#hi paris if you see this! you both are stunning

[aleskie-hischier]

Summary: In the aftermath of your choice to leave Nico behind in Paris, your world shrinks to the cold, suffocating walls of an estate where the past comes to haunt you. Isolated and broken, you resign yourself to a fate sealed in blood. Nico, on the other hand, steels himself to ensure that his promise to bring you out of the shadows rings true. Together, you make a choice: to stay in the dark or to fight for a future outside of it, however harrowing it may be.

Word Count: 10k Warnings: angst to fluff!! swearing, bad parenting, there's an action sequence here so like...fighting? reader is NOT having a grand old time until nico arrives

READ PART ONE HERE

Nico wakes up on the rooftop in Paris, his body sore and head pounding, a faint sting on his arm where you’d injected him with the anesthetic. He reaches into his pocket for his phone—it’s almost dead, teetering on the edge of shutting down. Still, there’s enough battery left to see a stream of messages from his colleagues, congratulating him on completing his final mission and wishing him a happy retirement.

Your words echo in his mind.

Be happy, okay? For me?

You’d said it with a smile, but he remembers the fear in your eyes, the way it lingered beneath the surface. Why did you do it? Why did you take the fall?

He knows the answer, of course, and the weight of that knowledge gnaws at him, knowing you’d chosen this path because of him.

He lets his head fall back against the rough stone wall, closing his eyes, forcing his mind to drift to the happier moments with you—those days wandering Paris together, where the world felt small and full of possibility, where he could almost convince himself that you could both leave the underworld behind together and start a new life somewhere quiet, somewhere peaceful.

His thoughts slip further back, to the first night he saw you at that gala in Germany, all those years ago. He smiles faintly, remembering how you had captured his attention so thoroughly he nearly forgot his own purpose there. Amidst the polished crowd, under the glow of chandeliers, you stood out with a quiet allure that blurred everyone else to shadows, like a flame he couldn’t look away from.

He reminded himself back then he was above distractions, especially on a night with a mission so crucial. As an agent, he’d learned to see through beauty and charm, to focus on his objective. But you—you felt different. Genuine but guarded, elegant but dangerous.

From across the room, he’d watched you, unable to look away, studying your every move with the precision he usually reserved for a target. Yet this time, it felt different—as though he were the one being lured, the one about to be ensnared by a trap he hadn’t seen coming.

And looking back at it now, he realizes he never stood a chance.

Nico reminded himself of why he was there—to extract sensitive information from a French diplomat. But then your arm brushed against his, and he caught his first glimpse of your face. You were stunning, a vision that made him falter. He watched as you slipped through the crowd and headed to the balcony doors. His carefully honed focus wavered, pulse quickening as he watched you pass, something inside him urging him to follow.

He’d built a career on staying disciplined, never letting a pretty face or a fleeting distraction pull him off course. But this was different. There was no logic, no reason to abandon his position, but the pull was undeniable. The thought of letting you disappear, of not stepping out onto that balcony, felt like a missed chance he’d regret forever.

So, against his better judgment, Nico left his mission on hold and followed you into the night, needing to know who you were—and why he couldn’t look away.

He thinks back to that night, to the flirtation and the way you’d smiled at him, playful but guarded. He knows now it was all part of your act, but he doesn’t care. In his memory, it feels real. He remembers the moment he was about to ask if you wanted to slip away from the gala, explore the city with him—something he didn’t get to ask until Paris.

Just as the words were on his lips, your father had entered, stealing you away. Nico remembers the frustration, the urge to punch the man right then for interrupting, unaware then of how deeply he’d come to loathe the man you called ‘Father.’

If he’d known back then how your life was probably like under his care—the fear in your eyes last night was more than telling—he might have swung that punch. He should have, he thinks now, even if it blew his cover and ruined any chance with you. The man deserved it.

Then he remembers the moment he realized who you truly were and what you were after. You’d let him kiss your gloved hand, your lips curled in that mysterious smile of yours. It had all seemed so innocent until his lips met the fabric, and he felt the burn of the poison seeping in. If he hadn’t already had an antidote with him, he’d have been dead within minutes.

In some darkly ironic way, he admires the elegance of it all, the lethal grace with which you’d nearly killed him. There was a certain style to it, a quiet artistry.

For the next five years, he laid low, staying far from anything that could alert anyone to his movements. But he kept tabs on you—your assignments, whispers of your work. It was almost an obsession, though he’d never admit it. Every time he caught a mention of you, even something as small as a rumor, he couldn’t help but listen. Morbid, maybe. But it was you. And he could never turn away from that.

And then he saw you again. Paris. It felt like fate, almost laughably so, meeting in the city of love. Seeing you there stirred something in him, a silent thrill he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. He felt a pull, a longing to rewrite that first encounter—minus the poison, maybe. This time, you spent days together, sharing quiet glances, stories, and stolen moments that spoke volumes. It wasn’t a surprise that he wanted it to last forever.

But he wasn’t naive. He knew you’d come to Paris for a reason, and he knew exactly who you were after. So he brought you to his favorite haunts and little cafes, tucked treasures into your hands—a tiny Eiffel Tower charm, photos of you on either your phone or on his old film camera. Maybe it was foolish, but he wanted to leave something of himself with you, something you’d carry after it was all over.

Still, there was a small, stubborn hope in him, one that maybe—just maybe—you might walk away from it all for him. That tiny hope was enough to keep him from doing anything drastic, from confronting you. And the worst part? He genuinely thinks you would have left with him, if things had been different.

He doesn’t know what your fate would be exactly when you got back to your ‘Father.’ But he has an idea. And he doesn’t like it, doesn’t want to live in a reality where he got so close to what he wanted, but was unable to grasp it within his hands. 

Now, though…well, he doesn’t know exactly what would await you on your return to your ‘Father,’ doesn’t exactly know what consequences you’d face for treason of this scale. But he has an idea. And he doesn’t like even the mere thought of it. He clenches his jaw, hating the helplessness, the idea of coming so close to the life he wanted, only to have it ripped away, just out of reach.

He steadies himself, pressing a hand to the cool wall for balance as he rises. His legs are still shaky from the anesthetic, but his mind is clear. A grim resolve takes hold, a fire ignited by the fear of losing you entirely.

He moves quickly, descending the staircase, each step sharpening his focus. He doesn’t have a real plan yet—just an unshakable decision. He’d saved countless lives in his career, operated in situations where failure meant the end, but this was different. This was you.

He isn’t naive about what he’s walking into. Your ‘Father’ wouldn’t make it easy, and the odds were stacked against him. But he’d spent years keeping an eye on you, learning everything he could. He knows your father’s tactics, knows his inner circle and, with any luck, knows enough to get close.

As he reaches the entrance to the hotel, the weight of his decision settles in. There’s no guarantee he can pull this off, no assurance he’ll be able to save you. But he’ll die trying if he has to. 

You don’t run from ‘Father’s’ guards when they meet you at the airport. You expected it, the cold efficiency of their movements, the lack of any question about what you’ve done. They take your suitcase and purse, and, just as you anticipated, they blindfold you when they shove you into the car. It’s almost as if ‘Father’ is giving you one last small mercy—a blindfold instead of a bag.

The car ride is silent, the hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of the tires against the road the only sounds. You feel the weight of what you’ve done pressing down on you with every mile. The tension in your chest is unbearable, but you don’t fight it. You don’t fight them. You know what’s coming, and you’ve accepted it.

When the car finally stops, they take off your blindfold, revealing a sprawling estate, one of the many hidden manors 'Father' uses for those who’ve betrayed him. And betrayal is an understatement. You didn’t just defy him, you obliterated his empire, his carefully built legacy.

The guards don’t speak as they usher you out of the car, up the stone steps, and into the house. They take you to a room on the highest floor, secluded from everything and everyone, as though they’re already preparing for the isolation that awaits you.

You don’t complain. You don’t fight. You know what you did. You know what you deserve. The silence in the room is suffocating, but it’s a kind of peace. A peace you’ve earned, a peace you’ve sealed with your own actions. They leave you there alone after ensuring you’re unarmed, that you have nothing to aid in any attempts to escape. You’re not sure how much time passes—three days, maybe four or five, you’d lost count long ago. Meals are brought to you in intervals, but other than that, you’re left with nothing but your thoughts. So, you fill them with the happiness of remembering Paris. Remembering Nico.

Then, on the third day—or maybe the fourth—there’s a knock at the door. It opens to reveal Joy, his eyes filled with sorrow. He was always the softest of your siblings, the one whose heart was too gentle for the life you led.

“Did father send you?” you ask, sitting up on the bed, your voice hoarse from the silence.

He nods, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “He’s being nice by sending me, Shadow. He could have sent Punch, of all people,” he says softly, his voice shaky. “If you just tell us what happened in Paris—just tell us why, tell us anything—maybe we can still fix it. You’re his favorite, the best of us. I’m sure there’s a reason for what you did.”

You don’t answer immediately. You watch him for a moment, the anxiety swirling in his gaze. His hope, his desperation to save you, makes the silence between you feel heavier.

“I blew up the warehouses,” you say simply, your voice betraying no emotion, just a blunt truth.

“What? You—You—” Joy stammers, his face a mask of disbelief. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Shadow, stop playing around. This isn’t a joke. This is serious.”

“I’m not playing around,” you reply, your lips curling into a small, bitter smile. “I pushed the button. I destroyed everything.”

His eyes widen, a flash of hurt and fear crossing his face. “Shadow—” he gasps. “Do you realize what you’ve done? Father’s going to have you killed for this!”

“I know,” you tell him, your voice almost detached as you stare out the window, at the trees swaying gently beyond the fenced view. The peacefulness of the scene contrasts so sharply with the chaos inside you. “I knew the risk. And I did it anyway. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

Joy’s shoulders sag, and he drops to the edge of the bed beside you, his head falling onto your shoulder as he fights back the tears that are threatening to spill. “Why?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Why would you do this? Why—why would you betray him like that?”

You’re quiet for a moment, feeling the weight of his tears against your skin. And then, you finally confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “I went there to kill Agent Heart. Nico Hischier.”

At the mention of his name, you smile faintly, the memories of your time in Paris with him rushing back. The moments of tenderness, of laughter, of something more than the life you were raised in.

“And then I realized I liked him more than I thought,” you admit, your smile softening as the memories flood you, each one more painful than the last. “I couldn’t kill him. Not after everything.”

Joy pulls back slightly, his tear-streaked face full of confusion. “You...you were supposed to destroy everything for us. For Father.”

“I did,” you say, a sad, resigned chuckle escaping your lips. “I destroyed everything...but for me. And for him. Not for father.”

Joy lets out a shaky breath, and for a long moment, he just sits there in silence, his head resting gently on your shoulder. The two of you stare out the window, watching the wind weave through the trees beyond the barred glass. It's a rare, quiet peace, almost enough to make you forget the reality of your situation. Almost.

Finally, he breaks the silence. "We don’t get to feel, Shadow,” he murmurs, his tone laced with resignation, the words weighed down by the acceptance of what’s to come, “You did the one thing we’re never supposed to do.” 

"I know," you reply softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside you.

He turns his gaze to you, eyes searching, then asks, “Was he worth it?”

A gentle smile touches your lips. "He’s worth everything."

For the first time, Joy manages a small smile of his own. It’s tentative, edged with worry and glistening with unshed tears, but there’s something else there—a fragile happiness, a glimmer of pride in your defiance, however brief it may be.

He rises slowly, moving to the door, shoulders trembling as he tries to hold back his sobs. His fingers brush the doorknob, pausing there, as though wanting to say something more but unable to find the words.

“Goodbye, Shadow,” he says finally, his voice thick with emotion and a note of finality you’ve never heard from him before.

“Goodbye, Joy,” you reply, watching him walk away, knowing this would be the last time you’d ever see him.

"Nico, this is madness," Timo hisses, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You’re trying to save a mass murderer."

Nico watches his friend, feeling the bite of each word, but determined to keep his resolve. He’d turned to Timo because there was no one better—the agency’s top intelligence officer, the brain behind nearly all of Nico’s successful missions. If anyone could help him navigate the storm he’d thrown himself into, it was Timo. But from the way Timo was looking at him, it was clear he thought Nico had finally lost it.

“Well, it sounds bad when you put it like that,” Nico deflects, his voice steady but humorless.

“Because it is!” Timo snaps, his voice rising. “She’s one of their organization’s best operatives. She’s the Director’s most trusted weapon, Nico. And you’re actually risking your life—for her?”

The mention of your ‘Father,’ or rather, the Director, stirs something jagged in Nico’s chest. The name feels like a blow, a reminder of the darkness and manipulation woven around you like a cage. It’s in that moment he realizes how much of your life has been spent hidden away under fabricated pretenses, never living a life of your own. He wonders what you’d be like without those shadows—the girl you might have been, if you hadn’t been his 'Shadow.'

“She’s ended hundreds of lives,” Timo continues, each word sharp and unrelenting. "And those are just the ones we know about. She’s—”

“She’s going to die if I don’t try to save her,” Nico cuts in, his voice a low, deadly calm. There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for argument. “She’s as much a prisoner as she is a weapon. If anyone deserves a chance to walk away, it’s her. Please, Timo. Help me. One last time.”

The defiance in Nico’s voice seems to throw Timo off-balance. For a moment, his friend’s face shifts from frustration to a mixture of exhaustion and reluctant understanding. He rubs the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, weary sigh, the silence between them heavy with the weight of all they’ve seen and done.

"You’re out of your fucking mind," Timo mutters, glancing up, his gaze searching Nico’s face for a flicker of doubt. But Nico’s expression remains firm, his resolve unbreakable.

"Maybe," Nico replies, his voice softer now. “But I owe her that much.”

Timo studies him a beat longer, then nods slowly, resignation settling in his eyes. “Alright, Nico,” he says quietly. "One last time."

Nico exhales slowly, as if releasing the weight of a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. "You’re the best, Timo. Have I ever told you that?" He tries to lighten the mood, offering a half-hearted smile, but it’s weak—too feeble against the suffocating gravity of the situation.

Timo scoffs, his eyes rolling in a gesture of disbelief. "Tell me that again if we actually succeed. For all we know, she could be dead by now." His words are cold, matter-of-fact, and the harshness hits Nico harder than he wants to admit.

The smile falters from Nico’s face, his thoughts spiraling as he tries to come up with a plan—any plan—that might get him to you in time. There’s no certainty, no guarantee that he’ll be able to stop the clock that’s ticking against you, but Timo’s help, slim as it is, gives him the faintest flicker of hope.

"Then we make sure she isn’t," Nico mutters under his breath, more to himself than to Timo. His words come out like a vow, the resolve in his chest hardening like steel. It doesn’t matter what the odds are. He’s going to save you, no matter the cost.

Timo shakes his head, the urgency in his voice rising again. "We have to be realistic, Nico. There’s a very slim chance of succeeding. The Director...he's a goddamn monster. He built his empire on orphans—children trained to be killers. She was his favorite, his most loyal. Hell, he trained her himself. Not even his eldest got that kind of treatment. You can’t even begin to fathom what he’ll do when he finds out she betrayed him." Timo’s gaze drops for a moment, his words softening, as if the weight of what he’s about to say is more than even he can bear. "You could be walking straight into your death. Do you understand that?"

Nico hesitates, the enormity of Timo’s words sinking in. He thinks of his family—his mother, his father, his siblings. None of them had any idea what he actually did. He’d spent years keeping it that way, hiding the truth because normalcy was a shield, it was a part of the job. 

To them, he was a diplomat, just a pretty face at international function, a son who sent postcards from cities all over the world, someone who led a quiet, steady life. But now that safety is slipping away, and the consequences of his decisions are looming large. If things go wrong, all they’ll remember is the smile he wore, the boy they thought they knew.

But then, like a whisper in the dark, his thoughts shift to you.

He can still see it—the way you’d looked at him in Paris. That brief glimmer of something hopeful in your eyes, a quiet moment before you’d taken the bomb from him and detonated your ‘Father’s’ empire. The way you’d trusted him to keep your betrayal a secret—and to let you go, without asking for anything in return. You hadn’t begged, hadn’t even looked back, and that made him want to fight for you even more. It had been your choice, your sacrifice, but now he was going to make sure it wasn’t in vain.

“She’s good, Timo,” Nico’s voice is steady, but the edge of desperation is unmistakable in the way his eyes narrow, the intensity of his gaze holding something deeper than resolve. It’s not just determination—it’s something much more raw. “She’s good. And she can be so much more if she can get out of this alive. I owe it to her to try.”

Timo exhales sharply, his face a mixture of reluctant admiration and palpable worry. His eyes flicker to the wall, then back to Nico. "I don’t get it, Nico. You’ve been in this business long enough to know people don’t change. Not easily, at least. Certainly not in her world. She’s one of them, Nico. She knew what she was doing, knew what would happen. People like her—those who betray their own—they don’t get out. They don’t walk away alive."

Nico’s jaw tightens, the tension in his body evident as he steps closer to Timo. His voice drops to a low, quiet certainty that cuts through the air like a blade. “I know what she is. But she’s not just one of them. I’ve seen who she is when no one’s watching, when there’s no role to play. She doesn’t deserve this life. Never did.”

Timo shakes his head slowly, disbelief in his eyes, but there’s a slight flicker of something like understanding. It’s not much, but it’s enough. A resigned sigh escapes him, and he rubs the back of his neck, considering the gravity of what Nico’s asking. “Alright. Fine. I’ll get the intel. But after that, you’re on your own. And if this goes south—if it all falls apart—well, I hope you know what the hell you’re doing.”

Nico’s lips curl up into a small smile, but the seriousness in his eyes never fades. He knows the risks. He knows what he’s walking into. But he can’t stop now. "So do I, Timo. So do I."

The days blur together during your isolation. The cold stone walls seem to echo every passing minute, but you’ve lost track of time. You don’t even know if it's been two days or a week since Joy visited. 

And then, Hyacinth comes to see you.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips when you see him, your baby brother—far too young to be caught in this world, yet he’s already molded by it, even if he doesn’t yet realize the full weight of what it means. His sharp tongue and stubborn attitude are familiar, his quick wit often aimed at getting under your skin, but you know he’s all bark and no bite. Besides, you knew he had a soft spot for you—he always has. He likes you more than any of your other siblings, even if he’ll never admit it.

When you open your arms to him, he doesn’t hesitate, stepping into your embrace like it’s the only place he can find some peace. The hug lingers longer than it usually does—longer than it should, maybe—but you let it. You hold him tight, trying to etch the warmth of his presence into your mind, knowing the days ahead would make it impossible to hold onto this memory. And in this moment, as your arms wrap around him, you wish you could shield him from the darkness that’s closing in on both of you.

Eventually, the hug breaks, and you sit back on the bed, patting the spot beside you. But he doesn’t take it, opting instead to kneel on the floor and rest his head on your lap—just like when he was younger. Back then, when the weight of his training became too much, when the suffocating pressure of their expectations threatened to crush him, he’d seek comfort from you in the rare moments when he could drop his guard. You could never protect him from everything, but you gave him those moments of peace, moments when he could just be Hyacinth.

His voice breaks the silence, quiet and hesitant. “Father didn’t send me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

You arch an eyebrow. “So you came on your own?” You can’t stop the small trace of concern that seeps into your tone. “You could get in trouble, Hyacinth.”

He doesn’t seem to care about the risk. His eyes flicker briefly, and for a moment, you see a flash of fear, but it’s gone just as quickly. “Normally, I would,” he admits, “but your situation has him… occupied.” He sounds almost relieved as he says it, like he’s found an escape from the endless tension that normally surrounds their father.

You hum in response, running your fingers through his hair, offering him what little comfort you can. The silence between you is a kind of solace in itself. Words don’t always fit in these moments, but this is enough.

Then Hyacinth speaks again, his voice softer, the weight of what he’s carrying heavy in his words. “Joy told him what you did,” he murmurs into your lap. You feel the tension in his body, the subtle shake in his voice. “But he still doesn’t know why you did it—why you destroyed everything. Joy said you didn’t tell him anything.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment, but you can feel his breath grow unsteady, like he’s trying to find the right words, struggling to understand why you made the choice you did. Why you’d destroyed everything that ‘Father’ had worked for, that you had helped him build.

Hyacinth sighs deeply, his chest rising and falling with the effort. “He was mad. Furious, really. I know he was, because he didn’t say anything. He just stood there. Didn’t scream, didn’t throw things, didn’t beat anyone up. Just…stood there. Brooding.”

You nod, your thoughts racing. You’re grateful for Joy’s silence—though you don’t understand why he covered for you. The way he’s acted is unexpected, and you can't quite figure out his motivations. What does he owe you? Why would he protect you after everything you've done? Maybe he’s just trying to keep himself safe, or maybe there’s something more to it. Maybe he was just trying to be a good brother for once.

“What about the others?” you ask, breaking the silence, your voice raw from all the unspoken words hanging between you.

“Punch and Lightning want you dead,” he says, his voice flat, almost detached. But you feel a tear from him fall onto your thigh, though you don’t mention it. “They’ve been pushing for it. It’s strange, though. Father hasn’t made a decision yet. I thought for sure he’d kill you the moment you landed.”

You can’t help the hollow chuckle that escapes you. “Perks of being the favorite, I guess.”

“Oh, so you admit it now?” Hyacinth pouts, his face still resting in your lap, his voice thick with emotion you can’t quite decipher.

“I’m gonna die anyway,” you shrug, trying to sound casual, though the words taste like ash in your mouth. “Might as well own up to things.”

A long silence stretches between you. Hyacinth doesn’t respond immediately, his fingers clutching the fabric of your clothes like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. Finally, his voice breaks through, quieter, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Don’t say that,” he whispers, his words thick with emotion. “I kind of need you here,” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “Punch is mean, Joy cries a lot, and Lightning doesn’t talk to anyone—fighting for your death is the most I’ve heard him speak, ever.” His breath hitches as his shoulders shake, his voice cracking further. “You talk to me. Even when I’m being mean to you.”

A lump rises in your throat, choking you with a mixture of guilt and love. “You’re just a kid, Hyacinth.”

“I’m nineteen,” he protests, though it’s barely more than a bitter sigh. “I’m not a kid.”

“Just a baby,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper.

You gently lift his head from your lap, your hands trembling slightly as you meet his eyes, offering him a small, sad smile. You press a soft kiss to his forehead, hoping it might offer him some comfort, even if just for this moment. You want him to remember you this way—soft, human, real—before everything collapses into darkness.

“You should go now,” you say, your voice thick with the weight of finality. The air feels denser, the space between you somehow more oppressive. “Before someone realizes where you are.”

Hyacinth doesn’t argue, but the hesitation in his movements speaks volumes. He stands, his shoulders slumping as he walks toward the door, his footsteps heavier than you remember them. When he reaches the doorknob, he pauses, his back to you, and for a brief moment, you think he might not leave. He turns, looking back at you over his shoulder, his face drawn and haunted.

“Shadow?” His voice is small, fragile. “Why did you do it?”

You hold his gaze for a beat, your chest tightening as the words hover in the air between you. There’s so much you want to say, so much left unspoken. But all that remains is the truth you can’t hide, not from him, not now.

“I...met someone I really liked,” you say quietly, your voice breaking on the last word. It’s not enough, but it’s the only truth you can give him right now.

Hyacinth’s brows furrow, confusion clouding his face as he tries to make sense of it. But then, almost reluctantly, he nods, accepting the answer without question. He doesn’t push for more, doesn’t demand anything from you that you can’t give.

As he opens the door, about to step out, you call out to him one last time. His name feels heavy on your tongue, like it’s the last thing you’ll ever say to him.

“Hyacinth?” His eyes snap back to you, wide and shining with unspoken words, his face torn between confusion and a desperation he won’t show. “Be good. As good as you can be.”

The words feel like a final plea, a parting wish you can’t take back. You see the raw, quiet grief in his eyes as tears begin to pool there, but he blinks them away quickly, as if trying to hold onto something—anything—before it all slips away. His face flushes, an emotional storm threatening to break, but he says nothing, doesn’t allow the tears to fall.

With a half-smile, teetering on the edge of a laugh, he lifts his middle finger at you, his way of deflecting the moment, of pretending it’s still okay. Despite everything, despite the ache in your chest, you can’t help but chuckle.

The sound is too fragile, too soft, too final.

“Goodbye, Shadow,” he says, his voice barely audible, thick with the weight of everything he wants to say but can’t. His lips tremble, as if he might say more, but he doesn’t. He shuts the door quietly behind him, the soft click of it reverberating in the stillness, sealing the space between you.

“Nico, you’re gonna want to see this,” Timo says over the phone, his voice urgent.

Nico barely hears the rest of Timo’s words as he rushes to his car and hits the gas. He’s already in motion, speeding through Switzerland with a single thought in his head: finding you. His mind runs wild with possibilities. What if she’s already gone? What if they’ve moved her? He can’t bear the thought of you being tortured or worse, and the nagging doubt claws at him.

But he pushes it aside. If even you didn’t think you’d make it out of this alive, then he had to. Someone had to keep the belief alive.

He’s sure he’s broken every speeding law in Switzerland as he rushes to Timo’s apartment, his heart pounding, thoughts racing. The moment he arrives, he practically kicks the door down, desperation making him reckless.

“What’s going on?” Nico demands, striding into the room, his voice sharp with urgency.

Timo doesn’t look up immediately, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “I tracked down every known estate the organization’s used in the last ten years, and any recent whispers about ‘Shadow.’” His eyes finally meet Nico’s, flickering with the weight of what he’s found. “I couldn’t find anything recent about her specifically, but I did find this.”

Timo turns his laptop around, and Nico leans forward, his breath catching as he sees the screen. It’s a map, showing the coordinates of a mansion in the mountains—unassuming at first glance, but its isolated location tells him everything he needs to know. It’s exactly the kind of place someone like your ‘Father’ would use to hide someone away.

“It was bought a couple of years ago,” Timo says, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Officially as an investment property—it has records of regular maintenance and weekly cleanings. It’s been untouched for years, dormant…until now.”

Nico swallows hard, scanning the details. But then something catches his eye, and his pulse quickens. “Wait,” he says, pointing to another set of coordinates a few miles from the mansion. “These markers aren’t for her, are they?”

Timo’s face hardens, and he glances at the screen. “No,” he replies, pulling up a set of data—two names. “Codenames: Joy and Hyacinth. Two other operatives in the organization. They were sighted here within the last 48 hours, though they never stayed longer than an hour.”

Nico’s breath catches. “Her siblings.”

He feels a cold knot tighten in his stomach. He’d always known that your family was complicated—dark, but tight-knit—but seeing them tied to this place, at nearly the same time, complicates everything. Just what were they doing there?

Timo keeps talking, though Nico’s mind starts to race, his instincts pushing him toward action. “These aren’t just random sightings, Nico. Something’s happening there. It’s more than just an investment property; they were there for a reason. And considering what you’re after…” Timo’s voice trails off, the implications weighing heavy in the silence.

Nico clenches his fists, fighting the urge to move now, to storm in regardless of the risk. This could be his only chance to find you.

“Luckily for you,” Timo says, gesturing to the markers that signify Joy and Hyacinth’s recent locations, “They’ve already left.”

Nico nods, relief mingling with the rising tension in his chest.

Timo’s voice drops, serious and clear. “But you understand what this means, don’t you? If you go in, you could end up dealing with the most dangerous operatives, guards, killers. None of them will hesitate to stop you. You’ll have to be prepared for anything.”

Nico’s jaw sets, his resolve steeling. Prepared for anything has always been his life’s code. But now, it’s more than just preparation. It’s personal. It always has been. This isn’t only about saving you anymore. It’s about putting an end to the nightmare your ‘Father’s’ unleashed on you—and finishing what began that night when he kissed your hand and felt his world change.

“I’ll be ready,” Nico says, his voice cold with determination. His mind is already working through the steps. It doesn’t matter who stands in his way. Not this time. Not when it comes to you.

It’s day twelve—or maybe thirteen, or even fifteen—of your isolation. Time has a way of unraveling itself in this place, each hour turns into a blur of endless gray that stretches on, indistinguishable from the next. You can no longer keep track of when you last saw someone, when you last heard a human voice. The isolation has gnawed at you, eroded your sense of self. The quiet is oppressive, thick with memories you wish you could forget.

You think back to the orphanage, those empty eyes of the children who grew up beside you—silent witnesses to the way you learned to survive, to harden yourself against the cruelty of the world. The hunger, gnawing at your insides as you lay in the cold, too hungry to sleep, too exhausted to think. You remember the hunger, the endless feeling of it, made worse by the harsh words of the caretakers who told you that "bad kids don’t deserve good food." They didn’t care if you cried. They didn’t care if you starved. 

The bruises still ache, even now, long after they've faded into your skin, replaced by the scars of training that you could never erase. The pain of a childhood that was never yours to keep. You try to push these memories away, but they come rushing back, uninvited, relentless in their demand to be remembered. Each one is a dark pulse that seems to beat inside you, too close, too real.

Your father’s training had been a blur of pain and broken limits. Days spent learning to resist poison, to fight without fear, to survive at any cost, even when it meant breaking yourself. His lessons were built on control, on making you the perfect shadow, the one who could kill without hesitation, without remorse. You remember those days more clearly than anything else—the constant pressure to be better, to be perfect. You remember the exhaustion, the cold, the unrelenting beatings that never seemed to stop, pushing you further and further away from everything human.

It doesn’t matter how many years have passed, or how many scars have healed. In moments like this, when the silence is so thick you can almost taste it, those old wounds reopen, each one a reminder of the girl you used to be. The girl who was never allowed to dream of anything else. The girl who was made to break, made to destroy everything she touched.

You close your eyes, trying to escape, but it’s impossible. The faces of those you’ve killed come to you in flashes, each one frozen in time—their eyes wide in shock, their bodies falling at your feet. You try to shut them out, but they linger, haunting you, replaying like a nightmare you can’t escape. You wonder if it’s too late for redemption, if the weight of their deaths will crush you under its unbearable pressure.

But then you remember Nico—his face, his touch, his laugh, the warmth of his hand reaching for yours in the dark. Those memories are fragile but they’re your only lifeline. You don’t know if he’s out there, if he even survived, but somehow, the thought of him gives you strength. For now, it’s enough to hold on to, a small anchor in a sea of shadows. 

You tell yourself, over and over, that maybe, just maybe, he’s still out there, that he’s still fighting for you. But you know the truth. You’re beyond saving.

And yet, the thought of him lingers, just out of reach. The one person who might have made you feel like you were worth something, even if only for a fleeting moment.

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, but it doesn’t stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. It’s all slipping away—the hope, the strength, the possibility of something better. You’re trapped, alone with the ghosts of your past, waiting for the inevitable.

The drive to the mountains was almost disarmingly peaceful. Nico had been braced for roadblocks, checkpoints, armed guards at every bend in the winding roads. Instead, the path was quiet, flanked only by rows of tall pine trees and the occasional rose bush peeking out from the underbrush. The deeper he went, the stranger it felt—like he’d wandered into a different world, a place pretending to be ordinary to hide something darker within.

By the time he reached the estate, he was on edge. The sprawling mansion rose up in front of him, a towering fortress nestled into the mountainside. Not a single soul was in sight, not even at the gates. Every window was dark, every corner silent. Even the entrance was wide open and unguarded. The rays of sun illuminating the estate in a pearly white splendor, seemed to mock him.

As he walked up the stone steps to the main door, unease pooled in his stomach, twisting tighter with each step. His senses screamed at him, warning him that it shouldn’t be this easy, that someone would leap out at any moment. But he reached the door unchallenged, his hand brushing the handle as he took a steadying breath.

Pushing the doors open, the sick feeling in his gut hit him in full force. There, standing just inside the grand foyer, was the last person he wanted to see.

Your ‘Father.’

"Ah," The man said smoothly, his voice rich and calm, a predator at ease in his own den. "You actually did come."

Nico clenched his fists, every muscle tensing. He forced himself to stay still, even as every instinct screamed to lash out, to wipe that smug smile off the man’s face. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice low but firm.

His smile widened slightly, as if amused by Nico’s urgency. "You have no idea what you’ve walked into, do you?” he replied, almost with pity. He stepped closer, hands clasped casually behind his back, eyes narrowing as he studied Nico with cold calculation. “I thought you were smarter than this. Perhaps the Swiss government has been too lax as of late.”

Nico’s jaw tightened. "If you’ve done anything to her—"

“Anything to her?” he interrupted, chuckling darkly. “You misunderstand, Mr. Hischier.” The man smirks. “It’s only you and I here, so let me be frank. She’s here because of you. You, with your ideals and reckless hope, leading her to believe she could be anything more than what she was raised to be. The weapon I made her into.” 

His voice was unnervingly calm, but there was a venom in his words that made Nico’s skin crawl. “Do you honestly think she could leave without me knowing? That she could destroy my empire without me realizing the reasons behind it? That her siblings could lie for her without my knowledge?”

Nico’s eyes narrowed, but his fists clenched at his sides. He took a step forward, trying to quell the rising storm inside him. “What are you saying?”

The Director’s gaze flicked over him with unnerving amusement. “I have eyes and ears everywhere.” His voice was almost too smooth now, as if savoring the moment. “The minute she stepped foot into Paris, I knew.” He took a step toward Nico, his eyes never leaving him. “The minute she made contact with you, I knew.” Another step, his cold smile widening. “I knew about your little dates and rendezvous. I knew when she tried to slip poison into your wine. I knew the moment she pressed that button.”

The words hit Nico like a blow to the chest. His heart raced. "You knew all this time?”

Your ‘Father’s’ smile deepened, something almost predatory in it. “You’ve been playing her game all this time, Hischier. But she’s been playing mine. I know exactly why she hesitated to kill you.” He scoffs. “Turns out my best child was my weakest. But you were the one who kept her from finishing her mission. It didn’t have anything to do with her skills. Which is the only reason she’s not dead yet.”

Nico’s pulse hammered in his ears, disbelief warring with rage. “What are you planning?”

“Oh, nothing much," he replied, his voice silky with mock indifference. “Just…bringing her back to her original settings. Make her remember what happens when she disobeys. And for that to happen…I’m afraid I’ll need your head.”

Before Nico could react, a hand shot out, flicking open a sleek black knife with a practiced motion. His movements were blindingly fast, and before Nico could even fully process what was happening, the blade slashed through the air toward him with deadly precision.

Nico’s reflexes kicked in, his instincts honed from years of training and combat. He twisted to the side just in time, feeling the cool rush of air as the blade narrowly missed his chest. Your ‘Father’s’ speed was startling, faster than most of the men Nico had fought in his career, but Nico stayed calm. He had to.

He darted back, avoiding another strike aimed at his side. “You think you can just walk away with her, don’t you?” the older man taunts, his movements getting quicker. 

Nico hissed through gritted teeth, his hands shifting into a defensive stance. He couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment—he had to stay focused.

His opponent was relentless, his strikes coming faster, more furious with each passing moment. His body moved with the precision of a machine, the knife flashing in the dim light of the hallway, but Nico was no slouch. He danced around the attacks, his heart pounding as the adrenaline surged.

But the longer the fight went on, the clearer it became—your ‘Father’ wasn’t just fighting to defend his territory. He was trying to force Nico into a corner, push him into making a mistake. And Nico couldn’t afford to make one.

Another blade slash came at him, and Nico dove low, dodging under the attack, but a boot came down, aimed directly for his ribs. Nico barely managed to block it with his arm, the impact jarring his bones, but he gritted his teeth through the pain.

“You really think you can take her from me?” He sneered, his breath coming in sharp bursts, a twisted glee dancing in his eyes. “You’re already too late.”

Nico’s mind raced. There had to be a way to end this, to survive. If he didn’t get out of here alive, everything—everything he had fought for—would be lost. His thoughts flicked to you, to the last glimpse he had of you in Paris, and something inside him hardened.

No. He wouldn’t back down. Not this time. Not when it was this close.

The Director fought with the precision of a man who’d spent a lifetime learning how to eliminate any threat that came near him, who spent every waking hour trying to fortify his possessions. His movements were swift, calculated—each strike designed to cut deep, to leave Nico vulnerable, to make sure he couldn’t fight back. His knife was a blur, a flashing extension of his will to destroy.

But Nico was different. He wasn’t fighting to just survive. He was fighting for you, for the fragile hope he held onto despite all the evidence to the contrary. He was fighting for something he couldn’t let go of. He had everything to lose. And that made him stronger.

As your ‘Father’ lunged again, the blade aimed directly at his throat, Nico’s body reacted before his mind could fully catch up. He sidestepped, his foot sliding on the slick floor as he drove his elbow into the other man’s ribs with a satisfying crack. The man grunted, but didn’t flinch—he only shifted, twisting his body to try and regain his stance.

Nico pressed his advantage, knowing he couldn’t afford to wait for him to recover. His mind raced, working through each move as if it were a series of chess pieces falling into place.

‘Father’ swung the knife again, but this time Nico caught his wrist, twisting it just enough to send the blade skittering across the floor. In that split second, he drove his knee into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The man staggered back, eyes flashing with anger, but Nico was already on him, not giving him a chance to reset.

“You don’t own her.” Nico spat, his voice low, dangerous.

He sneered, lunging forward again, but this time Nico was ready. With a fluid motion, he caught his arm, locking it behind his back with a sharp twist. The man growled, trying to break free, but Nico tightened his grip, pushing him toward the stone wall.

“You should have let her go,” Nico muttered, his breath steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “She wasn’t yours to break.”

With one final, brutal motion, Nico slammed his face into the cold stone wall, knocking him unconscious. The man crumpled to the floor, the knife slipping from his hand with a dull thud. Nico took a deep breath, letting the silence settle around him as he stood over the fallen man. His heart was still pounding in his chest, the fight lingering in his muscles like fire, but he knew it was over—for now.

He didn’t have time to waste. He had to find you. Your ‘Father’ might have been down, but this fight wasn’t finished. Not yet. He would get to you. And you would get your revenge. No matter what.

When the door creaks open, you don’t immediately react. Another visit from one of your siblings, you assume—another cold, emotionless meeting. Joy and Hyacinth had already come, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in your chest. Maybe it's Punch next, here to deliver the final blow, as blunt and sharp as ever. At least with him, there's no pretending, no false hope. Just the end.

You sigh, slowly lifting your head to prepare for the inevitable. But what you see stops you cold, freezes you in place like a shock of ice.

Nico.

Your mind scrambles to make sense of the image before you, but everything about him is different from how you remember. His hair is a mess, his knuckles bruised and raw, and his usually crisp shirts and jackets are gone, replaced by something torn, wrinkled, and soaked with sweat and speckles of blood and dirt. The scent of him is raw, like he’s been through hell. His brows are furrowed, his gaze filled with an almost unbearable mix of worry and fear, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. It’s a familiar feeling, seeing him again, even if he’s different from how you remembered. But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

You blink, trying to piece together what’s real and what isn’t. Your heart hammers painfully in your chest, and a wild, humorless laugh escapes you.

“Oh God…maybe I am going insane,” you mutter, running a shaky hand through your hair. Your breath catches in your throat as you try to shake off the vision, try to make it stop. “I’m even seeing him now…”

You turn away from him, pressing your face against the cold, hard wall, hoping the reality of this will fade. Hoping he’ll disappear with the rest of your fading dreams. But then you feel it—the bed dips beside you, a presence you know, a warmth you can’t deny. The mattress groans under his weight, and your chest tightens as you try to convince yourself that it’s just your mind playing cruel tricks.

“Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with an emotion you’ve never heard from him before—fear, tenderness, desperation. It’s raw, and it makes your stomach twist. “God, what did they do to you?”

You scoff, not knowing if you’re trying to convince him, or yourself. You can barely glance at him, let alone believe he’s here. You squeeze your eyes shut, your heart aching in disbelief. “I’m fine,” you say, but your voice sounds hollow, like it’s coming from someone else. “I’m fine,” you repeat, as if saying it will make it true. But it doesn’t. It’s a lie.

You close your eyes, wishing for this to end. Wishing for him to go away, because if he’s here, then maybe this is real. And if it’s real, then you don’t know how to handle it. Your mind can’t bear the weight of hope anymore. It’s too much, too dangerous.

“Go away,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You aren’t real.”

But then, his hand—a warm, familiar touch—rests on your thigh. It’s gentle but grounding, the simple contact igniting something inside of you. You flinch at first, too afraid to believe, but his presence doesn’t waver.

“I’m real, Schatz,” he murmurs softly, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your pants in the same way he always used to, tender and comforting. “I’m right here.”

His words land like a blow to your chest, the weight of them forcing your breath to hitch. The touch, the warmth, the sound of his voice—it’s too much. It feels like a dream, too beautiful to be true, too terrifying to accept. But it’s not a dream. It’s him.

You turn to face him, your eyes filling with tears before you can stop them. “I’m dreaming,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, cracking with the emotion you’ve tried so hard to suppress. “You can’t be…you can’t be here…”

The words die on your lips as he leans forward, his face so close that you can feel the heat of his breath, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. “Y/N, look at me,” he says, his tone raw, filled with an urgency that pierces through the numbness you’ve become so familiar with. “Please?”

For a moment, you hesitate. Everything inside you screams to pull away, to protect yourself from the danger of believing in something that feels too good to be true. But your heart, still beating with something fragile and alive, pushes you to defy that instinct. Slowly, trembling, you turn your face to him.

You study him in disbelief. His face is streaked with blood, his clothes are torn, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion and worry. He’s not the Nico you remember—clean-cut and confident—but there’s something more real about him now, something raw and vulnerable that makes your heart ache in ways you didn’t know you could still feel.

Hesitantly, you reach up, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble on his jaw. A tear slips down your cheek, and he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like it’s the only thing holding him together. His face is still, as if absorbing the simple act of contact, and it breaks something inside you, a crack that lets in all the feelings you’ve tried to block out for so long.

“I’m real,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, as if saying it too loudly might shatter everything. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t pull away. Your hand lingers on his face, feeling the warmth of him grounding you in a way you’ve never known. The cold distance that’s consumed you for so long begins to melt away, replaced by something far scarier—hope. The fear, the ache, the longing for this moment that you’d never dared to believe in—they all come crashing in at once. The walls you’ve built around yourself start to crumble, and you realize, for the first time in what feels like forever, that maybe you’re allowed to feel something other than pain.

"Why?" you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, cracking from days of silence. "Why are you here? Why did you come?”

His arms instinctively pull you closer, his hand resting on the back of your neck like a lifeline. “I couldn’t leave you all alone,” he says, his voice fragile, almost afraid that saying too much might ruin this fragile moment between you. His breath shudders as he speaks, like he’s been holding onto this for too long. “I couldn’t.”

You pull back slightly, a small laugh escaping your lips, but it’s hollow, pained. “You should have,” you murmur, sitting up a little, needing to create some space, even if just for a moment. You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the strength of him there, his arm tightening around you. “You were supposed to move on, Nico. Retire, live your life. You…”

His voice softens, a teasing edge slipping through, even though the emotion lingers in his eyes. “I what?” he asks, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips, though it’s full of something far deeper. “What would I have done?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you close your eyes, letting the sound of his heartbeat fill the silence between you. A strange tightness fills your chest as you let the words come, ones you’d never thought you’d say. “I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice full of an aching sincerity. “Gone to the beach, gotten married. Been happy, I guess.” The words are bitter, but they’re honest—because you know he deserves that. A life away from this. A life that wasn’t about shadows and blood and survival.

He smiles softly, but there’s something wistful about it, a flicker of sadness hiding behind the tenderness. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary, grounding you in a way words could never. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I was in Paris,” he says, his voice full of a warmth so deep it almost feels like a confession. Each word lands on you like a lifeline, pulling you closer to him, to something you thought you could never have.

You close your eyes, letting the memory of those days flood your senses—those stolen moments of peace where you let yourself believe in a life beyond the chaos. A life where you were just you, and Nico was more than just a fleeting thought, a dream that could never come true. “I thought those memories would be the last I’d have of you,” you whisper, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, desperate to keep him here, to stop the world from swallowing him up again. As if he might disappear if you blinked.

He gently lifts your chin, his fingers warm against your skin, and looks into your eyes with a steady gaze, one that holds all the promises he’s never been able to say. His eyes are soft, but full of a fire that makes your chest tighten. "I’m here, Y/N," he says, and the way he says your name—Y/N—like it’s the only thing that matters in this world, makes your heart shudder. "I’m not going anywhere."

You swallow, trying to steady the emotions swirling inside you, but they’re too much, too big. You have to ask, even if part of you is scared to hear the answer. “Do you still want me to run away with you?” The words barely escape your lips, a quiet whisper, as if saying them too loudly will make the fragile moment crumble. You don’t know if you can bear the weight of his answer if he says no.

Nico’s smile softens, and his eyes hold a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. “I’ve actually come to pick you up,” he says, as casually as if he’s picking you up for a dinner date, the absurdity of it making something light and hopeful rise within you. “I even have a car and everything.”

You laugh, a breathless sound, not out of humor but because for a moment, it feels so normal. It feels like the world outside these walls doesn’t exist. But then the gravity of the situation pulls you back, and the weight of what leaving would mean settles on your shoulders like an anchor.

You drop your gaze, and your voice drops to a whisper. “They’ll be coming for us, y’know?” The words taste like defeat as you speak them, but they’re the truth. “My siblings…father…they’ll never stop hunting us down.”

Nico’s hand tightens around yours, his touch grounding and unshakable. His voice is calm but steely, a quiet confidence behind every word. “Well, lucky for us, we’re even,” he says, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “I have enemies of my own too. Let them try to hunt us down. We’ll keep each other safe.”

His words send a jolt through you, a spark of something you haven’t felt in so long—hope. The possibility of us. The thought that maybe, just maybe, this is how it’s supposed to be. You and him, against the world. Together. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself imagine the impossible, because in this moment, with him here, anything feels possible.

The weight of his words settles into your heart, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a burden. It feels like a promise.

The fear is still there, but with his words, something new sparks to life—hope, fragile and unfamiliar. You’ve lived so long with no future to speak of, yet now, with Nico beside you, it almost seems possible. 

You meet his eyes, and something like a spark ignites between you. The bond between you is stronger than anything you’ve ever known. You squeeze his hand, feeling the steadiness of his strength, the unshakable confidence that you never knew you needed, but now, you can’t imagine living without.

“So,” you say, your lips curving into a smile, “Where do we go first?”

“How about Switzerland?” Nico’s playful gleam in his eyes matches the warmth you feel inside. “I make a pretty good tour guide, don’t you think?”

“Switzerland it is,” you reply, your voice thick with a quiet thrill. It’s not just a place—it’s a new beginning. You’re not just escaping, you’re stepping into something new, something alive, something yours. The word “home” hovers on the edge of your lips, the idea of it—of belonging—feeling both foreign and entirely right.

He stands and extends his arm to help you up, a gesture so simple, yet it sends a rush of warmth through you. Your legs feel weak from days of stillness, but as you wrap your hand around his arm, it’s like the weight of the world is suddenly lighter. You lean into him, and together, you make your way down the hallway, the air between you charged with anticipation, with the promise of everything that’s ahead.

As you step through the estate’s entryway, the remnants of a struggle greet you—shattered vases, dark bloodstains on the marble floor, and a knife, glinting just out of reach. The familiar insignia of your father’s authority catches your eye, and your heart stutters. You release Nico’s arm, bending down to pick it up, the blade heavy in your hands.

“Was he here?” you murmur, your voice thick with the weight of everything you’ve just left behind.

Nico’s expression hardens, his jaw tightening with a mix of anger and resolve. “He escaped,” he says, his voice steady. “But he won’t get far. Probably.”

You turn the blade over in your hands, the past catching up to you for a moment, its weight threatening to pull you back into the darkness. But as you feel the cool metal in your palm, something shifts inside you—this time, you let it slip from your fingers. It clatters to the floor, leaving the past behind.

Together, you walk out of the shadows, out of the dark estate and into the light, where the sun feels warmer than it ever has before, spreading across your skin like a gentle promise. The sky stretches wide above you, endless and inviting, and for the first time, you realize that you’re breathing freely—every inhale lighter, filling your lungs with the sweetness of something that feels almost like freedom.

You glance at Nico, who’s watching you with a soft, steady smile that makes the uncertainty seem smaller, as if this new path is yours to shape together. His hand is warm in yours, grounding you as you step forward, leaving behind the dark walls and shattered remains of a life that no longer belongs to you.

The future awaits. It’s yours now—an uncharted horizon that stretches as far as you’re willing to go. And for the first time, you can almost taste it, this fragile, breathtaking possibility of a world beyond fear and duty. You feel it in the quiet between your heartbeats, in the way Nico’s thumb brushes gently against your skin, grounding you in a reality that’s no longer filled with shadows but with a promise. A new beginning. 

A maybe even a fresh start to a love story that, despite everything, seems like it’s only just begun.

READ PART ONE HERE

[transmascmikey]

they're so cute together <3

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 5 (Part One)

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You let Mister Miller help you out of a slump and learn you might like a little pain

WC: 8.9k

CW: Reader as some descriptors (freckles, long hair etc) so this might be more of an original character vs female reader. Dom/Sub dynamics, pet names (sweet girl, baby, baby girl etc). More CW in red below the cut but will contain spoilers.

AN: THANK YOU for being sooooo patient with me while I delayed this chapter. This is only HALF of the chapter and as soon as my lovely @lotusbxtch beta's the other half I will post it. No pressure thought, bb!! I just couldn't WAIT to share this since you've all been so wonderful and supportive. Moodboard by me, dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

CW: riding crop, oral (male and female receiving), male masturbation, female orgasms, hand cuffs, deep throating/face fucking, descriptions of self doubt and panic attacks; reader is going through it, ok? Hair pulling, Joel is a bit mean but he does it with love and care. Joel being a consent and aftercare king.

Joel

Joel sits on the Trocadéro platform of Café de l’Homme, the birds chirping and the sound of rustling papers keeping him from getting too lost in his thoughts of you. Sarah sits across from him, a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower to their left, and a buying agreement typed out in French taking up most of the table. Joel might not look like it, but he can see himself eventually living out his years in either Paris or Italy. He speaks enough French and Italian to get by, but relies on Sarah to read over the contract for her new condo. His baby girl is a doctor and now that she’s almost a year into her surgery residency, this condo is her graduation present finally coming to fruition. 

He looks down at his phone, opening the text thread he has with you. He’s been trying to give you space to study this week, telling himself each day that this isn’t what you signed up for but he can’t help himself, and when you responded with a selfie of yourself in your maid discreetly polo the other day he knew there was no way he’d be able to keep that pledge to himself anymore. Joel looks at the time, factoring in the time change, and your LSAT retake is in a few hours. His thumbs move on their own.

Good Morning. Good luck on your LSAT today.

He attaches a picture of the coffee he had that morning before hitting send. 

The waiter comes by to take their orders, Sarah’s French flowing from her lips as easily as she breathes, happily telling the waiter what both her and her dad will have. Joel mutters a ‘merci’ as the waiter nods. 

Thank you. That coffee looks a lot better than mine.

A selfie of you, all pink cheeked and smiling follows. A paper to go cup with a plastic lid in your hand beside your face. 

Were you running?

“How’s it going over there?” Joel says over his phone screen to Sarah, her focus is intent on the stack of papers in front of her. 

“Shh, I’m reading,” she says lightly as the waiter opens an expensive looking bottle of white wine and pours a little for her to try. After taking her small sip and nodding at the waiter she looks to her dad. “What? I thought we were celebrating!”

He shakes his head, laughing at his daughter as both of them look back at what they were doing.

Yes. I run most mornings. Gotta clear my head.

What’s bothering you, sweet girl?

You know, you calling me that has the same effect as me calling you Mister Miller.

Ok, we’ll just call each other by our names then.

Joel is so wrapped up in his little bubble with you that he doesn’t notice Sarah sitting back and watching him as she sips her wine.

That’s no fun, let’s come up with safe nicknames.

He feels the side of cheek tug up. She’s so fucking cute.

Alright, I’m calling you giggles

What am I, a rodeo clown?

Joel laughs silently to himself, not realizing that he’s sporting a full and cheesy ear to ear grin across his face. 

Fine - Freckles

Eww, that’s what the mean girls in high school used to call me

Well the hot, successful man who owns a sex club and supplies your orgasms finds your freckles incredibly sexy. What’s my safe nickname?

“Who are you texting?” Sarah says, her voice thick with amusement. 

Joel clicks his phone shut, laying it face down on the table. He wipes the smile off his face and looks up at Sarah like a child who just got caught stealing candy. “No one. Just work stuff.”

“Uh huh, sure dad. I know that smile. Did you meet someone?”

Joel grabs his wine, taking a larger drink then necessary. A drink of someone who’s lying. There’s no way he can tell his daughter about this. Sure, Sarah knows about the club but they never talk about what goes on there. “No! Of course not. I’m too busy for that.”

Her eyes blink to his phone as it vibrates on the table, but he keeps his attention on Sarah, his wine glass looking comically small in his large hand. “I’ll just ask uncle Tommy.”

“Funny story, he’s been removed from the family.” He deadpans.

“Tess will tell me then,” Sarah says, her and her dad both challenging each other jokingly.

“Who? Never heard of a Tess before,” Joel says, crossing his arms. 

Sarah laughs into her wine glass, “Ok dad. Look, I want you to meet someone, so don’t hold back on my account. Seriously, you’re a catch and have been alone for a long time.”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you, Sarah. Not yet at least.” His phone vibrates again and she cocks an eyebrow before going back to her papers.

Joel scoops up his phone to read your texts.

Huh, suddenly I’m over being bullied. Weird.  Oh, I have the peeerrrfect nickname for you!

Go on, Freckles…

Sweet Cheeks, cuz seriously Miller, dat ass. 

Daaaammmnn!

You’re treading on mighty thin ice, baby girl 

Joel, I have a serious question…

Go on?

Are your suit pants tailored TO your ass?!

Joel chokes on his wine, trying to stifle his laugh.

“Alright, who is she?”

“Fine. I met someone, but she’s really young, like younger than you, Sarah. And she’s leaving soon for law school so it’s just best if I don’t talk about it.”

Sarah smiles at her dad. “First of all, I don’t care if she’s younger than me, especially seeing you smile like that. Do you have any idea how many of the girls at college wanted you? You're my dad, so it’s gross to say, but you were the campus DILF.”

Joel feels himself blushing as she continues, “Second of all, you don’t have to end things just because of school. Me and Wyatt maintained our relationship while I was in New York and he was in Seattle.” As she wiggles the pear shaped diamond on her left hand the waiter brings out their food, and Joel changes the subject to the condo that he just bought for his incredible daughter. 

Our little girl did it, Tiff. Thank you for giving her to me, he thinks.

You

“That’s time, everyone,” The proctor calls from the front of the stuffy, windowless room that you and forty five other law school hopefuls have been in for just over three hours. 

You let out a slow breath, cheeks puffing and eyes fluttering closed. You didn’t finish, last time you finished, and the proctor has been eyeing you the entire time. He knows, he fucking knows you aren’t nearly as qualified or as smart as the rest of the people in this room. That line from Gilmore Girls, something about having shiny Harvard hair is all your anxiety can focus on. The people in this room have Havard hair, even the men. You don’t belong here.

You’ve never been in a lower spot and after the high of the flirty text conversation with Joel this morning you didn’t anything could get you down. In the span of just a few hours you’ve been completely torn apart, you can feel the panic attack clawing greedily at your chest. You fucking blew it, all of it. You blew your chances at law school, you blew your future as a lawyer and, in turn, your future as a judge. You’ll be cleaning houses forever, and not that there’s anything wrong with being a professional maid, but it’s not your goal.

Maybe I was fucking stupid for only having one goal. Maybe I need to do something else with my degree. Maybe my father was right, I’m nothing and I’ll always be nothing. Maybe my mother was right too, I’m the smartest girl at home but the world is going to chew me up and spit me out. It’s doing that right now, isn’t it? 

Your feet take you to the locker where your phone’s been locked up, and then out to your car. You don’t notice the warm late March air when you leave the testing building and there's a good chance that you jay walked, narrowly missing being hit by a car as you walked to the parking lot. Before turning the key in the ignition you open your phone, there’s a little red bubble on the JMK app. When you tap on it you have a new calendar section and Joel has invited you to the club tomorrow night. You stare down at it, waiting and hoping to feel something. That excited giddiness you usually feel, or the butterflies that typically erupt in your stomach, but nothing comes. You close out of the app without accepting the invite and drive home. 

A soft knock on your door pulls you from the anxiety-ridden nightmares you’ve been slipping in and out of. In the first one, you were having your degree taken away. In the second, you were sitting on the end of the bed in Joel’s private room looking out a window into the voyeur room. Joel was walking another woman around, similar to how he did with you the first time. The one that your roommate interrupted involved you being completely naked while trying to find your first class at Harvard.

“Babe?” Odette’s calm voice fills your room, “You ok?”

You tap your phone screen: 9 pm. You’ve been passed out all afternoon and evening. 

“Ya, just had a hard day.” You try to move out from the blankets, but they’re tangled around your limbs; a clear sign that you were restless in your sleep.

“Are you hungry? I ordered pizza. You have a few more college letters too, I think three were in the mailbox today.” Her voice is light and excited, as if she’s trying to pump you up. 

“Thanks, O. I’ll, umm, I’ll be out in a sec.”

The door shuts gently and the tears finally come. Five minutes, you tell yourself, before you start sobbing into your pillow to not alert Odette. After your allotted crying time is up, you open your phone. Messages from Jamie and Laren are left on read before you slide into the JMK app and accept Joel's request to meet at the club tomorrow night. You join Odette for a late dinner, but there’s no way you’re opening those letters tonight. 

Cap drops you off outside of the club the next night. This seems to be the officially unofficial routine of being Joel’s sub and you aren’t sure why. Cap confirmed last time that he didn’t do this for the other girls; you don’t deserve special treatment.

Any treatment, really, you think. Even the little box of feelings in your mind feels the same way, sulking sadly in the dark corner you banished it to. 

The black marble foyer feels cold and mocking tonight, even with the beautiful hostess smiling brightly and greeting you by name. As you turn towards the entrance to the club, a man dressed in an impeccable black suit holds his arm out for you. 

“Good evening, Miss. Joel asked me to escort you to his room tonight.”

You nod, forcing a smile and a thank you. All this black feels like he’s walking you to your own funeral. As you step into the club there are people everywhere. Couples are dancing, people are taking up the tables and the barstools. The deep bass of the music thumps through the club and the nagging pressure behind your right eye threatens to pop it right from its socket. 

The security guard holds his wrist to the pad on the door and holds it open for you.

“Thanks,” you say again through another fake smile. 

The door clicks behind you and the music dulls, the only light on this side of the door comes from the propped open door of Mister Miller’s room. You rap your knuckles lightly on the door frame and Joel steps into view. Your eyes travel from his shiny black dress shoes, up the perfectly tailored black dress pants and fitted white dress shirt. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing the strong muscle lined forearms that usually drive you wild. You stand there, waiting and hoping to feel something, but just like in your car yesterday, nothing comes. Meanwhile, he’s smiling at you as if he’s just discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. 

“Hi, my sweet girl,” Joel’s voice usually coats you like warm molasses, especially when he calls you his. But the rejection letters feel like they have plastered themselves onto you, seemingly creating a hard shell, keeping that miserable gray fog from escaping. 

“Hi, Mister Miller,” you say obediently, hoping he doesn’t notice anything is wrong. 

He motions for you to come inside, and pulls you into his arms as the door quietly clicks shut behind you. You wrap yours around his waist subconsciously as he presses his lips to your forehead. You’re sure the two of you have embraced like this before but right now it feels foreign. “What’s wrong?”

Fuck.

“Nothing. I’m sorry, it’s just been a long few days. I’m sorry, I can go. I don’t want to drag you down.” Your hands fist his dress shirt, a silent cry for him to not let you leave as an annoying dry lump forms in your throat. 

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry, baby girl.” His hands run long, slow lines up and down your back as he brings his forehead to meet yours.

The pounding of the music on the other side of the club fades away completely as his eyes melt into yours. It's absurd that you missed him, isn’t it? You are his submissive, nothing else. But when he looks at you the way he is now it’s hard to remember up from down. The pressure behind your eye dissipates as one of his hands cups the nape of your neck and squeezes gently. From the outside eye, you could almost argue that he’s acting as if he missed you too.

His voice is a soft whisper as he continues, “Did you want to talk about it?”

Maybe it’s his years of experience as a dom and taking care of his subs. Or maybe this is just normal for him, but you aren’t used to someone wanting to talk about it. You’re used to a quick hug and a shitty pep talk. His hands felt heavenly on your clothed body, but as they brush against the bare skin of your neck to cup your cheeks they’re out of this world. This strong, successful, handsome man is giving you his full attention, wants to give you his full attention, and as his nose runs down yours it finally happens. 

Your body is flooded with that familiar desire. Your breathing catches as you practically moan, “No, I need you to make me forget. Help me, Mister Miller. Please?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, exposing that dimple that makes him so damn endearing as he pulls his face back from yours. “I’m going to push you tonight, sweet girl.” He slides your faux leather jacket off, letting it hit the floor. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you say, your voice turning husky. 

His eyes dance around your features and with a single blink he switches. You don’t think you could ever describe it, but it’s like he puts on a mask. His soft brown eyes turn almost onyx, the muscles in his jaw seem flexed, but it’s his voice that really gives away when he’s transformed into his fully dominant form. Joel’s voice is deep yet has a soft aura. Mister Miller's voice on the other hand is full of gravel, and nothing is a suggestion. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Joel steps back, watching as you slip your bare feet out of your sandals. You felt underdressed tonight, but you just couldn’t convince yourself to put together an outfit. Your denim shorts and oversized black t-shirt come off easily and after stepping out of your shorts you look up at Mister Miller. His tongue runs along his bottom lip as he takes you in, eyes widening at your lack of bra and panties tonight.

“Dirty little girl.” He accentuates every word as his eyes travel a burning path up and down your exposed skin and then to the side of the room behind you. “See that pillow?”

You spin slowly, a black velvet pillow sits on the floor, handcuffs hanging above it from a chain connected to the ceiling. You look over your bare shoulder at Joel who simply juts his chin towards it in a silent command. As you walk towards the pillow, the metallic clink of his ring hitting the ceramic dish washes over you. Goosebumps spread across your skin and you feel the anxiety leaving your body. The doubt that has been screaming at you dulls to a barely-there whisper. For a second you feel weightless, floating towards the black pillow like the little styrofoam packing peanuts you used to place in rain run off as a kid.

‘No one has ever made you feel like this’. The little box of feelings says from the dark, ‘He’d take care of you, if you let him.’ You push that box deeper into the archives of your mind as you stop in front of the pillow.

Joel’s voice is deep, almost a menacing growl from behind you as he says, “Kneel.”

Your mind shuts off completely as you comply, dropping to your knees, facing the wall, and tucking your feet underneath you.

“Toes planted on the floor, sweet girl.” You adjust how you're sitting, exposing the soles of your feet to Joel as he walks towards you, his expensive dress shoes clicking slightly on the hardwood. You can feel the heat of his body as he stops just inches from your bare skin. “Good. Hands up.”

His touch is gentle as he places the cuffs around your wrists. “What’s your safeword?”

“Stegosaurus,” you say softly.

“Louder!” He barks.

You jump slightly before saying it again with confidence, “Stegosaurus.”

Joel takes a small step towards the wall and tugs the other end of the chain to pull it tighter, stretching your arms up above your head. You’re almost lifted off your knees. A small piece of leather running up and down your spine and your breathing starts to speed up. The anticipation of what’s to come almost has you bursting at the seams.

“This is a riding crop. You said you’re interested in impact play, as well as paddles, whips and crops. Is that correct?”

You nod, your throat going dry and voice cracking as you say, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

“How’d your LSAT go, baby?”

“I…I th-think I failed,” you murmur.

A sharp snapping sound fills the room, quickly followed by red hot pain on your right ass cheek; you gasp at the sensation.

The soft leather goes back to tracing your spine, slowly up and down, almost feather light and ticklish. “Again, how did your LSAT go?”

“I’m sorry, Mister Miller. But,” your try to swallow the dry lump in your throat. “I think I failed.”

As if he’s had years of sniper training, he strikes you in the exact same spot. This time your body jerks, the chains rattling above you as you cry out. However, the heat of this strike spreads right to your clit, and your cry morphs into a whine of pleasure.

“Sweet girl, do you belong to me?” He trails the leather along your hip, slowly teasing up your side.

“Y-Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect?” The soft end of the crop continues its trail, over the side of your breast and to your armpit.

“No.” You whisper. 

I can’t do this, he’s going to ask me to say I’m perfect and I can’t do it. 

“I don’t appreciate you talking bad about something I own.” A strike lands on the sole of your left foot, you hadn’t even realized the crop had moved from your arm. He taps the foot again, lighter this time but the pain from the first strike hasn’t ceased, a strangled cry passes your lips. “Especially when what you’re talking about is yourself.”

Another strike hits your right ass cheek and the red hot stings of it causes you to shoot up onto your knees. The chains above you rattle and go slack. Joel makes a noise similar to a growl behind you before two quick snaps land on the back of both of your thighs. “Kneel, sweet girl.”

You’re shocked by the moans and gasps that are filling the room, sounds that are unconsciously coming from your own mouth. Your pussy is throbbing and as you settle back onto your heels you realize how wet you are. You didn’t think you’d like this this much. 

“You need to learn how to stay still without being tied down.”

“Sorry, Mister Miller,” you whine through the panting breaths you’re taking. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, striking your left cheek and then gently rubbing along your ass. “How did your LSAT go?”

“I…It…I don’t know,” you say defeatedly.

He hits the sole of your left foot again, then your right ass cheek and this time your body acts on its own, your hips tilting to push your ass out towards Joel, a needy moan filling the room. “Come on, baby girl. Use your words.”

“It was harder then I remember,” you hum, your body practically vibrating with need. God, you can’t believe how good this feels.

The crop makes a slow line from the top of your ass, up your spine again and you tense up, sucking in a big breath. “Relax, my sweet girl. Until we talk about it, I will never strike you anywhere above the waist.”

“In fact,” he continues. “Anywhere here,” he draws a big circle along your entire lower back, “Should never, ever, be hit.”

“Ok, th-thank you.” You sink onto your heels again, your inner thighs are almost slippery with how turned on you are. 

Joel laughs lightly, “You’re welcome. So, it was harder than you remember?”

“Y-yes. I think I failed, Joel.” As soon you say it, you know you’ve fucked up. Eight quick, sharp snaps of the crop hit; two on each ass cheek and two on each foot, all at random. It’s over faster than you can apologize, and the walls of your pussy spasm with each crack of leather on skin. “Sorry, Mister Mill, hnng, M-Miller.”

Your head falls back, eyes fluttering closed as he speaks. “Again, it was harder than you remember?”

You whine before whispering, “Yes, but I tried my hardest.”

“Up,” Joel commands, pulling the chain so you’re up on your knees. “Good girl. Spread your legs.”

He bends down behind you, the heat of his broad upper body warming your back. His strong hands grip your waist to steady you as you walk your knees out. “That’s it, good job sweet girl.”

His praise shifts everything. Sure, maybe you failed, but you are stronger than a little test. You are bigger than law school. If you don’t get in, you’ll try again and you’ll keep on trying, because you can do anything. A bright light shines on the little box of feelings.

The crop lightly tapping your inner thigh brings your back to the moment. “Please, Mister Miller.”

“You don’t have to ask, sweet girl. If this is enough to make you come then let go for me.” He whispers, trailing the leather of the crop up your thigh before trailing down the other.

“I need you to touch me,” you whine, letting your head fall forward. 

“Aww, poor baby,” he mocks before bringing the little leather square between your legs and taps lightly against your swollen clit.

“Oh god, oh god, don’t stop,” you moan.

“Yea? My perfect sweet girl gonna come?”

“Yes,” you cry, head now falling back, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

"Tell me,” he commands, stopping the tapping and just letting the soft leather rest against you, “Tell me you're perfect.”

“No, please,” you murmur.

“Tell me you’re perfect and you can come, sweet girl.” The crop is barely touching you now. 

“I’m perfect,” you whine.

He smacks your clit harder once, twice and with the third snap of the crop you fall over the edge. The chains rattle as pleasure consumes you. Your orgasm rolls through you so hard and all you can do is take it. You moan loudly and your legs start to give out beneath you, the handcuffs and chain above you the only thing holding you up.

Joel

Fuck, she looks absolutely stunning when she finally submits. My beautiful, broken girl. She’s so smart, so driven, always pushing, pushing, pushing. Always taking care of everyone else. I wish she’d just let go, let me take care of her. 

As you slump forward he drops the riding crop, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you up, as he undoes the cuffs. You go completely boneless in his arms, your back pressed to his front, his soft lips peppering kisses along the top of your glistening shoulder. “You did so well, sweetheart. God, you’re so beautiful.”

He supports your weakened body, lowering you to the floor and rolling you onto your back. He pushes the hair that’s stuck to your sweat soaked forehead back. The soft and mischievous smile across your face is exactly what he was hoping for; you’re not ready to be done yet and luckily, neither is he. 

“I’m not done with you,” he whispers, gravel in his throat, before kissing your forehead.

Joel stands and takes a few long strides across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He can feel your eyes glued to him as he walks away. After your joke about his pants he picked a pair that's extra snug, just for you. He’s never picked an outfit for a sub before, and this just further proves that even if he’s not ready to fully admit it to himself yet, you are so much more than just a sub. 

“Sweet girl, come here.” He pats his thigh. As you sit up he says, “No, I want you to crawl to me.”

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing, and his heart nearly flutters right out of his fucking chest as you say, “What?”

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. He wants to wrap you in his arms and praise you, but you’re responding so well to him being mean and he knows you need him to keep going. “I said to fucking crawl.”

When you get on your hands and knees, his cock swells to its full potential, pushing painfully behind the zipper of his dress pants. He begins memorizing every inch of your glistening skin and the lust-filled expression on your face as you move so beautifully across the room. 

“Like this, Mister Miller?” You ask innocently, wetting your lips and effectively ruining his life at the same time. 

“Just like that, my sweet girl,” he praises, sitting back up and patting his thigh as he adds, “All the way, then rest your head right here.”

You finally reach him, settling yourself in a kneeling position again and laying your head on his lap, big eyes looking up at him sweetly. His short nails scrape along your scalp as his fingers card through your hair and butterflies fill his stomach as you melt into his touch. “You look so pretty like this. So sweet and submissive. I’m a bad man for the thoughts I have about you when you’re like this.”

You hum quietly, eyelashes hitting your cheeks as your eyes flutter closed. You’re fully at his mercy, trusting him to do what he thinks is best. It’s not a role he takes lightly, not like when he was younger. If this was fifteen years ago you still be handcuffed to that ceiling as he fucked you, but after breaking a lot of hearts he’s reformed his ways. No sex, that’s the rule, as badly as he’d love to sink into your tight, wet heat, you’re trusting him to keep you safe. 

A sense of calm and comfort washes over him as he continues to massage at your scalp, and he smiles to himself as your body gets heavier between his spread thighs. There’s lots of things he likes about you, but the thing he loves the most is how he never knows what’s going to come out of your mouth next. And you prove that when your eyes flutter open and you confidently say, “I want to suck your cock.”

“Fuck, baby. Gonna give me a heart attack sayin’ shit like that outta the blue.”

Your perfect pink lips curl up into a shy smile, his hand moving from your hair so he can brush his knuckles lightly down your cheek. “S’ that what you want? To suck on my cock?”

Your head comes off his lap as you nod up at him. “Yes, Mister Miller. Please?”

“You know that you don’t have to do that. Right? I don’t do this for orgasms, it’s about so much more than that for me.” He asks softly, knuckles trailing your jaw. 

“I know, it’s more than that for me too, but I want to.”

The two of you look at one another for a while, eyes dancing along each other's faces. His voice comes out thick and full of sand, “Take it out.” 

He sits back, resting his hands on the bed behind him as your hands go to his belt, quickly undoing the buckle and then opening his pants. His thick cock springs free as you pull down his soft black boxers, the tip already leaking a bead of milky precome. As you eagerly press the flat of your tongue to the tip, he stifles a moan and watches as your eyes widen. He knows that look, it’s the same look every other man and woman has when they see it for the first time. Joel’s never been with someone of the same sex, but on the rare times he’s shared a sub with another man they have the same expression too.

“You have a piercing,” you say, curiosity thick in your voice, eyes glued to the nickel sized silver hoop that sits at the very bottom of his pelvis, the bottom of the hoop sitting just above the base of his cock.

“Yes,” he confirms, watching the questions about the unusual placement of it run behind your inquisitive eyes. 

Your hand is wrapped around the base of his cock now, your pinky grazing the shiny metal, and his hands fist the sheets behind him to stop himself from grabbing you. “I didn’t know that was a place people pierced.”

He smirks. “Welcome to the wonderful world of kink, sweet girl.” 

He got the piercing shortly after he began his journey to become a dom. In certain positions it can be very beneficial for his partner, and even though he’s vowed over and over again to himself that he’s not going to cross that line with you, he can’t help but imagine your perfect face as you find out exactly what it can do. A little piece of metal that would stimulate your clit as he fucks you.

Your soft pink tongue wets your lips before you begin to suckle on the sensitive rosy pink tip of his cock. His lips part with a quiet sigh. The entire tip of his cock slips into your mouth and his hands clench harder at the fluffy white sheets, desperately trying to let you explore him when all he wants to do is wrap your silky hair around his hands and hear what you sound like when you gag. His efforts double as you hum and then swirl your tongue around the leaking tip, big doe eyes looking up at him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he almost whimpers. “Do that again.” You smile up at him sweetly and his heart starts to thunder behind his ribs. This isn’t a good idea. He should just focus on you, he gets off on that too, just in a much different way. 

Submissives come to him for many different reasons but he’s a dominant for one reason only. From the minute Tiffany passed, Joel has been responsible for everything. From raising Sarah, to bailing out Tommy whenever he got in trouble. Not to mention his construction job, which eventually led to being a business owner. Everyone needed everything from Joel. He had to pivot plans or multitask, nothing ever went as planned; but when he’s Mister Miller it goes exactly how he wants it to. He can say no, he can make them beg or say please, he plans what happens and it goes just how it’s supposed to. For a man who is supposed to be “the boss”, he only feels in control when he’s playing the role of dominant. 

And then came you. This beautiful little ray of light. From that first gasp and wide eyed stare in his office he had a feeling about you. And then everything that came out of your mouth took him by surprise. And right now, how good your mouth feels has him even more surprised. 

You haven’t looked away as you’ve worked more of him down your throat, your hand moves in tandem with your mouth, and your tongue flicks against the ridge along the bottom of the tip each time. 

“Feels s’good, sweet girl.” One of his hands moves on its own, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You can take more though. Come on. Be a good girl and take it all.” 

A small humming giggle vibrates along his length as you work more of him into your mouth and he can’t fight it anymore. Both his hands come to your hair, pushing it back as he wraps the soft strands around his fingers and grips tightly, guiding you down and holding you as low as he can get you before you gag. “Good fuckin’ girl. Jus’ like that.” 

You

Joel’s salty precum is like a drug. You want it. Need it. And know you’re going to crave it forever. He’s been mean tonight, something you haven’t really seen from him, but it was exactly what had to happen to get your head back on straight. You needed a harsh hand to snap you out of the dark looming cloud that’s been threatening to swallow you whole. 

You’ve probably always suffered from depression or high-functioning anxiety, not that your parents would have noticed or said anything. And even if they had, they wouldn’t have gotten their braggable daughter diagnosed. God forbid you weren’t something for them to hold over their friends’ heads.  

Joel’s hands tighten in your hair as he starts to take over. He let you taste him, let you get his cock nice and sloppy with your saliva. He looked down at you softly while you started, but now he’s back to full dominance. Full Mister Miller. 

He pushes you down onto his cock, the tip just kissing against your gag reflex. Your scalp burns under his strong fingers and you can feel yourself submitting. Everything goes quiet: your limbs feel heavy yet ready to move or adjust as he commands, the sides of your vision darken, and the only thing that matters now is him. His wishes. His desires. His commands.

He pulls you off of him, and you gasp in air, a string of your spit landing on your chin, your eyes watering. “You snap if you need me to stop, got it?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Miller,” you say hoarsely. “Fuck my mouth, please.”

“Open,” he says growls.

You do as he says, opening your mouth wide while looking into his dark obsidian eyes. You can see his cheeks and tongue working behind his closed lips before he spits into your mouth. 

“That’s my fucking girl,” he rasps and then roughly guides you back onto his cock. He doesn’t take his time or stop at that point of resistance this time. No, this time he pushes you further than you’ve ever been. The cool metal of the ring on his pelvis touches your nose. The juxtaposition of his hard cock meeting your soft mouth and his cold piercing meeting your warm face is staggering, yet comforting.  

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructs. 

You switch your focus, sucking air in through your nostrils slowly. “That’s it, sweet girl. Relax.”

You let your body sink again into his muscled lined thighs. He starts to move you up his cock. He gets about halfway before he forces you down again. You gag as he hits the back of your throat, shocking yourself when the gag ends in a moan and your pussy starts to weep for him. In fact, almost everywhere is weeping for him. Salvia drips from your lips and onto his lap, tears run down face. 

You’re a mess.

‘His mess’, says that annoying little box in the corner of your mind which now has ‘Mister Miller’ written across it in loopy cursive handwriting, the dots of the i’s little bedazzled hearts. 

Joel uses your hair to pull you up to the tip and you gasp in a few breaths before he starts moving you up and down his now obscenely wet and fully erect cock. Your jaw aches with how wide you need to open your mouth to fit him. Your fingertips just met around the tapered base earlier. You’ve never looked at man’s cock before and thought much, but Joel’s might be enough to ruin your life.  

 “Fuck, this mouth. Feels s’ fuckin’ good. Look at you, takin’ it so well. You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, although it’s muffled around his cock. He pulls you off fully, releasing his grips from your hair. You sit back on your heels, his eyes raking over your body, pausing to watch your heaving chest; a mixture of needing to catch your breath and being insanely turned on. You don’t take your eyes off his face.

“Stay.” Joel’s voice is deep enough that you feel it reverberate through you. You lick your lips, swallowing down the taste of him that you’ve become addicted to and place your hands on your lap. 

One of his hands comes up to his mouth and he spits into his own palm before bringing it down to fist his cock. Your eyes flick down to watch as he pumps himself slowly. “You have me doin’ shit that I didn’t plan, sweet girl. I give in to you, let you take the reins. But I’m in charge here.”

He pumps faster, and you fight to stay where you’re supposed to. “You need to remember that, so you don’t get to be the one to make me come today, you don’t get to feel it or taste it. No, you’re going to sit there, like a good little obedient submissive, and watch.”

You whimper, your right hand moving on its own to between your thighs. 

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself. Keep your hands on your lap.” His voice is strained as the movement of his hand becomes less fluid. His free hand comes to his balls, massaging them lightly and you try to commit the sight of him like this to memory. Tall, wide, and commanding, yet falling apart as he looks at your naked and kneeling form in front of him.

“Mister Miller?” You ask, your voice small and cracking, the back of your throat raw from the way he fucked your mouth. “I’m so wet. Please, can I just touch for a little bit?”

His mouth falls open, pleasure etched across his features, his focus never leaving you. “Show me how wet you are. Spread your legs for me.”

You raise off your heels slightly and slide your knees apart, exposing your wet and swollen cunt to him. Then you lean back, hands resting on the floor behind you, tilting your hips up so he can see all of you. 

“Good girl. So fuckin’ pretty,” he moans and then you watch as white ropes of cum spill over his hand. Your name passes his lips in a groan as he comes simply from the sight of your pussy. His hand stills and you lock eyes. You should feel shy like this, but instead you smile at him, a mischievous giggle bubbling up your chest as you bite down on your bottom lip.

His head nods towards the small dresser by the door, the one with the ceramic dish where his ring is on top. “Bring me a small towel from the top drawer and then get on the bed.” 

You saunter to the dresser, trying your hardest not to look too eager, and then back towards him with a small fluffy white hand towel. He takes it from you and cleans himself up as you lay on the bed. He stuffs his softening cock into his boxers and then removes his pants and shirt. If you thought you were turned on before, it’s nothing to how you feel now seeing him almost naked in front of you. 

That whole looking like you’re carved from stone gene is strong with the Millers, you think, watching the muscles behind his toned skin flex beneath his tanned skin as he climbs onto the bed. He grabs you by the ankle and pulls you to the end of the bed, a squeal leaving your lips. You had almost forgotten about the riding crop welts, but the friction against the sheets has them burning slightly and you wince as the heat settles. 

“I’ll fix those sore spots, but first I need to taste you. Is that ok?”

You spread your legs wide for him, “Y-Yes. I need you, Mister Miller.”

“Tell me what you need,” he hums, settling himself between your legs. 

“What you said,” shyness seems to have finally caught up to you, although you aren’t sure why.

He raises a thick dark eyebrow at you. “Ask for it, tell me how you like it.” He nods at you encouragingly as you take a few breaths. “Come on, my sweet girl. You can do it.”

My sweet girl, you melt. That fucking bedazzled box of feelings is fully in the spotlight now. He has years of experience in this role, but you can’t be imagining it. Looking at someone the way he’s looking at you now isn’t something that someone can fake. You can’t be the only one to feel whatever this invisible teether is between the two of you.

“I like fingers curled inside while the tip of your tongue flicks at my clit. I like suction too.” The pride in Joel’s face is almost overwhelming as he listens. God, he’s beautiful. 

He hums slightly, readjusting himself between your spread thighs. “My pretty girl gets what she wants,” he whispers before using the tip of his tongue to gently work at the soft folds of your cunt, working his way from your tight entrance to your clit. 

Your body jerks when he reaches your most sensitive part and you can’t stop the salacious moan that fills the room. “Oh god, Mister Miller.” 

He runs his tongue in slow, teasing circles around your clit. Not with enough pressure to actually make you orgasm, just enough to taunt you, and your entire body breaks out in goosebumps and a thin sheen of sweat at the same time. He slides his right arm under your leg, hooking his elbow under your thigh and reaches his hand up and over towards your pussy. His thick pointer finger and thumb easily slip to each side of your puffy clit. Just as you’re about to float off into another dimension he pinches hard. You scream out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure, your back arching off the mattress. 

He holds your clit in his fingers, easing up the pinch to tease at it with his tongue again while he works the middle finger of his other hand inside of you. 

“You’re so tight,” he hums between licks. “Gotta relax for me. Let me into this tight little cunt.” 

You whimper at the push of his finger inside of you. One of his fingers is easily one and half of yours, and if he’s having a hard time getting just one of them in, you can’t imagine how it will feel to have two. 

“Eyes on me, sweet girl,” he rasps, releasing your clit from his fingers. His strong hand presses lightly on your mound. “You’re safe here, baby. Open up for me.” 

As always, you follow exactly what your dom says. Craning your neck slightly and opening your eyes to lock your gaze with his. The honey flecks in his dark brown irises warm your skin and as your body relaxes he smiles up at you. You feel Joel’s finger slide the rest of the way in with minimal resistance and it sends a wave of pleasure from your core to your toes.  

“There’s my perfect sweet girl.” He groans as you let out a euphoric whimper. And then he’s back on you. Soft lips pressing to your wet heat, the flat of his large tongue circling your clit. 

Your head falls back to the mattress, “Fuckfuckfuck. Oh god!” 

Your orgasm is embarrassingly close. Joel is hitting almost all the spots you love. No man has gotten you to the edge this quickly. Just as that tingle at the base of your spine starts to spread he curls his finger forward and sucks your clit into your mouth. 

“Mis…hnnng…fuck. I’m - I'm gonna.” You can barely think outside of the pleasure, nevermind form a sentence. 

A second finger slips inside of you, “Give it to me, sweet girl. Show me what I do to you.” 

Your orgasm hits you like an earthquake, making you shake harder than you ever have. The walls of your pussy clench hard on his strong fingers. His mouth is back on your clit, sucking it between his soft, warm lips. The lewd sounds of his sucking mix with your cries of pleasure. Joel is ruthless, never stopping as you absolutely crumble underneath his touch. Another strong wave of your orgasm rushes through you when he curls his fingers forward again, pressing right on your g-spot.

“Oh fuck, fuuuck Mister Miller.” You whine.

He slows the motion of his tongue as the convulsions of your body slow, working you through the aftershocks of your earth shattering orgasm. 

“Good girl,” he whispers before placing a light kiss to your spent clit and slowly slips his fingers out of you. As your gazes lock he licks your arousal off his fingers and then rolls you onto your stomach. You hear him suck in a breath through his teeth when he sees the aftermath of his riding crop punishment earlier. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. Just stay on your stomach for me.”

His lips press to your shoulder blade as the mattress baubles under his weight leaving the bed. You glance over at him, watching his broad, tanned back as he grabs a few items. He spins to face you, coconut oil in one hand and an orange juice and a bottle of water in the other. He places the drinks on the bedside table then scoops a bit of coconut oil onto his fingers. 

You wince as he makes contact with your right cheek, “Ouch, Mister Miller.”

“I know. This will help, and hopefully you learned your lesson about talking badly about what belongs to me.” His voice is sweet yet serious and he moves onto the other cheek, then the back of your thighs before his hand wraps around your right ankle, guiding you to bend your knee so he can look at the sole of your foot. 

He places a light kiss on the light pink spot and you giggle, “Your beard tickles.”

He laughs and does the same thing to the other foot before lining his body up with yours and pulling you in to be his little spoon. “How are you feeling, sweet girl?”

“Mmmm,” you hum, sinking back into his warmth. “Much better. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he holds you tighter, biceps flexing around your body like a ring of muscled safety. You're both quiet for a few minutes before he breaks it. “You kinda scared me tonight if I’m being honest.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, hiding your face in the arm he has under your head.

“No, don’t be. I’ve always been good at reading people, it’s probably more of a curse than a gift, but I just - I could feel that you weren’t in a good space when you got here.”

“Ya,” you agree.

“I know I can’t fix it, it’s not my place, but I hope I at least helped.”

You fixed it.

“You did help. I feel much better. Plus,” you turn to face him, both of you using one of your own arms to support your heads and your other arms wrapping around the other person. “Plus, you were right. I am smart. I can do this. I need to not be so hard on myself.”

Joel smiles sweetly, straight white teeth shining at you. 

“If I can be spanked with a riding crop while handcuffed, fuck, I can be aaaanything.”

You and Joel laugh together and it all feels so natural. Maybe too natural. There’s something comfortable and familiar about him. It might be that southern hospitality, but in all the years you’ve been in Texas you’ve never felt this content with someone else. 

“Mister Miller?” you say as the laughter subsides.

“You can call me Joel now,” his eyes widen just for a fraction of a second after it leaves his lips, almost as if he didn’t intend for it to come out before adding, “The scene is over.”

“Ah, so you’re saying this is a safe nickname zone now?” His smile makes your stomach flip.

“Careful, freckles.” He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You give him a closed lipped smile, “Hey, if you’re gonna use it then so am I, sweet cheeks. Don’t think I didn’t notice the extra tight pants tonight.”

He shrugs a strong shoulder to his ear as you continue. “So, if you don’t sleep with your subs, why the piercing?”

He takes one big breath and licks his lips before he starts, his fingertips trailing up and down your arm. “I got it a long time ago, I wasn’t always as strict with my rules. I’m not proud of it, I broke a lot of hearts when I first started this whole thing. I haven’t taken it out because…well, I don’t really know. I guess because when I do finally reach that point with a partner I want them to experience the benefits.”

Always the giver, you think. 

“Can you have a traditional partner while living this lifestyle?” You immediately begin to back track, realizing that you don’t want to seem like you’re getting attached. “Not you in particular. What you do outside of this room isn’t my business. I just mean like, are there doms that have subs that are married? Again, not you.”

He stares at you as you continue to ramble. “That whole thing came out wrong.”

“Relax, freckles, I knew what you meant. You’re kinda cute when you get all flustered and start to ramble though.”

The lid of the now pink painted box of feelings in your mind lifts a little. It seems to have gained an entire personality, and has the voice of Mrs. Potts from Beauty and The Beast as it says, ‘oh he definitely feels that tether too.’ 

“To answer your question,” his voice pulls you out of your own mind, “There are doms that do this professionally. I did have paying subs at one point myself and had a fairly serious girlfriend.”

Jealousy churns in your stomach. It’s irrational and you really hope it isn’t whoever Tess is. 

“But,” he continues, “It’s a tricky situation and involves a lot of trust and communication. Probably more than a sub-dom dynamic. But, yes, I’ve seen lots of happily married people who live and explore the kink lifestyle.”

You shiver slightly and he pulls you in closer, tucking your head into his chest, inhaling that ash, leather and natural Joel musk. His hand runs up and down your naked back, the calluses on his fingers scratching slightly. 

His body tenses, almost as if he’s nervous before he speaks. “Did you want to come to a Shibari class with me this week? We are hosting a demonstration at the club on Wednesday.”  

You glance up at him, “I’d really like that, Joel.”

He tucks your head back into his chest. His lips press to the crown of your head at the same time that yours meet the soft skin of his sternum. “It’s a date.”

Part Two

[rafeandonlyrafe]

flashing lights

words: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ only, brief smut, p in v sex, model!reader (a bit of influencer too but primarily a model), soft rafe, marriage, pregnancy

“so thats your new girl?” topper asks, eyes on you as you twirl to the music, long legs on show in the simple black dress.

“yeah, shes here for a month on vacation.” rafes also looking at you, unable to let his gaze stray, in case a man comes up and attempts to dance with you. you may not be an official item yet, considering you only met a couple days ago, but rafe is determined to spend the entire month that you’re here with you, and not let any other men pull your focus away.

“she looks so familiar.” the voice rings out before rafe even realizes that there's other people now sat in the circle of chairs and couches, too wrapped up in you.

the girl, who rafe recognizes from high school, begins to tap on her phone. “wait, shes a model.” “yeah, she told me.” rafe shrugs it off. he could have guessed your profession anyways, with how naturally stunning you are, and your height almost rivaling his, only a few inches shorter.

“no, like really famous model.” the girl turns her phone towards rafe, and he hates having to drag his eyes away from you to look at the screen, pulled open to a google search of your name.

“holy shit!” topper says for rafe, taking the phone from the girl as he clicks the first link to open up your instagram. “she has 20 MILLION followers, rafe.”

rafe glances from the phone to you as you turn to smile at him, still dancing to the music, glad to be free of all the attention and camera flashes. its why you chose the outer banks in the first place, somewhere more tucked away to take a month away from the spotlight.

“why are you so surprised, look at her.” rafe states before standing up, tired of letting you dance alone as he joins you on the makeshift dance floor, his hands coming to your waist as you give him a dazzling smile.

-- two years later --

camera lights flash and shouts ring out, but rafe is used to it now.

he smiles and waves, shocked that anyone would care about him, a nobody from north carolina, his only claim to fame is being your boyfriend, for a little over two years now.

rafe walks inside, having enough of the screaming and crowds as he takes in the area, chairs set up along a runway, a large prada sign on the white wall. your prestige has only grown since rafe began to date you, despite coming back to the outer banks several times to take a break and visit him. since rafe began to travel with you, you’ve gone from paris to milan to new york to london, gracing the covers of magazines and walking runways.

he tries to attend every show, taking on a pseudo-management role himself. your favorite part is dressing rafe in the mornings, having received clothing from so many brands, both mens and womens fit. rafe lets you choose, knowing you have the eye for fashion, and he loves to see how happy you get when he wears your outfit.

rafe walks through the seats until he finds the one with his name on it, front row. he sits down, scrolling on his phone as people begin to file in until the room is packed full.

he waits as the show begins, models walking down the runway. they don’t shine to him, not like you do when you step out, your face blank in the typical model expression as you strut down the runway, dressed in all denim with a pair of chunky sunglasses on your nose.

rafe is in awe every time he sees you work, whether its watching your fluid poses during a photoshoot or your long legs stomping down a runway.

he waits with bated breath for your second outfit, changing into a slouchy menswear-esque ensemble, only pulled in at your waist as the fabric swishes around your ankles.

he claps when everyone steps out for the final walk, but he doesn’t cheer for the designer, even if it is prada, as he makes eye contact with you, only ever a brief glance while you're walking the runway, knowing if you look for too long you will become entranced with his handsomeness.

rafe waits for you after the show along with some of the other family members or partners of the models, long after all the celebrities have gone, either to an afterparty or on to a different show.

“hey baby.” rafe smiles when you step out, hair still slicked up in a ponytail, face caked with makeup, but now in a pair of loose jeans and a plain white crop top.

“hi handsome.” you coo, pressing your lips against rafes. “did you like the show?” “i liked you in the show.” rafe says pointedly, making you blush. “are we going to the afterparty?” “nah.” you shake your head. “i have that carolina herrera show in the morning, and i want to spend some time with you.”

“i’ll never argue against spending alone time with you.” rafe says, slotting his arm around your waist as you exit the building, surprised when photographers are still waiting outside. you wave briefly before rushing towards the car, knowing the picture of you and rafe are bound to be spread all over instagram and pinterest before you even make it back to your hotel room.

--

“rafe, i’ve got a question.” you hum, stepping out onto the balcony, eyes looking to the ocean. you’re on a paid for vacation by a makeup brand, simply wanting a couple instagram story posts using their products in a get ready with me. you are supposed to be relaxing the rest of the time, but you crept onto your phone to read the latest email from your agent.

“what is it babe?” rafe asks as he pulls you down onto his lap, scantily dressed in only his swimsuit, not that you have worn much other than a bikini this whole trip.

“what would you think about me doing a lingerie photoshoot?” you haven’t accepted any jobs that would call for you to show off a lot of skin or be paired with a male model since you started dating rafe, lucky to be in a place to reject jobs.

“who is it for?” rafe asks.

“calvin klein. i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t them.” you admit. you find their style of black and white classic photos far more tasteful than traditional lingerie pictures.

“as long as i can be there during the shoot.” rafe says. he’s taken the role of your advocate and protector during photoshoots, easily able to read your face and speak up for you if needed, considering sometimes the models voice gets drowned out.

“of course.” you nod. 

“then absolutely.” rafe pulls you in closer to his body. “i need a new lockscreen anyways.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you as you turn towards the ocean, watching the waves roll onto the sand.

--

you step out behind the curtain, a tight fitting sports bra contrasting the loose jeans, slung open and zipper undone to show off your underwear as well as the calvin klein jeans.

you look over to rafe, who has his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes skate down your bare torso.

you most over to the white backdrop as the photographer begins to test the lighting, taking occasional snaps as things are adjusted.

the photoshoot is run just like any other and you’re finished faster than expected considering they’re solo shots and no change in location or background.

you keep the underwear and jeans on, simply throwing on a sweatshirt before getting into the taxi home with rafe, this time to your new york city apartment, having collected various homes and apartments around the world, depending on wherever you were doing business at the time. you consider the outer banks home though, returning every extended break with rafe.

“did you like the shoot?” you ask when you get home, rafe laying on bed while you tug the sweatshirt and jeans off, leaving you in just the calvin klein bra and panties.

“get over here.” rafe says, not caring about your question. he’s been desperate for you since you appeared from behind the curtain, not even trying to hide it as he watched the photoshoot, your eyes occasionally moving to him, giving him reassurance you were still good.

rafe makes you keep the underwear on, simply pulling it to the side once he’s got your back against the mattress to slide his cock deep inside of you. you push the sports bra up to let your breasts free, rafes palm instantly coming to cover your tit as he thrusts into you.

“i think you should do more shoots like that.” rafe says with a moan, cock pulsing inside of you.

--

“its nice to be back home.” you sigh, quickly applying some makeup, mostly just mascara and a glowy primer. 

“agreed.” rafe kisses your shoulder, watching over your shoulder as you finish and then adjust your white dress, having decided to take a couple pictures on the beach for you to post as well as just enjoy a walk on the sand.

“alright, i’m ready.” you hum as you slip on your sandals. you lace your fingers with rafes before stepping out the back door. “you look handsome by the way.”

the suns golden light illuminates his skin. his outfit is simple, closer to what he wore before the fame. a simple white button down, loose fitting and you are sure would look delicious unbuttoned, showing off his muscles.

“thank you baby.” rafe presses a kiss to your cheek, leading you down the beach until you come across a picnic set up. you glance around before realizing its for you.

“oh my god, its just like our first date!” you gush, stepping away from rafe to look at the spread.

“before we eat, i have a question to ask you.” you turn around to realize that rafe is on one knee, a velvet jewelry box in his hand.

“oh, rafe.” you press your hand to your mouth, tears already coming to your eyes as he opens the box, revealing a sparkling diamond ring. “will you marry me?”

--

“how am i supposed to look good next to a literal model?” rafe asks as he looks towards the camera, looking almost nervous for once in his life.

“we’ve taken pictures together before rafe.” you roll your eyes, adjusting your wedding dress. it’s actually four weeks after your wedding, but you wanted to get professional photos done with your new husband and asked one of your photographer friends who was more than willing to let you into their studio if they could post some of the photos on their instagram and website.

“mirror selfies and shit, this is more serious.” rafe says as you tug him over to the backdrop.

“you look so handsome, babe. don’t worry.” you smooth your hands over his shoulders. “just think back to our wedding day, we took so many pictures then.”

“i was too distracted by how excited i was to marry you.” rafe says, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, the oscar de larenta dress you ended up deciding on being off the shoulder. it was a simple dress, but the closer you got you realized how intricate the lace detail is. “you look just like you did on our wedding day though, baby. the makeup artists did a great job.”

“just tanner.” you joke, having gone on your honeymoon already.

you look as the photographer begins to set up their lens, before you turn to whisper to rafe. “you can’t tell?” you question, pressing your hand to your stomach. you know there’s no way you’d already begin to show, considering your baby is no bigger than a seed, but that doesn’t stop you from getting worried about your pregnancy being discovered early.

“not at all.” rafe shakes his head, but can’t hide the smirk that comes to his face, knowing your tummy will soon swell with his child, having made sure of it many times on the honeymoon.

--

“i was thinking about how we could announce the baby.” you tell rafe as you pad into the kitchen. he’s still making the decaf coffee you were absolutely craving, more syrup and milk than coffee.

“how?” he hums, glancing over at you as you lean against the counter, rubbing your stomach, bump now obvious as you’re over 6 months along. you have managed to keep it a secret so far, saying you were taking a break from modeling to focus on your new marriage. there is of course a lot of speculation that you are pregnant, but it is to be expected.

“calvin klein shoot. like before, except i’ve got a big ol’ bump.” you laugh as rafe finishes you coffee off with some whip cream before sliding the mug to you. “and you can be in it too.”

rafe rolls his eyes as you giggle. “come on! the girls love you, you’re so handsome.”

“i’m not a model.” rafe argues back, but he already knows he’s going to agree, he’d do anything for you, his pregnant wife.

“yeah, but you’re hot like a model.” you shrug, taking a sip of coffee.

“i think this is just an excuse to get me shirtless and in underwear.” rafe laughs, pressing a kiss to your upper lip, cleaning off the whip cream that sat on your cupids bow.

“yeah, and what about it?”

--

“you know theres some hormone to make women forget the pain of birth?” you hum to rafe, keeping your voice soft. “because if you remembered then no one would never do it again.”

“really?” rafe whispers, his voice also hushed as to not wake the sleeping newborn cuddled up in his arms, wrapped in a soft hospital banket.

“yeah.” you nod. “but i don’t wanna forget a moment of this.”

“im sure you wont baby.” rafe kisses your head as your tiny daughter squirms in his arms, letting out a yawn in her slumber. “i suppose i need to use a different name for you now that we’ve got an actual baby.”

you giggle, resting your head against rafes shoulder as you look down on your perfect little girl, already an adorable mixture of you and rafe.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld

[allthornsnopetals]

You are a Fool E.Bridergton

Description: "I'd rather lose an eye than kiss you." Oh, how the times have changed since, Y/n last exchanged words with Eloise. Perhaps, now Eloise wished to kiss the young lady as Suitors sweep the beauty off her feet.

Warning: 18+ content

Y/n rolls her eyes at the sight of her family home, wishing to be back in Paris, sipping wine and indulging in their fruity society. But she had been summoned home after years receiving education in the city of love, and flamboyance. The season is soon to begin and she were to be wed, and soon, God help the man to court Lady Delacour, and her spicy tastes may.

She grimaced, entering the familiar abode, shouldering off her cloak, and handing it to the servant.

"Y/n, how it is good to finally see you again. I see a young Lady had blossomed, let me get a better look at you." Said Edger, Y/n's eldest brother and heir to the Delacour dynasty, his arms stretched out, waiting for them to be filled.

Y/n grinned, gliding with haste to fill her brother's arms. "It is good to finally have you home!" Another familiar voice, male, called, joining the embrace.

"Hello to you, too, Evon." She chuckles, fighting for air as another and another joins the already crowded hug.

"Hamish, you're poking me." Harwin growls, jabbing his twin brother in the rib.

Due to their fighting, the elder siblings broke a part, all but one watching with amusement. "Stop it! Or I'll knock the sense out of you both, no questions asked!" Edger scolds, pointing his finger in their faces, hunched over like he were their mother.

The boys were two years younger compared to Y/n, but they had grown into young men, taller, too. But still, they beaker, unable to control themselves, even now, seconds after she had returned home. Some things just do not change.

Y/n is the second youngest with two elder brothers and two younger ones, all without a sister for almost eleven years, until now as the season of the debutantes begins, calling for the remaining Lady to be courted. She were not the only woman, for a while, that is. Her mother had kept their family in company for most of Y/n's youth, that was until her passing: childbirth, a scary and terrifying way to die, but it took her final breaths and the opportunity for another sister.

Her passing had driven her family into the dark days, she called it. The days of morning, that drew into months and almost a year before her father had sent her away, unable to bear the face that held his late-wife. Sent away for ten years, until she were eligible for marriage. Any remaining rough edges, had been smoothed over, replaced with rounder, softer and smoother ones, instead.

She were a wild one, even before the passing of her mother. Being sent away surely did her some good, if it also didn't make her miss the french and their stunning cities. Men and women were open about their desires, and encouraged others to indulge in the simplest lust or flame, man or woman, thin or thick, white or black. France is the place of love in different fonts and shapes, Y/n took it a little too literally, with her eyes wandering over from men to women, from women to men.

White, black, she ate. Heavy or light, she ate. Men or women, she ate! French men had a talent of mouth and hands, they preferred head or a work of a gentle hand, oh and how they were talented, or obsessed with ass. The men Y/n spread her wings for, always went for head, fingers, or anal, which she finds divine. The women... Oh Y/n doesn't know where to begin, they were skilled with finding the pleasure of their sexual partner, and always aroused some unknown kink.

But now, she were home and a dinner party is to be held in her return, all close to her family is to attend, and Y/n is to get ready.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Not, too tight, is it?" Asked Daisy, your hand maiden, tightening Y/n's corset. She made a small attempt to smile.

"Is my waist, not slim enough?" She asks instead of replying to her question. Daisy simply nods, loosening the reins of the fabric.

A shaky breath of short relief slips past her lips, her eyes closing with a hand smoothing over her stomach, glad the presser had subsided. Y/n had never been one for corsets, always finding them ridiculous, like a certain someone, whom her cheeks still burn for: Eloise Bridergtion, the first person to ever reject a simple peck to the cheek.

"I'd rather lose an eye than kiss you."

She grinned at the last and final memory she shared with her, so young and sure both girls and boys had cooties. Eloise allowed no one, not even her own papa to kiss her cheek or hold her hand. She was so paranoid, she wore gloves to prevent some sort of plague, she were sure it was real.

"Emerald green or sapphire blue." Daisy said, allowing Y/n to peer inside the two containers.

She wondered for some time, biting her lip as she thought. "I have jewels that would look fabulous with the blue gown," She says, gliding her fingers over the fabric. "Sapphire blue, please."

After a few moments, she was ready. Her hair flowed freely, decorated with blue flowers as a half crown. A wide diamond necklace, rounder her neck with pearl sized sapphires clipped to her ears. Daisy worked at staining her lips a shade of cherry wine before tinting her cheeks with peach blush. Lastly her slippers slipped on her feet with a dab of floral perfume on her neck, wrists and jaw.

"Your thoughts, ma'am." Said Daisy, allowing Y/n to admire her work in the vanity mirror.

"Wonderful as always. Come for me when the party begins."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Stop fiddling, you look like a fool." Violet hissed, forcing Eloise to stand up straight and still, for the most part.

"She is nervous, mama. She hasn't seen Y/n for many years, afraid she might not recognize her." Said Daphne, sipping her sparkly liquid, sure to be alcohol.

Eloise stuck her tongue out, not even trying to hide her immature behavior. "Am not. I am perfectly well, just a bit sweaty that is." She jeered, chugging a glass of liquid courage.

Of course she were nervous, jumping on the balls of her feet with anxiety. She has not seen her dear friend, Y/n for ten years, and still she wished to have allowed her to peck her cheek, goodbye. Perhaps, then she would have had a fond memory and not one filled with tears, and anger. Eloise was more than angry to see her leave, and even depressed at not snagging herself a kiss, even if it were an innocent peck on the cheek. She would have cherished it, like her books. She thought of her everyday, staring out the window, hoping to see Y/n walk to steps to her door, but that hope was just that: hope. She thought herself foolish for some time, that was until the invention to the Delacour Mansion arrived, speaking of a welcome home ball for the only daughter, Y/n Eliza Delacour.

Eloise near fainted. She were to see her friend again! To hear her voice again! To finally fill the duo to a trio, once more: her, Pen and Y/n. The golden girls back together again.

But even with such electricity, it were hard on Eloise to not pick up her skirts and run for the hills, and dunk her head in a bucket of cold ice water. For her thoughts have always been far from platonic for Lady Y/n, a girl she wished to have shared a kiss with before her departure, regretting her poorly chosen words.

"I'd rather lose an eye than kiss you."

Eloise still remembered the hot tears streaming down her cheeks, as if it were yesterday, the guilt still so fresh. She was sure she had lost a friend.

"Well, she's right there. If you are so clear minded, go say hello to her." Daphne stepped aside, allowing Eloise to a route to Y/n.

"Righty then, I will." She huffed, sticking up her nose, and marching off.

Oh what the fuck! She thought gliding her way towards Y/n, dodging bodies and frantic house guests, all bubbling with the return of the sapphire of House Delacour.

As she drew closer, the more frightened Eloise became, terror eating at her. Completely ignore Hyacinth, thundering towards her with Gregory hot on her toes. It was far too late, she was already pooling forward, her arms outstretched, lips releasing a gasp.

But the impact to the hard cool floor did not come, she lay comfortably in a set of arms, holding her steadily, combing back runaway hair. "El?" Her stomach churned, the voice so familiar her stomach had a wakened.

Eloise's throat ran dry and tight, her eyes meeting the gaze of her old friend, her cheeks burning with an embarrassed grin, curving her lips. Y/n steered a sound of surprise and excitement, pulling her into her arms.

"It is you! Thank goodness! I almost didn't recognize you. I missed you and Pen. Talking about Pen, where is she?" Y/n mutters, her breath fanning Eloise's ear.

Eloise swallows hard.

I almost didn't recognize you.

Perhaps, she did fear that Y/n would be unable to identify her, thinking she had forgotten the way she looked. But that fear slowly faded as she sank into her arms, taking in her scent with a sharp breath: Oranges, lemons and pomegranates. Oh, how she missed her. She held onto for a moment longer, until the thought of Penelope whisked her mind.

Pulling a part, Eloise avoided Y/n's gaze. As if she knew something were wrong Y/n guided both her and Eloise to the library, where no one was allowed in, making sure to shut the door behind them.

"Ellie, what happened when I was away? Why is Pen not by your side?" Once the words were out, she felt a fool for asking such things.

"There was a falling out." Said Y/n, now knowing why the two peas were not together.

Eloise bit back a tear, nodding in clarification. Y/n sighed, taking her place in her arms, stroking her hair, pulling out built up tears that welled up inside her. No golden girls, after all.

She wept, holding her so tightly, it could break Y/n ribs.

"Tell me what happened." Y/n sat them both down at the cushioned love seat near the back, hidden from anyone who were to burst in.

Eloise sniffled, her hand held into hers, a smile gracing her lips. "You were always the nurse, always caring about us before yourself. Always patching us up with gentle hands and warm arms, never taking a moment peace for yourself." She laughs wetly, wiping her tears with the back of her gloved hand.

Y/n tsk's, swatting her hand from her face, wanting her not to ruin her make up, wiping her salty river away with her finger tips, their gaze finding one another. "Don't, you'll ruin your gloves." She pulls the fabric from Eloise's hands, placing them on the small coffee table, rolling her thumb over her open palm, an old habit, too good for her to ridden.

Eloise shook her head. "No, just tell me everything about Paris and your travels. I want to know. You must have had the best time." She forced a smile, squeezing Y/n's hands, wanting to change the subject.

"Only if you inform me of what happened." Her tone was cool, almost demanding, Eloise didn't recognize the woman in front of her. Couldn't decipher who she was, yes she looked the same—almost, if it weren't for the sudden bloom of her breasts—and even acted the same, with habits she still lingered with and nature she has long but permanently made one with herself. But she were all grown up now, mature and knowing, bold and daring with her tone, her chin held high, eyes leveled and commanding.

Her heart gave a giddy squeeze, if she were to stare at her any longer, Eloise would spill all her secrets. But not tonight, only for tonight she were to explain the happenings between her and Penelope.

She began with her interest in the unmasking of Lady Whistledown, from there everything progressively got worse and impossibly worse, that Y/n had rang for tea, biscuits and all sorts of sweets, sucked away from her own ball, too invested of what she were hearing. Eloise paused, gulping as if she were nervous for the following words.

"If I don't unmask this anonymous author, everyone in town would know... They'll know that I'm," She chokes, head buried in Y/n's lap, soothed by her elegant lull, her fingers combing through her hair. "Say, no more. Pen thinks it unwise to identify, Lady Whistledown. And she won't help it's sim-

"No! I know she is Lady Whistledown— I feel it in my bones and she will ruin me if everyone knew," She lashes out of her lap, tears streaming down her face. "Knew what?" Y/n coaxes her back into her, wiping her tears away, staring down at her.

Eloise sniffles, choking, blowing her nose in a handkerchief. "If everyone knew I were lesbian. Y/n it will ruin my family, greatly."

Silence followed, Y/n frozen, staring down with her eyes agape. Eloise swallowed harshly, fear running through her. Before she could say anything, Y/n was already moving, standing, and beginning to pace, warming herself near the fire.

"Times have really never changed, here?" Y/n gaped, panic rising in her like a forest fire. "Anyone identified as queer would be ruined, even their families... I should have never returned, I should have stayed in Paris, be free to be who I wished. Eloise, would Lady Whistledown, target anyone with queer traits."

"It's Lady Whistledown, what do you think?"

"Noooo, I need to pack and leave. Run back to Paris. Fake my death?" Y/n was beginning to sound crazy to Eloise.

Why is she panicking? Unless... "You're queer..." It sounded more like a question than a statement. Y/n stomps over to her hastily, cupping her hand over her lips, hovering over her, pressing her into the cushions.

"Must you speak so loudly. And if you must know, I'm bisexual. I have been aware of my fruity tastes for a long while, even far before my trip to Paris, only there did I explode myself, if you understand what I mean." She was so close, Eloise could smell her, her scent so intoxicating.

She slowly, slid her palm away, rolling her thumb over her lips, almost relishing in the feeling. "Tell no one." Her voice, smooth and oddly sweet, in her ears.

"Tell, no one got it." Eloise nods, cheeks burning a vibrant pink. "You're blushing. El, do I make you blush?" Y/n grins, leaning closer, her breath tickling her lips.

Her breathing rose, strangling Eloise, realizing if she to move, even in the slightest her lips would meet Y/n's.

Kiss me, god just kiss me. Release me of this burden.

With no answer, Y/n lent into her shoulder, snatching the exposed skin between her lips, bodies pressed together.

"Would, you rather lose an eye than kiss me." Said Y/n, her words passing through Eloise's skin.

Eloise sucked air into her lungs, tilting Y/n's chin, her eyes meeting hers. "I did not mean what I said then. I wanted you to kiss me, take me with you, be with you. Y/n I have hungered for you, for so long," She paused, gaze taking in every detail of the beauty in her view.

"I feared you'll never return, and I'll starve without you. You're my water and my meal, I'll go parch and go hungry without you. No, I'd rather not lose an eye than kiss you." Her words hung in the gap, so true, it made Y/n's heart dance.

Without another word, she dragged her chin, her lips meeting Y/n's. Eloise moaned, fire bubbling in her stomach, a whizzing boom going off in her ears. Fireworks, booming in the distance, sparks flying. She has been waiting for this, waiting for the right kiss, and this was it. In its gentleness something exciting happened, life.

She couldn't stop the smile, glad she had chosen to keep both her eyes and kiss the girl she has been starving for, for so long. "What are you smiling about?" Asked Y/n, breaking the kiss and grinning down at her.

"Nothing, truly." Eloise giggled, thumb grazing Y/n's lips. "Kiss me again." She orders, pulling Y/n back down, slamming her lips against hers.

Hers hands wander down her back, groping Y/n's ass, rewarding her a gasp, allowing a way past her lips.

Y/n straightens herself up, gasping for air, Eloise's hands gripping her hips. "Have you had sex with a woman before?" Eloise's eyes widened, her lips plump and red. "No... Not at all."

"Have you touched yourself." Y/n removed her gloves, tossing them aside, undoing her dress. "Yes, I have." She grinned, pulling her dress over her head.

"Do you wish to have sex?" She asked, stiffing a laugh at Eloise's reaction to her almost bare body.

She didn't say a word, but nodded frantically, working on her own dress, sitting up to allow Y/n to pull it off her. Once removed, their lips met again, a bit sloppily but Eloise wasn't really taking her time, to high on the moment.

Eloise desperately worked at Y/n's corset, wanting it off as Y/n took her time, knowing the thread of corset with her eyes closed. "Slow down, El. I'm going nowhere." She pants against her lips, noting her lids were already lust shot.

"Calm yourself." She tosses her corset before doing the same to Eloise's. Chest bare for only a minute, before Eloise latches her lips to her left nipple, sucking and licking with her right accompanied by her hand, kneading the flesh.

Rolling her eyes back, her head slowly fell back, moans spilling from her lips. Her hand lingered past her panties, fingers passing her folds, working at her pussy, fucking herself. Biting on her lip, she focuses on pleasing herself, rolling her hips in her own hand, mouth agape. Eloise detaches herself from her breasts, allowing her to fall back, watching her fuck herself, legs spread, gaze locked on hers.

"Come here."

She listens and crawls over to her, watching Y/n remove her digest from her cunt, wet and glossy. "Open," She orders, satisfied as Eloise takes her fingers into her mouth, moaning and sucking on them. "Drink me." She coos, pulling Eloise closer, pulling both their panties off, lining their cunts together before dragging her fingers out of her mouth.

"Grind your pretty little cunt on mine, it will make you feel good." She did not have to do much convincing, for it only took Eloise but a moment to adjust herself, starting to rock her hips.

"Like that?" She asks, moving slowly. "Just a bit to the le-"

She threw her head back, Eloise resting her head on her shoulder, moaning as she gripped her ass, speeding up her pace. Y/n held her close, rocking her hips against hers, rubbing their sex together, in a tangle of limbs. Humping harder and harder, Eloise was cutting it close to the edge but Y/n was just getting started, if the two were to both wish to orgasm tonight, it will be a long night indeed.

[sofs16]

just us- cl16

!! smau and real life

pairing: charles leclerc x celebrity!fem reader

summary: in which charles doesn’t know who y/n y/l/n is and yn doesn’t know who charles is

yn •••

liked by taylorswift, kyliejenner, and 7,202,686 others yn paris fashion week content upcoming <3 have a great day babes

view all 749,292 comments

ynfilmz MOTHER WILL SERVE !!!

givenchy 🤍🤍🤍

honeymoon Beauty ❤️

emmachamberlain see u lovely

yns16 AAAAAAAA LEETS GOOO HAVE A GREAT DAY 2!! august 13, 2023

yndaily •••

liked by ynstagram, and 3,282 others

yndaily 📸 | Y/n arrives at the Givenchy show for Paris Fashion week!

view all 43 comments

august 14, 2023

leclercupdates •••

liked by clec16, and 1,567 others

leclercupdates Charles just got inside the Givenchy show for Paris Fashion week!

view all 122 comments

chacha1655 you’re doing great hunny 😄📸

sainzleclercf1 serve

august 14, 2023

yn •••

liked by pierregasly and 8,292,697 others

view all 6,687 comments

leclerccccyn MOTHER ARE U BESIDE CHARLES?!?

august 14, 2023

leclercupdates and yndaily •••

liked by 16yln, and 10,5839 others yndaily 📸 | Charles Leclerc and Y/n Y/l/n sitting beside each other for the show! via @ voguemagazine and @yn’s post ! view all 1,010 comments

leclercpiano WHAT YNDAILY AND LECLERCUPDATES COLLAB POST????

user48393 WHAT THE FUCKKK

user9653 was not on my bingo card but YES

author lets pretend its them in the pic, kay? (:

august 14, 2023

yndaily •••

liked by 9,292 others

yndaily 📸| yn at the givenchy show! view all 684 comments

august 14, 2023

charles sat down quite early for the show. he had been invited to a few fashion shows this year and wanted to attend some as a break from racing. he was honored to be sitting first row.

charles was chatting with the people beside him when a girl took her seat beside him. he turned his head to her and he started to stare as you sent a smile to him.

he suddenly wished he took pierre’s advice and wore a suit seeing as you were wearing a stunning backless dress with a black train.

“charles leclerc” he smiled nervously “y/n y/l/n” you extended your hand and he shook it.

“y/n! can we get a photo of you!” 3 photographers rushed over to her and she nodded with a smile. she soon nudged charles, who was staring at her, to lean in and join.

“have a good night, boys” you turn back to charles “so, you go to these shows often?” “no-no not much, work keeps me busy. you?” “fashion week is my favorite week of the year so.. yes”

“you- are in fashion?”charles tilted his head “Oh, no! I’m just some actress” “ah really?” “mhm, but i’ve been on a break for a while now just enjoying things” you shrugged “can’t take breaks like that where i work” you laughed “what do you do?”

“Just a racer” “you look like a Mercedes or Ferrari guy” you squinted your eyes. “Ferrari forever, belle” charles let that last part slip but thankfully the show was starting and you both just smiled at each other.

yn •••

liked by charles_leclerc and 10,696,707 others

yn truly exquisite

@givenchy honored to be here

view all 1,110,696 comments

charles_leclerc Just some actress? 😂

⤷ yn @charles_leclerc just a racer? ⤷ charles_leclerc @yn You started it, belle.

⤷ yn @charles_leclerc je suis désolé, chérie. i’ll have to make it up to you next time

[liked by charles_leclerc] ⤷ f1yln @yn @charles_leclerc what the fuck just happened.

⤷ charlesupdates @yn @charles_leclerc the charles was too stunned to speak. SHE CALLED HIM SWEETHEART 😭

august 14, 2023

charles_leclerc started following yn. 2h ago

yn started following charles_leclerc. 1m ago

leclercupdates and yndaily •••

liked by 10,697 others leclercupdates y/n and charles both now follow each other! view all 2,697 comments

ynleclerc next thing u know they’ll be married 😏

ynmother not vroom vroom man stealing MY wife.

august 14, 2023

yndaily •••

liked by leclercupdates, and 1,607 others

yndaily 📸| yn arrives at the ysl show! view all 59 comments

august 15, 2023

leclercupdates •••

liked by ynupdates, and 1,060 others

leclercupdates Charles arrives at the YSL show!

view all 100 comments

ynleclerc my man squaring up knowing yn will be there 😭

gaslyleclerc SERVEDDDD

august 15, 2023

yn •••

liked by charles_leclerc, and 7,110,707 others

view all 91,696 comments

august 15, 2023

charles_leclerc •••

liked by yn, and 2,202,292 others

charles_leclerc Wow! @YSL ❤️

view all 224,696 comments

ynloml AHAAHHAA YN GOT CHARLES TO POST FASHION WEEK CONTENT DUBSS

yn told you u should post this ;)

⤷ charles_leclerc @yn It seems you’re always right 🤷‍♂️

[liked by yn]

august 15, 2023

yn •••

liked by charles_leclerc, and 11,586,596 others

yn winky winky

view all 1,202,696 comments

pierregasly winky winky

⤷ yn @ pierregasly alpine

⤷ pierregasly @yn @charles_leclerc taught you well

⤷ carlossainz55 @ pierregasly @yn winky winky

⤷ yn @ carlossainz55 forza ferrari ❤️

⤷ carlossainz55 @charles_leclerc she’s a keeper

[ comment was deleted!]

⤷ yn @ carlossainz55 @charles_leclerc is that so? august 16, 2023

yn •••

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 20,292,9494 others

view all 3,696,202 comments

charles_leclerc ❤️❤️❤️

⤷ yn charles_leclerc thanks for the racing lesson❤️‍🔥

⤷ charles_leclerc yn Anytime ;)

carlossainz55 Come to the paddock?

⤷yn carlossainz55 kinda wish the other ferrari asked me, but sure carlos!!!

⤷carlossainz55 charles_leclerc

⤷pierregasly charles_leclerc

⤷lewishamilton charles_leclerc

⤷landonorris charles_leclerc

⤷maxverstappen1 charles_leclerc

⤷danielricciardo charles_lecler

⤷scuderiaferrarri charles_leclerc❤️🏎️

f1griddd bro summoned the whole grid

august 17, 2023

Charles Leclerc ✓⃝

charles_leclerc

august 17, 2023

Charles Leclerc

Apologies, belle.

Would you like to come to the paddock at Netherlands next week? :)

yn

charles, if you’re asking because half of the grid just spammed you, please don’t feel pressured to do so. I was just kidding but if you want me there, i’d happily go

Charles Leclerc

No! I want you there but I was not

sure if you’d like to come

yn

25th, correct?

Charles Leclerc

Yes, belle❤️

yn

you better win leclerc❤️

Charles Leclerc

I’ll do my best, it would be a shame

if I lost within your presence 😂

yn

mhmmm in your dreams

night leclerc

Charles Leclerc

goodnight, belle

[ yn reacted with 💤]

yn •••

liked by chares_leclerc and 17,293,382 others yn red isn’t really my color but it’ll do for today

congrats on pole position leclerc charles_leclerc

view all 4,689,567 comments

f1rrari OH HE DOWN BADDDD LOOK AT THAT EYE CONTACT

charles_leclerc What are you talking about, you look great in every color, especially red❤️

⤷ yn charles_leclerc i guess you’ll have to invite me to more races so i get to wear it more 🤷🏻‍♀️

⤷ charles_leclerc yn I guess I will

august 26, 2023

yn •••

liked by charles_leclerc, and 30,181,595 others yn he said he’ll do his best…

i don’t know much about f1 but apparently leclerc got p1 (is that correct)?? and i could not be more proud of this silly guy! keep it up monaco’s princess 🏎️

view all 5,383,595 comments

scuderriaferrari Nice to have you at the garage ❤️

charles_leclerc Very proud you know what P1 is! Thank you, belle ❤️❤️❤️

ynbabes she really said fuck soft launches 😞

august 27, 2023

charles_leclerc •••

liked by yn, and 5,697,797 others charles_leclerc Very glad to be back on the podium! Congrats to carlossainz55 on P2! Thank you to yn, I could hear your screams a mile away even if you don’t know what is happening❤️😘

view all 1,585,494 others

yn oops.. was i that loud

⤷carlossainz55 yes

⤷danielricciardo yes

⤷landonorris yes

⤷charles_leclerc yes but it is the thought that counts🙂

august 28, 2023

charles_leclerc •••

liked by yn, and 7,394,696 others

view all 3,282,595 comments

august 29, 2023

charles_leclerc •••

liked by yn, and 3,689,595 others

charles_leclerc P1! Great race with everything maximized today🙂 Thank you to everyone, the team, and yn for screaming much louder ❤️❤️❤️

view all 1,383,595 comments

yn ❤️❤️❤️

ynleclerc YEAH THEYRE DEFO A THINGGGG

august 30, 2023

abbie🏎️ ynsleclerc • 1h

no bcuz why was charles spotted with a brunette a while ago………… YN BABY IS YNCHARLES STILL ALIVE??

yn •••

liked by charles_leclerc, and 43,282,585 others

yn my bad, i’ll stop coloring my hair so you guys don’t get confused ❤️❤️❤️❤️

view all 5,697,707 comments

charles_leclerc Only woman for me, belle❤️ Don’t get too jealous 😂

⤷ yn charles_leclerc my man, guys! my man!!!!!

pierregasly thank god it’s official. you’re all charles talks about

⤷ charles_leclerc what the hell, pierre!😂

ynleclerc should i change my username to reserve it for you?

[liked by yn]

charles_leclerc •••

liked by yn, and 16,373,595 others

charles_leclerc My belle ❤️ I do not know much about fashion but thank you to the person who seated us together. I will listen to you talk about which shirt matches which skirt for hours as long as it’s you talking. Te amo, Je t’aime, I love you in all languages ❤️❤️❤️

view all 5,696,607 comments

ynleclerc giggling silly gf x poetic bf

leclerc1655 THE TEXT ON THE 2ND POST??

⤷ charles_leclerc Just a joke but one day❤️

yn wait i feel bad for making my caption silly now..

⤷ charles_leclerc but it’s true… brunette, blond, or dark hair, you’ll always be the girl with me :)

yn je t’aime chérie, i’d learn f1 mechanics for you anyday and scream till my voice gives out<3

[hwachronicles]

▸ My Masterpiece. ✦ P.SH

♡ - seonghwa x fem!reader

! - mini plot, fashion designer!seonghwa, model!reader & smut [ praise, biting, marking, quickie (kinda), vaginal sex, cum swallowing, use of pet names (doll, love, & baby) ]. — MDNI !

✧ - wc = 1.3k!

୨ৎ - i’m back w more hwa ♡ hhng idk much abt the fashion industry so I’m sorry if anything is off >< “Marsent” is like Mars + sent ★ likes & reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡ please enjoy ^^

——————

��Look at you. My, you’re absolutely stunning, my love.”

You smiled at the compliment as you confidently walked down the marble runway—proudly wearing the newest piece your beloved friend ( and boss ) created with his own blood, sweat, and tears. Now, there was no fashion show for this dress to make its debut at, only a photoshoot, but you looked like you were ready for Paris Fashion Week—but maybe one day.

“Think so? I want to do this dress justice; are you entirely sure I’m the perfect one to model it?” Seonghwa scoffed, meeting you at the end of the runway, “Am I sure? When have you ever given me a reason not to choose you for my shoots?” Everything about you fits the style his brand, Marsent, exudes. Your overwhelming beauty, class, confidence, and passion for fashion caught his eye, and he knew he just had to have you. 

“True," You giggled, your hands reaching to rest on his shoulder, sneaking in a light massage, “I think I just wanted to hear you say that.” An airy groan led to a chuckle, he didn’t mean to take the massage so seriously—your hands just felt so good to him. “Ah.. I knew that, I just played along anyway. Now.. let’s get you over to the setup for the shoot.”

Cameras flashed as they focused on you. “Beautiful, Y/N. Now, can we get a close-up?” or you would hear, “Gorgeous…let’s get you positioned like this…” This environment was perfect for you; all the cameras, lights, creativity, the adoring eyes of the staff, just everything—you had no issue with getting into your element. You also made no mistakes during the shoot; every picture came out just how you and Seonghwa both had envisioned it—you wondered if it was because he was watching.

You would often sneak a few glances over to Seonghwa’s way, practically able to hear exactly what he was thinking. He wasn’t exactly discreet about his feelings for you—and neither were you. You just didn’t want the entire truth about the relationship between you two to come out. 

“You did wonderful. I’ll let you see every shot once we’re finished, okay?” The photographer, Wooyoung, excitedly whispered to you, bringing you out of your trance by patting your shoulder. You genuinely smiled at his excitement and support, quickly giving him your thanks before he continued, “Let’s take a 30-minute break! Can we get Ms. Y/N’s new outfit ready in her changing room for the next concept?” Immediately after Wooyoung called for a break, Seonghwa took your hand—leading you to a private break room.

He quickly locked the door, sitting you down on the couch in front of him. "I can’t just stand back and admire you anymore—I need to touch you." Him admitting this wasn't a surprise to you, nor was it new. You slowly sat up, happily giving him access to the zipper. “You looked so perfect.” He made quick but gentle work of getting you out of the dress. “Oh? I did notice how you were staring me down,” You smirked, slipping out of the dress slowly—almost teasing him. “You were just impatiently waiting for Wooyoung to ask for a break, weren't y-“

Seonghwa snaked his hand to the base of your neck, instantly cutting you off with a heated kiss. You willingly fell into it, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt—you swiftly unbuttoned every button of his shirt and even the buckle of his belt. You haphazardly tossed it over towards the conference table across the room, only focused on deepening the kiss. He caught it though, pointing at the table with it, “Stand up for me; I need you bent over this.” He ushered you over to the long, glass table, pinning you down against it with a single hand. “S-Shit..” You hissed at the feeling of your bare chest pressed against the cold glass, your nipples hardening every second. 

He chuckled as he spread your legs further apart, already noticing how wet you are, “Damn, you weren’t lying when you said that you get—“ You cut him off with a loud mewl—pushing yourself back against him, “Oh, stop it.. please, just hurry. I don’t know how much time we have left.” Seonghwa was so lost in the moment that he truly forgot all about the rest of the shoot. He agreed, tugging his pants down with his boxers. Seonghwa gripped your hips, smacking your ass a few times while drenching his cock in your wetness before slipping it inside.

You both exhaled loudly, almost all the air in your body escaped past your lips as he begins to slowly stretch you out on his cock. “Fuck—! You can go faster, baby..” Your trembling hands scrambled over the table, trying to find purchase on the edges—almost bracing yourself for what’s to come. 

He grunted, the loud sounds of his hips snapping against your ass increasing along with your moaning and whining. “You’re too loud, baby. You must want everyone to know how good I’ve been making you feel.” You sneaking away with Seonghwa during breaks just to fuck isn’t new—you can only hope that no one has caught on yet. “I—I can’t- fuck, it feels so good..”

Suddenly, through the intercom, one of the assistants announced, “Hello everyone, we’re gonna need Ms. Y/N, Mr. Park, Mr. Jung, and all the staff who were helping to return to studio A in about 15 minutes!”

You barely even heard it though, only focusing on getting closer and closer to your peak. “So pretty like this.. always been so pretty. S-So proud of you, doll,” He breathed out, his praises only melting you more. “Thank you… god, fuck me harder,” You pleaded, trying not to let a single tear fall from the pleasure. He pulled you up, your back now pressed flush against his chest—the new angle allowing him access to that special spot deep inside you.

He bit and licked all over your neck, not even caring that everyone would see the forming marks. “Shit- my bad. T-They’ll cover it up anyways.” He shakily whispered in your ear, succumbing deeper into the pleasure. “I don’t mind— please, I’m gonna..” Seonghwa cupped his hand over your mouth, muffling your screams as that familiar knot deep inside you finally snapped. Your knees went so weak, he had to hold you so tight against himself—still chasing his own high.

Seonghwa continued to pound mercilessly into you even after you had just came; the sensitivity overwhelmed you, eliciting such pretty sounds out of you. “Fuck, fuck! I might cum again—“ A shiver ran down your spine with every snap of his hips, but you could tell he was about to reach his peak.

“Oh my god— get on your knees for me. I don’t wanna make too much of a mess of you.” You quickly dropped down to your knees, opening your doll-like mouth and allowing him to finish off on your tongue instead. “Damn.. um,” You both chuckled tiredly, he didn’t expect you to swallow it so quickly. “What?” You could only smirk, quickly going to find your panties—finally coming back to reality. 

After finishing up with getting yourselves back together, you checked in the mirror—just barely noticing the marks on your collarbone. “Hey.. you better be glad they’re barely even there yet. The next outfit will thankfully cover them enough as well.” You smiled, letting him walk you back to the main studio. His playful demeanor returned, bumping your shoulder while admitting, “Even if they did show, I wouldn’t care. I truly do want you to be mine.”

That just about made you want to request for the second half of the shoot to be completed another day—you clearly had more important things to be immersed in today.

[rosevette]

·.༄࿔ TAKE ME TO PARIS pt. 1 my mlist

𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒌 & 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

💋ྀིྀི résumé : meeting the man of your dreams at an art auction in Paris isn’t too good to be true, right ? Well, your bodyguard thinks just the opposite.

1.0k words + tags : dumb, ‘naive’ !reader, manipulation, fantasizing, smut, age gap, pet names, fingering, slight non-con, evil intent ⭑

୭ৎ … this is lowk based on one of my bots with marquis here … this is my first little blurb, I don’t really write but this idea is too good to not share w yall. if u see any spelling or grammar mistakes , ignore !! part two here - sincerely, rose

IN THE HEART OF PARIS, amidst the elegant splendor of an art auction, you found yourself captivated by the beauty of the pieces on display. Adorned in a gown of midnight blue silk, you moved gracefully through the room, your eyes alight with fascination as you admired each exquisite masterpiece.

As you lingered before a stunning portrait, a voice broke through the murmurs of the crowd.

"A breathtaking piece, is it not?" Turning, you found yourself face to face with a tall, green eyed brooding man. Dressed in a tailored suit of charcoal grey, he exuded an air of effortless charm as he regarded you with a knowing smile.

"Yes, it truly is," you replied, unable to tear your gaze away from his piercing emerald eyes. Engaging in polite small talk, you found yourself drawn into conversation with the stranger, his wit and sophistication captivating your attention.

“Marquis De Gramont. And you?” He spoke with a thick French accent, his thin lips forming a smile as he extended out his arm, opening his hand for you to shake. Flattered by him already, you shake his hand, your other one clutching onto your purse as you introduced yourself.

How charming, he was, you thought to yourself. He was not only handsome, but was a gentleman as well. You could tell by the way he just suited himself, and that sparkle in his eyes you glanced at whenever you two conversed.

One thing you didn’t know was that in fact, this man was the complete opposite of charming and well, a gentleman. Yes, he held himself with impeccable style and his composure was kept controlled, but the thoughts that came across his mind were just pure sin. He thought of how pretty you would look with your dress rolled up to your stomach as he pounded into you in the back of his limousine, maybe even perhaps hidden in an empty aisle of this very art auction.

The way his hands are would just fit around that small neck, the pearls that would fall on the ground as he pulled it off of you, and finally, your watery puppy eyed face he’d enjoy seeing begging and pleading for him to stop , or maybe even for more.

As the auction commenced, you both found yourselves bidding on a magnificent painting—a Madonna and Child by Duccio. With each raise of the paddle, the tension between you grew, the excitement of the bidding war fueling your competitive spirit.

In the end, it was you who emerged victorious, the winning bid earning you the coveted artwork. As you basked in the glow of your triumph, the Marquis offered you a gracious smile, masking the flicker of his ulterior motives in his eyes.

Later that evening, as the auction drew to a close and guests began to depart, the Marquis De Gramont approached you once more, his charming smile never faltering.

"Ah, ma chérie, it seems fate has brought us together once again," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk as he took your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. A blush crept onto your cheeks at his bold gesture, and you chuckled softly in response.

"Perhaps our paths will cross again during your time in Paris," you replied, returning his flirtatious banter with a playful glint in your eye.

As you turned to leave, blowing a teasing kiss in his direction, you couldn't shake the feeling of his lingering gaze on your back. Climbing into the waiting limousine, you settled into the plush seat beside your ever-watchful bodyguard, John Wick. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he glanced at you.

"Was that the Marquis?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

You rolled your eyes, dismissing his worry with a wave of your hand.

"And what about him, John?" you retorted, feigning nonchalance as you closed the door behind you.

"You shouldn't be so friendly with strangers," John admonished, his concern palpable as he turned his attention back to the road.

Returning to the luxurious confines of the Ritz Paris, you found yourself lost in thought, the memory of your encounter with the Marquis lingering in your mind. Despite John's warnings, you couldn't shake the feeling that the Marquis's intentions were harmless. Little did you know, danger lurked just beyond the facade of charm and sophistication.

The next morning, as sunlight streamed through the silk curtains of your suite, you awoke to find John reading quietly on the sofa.

"I ordered some room service," he informed you, his gaze never leaving the pages of his book. You greeted him with a playful smirk, teasing him for his lack of a proper morning greeting.

While indulging in breakfast, your attention was drawn to a shiny box nestled among the pastries on the cart. With curiosity piqued, you opened it to find a stunning Van Cleef necklace in your favorite shade of sapphire blue. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the accompanying note, the words "for mon chérie" sending a chill down your spine.

Assuming it was a thoughtful gesture from John, you were taken aback when you realized the true sender. The Marquis's charm had ensnared you once again, his gift a reminder of the dangerous game he was playing. With a sense of foreboding settling over you, you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises the Marquis had in store.

End of part 1. Part 2.

© rosevette 2024 . do not copy !

[verstappensseatcushion]

✩°｡⋆ pas de deux, ln4 ⋆｡°✩pt 3

part one part two

pairing: lando norris x fem! ballerina! reader

[face claim: luna montana is largely used as faceclaim but some other pinterest girlies in there too]

summary: y/n is new to monaco and quickly finds herself dancing with mclaren driver lando norris despite all intentions she has of focusing on only her career

a/n: i promiseeeeeee things will happen soon! should i start a tag list btw? would anyone be into that

y/n.ballet

liked by ybfusername, username2 and 4,736 others.

y/n.ballet quali day :) thank you ferrari for hosting us

tagged: scuderiaferrari, monacoballetcompany

username2 been in monaco two weeks and already living the life

username5 queen of ballet and now princess of racing

ybfusername absolutely stunning 🔥

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"why aren't you sitting with the others?" you hear a french accent speak from behind, pulling you out of the trance the chaos of the paddock put you in. you recognize him as Charles, one of the ferrari drivers.

"I don't know them that well yet honestly, im new to the company and city. I just didn't want to intrude on their space," you sigh as you lean on the half wall next to you.

his eyes perk up with curiosity, "you're new to monaco? I wouldn't have guessed, you uh have the french accent."

"I was, uh, raised in paris somewhat, my mother lives there."

Charles hums with acknowledgment. you both spend the next few minutes getting to know each other.

"I have to go do some media stuff, but why don't you join my friends and me out this week? we can introduce you to some proper monegasque spots and help you fall in love with my city, what do you say?"

"tu peux compter sur moi," you respond smiling.

he exchanges contact information with you promising to reach out soon with details, and you wish him good luck with the rest of the weekend.

(translation: you can count me in)

"

landonorris

liked by mclaren, username1 and 354,682 others.

landonorris Monaco edition 2K23. Old School. 84

mclaren iconic

username1 Lando we can be World Champion i saidddd 🧡

lnfournation 🔥🔥🔥🔥

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it's race day and the paddock is buzzing with excitement and anticipation ahead of one of the most notable races of the year. the track is flooded with media, fans, and crew members from each of the teams.

Lando is standing in the mclaren garage surrounded by engineers rebriefing him on strategy ahead of the race in a few hours. staring into the crowd, he tunes out his team as you walk by. he may not quite sure who you are, but he's sure he has seen you before.

his eyes follow you and disappointment tugs at his chest as he sees you walk into the ferrari garage.

⟡⟡⟡

charlesleclerc has followed you!

⟡⟡⟡

y/n.ballet

liked by username1, scuderiaferrari, charlesleclerc, and 6,576 others.

y/n.ballet make my heart beat fast ferrari ❤️💛

tagged: scuderiaferrari, monacoballetcompany

scuderiaferrari Happy to have you this weekend!

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landonorris

liked by mclaren, username4 and 234,574 others.

landonorris points in the streeeets

mclaren 🔥

username3 well deserveddd 🧡

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⟡⟡⟡

[iateyourparents]

home | t.y.

pairing: tara yummy x fem!reader

summary: you decided to surprise your girlfriend.

warnings: bad writing and grammar(i’m sorry, english isn’t my first language)

pictures are from pinterest:)

You and Tara were together for three years now and everything was perfect.

Almost everything.

For almost two months now, you were long distancing because of both of yours works.

You had to fly to Paris and Tara couldn’t go with you so now everyday you two were texting each other and facetiming as often as possible. But it was almost two months and you both just wanted to be in each others arms in your apartment.

So you came up with a plan.

Although you were supposed to be in Paris for few more weeks you decided to just cut it short and do rest of the work from LA by social media. People you had collaboration with weren’t the happiest with that idea but they didn’t have much to say when you already made up your mind.

You contacted Jake for help, he was supposed to take Tara for some dinner to give you a time to come home from the airport and prepare another part of surprise.

So now here you were, finally after a long time, walking into your and Tara’s apartment. You felt almost at home. You couldn’t wait to see, cuddle and kiss Tara. She was your home.

You quickly changed your clothes into something more comfortable and started working on your surprise for Tara. At first you went to nearby store where you bought many sweets and other snacks you and Tara liked. Then, your next stop was a flower shop where you bought the priettest bouquet of red roses you could find.

You came home and started working on your living room.

You pushed a couch up to the wall and on the floor in front of the tv you laid many blankets and pillows. Then you positioned a coffee table in the way that it wouldn’t disturb in watching a tv from the floor but also was near enough to reach there for snacks.

When you got a text from Jake saying that Tara should be home in next few minutes, you quickly laid out snacks on the coffee table. You also lighted a few candles to make nicer atmosphere and turned on the tv to go to disney+ so it would be ready when you would want to choose something to watch.

You heard the door opening and Tara stopping in the door. She probably was surprised that they were open. You could hear her cautiously walking towards living room where you quickly picked up the roses and faced Tara’s direction.

When Tara finally walked into the room she stopped and was just staring at you with shock.

“Hi love.” you smiled widely at her trying to stop tears from coming to your eyes.

Tara lifted her hand to her mouth trying to say something but she was too stunned to speak. You also could see tears already forming in her eyes.

Finally she shook off the shock and ran up to you to hug you, so you quickly moved the flowers so you could reciprocate the gesture. You both hugged tight and you couldn’t stop yourself for any longer. You finally had her in your arms. You were home. And that realization made your cheeks wet with your tears.

“I can’t believe you’re really here.” Tara’s voice was muffled by your neck.

“Surprise love.” you whispered to her kissing the side of her head.

After a moment she disconnected from you just to connect your lips together.

“I missed you so fucking much baby.” she placed her forehead on your.

“I missed you too. I couldn’t wait any longer so I told them I would do rest of the work from here.” you explained.

“I’m so glad you did. Bed is so lonely without you here.” she pouted slightly and you kissed her again.

“I know Jake took you to dinner so I made us a movie night.” you pointed to blankets and pillows on the floor and Tara smiled widely.

“You’re the best. But did you ate dinner? We can order something.” she offered slightly worried.

“It’s alright, I ate on the plane.” you assured her and gave her the flowers “These are for you, love.”

She smiled and kissed you again.

„They are beautiful, just like you. Thank you baby.”

Tara quickly went to put the flowers in the water and then to change into some comfortable clothes and then you two laid on the blankets and chose something to watch.

Needless to say, you two didn’t really focuse on the movie.

[lockburn-castle]

the city of love

synopsis in which dokyeom proposes to yn in Paris pairing nonidol!lee dokyeom x gn!reader genre fluff warnings dk being anxious, a small part about cabarets, terms of endearment/petnames, kisses, reader wears a dress, that's all i can think of (do let me know if theres more) word count 1.9k

playlist cant help falling in love marry you

notes: been loving romcoms for a while and decided to write this story based on what id like my proposal to look like HAHAHA hope yall like it !! p.s. 10 things i hate about you is one of my favourites <3 do give me more ideas for fics in the cmmts or send me an ask !!

As Dokyeom paced around the room, his mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts. The suitcase in front of him was half-packed, clothes neatly folded, but his thoughts were anything but organized. The idea of proposing to you filled him with both excitement and anxiety. He glanced at the bag of balloons he’d slipped into his luggage, a reminder of the grand plan he had meticulously crafted for a few months now.

“What if they don’t say yes, hyung?” Dokyeom fretted, pacing around their room as he packed for the trip with Y/N. His phone was on speaker, and he were calling the group for some last-minute advice.

“Have you seen the way they look at you?” Seungkwan’s voice came through, trying to sound reassuring. “I’m pretty sure they’ll say yes.”

“If they say no, can I steal them from you?” Dino joked with a laugh. “They make amazing cookies.”

“Not helping,” Dokyeom mumbled, nervously folding another shirt into their suitcase.

Dokyeom's fingers brushed the edge of the velvet ring box, its weight a tangible symbol of his hopes and fears. “I just hope everything goes smoothly. What if all this effort is for nothing? They might leave me.”

“Don’t worry about all of that,” Jeonghan advised gently. “Remember to have fun. Trust the plan. Everything will fall into place if it’s meant to be.”

“And don’t forget to pack the ring,” S.Coups chimed in with a grin that Dokyeom could practically hear.

Dokyeom took a deep breath, nodding even though no one could see him. “Alright, I think I’m all packed. Let’s hope everything goes according to plan.” He muttered the last part.

Everything had gone surprisingly well so far. You and Dokyeom had talked about this trip to Paris for years, but something always got in the way. Now, finally, both of you were able to take a seven-day leave and make it happen. The city felt like something out of a dream — timeless, and full of hidden wonders.

On the first day, after landing in Paris, you both felt the excitement settle in as you headed straight to the Louvre. The enormous layout of the museum took your breath away as you went inside, surrounded by art from all around the world. Walking hand in hand, you wove through the maze of halls, pausing at famous works like the Mona Lisa and Winged Victory of Samothrace.

When you reached the sculpture Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss, you both stood in awe. The way the marble figures intertwined seemed almost too lifelike, as if they were frozen in a moment of affection. You couldn’t help but admire the way the light bounced off the smooth stone, highlighting every detail. Dokyeom’s arm hugged your waist as you both took in the beauty and history surrounding you.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” You whispered, eyes fixed on the sculpture.

Dokyeom nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, but you know what’s even more beautiful?” He turned to look at you, his smile widening.

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him gently. “You’re such a cheeseball.”

“I mean it, though,” he chuckled, squeezing your hand. “I still can’t believe we’re here. Together.”

In that moment, surrounded by art and history, everything felt perfectly right.

You spent more time at the Louvre than planned, snapping tons of photos for Instagram and for your own memories.

On the second day, you and Dokyeom decided to explore the Montmartre, starting with the stunning Sacré-Cœur Basilica. The white domes stood out against the sky, offering an amazing view of Paris below. Inside, the intricate mosaics shimmered in the light, creating a serene atmosphere as you took in the stunning architecture.

After leaving the Basilica, you strolled through the nearby Place du Tertre, a lively square filled with the buzz of street artists and their easels. You and Dokyeom sat down to get your portraits done, soaking in the lively atmosphere. The atmosphere was vibrant, with the sounds of sketching, laughter, and conversations blending together into a perfect Montmartre experience.

After a delicious lunch at a little café, you both headed to the Musée d'Orsay. There, you found yourself captivated by masterpieces from artists like Van Gogh and Monet. Each painting seemed to pull you into its world, and the museum’s elegant interior only enhanced the experience. The two of you wandered through the halls, taking in every detail of the beautiful works of art.

As evening approached, your excitement began to build. You were about to experience the legendary Moulin Rouge, a cabaret show in Paris you’d heard so much about. Dokyeom, always full of surprises, had secretly bought tickets for the famous venue. As you arrived, the bright lights, vibrant costumes, and captivating performances whisked you away to a world of entertainment you had only dreamed of. Checking "watching a cabaret show" off your bucket list felt even more magical than you had imagined.

By the third day, you decided to slow things down, spending the afternoon at the Champ de Mars for a picnic, with the Eiffel Tower looming gracefully above. You both laughed as you watched tourists pose dramatically in front of the landmark, feeling content in your own world together. Later, you took a scenic cruise along the Seine River, the water shimmering in the late afternoon light.

The two of you returned to the hotel room early to prepare for a special dinner at the Eiffel Tower, a night you had anticipated with excitement. You had chosen a stunning white Chanel mini dress, its chic simplicity accentuated by black off-shoulder sleeves that framed your shoulders gracefully. A delicate ribbon, adorned with a Chanel camellia, cinched the waist, adding a touch of timeless elegance. The soft glow of the evening light made the fabric shimmer subtly as you moved.

Dokyeom had chosen a new suit to complement your outfit. His classic black and white suit was impeccably tailored, with a simple yet elegant Chanel brooch pinned to the lapel.

“I had to pick out a new suit to match you, you know,” he said with a playful smile. “And I didn’t want to risk being turned away because of the dress code.”

“I'm glad though. You look handsome as always.”

After taking some photos on the balcony, you headed out to the restaurant. As you were about to leave, Dokyeom asked you to wait outside while he spoke with the concierge.

You were puzzled by the request, but when he returned, he explained that he had arranged for extra towels and soap to be delivered to your room. You didn’t think much of it and continued your way to the dinner venue.

The both of you indulged in a long-awaited culinary experience at Le Jules Verne, a restaurant you had been eager to visit ever since seeing it in Murder Mystery 2. Dining high above Paris with panoramic views of the city, the experience was as unforgettable as you had hoped. The sophisticated atmosphere and exquisite cuisine made it a perfect end to a delightful day — or so you thought.

Back at the hotel, Dokyeom asked you to close your eyes. He gently guided you into the room, covering your eyes with his hands.

“Close your eyes.”

“What are you up to? Don’t do anything silly; this dress is expensive!” you chided, knowing he might do something playful.

“Relax, I’m not doing anything stupid. Are they closed?”

“Yes, kyeom, they are. What’s going on?”

“Keep them closed. I’ll let go now.”

He removed his hands, and you heard him shuffling things around. “Okay, you can open them now.”

You slowly opened your eyes and took in the breathtaking scene before you. Rose petals were delicately scattered from the entrance of the hotel room, leading to a heart-shaped arrangement in the center, where Dokyeom stood, enveloped in a sea of petals. He held a bouquet of roses, their vibrant colors contrasting beautifully with the soft light of the room. Silver balloons floated on the windows, their reflective letters spelling out “Marry Me?” Your heart raced as you took in every detail, feeling a wave of emotion swell within you.

As you stepped further into the room, Dokyeom moved to stand within the heart of petals, his eyes full of love and nervous anticipation. He handed you the bouquet, his hands trembling slightly, then knelt down with a deep breath, pulling out a ring box. Your breath hitched as you saw the ring — its diamond gleamed with a brilliance that seemed to capture all the warmth and love in the room, shimmering with every flicker of light.

“Dokyeom…”

“Y/N, love, these five years with you have been the most incredible of my life. You’ve been my rock through every high and low, my constant when everything else was uncertain. I can’t imagine a future without you, and I want to continue building that future together. I want to create more memories with you, face every challenge side by side, and share every joy. My love for you is beyond words. Will you marry me?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as you nodded, your voice choked with emotion. “Yes, of course I will. I love you so much.” You extended your left hand, and with a gentle, reverent touch, he slid the ring onto your finger. The moment felt suspended in time, the diamond’s brilliance reflecting your shared happiness and the promise of a future together.

“Okay, thank God, because my heart was pounding and my knees were killing me,” he joked, making you laugh as you admired the ring.

“I had it custom-made.”

“Really? It’s perfect,” you said, turning your hand to catch the light. The ring’s elegant design and intricate details made it feel even more special. “I love it.”

“Yeah. I thought you’d like it more this way. I had fun designing it and made sure to include all the details you love,” he said, as you admired the diamond sparkling in the moonlight.

“Thank you, Dokyeom. This has been absolutely amazing.” You looked at him and gave him a kiss.

“Let’s take some pictures!” you said, grabbing your camera.

That night, after posting some photos on Instagram, your phone buzzed incessantly with congratulations and likes. But you barely noticed, wrapped up in the comfort of late-night snacks and your favorite movies, nestled beside your new fiancé.

“By the way, how did you pull off that incredible surprise?” you asked, gazing at Dokyeom with curiosity.

“Well, the concierge is a secret weapon,” Dokyeom said with a mischievous grin. “They’re like fairy godparents for tonight. I think they were so charmed by the proposal that they didn’t charge me a thing. They said it was the sweetest thing they’d ever seen — except maybe the time a couple asked them to help with a proposal on a gondola in Venice. ”

You laughed softly, feeling a rush of warmth and affection. “I love you, Dokyeom,” you said, your voice soft as you gazed into his eyes.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he replied. He gently pressed a kiss to your forehead, a gesture that made your heart swell even more.

In that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the room and the cozy comfort of each other’s presence, everything felt perfect.

You had always thought people exaggerated when they called Paris the city of love. But experiencing it firsthand, you couldn’t agree more.

[sixofcrowdaydreams]

Six of Crows Russian Edition

Today I found this gorgeous gem at the bookstore!

So a few years ago I moved overseas to live in a Russian speaking country. I am not in Russia, for the record. The national language here is not Russian, but it is commonly spoken in my city.

Today at the bookstore I looked for a copy of Crooked Kingdom for the cast of Shadow and Bone to sign this May when I go to A Storm of Shadows and Crows convention in Paris. I don't own a copy of SOC or KC in English and there's no chance of finding one where I live. The next best option was getting a book in the local language and calling it a souvenir of my time abroad. To my delight I found this lovely Russian edition of Six of Crows!

More stunning artwork below.

There were multiple versions of the books to choose from. The original art and the Netflix artwork were available too. The most impressive part was finding copies of the original covers WITHOUT the Netflix sticker. (Haha, suck it Netflix.) To the right, not pictured were King of Scars and Rule of Wolves.

I've never seen this cover variation before. It was an exciting find!

The Russian version I bought is illustrated by (I assume Russian?) artist Eva Eller.

I didn't see a copy of Crooked Kingdom with illustrations by the same artist at this bookstore, but it must exist. Mine was the last copy of SOC with the Russian artwork. Maybe it was sold out?

Google Translate titles the book Six of Ravens, lol. But that's just a translation error because a little google-foo showed that ворона (pronounced vorona) means crow. Interestingly, while typing the title, I learned that вор (pronounced vor) means thief. Interesting how similar the words crow and thief are in Russian. Checks out.

Above is the art printed on the side of the pages. Love how it still includes the side of the pages colored, just like the original books.

The hardcover underneath the jacket is a crow. It's not the same as pictured on the original CK cover, but it is similar. Love the messy, broken, bent feathers, yet the crow is still able to fly. Metaphor for our six characters? Absolutely!

The book was wrapped in cellophane so I didn't realize there was even more art inside! Here is the inner cover. IT'S BEAUTIFUL! The back is the same. It captures the foggy haze of Ketterdam so well.

The flaps of the book jacket are images from the inner cover. But there's a cracked texture over them that gives it a gorgeous grittiness.

The candle is the left side of the inner book jacket. Sorry the image isn't flat, I didn't want to damage the jacket by straightening it out.

The right side of the book jacket shows all the Crows!

Let's appreciate how Matthias looks snow pale and serious. Inej is taller than Nina -- she must be standing on a step stool. No clue why both of their eyes are closed, especially when Nina is the one pointing to the paper. They are lovely. Kaz has on his scheming face. Jesper is as handsome as every version of him should be. And Wylan looks bored AF because A.) he's already memorized the map he drew or B.) he can't read whatever document Kaz has in front of them. Wait, no, Wylan is making heart eyes at Jesper. All of the above can be true.

Inside is a small illustration at the beginning of each chapter, which changes with each section.

You can also see the Crow's names written in Cyrillic. Inej, Kaz, Nina, and Matthias translate easily. Jesper uses the д (letter D) and ж (pronounced like zhe) letter combination that makes his name sound like Zhesper since there is no J in Cyrillic. It's worth pointing out (again) that Wylan's name does not translate perfectly. There is no W in the Cyrillic alphabet. (As someone who also has a W in their name, I sympathize with Wylan here.) I'm no expert in Russian, but I'm pretty sure -- with the help of google translate -- that Wylan is pronounced as Oo-ai-len. Poor boy can't catch a break.

Each of the five section of the book use different chapter art. They all do an excellent job capturing the atmosphere.

The paper is so thin that you can easily see the printing on the opposite side. Not ideal for an edition that's otherwise this lovely. Oh well.

Given that Ravka is fantasy Russia, it's not a surprise to find the Grisha Verse books in Russian.

I am so excited to bring this book to Paris for the cast to sign!

[luvyeni]

MINI SKIRT; YANG JEONGIN

pairings. yang jeongin x female reader

wc. 2.1k (i blacked out and it came out this long idk)

warnings. jealous jeongin, brat taming, fingering, oral (m recieving), face fucking, facial, unprotected sex, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breeding kink, degradation kink.

synopsis. jeongin is trying to remain the sane secure boyfriend, but you decided to wear the worlds most shortest skirt to dinner and he can't stand the way jisung is looking at you.

jeongin sighed for what felt like the hundredth time, looking down at his phone while he waited for you to get ready. "babe, we're gonna be late, channie hyung is already texting me."

"don't get upset, I'm finished jeez."

"how do i look?" he lifted his head, eyes almost falling out of the sockets. "do i look pretty?"

of course you did, you looked fucking stunning, but the skirt was bothering him just a bit... it was too fucking short in his opinion.

"of course you do, you look fucking hot." He wrapped his arms around your waist. "but isn't this skirt just a bit too short." He played with the hems of it.

"i read somewhere that a skirt should be the size of a belt." you played with the nape of his neck. "who told you that?"

"paris hilton." he wish you stayed off of tiktok.

"babe, i'm being serious, i don't want them to look at you, you're mine." you smiled, you liked when he got like this... it was kind of a turn on, when he got possessive.

"innie, i really like this skirt, besides i don't see them like that, i only see you" you kissed him.

"i.only.want.you." you spoke in between kisses. "i'm yours."

"well now i don't want to go, let's tell them we can't go, and stay here." his hands began to get lower and lower. "what do you say?"

"chan is gonna kill you if you don't show up, let's go."

"you look good ＿." Jeongin watched jisungs eyes travel up and down your body, stopping right at your bare thighs. "hyung, watch your eyes."

"sit down." you pulled him down, muttering a thank you to the boy.

"stop it." you whispered in his ear. "he's staring at your legs like he has x-ray vision and can see your underwear through the skirt."

"i'm not wearing any." you smirked, turning around, attention on something else.

that pissed him off, the entire lunch he was salty as hell, watching you interact with the guys, he just could help but imagine you bending over, and his friends could see your bare fucking ass on display.

"jeongin?" you snapped him out of his angry daze. "i said watch my things, i'm going to use the bathroom." you got up, making your way to the bathroom.

"you're such a supportive boyfriend." jisung spoke once you were out of earshot. "if my girlfriend wore something like that in front of you guys, i think i would go crazy."

he was going crazy, he was. "what are you talking about?" he tried to remain calm.

"he's calling your girlfriend hot." he wished seungmin would keep his mouth shut sometimes. "he's not wrong."

that damn kim seungmin.

"both of you stop that." chan intervened. "jeongin isn't like that, he's not the jealous type." seungmin scoffed, pissing the boy off just a bit more.

"like he wears the pants in his relationship, probably didn't have a say." his ears turned red with both embarrassment and anger.

"what are we talking about?" you sat back down, kissing his cheek with a smile.

"nothing." Felix quickly reverted the conversation back to something else.

"oh okay." you turned to jeongin, noticing his sour mood. "innie, you okay?" you grabbed his hand.

"＿ has work in the morning, so we have to get going." he grabbed your purse for you, standing up.

you were so confused, because you definitely told him you had the day off the next day. "uh- see you guys at practice tomorrow, ＿ let's go."

you stood up, saying your goodbyes to everyone. "it was nice to see you guys." before you could even get the word out, jeongin was dragging you out the door.

he opened the door, gesturing for you to get in. "get in now." you got in, and he slammed the door, walking to the drivers side, climbing in.

"lift up your skirt." you were taken a back. "what are you- lift up your skirt, now." his voice deepened.

"you said you weren't wearing a underwear, i want to see, i want to see if you'd actually slut yourself out like that." of course you had underwear on, you weren't stupid, but the way he was talking to you, you kind of wanted to see how far you can get him to go.

"i was just-" you were cut off by him taking it upon himself flipping your skirt up, blue panties on display. "joking."

He scoffed, tongue against his cheek. "seeing me pissed off must get you off huh? turn you on?" he slapped your thigh, a whimper slipping through your mouth.

"spread your legs, let me see how turned on you are." you slowly opened your legs, only for him to spread them faster. "so wet, and for what? was pissing me off in front of my friends a turn on, hmm? answer me." you nodded.

"i know it does, my girl is such a nasty slut, you're in for it when we get home." he slapped your thighs once more.

the ride home felt like hours, and jeongin slipping his hands in between your thighs to rile you up, just to remove his hand did not help at all.

you finally made it back to your shared apartment, immediately being pushed up against the door, a pleasure but slightly pained moan broke the silence. "my friends questioned my authority, because you wanted to show out and wear this skirt." he played with the hem of your skirt like he did earlier.

"jisung-hyung found you so hot though, couldn't keep his eyes off you, bet you he's gonna jerk off to thought of you later." he growled in your ears. "i bet that turns you on, one of my friends fisting their fucking hard on to the thought of my girlfriend."

you probably should've just said no, but your bratty side was definitely trying to get you in trouble.

"it wouldn't be horrible thought to have." you were used to jeongins smile , but the smile on his face this time... it was something sinister about it, you knew you were in trouble.

his hand tangled in your hair, yanking on it hard. "i see, you want to be fucked until your brain is turned to mush, okay, go to the fucking room." he let your hair go.

you scrambled to you guys room, jeongin following behind you, laughing at how pathetic you look.

"they think you're the dominant one in this relationship." he scoffed, pushing you down on the bed. "i wish they could see how much of a submissive whore you're being right now." the way he was talking to you had you rubbing your thighs together to get relief.

"fucking stop." he gripped your jaw. "so busy trying to get off, did i say you could?"

"no- then stop." he smiled when he saw your legs stop moving. "good girl, you did one thing right for once." you really hope he didn't hear the whimper you let out.

he unbuckled his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down. "suck me off, maybe i'll cum on your pretty face." He gripped the base of his cock, tapping the tip of his dick on your lips, his pre-cum dripping on to your lips.

"open your fucking mouth." he pushed past your parted lips, sighing in pleasure. "come on, you know what to do, suck."

you grabbed his cock, bobbing your head up and down, jerking off the parts you couldn't fit into your mouth.

"s..shit, do it the right way, all the way." he pushed your head down, the way you swallowed around his cock, made him throw his head back. "mmm- fuck!- keep sucking."

he grabbed the back your head, holding your head all the way on his cock for a few seconds, before pulling you off.

"look at you, a mess." he wiped the drool that was on your chin. "i'm gonna fuck your face."

he positioned his cock back at your lips, pushing it in, before thrusting in and out, fucking your throat. "fucking hell~ your little throat is taking me so well, my good whore." he said in between thrust, abusing your throat.

"o..oh fuck! fuck i'm gonna cum!" he pulled out, tugging at his cock a few times, before ropes of his cum shot out, painting your face with his cum.

"shit, you look good, like this." he wipe some of his cum with his thumb, putting it to your lips, "open your mouth." he slid his finger in. "suck." you closed around his finger, sucking.

"fucking nasty, i love it."

"take your top off." you lifted the shirt off, tits spilling out of the shirt. "such pretty tits." he pinched your nipples.

"j..jeongin."

"should i just cum on these? hmm, not give you any relief?" he grabbed both of your tits. "n..no, no please."

he laughed, mockingly. "no? i shouldn't, you think you deserve it? to cum?" he slowly got on his knees. "your panties are drenched, cumming on your face really got you this wet." He mocked.

"p..please." tears wielded in your eyes as he slowly pulled your panties down your legs.

he kissed the inside of your thighs, leaving little red marks. "you smell so fucking good." he gave your clit little kisses.

"j..jeongin- oh my fucking god!" you screamed, as he dove in, licking your folds, eating you like he hadn't just eaten before.

"fuck!" you grabbed his hair, but he pulled alway. "did i say touch me?" he slapped your thighs. "No." you whimpered.

"rhen don't." he continued his abuse on your pussy, you gripped the sheets trying not to touch him so he wouldn't stop.

heongin knew you were about to cum, he could feel you clenching around his tongue. "you're gonna cum?" he slid a finger in.

"y..yes."

right before you could go over the edge, he pulled his finger out. "w..why?" Your voice cracked, making him smile with that sinister smile he had once before.

"you thought you were gonna to cum that easily." He mocked, standing up. "lay on the bed, keep the skirt on." He took his clothes off.

hovering above you, rubbing your clit slowly. "i'm gonna fuck you in the skirt since you like it so much, cum all over it and mess it up." he bumped his cock against your clit.

"p..please, please just do what you want, do anything."

"anything?" he slid right in. "your pussy is so wet, I just slid right in." he pulled out, slamming back in.

"fuck!" you screamed as he began to assault your pussy with his sharp, harsh thrust.

"funally got — shit — what you wanted all along, to be fucked like a slut." he groaned, watching your tits bounce from his thrust.

you on the other hand, you couldn't speak, mind going completely fuzzy as you clenched around his cock. "s..shit, you're squeezing me."

"you're going to cum? go a head, cum." That's all you needed, cumming hard around him.

"s..shit, you made such a mess on my cock." He continued on with his harsh thrust.

"s..sensitive."

"i said you can cum, i never said i was gonna stop." he said, leaving a kiss on your forehead before resuming his pace.

"jisung wishes he could feel you like this, see you like this, a stuttering mess covered in cum." he was letting his jealousy get the better of him again. "the way he was eye fucking you earlier, you could see it in his eyes."

"but he can't, can he? because you're mine right, only mine to fuck." you were such a blubbering nonsense.

"fucked you so dumb, only I can do this to you, fuck you until there's nothing on your mind but my cock." you nodding, tears finally coming down your face.

"yes! yes only you." you were sobbing now.

"i..i can't- i'm gonna cum, please." he rubbed your clit. "f-fuck! me too, you're gonna let me fill you up huh? fuck you full?"

"yes, yes please!"

"cum, now." one flick to your clit sent you over board.

"fuck !" your eyes rolled to the back of your head, shaking as you came.

"fuck!" one thrust, two, three, and he was cumming, filling your hole with his seed.

he stilled himself, breathing heavily against each other. "are you with me?" he was back to his smiley self.

"you did so good." he ran his hands through your messy hair. "so good, i'm gonna pull out out of you now." he slowly pulled out, watching his seed slowly drip out of you.

"i'm gonna go run you a bath okay." he got up, making his way into your bathroom. "come on."

he helped you up, into the bathroom, cleaned you and himself up, before bringing you back into the room.

putting you to bed, he climbed in after getting dressed. "please don't wear the skirt next time we go out with them." you grabbed his face. "why are you jealous?"

"yes, and the next time i may actually fuck you in front of them, especially jisung."

©️LUVYENI

[oneforthemunny]

pieces of you and me |dad!rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader|

prompt: your six daughters with eddie are named after the places they're conceived. fluffy little piece I had about nepo baby!reader and rockstar!eddie and their lives as parents, more specifically how they named each of their girls.

contains: mature, sexual themes not graphic but still 18+, minors dni. mom!nepo baby!reader x dad!rockstar!eddie throughout the years.

June 1993 - Corfu Beach, Greece

Your wedding ring dazzled in the Greek sunshine, bright and clear, almost as reflective as the waters in front of you. Corfu Beach was the first stop on your honeymoon trips, after three wedding ceremonies.

The tabloids had gone rabid when you'd announced that your weddings- plural- would be spread out from May to June. Three ceremonies, extravagant but intimate. The first in Palm Springs, an estate near the San Jacinto mountains with just your family. You and Eddie were both only children, the ceremony was sweet and short, an officiant, your parents and grandparents, Wayne and his girlfriend, and the two of you. A silk, slip white dress, custom made by Donatella herself just for you. Eddie wore a tux, the sweetheart, choking back sobs when he read you his vows, promises for your life together. You'd danced under the strung lights, Forever by the Beach Boys, his hand on your back, holding you sweetly. Your private photographer, a family friend, made sure to capture all the intimate sweet moments for you, and it was secluded with no worries of paparazzi.

Then you'd jetted off to Las Vegas, sin city as a couple. Eddie had taken the liberty of renting out Elvis' Little Chapel just for the two of you, hiring the best Elvis and photographer. You'd wore a tiny, leather white dress, garter showing on your thigh. Eddie in an Elvis suit, white just for you. Your friends dressed their part, his band mates, friends from Hawkins, and yours from Beverly Hills and others joined. You didn't remember most of the night, giggling when the Elvis impersonator read you your vows in the mimicking voice. It was a blur, champagne, liquor, and drugs in a penthouse suite at the Palms. You'd woken up a little sick, veil still in your hair and aching between your thighs, ass covered in welts from the night before. Eddie had managed to find a heart shaped paddle on the strip, using it on you when you got back from the 'reception' that was in the other room, where your friends were scattered still.

Lastly, you finished in Paris. Eddie wanted it just to be the two of you, an officiant, and the city of love. He'd gone all out, his vows seemed to triple in size from the first ceremony. Tucked away in a Parisian Chateau that had a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower in the backdrop, Eddie poured his heart out to you, vulnerable and raw. You both sobbed through your vows, heavy with emotion that pored out with each word, kissing each other before the officiant ever gave you the signal.

Now you were here, Greece. The beaches were beautiful, the wine delicious, and the waters stunning. Eddie had rented a small boat for the two of you, drifting off the coast of the secluded resort you were staying at. You were thankful for the intimacy, relaxing in the warm sun, topless, the true European experience.

"I think we should do this more often," Eddie grinned, blocking the sun from your view, standing tall over you.

You shielded your eyes, looking up at him. The sun haloed around his curls, his inked skin a little pinkish from the rays. He looked angelic.

"I think you just like to see me topless." You smirked.

"I think you'd be right." Eddie scoffed, kneeling down between your legs on the towel. "Can you blame me? Look at them." He squeezed your boobs lightly. "My girls. All mine, forever."

You let out a soft laugh, his lips ghosting over yours, fingers rubbing your pebbled nipples between the two of you. He kissed you slow, sweet, taking his time to truly taste you, feel you.

He was between your legs before you knew it, his cock splitting you open, harsh thrusts that left the small boat rocking and shifting with the waves. You'd gotten on top, hips swiveling and rocking with every rise and fall, his hands gripping your hips harsh.

You two spent the day like that, him filling you up raw, pumping his release deep inside of you, leaving you dripping him for the rest of the day on shaky legs.

The thrill of the ceremonies, of the honeymoons, of being hopelessly, completely in love with Eddie had your head spinning. You were still on the high of the first two ceremonies when you'd left for Paris, forgetting your birth control on the counter of the Hills home.

It wasn't until nearly a month later, when you finally returned, still in bliss and the rush of that newly wed feeling, that you realized. Staring at the silver packet that mocked you. You hoped that maybe you'd be lucky, maybe your body was just adjusting from jet lag and the different time zones. You were dehydrated from your time in Europe, maybe that was it.

A month later, you sat in the gynecologist office, the wand pressed over your belly, showing the small blip on the screen, Eddie's ringed hand tight in yours. "Looks like you're about seven weeks along, Mrs. Munson." The doctor said, looking over at you.

Eddie's eyes shined at you, teary and wide. You were both scared, overwhelmed. "Greece." He muttered. "It must've been our honeymoon, shit- well, that makes sense."

Persephone June Munson was born February 17th, 1994.

November 1994 - London, England

"Christ, fuck, it's cold." Eddie grumbled, hands buried deep in his leather jacket, air fogging around him.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "That's why I told you to bring a jacket." You hummed, Burberry plaid scarf whipping in the harsh winds. You held Persephone closer to your chest, she was bundled up in her hat and scarf under your own heavy jacket, but you still worried she'd still be cold.

At ten months old, she was the spitting image of her daddy. Eddie's twin through and through, shining brown eyes that were so expressive and little chocolate curls that were starting to spiral on the ends of the tufts of downy, baby hair. She was your kryptonite, your little angel, for both of you.

Parenthood fit you both very well, to the surprise of nearly all the media. You and Eddie navigated being parents like you did anything else, head first and a little stubborn. After many sleepless nights, parenting books, and the help of your own parents, you'd finally felt accomplished. Eddie didn't want to miss a second of being a dad, and you couldn't blame him, not when the most precious creation on the Earth was looking back at you.

The tour and Corroded Coffin's album had been pushed, finally releasing in September. Eddie knew he'd have to tour soon, the two of you were still working out if you'd stay or go, but when he'd been asked to play at a concert in Wembley Stadiums, headlining with Metallica and Ozzy and all the legends he'd looked up to, he couldn't turn it down.

Now, the three of you were walking down South Kensington in London, heading towards the Natural History Museum with your baby- oh, how times had changed. Eddie smirked, stepping closer to you, looking down your jacket.

"Can she breathe in there? Is she alright?" Eddie asked, eyes scanning the two of you. All he could see of little Persephone was the little pink poof that sat on top of her hat, bobbing and hitting your chin with every step.

"She's fine, aren't you Sephy?" You cooed down at her, pulling your jacket back. Eddie looked down, melting at the brown eyes that stared back at him, chubby cheeks a little red from the warmth of your jacket. "Say, quit worrying daddy, mama's got me." You mimicked a high pitched baby voice that had her giggling.

Eddie grinned, pulling you close to him, his lips pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to your cheek. The security in front of you and behind you followed closely, one holding the door while you climbed into the room. The guide waited cheerily at the front, excited to take the infamous rockstar on a private tour.

You held Persephone, still in her little hat but your own jacket shedded. Eddie watched you, how you'd coo sweetly at her, pressing kisses into her little cheeks, swaying with her when the guide would explain the areas.

Eddie felt his heart swell, boasting and filling with love and pride, and something else. Something primal and deep and lustful. It was different from before. Usually the type of thrill that came with drugs, performing for thousands, then having groupies throw themselves at his feet. Now, he felt it deep in his chest, the protectiveness he had over you, over Sephy, his little family.

"You think she'd stay down for a nap if we take her back to the hotel?" Eddie growled low in your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe playfully.

You swatted him away, rolling your eyes. "I doubt it." You gave him a pointed look. "She has like a sixth sense for when were about to fuck." You snorted playfully, looking down at your little baby.

Eddie gave a soft smile, taking Persephone from your arms, snuggling her tight in his arms. She giggled, reaching to grab onto his curls. You grinned when she did, yanking them down hard, pulling at the scalp. Eddie hissed, moving his head with her to alleviate some of the pull. "Easy, easy, sweetheart," He muttered, opening her little fists.

You told him a million times to put his hair up around her. She was going through a grabbing stage. Anything and everything. The two of you had to re-baby proof the house when she'd started crawling, her tiny hands grabbing onto anything and everything she could.

"She's got a fucking iron grip." Eddie grunted, pulling his scalp back, tossing his hair over his shoulders. He knitted his brows, looking down at Persephone playfully. "Don't you? You're just a strong lil thing aren't ya?" He cooed, excitedly, bouncing her in his arms.

You smiled at her little giggles, the faintest crease in her chubby cheeks, hinting that she'd inherit dimples like her daddy. You shouldn't be surprised at this point, she was Eddie's twin, but it still made you a little jealous every time a new feature came in and it was a carbon copy of him.

"The next one will look just like ya, babe." Eddie would wink when you'd huff to him about it. "If not, we can just keep trying and trying and trying 'til one looks like ya." He always said it like he was joking, but the way his eyes darkened, you wondered if he truly was.

Persephone had gone down easily for her nap, and you were thankful. You figured she was still exhausted from the flight. You'd flown private with the band, your parents insisted on it, which benefited the two of you more than anyone else. Her little ears hurt from the pressure, whimpering and sobbing in the little bedroom on the back of the plane while you and Eddie tried to soothe her.

Eddie had gone for a soundcheck with the band, leaving you at the hotel with Sephy, unwinding in the cool linens of the hotel. You ran your hand down the bed, gnawing at your bottom lip. The last time you'd been at this hotel in London, it was with Eddie, but very differently. The two of you had just begun... whatever you wanted to call the relationship. You'd flown out on a red eye to London when he started his European tour, letting him fuck you hard and mean, tying you up to the headboard and having his way with you.

Now, you had a baby, you were married, and life was so different.

The door clicked shut, locking gently. Eddie could hear the sound machine, white noise that washed out the busy streets below next to the crib. You held your finger to your lips, nodding towards Persephone, who napped in her little portable crib.

Eddie smiled lovingly, looking over the edge of her crib. He climbed into the bed with you, gently laying down beside you. "She been asleep long?" He whispered.

You shook your head, your nose touching his. "Just a few minutes. I fed her and she was exhausted." You smiled, hands running over his shirt, down his arms. He perked up at the movement. "I think we have some time if you want to..." You bit your lip suggestively.

Eddie's eyes flicked from you back to the crib. "Here?" He whispered, ringed finger pressing into the bed.

You rolled your eyes. "We can go in the bathroom." You nodded to the spacious bathroom on the other side of the room. "Just be quiet."

Eddie grinned wide, letting you pull him by his hand towards the bathroom. "You be quiet," He whispered, pressing the door closed softly. "You're always the one screaming."

You rolled your eyes, wiggling your pants off. "Just hurry up." You huffed, tossing your discarded clothes to the ground, bending over the counter.

Eddie grinned, dropping to his knees. He pulled the lacy little thong off, smirking at your choice of panties. "Let me taste you first," Eddie rasped, ringed hands pulling your cheeks apart, revealing your slick puffy lips. He nearly drooled. "'S been too long, baby, let me have a taste."

You bit down on the back of your hand hard, smacking the faucet on, hoping the steady water stream would muffle your whimpers that escaped while Eddie devoured you over the counter. Miraculously, Sephy stayed asleep while Eddie pounded you hard, hips snapping against yours, holding you up to look at you through the mirror, hand around your neck.

He had more adrenaline after that, seeing his cum drip and spill out of your sopping hole. He pushed it back in with his pointer finger, smirking when you whimpered, collapsed over the vanity, cheek pressed to the marble countertop of the bathroom.

Four weeks later, you were sure you'd caught a virus. Stomach lurching and exhausted beyond belief.

Eight months later, that 'virus' was crowning, pushing out of you while you swore and threatened Eddie.

Kensington Klein Munson was born on August 3rd, 1995.

February 1998 - Milan, Italy

You'd been reluctant to go. You knew getting invited to Fashion Week in Milan was a big deal, especially since your long time friend was showcasing his line there, fresh new styles curated for the runway.

"Button, just go," Your mother sighed. "Daddy and I have it covered. We've raised a baby before, and look at you, you turned out just divine."

Still, you were hesitant to leave. You never left your babies often, hating the feeling- it was one you knew all too well. It was only a few days after Persephone's birthday, it felt too soon. And Kensington was going through a particularly nasty clinging stage with you, wailing and sobbing herself to near hyperventilation when you weren't in her sight.

Eddie had coaxed you sweetly, reminding you it's only be for a few days. He knew you didn't want to travel alone, and he too had been invited, so he offered to come with you, leaving your babies with your mom and dad.

You could hardly sit through the plane ride, guilt and nerves making you tight and irritable the entire time.

Eddie pressed sweet kisses into your skin, muttering that it would be ok. You were tense with every passing second. Tense during the pre-show dinner the night before, tight lipped smile and clutching your cell phone tightly. You'd given your hotel number to your parents, and instructed the concierge to forward it to the restaurant immediately if they called.

Even the wine, your favorite from Tuscany, didn't help soothe your nerves. Pouty the whole night, ignoring Eddie's sweet touches. You'd scurried to the phone when they said there was a call for you, nearly knocking over a waitress in the process.

It was your parents calling with the girls, ready to say goodnight. "Oh, Kensie, I know, sweet girl," You cooed sweetly, and Eddie could see your own heart breaking through the phone. "Mama and Daddy will be back so soon, baby angel, I promise."

Eddie rubbed your back soothingly. He could hear Kensie's wails and blubbering over the phone, through the noise of the restaurant. "You're with sissy, and Glammy," You sucked in a breath, fighting an eye roll at your mother's outrageous name she'd chosen for her grand babies to call her. You pulled the phone away, another heart wrenching wail, making your face crumble.

Eddie wrenched the phone out of your grasp lightly, pressing it to his ear. "Is that my sweet Kensie crying?" He cooed lowly into the phone. You pressed closer to hear. Her cries stuttered, shushing temporarily at her father's voice. "That can't be my sweet Kensie crying, is it?"

"It is, dad." Persephone's grumbled voice came from the background. "She hasn't stopped crying." Even at four, she was all attitude. She might have gotten Eddie's look, but he swore she got all your sass.

Eddie bit back a grin. "Sephy, can you hear me too?" He asked. She confirmed. "I need you to be extra sweet to your sister, ok? Mommy and Daddy will be back soon."

"And we'll bring you gifts back if you're good!" You added, yelling into the phone.

Eddie glared at you lightly, rolling his eyes. Persephone seemed excited at the promise. "Kens, Seph, can you both be good for Glammy and Pop-Pop?" His younger self would be raging at the nicknames.

"We'll be good, Daddy, prowmise." Persephone said sweetly through the phone. Eddie's heart swelled.

"Good." He grinned back. "You have good dreams, ok? Call us in the morning." You reached for the phone, pulling it away from his ear.

"Have sweet dreams, my angel babies." You cooed. "Daddy and Mommy love you so much. We miss you so much."

Your mother took the phone, chatting with you for a moment before you hung up, hesitantly, shoulder's deflating in defeat. You looked tired, dull, so unlike yourself. Eddie frowned, his hand circling your waist, pulling you close.

"C'mon," He nodded, pulling you towards the door. "Let's go back to the hotel."

"But-"

"-Tell them I got sick." Eddie shrugged. "I wanna spend some time with you. It's the first night alone we've had in a while."

You smiled gently, wrapping your arms around his torso. He shielded you from the paparazzi, ringed hand shoving cameras when they crowded outside your hotel, shouting at them all the way to the elevator.

When he got you back into the hotel, his hands on your back, smoothing over the fabric of your dress. "You know what we haven't done in a while?" Eddie grinned lightly. You hummed. "You haven't let me tie you up and have my way with you in a while."

Your thighs twitched, pressing together under the dress. "Ed," You let out a breathy sigh, squealing when he pinched the fat of your ass. "Kinda hard to do that when the kids are around."

"Well, the kids aren't around now." Eddie smirked, squeezing and kneading your cheeks. "No one to bother us all week. C'mon..." He was already moving towards you, lips slotting over yours to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, tongue sliding easily into your mouth.

You melted into the kiss, relaxing for the first time since you stepped off the plane. Eddie pulled you closer, fingers splayed out on the small of your back, pressing you farther into him. His lips pulled apart from yours, soft lips pressing into your cheek gently. "C'mon, baby," He rasped into your ear. "Be my good girl."

You perked, eyes meeting his, dark, hungry eyes shining back down at you. You rolled your lips like you were really thinking it over, but your hand was already reaching for your zipper.

"Fine, but only your hand if you spank me." You warned, pointing at him sternly. "We have to sit like all day tomorrow, and I better be able to sit." You glared at him, letting the slinky dress fall to your ankles.

Eddie's grin widened, eyes lighting up with excitement. You smirked, rolling your eyes, climbing on the bed. He fumbled through his bag, pulling out the leather cuffs. You lifted a brow. "So you were planning this?"

Eddie shrugged. "Maybe. Knew we'd be alone. Figured I might as well take advantage of my opportunity." He grinned.

You snorted, rolling on your stomach and letting him cuff you behind your back. Eddie hauled you into his lap, spanking you until your ass blossomed with red splotches and you were crying out. He fucked you hard into the mattress, skin burning and nails raked down his back and shoulder.

You were limping to the show next week, only sitting through your friend's show before disappearing back to the hotel, judgmental looks be damned. Eddie had his way with you the rest of the trip, the two of you refusing to leave the hotel room, fucking hard and nasty like you used to before; before the kids and before the marriage, before you two even liked each other.

You squirmed the entire plane ride home, finding refuge in Eddie's lap while he let you curl up into his chest. You ached between your legs, ass burning, chest littered in hickies you hoped the girls wouldn't see.

Nine months later, you were back in a familiar position, screaming in pain while you pushed out not one, but two babies; twin girls. Eddie nearly fainted at the ultrasound.

Sicily Giselle and Sienna Noelle Munson were born December 1st, 1998.

June 1999 - Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt

It was an anniversary gift, celebrating your wedding date from Farrah. You loved to travel, you and Eddie both, and since you saw the feature on Egypt, you'd wanted to go.

Farrah offered to watch the kids while you and Eddie had a get away, a romantic trip to the beautiful El Fanar Beach. "Just bring me back something nice, ok?" She winked playfully.

Eddie was in paradise, literally. You, him, and a private resort a haven for just the two of you. He'd taken you shopping to the local vendors, and you knew you had to pick up a bottle of perfume. Everyone raved about the fragrance, how decadent and strong it was- one of a kind. You'd fallen in love with one, dousing yourself in it during the trip.

Eddie seemed to like it too, burying his face in your neck, wrists, chest wherever you sprayed it, nuzzling need and sweet into you, inhaling you deeply like he might lose the scent if he didn't. You giggled when he nipped at your neck, loose, flowing linen dress flying around you in the breeze of the balcony.

The water was a gorgeous turquoise, but you hadn't managed to get in it yet. Every time you changed into your swimsuit, Eddie had you crowded around whatever was nearest, bending you over or pushing you against the surface, fucking you deep and slow.

"Ed, please," You whined, his crotch digging mercilessly into you, lips sucking and nipping at the skin of your neck, still raw from earlier. "Please, I-I wanna go to the beach."

"We'll go," Eddie hummed, lips ghosting down your collarbones. "We'll go after, I promise."

"You said that yesterday." You whined, huffing when he toyed with your clit through your swimsuit. "Ed, please-"

"-You just look too good, baby, fuck." Eddie groaned. "Smell too good. They put crack in that perfume. Made you irresistible." He growled, nipping at your ear.

You giggled, relenting when he dropped to his knees, licking you slowly until you were a puddle, sliding down the wall and further onto his tongue, hands gripping his curls.

Eddie went out and bought every bottle they had of that perfume, packing it back over on the plane, his nose still buried deep in your neck.

You blamed the perfume on why you were ringing in the millennium heavily pregnant, sipping soda water instead of champagne with your friends. That damn perfume, but it had a beautiful name, one you passed on to your daughter a month later, saving the original bottle in your safe just for her one day.

Zahra Wayne Munson was born on January 19th, 2000.

March 2007- Las Vegas, Nevada

You felt a little tipsy, stumbling in your stilettos across the marbled floors backstage. It was easier these days to get drunk. Younger you would never believe that you lose your tolerance when you get older, yet here you were thirty-seven, stumbling through The Colosseum at Caesar's Palace.

Corroded Coffin had been retired for years now, since the twins, really. Eddie had agreed to do a few shows, but hung up his guitar, trading it over to be a family man instead. He still dabbled in projects, produced, and some other things to occupy his time, but he wanted to be present with the girls, with you. It shocked the world that the both of you were as dedicated parents as you were.

Now, your oldest was thirteen, your youngest seven. Your little family complete and perfect. You were still reluctant leaving them, even if they were older, but it was a special event. Corroded Coffin live in concert at Caesar's, Eddie couldn't turn it down. And the two of you would never turn down Vegas, no matter how mature you were.

"Hey there, sexy mama." Eddie slurred, drunk and flirty. You giggled, gripping onto this leather clad arm. The show had ended hours ago, the after party raging on into the early morning.

"What're you doin'?" You giggled, watching him grab at your ass, hand ducking under your dress to squeeze your cheeks harsh.

"You just look so fuckin' good baby, goddam," Eddie grinned, swaying with you in his arms. "You're so pretty. So pretty."

You snorted. "You're horny." You grinned, feeling his half hard dick against you.

Eddie rolled his tongue over his cheek. "You're right. Can you blame me? With how good you look?"

You blushed, arms circling around his neck, pulling him closer to you. "I think-I think you look really pretty too." You smiled, nuzzling your nose against the scruff of his cheeks.

He pulled you in closer at the waist, hands still firm on your ass. You knew you were too old to be acting like this, you were parents and adults, you should behave. But you couldn't get enough of him. A little over fifteen years together, five babies, and you still couldn't get enough; that might be why you had the five babies.

"I think," Eddie whispered into your ear. "I think we should go to the bathroom." His eyes lit up suggestively.

"The bathroom?" You asked, giggling.

He was already waltzing you through the crowd, towards the private restrooms in the back. He'd had you already in the dressing room, you dropped to your knees when he came in, sucking him off until he fucked you hard over the table. Just like when you were younger, when everything was new and exciting.

He was insatiable then and still now, that never changed.

The bathroom door clicked with a lock, spacious and extravagant like the rest of the room was. Eddie hoisted you up on the bathroom counter, hands roaming every square inch of your body, needy and slipping under the fabric of your dress. You giggled, throwing your head back on the mirror, letting his fingers work you open.

He pulled your thong down, black lace with 'CC' crocheted on the front; a true artifact, made in 1992 when you went to your first Corroded Coffin concert. He fucked you back stage, and you surprised him with it. Somehow, your panties made their way into the lyric pages of their next CD.

Eddie laughed, holding them up by the band, eyes widening back at you. You blushed, shrugging gently. "Surprise, baby." You giggled. "I thought you'd see them earlier."

Eddie groaned loudly, tying his hair up with the thong before plunging head first between your legs. You squealed and gasped and writhed on the counter, his hands gripping your waist hard holding you into place.

He fucked you in the bathroom, trapping you against the wall, hips snapping into yours while you grabbed at his ass. There was no need for birth control, condoms, or having him pull out. He'd gotten a vasectomy after Zahra, you were done having babies, giving up on having your boy and accepting having all beautiful girls.

Or so you thought.

You returned to Los Angeles with more than just a hangover. The Las Vegas night was truly one you'd never forget, even if you didn't exactly remember everything, because- to both of your surprises, your urine test came back positive.

Vega Jo Munson was born October 29th, 2007.

[marinettesaltprompts]

Cat in the Belfry (Part 2)

Adrien x Gotham City Sirens

Prompt by @somereaderinblue

Harley wonders if somehow, there’s something in Paris’s water that’s stronger than the literal toxic soup running through Gotham’s pipes. Like, she’s pretty sure the principal skipped 80% of protocol when he chose to hire her as the new counselor. Then again, that’s probably how Bustier got her job, nevermind that she’s more suited to teach kindergarteners.

Bustier is all too eager to preach about her perfect class & model students. When Harley meets them however, ooooh boy. It’s no wonder most of them have gotten akumatized. She meets Marinette, who takes the chance to rant abt Lila, the class’s ingratitude & Adrien’s betrayal. When Harley tries to poke holes (i.e. how Mari tried to call a witch hunt everyone understandably balks at & how she never told Adrien abt the threats), Mari throws her hands up & storms out, fed up that another adult ‘failed her’.

Red flags raised, Harley is shocked to see Lila practically molesting Adrien & once, swore she saw Mari look through a trash bin Adrien used. She asked his help to do a little test & yup, somehow, Mari knew abt Adrien’s private schedule. Adrien talks to Nino, who talks to Alya, who confirms the extent of Mari’s stalking. Needless to say, both boys are horrified & after lots of much-needed heart to hearts, Adrien tells them the truth abt Lila & Alya sees the error of her ways.

She & Nino try to apologize to Mari but she refuses to accept them bzc teenage impulsivity is clearly an unforgivable crime. Slowly, Adrien reaches out to the other classmates to help them see the light. They’re angry & hurt but he convinces them to apologize to Mari privately and ignore Lila, which for a pathological attention seeker, is punishment enough.

Mari shuns their apologies, wanting them to grovel some more & Lila is left to stew. The Italian’s reign goes out with a whimper as Adrien simply contacts her mom, mentions Lila’s lies & she’s transferred to a strict boarding school in Italy.

Adrien would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy being sneaky.

But yeah, Mari is shocked when the class doesn’t come crawling back to her for forgiveness. They point out that they already said sorry but she chose to stew in her grudges & isolate herself. When she plays the victim card, they call her out, asking if all her ‘kindness’ were bribes to turn them into sheep. She has no response to that.

As LB, things get complicated. The mayor is panicking as Selina steals from the corrupt elite & discovers a lot of juicy blackmail. LB promises to help. CN confronts Selina abt it & rather than get angry, she’s amused.

She takes him to see the nitty-gritties of Paris. Opens his eyes to human trafficking, the homeless, the poor & the corruption and lies. Gives him some hard nuanced lessons that pushes him to act instead of react, patrolling in neglected areas & always checking up on past victims. He feeds the strays with Catwoman, Ivy helps him with a bio project & Harley teaches him how to dye his hair green.

One day, LB swoops in while Catwoman is doing a robbery. CN also shows up to defend her. He tries to explain that he hired her to help. LB is enraged that he made such a decision without her input & is defending a criminal.

CN: Are you any closer to finding out who Hawkmoth is?!

LB: I’m trying my best! All I have are Fu’s notes!

CN: Are you?! Were you & Fu trying to find Hawkmoth or is he just teaching you how to be a ‘better Guardian’? I didn’t have his teaching or his notes but at least I’m actually trying to do something about it.

LB: Do you think being a Guardian’s a game?!

CN: I think it’s a second priority to stopping Hawkmoth! Maybe becoming the Guardian will help us stop his akumas but it won’t. End. The status quo. We need to go for the head.

LB: And we do that with the help of a criminal?!

CN: This ‘criminal’ is a better hero & a better friend than you are!

Everyone is stunned by that statement. But it’s true. CN wouldn’t go as far as to call Selina a maternal figure, but her, Harley & Ivy are the cool wine aunts he’s never had. 

LB glares at CN & though he has the power of destruction, she’s the one who decides to land the final blow.

“Traitor.”

The next morning, LB goes on TV & tells everyone that CN is now a criminal.

[luminouslywriting]

Ok so I saw this post and like it would be really cute bob x guardian angel taking care of them when there depressed or anxious or whatever like I neeeed that

Nonny darling, this was just beautiful and I'm happy to do this for you :) Reminder that my requests are open and I don't mind spam one bit haha!

Cut for length, more under the cut, and please note that for this, I went with an actual guardian angel reader:

Dick Winters:

-You know that scene when he’s charging up the hill alone and starts shooting at the Nazis and they’re too stunned to shoot back until the other men arrive? Yeah, this is your time to shine as his Guardian Angel. -It’s one of the most dangerous times for him and when he first really catches sight of you and the way you’re protecting him. -The next time he feels your presence is when he’s alone in Paris and struggling with everything he’s been through. -A gentle hug from you and soft conversation makes all the difference.

Lewis Nixon:

-This gif above here?? Where Nix nearly gets shot? Yeah, you’re the one deflecting that bullet. -He doesn’t think much of it and thinks he’s hallucinating since he’s so drunk most of the time. But there you are, faithfully following after him and ensuring he doesn’t fall to his death or drink too much. -Lew definitely starts having conversations with you and thinks you’re a figment of his imagination for a hot minute. -Right up until he gets notice of the divorce and you’re there helping him through it….and he gets much better after that.

Ronald Speirs:

-Babe, you’ve got a full time job and he is fully aware of that and ready to make you earn your wings haha. -Literally do you even get rest?? -It isn’t until after Bastogne and Foy that he actually gets to talk with you and realizes he could benefit from chilling out a little bit. -And yes, he does have a small crush on you haha.

Buck Compton:

-Literally doesn’t realize you’re there until he leaves Bastogne?? -At which point, your soothing words and kindness in caring for him has him floored and trying to make sense of everything. -He definitely thinks he’s suffered some sort of mental break but you’re just his angel and there to help him. -Your encouragement and care help him get much better and want to return to the boys in episode 10!

Carwood Lipton:

-First becomes aware of you when he nearly gets blown up….and tries really hard to not have to see you again. -He does offer small little thanks at nighttime for your efforts and for helping him stay alive another day. -Starts asking questions and talking to you after Bastogne and Foy because he’s curious. -Lowkey knows what he wants in a partner after you cuddle with him when he has pneumonia haha.

Joe Liebgott:

-Again, someone who is putting you to the test….and enjoys seeing you roll up to help him out a bit. -Probably argues that he doesn’t need a guardian angel?? Yeah that’s a lie and you both know it. -Breaks down in your arms after he translates in the camps and it’s an emotional thing

-Probably prays and thanks God for you being his guardian angel

Donald Malarkey:

-Has a really rough time of things during Bastogne and this is when you arrive to help comfort him

-He thinks you’re the grim reaper or something but quickly grows to like you and the way you help care for him and protect him

-Honestly talks to you a lot during Hagenau and asks questions. -Sneaks a hug every now and then when he thinks he can get away with it.

Eugene Roe:

-How else would this man be so untouched and unharmed?? -He’s fully aware of your job and probably talks to you every chance that he gets. Your jobs are pretty similar anyway and there’s a good reliance on you. -But during Bastogne? Oh, you’ve got your work cut out for you and it’s an emotional time. He definitely cries in your arms. -Probably names one of his future children after you tbh

Bill Guarnere:

-Also thinks he doesn’t need one until he does?? He has a lot of near misses and ends up at the hospital a few different times. -You warn him not to go on the lam and to just stay in the hospital

-Does not appreciate you until you’re the sole reason why he doesn’t die in Bastogne…and then he’s real repentant and relies on you for recovery

-Literally so grateful and adored you…he tries to talk to you a lot.

Joe Toye:

-A softie who has been aware of your presence since he started doing stupid stuff in high school. -Even more grateful for you during the war and expresses so much gratitude. -Would not have made it out of Bastogne if you hadn’t been encouraging him to keep moving and to try and get up. -You’re a major part of his recovery after the war.

George Luz:

-First becomes aware of you during Toccoa when he nearly breaks a bone and you help him?? -He’s SHOOKETH and hitting on you a ton haha

-And during Bastogne?? He knows that he only makes it through all of that because of you. And he definitely cries in your arms after the dud doesn’t go off. -Probably is a lot softer and appreciates you more after the war.