep was troubled, filled with nightmares where he couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't do anything to make his body obey him. Alexander's sire was shoving him below the waves, drowning him while he was helpless. Alexander was being tied up and tortured, and there was nothing Oliver could do for his master but watch, and --

He woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding too fast. It was pitch black, and despite being wide awake and terrified, he couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't see where he was, couldn't remember, and cold hands came out of nowhere to grip him tight. In a panic, he screamed, kicking his assailant and struggling out of his grasp, thick blankets impeding his escape.

"Oliver!" said a familiar voice. "Oliver, it's only me. You're safe."

His master. That's where he was -- in his master's bedchambers, in his master's arms. He took a deep breath, trying to expel the fear from his body. He was safe, even though he still couldn't open his eyes.

Alexander gently pulled him in closer, and Oliver accepted it, relaxing back onto the bed. "Sorry, sir."

"No need to apologize. I understand completely. My sleep has also been uneasy, although much improved by your presence," he said. "Are you still blinded?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then we should head to Lily's as soon as you're ready," he said. "Although I suppose I'll have to help you dress and wash."

Oliver's face flushed. "Ah, I'm sure I can manage, sir…"

"Manage with your eyes closed? I won't have you falling down the stairs and harming yourself," he said with a tone that brooked no argument. "I'm going to pick you up now, all right?"

And Oliver felt himself being lifted by unnaturally strong arms, floating through the air with only his master as his tether to the world. Alexander seemed to sense his distress, as he hummed a tune under his breath as they walked, one that made Oliver's tense muscles relax. Despite that, the sensation of going down the stairs was still disconcerting.

"If you drop me off at the door to the bathroom, sir, I can take care of my business," said Oliver, hoping to retain some dignity.

"Very well, but I'm going to tend to your wounds afterwards. I need to make sure they're clean."

Oliver thankfully knew the layout of the bathroom well enough to find the toilet and sink, embarrassed at needing so much aid from his master and already quite tired of groping around in the dark. When he was finished, Alexander entered, removing his shirt to look at his back.

"It's terribly bruised, but the few cuts are shallow," Alexander murmured, applying some cool salve. "…You must think I'm a terrible coward for accepting my sire's command to strike you, rather than standing up to him."

"I don't, sir," he said, and it was almost true. "If you had tried, I don't doubt it would have been worse for both of us." He did know that, but in his heart, he wished that his master had protected him.

"There's only one way I can truly protect you," said Alexander, as though he had read Oliver's mind. "I need to kill him. It's easier said than done, of course, but… I will do it this time, or perish trying. I swear it."

Oliver didn't have to wonder what would happen to him in the entirely possible event that his master did perish trying. He'd no doubt end up in the hands of Alexander's sire, perhaps permanently, and the thought almost made him want to plead with Alexander not to try.

Instead, he shoved that unpleasant thought from his mind as best he could. "Will Miss Lily really be able to undo my punishment, sir?"

"I'm sure she will. Her mastery when it comes to controlling the human mind is unparalleled," he said. "And for enduring these latest hardships, I'll also make sure the pantry and icebox are well-stocked with whatever foods you favor. Anything you need."

"I appreciate it, sir."

"And the night after next, my dear friend Fitz arrives from overseas."

With everything that had happened lately, Oliver had nearly forgotten about his master's friend, and he was gripped by a wave of dread at the thought of another visiting vampire. "Is there anything I should know, sir, to better serve your friend?" he said, trying to feel out the situation.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that. Just be your usual self, and I'm sure he'll just adore you. He's been after me to get a decent thrall for ages, you know," said Alexander. "Just be patient with him, give us space when we ask for it, and -- oh, I'm sure he'll want to drink from you."

The place where the Maestro had dug his fangs into Oliver's neck throbbed with pain. "He will, sir?" said Oliver reluctantly.

"It won't be painful!" his master reassured him quickly. "Fitz is nothing like my sire. His feeding will be as gentle as mine. He won't harm you, I swear it."

"I'm glad of that, sir," said Oliver, who still couldn't quite calm his anxiety.

"It probably won't surprise you to learn that my sire is the reason Fitz fled this city and resides overseas," said Alexander. "When my sire is finally dusted, he'll return to me. He'll come live in the manor with his thrall, and we'll be together at last."

Oliver had never heard his master sound so wistful. "He must be very important to you, sir."

"I suppose you would figure out sooner or later that we're old lovers. Fitz certainly won't make a secret of it."

"Lovers?" He was sure he was unable to hide the surprise on his face. "I didn't realize you had any lovers, sir."

"I confess that it's often a painful subject for me. Less so when I know he's on a boat heading over the Atlantic at this very moment. We share a bond, you see, and I can tell by how miserable he is -- he's always been especially prone to seasickness," said Alexander fondly. "But as much as I'd like to spend the evening pining fruitlessly, we really should get to Lily's as early as we can, lest she head out for the night before we can consult her. I'll guide you to the bedroom and help you put on the clothes I've chosen for you."

Oliver let himself be guided without a fuss, still loathing the fact that he was so helpless that he wasn't even able to choose his own clothes. If Miss Lily couldn't help him, if he had to resign himself to weeks of blindness and lose even more of his remaining autonomy to his master, unable to even indulge in the simple joy of reading, he wasn't sure he could endure it.

Soon enough, they were stepping out into the chill fall evening, Alexander keeping a firm arm around Oliver to guide him through the streets. It was distressing to be able to hear other pedestrians on the sidewalk, to feel the uneven stones under his feet, without being able to open his eyes and see anything. He was entirely reliant on his master to navigate the familiar city, and if Alexander let go, Oliver would be immediately lost and helpless. Thankfully, he clung to Oliver tightly.

"We're here," said Alexander. "There are four steps in front of you - let me help you up them."

Oliver heard a loud knocking, then footsteps and a door creaking open.

"Oh, Lex!" said a familiar voice. "I thought you were my 9pm appointment arriving early. And what on earth happened to your hand?"

"Our sire's handiwork, of course. Are you taking customers today?" asked Alexander. "I hope you have some time to help us. It's a bit of an emergency."

"Come in, come in," said Lily, and Oliver felt himself being gently nudged forward into a very warm room. "You know very well I'll make the time, but I'd rather get started right away. I assume our sire has done something to Oliver?"

Alexander's hands rested on Oliver's shoulders. "He commanded Oliver to keep his eyes closed and now he can't open them. My poor thrall is quite blind."

"Oh, dear," she sighed. "That's a surprisingly mild punishment from him, though. He must have approved of Oliver."

"Oliver comported himself magnificently. The very picture of an ideal thrall," said Alexander, and Oliver's heart felt warm from the praise. "Another reason why he deserves to have his sight restored as soon as possible."

"Let me see." Oliver felt soft hands touch his face. "Oliver, dear, what did he tell you as he was forcing your eyes to close? The exact phrasing, if you can."

Oliver's memories felt muddled and hazy from fear and enthrallment, but he could remember that. "He told me he was placing lead weights on my eyes, sir, that they're too heavy for me to lift, and that he is the only one who can move them."

"All right. I believe I can work with that. Come with me. Lex, you stay out here, and if my 9pm arrives, try to keep her occupied with your sparkling wit and impeccable social skills."

"You can't be serious about that."

"Leaving your manor and socializing sometimes is good for you," she said, as she touched a hand to Oliver's back and pushed him along.

Oliver heard a door close behind him.

"Can you sit down, dear?"

She took his hand and placed it on the seat of a chair, and Oliver sat, sinking into the soft leather. He realized that the chair was awfully familiar -- the twin of the chair in Miss Lily's room at the auction house. The association caused his mind to fog and he couldn't keep from letting out a yawn, already three quarters of the way to trance.

"You remember, don't you?" said Lily, as she ran fingers through his hair and down his cheek. "So obedient, so docile. So sleepy. And so very, very quiet."

Oliver was utterly helpless against the tide of hypnosis gripping his mind. His head lolled backwards as he let out a soft groan. With his eyes already closed tight, it felt natural for sleep to wash over him.

"Quiet, Oliver, you're so quiet. You're sinking back down under my power now. You're completely safe with me. Safe for you to fall asleep, fall deep asleep. You're so drowsy, aren't you? A quiet, docile boy like you just wants to sleep and listen…"

She kept murmuring to him, but Oliver was already out like a light, quiet and sleepy and dreaming. After the terror of the previous night, it was so good to sleep so soundly, comfortable and content. Oliver felt like he could float in this pleasant dream forever.

That is, until he heard footsteps. Footsteps which did not belong to Lily or his master. Footsteps that were oddly light and perfectly in rhythm.

No, it couldn't be. That was impossible. There was no way that he was here --

But he could feel it already, the hold over his body, the feeling that his flesh and bones no longer belonged to him. He wasn't being manipulated, not yet, but he could sense it all around. He was here and in control, and Oliver could barely think through the numbing terror that gripped him.

"Wake up," said the musical voice of Alexander's sire, followed by a crisp snap. "I don't recall allowing you to sleep."

"I'm sorry, sir! I didn't mean to fall asleep." Oliver felt himself forced out of the chair and into a kneel, his back ramrod straight and his sweating hands clasped behind him. He couldn't budge an inch, and although he still couldn't open his eyes, he could feel that icy gaze boring into him.

"I don't understand why you think that disobedience out of poor self control is better than disobedience on purpose. Disobedience is disobedience."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, trembling, waiting for a slap across his still tender cheek.

"I suppose, though, if you're to have any use as a servant, you'll need to have your eyes open, lest I have to puppet your wretched form everywhere," he said. "I will remove the weights on your eyes, and you will be appropriately grateful, and then you will serve me however I please."

Oliver swallowed nervously, dreading what the Maestro had in store for him. "Thank you very much for allowing me to serve you, sir."

"I will lift the heavy weight off each of your eyelids," he said, and Oliver felt something brush over his eyes, "and then you will graciously be allowed to open them on your own."

Despite being so eager to be cured earlier, Oliver was reluctant to open his eyes now, not wanting to face Alexander's sire once again, not understanding how he came to be here. But he had no choice. He opened his eyes…

…and there was Miss Lily standing before him.

He looked around in a panic. The Maestro was nowhere to be found, a phantom conjured by his own imagination and Miss Lily's mesmerism. "You…"

"He was the only one who could remove the command. I had to make your mind believe that I was him," she said. "I'm sorry for giving you such a fright, but it was the easiest way to undo what was done."

Oliver's heart was still pounding, unable to calm. "Yes, sir… thank you…"

"Poor dear, you're trembling like a leaf. Let me soothe you before sending you back to your master," she said. "Quiet now, Oliver. Quiet your frightened mind. You're safe here. It's only me."

"It's only you, sir…" said Oliver, sinking back into a merciful daze.

"That's right, and I take such good care of you, don't I?" she said with a smile. "You can relax now. Deep breaths, Oliver dear, deep breaths. Let all that tension out. Let that fear fade away. Let your mind be so, so quiet."

Oliver followed her instructions, taking deep breaths, and soon he did feel calmer, the terror of the hypnotic illusion fading. It was only a dream, one which could fade away into the obedient quiet of his enthralled mind.

"Lex is always singing your praises when he talks to me, you know," said Lily. "You're an absolute natural at serving a vampire, just as I knew you would be. Doesn't it make you feel good to serve Lex?"

It was both question and command, reinforcing his conditioning, and Oliver fell into it easily. "I very much enjoy serving Lex, sir."

"Of course you do, sweet boy. You've been so brave, and you deserve to feel good." She patted Oliver on the head one last time. "Now, if you're feeling better, why don't I return you to your master?"

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, feeling like a weight had been lifted from more than his eyes.

They left the stark conditioning room and stepped out into Miss Lily's home, which was done up very differently from Alexander's, filled with bright colors, fussy details, and homespun knick-knacks. A fat black cat ran up to Miss Lily and began winding around her ankles, and she scooped it up and gave it a kiss on the head. "This is Luna," she said. "Her brother Sunny is probably off on Miriam's lap."

"Hello, Luna," said Oliver, giving her a scritch.

As they walked down the hallway, Oliver could hear a steady stream of excited patter. "…and then I told him, is that really an appropriate place to take a lady on a date? And you know what he said? He said, well, they hardly ever hold horse racing at night, so I thought you'd like to see it. And I said, I can't see a blessed thing even with a vampire's eyesight. And then --"

They entered the parlor, where Alexander was sitting on a frilly gingham couch and nodding politely to everything a young woman was saying. She was done up in the latest fashions, and had a scrawny-looking man on a leash, kneeling at her feet. He looked at Oliver with fear in his eyes, pleading, as though there were anything Oliver could do.

"Ah, you had an appointment for 9pm, I believe?" said Miss Lily to the woman. "I appreciate your patience. I had an emergency job, but I'm free to take your thrall to the conditioning room now."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all!" she chirped. "I've been having a lovely time with Lord Alexander here." She stood up and handed the man's leash over to Miss Lily. "Just a thorough reconditioning for obedience and contentment, please. The place I bought him from did such an awful job -- you can see how distressed he is, and you should see the faces he pulls when it's time to feed. He's already escaped twice and I had to waste so much time tracking him."

"Of course, it's my pleasure," she said.

"No…" The thrall was backing away from Miss Lily, practically choking himself with his own leash. "No, please…"

Miss Lily knelt down and pet his head like one would a dog. "It's all right, dear, you'll see. Why don't you just relax? Just relax. Calm and peaceful, okay? I'm not gong to hurt you. Everything's going to be okay."

Oliver watched in fascination as the fear bled away from the thrall's expression, his eyes fixed on Miss Lily's and becoming glassy and dazed. He couldn't help but wonder if he wore a similar expression when he was under Miss Lily's spell.

"That's a good dear. So relaxed and at ease," she cooed. "You're going to feel so much better after you've had a session with me, I promise."

The thrall glanced up at Oliver, as if looking for some kind of confirmation. Oliver remembered how terrified he was the first time he had gone in for conditioning. "She's right," he said with a smile. "It's not scary at all, it's just like having a really good sleep, and you'll feel great afterwards."

"See?" said Miss Lily. "There's nothing to be scared of." She turned to Lex. "Sorry I can't stay around and chat, but I should get started on this session."

"Of course. We'll take our leave, and call on you another night," he said. "Oh, and Lily, before I go -- are you free on Friday night? Fitz will be in town, and I was hoping we could all go to the Tiger's Eye."

"Ooh, I wouldn't miss it," she said. She stood and ruffled Oliver's hair. "You'll be a good boy for our dear friend Fitz, won't you?"

"Yes, Miss Lily."

"Then I'll see you two soon enough, I'm sure. Have a good evening!"

"Are you feeling better?" Alexander asked as they stepped back out into the cool night air. "You're certainly looking much better."

"Yes, much better, sir. Thank you very much for taking me to Miss Lily," Oliver said. Now that he could see once again, he could see that the night was clear, the sky filled with a thousand brilliant stars. "Do you think we could go for a walk before returning home, sir? I could use the fresh air."

"I think that's a splendid idea," said Alexander, wrapping his arm around Oliver's once more.

Oliver saw the thick wad of bandages wrapped around his master's hand, and quite against his will he remembered the sickening smell of burnt flesh in the air. "Sir, your hand…"

"I've told you before that it will heal, but I appreciate your concern for me," said his master with a warm smile. "Your health and company is all the balm I need to soothe my pains tonight."

Thanks to Miss Lily, he was so obedient, so eager to please. "I'm glad that I can be helpful to you, sir."

"Always, Oliver. Don't doubt it for a minute."

Previous > Masterlist > Next

I always enjoy writing Lily! Next week, the beginning of a three-parter involving a masquerade ball and Fitz's very impulsive decisions.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole

[elexaria]

TW — mentions of suicidal ideation and suicide attempt

simon is out on sick leave, his mental health has gotten worse since johnny died. “can’t have you in service if you’re not 100%, riley.” price gruffly remarks as he signs simon’s papers, eyes looking up through thick eyebrows at si, who is angrily glancing away.

sick leave is torture. simon feels lost, no anchor to tether him down to earth. without work, he is nothing. without johnny, he’s ….. nothing.

he spends all day rotting away in bed, his thumb rasping against a battered old photograph of him and johnny on holiday in mallorca. johnny with a gorgeous tan, and simon all pink. no, he doesn’t get an impeccable bronze. that man BURNS.

the corners of simon’s lips twitch as he glances at johnny in the photo, admiring how handsome he truly was. he would give anything to see him again.

and then it gets hard to get anything but dying out of his head. if he dies, then maybe he can see johnny again. they can finally be together again. right?

the capt drops off a small bundle of johnny’s stuff at simon’s apartment, and then a small package is delivered in the post from mrs mactavish, johnny’s mom. various bits and bobs, some of johnny’s tshirts, his favourite cap, some sketchbooks.

his dog tags.

simon’s surprised to find them; he thought that they would be put in johnny’s urn or something. but clearly his mom thought otherwise, she must’ve known how much johnny adored simon. he would have moved heaven and earth for that mancunian.

still, suicide ghosts every waking moment of simon’s life. he glances at johnny’s dog tags besides his bed, chewing his chapped lips as he entertains the idea more. and again when he’s walking around the shops, glancing at various means of killing himself. his thumb rasps against the cold metal of johnny’s tags from within his jacket pocket as his free hand extends to read the packet of rat poison. might be a bit too painful, and apparently it stinks to the high heavens.

simon puts the box of rat poison back, continuing to walk around the shop, thumb still stroking against the dog tags as he continues to glance around the store. he can’t take painkillers, there’s a limit to two boxes per person. so, he settles on visiting the hardware store, and buys a bundle of sturdy rope. even grabs some plywood and metal brackets. “makin’ a swing for the little’un.” he mumbles to the cashier, flashing an uneasy yet somewhat believable smile to her as he fishes out some loose bank notes from his jean pockets. he’s not big on wallets.

for almost a week, simon sits on the edge of his bed staring at the bundle of rope next to a chair from his kitchen. he knows its the only way out, so why is it so terrifying? just do it, riley. do it.

he scrawls out demented ramblings on some loose leaf paper, barely readable chicken scratch to captain price, gaz and to mrs mactavish. “i’ll always be grateful for you for bringing my johnny boy into the world.” is somewhat legible in the letter written to her.

he neatly leaves the letters at the foot of his bed, taking a deep breath as he reaches into his pocket for johnny’s dog tags. for a moment, simon admires them in the dim lighting of his bedroom, watching as the thin metal clinks together. sergeant john mactavish.

as the tags slowly slip over simon’s head, the ball chain momentarily getting caught on a wry piece of scruffy blonde hair, they finally join with simon’s own tags on his chest as he stands on the kitchen chair. for a moment, his hand reaches out against his wardrobe to steady his balance. he slips the noose around his neck, heart thumping against his rib cage ferociously. do it, simon. do it.

simon’s trying his best to still his breathing, taking deep breaths as he tries to dull the nagging thoughts, against his instincts to not do this.

“tae fuck d’yae ‘hink yer daein?!”

simon falls back against his wardrobe out of shock, eyes wide with horror as he glances in the direction of that all too familar voice, that voice that immediately drowns out every single thought that was screaming at simon to kill himself.

it’s johnny.

he’s effervescent, an angelic silhouette of his mortal self. a halo of warm light, blue, ghosts around his form.

simon’s mouth is agape, eyes still wide as his body freezes. immediately, he tears the noose off of his head, damn near stumbling off the chair to get a closer look of the spectacle in front of him.

“johnny? but… you’re…”

“dead? aye, sherlock. i am.” the silhouette retorts sarcastically, flashing ghostly pearly whites in a lopsided grin, one that’s terrifying just like johnny’s signature grin. simon backs against the wardrobe, his breathing uneven and scant as he begins to panic. this isn’t normal, this isn’t right.

the mass of energy and light shaped like johnny notices this panic in simon, and seems to frown. it slowly moves towards him, a hand reaching out to touch simon’s shoulder. it’s hauntingly cold, and it makes simon recoil with horror. the spectre frowns even more, retracting its hand.

this can’t be johnny.

because johnny’s dead.

[idkyetxoxo]

Criston Cole - Damned

Summary - A love between a Kingsguard and the late king's sister defies expectations. When loyalty, family, and a child on the way are thrown into the chaos, they must navigate the line between love and honour, with heartbreaking consequences that could shatter them both.

Pairing - Criston Cole x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Mild language

Word count - 2126

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

We stood on opposite sides of the war, but no force, not even the tides of battle or the weight of oaths, could sever the bond of love that tethered us.

A Kingsguard's life is defined by sacrifice. When a man swears the oath, it is known: no wife, no children, no family. His sword belongs to the king, his life dedicated to duty.

But when the king's youngest sister—the one woman who held his heart in her hands—made a request, the ironclad rules of the Kingsguard were bent.

I asked for an exception, and the exception was granted.

For me, the unthinkable became possible: a love that should have been forbidden was made real.

Yet, bending the rules of power always comes at a cost.

When the king's commands were defied, and the man I fought to keep by my side wronged the heir to the throne, it felt as though my very soul had been torn apart.

I was left standing in the shadows of two worlds: one where love and loyalty battled for supremacy, and another where betrayal gnawed at my heart.

"Are we to believe the wife of the usurper's Hand still remains loyal to our cause?" a lord muttered from across the hall, his voice thick with suspicion.

He meant for his words to drift through the gathering like a snake, unnoticed by me, but they never did.

I had become all too accustomed to the sharp whispers, the sidelong glances that followed me wherever I went. They haunted me like a ghost.

I leaned back in my chair, allowing my eyes to close for a moment.

My hand instinctively rested on the slight swell of my belly, feeling the flutter of the life growing inside me.

My child. His child.

That small movement, a reminder of the love we had fought so hard for, gave me strength.

I opened my eyes and fixed the lord with a cold stare.

"If you have something to say, my lord," I hissed, the venom in my voice barely contained, "then I suggest you repeat it—louder this time."

The room stilled. Every head turned in my direction.

I could feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on me, as heavy and suffocating as dragonfire. I was tired of the whispers, tired of the endless questioning of my loyalty.

Since the night my brother, the king, had died, I had stood firm beside my niece, Rhaenyra. And still, after all my sacrifices, all my blood spilt in her name, I was treated like a traitor.

The lord's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer as he met my gaze.

"We have all seen where your loyalties lie, princess," he sneered, the title spat from his lips like a curse, his voice dripping with contempt.

His eyes raked over me, pausing on the swell of my belly.

"You carry the child of a traitor—the very man who helped bring ruin to this realm. You dare sit among us and speak of loyalty? How can we trust anything you say when you've shared the bed of the usurper's Hand?"

His words struck me like a lash, each one meant to humiliate, to undermine not just my loyalty but my very honour.

The room buzzed with an uneasy silence, every eye fixed on me as if waiting for my response, for my downfall.

My heart pounded in my chest, fury swelling inside me like a storm ready to break. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I fought to keep my voice steady, even as rage and grief warred within me.

I leaned forward, my hands gripping the edge of the table, my eyes narrowing as they locked onto his.

"I fought for this cause," I said, my voice low but laced with a fire I could no longer contain, "before you even knew what loyalty meant. I bled for this family. My love for him does not mean I have turned my back on my blood. It means I know the weight of sacrifice, a weight you could never understand."

The lord scoffed, his arrogance rising as he leaned back in his chair, the sneer never leaving his face.

"You expect us to believe that?" he said, louder this time, his voice rising with the confidence of a man who thought himself untouchable.

"When your belly swells with the bastard of our enemy? How long until you betray us as he did? How long until you turn your back on your family to protect your lover and his bastard child?"

His words landed like blows, each one designed to strip away what little protection I had left. My blood boiled.

Bastard.

The word echoed in my mind, not just for the child I carried, but for what he sought to reduce me to—a woman whose worth was judged only by the man she loved, whose loyalty was questioned simply because of the life growing inside her.

"You think you can stand here and speak of loyalty?" the lord continued, his voice dripping with venom.

"When you've already chosen a side in this war by opening your legs to the enemy? You've betrayed your blood already, princess. It's only a matter of time before you do it again."

The insult landed like a dagger to the chest, but I did not flinch, though I felt the sharp sting of his words burn inside me.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, drawing blood.

But I refused to break in front of him. I refused to give him the satisfaction.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, Rhaenyra's voice cut through the tension like a sharpened blade.

"Enough!" she commanded, rising from her seat with the regal authority of a queen.

Her eyes blazed as she looked down at the lord. "Do not forget who she is. She is my aunt, the blood of my blood. She has stood by my side when many of you have not."

Silence fell over the room as everyone turned to the queen.

The lord, though cowed by Rhaenyra's fierce defence, still dared to press on. "But my queen," he stammered, "the rumours—"

"Rumors?" Jacaerys, Rhaenyra's eldest son, stepped forward, his young face set in stone. "Is that what we base our alliances on now? Idle gossip?"

He glanced around the room, daring anyone to disagree. "My great-aunt has proven her loyalty time and time again. Anyone who questions that is a fool."

The room shifted uncomfortably, but the tension did not break. It pressed down on me like an iron weight.

I could feel the eyes of the court still watching me, still filled with doubt.

It was always the same, no matter what I did. No matter how many times I fought for Rhaenyra, no matter how many battles I won in her name, there were always whispers. Always doubt.

I could feel the anger rising in me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me.

"I don't need to justify myself to any of you," I snapped, pushing my chair back and standing.

My voice shook with the fury that had been building within me for weeks. "I have given everything for this family, and still, you look at me like I'm the enemy. Perhaps it is you who should be questioned!"

My eyes flicked to the lord, who shrank back slightly under my glare.

Without waiting for a response, I stormed from the room. The murmurs of the lords followed me down the corridors of Dragonstone, but I didn't care.

I needed to get out. I needed air, space, something other than the suffocating judgment that seemed to cling to every wall of this cursed castle.

My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of anger and heartbreak swirling inside me.

I didn't stop until I reached the dragon pit, where Silverwing awaited me. Her silvery scales glinted in the fading light of the evening, her large eyes following my every movement.

She sensed my turmoil and let out a low growl as I approached, her massive head dipping to meet my hand.

I stroked her snout, feeling the warmth of her breath wash over me, somewhat soothing my frayed nerves.

"Come, beautiful girl," I whispered, climbing into the saddle. "I need to get away from here."

With a powerful beat of her wings, Silverwing took to the skies, carrying me far from Dragonstone, far from the judgment and the whispers that followed me everywhere I went.

The wind whipped through my hair as we soared over the darkening sea.

For a brief moment, I felt free, the weight of the world slipping away as we flew higher and higher.

I urged her toward the coast, toward the secluded beach where I had always found peace when the world became too much.

When we landed, I slid down from the saddle, breathing in the cool, salty air.

The beach was deserted, the waves crashing against the shore in a steady rhythm. I closed my eyes and let the sound calm my racing heart.

But then, I felt it—a presence. I opened my eyes and saw him.

Criston Cole stood at the edge of the shore, his back to me, but I would have known him anywhere.

The man I loved. The man who had shattered my heart.

As if sensing my gaze, he turned to face me.

His dark hair was longer than I remembered, his face more worn, but his eyes—those same eyes that had once looked at me with such tenderness—now held something darker, something colder.

We stood there, neither of us speaking for a long moment. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the silence between us.

Finally, Criston broke the silence. "How is... our child?" he asked, his voice low, almost strained.

His words were like a dagger to the heart. My hand instinctively went to my belly, where our child grew, a reminder of everything we had lost.

"Exactly as you left us," I said, the bitterness in my voice unmistakable.

He winced, but he didn't look away. "I didn't leave," he said quietly. "You did. You left me."

"Left you?" I exploded, my voice trembling with anger and pain. "What choice did I have, Criston? After what you did—after you betrayed everything, everyone—how could I stay? You chose your path the moment you turned your back on me, on our family."

Criston's face twisted in pain, his voice rising. "I did what I had to do. I never wanted to lose you. I never wanted any of this. But I had no choice!"

I gestured toward the empty beach around us. "You broke your oaths, you broke my trust, and still, you expect me to have stayed?"

In another life, we might have stood on this very shore, laughing as our child toddled along the sand, the wind lifting their dark curls like their father's.

That life was gone now—crushed beneath the weight of treason and broken oaths.

His face twisted with a mix of regret and anger. "You were the one who asked for the exception. You were the one who defied the king. You knew the risk we were taking. I never wanted it to come to this."

"And yet, it did," I said, my voice quieter now, trembling with the weight of our past.

"We both made choices, Criston. But you made your choice when you stood beside that man—when you turned your back on everything we had."

He stepped closer, his eyes searching mine, filled with the same conflict that had haunted me since the day I left him. "I never stopped caring for you... for our child."

His eyes softened a flash of the man I once knew. "I never wanted to betray you," he said quietly. "But I was never free. Not truly. We were always pawns in someone else's game."

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let him see my weakness.

"Caring for us means nothing when you stand with my enemies. You can't have it both ways, Criston. You made your choice, and now you must live with it."

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I turned my back on him, looking out at the crashing waves.

For a moment, I thought I felt his hand reach out for me, but then it fell away, and the space between us grew wider than ever.

Once, his hands held me as if I were something precious, a jewel stolen from the hands of fate itself. But now, even the air between us felt sharp, cutting, like a wound too deep to heal.

Finally, I climbed back onto Silverwing, not bothering to look back.

The air grew colder as we ascended, but it was nothing compared to the icy distance that now stretched between us.

A/n - These are lowkey my fav type of one-shots to write because I refuse to let someone forgive so easily for something outrageous like how you gonna forgive the man who basc said fuck you, your morals and everything you stand for 😭

[fairyringsandwings]

Starlight Chapter 7 Sneek Peek! 😏

Summary: What if Osha and Qimir never left The Jedi Order

Osha knows she is dreaming. 

She can feel the tether slithering around her limbs, gently pulling her from a dreamless slumber to the waiting arms of darkness.

When she opens her eyes, she finds herself in a darkened throne room.

Upon an oval podium sits two thrones. They are illuminated by moonlight pouring in through the mosaic window behind them, the stages of an eclipse captured within the glass. Straining her eyes, Osha can make out crimson banners cascading down the walls on either side of the vast room, the crest of The Sith proudly embroidered upon them in black thread.

What is this place?  Osha wonders, an uneasy feeling trickling down her spine.

"It's a possibility," That cold, metallic voice calls out. Osha sees The Stranger then, standing between the thrones as he steps into the moonlight. "Or an inevitability, depending on who you ask." He tilts his head, his voice turning appreciative. "You look beautiful in that dress. It suits you."

Osha glances down.

The gown she wears is as dark as a sunless ocean, the edges detailed with silver embroidery. It has an off-shoulder neckline, dramatic bell sleeves, and a trailing skirt that flares as she moves. Upon her waist is an alloy belt, forged in the shape of a willow tree's branches, the leaves detailed by tiny emeralds. It is there that her lightsaber is secured, attached by a magnetic clip at her hip. Her hair feels longer too, her locs resting over one shoulder, adorned by silver flowers and stars. There is a diadem upon her head, hidden below her fringe. 

It is an outfit fit for a Queen, more luxurious than anything Osha has ever worn.

"No," The Stranger corrects the thought, taking a step forward. His hand caresses the arm of the left throne. "It's a gown fit for an Empress." 

Second snippet

"Have you told him about us?" 

"There is no us," Osha grits out. "Not now. Not ever."

"Would you consider it?" The Stranger asks, his voice deadly soft. "If I were a Jedi like him?"

Osha ignites her lightsaber. 

[ninthcircleofprythian]

Unbound

Part 8 - Take Me To Church

Series Summary - Not having a mating bond didn't stop the love Azriel and Celeste have for each other or their commitment. When an unknown magic lingering from Celeste's past causes her to lose all memories of the last century, will they be able to rebuild their life without a bond tethering them together?

Word Count - 5k

Warnings - references to injuries, references to past abuse/imprisonment, suicidal thoughts, memory loss, all of the angst

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

Through a tug on her mating bond, Nesta was informed that Cassian and Azriel were outside the bounds of Velaris but would return within the hour. Seeing as they needed the Illyrian’s assistance in getting up to the House of Wind, they returned to Celeste’s townhouse to wait for their arrival. After changing her work worn clothes and splashing some cold water on her face, Celeste made her way downstairs to the living room to join Nesta. 

“Don’t you get tired of having to rely on Cassian to get you in and out of your house?” 

“Not really. I honestly spend more time there than anywhere else. I have a sentient house and a full library. Why would I want to leave?” She laughed softly.

Nesta had previously told her all about the wonders of the House of Wind. Celeste was actually very interested in exploring the library located there, although that wasn’t the reason for her request today.

The sound of the front door latch being pushed open grabbed her attention as Nesta stood to meet the males as they walked through the door.

“Nes, my love,” Cassian greeted her with open arms attempting to pull her into an embrace, but she placed a hand firmly against his chest and held him at a distance.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Ugh, you stink. Like males and testosterone.”

“Normally that would elicit a different reaction,” he laughed with a wink and wiggling his eyebrows.

Celeste came to stand directly before the door they had just entered, her eyes flaring wide for a moment taking in the sight. Half of Cassian’s face was taken up with a swollen bruise, from eye to jawline. Spots of blood had been half heartedly cleaned from around his nose and lip. Nesta didn’t seem to be surprised in any way at the state of her mate. Scanning her eyes over to the other side of the doorframe Celeste observed that Azriel was sporting a few injuries himself. 

“Don’t look so shocked sweetheart,” Cassian said to Celeste, grabbing her attention again. “Just some males having a little bonding time that’s all. No hard feelings, right brother?”

Cassian reached around Nesta to tap Az’s shoulder with the back of his hand. Az’s stoic face shifted into a forced half smile. “Yeah,” he responded.

Celeste took them both in, darting her eyes from male to male. It appeared they did this on purpose to each other.

Was there an argument? What were they fighting over? Who started it?

The revelation from just a short while ago began to wash away as that uneasy suspicious feeling began bubbling up again in her gut. 

“Normally you’d play my nurse maid,” Cassian directed at Celeste. Her thoughts fizzled before she could let them run loose. “But no worries, Nes can take care of me even if the healing part looks a little different than what you normally do.” 

“Seriously Cas, enough.” Nesta chided with a swat to his shoulder. “Celeste wants to visit the library temple. I told her we would go this afternoon.”

“Yeah, sure.” Bending down to scoop Nesta up in his arms, he smiled. “Hold on tight love.”

Maybe it was the information overload of the day or the shock at seeing both males walk through her door injured, but Celeste hadn’t even considered what getting to the House of Wind entailed until now. Realizing she would have to be carried in flight had her frozen in place and it wasn’t the flying that worried her. 

Realizing her hesitance, Nesta elbowed Cas to let her down. “We don’t have to go if you aren’t comfortable. We can do this another time.”

“No,” Celeste said before thinking. The need that had cropped up at the apartment building persisted. “No, I want to. Just –” she took in a shaky breath.

Azriel hadn’t moved to assist her in preparation for departure. He hadn’t even moved from his position by the door since arriving back home. Glancing at Cassian again she decided he was the preferable option.

“Could I fly with you?” She asked timidly.

“Yeah.” Cas answered soothingly. “Yeah. Of course.”

There was something easy about Cassian that appealed to her sense of security. Quick with his humor and always teasing his loved ones had done wonders in comforting some small part of Celeste’s worry in this new-to-her world. The brief flash of hurt that crossed Azriel’s gaze went unnoticed by everyone but Nesta. As they all prepared to leave, she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder with a consoling look of her own.

The act of allowing Cas to handle her body to carry her for flight already had her teeth on edge, but it was the jolt of kickoff that nearly shattered her already fragile nervous system. Celeste squeezed the arms around his neck involuntarily as she screwed her eyes shut tightly.

“Don’t worry. I won’t drop you, I promise.” Cas said with a chuckle in his voice.

“I’m not afraid of heights.” Celeste responded firmly, still refusing to open her eyes.

He allowed the chuckle to leave his throat this time. “I know.”

Easing open one eye and then the other, Celeste allowed herself to take in the view from their still ascending position. It really was a magnificent view, the city spreading out behind them as they veered towards the hillside. This time when she closed her eyes, it was only to focus her senses on the feel of the wind against her face. 

“I used to fly, you know,” she spoke softly into the wind, barely enough to be heard. “Before my wings were – taken.”

“I know,” Cas answered, nearly as inaudible as her. If anyone could imagine the horror of losing their wings, it was him. This time it was his grip that tightened slightly against her. 

Moments passed in quiet before she spoke again. “Did Azriel do that to you?” She nodded towards his face as she turned to face him. 

“To be fair, I did bait him into it,” he answered matter of factly.

Her brows pinched together in a look of disgust. “Why? Why would you want someone to do that to you?”

“I didn’t exactly want to do it. I don’t normally desire to have my beautiful face rearranged.” Cassian smiled as he spoke before his face turned serious again. “But it was for the best. He needed to get out of his head for a while.”

Celeste knew the feeling of being wrapped up inside her own head a little too well. The desire for escape from her thoughts was always a tempting one but violence had never crossed her mind as the answer. 

“And taking it out on his friend like a punching bag was the best way to go about that?” Her remark was snide with disbelief.

“We are Illyrian, Celeste. Born and bred to be warriors and soldiers. Pushing our bodies to the limits is what we know. Sometimes it’s the only way to get those thoughts to calm long enough to sort them out rationally.” Cas watched her face carefully as he noticed her revulsion. “We know our limits though. We know when it's needed and also when it's undeserved. None of us here would ever initiate something like that without knowing the other was willing or able to take it. I’d rather Az take it out on me than himself.”

“And that’s what he would have done? Take it out on himself?” Her eyes were searing straight into his, the answer she expected lingering between them.

“Yes. That’s exactly what he would have done. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Az tends to be a pretty private male. He would have retreated into himself and let those thoughts eat him from the inside. I didn’t want to watch that happen again. He’s been through a lot. But he would never hurt you, Celeste.”

A sudden pang of guilt hit her. Of course this last week or so had been hard for him too. It wasn’t just her life that had been completely upended, but his as well. The life he shared with her – as her husband. 

“It has been a hell of a week,” she admitted meekly as she cast her gaze toward her knees.

“It certainly has. I meant he’s been through a lot in general though. In his life. Before now, like in his past.”

Celeste met his stare once more as he continued. “He’s been through a lot of terrible stuff. Like you.”

The pause before those last two words told Celeste exactly what he meant. Cassian’s tender knowing look at her made her squirm a bit in his arms as she looked away again, her thumb beginning their familiar anxious path between her fingers. The silence lengthened between them as she felt them begin their descent. 

“Is that what happened to his hands?” 

She didn’t need to see the look on his face or hear the words that didn’t come as they touched down to know the answer. They landed on the wide terrace of the House of Wind without the answer ever coming. 

Nesta and Azriel quickly followed suit, landing just a few feet away. The mates fell into step side by side as they made their way to lead them into the house. With a sideways glance at the remaining male, Celeste measured her distance and followed behind. Az took the cue and left a wingspan of distance between them as he too followed. 

Nesta rambled on animatedly as they walked through the winding halls that carried them lower into the house, pointing out interesting things along the way. Celeste wasn’t really listening, focused instead on the measured steps beside her as she stole glances here and there. Azriel’s face was still stoic, but also looked measuredly more tired than it had at the townhouse. She briefly wondered at the conversation that must have taken place on his flight over here with Nesta. Deciding she would pester her friend about it later, she focused her attention on the doors they were approaching. 

The library was buried deep under the house proper, carved into a spiraling hollow from the mountain itself. The enormous stone doors that stood before them were obviously much too heavy for even the Illyrian’s that accompanied them but they slid open of their own accord, no doubt controlled by that mysterious magic the house carried.

Inside Celeste could see the beginning layers of the massive shelves before they dipped into a curving spiral further below them. The sheer amount of volumes fascinated her and she very much wanted to spend hours exploring them. Not today though, today had already been long enough and the task she had set herself to complete still weighed heavy on her mind. 

The group stopped short of the hewn desk situated at the library entrance where every visitor had to pass before entering. A tall slim figure, clad in pale blue robes and adorned with a hood stood sentry behind it. As they lingered, Cassian excused himself and headed back the way they came while Nesta slipped next to Celeste with a hand to her elbow.

“We just need to get Clotho’s permission before heading down to the temple.” She relayed as Azriel stepped forward towards the desk.

“But isn’t it your house?” Celeste asked curiously.

“The library belongs to the priestesses. I have no say in who comes and who goes from here. Only Clotho decides. It’s for their safety.”

She watched as Azriel gave a demure nod to Clotho. His voice carried as a low murmur to her ears, the words indistinguishable. Nesta had given her the history of how the library came to be and the reason why all the priestesses were here.That was part of the reason Celeste had requested to come to this temple instead of one of the others within the streets of Velaris. It felt like the right place to be for what she felt she needed to do. 

Clotho’s answer came from a self writing pen as she slid the slip of paper over the desktop to Azriel. Picking it up to read, that stoic face crumpled for a fraction of a second. Clotho reached out from the sleeves of her robe and placed one gnarled hand on top of a scarred one of his own. With another nod he turned and stepped toward the two of them waiting.

“What did she say?” Celeste said, eyeing the paper still in his hand. 

He didn’t voice an answer. Instead he reached out, handing the note to her as his body slipped into the spot Nesta had slyly vacated. Taking the note in her own fingers she read it. 

She has always been welcome here. As have you.

Our prayers are with you both daily. 

The burning sting of tears hit her eyes immediately. The thoughts she had been holding at bay for the past hours, crashed inside her like a wave. Knowing why the priestesses were secluded her, why she herself had come to find sanctuary here rolled through her as she held back a sob. The flash of her conversation with Cassian appeared like lightning in her mind. 

He’s been through a lot. Like you.

Celeste whipped her head towards Azriel as the thought materialized, his eyes landing on hers briefly before staring down at the floor. Something akin to reverence, something sacred in nature seemed to settle within her before her thoughts ran away with her. The priestesses, Azriel, herself. They had all endured something no one should ever have to endure and yet they all ended up here in the same place. They had all found sanctuary and some form of peace within the bounds of Velaris. The feeling that it had to mean something was nearly overwhelming as the memory of those woods raced through her again. She swore she could almost smell that night again before Nesta broke the moment.

“I’ll show you down before I head back upstairs. Maybe stay for dinner after?”

Celeste just gave a non committal shrug as she smiled weakly and fell into step next to Nesta. It didn't take long before they reached the temple set outside the bounds of the library walls but still deep within the mountain itself. 

“Take as much time as you need.” Nesta said as she led them all down the middle aisle toward the dais. “You’ll have privacy as long as you want it. You know where to find me.” Her last comment directed towards Azriel with a nod as she left them to themselves. 

Celeste took in the simple space as she settled into the end of a short pew in the front row. 

“I’ll wait outside so you can have some privacy.” Azriel’s deep voice, even lowered, echoed in the small space. 

“No. No, it's fine. Really.” Celeste stammered. “I have a feeling we could both use some time here today.”

The small smile, though timid, nearly broke his heart. Casting a glance over her, Azriel noticed the fidgeting motion of her hand in her lap. Slowly, he lowered himself into the pew across the aisle shifting his wings nervously, still close but allowing her distance. If they reached out their arms across the aisle, their hands would have met in the middle. The picture that his mind created caused that godforsaken chasm in his chest to twitch. 

“I just don’t really know what to do here,” she went on, staring at her hand but continuing the motion. “I wanted to come today but the only times I’ve been in a temple before I was alone then too. I’ve never been to a service.”

“I’m sure Clotho would be happy to have you attend one if you’d like,” he offered.

She only nodded before falling silent for a long minute. 

“The only prayer I know is the one I heard at my mother’s funeral. It doesn’t really feel appropriate now,” her voice was soft and low, sending chills over Az’s skin. He pulled harder on the hold of his shadows as they attempted to cross the space between them.

With a shuddering shift of his wings, he whispered. “I’m sure whatever gods are listening won’t mind.”

“Are you religious?” she asked, lifting her head to meet his eye.

“In my own way,” he answered after a beat of measured thought.

Celeste dipped her chin before bringing her face forward scanning the relics of the temple upon the dias before her. None of them had any familiarity to her but they felt sacred all the same. 

“Where I was born, it was the practice to worship many different gods and goddesses. There was a different one for whatever prayer you wanted answered,” she paused briefly in thought. “I’m not sure which one I should be asking. I don’t really know exactly what I’m asking for, you know?”

Azriel stared at the strong outline of her profile against the background of the candles lighting the wall behind her. The slope of her nose, the rise of her cheekbones, the soft way her dark hair curled at her temple. “I’ve only ever worshipped one goddess myself,” he began slowly. “I think a prayer said to one is as good as a prayer said to many.” 

Celeste sat silently for a minute digesting his words before staring at her hands once more. As she dropped her head in assumed prayer, Azriel’s gaze slid to the floor in front of him, taking in the silence. He thought for a moment that maybe he should offer a prayer of his own before suddenly, the soft tones of Celeste’s voice rose. 

Gods above me, grant me serenity

In this the darkest hour of my journey home.

I appeal to you.

Mother maiden, grant me safety 

In your endearing arms that granted me life.

I appeal to you.

Gods on high, guide me to the river

In the slakes of my thirst for life

So that I may drink everlasting from its shores.

Mother holy, appeal for me

On behalf of my weary soul

So that I may find solace in your embrace

Forevermore.

The air around Az felt like it was crackling against his skin as he sat stone still, listening. His focus honed on the words just as much as on how she spoke them. The hitch of her voice that caught as she neared the end nearly stopped his pulse. 

Finishing her prayer, Celeste felt an odd sort of peace settle over her. The task she had come to complete, to find some sort of answer within the web of confusion in her mind, felt closer than it had been since waking from her seizure. The pull of desire that had carried her to this sacred place felt like it was the right choice, the first thing to feel right in this life she couldn’t remember.

“My mother’s funeral was one of the last times Tyrik allowed me outside,” she spoke up after a moment of silence. “Shortly after that he began locking me away.”

Azriel cleared his throat with a pained noise and turned to look at her. He remained quiet, knowing inherently this was something she needed. Her dark eyes met his across the aisle.

“He still allowed me out to go to the temple on his estate. I don’t really know why and it was only ever alone under heavy guard. Maybe he still had some twisted sense of morality. Or maybe he thought through piety would come obedience.” 

Az’s face twisted slowly into a tight pinch and his eyes glistened in the candlelight..

“Mostly I just sat in silence,” Celeste pulled in a shuddering breath as she stared into her lap once more. Her hand had stilled but now her thumb was trapped in her clenched fist. “But eventually I would repeat that prayer over and over, hoping maybe one day it would be answered. That maybe some benevolent god would hear me and grant an end to my misery.”

Azriel of course knew of the horrors that she had endured and the trauma it had caused, but this was the first time she had so clearly voiced her desire for death. He practically jumped from the pew in a bid to release some of the pent up energy building within him.

“Celeste,” he choked out past a sob as he paced and scrubbed a hand down his face, the tears flowing freely now.

“I know I don’t remember any of my life that came after,” she hiccuped on a choked sob of her own. “But I am here. I escaped. So maybe my prayer was answered after all.”

She was free. She had been shown nothing but kindness and comfort since waking up in this strange existence. Although she had often prayed for death thinking it was the only answer, she had been given a different option. 

What a waste it would be to spoil it. She thought.

But such a large part of that option she had been granted involved the male standing across the aisle from her and that still gave her pause.

“I just – I don’t really know what to do with myself in this life. To wake up with no memories of it and everyone around me knows more about myself than I do and then to find out that I have a husband.” Celeste brought her line of sight back to those golden hazel eyes that were still lined with tears. “It’s a lot to take in.”

The urge to comfort her was overbearing, his shadows pulsing outward in a bid to reach her. Instead he just nodded, afraid to make a move toward her in fear of startling her. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to behave around anyone. I don’t know how to behave around you.”

Azriel’s brows rose as his eyes widened. “You don’t need to behave a certain way,” his voice came out gravelly.

“I just meant that I don’t know what’s expected of me,” she stated.

“I don’t have expectations of you, Celeste. You don’t have to do anything to please me,” he said as his voice evened out. “You are the one in control here.”

The moment of quiet as she considered his words felt like an eternity.

“If it makes you feel better, I can leave,” Az offered solemnly. “I can come stay here with Cas –”

“Leave?” Celeste’s brows rose now. “Why would you leave?”

“I would do anything you asked me to do.” His stare was focused so intently upon her and a small flicker of some feeling licked at her gut.

His earlier words rang through her head. You are the one in control here. The idea was so foreign in her mind that she couldn’t believe it to be true. The desire to prove him wrong felt like danger but the need to know how far his words carried was stronger. 

“Anything?” 

“Yes.” 

“You would leave if I asked you to?” She asked, testing. 

“Yes.”

Celeste pushed a bit harder. “Even if I told you to never come back?”

Azriel’s face pinched once more as he swallowed. “Even then.”

“If I asked you to kill someone for me, would you do it?”

“Yes.”

Celeste felt herself rock back, the pew meeting her spine, as the bolt of shock shot through her. It wasn’t just his answer that did it but the speed at which he gave it. He hadn’t even hesitated to think about it. 

Noting the creep of fear blooming across her features, Azriel continued. “I also know that is something you would never ask of me without a damn good reason. You have never failed to find the good in everyone.”

Even in me. The thought finished silently in his mind. 

She swallowed hard before speaking again. “But would you still do it, even then? If I asked you to.”

“Yes,” he said in a rasping whisper. “If you asked me to do it then I know it is warranted.” 

Celeste sat there rigidly, shock still evident on her face, as she rolled everything around in her mind like a ball of wet clay she wanted to form. The flicker she felt from before had returned. It was something she couldn’t name and it made her feel strange and unsettled. It wasn’t fear. That would make more sense to her. Fear was familiar to her. Too familiar. This was something altogether different. This felt like – power. It sent a thrill straight to her bones. 

His willingness to commit these acts for her made her feel powerful. The moment however was brief before the doubt started creeping in.

If he would do that for me then what does he expect in return?

Azriel had remained quiet as she sat there. The stillness made his skin itch but he dared not move. His anxiety that he had scared her with his answers ate away at him. The urge to rush into defending himself was overwhelming as the shadows began a slow swarm trying to hide him. 

“Have you ever struck me in anger?” She had to know what the price of this power was. She knew he could lie straight to her face but there was something deep inside her that told her she would know. Something that power had touched and sparked to life. 

Even though the shock of her question lined his face, he didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed in a hardened stare. “Surely in a hundred years you’ve been angry at me at some point.”

“I have been frustrated with you, yes,” Azriel declared firmly. “But never truly angry.” 

Her next question followed quickly. “Not even when I disobey you?”

Azriel flinched. He knew why she was asking these questions. She needed certainty. She craved the reassurance that even if she pushed him she would be safe. He understood, but the thought still caused a sickening feeling in his gut.

“I have never required your obedience, Celeste.” His voice was thick with emotion. “You are free to make whatever choices you desire. And I have never once desired to harm you.” The thought of causing her pain, of bruising her body or causing blood to bloom across her skin, made that sickening feeling boil nearly to eruption.

Celeste remained silent but her eyes never left him, monitoring the emotions as they played across his face. He couldn’t read anything behind her stony expression. That wiggle of doubt at their lack of a mating bond made his gut roll with a different kind of sadness this time. If only he could feel her along that nonexistent thread between them, then he would know what to say or do.

She stood there contemplating, staring fixedly into the strikingly beautiful face before her. He had answered every question with words she wanted to hear. No part of her had given her pause to indicate that he was lying to her. But they were still just words. There was nothing tangible before her that showed her he would do everything he said. A thought rose to life in her mind along with a shred of fear. 

What if this is what pushed him too far? 

But she was tired of the fear sapping every ounce of her energy, so before it could take a winding hold, she shoved.

“You would do anything I asked?”

“Yes.”

“So if I asked you to kneel before –”

The hard crack of bone upon the floor cut off her words, the vibration coursing up her legs from under her feet. Azriel had taken one long stride forward before he slammed to the ground, not in the graceful kneel of a gentle male, but in a desperate plea. There before her he stayed perfectly still, eyes searing into her own, hands hanging limply at his sides. She stared back at him in wide eyed wonder, mouth agape. She couldn’t pull forth a single thought but shock. 

“The only goddess I have ever worshipped is you,” his voice broke the silence, the knot of held back tears audible in his voice. His large scarred hand moved deftly to his thigh without breaking his stare. Unsheathing Truth Teller, he laid it across his palms. “And if you asked me to sharpen my own dagger so that you could sacrifice me upon your altar, I would do that too.” He bent slightly, laying the shining dagger at her feet. “I would tear myself apart if I knew that it would bring you peace.”

Her mouth hung open as she continued staring. That thrill from before was now a roaring blaze inside her. Power. Never in her life had she felt powerful in any regard. Everything that she had been through seemed destined to beat her spirit down and defeat her. The inferno this power created stole her breath away. The lack of air started to make her head spin and with a shake she brought herself back to reality.

“Don’t leave,” she managed to eke out. 

Azriel’s head gave a confused shudder in response.

“It’s your home too. Don’t leave. I need to get used to sharing it with you.”

“You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to, Celeste.” Azriel pleaded. “That’s what I’ve been try–”

“I want to,” she burst out. “I want to try.”

Azriel’s posture seemed to sag slightly in relief and his shadows broke their hold, but on his knees he remained. “I don’t know how to behave around you either,’ a soft pleading in his eyes. “I don’t want to frighten you.”

The shadows worked their way up her arms in a winding circuit and Celeste couldn’t help the small sob of a laugh that passed her lips. “Then we will try together.”

Just before they exited the doors of the temple to leave, Celeste couldn’t help but to pause one last time. Turning to look towards the dais once more she threw up one final prayer. It wasn’t elegant or practiced but it was earnest. 

Please, keep me safe. 

@mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @chairofchaos @pit-and-the-pen @prythianpages

@weekendlusting @sarawritestories @ceoofyearning @i-am-infinite @tothestarsandwhateverend

[boltlightning]

# 30 for norribeth or just James and Elizabeth. Pretty please?

30. one more chapter request me a drabble!

The captain’s quarters in the Empress are hastily patched. The cannons from the Dutchman had struck above the waterline, and with the ship lightened of its burdens by Davy Jones’ crew, the Empress sails quick and easy towards Shipwreck Cove.

James is bundled in swaths of silk and wool upon the lone bed. His sleep is uneasy, incomplete, a thin veneer over the plunging depths of his pain. This is the fevered rest of a man barely tethered to life. The rise and fall of his chest is shallow, but even, and Elizabeth watches it with anxious intensity. 

She had questioned the necessity of so much bedding—surely, if his skin is running as hot as Hell itself, he would wish to be cool?—but she has learned to trust her new crew; they had kept James alive against all odds, after he was impaled, tossed unceremoniously overboard, half-drowned, and hauled gracelessly from the churning sea. He had been stabbed with a piece of wood torn off the Flying Dutchman, and the cold of the water had nearly killed him before the infection could, but by the tenacity of the crew, he lives. Elizabeth had seen men succumb to shock and cold in much more favorable conditions and could no longer doubt their medicinal methods. 

The throes of James’ fever had not released him yet. In his few moments of wakefulness, he has not been completely lucid, and does not seem to register Elizabeth’s hand brushing his burning forehead at all, much less as comfort. His tenuous fate does little to settle her nerves with the congregation of pirate kings fast approaching. 

She thumbs the token Sao Feng had given her, kept secure around her neck. It would not do to sit idle and will James to wellness.

Elizabeth peruses the chests left after Sao Feng’s death. She uncovers weapons, elaborate clothing, gold, jewelry, unfamiliar herbs and jars of preserves. Of most interest to her is an impossibly heavy chest filled with books. There are several titles in English and French she recognizes. Much of it is philosophy, Locke and Voltaire and their like, but some literature is present as well. Chaucer, Defoe, Milton, Shakespeare…

Elizabeth selects the latter. She prefers the tragedies and had never read his sonnets. She does not think she can handle another tragedy now.

Careful not to disturb James, she sits on the edge of the bed with the book in her lap. The quiet in the cabin is not true, only the sort that a ship can offer: the creaking of the planks, the susurrus of the water, the lyrical murmur of the crew, and immediate to her attention, the rasp of her closest friend’s breath. Elizabeth draws a breath of her own and begins to read aloud, if only to give her ears something else to hear.

His condition does not improve over the journey. Elizabeth continues to read, telling herself that if he dies here, she has at least given him a comfortable bed in which to do so, with poetry as his accompaniment. The thought makes her stop abruptly mid-stanza. She closes the book and breathes deeply, enough to steady her to stand and set it in the latched cupboard beside the bed.

From the other side of the bed, James stirs. He mumbles something that could plausibly be her name slurred into two syllables, the end lifted in a question. She drops the book in haste and scrambles back to his side.

“Oh, thank God you’re alive,” she exclaims, forgetting herself.

“Barely,” he croaks.

Elizabeth reaches over to brush damp hair from his face. He is cooler than he has been, and his eyes are clear, if bright with pain.

“What can I get you? There’s—well, it’s not brandy, but it’s this clear concoction that's just as strong, and—I can put tea on, just—”

“Water, maybe,” James suggests hoarsely. “No, ah, don’t get up yet.” He shifts to sit up, then hisses at the pain. 

Elizabeth gently pushes him down by the shoulder. “Stay there. What do you need?”

“One more?” He flicks his eyes towards the sonnets, which slide page-down across the floor with the tilt of the ship. “Please. It…it keeps the dreams away.”

He lifts a hand to set it to her arm. He looks nothing like himself, the fever and pain having wasted him away; even his expression is uncertain, vulnerable as she had never seen before. Yet Elizabeth looks into his face, and recognizes him, and feels relief as certain and true as the moon’s tides.

“One more,” she agrees. When she looks away to pick up the book, it is with reluctance.

[scrumptiousstuffs]

Wandee Goodday Episode 7

Is all about the kiss (specifically lips-locking) and the symbolism of that damn necklace

The previous episodes leading up to episode 7 has build up ours (and Yak's) expectation of what locking lips mean for Dee. He views his first kiss as something sacred - for his one true love without realising that his actions towards Yak shows love and affection beyond what is not being said by these 2 idiots.

We only need to see Dee voicing out his uneasiness of going for the Japan trip despite it being important for the scholarship because Dee said it will mean NOT seeing Yak for a long period of time. Similarly, Yak's willingness to just wait for his fake BF to finish work in the hospital just so that they have the opportunity to have lunch together speaks volume of their bond.

But our leading men's insecurity run deep - both are equally afraid to voice out their feelings. And so, we have Yak doing the round about by asking Dee for his first kiss if he wins the boxing match while Dee desperately finds way to show Yak his genuine feelings by cooking a romantic dinner and wearing their special playtime costume before Dee's overseas trip.

Unfortunately, Terrible lives up to his name by being the most slimy and loathsome man. Terrible tries to intimate Yak in the hospital, and while the latter shows a brave facade, we can all see it starts to crack his confidence about his relationship, which in turn affects his performance in the boxing ring.

We all agreed Terrible strong arm a reluctant Dee into his apartment right? (although I must say Dee - can't you at least bring your phone and change the clothes before you go into Terrible lair of doom?). I am also convinced he engineered that whole faucet/water thing.

So, it's not all that surprising Yak took it badly and break it off with Dee. But damn, the whole necklace scene was truly painful to watch. Dee breaking down as he realised the enormity of what he is losing beyond just the necklace.

And similarly, as we see Yak equally crying his out heart while gripping the necklace tightly.

Dr Kao remains a gem - truly the voice of reason and we can all collectively agree he is the glue that holds Dee together when things fall apart (And also the shield for any machinations Terrible is concocting towards YakDee).

On a side note, can we all agree Dr Kao deserves to have his own boyfriend? I mean, Sazaki the hot Japanese boxer is still available (just saying GMMTV!)

Speaking of glue, while Dee has Dr Kao in his corner, we can all agree Cher is the Mama Bear of their little family unit. Cher is observant - he clocks on Yak's mood and distractions. I love their bond (also, I will die for Cher, just saying). Truly the peacemaker and the bridge between the 2 brothers.

As for Taem, am I the only one clueless on the fact Taem also has some romantic feelings for Yak???? I am aware they have a solid friendship but I thought it was just Yak having a one-sided crush on Taem. Cause Taem rejected Yak at the very beginning of episode 1 (or am I imagining this?). So, while I am glad Yak consciously chose not to kiss Taem despite the opportunity to do so, I do feel bad on behalf of her.

We finished the episode with YakDee finally kissing on the lips - but to what cost? Yak lost the boxing match with his reputation in tethers (if the news headlines are too believe). His relationship with his older brother Yei is also on the rocks. And despite THE kiss, YakDee still have not define their relationship (one can only hope they will finally have a heart-to-heart talk about this in the next episode).

[queerfanfiction]

hi!! could i request a Lucifer fic where the reader repeatedly tries to persuade them into taking her flying? and when they do go flying, it’s really cute and fluffy!!

thank youu, i hope you have a great day <33

Flying

Prompt is shown above. :)

word count: 1.5k includes: fluff; no content warnings i don't think?

“Oh, come onnnnn.” Your singsong voice badgered at Lucifer. “Pleeeeeeease??” They hated when you got stuck on an idea and wouldn’t let go of it. So far, you have bugged them about eating dinner together as a date (even though they don’t technically need to eat), making a music streaming account, and why they don’t have 300+ degrees being immortal and all. Humans were so stubborn—you especially. The past few weeks you were relentless about Lucifer taking you flying.

“I want to feel untethered! From the ground. From everyone. From reality.”

“Being untethered is not what you imagine it to be,” a pensive voice recounts softly, almost as if they were reliving a memory and providing a cautionary tale. At this, you reign in your excitable energy and peer at the once-angel before you. They normally reacted in an annoyed manner when you brought up flying. Now their eyes were distant and unfocused, giving you a rare chance to examine them without their awareness. You knew they often masked their interior thoughts and feelings, probably as a deflection or defense. You didn’t know why they did it, since no one dares to mess with one of the most powerful beings in the universe.

An overwhelming need to wrap Lucifer into your arms arises within your chest, aching to be fulfilled. You’re not sure how that would be received, though… Lucifer usually initiated contact between you two, and being new to a relationship together, you were unsure about the unspoken boundaries between you.

You settle for slowly approaching. Your steady hand extends to graze the pale, fixed jaw of the god before you. In a whisper, you plead, “Come back to me.”

Another moment passes. The change in them is almost imperceptible—a hardening or tucking away of memories and emotions occurs. Their eyes focus and lose the glossy, distant shine to them. With a mischievous smirk extending over their features, Lucifer retorts, “You’re sure you don’t want to be untethered?”

“Tether yourself to me.”

With that, you shift onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to Lucifer comfortingly. You knew the time for playful nudging was over. After a few moments of gentle and precise kisses, a hunger replaces the careful, sweet energy. You think about how flying can wait.

Finally, one day Lucifer relents to your requests to take you flying. The requests were now a routine between you two—a dance of sorts. You would endear yourself to Lucifer and sit in their lap with rather large puppy dog eyes. With each stern and polite decline, soaring through the air while clutching onto the lean, capable torso before you became seemingly improbable. That’s why you were surprised when they relented to your begging. It felt out of place almost. You would have thought Lucifer’s newfound agreeance was a joke or prank, but their eyes were deliberate and decided.

Their body language turned more serious and direct, and they ordered you to sit down in front of them. Lucifer took your hands in theirs, not caring that their abrupt and direct actions had caused yours to turn clammy. What came next was a long discussion of consent, boundaries, and what to expect when flying.

“At any time, you may signal for us to slow or stop.” Then, Lucifer reasoned, “You may feel uneasy. It is not for mortals…” You could swear you heard affection and concern in their voice.

You didn’t know what to expect, and questions filled your mind. Would Lucifer run off the balcony in Hell? Do they need momentum to fly? Is there a secret way to exit Hell when flying? How do mortals not see them in the sky? Had Lucifer ever taken another human flying before?

Unsure of how to proceed, you only nodded obediently. Lucifer reached for you, sensing your hesitation now that you are presented with the very thing you desired. Your heart reacted—thrumming faster in your chest at the contact and anticipation. “Come now,” Lucifer cooed.

You climbed into their lean arms, feeling safe and secure against them. Funny how the ruler of Hell, the eternally damned, was the one you trusted with your life. The irony was not lost on you. Still, though, it wasn’t something you were ashamed of. The Lucifer you knew was charming and mystifying…and really cared for you. You knew they did, because it was apparent in their actions and demeanor. They made sure you were comfortable and unbothered by others in Hell when you visited. They dropped in on you throughout the day when you were on Earth living your life. Lucifer didn’t even break your phone or make you turn off the music when a One Direction song came on shuffle. 

Lucifer’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. “Ready?”

In only a blink of your eye, you and Lucifer were somewhere outside on Earth. If you had to guess, you’d say some U.S. national park in the northwest—some of the trees were as wide as cars and the air felt crisp and cool against your skin.

“Hold on tightly to me.” This whisper from Lucifer fills the air between you two, giving you goosebumps across your arms. With that, they stretched out their wings and pushed away from the ground with only one substantial thrust. 

Being airborne…it was almost like…..gliding through the sky, rather than powered flight. Lucifer’s wings were definitely moving, but unlike anything you could have imagined. They weren’t flapping or producing thrust. Instead, the wings reminded you of how things move and distort underwater. The flight stroke was so unusual, defying physics. It was as if there was no effort or strain for them. 

Meanwhile, you felt pressure all over your body. You expected to feel like Rose at the front bow of the Titanic or a happy dog with its head out the window. You expected the cool air to whip against your face and burn your cheeks. However, this…produced tingles all over your body. A wooziness in your head, almost as if you were in a slowed-down dream. You didn’t feel sick; you felt intoxicated. Is it from a lack of oxygen? You could breathe perfectly fine, though. You think back to Lucifer’s words of caution, and you’re still not frightened. Flying with Lucifer felt almost like being both in yourself and outside yourself simultaneously. It was magical.

The evening sun glistened against your lover’s blonde curls. You found yourself wanting to admire the view below and around you, but the determined face of the once-angel before you was too mesmerizing. You hope this won’t be the only time they take you flying, because you haven’t been able to focus on any of the beauty from the aerial view you found yourself in.

You could feel Lucifer’s steady breathing, which boggled your mind considering the activity you two found yourself in. Then again, you expected your own breathing to be choked or unwieldy. You felt so calm and trance-like. Lucifer was holding you with such care, occasionally glancing down to ensure you were okay.

Unknowingly, tears began to wet your cheeks. They started slowly but fell quicker and quicker. It took only moments for Lucifer to see that you were crying. Worry immediately plastered itself over their face. Their concern led them to land (in a vast field of rolling hills) as soon as they could. You questioned in your head how far you two had traveled to go from cedars and firs to grassy meadows.

“Are you okay? Was it too much? I never should have taken you. Foolish.”

Confusion hung over you, because you felt amazing. Well, a bit sad to be torn away from the experience so abruptly. You had so many emotions swirling through you, and you couldn’t translate how severely you felt for the being in front of you.

In response, all you could utter was, “W-what? I’m happy.” So very happy.

Lucifer swipes at the wetness on your cheeks and brings a finger in front of you as a way to question why you were crying.

“They’re good tears. I’m…leaking joy.” You couldn’t quite explain how you felt, and you knew your spacey rambling probably wasn’t satisfactory in reassuring Lucifer. In fact, a puzzled look appears on their face. You knew Lucifer didn’t like to be befuddled or to misunderstand a situation, so you quickly clarify, “You bring me so much joy.”

Lucifer’s concern subsides a bit. It’s been so long since Lucifer was the cause of pure joy. They almost forgot what it was like, how addicting it could be. It made them want to never let you down, give into your every silly, human request. The glassy, pleased look in your eyes made Lucifer want to crawl out of their prison of pompousness and self-hatred. Here you were appreciating them and getting closer to them with no ill intent or expectations of anything in return.

Lucifer stroked your hair and kissed your forehead—thankful you were okay. It was in this moment that they decided taking you flying would be a regular occurrence.

[wolfxplush]

What Is A Sin If Not Control?

Baby Max insight to his past

Max Whitelocke had always been peculiar, even as a small child. His wide, unblinking eyes peered curiously at the world, trying to drink it in, trying to understand why it was so different from him. Other children ran and laughed, unbothered by the world around them. They seemed light, free. But Max? Max felt like there was something heavy in him, something he couldn’t shake. He watched everything too closely, too carefully. His classmates shifted in their seats under the weight of his gaze, his teachers grew uneasy when he questioned them with an intensity that wasn’t appropriate for a seven-year-old.

His world felt bound, tethered to rules he couldn’t make sense of. And yet, there was a hunger inside him, a need to understand — to dissect the meaning of things, to peel away at the layers of human behavior. Love, people called it, but Max had never been sure what that word meant. It felt shallow when spoken by others. To him, love was deeper, something that went beyond mere affection. It was the act of knowing, of seeing someone fully.

It was his mother who decided that this peculiar intensity needed correction.

“You’ll see Father Gregory tomorrow,” she had announced one cold autumn morning as she stared at him from across the breakfast table. Her tone was detached, as it always was. Max knew she didn’t care for him, not in the way other mothers did their children. He wasn’t a son to be loved; he was an ornament to be maintained.

He looked up from his cereal, confusion rippling across his young face. “Why?” he asked simply, his voice soft but edged with defiance. He knew his mother never acted without reason. And the reason was always control.

His mother’s lips pressed together into a thin, unforgiving line. “You need to confess, Max,” she replied in that cool, emotionless voice that often sent a shiver down his spine. “You’ve been… misbehaving. Father Gregory will help cleanse you of your sins.”

Sins. That word again. Max had heard it spoken in church, whispered by teachers, muttered by adults who thought children weren’t listening. But it never made sense to him. Sin was this invisible stain people carried, but Max never felt it. If anything, the world felt like a sin to him — an unholy confusion of rules and expectations that suffocated his every breath.

“Sins?” he repeated, his small fingers tightening around the spoon in his hand. “What sins?”

His mother sighed, irritated, as though she were growing tired of having to explain things to him. She stepped away from the counter and glided towards him, her figure towering over his small frame as he sat there in the kitchen. “You watch people, Max. You stare at them like… like you’re dissecting them. It’s unnatural. You make them uncomfortable. It’s wrong.” She spat out the word “wrong” as though it disgusted her.

Max stared back at her, his mind working. He couldn’t understand why watching people — observing them, trying to understand them — was wrong. He loved how people moved, how they interacted. It was fascinating, like watching the inner workings of a clock. Couldn’t they see that he was trying to figure out the patterns, the mechanisms of their behavior? Why was that so terrifying to them?

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, the defiance in his voice more pronounced now. His heart beat faster, though he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or confusion.

His mother crossed her arms, her gaze cold and judgmental. “You’ll go. Father Gregory will help you see the error in your ways.” She turned and walked away, leaving him alone at the table, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a heavy blanket.

---

The church loomed over Max the next day, its tall spires stretching towards the sky as if they, too, were yearning for something beyond this world. He stood outside its stone walls, feeling smaller than he had ever felt before. The air was thick with the scent of burning candles and old wood, and the cold autumn breeze bit at his cheeks, making his eyes sting. His mother had dropped him off at the church steps with barely a word, trusting the priest to do what she could not — cleanse her son of whatever it was that made him different.

Max stepped inside, his small feet echoing on the stone floors as he made his way towards the confessional. The church was empty, save for a few elderly women praying quietly at the pews. Their voices rose and fell in soft whispers, like the gentle rustling of leaves. The stained glass windows cast strange, twisted colors across the floor, creating a kaleidoscope of fractured light that made Max feel even more out of place.

Father Gregory sat waiting in the confession booth, his hands folded neatly in his lap. The priest was an old man, his face creased with lines of age and weariness. His eyes, though gentle, held a darkness that Max could not quite place. There was something behind them, something he had seen in his mother’s gaze, too.

Control.

Max climbed into the booth, the wooden seat cold beneath him. He stared at the small grate that separated him from the priest, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite pin down. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t believe in this. But still, there was something about the church that gripped him, something that made him feel like he had done something wrong — even if he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Max said, the words falling from his lips like a rehearsed line in a school play. He wasn’t sure what they meant, but his mother had drilled them into him that morning.

Father Gregory shifted on the other side of the grate, leaning forward slightly. “And what sins have you come to confess, my child?” His voice was soft, almost kind, but there was something in it that made Max feel uneasy.

Max stared at his hands, his small fingers clenched tightly together. He thought about his mother’s words — about being unnatural, about making people uncomfortable. But he didn’t feel like he had sinned. He felt like the world had sinned against him, trapping him in rules he didn’t understand, forcing him into confessions he didn’t believe in.

“I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong,” Max said after a long pause. His voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath it, a quiet defiance.

Father Gregory’s silence was heavy, as though he were weighing the boy’s words. “Why do you think you’re here, Max?” the priest asked softly, his voice echoing in the small wooden booth.

Max blinked, confused by the question. “My mother said I need to confess. She said I watch people too much. That I make them uncomfortable. But I don’t mean to. I just... I love them.” The word felt strange on his tongue, but it was the only way he could describe the intensity of his fascination. “I love watching them. I love how they move, how they speak. I just want to understand them.”

The priest exhaled slowly, his hands clasping together more tightly. “Loving others is not a sin, Max,” he said carefully. “But sometimes, the way we express that love can be misguided. People need their privacy. They need to feel safe. When you watch them too closely, you take that safety away from them.”

Max frowned, his small fists clenching in his lap. “But I don’t hurt anyone,” he argued, his voice growing more insistent. “I just want to see them, to know them. Is that so wrong? I can’t help it. It’s like breathing. I need to do it.”

Father Gregory hesitated, his fingers brushing over the rosary beads that hung from his belt. There was something unsettling about the way the boy spoke, something that made the priest feel as though he were standing on the edge of a dark chasm. “Max, love is about giving people the space to be themselves without feeling watched or judged. What you’re describing... it’s not love. It’s something else.”

Max shook his head, his small body tensing with frustration. He couldn’t understand why the priest didn’t see what he saw. Why couldn’t they all see? Love wasn’t soft, wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t about distance or space. Love was consuming, overwhelming. It was the need to know someone completely, to see them in all their rawness. “No,” he said firmly, his voice rising. “Love is about seeing. It’s about understanding. I love them because I see them, because I know them. And I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. Why should I?”

The priest’s breath caught in his throat. There was a darkness in the boy’s words, a cold, unyielding logic that frightened him. Max didn’t see love as a gift or a connection between people. To him, love was possession, an insatiable need to consume, to control.

“Max,” Father Gregory began slowly, choosing his words carefully, “sometimes, what we believe to be love is actually something else. Something darker. You must understand that love requires boundaries. It requires respect. Without that, it can become dangerous.”

Max’s eyes narrowed, his small hands gripping the edge of the wooden seat beneath him. “Love doesn’t have boundaries,” he replied, his voice low and filled with conviction. “It can’t be controlled. It can’t be stopped. It’s like breathing. You can’t tell someone to stop breathing.”

Father Gregory felt a cold shiver run down his spine. There was no reasoning with the boy. He felt it in the weight of Max’s words, in the unwavering certainty of his tone. It wasn’t just a child's misunderstanding; it was something deeper, something twisted that had taken root in the boy’s mind. Max wasn’t confessing; he was proclaiming, defending a version of love that bent and broke the very fabric of what it was meant to be.

“Max,” the priest said softly, trying to reach the child through the darkness that seemed to cloud his understanding, “love doesn’t take. It gives. It allows people to be who they are, without forcing your presence upon them. What you describe, this watching, this need to control... that’s not love. It’s obsession. It’s possession. You must let go.”

The words echoed in the small confessional, but Max remained unmoved. His hands, now clenched into tight fists, trembled slightly as he gripped the edge of the seat beneath him. He didn’t understand why they were telling him this. Why was the priest lying to him? Why was everyone lying to him?

“No,” Max said, his voice sharper now, as though he were struggling to contain something inside him, something wild and uncontrollable. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand.” He shook his head, his small body trembling with a mix of anger and frustration. “I love because I have to. I love because... because it’s the only way to know people. I want to know them. I want to understand them. I want to be inside their heads, inside their hearts. Isn’t that what love is? Isn’t that what you preach?”

Father Gregory could feel the tension rising in the small booth, the air thick with the boy’s desperation and defiance. He had seen this kind of intensity before, though never in someone so young. It was the kind of fervor that drove people to dangerous extremes, the kind of obsession that left nothing but destruction in its wake.

“Max,” the priest said, his voice gentle but firm, “love is not about control. It’s not about forcing people to be seen or known the way you want them to be. Love is about letting go, about trusting others to reveal themselves when they are ready. If you force your way into their lives, if you take without giving... that’s not love. That’s sin.”

Sin. That word again.

Max’s eyes flashed with something cold, something almost vicious, and his small hands gripped the wooden seat so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Sin,” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “You keep talking about sin. But what is sin, really? Is it a word you use to control people? To make them feel guilty for something they can’t help? I didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose to feel this way. I didn’t choose to love like this. It’s not my fault.”

His voice grew louder, more frantic, as though the walls of the confessional were closing in on him, suffocating him. “You want me to feel guilty, don’t you? You want me to believe that I’m broken, that I’m wrong. But I’m not! I love the way I love because I can’t do anything else. It’s like breathing! You can’t tell me to stop breathing!”

The priest’s face paled. He had heard confessions from murderers, thieves, adulterers, but none of them had frightened him the way this small boy did. There was something deeply unsettling in Max’s words, something that went beyond mere defiance. It was as if Max were not just rejecting the idea of sin but actively embracing something darker, something that lurked in the spaces between love and obsession.

“Max,” Father Gregory said carefully, leaning forward slightly, “I’m not here to make you feel guilty. I’m here to help you understand the difference between love and control. Between care and possession. You say you love, but love does not make others feel trapped. It does not take without giving. Love respects boundaries. It’s about freedom, not control.”

Max’s face twisted, his young features contorting with frustration, with a rage that felt far too old for someone his age. “You don’t get it,” he spat, his voice shaking. “You don’t get me. You just want to shove your rules down my throat, like everyone else. But I won’t do it. I won’t let you make me feel bad for something I can’t control. I won’t let you make me feel guilty for loving.”

His voice trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of his own conviction. “I don’t believe in your sins. I don’t believe in your forgiveness. I don’t need it. I don’t need any of it. I only need to love. And if that’s wrong, then I don’t care.”

Father Gregory sat back in his seat, a deep sense of dread washing over him. He had seen children rebel before, had heard angry words from defiant youth, but Max’s rejection of sin wasn’t the rebellion of a child. It was the rejection of someone who had already decided their path, someone who had already accepted a truth that lay far outside the boundaries of the church.

The priest realized, in that moment, that he could not save this boy. Max had already made up his mind — about the world, about himself, about love. He had twisted the very thing that was meant to bring light and warmth into something cold, something suffocating.

“I will pray for you, Max,” Father Gregory said softly, his voice heavy with sadness. “I will pray that one day, you understand what true love is. And I will pray that you learn to let go.”

Max said nothing. He stood from the seat, his small frame tense, his fists still clenched at his sides. There was no peace in him, no sense of redemption or forgiveness. Only a stubborn defiance that burned in his eyes like a cold fire.

As he turned and walked out of the confessional, the heavy wooden door creaking shut behind him, the echoes of his footsteps reverberated through the empty church. The stained glass windows cast strange, distorted colors across his small figure, and for a brief moment, the priest thought he saw something in those fractured shadows — something dark, lurking just beneath the surface.

Max stepped out into the autumn air, the cold wind biting at his cheeks. He breathed deeply, the weight of the confessional, of Father Gregory’s words, falling away like dead leaves. He didn’t need their forgiveness. He didn’t need their rules, their boundaries, their sins.

He loved the way he loved. Like breathing. And nothing, not even the church, could make him stop.

[feuerwizard]

for @windwithinmyveins || cont.

Caleb watched Ceres carefully, his expression unreadable as she spoke. He knew there was more to her than met the eye, more depths hidden beneath a charismatic facade. It had been over a decade since Caleb had last attended any sort of party, and the influx of strangers into their campsite made him feel a bit uneasy. He could sense the buzzing chatter and laughter of the crowd, the clinking of glasses and the wafting aroma of alcohol. Despite his discomfort, he couldn't resist indulging in a few glasses of shitty wine to ease the tension in the air. As the crackling of the fire filled the brief silence between them, Caleb's tone shifted, carrying a note of conviction. “Nein, it’s okay. I want the tadpoles gone as much as you do.”

The human man despised the tadpole, a small but persistent creature that kept him tethered to the group whether he wanted it or not. The thought of his mind being an open book to his fellow members filled him with discomfort and set him on edge. The others were always quick to point out his sour mood, as if they relished in poking at his defenses. Perhaps they were all burdened by the weight of their circumstances, haunted by secrets and uncertainties that threatened to consume them whole. He took a swig from his wine, the liquid burning down his throat.

His mind shifted back to the book, the reason he had initiated this conversation in the first place. He couldn't shake off the dangerous aura that surrounded it, but Caleb was unable to suppress the overwhelming envy he felt towards Ceres’ possession of such potentially powerful arcane knowledge. But Ceres was kind, kinder than the most of the assholes at this camp. For now, Caleb pushed his curiosity aside to show some semblance of decency in return. “You’re doing a good job, being the face of this. I don’t think we would have made it this far without you.”

[takingchences]

𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐

A descendant of a legendary quirk longs to separate herself from her family name, but first she'll have to confront villains, ghosts from the past, and her growing attraction for Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x OP!fem!oc

Warnings: swearing

series masterlist + my masterlist

"What? A Quirk assessment test?" Most of the class exclaimed in unison.

"But orientation!" Uraraka whined. "We're gonna miss it!" Who cares? Sana sighed, just wanting to jump into the action already. She was dying to know the quirks of her new classmates and get a feel for her competition.

Their home room teacher obviously couldn't have cared less about missing something as trivial as orientation. "If you really wanna make the big leagues, you can't waste time on pointless ceremonies." Uraraka and others gasped at the haggard man's brutal honesty. Sana nodded her head solemnly in agreement. "Here at UA, we're not tethered to traditions. That means that I get to run my class however I see fit." A few uneasy looks were spotted in the crowd. The unidentified pro held up a small tablet. "You've been taking standardized tests most of your lives, but you never got to use your Quirks in physical exams before. The country's still trying to pretend we're all created equal by not letting those with the most power excel. It's not rational. One day, the Ministry of Education will learn."

Not if my father has anything to say about it, she argued.

Mr. Aizawa turned towards the angry ash blonde standing not two feet away from her. "Bakugou, you managed to get the most points on the entrance exam. What was your farthest distance throw with a softball when you were in Junior High?"

"Sixty‐seven meters, I think."

So Blondie's name is Bakugou.

"Right. Try doing it with your Quirk. Anything goes, just stay in the circle." Bakugou stepped inside the designated area. Sana watched his every breath and each shift of his muscular frame in anticipation. That confidence of his is killer. His quirk must be incredibly strong.

"Go on. You're wasting our time." An impatient Aizawa stood off to the side with his hands in his pockets.

Bakugou stretched his throwing arm in preparation. "Alright, man. You asked for it." He replied nonchalantly. Then, with a crazed look in his eyes, he suddenly wound his arm back and-

"DIE!" He screeched inhumanly as he released an explosion from his hand, sending the ball rocketing through the sky. Sana's eyes narrowed at the display of power. Just as she'd expected, Blondie had a strong and flashy quirk... but did he really have to be so loud all of the time?

"All of you need to know your maximum capabilities," Aizawa narrated as the class silently followed the trajectory of Bakugou's pitch. The ball eventually came to a stop, making the device in Aizawa's hand beep. "It's the most rational way of figuring out your potential as a pro hero." He flipped the device around to show them Bakugou's results.

705.2 meters. An impressive score, Sana could admit, but not an unbeatable one.

"Whoa, 705 meters, are you kidding me?" Kaminari was shocked by the results of the test, pun very much intended.

Bakugou returned to his original spot with a cocky smirk, flashing his teeth at Sana in hopes of provoking a fight. He obviously wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. Luckily, neither was she. Just you wait, pretty boy. I'll blow you straight out of the water.

After a few students made the mistake of commenting on how fun it looked, their teacher smiled sadistically before adding a punishment: whoever ranked last at the end of the eight tests would be expelled.

"You can't send one of us home! I mean, we just got here! Even if it wasn't the first day, that isn't fair!" Uraraka once again confronted their teacher.

"Oh, and you think natural disasters are?" Aizawa countered. "Or power‐hungry villains, hmm? Or catastrophic accidents that wipe out whole cities? No, the world is full of unfairness. It's a hero's job to try to combat that unfairness. If you wanna be a pro, you're gonna have to push yourself to the brink. For the next three years, UA will throw one terrible hardship after another at you. So, go beyond. Plus Ultra‐style." He bent his finger in a come here motion. "Show me it's no mistake that you're here."

Sana's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. Her eyes cut to the dual-haired boy standing in the back of the group. So close, yet so far away. I have to prove that I'm strong enough to make it on my own.

"Now then. We're just wasting time by talking. Let the games begin."

The first part of the apprehension test was the 50-meter dash. So far, the most impressive score had come from Iida, but what else would you expect from a guy with engines in his legs? Soon, it was Sana's turn to run. She was paired up against a blonde guy with a tail.

This is my time to shine. As she'd passed by Bakugou to stand at the starting point, she'd made sure to brush his shoulder with her's. Immediately, a warmth had flowed through her body from where they'd made contact. Sana crouched low to the ground and released a deep breath.

Thank you, Bakugou...

Her glowing eyes locked with the said male's just as the starting pistol was about to go off. Her lips curved into a devious grin, making his red eyes widen slightly.

...for being my stepping stone.

There was a burst of blinding light where the girl had once been standing, causing many of the observers to turn away and shield their eyes. Before the class had time to process what had just happened, the measuring device beeped.

"0.11 seconds!" The automated voice cheered.

Standing at the finish line was Sana, lightly panting as she bent to rest her hands on her knees. Running at the speed of light, her pastel hair cast her eyes in shadow, but did nothing to hide the proud smirk on her face. Try and top that.

"HUUUUUH?" The class exclaimed.

Mina, Kaminari, Kirishima, and a boy named Hanta Sero immediately circled the peach-haired girl once she rejoined the rest of the class. "What the heck was that?!" Mina grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "It was crazy cool, babes!"

"What a manly score!" Kirishima held out a fist, making Sana laugh as she bumped their knuckles together. Thankfully, his quirk wasn't activated, otherwise her hand would've crumbled like wet paper beneath his.

Kaminari slung an arm over her shoulder. "So that's your special move, huh? How about I show you mine tonight-"

"Oi, Flashlight!"

The lightning-haired teen was cut off by a gruff voice. The small group turned to face Bakugou, his red eyes seemingly trying to peer into her soul and learn all of her secrets. "It's Sana," she reminded him with a sigh. "Did you need something?"

"What's your quirk?"

"Does it matter?"

The ash blonde's lip curled in annoyance. "Ya think I didn't notice? You did something." He squeezed his shoulder with a frown. He quickly snapped out of his trance and thrust a finger in her face. "So tell me what the hell your quirk is!"

"I didn't do anything to you." Sana held her hands up defensively. "I just wanted to power up."

"Huh?" He yelled, just as visibly confused as the rest of her new friends.

(Present Mic announcing) "Sana Sakano, her Quirk: Light Manipulation! By absorbing heat and light into her body, she can create blasts of radiation. The more energy she takes in, the stronger her attacks are!"

"Obviously, the Sun is my main source of energy, but any kind of heat will do." Sana tried her best to explain the inner workings of her quirk. "Your quirk has to do with fire, so naturally, your body's core temperature is higher than normal." She placed a hand on Sero's and Kirishima's toned arms and felt a sliver of warmth soak into her palms. "It works with anyone, though I prefer people like you." She shrugged.

"Does your shitty quirk weaken the other person?" Bakugou pressed, his anger unwavering.

"No," Sana answered sourly. "So don't blame me when you lose."

The explosive blonde scoffed. "Whatever. I don't need other people to help me win." Her spirits fell as he turned and stalked away in his strange, grumpy-old-man way, hands shoved into his pockets. Her new friends noticed the sadness in her eyes and immediately tried to cheer her up.

"Hey, don't mind him." Sero reassured her.

"Yeah!" Mina jumped in. "We believe in you, so go out there and kick his ass!" Sana's eyes glimmered, her mouth slightly open in surprise as she stared at each of the four teens in front of her.

They're so... warm.

She didn't mean physically, but a different type of warmth altogether. They offered their attention and affection, two things that Sana had craved her entire life. She had always known coldness: a distant father who brushed her thoughts, feelings and existence aside, a broken, empty home where she spent most nights alone, eating her meals in deafening silence. A family that wasn't a family at all, but business partners. To them, Sana was nothing but an investment, her stock only rising as her power grew and developed. The second that changed, she'd be deemed worthless and discarded.

Just like her mother.

It was why she and Shoto had gotten along so well. They'd lived such similar lives, experienced a lot of the same pain. They could relate to each other in a way most people would never understand. And that was fine, because they knew that they would always have each other.

But somewhere along the way, she'd lost him too.

He'd left, grown cold like his right side, become unapproachable like her father. The home she'd once found in him had become just as dark and deserted as the one she would return to day after day, and once again, she found herself out in the cold. But here, with these people...

U.A really is the best.

The class was tested on their grip strength, followed by the standing long jump. Bakugou had cleared the sandbox by setting off explosions to keep him airborne, which gave Sana an idea for her turn.

When her name was called, she felt her eyes light up as her quirk powered on. Leveling her palms with the ground, she pushed off with her feet and activated her quirk. Like a rocket, blasts of energy burst from her palms and sent her shooting through the air, easily clearing the sandbox. Her landing, on the other hand, could use some improvement. She rolled across the grass a few times before finally coming to a stop. Hearing the concern in her friends' voices, she flashed them a lazy smile and a thumbs up.

Idiot. Bakugou thought to himself as he watched the girl climb to her feet, dirt now smudged along her cheek and PE uniform.

A few pieces of pastel hair, which she'd tied back with a ribbon at the beginning of the assessment, had been freed during the tumble. They floated and danced around her face as she bounced up to the group of morons she called friends. Her smile hadn't wavered, not since he'd confronted her about her quirk. It was seriously starting to piss him off. How could she be so happy with the way things were going? The only standout score she'd managed to get so far was the 50-meter dash, and that was because she'd used him to do it!

One of the final tests was the ball toss, where Bakugou had set a high standard. I just have to beat 705.2 meters, Sana repeated like a mantra in her head.

She'd turned away, as it was Shoto's turn to throw. She hadn't been able to look at him for too long. The distance—both physical and metaphorical—between them too great and far too painful to acknowledge. So Sana ignored it, shoving every thought of him out of her mind. Of how much stronger he'd become over the last few months, how his hair was longer, how he seemed taller than the last time she'd seen him, his muscular frame more developed-

No, bad Sana. She scolded herself for letting her mind slip. She doubted Shoto had thought such things when he'd seen her this morning, learned that they'd been placed in the same class-

Dammit! I'm doing it again!

Thankfully, Shoto was now done, Uraraka having taken his place inside the white circle. She didn't even have to throw the ball. With her gravity quirk, one touch was all it took for her to reach infinity. Midoriya was up next, then Sana.

"If Midoriya doesn't shape up soon, he's the one going home." Iida put to words what they were all thinking, worry clear in his voice.

"Huh? Of course he is. He's a Quirkless loser." The explosive blonde glared at the greenette from across the field.

"Really?" Sana exclaimed in awe.

The rest of 1-A was surprised by her genuine excitement. Ever since U.A had amended the rule about quirkless students entering the Hero Course, she'd been anticipating the day that someone without a quirk would step up and prove themselves. It wasn't power that made a hero. Endeavor was living proof of that.

"He has a Quirk." Iida insisted, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Did you not hear about what he did in the entrance exam?"

Damn, she cursed. I forgot about that.

In the circle, Midoriya readied his arm, a look of pure concentration on his face. His arm seemed to glow for a moment before he released the ball. The baseball fell to the ground seconds later, barely 40 meters away.

"Wow. That was, uh..." Sana's eyes shifted between the boy and the ball. ... extremely underwhelming, she sweat dropped. What could he have possibly done during the entrance exam to impress so many people?!

Midoriya exchanged a few words with their teacher before coming to a realization. "Ah! Those goggles. I know you! You can look at someone and cancel out their powers. The Erasure Hero. Eraser Head!"

"Eraser?" Sero scratched his head. "Who's that?"

A frog-like girl came to the rescue. "I've heard of him. I think he works on the down‐low."

Teacher and pupil spoke a little longer, none of them being able to hear exactly what the two were saying. Once Midoriya returned to his spot to try again, the class whispered amongst themselves about what they possibly might've discussed.

"I wonder if our teacher gave him some advice."

"Probably told him to start packing." The satisfaction oozing from Bakugou was troubling to say the least. It was unlikely that he enjoyed much of anything due to his prickly personality, but did he really dislike the green-haired boy so badly that he was actually rooting for him to fail?

"SMASH!" Midoriya shouted as he released the ball a second time. The ball was launched into the air from the pressure, the speed and velocity of the ball on par with Bakugou's, though the explosive teen was too shocked by the fact that surprise—Midoriya is, in fact, not quirkless—to do anything other than gawk.

The end result? 705.3 meters.

Alright, Midoriya, Sana nodded her head in acknowledgment.

Bakugou, shaking himself out of whatever stupor he'd been in, immediately launched himself at the greenette, Aizawa being forced to restrain him with his fashionable scarf—sorry, capture weapon.

"How the hell am I supposed to follow that?" Sana muttered to herself.

"You're wasting my time now." Aizawa grumbled as the students crowded around the boy with the broken finger. "Whoever's next can step up."

That would be me, Sana sighed, stepping forward. Aizawa handed her the ball, which she reluctantly accepted. Taking her place inside the circle, Sana couldn't help but frown down at the white paint, grateful that the class—namely Bakugou—was unable see her unease. Her quirk didn't enhance any of her physical abilities besides her speed and that stunt had burned through most of her stored energy. Thankfully, it was a bright, sunny day out, so whatever reserves she'd lost had quickly been replenished. But throwing a ball (ideally) over 705.2 meters would be a difficult task.

I don't know what to do.

She couldn't help but picture a white-and-red-haired boy in her place. Shoto would've already thrown it. Only the weak hesitate, a voice berated. But it didn't sound like her own. The voice was deeper, more masculine, like her father's telling her nothing she does will ever be good enough. Or like Enji Todoroki's, always reminding her of his son's superiority.

You're not weak, Sana grit her teeth, banishing all thoughts of her former friend. She spotted ash blonde spikes out of the corner of her eye, thought of the harsh words he'd spoken. You don't need others to help you.

"Any day now." That was her teacher's voice. Shit. How much time had she wasted already?

Sana took a deep breath in, felt the rush of her quirk flooding through her. Releasing her breath slowly, she began to run along the inner edges of the white circle, her figure a blur of peach and navy blue. Gripping the softball tightly, she drew her arm back before flinging it into the air. It may not be much now, but...

Her glowing eyes followed the ball's course intently. It whistled through the air before crashing into the soft earth. The device in her teacher's hand displayed her score: 607 meters.

I'm just getting started.

[formulauno98]

Once Upon a Time in Brazil | Chapter Ten

The press could be a useful tool in your game, but it could also be your worst nightmare. Unfortunately, Brazil was to bring about the latter alongside another bump in the road.

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: Spice is back. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys and girls) 🌶 Possible pregnancy

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction, no-one is married in this alt-universe.

TUESDAY PM

In the run-up to the Brazillian Grand Prix, you’d spent a week back in the UK and were now in Miami for a few days, working on a sponsor event whilst Toto was in Los Angeles, meeting with a supplier. As ever, you felt like you were cursed to never be free from drama. Since your relationship had been outed, Lara had been on her best behaviour with you and had stopped with the sassy comments, however, it seemed as if it had all been a front. 

Having travelled together on the jet from London, you had been dropped off in Miami on Tuesday afternoon, with Lara accompanying Toto alone on the plane between Miami and Los Angeles. It sounded simple enough but that’s when it all started to go pear-shaped.

Getting ready for the event and putting on your make-up in your luxurious hotel bathroom, your phone pinged, it was Toto.

Hi my love, I hope Miami is treating you well. We just got to LA, do you think it’s weird if I invite Lara to dinner? X

You’d replied, thinking it was harmless.

Hey, it’s gorgeous here, just getting ready for the event so nothing interesting, hope LA is fun.

Glad you got there safe and sound. I don’t think it’s weird, she’s by herself. X

You then didn’t hear from him before you left for the event and having been kept busy all evening, putting on your best charm offensive for the sponsor, you hadn’t had time to check your phone. By the time you were sliding into the backseat of the car that would take you back to your hotel, it was late and when you checked your phone you started to panic. Five missed calls from Toto, all within a few minutes of one another.

Worried, you’d immediately called him back but it had rang through to voicemail. It wasn’t until you’d gotten back to your room that a text pinged through.

Call me when you can, I know you are busy but this is serious. 

It wasn’t like Toto to panic and it made you feel uneasy. Picking up your phone and dialling his number, he must have been waiting for your call as he picked up on the first ring.

“Y/N.” he said, his voice strained, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey Toto, what’s wrong?” you asked, trying to hide the worry in your voice.

“I don’t know where to start,” he said, his voice slightly crackly down the unstable connection, “Lara, she kissed me!”

Floored, you flopped down onto the sofa in your suite, “What?” you exclaimed.

“She kissed me!” he said, clearly freaking out.

“How? What?” you said. 

“I invited her out to dinner and she came to meet me, all dressed up in next to nothing, and drank an entire bottle of wine to herself over dinner.” Toto said very quickly, “Then after we finished eating, she moved over to me, put her hand on my thigh and kissed me.”

Short of words, you managed a weak reply, “And did you let her?”

“Of course not!” said Toto, seemingly offended that you would imply that, “I didn’t know what to do. I threw her off, and then she started crying.”

“Fuck,” you said, rubbing your forehead. “What did you do?”

“Well by then half the restaurant was staring at us, so I put my arm around her and we left.”

“Toto!” you groaned, “How do you think that looks?”

“I know, but I didn’t know what to do!” he said exasperated. “I dropped her back to her room and she tried to pull me in.”

“Fuck, that’s wild.” you said, “Although I have to say, I’m not surprised. She’s always been so weird and protective of you.”

“I know,” he replied, sounding as if he was at the end of his tether. “I’m worried, there were photographers outside.”

“Fuck.” you said, “But I’m sure it will be fine, I’ll let Rosie know to keep an eye out.”

“Thank you. I am so sorry. I never thought she would do something like this. I thought she hated me because of the Ed incident.” he said.

“Hmm, I thought so too to be honest.” you said, “What are you going to do, report her to HR?”

“Honestly, I want to let her go asap but since we only have two races to go it seems silly.” Toto sounded defeated. It was a tricky situation, “I will talk to Pamela and see what she advises.”

“How about borrowing Sophie?” you asked, your assistant was well versed in managing your crazy schedule and since it was almost identical to Toto’s, it wouldn’t be a huge amount of extra work for her for the next three weeks.

“Do you think she would be up to the task?” asked Toto, “I want Lara gone asap, her behaviour was totally unacceptable.”

“Talk to Pamela, see what she says, maybe we can bump Sophie’s pay up this month for the extra workload?”

“Good idea.” he said, “I am so sorry.”

“Why are you apologising? It’s not like you slept with her.” you said, “You didn’t right?”

“God no!” said Toto.

“Well that’s that.” you said, “Where is she now?”

“I think back in her room,” said Toto.

“Fuck, I think you should call Pamela, it’s early in the UK but she’ll be up. You don’t want Lara coming on the jet with you to Brazil.”

“I don’t want her in Brazil at all,” said Toto miserably.

“Honestly what she did is sexual harassment, Toto, are you okay?” you asked, concerned.

“I know.” he said, “It’s so unacceptable.”

“When is your supplier meeting?” you asked.

“Tomorrow lunchtime.” he replied gloomily, “I will call Pamela now and sort this before.”

“Ok, let me know if I can help in any way,” you offered, “And I will call Rosie now.”

“I love you Y/N,” said Toto, still crackly on the dodgy line.

“I love you too,” you replied, “I’m so sorry for you, I’ll see you soon though.”

“See you,” he said before ringing off.

You’d never heard Toto sounding so dejected and it worried you massively. Sighing, you double-checked the time difference between Miami and the UK and seeing that it was quarter to eight in the morning, dialled Rosie.

“Morning Y/N, what’s up?” she answered almost immediately, sounding a little sleepy.

“Rosie, I am so sorry if I’m waking you up but we might have a PR disaster on our hands.”

Rosie groaned, “Good morning to you too. It’s okay, I was only snoozing.”

As you filled Rosie in on what had happened she was shocked but equally didn’t seem all that surprised.

“Right, so I will put out an alert on pap images of Toto, at least they weren’t at Craig's or somewhere,” she said, now wide awake.

“Thank you, Rosie, that’s true,” you said sighing, “I’m worried about him though, he’s shaken up.”

“Oof I would be too, Lara’s scary when she’s sober, I can’t imagine her trying to drunk kiss me.” said Rosie, “Don’t panic though we can spin it if anything does come out.”

Just as you were about to reply, your phone started buzzing, “Thanks Rosie, I’ve got Toto trying to call me on the other line, I’ll let you go and keep me posted.”

“No worries will do,” she replied, hanging up to allow you to answer Toto’s call.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound neutral and not panicked.

“Hi,” he said flatly, “I’ve spoken to Pamela, and she has arranged for Lara to return to the factory today. She’ll be flying commercial back to London and HR will let her know her contract is terminated.”

“Well that’s good news!” you said cheerily, “And what did they say about Sophie?”

“Pamela said we can share her, but you need to speak to her and check if she is comfortable with this.” Toto replied, “And as for Lara, the official line is that she is burnt out and needs to take some time off.”

“Okay,” you said, “That’s very generous of you, I’d be telling everybody.”

Toto sighed, “Until now she’s been an efficient assistant, I don’t want to ruin her career.”

“You’re much nicer than I am,” you said.

“I know,” he said, sounding slightly less glum.

“Ah there’s my cheeky guy,” you said.

“I try,” he replied, “Right, well I need to get some sleep, and you do too. I didn’t even ask you about the event. How was it?”

“All good, same old.” you replied, “You do need some sleep for sure, I will call Sophie now and let you know in the morning?”

“Okay, thank you Y/N.” he said, sounding down again, “I wish you were here.”

“I wish YOU were here!” you said, before adding, “I have a very large marble tub in my room, I think it might fit two.”

“Don’t tempt me,” said Toto, his voice low.

“I might have to, now I know women are throwing themselves at you,” you laughed.

“It’s not funny,” replied Toto, “Now you know how I feel.”

“What?” you said, in a more serious tone.

“Men are always checking you out,” he said.

“As if,” you snorted, surprised that Toto of all people was insecure.

“They do!” said Toto, “In Mexico, at the bar, the barmen were all staring.”

“That’s because they’re barmen,” you said bluntly, “Anyway, I’m not looking anywhere else and that’s what matters.”

“I hope so,” said Toto, “Right, now my eyes are heavy, you need to sleep too. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Sounds good, love you.”

“I love you too, sweet dreams,” he replied sleepily.

“Night,” you said hanging up.

Getting up from the sofa, you made your way to the bathroom to take your make-up off as you’d rushed in and not moved since Toto had initially called you.

Putting your phone on speaker you called Sophie as you wiped off the evening’s grime, Miami was so humid you always felt a mess after a night out.

“Morning Y/N! How are you?” came Sophie’s voice.

“Morning Sophie, I’m so sorry to call you early but I have a favour to ask,” you said.

“No worries at all, I’m just getting ready for work,” she replied, “What can I do to help?”

“Well, unfortunately, Lara has had to take an unexpected leave of absence.” you started, choosing your words carefully, “This means Toto has no EA for the last two races. Would you be open to supporting him for the next three weeks? I have spoken to HR and if you are agreeable we can double your salary for the month.”

“Oh my goodness,” Sophie replied, “I hope Lara is okay, should I message her? But yes I would be more than happy to help.”

“It’s probably better that you don’t,” you replied, “She’s okay but needs some time away from the business. That’s great news that you’re up to the challenge, I will have HR draft a temporary contract for you.”

“Oh,” Sophie replied, “Sounds good, when do I start?”

“From Thursday if possible, Toto is in LA meeting with a supplier but he will be joining us in Brazil on Thursday. Pamela has access to his diary so will share this with you, but honestly, it’s almost the same as mine,” you explained.

“Great, then I will chat with Pamela today and see you both in Brazil on Thursday,” said Sophie cheerily.

“Thank you, Sophie, Toto will be thrilled.”

“Thanks, Y/N, have a nice evening.”

“Thanks, have a good day!” you said, rubbing your eyes wearily as you hung up. Were you ever going to catch a break?

WEDNESDAY AM

You were woken up the following morning to yet another phone call. As you sat up in bed and reached for your phone you saw it was Rosie. 

“Morning,” you said wearily.

“Hey, I am so sorry if I woke you up,” Rosie said, “Photos have come out and a few articles, sending them now.”

“Fuck,” you said, going into the chat to open the links Rosie sent.

WOLFF IN SHEEPISH CLOTHING, FORMULA ONE TEAM BOSS CAUGHT OUT ON THE TOWN WITH ANOTHER YOUNG COLLEAGUE

The article painted Toto as a womaniser, preying on younger colleagues, there were photos of him with a scantily clad Lara draped around him exiting the restaurant, followed up by the photos of you kissing him on the riverbank.

You felt sick, this was a PR nightmare. The next one wasn’t much better.

WOLFF BY NAME, WOLFF BY NATURE. FORMULA ONE BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY’S WILD NIGHT OUT

There were the same pictures, Lara falling over drunk, Toto with his arm around her.

“Fuck Rosie, this is really bad,” you said, leaning back onto your headboard.

“I know, I’m so sorry Y/N.” she replied, “What do we do?”

You took a deep breath, “I think we make a statement,” pausing to think, you added, “Although, is it not suspicious that paparazzi would know exactly where to find Toto on an unpublicised trip to LA?”

“I thought that,” said Rosie, “And the photos are super clear, they must have been waiting for him.”

“Do we know who took them?” you asked.

“No but I can find out,” Rosie said, determinedly.

“Yes, let’s find out before we make any statements.” you said before groaning, “Fuck Toto is going to be so upset.”

“I know.” said Rosie, “But honestly I think someone set this up.”

“I agree,” you said. “Right, I’m going to call Toto. Speak later.”

“Bye,” said Rosie.

Stealing yourself you hung up and dialled for Toto. It only rang for a short while before he picked up.

“Morning,” he said, sounding much more awake than you did, despite the fact he was three hours behind you.

“Morning, I hope you got some sleep in the end. I have some good news and some bad news, good news is Sophie has agreed to cover Lara for the next three weeks, the bad news is very bad.”

“Well that’s good.” said Toto flatly, “And what’s the bad news?”

Not sure how to broach the subject, “Now don’t go mad, but we have a slight PR disaster on hand.”

“Disaster?” Toto said, his voice raising a few octaves.

“Wellvenient.”

“Huh?” said Toto. “Fuck, the headline, the photos.”

“How would any paparazzi know you were in LA and that you were at that specific restaurant and be able to get photos that are so clear? Someone called them, and I would hazard a guess that it was Lara.”

“Fuck,” was all Toto seemed able to say.

“Indeed,” you replied, “Rosie is on it to find out who took the photos and we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Ok great.” said Toto sharply, “Fuck, I have to meet this supplier in an hour. What are they going to think of me? What are my kids going to think of me?”

“I’m sure they won’t have seen it.” you suggested, not entirely convinced yourself, “And if they have, you tell them the truth.”

Toto snorted, “They will never believe me.”

“Honestly Toto, your kids know you’re not like that and after spending two minutes with you the suppliers will know you’re not the type”

“I’m not sure if that is a compliment or not,” he replied dryly. 

“It is, trust me.” you said, “Look, don’t panic, we’ll smooth things over and get to the bottom of it. I won’t allow Lara to ruin your reputation.”, there are a few articles about you and Lara and they’re not good. Frankly, they’re shit,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Scheiße.” was all you got from the other end of the phone, “Will you send them to me?”

“Sure,” you said, forwarding Rosie’s links, “But before you freak out, Rosie and I were discussing this and we think you’ve been set up. It’s all a little too con

“It’s not as simple as that.” said Toto cryptically, “I need to get ready, I had better go.”

“Me too,” you replied, “I hope it goes well, text me if you need anything.”

“Okay, bye,” he said, hanging up without giving you to chance to say goodbye back.

You’d barely managed to start getting dressed for the day when your phone rang once again. Shaking your head, you paused applying your make-up and made your way over to where your phone was on charge.

It was Rosie ringing you back, hoping for good news you picked up.

“Hey Rosie, did you find out?” you asked eagerly.

“Kind of.” she said, “I’m sending you another link, there’s another article.”

“Good or bad?” you asked as you went back into the chat.

“Not the best, but I think it answers who was behind this. It’s a smear campaign.” Rosie said.

Reading the headline your eyes widened, SCANDAL IN THE PADDOCK: WOLFF SENDS GLAMOROUS YOUNG MISTRESS PACKING. LARA ASHTON, 25, LET GO FROM MERCEDES IN WAKE OF WOLFF AFFAIR.

“What the fuck?” you said, scrolling down through the article and accompanying twenty-something images of a tearful-looking Lara exiting Heathrow airport with her suitcase.

“I know.” said Rosie, “It has to be Lara, not being funny, no one even knows who she is.”

“I am going to kill her,” you said, your blood boiling. You disliked her on the best of days but now that she was trying to ruin Toto’s reputation you were livid.

“I know.” said Rosie, reassuringly, “I want to too.”

“What the hell do we do? This looks terrible,” you said, musing about what the best course of action was.

“I was hoping you would have some ideas,” said Rosie quietly, “In my opinion, we have to release a statement now.”

“I agree,” you said, “Fuck, Toto is going to be mortified.”

“Well the only good thing is, it’s Brazil in two days, this will get buried by the press surrounding the race,” said Rosie, hopefully.

“That’s true,” you pondered, “Although he’s in the Team Principal press conference on Friday. Christian will almost certainly bring this up. He takes any opportunity to embarrass or belittle Toto.”

“Ugh, I hate that man,” said Rosie. “Okay, so the Daily Mail are requesting a comment from Toto, should I entertain them.”

“I think yes,” you said, “Let me talk to Toto first though.”

WEDNESDAY PM

Having known that Toto was at the supplier lunch and you having had a meeting to attend, the wait to chat with him was agonizing. It didn’t help that people were texting you sympathetic messages as the story broke, thinking that Toto had cheated on you. You hadn’t replied to anyone yet but would do the rounds once you’d spoken to Toto.

When five o’clock came, you dropped him a text.

Hey, can I call you?

Almost instantaneously your phone pinged with a reply.

Yes, I’ve seen the latest article. 

Fuck, you thought. Punching in Toto’s contact you waited with bated breath for him to pick up.

“Hello,” he said very sharply, not a hint of his usual charm present.

“Hi,” you said, “So you’ve seen it. It has to be Lara behind this, who the fuck even knows she exists outside of the paddock?”

“I know.” he said, “I’m angry at myself, why did I invite her to dinner?”

“Because it’s a normal thing to do and you’re a nice person. It’s not your fault she’s a psychopath.”

Toto was quiet on the other end of the phone, “What do we do?”

“I’ve spoken to Rosie and we think it is wise to release a statement.”

“Ok, saying what?”

“Saying that it was a mutual decision for her to take some time off after yesterday’s evening’s events as alcohol/drug abuse is strictly against company policy. We can spin it that you were concerned for her mental health and want her to focus on getting better.”

“And you think people will buy that?” asked Toto, not convinced.

“I can’t think of any other way to phrase it.” you said, “Brazil is happening in two days and quite frankly this sweeps it under the rug and shifts focus to the race.”

“That’s true. I just don’t understand why she would do something like this.” Toto said, at a loss for words.

“Me neither, I know she harboured a grudge over the Ed situation but this is an extreme way of getting revenge, unless…”

“Unless what?” Toto interjected.

“Unless someone has paid her off. Someone who was threatened by your threat of telling his wife about his mistress.”

“No, surely not.” said Toto, “He is an idiot but he wouldn’t go that far.”

“Hmm.” you said, “I think he would, I am going to request access to Lara’s phone and emails.”

“Can we do that?” asked Toto.

“Well how is Sophie supposed to do her job without access?” you said. “I’m going to call Pamela.”

“It’s worth a try.” said Toto sadly, “Look I don’t want to stay in LA now, I am going to come to you this evening and then we can fly to Brazil together tomorrow.”

“Of course, obviously I would prefer happier circumstances but I’ve missed you,” you said.

“I’ve missed you too, one day apart and I get myself in this mess.”

“It’s not your doing and realistically it was only a matter of time.”

“I suppose,” he said, “Okay, well I am going to pack and I’ll see you later. I love you.”

“I love you too, text me when you’re on your way,” you said, hanging up.

– – – 

A few hours later, Toto had safely landed and was en route to your hotel. As dreadful as the circumstances were, you were looking forward to spending the night together as you hadn’t had time alone together since Mexico.

You busied yourself tidying your hotel room and had almost finished when there was a soft knock on your door. Toto.

Opening the door, you were shocked at Toto’s dishevelled appearance. The normally polished, suave gentleman had rings under his eyes, a crumpled shirt that looked as if an iron had skipped over it briefly and messy hair.

“Hey,” he said, stepping over the threshold, closing the door and embracing you warmly. This was a man who needed a hug and you were more than happy to oblige.

“Hey,” you replied, nuzzling into his chest, “Everything’s going to be okay yeah?”

Stepping back and breaking the hug, Toto shook his head, “I’m not sure, Robert called me and he is furious.”

“Toto, I know you think highly of Robert but please remember he is not your boss, at the end of the day, you own more of the team than he does,” you said, folding your arms.

“I know,” started Toto, “But he is part of the bigger picture. We are fundamentally a marketing tool for him and if we get bad press, it doesn’t reflect well.”

“We will sort it.” you said before gesturing towards the sofa, “Come, sit down, do you want to order room service?”

Plopping down on the sofa, looking exhausted, Toto replied, “Maybe.”

“Oh my gosh, you are so not okay.” you said, settling down beside him and stroking his shoulder, “Lara is lucky she’s not anywhere nearby, if I could get my hands on her…”

“You and your temper,” said Toto, raising a small smile, “She’s not worth it.”

“That’s true,” you said smirking, pressing a kiss to his temple, “Right let's feed you up, then we’re getting in the tub and going to bed.”

“Why do I feel like a child?” groaned Toto.

“I’ve never seen you looking so down,” you replied, pulling him closer to you, “I don’t like it.”

“I have my moments,” he said wistfully. “You choose the food, I’m easy.”

“If you’re sure,” you said, raising an eyebrow, normally Toto was picky about almost everything.

“One hundred per cent,” he said, laying his head on your shoulder.

As you scrolled through the room service menu, your phone buzzed with a text. It was Rosie.

You were right, the paps were called to the restaurant by an anonymous tip that evening. What time did Toto and Lara arrive?

Pleased that you were getting to the bottom of the situation you broke the comfortable silence that had fallen between you and Toto, “What time did you decide which restaurant you were going to?”

“What?” said Toto, lifting his head from your shoulder, confused.

“Rosie has just said the paps were called by an anonymous tip. When did you decide to go to that specific restaurant?”

Toto’s eyes widened, “We didn’t, we tried to go to the place next door but couldn’t get in without a reservation. But as soon as we got a table Lara went to the bathroom. Do you think she called them?”

“Bingo, one hundred per cent,” you said. “Once I get her phone we can prove it once and for all.”

Toto smiled for the first time, before kissing you lightly on the side of your jaw, “You are brilliant.”

“Nah, this was all Rosie,” you said, proud of your colleague slash closest confident. You didn’t know what you’d do without her.

“Well she’s part of your team,” said Toto, “I still can’t believe Lara would do such a thing.”

“I can,” you said.

THURSDAY AM

Waking up in the cushy bed in your Miami hotel room, you were blissfully happy. You’d had a simple room service dinner with Toto, followed by a soak in the large tub before falling into bed together, sleeping contently in each other's arms. It was the first night you’d spent together where you’d not had sex and in a strange way, it had felt more intimate than ever before.

Rolling over, Toto still sound asleep, you took the opportunity to go through your text messages.

There was one from Bella.

Is everything okay? I’ve seen the news. Xx

You replied.

Yes, thank you for asking, poor Toto is distraught, Lara was drunk out of her mind and he was helping her into their car. Nothing untoward but now he doesn’t have an assistant. She’s on a leave of absence and Toto is back with me in Miami. Hope all is well at the track, we’re coming later today x

Next, there were a few messages from Sophie.

I’m sorry to ask this but the story about Lara and Toto. Is it true?

You carefully typed out a similar response to the one you’d just sent to Bella.

No worries, Lara had drunk too much so he helped her into their car. Nothing untoward happened but we have agreed it is best for her to take a break for now. Unfortunately, the press has spun this very strangely. We’ll chat properly later but in the meantime let me know if anything is unclear.

You went through the motions, replying to worried texts, a few more times before you felt the man splayed out beside you starting to stir.

“Morning,” he said, his voice gravelly as he woke up.

“Morning,” you said, leaning over to kiss his neck before a strong arm reached around your middle and pulled you towards him, flush against his chest.

“What new shit show do we have today?” he asked, gently kissing you behind the ear.

“Nothing,” you said, “The good news is, I don’t think it can get any worse.”

“Don’t tempt fate,” he replied, “When do you get Lara’s phone?”

“Sophie is bringing it to Sao Paolo,” you said, “We’ll figure it out, hopefully before your press conference tomorrow.”

Toto groaned, releasing you and rolling over onto his back, bringing a hand to his temple, “I forgot about that.”

“It will be okay, the suppliers were none the wiser, it’s a certain type who read the trashy gossip columns.” you tried to reassure him, stroking his arm.

“Yes, the certain type is Christian,” he said miserably.

“Well if he says anything, you have the ultimate dirt on him,” you said, a dark look in your eyes.

“I have no proof though,” he said.

“That’s true, I’m sure we can figure something out,” you said, your mind going into overdrive. 

THURSDAY PM

Touching down in Sao Paolo you were apprehensive. News of Toto’s alleged antics had spread like wildfire and despite the official line you had put out, you still had to field multiple comment requests. Trying to keep Toto out of the drama and allow him to concentrate solely on the impending race, you and your team were putting out fires everywhere.

The one saving grace was that once you had filled your team in on the truth of the matter (at least the official line), they were understanding and had rallied around Toto, loyal to a tee. He was grateful for the support and by the time you were on the way to your hotel, he seemed much more himself.

Most importantly, as you sped towards your destination, you were finally about to get your hands on Lara’s phone. 

– – – 

Although your assistant Sophie sometimes annoyed you with her boundless pep and enthusiasm, you were over the moon to see her standing in the hotel lobby awaiting your arrival. You had asked for Lara’s phone on the pretence that Toto needed to check some emails that he’d been dropped out of the loop on. 

“Hey Y/N, hey Toto.” she said, greeting you both warmly, “How was the flight?”

“Good thank you, Sophie,” said Toto wearily, “How was yours?”

“Good thanks, we arrived earlier this afternoon. The hotel is amazing!” she said, ever-bubbly.

“Ah I’m glad to hear that,” you said, “I forgot it’s your first time in Brazil, make sure you get to the beach.”

“We’re hoping to on Saturday.” she said, “Oh and before I forget, I have Lara’s phone and laptop for you.”

As she handed you the Mercedes-branded tote bag, you struggled to contain your excitement, “Oh wow, her laptop too?”

“Yes, Pamela said I should bring both, I hope that’s the right thing to do?” she said, looking worried she’d misstepped.

“Absolutely not, this is perfect,” Toto said beaming, “Thank you, Sophie, I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Me too,” she replied, “I have your schedule for tomorrow printed out and will leave it on your desk first thing in the morning. If anything changes, I will update it and send it straight to you.”

“Perfect, thank you, Sophie,” said Toto, pleased with her attention to detail.

“I had better let you both get checked in,” she said, shuffling to make a move, “I’ll see you on track tomorrow.”

“See you Sophie, and thank you again!” you said.

“See you,” she said, waving goodbye.

– – – 

Having checked into your respective rooms, you immediately joined Toto in his suite and settled down on the sofa to go through Lara’s emails and phone log. 

It didn’t take you long to scroll back to the night before last. “Oh my God!” you exclaimed having found what you were looking for almost immediately.

“What?” he said, looking up from where he was perched at the desk, furiously typing on his iPad.

“She called a US number at eight o’clock on Tuesday night.”

“The photographer?” Toto asked.

“I assume, wait, hang on, there are multiple calls to and from another UK number in the run-up. She hasn’t got it saved as a contact.”

“Are there any messages or just calls?” Toto said, putting his iPad down and crossing the room to sit beside you.

“Fuck, yes!” you said, hitting the jackpot. “Oh my God.”

“What?” asked Toto, craning his neck to read the phone.

There it was, in blue bubbles, the plot to take down Toto’s reputation.

(10:02) I’m just on the plane to Miami, once we get rid of bitchface, it’s on.

(10:15) Amazing. And the cameras are set?

(10:21) Yes, the guys put them in my room.

“Fuck, she had cameras in her room?” Toto asked, his eyes widening.

“Sounds like it,” you said.

Scrolling through the messages it transpired that whoever was plotting with Lara had been planning for a long time, biding their time until you were out of the way to honeytrap Toto. As well as ensuring the paparazzi were at the restaurant, they’d rigged Lara’s room with cameras and the plan was to get him drunk and into her room, seduce him and videotape the whole thing.

Seemingly they hadn’t considered that Toto wouldn’t want to and the messages after he had rejected her were even more interesting.

(01:34) He wouldn’t come in!

(1:41) What the fuck is wrong with that man?

(1:42) I don’t know, what do we do?

(1:43) Leave it to me babe.

“Babe?” you said, “They’re definitely British.”

“How do we find out who it is without them knowing?” asked Toto.

“Hmm,” you said, thinking on your feet, “I know! I’ll check WhatsApp, they’ll have a photo!”

Exiting iMessage and moving to WhatsApp your jaw dropped when you found the contact. It was a photo of the Red Bull car.

“I knew it!” you exclaimed, “Those fuckers!”

Toto looked livid, “Who is it?”

“Look,” you said, handing him the phone, “Red Bull. I don’t know who but it’s someone from their team.”

Toto looked thoroughly shaken up, “I’m going to call my lawyer. Keep the phone for now.”

“You’re going to call your lawyer?” you raised your eyebrows, “That’s serious.”

“This is serious, this is slander.” said Toto bluntly, “Put yourself in my shoes.”

“I know, I know.” you said, “Fuck, this is insane.”

FRIDAY AM

Yesterday had been a whirlwind and as you arrived at the track, you felt off. Emotions were running high and Toto had been preoccupied with legal matters all evening so had barely given you the time of day. You knew this was important but couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt by the cold shoulder he’d given you. You’d ended up returning to your room to sleep as he took calls into the early hours and you hadn’t slept a wink. It didn’t help that you felt nauseous and dizzy, perhaps a result of the fact you’d hardly eaten since landing in Brazil.

Lying awake had allowed you to delve deeper through Lara’s phone. Reading the long message exchange, it emerged that she had met this mysterious Red Bull employee at a party last year and had been chatting for some time before the conversation had turned to how much she hated her boss. Together they’d formulated a plan to ruin his reputation and in the process the team. It was incredibly devious and you couldn’t quite believe what you were reading.

Making sure to screenshot everything for Toto’s legal team, you suddenly felt extra nauseous and had to hotfoot it to the bathroom, only just making it in time. Shaking you shot a text to Sophie.

Good morning Sophie, thank you again for yesterday. I’ve woken up not feeling very well, could you please check in on Toto when you arrive at the track? I will come along later.

Covering all bases, you sent a few more texts to your team, ensuring they all knew what they needed to do in your absence. Knowing that he was stressed as it was, you refrained from telling Toto, texting him a simple good morning.

– – – 

A few hours later, you found yourself lying on the long sofa in the hospitality area, one eye on your emails and one eye on Free Practice. Sophie had been a superstar, rallying around the team and diligently checking up on them on your behalf.

Steeling yourself to get up, you sipped a ginger ale (the only thing that seemed to help) and propped yourself up. Toto’s press conference was due to start after Free Practice and it was the one task you had to be present for, sick or not.

Toto’s legal team had advised against discussing the press matters within the conference, something which would undoubtedly be difficult with Christian Horner present. He always loved to stir the pot and this scandal was likely the stuff of his dreams.

Making your way down to the garage to collect Toto, you were nervous on his behalf. As smooth as he was with media appointments, this was a tough situation for even the most seasoned professional. He was sat in his usual spot in the garage, flanked by several senior engineers, deep in discussion.

Spotting you approaching he made his excuses, putting his headset down and crossed the garage to greet you.

“Is it already time?” he asked, looking unsure of himself.

“I’m afraid so,” you said grimacing, leading the way towards the press area. “I’m hoping we’ll be the last ones in, doesn’t give them a chance to say anything stupid.”

Toto’s nervous energy was palpable and as you got nearer you turned to him, “It’s going to be fine, like we said, we’re not going to mention anything that the legal team are working on. You just focus on the race and ignore anyone who tried to bring anything else up, okay?”

“Easier said than done,” he said wistfully.

Luckily you were the last ones to arrive with Toto only receiving some curious looks from his counterparts as the hostess dived straight into the press conference, asking each Team Principal one by one their approach for the weekend. Professional as ever Toto answered flawlessly, expressing his hopes for another strong turnout from the Mercedes team.

Unfortunately, everything began to fall apart as the floor was opened for questions. 

“This one’s for Christian,” called out an English-accented voice from the depths of the crowd.

“Yes,” Christian replied, grinning smarmily.

“We all know that your rivalry with Toto is unmatched, do you think his colourful personal life has been his downfall this season?

Toto looked enraged as Christian smirked. “Now, I don’t want to speak ill of my counterpart. I think a  smart man knows to keep his personal life separate from his professional one. What’s the saying, you don’t shit where you eat?”

Laughter rumbled through the crowd, Toto looking furious stayed silent.

“Right.” said the hostess awkwardly, any other questions?

Another hand shot up, “Yes, for Toto.”

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for whatever shitshow this would be.

“What difference do you think the upgrade package will make this weekend?”

You sighed with relief as Toto answered with perfect composure. It was only when the crowd shifted slightly that you saw it was Tom, your ever-loyal Partnerships Manager, who had asked the question, wearing a non-branded shirt to blend in with the journalists.

A few more questions went back and forth with the other Team Principals before Toto was once again in the firing line.

“Toto, it seems like you’ve been having a lot of fun away from the track, will you be hitting the town tonight?”

Toto looked angry once again, replying curtly, “Our focus as a team is on the race ahead.”

With Christian still smirking away, he interjected, “C’mon Toto, that’s a politician’s answer, answer the man!”

Whipping his head around Toto replied, “I don’t think it’s anyone’s business.”

“Ooh, I touched a nerve there I think,” said Christian, throwing his hands up dramatically. “Watch out ladies of Brazil, Toto’s on the prowl.”

The hostess looked deeply uncomfortable and tried to diffuse the tension with a flustered, “Well thank you, everyone, that’s all we have time for.”

Never one to let an opportunity slide, Christian replied smugly, “Such a shame, I was enjoying that.”

Toto stared daggers at his Red Bull rival as the hostess signalled the end of the press conference. Rushing across to Toto, your priority was to get him away from Christian before he said anything he might regret.

“Oh, I’m surprised to see you here Y/N.” said Christian, “I heard there’s trouble in paradise.”

“You’re a fine one to talk Christian,” you said, Toto looking positively enraged beside you but knowing better than to say anything.

Christian chuckled, “Well I’m not stupid enough to get caught.”

“Let’s go Y/N,” said Toto, grabbing the crook of your arm, “Don’t engage.”

Christian smirked as you made your exit.

“I hate that man,” you said as you rushed back through the paddock to the garage.

“You say this far too often,” said Toto, smiling for the first time in a while.

“I know, I need to let it go blah blah.” you said, squeezing his arm discreetly as you walked alongside him, “To be honest that wasn’t so bad.”

Toto looked unconvinced, “Maybe for you, I look like a dirty old man.”

“But you’re my dirty old man.” you said with a smirk, earning a withering glance from Toto, “I’m joking, it was fine. It will be old news by tomorrow trust me.”

“I hope so.” he said, “Can I see you tonight?”

Surprised he was being so formal, you replied, “Yes, you see me pretty much every night.”

“I didn’t last night and the night before was different.”

“The last few days have been weird.” you said, “I’ll make up for it tonight.”

Toto’s eyes flashed, understanding what you were letting on, “Is that a promise?”

“If you’re nice to me,” you said teasingly.

“I’m always nice!” he said, coming to a stop as you reached the garage entrance.

“Keep telling yourself that, dirty old man. I’m going to head to my office so I’ll see you later,” you said with a wink.

“You’re terrible.” said Toto, shaking his head, “I’ll see you later.”

SATURDAY AM

The last few days' pent-up frustrations had indeed made for an exciting night with Toto. Gone was the dejected shell of a man who had turned up at your door in Miami. Perhaps his discussions with the legal team had bolstered his confidence, or it was the fact that the upgrade packages seemed to have worked wonders, but whatever the reason, Toto was more confident than ever.

You’d barely gotten through his hotel room door when he’d pinned you up against the wall, bringing your arms up above your head and holding them there as he kissed you more passionately than ever before. Pressing his body up against yours he ground his increasing hardness into you, bumping rhythmically as his hands explored your stomach and breasts. It wasn’t long before he scooped you up in his arms, one leg either side of his thick torso, effortlessly carrying you over to the bed.

Throwing you down onto the mattress forcefully, you would have bounced back up if he hasn’t dived straight on top, making quick work of slipping off the floaty sundress you’d put on for the evening, revealing your new lingerie set. It wasn’t dissimilar to the one you’d been wearing on the day he’d walked in on you changing, equally transparent and delicate, except that it was yellow.

“I haven’t seen this before,” he said, his voice low with lust. “I like it, maybe we leave it on?”

You smirked, knowing he’d like the racy set, “Tonight we do whatever you want, you’ve had a rough couple of days.”

“I’m a lucky guy,” he said, diving down to plant kisses along your jawline and neck, working his way up to behind your ear.

“I’m a lucky girl,” you said, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his muscular torso. “But this has to go.”

“Sorry,” he said blushing, leaning up on his arms as he divested his shirt and shorts, leaving only his boxers.

“And the boxers too,” you smirked, pulling at the waistband. “I want all of you.”

Your words sparked some kind of frenzy as Toto tore them off, leaning down to kiss you deeper than ever before, his hands making their way lower to discover you were already turned on and ready to go. Once again coming back up to rest on his forearms, glancing down at you with his chocolate brown eyes, he pulled your underwear to one side and thrust in with no warning.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, not quite expecting that, taking a moment to adjust to the full feeling.

Suddenly his lust had turned to concern, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

Smiling, you caressed his face, “It’s okay, it feels good. Just took me by surprise.” you adjusted yourself before leaning up to kiss him once more, melting into his embrace as he started pushing in and out gently.

He grinned, picking up the pace, reaching down in between you to play with your clit, knowing it would drive you wild.

“Fuck, yes Toto,” you said as he continued plunging into you.

Withdrawing wordlessly, he picked up your hips and flipped you over onto your hands and knees, removing your underwear before standing behind you as he thrust back in ruthlessly. Hitting you from this angle you could feel your orgasm quickly building and it wasn’t long before you were on the brink of falling apart.

Continuing to push in and out, he pushed you down further onto the bed, collapsing your arms, removing your bra and deftly cupping your breast with one hand whilst the other grabbed one of your hands in his. He slowly guided your hand down to your lower stomach, covering your hand with his and pushing down just enough for you to feel him as he moved in and out of you. 

“Do you feel?” he asked breathily.

You could barely get words out as you were getting closer and closer to completion but managed to utter, “Yes, I love it when you’re inside me.”

Your words seemed to affect Toto on a visceral level as he growled, speeding up as he lost himself in the moment. It wasn’t long before you felt yourself fall off the edge, clenching down on Toto as he continued to work you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, Toto,” you said, as he grabbed your hips tightly, driving into you deeply a few more times before expertly pulling out, moaning as he came on your lower back.

– – – 

It had been a frenzied exchange and as you woke up next to a peaceful-looking Toto, you made a mental note to let him fuck out his frustrations more often. He’d been through the wringer this last week and he’d let it show.

Letting Toto snooze a little longer, you crept out of bed to make yourself a ginger tea, hoping to once again quell the nausea that just wouldn’t shake. Trying to be as quiet as possible, standing up hadn’t helped the situation and once again you had to dash to the bathroom, only just making it in time.

Unfortunately, your wretching had woken up Toto who had knocked gently on the door, “Are you okay?”

Easing up you managed to reply, “Yes, just not feeling so great.”

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Quickly flushing the toilet, you replied, “Sure,” Still feeling ill, you continued to kneel in front of the toilet.

Rushing in, Toto bent down to your side, putting an arm around you in concern. “Oh, you poor girl. Do you think it was the food from last night?”

You managed a weak reply, “Maybe, how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay for now,” he replied as you wretched once again. Ever the gentleman, he held your hair out of harm’s way and rubbed your back. “It’s okay, just let it out.”

The nausea finally dissipating, you flushed the toilet once again as Toto handed you a tissue.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” you said, hoping he wasn’t completely disgusted by the morning’s turn of events.

“Don’t be silly, it happens to us all,” he said, squeezing your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I don’t think you should come to quali like this.”

You frowned, “It’s fine, I feel better, like you said, it’s better out than in.”

Toto’s brow furrowed in concern, “But I will worry about you.”

“If I feel sick again, I’ll come back to the hotel, but the team needs me there,” you said bluntly, thinking back to yesterday’s sofa set-up.

“If you’re sure,” he said, not convinced. Grabbing your hand and getting you back on your feet he pulled you towards the bedroom area, “Come on, I’ll make you a tea.”

“Thank you,” you said, surprised by how unphased he was. “Sorry again.”

“Stop apologising!” he said as he busied himself re-boiling the kettle.

SATURDAY PM

Post-qualifying the garage was once again in a celebratory mood, Lewis having qualified P1 and George P2. As happy as you were for the team, you were also secretly pleased that as Rosie had predicted, the good results would bury the Toto and Lara stories in the press.

As the team milled around you, you suddenly felt another wave of nausea and bolted for the fresh air of the paddock. Knowing you were not going to make it back to the hospitality area in time, you ducked into a bathroom next to one of the bars where once again you found yourself hunched over a toilet bowl. To make matters worse you felt dizzy, and as you stood up you felt your vision blurring.

You must not have been out for more than a few seconds when you woke up on the toilet cubicle floor, someone knocking on the door.

“Y/N?” called out a familiar voice. It was Rosie.

Carefully getting up, you replied, “Hey,” opening the door to reveal a worried-looking Rosie outside.

“Are you okay? You didn’t look very well again and you’ve been in there a while.”

You groaned, “I passed out.”

Rosie’s eyebrows shot up, “Fuck, we should take you to the medical building!”

“I’m fine Rosie, honestly, I think I just ate something bad,” you said, trying your best to composite yourself in the mirror. You looked rough, a sheen forming across your face.

“I think you should go anyway,” Rosie said folding her arms.

Knowing she wouldn’t give in you sighed, “Sure, I guess it doesn’t hurt.”

“I’m walking you there though, just in case. I don’t want you passing out in the paddock,” said Rosie firmly, making you roll your eyes.

– – – 

Sitting nervously in the medical examination room you waited for the nurse to come and check you over. After much protest, Rosie had left you alone, on the condition that you would call her to come and collect you. 

“Good afternoon Y/N, how are you?” said the nurse as she entered the room. 

“Hi, I’ve been better not going to lie,” you said.

“Indeed, your colleague told me that you passed out? Have you experienced any other symptoms?” the nurse asked, sitting in the chair opposite you.

“I’ve been feeling dizzy for a while now and have been throwing up quite often,” you admitted.

“Is there a chance you could be pregnant? When was your last menstruation?” said the nurse, raising her eyebrow.

You went white. Of course, like every woman the possibility had been at the back of your mind, but you and Toto had been careful since your slip-up in France, and besides, you’d had a period recently.

“A small chance but probably not.” you said, “I had my last period three weeks ago, it was a little lighter than normal but otherwise all good.”

“Hmm.” said the nurse, “I think we should get you a test anyway, just for peace of mind.”

As she busied herself rummaging through the drawers at the back of the room, you reflected on the possibility. You wanted children at some point but you’d never discussed this with Toto and since he already had two you weren’t even sure if he’d want more.

“Here you go, if you take this cup to the bathroom and fill with urine to this line, we can get a definitive answer.” the nurse said kindly, handing you a small plastic cup.

“Thanks,” you said bluntly.

– – – 

Having done what the nurse you’d made your way back, cup full and were now waiting for a small strip of paper to determine your fate.

“Well, we have our answer,” said the nurse,  “Y/N, you’re pregnant.” 

Fuck. What on earth were you going to do?

[ciderjacks]

I like your post about chilchucks marriage a lot!! I just wanted to give my personal opinion on how I see it.

Even tho chilchuck is mature enough to admit when he's wrong, I would say that he's not very good at telling people just how much he cares about them. Even if he does work and acts of service that prove his love, he still routinely fails to verbally or physically show love to others. So personally I wouldn't blame his wife for leaving, to her it was probably : my husband gets hurt -> he's never home to help me with 3 kids -> he never tells me he loves me and doesn't hold me -> this isn't a good fit for either of us.

I also think we as the reader have the advantage of knowing the person chilchuck has grown to be post divorce, we have very little insight into how he was before he was blindsided. And I would assume being left alone had a big impact on who he is now and that he probably changed quite a bit in that time, he grew because he had to become his new self on his own, and that new self had to be someone who would serve his needs post divorce and learn from his mistakes.

that makes sense, I think especially his difficulty expressing his care through normal ways is probably a part of it. (though I wanna correct that like based on the troll excerpt and other material we see w them, it seems like he was there to raise the kids. Marcille’ s vision of him not being around often was based on the fact that she’s only known him after he had nothing tethering him down anymore, and thought his kids were way younger than they were)

The thing is she definitely knows he loves her, and given their relationship, almost certainly is very familiar and not too bothered by The Way He Is. The way I see it, it’s more like:

life with best friend turned husband going great -> our kids move out -> he starts taking more jobs, leaving longer, and is always coming back in a horrible state -> these days I worry if he’ll make it back, and he’s cagey about what he’s even doing -> his habit of being very closed off is quickly going from endearing to frustrating -> the meeting his coworkers only made me more uneasy (could be because his coworkers were sleazy, or because she felt like they knew him better than she did) -> things have changed -> you know what? Fine. I’ll leave, that’ll snap him out of it for sure.