#char type: open female

[chaos0pikachu]

Anon I get what you're saying but for Sanji's general queerphobia/misogyny/transphobia to be a flaw there would have to be some sort of acknowledgement or specific framing as such in the narrative. It's just a gag; it's meant to be comedic - it's not, but then, it's also a very old gag.

Oda has credited Dragonball by Akira Toriyama as one of his big influences - not Dragonball Z specifically but Dragonball.

I specify b/c early Dragonball is much different from the modern conceptions about DBZ which is more familiar with western/english speaking fans due to how the dubs were released.

And like, Dragon Ball also has a lot of these pervy gags, and characters. Master Roshi gives Goku a "mission" in order to be trained by him to find him a hot woman with big breasts. Krillian bribes Roshi with porn magazines to accept him as a student. Oolong kidnaps young women in a village to be his brides. There's lots of sexual gags involving Bulma. In the first world martial arts tournament, a female martial artist strips down to her underwear as a fighting tactic to distract her opponent in order to win.

I list these because 1) in each case they're meant to be gags - Dragon ball was originally a gag and action adventure comic not the battle comic it's become more known for - 2) this is the series Oda credits as being heavily influential on him, and 3) this was extremely common in animanga of the time (the 80s).

Even Rumiko Takahashi of Inu-yasha fame and one of the most well known women creators in manga used this as a gag and often: Urusei yatsura, Ranma 1/2, Inu-yasha, and Maison Ikkoku.

My point is, it's not a flaw, it's a gag. I hate to say Oda is a product of his time but, well, he's a 50 yr old man who isn't unique to his generation. I wish he was, but he isn't. One Piece is very much a product of it's time and is just a very rare piece of media that's still alive and kicking much longer than a lot of other pieces of media from one singular creator. Which is why certain parts feel very dated - like Ussop's racist character design, Sanji's perv gag, the okama - all these things were, unfortunately, much more common and considered "acceptable" in animanga 20 years ago.

You can see them falling more and more out of favor in more recent series - the perv char isn't as common, tho they def still exist like Mineta from MHA, or Spirit in Soul Eater, there's more Black chars that aren't based off minstrel artwork thank god, and the okama gag seems to have mostly died out.

OPLA is just giving One Piece a much needed update especially in specific aspects like Sanji's dated misogyny gag.

I love Sanji with all my heart but I'm not blinded by the fact that his animanga self is also very flawed. OPLA gave him the rizz early animanga Sanji was known for and I understand why a lot of fans complain about his not so very appealing characteristics (like his chivalry towards women being over the top and his not so subtle transphobic/queerphobic attitude). Those aspects of Sanji's character are what makes him a flawed and complex character. He isn't perfect and that's the point. And just because Oda-sensei writes Sanji that way it doesn't automatically mean he echoes the same sentiment. Other characters, most notably Luffy, don't even react the same way because they are different people.

And for how OPLA is going to adapt Nami and Sanji's relationship, I think he'd be a total pushover for her and Nami can be her manipulative (affectionate) self. Sanji takes pleasure in being of service to women. It isn't as obvious but he does still serve (meals) the men in his crew even if he's angry and rude about it.

I'm a big supporter of flawed characters -- people are flawed! writing anyone as "perfect" is boring! purity culture in media is harmful! there should always be room for growth! and i know that sanji is a complex character with a lot of good attributes. i know writers giving characters problematic/negative traits does not reflect on their own personal beliefs.

BUT a direct translation of animanga sanji's "flaws" to live action would have been bad. casual fans don't have hundreds of chapters / episodes to get to know him. the writers had four episodes to give him a backstory, dreams, a personality, and above all make him likeable.

I think there's plenty of things in the live action that make him complex -- including his silly little hissy fits, the way he said cocktails, and the way he's a big fucking sycophant for luffy after one compliment. we don't need over the top transphobia/queerphobia/misogyny to have an interesting, flawed character

[lelemuseslist]

the naive dancer - emma vanity

(socorro não tenho fc kkkkkkk usava um de instagram. enfim!! fc aberto, provavelmente loira, na casa dos 19/20/21 anos, bem baby girl)

Nascida em um berço de ouro, Emma sempre teve tudo que sempre quis. Mimada por ambos pais desde muito nova, a filha única de Nikandros e Mikaella foi ensinada desde sempre dos valores de uma garota de boa família. O homem era um administrador de sucesso, dono de uma grande companhia de contabilidade e finanças, a qual a garotinha nunca entendeu bem do que se tratava. Sua mãe, em compensação, ela entendia muito bem: era uma modelo aposentada, que teve de deixar a carreira logo depois de engravidar. Estava com pretensões de voltar ao trabalho, mas, após receber uma grande herança, acabou deixando a ideia pra lá. Conservadores como eram, ensinaram Emma como ser delicada, recatada e muito obediente, afinal, ela era uma garota! Garotas deviam ser assim, para se tornarem mulheres de classe, uma perfeita dama. E de fato, foi tratada como uma princesa, recebendo todos os mimos e brinquedos que queria. Em seguida, todas as maquiagens, roupas e livros. Os sapatos de salto chegaram, tal qual os sutiãs rendados e as jóias caríssimas. O dinheiro sempre foi tudo que moveu a família, assim como a uniu.

Desde muito novinha, a garota era tratada como uma princesa: tinha estilistas que vinham lhe vestir, professores de etiqueta para lhe ensinar a se comportar, até mesmo aulas em casa! Para que ir para a escola e se misturar com pessoas de tão baixo nível? Não, não fazia sentido, não tinha motivo pra isso, não quando conseguiam pagar pela melhor educação em casa possível. Superprotetores e até um pouco neuróticos, tinham medo de que o mundo corrompesse sua pequena garotinha.

O único espaço de libertação de Emma, então, era o ballet - e mais a frente, a internet também se encaixaria ai. Começou a ter aulas de ballet clássico aos seis anos, foi onde fez suas primeiras amizades. Era seu hobby favorito, dentre todas as coisas que aprendia. Na dança ela sentia que possuia uma forma única de se expressar. O que começou apenas como diversão e um local pra fazer amigos, foi se tornando cada vez mais sério pra si. Aos treze anos, ela já começava a participar de recitais e espetáculos, adorando a forma como sempre conseguia olhares atentos sobre si e uma salva de aplausos no final de cada apresentação. A dança percorria seu corpo perfeitamente, cada detalhe era calculado. Ballet era seu estilo favorito justamente por isso: pela perfeição exigida, pela rigidez e precisão. Ela gostava daquilo. Passava horas e horas com as sapatilhas de salto, para que pudesse conseguir fazer tudo e ir além, sempre queria ser a melhor em tudo.

Com o aumento da carga de treinos e a vontade de pegar testes internacionais para se formar pelas academias de ballet, Emma, que tinha planos de pedir para começar a frequentar uma escola de verdade durante o ensino médio, acabou optando por permanecer com aulas em casa: daquela forma exigiam menos tempo. Ela não podia ter nada tirando seu foco do que realmente importava. Não tinha muitos amigos. Além dos colegas da academia de ballet, restava-lhe o celular. Viciada em instagram e fotos, ela sempre teve bastante alcance, já que usava diversas hashtags e sempre tentava se divulgar por ai: seus vídeos de dança chegarama viralizar. Dessa forma, era natural pra ela perder horas do dia gravando stories e vlogs para o canal, contando de sua vida, de forma que ela acabasse bem menos solitária do que se sentiria normalmente.

Enfim, os dezoito anos chegaram. Terminou a escola remota, mas nunca teve o tão sonhado baile de formatura que via nos filmes. Apesar disso, foi logo por essa época que conseguiu finalmente o diploma da academia de ballet, se formando como bailarina profissional. Era o orgulho de seus pais, uma verdadeira dama! Refinada e delicada como só ela, Emma conquistava a todos com o sorriso gentil e os vídeos de dança e maquiagem na internet. Podia não ser tão famosa, mas a pouca atenção que recebia já era o suficiente para suprir certa carência que vinha de si. Uma pequena sub celebridade que logo depois da escola, estava indo para a sua primeira aventura: um intercâmbio. Foi para a Rússia por um ano e meio, onde fez workshops e pequenos cursos de aprimoramento junto das professoras de sua academia. Apesar de ser a primeira vez tão longe dos pais, se virando sozinha, acabou se escondendo completamente sob as asas dos acompanhantes, para não ter que lidar com nada  nem ninguém. Além disso, ela não falava russo, não precisava conversar com tantas pessoas diferentes assim. Quando voltou, estava decidida: queria se tornar bailarina profissional. Sabendo que o campo era disputado, além do diploma oficial de ballet, ela sentia que devia ter mais no currículo, conhecimento nunca era demais. Decidiu então ir para uma das universidades com o curso de Dança mais bem reconhecido na europa, a Universidade de Hogwarts. Esperou seis meses para que as matrículas se abrissem e logo se jogou naquilo - ao mesmo tempo que se inscrevia em uma academia profissional de bailarinos - afinal, queria ser a melhor. Seu pai havia frequentado a universidade e, também, sido integrante da fraternidade Slytherin, portanto sua entrada na mesma era bem esperada.

PERSONALIDADE

Emma tem um coração bom, é claro. Mas por ter sido criada um tanto quanto reclusa e na companhia dos pais, acabou se tornando um pouco sem noção. Ela diz tudo que pensa, sem muito tato na hora de medir as palavras. É um tanto quanto esnobe e tem um pouco de dificuldade de se colocar no lugar dos outros. Não é má, mas as vezes pode soar uma pessoa ruim justamente por essa falta de percepção. É muito perfeccionista e controladora - principalmente consigo mesma. Odeia falhar e dificilmente se abre para os outros. Tem uma superfície gelada mas sempre sorridente: é simpática com absolutamente todo mundo pois gosta da aprovação alheia. É bastante falante e egocêntrica: em toda a sua vida ela foi o centro de tudo e não sabe lidar com ambientes diferentes daquele. Não percebe bem os problemas do mundo e é muito alienada. É bem carente de atenção e faz de tudo para que o foco seja ela mesma.

HEADCANONS

Tem o pé muito feio e sempre machucado por conta dos anos de práticas de ballet

Geralmente a veem no campus da universidade vestindo collant, mas quando não, provavelmente está com um vestido florido e rodado

É bem ingênua e acredita facilmente nas pessoas, o que a faz muito manipulável

Adora maquiagem e moda, fala bastante disso em seu instagram

É muito ativa, está sempre praticando algum esporte, treinando ou dançando.

Faz corridas matinais todos os dias

Já tentou ser vegana duas vezes, atualmente é vegetariana

É muito preocupada com a aparência, raramente vão a ver descabelada ou descuidada

É bastante medrosa e se sente muito sozinha

Se preocupa muito em manter uma alimentação saudável e balanceada, chegando a ser um pouco noiada com isso. Parte disso veio pela cobrança do corpo perfeito que venho do ballet.

Quando tinha onze anos viu uma aluna de ballet mais velha recebendo uma bronca da professora porque o corpo dela não se encaixa com o padrão do esporte, por ter seios grandes. Conforme Emma foi entrando na puberdade, foi começando a colocar faixas sobre o peito para esconder os seios que começavam a se desenvolver.

Carrega um colar com a inicial “E” no pescoço. É uma corrente fina e delicada, com a letra cravejada em pequenos diamantes

Ainda não se descobriu bissexual, mas sabe que fica um pouco nervosa na presença de garotas muito bonitas.

Não usa roupas curtas demais e nem decotadas - a não ser que tenha um objetivo. Não tem uma boa relação com a própria sexualidade, é bastante insegura nesse sentido

Se cobra muito e às vezes surta

É viciada em apps e faz tudo com ajuda deles: uber, ifood, calendário, controle da menstruação, app que ajuda arrumar mala de viagem, compras, jogos, notas pessoais, organização geral, lembrar de beber água, marcar passos e km andados.

Se deixar ela no quarto, vai ficar o dia inteiro conversando com a Alexa, leva ela pra todas as viagens porque não consegue viver sem.

Tem uma cicatriz na sobrancelha da única vez quando era novinha que conseguiu sair de casa pra se divertir como uma criança normal. Depois de cair e se machucar num parquinho perto de casa, sua mãe lhe disse que aquela marca a deixaria feia e era uma lição para ouvi-la mais. Hoje, na verdade, Emma ama sua cicatriz e acha que é um charme em si mesma.

[cabeswaterdrowned]

I like very few arcs around women esp chars I really love wanting to be mothers/discovering they want to be mothers and that’s essential to their char development, but Daisy’s does work really well for me overall. There was more detail work with it throughout the book but I also liked how the show did it. And I do think one reason (along with construction and how I perceive Daisy as a char) I’m open to liking it/have soft feelings about it is that in both versions she adopts (no pregnancy plots! + I just like it better)

[bykshre]

Sure Thing

charles leclerc x female reader (smau) 2/?

a continuation of WE FOUND LOVE (index)

summary: you and charles were meant to be together even if the media, society and his girlfriend criticized you.

trope: childhood friends to lovers, ferrari driver x head strategist , mean gf (no hate to any of charles' gf's, ex or current.)

a/n: hi hii!! :D charles my amour won in COTA and of course I had to create something out of that. Soo without further todo, i shall introduce to you Sure Thing, part 2 of We found Love! Enjoyyy!! <3

Your thumb hovered over Charles’ Instagram post, reading the simple caption repeatedly, fixating on one specific sentence; "Alex and I have decided to end our relationship".

You felt an unexpected surge of emotions — relief, confusion, excitement.

"This is so sudden", you whispered to yourself though there was no one really beside you.

Alex was heavily popular, APM Monaco made her model for their jewellery, she was signed with influencer management and she even promoted many clothing brands throughout her journey as Charles's girlfriend— she was sort of the IT Wag. However, nobody truly knows what she was, what she did and how she acts when she's away from the monumental stardom and attention she got.

And you opened twitter. Which instantly made you regret your decision.

@F1Gossip:

"BREAKING: Charles Leclerc and Alexandra call it quits! What led to the sudden breakup? Rumors are swirling about Y/N’s involvement… 👀 #F1Drama #CharlesLeclerc"

@AlexandraStans:

"Honestly, good riddance. Alex deserves better than someone who spends all his time with another woman. #TeamAlex #CharlesLeclerc"

@LeclercNation:

"People need to stop blaming Y/N for the breakup. Charles is an adult who made his own decision. #TeamYN #FerrariFamily"

Regardless of whatever you were feeling, you quickly pushed them aside, reminding yourself to not to get sucked into this situation. "Who are you?", you asked yourself, constructing a mental note. You are Charles’ strategist, his friend, and that’s all this was. You did spend hours with him throughout your childhood, of course, you went to school with him, you had sleepovers with the Leclerc brothers, you spent hours in the kitchen with manman gossiping - you were considered the daughter she never had. What have you not done with the Leclercs?

It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.

Frankly, you've no idea how to bring it up, so you kept a promise to not bring it up and you didn’t. You appreciate the week off without any races — it brought you away from everything. You wanted to keep your mind off things and give some time to yourself. And that's exactly what you did.

ursername

time-off 🤍🐻‍❄️🪽🍸

liked by mlnmarta, charles_leclerc, joristrouche and 2.8M others

lewishamilton enjoy, yn! lets get some almave next time ya?

⤷ ursername omg yes lewsss!! 🍸🍸

charles_leclerc 🩷 see you next week, ynie!

⤷ ursername indeed char 🤍🩷

mlnmarta boubou is missing you, come back soon!! 🤱

⤷ ursername u and me in singapore? it's a definite yes😘😘

alexfanpage look at this homewreker, fucking bitch! 😡😡

⤷ illpresidanto omg get a life!! you so pressed for no reason u ugly bitch

19765K likes

🌟

It was a sunlit afternoon in Monaco, where Marta and Riccardo were celebrating the upcoming arrival of their second child. The garden was decorated with a mix of blue and white balloons, creating a cheerful, celebratory atmosphere. Close friends, family, and little Chiara, who was already running around like a whirlwind, were all present.

You wore a pink dress, your hair tousled on your shoulders, favouring another baby girl while Charles was wearing a blue t-shirt accompanied with a blue bandana — something you haven't seen him wear for the past 2 years. It felt different seeing him wear that bandana, it evoked old memories between the both you. You were brought with a wave of nostalgia where you used to go live with Charles on Twitch racing each other on the sim during the Covid-19 era.

You're a sucker for nostalgia

When you first spot Charles at Marta and Riccardo's gender reveal party, you can't help but pause for a moment. He's standing casually near the edge of the garden, his relaxed posture and easy smile making him the center of attention without even trying. His blue bandana was tied loosely around his head. The way the sunlight catches his hair, tousled from the bandana, adds a soft glow around him. He’s talking to a group of friends, but when his eyes meet yours from across the garden, there's a brief flicker of recognition.

As Chiara ran over to you, her arms outstretched, you quickly scooped the little girl up into your arms — pampering her with your soft kisses. “Hey there, sweetheart!” you cooed, smiling warmly at the giggling toddler. Chiara clung to you, pointing toward the food table, eager to see what was there.

Charles watched the both you from a distance, carrying two glasses of sparkling water. As you looked up at him, you couldn't help but tease, “She’s already stealing the spotlight from you.”

Charles grinned, handing you a glass. “It’s alright, I’ll always be her favorite godparent. She just needs a little time to realize I’m the cool one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Charles shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Hey, it’s working. I’m planning to spoil her with all the toys.”

You smirked. “Bribery isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘parenting,’ Charles.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing, “Good thing I’m not a parent yet.”

As the countdown for the big reveal began, everyone gathered in the garden around Marta and Riccardo. You and Charles stood together, chatting quietly about the possible gender.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a girl,” you said, eyes glancing toward Marta. “Marta’s been mentioning how much she wants a sister for Chiara.”

Charles shook his head, his hands on your shoulder. “I think you’re wrong, honey. Riccardo’s been too quiet—he’s definitely preparing for a boy.”

"I'll prove you wrong today, Miss Strategist," he smirked

"You'll never it's definitely a——"

The moment arrived. The large balloon in front of Marta and Riccardo burst, releasing a cascade of blue confetti. Cheers erupted from the crowd, and Chiara clapped her hands in delight as she was handed to Marta.

“It’s a boy!” Riccardo exclaimed, lifting his daughter into the air, his eyes glistening with tears of joy. Marta smiled brightly, holding Chiara close to her chest, both parents absolutely overjoyed.

“I called it,” Charles whispered, nudging you with his elbow.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that. But I guess I’m going to have to learn to spoil a little boy now.”

"And you're proven wrong, y/n," he said while erupting in happiness

"Fuck off Charles!" you said as you roll your eyes

Later in the day, after the excitement had died down, you and Charles found yourselves in a quiet corner of the garden, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. you were holding Chiara, who had fallen asleep in your arms, while Leo lay at Charles' feet, content and relaxed.

“You know, you’re really good with her.”

You glanced up at him, eyes soft. “She’s easy to love.”

Charles watched you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the calm scene in front of them.

“I think you’d make an amazing parent,” he said, his voice quiet.

You smiled, though you didn’t fully respond to his comment. Instead, you gently brushed Chiara’s hair from her face. “Maybe one day.”

charles_leclerc

team boy!! 🩵🌟

liked by mlnmarta, riccardoberreta, joris_trouche,ursername,landonorris

ursername baby chichi <3

liked by author

mlnmarta mi bebe~

joris_trouche 🩵

alexandrafp no alex and u look like shit!

alexamour wheres that bitch Y/N??

ursername

mon lion et ma petite filleule

liked by charles_leclerc, mlnmarta,oscarpiastri and 3M others

charles_leclerc adorable

lewishamilton soo cute!

mlnmarta my 👶

joris_trouche who took this pic🤭

@FerrariInsider:

"Sources close to the team say Charles and Y/N have been spending more time together since the breakup. Could something more be brewing between them? 👀 #F1Gossip"

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

COTA GRAND-PRIX, AUSTIN, TEXAS.

ursername

story, 4h ago

Looking sharp out there 👀 Let’s keep it smooth this weekend, @ charles_leclerc. 🏎️✨

As Charles arrived at the garage for practice, he seemed relaxed, as if nothing had changed. So, you followed his lead, keeping things as normal as possible. Talking about Alex was the least of your concerns, you were more concerned about how Charles was coping and when you saw him being his usual bubbly and annoying self —you knew this relationship was long to be called off. Then again, this is the Charles Leclerc, the homie hopper, the playboy- you've seen it all. He's messy in relationships and that scares you, so much. Yet, you're treated so differently and you wonder why.

After FP1, Charles and Carlos stroll into their garages to rewind and reflect with the team to consult tyre management, degradation and qualifying strategies.

As Charles unlocked his phone, his thumb instinctively swiped to Instagram to catch up on the latest updates. A burst of laughter escaped him as he saw a story from his head strategist, who had tagged him in it.

“Looking sharp, huh? Not bad for just a practice session.” He said to Y/N who was sitting beside him.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Leclerc. You still have a lot to prove this weekend,” you said sternly,

“A lot to prove? I thought I already impressed the toughest critic on the team.”

“I’m a strategist, Charles. Being impressed is temporary — results are what matter,” you said

“So, if I get results, will you post something even nicer?” he said, giving her his winning smirk

“Win the race, and I’ll think about it.”

🌟 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

As the sprint race ends, Charles strolls into the garage, his helmet tucked under his arm. Y/N is standing by the monitors, reviewing the data.

Charles: “You’re awfully quiet today. Everything okay, strategist?”

Y/N doesn’t look up immediately, keeping her focus on the screen. “Just making sure you’re as sharp as I said you were. No pressure, though.”

Charles smirks, leaning casually against the desk beside her. “I’m starting to think you enjoy putting pressure on me.”

Y/N finally glances at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “If it makes you faster, then maybe I do.”

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Y/N tilts her head. “You’d know if you were. For now, just focus on not going wide into Turn 11 again.”

Charles groans playfully. “That’s never happening again. You’ll see.”

Y/N: “Good. I like being right.”

Scuderia Ferrari HP

@charles_leclerc is working hard tonight with the team 🏎 ❇

liked by ursername,ggiada,mlnmarta,riccardoberreta and 5M others

ursername one of the rarest times i see mr leclerc staying overtime! mind-boggling indeed

⤷ charles_leclerc gosh you are annoying

oscarpiastri the dedication 👨

charles_leclerc y/n's fault!

lewishamilton keep it up bud!

After the debrief and post-practice meetings, you're walking back to your hotel, laptop bag slung over your shoulder. The paddock is quiet now, with only a few people milling about under the warm Austin night sky.

“Hey, strategist.”

She turns to find Charles jogging to catch up with her, still in his Ferrari polo and cap.

“Shouldn’t you be resting? I thought you went back? You’ve got qualifying tomorrow.”

Charles falls into step beside you, hands casually shoved into his pockets. “I could say the same to you. What’s keeping you out so late?”

You shrug. “Notes. Data. Making sure we’re perfect tomorrow.”

“We’re perfect, huh?” He glances at you with a teasing smirk.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t let it go to your head. It’s my job to make sure you don’t mess it up.”

“Ah, so you’re saying you’re the brains, and I’m just the guy driving the car?”

you finally stop walking and turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re finally catching on.”

For a moment, they just look at each other. The playful banter fades into a quiet intensity. Charles’ gaze softens, and Y/N feels her pulse quicken under the weight of his attention.

Charles: “You know, you’re pretty incredible.”

“Charles…” she starts, but he cuts her off with a soft laugh.

“Relax, strategist. Just giving credit where it’s due.”

You shake your head, “Save the charm for the press conferences. You’ll need it when they grill you tomorrow.”

“Right. Gotta stay focused.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Don’t stay up too late. Wouldn't want my stargirl to get sick.”

You chuckle softly as you walk into your room, catching his eye as he waves from across the hallway, stepping into his room just opposite yours.

RACE DAY

The morning sun was barely filtering through the high windows of the hotel lobby as Charles stood near the entrance, checking his watch for what felt like the hundredth time. His nerves were on edge—not because of the race, but because today felt different.

Just as he was about to check his phone again, he saw you.

You stepped into the lobby, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. The buzz of the hotel faded away. You were wearing a dress unlike any other—simple yet striking. It was a fitted black satin dress, hugging your figure perfectly and stopping just above your knees. The neckline was deep enough to tease but still elegant, and the fabric shimmered under the light as if it were made to capture every glance.

you were unaware of the way you had completely captured his attention, you walked towards him with a confident, almost teasing smile. You could feel the tension in the air, but she wasn’t sure if it was just the race day energy or something more.

“Morning, Charles,” you said, your voice warm

“You… you look…”

Your smile widened, though there was a hint of mischief in your eyes. “Thanks. I wanted to make sure you had something to look forward to after the race.”

Charles chuckled softly, the sound low and almost nervous, his eyes scanning over you once again. The dress clung to your body in all the right ways, and his thoughts were running wild. “You’re distracting me,” he said with a grin, taking a small step toward you.

Charles reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers, the touch sending a shock through his system. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips for a split second before meeting her eyes again.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected this reaction from him. Sure, he was always flirty with you but this past week seemed a little different.

“Shall we?” he asked

“Lead the way,” she said

Charles led you through the hotel lobby, his hand lightly resting on the small of your back as you two walked toward the exit. His touch was soft, almost protective, but you could feel the weight of it. It wasn’t just a gesture—it was more.

When you reached the car, a sleek Ferrari SF90 in all its glory, Charles opened the passenger side door for you.

“After you,” Charles said with a playful grin.

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat as she slid into the car, the cool leather of the seat pressing against you as you settled in. You glanced over at Charles as he slid into the driver’s seat, his movements smooth and confident. The way he adjusted the rearview mirror, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel—it all seemed like a quiet dance between you both like everything was aligning.

Charles started the engine, the powerful rumble filling the space between them. He looked over at you, a small smile playing on his lips as they began their journey to the track.

“So,” he began, trying to keep the mood light, “Are you ready for today?”

You leaned back in the seat, gaze wandering to the window for a moment as the city passed by. “I think you’re the one who should be ready for today,” you teased, glancing back at him with a knowing smile. “You’re going to have a lot of eyes on you.”

Charles laughed softly, but there was a nervous edge to it. “That’s nothing new.” He shifted the car smoothly, maneuvering through the streets. “But it’s different when you’re here, you know?” His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. “Having you here makes it… better.”

You weren’t sure if he meant it in the way you wanted to believe, but the sincerity in his voice made you feel something she hadn’t expected.

“It’s always been different,” she said softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“I’ve always been here for you, Charles. I always will be.”

Charles glanced over at you, his expression softening. “I know. And I’m grateful for that.” His hand briefly brushed against yours on the gearshift, sending a jolt through you, and he didn’t pull away. For a moment, it was just the two of you, the world outside the car fading away.

When they arrived at the track, the noise of the race weekend came rushing back.

He looked over at you, his gaze lingering for a moment, his thoughts seemingly racing. Then, with a slow exhale, he opened the door and stepped out, walking around to your side of the car. He opened the door for you, just like before, but this time, it felt different.

As you stepped out of the car, Charles was already there, his hand extending to help steady you, though it wasn’t needed. You didn’t take his hand immediately, but the way he watched you, the way his eyes stayed on you with such intensity, made your heart flutter.

“You look even more stunning in the daylight,” he said, his voice lower now, the playful teasing replaced with something more genuine.

You met his gaze, lips curving into a soft smile. “Thanks, Charles,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

formulaone

Charles Leclerc steps into the track alongside his strategist, Y/N today! Charles is starting P4 today - let's see what we'll get with Ferrari, especially with the upcoming title battle with McLaren! Today's going to be interesting.

liked by mlnmarta,joris_trouche, and 4M others

alexandrafp seriously charles it;s only been 2 weeks since you broke up with alex and you're taking y/n around in your car? wtf!

⤷ charlesfp y/n is charles childhood best friend , besides alex was toxic enough that he couldn't spend time with yn!

⤷ ynstrategistupdates frr- yn and charles have always stepped into the track together before this, where is your brains?

⤷ yndefender please what?! charles had ENOUGH with alex past 2 years! stfu and leave the sport if you're only invested in WAGS!

@F1Fanatic

"Okay, but Charles and Y/N arriving together in his Ferrari SF90 and the way he held her hand to help her out of the car??? Gentleman of the year 🥺🔥 #CharlesLeclerc #F1"

@TifosiForever

"Y/N in that dress??? Charles could barely keep his eyes off her. You’re telling me this is just ‘driver and strategist’ behavior? 😏 #Ferrari #COTAGP"

@GrandPrixGossip

"Did anyone else notice how Charles waited for Y/N at the lobby this morning? She’s clearly more than just a strategist to him. 👀 #F1Drama #LeclercNation"

@F1Moments

"The way Charles just casually said ‘I drive better when I know you’re watching’ to Y/N in the garage?? Sir, the cameras are ON. #SlowBurn #CharlesAndYN"

@FerrariInsider

"People are saying Charles and Y/N are just friends, but friends don’t exchange those kinds of looks before a race. 🫣 #F1LoveStory #CharlesLeclerc"

@F1Editz

"Charles Leclerc and Y/N arriving at COTA this morning >>> any romcom scene ever filmed. The chemistry is unreal. 😍 #F1Romance"

@LeclercNation

"If Charles wins today, it’s 100% because Y/N is his good luck charm. Someone check the stats on her presence at his podiums! 🏆❤️ #F1CoupleGoals"

womeninformulaone

Ferrari's Head of Strategy, Ms YN arrives on the COTA paddock alongside Ferrari's Charles Leclerc today. She is wearing a beautiful fitted navy blue dress. Let's see what she pulls off in today's race! 🏎 ❇

liked by carmenmundt,hannahstjohn,ursername,charles_leclerc and 8M others

ynsfp who is this DIVA?

alexfp cunning witch

⤷ charlesfp you should've been banned by now! Why do people like you still exist??

ursername WOW haha featured by this page? I thought this page was just for WAGs, never thought WOMEN in MOTORSPORTS could've been featured.

80K likes

RACE

The track energy was high as the team prepared for the race. Charles stepped into his car after having his debrief with his engineer, Bryan, Fred and of course, you- adjusting his helmet and getting settled in the cockpit. You stood by, watching till the clock hits 12.

Least to say, you were feeling nervous. But when do you not go through a whirlwind of emotions when you see your best-friend driving at 200-300km/h for 2 hours? Formula One is not a just a sport— if not done meticulously it'd be fatal.

Not were you only nervous on that but as a strategist yourself, you are afraid of letting the team down with ridiculous pits and scenarios which scares you. You weren't responsible for what happened at Montreal nor were you responsible for the mishaps this year. But as a woman in motorsports where women are highly downgraded and treated not well — you were determined to make a change in this sport where misogyny has no place and uplift young girls to dominate this world of motorsports.

As you sit on your chair at the pit-wall, you laugh as you remembered your last conversation with Charles making you shake your head.

“I’m going to win today.”

“Confident, are we?”

Charles: “When you’re the one calling the shots, how could I not be?”

There was multiple times where Charles would've said that and not win. So him being overconfident made you remember those moments. However, you always wanted your best-friend, Charles to win every single race if you could. You both grew up dreaming about winning the constructors championship for Ferrari and here you are together working together.

Life is so unexpected and magical.

The Circuit of the Americas roared with excitement as the lights went out, marking the start of the Austin Grand Prix.

As Max and Lando fought aggressively into Turn 1, their cars went wide, forcing both drivers to compromise their exits. This split-second miscalculation opened the door for Charles and Carlos Sainz, who took full advantage. Charles made an audacious dive on the inside, slipping past not just Max and Lando but also gaining a crucial edge over his Ferrari teammate.

Suddenly, Charles found himself in P1 by the end of the first corner, with Carlos right behind him. The commentators were stunned by his opportunistic brilliance:

"Leclerc from P4 to P1! That’s unbelievable! What a move from the Ferrari driver!"

"His race-starts are on point, isn't it?", you ask Fred

"He's definitely perfected it," Fred replied

From that point on, Charles showcased a masterclass in race control. Lap after lap, he extended his lead with precision and consistency. While chaos unfolded behind him, with Max and Lando locked in a fierce battle for P3, Charles focused on maintaining a steady rhythm.

Even the pit stops—often Ferrari’s Achilles’ heel—were flawless. When Charles came in for his stop on Lap 18, the team delivered a lightning-quick turnaround, allowing him to rejoin the track without losing his lead.

"Just keep it steady, Charles. You’re doing an amazing job," his race engineer said over the radio.

"Copy. Let’s bring it home," Charles replied, his voice calm but determined.

As the final lap unfolded, the crowd at COTA erupted in cheers. Charles crossed the finish line with a commanding lead, having led every lap of the race—a feat that underscored his strategic brilliance and racecraft.

"YESSS! Let’s go, ragazzi! What a race!" Charles yelled over the team radio, his joy evident.

As the garage burst into cheers and celebrations, someone nudged your shoulder. “He’s going to be insufferable after this,” one of the engineers teased, and you laughed, shaking her head.

“I think he’s earned it,” you replied softly, unable to hide the affection in your voice

His team congratulated him on a flawless performance, and the commentators lauded his exceptional drive

Leclerc didn’t just win today—he dominated. From P4 to P1 by the first corner and never looked back. This was a perfect race from the Ferrari driver."

Your hands trembled as you lowered the headset, a wide grin spreading across your face. Pride swelled in your chest, almost overwhelming. You clapped along with the team but couldn’t shake the warmth bubbling inside you. This wasn’t just a win for Ferrari. This was a win for him

In Parc Fermé, Charles leaped out of his car, visibly elated. The Ferrari garage was a sea of red, celebrating what was undoubtedly one of their best performances of the season. Charles hugged his team members before making his way to the podium.

You had tears visible flowing down your cheek- they call it the happy tears. Your heart beaming in joy and proud.

You wanted to run out there and hug him, tell him how incredible he was. But instead, you stayed rooted, heart pounding, waiting for him to arrive in Parc Fermé

As the Monegasque driver stood on the top step, the Monegasque national anthem echoed through the Austin sky, marking a moment of triumph for both Charles and Ferrari.

As he made his way to the podium, you stayed back, watching him from the sidelines. Your heart was full, pride immeasurable. You pulled out your phone, snapping a quick photo of him standing on the top step of the podium, champagne in hand, the Monegasque flag behind him.

The camera's were all on you, Ferrari and Charles — capturing the special moment that will last an eternity.

@F1Fans: "Charles Leclerc’s drive today was a masterpiece. Calm, calculated, and utterly dominant. Driver of the day, no question."

@LeclercNation: "From P4 to P1 by Turn 1, and he never gave up the lead. Charles Leclerc is a star! #AustinGP #TeamLeclerc"

@F1Memes: "Max and Lando fighting each other in Turn 1: 'This is fine.' Charles: 'Don’t mind if I do.' #Masterclass"

@FerrariOfficial: "Victory in Austin! Charles Leclerc secures the win with an exceptional performance. A day to remember for Scuderia Ferrari! #ForzaFerrari #CharlesLeclerc"

ursername

story, 5mins ago

What a drive. Proud of you @Charles_Leclerc

When Charles returned to the garage, still beaming, he sought you out immediately.

“Y/N!” he called, his voice cutting through the noise.

You turned, laughing softly at the sight of him—his race suit slightly damp from the champagne, his hair a mess, and his face glowing with happiness.

“That was incredible,” you said as he approached, eyes sparkling with pride. “You didn’t just win—you owned that race.”

He grinned, a little bashful despite the confidence he’d displayed on track. “You think so?”

“Charles,” you said, stepping closer, voice dropping slightly. “I think the whole world knows so. That was a masterclass.”

His grin turned softer, more genuine. “Means a lot coming from you.”

For a moment, there was silence between them, just the buzz of the team celebrating in the background.

“You owe me dinner,” you teased, breaking the tension. “You promised if you won.”

He smirked, his signature charm returning. “Guess I better make it special, then. For someone who’s apparently my lucky charm.”

You rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up her cheeks. “Don’t get used to it, Leclerc.”

“Oh, I’m already used to it.” His tone was playful, but there was something deeper in his gaze, something unspoken.

@F1Updates:"What a dominant win by Charles Leclerc today at the Austin GP. From P4 to P1 by Turn 1 and never looked back. #CharlesLeclerc #AustinGP"

@F1FanGirl:"Did anyone see Y/N’s story? That caption! She’s so proud of him, and honestly, same. #CharlesAndYN"

@GossipGrid:"Y/N spotted in the Ferrari garage during Charles’ win. These two are definitely giving ‘something’s going on’ vibes. 👀 #F1Drama #CharlesLeclerc"

@FerrariOfficial:"Victory is red! 🏆 Congratulations to Charles Leclerc on a flawless drive at COTA. #ForzaFerrari #AustinGP"

charles_leclerc

Another one . The team have done such an incredible job recently and it's paying off, so happy we achieved a 1-2. Thanks to everybody for the massive support too, always special to come back to the US.

liked by ursername,scuderiaferrari,joris_trouche and 10M others

maxvertsappen1 amazing masterclass bro

lewishamilton always amazing to see young generational talents winning🥇

ursername well done leclerc! 🥇

ursername

merci charles, you proved yourself right, you earned this win with pure talent and crafted art- to more wins!

liked by mlnmarta,charles_leclerc,maxverstappen1,lewishamilton and 6M others

charles_leclerc finally got a good caption huhuu

scuderiaferrari cota will be in the books!

anthoinethrouchet amazing job charles, merci y/n!

@LeclercNation:"THAT race win. THAT walk back. Charles texting someone during the press conference. Coincidence? We think not. #CharlesAndYN "

@F1Gossip:"Y/N was glowing after Charles’ win. And the way he kept looking at her? We need answers, stat. #F1Tea"

You two stepped into the elevator, the hum of the machinery filling the quiet. Charles leaned against the wall, glancing at you.

“You didn’t stick around for the real celebration,” he teased, his voice low.

You smirked, arms crossed. “I figured you’d be too busy soaking up all the glory.”

Charles tilted his head, his lips curving into that signature smirk. “Maybe. Or maybe I was saving it for someone more important.”

Her heart skipped, but you rolled your eyes, playing it cool. “Always the charmer, aren’t you?”

“Only when it works,” he shot back smoothly, the elevator dinging open just in time.

As he stepped out, he glanced back at you with a small grin. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Charles,” you whispered as the doors slid shut.

all rights reserved @bykshre

[johnpriceslamb]

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐏?

❛ you ask the Van Der Linde boys if you could sit on their lap. ❜

BEFORE YOU PROCEED! ┊female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍

You want to what?

You tinker your lashes multiple times innocently at his flabbergasted expression, unconsciously tilting your head at his dramatic approach. From your tone alone meant nothing but the most purest intentions, he knew well you mean no harm. But hearing those words made his cheeks burn a tad bit brighter.

“May I please— “No, no, I heard ya the first time- I just..” He abruptly cuts you. He narrows his eyes at you, sizing you up head-to-toe just to see if you were in a playful manner. You weren’t.

He grumbles softly, contemplating. He scratches behind his neck for a bit before a deep sigh escapes his mouth and he leans back on the wooden chair he sat upon.

“C’mere.”

He beckons you to come closer with two fingers lazily waving in the air. Immediately do you obey his simple commands like a lost pup, hands clasped prettily in-front of your chest as you easily plop yourself on his lap. Your back almost hits his chest, akin to a literal brick wall from all of the labour work he’s done. Unconsciously does his large hands come to your hips, positioning them slightly just so you’d be a tad bit more comfortable.

It’s easy to tilt your head upwards to see his face, the prickles of hair sticking out on his chin is the most prominent thing from your view. He feels your stare almost immediately and looks down at your beady eyes. He has to stop himself from grinning at your unawareness.

The cowpoke could only narrow his eyes at the soft giggle you produced from your mouth, a hand resting on your hip, “What?”

You look away with a tiny smile, “Nuthin’.”

He lets out another deep sigh, before pinching your cheek.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍

The bottle of beer in his hand almost slips to the ground after hearing your simple question.

He raises a hand to scratch at the stubble on his jaw, mindful to be aware of the deep claw-marks embedded on his skin. The bottle was placed on the table with a clumsy clatter, back supported by the edge of the table.

“..Watchu say?” He squints his dark eyes at you. He must’ve drunk too much, perhaps he heard you wrong. His tone was always raspy yet so demeaning playful even. You took it as if he didn’t want you to, and you shrink meekly.

You stutter shyly, “I’ll just go ask someone else—

He felt his guts squeeze and churn at the sight of you sitting on someone else’s lap. All sense of proper etiquette is thrown away from jealousy and alcoholic behaviour, his hand is very quick to grabbing yours as he roughly pulls you back. A tiny squeal escapes your lap as you clumsily fall on his chest and onto his hard thighs.

Your hands are clinging onto his opened top to balance yourself, the smirk on his face visible as he sees how shy you suddenly became.

The strong scent of alcohol makes your nose scrunch up. He rests his chin on the crook of your neck, stubble lightly tickling your sensitive skin. After a few minutes of making yourself comfy on his lap and finally staying still, his hand comes to grab his bottle to take another chug.

“John,” You almost whine at the way he unconsciously starts to bounce his knee up and down. A habit he’s not prone to ever since he started drinking. It was almost like he forgot you were sitting on his lap after a few minutes. Immediately does he stop his movement, a low slurr of babbles and a soft hiccup escapes his lips, “Whoops— sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, he cheekily stares down at you.

“Y’know,” He hics.

“Yer behind feels kinda good on my-

“John.”

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

He’s a bit clueless at first, bless his heart.

He’s busy carving a small piece of wood with his knife, hunched over as his long hair falls, covering the sides of his face almost elegantly. He wasn’t bothered to tie his hair back, nor raise a finger to place it behind his ear. He stops re-shaping the small piece of wood as he hears a soft patter of footsteps from in-front.

“Hm?” He hums, his guard lowers significantly once realising it was you. The knife is lowered too, and the items were placed afar so it does not distract you nor come in your way.

“May I please sit on your lap?” You ask with those big beady eyes of yours, hands behind your back as your tone is light and sweet.

Of course, silence is ensured for a few seconds. His brooding figure straightens up from his spot. He quirks a dark, angular brow at your much smaller figure.

“Why?” He asks with a straight face.

Your cheeks burn, and your expression was alike of a kicked pup. He catches on quickly, and he immediately feels bad for seeming so nonchalant and blunt.

“U-Um.. I just, I wanted to.. N-nevermind. Sorry.” You shyly stammer, akin to a doe whom tries to stand up for the first time.

He easily suppresses the smile which almost etched onto his face at your stuttering. Cute.

“I didn’t say no, y’know.” He gestures you to come over with a simple pat on his thigh. You beam, eagerly toddling to him like a tiny tot wanting to get her stuffies. You sit yourself on his thighs, shoes quite literally lifting off of the ground because of how big he was. Even if he sat down, he still always towered over you.

He allows you to wiggle a bit on his lap, but a hand comes down to rest on your knee to squeeze it a bit as a gentle warning to not go any higher. You do obey, of course. Your back is to his chest, your hands positioned on your lap as you almost melt at how warm he was.

“Comfortable?” At each word he uttered to you, it was more toned down in pitch, a low hum always started. You nod lazily, a smile of satisfaction of how comfy he felt underneath. You don’t mind the way he snakes his arms around your waist. “Good.”

𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀

You regret asking.

Simply put, he’s handsy.

The smirk on his face is very visible. The log he rests upon feels even more smaller as he slowly starts to manspread right in front of you. The guitar in his hand is placed gently just to the side before he beckons you to come forth. You reluctantly sit on his lap, almost squirming at how close he was.

A hand on your hip, another squish to your thigh, a soft roll from his hip teasingly upwards, a touch here, a touch there..

“Javier!” You whine, swatting his hand off your curves. He could only teasingly grin, before shrugging. “..Tu pediste esto.” His voice serenades.

You try to swat his hands off again, but merely give up, knowing he won’t stop any time soon. You lay your cheek on his chest, lithe arms wrapped around his waist as your back arches a tad bit from not supporting your structure. His hands are on the small of your back, rubbing small circles on the softness of your clothed skin.

The embers from the mini camp-fire is light and descends off in the dark night, crackles of the wood calms your nerves down just a bit. He does tone his touch down just a tad bit for your sake, despite wanting to desperately grab at.. literally anything. He’s had ladies before, but by far was he the neediest when it came to you.

You can’t help but take a small peak from above, wispy lashes coming to tinker a bit when he tilts his gaze to fixate on you. A small smile on his face, as he greedily eats up all of the touch you gave to him.

“..hi.” You quietly mumble, a bit muffled because of the fact that half of your face is mushed against the fabrics of his clothes. A fox-like grin etches on his tan face as he presses a tiny kiss on your forehead, entertaining you by replying with a simple “hola.”

“You’re really clingy- and touchy. I hope you know that.” You grumble when his hand comes to cup your curves again.

He smiles lazily. “I know.”

[chrisevansonly]

𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜

ʚ charles leclerc x female reader

ʚ charles gets the one call he never wanted to get, and despite your worries about his precious pista, he doesn’t care about the car. just you.

ʚ angst, description of injuries (minor), mentions of blood, panic attacks, violence (minor), tears and lots of soft charles

ʚ okay idk why i thought of this idea, but i have and here we are, i know people have been asking for angst, this idk if it qualifies as the angst you’re all looking for but I will work on some other ideas too:)

Time was frozen as you sat in the driver’s seat of what once looked like a Ferrari 488 Pista. Only now you could make out the back of the car, the front of it might as well be in a what not to do when you drive a luxury vehicle catalogue. Your head was ringing and your chest pounding as adrenaline and anxiety pumped through your veins, as much as you’d started to feel pain in a multitude of places, your brain was thinking of only one thing;

Charles is going to be so mad.

To make matters worse, the man who had hit you was now cursing through the tinted window, claiming the accident to be all your fault. Deciding to think about Charles’s potential anger later you picked your phone up and called his number.

Thankfully it didn’t take long, 

“Hi baby, are you on your way back”

A pause 

“Um…I-I got in an accident Char…”

The line was silent before he spoke up, panic laced in his voice. 

“Qu'entendez-vous par ‘accident?’  Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Où es-tu, es-tu gravement blesse.”

“Charles, english please my head hurts so bad.”

Normally you’d be able to hold an entire conversation with him in French, but right now it was just too much.

“I’m sorry, where are you baby? Are you hurt bad?”

Sniffling softly, you hummed

“I am down by the marina; my head really hurts. The man who hit me…he-he is yelling loudly at me…can you-oh Charles your poor car….”

“No, don’t even worry about my car baby, you matter more to me, I can’t replace you, but I can replace the car. I’ll be there in ten minutes, keep the doors locked, don’t get out.”

You nodded, only then realizing he couldn’t see you. 

“Yes, okay, I’ll wait here…please hurry”

“I will chérie, I promise.”

-

Just like he’d said, a familiar black Alfa Romeo pulled up next to the crash site, Charles quick to get out and come towards the driver’s side door, only to see the man banging at the window. 

“Hey, can you step away from my car?”

The man turned to look at Charles

“Cette stupide salope a détruit ma voiture!”

“Je vous le redemande, éloignez-vous de ma voiture”

It was getting harder for Charles to reign in his anger, quickly pushing the man back, giving him a look that at this point in the evening, had him backing away, finally allowing Charles to open the door and see you

“Hey..hey.. I’m here, its okay?”

Charles swore his heart broke as you looked at him with teary eyes, a bruise above your eyebrow, but thankfully you appeared alright otherwise.

“I-I’m so sorry about your car Charlie, he just-he came out of nowhere, and I-I couldn’t-I am so so sorry!”

Holding back the sobs was almost impossible at this point, but Charles was quick to undo your seatbelt, helping you turn towards the door and put your feet on the ground. Once he had you turned toward him, he brought his hands up to hold your face, his thumbs swiping your cheeks.

“My love, listen to me, you are my main priority, you are the love of my life, and this car is just mental and parts, all which can be fixed, but you cannot, and I cannot have another one of you, ever okay?”

Sniffling you nodded

“Okay…”

In the distance you could heard the sirens coming your way, knowing you’d be going to the hospital, it was a given but for now you really just needed Charles, and he wasn’t going anywhere, that was for sure.

“Are you hurting badly baby?”

“No, just my head…can you help me up?”

Your boyfriend nodded, holding onto your arms gently as he helped you stand up, before bringing you into his chest, your arms wrapping around him, as he did the same to you.

“I am so glad you’re okay, you have no idea how worried I was…we’ll get you to the hospital and then i’m not leaving your side”

“Promise you won’t?”

Charles smiled as he saw your pinky finger come up, quickly linking his in a pink promise, a tradition you’d both been doing since your third date.

“I promise, i’m not going anywhere”

As the sirens got closer, you leaned further into Charles, knowing no matter what happened, he’d be by your side for as long as you needed him, he’d be there. It didn’t matter if he had a race, media or social events to attend, for you he’d drop them in a heart beat over and over again.

Because he never wanted to get that kind of phone call again.

translations:

-Qu'entendez-vous par ‘accident?’  Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Où es-tu, es-tu gravement blesse : What do you mean by 'accident?' What happened? Where are you, are you seriously injured?

-Cette stupide salope a détruit ma voiture!: This stupid bitch destroyed my car!

-Je vous le redemande, éloignez-vous de ma voiture: I'm asking you again, get away from my car

[alastor-simp]

Want A Four Armed Hug? - Angel Dust x Depressed Fem Reader

❥Summary: Angel finds you in a bit of a slump, so he offers his services....kinda

❥Tags: Angel Dust x Female Reader, Depression, Hugs, Fluff, Hugs and Cuddles, Adorable, Spider Hug, Angel Dust Is A Softie, Depressed Reader

❥Warning: Some curse words. Not For Minors

❥Notes: Time for some healing hugs from the sexy spider himself. Enjoy😊

❥Credit Divider to @enchanthings

"Ughhh..what a tiring ass day." Angel groaned out, as his tall form walked through the hotel doors. His entire body was aching from another one of Val's crazy sexual video recordings. Nothing he couldn't handle, but even Angel had his limits. Rubbing his face, his pink pupils observed around the room, spotting Husky at the bar and the crazed little one, Niffty, stabbing the ground with her needle, as a cockroach was scurrying around. Sporting a seductive smirk, Angel strutted towards the bar, flopping dramatically on it, "Ohhhh~ Whiskers`~ Mind making little old me a drink?" Wiggling his eyebrows, he gave the cat a wink, earning a groan from grumpy cat.

"Was all that necessary," Husk questioned, while pushing Angel off of the bar, so he could make the drink. Angel laughed, motioning his body to land perfectly on one of the bar stools, rubbing his neck while eyeing the cat. "Haha, sorry Kitty. Couldn't resist." The seductive look had disappeared, replaced with a genuine smile, which seemed to disgrumble Husk a bit. Shaking his head with a laugh, Husk maneuvered his hands to prep Angel's favorite drink, his tail moving to grab one of the bottles behind him. Angel watched for a bit, before he leaned his head back, peeking to see the others in the lobby. Eyes spotted Char, Vagina, and Smiles, but no you? Where in the hell's were you.

"Here kid. A sex on the beach, just how ya like it." Husk said, pushing the glass closer to the spider. Throwing his head back at the cat, Angel gave a small thanks, grabbing the alcoholic beverage to his lips, sipping it down. "Hey, Whiskers? Have ya seen Y/N? Normally they be with Charlie since they new to hell and all that" Angel asked, watching as Husk grabbed a rag, wiping down the bar. Husk shrugged, as he too, didn't know where you were. "No clue, kid. Ain't seen them much since this afternoon." Husk said, eyes looking up at Angel for a second, before looking back down to continue cleaning. Well, it wasn't the answer the spider was looking for, but he appreciated it at least. Grabbing the drink, Angel chugged it down, before he motioned his tall form off of the stool, shooting Husk a quick thanks, before walking off.

Walking down the hotel hallways, Angel decided to look for you himself. The relationship the both of you had was...well it was odd in a sense. The classic "opposites attract" situation, as Angel had a very provocative flirtatious personality, counteracting with your more reserved shy character, yet somehow, the two of you went together, strangely. He had nothing against the others, yet sometimes Charlie's positivity was too overwhelming and Niffty's psychotic tendencies were nerve wracking, so whenever he needed time to just wind down from the day and relax without any problems, he'd go to you. Reaching his destination, your hotel room, his knuckles tapped on the door, waiting to hear your response from the other side. "Toots? You in there?" Angel raised his voice a bit, hoping you could hear him from the other side. Only response that was granted to Angel was silence, as the door in front of him remained closed.

Grasping the handle, the door opened with a creak, allowing Angel to enter. "Toots, you in her—" His words were cut off as he observed the state of you and your room. Shrouded in darkness, the only source of light was coming from the light in the hallway, illuminating it just enough for Angel to see the state you were in. Clothes were thrown across the floor, along with shards of broken glass from the smashed vanity table that was lying on the ground. Upon looking closer, Angel was able to spot you on the bed, wrapped in the duvet, cocooning yourself from the outside. Angel was able to pick up on the sounds of your crying, as he slowly walked closer to your bed, careful not to step on the shards littered everywhere. His eyes look on you with sadness, as he nestled himself onto the bed, not uttering a word, just letting his presence be know to you.

The only part of your body that was visible was your head, as it was poking out of the duvet, while the rest of your face remained hidden from him. Angel lifted his hand up with hesitation, hovering it slowly over your head before it placed itself softly onto it, rubbing your hair in a comforting motion. The gesture was enough for your face to slowly arise from the cocoon you laid in, showing the tears that littered your cheeks along with your puffy red eyes. "Are you okay?" Angel asked, his heart aching at your sorrowful appearance. Your head shook no, as you sniffled, more tears forming from your eyes. "Is there someone's whose dick that needs to be blown up, cause I can text Cherri right now," Angel lifted his phone up, ready to shoot his bestie a text to go rough up the bastard that possibly made you upset.

"No Angel. No one did this to me." You finally spoke, hand coming out of the duvet to wipe at your tears. "I.....Everything just feels like too much. I'm usually okay with holding in all of these emotions, but today just felt like my breaking point. It's like my mind finally caught up with the fact that I'm dead, and it just erupted. I won't ever see my family or friends again and even when they do die, they will go up to heaven, while I'm down here." Angel continued to listen, his hand still rubbing your head. Once you were done with your little rant, the tears started to come out even more, as you sobbed even louder, face hiding back inside the cover.

Angel knew, he knew this feeling you were having, the sudden feeling of dread and pain when he first arrived in hell, having overdosed into a coma, and waking up here, realizing that he was dead, being utterly alone. Those feelings were drowned out with drugs, booze and sex, to numb them away, yet they remained clinging onto him, hooked into his skin, reminding him that they were still there. His pink eyes continued to watch you softly, before he inched closer, four of his arms stretching out towards you. "Want a four-armed hug?" Angel asked, giving you a saccharine smile. Wet eyes gazed up at him softly, before you threw yourself into him, face hitting his fluffy chest, as he enveloped you with his many arms.

His hands squeezed you tightly, mustering as much comfort as he could to try to ease your emotions. He could feel the tears soaking his top, but he didn't care. The fluffiness of his floof was welcoming, the scent of bubble-gum mixed with booze surrounded you, creating a calming effect as the tears began to ease up. "It gets better, Y/N," he says, his chin nuzzling the crown of your head. "What does?" You responded, peeking out from his chest a bit. "These feelings, they get better over time. You're not alone ya know? Ya got me, Char, Vags, Niff, Whiskers, Smiles, Pen, Cherri, Lucifer, and even Fat Nuggets. We are here for ya. He whispers in your ear, pulling you in closer.

The kindness in his voice was gonna make you cry again, as you tightened your hands against his back, never wanting to let him go. An unknown sound came from Angel Dust, making you ponder what it was until the sensation of more arms attached to your back. Ahh right, you forgot Angel had two extra hands that were hidden within him. The hug last for a couple more minutes, until the six hands that were holding you, slowly unraveled, yet remain holding onto your shoulders this time. Two soft white hands planted on your cheeks, allowing your head to slowly lift up, where pink eyes gazed down at you. His fingers traced the tears away, while his lips dropped kisses on the temple of your head.

Once Angel was finished, he pulled back, wearing a soft smile. "Wanna head to my room? We can play with Fat Nuggets and just laze about, watching funny videos on my phone." Yeah you liked the sound of that. Nodding your head was a clear answer to Angel, standing back up, hands still wrapped around , allowing you to be bridal carried. Flushing from the situation, your head went back into his fluff, as he continued to carry you. Angel made it quick to text Charlie, letting her know to send Niffty up to fix your room, since he knew how fast she was at cleaning. "Thank you, Angel." You said, frown soon being replaced by a small smile. Angel chuckled, caressing his chin against your head again. "Anytime toots."

-END-

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[muiri-noir]

September commissions are open⚡️

Price 120 usd, (weapons + 20 usd). Female chars only!No males, nsfw, furry, robots. :> Deadline ~ 4 weeks.

Dm me if you’ve got any questions ^^

[dee-writes-anime]

Cute fluffy Dabi story alert!! Your gonna love it 🥰

Dabi with a female chubby civilian girlfriend who he’s all lovey-dovey for, but one day he told her about he’s a villain? (After he ran into Mr. Compress and Toga on his way home) but she laughed and told him that she knew all along and that she loves him. And then Dabi introduced her as his fiancé to the league, she also explained that her quirk is a healing based but the healing part comes from the food she makes (like Julieta from Encanto)

Just Good Enough For You

FEATURING Touya 'Dabi' Todoroki x Reader

SUMMARY No matter who you are, you are just good enough for me.

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff, LOV crack, Dabi (ifykykyk), mentions of villiany and murder and stuff :)

AUTHORS NOTE stopppp cause this was the cutest, most wholesome request everrrr!!! Thank you so much for sharing this lovely thought with me, I really hope you enjoy how I brought it to life! <3 P.S. I promise the Toge fic is coming, college is eating me alive RAHH

Dabi had never been the type to hesitate. He’d burned bridges, enemies, and even his own emotions without so much as a second thought. But tonight, standing just outside your shared apartment, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, he was hesitating.

He wasn’t sure how you’d take it.

A villain. A murderer. That’s who he was. And yet, somehow, you’d always looked at him like he was so much more. Like you saw past the charred skin and the cold eyes, straight into whatever piece of humanity he had left. And it scared the hell out of him.

He could still hear Mr. Compress’s voice ringing in his ears from earlier that day.

“So, when are you going to tell your girlfriend who you really are? She’s bound to figure it out sooner or later.”

Toga had chimed in too, her high-pitched giggles grating on his nerves. “Oh, I bet she’d love to see your flames up close! You should show her! I mean, doesn’t she already wonder where you go when you disappear for days?”

He’d brushed them off, made some snide comment about minding their own business, but the truth was, they’d struck a nerve. Deep down, Dabi knew it was only a matter of time before you found out, and he hated the thought of you hating him when that moment came.

With a sigh, he finally pushed open the door and stepped inside, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. The smell of something savory cooking wafted through the air, and despite his anxiety, he couldn’t help but smile faintly. You always seemed to know when he needed comfort. Food had a way of soothing him in ways words couldn’t, and you, with your quirk and your gentle soul, were the only person he’d ever trusted to get close enough to touch his heart.

“Hey, lover,” your voice called from the kitchen, light and warm, like always. “You’re home late. Hungry?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked toward the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you move around the stove. You were wearing that oversized sweater he loved, the one that made you look extra cozy and cute. He’d teased you about it once, calling you a “walking marshmallow,” but secretly, he adored how soft and chubby you looked in it.

“Babe?” you called out again, glancing over your shoulder. “Everything okay?”

His silence must’ve tipped you off because the smile you wore faltered slightly. Turning off the burner, you wiped your hands on a towel before crossing the room to him. The concern in your eyes only made the lump in his throat worse.

“Touya… what’s wrong?” you asked softly, your hands reaching out to grasp his scarred fingers.

He flinched slightly at the use of his real name. You always reserved that for the moments when you wanted to break down his walls. And damn it, if you weren’t good at it.

“I need to tell you something,” he finally muttered, his voice rougher than usual. His hand squeezed yours tighter, as though preparing himself for the worst. “Something you probably won’t like.”

The worry on your face deepened, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you stepped closer, your thumb brushing over his scarred knuckles in that soothing way you always did when he was tense. “Whatever it is, just tell me. You know I’m here for you.”

He swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise uncomfortably in his chest. Why was this so damn hard?

“I’m not who you think I am,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. His eyes dropped to the floor, unwilling to meet your gaze. “I mean, you know my real name, but you don’t know what I’ve done… who I’ve become.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you tilted your head slightly, waiting for him to explain. He’d never been one for long-winded speeches, so he forced himself to just rip off the band-aid.

“I’m Dabi,” he said in a low voice. “The villain. You’ve seen me on the news, you know the stuff I’ve done. I’ve killed people. Burned them alive.” His jaw clenched, his entire body stiff with guilt and fear. “And if you’re smart, you’ll walk away. Right now.”

The silence that followed was deafening. He expected you to recoil in horror, to pull your hand away from his like his very touch would burn you. Maybe you’d cry, or worse—maybe you’d just look at him with that quiet disappointment that always cut deeper than any insult.

But you did none of those things.

Instead, you blinked, a slow smile spreading across your face like you’d just heard the punchline of a joke. “Touya, seriously? Is that what you’ve been so worked up about?”

He frowned, clearly thrown off by your reaction. “What?”

“Babe,” you said with a soft laugh, stepping even closer to him, “I already knew.”

Now it was his turn to blink in confusion. “You… knew?”

“Of course I knew.” You grinned, tapping his chest lightly. “I’m not stupid, you know. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out. You smell like smoke, you disappear for days, and your scars… I put two and two together pretty quickly.”

His mouth opened, then closed, as he processed your words. “You… knew?” he repeated, dumbfounded.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Yes, I knew, and I didn’t care. I still don’t care.” You cupped his face gently, your fingers brushing the rough, scarred skin that covered his jaw. “I fell in love with you, Touya. The man who comes home tired but still lets me cuddle him, the man who watches stupid shows with me even though he pretends he hates them, the man who makes me feel safe no matter what.”

Dabi was silent, his throat tight as your words washed over him. He had prepared himself for anger, rejection—hell, maybe even fear—but he hadn’t prepared himself for this. For you.

“How can you love someone like me?” he rasped, his voice cracking. “I’m a monster.”

You shook your head, your eyes softening. “No, you’re not. You’re just… hurt. And yeah, you’ve done bad things, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.” Your lips curled into a small smile. “Besides, I’ve seen how you look at me. You’re not as cold as you think.”

He let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. For the first time in years, he felt something warm spread through his chest, something that wasn’t the familiar burn of rage or vengeance. It was something else. Something softer.

“God, you’re too good for me,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

You grinned, tugging him closer until your foreheads were almost touching. “I'm just good enough for you, lover, and lucky for you, I’m sticking around either way.”

His lips twitched into a small, rare smile. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, burying his face in your hair. “You’re insane,” he whispered, his breath hot against your neck. “Completely insane.”

“And you’re stuck with me now,” you teased, your voice muffled by his chest.

For a long moment, you stood like that—holding each other in the quiet comfort of the small apartment. Dabi’s heart was still racing, but it wasn’t from fear anymore. It was from something else. Something that made him want to protect you even more fiercely than before.

“You know what?” he murmured after a long silence. “I think it’s time you meet the rest of the family.”

A few days had passed since Dabi’s revelation, and despite the whirlwind of emotions that had followed, things between you and him hadn’t really changed. You still made his favorite meals, still teased him when he sulked around the apartment, and he still pretended to hate your random affection while secretly basking in it. But there was something else now—a quiet understanding that ran deeper than it had before. You knew who he was, what he had done, and you loved him anyway. And he, in his own rough-edged way, was learning how to accept that love.

Still, there was one thing he hadn’t prepared for yet—introducing you to the League of Villains.

The thought had been gnawing at him ever since that night. You had joked about being stuck with him, and in a way, you were. But to be truly part of his world, you had to meet the people he spent his days (and often his nights) with—the people who lived in the same shadows he did.

So, that evening, as you finished plating dinner, Dabi casually dropped the bomb.

“By the way,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, “you’re coming with me tomorrow.”

You glanced up from the dish you were preparing, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? Where are we going?”

“To meet the League.”

There was a moment of silence as you processed his words, and then you blinked, a slow smile spreading across your face. “The League? You mean, your League? The League of Villains?”

“Yeah, them,” he muttered, clearly not as thrilled about the prospect. His fingers drummed on the countertop, betraying his anxiety despite his nonchalant tone. “They’ve been pestering me about you for a while, so I figure it’s time they meet you.”

Your smile widened as you set the dish down, turning to face him fully. “You want to introduce me to your friends? Does this mean I’m officially your girlfriend or something?” you teased, though there was a hint of genuine excitement in your voice.

Dabi scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’ve always been my girlfriend. This just makes it… official, I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck, his usual confidence wavering slightly. “But don’t get too excited. They’re not exactly what you’d call ‘nice.’”

You chuckled, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I think I can handle it,” you said softly, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him. “Besides, if they’re important to you, then I want to meet them.”

Dabi’s gaze softened, his hands instinctively finding their way to your hips. For a moment, he simply looked at you, his heart doing that annoying thing where it felt too big for his chest. “You’re too good for this world, you know that?”

You shrugged playfully, leaning up to kiss his jaw. “I’m just good enough for you.”

The next evening, Dabi led you through the dimly lit streets of the city, the familiar scent of smoke and charred wood lingering in the air around him. He didn’t say much as you walked, though his hand never left yours, his fingers intertwined with yours in a grip that was both possessive and protective.

As you neared the League’s hideout, an abandoned bar tucked away in a forgotten part of the city, he paused, turning to face you with a serious expression. “Last chance to back out,” he said, his voice low. “Once you meet them, there’s no going back. They’re… different.”

You squeezed his hand, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m not scared, Touya. I want to do this.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening as he led you inside.

The bar was just as you expected—dark, dingy, and reeking of old alcohol and stale cigarettes. The wooden floor creaked under your feet as you followed Dabi through the narrow hallway that led to a back room. The faint sound of voices echoed from behind a door at the end of the hall, and Dabi paused once more, his hand gripping the doorknob.

“They’re gonna say some weird stuff,” he warned, his voice barely a whisper. “Don’t take it personally.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Weird how?”

“You’ll see.”

With that, he pushed open the door, and the first thing that hit you was the distinct atmosphere of chaos. The room was a cluttered mess of mismatched furniture, papers, and random objects strewn about haphazardly. Several figures were gathered around a large table in the center, and as the door creaked open, all eyes turned toward you.

Toga was the first to react, her eyes lighting up with unrestrained glee. “Oh my god, Dabi! You brought her!” she squealed, bouncing to her feet and rushing toward you with the energy of a hyperactive child. “She’s so cute! I can’t believe you didn’t tell us she was this cute!”

You barely had time to react before she threw her arms around you in a surprisingly tight hug. “I’m Toga!” she chirped, pulling back to examine you with wide, curious eyes. “I’ve been dying to meet you! Dabi talks about you all the time!”

“He does?” you asked, glancing at Dabi with a teasing smirk.

He scowled, crossing his arms. “Don’t listen to her.”

Before you could say anything else, a tall man in a mask stepped forward, his posture refined, yet his eyes glimmered with amusement. “Ah, so this is the famous girlfriend,” Mr. Compress said smoothly, giving you a polite bow. “I must admit, I was beginning to wonder if you were a myth.”

Dabi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, she’s real. Get over it.”

Shigaraki, who had been sitting at the head of the table with his usual scowl, barely glanced up from the game console he was playing with. “Great. Another normie.” His voice was dismissive, though you could sense the underlying curiosity behind his disinterested exterior. “Hope you’re not too soft.”

“Trust me,” Dabi muttered, shooting Shigaraki a look, “she can handle herself.”

“Yeah,” you added, smiling sweetly. “I’m not as soft as I look.”

Toga clapped her hands excitedly, bouncing up and down beside you. “Oh, I like her! Can we keep her?”

“Relax, Toga,” Dabi grumbled, his hand finding its way to the small of your back as he subtly pulled you closer to his side. “She’s not a pet.”

Twice, who had been unusually quiet until now, suddenly burst into laughter. “A pet? That’s hilarious! But wait, no, I think she could be a pet! Or maybe a partner! Or maybe—”

“Twice, stop rambling,” Compress interjected with a chuckle. “You’re going to overwhelm the poor girl.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the chaotic scene unfolding around you. It was clear that Dabi’s ‘family’ was as strange and dysfunctional as he had warned, but there was also something oddly endearing about them. Despite their rough exteriors, they welcomed you with open arms—or at least, most of them did.

As the banter continued, you caught Shigaraki glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his fingers twitching slightly as if he was itching to say something. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

“So, what’s your deal?” he asked bluntly, his voice as rough as the skin peeling from his lips. “You got a quirk or something?”

Dabi stiffened slightly beside you, but you remained calm, meeting Shigaraki’s gaze evenly. “Yeah, I do,” you said, your voice steady. “I can heal people.”

Toga’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, really? You can heal? That’s so cool! Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“It’s not as simple as it sounds,” you explained. “The healing comes from the food I make. It only works if someone eats something I’ve prepared.”

There was a brief moment of silence as everyone processed your words. Then, Twice broke the tension with a loud, exaggerated gasp. “She can cook?! Oh, we’re definitely keeping her!”

“Food that heals,” Compress mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “That’s quite an unusual quirk.”

Shigaraki, however, didn’t seem as impressed. “Great. A chef,” he muttered, turning his attention back to his game. “As long as you’re not a liability.”

You felt Dabi tense beside you, his jaw clenching, but before he could snap at Shigaraki, you placed a hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. “I’m not a liability,” you said firmly, looking directly at Shigaraki. “I’m here for Dabi, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Shigaraki didn’t respond, but there was a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment that you had passed some unspoken test. Dabi’s hand tightened around your waist, pulling you closer as if to silently thank you for standing your ground.

As the evening went on, the tension eased, and you found yourself surprisingly comfortable in the midst of the League’s chaos. Toga was glued to your side, bombarding you with questions about your quirk and your relationship with Dabi. Twice kept bouncing between joking and making bizarre plans for your future involvement with the League, while Compress continued to make polite conversation, ever the gentleman.

Shigaraki, for the most part, remained focused on his game, though you caught him watching you occasionally, as if trying to figure out where you fit into their world.

And Dabi—well, he was quiet, but there was a certain calmness to him that you hadn’t seen before. He stayed close, his arm resting around your waist or his hand brushing against yours, as if grounding himself in your presence.

By the time you left the hideout, the moon high in the sky, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. You had survived your first meeting with the League of Villains, and despite their quirks—both literal and figurative—you could see why Dabi had chosen them as his found family.

As you walked home hand in hand with Dabi, the cool night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, he finally broke the silence.

“So… what do you think?”

You glanced up at him, your lips curling into a soft smile. “I think they’re… different,” you said with a chuckle. “But they’re important to you, so they’re important to me.”

Dabi’s expression softened, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “You really are too good for this world.”

You shook your head, leaning into him as you continued walking. “No, I’m just good enough for you.”

For the first time in a long time, Dabi smiled—really smiled.

And in that moment, you knew that no matter what the future held, as long as you had each other, you could face anything.

[feelingf1]

It’s not much of an idea but pulling on Charles leclerc’s hair while he eats reader out is constantly on my mind

pulling on locks - charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x female!reader

summary: based on this ask! make sure to send in a request if you have one. hope you like it <33

warnings: NSFW

enjoy!!

————

You were lying on your bed, watching the time going by painfully slow. Charles was on his way home from a triple header, and you had been missing him, and his body, like crazy.

Since he’s been gone, you’ve been hornier than ever. You’ve had to deal with phone sex, so you couldn’t be more glad to have him back.

You heard a text come through to your phone.

C❤️

I’ll be home in a hour, have to do some errands xx

You physically felt like you couldn’t wait an hour, so you came up with the perfect idea. You pulled out yours and Charles’ favourite lingerie set you owned. It was a light blue colour with tiny embroidered flowers. You knew how crazy it drove Charles.

You grabbed your phone and hit the FaceTime button, but only facing the camera above your eyes, getting ready to surprise him.

“Cherie, what’s up?” He said when he answered.

“Uh, I need something.” You asked, softly.

“From the shop? What is it, food or-”

You flipped the camera around so all Charles could see was you, lying on your bed in the lingerie. You flipped the camera back to your face, watching as his mouth fell open.

“I think you know what I need.” You replied.

“I’ll be home in 10. Don’t do anything.”

He hung up the call, and you could feel your core getting wet already with excitement. Although he said not to do anything, you couldn’t help but massage your tits while waiting, little moans escaping your lips.

Your heard the front door of your house open, followed by the quick footsteps that lead to your bedroom door. Charles was taken aback by the beautiful sight of your sprawled across your shared bed. Your little lingerie set didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Hi, baby.” You said softly.

As quick as lightning, Charles slipped off his shoes and coat, discarding them on the floor, before crawling onto the bed until his was hovering over you, his beautiful eyes piercing into yours.

“You drive me crazy. You know that right?” Charles said in a low, husky tone, rubbing in thumb across your lower lip.

“I know.” You replied.

You noticed his chain hanging from his neck and you pulled it and him closer towards you, until your lips were locked.

At first it was a soft, sensual kiss. But it didn’t take long for want and need to take over. You pushed your tongue in to Charles mouth, needing all of him as close to you as possible.

You broke away for a few seconds. “Please, Charles. I need more.”

You and your pussy were crying out for attention. And while the kissing was enjoyable, right now it wasn’t enough.

A smirk grew across Charles’ face when he seen you begging under him.

“Anything for my lady.”

He started planting kisses all down your neck, sucking and grazing his teeth at the places the drove you crazy. Moans startled to tumble out of your lips and your head tilted back

Once he reached your tits, he lifted you up slightly, unclipping your bra and discarding it on the floor. He took your tit in his mouth and starting sucking on it, whilst squeezing the other one.

“Fuck Charles, please.” You screamed, you didn’t know how much more you could take of the teasing.

Pretty quickly, Charles moved down to your thighs. He licked a big stripe from your lower thigh to your underwear. He grabbed the hem of your lingerie with his teeth and pulled them down to your knees, and they quickly fell to the floor. If you were wet before, you were dripping now.

He started kissing your cunt. Soft, delicate, little kisses which drove you insane. You could feel both your breathing and heart rate start to increase.

“Char-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence without moans coming out of your mouth.

“Sit up princess. I want to see your pretty little face while I fuck you with my tongue.” He said, his voice raspy.

You grabbed the pillow and propped yourself up against it. You now had the perfect view of Charles between your legs, something that every girl and Italian man has dreamt of.

He spread your legs as wide as he could and starting peppering more soft kisses on your pussy. He knew that this drove you insane. He reached back up to your tits and started massaging them too.

“Charles, please.” You cried out.

Charles looked up at you and saw just how desperate you were and he couldn’t bring himself to tease you anymore.

He licked a big stripe between your folds before entering you.

He felt so good, so could feel your head and eyes starting to roll back, but you tried to remain sitting up straight, like he had asked you to.

He started to enter his tongue deeper into you and you had to grab onto something to keep you supported.

His locks.

You fingers found their way to Charles’ hair and you grabbed on, wrapping his locks around your fingers.

“Fuck, Charles.” You said, you know it wasn’t going to be long until you came.

Charles hand left your tits and made its way down to your clit. Once he started running your clit, you knew it was nearly game over.

“Fuckkkk.” You said, with more moans rolling over your tongue. Once of your hands reached your tits, and you started rubbing them. The other hand was still in Charles’ hair, and your grip was only increasing.

His tongue left your pussy for a few seconds until he forced it in again, as deep as he could go.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Go on, amour.”

Your grip on his locks tightened as you forced him in further, and as he started moving his turn in your pussy, you felt that knot in your stomach snap. Charles watched you, like you were some delicacy. He loved this.

The only thing that could be heard was your moans as you came undone on Charles’ face. Your fingers never left his head, you needed something to help you ride out your incredible high.

Your head tipped back and your legs started to shake, and before you knew it, you had lost all power in your body and your laid yourself down on the beat, your pussy throbbing.

Charles licked up all of your cum before lying down beside you and kissing you again, and you could taste all of your juices on his tongue.

“I love you.” You said, you voice delicate.

“I love you too, amour” He replied.

————

Hope this was okay :)

[p1nkprincess444]

ִֶָ𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴍʏ ᴛʜɪɢʜs - ᴄʜᴀʀʟɪᴇ ᴡᴀʟᴋᴇʀ ⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

୨୧ not proof read!! ୨୧

female!reader x charlie walker

word count: 721

contents: 18+, slight mentions of somnophilia

You woke up in your bed as Charlie’s lips pressed gentle kisses against your skin. You were in a complete haze as his hands moved under your pajama top, they groped at your breasts while he murmured sweet things against your skin. 

“ How did you get in, ” my voice was still groggy from sleep as my eyes locked on Charlie’s hungry gaze.

“ Your window was unlocked- and I missed you. ”

A gentle hum reverberated off your lips as Charlie’s lips moved down your body pressing kisses to each of your breasts over your shirt. He quickly moved his head under your shirt letting his hands and mouth find your breasts. His tongue swirled around your nipple sucking on the hardened peak before moving to the next. He moved out from under your shirt before pulling the fabric over your head. His kisses moved back up to your lips as his hands wandered all over your body. He slowly pushed down your pajama shorts before his hand disappeared into your panties. His fingers delved into your soaking cunt slowly pushing in and out of you. His lips were pressed against yours in a heated kiss as his fingers pumped in and out of your cunt. 

“ You want me baby, ” his words were teasing as his fingers curled inside you.

All his teasing movements were making you grow closer to your inevitable release as his fingers pushed deeper and his tongue tangled with yours. 

“ Char please- don’t tease me. ”

A devilish grin plastered across his face as he looked up at you. His gaze locked on yours as he sat up on his heels. He began undressing until he was left in his boxers. You lifted your hips for him as he slid off your panties, throwing them on the floor with the rest of your clothes. He quickly pushed off his boxers as you opened your legs to him. He sunk into you without warning causing a loud moan to leave your lips before Charlie clasped a hand over your mouth. 

“ Don’t want your parents to know what I’m doing to their daughter, do we now? ”

Charlie’s mouth latched onto your breasts covering the soft skin in hickies as his hips slowly rocked against yours. You couldn’t help the moans that fell from your lips that were suppressed by his hand. You couldn’t help the way your hips rolled against his, the way his cock filled you so perfectly. Just how Charlie couldn’t help sneaking into your room at night while you slept. It wasn’t the first time he had done this and nor would it be the last, this however was just one of the fortunate times you had woken up. 

His cock was drilling into your cervix as he whispered soft praises into your ear. Your moans were growing louder and louder until they were practically screams as he attempted to muffle the noise with his hand. 

“ Princess if you keep it up people are gonna think you’re getting murdered in here, ” Charlie’s statement was undercut by the fact he was chuckling as he pressed kisses into your neck. “ Are you close? ”

You nodded eagerly as you stared up into his deep blue eyes. Charlie couldn’t help but smile at your eagerness while he began to pick up the pace pounding mercilessly into your cunt. His hand that wasn’t covering your mouth tangled in your hair as he pressed his forehead to yours. 

Your orgasm came crashing down on you like a wave as your eyes rolled back in your head and your back arched. Charlie’s relentless pounding never slowed as he grew nearer and nearer to his own release. His hips stilled against yours as he shot ropes of cum deep into your cunt. His hand slowly withdrew from your mouth before he quickly replaced it with his lips.

“ I love you, you know that? ”

I nodded in response as I placed a gentle kiss to his soft lips, “ I love you too Char. ”

Charlie's head came to rest in the crook of your neck as he stayed inside of you while you both slept. It was the little moments like these that helped him completely forget about being ghostface. You hadn’t known this but everytime Charlie killed someone he’d sneak over and find comfort in between your thighs.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Little Red Dress

Hancock x Fem! Reader | AO3

Summary: You're wearing a little red dress, one that teases and tantalizes Hancock. You're the Mayor of Goodneighbor's prized possession, and it does not bode well for you to tempt him so, especially in public.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ for KNIFE PLAY, Penis in Vagina Sex, Exhibitionism/Public Sex. Kissing, tit sucking, finger sucking, explicit language, PDA, and self-indulgent smut. Basically, I wanted to write something quick and dirty. >D

*Hancock is a little bit rough with you this time, but he would never hurt you.

Word count: 2.2k+

Notes: I've got it bad for Hancock. This is my second time writing for him! Sort of came out of nowhere. Ultimately, it could be interpreted as Hancock x female Sole. It's up to you to decide! Enjoy!

Hancock—he is decidedly more comfortable with public displays of affection than you would have imagined him to be, your throne expressly atop his lap, legs crossed for the sake of modesty in the presence of proper company. Your nights out are spent dolled up, clutched like a trophy by the Mayor of Goodneighbor—his prized possession over caps or chems—and what a lucky girl you are to be his favorite.

Hancock, with eager, explorative hands, hugging you from behind with his chin on your shoulder. His touch is firm, yet gentle, roving over every inch of your smooth skin left bare and assailable, the ghoul fondling your thighs, working higher, higher, skirting your lap to squeeze your waist with often unpredictable, gratifying tenderness.  

The man is anything but a mystery; you could read him like an open book if such things still existed, his lustful looks starting a fire between your legs that could just as soon be doused by how wet he can make you with a single glance, a single caress beneath the hem of your little red dress.

It drives him crazy, that dress, John desperate enough to pinch your ass in public—worse than that—whispering dirty little nothings in your ear, forcing you to suppress your giggling as the man himself pretends all is well, conversing with the good people of the Commonwealth.

It's a game. He doesn’t care—he’s into that sort of thing— not above making another man green with envy when it comes to you. Hancock has no trouble in reminding everyone just who you belong to, his favorite pastime sneaking you off to shadowy, secluded corners to fuck you with his eyes while withered fingers glide over tight curves and refined angles, just vague outlines in the dark, though his pupils glow like dwindling embers among black, charred logs, captivating you like a moth toward a flame.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks in a gravelly, self-assured tone, pulling you close, diggin’ your scent, and he knows you sure as fuck taste damn delicious.

It’s been too long, like chems that wore off; he needs another fix, and he’s willing to take it where he can get it. In fact, railing you in the back room of the Third Rail ain’t soundin’ too shabby right about now—you’re wearin’ a dress, after all—just hike it up.

“No,” you whisper, egging him on, desiring to get a rise out of Hancock in more ways than one. It works, the man leering down at you from beneath the short brim of his tricornered hat. His eyes are glistening, shining like polished marbles, staring into the depths of your soul. It can’t be helped, John’s hard-on riding against your thigh without shame, causing your breath to hitch.  

“No?” he presses, his negation laced with arrogance and disbelief. A hidden blade whisks out from decadent, stained sleeves, teasing you with nothing more than a good time. The cool texture of sleek metal grazes your skin, skimming your pulse point. Hancock’s knife trails down the swell of a breast to take a dilatory, lackadaisical dive between your cleavage; it threatens to slice shimmering red fabric in twain.

“I’m going to fuck you either way, sunshine,” he rasps, skinny lips, still so kissable, hovering tantalizingly over your own.

The knife end of his blade drifts along your belly, an expert flick of the ghoul’s wrist twirling it to catch betwixt two dexterous fingers. The hilt disappears up under your skirt; he knows you’re not wearing panties, that bit of cold steel broaching your entrance, sliding into slick, taut confines to penetrate you with ease.

“I-I know,” you offer demurely, a tremor to your voice, Hancock sliding the hilt in and out with delicate, precise strokes. His weapon of choice is carefully wielded, knowing what damage he could cause. He leans in close to your ear, reveling in the awestruck expression you’re sporting; he would stop in a heartbeat should you wish him to, yet you make no move to protest, nor do you plan to.

“Did you take your Rad-X like a good girl?” he asks dissolutely; his breath is warm, the combat knife’s handle slipping out once more to brush against your clit on its way up. The action causes you to dip forward even as you try to keep yourself steady, hands flat to the wall as he holds you in place.  

“Yes,” you answer bravely, your tongue moving to kiss your lover with all the passion currently welling up inside your chest; he skirts your attempt, his forefinger pinning your tongue, slithering its way past lips and teeth to delve into the moist cavity of your mouth.

“Of course you did,” he replies, sliding that digit in and out as you hold on, cheeks hollowing to the concave depths of a ghoul’s. You suck his index like it’s his cock; Hancock watches every nuanced movement with a tilt of his head, eventually pinching your cheeks closed with his thumb and middle, pulling his finger loose with a rousing pop.

“I’d say you’re good and ready,” he comments silkily, voice darkening as he holds the knife aloft for your inspection. It’s saturated in your own excess, Hancock licking the handle clean with the flat of his tongue. You watch, enthralled, though you’re sure you’re not the only one seeing this event unfold—the people of Goodneighbor talk—you’re not above being a source of gossip.

“Come on, sister,”  he coaxes, pallid fingers curling around the shoulder strap of your gown to tug you forward, still withholding that kiss you so sorely crave.

He drags you by this single strip of fabric, avoiding all other eyes but yours; you see people nudging, whispering, sharing glances, but it only adds fuel to the fire, Hancock ushering you to a lesser used area of the bar.

“But, Hancock, there’s peo—” you begin, the ghoul concealing his knife once more for later use, perhaps, clicking his tongue disrespectfully as he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“—Let ‘em watch,” the mayor of this seedy settlement snaps, escorting you past its nosy denizens to the farthest room, splaying his open palm across the small of your back as he gently drives you forward, directing you toward one particular chair in the process.

“Don’t play coy with me…” he grates, positioning you before a plush red high-back that rests against worn, chipped tile. He prods you with his skinny ribs, prompting you to rest your knee against its seat. You oblige, taking hold of sturdy wood to balance yourself as you feel a sudden draft—Hancock wastes no time in slinking your dress up past the round shape of your ass.

You feel like a cheap whore while at the same time exhilarated beyond measure, bending forward for a more pleasing angle as you glance over your shoulder at the ghoul whose cock is withdrawn, John trailing his mushroom tip along the moist line of your slit.

“But I can’t kiss you like this,” you beg, faced with rock and not Hancock, his idle hand slipping up the front of your risqué little number for his thumb to part pillowy lips, nestling its way in.

“Good girls know patience,” he slyly replies, rubbing soft circles against your already swollen clit. An indecent moan accompanies the insertion of his cock into your tepid core, Hancock beginning to roll forward, thrusting his hips against the meat of your ass as he fucks your pretty cunt from behind.

“Just admit you planned for this,” he hisses, one hand still working you as the other squeezes the fullness of a breast. You are hardly able to contain an audible expression of lust, breaths deep and slow as you attempt to curtail your mounting orgasm.

“You can’t resist me,” you brazenly claim, causing the man to rail against you harder, faster, the small flare of his temper only serving to please you; two fingers tweak a raised nipple as a form of punishment.

“Ought to make you suck me off instead; shut that smart mouth of yours,” he whispers bitingly, though he doesn’t mean a word. His favorite place is buried between your loins, so glossy and warm, like an inviting hug—one he wishes would never end.

“Do it,” you bait, although thoroughly enjoying yourself, John’s ribbed flesh hitting just the right spot, only to be ripped away just as suddenly. He slides out and whirls you around abruptly, causing a momentary sensation of vertigo, afraid you might lose your balance, though his grip is strong and secure.

You’re met with piercing black pupils amidst a sea of the deepest crimson, rivaling the color of dried blood. The mayor is testing you; you don’t back down, holding his gaze with the same intense, quiet ferocity.

“I have a better idea.” A shuffle down below, and he hoists you up with the use of with both sinewy arms, kicking that damned chair out of his way as he slams you back against the wall. You tighten your legs about him with his aid, enclosing his slim waist to lock him in; the ghoul fumbles to reinsert his aching prick inside you before you have time to say another word.

His tongue is in your mouth only briefly; you moan around it, muscles contracting and roiling like the waves of a once vast, unpolluted ocean as he plows you like there’s no tomorrow—and there very well may not be.

His hands are grasping, clawing, hungry, desiring to touch every part of you at the same time, though impossible— it is an infuriating truth he condemns. Hancock’s dick hounds your G-spot; you are no longer able to withhold the lewd noises you wish to make, the ghoul rudely clamping a palm over your mouth to temporarily deaden all sound.

“You’re lucky I don’t just rip this off you,” he grumbles, sucking the salt off your skin, buried in your throat for the purpose—he’s referring to that damnable dress that gets his irradiated blood pumping like nothing else. You manage a smile once he dislodges his hand, cloyingly sweet and meant as mockery, squeezing your thighs tighter to draw him in close.

Your own hands find the flesh of his belly, groping and molesting scar tissue and lean muscle, your pelvic floor flexing unfairly around him. You almost laugh at the visceral reaction that follows, Hancock having bitten down on his own ruined lip.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you insist, knowing just how much John loves you in that dress, loves how good you look in it, your actions pulling a moan from your lover that is like the most heavenly music to your ears.

“Wouldn’t I?” he asks defiantly, a series of quick movements causing you to gasp as he rips clean through the right strap; that pesky blade had reemerged to do his dirty work.

“Hancock!” you protest. The ghoul’s not listening, having loosed your tit for anyone who dare try and interrupt you; John kneads its doughy flesh in the crook of his palm.

“What’s that, sunshine?” he asks derisively, jerking his hips, his neck craning downward as he lifts your breast toward his mouth. He sucks your hardened nipple while pinching the other that has inevitably joined its twin, the single strap left intact not enough to hold it up, or in.

The bastard knows all your erogenous zones, this being but one of them, his patient suckling and the steady pump of his prick sending you over the edge.

You cum, coating his dick in your secretions, this time the ghoul allowing your voice to soar—it’s a pretty song, one he likes to listen to on repeat, and for the moment you don’t care who hears you.

“That’s my girl,” Hancock purrs, having released your breast from his puckered lips to watch the gesticulations of your face mid-throe. Your pleasurable spasming only causes his girth to convulse inside you, filling you full up with his infertile sperm.

Truth be told, it’s one of the benefits, being with a ghoul—no risk of an unwanted pregnancy at the end of the World. Only now, you are left half naked in the middle of a public space, Hancock’s ejaculate beginning to run down your leg.

Like coming down off a spectacular high, Hancock pulls out, stuffs his junk back in his pants, and looks you over.

“What a mess I’ve made,” he teases. You frown outright, though he thinks it’s cute, like you’re pouting or being petulant like a spoiled child—it’s one of the things that tugs on his heartstrings, though you never intend to abuse it.  

“What am I supposed to do now?” you whine, “I can’t go out there like—”

“—Hey, here,” Hancock proffers, taking a moment to remove his red frock coat. He gently shifts to stand behind you and slips it over your bare shoulders, assisting in the lift of your arms until you are comfortably sequestered in its warmth.

It fits, covering your naughty bits well enough that you will be able to make it back home to the State House. Hancock seems unable to help himself, a smirk tugging impishly at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” you ask with a hint of attitude, pushing lightly against his chest with the palm of your hand. It’s as if he has a secret not worth keeping, his expression devolving into something a bit more playful.

“Looks good on you,” he affirms, taking up that offending hand to kiss. “But maybe next time you’ll listen to your mayor.”

[bat-mom-writer]

Rage and Redemption Part 2

Bruce Wayne X orphan(Female) Reader

Summary: months after losing your parents in a fire, you become a troublesome child for the workers at the orphanage. But one day Bruce Wayne comes to your orphanage to adopt you.

Rating: sad, angst, happy ending?

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

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bruce Wayne, dressed in a casual yet elegant suit, stepped out of his sleek black car, which purred softly as it came to a stop. Before him stood the orphanage, its ivy-covered bricks telling a story of neglect that starkly contrasted with his polished vehicle. He took a deep breath, his heart weighed down by the enormity of his decision. The cool air, tinged with the faint scent of charred wood from the fire that had devastated the nearby apartments, stirred painful memories. The image of the girl’s tear-stained face lingered in his mind, pushing him to move forward as he approached the building, filled with a sense of compassion and resolve.

As he walked up the familiar, well-worn steps, the door of the orphanage creaked open, unveiling a warm and inviting interior that contrasted sharply with the cold exterior he had just left behind. The joyful sounds of children’s laughter and chatter filled the air, creating a vibrant atmosphere that felt like a heartbeat amid the heavy silence he had endured since that fateful night. He gently closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing down the corridor. Approaching a kind grey-haired woman at a desk, he shared the reason for his visit, his smile reflecting a mixture of hope and nostalgia. In response, she offered him a warm and encouraging smile, guiding him toward Ms. Jenkins' office with genuine warmth, as though she understood the weight of his journey.

With a mischievous grin stretching across your face, you dashed down the dimly lit hallway of the orphanage, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the worn wooden floors. Your heart raced wildly in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and exhilaration coursing through you. In your grasp, you held tightly to a small purse, its fabric cool against your fingers, a prize you’d deftly snatched from Ms. Jenkins’ cluttered office, a thrill of rebellion sparking within you with each step.

A stern voice echoed behind you, but you refused to look back. You knew it was her, the one who had been pursuing you for what felt like an eternity. The click-clack of her heels grew louder, yet you were faster, driven by anger and an urgent need to break free from this place. You charged through the cafeteria, skillfully dodging tables and chairs as the other children stared at you in wide-eyed disbelief, their spoonfuls of oatmeal suspended in mid-air. The smell of burnt toast from the kitchen enveloped you, momentarily overpowering the usual stench of the orphanage.

You jumped onto the first table, the metal screeching under your weight. You kicked a plastic tray off the edge, and its contents splattered on the floor with a loud crash. The laughter of younger kids encouraged you as you moved from table to table, creating chaos. Trays clattered and food was scattered everywhere. You felt a rush of excitement, a feeling you hadn’t experienced since the fire took everything from you.

Ms. Jenkins’ shrill voice closed in, making it clear she was far from amused. The rapid clicking of her heels echoed as two imposing male staff members charged behind her. You could practically feel the heat of their breath on your neck. But as you approached the last table, you seized your moment. You took a determined running start and propelled yourself off the edge, targeting the exit of the cafeteria. The open floor loomed ahead, and freedom was within reach just as Ms. Jenkins and the two staff members rounded the corner, their eyes wide with shock and fury.

With a swift and powerful kick, you launched the last tray into the air, sending its colorful contents flying like a delicious, chaotic storm. As the food scattered across the floor, the three adults—each one heavyset and awkward—lost their footing on the slick surface, their arms windmilling wildly in a desperate attempt to regain balance. The burly men collided with one another, their bodies thudding together, which sent Ms. Jenkins toppling to the ground with a surprised yelp.

The delightful chaos sparked a wave of laughter and squeals from the circle of children nearby, their eyes wide and gleaming with a mix of delight and mischief. The entire scene unfolded like a scene from a live-action cartoon, a perfect blend of slapstick humor and unexpected absurdity, and you couldn't suppress a giggle at the hilarity of it all.

For a brief moment, everything around you seemed to come to a halt, as if time itself had decided to pause. The chaos of the chase morphed into an unexpected dance of slips and stumbles, each mishap adding a touch of humor to the frantic scene. With a surge of adrenaline, you seized the opportunity presented by their misfortunes and sprinted through the cafeteria's exit door. The cool breeze that greeted you felt refreshing against your skin, whispering promises of freedom and escape.

But as your sneakers touched the polished tiles of the hallway, a sudden collision interrupted your joyful laughter. You ran headlong into a wall of muscle and affluence—none other than Bruce Wayne himself. The impact knocked you back onto the floor, sending your purse skidding away from your grasp. Disorientation set in as you blinked up at him, his eyes wide with surprise at the unexpected encounter. Yet, amidst the initial shock, you noticed his expression soften as he recognized you.

“Hey, are you okay?” he inquires, his hand outstretched in an offer to help you up.

But you were quicker than he anticipated, weren’t you? The adrenaline coursing through your veins transformed you into a blur of motion, nimble and swift like a fox darting through a forest. You seized the purse from the cold, unforgiving floor and bolted toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The metal handle glinted in the dim light, tantalizingly close, as if it held the promise of liberation just beyond its threshold.

Freedom was merely a push away, an intoxicating invitation to the vibrant world outside that had been beckoning you for far too long. The smooth, cool surface of the handle felt like the key to a cage in which you had been trapped, yearning for escape and the sweet taste of the open air that awaited you.

Just as you were about to dash away, a hand—firm yet gentle—wrapped around your arm, bringing your frantic movement to an abrupt halt. Startled, you looked up to see Bruce Wayne's familiar face, his expression a mix of concern and determination as he kept you from making your escape.

"What are you running from?" he inquired, his voice steady and calm, cutting through the tension in the air. His grip tightened just enough to convey importance, not enough to inflict pain, but enough to signal that he wouldn’t relent easily.

"Let me go, dipshit!" you snarled, attempting to pull away from him, your eyes blazing with defiance. The purse was still in your hand, and you swung it around, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary.

Bruce's grip didn’t waver. His eyes searched yours for something beyond your hidden anger and fear. “I won’t let you get hurt,” he said, his voice firm yet kind.

Ms. Jenkins and the two male staff members stumbled into the hallway, their faces flushed with exertion and embarrassment from their fall. "There you are!" she exclaimed, her voice high-pitched from the effort of chasing you. She straightened her skirt, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene before her: you, holding her purse, and Bruce Wayne, standing as an unexpected obstacle to her authority.

"Mr. Wayne!" she exclaims her voice a mix of surprise and urgency as her eyes flicker nervously between the designer purse you hold in your hand and the calm, unwavering determination etched on Bruce's face. "I sincerely apologize for this disturbance," she continues, her tone softening slightly as she takes a breath to steady herself. "This girl is quite a handful," she adds, casting a wary glance in your direction as if trying to gauge the situation. With a swift motion, she tilts her head toward the staff members nearby, her fierce expression conveying a clear message for them to take action and intervene.

In an instant, the two burly men grab your arms tightly and pull you behind Ms. Jenkins, wrenching the purse from your grip and spilling its contents on the floor. You struggle to break free and run for the exit, but their hold on you is unyielding.

Ms. Jenkins bends down, her nose in the air as she rummages through her purse, her eyes narrowed in accusation. She picks up a lipstick, then a set of keys, before her hand closes around a small, tattered photo of a family, its edges burned. The sight sends a jolt through her, and her expression softens for a moment as she looks at you, recognizing the pain. But quickly, her face hardens again.

"You know why you can't have this back," she says, her voice low and measured. She holds up the photo, the flimsy paper almost transparent from your constant touch. "You've caused enough trouble today, young lady."

Anger surges in your cheeks as her words pierce through you. That photo was the final fragment of your old life—the one before everything turned to ash and despair. It captured a moment of joy, with you, your mom, and your dad all smiling, the happiness you've yearned for since that fateful night. You wrench against the staff's grip, desperation flooding your voice. “It’s mine! Give it back!” you cry out, but Ms. Jenkins only tucks the photograph into her pocket, a painful reminder of the fire's merciless destruction.

"You'll only get it back when you learn to behave," she says, her voice icy and dismissive. Each word feels like a dagger to your heart, twisting deeper with every syllable. "Take her to detention for the night," she commands the staff, who nod and move to drag you away. You kick and scream, desperation clawing at your throat, but their grip is like iron, unbreakable. Their faces are as hard and unyielding as the prison bars that seem to loom closer with each step, leaving you feeling utterly powerless and frightened.

As you are taken away, you catch a glimpse of Bruce’s face, his brow furrowed and eyes filled with concern. For a moment, you see a flicker of anger aimed not at you, but at Ms. Jenkins. That brief comfort vanishes, replaced by dread as you leave the only person who has shown you kindness since the fire.

Ms. Jenkins looks at Bruce as the two staff members take you to detention. She straightens her skirt and smooths her hair, regaining her usual authoritative stance. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she says, her voice overly sweet. "We have rules for a reason. She's a troublemaker, that one."

Bruce nods, his eyes fixed on you as you turn the corner. He can feel the anger radiating from you—a fierce intensity that he knows well, one that drives his nightly battles as Batman. He fully understands the pain of loss and the unwavering need for justice that comes from witnessing the suffering of the innocent.

Ms. Jenkins clears her throat, regaining his attention. "Not that you're not welcome here, Mr. Wayne, but is there something specific you were looking for?"

He nods, his eyes still lingering on the spot where you had disappeared. "Yes," he clears his throat, "I am looking to adopt."

The words linger in the air, heavy with meaning. Ms. Jenkins’ eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, she is speechless. Then she smiles broadly, clasping her hands. "How wonderful!" she exclaims. "We’re thrilled to have people like you offer homes to our children. They need someone like you to give them a chance at a better life."

Bruce nods, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm interested in her," he says, pointing down the hallway where you were taken.

Ms. Jenkins' smile weakens as she glances back, expecting to find someone there, but finds the hallway empty, save for the distant echoes of your protests. "Who?" she inquires, her tone a bit less pleasant than before.

Bruce maintains his steady gaze on her and responds with clarity, "I’m referring to the girl you just sent to detention—the one you were chasing."

Ms. Jenkins' smile fades into a strained grimace before she quickly recovers. "Ah, her. She's quite a handful, I'm afraid. She's still adjusting to the loss of her parents in the fire, you see. It's been quite a challenge for us to manage her grief and behavior. Would you be interested in another child?" she suggests, her voice saturated with insincere kindness.

But Bruce's mind is made up. With a firm expression on his face, he shakes his head and declares, "No," his voice is steady and resolute. "It's her."

Ms. Jenkins' eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "Mr. Wayne, I must advise against that. She's a very… troubled child. She's been through a lot, and it's affected her in ways we're still trying to understand. She's prone to outbursts, theft, and violence. We've had to restrain her more than once."

Bruce's jaw clenches, but his gaze remains unwavering. "I understand she's been through a traumatic experience, and she needs guidance. I believe I can provide that for her."

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne,” she says, her voice suddenly cold as ice, “but she’s not even on the list of children available for adoption.”

Bruce's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What do you mean she's not on the list?" he demanded, his voice firm with confusion and determination.

Ms. Jenkins' smile shifts into a smug smirk. "Exactly, Mr. Wayne. She is not suitable for adoption at this time."

But Bruce isn't one to be deterred. He reaches into his inner pocket and pulls out a sleek black checkbook. "Twenty thousand," he says, his voice steady, "she's on the list."

Ms. Jenkins' eyes widen at the sight of the checkbook, and for a moment, a greedy expression crosses her face before she quickly regains her composure, adopting a professional demeanor. "Mr. Wayne, I appreciate your generosity, but it's not that simple. The welfare of the children here must be our top priority."

Bruce's hand hovers over the checkbook, the pen ready to sign. "Fifty thousand," he says simply, the words slicing through the tension like a knife.

Ms. Jenkins glances around the empty hallway, seemingly wary of being caught. The distant laughter from the cafeteria fades away. She licks her lips, and her greed is evident. "Why don’t you and I talk more in my office?" she whispers conspiratorially, nodding toward her door, its nameplate glinting in the fluorescent lights.

"Thank you, but I would like that picture back," Bruce says firmly, holding out his hand with his palm up, expecting the family photo.

Ms. Jenkins hesitates, her eyes flicking from the checkbook. "Mr. Wayne, I must insist that the photo stays with us for now," she says, her voice a delicate balance of greed and authority.

Bruce's eyes narrowed, a steely glint reflecting his determination, as he slowly tucked the checkbook back into his pocket. "First, the picture," he repeated, his voice a low, menacing rumble that reverberated off the walls and sent an uneasy silence down the hallway.

Ms. Jenkins lets out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging with the weight of her emotions. With a subtle, trembling hand, she reaches into her pocket and withdraws a worn photo, its edges frayed with time. She places it gently into Bruce's outstretched palm, the paper warm from her touch. To you, it feels like a lifeline—a precious remnant of a past that has been shattered beyond recognition.

As Bruce gazes down at the image, the fierce anger that once burned in his eyes begins to dissolve, giving way to a profound sadness that reverberates in the depths of your own heart. It’s a shared grief, one that has lingered like a haunting shadow since the day of the fire. Carefully, Bruce tucks the photo into his pocket, the corners peeking out like a fragile promise, a glimmer of hope amidst the overwhelming darkness.

“Thank you, please lead the way,” he says, his tone firm and a winning smile on his lips.

Ms. Jenkins nods, her arrogance fading as she realizes she must comply with Bruce. She turns and walks down the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor.

Bruce trails behind, his eyes fixated on the very spot where you were forcibly taken from him. The memory lingers in the air like a haunting specter, as he can almost hear the anguished echo of your cries—each one a desperate plea that pierced through the silence. He recalls the raw urgency in your voice as you begged for the one thing that could provide even a flicker of solace in this cold, heartless world. A tight knot of anger and determination forms in his chest. He vows, with unyielding resolve, that he will never allow anyone to strip that comfort away from you again.

Part 3

[thatlotuscookie]

Hi! Could you write a BNHA Dabi x Female Reader? Something short and simple where Dabi comes home after a mission, all burnt out and exhausted, and the reader helps him unwind, taking care of his burns and just giving him a bit of comfort. I'd love to see that softer side of him! Thank you!

✧･ﾟ: a/n : thank you for the request, anon! this is totally how Dabi would act after a tough mission. It’s always satisfying to see him drop that hard exterior just a little bit when he’s around someone he trusts. hope you guys enjoy this one!

✧ Title: ✧ Worn Down ✧ ✧ Characters: Dabi x Female Reader ✧ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Light Angst ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: Dabi comes home from a brutal mission, exhaustion weighing him down like never before. You try to get him to take it easy, offering the care and softness he never admits he needs. He doesn’t have to pretend with you. ✧ Content Warnings: Mentions of overexertion, exhaustion, caretaking, mild vulnerability, !soft Dabi ✧ WC: 784 words // 4307 chars

The door creaked open, and the sound of heavy, sluggish footsteps filled the quiet apartment. You looked up from the book you were reading, seeing Dabi step inside, his silhouette outlined by the dim light of the hallway.

But as he made his way into the room, you couldn’t help but notice how worn-out he looked. His usual swagger was replaced by slow, uneven movements, his shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion. The mission must have been brutal.

Dabi didn’t say a word as he dropped onto the couch beside you, his head falling back against the cushion, eyes closed in clear frustration. His chest rose and fell with deep, ragged breaths as if every inhale took more effort than the last.

"Dabi…" you murmured, worry threading through your voice as you reached out to gently touch his arm. His body tensed under your fingers, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t brush you off like he usually did. That alone told you how drained he really was.

"I'm fine," he grunted, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. It was the same line he always threw out when he didn’t want to admit he was hurting. But you knew him well enough by now to see through it.

"You don’t look fine," you said softly, sitting up straighter as you studied him. His skin was slick with sweat, and his muscles were still trembling slightly, likely from the strain of overusing his quirk. Even someone like him, with all his power, had limits.

Dabi huffed, his lips pulling into a weak, half-hearted smirk. "Overdid it, that’s all."

You frowned, your hand moving to gently rub his back. "You always overdo it."

He didn’t respond to that, just let out a long, tired exhale as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. His usual cocky exterior had cracked, leaving behind the raw, vulnerable man underneath—the one who pushed himself too hard, too often, just to prove a point to a world that had already turned its back on him.

Wordlessly, you stood up and disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing a cold bottle of water from the fridge. When you returned, you handed it to him, and he took it without a word, the faintest hint of gratitude flickering in his tired eyes.

"You need to take it easy sometimes," you whispered, sitting down beside him again, your hand resting on his thigh. "You can’t keep going like this."

Dabi unscrewed the cap and took a long drink, his throat working as he swallowed. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared down at the bottle in his hand as if it held all the answers he was too stubborn to ask for.

"I’ve got things to do," he muttered after a beat, though there was no real fire in his voice. He was too tired to fight you on this.

"You’ve done enough for one night," you replied gently, your thumb brushing soothing circles on his leg. "Let me take care of you for once."

Dabi snorted, but there was no edge to it. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, the tension in his shoulders still painfully obvious. "You’re too soft for this life," he said, though the words lacked their usual bite.

You just smiled softly, knowing it was his way of deflecting. “Maybe. But you need someone to be soft for you.”

He let out a long, frustrated sigh but didn’t protest when you shifted closer, your hand moving to his hair, gently combing through the dark strands. It was something that always seemed to calm him, though he’d never admit it.

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, your fingers trailing through his hair as he leaned back against the couch, finally letting his body relax. His breathing slowed, and for the first time that night, he looked almost peaceful—like the weight of everything he carried had finally lightened, if only for a little while.

“You’re gonna spoil me if you keep this up,” he muttered, his voice low and rough from exhaustion.

You chuckled softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his temple. “You deserve to be spoiled a little.”

For a moment, Dabi didn’t respond, but as the silence stretched between you, you noticed the way his body sagged further into the couch, his defenses crumbling just a little more. He let his head fall against your shoulder, and though he didn’t say it out loud, you could feel the unspoken gratitude in the way he leaned into your touch.

He didn’t have to pretend with you.

[gottaluvharry]

Long Day

Charles Leclerc x Female Nurse Reader

Summary: After a long shift Charles is there for you to lean on.

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It wasn’t often that you had to work a 24 hour shift, but when you did it was rough. You hadn’t had one since you and Charles started dating, so he had no idea what to expect. When you were finally done with your gruesome 7pm-7pm shift, you were covered in interesting fluids, your feet and back ached in an unexplainable way, your head was pounding from all of the caffeine, and you just needed to fall asleep in Charles’ embrace. You texted Charles that you had only one more patient to visit and then you’d be done, and he clambered into his pista to pick you up as soon as he read it. You finish up with your final patient, mark off your last chart, clock out, and head towards the door looking like a zombie. When Charles sees you he quickly gets out of the drivers seat and runs around the car to open your door. All you want to do is hug him, but the state of your scrubs doesn’t allow you too. “Don’t hug me Char, I’ve got gross stuff all over my scrubs” you say with a sigh as you finally sit down. Charles just pouts at you and closes your door, making his way around to the drivers side. “Let’s get you home then, amour, so you can change and I can hug you” he says, leaning over to give you a kiss. You close your eyes and hum, letting yourself slump against the door when he pulls away and puts the car in drive.

The car ride is silent, and the second you get in the door your bag falls to the floor and your shoes come straight off. You groan and rub your eyes, too tired to move or do anything. “Do you want me to run you a bath chérie?” All you can do is nod as Charles grabs your hand and leads you to the bathroom. He pushes you gently to sit on the toilet, and turns to fill the bath. While you wait, you try to take your shirt off but the exhaustion hits you too hard. You eyes fall shut and your limbs feel like they’re concrete. “Do you need help” Charles asks when he sees your defeat. “Yes please” you mumble, already feeling better being in his presence. “Arms up” he says as he lifts your scrub top and long sleeve up off your head at the same time. He then unclips your bra, throwing it over into the pile he’s made. He moves down to undo the string of your scrub bottoms, tapping your hip to silently tell you to lift them up a little. He pulls your bottoms and your underwear off at once, accumulating the pile of clothes yet again. He takes your sucks off last, and leads you over to the bath tub, holding onto your hand as you step in. Once you’re sitting, he takes the ponytail out of your hair and runs his nails across your scalp. You sigh at the feeling, leaning to the side that he stands on. “You’re not getting in” you ask, looking up at him with his favorite pair of big eyes. “I can if you want, amour” You nod your head and smile as he starts to remove his clothes. You scoot up a bit so that he can get in behind you, leaning back when you feel his hands on your shoulders pulling you into him. He litters kisses across your neck and shoulder, and you smile and lean farther into him. “I missed you while you were at work” he says between kisses. “You are the most hardworking person I know” he continues. “You do great things for the world, amour. I am so proud of you” he says, causing your eyes to water. You spin around and wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in for a kiss filled with as much love as you can muster up. “Thank you” you whisper as you lean your for head on his. “I love you” you say. “Je t’aime aussi” i love you too

Charles washes your hair and your body, and dries you off with a fluffy towel when you’re done. He dresses you in one of his shirts and your favorite pair of sweatpants. He leads you over into your shared bed and tucks you in on your side before he moves to put a pair of boxers on and join you in bed. The second he gets into bed you move towards him and he pulls you in, as if you’re magnetic. You breathe in the sent of him as you bury your head into the space between his head and his neck. You marvel at the feeling of being in bed with your favorite person after an extremely long 24 hours. You fall asleep to the feeling of Charles slowly raking his hand up and down your back, and the sound of him telling you he loves you.

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🥹🥹🥹🥹

[soulessjourney]

Let The World Burn - Chapter 1

Paring: Azriel x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: You're one in a million, Azriel had never encountered someone so different from himself, someone more powerful, even rivaling Rhysand in ability. When you appeared in the Night Court one evening, covered in dirt and dried blood, something about you seemed distinctly unique. It wasn't just the fire that scorched the ground beneath you or the red hue of your eyes burning into his skin. No, it was the shadows that swarmed around you, harmonizing with his own, drawing them closer to you.

Warnings: Violence, Language, Near character death, Talk of killing, Angst, Hurt and comfort, hurt no comfort, reader is an angry strong female reader, lots of miscommuication, fluff, More to be added

A/N: Buckle up, children. This fic is the epitome of enemies-to-lovers, lovers-to-enemies, and back again. The angst is intense, and the betrayals are oh so real.

All you could smell was your burning flesh and the smoke from the area around you. Above you, the dark sky seemed to smile down in a way that almost felt mocking. Drawing in a deep breath, your chest tightened, drowning out your senses. Uncertain of how you got here or even who you were, the last thing you remembered was falling backward, yet never hitting the ground, instead, you kept falling until eventually landing on the charred grass where you now lay.

A cool sensation ran over your arms, diverting your attention from the sky. Wincing, you lifted your arm, watching as wisps of smoke-like tendrils wrapped around you, gently caressing your burnt skin. They moved around your waist and through your hair, softly singing and speaking in hushed tones that your ringing ears couldn't discern.

Enchanted by their appearance, you marveled at their gentleness as they glided over the burns on your arms and face, seemingly attempting to kiss your wounds better. You noticed how they froze over your skin before shooting out as if to defend you. Turning your head, you let out a groan, catching a flash of red and blue. Rolling onto your knees, another groan escaped as you instinctively reached to hold your injured arm, your hair falling over your face as you glimpsed three figures through the strands, standing a few feet away, their eyes widening in shock at your appearance.

The wisps continued to wrap around you, darting out at them, a protective measure for your injured form. Your eyes darted between them before settling on a male figure without siphons, his violet eyes prominent in the darkness. Unable to discern their words over the ringing in your ears, you studied each figure. You moved towards another, taller and bulkier, his shoulder-length hair tied in a half ponytail. Despite his intimidating appearance, his eyes exuded a gentle kindness you had never witnessed before.

Finally, your gaze locked with hazel eyes, observing the third male figure. He stood before you, arms crossed, his face devoid of emotion, yet his shadows danced in synchronization with your own, almost as if communicating. The wisps whispered to you, though your mind remained blank as you studied him. Something within you stirred in recognition, yet fear caused your body to curl in on itself. Your vision obscured as the male with violet eyes knelt before you, extending his hand. Your gaze shifted upward, finally able to hear his voice.

"I'm not sure what happened to you, and usually, we wouldn't welcome trespassers like this, but your wounds are too serious to take you where we normally would," he said gently, causing your eyes to harden. Holding up his hands, he offered a reassuring smile. "What's your name?" he asked, watching you quietly.

You opened your mouth to respond, only for your mind to draw a blank. "I'm not sure," you replied, wincing at the raspiness of your voice, hating how weak it sounded. Yet, it didn't deter him from extending his hand once more. You stared at it, and he chuckled softly.

"If it eases your nerves, I'm Rhysand, and behind me are Cassian and Azriel. Now that we aren't strangers, why don't you come back with us? We can provide treatment and aid until you regain your memory or at least understand how you got here," he suggested gently. Your eyes flickered over his shoulder, meeting the hazel eyes again before Rhysand spoke up once more. "Please? My wife would kill me if she found out I left an injured female in the middle of the woods." You scrutinized him, attempting to catch him in a lie, but found none. Nodding gently, you placed your hand in his, feeling the cool tendrils wrap around you as the environment blurred and darkened.

---Azriel---

Azriel stood outside the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the floor. As the door opened and Cassian and Rhysand stepped out, he pushed away from the wall, raising a brow. "Mind explaining why you decided to make friends with some random person who tried burning down the forest?" he asked.

Rhysand sighed, glancing back at the closed door. "I tried probing her mind, Az. It's locked tight, and no amount of training could penetrate it, not with all the power it exerted to resist me. You saw those shadows that clung to her. Azriel, she's another shadow singer, and as far as I know, you're the only one alive with that ability," he explained in a hushed tone.

Azriel nodded, images of you flashing in his mind. He remembered the severity of your burns and the intensity of your gaze fixed on him, your eyes seeming to burn with actual fire. He had forgotten about the shadows that reached out to them, mirroring his own. "What do we do with her once she's better?" he inquired, turning his gaze toward the closed door. "We can't just let her go, especially now that she's seen the city."

Rhysand hummed in thought, but before he could respond, Cassian cleared his throat. "We can't release her back into the woods like some stray. She has no memory of who she is. But we're not imprisoning her either. We need to help her remember how she got here, and why there's no record of another shadow singer. I can keep an eye on her and make her feel welcome. If she feels like a prisoner, she won't cooperate," Cassian suggested, turning to Azriel. "You should do the same. Get to know her. Her reaction to seeing you indicates her body remembers you, so that could be crucial."

Azriel groaned before reluctantly agreeing with his brother. "Fine, I'll give it a shot. I have my own questions, especially about those shadows. But if she tries anything, don't expect me to be friendly. Her entrance wasn't exactly subtle, burning down half the forest," he remarked, casting a warning glance at Rhysand.

Rhysand nodded, knowing better than to argue with Azriel in situations like this. He couldn't help but notice Azriel's sudden interest in you, though. Clapping a hand on Cassian's shoulder, he nodded to Azriel before walking away.

Azriel watched them depart down the hall before turning back to the door. Opening it, his eyes widened as a pillow was flung at him, narrowly missing him and hitting the wall. Giving you a glare, he noted how you met his stare with equal intensity.

---Y/N---

You stare back at Azriel as he takes another step towards you, your hand instinctively reaching back to grab the pillow next to you. Your eyes follow every movement he makes, searching for any sign that his intentions aren’t friendly.

"Throwing a pillow at me won’t do much," he says, raising a brow at you.

Scoffing, you turn your head away from him. "No, but it would distract you long enough to give me a head start," you mumble. The shadows that wrap themselves around you slide away, halting just before Azriel. Your eyes watch them as they wait for his own to greet them.

"It’s funny, you would think they know each other. In the forest, it was like they were communicating with each other," you say softly.

Azriel hums in response as he settles into the chair next to your bed. "What do you know about your shadows? You must know something; the way they interact with you is a telling sign that you’ve had them your entire life," he says, leaning back into the chair. He watches your body language, waiting for a telling sign that you're lying, but there is nothing. Instead, he receives a shrug from you.

"I’m not sure. When I woke up, in agonizing pain, might I add, they were there. They were all over me, and it was as if they were trying to cool the burns. Other than that, they’re a complete mystery to me. They don’t even really say much besides that I’m safe," you explain, leaning back against the headboard. "Why are you guys helping me? I know it’s not because I was half dead in the middle of the woods," you mumble, playing with the blanket on your lap.

Azriel leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he narrows his eyes at you. "Rhysand says he wants to find out how you’re a shadow singer; from what we knew, I was the only one. Cassian refuses to just release you into the wild again, and he wants to help you, which is typical given that’s just how he is. Meanwhile, me? I don’t trust you. You may not remember what about me you know, but your body does, and every time I’m near you, you have the natural reaction to pull away from me," he says. To prove his point, he shifts to sit on the bed, and your body tenses as you instinctively move away. "I’ll find out what you know about me. Rhysand may not be able to tell, but I know how to get the information I need, and you’re no exception," he grumbles.

You open your mouth to retort, but he stands and walks towards the door before freezing. "If you’re pretending, drop the act; it’ll make killing you in the future that much easier," he says, his eyes piercing into you. With that, he leaves the room, leaving you to your own thoughts.