#experimented with sunlight... could be better

[keideez]

summer dress (WIP)

read dream's end come true... :')

(unsure if I have time to finish)

[norristrii]

IN EVERY LANGUAGE, IN ANY PLACE.

You met him by accident in Monaco—bad parking, shared laughter, and a night where he taught you French. You never expected to see him again. But in Italy, there he was, this time, speaking Italian. And suddenly, it all made sense. It was him.

pairing. Charles Leclerc x student! fem! reader.

warnings. age gap (22/27), 8,1k words, google translated french & italian, teasing, suggestive (make out), sexual tension, one-night stand, soulmates kinda, reader wears dress, pet names.

music. Mystery Of Love & Futile Devices by Sufjan Stevens.

MONACO FELT LIKE THE PERFECT PLACE to fix your struggle with French. After years of studying, somehow, the language still slipped away from you when you needed it most. It frustrated you, how much effort you had put into learning it, only to still feel lost in conversations. You told yourself that spending a week in Monaco would be the answer—that being surrounded by the language, hearing it every day, would finally make everything click.

That was what you told yourself, at least.

In reality, you had mostly come for the experience. Monaco was beautiful, exciting, full of life. The clear blue water, the elegant streets, the sound of laughter mixed with the hum of expensive cars—it was the kind of place people dreamed about visiting. And if improving your French was the official reason for your trip, it was just a bonus.

Still, despite your best efforts, English had taken over almost every interaction. Ordering coffee? English. Asking for directions? English. The one time you had really tried to hold a conversation in French, the waiter had simply nodded politely and responded in perfect English, like he knew there was no point in struggling through your accent.

It had been embarrassing—but also a relief.

You wanted to get better, you really did. But between the beauty of the city and the ease of slipping back into English, you weren’t sure if you were actually learning anything or just enjoying a break from reality.

Not that it really mattered.

If nothing else, it was a good excuse to be here.

Parking in Monaco was proving to be more of a challenge than you had anticipated. You had expected tight spaces, expected expensive cars lining the streets, expected to feel slightly overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of it all—but actually squeezing your not-so-small sports car into a ridiculously tight spot without scratching paintwork worth more than your entire life savings? That was a different kind of pressure. Your hands tightened around the steering wheel as you focused, adjusting the angle, inching forward with painstaking caution, all while trying not to imagine the disaster that could happen if you miscalculated by even a fraction.

And then, just to make things worse, someone was watching.

A man stepped out of the sleek black Ferrari parked beside you, arms crossed over his chest, his posture entirely too relaxed for someone whose car was in immediate danger. He leaned back slightly, the sunlight catching the lenses of his sunglasses, making it impossible to tell exactly where he was looking—but you didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was amused. His smirk was obvious, practically dripping with enjoyment.

"You better not crash my car," he said, laughter easy, smooth, effortlessly confident, like this was nothing more than casual entertainment for him.

You exhaled sharply, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as frustration flared in your chest. You had barely been in Monaco a few days, but the city seemed to be crawling with people like this—rich, cocky, completely at ease in a world where expensive cars and effortless charm were just a given. You muttered under your breath, resisting the urge to say something snarky. Just another arrogant idiot with too much money.

But he didn’t just walk away.

Instead, he stepped closer, taking his time, moving like he had all the patience in the world, like he had decided that watching you struggle was far too entertaining to pass up. His hands slid into the pockets of his jacket as he reached your open window, his posture casual, the smirk never fading.

"You want me to do it?" he asked, the words slow, confident, teasing—but not mocking.

You inhaled, turning to finally look at him properly, prepared to brush him off with some sarcastic remark—but then you saw him. And wow.

Messy brown hair, like he had just run his fingers through it. A mustache that shouldn’t have suited him but somehow did, framing his lips in a way that added to his already unfair level of attractiveness. Sunglasses shielding his eyes, but not hiding the way he carried himself, the easy confidence in his stance, the quiet amusement in the way his smirk deepened.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel as uncertainty flickered through your mind. Was this really a good idea? Letting a complete stranger slide into your driver’s seat and take control of your car? For a split second, an irrational thought crossed your mind—what if he just drove off? What if he disappeared down the street in your car, leaving you standing there, utterly humiliated?

But then, reality kicked in. You were in Monaco. This wasn’t some shady alley where people stole cars out of desperation. This was a place of luxury, wealth, and ridiculous displays of status. The man standing next to you had stepped out of a Ferrari—one that was probably worth ten times more than your own car. If there was anyone in this world who didn’t need to steal a car, it was him.

You sighed, finally letting go of that last bit of hesitation, exhaling sharply like the act of trusting him was somehow exhausting. "Better than humiliating myself any longer, I guess."

The moment the words left your mouth, he moved. Effortlessly, smoothly, like he had done this a million times before. There was no uncertainty in his movements, no hesitation in the way he slid into your driver’s seat. His hands settled on the wheel, adjusting for a brief second before shifting into gear.

And then—just like that—he parked.

Perfectly.

One smooth, confident motion. No back-and-forth adjustments, no struggle, no second-guessing. Just precise control, like he had been doing this since the moment he learned how to walk.

You stared, blinking, processing.

Well. That was humbling.

He stepped out of the car with the kind of confidence that only someone truly comfortable in their own world could have. His smirk hadn’t faded, and as he shut the door behind him, he glanced at you with a look that practically radiated smug satisfaction.

"See? Easy," he said, flashing a smile, like parking a car in Monaco’s ridiculously tight spaces was the simplest thing in the world.

You scoffed, crossing your arms but unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. "Show-off.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered by your comment. "I’ve lived here my whole life," he said, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. "I know every parking space."

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. "Every parking space?"

His smirk deepened, his sunglasses catching the light as he leaned casually against his Ferrari. "Every good one," he clarified, voice smooth, effortlessly confident.

His gaze lingered for a moment, sweeping over you before shifting toward your car’s plate, his smirk deepening with quiet amusement. There was something about the way he looked at you—like he was studying, piecing together details, making his own quiet assessments without needing to ask any questions.

"You’re not from here," he observed, his voice effortlessly smooth, carrying just enough intrigue to make the statement feel like it meant something more than just a simple remark.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head slightly as you shifted your weight, arms crossing loosely over your chest. "Was my parking that terrible?”

The corner of his lips curled into something dangerously close to a grin, one brow lifting ever so slightly in a way that made it painfully obvious he was enjoying himself. "Maybe," he admitted, dragging out the word like he was savoring it, like he was deliberately teasing. Then, after a beat, he shrugged. "But also—your plate."

You glanced toward your car for half a second before looking back at him, the realization settling in. Right. He wasn’t wrong—your plate was a giveaway. A clear sign that you weren’t local, that you were just passing through, that maybe you didn’t quite belong here the way he obviously did.

And yet, there was something about the way he said it—the easy confidence, the teasing smirk, the way he made the most basic observation feel like it carried weight—that made you wonder if he was sizing you up for reasons beyond just where you were from.

Wow. He knew exactly how to charm a woman.

You shook your head slightly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you clarified, "No not at all. I'm just here for my studies."

Your tone was light, casual, the kind of response that was meant to keep the conversation simple, easy, without giving too much away. But somehow, saying it out loud made Monaco feel even more like an unfamiliar world—like you were an outsider dropping into a place that wasn’t entirely yours.

His smirk didn’t fade, but his interest sparked just a little more, like your answer had intrigued him in ways you hadn’t expected. He tilted his head slightly, watching you carefully, processing your words before responding.

"Studies, huh?" he mused, the word rolling off his tongue with casual amusement. "Let me guess—French?"

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head, knowing he wasn’t entirely wrong. "Yeah, and before you say anything, yes, I know my parking skills weren’t helping prove that."

He chuckled at that, a rich, low sound that sent a flicker of something through your chest. His posture remained relaxed, his hands slipping effortlessly into the pockets of his jacket as he continued to study you. "I wasn’t going to say anything," he teased, but there was something in his tone—something playful, something knowing—that told you he absolutely was going to say something.

You rolled your eyes, exhaling softly, feeling the light breeze move through the streets around you. Monaco might have been full of cocky, charming men—but something about this one felt different.

His smirk lingered, and even though you had answered his question, it was clear he wasn’t quite done with you yet. He shifted his weight slightly, the ease in his posture never fading, and you could tell that this conversation—this interaction—was something he was enjoying far more than just idle small talk.

"So, a week in Monaco to improve your French?" he mused, the teasing edge still in his voice. "Bold choice."

You scoffed, shaking your head slightly. "I wouldn’t say bold," you corrected, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. "Necessary might be a better word."

He hummed, tilting his head as he studied you again, like he was deciding something about you that he wasn’t going to share just yet. "And how’s that going for you?"

You let out an exaggerated sigh, glancing around for a moment, pretending to survey your surroundings like you were searching for evidence of your progress. "Well," you started, dragging out the word, "so far, I’ve mostly spoken English."

His chuckle was immediate, rich, the kind of sound that felt entirely too warm for someone as effortlessly smug as he was. "Ah," he mused, shaking his head slightly. "So, failing, then?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed any real attempt at annoyance. "I wouldn’t say failing.”

His smirk deepened, and for a second, the moment stretched—comfortable, easy, natural in a way that caught you just a little off guard.

His smirk remained steady, the confidence in his stance effortless, like it was second nature. He leaned against his car with ease, arms crossed loosely over his chest, sunglasses still shielding his eyes, but you could feel the way he was watching you—curious, amused, intrigued in a way that made it clear this conversation was far more entertaining to him than just polite small talk.

"What’s your name, pretty girl?" he asked, voice smooth, laced with something teasing, something knowing. "Maybe I can help you with your French."

You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. There was something about him—the way he was so unapologetically confident, so comfortable in the way he carried himself, so assured in his approach—that made it hard not to enjoy this. He wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t shy. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"I’m Y/n," you said finally, letting the words roll off your tongue with the same casual ease, letting your voice carry the same playfulness, the same subtle challenge that told him you weren’t just going to let him lead this conversation. Then, after a beat, you tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flicker over him deliberately before adding, "And you, pretty boy?"

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw it—a flicker of something in his expression, barely noticeable but definitely there. Surprise.

But only for half a second.

Because then, just as effortlessly as before, his smirk returned, deepening like he had expected you to play along, like he had hoped you would. And suddenly, you were certain—he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

His smirk didn’t waver, but there was something in the way his head tilted slightly, like he was sizing you up, weighing your reaction, testing the waters of your confidence. He had expected you to flirt back—you could see it in the way his lips curled, in the amused glint behind his sunglasses—but that didn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed the confirmation.

"Pretty boy?" he echoed, amusement dripping from his tone, his posture shifting just slightly, the casual confidence never fading. "I haven’t been called that in a while."

You shrugged, keeping your expression light, playful, effortlessly unbothered. "Well, I call it like I see it.”

His chuckle was slow, rich, the kind of sound that carried more meaning than it should have, like he was taking his time with this moment, like he was deliberately drawing it out. Then, in one smooth motion, he reached up, sliding his sunglasses down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes—sharp, green, filled with something that was equally teasing and analyzing all at once.

"Charles," he said finally, his name rolling off his tongue like it belonged here, like he belonged here.

Something about the way he said it told you this wasn’t just a name—it was an introduction. A moment meant to stick. A small shift in the atmosphere that hinted this wasn’t the last conversation the two of you were going to have.

Charles’ words hung between you, smooth and effortlessly confident, like he had extended the invitation knowing you wouldn’t refuse. He leaned casually against his car, arms crossed, sunglasses still shielding his eyes, but you could feel the smirk beneath them—felt the unspoken meaning lingering just behind his offer.

“So, Y/n—tonight on my yacht?" he suggested, voice easy, teasing, yet somehow carrying a quiet challenge. Then, after a beat, he added, "For a French lesson."

You raised a brow, crossing your arms, your lips twitching at the corners as you studied him. "French lesson, huh?" you echoed, letting the words stretch just enough to make it clear you weren’t fooled. "That’s the reason you’re going with?”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head slightly, completely unbothered by your skepticism. "You do need the help," he pointed out, the teasing laced in his tone impossible to miss. Then, with that same smirk, he shrugged. "Besides, is there a better way to learn than on a yacht, under the stars, with someone who actually speaks French?"

You exhaled softly, pretending to weigh your options, even though—deep down—you knew there was only one answer.

Charles watched you carefully, his smirk never wavering, the challenge in his eyes evident—even through the shield of his sunglasses. He wasn’t just inviting you onto his yacht for a simple lesson; he was inviting you into his world, into his Monaco.

And somehow, despite the little voice in the back of your head telling you to be rational, telling you that this was probably a bad idea, you still found yourself intrigued.

"Alright, fine," you finally said, crossing your arms, tilting your head slightly. "But only if you promise I’ll actually learn something.”

He chuckled, pushing off his car with a casual ease. "I promise," he mused, his voice carrying just enough mischief to make you question if he meant it.

Something told you that stepping onto that yacht wasn’t just going to be about learning French.

Charles’ smirk deepened ever so slightly, like he knew he had won—like he had expected you to say yes but still enjoyed hearing the confirmation. He reached into his pocket, effortlessly pulling out his phone, fingers moving smoothly as he sent off a quick message, probably setting things in motion for the evening ahead.

"You won’t regret it," he assured, slipping the phone back into his jacket, watching you with that same quiet confidence. "Meet me at the docks around eight."

You raised a brow, pretending to weigh the offer in your mind, even though you had already made your decision. "And what exactly can I expect from this so-called French lesson?”

Charles chuckled, pushing his sunglasses up slightly, the smirk never fading. "That depends," he mused. "Are you a fast learner, or do you need some extra motivation?"

There was something about the way he said it—something teasing, something layered—that made it clear tonight wasn’t just about learning French.

And somehow, you found yourself looking forward to it.

"I prefer motivation," you said, your smirk matching his, refusing to let him have the upper hand too easily.

Charles’ own smirk widened, amusement flickering in his sharp gaze, like he had expected that answer but still enjoyed hearing it. There was something about the way he carried himself—an easy confidence that never wavered, a natural charm that wasn’t forced but felt effortless. Every movement, every glance, was calculated just enough to draw you in without seeming deliberate.

He pushed off his car with a casual ease, adjusting his jacket like he had all the time in the world, taking a slow step forward. The shift was subtle—barely noticeable to an outsider—but you noticed. He wasn’t just moving closer; he was setting the pace, drawing out the moment, stretching the space between you just enough to make it feel intentional.

“Good," he murmured, voice smooth, carrying a teasing undertone yet laced with something undeniably confident. He let the words settle between you, his smirk never fading, his gaze locked onto yours. “Because I happen to be very good at motivation."

You raised a brow, refusing to back down, meeting his challenge without hesitation. There was a playfulness in the exchange, but also something else—something neither of you were quite willing to name yet.

───

The evening was warm, the air carrying the fresh scent of the sea as soft waves lapped against the dock. Lights from the yachts reflected on the water, casting a golden glow, making everything look just a little more magical. The docks weren’t too busy, just enough movement and quiet chatter to remind you that Monaco never truly slept.

You stood there, shifting slightly, adjusting the books tucked under your arm, as if they made this feel more like an actual lesson instead of… whatever this was becoming. Your black dress fit just right, hugging you in all the places that made you feel confident. It was shorter than what you usually wore, but tonight felt different. You had spent extra time getting ready, making sure everything was smooth, perfect, just in case.

Your eyes moved over the yachts, each one shining under the dock lights, sleek and expensive. Some were massive, almost too large to seem real, while others were slightly more understated—but only in the way Monaco’s wealthy could be. You wondered which one belonged to him.

Then, footsteps. Steady, calm, unhurried. The kind of walk that told you this person had all the time in the world.

You turned just as Charles stepped into view. He looked effortlessly put together, wearing a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up casually, the top few buttons undone. He fit here, belonged in this world, carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who knew he was charming.

His smirk appeared the moment he saw you, his gaze sweeping over you with easy amusement before flickering to the books in your arms.

“Not bad, Y/n," he mused, voice smooth, teasing. “You actually brought them?"

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Of course," you said, tilting your head slightly. "I take my lessons seriously.”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or just entertained.

“Well then," he murmured, stepping aside, motioning toward the large, sleek yacht behind him. "Let’s get started."

Charles led the way up the dock, his movements easy, natural, like he had done this a hundred times before. As you stepped onto the yacht, the soft sway beneath your feet reminded you that this wasn’t just any boat—it was luxury, through and through. Sleek, modern, with soft lighting that cast a golden glow over the pristine deck. Everything was polished, elegant, effortlessly perfect.

You barely had time to take it all in before Charles turned to you, hands slipping into his pockets, smirk still in place.

“Make yourself comfortable," he said, motioning toward the seating area at the back of the yacht, where plush cushions surrounded a glossy table.

You exhaled softly, moving toward the spot, setting your French books down before settling onto one of the seats. The evening air was warm, carrying the scent of salt and expensive cologne—a mix that somehow suited the moment too well.

Charles took the seat next to you, leaning back, stretching his arm over the edge of the seat like he belonged there, like he belonged everywhere.

“So," he mused, eyes flickering toward the books before back to you. “Where should we begin?"

You raised a brow, tapping your fingers lightly against the cover of one of the books. "That depends. Do you actually plan to teach, or was this just an excuse to get me here?”

His chuckle was immediate, warm, amused. "A little bit of both," he admitted, flashing you a grin. "But don’t worry—I’m a great teacher.”

Charles wasted no time. The moment he settled into his seat, he leaned back, his smirk unwavering as he casually started speaking in smooth, fluent French—his words flowing effortlessly, his tone relaxed yet confident, like he was testing you, like he was enjoying watching your reaction.

You blinked, trying to catch at least some of what he was saying, but it was hopeless. His words blended together too quickly, too naturally, and before you could even try to keep up, you found yourself laughing, shaking your head as you lifted a hand in protest.

“Hey, hey—slow!" you said, amusement clear in your voice, your laughter slipping between the words. "I’m trying to learn, not get overwhelmed!"

Charles chuckled, his expression practically glowing with amusement, clearly enjoying this. He tilted his head slightly, pretending to consider your request before shrugging.

“Ah, but learning under pressure is the best way, no?" he teased, eyes flashing with something both playful and smug.

“I ended with animals," you said, smiling as you flipped through the pages of your book. Somehow, despite all the effort, all the attempts at forming proper sentences, you had ended up learning random animal names instead of anything actually useful. It wasn’t exactly what you had planned when you stepped onto the yacht, but at this point, you weren’t sure if anything about tonight was going according to plan.

Charles raised a brow, clearly amused, his smirk deepening as he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. The soft glow of the yacht’s lights cast a warm hue over his skin, making the teasing glint in his eyes even more noticeable. "Animals?" he echoed, his voice carrying that familiar hint of amusement.

You grinned, feeling oddly proud of your one solid takeaway. "I know how to say owl," you announced, sitting up a little straighter, ready to flex your knowledge.

“Chouette," you said confidently, looking at him like you had just won something.

But the moment the word left your mouth, Charles burst into laughter, shaking his head immediately, his whole body leaning back slightly as he let the sound roll through him.

“Non, non,” he chuckled, his amusement clear as he ran a hand through his hair, still grinning. "Your accent—what was that?”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. "Excuse me?”

“Excuse you,” he teased, still laughing, his eyes shining with pure entertainment. "That was terrible.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were laughing too, shaking your head as you grabbed your book again, flipping through the pages like you were searching for proof that you had said it correctly. "Fine," you huffed, pretending to be annoyed even though you were enjoying this far more than you should. "Teach me how to say it properly, professeur.”

Charles smirked, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make the moment feel too intentional. The space between you suddenly felt smaller, the teasing atmosphere shifting into something else—something neither of you were quite acknowledging yet.

“Gladly," he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours for just a second longer than necessary.

Charles didn’t hesitate. He leaned in just a little more, closing the space between you, his smirk still firmly in place as he spoke again—slower this time, deliberate, letting the word roll off his tongue in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

"Chouette," he repeated, his voice smooth, rich, carrying that effortless charm that made even a simple correction feel like something more.

You watched him carefully, trying to focus on the actual lesson, but it was hard when he was this close, when the warmth of the evening mixed with the quiet hum of the water beneath the yacht, when the teasing glint in his eyes made it clear he was enjoying this far too much.

You cleared your throat, straightening slightly, determined to get it right this time. "Chouette," you tried again, mimicking the way he had said it, paying attention to the way the syllables should sound.

Charles tilted his head, considering it for a moment before nodding slowly. "Better," he admitted, though the smirk never faded. "Still not perfect, but better."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "You’re impossible."

"I’m thorough," he corrected, leaning back slightly, finally giving you a little space—but not too much. "You wanted motivation, didn’t you?"

You exhaled, pretending to be exasperated, but the truth was, you were enjoying this far more than you had expected.

"Fine," you said, crossing your arms. "What’s next, professeur?"

Charles chuckled, reaching for your book again, flipping through the pages like he was searching for something specific.

"Let’s see… something useful this time, maybe?" he teased, glancing up at you with that same playful glint in his eyes.

He smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, amusement playing behind his sharp gaze as he leaned back against the cushioned seat. There was something about the way he carried himself—unrushed, confident, like he had all the time in the world and was thoroughly enjoying the moment. The soft glow of the yacht’s lights reflected in his eyes, making his expression even more unreadable, more teasing.

"Quel âge as-tu? (How old are you?)" he asked, voice smooth, effortless, slipping into French like it was second nature. The words rolled off his tongue easily, and you wondered briefly if this was still part of the lesson or if he was just trying to collect details about you, learning bit by bit, pretending it was all just casual conversation.

You actually knew what that meant. For a split second, you considered whether he was testing you—gauging how much you had actually picked up from your lessons so far. Was he genuinely curious, or was this just another excuse to keep the conversation going, to shift things into something more personal? Either way, you weren’t going to make it too easy for him.

But you played along anyway.

"J'ai vingt-deux ans (I’m twenty-two)," you answered, keeping your voice casual, easy, like you weren’t thinking too much about the way he was watching you now. The words felt familiar, comfortable enough that you didn’t stumble over them, and you felt the smallest twinge of pride in that.

Charles raised a brow, nodding slowly, considering your response like it meant more than just numbers. He let the moment stretch for a second longer than necessary before finally speaking again.

"Vingt-deux (twenty-two),” he mused, rolling the words over his tongue like he was tasting them, testing how they felt in the space between you. "Not bad."

You smirked, tilting your head slightly, matching his energy. "And you?"

His smirk deepened, like he had been expecting the question, like he had been waiting for it. There was something unreadable in his eyes for just a brief second—something calculating, something amused.

"Vingt-sept (twenty-seven)," he said finally, the number settling between you in a way that made the space feel smaller, more intentional, like the conversation had shifted into something just a little more personal.

And for some reason, you didn’t mind.

You hadn’t expected him to be twenty-seven. Maybe twenty-five at most, but hearing the number settle between you made you reconsider. It suited him—the quiet confidence, the effortless charm, the way he never seemed unsure of himself. He carried himself like someone who knew exactly who he was, someone who had already carved out his place in the world and wasn’t wasting time doubting it.

And really, was it a bad thing?

Rich, pretty, older than you? That was basically everything you wanted wrapped up in one dangerously charming package. He had the kind of presence that made people take notice, the kind of energy that drew you in without you even realizing.

Charles must have noticed something in your expression because his smirk deepened just a little, like he could read your thoughts, like he knew exactly what was going through your mind. His eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary, like he was quietly enjoying your reaction.

"Surprised?" he asked, voice low, teasing, as if he already knew the answer.

You shrugged, refusing to let him see too much, keeping your expression neutral even though you could feel the way the conversation had shifted slightly. "A little."

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, eyes still locked onto yours, like he was figuring out the best way to keep this moment stretching just a little longer. "Don’t worry, twenty-seven isn’t old," he mused, his tone playful yet steady, as if daring you to challenge him. "I promise I’ll keep up."

He handed you a glass filled with crisp white wine, the cool surface pressing against your fingers as you accepted it. The golden liquid shimmered under the soft yacht lights, casting reflections that danced with the gentle sway of the boat beneath you. There was something effortlessly smooth about the way Charles moved, like every action was carefully measured yet completely natural at the same time.

"Comment trouvez-vous Monaco? (How do you like Monaco?)" he asked, his voice carrying that same teasing lilt he had kept throughout the night.

This time, you actually understood—or, well, you understood one word. Monaco. The rest? A blur of syllables spoken too fluidly, too easily for you to process.

Still, there was no way you were about to admit that so quickly.

You mirrored his movement, lifting your glass slightly before taking a small sip, buying yourself a second of time. Then, after setting it down, you smirked. "Monaco," you repeated, nodding as if that was a perfectly valid answer.

Charles chuckled, shaking his head slowly, setting his glass down for a moment. "That’s it?" he teased, watching you closely.

"That’s all I got," you admitted, laughing lightly, swirling your wine in the glass. "Something about Monaco. Am I close?"

His grin widened, and he exhaled through his nose, clearly entertained. "Close enough," he mused, swirling his own glass gently before taking a sip. "I asked what you think of it."

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing out over the water, the city lights shimmering in the distance, the soft hum of waves filling the quiet spaces between words.

"It’s… surreal," you admitted after a beat, looking back at him. "Like it’s not real life, you know?"

Charles nodded slowly, studying you for a moment, his expression unreadable—but curious.

"It’s a world of its own," he said, voice softer now, reflective. "Some people come here and never leave."

For a moment, you wondered if he was including himself in that.

You swirled your glass absentmindedly, watching how the golden liquid caught the yacht’s soft lighting, reflecting the quiet glow of the Monaco skyline in the distance. There was something surreal about being here, about sitting across from Charles, about the effortless way the evening had unfolded.

"Just like you?" you asked out of curiosity, tilting your head slightly, your fingers lightly tracing the rim of your glass.

Charles' smirk remained, but his eyes held something softer now, something thoughtful. "I was born here, actually," he said, the words coming out effortlessly, like it was something he had explained a hundred times before.

You blinked, processing his words as you set your glass down. Somehow, the idea of Charles being born in Monaco made perfect sense—but at the same time, it caught you off guard. You had always assumed people came here, drawn in by the glamour, the exclusivity, the effortless luxury. But for him, this wasn’t just a place to visit. It was home.

Charles leaned in slightly, his smile lingering, the challenge evident in his eyes. He had been enjoying this, guiding the conversation just enough to keep you engaged, watching closely as you navigated your way through each question, each attempt at forming sentences.

"But I want you to answer," he said smoothly, tapping his fingers lightly against the side of his wine glass. "In French."

You took a breath, steadying yourself, determined not to let this moment slip. French wasn’t easy for you, and answering on the spot, with him watching, only made it feel more intimidating. But you weren’t about to back down.

Carefully, deliberately, you put your best effort into the answer.

"J'aime cet endroit, surtout maintenant (I love this place, especially now)," you said, the words coming out slower than his but clear enough, confident enough.

Charles tilted his head slightly, considering your response, his smirk deepening just a little, like he was amused by the effort, impressed despite himself.

"Not bad," he mused, taking a sip of his wine, eyes still locked onto yours. "You like this place… especially now?"

You nodded, meeting his gaze, holding onto the moment just long enough for the weight of his words to settle.

"Yes," you admitted, setting your glass down, fingers grazing against the rim absentmindedly. "The lesson is helping."

Charles chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Ah, so I am a good teacher," he teased, sitting back, watching you like he was still figuring something out.

Charles moved in, slowly, deliberately, closing the space between you with an ease that made your pulse quicken. His presence was impossible to ignore, his confidence effortless, like he knew exactly how close he could get before it became too much—except this time, too much was exactly what you wanted.

The wine had settled in your system, warmth spreading through your limbs, but that wasn’t what made you lean in slightly, wasn’t what made you hold his gaze with unwavering certainty. You wanted this. You wanted him. Even though, just hours ago, he had been nothing more than a stranger who happened to help you park your car.

His voice was low, smooth, carrying that undeniable edge of amusement as he spoke. "Tu es vraiment jolie, tu le sais? (You are really pretty, you know that?)”

And for the first time tonight, you understood every single word.

You felt your breath hitch slightly, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the moment settle between you.

"You think so?" you mused, tilting your head slightly, watching the way his smirk deepened in response.

"I know so," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, carrying just enough certainty to make the air between you feel heavier, charged.

The hum of the yacht, the quiet waves against the dock, the distant sounds of Monaco—it all faded into the background. Right now, there was only this.

Only him.

Charles’ breath was warm against your ear, his words barely above a whisper, yet you felt them—every syllable, every hesitation. They weren’t just words; they were an unspoken confession, a quiet unraveling of the careful, effortless charm he had worn all evening.

“Je te veux un peu. (I kinda want you)”

It was quiet. Careful. As if he wasn’t sure if he should be saying it at all, as if he was testing the weight of the admission before fully giving in to it. Until now, every glance, every smirk, every lingering touch had felt intentional, like he knew exactly how far to push without giving too much away. But now? Now there was something uncertain, something raw beneath his teasing façade.

“Is it weird?" he asked, his voice softer now, lower, suddenly hesitant in a way that didn’t feel like him.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, to catch the faint flicker of uncertainty in his expression, something rare, something unexpected. The space between you was dangerously small, but neither of you moved to widen it.

“You only kinda want me?" you asked, arching a brow, a teasing lilt in your voice—because you weren’t uncertain. Not even a little. You wanted him. More than hesitant words and uncertain breaths. You wanted all of him.

Charles exhaled, his grip tightening ever so slightly, his fingers pressing against yours in quiet confirmation. His smirk returned, curving just at the edges, but there was something different about it now. Something heavier. Something decisive.

“Okay," he murmured, voice lower, thicker, like the hesitation had finally melted away. “Beaucoup. (A lot)”

Charles' eyes held yours, dark with intent, his grip firm against your waist, like he already knew what was coming—like he had been waiting for it. The tension between you had stretched for too long, simmering beneath each teasing exchange, each lingering touch, each second of withheld restraint.

And then, finally—

“Embrasse-moi, Charles. (Kiss me, Charles)”

You barely finished the words before he acted.

He kissed you. Hungrily. There was no hesitation, no teasing buildup anymore—just pure, undeniable want. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you onto his lap effortlessly, needing you closer, needing more.

His lips moved against yours with intoxicating urgency, fingers pressing firmly into your sides as he drank you in, as if he had decided in that moment that this wasn’t just desire—it was necessary.

The warmth of his body, the steady hum of the yacht beneath you, the rhythm of the waves against the dock—it all blurred into insignificance.

His fingers pressed into the fabric of your dress, his grip tight but controlled, holding you in place as if he couldn’t stand even the smallest bit of distance between you. The yacht swayed gently beneath you, the rhythm of the waves mirroring the way his lips moved against yours—deliberate, intense, possessive.

You sighed into him, your own hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him even closer, matching his urgency, meeting his pace.

Charles exhaled against your lips, his breath uneven, his grip tightening at your waist like he was trying to steady himself, like he was savoring the way you fit against him.

"Dieu… (God)” he murmured against your skin, voice low, rough, nearly a groan. "Tu es dangereuse. (You are dangerous)”

Charles' lips moved slowly along your neck, warm and wet, leaving behind red marks that tingled on your skin. Every kiss felt like a spark, like he was setting your nerves on fire with every press of his mouth. He wasn’t in a rush—he took his time, letting each touch sink in, making sure you felt everything.

Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut as a soft sound escaped your lips—half sigh, half moan. You could feel him smiling against your skin, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And he did. He always did.

“Fuck, Charles,” you whispered, barely able to speak, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It wasn’t just desire in your voice—it was need. His name came out like a prayer, or maybe a plea, heavy with everything you were feeling and couldn’t put into words.

“J’ai besoin de toi chérie, de toi tout entier (I need you darling, all of you),” Charles whispered into the curve of your neck, his voice low, velvet-soft, and full of quiet need. The words wrapped around you like silk, and a shiver ran down your spine before you could stop it.

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed—not just by the sound of his voice or the way his hands knew exactly where to rest, but by the simple, impossible truth of it all. This moment. This man. You had never imagined anything like it, not even in your most daring, secret dreams. Yet here you were, wrapped in the arms of a man older than you, powerful, undeniably attractive, and utterly, disarmingly real.

─── SIX MONTHS LATER

The sun hung high over Bologna, casting golden light over the terracotta rooftops, warming the historic streets and filling the air with the scent of espresso and freshly baked bread. The city was alive, bustling with movement—locals chatting outside cafés, tourists wandering with cameras slung over their shoulders, the distant hum of a violin playing somewhere in the maze of alleyways.

You hadn’t planned to stay long. It was just a stop—an indulgence before heading to Neapoli to see your friend. A chance to walk these streets you’d always dreamed of visiting, to taste, to experience, to collect fragments of a place you had admired from afar for years.

But then—something made you pause.

A car.

Sleek, polished to perfection, black with a striking red and white stripe cutting through the front. It sat at the curb, motionless yet demanding attention, gleaming under the afternoon light like an invitation you weren’t sure you should take.

Your steps faltered.

You knew this car.

You had seen it before—maybe in Monaco, maybe somewhere else, maybe in a moment that had slipped from your grasp but never really left you.

Nothing seemed more fitting in the moment than pulling out your phone, filming the scene for your friend. You had vlogged your entire trip through Italy—every stunning view, every hidden café, every little unexpected moment. So why not this?

You held up the camera, steadying your grip as you zoomed in slightly, capturing the sleek black Ferrari resting against the curb. The sunlight gleamed off its polished surface, accentuating the striking red and white stripe that cut across the front.

“Questo è così familiare… giuro che ho già visto questa macchina da qualche parte (This is so familiar… I swear I've seen this car somewhere before),”you murmured into the phone, your voice lined with curiosity and amusement.

A fleeting thought pressed at the back of your mind, an eerie sense of recognition tightening in your chest. This car—this exact car—you had seen it before.

You hit record, adjusting your grip on the phone as you zoomed in on the Ferrari parked near the curb. Its glossy black finish gleamed under the Bologna sun, the sharp red and white stripe cutting across the front like a signature—bold, impossible to overlook. There was something undeniably familiar about it, something that made your heart pick up its pace, something that pulled at your memory in a way that you couldn’t quite shake.

“Ragazza, giuro che sembra una follia, ma io conosco questa macchina! (girl, I think I sound completely crazy, but I know this car!)” you exclaimed, your voice carrying a mix of excitement and disbelief as you pointed directly at the car, ensuring it was fully in the frame. The words felt almost surreal as they left your lips, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t just some passing coincidence. You had seen this car before. You had been near it.

Without hesitation, you sent the video to your best friend, watching as the message processed before disappearing into the chat.

Your phone remained in your grip, screen still bright, messages from your friend continuing to flood in one after another. Each notification made the situation feel even more surreal, like reality was still catching up, like fate had decided to drop something unexpected right into the middle of your plans.

You could already imagine her reaction—her shock, her excitement, probably yelling at her screen, demanding answers you weren’t even sure you had.

But before you could even type out a reply, before you could take a single breath to process the moment, a voice slipped effortlessly through the space behind you.

Smooth. Familiar. Teasing.

“Non mi hai detto che parli italiano. (You didn't tell me you speak Italian.)”

The words sent a jolt straight through you, freezing you in place.

Your fingers tightened around the phone instinctively, your heartbeat picking up its pace, the world around you suddenly feeling different—like the sounds of the city had softened, like the warmth of the sun wasn’t the only thing settling against your skin.

Slowly, carefully, you turned.

And then—

Charles.

Standing just a few steps away, effortlessly composed, looking at you with a mix of amusement and curiosity, the faintest smirk playing at the edge of his lips. The sight of him pulled something deep from your memory, something tied to warm nights and whispered challenges, something you hadn’t expected to feel again.

Charles watched you carefully, his gaze steady, holding onto that slight smirk as if he already knew how this was going to unfold. His posture was relaxed, effortless, yet there was something undeniably focused in the way he looked at you—something quietly deliberate, like he was taking in every detail, like he was committing this moment to memory.

You felt the weight of it—the unexpectedness of his presence, the quiet charge lingering in the space between you, the way time seemed to hesitate just long enough to make you wonder if fate really had orchestrated all of this.

It had been six months since Monaco, since nights stretched out on a yacht, since whispered conversations and stolen moments, since something shifted in a way that neither of you had fully defined. You had left knowing there was no clear path forward, no promises, no expectations—and yet, standing here, looking at him now, it was impossible to pretend that nothing had changed.

“You surprise me, chérie," Charles said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket, the teasing edge to his voice not quite masking something deeper beneath it.

You let out a breath, shaking your head slightly, a smirk curling at the corner of your lips despite the rush of thoughts tumbling through your mind. "Seems like I’m not the only one full of surprises."

His chuckle was soft, amused, but his eyes held something more—something familiar yet entirely new.

“It appears fate enjoys playing with us," he mused, his voice lower now, more measured, more certain.

Charles hesitated, his gaze locked onto you with a quiet intensity, like he was studying you, searching for something he wasn’t sure he’d find. The sunlight slipped across his features, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, the ease in his posture, the familiar warmth in his expression—soft, careful, holding something unspoken.

It had been six months.

Time had passed—fast, slow, uncertain—and yet, standing here, in a city neither of you had planned to meet in, it felt impossibly like none of it had passed at all.

His gaze didn’t waver. It lingered, taking you in, as if he was looking for the parts of you that had changed, the parts that had stayed the same—the parts he had memorized without meaning to.

“Will you stay this time, amore?"

The words left his lips slowly, carefully, carrying something heavier than just curiosity. There was no teasing, no playfulness—just quiet truth. Just a question that felt more like an invitation, more like a possibility, more like hope.

You felt the weight of it press against your chest, the way the words settled into the space between you, waiting—patient, deliberate, meant to be answered.

Stay.

Six months ago, the idea hadn't even been on the table. Monaco had been fleeting, temporary—a moment suspended in time, something that existed separately from reality. And yet, now, standing here in Bologna with Charles watching you, waiting for an answer, it felt like an entirely different choice.

“I will.”

© norristrii 2025

babsie radio ! My first longer Charles fic!! If you’re italian/french and spot any mistakes in the translation, let me know!!

[vincentbriggs]

I got this sad little filing cabinet at an estate sale last month and I would have put it in my sewing room as is, but it had so so much rust on the bottom and I didn't want it staining anything.

I cleaned and sanded it as best I could, and I also removed the lock and glued in a piece of can lid to fill in the hole.

I painted it a nice blueish teal colour, which did not go as well as it could have because I have almost no experience with spray paint. I kept having to wait for the dry weather to line up with my days off work, the wind and bright sunlight made it hard to get an even coat and I had to go back and redo some spots I missed, and then I ran out of paint and had to get more to finish the drawers. The paint has cost much more than the filing cabinet.

I already had a can of gold paint (for a pair of lamps that aren't done yet) so I used that on the handles, and I figured I may as well add some decoration while I was at it, so I made a simple flower stencil for the corners. I tried sticking it down with a glue stick to keep the paint from getting underneath the edges, but it must have dried very quickly because it didn't stick well no matter how much I re-glued it and I got some bleed, especially on the first one I did. I put that drawer on the bottom and it's not too terribly noticeable from a distance. Very glad I had the good sense to not overcomplicate the stencil, it could have looked quite bad if I'd done a lot of fine details!

I put spray varnish on the fronts of the drawers because the gold paint rubs off just the teeniest tiniest bit when you touch it.

The paint job isn't perfect, but neither is the cabinet itself, it's got some dents and big scratches. It's much better than it was and it won't get rust stains on anything, so I'm happy with it. It's the perfect size for right next to the door. I think I will put things like buckram and canvas and twill tape in it.

[sirfrogsworth]

In this scene, they are in the middle of the woods under a canopy of trees. They show the sky and there is no moon.

The light has absolutely no motivation.

Motivated lighting is a philosophy where all of the light sources on screen have a logical source. The light from a smartphone on someone's face. A lamp next to the couch. Sterile overhead office lights.

Often filmmakers will still use their own custom light sources, but they will simulate these things to give the impression the light has motivation.

Compare this to when all they really had were bright spotlights and insensitive film. An indoor scene just couldn't have this warm and cozy feel. And the light was just blasted in from everywhere.

Black and white helped a lot. You could still get dramatic effect despite things needing to be overlit. Or you could play with contrast ratios and shadow.

All the stuff you need to see was very bright and exposed well onto film and all the stuff you didn't was very dark.

But there was no graduation in between. It was hard to be subtle.

And when television and movies went color, this black and white contrast advantage was lost.

You can see EVERYTHING. And look at those sharp shadows. Everyone is just being blasted in the face with lights.

This sitcom lighting persisted long past when it was necessary. It became part of the sitcom language.

I think M*A*S*H was one of the first shows to subvert the overlit sitcom aesthetic. They began to play with lighting that had more motivation.

But aesthetic standards are hard to kill. And despite the heavy influence of M*A*S*H, sitcoms persisted all the way into the Friends era.

Her lamp isn't even on. Everything is just lit by God.

I don't think you will see a living room or kitchen scene lit like this very much from here on out.

People are getting used to lighting making more logical sense.

With the advent of LED lighting that can be any size, shape, and brightness, as well as cameras that can interpret very dark images, modern shows can now use bright and dark as narrative tools.

I think Severance does this well, and still keeps everything properly motivated.

But this newfound flexibility has created new problems. If you can film dark things, how dark is too dark? And how do you make sure the audience can see all of the important visual information?

The two worst examples of unmotivated lighting are always space helmets and cars.

It's a conceit. You gotta see the faces so these things are usually forgiven.

But the biggest debate in the realm of unmotivated lighting is night scenes. People have lots of opinions on how best to use light in the dark.

This is because following a motivated lighting philosophy can be especially tricky. Particularly if your setting is a secluded area without any artificial light sources.

Many cinematographers will try to give some sense of moonlight. But moonlight is very hard to replicate, so the effect usually ends up looking pretty fake.

This scene during a blackout in Die Hard 4 looks like they took the brightest light they had, mounted it as high as possible and said, "Fuck it, that's moon-ish."

If the DP is hardcore into motivated lighting, they just make the screen really really dark, like the Long Night battle in Game of Thrones.

The really really dark option bugs a lot of people.

Froggie Tangent about Dark Scenes:

I originally thought people needed to adjust their display settings. But then I realized not everyone watches content in a darkened room like a vampire. But if you find a show or movie is too dark, turning off any room lights will help a lot. Watching it in HDR will also help. And watching it on an OLED will help even more.

Scenes this dark are mostly a fad. DPs are experimenting with the possibilities of new technology. But sometimes they forget not everyone has that technology yet. And they forget some people watch stuff on their phones in a room full of sunlight.

Eventually the fad will fade, we will all adopt better screens, and the darkness will land somehwere between "I can't see shit" and "it would never be that bright in real life."

[End of tangent]

In the olden days, since film wasn't sensitive enough to do scenes in the dark, almost everything needed to have unmotivated lighting just to make sure their film wasn't a grainy mess. And as a culture, we sort of got used to that style. They'd mess with the contrast ratios to give the feeling of night, but if you think about where the light is coming from too hard, it won't make any sense. They took a Broadway theater approach to lighting and so a lot of movies felt like they were on a soundstage.

The 1961 West Side Story is a good example.

They've got a spot light hitting them, but not the building behind them. I guess that could be an overhead street light. But street lights are meant to flood the area like an ever expanding donut of light. A spotlight is like a directly projected cone of light. It is perfectly pointed at the side of their face and not coming from above.

She has some magical purple light coming from... somewhere.

And then they are in an area under a bridge, far away from any lights, but they've got soft fill light with a bright rim coming from the right.

Speilberg's version has much more motivated light.

This one is a bit of a cheat, some very bright source off in the distance. But it feels more plausible to the brain and gives a better sense of darkness. It feels like some kind of industrial lighting. Or a security light at a junkyard.

Here he straight up shows you where the light is coming from. And his preference for anamorphic lenses.

And here he uses bright train lights to create silhouettes. This is clever because it allows everything to be very dark but everyone is still legible in the scene.

I'm torn. Because I study light. And so I am very aware of how shows and movies are lighting things. And unmotivated lighting sticks out in my brain. Like when I watch someone miming playing the guitar. Or using a camera improperly. When you know too much about something, inaccurate onscreen depictions just drive you nuts.

There are some techniques being experimented with to make night scenes more legible while maintaining lighting realism. I think the most promising is the infrared day-for-night process used in Nope.

But maybe it doesn't need to be solved. Maybe DPs should just light the night even if it doesn't always make sense. Maybe general audiences just do not care and I am a big nerd who should be ignored.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi love! Could you do Lewis with a teen daughter that always does his braids or his hair and is also kind of known around the paddock for her style/her own hair?

Braids

The sun glinted off the sleek, shining cars in the paddock as cameras flashed and fans cheered. It was a busy Friday at the track, the buzz of another race weekend filling the air. The usual suspects had already arrived—drivers, engineers, media—each adding to the electric energy. But nothing could prepare anyone for the wave of excitement that swept through the paddock when Lewis strolled in, exuding confidence and charm.

His hair, freshly braided, was styled with a precision and flair that had everyone doing a double-take. The intricate patterns woven across his scalp, sleek and symmetrical, highlighted his already striking features. His usual cool demeanor was accented by a sharp designer outfit—an oversized cream jacket paired with tailored trousers, accessorized with diamond studs that caught the sunlight.

"Whoa," Oscar said, nudging Lando in the ribs as they stood by the McLaren garage. "Look at Lewis. Fresh braids. Man's killing it."

Lando squinted, pushing his curly hair back under his cap. "Yeah, that's clean. Wonder who did them?"

The mystery didn't linger for long. As Lewis made his way through the paddock, reporters swarmed, eager to capture the new look. One particularly bold journalist caught his attention. "Lewis! Those braids are incredible. Where'd you get them done?"

A wide smile spread across his face, pride gleaming in his eyes. "My daughter did them," he said, his voice warm. "Yn's been braiding my hair since she was fifteen. She's eighteen now—practically a pro."

The crowd hummed with admiration. Of course, it had to be Yn. She was already a sensation in her own right. Known for her cutting-edge fashion and signature hairstyles, Yn had a unique flair that blended timeless elegance with modern boldness. More than once, she had turned the paddock into her personal runway, never afraid to experiment or push boundaries. It was no wonder her father's braids were flawless.

By the time Lewis reached the Ferrari garage, the internet was ablaze. Social media flooded with close-ups of his new hairstyle, captions unanimously praising Yn's talent.

Braids by Yn. The Hamilton genes are undefeated.

Forget the cars, can we talk about Lewis' hair? His daughter has hands blessed by the gods.

Lewis scrolled through the comments during a quiet moment, chuckling softly to himself. Pride swelled in his chest. He knew how talented his daughter was, but seeing the world recognize it too? That was something else.

The next day, just when the paddock thought it had seen everything, Yn arrived.

She walked in with her grandparents on either side, exuding effortless confidence. Her outfit hugged her figure perfectly, balanced by chunky gold jewellery and boots that clacked softly against the concrete. But it was her hair that stole the show.

Yn's braids, an intricate cascade of rich brown strands, shimmered in the sunlight. Small and delicate curles were woven throughout, catching the light with every movement. The patterns were even more complex than the ones she'd done for her father, a true testament to her skill.

As soon as Lewis spotted her, a grin broke across his face. He crossed the garage in a few strides, wrapping his daughter in a warm embrace. "You did these yourself?" he asked, pulling back slightly to examine the braids.

"Of course," Yn beamed, tilting her head to give him a better view. "You know I had to come correct."

He chuckled, reaching out to carefully take a braid between his fingers. "These are beautiful, baby. You outdid yourself."

"Wait until you see what I want to try next," Yn said, pulling out her phone. She swiped through her photo gallery, showing him a series of inspiration images. "This one's a geometric pattern—super sharp lines—and this..." She paused on a picture of short, shoulder-length twists. "I think you'd look sick with these."

Lewis listened attentively, nodding along as she spoke. He always loved how passionate she was about her craft. "I trust you," he said. "Whatever you want to try next, I'm game."

Just then, Charles wandered over, his eyes widening when he saw Yn. "Whoa, okay," he said, giving an approving nod. "The braids are next-level. You're making the rest of us look bad."

Yn laughed, bumping her shoulder playfully against her father's. "Can't help it if we're the most stylish ones here."

"Facts," Lewis added, his arm draping comfortably around her shoulders. "It's in the blood."

Their easy banter and undeniable charisma made them the most photogenic duo in the paddock. Cameras followed their every move, capturing moments of laughter, admiration, and love. By the time the day was over, the hashtag #HamiltonRoyalty was trending worldwide.

Later that afternoon, while Lewis prepared for qualifying, Yn sat in the Ferrari hospitality suite with her grandparents, chatting softly. Every so often, she'd glance at the TV screens broadcasting her father's on-track performance, a quiet pride blooming in her chest.

When he emerged after a blistering lap that put him on the front row, Yn was the first person he sought out. "Told you I'd deliver," he teased, pulling her into another hug.

"Of course you did," Yn replied, her voice soft with affection. "You're the GOAT."

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the paddock settled into a golden glow, the image of the stylish Hamiltons—father and daughter, side by side—lingered in everyone's minds. The world could talk about race strategies and lap times all day long, but nothing was as iconic as the bond they shared. And if there was one thing everyone agreed on, it was that Yn was just getting started.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[chaes-tea]

── // feeling the dream .

// kpop demon hunters fic. // jinu x reader. // a/n: hi! i hadn't planned on expanding living the nightmare, but here you go! his pov: living the nightmare ⚠️!! WARNING: kpop demon hunters spoilers !!

Your eyes shoot open, your vision blurred by tears. Blinking them away, you grab your phone from your nightstand.

3:48 am.

You had that dream again. Well, not exactly again, but this is the only one that's recurring. These dreams specifically always seem to take place in the same time period, with the same people. A mother, a little girl, a young man, and... you? At least, that's the perspective these dreams always put you in.

Dressed in rags, surrounded by a variety of medicinal plants, you figured that 'you' were a low class physician. Glimpses of the noble class attire in other dreams suggested that all of these dreams take place in Joseon, Korea. Though no two dreams were ever the same, they always involved the same mother, little girl, and young man. Despite the muffled voices and the blurred faces, you couldn't help but feel that they were related to 'you'. The terms 'in-laws' and 'lover' comes to mind. Were they family? Were they 'your' family?

It's strange, you think. These dreams are starting to feel more and more familiar to you. Nostalgic, like you've experienced them before. A cold winter night, a scorching hot summer, a warm embrace, a kiss under the starry sky– all with that man.

You decided to tell Rumi about it the next night.

"I've had them for a while now," you said. "I don't really know how to explain it. It's almost like... they're my own memories? But not really. It feels like I'm living someone else's life."

"Have you talked to Celine about this?" You shake your head.

"No, though that probably isn't a bad idea."

"It wouldn't hurt to try, she might know a thing or two." She says. "So, you've had these dreams for how long and never told me?"

"Rumi, please-"

"Just kidding~"

You and Rumi have been friends since childhood, way before the formation of Huntr/x. With both of your mothers being a part of the Sunlight Sisters, it was inevitable that you two would stay friends.

The two of you chat about anything and everything else, until a wave of tiredness hits you.

"Okay, Roomba, I'm getting tired," you say, holding back a yawn, "I'm gonna head out now. Good night."

"Hehe, goodnight, [Name]."

You didn't end up telling her about your latest dream, though, which woke you up in tears. In the dream, 'you' reached a hand out to a person's back, large wooden palace doors closing behind them. The distress, the sadness, the pain, you felt it all. But this time, you got a name.

You drift off to sleep, thinking of the name from the dream.

"Jinu!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Is this place even credible, Zoey?" You ask, staring at the entrance suspiciously.

"Don't you ever listen to Bobby, [Name]? The internet. Never. Lies!"

It was the day after Rumi lost her voice. Zoey suggested to get tonics from a shady looking alleyway doctor.

"There's no way he's legit, Zoey." Mira replies.

"The reviews were so good though!"

Needless to say that that whole ordeal was an experience to be remembered. After losing the staring contest with Mira, the doctor gave Rumi a box of the tonics– or, as Mira calls it, 'voice juice'– and the four of you went off on your merry way.

"We got the tonics! Yay!" Zoey exclaims. "Once your voice is fixed, we can get back to the important stuff, like the fans!"

"What exactly is in this 'voice juice' anyways?" You ask, taking a peek into the box.

Before you could take a better look at the tonics, the four of you see shadows in front of you. Five young men turn the corner. Tall, photogenic, straight off the cover of a magazine. A few of them talked amongst themselves, some listening into the conversations. One of them, a man with black hair, trails behind them, lost in his own thoughts, until he directs his gaze forward, past the men in front of him, and he looks at you.

The moment he sees you, it's like something in his expression changes. Not visually, but the way he looks at you with his chocolate colored eyes feels like he knows you. Not in the way that a fan recognizes their favorite artist, but like he knows knows you. And you don't know why, but you also feel like you know him.

He looks away and gently pulls the cyan haired man closer to him, making space for your group to pass.

"Excuse us."

You can't say for sure, but you feel like you've heard that voice before.

Later that night, you have another dream about 'you' again. This time, it's dark, 'your' eyelids are heavy, about to fall asleep. The sound of crickets fill the night, and there's a gentle breeze in the air. A comforting touch tucks a strand of hair away. Your conscious knows it's the young man again. He presses a kiss to 'your' forehead before whispering.

"Good night."

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

what it is and what should never be // bob reynolds

Summary: A mission goes sideways, and you end up in a coma. The team works against the clock to save you, but… do you really want to be saved?

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: reader is an ex-widow, mentions of abandonment, mentions of past trauma and bob's past addictions, mentions of death, slight violence (bob lost his temper and attacks walker), angst, friends to lovers, few fluff moments, thunderbolts* are family, happy ending!!

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @ladybirdbeewrites for proofreading this!

Although I got the djinn lore from Supernatural, I bent it a bit so it would fit better with the story.

I used google translate for the Russian parts, so I'm sorry if it's not perfect.

marvel masterlist | main masterlist

“The east wing is clear.” John Walker’s voice rang through the earpiece as you walked along the concrete hallways.

“North wing is clear, too. I’ll check the west side.”

You had carefully examined the floor plan; in theory, the warehouse should be deserted. However, experience taught you that anything could happen. Every corner may hide something or someone, so you always had to be on alert.

The flashlight in your hand dimly illuminated the path as you cautiously made your way through the corridor until you reached a sturdy metal door. The first thing you noticed was that the lock had been forced, which was a terrible indicator.

Your pulse increased, but you did not hesitate. Carefully, you pushed open the door, which creaked slightly as it opened, and stepped into the darkness. The air was dense and smelt like dampness and old wood. You used the beam of your flashlight to look for any movement or suspicious presence.

In the silence, you heard a faint noise and then noticed a moving shadow in the far corner. You paused, keeping your gun poised and your finger on the trigger.

“I think someone's here.” You spoke as quietly as you possibly could through the comms, in case whoever was here couldn't hear you, but loud enough for John to hear.

A violent crash broke the silence again, followed by a resounding crash of crates falling, echoing off the walls and sending shivers down your spine. The jolt caused you to instinctively take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. The flashlight flickered for a moment, emitting intermittent flashes of light.

When the light stabilized again, your gaze was drawn to a little figure running rapidly amid the crates… a small, scared rat.

You let out a laugh as the tension dissipated and an exhale of relief escaped your lips. With one hand on your chest, still feeling your pounding heart, you brought the other to your earpiece. “False alarm, it was just a—”

Before you could finish your sentence, something violently shoved you against the wall, causing the gun and flashlight to fall to the floor, out of your reach. Your eyes widened when you felt something pressing against your chest. You fought to free yourself, but your attempts were futile.

Amidst the darkness, hypnotic blue-glowing eyes seemed to pierce your psyche. Your legs began to quiver, as if they were made of jelly, unable to support themselves. Then a hand as cold as ice was placed against your forehead, and you felt the air collapsing in your lungs, making breathing difficult.

Your ear picked up John's voice through the earpiece, clear yet frantic. “What's happening?! Are you okay? Y/N! Answer me!”

And then your body collapsed to the floor, and everything went black.

Sunlight peeked through the windows, and the golden threads of the early morning hit your face. You grumbled and attempted to roll over to continue sleeping, avoiding the light of day.

But something was stopping you.

With resignation, you slowly opened your eyes and, still drowsy, realized the reason you couldn't move— a warm, muscular arm wrapped around your waist with a firm yet gentle grip. You shifted your gaze slightly and saw a head of brown hair, strands over the pillow, partially covering his face. 

Did you go out last night and end up in some stranger’s bed?

That wasn't like you.

You gripped the stranger's arm and carefully pulled him away from your body. The man let out a muffled grunt and shifted in the bed, trying to find a new position that felt comfortable. After a few seconds, he stopped moving and his body relaxed again. You let out a deep sigh and slowly sat up in bed, but then a wave of dizziness hit, making your head spin.

Despite the persistent headache, you became more aware of the details surrounding the room.

And that's when panic began to invade you.

This wasn’t your bedroom.

You weren’t at the Watchtower. Or any of its rooms.

Where were you?

The more you tried to remember how you got there, the worse the pain in your brain got.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, searching for a path to the bathroom. Each movement was slow, trying not to make a sound that would wake up the man still lying in the bed. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror and everything seemed in order; your reflection showed a familiar image, albeit with your eyes a little hazy due to the headache. You opened the medication cabinet, desperate for some Tylenol to relieve this persistent and unexpected migraine.

“Babe?”

Babe?

That voice… What did it sound so familiar?

You closed the medication cabinet door, and in the mirror's reflection, you saw him.

“Bob?” you asked, your voice filled with bewilderment.

He was standing there in a basic white t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants that hung loosely over his hips, highlighting his V-line. 

But something was off. 

He didn’t resemble the Bob you knew. His hair was a little longer, and a faint stubble shaded his jaw. His shoulders weren’t hunched, and there was an air about him – and an undeniable confidence, that you had only seen on rare occasions, mostly when Sentry took control.

“Do you feel alright?” he asked as he approached you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m slightly confused right now.”

‘Slight confused’ was an understatement. You had no fucking clue what was happening.

He chuckled softly. “Told you you were drinking too much last night.”

What?

“Here.” He handed you a glass of water and a pill of Tylenol from the bottle you had been holding just a few seconds before. “It will help make you feel better.”

Confusion overtook you, and for a moment, you wondered if it was all part of some kind of dream or if you were losing your mind.

“You said that I drank too much last night?”

He tilted his head as he gazed at you. “You really don’t remember?”

He reached for his toothbrush and squeezed a generous line of toothpaste on it, and began brushing his teeth.

“This must be your worst hangover. Topping that time when you ended up singing loudly at the top of your lungs in the middle of the street.”

You pursed your lips. “I don’t sing.”

He rinsed the toothpaste from his mouth. “Oh, but you did. Yelena had you recorded on video.”

That sounded like something she would do.

“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me and take it a bit easier, but for now, what about some banana pancakes?”

You huffed. “I don’t want banana pancakes, Bob.”

“Okay, now you’ve got me worried. Are you feeling nauseous?” His hands cupped your jaw gently while he examined your features.

“What? No, I–”

You paused, motionless for a moment. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze fell on Bob’s hand, where a gold wedding band sat snugly on his finger. Then your eyes turned to your left hand, where the sparkling diamond on your left finger shone softly in the bathroom light.

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Oh my god,” you blurted out, your voice more frenzied than you’d intended. “Are we married?”

Did you get so drunk last night that you ended up marrying Bob, like in those cliché movies?

He didn’t appear concerned about the whole ordeal; on the contrary, your words made him burst laughing.

You didn’t understand why he was so chill about everything. 

“Why aren’t you panicking?” 

“Trust me. I already did,” he remarked with a chuckle as he exited the bathroom. You followed him, your mind racing. “On our wedding day, three years ago.” 

You blinked, trying to process what he just said.

Three years ago?

He walked into the kitchen, which was adjacent to the living room. It was a large space, with modern yet modest furnishings. It felt cozy, like a home.

“Those cocktails struck you hard, huh? You really forget we’re married?” he asked as he beat some eggs, and you could sense his tone was playful. He must have assumed you were messing with him. “So much for ‘I could never forget you, babe.’”

“I don’t sound like that,” you said, mildly annoyed at his attempt at mimicking your voice.

Your gaze scanned the living room more intently, as if you were about to find an answer to what was going on. It was then that you noticed one of the framed pictures on the shelf. You approached and cautiously held the frame in your hands.

You nearly stopped breathing, your chest hitching.

Two people smiling at the camera. Their happiness was palpable, and it was not simply because they were smiling or because it was their wedding day. It was something deeper. 

You couldn't recall a time in your life when you'd felt this happy. And you knew Bob well enough to know that he had probably not felt it either. You felt a twinge in your heart again, but this time for a completely different reason. 

You placed the photo back on the shelf, and your eyes fell on the framed photo right next to it.

You, Bob, Yelena, and Kate.

From the background, it looked like a restaurant, and from the partially visible slice of cake with candles, you assumed you were celebrating a birthday.

Another thing that was off.

Kate Bishop wasn't even that present in your lives. If you remembered correctly, you had only met her once or twice since moving to New York.

And then there was a third framed picture. 

The camera had captured a woman, surrounded by children, about five or six years old, give or take. The bottom part of the frame had a gold plaque engraved with the words: ‘The best teacher in the world.’

What was going on here?

The aroma of freshly prepared pancakes drew your attention from the photos to Bob at the kitchen island. He had two plates ready, each topped with maple syrup and blueberries.

Your stomach grumbled.

“Oh, I thought you said you didn't want my banana pancakes?” he said, moving the plate out of your grasp with a sly smile on his face.

You rolled your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“You wounded me, baby… But a kiss might heal me, and I’ll let you enjoy this delicious breakfast,” he said, while taking a bite from his plate.

Although you had never voiced it aloud or confessed it to anyone in particular, you found Bob really cute. He was sweet, caring, considerate, and kinda awkward, which only made him even more attractive in your eyes.

He was very different from other men you had met before – in a good way. Maybe that was the reason you were so drawn to him.

You usually would pull yourself out from missions to stay back at the Watchtower with him. At the beginning he would apologize for you having to babysit him, and you would tell him that he didn’t need a babysitter and that you enjoyed his company.

You weren’t sure if he truly believed you, but you liked being around him. It would probably be an odd thing to say, considering everything he had been through and what he was dealing with, but he brought calmness to you.

Then you started to spend more time together – going out around the city, reading, training… And at some point your feelings for him gradually evolved from friendship to something deeper.

“Well, I’m waiting.” He was leaning on the counter, studying you with a smile.

You stood on your tiptoes, one hand around the back of his neck and the other placed against his chest, before pulling him down toward you and meeting his lips.

Bob instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, while the other hand cupped your jaw. Your hand on the back of his neck moved higher, and you let your fingers get lost in his brunette curls. His lips were soft and warm, and everything you’d always imagined.

You dived in with the intention of it being a small, chaste kiss. But the instant your mouth collided with his, it felt like you could never get enough of him.

When you felt like your lungs were giving out, you pulled back, foreheads pressed together while trying to regain your breath. Your gaze met his blue-eyed one, and you bit your bottom lip when you noticed his flushed cheeks. 

“Sorry,” you muttered a bit sheepishly. You certainly gave him more than he anticipated.

“Oh, no, no… That was–” He took a long breath. “Wow.”

You smiled at his reaction. “So, did I earn those pancakes?”

“What the hell happened?” Bucky was fuming, running his fingers through his hair while he went in circles around the room. “You go on a recon mission and come back with Y/N in a coma?”

“I told you what happened,” John said, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, yeah. A tall man with tattooed skin that emitted blue light. That explains everything.”

“It’s not like we haven’t seen worse,” Ava commented.

“We definitely haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“Did you at least kill that motherfucker?”

John remained silent for a second while the others watched him expectantly. “No.”

“Why the hell not? Did you let him escape?”

“I did shoot him, like twenty times… everywhere. And that thing did not even flinch.”

“Great,” Bucky sighed, pinching his nose in frustration. “So what, another O.X.E subject?”

You were lying in one of the beds in the medical wing, connected to a monitor that measured the frequency of your heartbeat.

Yelena sat at your bedside, holding your hand in hers while looking at you. She hadn’t moved or said anything since John Walker stepped out of the elevator with your unconscious body in his arms, after the recon mission you were assigned to went sideways.

“What happened to Y/N?” 

Bob was in his room, reading the new book you had bought him at the bookstore you two went to every Thursday, without fail. It had become a weekly routine that Bob looked forward to.

You had assured him the mission was simple and wouldn't take long, so you could go when you got back. You had promised him, and he had taken you at your word.

Although he wouldn't admit it if asked, he had been constantly staring at the clock, as if staring at the hands would make time pass faster. The Watchtower was still under construction, and its walls were not entirely strengthened, so it was easy to hear the others' voices. He could tell from their frantic tones that the mission had not gone as planned.

They all looked at him, like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“Uh, she… she got hurt in the mission, but she’ll be alright.” Ava tried to dismiss it, but the unsureness and dread in her voice gave her away.

Bob knew they were lying to him, but decided not to comment on it. Instead, his glance darted toward your unconscious form on the bed, a flicker of something crossing his face before shifting back to Walker. “Where were you?” 

John tilted his head, watching him with narrowed eyes. “What?”

Bob took a few deliberate steps forward, his motions were measured. “You went together to that mission. Why weren’t you with her?”

“We split up to cover more ground. The warehouse was supposed to be empty!” John exclaimed angrily, tired of everyone blaming him for what had happened.

“You should’ve known better.” Something was starting to shift in Bob’s demeanor. The first indicator was the tone of his voice. The second, the faint flickers of gold in his eyes. “And you were supposed to protect her… I would have protected her.”

John huffed, and without realizing the emotions that were building up inside Bob, he lit the fuse. “Respectfully Bob, fuck off.”

And that was it.

He launched at him, slamming him against the wall so hard that a small crack appeared. His hands were around his neck, squeezing it tightly, cutting off his breath. John's eyes widened in panic as he struggled against the grip, his fingers clawing at Bob's wrists.

Bucky, Ava, and Alexei reacted almost immediately, attempting to push him back, even though they knew it would be in vain.

“Bob, hey, let him go. It wasn’t his fault,” Ava shouted, her voice shaking with panic.

“It was his fault. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt.” 

“We know you care about her, we do too… We’re going to help her, but this isn’t the solution.” 

Ava’s words didn’t cause him to quiver; it was when Yelena placed a hand on his bicep that something slightly shifted. 

“She wouldn’t want this.” Her voice came out quietly. “Remember what she taught you during training.”

Something clicked inside him.

You had spent hours with Bob in the training room, helping him control his powers, guiding him through every step.

You were always patient, never pressuring or rushing him.

There had been times when he almost lost control – like right now. And you were always there to ground him.

You believed in him.

You believed he could do better.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Inhale and exhale. He repeated the sequence several times until the tension in his muscles slowly dissipated.

Finally, he unwrapped his hand from John's neck, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. Ava and Bucky quickly rushed over, helping him to his feet and guiding him to one of the nearby beds in the medical wing.

Alexei placed a hand on Bob’s shoulder, and he turned to the Soviet super soldier, who looked at him sympathetically. “It’s alright, kid. No one is at fault here.”

Four days.

That’s how long it had been since you returned from the mission unconscious and the incident in the medical wing.

Things had only worsened.

Bob hadn't left the room since then; the emotions of what had happened to you, along with his attack on Walker, had overwhelmed him.

However, when sleeplessness seized him at night, he would leave the room, making sure not to be seen, and go check on you. He would sit in the chair Yelena occupied in the mornings, hold your hand, and beg you not to leave him.

Someone had once told him that people in a coma could hear and feel what was going on around them, and he hoped it was true.

John had not left his room either. Partially to avoid running into Bob, and partially because he was tired of the accusatory looks the rest of the team was giving him, blaming him for what had happened.

And you.

It appeared that the coma you were in was more complex than the team and Dr. Ashford had initially anticipated.  Because yesterday, she had to deliver the most unpleasant news in the medical field: you were dying.

She was unable to explain the cause. But the evidence was there, in the samples she took every day, in how your skin grew paler and paler, and how your heartbeat grew slower and slower.

Something was destroying you from within.

And they didn't know how to stop it.

“A genie?”

“A djinn,” Bucky corrected, emphasizing the term.

Bucky had told Sam about your situation, hoping that his friend would have some insight, after all, he had dealt with his fair share of strange things before. Unfortunately, Sam didn’t have an answer either. But he promised he and Joaquín would dig into it.

What they found, however, was not what Bucky would have expected at all.

“According to the lore Joaquín found, they are rare cave-dwelling hermits that have the power to produce powerful hallucinations inside the minds of humans,” Bucky explained. “Most people don’t believe they actually exist, but according to Walker’s description of the thing that attacked Y/N, it’s our best guess.”

“That doesn’t explain why she’s in a coma, or why she’s dying.”

“Here comes the tricky part. When it touched her, it poisoned her. The lore also states that djinns usually feed from their victims.” He halted as he noticed the horrified expression on Ava’s face. “Which is probably what would happen if Walker weren’t there to bring Y/N home.”

“Wait. Did Wilson and Torres explain why Walker couldn’t kill it? Is it immortal or something?”

“Apparently, it can only be killed in a very specific way. There were so many debacles that they couldn’t confirm which was the real one.”

“What are the hallucinations about?” 

Everyone turned their attention toward Yelena. She had barely said anything these past few days, and she had barely left your side either. The dark circles under her eyes were a clear indicator of exhaustion from a lack of sleep. They knew how bad it was affecting her – the probability of losing you. 

You and Yelena go way back.

Back when you were just two scared children in the Red Room.

Back when Yelena got back from the blip, only to learn that Natasha was gone, and Alexei was MIA.

You were there for her through everything. Not because you had to. Not because you felt obligated to, just because she gave you your life back. 

You were there because you wanted to. Because you chose to.

You were her safe place — where she could be real and vulnerable, without being judged or pitied. 

You were her sister.

“Oh, yeah, that. Contemporary lore depicts them as genies —”

“AHA! Genies! What have I said? I love those blue-skinned floating wish-maker tricksters.”

“Alexei, shut up, please!” Yelena said exasperatedly, her voice sounding tired.

“As I was saying, they’re depicted as genies able to read a person’s mind to learn what their heart desires the most,” he explained, repeating the information he had been taught. “But they don’t truly grant wishes. It’s just a ruse to inflict their poison. You believe you’ve gotten what you wanted, then your physical body dies in the real world.”

“But she must know she’s trapped in a… I don’t know, a fantasy reality?”

“Difficult to know for sure. Djinns are powerful enough to convince their victims that they are actually living in the reality they implanted.”

“So that’s it? She stays in that made up world while that fucker’s poison kills her here?”

Bucky paused. Doubting if he should say it or not. Not wanting to give her false hope. But Yelena caught on his hesitation, her eyes narrowing slightly as she questioned what he was holding back.

“Barnes, spit it out.”

Bucky sighed. “There may be a thing, but I cannot assure it would work,” he said, “Joaquín found this thing called African dream roots. Apparently, if you take them and go to sleep, you can enter people's dreams and interact with them.”

“Not the craziest thing we’ve heard so far,” Ava commented.

“I’ll do it,” Yelena said, without hesitation.

“Yelena –” 

“I’m not giving up on her, Dad… I’ve  already lost one sister; I am not losing her too.”

She could not bear it. 

Not again.

Yelena opened her eyes, slightly dizzy. She was struggling to adapt to her environment. Her gaze scoured the cozy living room; there was no trace of you anywhere, and for a brief moment, she thought those herbs Bucky had given her had been ineffective.

But there was something off about the atmosphere, which Yelena could sense in her bones.

Unlike the rooms of shame where The Void had trapped them, this felt more manufactured, yet safe at the same time, as if these four walls painted in earth tones protected you from the outside world.

“Yelena?”

She turned when she heard your voice.

You stood in the doorway, your head tilted slightly, a puzzled expression on your face.

Yelena regarded you for a few seconds without saying anything. You didn't seem scared or in danger. You were... normal.

That was what struck her the hardest.

“What are you doing here?” you asked when you realized that she had no intention of saying anything.

“What am I doing here?” She repeated your question in amazement after a few seconds, when she appeared to have sprung out of her trance. “I came to rescue you.”

“Rescue me? From what?”

“The genie!” she exclaimed.

“The what?” you asked, perplexed. 

“You were attacked during a mission. You’re dreaming, this isn’t real.��� She got straight to the point, explaining the situation as simply as possible.

“It’s real enough to me.”

Your words jolted Yelena back. She blinked a few times. “Y-you… You know?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Of course, I know. Look around, Lena.”

“Then why haven’t you freed yourself? Bucky said —”

You interrupted her before she could finish her sentence. “Because I don’t want to.”

Yelena looked at you, not expecting that response.

“All the pain, the suffering, all that we have lost…” You walked toward the kitchen island and took a seat on one of the stools. “I’m tired of carrying that weight on my shoulders every day.”

“What your heart desires the most,” she mumbled under her breath, quiet and barely audible yet clear enough for you to hear.

“What?”

“What’s so special about this place, Y/N? What do you have here that you cannot have in the real world?” 

“My parents are alive, they actually love me, and never abandoned me.” Your voice cracked a bit, and Yelena could notice the unshed tears building in your eyes.

“Oh, pchelka.” 

She knew that was a difficult subject for you. When you told her that you wanted to dig into your past and find out how you were taken, she knew deep in her gut that whatever you found wouldn’t be good. Nevertheless, she still supported you in your decision.

She helped you gather all the information you needed, and then she held you in her arms when you discovered that you had not been kidnapped — your parents abandoned you, they actually sold you to those Sovietic scumbags. 

“There’s no pain in here, Lena,” you said. “No pressure to save the world, or for the world to like us. No Valentina. No Avengers. Just living a normal life.”

“The picket white fence, is it what you wished for?” she asked. Curiously, you’ve never talked about this before �� how you imagined your lives if your circumstances were different. 

Her eyes caught a glimpse of your hand, more specifically, of the shiny stone. “You’re married?” she exclaimed, a bit too loudly, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You didn’t answer her. You just looked at the shelf where the photos were, and she followed your gaze. 

“Bob?” There was surprise in her tone. “You like Bob?” She directed her glance back toward you.

“What’s wrong with liking Bob?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly assured, “It’s just that… I don’t know, you never said anything.”

You shrugged, a slight smile on your lips. “It's not like we’re very good at communicating how we feel.” Your gaze returned to her, and a hint of vulnerability crept into your words. "But, yeah, I like Bob. More than just a friend, I guess.”

“Well, you’re going to be thrilled then, ‘cause he likes you too. The real one,” she stated, emphasizing the word ‘real’.

Maybe it was wrong. Yelena knew this wasn’t her confession to make. But desperate times needed desperate measures.  Besides, if Bob was one of the reasons you wanted to stay here, he could also be the reason for you to leave, since you could have him anyway.

You rose swiftly from the stool. "You don't need to lie to trick me. I told you that I'm not leaving."

“I’m not lying,” she said, offended that you expected her to lie to you about something like that. “He attacked Walker ‘cause he blames him for what happened to you. He hasn’t left his room for days… Except at night, when he sneaks out to see you in the medical wing. The thing is, he cares profoundly about you, and we are really concerned about him and what’s going on in his mind.”

Yelena paused for a moment, considering whether to voice her next words. She knew she might regret them later, but she couldn’t ignore the ache she was feeling in her chest. “Yesli ty ostanesh'sya zdes', ty egoistichnaya suka.”

Her words struck you hard. She’d never been so crass with you before, and part of you couldn’t believe she’d aimed those words at you. “Excuse me?”

“You’re dying out there, dammit! Dr. Ashford doesn’t think you’ll make it to the weekend. The team is in disarray—Walker is feeling guilty, and Bob is doing even worse than when we met him. Bucky, Ava, and Alexei are on autopilot, not stopping searching for a way to help you… And me? Do you even care about me? You think your choices don’t have an impact on the lives of others?” she outburst, tears overflowing in her eyes due to the intensity of her emotions. “I know our lives aren’t perfect, and we haven’t always had it easy, but we have each other. And that is real… Is that not enough for you?”

“I get it, trust me, I do. All this —” She waved her hands, signaling your surroundings “— Having what you wish for the most, it’s enticing, and it’s unfair that it isn’t real, but you’re not alone, and you still can be happy. You want Bob? He is waiting for you. You want a family? You’ve got us. You got me… Family doesn't end in blood, but it doesn't start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad, all of it. They got your back even when it hurts. That’s family.” 

She approached you, her hands cradling your face as she brushed away the tears that had silently fallen from your eyes. “I love you. Pozhaluysta, sestrichka, vernis' domoy.”

You let out a sob, followed by another, and so on. You wrapped your arms around Yelena, clutching her tightly as if she would vanish at any minute. Your face pressed into her shoulder, tears streaming down your cheeks. With a broken voice, you kept whispering your apologies, while she held your shivering body.

Waking up from a coma is a strange sensation, something you've never experienced before. The closest thing you could equate it to is the Red Dust breaking the mental grasp on your brain, and yet, they are two completely different things.

You rubbed your eyes with the side of your hand, your vision slowly adjusting to the light and your surroundings.

The first thing you heard were sighs of relief, followed by Alexei's strong arms wrapping around you in a hug, squeezing you against his chest. “My pchelka! You are back. Oh, we were so worried.”

Bucky and Ava stood at the foot of your bed, watching the scene, their expression showing relief but unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, guys,” you murmured, your voice a little hoarse. “I got a little caught up in all that… fantasy reality.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Bucky said, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but you knew it was. How worried they had been these days, thinking they wouldn’t be able to save you. “Could have happened to any of us.”

“Important thing is, you’re back,” Ava added, offering you a reassuring smile.

You rolled onto your side, your gaze settling on Yelena, who was already awake, her eyes fluttering open from whatever she drank to enter your dream. As your eyes wandered around the room, you realized that Bob and John were nowhere to be seen. 

As if she could read your mind, Ava chimed in, “They’re in their rooms.”

You started getting out of bed, detaching yourself from the heart monitor and removing the IV from your arm, but Yelena swiftly stopped you. “Woah, where do you think you’re going, miss?”

“I have to—”

“What you have to do is wait for Dr. Ashford to examine you.”

“I’m fine, I feel fine.” You looked at her, pleading, “There’s something I need to do first.”

Yelena glanced at you, and you could see the internal conflict in her eyes. For a second, you thought she was going to fight you on this one, but she merely sighed and let go of her grip on your shoulders, giving you the go-ahead.

You walked down the halls with a specific direction in mind, and when you arrived, you paused in the middle of the hall to stare at the door.You had a fleeting moment of hesitation, but you shrugged it aside and knocked softly on the door.

Not a sound could be heard behind the door. Perhaps he wasn’t there. Perhaps he was refusing to recognize the knocking. Then you heard feet shuffling on the floor, and the creak of the door hinges as they opened.

“And now what?” His voice was rough and tired at the same time. The frown he was sporting on his face completely vanished when he saw you, replaced with a startled expression. “Y/N?”

You observed the red markings on his neck, and your gut twisted as you remembered the talk with Yelena.

“I woke up,” you said meekly, awkwardly moving your hands. “They figured it out… Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you.” 

John furrowed his eyebrows, looking at you confusedly. 

“Yelena told me what could have happened if you didn’t get me away from that thing, so thank you for not abandoning me there… Also, don’t crucify yourself, alright? What happened, it wasn’t your fault,” you reassured him. “There was no way we could have known.”

An awkward silence fell over both of you. John continued to stare at you without saying anything, and you stood on the threshold of his door, fumbling with your hands, unsure what else to do.

You knew John Walker wasn't good with words, but this wasn't exactly the reaction you were expecting.

After a few more seconds, and unable to bear the awkwardness any longer, you turned on your heels to leave.

As you were about to turn the corner, he called out your name. You stopped and turned around, and he said, “I’m glad you’re back.”

You offered him a smile in response, and you made your way to the other side of the tower.

Again, you found yourself in front of a closed door.

But this one was different.

You could feel your palms sweating and your heart thumping against your ribs.

You'd been in Bob's room numerous times before, so why did it feel different now?

The truth was, you were scared. Scared of being face to face with him—with the real Bob—after the short experience you'd had in the Fantasy Universe.

You knew things were different here. Bob wasn’t yours, and you didn’t even know for sure if he harbored any feelings for you. You just had Yelena’s word for it, and while you knew your sister would never lie to you, how could she even know how Bob felt in the first place?

When he opened the door, his reaction was nearly identical to Walker’s – stunned, eyes wide open in surprise. The sight of you standing on the threshold of his bedroom door caught him completely off guard; he plainly did not expect to see you there. 

He probably didn’t even know the team had a plan to reach out to you. Yelena mentioned he wasn’t coping well with the circumstances, so it made sense if they hadn’t told him, in case things didn’t go well.

Your heart plummeted when you looked at him. Tiredness was etched onto his features, his eyes were heavy and swollen due to exhaustion. He was more hunched than usual, shoulders slumped by the weight of the past four days.

“This is your fault,” you thought, “He thought you were dying, you idiot. How do you expect him to look?”

“Hey,” you said weakly.

“You– You’re here,” he murmured, puzzled. He rubbed his hands over his face repeatedly to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him and that his lack of sleep wasn’t causing him to become delirious.

“I am.”

Without a warning or a second thought, he threw his arms around you, engulfing you in his embrace, drawing you close to his chest, allowing his emotions to sweep him away.

You were here.

You were fine.

You were alive.

He tightened his grip on you, relishing in the comfort you always provided to him.

“I thought I had lost you.” His voice was quiet, barely a whisper, muffled against your head, but enough for you to hear. 

“You’re never going to lose me.”

He drew back slightly, his eyes studying you carefully to ensure you were in perfect condition. “How do you feel? Has Dr. Ashford checked on you? How did you wake up?” 

“Bob, I’m fine,” you said calmly, lifting your hands from his side to rest on his shoulders, bringing an end to his rambling. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Bob shook his head. “No, no, that – that it wasn’t your fault. Walker shouldn’t have —”

“It wasn’t Walker's fault, either.”

Something more serious took over Bob’s gaze. “Yes, it was. We’re a team, and he was your partner in that mission —”

“We were covering more ground separately, and I got ambushed, and I couldn’t react in time. Shit happens all the time during missions; it’s part of the job.”

He still looked unsure. He knew you could defend yourself, of course. You were a very skilled fighter, he had seen it firsthand. Still, the fact that you got hurt and that you had been on the verge of death until just a few hours ago, was something he couldn’t shake off his mind… and his heart.

He grabbed your hand and drew you to his bed, where you both sat on the edge. 

“What happened?” he asked, “You didn’t wake up, and Bucky, he… uh, he said you got —” he stumbled over his words, trying to find the right way to say it. “That it was a genie that attacked you?”

You explained what happened in the warehouse the best way you could, based on what you recalled, which wasn't much. You were still confused about it, and you didn’t know all the details regarding this genie situation. 

You could wrap your mind around the Red Room, HYDRA, OXE, and even Thanos. But the concept of a tattoo-covered humanoid entity with the ability to read minds and apparently grant wishes while putting you in a coma-state… that was a lot to take in.

“What did you dream about?” Bob asked curiously, “I mean… What was your dream life?”

You swallowed. Although you had a close friendship with Bob, and you had told him things about your past, the same way that he had told you things about his,this particular topic had only been discussed with Yelena.

“You know I grew up in the Red Room, right?” you asked, and he nodded. He remembered the first time you made skin contact while in the vault, and he unintentionally sent you to one of your shame rooms. “Well, there were girls from all parts of the world; some of them were orphans, some of them were kidnapped and taken away from their families… A few years back, I was going through a hard time and I was feeling this –” You paused, unsure whether to voice the word on the tip of your tongue.

Bob noticed your hesitation, and he surmised what you meant to say. “Void?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yeah, I wanted to know more about my past. I thought I needed to… to move forward, I guess. Yelena advised me it was a terrible idea and that certain things are better left unknown, but I didn’t listen. So, I started digging and I found my biological mother. I was ecstatic, a bit nervous, but for a moment something inside me felt complete, y’know?”

Bob's gaze met yours, and while what you were saying to him sounded nice, your expression and tone of voice spoke a very different message. “It didn’t go well, didn’t it?”

You averted your eyes and shook your head. “She was surprised to see me, that much obvious. But the first thing that came out her mouth was, ‘Oh, you’re still alive.’” Your voice cracked a bit, and you took a long breath, attempting to maintain your composure. “It didn’t take a genius to figure out that I was not kidnapped.”

Bob took in your words and what they meant, “She – Did she… She handed you over to those people?”

“Yeah.” It was quiet and barely audible, but enough for Bob, who immediately wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward his chest, in an attempt to offer you comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his face pressed against your head. “She didn’t deserve you.”

“I didn’t think that her loving me was something I craved so much. Not until I woke up in that place and I found that we were actually a happy family – me, her, and my dad. I didn’t know you could miss something you never had.”

Bob paused for a second, taking in your words, then tentatively said, “Maybe that thing… What did you say its name was? Maybe it was all a ruse, to mess with you.”

“I don’t know. Apparently it can read your mind, to see what someone wishes for the most, so they gave it to them,” you said. “Besides, there were other things… Other things that I also want.”

“What were they?”

“A normal life. No Avengers, not fighting for my life every day… Nothing of this.”

“You mean the team?” he asked, swallowing the lump in his throat before proceeding with his next question. “I wasn’t – The team wasn’t part of your life?” He corrected himself quickly, but you picked up on it.

“Well, Yelena was part of it,” you admitted. You didn’t get the chance to meet that version of her, but you remembered the picture in your living room. “And… you were there too.”

You could feel his body going stiff.

“I was?” He sought for confirmation, almost unable to believe it. In Bob’s mind, the idea that he was part of your dream life seemed too good to be true.

You hummed in response.

Then you decided to be brave and dropped the ball, bracing yourself for the worst. “We were married.”

Bob's arms that had been wrapped around you fell limp at his side, and you immediately missed the warmth and comfort. Something ached in your chest, and you could feel his piercing gaze on you, but you didn’t dare to look at him, so you kept your eyes on your hands.

“We – we were… married?” he stuttered, the ‘married’ part getting slightly stuck in his throat.

You just nodded, and hummed again. 

“Is that… That’s what you want?” The incredulity in his voice was obvious. “That’s your dream life?”

When you ask someone about how they imagine their dream life –  a life they will most likely never have – they would mention amazing things, good things; most of the time unrealistic things. You told him that you dreamt about your parents being part of your life, loving you; and he could relate to that part. Living a life where he wasn’t a burden and wasn’t constantly reminded of how he always made things worse sounded nice. 

But him being part of your dream life? 

He didn’t understand it. 

Out of all the things you can wish and dream for, you wanted him?

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“You could have had anything,” he said, stating the obvious.

“I know.”

“And you… You wished for me?”

“Maybe I just want you.”

You finally lifted your gaze to meet his. You could feel the war going on behind his dark blue eyes.

“Was he any different from me?” he asked.

“The ‘you’ from my dream?”

He nodded. 

You tilted your head, as if you were deep in thought. Then a small smile spread across your face. “Nah, you were still yourself. Same Bob who stole my heart.”

A flush crept up his neck; he couldn't recall the last time his heart pounded so fiercely against his ribcage. 

You reached out your hand, softly grazing his cheek. His eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation, and a low gasp escaped his lips. For a moment, the warmth of your palm appeared to soothe the turmoil in his head.

“You’re already everything I ever dreamt of, why would I change anything?”

Bob opened his eyes, his gaze piercing into yours, looking for any sign that this was all just a joke or that you were just playing with him. But he knew you better than that, and your eyes reflected genuine care and affection.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, and he started to lean in, slowly. He could feel your breath hitting him in the face. His lips finally brushed against yours in a timid, delicate kiss, still feeling a bit unsure. Then you scooted your body closer to his, your thighs bumping, and one of your hands slipping into the back of his neck and his brunette curls. His hair was shorter here, but still silky. 

His mouth was still addictive, his taste leaving you craving more of him.

This kiss was so much better than the ones you’d shared in the dream world, because this one was real.

“Wait, now that I think about it…”

He pulled back slightly, a slightly worried expression etched on his face. 

“Have you thought about letting your stubble grow a bit?”

He blinked, surprise clouding his features. “Stubble?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile on your face. “Just a thought,” you said as your fingertips traced his jaw. “Would make you look extra hot.”

His cheeks heated, turning red as your compliment washed over him.

“I can do that.”

.

…

…

Hours later, you were lying in bed. The sky had turned black, and the city lights cast shadows across the walls of the dimly lit room.

Your head was resting on Bob's chest, and the steady rise and fall of his chest brought you a sense of calm. His body emanated a welcoming warmth, and you relished in it. One of his hands was entangled in your hair, fingers playing with the strands, while one of your hands was intertwined with his free hand, fingers laced together.

“Can you tell me more about the dream?” he asked a bit hesitantly. 

“There isn’t much to tell,” you said, sincerely. “I was a teacher. There was this picture of me and my students in our living room.”

“Is that the path you would have taken?” he asked softly, “If you had had a choice.”

“I don’t know. I never really thought about it. I think –” you paused for a second, trying to find the right words for what you want to express. “I think my subconscious chose that because I didn’t have the easiest childhood…  No one protected me, so a part of me felt the need to protect other kids from going through what I did,” you explained. “I’m not sure if that makes sense.”

“It does,” he said sincerely, dropping his hand from your hair to squeeze your shoulder in reassurance.

“Oh, and we lived in Florida,” you added.

“Out of all the places you could have chosen for us to live, you chose Florida?”

“Stop belittling my dream life,” you said, clutching his side in mock offense. Then, your eyes shifted, playfulness aside, your gaze rose to meet his. “Would you like to go back someday?”

“To Sarasota Springs?” he asked, and you nodded. “Not really. There’s nothing left for me there anymore… Everything I want is here.”

Your heart did somersaults, his eyes shone, and a blissful smile spread across your face. You adjusted your body slightly so you could reach his mouth to press a quick kiss on his lips, but Bob had other intentions, and he grasped your jaw, keeping you in place and deepening the kiss, not wanting to let you go just yet.

You could get used to this.

“I'm glad you dug yourself out. Most people wouldn't have had the strength, they would've just stayed,” he said when you parted lips. 

If he had been in your situation, he knows he would have stayed; he would not have had the strength to let you go. A dream world in which you were his wife, and lived a normal life, free of the burden of his past addictions or his childhood trauma was indeed a dream life.

“I would have… I mean, I wanted to…” you admitted, knowing how easily you fell for everything. “But Yelena helped me realize something. Maybe this life isn’t perfect, and it might be difficult at times, but we’re not alone, and there are still things worth living for.”

[jijournal]

CONFESSION CANDY | G.W

Summary: When Fred convinces George to test their latest prototype, George has no idea the candy will shout out a confession he’s secretly been holding in for years. To his horror—and your shock—it blurts out that he's in love with you.

Word Count: 400+

A/N: A cute lil drabble for my favorite Weasley. Hope everyone loves this! 🫰

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

“We need a better name,” George muttered, frowning at the swirling, glittering sweet in his palm. “This sounds like a rejected Weird Sisters single.”

Fred snorted from where he lounged in a battered armchair, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Alright then, Mister Marketing Genius, why don’t you test the prototype?”

George raised an eyebrow. “You serious?”

Fred leaned forward, his grin widening. “Deadly.”

It was a lazy Friday night at Hogwarts, the common room buzzing with quiet chatter and late-night laughter. Students lounged on couches, sprawled over homework, and huddled around games. You sat across the room from the twins, half-focused on your Charms textbook, though your eyes kept drifting toward their ridiculous candy experiment.

George hesitated, then shrugged like a man walking into battle. “Here lies George Weasley. Death by experimental confection.”

You smiled behind your book.

And then he popped the glittery sweet into his mouth.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then George turned his head, locked eyes with you across the room, and yelled—

“I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!”

The room went dead silent.

You blinked. “...What?”

George froze, horrified, his eyes wide as if someone else had hijacked his mouth. “Oh no.” He slapped a hand over his lips. “Oh no no no—”

Fred was wheezing with laughter. “It works! Merlin’s pants, it actually works! This is brilliant!”

George groaned and collapsed backward onto the couch, burying his face in a throw pillow. “I’m going to die. Bury me in Zonko’s. Tell Mum I went out with honor.”

You just stared, your brain lagging behind your racing heart.

He said he loved you.

Was it the candy talking?

Or was it—?

Before you could think twice, you stood, walked over to the coffee table, and picked up one of the shimmering sweets still left in George’s hand. His eyes peeked out from behind the pillow, alarmed.

“Wait—don’t—!”

Too late. You popped it in your mouth. It melted like spun sugar, and warmth bloomed in your chest like sunlight after winter.

Your fingers trembled slightly.

Then you looked straight at George, heart thudding, and said, clear and certain—

“I’ve been in love with you since fifth year.”

The words hung in the air, shimmering like the candy itself.

Fred stopped laughing.

George sat up so fast the pillow flew off his lap. His mouth parted, stunned.

Your eyes met.

And suddenly, neither of you were laughing anymore.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[ofbatsandballads]

Yay! I’m so glad you take requests. Feel free to decide if you want to write this or not, it’s fine either way :)

So, I was thinking about Jason dating civilian!reader, and her coming home all disheveled and horrified. Since she knows about him being Red Hood, she can confide in him. She had just killed someone for the first time, whether it was an accident, self defense or whatever, you decide.

I was just wondering how Jason would handle this situation since usually he’s the one doing the killing.

Thank you <3

oh, this is amazing food for thought. I actually think he’d be the very best person to come to in such a situation because he has experience with killing. who’s gonna understand you better than him? literally nobody. had something similar to this in my drafts but now my mind is whirling in a whole host of directions. excellent prompt, nonnie!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include graphic depictions of violence and killing (in self defense), attempted and failed sexual assault, the aftermath of both events (reader’s in shock), hurt/comfort. this one’s got heavier subject matter so please do mind the warnings, folks. i did way too much research of the Gotham Knights map for this, but it’s my favorite depiction of the city so so be it. also reader and Jason live in the Belfry bc i said so (personal hc that i may or may not elaborate on some time). and one last thing! the romanized Arabic at the end is “حياتي ” which translates to “my life”. I love the idea that Jason picked up Arabic terms of endearment from Talia calling Bruce just about every one she could.

Jason wakes up to soft afternoon sunlight shining on his face. He grumbles out a gravelly hum and scrunches up his face in protest against being awakened when he was sleeping so nicely. He reaches out to find the comforting warmth of his beloved beside him, to pull you in and bury his face into your hair so he can hide from the morning for a bit longer.

All he finds are cold sheets and an empty pillow.

He bolts upright. Something’s wrong. You never, never wake up before him. He doesn’t even register the way that the sudden abundance of light stings his eyes. He takes stock of his surroundings, his training executing on autopilot. The open layout of the Belfry lets him get his bearings in seconds. He doesn’t see you anywhere from the bird’s eye view of your loft bedroom. There’s no smell of food in the kitchen nor any mess that would indicate you’d been working in there. The living room space, fully visible below, is empty too. The only enclosed space in your home, the bathroom that’s just around the corner from your bedroom, is dead quiet. No running water, no sweet singing, no familiar coughing from swallowed toothpaste. And without so much as leaving your bed, Jason’s already come to a conclusion that sends his heart pounding and dries his throat. You’re not here.

He’s up and grabbing the 9mm taped under your bedside table in the span of a few breaths. He moves through your home methodically, like he’s clearing one of Gotham’s criminal hideouts. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing’s been disturbed. He’s not surprised by this—barring Wayne Manor, the Belfry is the most secure building in Gotham. That’s precisely why Jason had moved you both here once you decided to live together. He checks the coffee table and sees that your phone and wallet are gone. A different type of fear takes over now. One that makes his heart ache. What if you’ve finally had enough, finally seen that he’s not good enough for you, not worth sticking around for? It makes him sick. He swallows hard and tries to clear the blistering thought from his head. No, that’s not you. You’re not cruel. You’re kind and gentle and loving. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. And you wouldn’t hurt him.

The sight of gears turning in his periphery catches his attention. He sees the cables pulling and the security panel go green, and he’s running to the elevator doors damn near ready to pry them open. He hastily tucks the 9mm into the waistband of his pajama pants, easily within reach if he needs it. Relief floods him when the huge metal doors grind open and he sees your pretty face on the other side. Then his heart drops when he realizes that that pretty face is scraped and splattered with blood.

Your hair is tangled and wet, dripping dirty water down your neck and staining the bright red of his your favorite hoodie. Your hands, which shake as they reach blindly towards him, are stained crimson and battered too. But it’s your eyes that haunt him. You look broken.

“Jay,” you croak out, unable to summon anything but a plea for the one person who can keep you safe.

The tears fall from your eyes at the same time that you collapse into Jason’s arms. He drags you inside and locks down the Belfry. Jason wants to panic but feels a strange sense of calm about himself. As loathe as he’d be to admit it, he finds himself falling into Bruce’s habit of assessment and action.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, voice steady and assured.

You don’t even hear him. You’re digging your hands into his shirt, clinging on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. He may very well be. He feels you going rigid and cold and he knows he has to get you stable before you descend further into shock.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, adding on and enunciating your name for emphasis.

That sparks some semblance of lucidity. Jason hasn’t called you by your name in months, much preferring you be his baby or his sweetheart or his doll, or simply his. If it jars you back to reality, so be it.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” he demands gently.

It all pours out of you like a flood.

You’d woken up early by chance this afternoon. Normally you’d just close your eyes and snuggle closer to Jason to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but you wanted to do something nice for him. So you’d gotten up and gone to Lemay’s Flower Emporium in Gotham Heights. You’d bought him the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, so big that you had to hold on to it with both arms. The taxi ride from the Heights back to Coventry Station went fine. You were almost home. So close that you could see the clock tower where your heart was sleeping peacefully.

Then you stopped at Commerce Avenue Station. You just wanted to get him some pastries from the little bakery tucked away on 3rd Street that you both love. It was a decent walk; you knew that. You also knew that Jason wouldn’t want you to go out of your way by yourself. But it was morning and you were a grown woman and you could handle yourself, right? Well, that’s what you thought until a pair of hands clamped down on your shoulders and yanked you violently into a side alley.

Jason had prepared you for something like this. You’d spent countless evenings with him teaching you self defense techniques in the training area of your home. None of it mattered because the man that had you by the shoulders slammed you so hard into the brick wall that all your thoughts went hazy. Before you could regain your footing, you were shoved to the ground. The bitter sting of your palms scraping open pierced through the fog, as did the crushing weight of the vile man on top of you. Fear shot through you as the man started tugging at his belt and you realized that this wasn’t intended to be a mugging. You tried to scream but a grimy hand clamped over your mouth, hitting your head against the ground and soaking your hair in dirty rain water and blood.

Your eyes darted around in search of someone—anyone. But no one was coming. You felt fingernails scratch against your stomach as clammy hands curled into the waistband of your sweatpants and suddenly you saw your savior. A brick from the damaged alleyway laid within reach. You didn’t even think when you grabbed it, when you swung it as hard as you could into the side of the man’s head. The corner hit his temple and he crumbled to the side. You rose to your knees and hit the man again. And again. All you could remember were Jason’s firm instructions: if someone makes it a choice of you or them, you make sure that it’s you no matter what it takes.

“I don’t r-remember anything else,” you sob into his chest. “There was so much blood, Jason. And his head—oh, God.”

Jason shushes you gently. He holds you tight in his arms like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even slightly, you’ll fade away on him.

“Don’t think about it, baby. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

“I killed someone, Jason. I killed someone.”

You look at him wide eyed—afraid, horrified, guilty. No. Jason won’t have that. You will not feel guilty over some lowlife scumbag who wanted to hurt you, who probably would have killed you. Jason can’t even stomach the thought. He wants to put a bullet into whatever’s left of that predator’s head. No, the only shame in you killing that man is that you got to him before Jason could.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, repeats your name again for emphasis. “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.”

“Someone’s dead because of me, Jay,” you argue, gripping him tighter as your panic rises.

“Baby, do you know how many people are dead because of me?” he asks. “Far, far more than I’d ever want you to know. Do you think I’m a monster, honey? That I did something wrong?”

He knows it’s an apples to oranges comparison. But you’ve used this same tactic on him so many times that he also knows it’s effective. Every time he demeans himself for something, you ask if he’d treat you the way he treats himself for the same thing. The answer is always no.

“No!” you reply emphatically. “You protect people. You do it to keep people safe.”

“You did it to keep yourself safe.”

“But—”

“No buts. Or ifs. No ands, either, just in case you get any ideas,” he says lightly, brushing a speck of blood off your cheekbone.

You smile at his stupid little comment and he feels the tension in his body release just slightly. As long as there’s light back in your eyes for even a moment, he knows that you’ll be okay. He picks you up, lets you cling your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest as he carries you to the bathroom upstairs. He runs you a bath and, after asking repeatedly if you were okay with it, undresses you and washes the blood and grime from your body. He wraps you in a big fluffy towel, dries and brushes your hair, and tends to your injuries before he bundles you up in his comfiest hoodie and pajama pants. He soothes you when your tears make their return and never leaves your line of sight because he knows he makes you feel safe.

The thought gnaws at him throughout the day. It outright scalds him as he lies in bed with you after deciding to skip patrol. He’s failed you. Failed to protect you, failed to ensure nothing harms a hair on your head. He’s failed at taking care of you, the one thing that matters more to him than anything else. He’s seconds away from spiraling into self hatred when your sweet voice comes calling, soft and pleading.

“Jay…please stay with me,” you say softly.

Your eyes are clear and focused again. You squeeze his waist tight where your arms are wrapped around him, like you’re physically trying to anchor him in place in your bed. The look on your face says that you know exactly where his mind was headed. You see right through him. It makes him feel more vulnerable than anything else, and it surprises him how much he loves the feeling. And Jason, as always and for eternity, can’t bring himself to deny you. So he pulls himself together and shoves all his self loathing down. He can deal with it later—you need him more right now.

“I’m right here, hayati. Not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”

He kisses you gently and feels some of that self hatred wash away when you chase after him for more goodnight kisses. He feels it dissipate even more when you fall asleep in his arms with a soft smile on your face. It’s all but forgotten as he drifts off too, safe in the knowledge that you’re here with him, that he can feel your heart beating pressed tight against his own.

[toxicanonymity]

The Spread 2: The Window

THOMAS HEWITT X F!READER

WORD COUNT: 3.8k | IN THE SPREAD UNIVERSE SUMMARY: Tommy takes care of you, his captive. He wants you to be okay, but he also has primal needs. WARNINGS: I8+ Dubcon (captivity/Stockholm) unsafe P in V, mild injuries from prior restraints, fingering, cum eating, thumb sucking. See also masterlist. SIZE & HAND KINK - Tommy is much larger than reader, can lift/maneuver her. He is canonically 6'5" and thicc. A/N: divider by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Tommy kept you in the shed. It was a humbling, being at his mercy for your survival, but he attended to your basic needs better than you might have thought. He even unboarded a damaged window to let in some sunlight. From the inside of the shed, he nailed a sheet over the window frame so you could peek out without being seen. Through the old, dirty glass, you could see a tree stump, some logs, and in the distance, the garage where you had been laid out shackled to the table. 

—-

In the yard, Tommy chopped wood on the tree stump. It was something to behold – his hulking body bending and flexing with each swing of the ax. His sheer mass. Watching him work, a tingle grew between your legs, and as soon as you felt it, your face heated up. You tried not to watch, instead inspecting the sheet's frayed bottom edge. After the echoes of wood-splitting stopped, you peeked out to see if he was coming your way, but he wasn’t. 

He was removing his button-down shirt, a scene that stirred the heat of your core. His upper body was left in a stained white tee that stretched obscenely over his middle, his biceps, and his herculean back. 

He resumed splitting the firewood. His weight would jiggle with each impact of the blade. You found yourself hoping his shirt would ride up so you could see just a little more of him, but the shirt was too long. You weren’t even sure if he wore boxers or briefs. What did it matter to you? It was a curiosity, really. All of him was. Such a man, a big, burly man, and something so primal about him. 

The memory was hazy — your first physical experience with Tommy, when you were shackled to the big table. You had been delirious with fear and confusion. But you vividly recalled his head between your legs and the way he feasted on you, intruding his tongue, searching for more to drink. And you remembered how hard you came, even if you didn’t really want to. 

You could have tried not to think about this. But the alternative was thinking about whether and how you’d ever get out of there. The world outside the shack was terrifying-–the strange, faded world you and your friends had stumbled into. 

The property was full of hazardous scrap metal, broken glass, and barbed wire. You didn’t have any shoes. It crossed your mind to push out the window—another hazard in itself—-but the shed was a safe haven in the middle of an apocalyptic hellscape. If you could teleport home, sure, you would, but the thought of what lay outside the shed made you content to stay put for the time being. You had a feeling Tommy wouldn’t let you go anyway. He didn't say so. He didn't say anything at all. But it was the way he had yanked you back to him when you merely crawled toward the garage door. There was no way he would let you go, as long as he noticed you leaving. 

You told yourself the danger outside was the only thing keeping you there. You told yourself Tommy was a bad man, or at best, a dangerous man. It was certainly safer to have him on your side. It was safer to have his protection. You tried to ignore the throb between your legs when you watched him. But you couldn't stop yourself from conjuring the sensation of his massive hands wrangling you to your feet, hauling you over his shoulder, gently nestling you into the wheelbarrow, covering you with blankets. It made your chest flutter to think about. With fear or desire, you couldn't be sure. 

A while after Tommy finished his chore, the squeak of the wheelbarrow approached the shed. He unlocked it and pushed it open. The rays of light that poured in were full of dust. He froze for a moment, squinting at the sight of you in his shirt, huddled in the corner. You squinted back at the way his torso stretched his stained t-shirt. Finally, he nodded at you with a soft grunt and began to bring in the freshly chopped wood. 

Each piece of wood looked like a twig, the way his hand wrapped around it. As he stacked the logs, the sweet stench of his sweat began to reach you. You felt very aware of your lack of panties and the way every scent hung in the air in this small space – Tommy’s sweat, the wood, the char on his apron.  

When he was finished with the wood, Tommy lingered in the shed, wiping his hands off on his pants and looking at the stacks he made. 

“Good job, Tommy,” you told him and watched his face soften. 

The floor quivered under each step as he thudded toward you. He faced you and cautiously squatted, still looming over you even in his more compact state. You watched his eyes as they scanned your body. When his gaze lingered on your ankle, you realized you were idly caressing skin that had been rubbed raw from the metal cuff he shackled you with in the garage. 

You withdrew your hand from the injury and pushed the shirt tail down between your legs, covering yourself as you reflexively tugged your knees closer to your chest. He gave a dissatisfied frown – you couldn’t see much of his mouth through his partial mask, but it colored the rest of his face. He held his enormous hand near your ankle, then glanced up at you hesitantly. 

You nodded, and he grazed you so lightly you could barely feel it at first. Your foot looked so small and delicate, framed by Tommy’s hand. His thumb brushed over the discoloration. You winced, not in pain but Tommy huffed. His brows knitted together as he looked up to study your face. Only a moment after your eyes met, he looked down and shook his head at himself, then hesitantly brushed your ankle again, but not directly on the bruise.    

“It’s okay,” you offered. “You didn’t mean to.”

He slowly nodded, but didn’t meet your eyes again. He lowered his knees to the floor, kneeling at your feet to inspect the rest of your body. 

The other ankle wasn’t as bad, only a small mark. Then he looked at your arms. He took your hand in his and his eyes almost seemed to smile at the contrast of your delicate fingers in the cradle of his palm. He caressed his way up your wrist and arm, looking for damage. Your heart raced, and your insides swelled with need. No damage on that side.

He moved to the other side. He held your hand for a moment, but started at your shoulder this time. His fingers were feather-light on their way down your arm and made your hair stand on end. The exploratory caress drew a soft sigh out of you. Tommy glanced at your face when he heard it. You cleared your throat and looked away, throbbing as his fingers continued their path. His hand froze when he found a small but pronounced scrape on your wrist. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then his eyes weakened. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him,adjusting the shirt tail between your legs with your free hand as you felt yourself getting wet.

He held your wrist and gently caressed it, then let you have your hand back. You put your hands together and rested them between your legs, holding down the shirt tail. His gaze followed your hands, and his eyes narrowed. He looked at you for a second then tugged at the shirttail (his shirttail) that was providing what little modesty you were allowed. 

Your heart skipped a beat and you moved your hands out of the way a little too fast, offering him access between your legs. He adjusted himself, and you ached at the thought of his cock. His breathing was shallow under the leather that covered his nose. He slowly, gently lifted the shirt, occasionally glancing at you for permission. He unbuttoned the bottom two buttons and you marveled at how those huge fingers made quick work of it. He pushed the shirt open at the bottom and out of the way. 

He scooted back without taking his eyes away, and bent forward to inspect you. A lock of curls fell in front of his eye and he brushed it back, securing it under the tie of his mask. His head was now between your legs, and he braced an elbow on the hay-covered floor.  His thumb brushed your inner thigh where it met your torso and you twitched in anticipation of his tongue lapping at your folds. How ravenous he was the day before. But Tommy took his time. He gently caressed your outer lips, one at a time. He lay his hand gently on your mound. He traced your inner thigh creases, eyes studious, concerned. 

Then he nudged your legs further apart to make room for himself and braced both elbows on the floor. He used his thumbs to gently spread your outer lips. You held your breath as he simply gazed into his feast. He grunted and his face flushed. You let out a tiny shiver of pleasure and his eyes lept to yours with concern. You felt your face heat up. 

He was worried he had hurt you there, too? You were moved by his apparent concern. You felt bad that he felt bad—for putting you in a sleeper hold, shackling you to a table, and having his way with you. Your face bristled when you thought of it that way.

Why did you feel sorry for him? You were just a toy he didn't want to break. 

Still, you reassured him, “I’m fine.” He studied your face and nodded, then sniffed.

You should have been relieved when Tommy didn’t force his mouth on you again, but your heart fell when he sat up on his knees. 

Tommy hesitantly approached your neck with one hand, and you nodded. He traced your vein. His thumb brushed over the front of your throat, and his fingers lingered where your neck met your shoulder. Then, his other hand came to your shirt, and he unbuttoned the rest of it. His fat fingers were so nimble. 

Your nipples sharpened as the last button came undone. He looked at your face again, and this time it felt like more of a warning than an ask. He nudged the fabric apart, over your breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight of them, but he didn’t let his eyes linger for long until they were pouring over your torso looking for other signs of damage from his ravishing. He ran his fingers and palms over your chest, your tummy, your sides, making your flesh erupt with goosebumps as his eyes scanned each area. Then he inhaled slow and deep as his attention returned to your breasts. 

Without looking up, he cradled one breast. He closed his eyes for a moment as he felt the shape of it in his hand. He gently kneaded it. You bit your lip and closed your eyes. Then you felt his hot breath on your tit. You opened your eyes to see his pupils blown out under heavy eyelids as his lips approached. He took your nipple into his mouth and let his eyes close again as he tongued, then sucked it. He seemed to suck as much of your breast into his mouth as he could, grunting softly, before focusing back on your nipple, and suckling at it. 

The mask made it hard to breathe through his nose, so he would break the seal of his mouth every couple of seconds before latching on again. He couldn’t seem to get enough, but his mouth was gentle. The pleasure zapped through your chest, down your torso to the floor, where you knew you were making a mess by now. He sucked, and tongued, and moaned, “Mm,” at a pitch that told you his voice must be sexy if he ever spoke. “Mmm,” he moaned into your breast again,and then a moan slipped out of you. 

When he opened his eyes, he glanced up at you before releasing your tit. His mouth hung slightly open. He adjusted himself and inhaled a big chest full of air. Your thighs opened slightly, and it didn’t go unnoticed. He palmed himself over his pants and when he took his hand away, your breath hitched at the thick, curved shape sitting on his enormous thigh. 

—--

Tommy looked around for a moment, seeming to consider the situation, which was that your legs were spread with him between them. 

He reached between your thighs and gently caressed your folds with the backs of two fingers.. The quietest growl escaped his chest. He rubbed himself once over his pants, then he straddled your leg and approached your cunt palm-up. His thick, dark eyelashes fluttered as he looked down at his hand engulfing your pussy. His four fingers barely fit between your thighs. A finger prodded ever so slightly at your entrance, and your hole fluttered needily, making him grunt. You tensed as he wriggled his ring finger inside to the first knuckle. How did you feel so full already? He braced one hand on the wall behind you, and slid his digit further into you with a barely audible gasp. He held his finger there for a moment, enveloped in your snug, throbbing warmth,with you melting under his touch, fully relaxing back against the wall.  

Tommy loomed over you on his knees. As he fucked you with his finger, your half-lidded eyes were fixed on the massive erection on his thigh. He prodded your hole with another finger and his hips pushed forward as he tried to wedge it inside with the other. You gasped as the second finger stretched you wide. You whimpered and he withdrew the second digit. He didn’t have to, but it wasn’t what you really wanted anyway.

You found your hand reaching for his thigh. And at first contact, your chest opened up, flooding you with desire. You traced the hard shape in his pants, and the stiff warmth under your palm made you twitch and swoon. It made you needy and sleepy. He moaned, then shuddered and slid his wet fingers out of your cunt. 

He glanced behind himself at the door, then unbuttoned  his pants and pulled down his underwear. 

With you slumped down against the wall, and Tommy on his knees, his massive cock was almost at eye level and you couldn’t look away from it. He held it in a loose fist, and looked you over. He tilted his head, then let go of his cock, letting it bob heavily as he leaned forward and scooped you up with his hands under your arms.  He brought you into straddling his folded knees. His cock brushed your folds as his arm wrapped around you, and he held you close. He smelled like fire and man. 

He clumsily tried to pull you down without taking care to make sure it was lined up just right. 

“Wait,” you whispered. “Just a second,” and you made a move to try to help him find the right place. 

But he grumbled and held you tighter. He reached under you with one hand, still holding you with the other. He got his tip into place, then with his massive arm around you, he forced you down on his cock, dividing your walls which were still a little tender from the first time. He groaned as he bottomed out as deep as he could be. You whimpered with the burn and were grateful for the prelude – his painstakingly light touch and feral suckling had made you so wet.

Your body adapted, and soon, the overwhelming feeling was one of being occupied, your insides perfectly rearranged to fit him just right. He held your hips, dwarfing your torso with his massive hands. He held you all the way on his cock, his chest expanding with deep breaths. His cock twitched as your walls slowly welcomed his monstrous girth. 

After holding you impaled on his cock for a minute, you briefly spasmed around it. He took a deep breath through his mouth, letting it out as a growl. He began to move you up and down on his shaft, using his hands. It felt like you were split in two. He moved you faster and faster and you whimpered as he bounced you like a rag doll on his massive cock, making your gut dizzy with pleasure the faster he went. You held on tight, gripping his tight t-shirt, then putting your hands around his neck, nestled under his dampening hair, against the cool sweat of his skin. 

He got up on his knees and braced a hand against the wall behind you, holding you steady with his other arm. You held on tighter. He thrust into you as he held you steady. He used you as a sleeve for his pleasure. As his massive length pummeled into you, he grunted and sighed. His muffled, feral sounds touched something deep in your core and lit it on fire. The sweat of his shirt wafted into your nostrils. His hair grazed your head as he pounded you. 

He stopped, fully seated within your warmth, and nudged his shirt off your shoulders so you were totally nude. Then he began moving you slower, up and down his length. You could feel each vein of his cock as it dragged heavily, pushing itself through your soft, snug channel with each stroke. Your hips moved, grinding you against the softness of his pelvic area. You wedged your hand between the two of you and he flinched at the feeling of your knuckles digging into his belly. He snatched your hand and moved it. 

His grip became bruising as he took back control. He moved you at a jackhammer pace and your chest opened up with butterflies as you got closer and closer. He grunted and snarled and you hung onto the edge of bliss until you couldn’t, and you fully unraveled around his cock, whimpering and moaning with each contraction. He fucked you through it until you finally whimpered, “Tommy.” He growled and held you still. He tilted his head at you. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the strong musk, the sweat, the char, the wood, as your body drew itself back together. 

With you still on his cock, Tommy bent forward and laid you down on the hay-covered floor. It scratched your back, but your body was buzzing so warmly you didn’t mind.  

—

He slowly withdrew his length, then he held it in his hand, and you marveled at it-–thick, veiny, dripping. Wild, dark hair wet with a faintly white blend of his precum and you.

He hadn’t cum yet. You wanted him to. You wanted so badly to see him cum. You could smell it, practically taste it.

He braced one hand on his knee and with a barely audible groan, he stood up, pants still undone. You felt a sense of loss as he moved away.  

Tommy glanced toward the window, then turned away from you. He squeezed his cock and pulled his underwear up over it. 

“No,” you protested. “No, you don’t have to—come back,” you pleaded. “It’s okay.” You got up on your knees. He watched you skeptically, chest heaving. You wondered if he hadn’t cum in front of anyone before. “I would like to,” you started, then cleared your throat. “Please put it in my mouth, I’d really like that.”

He looked at you, frozen.

“Please,” you repeated, then wet your lips and stared at his cock. 

He slowly made his way back to you, and you opened your mouth. “I can–” you offered, but he didn’t let you suck it. He brought the tip to your lips, but kept his fist around his length, pumping it slowly. It squelched obscenely with each stroke. 

When precum beaded at his tip, your tongue darted out to collect it. He growled, and his free hand seized your jaw, holding your mouth still and open as he continued pumping his cock. Then, when he could hang on no longer, he pointed it into your mouth. He came with a rumble in his chest and a low groan from his throat. The first, thick rope hit the roof of your mouth. The next went directly to your throat. And by the sixth ribbon or so, it was dribbling onto your tongue, thick, salty, and heady. You were salivating and could hardly wait to swallow. 

He dropped his tip onto your tongue and it sat there heavily for a moment while he breathed. You dared to wrap your lips around it until he quickly backed up, taking it away, with a thick string of drool connecting you for a moment. You swallowed and wiped your mouth with the back of your wrist. His face was pink as he composed himself and stuffed it back in his pants. 

You sat back on the floor, and he did a double take. He knelt down again and laid his hand on your mound. He scanned your body like he had hurt you all over again.  

“Tommy, I’m fine,” you assured him. “I promise, I’m good.” He squinted at you. “That felt good,” you repeated, nodding, face burning. “Good, Tommy,” you whispered.  

He nodded back hesitantly. 

He left and didn’t lock the door. While he was gone, you put his shirt back on, didn’t button it, but wrapped it around you. He returned with a few more blankets. He picked you up and laid one down under you. He folded one under your head, and used the last one to cover you.  

As he finished tucking you in, a drop of sweat fell from his hair onto your neck. He brushed it off with his thumb. And as he began to take his hand away, you reached for it. You brought his hand to your mouth and wrapped your lips around his thumb. Your tongue collected the salty drop of perspiration. And as you swallowed it, you sucked his thumb more into your mouth. As you gently sucked his massive thumb, your eyes closed, and when you opened them again, he was looking at you softly. You released his thumb, and he gently cradled your jaw in his hand. Then he slid his fingers down to your neck. He could have squeezed or snapped the life out of you with no effort at all, but you knew he wouldn't. All he did was admire you, softly stroking your delicate skin for a moment. Then, when he took his hand off your neck, he brushed his thumb down your chin. 

He braced his hands on his hefty thighs and stood up. He adjusted his mask as he slowly left the shed. Once he was outside, you heard the padlock click into place, and then the squeak of his wheelbarrow fading into the distance.

Thank you for reading!

Your engagement helps a lot in motivating me and letting me know what you enjoyed so you might see more of it.

[2crtz]

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ THE FALL INTO HIS HEART .

WARNINGS: light nsfw thoughts, brushing of the hand (wink), arranged marriage, haters to slightly friendly strangers. this is mainly fluff. CHARACTERS: capitano x f!readers SYNOPSIS: the tsaritsa ordered capitano to take your hand in marriage despite his better judgement. one day in the garden ignited a new version of you, and capitano found himself at the window, watching you look serene under the sunlight.  WORD COUNT: 1.439 A/N: this is my first post on this account and hope i don't disappoint. i love capitano and i want to write more of him (…and other genshin men). part two is out!

Capitano never agreed to an arranged marriage, however, whatever the Tsaritsa orders him, he obliges without protest. 

His first glance into your eyes ignited flames within his veins. If a look could kill, you would have fallen dead at his feet. You never agreed to this predicament, but you could not refuse your parents' wishes no matter how you deny.

The wedding was not one to write down. For the guests, yes, it was a magical day, but when it was time to finally retire in your new home, there was a cold, distant silence between you and your new husband. 

Since meeting Capitano, not a word had been said between the two of you. A foreboding feeling captured your senses, worried about if you had to preform that night, but Capitano did not make the impression he was interested in consummating the marriage.

He ended the night by not sharing another gaze and left to his separate chambers.  

You could finally breathe freely for the first time that day.

────

A month has passed of being married and there has been no improvement in your relationship. Most days are silent, while others, only a few words were spoken.

When Capitano does speak, a trace of malice taints his tone, you found yourself scared. 

Hearing his footsteps approach you made your blood run cold, the armor clanking causing you to flinch, and his low, stoic tone has you frozen in place. He has never given you a reason to hate him, but he shows himself as a person who shouldn't be trifled with.

The tales you've heard about the Harbinger could stir fear in anyone who have dared their ears to know the horrors he's caused. 

This marriage was a forced one, and one you wished was a nightmare you longed to free yourself from. 

Maybe, one day, you will wake up.

────

Capitano's office sat in the far end of the manor, away from your chambers. In there placed a grand window overlooking the green, lush gardens where he could look out at when the orders of the Tsaritsa are irritating.

Today was one of those days.

The towering man stood before the window, his gaze sweeping over the vibrant blooms and the sunlit waters shimmering like liquid gold. Yet today, the scene held a view, poised within the landscape of his vision, an unfamiliar change in the shades of green, one that belonged to you.

Stood there, in the purest shades of white, a gown that fitted loosely on your frame, looking breathtakingly serene.

Unaware of his eyes, standing there with not a care in the world, not knowing anyone is watching, you were unapologetically being you.

Capitano's head screamed to look away, to leave you be, but his eyes betrayed him. They were glued onto the image. It's like a reenactment of a live painting in front of him.

You were like a jewel, unearthed from beneath the surface that sparkled from the hitting sun for the first time. A sight he thought he could never experience in his lifetime. 

Watching you was a sight that Capitano continued to watch even after telling himself that he should stop, but he needed it. It was like a shot of heroin. He craved for you, watching you, seeing you in a light he never thought he would.

It's been weeks and he had yet to stop, and didn't plan to. Even if he didn't mutter a word to you for weeks, the silence was overshadowed by this new habit. A new secret was curated within weeks.

A secret of watching his wife.

He had never set foot onto the garden-- until now.

As he watched your movements, he noticed an odd limp in your steps. Making a mental note of it, he heard a thump followed by a wail. 

His spine straightened.

You were nowhere in sight.

Capitano's eyes moved rapidly across the garden to find you, his pulse quickening by the second, but he couldn't. He stepped out of his office and walked purposefully towards the garden.

His movements were sharp, yet his thoughts raced despite his better judgement. Capitano swiftly moved through the hedges, his sword cutting through the thick bushes. The ground beneath his feet was soft, littered with stones that could cause a limp from walking of them barefoot. It could be easy to trip over one, and once realizing that, Capitano's search became more frantic.

He first heard a soft whine followed by feet coming into view. 

"Gods--" He muttered as he came by your side, inspecting your condition.

"I think--" You swallowed between words from the pain shooting from your foot. "my ankle."

Capitano's eyes lowered to your swollen ankle, his brows furrowing with concern. Slowly, he bent down onto his knees beside you, his hand gently grabbed your foot.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly light. There was no hatred or spite, only a voice that you could relax in. It was unfamiliar, but comforting.

The touch was soft, and his demeanor grew tender. It was the first time you saw this side of him he tried to conceal. Even through your teary eyes and blurred vision, you saw the part of him he tried to keep hidden.

Your ankle was swollen and most likely sprained. Even from his light touch, you winced from the pain.

"I-I'm fine, I swear." you murmured, trying to not burden him more than you've already have, but he quickly dismissed it.

Capitano looped his arm under your knees and gathered you in his arms with ease.

"My wife is injured, and as your husband, it is my duty to be by your side. In sickness and in health."

The way he said it was like he was just repeating the vows he made, but to you, it was reassurance. This was his way of telling you that no matter the hardships or trials in your marriage, he remains by your side.

"Thank you." you whispered.

He only nodded and carried you off to your chambers.

────

Your husband carefully wrapped your ankle and elevated it to ease the swelling.

"You are not allowed to move from this bed unless told to. Should you need assistance, ring this bell and I will come." He held up the brass bell before placing it on your bedside table, softly clinking as it settled into place.

As he turned to exit your room, you quickly grabbed the bell and rang it.

Almost instantly, Capitano turned around.

"My dress is stained with dirt." your tone was low and quiet, laced with embarrassment that you were not capable of walking over to your dresser to collect fresh new clothes.

Understanding your unspoken request, Capitano walked towards your drawers and opened each one to find your nightgowns.

"Second to last drawer." Seeing him rummage through the articles of clothing was slightly humorous to you, it tugged the corner of your lips.

Following your instructions, he finally found a gown he liked and walked to you. "Will this do?" he asked, tone still low and even.

You nodded, reaching out to grab it, your fingers brushing his.

"Do you require any assistance with clothing yourself?" Even though it was an innocent question, your face began to heat up. Unbeknownst to Capitano, you didn't wear any undergarments beneath a nightgown.

If he pulled your dress up slightly, you would become vulnerable. From that thought alone, of your husband seeing you nude, caused your nipples to harden.

Capitano's gaze lowered slightly to see harden peaks appear through the thin fabric. Thankfully, his helmet hid his eyes.

"No," You quickly shielded your chest. "I can manage."

Like clockwork, Capitano nodded and exited your chambers without sparing another word.

As Capitano entered his office, he could finally breathe properly. After the scene he had witnessed, it became difficult for him to get air in his lungs.

Your breasts were on the forefront of his mind. The stiffened nubs were begging for his touch, taunting him that it'll be something he could only do in his wildest dreams.

The frustration ate him alive. If he could, he would go back into your room and show you what more he can do for you.

Hot and moist air filling the room, slapping noises, your moaning and pleads hitting his ears, he would do anything to sink himself deep inside your folds.

With those thoughts flooding his mind, he felt ashamed that he was taking advantage of you in his head. It was an absurd fantasy that he knows will never happen.

Only in his dreams.

do not modify, edit, or republish.

[janitorhutcherson]

Marked Only for Me (Olderbf!Mike Schmidt NSFW)

hii!! okay, i have never written smut before, so i am begging you all to plz be patient with me! this is very long, so my apologies.this is a part of my olderbf!mike series, so hope u guys likeee. also, for this let's make the assumption mike went to college and all of that before his security jobs. he just had burn out and was there, hence why he's working for a major company with what would be little experience. anyways, lmk what u think!

summary: mike comes home and needs to blow off some steam

warnings: nudity, sex, name calling, hair pulling, choking, marking, possessiveness, an implied free use situation, fluff at the end!!

word count: 2,925

nsfw after the cut!!

You were sitting at the kitchen table doing homework in the home you shared with your boyfriend, Mike. You're 20, a couple of years into college, drudging through math problems that make your head feel like it's sitting inside a frying pan. You had to admit this wasn't your ideal way to relax after a 10-hour shift at the bookstore you helped run. Things had been hectic with Black Friday, your store doing a special sale where everything was 50% off, and bookworms were coming out of random corners to fill their already overflowing shelves for cheap. Of course, being younger, you were the one who had to do the grunt work, carrying piles of books to and from inventory, dealing with the more demanding customers as your older coworkers would tell you that they "just couldn't handle kids these days" and that it'd certainly be better for the younger one to do it. Luckily, though, Abby was at a friend's house, meaning you didn't have distractions. You were as focused as could be with a cup of coffee beside you, the sunlight that was once beaming through the cracks of the blinds now completely gone. You were focused, your brain functioning as much as it would with the problems. Things were quiet.

...That is until Mike stormed in. He was frustrated, angry, an invisible red-hot aura beaming off him. His hair was messier than it typically was. The softness in his eyes was instead replaced with a cold look. His eyebrows were furrowed together on his forehead, his jaw sharp and defined as he gritted his teeth. Although this wasn't common, it wasn't necessarily rare either. Mike worked for a publishing company as a marketing manager. He'd gotten the job after a few months of hard work to make up for the slack on his resume after working at the mall and the pizzeria. He moved up the ladder quickly, his company admiring his friendly attitude and his somewhat shy but personable behavior. He loved his job much more than his past ones. He felt happier, got more time off, was less stressed, and was definitely safer. Even with that being said, sometimes shit just pissed him off.

Today's big issue was a meeting with his marketing team, which also involved the big guy over his head. He felt like he was criticized, demeaned, dragged through the mud, and all in front of the team he was supposed to be respected by, listened to. On a typical day, this might not have pissed him off so much. He might've mentally plotted the demise of his boss, but he wouldn't have caused the outburst he did at work, and today had been particularly awful. He'd been late, burned his breakfast, knicked himself while shaving, and even gotten into what he considered to be a little fight with you the night before. Even though you'd both settled the argument, made up, and kissed before bed, he had been thinking about it all day. He'd then spilled coffee on his brand new tie, leaving a stain, and then... that happened. Mike snapped. He yelled at his boss, showing his ass in front of everyone, causing a meeting in his boss's office to end with an inevitable write-up. 

Now, he was home, trudging in all his bad energy, disrupting your study time. You couldn't even be frustrated with him, his demeanor proving he'd obviously had a bad day. You went to stand up to greet him with a hug, a kiss or two, but before you could, Mike stormed over to you, grabbing your arm harshly. You gasped, slightly thrown off by his sudden actions. He pulled you closer to him, his eyes locked on yours and his breath heavy against your neck.

"What the fuck, Mike?" you said, your eyebrows furrowed as you stared into his cold brown-green orbs.

"Listen to me," he grunted, his voice low and gravely. "I have had a very, very bad day, and I need you to be a good girl for me, okay? I don't want no shit, no back talk, you'll listen to what I say.. do you understand?" 

His hand still gripped your arm, his fingernails digging into your skin. You could feel yourself starting to drip, your panties feeling damp against your skin as your body buzzed with excitement. All you could do was nod your head, your eyes locked on his as they clouded over with lust. Mike snapped his fingers in your face, looking at you from underneath his eyebrows. 

"Use your words," he demanded. 

"Yes sir, I understand," you stuttered out, your cheeks flushing red. Mike's face was now pleased, his entire demeanor softening a little. His hand stayed wrapped around your arm as he tugged you into the living room, pushing you roughly onto the couch. You huffed from the impact, your eyes widening as Mike dropped to his knees before you. He slid your sweatpants off, prying your knees open to reveal your see-through pink panties soaked beyond belief. His eyes were hungry, his mouth open, almost drooling as he looked directly into your eyes. 

"All for me, babydoll?" he teased, his hand sliding in between your legs as he drew small circles around your clothed clit. You nodded your head as a whimper escaped your lips, the aching in between your legs only growing worse.

"What did I tell you?" he said, his words sharp as he smacked the inside of your thigh.

"Yes sir," you corrected, your words wavering after the impact from his hand. Mike nodded, satisfied with your answer, as he slowly slid your panties down your thighs, wasting no time. You gasped once again as the cold air hit your wet cunt. Mike exhaled sharply, taking a moment to admire you in front of him. His eyes trailed up to your pathetic look, your already-glazed-over eyes, down to your barely clothed chest, only a sports bra covering your breasts he loved so much, then down to in between your legs, where you were so wet, and all just for him. His lips trailed up to your tummy, sucking on the skin in different areas, from above your abdomen all the way up to right below where your sports bra stayed, purple marks forming.

He then dove in without hesitation, his large hands gripping your sides as he leaned in, moving one hand to take his index and middle finger to spread your pussy lips. His mouth instantly attached to your clit. You yelped as you bucked your hips forward, his lips meeting the sensitive area. Mike pinched your thigh, a sign to quiet down until he said to do otherwise, two of his fingers reaching out to be shoved into your mouth.

“Suck,” he demanded, his fingers going as far back down your throat as they could. You did what you were told, sucking on his fingers and drawing your own circles with your tongue. His tongue drew tiny and slow circles against the set of nerves, your hands reaching down to tangle in his hair from desperation. God, he loved eating you out. The way you yelped, quivered, shook underneath him, your hands tangled in his hair to keep yourself from going over the edge. He fucking loved it, you were the perfect cure to his anger, calming, something he could take it out on in a productive way that made everyone feel good. Your whines were suppressed as you bit your lip, your teeth digging into the softer skin. Mike pulled away for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once again as he admired your face, your now swollen lips.

“You know what, baby? Be as loud as you want for me now, princess,” he mumbled, going back to attacking your wet cunt. Slurping sounds filled the living room mixed with your moans and whimpers as his tongue slid up and down your slit, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck as hard as possible when his tongue wasn’t fucking inside of you. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. His cock was rock hard inside of his work pants, his own face flustered as he rocked back and forth against himself. His tongue continued to lap at your clit as he slid two of his large fingers in and out of you, your walls clenching around them. You could feel yourself drawing close and Mike could tell. Your thighs attempted to clench around his head, but before they could his calloused hands pried them open, holding them apart. Just as your eyes began to clamp shut, your thighs shaking as the knot in your stomach started to untie, Mike pulled away. You gasped as he slipped his fingers out, furrowing your eyebrows as you stared at him with an angry glare. He chuckled as he stood up, raising his eyebrows up and down as he leaned down, his hand lifting your chin up.

“Poor baby, was all ready to finish for me, hm? You were gonna be ‘Mikey’s little slut,’ weren’t you? That’s what you tell me you are, right? My little slut?” he teased, no remorse behind his eyes. You huffed, punching his arm before crossing your arm, too out of it to say anything from the knot that remained in your stomach but too angry to take initiative.

“Awh, don’t be mad, princess,” he snickered, shaking his head as he leaned further down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “You really think I’m done with you?”

With that being said, Mike pushing you back on the couch. His right hand held you down as his lift struggled to unbutton his pants. He pulled his pants down, letting them fall around his ankles as he yanked his boxers off, his cock springing out. He stepped out of them, letting you go for a moment to unbutton his shirt before tossing it off as well. Mike then looked over to you, leaning forward, ripping your thin sports bra off of your chest, your breasts now exposed to him. He licked his lips, excitement overflowing his body. He crawled on top of you, attempting to make the two of you fit on the couch. His mouth attacked your nipples, biting and gnawing at your skin. His mouth moved up to your neck, sucking and prodding and biting until purple marks were left all around, ones you were all too aware would be impossible to hide later on. He moved down to your chest once again, marks all across your collarbone, your tits. Mike’s hands gripped onto your neck as he sat up, looking into your glossed over eyes. He pressed his lips to your ear, a soft kiss against your earlobe.

“’M about to fuck you so hard you see stars,” he said, his voice causing prickles to cover your skin. Then, without hesitation Mike slammed into you, his pace staggered. Your moans were as loud as could be, the sound of skin hitting against each other and the echoes of both of your voices filling the living room. His thrusts were sloppy as he felt himself starting to get close to the edge, his hands pushing your hips down and into the couch. Your entire body sunk into the cushions as he used everything in him, his cock abusing your poor cunt. You swore you saw stars until you felt his hand gently smack against your cheek, your eyes averting back to his gaze.

“You’re gonna look at me when I fuck you, princess,” he growled, his hand sliding up to your hair as he tugged. You grew close, clenching around his length, your thighs starting to shake. Your core was threatening to come undone.

“Fuck, Mikey, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum,” you whimpered out, closing your eyes as your head leaned back against the side of the couch.

“Cum for me, baby,” Mike stated. You did as he demanded, finishing around his cock as your liquids gushed against him. His thrusts grew sloppier before he pulled out, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that baby? You did so good for me, listening to what I said, letting me use your pretty cunt,” he stated, his thumb caressing your cheek. He then resituated, pulling you off the couch, pushing you onto the ground. You were now in the same position he was in earlier, completely fucked out. Your lips were dull from exhaustion, your cheeks red and your hair knotted in certain areas. Mike’s cock was directly in front of you, his hand guiding for you to suck on him. Your lips wrapped around his tip, the tip of your tongue licking his slit. You worked your mouth down his length, licking the sides. Mike’s moans became frantic, desperate as your mouth worked its magic. His hand tangled in your hair as he pushed your head up and down, thrusting up into your mouth.

“That’s it, baby, feels so good,” he grunted. With no warning, Mike pulled out, spilling his load all over your face. He twitched, his moans loud and low, your tongue stuck out to catch his cum. His body laid against the couch, feeling heavy as his head leaned against the back of his couch. A tired grin was on his lips as you also smiled up at him, licking yourself clean. Mike looked down at you, a chuckle releasing his lips. It was obvious all of the tension and anger was gone, as his once cold eyes were once again the soft loving brown they used to be. He looked at you with adoration, always amused by how gorgeous you were even after rigorous activity and getting your face painted.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, picking you up bridal style as he leaned down to kiss you, not caring about his own load that was now on his face. He sat you down on the bathroom counter, grabbing a washcloth out of the cabinet, running it under warm water. He started to wipe away all of the liquids covering your face, pressing kisses to your skin here and there, looking your body up and down as he admired all of the marks he left.

“You always know how to make me feel good and how to take care of me after,” you croaked out, your voice laced with exhaustion as you smiled. Mike smiled back at you, his hand tenderly touching your cheek before pushing your hair behind your ear.

“I love you, of course I want to make sure ‘m taking care of you,” he said softly. His lips once again pressed against yours. “Thank you for letting me… you know.. blow off some steam,” he said, wiggling his brows.

“Of course, honey. I was worried, though. Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, leaning forward as you slid off of the counter, grabbing a new washcloth and beginning to wipe his face with it as well. Mike sighed, shaking his head as he looked at her with sad eyes.

“I just- I got into it pretty badly with my boss at work and got criticized, I felt like a wounded animal, like I had to fight. I’m so used to having to fight that I don’t know how to shut up and listen,” he mumbled. “It was so bad, Y/N, and I got written up after that awful day I had this morning… I just.. I don’t know. I do know I feel better now, and would feel even better if we cuddled for a bit and then went out for food?” he suggested, spilling his thoughts to you. You giggled, nodding your head as you reached up to press a kiss to him. You dragged him into your shared bedroom, the two of you cuddling up together under the blankets. You turned to your side, your eyes locked with his.

“I love you, Mike, so much. And I’m so, so unbelievably proud of you. Thank you, for always making me feel good too, for taking care of me, for being such a good brother to Abby, just… thank you,” you said softly. Mike looked back at you lovingly, his appreciation for you apparent.

“I love you, princess, you don’t even know how much,” he mumbled. His eyes were heavy. He leaned over and set an alarm for an hour from now, the two of you planning on a night of dinner out and grocery shopping. He curled his arm around you lazily, your body limp and exhausted against his as you yawned.

“Oh, and baby?” he asked. You hummed, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “Wear a crop top when we go out, I want everyone to see you all marked up.” You giggled as you laid your head down, drifting off to sleep.

When you two went out, you did just that, wearing a cropped scoop neck shirt with a low-rise flowy skirt. He showed off any marks you’d left, too, your possessive boyfriend holding you close anytime someone’s eyes linger too long. Mike was strange, possessive, and sometimes a little of what most would say was unsettling, but to you, he was the love of your life, the man who made you feel good, the one who fucked you until you couldn’t think. You loved him, and you always would, blessing you with a lifelong supply of angry sex and aftercare cuddles.

[livelaughlovesubs]

~ 01.10 - (whb) Lucifer ~

Dom!reader x sub!lucifer - reader is gender neutral

Warning: nipple play, lactation, dacryphilia, marking, objectification (a little), pet names, teasing, praise kink (a little), cumming untouched, eating cum (both), cum play, tongue kiss, mind break, sub-space, dacryphilia

~ Word count: 5.7k ~

Nini!rant: okay.. huh.. first one done, and it’s our beautiful luci

Kinktober list 2024

The sound of birds chipping echoed through the greenhouse, where you were enjoying some afternoon tea. Their singing wasn’t rhythmic nor melodic, yet it was calming and quite befitting the atmosphere. At least they served the purpose of breaking the silence between you and the person sitting across you. He requested your presence and had you come all the way to Paradise Lost, only to play house with you.

This was truly an awful experience, getting interrogated like this by none other than the strongest being in hell, the Lucifer himself. Though can you call it interrogation, when all he has done was staring at you through his bangs? At least the treats were good, you were able to distract yourself from the infuriating situation at hand. The smell of tea filled your nostrils, it tickled the tip of your nose. A single sip was all it took to bring a smile to your face, a pleased expression showing in response to the rich aroma of your drink.

All of the flavors were amazing and exquisite. It was just the right amount of sweetness to brighten your mood, and enough bitterness to keep your mind alerted. Despite the tense situation, or the lack of it to be precise, he was still the first creation of god. That’s a title worth fearing. The first light of dawn, the first angel, basically the one who has witnessed it all. It was a given that the pressure would linger despite the seemingly gentle atmosphere. No matter how he tried to mask this interaction up as a simple tea party, you were going to be careful around him. Better that than sorry.

You took another sip, feeling the warmth of the tea chase out the chilly sensations from before. Something was missing though, you were craving some milk with your tea.

The gentle sunlight felt like a warm embrace, a blanket that sheltered all of hell. If Gehenna had the same weather as here, then Leraye must be feeling pretty down. A soft smile formed on your lips at the thought of that sunshine of a child, and the corners of your mouth twitched ever so slightly. Lucifer, who sat opposite to you, observed your every mimic with a nonchalant expression, studying them even.

His messy hair, as bright as the light, shone alongside the sun. After a moment’s hesitation, he talked in his usual deep yet tender voice, one that could bring his subject to the brink of ecstasy, “For what my brother did, I want to apologize.” The first words that left his throat were apologetic ones, then he swiftly changed it to a firm tone, “I’d be willing to make up to you.”

Make up to you, he said. Was he perhaps trying to lessen the sins of his dearest ones? Now that’s an interesting offer, it caught you off guard and sent a chill down your spine. As if someone just pushed you into a pond. Nevertheless, you had to be careful, one wrong step could end up with your head rolling around, and you still haven’t decided on how dangerous that guy was. If we were to go by what Satan mentioned, it would take the power of all the six kings of hell to have a chance at defeating this guy.

With lingering doubts, you opened your mouth, replying after much contemplating and care, “Could you elaborate on that?” First, you needed to know what he meant by his words, to clear off any possible misunderstandings. To make up to you, it sounds like he owes you a favor. Of course, you despised that self-righteous angel for his deeds and sins committed against you, yet you would never blame it on someone not involved. His gaze shifted from you to his cup, staring at his reflection in the liquid.

He had a guess about how you must feel at this moment, hence his explanation, “A sexual favor is also possible.” Those words had an unfamiliar ring to Lucifer, it was the first time in eons that he used them. In a deep, hidden corner of his mind, he wished to know what you had done with his relatives. What was the saying again? Curiosity killed the cat, but the cat had nine lives and came back satisfied? “You may show me what you did with my brothers.” He suggested, adding some information to his previous statement.

That would never happen, at least not now, not when you are in such a vulnerable position. Who knows what he might do with you after finding out about all the things you did, about how you made his brothers cry. Still you were intrigued, seeing this flawless… person— cry would surely be quite the adventure and bring forth a fitting satisfaction, even so, you valued your life, enough to not want to die a gruesome death.

The best way to get out of this mess would be to act kind and naive. You smiled insincerely, hiding your skeptic feelings behind a carefully crafted mask. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine, there is no need for you to apologize.” A tone tender enough to make flower petals seem rough, paired with a bright smile full of rejection.

“Is that so.” The angel in front of you acknowledged your words, he used his arms to push himself up from his seat. Now that he stood up, you remembered how intimidating he actually was. Considering that he was incredibly tall, adding on the fact he also owned a fearsome aura around him. It was a feel unique to the seraphim, one that just reeked of unyielding pride. 

Your finger clenched around your teacup tighter, awaiting his next move. “Follow me,” Lucifer said. It wasn’t a question nor was he polite about it, it was an order. There was no doubt he was an angel, some habits just never change. Though in all honesty? Every single one of his mannerisms reminded you of one. The subtly arrogance, how he seemed like he felt superior to everyone, the commanding voice, and the cold shoulder he gave you. Should you really follow such a person? What choices did you have, when it was a direct order from the avatar of pride?

Even so, you wanted to voice your concerns first, gulping down the knot in your throat. “Where are we going?” You tried to sound unsuspecting and cheerful, the last thing you wanted was to accidentally offend him. To be honest all you wanted was to run and escape this suffocating place. “To my bedroom.” He answered nonchalantly, as if that was the most normal thing in the world, to invite someone you barely knew to your bedroom.

One didn’t need to be a genius to guess what his intentions were, so you had to set the record straight right here right now. Who knows, maybe he will let you go if your preferences don’t align. That would be quite a nice outcome indeed. After mustering up enough courage, you stood up as well, looking him sternly in the eyes as you made yourself clear, “If your plan is what I think it is, then please pardon me. I do not wish to get intimate with a stranger.”

A stranger, you said. Right, that’s one way to describe your current relationship. Lucifer thought about your words carefully, looking for the right things to say to convince you. Your logic was understandable, it was the correct way to do it after all. Though he didn’t have time to wait for you to open up to him. The only reason why he wanted to share a night with you was to get Solomon’s descendant on his side, and doing it in the romantic, patient way wouldn’t do. For that, he was too jealous of Solomon to treat his descendants with compassion.

Besides this was hell, the most efficient way to get things done was simply through a sexual act. That way you can find out a lot about the other party. Long story short, he wasn’t going to heed your will. “I understand your point, though I fear I can’t accept it.” He began, and continued after taking a few steps in your direction, “If you wish, you can simply admire and touch me as if I’m merely an object. We don’t need to go all the way.”

Who the heck did he think he was, sure, he was a very prominent figure, but even then how could he disregard and disrespect your opinion like this. “No, I-” He glared at you for a split second, furrowing his eyebrows as he interrupted your sentence, “I won’t take no for an answer, it’s for hell.” Then his features reverted back to the neutral one. For a moment, he reminded you of a certain devil who was known for his bad temper.

With much complaining, you eventually gave up and agreed to his request, feeling a little cornered. “Fine, lead the way then.” You answered begrudgingly, forcing out a meek smile. Lucifer’s expression still didn’t change, he stared at you blankly for a second, before turning around and repeating the words he previously uttered, “Follow me.” How irritating he was, just like any other devil, or angel for that matter.

Not long after you found yourself slandering through the gigantic halls of his palace, it was decorated extravagantly in all the different shades of gold. Merely walking on such expensive-looking ground made you feel inferior. Wherever you looked you could hear the objects scream ‘broke’ at you. This wasn’t a treatment you expected in Paradise Lost, it sounded more befitting of Mammon’s castle.

On the other hand, it was to be expected that the resting place of every king must be of the highest quality, whether if they liked it or not, their subjects would arrange it for them in that manner. Despite you walking right behind him, you didn’t want to watch his back. All you did was curse about how everything unfolded. His shoulders were wide, paired with a slim waist to match. He was wearing a large suit jacket, yet he couldn’t conceal that fact. The way he walked was befitting his aura, rid of any hints of hesitation and full of precision. If someone didn’t know his position, they could still guess it, all due to his habits.

After a while, he finally reached his wanted destination, stopping in front of a room. You sneaked up next to him, still unable to do anything but watch from the sidelines. There was not a single word you two exchanged during your little trip, causing it to be more or less awkward. Lucifer pushed the door open, turning the doorknob and stepping inside, of course, you followed shortly after. The inside of the room was even more lavish than the gorgeous floors outside. Each piece of furniture fit into the frame, all of them had their own designated place, and the way they were lined up implied someone meticulously planning all of it out beforehand.

You couldn’t help but be amazed, these rooms are more than what one could categorize as luxury. Sure, the other king’s palaces didn’t fall behind in any aspects, though you were still impressed nonetheless. To think you’d be allowed inside such a grandiose space… if this was Earth it must cost a fortune. All your initial impressions were washed away the moment you recalled his presence. How did you manage to forget, for even one frame of a second? The moment you noticed, you started keeping to yourself again, hoping you didn’t step out of line. Eyes weakly scanning the room, avoiding his gaze at all costs. What he did next was unexpected, so much so that you ended up finding yourself staring without knowing what to do.

He walked over to the bed, sat down, and began to undress.

The first piece of clothing to be dropped was his jacket with the white snake. Dropping it off onto the ground, then slowly unbuttoning his shirt. In your head, a million thoughts flooded you, especially because you were confused about what to do. When Lucifer started taking his dress shirt off, revealing his toned body, you decided you had enough and asked, “What’s this supposed to mean?” Without even thinking about it, contemplating what he wanted to say, he blurted out, “Seducing you.”

The way he replied was as if he saw nothing wrong with his deeds and choice of words. “Really now? Why would someone like you bother?” Despite a small fraction in the back of your mind having already expected this, considering his intentions were as clear as water, you still had a glimmer of hope that that wouldn’t be the case. He didn’t have any connections with Solomon like the other kings, on the contrary, he is envious of him. For a man like him to want to earn your favor - it sounds unbelievable.

“I simply wanted to try my shot, perhaps I failed already?” Lucifer questioned after seeing your serious expression, his shirt was loose now but not taken off completely. “Failed what?” You asked him, hoping that you could gather enough information to make sense of what was going on. “Failed to impress you.” The blondie said, without hesitation or a hint of sarcasm. Why would you want to impress me, was what you would have liked to ask, though your guts told you to stay quiet.

 It’s a given that anyone would be in awe of him, considering how endearing he’s been the entire time. Even now, him sitting on his bed while flexing his muscles and that slim waist; every part of him was proof that he was sculpted by the loving hand of god personally. “No, that’s not the case..” you stopped mid-track, thinking about the possible outcomes for a bit, being hasty could cause backlash after all. If you praised him, he might take it as consent, but if you refused, would he get defensive? Was he a case like Levi?

Instead of pondering over this any longer, you took a gamble. Fine, since he wished to get laid so badly, shall you entertain him then? You walked up to him and hopped onto the bed as well. The soft sunlight still grazed your skin, the mattress sinking due to your added weight. “I’m plenty impressed, lucifer.” You had to show determination and sincerity, otherwise it wouldn’t bear fruits.

This wasn’t a lie though, he was very beautiful.

Your arm reached out for the male, finding yourself more and more captured by him with each passing second. Now that you were above him, he didn’t seem all that intimidating anymore. Fingers intertwined with his locks, stroking him while giving him a big smile. It felt pleasant, that was his first thought. Like the warmth god showered him with before Solomon came. A deep sigh left him, bitterness suddenly intruded into the room, and the atmosphere proceeded to sink.

No matter how you tried to brush it off, it seemed like he was troubled. It couldn’t have been something you did, right? Nonetheless, you hugged him gently. Your hands were still wrapped in his hair, scraping his scalp with a tenderness he hadn't felt for a long time. You pulled him closer to you until you were both resting your chins on the other’s shoulder. His sharp teeth were dangerously close to your skin, but you tried not to worry.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, no one is forcing you, even if it’s your duty.” Your voice rang through his head, it brought forth a strange sense of comfort. “I’m doing it out of my own will.” He retorted. It smelled fishy to you, but you didn’t pursue it further. Eventually, he returned your embrace. “That’s comforting to hear.” So you replied, If you were to enjoy yourself, you had to make sure the other person wanted it too.

You took a deep breath, taking in his scent before exhaling. Your hot breath tickled his neck and before he knew it, you kissed his neck gently. The way you did it was as if you drew on his skin with your lips. One mark after another, planting them around him and corrupting him with your traces. He was taken aback, though it didn’t feel bad. At most, it tickled, which is why he let you continue, while all he did was breathing softly next to your ear. Each exhale blew some air against your skin as well, cheering you on to continue your actions.

Soon, your kisses turned into sucks, leaving behind more of your presence, proof and traces of this session today. The spots you touched would turn red shortly after, and persist for the rest of the day. How greedy of you, did you wish to mark him as yours?

“Child of Adam- uh, no, of Solomon… you, haaah.” He called out to you, hands lingering over your back. This was the first time you saw him hesitating to do something, he wasn’t sure if he had permission to crawl at your back. “Never mind.” Lucifer sighed and let you continue your little drawing session.

With time you also trailed off, going lower with your movements. All that persisted was a path from his neck to the middle of his chest. He sat up straight, only to get pushed into the mattress by you. His shirt was hanging off his shoulders as if he carefully orchestrated it this way. You hovered above him, hands releasing his hair and instead grabbing the sides of his torso. There you traced his silhouette with your hands until you were holding his astonishingly small waist. 

It felt good, his skin was smooth and nice to the touch, also your hands fit in that place so perfectly, as if he was God's gift to you. Besides he seemed to like it as well, since he didn’t protest. Instead, his face started to flush slightly, alongside a sudden change in rhythm with his heartbeat. “I’m guessing I’m supposed to leave it all to you..?” Lucifer gazed up at you through half-lidded eyes, a slight, almost inaudible tremble underneath his voice. “That’s right, you told me I can treat you like an object.” You reminded him, he didn’t know if you meant it or not.

You started sucking on his nipples afterward, first licking the area and circling around it with the tip of your tongue, then flicking the wet muscle over his perky buds. His breasts were squishy and so pretty, you couldn’t help yourself. After taking a glance at his reddened face, you began sucking on his pecs. A shiver ran down his spine at the realization, face twisted into a pleasure-ridden expression.

This wasn’t a completely new feeling, since he did have experience with intimacy, though he was never the bottom. Or, rather, no one ever dared to top and grope him like this. You were truly beyond what a normal mortal was, having the resolve to touch him however you want without shivering in fear. At this rate, he might become quite fond of you.

“Do you enjoy touching me there?” He uttered, a breathy moan following close by. “I would do it if I didn’t like it.” You snapped back, a part of you wondered how you suddenly got the courage to talk to him like that. Was it because he’s under you? “…be gentle with me then.” The Blondie said, turning his face to the sides to avoid your watching gaze. “I can’t promise it, but I’ll try.” A teasing smile showed on your face as you uttered those words, eyes squinted slightly into a suspicious smile. “You don’t look trustworthy at all.” Lucifer mocked, though you ignored him and instead rolled your eyes.

Now that things have escalated to this point, the angel was wondering how far you two would go. Was this the end or the beginning, will he regret it in the end? “Ha.. uh-uhm,.” Occasionally, a sharp gasp would slip from him. Whenever you used too much force or pinched him too hard, the pain he felt would turn into pleasure and raise his libido, rendering him unable to repress his voice. Whatever this was, it must be what god wanted for him and his brothers, right? Otherwise, he wouldn't have created this feeling, this bliss and ecstasy.

You tried your best to stimulate both of his nipples, rolling the cute pink bud between your teeth. Red marks have plagued his upper area too now, and the amount was much more compared to his neck. A sense of pride filled you at your own achievement, or better yet, at this work of art beneath you. “Simply divine.” You uttered while gazing up at him through an adoring gaze, something completely different from only minutes ago. Then you noticed how his eyes were half-lidded, face blushing and lips parted due to his heavy breathing. A tired look on his face as he stared at you through wet lashes, or was it a needy look?

Who in the world would be able to resist such temptation, the temptation of the most powerful being getting all submissive for you. It has gotten increasingly difficult to resist this fine man, much harder than it was with anyone else. Without wasting more precious time and chatting any further, you switched your focus to the other one. You’ve ruined one side enough already, it was swollen and red while the other still looked pretty healthy. Wasn’t it time to abuse that spot too? Now using your hand to flick the previous one, while sipping on the other with your lips. Not long after he started making more sounds, resistance shredding entirely.

These noises were beautiful, absolutely stunning, they were like music to your ears. You listened closely while he whined and panted, feeling proud that you made him into the mess of a man. “HuuhH.. ha- hnng..! Wa-wait…” Something was strange, why did this feel so nice? Why was his heart racing so much, when it never happened with anyone but god? Not to mention how his body burned whenever your skin made contact, it tingled and felt giddily. Was it your charm, or because of the skillful touch of your hands? So many questions were going to be left unanswered, while his desire grew with each passing moment.

Suddenly you noticed something strange on your tongue, at the same time your finger seems to have touched a foreign liquid. “NghHhh…” Lucifer gasped as you pulled back, leaving his reddening nipples alone. His poor buds have been used and abused for so long, they were standing up all proud and hard. The same goes for the thing inside his pants, creating an obvious bulge between his legs. A dark spot formed where the tip of the tent was. You only stared at him, at his body, unable to comprehend the situation. What was that, you thought at first, then a bright smile crept onto your features. Was it perhaps what you thought it was?

The Blondie glanced at you a few times, before mumbling, “Why did you stop?” He couldn’t comprehend your actions, he thought everything was going alright, so why did you ruin the rhythm like this? There was no answer from your side, you remained silent. Right as he was about to ask again, you resumed your previous actions, flicking his nipples again which immediately yearned a yelp from the male. “Hmm-! UgGhh..” a watery and slightly milky substance dripped from his breasts onto your fingers. Exactly as you expected.

In the meantime, he was gripping the sheets as tightly as he could, to the point that his knuckles turned white. Surprise and amazement were written all over your face, he couldn’t quite fathom why you looked so excited, though before he got the chance to speak you basically answered him already, “Haha.. you are lactating, lucifer.” The words that came from your lips were foreign, it caused his heart to stand still for a second.

“Excuse me?” His pupils shrank, and he pulled such a silly and cute look of confusion as a response. Without further delay, you licked over his hardened nipples, and then another drop of milk stimulated your taste buds. “It’s delicious..!” You couldn’t help but compliment him, feeling overjoyed at this new discovery. Never have you ever experienced something astonishing as this, though if you had to be completely honest, it didn’t taste all that much. 

Wait, hold up, explain- lactation? You mean him, lucifer, the good that fell from grace, was producing milk all this time? How his head spun, processing this information was too much for the inexperienced angel. Sure, he isn’t naive when it comes to intimate things, but he wasn’t this deep into it! Lucifer would have been longer lost in his thoughts if it weren’t for your rough treatment. Despite his inner turmoil you kept sucking and nibbling at him with a newfound fever, swallowing anything his body gave to you.

“Ahh…” the Blondie moaned, then proceeded to whine desperately, “Don’t be.. too rough..” it didn’t hurt, but it made him feel like he was on the brink of losing his sanity. All because of the weird pleasures and bliss he got out of this, he was reaching highs he never knew before. And you didn’t even touch him on his private parts, so why was he so sensitive?

“Is this how angel milk is made?” You asked him jokingly while rubbing his nipple in between your teeth, still playing with that poor body part of his. “NgGhhm..! Don’t ask- haaaa… stupid things..” God, his voice was so adorable it fuelled your want to ruin and bully him. All you wanted to do was to play with him until he didn’t have anything to offer anymore, until you sucked him dry. Just the thought of it was making you happy.

Pair that with the neutral but slightly sweet taste of his milk, you felt like you were in heaven. “I wish I had some tea to pair with your milk.” The bitterness of the tea would be compensated for with the sweet aftertaste of his milk. It would have been such a fine combination. His blush intensified at your comment, how do you always manage to come up with such unique ideas?

“Shall I request Buer or someone else to bring a cup?” This was only a teasing question, to provoke him. Yet to your surprise, he started crying and holding onto your sleeves. “No-.. don’t.” Tears akin to diamonds rolled down his cheeks, sparkling the entire time. Your heart jumped at his reaction. Like a deer caught in headlights, you couldn’t help but stare at him with a blank expression. Tears? Cries? You made the strongest being after god cry? What a satisfying feeling that was, you were captured by his beautiful, tears-ridden face.

Lucifer frowned and bit his bottom lip, embarrassed at his vulnerable state. Before he could wipe his tears with his sleeves, you kissed them away. Even you yourself didn’t know exactly why you did it. After all, this wasn’t because you couldn’t stand his crying face, because he looked beautiful while shedding those water droplets. Guess you just wanted a taste, to see if it was as delicious as his.. other fluids? You wanted to caress his face in that moment, to hold him and whisper all the dirty things you were going to do to him into his ear. This was similar to your experience on Christmas with his brothers, only ten times better.

How strange, he felt a certain kind of Deja vu at your tender touch. For one second, he could see the adoring caresses from his little brothers on him, hugging or holding his hand. Then he got reminded of when he first opened his eyes, when the love of god belonged only to him. “I want to taste all of you.” You whispered, pulling him out of his daydream again. On the other hand, you were almost shocked at how perverted your own words were. His sobbing quieted down slightly, and he looked away hesitantly. Lips trembled a little as a genuine, sad tear rolled down his chin.

“I’m sorry, that was too mean of me to say, to bring your subordinate into this as well.” You thought that was the reason why he was crying, so you quickly apologized. The blondie thought about your apology while you ate up his tears like it was a five-course meal, he clenched his eyes shut due to how close you were. “I’m alright.” He responded though the sobbing wouldn’t stop. Why? “..I hope that is the truth.” You eventually admitted, then caressed his face once again. If anything, you didn’t wish to hurt him.

After you resumed your earlier demonstrations and pinched his nipples, his sex twitched around, yearning to be freed. “Ah, it hurts.” Lucifer groaned loudly, his sharp teeth injured his own lips. “Is that all you feel?” You teased him. Tsk, asking something so obvious, you were playing games with him again, weren’t you?

“Be honest with me, Luci.” The sound of that nickname was weird, it brought forth unfamiliar sensations he had never experienced before. The angel still refused to elaborate further, since it was shameful for him. It would sound so weird if he admitted he liked the pain, he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. That stupid pride of his…

All that silence was getting too annoying, you wanted his opinion. In the end, you nibbled on his buds again, stopping only to say, “I can see that you are enjoying yourself, the wet spot on your pants is growing.” A yelp slipped from him, finally a shocked expression was spread across his features. “Ugh.. why now?!” He seemed to condemn his own body, feeling ashamed at this vulgar sight of his. “Look, everything down here is so sticky.” You said while your hand crept lower, to grobe him through his pants. “MhhHm, is— is that so?” Huh, was he trying to play the naive card now?

You held your now defiled hand right in front of his face as if to prove a point. “Exactly! Look right here.” A perverse-looking liquid stuck to your fingers and palm, it made a squelching sound whenever you clenched your hand. “Ah.. ah.” He whined, to think that he produced this filthy thing..! He turned his head to the side, to avoid looking at it. Poor Birdy hasn’t been this ashamed for centuries.

When you noticed his embarrassment, you grinned again, then brought your hand to his chest. Then you smeared all of it onto his chest, causing everything to get all wet and sticky. “HnHhn..!? Did you just-..?” Lucifer turned around as soon as he felt his own precum touching his otherwise pure and divine skin.

If that wasn’t enough already, you had to go back to playing with his already exhausted nipples. On top of that, you were cleaning up the mess you made on his chest, swallowing his slightly bitter precum along with his milk. “It’s a pretty good substitute for tea, heh.” You commented, then stuck your tongue out for him to see the two fluids mixed together, along with your spit as well.

His mouth hung agape, half due to shock, half because he couldn’t restrain his groans. You took that opportunity to kiss him and stick your tongue inside his mouth, swirling it around to make him taste himself. “MhmhGnnH..!! NHhH- uhHhnnn..♡♥︎~!” All he could do was moan into your mouth or choke out broken whimpers as more tears decorated the scene. Your hands didn’t stay useless and kept fiddling with his chest. This was too much stimulation for the poor angel, he literally saw stars as the mix of bitter and sweet danced across his tastebuds. The way you kissed him was rough yet pleasant, bringing forth an ecstasy completely new to him.

When you shoved your wet muscle down his throat, causing him to gag, a huge wave of pleasure coursed through his body. He shivered so much, shaking to the point you were almost worried. At the same time, his eyes rolled to the back of his skull as all of his moans got muffled by you. The only sounds slipping through were meek whimpers, barely audible to the human ears.

After you were done and you pulled back, granting him the privilege to breathe again, he looked like a total mess. Drool was hanging out of his lips, as well as something milkier in color. Strings of saliva were connecting his swollen lips with yours. A dazed look in his eyes, as if he didn’t bear a single thought behind those melting pupils. His face was covered in a layer of sweat and tears, his already messy locks stuck to his body like gum. You called out his name, saying it in a sweet and innocent tone. He didn’t answer you, only staring into the space like a used doll. Was he perhaps in sub-space? How adorable.

Your gaze coincidentally landed on his crotch, noticing how some of the white fluids were seeping through his trousers. Ah, so that’s what happened. This little angel here came untouched huh? Amazing, simply stunning. That sadistic smirk of yours returned as you yanked off his pants, holding back your laughter at the mess he made. You just had to taunt him for that, snarking at him, “Aww, did the big Lucifer cum from some touching and kissing? How humiliating, don’t you agree?” No answers, just a quiet whine did escape his throat. Good, he can still hear you.

“Such a mess you made, tsk tsk tsk.” You clicked your tongue, sarcastically shaking your head. After that you whispered sickly sweet, “But it’s alright, you will clean it up afterwards anyway, isn’t that so, Luci?”

Tags: @shianarou @ghostiegirl56 @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @aghrentroplayer @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant 2.0:

Men can lactate too, right. That’s something we’ve known for a long time. But only about 1/8 of men have the necessary requirements to produce milk. Because producing milk has something to do with the hormone levels, and it’s unusual for men to have enough to actually produce milk. Even then, it’d be a more watery consistence compared to the milk of a woman.

Anyway, to get a man to lactate isn’t as easy as it is in fiction. You’ll have to basically suck on the nipple, with a vacuum or mouth, for weeks (depends on the individual) for it to start producing small amounts of milk. Or in other words, constant nipple stimulation.

Another way is to take medicine promoting the needed hormones, or to starve oneself -> during World War II there has been records of prisoners lactating after starving and finally being fed. Many speculate it’s because of the dropping hormone levels due to starvation and the sudden rising once they receive food again. That’s why their bodies produced milk. (Pls don’t ask)

There are also cases where all this doesn’t apply and a guy lactates for no reason… then it’d be in your best interest to check it out with a doctor. It could be breast cancer after all, and this doesn’t only apply to guys, if anyone just suddenly leaks milk for no reason it could be signs of cancer.

[lotuswish]

˗ˏˋ what loving you feels like to them (pt. 2 - savanaclaw) 𓃭 .ᐟ

synopsis: have you ever wondered what falling in love feels like for each twisted wonderland boy? this series explores love from their perspective-how their personalities, experiences, and desires shape what loving you means to them.

featured character(s): leona kingscholar, ruggie bucchi, jack howl.

content warning(s): none.

a/n: what loving you feels like to them might occasionally use the same words, but those words mean something a little different for each of them. it might sound familiar, but it's still their own!

link(s): (masterlist) (pt. 1 - scarabia) (pt. 2 - you are here) (pt. 3 - heartslabyul) (pt. 4 - ignihyde) (pt. 5 - pomefiore) (pt. 6 - octavinelle) (pt. 7 - diasomnia)

leona kingscolar

loving you feels like a storm to leona kingscholar—wild, consuming, and impossible to ignore. it’s not soft or gentle; it’s raw and powerful, shaking the foundation of the walls he’s spent his life building. leona has always been a man who distances himself, resigned to the shadows cast by others’ expectations and his own bitterness. yet, loving you feels like being dragged into the sunlight, where he can’t hide from how deeply and fiercely he cares.

for someone as proud and guarded as leona, love feels like vulnerability, and vulnerability feels like weakness—something he’s spent years despising. but with you, it’s different. it’s infuriating at first, how you manage to slip past his defenses, see through his sharp words and careless demeanor to the soul beneath. it frustrates him because you make him care when he’s tried so hard not to, when he’s convinced himself it’s better to want nothing than to risk losing it all. yet, at the same time, it’s impossible for him to resist you. your presence becomes the one thing he craves, a rare oasis that cuts through the arid emptiness of his cynicism, bringing a sense of life he didn’t realize he was missing.

loving you feels like a battle he didn’t ask for but can’t walk away from. it’s the quiet war between his instinct to keep you at arm’s length and the overwhelming desire to hold you close, to make you his in every sense of the word. it awakens something in him he thought long buried—a longing not just to be wanted but to be truly seen, understood, and loved for who he is, flaws and all. you don’t expect him to change or prove himself, and that unconditional acceptance both humbles and enrages him, because it feels too good to be true.

loving you also feels like a challenge, one that pushes him to be better, even when he resents the effort. you inspire him to fight—not for power or recognition, but for you, for the life he dreams of building by your side, even if he doesn’t admit it out loud. it’s a quiet kind of ambition, one he keeps close to his chest, but it drives him more than he thought possible.

for leona, loving you feels like discovering something he never believed could exist—a place where he isn’t judged for his flaws or dismissed for what he’s not, but truly valued and deeply cherished for who he is. it’s a kind of peace he’s never known, a calm he never thought he’d deserve. it’s not perfect, but it’s real, and to him, that makes it irreplaceable. he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

ruggie bucchi

loving you feels like both a risk and a reward to ruggie bucchi, like daring to believe in something that feels almost too good to be true. for someone who’s spent his life scraping by, fighting for every scrap and opportunity, love is something he never thought he’d have time for. yet, here you are, proving that love isn’t a luxury he has to earn—it’s something you offer freely, and that alone feels like the biggest miracle to him.

to ruggie, loving you feels like warmth in a cold, unforgiving world. it’s the kind of comfort he never thought he’d get to experience, like the feeling of a hot meal after a long day or the rare quiet moments where he doesn’t have to worry about tomorrow. it’s unfamiliar and almost disorienting to feel safe with someone, to trust that you won’t turn your back on him when things get hard. at first, he finds himself holding back, keeping his guard up because he’s used to people taking advantage of him. but with you, the walls come down, bit by bit, as you show him that your love isn’t conditional.

loving you also feels like motivation, like the fire that keeps him going even when the odds are stacked against him. ruggie has always been a survivor, driven by the need to make a better life for himself, but with you in his corner, his dreams feel a little closer, a little more achievable. you believe in him, even when he struggles to believe in himself, and that belief makes him want to work even harder—not just for himself, but for you too. he wants to give you the world, even if it means pushing himself to his limits to make it happen.

at the same time, loving you feels grounding. you remind him of the things that truly matter, of the joy that can be found in the little things—shared laughter, quiet moments, and the simple fact that you’re there. with you, he doesn’t feel like he has to put on a show or prove his worth. you accept him for who he is, and that kind of unconditional love feels like the rarest treasure he’s ever come across.

for ruggie, loving you feels like a gamble that paid off in ways he never imagined. it’s not always easy—he’s used to relying on himself and struggles to fully open up—but the reward of having you in his life is worth every moment of uncertainty. you make him feel like he’s found something worth fighting for, someone worth sharing the best parts of himself with. loving you feels like coming home after years of wandering, and it’s a feeling he’ll hold onto with everything he’s got.

jack howl

loving you feels like growth to jack howl—steady, natural, and deeply rooted, like a tree that grows stronger with time. for someone as disciplined and driven as jack, love doesn’t come easily or suddenly. it’s not a whirlwind or a grand revelation; it’s something that builds slowly, shaped by trust, respect, and countless little moments. it surprises him, how deeply it takes root in his heart, but once it’s there, it’s unwavering.

to jack, loving you feels like a quiet kind of strength. he’s always been proud of his independence, his ability to handle anything life throws his way, but with you, he learns that letting someone in doesn’t make him weaker. instead, it makes him stronger, giving him someone to lean on when he needs it, someone to protect and fight for. you don’t expect him to be perfect or unshakable all the time, and that acceptance is something he treasures more than he can say.

loving you feels grounding, like a steady presence in his life that keeps him balanced. jack values honesty and loyalty above all else, and with you, he feels secure in a way he’s never felt before. you’re not just someone he cares for; you’re his partner, his mate, someone who stands by his side no matter what. he doesn’t have to hide who he is with you—you see him, flaws and all, and you love him anyway. that kind of trust is rare, and it’s something he holds onto fiercely.

but loving you also feels like a challenge, one that pushes him to be better. jack’s always been hard on himself, striving to improve and never settling for less than his best. with you, he finds new reasons to grow, not just for his own sake but for yours too. you inspire him to step outside his comfort zone, to take risks he might otherwise avoid. whether it’s learning to be more open about his feelings or letting himself be vulnerable, you make him want to reach higher, to be someone worthy of the love you give so freely.

for jack, loving you feels natural, like something that was meant to be. it’s not flashy or dramatic—it’s steady, enduring, and unshakable, just like him. you’re his anchor, his motivation, his reason to keep moving forward. loving you feels like the pull of the earth beneath his feet—natural, stabilizing, and something he relies on without question.

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

[limarkova]

Experimental Obsession

Formerly Know as: Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 1.

Next

*Author's note: this was not beta and was written at midnight.

Two years. That's how long you had been struggling to survive in hell. The experiments had been brutal in every way imaginable. In the end they had gotten their goal: a meta human capable of healing any illness or wound, with an extended life span.

However you had come out of it too defiant. Some part of you had clung to the child's hope you're family would swoop in and save you. Sure they were often busy and didn't have time for you, but they had still cared right? There was no way they hadn't noticed you were missing for two years. No they had to be on the case, maybe just waiting for that last clue. A clue you would give them by escaping your captors and spitting in the scientist's face as your family torn their facilities apart. Beside, you were capable of escaping by yourself so who cared that they didn't show up.

The security system at the front gates still recongized your fingerprint and retinas. Walking up the pathway, you admired the gardener's work. It looked so different from when you were last here. There was a bubbling in your stomach. Imagines flash in you mind of your brothers being so happy to see you.

Dick with his wide smile, wrapping you in his arms. He would check for injuries and you two would finally have that movie night he promised two years ago. Jason would demand answers and swear to make whoever hurt you pay. You knew he would do it to, all so you could sleep easy knowing they couldn’t hurt you anymore. Tim would listen before getting to work. He would ensure everyone connected to the experiments would be destroyed. Hunt down their suppliers and financial providers. They would protect and help you move past the experiments.

After them were your sisters. Babs, Cass, and Steph would let you in to girls night this time. You would get to watch those cringy 'reality' TV shows, take part in the fashion show, and play around the whole night. Than in the morning Babs would help the boys take out the experiments. Cass and Steph would be right there with them of course before teaching you how to defend yourself.

Alfred would also help you. He would tutor you and help you catch up on school you missed. Not running off to help the others. Just you too bonding. Maybe he would even read the Wizard of Oz to you. Just he promised when you were five.

Lastly, your father Bruce Wayne. He would finally pay attention to you. Postpone his business meetings, decline the galas, take a night off from patrol as Batman because his baby girl was home. The last remaining shred of your mother and his lover. You would be important enough for him.

You blinked as your hand touch cold metal. The front door. Right you must have gotten lost in thoughts again. You could feel every hope you tucked into the hidden part of you heart over the past two years creep out of the shadows. They started to clean the cobwebs out of and prepare the space for warmth.

The door creaked up to a dreary entrance hall. You couldn't put your finger on what made the space feel dark. Sunlight still pour through the grand windows. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere to be seen. Yet there was a weight in the air that made the room feel empty and wrong. It looked and felt as if you had never left.

You began to wonder the halls in search of anyone. The quiet pressed down on your shoulders and feet. You never had thought you would miss the continuous buzz of medical equipment you couldn't name. Yet that seem better the suffocating silence that was clawing at you. You heard a faint noise from the living room.

Sitting in the living room was Tim, Steph, and Jason. Tim was texting on his phone, Jason was reading, and Steph was eating popcorn as she watched a show. It was normal.

Completely normal.

It was as if you hadn't disappeared for two years. Steph turned to look at you, a fistful of popcorn suspended mid-air, "Hey. How you doing?"

"I'm..." Your throat felt like gum. Her reaction was disappointing? Confusing? You couldn't think of the right word, "fine."

"That’s good." She turned back to the TV. Conversation over. Tim and Jason didn't even look up from what they were doing. You shuffled to the next room in a daze.

The kitchen felt like it had also barely changed. There were some new appliances but they sat where the old ones had. Dick and Cass leaned against the center island enjoying steaming cups of something. Cass turned to nod at you and Dick smiled at brightly, "Hey (Name). It's been a minute, how you doing?"

Your head tilted to the side. Two years had to be more than 'a minute'. A weight began to push against the hopes in your heart. They slowed their cleaning, a few began to retreat back to the darkness. You blinked twice before answering, "Fine. Where... where's dad?"

"Oh I think B had a business trip this week. He'll be back Tuesday." Dick shrugged before someone walked into the kitchen. Someone new. He was taller than Cass and shorter than Dick but not by much. He was also young, you would bet a few years younger than Tim. Dick gave him an even brighter smile, "Hey Duke."

"Who's this?" You pointed at him and blinked. Was a friend of Tim's? Maybe Steph?

"Oh, you two weren't introduced. Duke this is-" Dick patted Duke on the shoulder gesturing to you.

"(Name)"

"Duke Thomas. Alfred didn't mention anyone else living in the manor." Duke gave you a friendly smile and held out his hand. You shook it but could feel your head spinning. This didn't make sense.

"Alfred didn't mention me?" The words felt blocky. It was like you were a computer shutting down. Not only was everyone acting normal, there was a new person and it seemed like they knew you were gone. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well. I... I'm gonna go... lie down."

"Oh, okay." Duke's face scrunched up. He looked as confused as you felt. You left the kitchen dazed, clinging to the hall as your feet stumbled to your bedroom.

Something wasn't right. Why was everyone acting like you had just gone on a trip? You were gone for two years. Ripped out of the garden and held captive for two years in horrifying conditions. Submitted to endless hours of shocks, shots, burns, and twisted wires to a point it all blend into a red flim in your memory. All that before finally escaping just to have everyone act like you had been on vacation.

Your thoughts were interrupted with a sudden harsh shove. A hand gripped your shoulder tightly creating temporary bruises on your skin. Ringing took over the cacophonous noise in your head. As you looked at your attacker you saw a boy. He wasn't that much taller or older than you. His mouth moved and you barely registered his words, "Who are you? How did you get into the manor?"

Something froze. This boy looked like a copy of your dad. There was a feeling of having all the puzzle pieces but no way to connect them. The bigger picture so blurred you couldn't tell what was supposed to go where. A voice broken the silence, "Master Damian! Unhand her this insistence."

Alfred. Surely he knew what was going on. He could tell you why everyone was acting like you were on vacation instead of kidnapped, or who this new boy was and why he looked like your dad.

The boy looked to Alfred but his hand didn't leave your shoulder, "Who is she and how did she bypass the manor's security?"

"She is your half sister." Alfred marched towards you. Taking Damian's hands from you, he placed himself in between you two. "She has been away at a boarding school for the past two years."

The pieces clicked with a deafening pop. Boarding school. It made sense now why everyone was so causal. You weren't kidnapped in their eyes, you had simply been sent away. Your coming back was expected on some level.

Another realization hit shortly after that. Boarding schools ment tuition payments that were expected to be paid by 'loving parents' who knew where there children were. Boarding school explained when a kid was missing from a wealthy for a period of time to those who would care to ask. A boarding school was the perfect cover for experiments in a highly secured facility.

Surely your dad wouldn't do that, right? He's Batman, a protector of the city. Someone who was ment to be moral and a role model. More importantly, you were what remained of your mother. The last piece of her and your dad's picture book romance. The billionaire CEO that falls in love with his secretary. This had to be a misunderstanding or miscommunication.

Damian's voice cut through your thoughts, again. "How old are you?"

"What?" The question was mis-timed and absurd to be asked immediately after he attacked you.

"I must ensure I am still the eldest blood child and father's heir." He said it so matter of fact like. As if he already knew the answer but wanted to confirm it.

"Ten."

"Hmm. We are the same age." He glared at you through Alfred before lifting his chin, "Date of birth."

"You first." You hated this boy already. He was as self-righteous and arrogant as the scientists in that damn place. Defiance crackled in your veins at the thought. You would not answer anymore questions from him.

"Both of you, stop it. Miss (Name) was born on (DOB) the year after you. You are older but not by much. Master Damian was born on November 11th" Alfred said the words and there was another pop.

"I'm going to my room." You didn't care what was said after that. It was like a wildfire started in your heart. Consuming the oxygen in your lungs to breath was impossible. You could feel them dying. Your hopes, succumbing to the flames, burning away to ash. Some part of you tried to save them with hot tears. It was already too late.

Your room felt like a tomb tucked away in the attic. A thin layer of dust coated everything, telling you not even Alfred bothered to come up here. Good, you wanted to be alone.

The numbers ran in your head again. Than once more. They raced through your head, years, timelines, before finally settling. In order for you and Damian to be born by those dates, your father had to be cheating on your mother with his. That or Bruce had used your mother to get over Damian's. You stumbled towards your dusty bed and fished around underneath it. Pulling out your mother's diary you began to skim the pages.

Swirls flew past your fingers. Finally you they ran over her cursive letters. "Bruce mentioned a woman name Talia. He talked about her with a mix of longing and betrayal. I wonder what happened?" There it was. The crack in your mother's love story, Talia.

Maybe it had been a whirlwind romance for your mother. Her diary was proof of that but your father. No, you couldn't prove she was important to him and by proxy you. Maybe you were so unimportant, unwanted, he could hand you other to those scientists and tell everyone it was a boarding school. All you had to do was prove it and burn him down.

Talia would never admit that she check on Damian frequently. No if anyone asked she was ensuring he followed his training regime. That didn't stop the surprise however to see a girl his age approach the manor gates.

She carried herself with a purpose but lack all the tells of training. Yet that wasn't what held Talia's attention, it was her eyes. They held a cautious fire and moved like she expected it be put out at any moment. It caused Talia's sixth sense to kick in, the one that told her this girl had potential that just need to be refined.

She followed her into the manor. Sure the security system was a pain but she need more information on this girl. When Damian shoved the girl into the wall Talia became certain of two things. One Damian was upholding his training and two this girl did have potential.

She didn't flinch at the knife to her throat. Talia doubted it even registered as a small amount of blood came out. When the butler interfered, Talia almost missed it. The wound sealed shut and the blood evaporated to leave no trace of a wound. Yes, this girl had potential.

"(Name) Wayne. Hmm, I've always wanted a daughter."

Next

[landopoet]

taciturnity.

pairing coworker!lando x intern!reader

warnings mentions of sex, use of vulgar language

synopsis a date in italy sounds like a dream. what could go wrong?

taglist @sheblogs @n3versatisfied @number-0-iz @gigicisneros @urfavnoirette

find part one here: clandestine

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It’s a quarter to six when the plane lands. 

You and Lando had been texting about the date so much that it began to feel like it’s the only reason you’re in Italy. It’s only when you get an email from your supervisor, instructing you of all that you need to do over the weekend, that you get out of your little love-coloured bubble.

It’s Thursday evening, media day, and arguably one of the most busy days of a race weekend. Your supervisor let you know that their official photographer would be taking pictures today, so you could get settled in at the hotel and prepare for tomorrow. Which is incredibly fortunate, as you have to prepare all your camera settings, charge the batteries, bring your laptop hard drive and adaptors. 

Stress would be overtaking all your emotions if you weren’t so excited to see Lando on Saturday. 

You can already imagine it— the white button-up, the flowers in his hands, the candlelight on his face and the glare of his eyes as they burn into yours. It’s nothing short of magical, the way you imagine your first date, and you’re sure it’ll be even better in reality.

That night, it takes you far longer to fall asleep than anticipated. You know you should be asleep, resting up before the following day as you had to take pictures of Lando on the paddock and on track. It’ll be your first time working with fast-moving subjects, but you’re sure you’ll get the hang of it quickly. 

Besides, it’s not like you’re here on full pay, anyway. Even if you don’t get good shots, you’ll be gaining experience and Eliza has nothing she can do but advise you to do better.

The sunlight filters through the hotel curtains and you rub your eyes awake, glancing at the alarm with blurry vision. It’s about fifteen minutes before you were supposed to wake up, so you take that as a chance to check your social media apps and contact friends. 

In the flurry of notifications on your screen, one stands out more than others— lando followed you from Instagram. A small smile creeps its way onto your face and you click the bright blue follow back button. 

You slip out of bed roughly five minutes after, having spent that time looking through his posts and finding his photography account, which he failed to mention before.

The tile floors in the bathroom distract you from thoughts of him and you zone back into your reality— it’s Friday and there’s work to do, and you’re not just here for matters of love. 

Lexi calls you just as you’re about to tug on your shoes. “Heya,” she cheerily says, her smile evident in her voice. “You up yet?” 

A small scoff leaves your lips as you press your phone to your shoulder with your cheek, using both hands to tie your shoe. “Bold of you to assume I wasn’t up before my alarm.” 

“Ugh, of course you were.” she fakes disgust. “Anyway, Eliza asked to meet her in the foyer so just come down when you’re ready. And manifest that you run into Lando in the elevator.” 

You roll your eyes, playfully, even though she can’t see it. “I’ll manifest that I won’t. Bye.” 

Down in the foyer, Eliza gives you a brief rundown of your tasks for the weekend. Lexi’s ones are obviously more complicated than yours, but you feel intimidated by the amount of work you’ve been given.

You have to upload pictures from Lexi’s SD cards to your laptop, edit them and get them ready to post as soon as they’re done, as well as email them all back to Eliza and snap pictures whenever you can (Eliza said you could keep those to yourself, as she’s not convinced you’re as good as you let on.) 

Lexi gives you a look and you read it as “she's such a bitch”. To which you can’t help but agree.

                                     ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The paddock is as busy as you’d imagined.

The buzzing of people trying to get to wherever they were going made your head spin but it felt so great at the same time. You’ve dreamed of an opportunity to be at such a large event, more so as a guest and not staff, but this’ll do for now. 

Your eyes scan the crowd of people as you’re walking towards the garage and you can see everyone, except the one person you’re looking for. 

As if on cue, you feel two hands on your shoulders. “Looking for me?” The curly haired man can’t help but point and laugh at the way you gasp and clutch your chest.

“You can’t just sneak up on people like that, Lando,” he shields his head as you gently slap at his arm. “And, no, I wasn’t. I was admiring the scenery.” 

“Scenery, right…” He takes a look ahead, seeing nothing but the back of heads. “Beautiful, Italian heads, truly a sight to see.” 

“Why aren’t you in your car? I thought you’d be out on the track by now.” You looked up at him, noticing how tightly the race suit hugged his neck, making his adams apple pop even more. 

He swallows and you watch as it rises and falls, mesmerising you. “There was some trouble with it, but it should be fixed before quali,” he explained. “I just popped down to my driver room for a quick break from the people.” 

“Break from the people or to stalk me?” 

Lando clicks his tongue. “Ah, fuck, you figured me out again.” He watches as you try to hide your smile behind an eye roll. “I’ll get going before they start to miss me. See you later.” 

The man sends a wink your way before he disappears into the crowd of beautiful, Italian heads.

                                   ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It was infuriating, really. 

Lando wasn’t a jealous person. He didn’t think of himself as such, anyway, nor did he notice ever feeling that sharp pang of slight hurt before. All it took was to see you and Daniel talking for him to finally experience it sharp enough that he’ll remember. 

It’s been about twenty minutes of you giggling at the Australian man’s jokes, him flashing you a smile as often as he breathed. Lando rolled his eyes for the millionth time. Daniel wasn’t really that funny, so there was no reason for you to be smiling at him so much. 

It should be Lando you’re giggling at. 

And he knows he could just walk up there, insert himself into your conversation, but what good would that do? He only just got you to go on a date with him and him being jealous would only hinder the chances of it actually happening. 

Even though he knows it will. You were so excited about it on text that Lando was sure you wouldn’t miss it. He even got to pick out your outfit, as he swore not to tell you a thing about the place you’ll be meeting him. 

Still, the worry of some unfunny, poor driving racer like Daniel taking you away from Lando lingered. 

“You alright, mate?” One of the engineers in the garage nudged Lando’s shoulder and the Brit swiftly nodded, eyes still glued to the way your face lit up at another one of Daniel’s remarks. Stupid. 

“I’m trying to focus up for quali. Is the car good to go?” He finally peeled his eyes away from the sickening scene in front of him to look at the engineer. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t wrecked too badly so we’re only doing some final checks. Should be good to go in an hour.” 

Lando nodded, turning his eyes back to you again. This time he failed to hide the scowl forming on his face— Daniel’s hand was on your bicep as he pointed towards the track, evidently explaining something. 

You can show her without touching her, dumbass. Lando thought, eyebrows set so low on his face that they might as well be a moustache. 

It was stupid to even think in such a way, as you were nothing but friends. For now. Lando knew you’d be a tough shell to crack but he feels it in his guts that you’ll, one day, be his. 

He’s been enamored by you ever since meeting you. The way your dress sat on your body, perfectly fitting in all the right places; the way your hair laid against your back and shoulders, waves so deep he was ready to drown in them. Lando was never one to fall for one so quickly, but with you it felt just right. 

And when you invited him home, fuck was he done for. He couldn’t have ever imagined the sounds that escaped your mouth when his hands dipped beneath your panties or the way you’d look rolling your hips against his, lips parted and, oh, so inviting.

One night stands were his usual routine. It was easy— he’d meet a girl, fuck her, she’d be on the same page as him and they’d never talk again. But with you, he changed his opinion quickly. Just after that one night he spent with you, he couldn’t bear to even think of another woman. 

Lando was one lucky bastard that he worked for the same company you had interned for. Fortunately for the Brit, life put you two in each other's path when you were so clear about not wanting to see him again. He took it as a sign to make you his, no matter what it takes.

He never expected you to reject him that much, though. At one point, Lando was beginning to lose hope and feared that it was just a waste of his energy to even try and get close with you. That was until he caught Lexi in the elevator, a few hours after you had gone home for the day.

The girl, who was more like a friend to Lando than a coworker, told him how you didn’t actually dislike him. Of course, he took that as a huge ego boost and it only heightened his confidence that you were into him, too. Maybe not as much as he’s into you, but it’s enough for him to try and make it work.

He just never expected to fall in love with you so quickly and only realise it when you were talking to an ex-teammate of his.

So, maybe it was justified for Lando to feel jealous. Afterall, it’s not everyday he falls in love with a girl from the bar.

                                      ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Max: I’m sure she’ll be there, mate.

Lando glances at the message that flashes across his screen, hoping it’s from you, but he’s quite disappointed to see that it’s from his best friend. It’s been ten minutes since Lando arrived at the restaurant, and although the time you agreed to meet was in five minutes, he can’t shake the feeling of something being wrong. 

Though he’s sure you’re just navigating your way through the city. Lando understands the struggle, he was just the same when he first visited. But now, after coming here for six years, he feels like he knows his way around the place. 

Lando can only imagine how cute you are when confused— eyes reading Google Maps from your phone as you bite down your bottom lip, slightly puffing them like you usually do when focusing. If he’s being honest, Lando has stared at you for long enough to notice the small habits, and pick up on them, too. 

For example, you tap your fingers against any surface whenever you’re even the tiniest bit anxious. You also bounce your knee and do this thing with your eyebrows that Lando can’t get enough of. There’s so much to you that he hasn’t even learnt about yet, and it only makes him that much more excited to get to know you further.

Lando catches himself bouncing his knee and tapping the table when the twenty minute mark rolls around.

It’s been twenty minutes since you agreed to meet up at the restaurant that Lando set a special reservation for, in a secluded area hidden from the public eye. That’s the reason he didn’t just pick you up from the hotel. Sure, it’d be the gentlemanly thing to do but neither of you wanted the news of your blossoming romance to hit the headlines just yet.

“Would you like to order anything while you wait, sir?” A waiter asks, notebook and pen ready to write as he expectedly tilts his head to the side. Lando glances over at him, catching a glimpse of someone who looks like you, in the far distance. 

It takes him less than three seconds to notice how the girl's hair isn’t as long as yours, how the shade of her skin is just a tad off from yours and how her face, even from so far away, resembles nothing of the features he had grown to adore. 

He glances back at the waiter. “Uh, no, thank you. My date will be here soon.”

The waiter nods and scurries off to another table, leaving Lando in the company of none other than himself, the candlelight and the bouquet of flowers he had left on the chair opposite of him. It was a bouquet of red roses. You had mentioned those being your favourite briefly during your conversation at the bar, and Lando couldn’t help himself and bought the biggest bouquet he could find. 

One hundred and fifty roses is enough, he reckons. Or not. Surely not. You deserve way more than measly roses, wrapped in a beige paper that made Lando feel uneasy the more he looked at it. It was either that or the fact that it’s been forty five minutes since he last checked the time. 

It’s been an hour and you haven’t shown up.

Lando’s not one to get mad easily. Hell, he’s never actually been mad at you nor could he ever be. What he was feeling was a lot closer to betrayal than anger.

First it was you getting cozy with Daniel— sitting on two chairs in the McLaren garage, knees touching and laughs echoing so loud it made Lando’s head hurt— and now this. 

He could think of a million reasons as to why you didn’t show up, but the fact is that you stood him up, and that’s not something he’s sure he can easily forgive. 

The waiter rounds Lando’s table again, only to find some cash to pay for the champagne he had ordered and the sad bouquet of roses sat on the chair. 

                                      ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Time management isn’t really that hard when you think about it.

You had always struggled with doing your tasks on time, whether it be homework, university assignments or work related matters— it seemed impossible for you to get shit done on time. You were notoriously known as being late for everything, all the time.

Friday evening seemed to prove you different. You had managed to edit, compile and send out the photographs from both practice sessions before nine p.m., as well as edit your own photographs and review them with Lexi until eleven, meaning that you actually managed to go to sleep on time. 

Which meant that you’re at the paddock bright and early, helping Lexi prepare the cameras and other knick-knacks that you weren’t paying much attention to. Your brunette coworker nudged your shoulder, head nodding towards a particular curly-haired racer that just stepped into the area. You couldn’t deny that the race suit made him look particularly attractive, so you took your time to soak it all in.

He happened to be walking towards the two of you and when he was close enough, both of you smiled and said, “hi, Lando!”

The man nodded at Lexi, eyes not darting to stare at you like they usually would. “Have you got the pictures ready? I want to post some to my Instagram, if that’s okay.”

Lando knows that it’s you who edits the pictures, compiles and sends them out. He got the email an hour after making it back to his hotel after you stood him up. Yet he had no intention to even speak to you, when you made it so clear that humiliating him was your priority.

“Uhm, yeah. Y/N should’ve sent you the email, did she not?” Lexi tilts her head to the side, watching the man make no effort to answer her, so she turns to you. “Did you not?”

“I did, I made sure to send that one first.” You explained, so incredibly confused by why Lando was acting this way. “You should double-check your email, Lan.”

“I’ll see you around, Lex.” Is all he says before making his way across the garage and towards the Ferrari one, possibly to talk to Carlos. Lando introduced you two the evening prior and you noticed how close the two were, finding it sweet how many people Lando was friends with across the grid.

Lexi turns her eyes back to you, eyebrows knitted together and face contorted into a confused grimace. “What was that about?”

Your eyes still expectedly look towards where Lando walked off to. “It’s like I wasn’t even here.”

For the next few hours, you try your best to trace back your steps and figure out what the hell you had done to make Lando so rude to you. The only thing you’d understand is maybe not texting him last night to check in, but he knows you were busy and you made sure to tell him multiple times that you couldn’t come hang out. Still, that doesn’t seem like something he’d mind.

“Earth to Y/N?” Daniel waves his hand in front of you. 

You suddenly zone back into reality and notice the aussie next to you. “Oh, sorry. Hi, Daniel.”

“Heya, you okay? You’ve been staring at him for a while now,” he laughs, teasing you about your little crush on Lando. You regret telling him all about it yesterday and just roll your eyes.

“I don’t know.” You answer, honestly. “He’s acting like I don’t exist, but at the same time he’s acknowledging me because he covers his face every time he notices my camera focusing on him, and this morning he just fully ignored me in front of Lexi.”

“Okay, let’s calm down.” He places a reassuring arm on your back. Lando, of course, notices and the scowl on his face deepens. “I could go talk to him, maybe something personal happened. You never know.”

Daniel watches as you nod and then lets go of you, swiftly walking towards the McLaren driver standing at the pitwall. He approaches Lando carefully, trying his best not to upset his ex-teammate further. “Hey, Lando. How’s it going?”

Lando glances at Daniel with a look that would’ve killed you if you were in the aussie’s place. “Fine.”

“Oookay…” Daniel pulls his lips into a tight line. “I, uh, noticed the new intern you’ve got.”

“Noticed.” Lando scoffs. “You’ve been eye-fucking her since yesterday.”

“What?”

The Brit waves a hand in the air. “Nothing. Did she send you to speak to me?”

You anxiously watch the two men speak, noticing how alarmed Daniel looks and how Lando hasn’t stopped frowning since morning. That cannot be good for his wrinkles. Daniel says a few more things, his face changing to the exact same frown as you see on Lando’s face. 

When the aussie comes back, you open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off. “Do you travel a lot?”

The question takes you aback. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll take that as a no,” he continues. “What day do you think it is today?”

“Uh,” you shrug. “Saturday? I don’t-”

“Yesterday was Saturday, Y/N.” Just as the words leave Daniel’s lips, you feel your heart drop to your heels. The realisation of what you did hits you as soon as the aussie says it. “You stood him up.”

Your eyes instantly flicker towards Lando, who’s looking at you with nothing but hurt on his face. Fuck.

                                      ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Lando did not feel like talking to anyone after the race. Sure, he won it, but it didn’t feel much like a win without you there to celebrate. So when Lexi told him there’d be a meeting, he scoffed and got off the couch in his driver's room. He made his way through the building, shoulders slumped and eyes focused on his phone. 

Last thing he needed right now was some bullshit meeting about you. 

Lexi told him she needed to talk to him, fill out some documents about your internship and she needed him to write a review of how it’s been working with you. To Lando, it sounded like a load of crap but he had nothing better to do, and maybe he could write a review so bad that you don’t get to work with him anymore.

“I don’t have all day,” Lando’s voice echoes in the mostly empty room, the only company in the small space being… you. He rolls his eyes, “Where’s Lexi? I’ve a meeting with her.”

“I have a meeting with her.” You furrow your brows, evidently confused and slightly petrified of the tone in his voice. It’s only been a day so you don’t expect him to have forgiven you, but he could at least stop acting like he cared enough about you to be upset for so long. 

It didn’t seem like a big deal to you that you missed the date, because you thought it was just Lando’s way to get into your pants again. You weren’t opposed to it, but for him to get so upset about not getting to fuck you on Saturday seems a little extensive. 

Lando takes a seat at the table, not sparing another word to you until the door opens again and in comes Lexi. 

“Oh, good! Both of you are here.” The two of you glance at her, confused by what she’s up to. She picks up the keys for the room from the table and steps back out, only peeping her head in to say, “I’ll be locking you two in here so figure out whatever the hell is wrong before I do it for you. And please don’t break anything.” 

“What, Lex-“ Lando stands up to try and reason with the woman, but the door is already locked. He runs a hand over his face and groans. “Fucking hell.” 

You sit in silence, eyes following his figure. From the way he stands, you can see the way his McLaren uniform hugs his shoulders and how his hair has grown a little more– since the last time you remembered seeing it– into a sort of mullet. 

The man sits back down, turning his chair away from you so he doesn’t have to bear seeing you looking at him dumbfounded again. It’s taking everything in him not to rip that door off its hinges and leave the room.

“Lando,” you speak first, breaking the silence you were sure would last forever with no intervention. You test the water by just saying his name and when he doesn’t answer, you roll your eyes, “don’t you think this is a little silly?”

That’s what gets him to turn around. “What?” 

“This,” you wave a hand over him. “Your whole i’m so angry i didn’t get laid act. It’s stupid.” 

Lando’s speechless. There’s no way you think that low of him, right? Surely you’d assume he was even a little genuine when planning a date with you. He’s not even sure what to say to that, all he feels like doing is going back to his hotel room and forgetting everything that just happened.

Instead, he’s stuck in this room with you for an unknown amount of time and god knows what else you think of him that you’d find fitting to say. Lando chooses to find comfort in staring at the wall, since the data here is as shit as his mood. He can feel your eyes boring into him and he’s not sure if he likes it anymore– usually, he’d do anything to get your attention. Now that you’ve expressed that you see him as some sort of whore, he’s not so fond of it.

“It’s not an act.” Lando mumbles after a prolonged silence. Your eyes shoot up to his green ones and the sheer sight of his face sends shivers of anger, or maybe irony, down your spine. 

There’s no other reason as for why he’d be so upset about you missing the date. You’ve seen your fair share of pussy-hungry men, Lando among them, and his reaction really isn’t anything short of fitting. But you at least expected some understanding from him, as you both work at the same place and he knows your schedule as well as his own.

You admit, what you did was fucked up. But would you undo it if you could? The answer is: highly unlikely. Knowing his current reaction, you regret even letting him buy you a drink, let alone allowing him into your home.

After another moment of silence, you sigh and look back at him. “Look, Lando. I know a quick fuck is always fun, but-”

“Quick fuck?” He asks, disbelief staining even the most subtle tones in his voice. “Is that what you think I want from you?”

“Is it not?” You seethed in frustration. “If it’s not, then why the hell have you been so rude to me recently? What have I done that’s so terrible? I know I stood you up, and I apologise, but if it’s not about a quick fuck, then what is it?”

Lando feels his heart beating in his chest so hard that it might leap out of his ribcage and into your hands, and you’d finally realise that the beating of his heart resembles the subtle soundwaves of your laughter. Maybe you’d realise something he hasn’t quite been able to accept yet.

It’s another beat of silence with Lando’s eyes down at the ground, a look of something you couldn’t quite read plastered on his face, and you glaring at him with fire behind your pupils.

“See? You have nothing to say, because it’s true.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not some random chick you can pick up and play with whenever you so please, Lando. I have feelings and priorities, and a job that I really fucking-”

“I love you.” 

“-love, wait what?” You glanced at Lando, thoughts suddenly jumbled by what he had said.

A veiny hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, either to hide his embarrassment or out of frustration. “I don’t know how it happened, but all I know is that every fucking day, I wake up and I’m checking my phone in hopes of seeing your name.” He decides to look out the window when he finally removes his fingers from his eyes, trying his best to ignore how intently your eyes are burning into him. “It feels pathetic to admit that I’ve caught feelings, especially since you see me as a heartless prick who fucks and dumps girls regularly.”

A sarcastic chuckle leaves his lips and you feel your whole body run cold.

You watch his chest rise and fall, a vein in his neck growing more evident as his heartbeat quickens. “It’s never been about the sex, Y/N. I’ve wanted you since the second I laid my eyes on you. Is it that hard to try and imagine that I’d actually feel something for you?” Your heart drops when he finally turns to you. The rage in his eyes can’t compare to the sinking feeling in your stomach. 

Lando hears the door lock click but it stays closed, and he takes it as a sign to finally leave. You rise to follow him and when he’s at the door, he harshly turns to you. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to see you ever again.”