#i did this one before but it could use a brush up!

[pucksandpower]

Second Heart

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lewis Hamilton x Senna!Reader

Summary: all you’ve ever wanted was to be able to race just like your Papai … no matter the cost (or in which always going for a gap that exists runs in the Senna family)

You sit cross-legged in front of the TV, shoulders hunched, the remote clutched tight in your little hand. The screen crackles, and there he is — Ayrton. Papai. His yellow helmet blazes under the bright afternoon sun, the car flying down the straight, smooth as a bird on water.

Your eyes don’t blink. The sound of engines growls through the speakers, vibrating all the way to your heart. It’s like he’s right there. Alive.

And so fast. So, so fast. You almost feel like you’re in the car with him, that if you close your eyes, you could taste the gasoline and the rubber, the wind whipping across your face.

“Papai …�� you whisper, pressing the volume button louder.

Adriane steps into the room, the clink of her bracelets soft but steady. She pauses when she sees you, arms crossed, one hip jutted out.

“I thought you were doing homework.”

You don’t answer, too lost in the footage. The video cuts to a slow-motion shot of Ayrton weaving through the rain, tires spinning in the spray like magic. They call it genius — what he did at Monaco, at Suzuka, at Donington Park. To you, it’s just your Papai being Papai.

“Turn it off.” Your mother’s voice sharpens now. She hates it when you watch these tapes. You’ve heard her say it before, more times than you can count — It’s not healthy. You shouldn’t keep living in the past. But you don’t feel like you’re living in the past. You feel like you’re meeting him for the first time, every time.

“Just five more minutes,” you plead without looking away.

“No.”

“But I-”

“I said no, agora!”

Her tone makes you flinch. The remote slips from your hand onto the floor with a dull thud. But you still can’t tear your eyes from the screen, where Ayrton’s car crosses the finish line, the Brazilian flag draped over his shoulders as the crowd roars. Your heart beats faster. There’s a strange energy in you, like the buzz before a storm. You push yourself up to your knees, your voice small but determined.

“I want to race.”

Adriane’s laugh is immediate and sharp, like glass shattering. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly!” You twist around to look at her now, the words spilling out. “I wanna race, Mãe! Like Papai!”

Her face changes. The air shifts, heavy and strange. You see it happen — the tightness in her jaw, the way her smile falls away like it was never there.

“No.”

“But-”

“No!” She snaps, louder this time, and it makes you shrink back. “Absolutely not. Never.”

You bite your lip, feeling the burn at the back of your throat. But you don’t stop. Not yet.

“Why not?” You whisper.

Your mother exhales sharply through her nose, as if the question alone is an insult. She crosses the room in two quick strides, crouching down until her face is level with yours. Her hands, delicate but strong, grip your shoulders tighter than usual.

“Because racing is dangerous,” she says, enunciating every word like she’s trying to hammer them into your skull. “Do you understand me? It’s not a game. It took your father from us.”

Her voice wavers on the last sentence, but you don’t care. There’s something stubborn growing in you, something you don’t quite recognize yet.

“Papai loved it.”

“And look where it got him,” she shoots back, her voice sharp as a knife.

You blink, stunned by the words. She’s never said it like that before. She sees your expression — hurt, confused — and her face softens, just for a second.

“Sweetheart …” She sighs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “I know you miss him. I miss him too. Every single day. But I won’t let racing take you away from me.”

“But it won’t-”

“Enough.” Her voice is final, the way grown-ups’ voices get when there’s no more room for argument. “This conversation is over.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. She’s already standing up, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. The TV hums in the background, the commentators babbling about pole positions and podiums.

Adriane snatches the remote from the floor and jabs the power button. The screen goes black, as if Papai never existed at all.

You feel hollow.

Your mother stands there for a moment, the silence thick between you. Then she crouches again, her hands cupping your face this time, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“Listen to me.” Her voice is quieter now, almost pleading. “I lost your father. I can’t-” She stops, swallows hard. “I can’t lose you too. Okay?”

You don’t nod. You don’t speak. You just stare at her, your little heart breaking in ways you don’t fully understand yet.

“I’m serious,” she whispers, her forehead resting against yours. “No racing. Not ever.”

And then she kisses the top of your head, soft and lingering, as if that alone could erase the conversation, the dream, everything. She walks out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.

You sit there for a long time, staring at the blank TV screen, fists clenched in your lap. Your chest feels tight, like something inside you is being squeezed too hard.

You think about Papai. About how he smiled in the cockpit, how the car seemed to dance under his hands, how the crowd chanted his name like a song. He wasn’t afraid.

And neither are you.

You pick up the remote again. Your thumb hovers over the play button, hesitant for just a moment. Then you press it.

The screen flickers back to life, and Ayrton is there, flying through the rain like a miracle.

You smile.

One day, you think.

One day, you’ll race too.

***

The front door clicks shut behind you as you step into the house, dropping your school bag with a heavy thud. You bend down to untie your sneakers, already rehearsing what you’ll tell your mom — how your science project earned a gold star, how you managed to trade a snack with João without getting caught. You have it all planned, down to the way you’ll grin when she offers you that after-school snack.

But as soon as you straighten up, the voices hit you.

Loud. Sharp. Angry.

You freeze, one hand still on your shoelace.

“You have no right — none — to tell me how to raise my daughter!” Your mother’s voice is sharp, like glass breaking. She’s in the living room. You can’t see her from the hallway, but you don’t need to. You can imagine her perfectly — the tight set of her mouth, the way her arms probably cross over her chest.

And then, another voice, familiar in a strange way. Low and hard. “I’m not telling you how to raise her, Adriane. I’m telling you what she told me — how she called me crying because you refuse to let her chase the only thing she’s ever wanted.”

Alain.

Your heart skips. You know him. Everyone knows him. Papai’s fiercest rival — and, in the end, his friend. The man from the stories, from old photographs your mother keeps locked away. Alain, who came to the funeral and cried even when the cameras weren’t on him.

Why is he here?

You step closer, drawn by their words like a thread pulling you tight. You press yourself against the wall and peek around the corner, just enough to see them.

Adriane stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed exactly like you pictured. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, but her face is tight, her jaw locked in anger. Alain stands across from her, looking just as frustrated. His hands move as he talks, fast and insistent, like he’s trying to grab hold of the air between them and shape it into something that makes sense.

“She’s seven!” Your mother snaps, her voice cracking at the edges. “She doesn’t understand what she’s asking for.”

“She understands better than you think,” Alain fires back. “She understands perfectly. She called me in tears — tears, Adriane — because you shut her down without even listening.”

“I listened.” Her voice drops, low and furious. “And I said no.”

Alain scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “You said no because you’re scared.”

Your mother’s eyes flash. “Of course I’m scared! She’s my daughter! You, of all people, should understand-”

“I do understand.” Alain’s voice softens, but only just. “I carried his casket. I watched you cry over him. But that’s exactly why you can’t do this to her.”

Adriane’s face crumples for a split second, so brief you might have missed it if you hadn’t been watching so closely. “He’s not here, Alain,” she whispers, and it sounds like a confession and an accusation all at once. “He’s not here to see this, to say if it’s right or wrong. And he’s not here to save her if something goes wrong.”

Alain’s voice drops, steady and determined. “And you think Ayrton would want you to stop her? You think he would want her to live her whole life wrapped in fear because of what happened to him?”

“She’s my child.” Adriane’s voice cracks like a whip, but there’s something desperate underneath it now, like she’s fighting to keep her footing in a conversation she knows she’s already losing. “And I will not lose her.”

Alain’s eyes narrow. “You’re not protecting her. You’re imprisoning her.”

Your mother stares at him, her breath coming fast and uneven. For a moment, everything goes still — so quiet you can hear the ticking of the old clock on the mantel.

Then Alain steps forward, his hands on his hips. “If you won’t help her, I will. I’ll teach her to kart myself if I have to.”

Adriane barks out a bitter laugh, but it’s laced with pain. “You can try,” she says, her voice brittle. “But don’t expect me to come watch. I refuse to set foot at a race, and I won’t look at her as long as I know there’s a chance she won’t come back.”

Her words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. You feel like you can’t breathe. You press yourself harder against the wall, your chest tight with emotions you can’t name.

And that’s when the floor creaks.

Both of them turn at the sound.

“Meu Deus …” your mother whispers, her hands flying to her mouth. “You’re home.”

Alain’s face softens instantly. He kneels down, arms open. “Come here, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then, without thinking, you bolt from your hiding spot and run straight into Alain’s arms. He catches you easily, wrapping you in a hug that feels like safety. Like warmth.

Adriane stands frozen, her hands still over her mouth. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mix of heartbreak and anger and something you don’t fully understand.

Alain pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’ve got a question for you.”

You blink up at him, your heart pounding.

“How would you like to come to Switzerland with me?” His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “You could learn to kart there. I’ll teach you myself. What do you think?”

Your heart races. Switzerland. Karting. Learning to drive. It feels like a dream, one you didn’t even know you could have.

But then you look at your mother.

Adriane’s face is pale, her hands still clutched tight over her mouth like they might stop her from saying something she’ll regret. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and there’s a kind of pain in them that makes your chest ache.

You know what this means to her. You know how much it hurts.

But you also know what it means to you.

You’ve wanted this for as long as you can remember — for as long as you’ve been able to understand what racing is. And here it is, right in front of you. A chance.

You swallow hard and look back at Alain. His expression is kind but serious, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“It’s your choice,” he says quietly. “No one can make it for you.”

You take a deep breath. Your hands shake a little, but you ball them into fists to steady yourself.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

Your mother makes a soft, choked sound — like someone punched all the air out of her.

“Minha filha …” Her voice breaks.

You look at her, and it feels like your heart is splitting in two. “I have to, Mãe.”

She closes her eyes, pressing her hands tighter to her face. For a moment, she just stands there, trembling. Then she drops her hands and wipes her eyes with quick, angry swipes.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice raw and broken. “Okay. Go, then.”

The words sting, sharper than anything you’ve ever felt. But you nod. You have to.

Alain gives your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “We’ll call every day,” he promises, glancing at Adriane, though she won’t look at him. “Whenever you want.”

Your mother doesn’t answer. She just turns away, her shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on her.

Your heart feels heavy, but there’s something else now too — something lighter. Hope.

You glance up at Alain, and he smiles, soft and warm.

“Switzerland, huh?” You say, trying to sound brave.

Alain chuckles. “Switzerland.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you can finally breathe.

***

Life in Switzerland feels like a dream. Every morning, the mountains rise outside your window, peaks dusted in snow even as the spring sun warms the air. The international school Alain enrolled you in is small, the kids friendly. They speak a mix of languages — French, German, Italian — and though it’s strange at first, you like how every word feels like a little puzzle to solve.

But school is just the beginning of your day. The real magic happens afterward.

Every afternoon, Alain picks you up in his car — a sleek, silver Audi with leather seats that always smell faintly like coffee — and takes you straight to the karting track just outside town. There’s a rhythm to your days now: school, then the track, where the scent of gasoline and hot rubber fills the air.

“Come on, petite championne,” Alain says every day as you hop into the kart, the nickname slipping off his tongue with an easy smile. “Let’s see if you can make me proud today.”

The kart rumbles beneath you, a buzz that shoots from your hands to your heart. The moment your foot touches the pedal, the world falls away. The wind rushes against your face, the engine purring with every twist of the wheel.

Here, in the kart, you feel free — like nothing can catch you, not even the pieces of your life that feel too big or too broken to understand.

Alain watches from the sidelines, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his face calm but focused. He takes notes every time you race, shouting tips when you pull up to the pit lane.

“Don’t wait so long to hit the brakes before that hairpin, you lose too much time,” he’ll say. Or, “You’re getting faster through the straights. Don’t get greedy on the corners, though — you’ve got to feel the grip.”

You listen to every word, hungry to learn. And when he grins after you complete a lap, clapping his hands like you just won a Grand Prix, your heart swells.

By the time you drive home, your body hums with exhaustion, but it’s the good kind — the kind that comes from chasing a dream.

And every night, after dinner, there’s dessert.

“Glace au chocolat tonight?” Alain asks one evening, pulling two tubs of chocolate ice cream from the freezer.

You grin. “With whipped cream?”

“Obviously,” Alain replies with mock seriousness. “What kind of barbarian do you take me for?”

He adds a mountain of whipped cream to both bowls, handing one to you before plopping down on the couch with his own.

As always, an old race plays on the TV. Tonight, it’s Monaco — 1988, the race your father dominated, right up until the moment he crashed into the barrier. The screen flickers as the cars glide through the tight streets, their engines howling between the stone walls.

Alain leans back against the couch cushions, spoon in hand. “See that?” He says, pointing at the screen with a mouthful of ice cream. “Your papa’s line through the Swimming Pool section — perfection. Like poetry in motion.”

You tilt your head, studying the way the yellow helmet zips through the narrow chicane. “How did he do it?”

Alain smiles, scooping another spoonful of ice cream. “He just knew. Ayrton could feel the track better than anyone else. It was like … like he was connected to the car in a way no one else could be.”

You lick your spoon thoughtfully. “Did you hate him?”

The question catches Alain off guard. He freezes, then chuckles, shaking his head. “Hate him? No.” He pauses. “Not really, anyway.”

“But you fought a lot.”

“Oh, we fought.” Alain smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “He drove me absolutely mad sometimes.”

You giggle. “Why?”

“Because he never gave up. Not even for a second.” Alain gestures toward the TV, where your father’s car rockets through the tunnel. “Ayrton wasn’t just racing other drivers — he was racing himself. Always trying to be faster, better. It was exhausting.”

He says it like a joke, but there’s warmth in his voice, too. You can hear it.

“And that drove you crazy?” You ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

Alain laughs, a soft, fond sound. “Completely crazy.”

You curl deeper into the couch, your ice cream bowl balanced on your lap. “But you were friends, right? In the end?”

Alain’s smile fades a little, but it stays, softer now. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “In the end.”

There’s a silence between you, filled only by the hum of the TV and the occasional scrape of your spoons against the bowls.

You glance at Alain, his expression lost somewhere between memory and regret. “Do you miss him?”

Alain looks at you, and for a moment, you’re not sure if he’ll answer. Then he gives a small nod. “Every day.”

You nod, too, even though you didn’t really know your father — at least, not in the way Alain did. But somehow, you miss him all the same.

The race continues on the screen, the cars weaving through the streets of Monaco, chasing the perfect lap.

“You’ll be just like him one day,” Alain says suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You blink, surprised. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Alain replies, nudging your shoulder with his. “You’ve got the same fire in you. The same stubbornness, too, I think.”

You laugh, and Alain grins, pleased with himself.

“You just need to tweak your braking,” he adds with a playful smirk. “You brake like me, not like him.”

“Hey!” You protest, shoving his arm lightly.

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “What? I’m just saying! Ayrton would fly into corners like a madman. Me? I was always a bit more … sensible.”

“Sensible is boring,” you tease, scooping up the last bit of ice cream.

Alain pretends to be offended, clutching his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Boring? Sensible is what win me four world championships, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

The credits for the race coverage roll, but neither of you makes a move to turn off the TV. These moments — curled up on the couch with Alain, the scent of whipped cream still in the air — feel like they could stretch forever.

And maybe, just maybe, they do.

***

Four years blur by like the laps on a familiar circuit. Days turn into months, and months into seasons. You grow taller, sharper, and faster. The kart becomes a second skin, every turn and apex something you know instinctively, like breathing. The track is your playground now — your sanctuary.

Alain teaches you everything: not just how to drive but how to think, how to be patient when you need to be and ruthless when the moment calls for it. He tells you about strategy and racecraft, how to listen for the slightest change in the engine’s pitch, how to make yourself invisible in the slipstream until the perfect moment to strike.

Some lessons come easy. Others, not so much. Like when he makes you practice for hours in the rain, your hands frozen, your kart slipping through puddles. Or when you spin out during a practice race and Alain doesn’t even flinch. He just waves his hand in the air.

“Again!” He shouts from the pit lane. “You have to get comfortable with making mistakes, petite. No champion gets there without a few bruises.”

And so you go again. And again. Because this — this dream — is the one thing you want more than anything.

Now, after all those years, the day has finally arrived. You’re old enough to compete in the FIA Karting Championship. This is what you’ve been working toward.

But Alain surprises you one quiet evening at home. No ice cream, no old races on TV — just you and him, sitting across the kitchen table with two mugs of hot tea. His face is serious, but kind.

“There’s something we need to talk about,” he says, tapping his fingers lightly against the mug. “You have a choice to make.”

You lean forward. “What kind of choice?”

Alain tilts his head, his sharp hazel eyes studying you carefully. “Your name.”

You frown. “My name?”

“Yes. You’ve been racing locally for a while, but things are different now.” Alain takes a sip of tea, gathering his thoughts. “The FIA Karting Championship is international. There will be journalists, scouts, team representatives. If you race under your real name, everyone will know exactly who you are.”

You sit back, the weight of what he’s saying slowly sinking in.

“You can use a pseudonym if you want,” Alain continues. “Plenty of drivers do it, especially when they want to build their career on their own terms.”

You blink, caught off guard. You’ve thought a lot about racing — how fast you want to be, how badly you want to win. But this? The idea of hiding your name? It’s a curveball you didn’t see coming.

Alain gives you time to think, his hands wrapped loosely around his mug. “There’s no shame in it, petite,” he says gently. “It’s not about denying who you are. It’s about deciding how you want the world to see you.”

The words hang between you. He’s not pressuring you — Alain never does that — but you can feel the weight of the decision anyway.

You toy with the edge of the mug in front of you, tracing the rim with your fingertip. “Do you think … if I use my real name, people will only see Papai?”

Alain shrugs, but his expression is thoughtful. “Some will. There are people who won’t be able to separate you from Ayrton. They’ll compare you to him before you’ve even taken a proper lap.”

You nod slowly. You’ve known this would happen — how could you not? But hearing it out loud makes it more real.

“At the same time,” Alain adds, “it’s not something to be ashamed of. Ayrton was … well, he was Ayrton. If anyone has the right to be proud of their name, it’s you.”

You bite your lip, the edges of uncertainty fraying inside you. “What would you do?”

Alain smiles softly. “It’s not my decision to make, ma chérie. This is about you. Your future.”

You stare into your tea, watching the steam curl toward the ceiling like tiny ghosts. A part of you aches at the thought of hiding your father’s name — like you’d be denying him, pretending he didn’t matter. But there’s another part, quieter but insistent, that wants to know what it’s like to stand on your own. To earn your place without the shadow of a legend following you everywhere you go.

You tap your fingers against the table, the rhythm matching the beat of an engine in your mind. And then, suddenly, the answer clicks into place.

“I think …” You take a deep breath. “I think I want to use a different name. Just for now.”

Alain raises his eyebrows, curious but approving. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more certain now. “It’s not because I’m ashamed. I’m not. I want people to know one day. Just … not yet.”

Alain leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s the plan?”

You grin, the excitement building in your chest. “I’ll race under my mother’s last name. And when the time’s right — maybe after I win a few championships — I’ll tell them.”

Alain chuckles, shaking his head. “You think they’ll like the surprise?”

You laugh, a full, bright sound that feels like relief. “Can you imagine their faces?”

Alain grins, clearly amused. “I can already hear the headlines.” He adopts an exaggerated announcer voice: “The karting prodigy who stunned the world by revealing she’s Ayrton Senna’s daughter!”

You burst out laughing, the tension from the conversation melting away. “They’ll lose their minds!”

“And you’ll love every second of it,” Alain adds with a knowing smirk.

You grin, unable to hide the spark of mischief in your eyes. “Maybe a little.”

He shakes his head fondly, ruffling your hair as he stands up from the table. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory,” you say, beaming.

Alain gathers the empty mugs and places them in the sink, still chuckling to himself. “Well, I think it’s a smart choice. Gives you time to find your own rhythm.”

You nod, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah. It feels right.”

Alain leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he looks at you. There’s pride in his eyes — quiet, steady, and unmistakable. “Your papa would’ve been proud of you, too,” he says softly.

Your throat tightens, but you smile through it. “Thanks, Alain.”

He nods once, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on,” he says, nudging his head toward the living room. “Let’s celebrate with some dessert. I think we’ve got tarte au citron in the fridge.”

You follow him, your heart light and your steps easy. The road ahead is still long — there will be races, wins, and losses. But for the first time, it feels like it’s yours to drive.

And that? That’s the best feeling in the world.

***

The drive from Switzerland to Imola is quiet. You sit with your thoughts, the hum of the engine beneath you and the road stretching endlessly ahead. Alain offered to come with you, but you declined. This is something you need to do alone.

It’s not that you didn’t want his company, it’s just … how do you explain to someone — even someone who knew your father so well — that you need to meet this place on your own terms?

For eighteen years, you told yourself you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be. But here you are, taking deep breaths as you steer your way closer to the circuit where it all ended. Where everything about your life changed before it even really began.

When you finally arrive, the gates to the Imola track feel strangely peaceful, nestled under a canopy of autumn leaves. The air is crisp, and the sky is that soft, pale blue you only get in early fall. You park the car and head toward the Ayrton Senna memorial, your footsteps crunching through the leaves littering the path.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your pulse loud in your ears. You try to steel yourself — this is just a monument, just a place. You’ve been to a thousand race tracks in your life. But this one is different. This one holds pieces of someone you never got the chance to know.

As you approach the monument, you expect silence. You expect to be alone. But then you notice someone sitting there — another figure crouched near the bronze statue of your father.

The man shifts, startled by the sound of your footsteps on the gravel. His head turns, and you recognize him almost immediately.

It’s Lewis Hamilton.

He blinks up at you, clearly not expecting company either. There’s a moment of awkwardness, both of you standing there, caught off guard in a place meant for solitude.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Lewis waves off the apology, his face softening. “No, no. You’re not bothering me.” He pulls himself up a little straighter, brushing leaves from his jacket. “I always stop by here before Monza. Helps me … I don’t know. Reset.”

You nod, unsure what else to say. There’s something strange about seeing him here — Lewis Hamilton, one of the biggest names in motorsport, sitting quietly in front of your father’s monument like he’s just another fan.

“I came for the same reason,” you admit. “I’m Brazilian. Wanted to pay my respects.”

At that, something shifts in Lewis’ expression — understanding, maybe. “You’re Brazilian?” He repeats, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That explains it. Every Brazilian racer I know carries Senna with them like … well, like a second heart.”

You laugh softly, kicking a stray leaf with your shoe. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Lewis shifts, resting his forearms on his knees as he looks back at the monument. The wind stirs the leaves around your feet, scattering them across the ground.

“He’s always been my hero,” Lewis murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Even before I really understood what racing was, I just … knew he was special.”

You don’t respond right away, your gaze fixed on the familiar features of the bronze effigy — your father’s intense, focused expression captured in metal. It’s strange, standing here with someone who feels the same reverence you’ve always felt but never quite known how to express.

Lewis glances at you again. “What do you race?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

You tuck your hands into your jacket pockets. “Formula Renault 3.5.”

His eyebrows lift, clearly impressed. “That’s a serious series.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, though there’s a flicker of pride in your chest. “Yeah, it’s been good so far.”

“Good enough to think about Formula 1 one day?” Lewis asks, a knowing smile on his face.

You grin. “That’s the plan.”

He chuckles, the sound warm in the cool air. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for you. What’s your name?”

For a split second, you hesitate. But you remind yourself — he doesn’t need to know everything. Not yet. “Just … Y/N,” you say casually. “For now.”

Lewis tilts his head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he doesn’t press. “Y/N. Got it.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure how to fill the silence. But it’s not uncomfortable — just … quiet.

“You said you come here every year?” You ask after a moment.

“Before Monza, yeah,” Lewis confirms. “It’s become sort of a ritual. Helps me feel grounded, I guess. Reminds me why I do this.”

You nod, understanding more than you expected to. There’s something about this place — this simple, quiet memorial — that strips everything else away. The politics, the pressure, the noise. It leaves only the pure love of racing behind.

Lewis stands then, brushing dirt from his pants. “Well,” he says, “I should probably get going. Got a long weekend ahead.”

You nod, though part of you wishes you had a little more time to talk to him. There’s something easy about the way he carries himself — no arrogance, no pretense. Just a racer who loves what he does.

Lewis glances at the monument one last time, his gaze lingering on your father’s face. “He would’ve loved to see how many of us still race because of him,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small smile. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

He gives you a nod, something warm and reassuring in his expression. “Take care, Y/N. I’ll be watching.”

With that, he turns and walks down the path, his footsteps crunching through the leaves. You watch him go, the wind stirring around you again, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and autumn.

For a long moment, you stay there, standing in front of the monument, just you and the bronze figure of your father. You don’t say anything — there’s nothing that needs to be said. But in the quiet, you feel a strange sense of peace.

Maybe it’s the years of racing, the laps you’ve turned, the lessons you’ve learned. Or maybe it’s just knowing that people like Lewis exist — people who carry your father’s spirit with them, even though they never knew him.

You brush a hand over the cool surface of the monument, tracing the edge of the plaque with your fingers. “I’m gonna make you proud,” you whisper.

And this time, you believe it.

The wind picks up again as you turn away from the monument, heading back toward the car. Monza is waiting. And so is the rest of your story.

***

The paddock feels like a world unto itself — buzzing with life, engines roaring in the distance, team personnel hurrying from garages to pit walls.

You’re barely a day into your first GP2 weekend with DAMS, and it’s already overwhelming. The DAMS crew is friendly but businesslike, and the constant stream of engineers, mechanics, and journalists passing by your garage is a reminder that you’ve officially stepped onto the big stage.

Your heart pounds as you adjust the collar of your race suit, nerves crawling under your skin. You spent the morning doing seat fittings, debriefs, and media duties, but now you’re finally free for a few minutes before the next round of meetings.

Alain walks beside you, calm and collected as ever, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He’s been like a steady lighthouse in the chaos of this new chapter, guiding you through the storm with quiet assurance.

“Remember,” Alain says as you both weave through the paddock, “it’s just another race. Keep your focus. Don’t let the noise get to you.”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter, scanning the sea of faces for anyone familiar — or anyone dangerous, like a journalist with too many questions.

Alain smirks knowingly. “That’s why you have me.”

You can’t help but grin, a flicker of relief easing the tension in your chest. Alain’s been by your side for so long now that the idea of navigating a race weekend without him feels unthinkable.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot someone you weren’t expecting: Lewis.

He’s walking toward the McLaren motorhome, surrounded by team personnel and a PR officer trailing closely behind, clipboard in hand. You see the moment recognition flickers in his eyes — he stops mid-step, gaze locking on you like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“Y/N?” He calls, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Alain glances sideways at you, bemused, but you can’t help the small, slightly guilty smile tugging at your lips. You wave at Lewis, feeling a little awkward but genuinely happy to see him.

Lewis strides over, his PR officer groaning softly but trailing after him anyway. “I thought I’d see you around here eventually,” Lewis says with a grin. “Didn’t think it would be so soon.”

You shrug, playing it casual. “Surprise.”

His eyes flick to Alain, standing quietly beside you. “And you … know Alain Prost?”

Alain raises a polite eyebrow, but there’s an amused glint in his eye, as if waiting to see how you’ll answer this one.

You shift on your feet, aware of Lewis’ confusion. “Yeah, he’s … been my mentor for years.” You keep your explanation vague, not ready to drop the full truth just yet.

Lewis frowns slightly, processing the unexpected connection. “You’ve been working with Alain Prost?”

You nod. “Since I was a kid.”

Lewis lets out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with new appreciation. “Wow. That explains a lot.”

Before you can respond, his PR officer steps in, clipboard clutched tightly in one hand. “Lewis, we really need to-”

Lewis waves her off without breaking eye contact with you. “Five more minutes. It’s fine.”

The woman hesitates, then sighs in frustration and backs away to give him space. Lewis turns his full attention back to you, his easy grin returning.

“So, GP2, huh?” He asks, hands on his hips. “How’s it feel to finally be here?”

“Terrifying,” you admit with a laugh. “But also kind of amazing.”

“That’s how you know you’re in the right place,” Lewis says, his tone encouraging. “The nerves mean you care.”

Alain watches the exchange quietly, and you can tell he’s measuring Lewis, sizing him up — not in a competitive way, but in that protective way he’s always had with you. It’s subtle, but you know Alain well enough to see it.

“I’ll make sure to catch the feature race,” Lewis promises, his grin widening. “I’ll be cheering you on.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to show how much that means to you. “Oh yeah? You sure you have time to slum it with us junior drivers?”

Lewis laughs, genuinely amused. “Come on, now. I started in GP2, remember? I know exactly how tough it is.”

“Guess I’ll have to put on a good show, then.”

“You better,” Lewis says, mock-serious. “Otherwise I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

The two of you share a quick, easy laugh, and for a moment the chaos of the paddock fades into the background. It’s just two drivers, standing in the middle of it all, sharing a moment of understanding.

“You’re going to crush it,” Lewis adds, his voice low and certain.

Something in his tone makes you believe it — makes the nerves that have been simmering all day settle, if only for a moment.

Alain clears his throat softly, a reminder that time is ticking. “We need to get back to the team,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Lewis nods, taking the hint but not before offering you one last smile. “Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you out there.”

You return the smile, feeling lighter than you have all day. “Thanks, Lewis.”

He gives Alain a respectful nod before turning to leave, his McLaren team falling into step around him as he disappears into the paddock.

As you watch him go, Alain leans in slightly, his voice quiet but laced with amusement. “Friend of yours?”

You smirk, still watching Lewis disappear into the crowd. “Something like that.”

Alain chuckles, and the sound is warm, familiar — like the engine note of a car you’ve driven a thousand times.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder gently. “We have work to do.”

You follow Alain back toward the DAMS garage, the nerves still there but tempered now with something else — excitement, anticipation, maybe even a little confidence.

Because this is your moment. Your chance to show the world what you can do. And with people like Alain and Lewis in your corner, you know you’re not facing it alone.

***

The Bahrain sun beats down relentlessly, the heat pressing against your skin even through your race suit. Sweat clings to your brow, mixing with the overwhelming, heady cocktail of fuel, rubber, and victory. You’re breathless, exhausted — but none of that matters.

You did it. You won.

The feature race trophy feels almost weightless in your hands as you stand on the podium, the sound of the Brazilian anthem thundering in your ears. The cameras flash, the crowd cheers, and for the first time since you entered GP2, you allow yourself to savor the moment. You close your eyes for a second, letting the anthem sink deep into your bones, and think of your father.

When the rose water sprays, it feels like you’ve broken through a barrier — proof to yourself and to the world that you belong here. That you’re not just someone chasing the shadow of a name, but a racer in your own right.

The post-race chaos is a blur — interviews, debriefs, more interviews. It’s not until you’re finally allowed to step away from the DAMS garage, damp with sweat and floral liquid, that the realization hits you again: you won your first GP2 race. The adrenaline still courses through your veins, but beneath it, there’s a quiet hum of contentment.

You round the corner of the paddock, searching for a quiet moment to collect yourself — when a familiar voice calls your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there he is: Lewis, dressed casually in his McLaren team kit, that signature grin stretched across his face. His eyes are bright under the paddock lights, and his presence feels like a cool breeze against the heat of Bahrain.

Before you can say anything, he’s already jogging up to you, wrapping you in a quick, spontaneous hug. The smell of his cologne lingers in the air between you — spicy and warm, like cedar and citrus.

“That was incredible!” Lewis says, pulling back to look at you. “Seriously, you drove like a pro out there.”

You grin, still catching your breath. “You saw the whole race?”

“Of course I did.” He says it like it’s obvious, as if there was no way he could have missed it. “I told you I’d be cheering you on, didn’t I?”

“Guess I didn’t disappoint, then,” you say, teasing.

“Not even a little.” His grin softens into something warmer, more personal.

The way he looks at you — like he’s genuinely proud — makes your chest tighten, but not in a bad way. It’s strange, but comforting, the way he’s here, grounding you in the whirlwind of it all.

“Come on,” Lewis says, gesturing toward the paddock hospitality area. “You deserve a proper celebration. We’ll grab something to drink, at least — water, preferably, because you look like you’re about to melt.”

You laugh. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m not passing out just yet.”

“Still,” he insists, walking beside you. “Gotta take care of the winner, right?”

You follow him, your steps lighter than they’ve felt all weekend. It’s easy with Lewis — talking, walking, just existing in the same space. You can’t tell if it’s the lingering buzz of the win or something else entirely, but there’s a sense of ease between you that you haven’t felt with anyone in a long time.

He leads you to one of the quieter corners of the paddock, where a small group of McLaren personnel are relaxing. Lewis grabs two water bottles from a nearby cooler and tosses one your way.

“Catch.”

You catch it easily, the cool plastic a relief against your palm. “Thanks.”

Lewis leans against the back of a chair, his posture relaxed, but there’s a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “So … how does it feel?”

“To win?” You twist the cap off your bottle and take a sip. “Like … I don’t know. Like I can finally breathe again.”

He nods, like he knows exactly what you mean. “First win’s always special. But there’ll be more. I can feel it.”

You tilt your head, amused. “You think you’re a psychic now?”

Lewis chuckles. “Nope. Just good at spotting talent.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no denying the warmth his words spark inside you. You glance away for a moment, trying to shake the strange flutter in your chest.

“So,” he says after a beat, “what’s next? A second win in Spain?”

“I mean, that’d be nice,” you say, grinning. “But I’ll settle for finishing with all my wheels intact.”

“Good plan,” Lewis agrees, laughing. “That track’s a nightmare.”

The conversation drifts easily from there, flowing from racing to random paddock gossip to stories from his early days in GP2. You’re both standing close — closer than two people probably need to stand. But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, it feels … nice.

He pauses for a second, watching you with that thoughtful expression he gets sometimes, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on beneath the surface.

“You’re really something, you know that?” He says softly, almost like it’s just for you to hear.

The words catch you off guard, and you feel your cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Just doing my best,” you say, trying to play it off, but your voice sounds quieter than you intended.

Lewis’ eyes linger on yours for a moment longer, and there’s a flicker of something between you — something unspoken, but not unwelcome.

Before either of you can say anything more, a loud cheer erupts from a nearby group of mechanics, jolting you both back to the present. You laugh, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Guess the celebration’s already started,” you say, motioning toward the rowdy crowd.

Lewis grins. “Looks like it. You coming?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want to celebrate, but because part of you likes this quiet bubble you and Lewis have found.

“I think I might stay here for a bit,” you say, leaning against the wall and taking another sip of water.

Lewis doesn’t move to leave. Instead, he stays where he is, like maybe he feels the same pull to stay in this moment, too.

“You know,” he says after a beat, his voice low and a little more serious, “I meant what I said earlier. About you being something special.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s no teasing in his expression now — just quiet sincerity.

“Thanks,” you say softly, the word not nearly enough to convey what you’re feeling.

He holds your gaze for a second longer, then gives you a small, crooked smile. “Guess I’ll just have to keep watching and see what you do next.”

“Guess so.”

And just like that, the air shifts between you — charged with possibility, like the moment before a green flag drops.

You don’t know what’s coming next, but for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of it. Not when Lewis is standing here, smiling at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world.

And somehow, you think, this might just be the start of something worth chasing.

***

It’s late in the evening, and the Monaco paddock has fallen into a rare lull. The energy of race day — mechanics scrambling, journalists hounding drivers, engines screaming — has settled into a quiet hum. Most people have retreated to their yachts or hotel rooms by now, leaving only the occasional team member wandering through the maze of garages and hospitality areas.

You sit with Lewis on the edge of the harbor, the two of you tucked away from prying eyes. The water laps gently against the docks, and the principality’s golden lights reflect across the surface like scattered coins. Neither of you say anything for a while, content to let the quiet fill the spaces between you.

It’s been like this more often lately — stolen moments between races, conversations that drift into the small hours of the morning, and the unspoken pull that keeps you near each other, even when there’s no real reason to be.

Lewis shifts beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. “You ever just sit somewhere and wonder how the hell you got here?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, the glow of the streetlights catching the sharp angles of his face. “All the time.”

He gives a small laugh, running a hand over his braids. “Monaco’s something else, isn’t it?”

You nod, hugging your knees to your chest. “Feels like the kind of place people dream about … like it’s not even real.”

He looks over at you then, his gaze lingering a moment too long. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Not sure what’s real sometimes.”

There’s something heavy in his voice, something unspoken. And for the first time tonight, the quiet between you doesn’t feel as comfortable. It feels loaded, like you’re both waiting for the other to say something neither of you know how to say.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You okay?”

Lewis exhales slowly, glancing out over the water. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to begin. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately … about the future. About what I want, and where I want to be.”

You shift closer to him, sensing that this isn’t just idle talk. “What do you mean?”

He leans back on his hands, staring at the water like it might hold the answer. “I’ve been with McLaren my whole career. Since I was a kid. But … I don’t know. Lately, it feels like I’m stuck. Like I’ve hit a wall.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

He looks at you then, and there’s something raw in his expression — something vulnerable. “I’ve decided to leave McLaren at the end of the season. I’m signing with Mercedes.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and unexpected. You blink, trying to process what he just said. “Mercedes?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“But … McLaren’s your home.”

Lewis shrugs, but there’s a sadness in his eyes. “It was. But things change. And if I don’t take this chance now … I think I’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”

You stare at him, your mind spinning. “Do people know yet?”

He shakes his head. “Not many. Just a few people on the team. I wanted to tell you before it got out, though.”

You chew on your bottom lip, absorbing the weight of his words. “That’s a big decision, Lewis.”

“I know.” He looks at you, his gaze steady. “But it feels like the right one. Even if it’s scary as hell.”

You let out a breath, feeling a strange mix of emotions — pride, worry, something you can’t quite name. “Well … if it’s what you want, I guess it’s the right move.”

He smiles, but it’s a small, almost hesitant thing. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Like something has shifted — not just because of what he said, but because of the way he’s looking at you now.

“You’ve been there for me a lot lately,” he says softly. “I don’t think I’ve said how much that means to me.”

Your heart beats a little faster. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me.” His voice is low, and there’s something in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

He shifts slightly closer, and suddenly the space between you feels impossibly small. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up at him, and the world seems to narrow down to just this — just the two of you, sitting on the edge of the harbor, the night air thick with something electric.

And then, slowly — almost hesitantly — he leans in.

For a split second, you think about pulling away, about the million reasons why this might not be a good idea. But before you can overthink it, his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

It’s not the kind of kiss that demands anything — it’s the kind that promises everything.

When you finally pull back, your heart is racing, and your mind feels like it’s spinning in a thousand different directions.

Lewis looks at you, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admits, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile, feeling a strange mix of exhilaration and disbelief. “Yeah?”

He nods, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you move, caught in the quiet aftermath of the kiss. The world around you feels distant, like it’s just the two of you, floating in your own little bubble.

Finally, Lewis pulls back slightly, though his hand lingers on your face. “So … what now?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound light and easy. “I have no idea.”

He grins, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your chest feel warm. “Guess we’ll figure it out, then.”

You nod, your heart still racing. “Yeah. I guess we will.”

And somehow, even though nothing feels certain — his future, your career, whatever this thing is between you — there’s a strange sense of peace in the not knowing.

Because whatever happens next, you know you’ll face it together.

***

The air in the McLaren garage is thick with anticipation. Cameras are set up, media personnel are adjusting their equipment, and there’s a palpable buzz in the air as the press conference prepares to start. You stand just behind the curtain, your heart racing. You can hear the hum of voices in the room beyond, reporters murmuring to one another, waiting for the big reveal.

The past few months have felt like a whirlwind — a blur of contract negotiations, meetings with McLaren’s team principal, and the quiet, creeping excitement of finally getting the chance to do what you’ve always dreamed of. But now that the moment is here, the weight of it is settling in. You’re not just about to become the first woman in F1 in decades, you’re about to step into the spotlight as Ayrton Senna’s daughter.

You take a deep breath, glancing down at the McLaren-branded polo shirt you’re wearing, the crisp fabric somehow making everything feel more real. This is happening. After all the years of hard work, all the sacrifices, you’re about to make history.

Alain stands beside you, his face calm, but his hand on your shoulder is firm and reassuring. “You ready?” He asks, his voice low, but steady.

You nod, swallowing down the nerves. “I think so.”

“Just remember why you’re doing this,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. “This is about you. Not your father. Not anyone else. You.”

You offer him a small smile. Alain’s always been good at grounding you, at reminding you that you’ve earned this, regardless of who your father was. He’s been there through it all — your highs and lows, your victories and failures. And now, here he is, standing beside you as you take this monumental step.

The curtains part, and the team principal, Martin Whitmarsh, steps onto the stage. The room quiets as he approaches the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today,” he begins, his voice carrying through the room. “It’s not often we get to announce something of this magnitude. Today, McLaren is proud to welcome a new driver to our team for the 2013 season. Not only will she be the first woman to compete in Formula 1 in over 20 years, but she’s also someone with a legacy that speaks for itself.”

There’s a murmur of curiosity from the crowd, and you know the moment is coming. The reveal. The truth that you’ve kept hidden, even from the people closest to you.

“Please join me in welcoming, Y/N Senna.”

The sound of your name, followed by your father’s, echoes through the room like a ripple of shock. For a brief moment, there’s stunned silence. Then, the cameras start flashing, the murmurs turn into a roar, and all eyes are on you.

You step onto the stage, trying to steady your breath. The weight of the announcement, of who you are, feels heavier than you expected. But you push through, meeting the gaze of the journalists, the photographers, the team members standing off to the side. You can’t see him from here, but you know Alain is watching from the wings, his quiet support steadying you.

Whitmarsh continues speaking, but the words blur together as your mind races. It’s not until you hear the murmured whispers in the back of the room that your attention snaps back.

“Senna?”

“Ayrton’s daughter?”

“Why didn’t anyone know?”

As the press conference wraps up, and you’re led off stage, the questions start flooding in. Journalists swarm, desperate for a quote, for more insight into the mystery that you’ve kept hidden for so long.

But before you can respond to any of them, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Y/N.”

You freeze, your heart dropping. You know that voice. You turn slowly, and there he is — Lewis, standing just a few feet away, his face unreadable.

The PR team tries to shuffle you away, but you shake them off, making your way over to him. “Lewis …”

He cuts you off, his expression dark. “You’ve been racing for all these years, and you never thought to tell me? Not once?”

The sting of his words catches you off guard, and you open your mouth to respond, but he continues, his voice low but sharp. “I thought we were close. I thought we were-” He stops, running a hand over his face. “You let me fall for you, and you didn’t even tell me who you really are.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “Lewis, it wasn’t like that-”

“Wasn’t it?” He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours, hurt and confusion written all over his face. “I get it, okay? You didn’t want people to treat you differently because of your name. But me? I thought we were past that.”

“I didn’t want to use my father’s name to get ahead,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I wanted to make a name for myself, first. And I didn’t tell you because … because I didn’t want it to change how you saw me.”

“Well, it’s changed everything now,” he snaps, his voice tight with anger. “I thought I knew you, but clearly, I didn’t.”

You take a step back, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. “Lewis, please. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Didn’t mean to hurt me? You’re Ayrton Senna’s daughter, and you never even mentioned it once. How could you keep something like that from me?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I didn’t want it to come between us.”

“Well, it has,” he says, his voice quieter now, but still laced with pain. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening. The distance between you feels insurmountable now, like a chasm that you don’t know how to cross.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Lewis looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening slightly, but the hurt still lingers in his eyes. “I need some time,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I just … I need to figure this out.”

You nod, the tears finally spilling over. “Okay.”

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your heart heavy and your world spinning.

As you watch him go, you can’t help but wonder if things will ever be the same between you.

***

The air at Imola is still. The late-summer heat clings to your skin, and the only sounds around you are the distant hum of cicadas and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You stare at the stone memorial, the bronze relief of your father’s face, the flowers people have left here over the years. Some are wilted, some fresh. There’s even a small Brazilian flag tucked against the base.

You exhale slowly, your hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your jacket. It’s been exactly a year since you first stood here, heart in your throat, hoping to find some kind of connection, some kind of clarity. The weight of the past year presses down on you now — signing with McLaren, the media frenzy, the fallout with Lewis.

And Papai. Always Papai.

You kneel, brushing a hand over the smooth stone, fingers tracing the engraved letters. “I made it,” you whisper. “I’m almost there.” Your voice catches on the words, a lump forming in your throat. “I wish you were here to see it.”

You close your eyes, trying to imagine what he’d say if he were standing beside you. Maybe he’d be proud. Maybe he’d tell you to push harder, go faster, never settle. Or maybe he’d tell you to slow down, to find a way to reconnect with your mother before it’s too late. But he’s not here. That’s the problem, isn’t it?

A soft rustling sound pulls you from your thoughts. Footsteps, deliberate but hesitant, approach from behind, crunching through the dry leaves scattered on the ground. You turn, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Lewis.

He’s wearing a hoodie, hands tucked into the front pocket, his brows peeking out from beneath a baseball cap. He stops a few feet away, his dark brown eyes meeting yours. There’s something guarded in his expression, but there’s warmth there, too.

You straighten slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. “What are you doing here?”

Lewis shrugs, his gaze flickering to the memorial and back to you. “Monza’s coming up. Thought I’d stop by first … like I always do.”

The tension between you feels like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap at any second. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence stretching out like a canyon.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, either.”

You bite your lip, looking away toward the memorial. “I needed to. Before the race. I … I haven’t been here since last year.”

Lewis shifts, the soft scrape of his shoes against the ground. “I remember.”

The air feels heavy between you, thick with all the things you haven’t said to each other. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, but they feel tangled, impossible to untangle without breaking.

Lewis is the first to speak again, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what happened. About everything.”

You swallow hard, your hands clenching into fists in your pockets. “Me too.”

“I was angry,” Lewis admits. “Hurt, too. But … I get it now. Why you didn’t tell me.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance at him, surprised. “You do?”

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I know what it’s like to feel like you have to prove yourself, like the world’s already decided who you are before you even get a chance to show them. I just … I wish you’d trusted me with it.”

“I wanted to,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “I did. But … it’s complicated.” You look down, kicking at a stray leaf with your shoe. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be his daughter without being defined by it. And now … now it’s all out there.”

Lewis steps closer, closing the gap between you. “You’re not just his daughter, Y/N. You’re you. And that’s who I fell for.”

The warmth in his voice makes your chest tighten. You blink quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. They spill over anyway, and you wipe at them angrily with the sleeve of your jacket.

“It’s not just about the name,” you whisper. “Racing … it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But it’s also what took me away from my mom.” You take a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She can’t even look at me without seeing him. I haven’t had a real conversation with her in years. The last time we talked was my birthday. And it was just a two-minute call.”

Lewis’ face softens, and he reaches out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, sniffing quietly. “It’s not your fault. It’s just … hard, you know? I love racing, but it feels like it’s cost me everything else.”

He takes another step closer, his hand lingering on your cheek. “You’ve got me,” he murmurs.

You look up at him, your breath catching in your throat. “Do I?”

He smiles softly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Yeah. You do.”

The world feels like it tilts for a moment, everything narrowing down to just the two of you standing here, beneath the shadow of your father’s memory. And before you can think too hard about it, before the doubts can creep in, you lean in, closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft at first — tentative, like neither of you wants to break the fragile peace that’s settled between you. But then his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens, the weight of everything unsaid dissolving in the warmth of his touch.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting against each other.

“I missed you,” Lewis whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I missed you, too,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away.

Eventually, Lewis pulls back slightly, his hand still cradling the back of your neck. “So … what now?”

You smile, a small, genuine smile that feels like the first one in a long time. “Now … we go win at Monza.”

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Damn right we will.”

You laugh softly, the sound light and free, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest lifts.

As you stand there, hand in hand with Lewis, you glance back at the memorial one last time. “I think he’d be happy,” you say quietly.

Lewis squeezes your hand gently. “I know he would.”

And just like that, the knot in your chest loosens. You’re still Ayrton Senna’s daughter. But you’re also yourself. And that? That feels like enough.

***

The crowd roars so loudly that it feels like the earth itself is shaking. São Paulo is electric, the grandstands packed with people draped in green and yellow, waving flags, and chanting. You’ve been in big races before, stood on podiums, and tasted victory. But this … this is different.

This is Interlagos. This is home. And for the first time in your career, you’re leading an F1 race in front of your people.

“Alright, Y/N,” your engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “Five laps to go. Everything looks good on the telemetry. Just bring her home.”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you navigate the tight curves of the circuit. Every bump, every rise, every dip feels familiar. You’ve studied this track since you were a child. This is where your father was a legend — and now, it’s where you can make your own history.

The tires hum beneath you, vibrations pulsing through your hands and feet. The sky is dark with heavy clouds threatening rain, but the track is still dry, for now. Behind you, Sebastian Vettel is chasing hard in second place, his Red Bull a glimmer in your mirrors, but you don’t think about him. Not now. This is about you. About crossing that finish line first.

Four laps. Then three. Every second feels like an eternity. You can hear the crowd over the sound of the engine, their voices rising every time you fly past the grandstands. “SENNA! SENNA!” they chant, over and over, as if your name — your real name — was always meant to be called alongside your father’s.

“Two laps, Y/N. Gap to Vettel is two seconds. Stay focused.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel. You shift gears, your mind and body moving in perfect sync with the machine around you. The wind whistles past your helmet as you race up the hill toward the final turn.

On the final lap, it starts to drizzle — just enough to slick the track and make things dangerous. Your car twitches as the tires search for grip.

“Be careful, Y/N,” your engineer warns. “You’ve got this. Just stay calm.”

You breathe in. Breathe out. And then the chequered flag waves ahead of you, and the world explodes into color and sound.

“P1, Y/N! P1! You’ve won the Brazilian Grand Prix!” Your engineer’s voice is hoarse with excitement. “That was incredible — you just won at home!”

Your heart leaps as tears spring to your eyes. You punch the air, screaming into the radio, not caring who hears. “YES! YES! WE DID IT!”

The car coasts into parc fermé, the engine humming its final notes as you switch it off. You rip off your gloves and helmet, letting the cool air hit your damp face. The grandstands are still shaking with the cheers of thousands. Your name — Senna — is on every banner, every poster, and every fan’s lips.

You climb out of the car, adrenaline still surging through your veins, and jump onto the chassis. The crowd roars even louder as you throw your fists into the air, pointing toward the sky. The thought flashes through your mind: This one’s for you, Papai.

You jump down and make your way to the barriers where your team waits, already celebrating with hugs, fist bumps, and slaps on the back. You push through the throng of mechanics, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. And that’s when you see her.

Among the sea of McLaren team uniforms, standing stiffly with her arms wrapped around herself, is your mother.

Your steps falter for a moment, shock flooding through you. She’s here. She’s really here. You blink, wondering if the tears in your eyes are playing tricks on you, but no — there she is. Adriane.

She’s thinner than you remember, her hair streaked with more silver now. She looks out of place among the mechanics, but she’s here. Her eyes, so much like your own, are filled with something you haven’t seen in years — pride. And something more. Regret.

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or run the other way. Then her face crumples, and she takes a tentative step forward, her arms reaching for you like she used to when you were small.

That’s all it takes. You close the distance in an instant, throwing yourself into her arms.

“Mãe!” The word leaves your mouth in a sob, and before you know it, you’re both crying, clutching each other like you’re afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into your hair, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, minha filha. I was wrong. I should’ve-”

You shake your head against her shoulder, holding her tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She pulls back slightly, cupping your face in her hands like she used to when you were little. “I didn’t think I could do it,” she admits, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was so afraid I’d lose you too. But then … then I watched you out there today.” Her voice cracks, and she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “And I saw him. I saw Ayrton. But more than that, I saw you. My daughter.”

You can’t speak — your throat feels too tight, and the tears won’t stop. So you just nod, leaning into her touch as the noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Adriane pulls you back into a hug, and for the first time in years, you let yourself feel it — the warmth, the love, the mother you thought you’d lost. And somehow, standing here with her in your arms, it feels like you’ve come full circle.

After a long moment, she pulls back and wipes her tears, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Look at us. Crying like fools.”

You laugh too, sniffling as you wipe your own face. “It’s okay. It’s a good day to cry.”

A voice cuts through the noise — your team calling you for the podium ceremony. You glance over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the moment settle on you. You turn back to your mother, hesitant. “Will you stay?”

She smiles, her eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You nod, squeezing her hand one last time before you let go and jog toward the podium. The crowd’s roar is deafening as you step up to the top step, your name flashing on the giant screens around the circuit. The Brazilian flag rises slowly, and as the national anthem plays, you close your eyes and let the moment wash over you.

It feels like home. It feels like peace. It feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Later, after the champagne has been sprayed and the trophies have been handed out, you find Lewis waiting for you in the paddock, a grin stretching across his face.

“Not bad, Senna,” he teases, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. “Not bad yourself, Hamilton.”

The two of you stay like that for a moment, the chaos of the paddock swirling around you, but all you can feel is the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“Your dad would be proud,” Lewis murmurs, his voice soft in your ear.

You smile, closing your eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think he would be.”

***

The sun is setting over Monaco, casting the apartment in soft golds and pinks. You let yourself in quietly, the cool metal of the front door clicking shut behind you. Training was brutal today — your arms ache, and every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out. All you want is to find Lewis, maybe curl up on the couch together and recover with some takeaway.

You kick off your sneakers, already untying the knot in your ponytail, when you hear voices from the living room. You pause mid-step.

Lewis is talking to someone — no, two people. You creep forward on silent feet, heart quickening as the voices grow clearer.

“-I love her more than anything,” Lewis says, his voice low but certain. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Your breath catches. You flatten yourself against the wall, just out of sight. It feels like you’ve stepped into some kind of dream, one where the pieces of your life are rearranging themselves into something both surreal and perfect.

Then you hear your mother’s voice — gentler than it used to be, softened by time and the walls you’ve slowly chipped away.

“You want my blessing?” Adriane says, her words slow, as if she’s tasting them, feeling their weight.

“I do,” Lewis replies. “I wanted to ask both of you. It felt right.”

Both of them? You inch closer, daring to peek around the corner. And there they are — Lewis, sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. Across from him sit your mother and Alain, side by side like a pair of mismatched bookends.

Alain leans back, arms folded, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’s trying not to smile. “You realize what you’re getting into?” He asks dryly. “She’s more stubborn than Ayrton ever was.”

Lewis chuckles, but it’s a little nervous. “Yeah, I know.”

Adriane tilts her head, studying him like she’s trying to see through to his soul. “And if she says no?”

Lewis’ face softens, a quiet kind of love settling into his expression. “Then I’ll still be with her. Because I don’t need her to marry me to know she’s it for me.”

Something cracks open inside you. It feels like standing on the podium in Brazil all over again — overwhelming and humbling and impossibly full. You press a hand to your mouth, as if that will steady the emotion threatening to spill over.

Your mother leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. There’s a moment of silence so thick it hums.

“When Y/N was seven,” she begins slowly, “she told me she wanted to race. I told her no. I thought if I kept her away from the track, I could protect her from the same thing that took Ayrton from me.” She sighs, her gaze dropping to her hands. “But all I did was push her away.”

Alain clears his throat, glancing sideways at her. “It’s not easy,” he murmurs, more to Adriane than to Lewis. “Loving someone who belongs to the track.”

Your mother nods, her eyes glassy. “But you’ve made her happy. You’ve given her the space to be who she’s always wanted to be.” She pauses, blinking quickly. “And I see Ayrton in that. In you.”

Lewis rubs the back of his neck, clearly moved but trying not to show it. “That means more than you know.”

“And you promise me something,” Adriane says, her voice gaining strength, as if she’s gathering all her fears into this one request. “That you’ll never try to stop her. Not when things get hard. Not when it scares you.”

Lewis leans forward, looking her dead in the eye. “I swear. I’d never take that from her.”

Your mother exhales, like a weight she’s carried for years is finally lifting off her shoulders. “Then you have my blessing,” she says quietly.

Alain smirks, slapping Lewis on the back. “Looks like you’re in for the ride of your life.”

They laugh softly, the kind of laugh that comes with hard-won understanding.

And that’s when the floorboard under your foot creaks.

All three heads whip toward the sound, and you’re caught, frozen halfway between hiding and stepping forward.

Lewis’ eyes widen, and then a slow, guilty smile spreads across his face. “How long have you been standing there?”

You step fully into the room, arms crossed but fighting back a grin. “Long enough to hear that you’re plotting something.”

Alain chuckles, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He winks at you, patting Lewis on the shoulder as he makes his way toward the door. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Alain,” Lewis mutters, rubbing his palms against his thighs, clearly nervous now.

Your mother rises as well, hesitating for a moment. She looks at you, her eyes soft. “I’ll call you later,” she murmurs, reaching out to squeeze your hand briefly before following Alain out the door.  

And then it’s just you and Lewis, standing in the golden light of your apartment, the door clicking shut behind your mother and Alain.  

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice light. “So … what was all that about?”  

Lewis steps closer, and suddenly the nervous energy from earlier melts away. He takes your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm.  

“Y/N …” he begins, and there’s something so tender in the way he says your name that it makes your heart skip a beat. “I wanted to do this the right way. To ask the people who mean the mos to you.”  

Your breath catches as he drops to one knee, right there in the middle of your living room.  

He pulls a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring that catches the light like starlight on water. It’s simple, elegant, and perfect.  

Lewis looks up at you, his dark eyes filled with love, nerves, and hope. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you at Imola. And I want to spend every day from now on making you as happy as you’ve made me.”  

You cover your mouth with your hand, tears already welling up in your eyes.  

“So,” he says with a smile that’s both warm and a little crooked. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”  

For a moment, all you can do is nod, words caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. Then you finally find your voice.  

“Yes,” you whisper, your smile breaking wide and free. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Lewis’ grin lights up the room, and he stands, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. You kiss him, slow and deep, and in that moment, it feels like everything — the years of struggle, of loss, of love — has brought you to exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giddy, Lewis leans his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face.

“Guess Alain was right,” he murmurs, grinning. “This really is the ride of my life.”

You laugh, pure and full, wrapping your arms around him tighter. “Buckle up, Hamilton,” you tease. “It’s only just getting started.”

[etclouie]

Hiii <3

Can I request a poly!marauders x reader where she gets a new piercing. And then like how the guys react to it like if they accidentally touch it and hurt her or helping clean it and stuff! Thx xx

tender care

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 summary: getting a new piercing and your boyfriends become overly cautious around it (poly!marauders x fem!reader)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 warnings: fluff mainly, piercing isn’t specified but it’s visible on eye level (if this makes sense), the boys being surprised by the piercing at first but they get over it, someone elbows the piercing in their sleep, one to one convo with sirius, sirius calls remus a ‘restless bugger’ once, pretty sure that’s it??, lmk if i missed any

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 word count: 657

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a/n: sorry it took me so long to get to this (first post after kinktober too, so hope it’s a good comeback)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 marauders masterlist | main masterlist

you’d gotten a new piercing over the holidays, forgetting to mention it in the letters you’d sent your boyfriends before they came over to yours to stay. 

Sirius and Remus arrived at the same time, while James was late. the three of you were hanging out in your room until the door opened, revealing James holding his bag. 

“starting without me?”

he teased like he always did, standing from between both other boys to give James a kiss on the cheek. 

and that’s when he seen it. 

your new piercing. 

“wait, when’d you get that?”

his question had Remus and Sirius’ ears perking up before they were leaping out of bed to re-examine your appearance, eyes landing on the piercing before giving each other a questioning look. 

“oh a couple of weeks ago, must’ve slipped my mind when i was writing to yous”

you told, eyes flicking from James to Sirius and then to Remus. looking away from the three of them as they started to fawn over the piercing, mumbling out about helping you take care of it. 

“why didn’t you tell us?”

Sirius chimed in, slightly disregarding your words and attentively pointing out towards the piercing. 

practically poking and prodding at the newly healed piercing, before you were pushing his hands away. 

“it’s not like i didn’t want to tell yous, i just forgot to. besides, kinda knew you’d react like this”

you told, hooking a finger under Sirius’ chin before tilting it away with a smile. turning into Remus while his hands carefully splayed across your hips, eyes admiring the new jewellery you adorned. 

“ignore them, think it looks great. they just want to make sure you’re doing fine, taking care of it ‘nd all”

nodding along to his words, head tilting back towards the other two boys who were nodding in agreement to Remus. 

smiling at their concerns, your boys really did worry about you. wanting to take care of every little thing for you. 

climbing back into bed and patting the empty spaces around you, humming as they followed after you and cuddled in around you. 

James on your right side and Remus on your left, while Sirius lay his head on your lap. combing your fingers through his hair as the three of them continued on about taking care of you and your new piercing. 

you’d woken up before the boys, your parents away to work before any of you would’ve dreamed to of woken up. 

making your way into the bathroom to get ready for the day, dabbing a damp cloth at your new piercing trying to reduce the pain from one of the boys elbowing it in your sleep. 

the creak of the bathroom door opening had your attention darting towards it, eyes landing on Sirius. 

“sorry wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up yet”

you told, pulling the towel away from your piercing and setting it down on the rim of the sink. 

holding your arms out to Sirius, his head resting on your shoulder and your arms going around his neck. pressing a kiss to his forehead as he cuddled in as close to you as he could, his arms loosely crossed at the small of your back before he murmured out. 

“what’s the towel for?”

fingers brushing his hair out of his face as you held his gaze, his head lifting and his eyes holding concern at your prolonged pause. 

his hands moving to cradle your face and tilting it from side to side, searching for any wounds or injuries before his eyes landed on your new piercing. 

“someone managed to elbow it during the night, but i’m fine promise”

you tried assuring him, smiling softly up at him. his thumbs soothing once over your cheeks before he was resting his forehead against yours, voice a tired murmur as he replied. 

“i’ll have a word with them, was probably Remus, y’know how he gets. restless bugger”

requests are open here !

[lunaritex]

𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ SOUND OF PRADA 𖤐. — nishimura riki.

↺ CONTENT: idol au, both reader and riki are idols, reader is female, explicit suggestive content, make-out session, belt-pulling, kissing.

↺ FROM HYE: yes, im using the same title as the heeseung version because i can't be bothered to come up with a new title lmao. @riekiss

Draped in a sleek Prada dress that shimmered under the golden lights, you stepped out of the car, waving your hand at the public as you took the lead down the red carpet. Your fellow group members followed behind you, moving in a neat and orderly line. Cameras flashed nonstop without stopping, capturing your stunning appearance until you entered the club where another wave of cameras had been awaiting you. Upon the staff’s instruction, all of you had to take a few individual and group photos before you could fully enter. Once that was done, all of you moved to the bar. 

Eyes flickered across the crowded room, searching for a face you knew too well. It had been too long since you had seen him, since shared moments were reduced to texts and fleeting video calls. The memory of Riki’s playful smirk and the warmth of his dark eyes washed over you like a whispered secret. And then, as if conjured by the force of your thoughts, you saw him—entering the club with his members. You were captivated by his figure, watching as he confidently moved through the crowd with Heeseung resting a hand on his shoulder. 

You find it adorable with how Riki’s face brightened up the moment his eyes locked onto yours. He exchanged a few quick words with Heeseung before quickening his pace, wanting to be near you as soon as possible. Your members shared a mischievous giggle when they saw the rapidly approaching figure and left you alone, not before sending you a teasing wink. You did not have sufficient time to react when you were embraced in a bone-crushing hug from your partner. You returned the gesture, briefly running your hand through his neatly-styled hair. 

It was with reluctance that he pulled away but he remained close, close enough that you could see the mischief and happiness dancing in his eyes. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “Oh? I could say the same, Mr. Prada’s favorite ambassador.” 

Riki chuckled, the sound making your heart stutter. “Well, I had to dress up nicely since I’ll be seeing you again.” 

His gaze roamed over you, taking in every detail of your outfit. The fitted satin dress in black hugged your frame, its off-shoulder design showcasing your collarbones and delicate silver necklace; the very same necklace he had gifted you on your first date. The slit along one side revealed just a hint of leg, giving you an air of elegance tempered with a touch of daring. His eyes softened at the sight, a flicker of admiration and something more intense sparking as he took in the way the fabric shimmered under the lights. 

Before he could say a word, you smirked and stepped closer, hooking your finger through the belt hoop. The action made him freeze, eyes widening slightly as he shifted his gaze back to yours. 

“Stop staring at me like that, pretty boy,” you said, voice playful. 

A lopsided grin broke out on Riki’s face, the tips of his ears turning faintly red. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, leaning in so his words ghosting against your ear. “You make it impossible not to.” 

His grin softened into something deeper, his gaze searching yours as he took a step closer. The chatter and music around you seemed to blur into white noise. His eyes darted down to your lips, a flash of longing darkening his features. Without another moment’s hesitation, he leaned in, closing the space between you with desperation that made your breath hitched. 

You rested your hands on his broad shoulders, having to tilt your head up slightly to meet his eager lips. Riki rested one hand on your waist, drawing circles through the fabric of your dress. The heat of his breath mingled with yours, the brush of his lips igniting sparks in your stomach. He cupped your jaw gently, fingers tracing the line of your cheek. Shivers ran down your spine when he bit down on your bottom lip, aggressively shoving his tongue down your throat as he pushed you back until you were pinned against the wall. 

Thankfully, the both of you are in a secluded corner of the club but that does not mean your current position remains completely unseen from the public. Both of you knew you will get a good scolding from your respective managers tomorrow and how the entire internet will have a breakdown if they caught wind of your relationship. Between the two of you, you have a sense of responsibility but with how Riki was practically sucking the air out of your lungs, you could not find it in yourself to stop him. 

Instead, you allowed him to take as much as he pleased. A whine was ripped out from your throat when Riki explored your mouth, as if he had been starved for a month. You were starting to feel light-headed and breathless, your lungs begging for oxygen. But no matter how you tried to pull away, he kept chasing after your lips, as if he could not get enough of your sweet taste. You tugged on his hair, trying to get him to stop but he refused, your action eliciting a pleased groan that does wonder to your heart. 

Eventually, he took mercy and stopped ravaging you with his lips. His previously neatly-styled hair was now messed up. His plump lips were swollen and red. There was nothing but desire written all over his face as he greedily drank in your current state. Riki grabbed your wrist, pulling you through the crowd and to where the backdoor is. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, despite already knowing the answer. 

He shots you a smirk over his shoulder. “Somewhere quiet and without eyes prying so I can continue kissing you.”

[kirozai]

—BETTER AT LOVING YOU.

Sae has always believed that playing football was the only thing he was good at. Meeting you drastically changed his belief. Sae is reminded again while trying to teach you how to play football, which you fail. Badly… BUT he still loves you nevertheless.

content warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader, present to past flashbacks pairing(s): itoshi sae x reader word count: 1600+ A/N: idek

PRESENT.

“I don’t get it! Why the hell are there so many rules to a game that's whole premise is just ‘kick ball in goal, win.’” you say defeated.

Sae knew that this wasn’t going to turn out very well, but after your constant pestering for about 4 minutes, he gave in. 

The result?

Pouty you lying on the turf of the empty indoor pitch after about… maybe 20 minutes? After sliding away every single time he tried to pass the ball to you, you seem to have given up. 

“What if I get hit by the ball or something?” you said before.

“Then move on?” he says questioningly.

You did NOT take that well.

With a great big sigh, Sae makes his way to sit near your body and look at your exasperated face. He brushes away the loose strands of hair in front of your face. His eyes trace yours, “mesmerized and in love” the public would describe. 

Well. Sae is not denying any of those allegations.

“It’s fine,” Sae insisted “You're not planning to be a pro football player any time soon anyways.”

“See but if I was anyone else would you be saying that?” you questioned.

“No.” 

“Hmph! See! It isn’t really fine.”

“You’re you and everyone else is lukewarm and boring. Why does it matter that I treat them differently?” He squints at you.

Your mouth is left agape at his response. 

Sae’s lips turned upturned at the sight. You reply with a big grin on your face. It’s always a treat to see your handsome lover’s smile you always say to him.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

PAST.

Meeting a girl being chased by a seagull was not on his agenda this summer.

Sandwich in hand you rain around the empty sandy beach being chased by one, no wait two, hold on now three?! To simplify it you were being chased by seagulls, many, many seagulls.

Sae watches you with curious eyes, head swaying left and right following you as you try to protect your oh-so-precious sandwich in hand. Finally, after much anticipation, you throw the sandwich at one of the seagulls in despair, but he could tell that you were out of breath. Your hands on your knees heaving after much running from the evil sea birds, you whip your head toward the pinkish-maroon head man. 

Sae not being too far away makes out the words falling from your pretty lips:

“YOU! WHY’D YOU JUST STAND THERE?” You point at him accusingly.

Running up the stairs and… pushing him down to the ground?

“Ah. Oops. I didn’t actually mean it-”

And that’s where your sudden story of love began. After the apologies and bickering you forced him to buy you new food as an apology. Sae looks at you with an eyebrow raised, hands in pockets. 

“I’ve seen a lot of fans trying to ask me out, but I’ve never seen someone as stalkery and insane as you.” He says as if it’s a fact. 

“You were literally watching me for the past ten minutes,” you reply blankly.

Seems like Sae can’t argue with that.

He finds out on your little rendezvous that you're here in Spain for vacation and you aren’t a stalker fan. Though Sae questions if that’s true ever so often. Your intentions are clear though, after this, you want nothing to do with him.

Which… is new...

So in your next days in Spain, somehow fate has linked you two together in some of the coincidental places Every. Single. Day. Much to your avail. 

Sometimes it’s bumping into him again on a random alleyway. Others it’s you getting scammed in a tourist trap and Sae is just “too annoyed” to see a tourist get their money taken away.

Except, every practice he goes to now he wonders if he’ll see you again today. His mind used to be filled with only one thing and that was football, but somehow you’ve wiggled your way into his mind.

Maybe even his heart.

His stone-cold expression to you is just a challenge to break the ice even more and you find yourself growing warmer to the emerald-eye man. 

Your odd compliments and your unique character stir something inside of him. He continues to tell himself that this is only temporary and he’ll forget about you after you leave.

Even though.

Even though, he doesn’t want you to leave.

His brain is now filled with more of you than football. He thinks about what he can do to make you smile, to laugh. He thinks about what gifts you’d like next and if you’d like churros more or xuixos.

You ask him questions past his athlete life and ask him about things he likes to do. Unfortunately, he has no reply. He’s known nothing more than football all his life. 

So you open him to the world of, well, everything else. You force him to go on walks with you and visit random tourist places that Sae’s gone to millions of times, but every time with you seems brighter than the last. You teach him about your hobbies and other places you visited. You talk about your home country to him and reminisce about the times in high school. This summer is different, more you.

Time passes by and you two grow closer. Even his teammates see the subtle differences. They look shocked to see that Sae is doing something outside of practice.

At some point, the spontaneous meetings aren’t enough and at one of your meetings, you take his phone and add your number to him with a cute little selfie of you. You always remind him how much of a dry texter he is, but he always replies instantaneously even to your random texts at 3 am.

You’re “bearable,” he says. 

Bearable enough to have you as the only person who can bypass Sae’s Do Not Disturb.

Time slows when he’s with you, always experiencing new things with you.

Time doesn’t stop completely though.

At some point, you have to leave. It’s only summer after all.

And that fact leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

You, however, don’t seem a bit worried. Sae frowns at the fact.

Until one day before your departure, he asks.

“Why don’t you seem fazed?”

“Hmm?” you say while stuffing all sorts of pastries in your face.

“About leaving I mean,” he says in a hushed tone.

“It’s not like this is goodbye though. We’re still gonna talk duh.” You say as if it’s a matter of fact.

Sae’s taken aback at your reply. He’s used to your random replies but this one seems so.. genuine. You don’t plan to leave this behind, your memories behind.

You don’t plan to leave him behind.

The day your plane departs is probably one of Sae disliked days. You wave at him but don’t say goodbye, instead it's a “See you Later!”

And you leave.

He wonders if you’ll text back if you’ll really keep your promise of staying in touch.

And you do.

You call him when your plane arrives back in your country. You tell him how bad the legroom was and everything else. He’s happy to hear your voice.

So after some weeks of constant calls, texts, and memes, you ask the dreaded question.

“So.. uh.. What are we?” you laugh nervously.

Sae is lying in his bed, it's currently 11 pm, very much past the time he should be asleep by now. 

“Saeeee…??” you drag out.

He furrows his brows, taking in the question. What are you two?

“What do you want to be?” He internally slaps himself at the reply.

“That’s so ominous.” You joke.

“I mean, I don’t know. Does the famous athlete Itoshi Sae have a secret girlfriend on the side right now?” you ask.

“No. Unless…” He trails off.

“Unless??”

“Unless you want to be mine.” He declares.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

PRESENT.

Sae smiles fondly at the memories. He blanked out out of pure embarrassment, but he recalls your reply being something like “Well you better ask me properly!” He remembers looking for flights for you to come back to Spain. And when you do things become official. You stay at his place because it’s “cheaper”, but you both know that it’s just an excuse. You spend time any time you can. He still clearly remembers the day when you called his penthouse your home. 

He knows he’s not very good at a lot of things out of football, but he knows he’s good at loving you. After a couple of years, he made you his wife. The one he’ll always come home to after a game or practice.

“Whatchu’ smiling about huh?” You beam.

He rolls his eyes.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?!”

“I didn’t roll anything. You should be practicing rolling the ball around right now.” he says dryly.

“You’re so unfunny Sae.” You drag his arm down and topple on him.

“No more football!” You state loudly.

“No more football,” he repeats.

Sae never thought he’d be saying that line ever in his life. He never even thought of marrying anyone.

But sometimes fate can surprise us.

So while football was a bust for you it was still a good time spent in Sae’s egoist mind. Any time with you is a good time in all honesty.

You may not be the best at football, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need another football lover he just needs you to love him

And with this in mind,

Sae is good at football sure, but he’s pretty sure he’s better at loving you over anything else.

[crescenthistory]

hii 🫶🏻🫶🏻!

im not sure if you've written for james potter before, but if you're up for it, could i request d5 with him? i thought like, reader is a slytherin and she fooled around with barty while she was with james. also not sure if you're okay with writing cheating, (feel free to ignore this is you're not!)

hi lovie! thank you for your request<3 i don't vibe with cheating storylines, but this inspired me to write a one-shot of james pining for reader but thinking she's with barty because they're such close friends. i hope that still scratches your itch!

Prompt: D.5 "But do you love me?" changed into "But you are in love with me?"

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, slytherin!reader (sassy/feisty), use of y/n, james pov which includes relentless pining and silly comments, genuine yearning, miscommunication, bsf!barty, slight jealousy/envy, some self-deprecation, background skittles rosekiller and dorlene

The Boy with the Glasses is Blind

James could have kicked himself.

Despite what some professors insinuate, he is usually quite bright – he just so happens to prefer dedicating his intellect to good-willed humour and pranksting rather than gruelling essays that have already been written a thousand times before. He felt he had properly demonstrated his abilities for creativity and strategy with everything he had pulled off over the years, both the pranks he took credit for and the ones they were never able to pin on him.

Yet, here he was.

Sitting in the Transfiguration class shared by most Gryffindors and Slytherins in their year, where Professor McGonnagal in some horrific – in James' previous sentiments – attempt to bridge some gaps and mend some fences, seated a Slytherin and a Gryffindor together at every table. Sitting beside you, the one Slytherin he had never seemed to fully dislike nor target with his more insidious of pranks, but a Slytherin nonetheless, and attached at the hip with one Barty Crouch Junior.

Yes, here he was, sitting beside you and staring at you with what most look like cartoonish heart eyes.

It was not something he necessarily expected to happen, at least not to this extent. You had always held his interest, a fascinating person from who you were to how you spoke and where you placed yourself in society, but it was easily brushed off in the flurry of everything else that surrounded the young boy. In here, he couldn't escape you as easily, and once he realised just what he had been depriving himself of in his avoidance of you, he couldn't escape you even when you weren't around. To him, you were everywhere.

James Fleamont Potter was falling more head over heels in love with a Slytherin with every passing minute. Sirius would have kicked him blue and yellow had he dared open his mouth and voice what was running through his mind when he admired you. Though, James supposed, some of those thoughts were perhaps best never uttered out loud to anyone.

He really couldn't help himself, he thought, it was all your fault for being so sodding angelically flawless. From the first lesson when you playfully threatened him to "behave, Potter, and not soil my education with your unruliness" with that glimmer in your eyes that felt like it must have been reserved for him from a previous life, he has had to pick his jaw up from the floor whenever your eyes meet. The way you carried yourself with a lightheartedness and crackling self-assurance, the way your hair cascaded around you as you turned to him, the way your occasionally crude words towards him were softened by your exuberant tone, as if you took as much pleasure from your back-and-forth exchanges as he did, but with none of the guffawing – a stronger man would have faltered, and James had no qualms about admitting that for you, he was rather weak.

And then there was the way you grinned with your whole body whenever you spoke to your friends and your–

And therein lies the issue.

No gem can sparkle that brightly and not be picked up and admired. To anyone with eyes, let alone ears, it was painfully clear that one Barty Crouch Junior had already snatched up his Treasure, as he called you. James was too late.

The nickname felt tacky in James' mouth as he silently felt around it, trying to figure out what it would feel like to have you as he does. It felt too cheesy, not elegant enough for someone like you, not perfect enough, though James supposes nothing quite could be. Nor was he any better himself, angels and loves had already slipped from his tongue, only to be laughed away as a quip and not a confession – and he didn't even have the right to, not the way Junior did.

You were seated beside James, he could imagine himself feeling your body heat seeping through your clothes and into his if he inched even a centimetre or two closer to you. He could hear your laughter in his ears, he captured the smile in your eyes with his own as often as he could, but even here, within his direct vicinity, he saw the effect Barty had on you. How the two of you seemed to be able to communicate with limited words, mostly through glances and silly facial expressions from where he sat a few rows ahead, fully twisted in his chair to get a good look at you.

James couldn't blame him. It was how he wanted to turn around and stare at you whenever you were near him as well. That maniacal grin on Junior's lips was something James wanted to resent, but also wondered if he would be wearing himself, if he was allowed to brandish it on you.

Unlike Junior, though, he couldn't. James is not a jealous man, he felt he owed his father not to be, but there were few words to describe the sensation building in his throat other than envy. And, perhaps most painfully, a yearning so significant it ached its way through his bones until he was left pliable and broken.

"You with me, Potter?"

James' smile smacked right back onto his lips, albeit slightly more forced than normal as he forced his eyes away – from what he hoped seemed like Junior's general direction and not him specifically – to lock onto yours. There was a quizzical expression on your face and mirth playing over your lips, your soft, beautiful lips.

"Yeah," James made out hoarsely, clearing his throat. "Early mornin' s'all."

The mirth stretched out into a wide, teasing grin on your face, and although James was certain it was at his expense, it melted his own smile into a more genuine one. "Uh-huh. What's made you so tired? You're usually caffeine incarnated first thing in the morning."

"Are you saying you're missing my usual self, love?" Easy, easy, keep it easy.

"I'm saying you're suspicious," you replied with a gleam in your eyes. "Although, you always are. Perhaps it would be suspicious if you weren't behaving suspiciously."

James laughed a bit too loudly at that, warmth spreading in his stomach. "Don't go philosophical on me, L/N."

"I won't, if you don't go boring on me. Transfiguration's enough of a chore as it is."

Pride bloomed out of the spot envy inhabited in James' throat. Somehow he felt just as guilty for both of them, and was just as unable to suppress it as it flowed into his bloodstream.

"Well, when I know you're missin' me so, I can't very well let my best girl down, can I?"

"What a presumptuous young man," you say, words becoming a whisper as McGonnagal walks in to begin her lecture. Despite your smug smile as you said so, James couldn't help but feel slightly rattled at you pointing out the truth to him.

He righted himself in his seat and attempted to dedicate his attention to the Head of Gryffindor, which, unfortunately, he had never been good at even before his entire mind, body and soul seemed to be possessed by the stunner sitting beside him in class. His eyes kept darting over to you, smiling at your facial expressions, even more so when you occasionally caught his gaze with a smile of your own. A strand of hair fell out of your hairstyle as you cocked your head to look at him. James couldn't decide whether he wanted it to stay messy or if he wanted to be the one to tuck it back in for you. His hands remained drumming on the desk.

He attempted to focus up on the lecture, but poor Minnie's voice simply became droning to him when his nose was filled with the smell of you, making him slightly lightheaded. And Merlin, the way you were biting your lip while you took notes – it was an actual miracle he hadn’t melted into a puddle on the classroom floor by now.

Then, his attention was abruptly captured by a small piece of parchment whirring right past his face to force itself into your hand on the desk. You were shaking, smiling over the lip you were still biting as you opened it.

James – in a totally cool non-creepy fashion, of course – tried to get a good luck at the note, but couldn't without giving it away. What he definitely could tell, though, was how Junior was snickering at you over his shoulder like a hyena. Not the borderline scary snicker James had been victim of before, but a fond one, like you were sharing a secret together just the two of you.

Unable to watch more of your reaction, James looked back onto the desk, willing himself away.

You were never one to allow him reprieve, giving him a discreet poke with your wand. When he looked up, your head was in your hand and you were leaning your head sideways to look at him. “Daydreaming again, Potter?” you whispered.

His cheeks burned. “Not a chance,” he responded a bit too quickly, causing you to smile in delight as you leaned closer to him. His heart gave a particularly hard thud at that.

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been staring at my notes for a few minutes, and last I checked, you don’t even take notes. So it's clearly no ruse to copy me.”

“I take notes!" James tried to retort, but when you levelled him with a stare he just smiled indulgently at you instead. "Occasionally."

"Yeah, you're a total swot, babe," you laughed quietly, shooting McGonnagal a quick glance to make sure you're still being discreet.

He knows you're messing with him, he knows it's just colloquialism, but he would have paid embarrassing amounts for you to call him that again.

"Very well might be, you're quite contagious, angel." The slight snort that escaped you at that probably made his day.

“Uh-huh,” you said softly, for the second time that lesson. “Whatever you say, Gryffindor.”

By the grace of Godric, McGonagall dismissed class before James combusted like he thought he would. He exhaled in relief, but it was short-lived as his nerves shot up as you began to pack your stuff, knowing he won't see you again until dinner. Not that he had memorised your schedule, or anything.

He opened his mouth, hoping to think of something clever and smooth to keep your attention for even a second longer, when your usual company approached your shared desk. He heard Junior's laugh before he saw him, eyes still trained on you, and when he turned Barty, Dorcas and Evan had formed some circle around you, chattering away with a casualness he rarely witnessed up close.

“Tomorrow’s going to be incredible,” Dorcas exclaimed almost-giddily, pulling her scarf up around her neck. “I can't wait to let off some steam finally."

“Oh, I'm sure you will, Cas,” you replied teasingly, pointing a finger at her teasingly. "Asked a certain blonde to join you yet?"

"How about you mind your business, Missy?" She shot back trying to shove your face away, but you dodged, using James' arm as a shield. He felt like a mannequin the way he stood beside you, almost dumbly, frozen by the exchange.

Evan just snickered. “Good luck prying Barty away from the game section, he's still pissy about last time."

"You mean when he gambled away all–" Dorcas was shut up with a quick silencio from Barty, which she quickly fought through and stuck her tongue out at him for.

"Hearsay and goss, I tell you!" Barty declared, shoving Evan aside to come stand beside you, arm circling around your waist. "I almost didn't go this year, I'm only joining because Treasure here practically threatened me to."

"Yeah, how dare you even consider leaving me to the wolves," you retorted to him at the same time as Dorcas murmurs something about "yeah, didn't wanna go because you lost so bad".

"Nah, we can't have that," Barty agreed with you while shooting Dorcas a glare, and then he – to James' utter pain and heartbreak – pressed a kiss to the top of your head while squeezing your hip.

Nevermind that it was a quick kiss, nevermind that you laughed at him. James just saw lips against skin.

Now that Junior was basically cuddling you standing up (James wanted no corrections calling this description an exaggeration), James had gravitated further away from you. He may have lost his mind with this whole lovesickness, but he respected you, your choices and your space. With the way you were throwing your head back laughing with your friends about some plans James didn't even know about, he knew he was not wanted nor needed here.

Pulling his bag closer towards his body, he gave a quick nod to no one in particular and turned around, headed towards the door.

"James, wait up!"

Your voice cut through his mind's ramblings, as it always does, and your use of his first name brought flowers to his vision once more. He turned around, hoping to look mostly casual but he's sure his face was an open book. His eyes zeroed in on you walking towards him, leaving your group of friends and Junior behind, but he heard a telltale laughter and he hoped it wasn't at how stupidly in love he looked with someone he could never have.

James blinked at you in confusion as you stopped before him, but you just wore the simplest smile on your face.

“Want to take a walk with me?” you asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"What?" he asked dumbly.

There was mirth in your gaze when you repeated your question. "We both have a free period now, I usually spend it in our common room. But I'm asking if you want to take a walk with me instead?"

James had to physically restrain himself from replying "I know" when you disclosed your habit, while also wondering how and why you came to know his schedule.

He managed to sputter out a response. “Yeah, yes, of course.” He couldn’t quite stop the grin from spreading across his face, and he felt a bit like an overeager puppy, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you looked rather pleased, which only made his heart race faster.

"Enthusiasm gets you everywhere, Potter," you responded calmly, falling into step with him as you led him out of the classroom, leading him down the less-frequented hallways. The road less travelled by.

The two of you strolled down the corridor, side by side, with the chilly autumn breeze filtering through an open window. James wanted to say something witty, something that would make you laugh, but he was mostly in his head, confused about everything that transpired the past few minutes.

"What's that about the fair?" He decided that was safe territory, though he feared having you recount all your plans with Junior there.

"Oh, you have no idea," you started excitedly. James pretended it didn’t cut a bit that he had no idea. "It's this annual fair that Pandora – you know, Rosier – discovered back in fourth. It's got the weirdest, coolest booths and games you'll ever see, with performances from unique professionals. It usually changes every year, last time it was a fire manipulator and a necromancer."

Upon James' quirked brow at you finding fire and necromancy the coolest, you continued. "Come on, you Marauders would have loved it. There's prank ideas and props to last you for months. And there's great food as well."

"Okay, okay," James laughed as he maintained eye contact with you. "I believe you, sounds fun. I hope you guys enjoy it."

If James wasn't as bright as he was, he might have mistook the flash of emotion across your face as a small bout of uncertainty or insecurity.

"Actually, that's something I wanted to ask you about," you started, trailing off as you stopped by one of the larger windows in the hallway, leaning against the windowsill. He followed your example, attention wholly on you. "We have this tradition, my friends and I, that we use the fair as an opportunity to challenge ourselves in some way, do something that... I guess something that scares us."

James just nodded, keeping his attention on you as his heart beats in his chest. Your smile turned a bit rueful.

"That's actually what I was messing with Cas about earlier," you continued. "She's finally asking your friend Marlene out on a date, to go with her to the fair."

That's what you wanted to talk about? James admired you almost more for how dedicated you were to your friends.

"I can tell you without a doubt that Marls would say yes," he reassured you with a smile. "Those two have been a work in progress for ages."

"For so long, it's been physically painful to witness," you laughed. That sound is anything but painful to witness.

James hummed in response, laughter rumbling through his chest as he continued to take you in, scanning your face.

"What are you doing that scares you?" he asked before he could stop himself.

You took a deep breath, chin up in that almost defiant way as you held his gaze. "I'm actually following in Dorcas' footsteps... or I guess perhaps beating her to it, seeing as she hasn't yet."

James blinked at you, clueless as to what you're leading up to.

"I wondered if you wanted to go with me to the fair?"

He felt as if he had been slapped in the face and like he was coming up for air after a long snog. He didn't really know what he felt, just that it was a lot, too much, even for him.

"I'd love to," he blurted out with a breath, words scrambling together. Then, his brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to understand your sentence. "I mean– with me, are you sure? Aren't you going with, erm, with Junior?"

You gave him a puzzled look, cocking your head at him as if he had said something entirely irrelevant. "What do you mean?"

James looked sheepish and couldn’t quite meet your gaze over the sound of his own heart breaking. "I mean, it would be really nice to go with you to the fair, anywhere really, but wouldn't Junior mind?"

"Barty–" You cut yourself off, still looking confused. "Barty's the one who's been encouraging me to ask you out, actually. What are you on about?"

"Why?" was all James could breathe out, world unravelling in a way that made his stomach twist with painful hope.

"Um, because I like you? And unless I have suddenly lost all my interpretation skills, I am quite certain you've been fond of me for quite some time too, Potter."

"I am, but– wait– you are? What?" James guffawed. His intense confusion irritated his skin apparently because he had a sudden urge to scratch the back of his neck, his upper arms and pretty much any other piece of flesh. Maybe the embarrassment could be peeled off that way.

Despite it all, you laughed heartily and, what James was beginning to realise, bemusedly maybe even adoringly at his failure to speak. It seemed like you had pieced together everything he couldn't.

"Yeah, I like you, you sod. Think I just flirt with everyone?"

An "I hope not" lies on the tip of his tongue, but instead he shook his head in admonishment.

"Snake's got your tongue, babe?" you asked him, taking a taunting step closer.

"Looks like it," James mumbled, eyes zeroed in on your face as heat rose to his own. Growing bolder in your declaration, he continued, "I suppose I'm just confused. I always thought you were with Junior? That you two were... in love."

The last words brought a grimace to his lips, like it pained him to say. As if on instinct, your hand shot forward to wipe beneath his bottom lip to coax the frown off his face. His lips parted in shock and suspense at your touch and when you seemed to realise what you had done, you pulled your hand back quickly. You had the decency to look slightly flustered after that, allowing him some semblance of a more even playing field.

"No, James," you whispered with a smile as you shook your head. "Barty is my best friend and I love him with my whole heart. But I never have, and never will be in love with him. Him and Evan have been an item for, like, ages."

Finally, a brilliant smile – one you would later describe to him "shone like the sun" to which he attacked you with kisses because "that's so sodding cute of you to say, you sappy romantic" – took over his face.

Without thinking, he stepped closer to you, hand coming up to brush carefully against your cheek as you looked wide-eyed at his positivity and adoration now radiating off of him. "But you're in love with me?" he whispered with rapture, up to speed at last.

It took you a moment before you chuckled lightly, sheepishly looking down at your feet before once more meeting his piercing gaze.

"How about we start with that date, and see where it goes from there, huh pretty boy?"

So, yes, James most certainly could have and probably should have kicked himself – but right now, he found that he had other business he would much rather attend to.

[thewidowsledger]

The Call

Chapter 5: Rushman

© thewidowsledger 2024 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You were supposed to take her out—the infamous Black Widow—Natasha Romanoff. The S.H.I.E.L.D. has been keeping an eye on her for a while now and for some reason, another high-ranking agent as you was sent to get the mission done. But then, he made a different call leading the mission to be here in front of you, soon to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Pairings: Ex-Russian Agent Natasha Romanoff x Senior S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: slow burn (it’s happening y’all), violence, kidnapping, torture, explicit language, hurt/comfort, 1v4, guard dog and angry angry angry Natty (strong arms Natty🥵 she is back breaking and cracking bones, kicking teeths for a living), vulnerable reader, Madisynn and Yelena's ship is sailing, Fury being a detective and keen observer dad

Author's Note: Missing my wife so here I am…writing while she's out (I hate work😡)

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

"What you think, Rushman?"

"Ask about the arms deal happening at the end of the week."

Natasha listened quietly to the instructions being relayed to her via her earpiece, her face a stoic mask. She evaluated the situation, her sharp mind calculating the security measures in place.

"Not a bad place," she remarked, her tone low and detached. "But do you guys really have the stuff necessary to secure all this square footage?"

She got a couple of looks and tried to remain calm; using 'secure' like that would definitely get her suspected of being an undercover Agent.

Realizing the slip-up in her choice of words, Natasha quickly adapted her demeanor, keeping her arms folded and tight to her sides, the picture of nonchalance. Despite her slight blunder, she maintained her composure, "I know a guy with both hands under the table," she kept her arms folded and tight to her sides. She didn't manage to sneak anything in with her weapons wise. Her fists were enough to hold their own in a battle.

One of the guides brushed off her question, stating, "Don't worry about it." He reassured her, mentioning that more support was on its way.

As they arrived in the basement control room, Natasha observed the smashed window with a furrowed brow. Her instincts kicked in, and she honed in on the details of the scene, taking note of it.

"Did we catch something?"

"You could say that." His grin gave Natasha a bad feeling.

They turned on the singular light bulb that lit the decrepit little space a small figure tied to the chair, dread welled up in Natasha. The figure tried to remain still in the chair, but the blood trickling from their limbs betrayed the restraints' unforgiving tightness.

As Natasha tried to maintain her composure, the sight of the restrained figure hit her like a wave of dread. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't ignore the familiar details—the slender frame, the slope of the shoulders, even the glimpse of the sharp collar bone protruding from the button-up shirt. The stockings were torn, probably from getting dragged to and fro. Shoes were probably the first thing taken from them.

A woman beside the restrained body was wearing her jacket, the same jacket she gave you last night.

Natasha's heart stopped.

She knew it was you before they pulled the burlap off your head.

As they pulled the burlap sack off your head, Natasha's heart sunk deeper, the sight confirming her fears. Before she could even fully register what was happening, a ruthless blow landed across your face, forcefully snapping your head to one side with a sickening crunch. The chair screeched against the concrete surface beneath as it shifted from the force of the punch.

The girl that was standing beside you came up to Natasha and touched her biceps as she circled her.

Natasha steeled her expression, knowing that she couldn't afford any display of emotion. She felt their eyes on her, watching for any crack they could exploit, checking to see if they had found the weakness they thought. If they had found their mole.

"Where'd you find her?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," the worker bees around her snickered as they watched the show. She ran her hands over Natasha's muscled arms, circled her like a predator, a smug smile playing on her lips.

Natasha clenched her fists tightly under her armpits, her nails digging into her skin with increasing pressure, leaving behind angry crescent indents. The intensity of her grip grew, mirroring the effort she exerted to maintain her composure, even as her jaw worked in a white-knuckled attempt to keep her teeth from clenching too obviously. She forced herself to remain still, the muscles in her neck straining with the effort, despite the overwhelming fear and rage that was making her vision blur.

You didn't utter a word as they laid into you, taking every slap and punch with little more than a grunt or a burst of air. You kept your eyes shut as they hauled your head up by your hair, still pulled back into a ponytail.

The realization hit Natasha that you hadn't been taken from the safety of your home. You were still dressed in the clothes from the party last night, leaving her feeling a wave of nausea as she wondered how long you had been imprisoned in this cold, dimly lit room.

Guilt gnawed at her, regret filling her like a lead weight in her chest. She should've walked you back to the party, or booked you a cab, even if you had protested, insisted that you could manage on your own.

The man gloating about finding you tightened his grip on your hair, forcefully turning your face towards him and inhaling against your cheek. His words rang in Natasha's ears, a reminder of your vulnerability. "We got a tip that there was a real pretty little thing hanging around," he said, a twisted sadistic pleasure in his tone that made Natasha's skin crawl.

"Don't move a muscle, Agent. Stay on target," the warning echoed in her earpiece, and her blood ran cold as she heard the commanding order to remain still.

Fury assigned Natasha to Coulson's division for a while after her mission on Stark. How far were they planning on letting this go? How long had they been listening to you get hurt? Do they even know that the daughter of the director is getting hurt?

The eyes in the room were still fixed on Natasha, testing her limits, pushing her for a crack in her facade. She felt the weight of their gaze. "Y'know, someone let us know that she was with SHIELD." It was clear that they were trying to push her, to see if they could expose her.

Of course someone had tipped them off. How else would they have been able to get the drop on the Furious daughter?

"Y'know what they say," another one slapped her on the shoulder before strolling into the semi-connected interrogation room. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"

Natasha wiggled her fingers against her palm, feeling the blood he'd drawn. She felt herself reaching her breaking point, your subtle movement caught her eye, and she glanced in your direction. You pried your least swollen eye open and looked at her, managing just a little twitch of your lips. No one else would be able to recognise it as a smile—they'd sooner assume it was a flinch.

But Natasha could always tell.

You shut your eyes again as one of the men grabbed your neck, forcing you to expose the length of it, their touch sending chills down your spine. "She is a pretty thing, huh?" the man remarked, turning back to Natasha, his finger trailing along the exposed skin.

"Agent, do not move. I repeat: stand down."

Natasha watched the hand trail down your neck to your collarbone, just barely peeking out from your tight black dress. He pulled out a knife, cutting off one the red dress.

The two in the room grinned at each other as the knife trailed exposing just the hint of a white bra with floral lace. "Should we see how pretty?"

The man's eyes glinted with malicious intent as he offered Natasha the knife, a cruel smile playing at his lips. "Rushman? Would you like to do...the honors?"

Natasha hesitated, but she knew what the risks were. So after contemplating, she took the knife handle. She slowly walked towards you, her eyes flickered over your battered face, taking in the bruises, the split lip, the swollen eyes.

The impatient shouts from behind her only fueled her frustration and anger.

"Fuck her already!"

You could see the struggle in her eyes, the internal battle she was fighting. You wanted to reassure her, to let her know it is okay, but your voice was hoarse from the abuse you'd endured—and besides it would blow up her cover.

She caressed your cheek and you leaned on her touch, a tear fell down slightly nodding at her—silently telling her that it's going to be okay.

"Do it Rushman!"

"Fuck her! Like this!" A man shouted, mimicking aggressive gestures with his ring and middle finger. "Give us a fucking show!"

"I know how to give a good fuck, don't tell me how to fuck her." Natasha bit out. She knows she's damned after what she just said besides Coulson's team hearing her words.

Hearing her say that she would give the daughter of the director a good fuck.

You, her boss, hearing her say that she would fuck you.

Natasha knelt in front of you, and mouthed I'm sorry, she caressed your face one last time. "Can you close your eyes for me?" she whispered, "Please, detka."

"Don't open them unless I told you to."

Because she never wanted you to see that side she's about to unleash. It is a version of her that she had buried in the past after she was given a new life, a new chance—a fresh start. The side of her that you are very aware of because it was the side of her that you studied half of your life. The side of her that you hated.

Your mission.

She doesn't want you to see it, especially not now that she is falling in love with you.

But your life is at risk and so is the beast within her.

As soon as you shut your eyes, she turned and grabbed the first man by his head and, with a single, powerful motion, slammed his face down onto the wooden table. The force of the impact shattered the table's surface, sending splinters flying.

The girl reached into the back of her jeans, "Fuckin' mole—!"

Natasha spun on her heel, her shoulder driving into her like a human battering ram and before she could hit the ground, Natasha grabbed a handful of her greasy hair and yanked her head down, ramming her knee into her face with bone-shattering force. The sound of crunching teeth filled the room as she slumped unconscious to the floor, blood pouring from her ruined mouth.

"That is my fucking jacket." She spat out as she aggressively removed the jacket from the girl.

No one can deny that Natasha is by far the strongest on SHIELD—probably one of the strongest agents in the field, if not the strongest.

She grabbed the creepy one by the hand, "This is how you fuck," she gritted before twisting it all the way around to pop it off the wrist. The creep screamed and howled in pain.

The sudden violence in the room had you flinching with each loud impact, your heart racing. Every crack of bone, every thud of a body hitting the ground, made you jump and tremble with fear. Wishing that it's not Natasha.

Only if you know that it was Natasha who was causing those sounds.

The one who had been doing the beating on you held up his hands, backing away from you on the chair, who was still eyes closed and was close to passing out.

"Agent! Stand down, this is a direct order!"

Natasha tore the earpiece and its connected mic out of her ear and let it fall to the ground before crushing it under her foot. She kept her eyes on the man with your blood on his knuckles.

"H-Hey, Rushman," the idiot was at least smart enough to try and barter his way to safety. "Look, we both know you're not gonna kill me—"

"Says who?"

The smaller of the two men shrank a little. Maybe his life wasn't as insured as he thought it was. "O-Okay!—okay, look, I'm sorry! I-I'm sorry. You want info?! I'll tell you—I'll tell you everything! Who tipped us off, e-everything!"

Natasha grasped the bastard by his shirt, slamming him up against the wall, black in the eyes. "You've got a lot of nerve bartering with me after what you did to her—"

"Nat."

The beater hit the floor like a sack of bricks.

Your eyes were still closed but you shook your head side to side. Now you're sure Natasha is safe, and is probably the one causing these idiots to cry since you heard her voice.

"Detka…" Natasha moved in front of you, lifting your chin as gently as she could. You'd have one hell of a black eye, and your naturally sharp cheekbones were split and swollen. "You can open your eyes now."

And you did.

"Backup better be on the fucking way," Natasha growled as she get you freed. Your body naturally folded in on itself in its injured and vulnerable state. Natasha hesitated as she pulled the jacket that the girl stole from you, she doesn't want you to wear that anymore so she shirked off her leather jacket, pulling it around you and zipper it up over your exposed chest. "Or those old fucks are next."

The beater was trying to crawl to safety and Natasha slammed her heel down on his back.

The beater threw up anything that was in his stomach. Natasha leaned down, yanking his head up by the hair, as he had done with you minutes ago. "You're gonna tell us everything."

He nodded.

"You are going to cooperate with every agent you see."

He nodded again, more vigorously.

Natasha dropped the man like a ragdoll, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud. She turned her attention to the other, who was struggling to his feet, his face pale and sweaty. "And you," she said coldly, stepping closer to him.

You didn't even blink as Natasha grabbed his shoulder, then his jaw, and twisted. You watched as the man's lifeless body fell to the ground. You looked up at Natasha, "I'm going to pretend I didn't see that."

Natasha said nothing. Now you had seen that side of her. This is the Black Widow you have been craving to catch, your mission, your past mission.

Natasha nudged the man's corpse out of the way with her foot, his body falling onto its side, picking you up and sitting down in the chair for herself with you in her arms.

The sounds of your fellow agents storming the building started at the top of the building and traveled through its open, gutted remains. They would be with them soon enough.

Natasha sat and waited. Her mind raced, considering the potential consequences of her disobedience, she would be lucky to be suspended and on probation. Much more likely, they would have internal affairs investigate her for her disobedience and fire her.

But with your safety on the line, you in her arms right now—she'd face them all willingly.

She would accept any punishment they gave her—gladly. She turned her head, pressing her lips to your temple in the slim window of being alone with you.

⧗

"Easy, widow," Yelena held up her hands and took a few steps closer, walking towards your bed and to the chair of your guard dog. "Just checking if you need anything."

"I'm fine."

"Come on, Nat." Yelena pleaded, she knew that Natasha would be grappling with the tragedy, and she had heard that no one could get near you with Natasha by your side. "She's okay, right?"

"She better be," she finally let out a sigh, uncrossing her arms and turning her head halfway away from you and towards Yelena. "It's the only reason I'm here and not hunting down those bastards."

"Natasha, they're being handled by SHIELD." Yelena reassured, calming her Natasha down.

"I am not pertaining about them." Natasha murmured but the blonde was quick to pick up the pieces.

"You know, if anyone were to hear you threaten Coulson's division like that it'd be your position," Yelena warned, to which Natasha didn't even offer a shrug of acknowledgement. Yelena looked at her determined unwillingness to rest if it left you unprotected. "Okay, just...yell if you need me, okay?—either of you?"

Natasha let out another heavy sigh, "thanks, Lena."

The door closed gently as Yelena left, leaving you sleeping peacefully with your guard dog.

Natasha sat by your side, her eyes never leaving you as she contemplated what just happened. You looked so peaceful, as if you two hadn't been together the night after you were kidnapped and brutalized.

She still feels guilty.

It was true; no one had managed to come near you. Natasha had been told that Maria will be handling her questioning, even though she saved you, the daughter of the director, she cannot be saved from the by laws of SHIELD.

Natasha leaned forward, pushing some hair away from your cheek. Her finger brushed the pale—and already bruising - skin there, and you leaned into her touch in your sleep. She smiled, undeniably melted by the subconscious trust you had in her. "Come on, boss. I need you to open those eyes for me."

As if you had heard her plea, your lashes fluttered, and then your eyes opened, revealing the stunning shade she adored. She greeted you softly, her voice gentle, her eyes locked with those beautiful eyes of yours. "Hey."

"Hey," she softly repeated, beaming at you though fighting back tears, her voice a bit thicker with emotions held in check. Her hand softly ran through your hair, the affection pouring forth freely despite the professional front she usually maintained around you. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been strapped to a chair and beat up."

Natasha huffed a slight laugh, but your weak attempt at a glare—despite your exhausted condition it brought a small smirk to her lips. "Now? You're making jokes now?" she replied, her voice affectionate, her smile growing when you tried to glare.

Your smile was heavy and hazy, fighting against the pull of anesthesia. But it was there, and it was real. "You seem like you need it, agent."

Her hand still glided gently through your hair, tracing over your temple and cheek, as if trying to feel the reality, to confirm you were real and not a ghost. There was a vulnerability in her eyes, a raw emotion barely contained, "I-we need you to be okay."

"Then I'm okay."

The moment stretched, as Natasha felt the warmth of your cheek against her palm, cherishing and committing it to memory. She knew this moment was fleeting, that this vulnerability would soon fade.

"Y/N—"

"Natasha," you pressed, and she sat again, pulling your hand into her. "I know you went against orders to come and rescue me in there."

"How is that the problem?!" She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "And not that I was ordered to stand by and watch while—"

"Focus, Natalia," As you crooned her government name, Natasha felt herself refocusing. The soft tone and the use of her true name anchoring her firmly in the present. Your reassurance settled the turmoil in her chest, the quiet command and your words grounding her, bringing her back from the edge of her worry. "You saved me. You. That's all that matters."

She exhaled slowly, some weight lifted by your words. As she leaned forward, she found your hands, interlacing her fingers with yours, "What hurts?" She asked, assessing your pain.

You gave it a test, shifting faintly under the thin hospital blankets. "Everything?"

"They should have you on stronger meds," Natasha growled, her protective instincts flaring, ready to march into the hall and demand the staff provide stronger medication. She gripped your hand gently in hers, her worry and fury evident in the tense lines of her face.

"Mm," You held her hand, shaking your head in disagreement, despite your weakness. You fought to keep her with you by your side, refusing her protective instincts. "No, just...just leave it be."

"Y/N," she whispered, sounding positively agonized about it. "I don't want you to be in pain."

"I'm fine," was the first thing out of your mouth, only to realize that it was utter bullshit as far as Natasha was concerned. You corrected yourself, "just stay. Just...just...please?"

She all but collapsed, weak in the knees at the sight of your eyes pleading with her. She nodded, helpless to do much of anything else for you. She brought your hand up to her lips, bold move, "yeah—yeah, of course, Y/N. I...I'm right here."

You closed your eyes again, evening out your own breathing as well. "If they know I'm awake they'll have you dragged out of here to question us both."

"I can just be daddy's girl and it's done. I think they're forgetting I have that power and title."

Natasha huffed, a small sign of amusement at your joke, knowing full well that you don't and would never use your title as the director's daughter to sidestep consequences. You have earned your title in SHIELD with your own efforts, own sweat and tears.

"They're not coming anywhere near you so long as I'm here."

"Natasha."

"I mean it, Y/N," she reiterated. She gave your hand another squeeze, "they have no right coming to talk to you when they're the reason you're in here. They can wait until you're released, and that's if I'm feeling generous."

You peeled your eyes open again to smile at her. "If only I could have you as protection for every time I had to talk to those—"

You cut yourself off to yawn, failing to cover your mouth, Natasha fussed with your blankets, her tone gentle and commanding. "You should go back to sleep; get all the rest you can before the questioning begins," she whispered, hoping to spare you any unnecessary strain while knowing it was futile.

Your voice was soft, the medication making your muscles feel heavy as you asked, "Can't wait." Your hazy eyes found hers, searching for reassurance. "You'll be here right?"

She smiled at you, keeping you hand firmly in hers, "I'm not going anywhere."

Meanwhile, Yelena and Madisynn peered at the door, witnessing the tender exchange between you and Natasha. Their fist bumping, "Good?" Yelena smirked.

"Good." Madisynn confirmed.

The two women jumped slightly, freezing in surprise as they turned to see your father—the director of SHIELD standing behind them, holding a bouquet of flowers and your favorite egg pie.

"So my daughter and Romanoff..."

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Cold

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / CHRONIC ILLNESS MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,260ish

Summary: You are keeping your arthritis a secret. Logan knows that something is wrong and is frustrated that you won't be honest with him.

Notes: I hope this story even makes a lick of sense... I am not feeling the greatest as the weather is changing and I just want someone who will stick out the arthritis with me.

Logan first sensed a change in you a few weeks after he arrived at the mansion. He noticed that you were quieter, moving slower, and being excused from training and other meetings. Logan brushed it off at first, but then it happened repeatedly. There was never a specific time or reason that Logan could pinpoint what was going on with you, and no one would explain it.

“Logan,” Storm sighed, exasperated. “It’s not my story to tell.”

“None of you seem worried,” Logan continued, voice tipping on anger. “Something is going on. She’s sick or something.”

“Why don’t you ask Y/N if you’re so concerned?”

Logan knew it was ridiculous not to go to you about his concerns, but he was still getting to know you. He felt like the two of you had barely become friends, and he didn’t want to ruin it. He actually enjoyed being your friend. You didn’t pressure him to do anything he didn’t want to, including talk. It was an easy friendship that he wasn’t used to happening. 

Logan could sense the change before you had even told him you weren’t up for your usual walk around the gardens. He tried to change the activity to something else, but you still excused yourself to your bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Logan,” you told him with a tight smile. “Maybe another day.” Then you slipped into your room.

Logan was completely stumped and slightly hurt by your actions. What was going on, and why wouldn’t you tell him?

~~~

You were young when you were first diagnosed. It was after your water mutation first appeared. They more you used it, the worse your joints got. The many doctors you visited each diagnosed you with a different type of arthritis. So you didn’t know exactly what you had, but you did know that with each weather change or over extension, especially of your mutation, your arthritis flared up.

Charles was the first person at the mansion to know about your condition, mostly because he was a mind reader. As you got to know everyone else, you slowly began to tell the others: Hank, Jean, Scott, and Ororo. Each of them was concerned that the arthritis seemed to be tied to your mutation, but you didn’t let that stop you. You still were a teacher at the school and a member of the X-Men, though you pick and choose what missions you went on.

When Logan first arrived, he was very closed off. Slowly, you got him to open up and feel more comfortable around you. The two of you began to rely on each other. You still hadn’t told Logan about your health. There was always some worry about how people would react when you told them. Oftentimes, it was pity and overprotectiveness; other times, they saw you as faking it. You didn’t know how Logan would see you yet and weren’t ready to know. 

You knew that you shouldn’t have tried to use your mutation too much during training, especially with the weather growing colder. You knew that it wouldn’t be a good reaction from your arthritis, but you chose to do it anyway. That’s how you ended up laying on your bed, barely mobile.

The knock on the door made you wince. Not having the energy to get up, you shouted as best as you could, “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Logan’s rough voice broke from the other side of the door.

Your stomach felt like it was in knots. You couldn’t let Logan see you this way. Biting back a whine, you pushed yourself up and slowly limped through the door. Logan could sense your struggle from the other side. He clenched his fists to prevent himself from breaking down the door. When you opened the door, Logan immediately noticed how heavily you were leaning against the door and that you just had it opened enough for him to see you.

“Hi, Logan,” you forced out a smile. 

“What’s going on?” He immediately asked. “You haven’t left your room all day.”

“Oh, just… tired.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Logan—“

“I don’t want to hear anything but the truth.”

“I… I…”

“Hey, guys!” Rogue greeted, coming down the hall. “What are you—“ She paused, glancing between the two of you. “Oh. Is this a serious conversation?”

“No.” / “Yes.”

“I’m just gonna good.” She backed up a few steps before spinning around and running away.

“Let me in,” Logan requested.

“I’m fine, Logan,” you sighed.

“Then let’s go down to the Danger Room and train.”

“I trained this morning without you.”

“Then let’s go take a walk through the gardens.” 

You knew Logan would continue to pester you until you gave him an acceptable answer. What could a simple stroll really do to you? You were already hurting anyway. “Fine. Let me grab a jacket.”

You immediately winced upon turning around. Logan watched, eyes narrowed, as you tried your best to walk normally. Why couldn’t you just tell him what was wrong? You grabbed the jacket from the back of the chair at your desk and struggled to get it on. Logan stepped into your room, and took the jacket from you, helping you into it.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

Logan let out a grunt as he nodded. “Let’s go.”

As the two of you headed for the gardens, Logan had to slow down his usual pace. He kept an eye on you and the grimace you made with his step. The gardens were beautiful, though fall had settled in. You only wished that you could fully enjoy the beauty of your surroundings as you tried not to drop to the ground in sobs.

“Y/N,” Logan stopped his path and reached out to you. You pulled your hand away and immediately saw the hurt look Logan gave you. “Did I do something?” His voice was serious, though you could hear the slight vulnerability that he was trying to hide.

“No,” you slightly shook your head, almost immediately regretting it. “It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m just tired. I just need to sleep.”

“Bullshit.”

You sighed. “Logan, I—“

“No, it’s fine. You don’t want to tell me. You don’t have to. I get it.” Then he stormed off.

You sucked your lips in and looked up, trying to fight back the tears. You knew it was immature to be acting like this, but you didn’t know how Logan would see you after he knew the truth. Looking at the mansion, you grew tired just thinking about how hard it would be to get up to your room. You decided to find a bench in the gardens and rest for a little while.

~~~

The night quickly set in, and snow began to fall from the sky, though it was autumn. You were curled up on the bench you had found in the garden. Tears were frozen to your cheeks as you shivered uncontrollably. After sitting down to rest, you quickly found that that had been a mistake and weren’t able to get up. You were in too much pain, and that pain was only growing the colder it got.

“Help,” you rasped, able to see your breath in front of you. “H—Hel—Help…”

You could only hope that someone would find you before something really bad would happen.

~~~

“Hey, has anyone seen Y/N?” Scott wondered. “She missed dinner.”

“I think she wasn’t feeling good today,” Jean replied. “She’s probably in her room.”

“Someone should bring in dinner,” Ororo suggested. Those in the room looked at Logan, wondering if he would offer, but he remained silent. “Logan, why don’t you go?”

He scoffed. “I already tried today. Went on a walk, but she wouldn’t be honest with me.”

“You have to be patient, Logan,” Jean told him. “Y/N… well, she has reasons for how she’s acting. She’ll tell you in time.”

Logan gritted his teeth but slowly began to feel bad for storming off earlier today. “Fine.” He picked up the plate already prepared for you. “I’ll go.” He approached your room and immediately noticed the door was ajar. “Y/N?” He called as he pushed the door open. It looked like it had when he got you for the walk. “Y/N?” He walked further inside, peeking into the attached bathroom. You were nowhere to be found, which was concerning. He hurried back downstairs to the kitchen. “Y/N’s not in her room.”

“Maybe she went into town,” Ororo suggested. 

“No,” Logan shook his head. “It’s something else.” He looked at Charles. “Professor, can you sense her?”

Charles closed his eyes and reached out to you. It didn’t take long for him to connect with you. His eyes snapped open. “She’s in the garden,” he stated.

“Still?”

“Wait a minute,” Jean said, glancing out the window to see it snowing. “She’s in the garden now?”

“Yes,” Charles responded. “And we must hurry.”

“Hurry?” Logan repeated as the others rushed for the door. “Wait. What’s going on?” No one responded. “Damn it! Someone tell me!”

Ororo and Jean shared a look before Ororo sighed and stepped closer to Logan. “Y/N has arthritis,” she explained. “Overusing her powers and cold weather can make her flare. That’s why she was resting today.”

“Wait—She’s still outside. Shit.” 

Before anyone else could explain anything to him, Logan was running out to the gardens. Using his senses, he tracked you down to the bench you had found to rest on. You were curled up with a layer of snow on top of you, looking sickly.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he rushed over to you. There was no response from you. “Y/N.” He tried to shake you awake, but nothing. “Come on, sweetheart,” he lifted you up to him. 

“Logan!” Jean shouted as she, Scott, and Ororo ran up to them. “Oh my—we need to get her to the lab. Now!”

The four of them moved swiftly to the lab, where Charles was already waiting. He set you down on the table, and Jean quickly went to work.

“It’s all my fault,” Logan muttered, eyes trained on you.

“It’s not your fault,” Ororo said.

“I got her out there; I left her there.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I knew that something was wrong. I shouldn’t have pushed her.”

~~~

It took a few hours for Jean to get you warm again. Charles had to keep you unconscious so that your body could rest. Logan stayed close by, watching over you. He kept an unlit cigar in his mouth, trying to use it to keep himself from tearing something apart—including himself. 

You moaned as you began to wake. Slowly, you opened your eyes and looked around the room. You immediately knew you were in the lab and could feel the tubes and wires attached to you. Your eyes widened as you saw Logan leaning up against the wall, staring at you with a cigar in his mouth. By the look in his eyes, you knew that he had found out the truth. Tears welled up in your eyes and began to slip down your face.

Logan tore the cigar from his mouth, pushed himself off the wall, and rushed to you. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He asked. “Do you need Charles? Do you need more medicine? What can I do?”

“I—I don’t want your pity,” you cried.

Logan’s face fell. “What?”

“I don’t want your pity.” You turned your head away from Logan.

“Is that what you think this is? Pity? I was scared shitless when I found you out in the garden, sweetheart. I’m worried about you.”

“You’re already looking at me differently… that’s what I didn’t want.”

“How am I supposed to look at you? It is different. I know you have arthritis and that using your powers can hurt you.”

You looked back at Logan. “Yes, so now I’m fragile in your eyes. Just someone who should sit there and do nothing so that I don’t hurt myself. I can’t—“

“I would never want that for you, sweetheart. If I’m looking at you differently, it’s because I feel guilty for pushing you. You were in that garden because of me… It also could be that I’m amazed that you go through every day with pain, and you haven’t given up.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you… and not telling you what was wrong.”

“I’m sorry for pushing you and leaving you out there.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m gonna feel guilty for a while, sweetheart.”

“Please don’t feel guilty… And sweetheart? That’s new…”

“You like it?”

“Maybe.” You gave him a smile. 

“Seriously, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine… I’ll probably be down for a few days, though.”

“Good thing I’m free to help.”

“No, Logan. I don’t want to be a burden—“

“You are never a burden. Got it? I don’t ever want to hear that from you again. Alright?”

“But—“

“Alright, sweetheart? Never again.”

“Okay…”

“Good, so,” he reached back and pulled up a chair to sit down beside you. “You need to tell me how best to help you. I can’t promise that I’ll remember everything, but I need to do what’s completely off-limits and what helps you the most.”

You couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed within your chest. No one had ever wanted to know how best to take care of you. This was different and would definitely take a lot of getting use to, but you were willing to try just as Logan was willing to try.

[wild-fern21]

Paring: Charles Leclerc x Reader, Lando Norris x bestfriend!reader

Synopsis: Growing up besides Max Fewtrell and Lando Norris means that you also got closer with many of the drivers. You were a part of Quadrant from the start, participating in many challenges which only grew your popularity online and what comes with a big following, fans. Who couldn’t help but point out the fact that a certain driver gave you constant heart eyes.

Warnings: unrequited love, bestfriend!Lando, No happy ending. (let me know if there are anymore.Also did I tag the fic right?)

Today was the day of the Mexican Grand Prix, you stood in front of the mirror staring at the outfit you had picked out for the race weekend. You held a camera in your dominant hand preparing to film the day's events, the main event of the day was Qualifying. 

Pressing the record button on your camera you started the video showing off your outfit explaining where you had purchased everything then explaining the event’s of the day. Soon a knock echoed through the hotel room.

“Hey, you ready to go!” It was Lando, your ride everywhere. 

“Be out in a second!” You yell back you walk down the short hallway and you hear Lando yell again.

“Hurry up, before I leave you here.” As you made your way out the door you gave the man in front of you an unimpressed look.

“As if you could live without me” you say with a smirk, pointing the camera at him, “And this annoying ass, is Lando” He brings his hands up and waves at the camera before signaling for you to walk down the hallway. You turn the camera off so people don’t somehow find the hotel you were staying in. 

“Are you ready for Qualifying?” I asked as we walked down the hallway side by side.

“The car feels good so I hope I can get another podium” He says leaning forward to call the elevator. “But as always, I am hoping for another win.” The elevator signaled that it had arrived. You quickly follow Lando into the open elevator allowing him to press the button to the ground floor.

“I’m sure you’ll do great” You tell the person standing next to you who has a worried look on his face knowing it was about the race.

You and Lando had made it to the paddock, he was being quickly whisked away by one of the Mclaren employee’s, leaving you to walk through the paddock alone. Pulling out your camera you started recording, explaining what you had done during that week, stopping every time you see a driver to greet them.

As you walk past the Ferrari garage you are greeted with a certain Monégasque driver. “Hello y/n/n” He greeted you with a giant smile on his face that was reserved only for you. You offer a smile back and turn the camera to him. The drivers are already used to your antic’s waves to the camera. 

“And hello to y/n’s viewers” He says, the two of you start talking about the weekend that was to come. The camera captures sweet moments between the two of you. As you walk back to Lando’s garage you shut the camera off allowing you and Charles to talk without the added pressure of a camera.

“I like your outfit,” Charles says with a soft look in his eyes, you look down to the ground and starts to fidget with your hand as you respond.

“Yeah I got it ages ago” You say shrugging off the compliment.

Charles looks to you with a smile “But you look beautiful” He tells you that same smile from earlier appearing on his face.

You shake your head at the comment hoping that your dismissal will change the topic, it does. As the two of you walk your arms occasionally brush against each other, everytime your arms touch, you try not to move away. While Charles smiled bashfully everytime it happened.

 As you make it to Lando’s garage, Charles turns to you with a smile still present on his face. “This is where we part way chère” you missed the way his smile turned gentle and soft as he said his goodbye. “I’ll see you after Qualifying Charlie” You wave at the driver who slowly walks back to his own garage. Throughout the rest of qualifying you film part’s of the race, mainly Lando’s car.

Lando made his way back to the car after Qualifying with a confident smile present on his face as he gave you a double thumbs up. You return the gesture as he walks into his driver's room getting ready to go home. 

You shoot Lando a text explaining you were going to go on another walk around the paddock knowing it takes a while for him to get ready, he quickly replies with a thumbs up. You put the phone in your hand bag as you start to walk the length of the paddock again.

You walked past Ferrari, hoping to avoid the drivers but unfortunately luck was no on your side, Charles was walking towards you with a smile appearing on his face as he spotted you. “How did you enjoy the race?” He asks, his accent thick.

“It was alright, I’m excited for the race tomorrow though it seems like it’s anyone’s race at this point” As you say this Charles does nothing but nod he moves slightly closer to you as he opens his mouth to speak again when Lando interrupts.

“Hey y/n you ready to go?” He asks looking between the two of you your eyes have a slight look of relief as you quickly nod. 

Looking back at Charles you wave goodbye as you quickly make your way back where the car was parked, you walk with your head down to the car worried that if you looked up the Lando would speak about the one thing you didn’t want to hear.

As you both entered the car you looked up at Lando as he spoke the truth into existence. “You know he loves you right? You are his world.” The question was more of a statement.

“I know” You whisper, looking down to your lap. “I know he loves me I don’t even know why, but no matter how hard I try I just can’t love him back” you state with emotion thick in your voice, worried Lando would be mad.

“Y/n” Lando whispered softly “You don’t have to like him back you know, i’m not mad” he gently grabbed your hand holding it giving it a soft squeeze.

“But, I don’t want to hurt him, I know I am his world but he deserves the universe, and I can’t give him that” You whisper, fear crawls through you as you wait to hear Lando’s disappointed voice expressing how you should be thankful, lucky even that a soul like his likes you, he doesn't though.

“And that’s completely fair, you can’t choose who you do and don’t fall for.” as Lando speaks you hold your breath waiting for the, but with the condescending tone to come, it doesn't. You look up at Lando and whisper a soft thank you as he starts to drive to your hotel. You open your window allowing the fresh breeze to run though your hair. Your thoughts are taken over by a certain driver and how to tell him.

[lucyblue101]

He gets into your eyeliner 🥹

Satoru x reader

You arrived home with a little extra spring in your step, knowing Satoru was actually home early — a rarity that made your heart race with excitement. The apartment was unusually quiet, though, and you couldn’t see him anywhere.

“Satoru?” you called out, hoping to find him lounging on the couch or maybe in the kitchen grabbing a snack.

“Wait a minute!” His voice came from down the hall, muffled but distinctly his.

You paused, curiosity growing. His tone sounded… off, almost nervous. Not the usual casual, overconfident Satoru you were used to. Following the sound, you made your way down the hall, noticing that the bathroom door was cracked open, light spilling out into the dim hallway. Maybe he was just freshening up.

"Satoru?" you asked, stepping closer and peeking inside.

What you saw froze you in your tracks. Standing in front of the mirror, Satoru held your eyeliner pencil with one hand, his other braced against the counter, his face tense in concentration. Black liner rimmed his eyes in thick, uneven streaks, smudged in places and too dark in others, giving him a lopsided, messy look that was… undeniably ridiculous.

Your eyes went wide, and before you could stop yourself, a giggle slipped out. Then another. And then you were fully laughing, clutching your stomach as the sight of him in that poorly done eyeliner took over.

“Oh my god, Satoru!” you managed between laughs. “You… what did you do?”

Satoru chuckled awkwardly along at first, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to play it cool. “Hey, it’s harder than it looks, okay?” he said, flashing you an uncertain grin. “Besides… I thought you liked eyeliner on guys?”

You stifled another laugh, trying to catch your breath, but it was no use — the image of him, the powerful Satoru Gojo, trying to apply eyeliner and looking like this, was just too much.

“Satoru, you… you look like you got in a fight with my makeup bag and lost,” you teased, still giggling as he gave a soft, awkward chuckle.

But as the laughter continued, you noticed his expression start to falter, his smile fading as he looked away, fingers fidgeting with the eyeliner pencil. He wasn’t laughing anymore, his posture tense and uncertain, and a pang of guilt hit you as you saw his face fall.

“Oh… oh no, Satoru…” you said softly, stepping closer as you noticed the quiver in his bottom lip. He turned away, pretending to be busy with the eyeliner pencil as he muttered, “It… it just doesn’t look good on me, does it?”

He tried to keep his voice steady, but you could hear the hurt slipping through, the way he was holding himself so rigidly, as if to keep from breaking in front of you. He sniffled, quickly raising a hand to his face, trying to hide it, but it only smeared the liner, black streaks dragging down his cheeks.

“You… you said you liked it,” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought… I thought maybe you’d like it on me too. But… if I just look stupid…”

“Satoru, no, that’s not it at all,” you whispered, guilt gnawing at you as you reached out to touch his shoulder. But he kept his face turned away, clearly fighting to keep the tears in, even as his shoulders shook with the effort.

“I just wanted to try it… for you,” he managed, voice cracking on the last words as he finally broke, a tear slipping down his cheek despite his efforts to hold it back.

“Oh, baby… no, please don’t cry,” you murmured, stepping closer and gently cupping his face with both hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks to wipe away the smeared makeup. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

He bit his lip, trying so hard to keep himself composed, but the tears kept coming, slowly slipping down despite his attempts to blink them away. He looked away, embarrassed, but you kept your hold on him, gently turning his face back toward you.

“I’m sorry, Satoru. You did this because you thought I’d like it, didn’t you?” you whispered, feeling your own heart ache at the thought of him trying so hard just to make you happy.

He gave a tiny nod, his voice small as he admitted, “Yeah… I just thought you might like it…”

“Oh, Satoru,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close, cradling his head against your shoulder. “You already look so good to me… I didn’t need you to change a thing.”

He let out a shuddering breath, leaning into your embrace as he clung to you, his face still buried in your shoulder as he tried to stifle his quiet sniffles. You could feel the slight tremble in his frame as he finally let himself relax, sinking into your hold, his breathing gradually evening out as you held him tight.

“I’m sorry I laughed,” you murmured, running your fingers through his hair as you kissed the top of his head. “You went through all that trouble just for me, and I should’ve seen that. I never wanted to make you feel like this.”

He didn’t respond right away, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as he took in a shaky breath. “It’s… it’s okay,” he finally murmured, his voice soft but still a bit shaky. “I just… I thought maybe you’d… like it.”

“I do like it,” you whispered, pulling back slightly to look at him. You brushed your thumb along his cheek, wiping away the last of the smeared eyeliner. “I love everything about you. And for the record… I think you’re incredibly sweet for trying this just to make me happy.”

His eyes met yours, and you could see the hesitation in his gaze, the vulnerability that he so rarely let show. He gave you a small, uncertain smile, his lips still slightly quivering as he murmured, “Really?”

“Really,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly, your lips brushing over his in a gentle, tender kiss. He relaxed further into you, his hands finding their way to your back as he leaned into the kiss, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the warmth and reassurance of your touch.

You broke the kiss only to place another on his cheek, then on his nose, his forehead, showering his face in soft, loving kisses as he closed his eyes and let out a quiet, shaky sigh, the last of his tension melting away.

“You’re beautiful, Satoru,” you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity as you looked into his eyes, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “You don’t have to do anything special for me to feel that way. I love you just the way you are.”

He gave you a small, genuine smile, his gaze softening as he looked at you with a mixture of gratitude and adoration. “You… you really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, cupping his face and pressing another tender kiss to his lips. “And besides… if you want to wear eyeliner, we’ll do it together. I’ll show you how to put it on, and we’ll make it look amazing, okay?”

A quiet laugh escaped him, and he nodded, his cheeks flushed as he looked down, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Alright… but only if you help me,” he whispered, his voice still a bit unsteady but filled with a newfound warmth.

“Deal,” you said, pressing another kiss to his lips before pulling him onto the bed with you, wrapping your arms around him as you settled down together.

He snuggled closer, resting his head against your chest as you held him tight, your fingers gently running through his hair as you whispered soothing words into his ear, letting him know how much he meant to you, how much you appreciated every little thing he did for you.

As you lay there, cradling him in your arms, you could feel him finally relax completely, his breathing evening out as he nuzzled into you, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if afraid to let go.

“I love you,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

He looked up at you, his eyes shimmering with a soft, grateful smile. “I love you too… even if you do laugh at me sometimes.”

You chuckled softly, brushing your fingers along his cheek. “Only because you’re adorable.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face was genuine as he held you close, his heart full of love and gratitude as he finally let himself feel safe, cherished, and completely at ease in your embrace.

Tag list: (let me know if you wanna go on it 🤭)

@canigotosleep--plz

@itsafairytalekay

@haruhatake

@hargun-s

@moonchhu

@mistymuii

Let me know what everyone thinks 🥹

[hsunrry]

new side // one shot

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: based on this request.

|| masterlist ||

words: ~1,5k

warnings: smut18+, dirty talking (degradation, praise), dom!harry, hair pulling, chocking, spitting, oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

saturdays are your movie nights. as you two were snuggled together on the couch in his apartment, sex scene started playing. you were looking concerned at it, since it was rough and, well… dirty. something you and Harry never tried before. he noticed your expression and he looked at you. “hey, you okay?” his voice soft and caring. he knew himself and his dominant nature, but he never showed it quite yet to you, since he didn’t wanted to scare you off or something.

“yeah, i’m just… i don’t know, we never did it like that before.” you shrugged, trying to not show how arousing this was to you. he looked at the screen and then back at you, his eyes filled with lust. he knew exactly what you were feeling, he could see it in your eyes.

“would you like that?” he asked, tilting your chin up so you’d look at him.

“i don’t know, maybe? i never tried it like that, but…” you bite inside of your cheek. “i feel things when i’m watching it.” his heart raced as he listened to your unsure words. he looked back at the screen again, his eyes lingering on rough sex for few seconds.

“let’s try it then.” he smiled, his thumb tracing your jaw. “if you don’t like it, we can stop.”

“okay.” you smiled, feeling him picking you up immediately and going upstairs to the bedroom, completely forgetting about the movie. he kicked the doors shut behind him with his leg, placing you down on the bed right after. he climbed on top of you, his hands roaming over your body possessively. he leaned down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.

“whenever you feel uncomfortable or you just want me to stop use the word ‘red’, okay?” you nodded quietly at his words, seeing something switching in his eyes at that, causing your body to get even hotter. he growled softly, his hand fisting in your hair and pulling your head back to expose your neck. he licked and bit at sensitive skin, leaving marks. his other hand roughly groped your breast through your shirt. small smile appeared on your lips when he did all of that. he looked at you with fire in his eyes, his touch growing more demanding. he tore off your shirt, buttons flying everywhere. his hands squeezed your naked flesh, since you didn’t had bra on yourself. his thumbs brushed over your nipples. “you like that, slut?” you only nodded, your breath getting heavier with his movements. he shook his head, his face darkening. “answer me. you like that?” his hands continued his rough assault, pinching your peaks hard.

“yes.” you gasped. he smiled approvingly. he sat up, taking his t-shirt off and standing up from the bed to unbutton his jeans, pulling them down along with his boxers. his hardened member sprang free. he gripped your arm, making you sit on the edge of the bed. he stood in front of you, his erection mere inches from your face. he tangled his fingers in your hair and gently but firmly guided you closer to it.

“open your mouth, slut. suck my cock.” his voice was low and commanding. you licked your lips, wrapping them around his dick. he moaned, his head falling back as your warm mouth engulfed him. he looked back down on you, his hand still in your hair. he began to rock his hips forward to match your movements. your pace quickened, making almost obscene noises as you took him to the hilt with your mouth. “you like that?” he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice thick with lust. “you like chocking on my cock?” you only managed to moan around him. he pulled out of your mouth, allowing you to breathe. you were breathing heavy, looking up at him. his hand gripped your chin, his thumb making you open your mouth again. he spit directly into it, his thumb smearing it across your lips. “i’m going to fuck your face now. take me like a good girl.” with that, he thrusts back into your mouth, immediately setting a brutal pace. your hand went on his hip to hold onto something and his hand went on yours to pin it to it. his other hand gripped your hair tightly, guiding your head to meet his powerful thrusts. the sound of your gagging filled the room, along with wet sounds and his moans. he locked his eyes with yours, his pupils dilated with lust. his jaw was clenched now as he watched your eyes watering. he grinned darkly, enjoying the sight. “you can take more, whore. you wanted this, yeah?” you managed to nod around him. he then redoubled his efforts, his hips moving forward brutally. he held your head still, forcing you to take his entire length down your throat. tears streamed down your face as you gagged and chocked on his cock, your throat constricting around him. “gonna fucking come, baby.” he panted, his head snapping back with loud moan when he finally reached his peak. his body convulsed as he emptied himself in your mouth. he slowly pulled out, breathing heavy. he looked down at you, your face wet with tears and saliva. “swallow it all.” you quickly obeyed, licking your lips. he chuckled, wiping his softening dick on your cheek. “good girl. i knew you could handle it.” he stepped back, grabbing your arm and pulled you up. “now, let’s see what other holes i can ruin tonight.” he grabbed your panties, ripping them off with one swift motion. you gasped at that feeling. he pushed you back on the bed, spreading your legs wide apart. he climbed between them, his eyes roaming shamelessly over your pussy. “so wet for me.” he spat on it, spreading it with his fingers. “i’m going to fuck this cunt raw.” with one thrust he pushed two digits inside, knuckles deep, making you moan. he pumped them in and out, curling them to hit your g-spot. his thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles. he leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. “beg for my cock, slut. i want to hear how badly you need it.”

“please Harry.” you moaned, when he started moving his fingers faster. he tutted disapprovingly.

“that’s not good enough. beg like you mean it.” he added third finger, stretching you wide. “beg or i’ll stop.”

“please, baby. i need your cock.” you whined, your hips bucking up. “i need you, fuck, please.”

“good girl.” he grinned, replacing his fingers with the head of his recovered erection. you both moaned as he pushed himself balls deep in one thrust. he gave you a moment to adjust before he started moving. his hips snapped back and forth, his breathing hot and heavy in your ear. his hands gripped your thighs, pulling you flush against him with each thrust. “so fucking good to me, best pussy.”

“oh my god.” you gasped, your back arching from intense pleasure.

“that’s right. fall apart for me.” his pace quickened. the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mixed with your mutual moans and gasps. his hand sneaked around your throat, squeezing lightly, just enough to make you lightheaded. his other hand went on your clit, rubbing tight circles. “come on, cum for me. soak my cock.” he angled his hips, hitting that special spot with each powerful thrust. “be a good little fucktoy.”

“oh my fucking god.” you gasped as his hand around your throat tightened. his pace became punishing, his body slamming into yours. “i’m gonna come.”

“mmm, good.” he nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. “scream it. let everyone know who you belong to.” he swelled inside you, his release nearing.

“Harry, fuck!” you cried out, squeezing his dick and squirting all over him. he moaned loudly, burying himself deep inside you. he came hard, his hot seed filling your pussy. he held you there, his cock throbbing inside you as he emptied himself completely.

“fuck, you’re mine. all fucking mine.” he panted. you were both breathing heavy. he slowly pulled out of you, his softening dick slipping free from your soaked cunt. he stood up. “stay like that.” you nodded, feeling him smacking your pussy and watching some of his cum leaking out. “such a good girl, took my load so well. i’m so proud of you.” he went to the bathroom, leaving you like that on the bed. your arm went over your eyes and you smiled to yourself. he cleaned himself up, returning to the room with warm washcloth. he laid down next to you, cleaning you gently. “so, did you enjoyed it that way? wasn’t it too rough?”

“it was good, i liked that.” you smiled, uncovering your eyes to look at him. he chuckled softly, touching your body delicately.

“good, because now i know you enjoyed it, it’ll happen more often.” he kissed your forehead.

[entitled-fangirl]

Violence through his veins.

Benjicot Blackwood x wife!reader

Summary: Benjicot is an overly nervous man around his wife, blushing every time. After the Battle at the Burning Mill, Benji exudes confidence. It throws her off.

Warnings: HEAVY talks of sex. Blood, war, violence, etc.

A/N: based on an ask! We get a little shy Ben, then a little Bloody Ben! It's the best of both worlds!!!

Masterlist

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She stepped down the stairs, paying more attention to the man that stood at the bottom of the staircase. 

Benjicot Blackwood stood at the bottom of the stairs. He was chatting lightly to a lord, not noticing her approaching yet. 

She took a moment to admire him. His broad shoulders flexed as he rolled them back. He no doubt wanted to crawl into a hole and not come back out. She was beginning to know him well just from his body language. 

The man he was talking to looked up, noticing her coming down the stairs. "My lady?"

Benji turned immediately at that. His eyes lit up at the sight of her. "My love?" He asked softly.

She hit the bottom step and stopped. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to interrupt you."

Benji let out a soft breath of relief. "No. That's fine." He excused himself from the man and held out his arm like a proper gentleman, which she took.

The two walked down the corridor in silence and she was the one to break it. "You looked miserable."

"Did I?" He immediately asked in concern, then relaxed. "Thought I was hiding it pretty well."

She hummed. "He didn't seem to notice."

"And you did?" 

She shrugged and tightened her grip on his bicep. "We're married."

His brows came together in thought. His heart felt a small jolt at the thought that she recognized his anxiety so easily. "We are," he agreed, "Is that how it works?"

"Well, I don't know in all honesty," she admitted. "But I know you fairly well."

"And I to you."

The silence continued as they continued to walk. It was comforting, and they found that they didn't mind it. But Benji's mind was wandering and he couldn't stop it. 

"Is that why you interrupted?"

She hummed in consideration of what to tell him. "A lady never interrupts on purpose."

His eyes met hers, and a blush crept over his cheeks. The two looked away. 

"I-I'll have to go soon. I have to patrol."

"You won't be here to sup?"

"No..."  

"Oh." She pulled her hand back and smoothed down her skirt. "Well, that's alright. How late will you be gone?"

He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I imagine before you sleep, though I'm unsure."

"I've been… missing you, as of late," she admitted with a flushed expression. 

His cheeks flushed as well. "H-Have you?"

"It has been a few days." She dared to reach out and brush over his shoulder. "The people are expecting us to do our duties."

"Is that the only reason?" His breathed out as the heat in his body rose. 

She stepped forward, placing a delicate kiss to his jaw. "No."

A small whine fell from his lips. His shaky hands made their way to her hips and his head tilted up to give her more room. 

She took advantage of it, nipping at his Adam's apple. 

He groaned. "I must go."

"Stay," she begged.

"I-I can't."

She placed her forehead on his chest. "But you'll be back soon?"

He brushed a hand through her hair. "As soon as I can be, my love."

…

The news of the Battle had sent her into a tailspin that evening. Her sweet husband in a battle with the Brackens?

When news was received that the battle had ended, she all but ran to the battlefield. The stable boy had handed her the reigns to her horse and she was off. 

Once upon the field, she took note of the numerous scattered bodies across the field. It panicked her more, knowing that her sweet Benjicot could be one of them. 

The small group of men across the field loudly chatted and yelled, no doubt celebrating their victory. They were crowded in a circle, all in Blackwood red.

She rode to them, and their attention turned to her. 

Benicot stepped out from the circle, his body covered head to toe in blood. His hair was smeared with the remains of his enemies, his eyes so dark, they were hard to spot through the blood. 

But that wasn't what was so alarming.

It was the confidence that oozed from his form. His shoulders were back, his chest puffed out in a way she'd never seen. His eyes held a fire to them, one that was now set on her. He sheathed his sword, opening his arms out. "The hell are you doing here?"

She jumped off of her horse, running to him. When within reach, her hands frantically moved over him, trying to figure out his injuries- if he even had any. It was so difficult to tell through the blood. "Are you hurt?"

His hands had instinctively moved to her waist, keeping her in a vice grip. "You sweet woman. So concerned for me, you journeyed into a battle, unsure if it was over yet?"

"Well… yes… I guess so-"

"Hear that boys?" He called over his shoulder. "The lady cares for her new Lord."

They cheered and quipped various things in response, but she heard none of them. "Benji? What do you mean? Is your father-"

"-Dead," he finished for her. "Died to a Bracken sword. And I killed the Bracken. First blood of the new Lord's sword is one of a Bracken! Isn't that joyful?"

Her face fell. "Oh, Benji. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" He gawked at her, and a sinister smile came over his face. "I'm Lord Blackwood now. And you are my Lady. Are you not incandescently happy?"

"Benjicot. Are you hurt?"

He shook his head and pulled her closer. "I've never felt more alive," he growled in her ear. 

She gripped him by his biceps, her fingers catching on the metal armor around him. "You're different."

His fingers squeezed her hips. "I'm alive," was his answer.

Her head picked up to look up at his face. He was staring down at her, his lips parted. The two took a moment to truly drink the other in. 

Benjicot's hand came up to her face and cupped her cheek. The contact made her eyes close for a moment, not caring about the blood that smeared across her cheek. 

"My heart is pounding," he admitted.

She braved a move, pushing herself firmly against him and kissing his lips softly. 

A groan sounded from within him, and he soon dipped his head down to catch her lips further. The kiss deepened heavily, the two beginning to fight for dominance. Their breaths mixed between kisses. 

"I'm taking you back to Raventree," he panted. "Now. I can't wait any longer for a taste of you."

He shouted something over his shoulder at the guys, all of them waving or voicing a bye of sorts, obviously trying to give the lustful man a little privacy. 

He spoke as he tugged her along. "The gods have made you just for me, haven't they?"

"I'm beginning to believe they have."

A smirk came across his face. "They have. And I for you. I know how well you take me."

Her face flushed. "I don't know what you're talking ab-"

He dug his heel into the dirt, stopping them and tugging her to him. It caught her off guard, but he caught her with ease. "You do," he pushed. "You know very well what I mean." He leaned forward slowly, as if trying to earn the trust of prey. His face tucked into the crook of her neck, beginning to kiss and lightly suck at the skin. "The way you take me is my proof that the gods are in my favor."

"Not-" her breath caught when he nipped a sensitive spot. "Not your victory over the Brackens?"

"No," he quickly answered, as if it was obvious.

"How much further to your horse?" She softly asked.

He took a deep breath against her, savoring each passing second of being consumed by the very thought of her. "Depends on how many times I have to stop to admire you."

She smiled and tugged at his hair playfully. He groaned. 

…

Seemed that when violence moved through his veins, so did confidence. Not that she minded. Both Benjis were perfect to her.

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[pretzel-box]

In case I haven't told you: I love you.

Streamer AU Chapter 10 [Finale]

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Established Relationship

Words: 9,4k

Authors Note: This is the official last chapter for this series and my blog. Thank you all for your support.

You sat on a chair at the kitchen counter, tinkering with your new keyboard. All the keycaps were pulled off as you swapped the old, plain ones for a custom set of resin-poured, sparkling caps. You’d spent a small fortune on these, enough to make even Sebastian raise an eyebrow as he walked by to grab a cup of coffee.

"You know, one of those caps could pay for my whole breakfast," he remarked, leaning over your shoulder and picking up one of the keys—the ESC key. It was a deep lapis lazuli blue mixed with a golden hue, with tiny koi fish suspended inside. The tiny keycap was a masterpiece all on its own, and even Sebastian’s gaze lingered a moment longer as he examined it.

You laughed, rolling your eyes as Sebastian inspected the tiny piece of art between his fingers. "I don’t hear you complaining when I splurge on things for you." You teased, nudging his arm playfully.

He smirked, setting the keycap down carefully, but not before his fingers brushed yours, lingering just a moment too long. "True, but I at least pretend to be reasonable about it." He countered, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin.

You arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh, is that so? I seem to remember a certain someone nearly buying an entire set of limited-edition streaming lights last month."

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Only because I knew it would make my streamer setup look amazing." His eyes sparkled as he held your gaze, the playful teasing fading just slightly, replaced with something softer, warmer.

"Well." You replied, trying to keep your composure despite the flutter in your chest, "Maybe I got these just to impress my favorite…roommate."

Sebastian laughed, a rich sound that made the moment feel more intimate. "Guess that means we both have good taste, then." he murmured, his fingers still lightly brushing against yours, as if neither of you wanted to pull away first.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you glanced over to the corner of the room, where Sebastian’s laundry basket sat conspicuously overflowing. "Good taste, sure." You replied, smirking. "Though maybe your taste in doing laundry could use some improvement."

Sebastian groaned, leaning back against the counter with an exaggerated sigh. "I knew there was a catch to all this charm."

"You’re lucky I didn’t toss it all in the tub and call it ‘artistic installation.’" You teased, poking him playfully. "But hey, since you’re such a reasonable spender, maybe you can be reasonable about getting those clothes folded sometime this century?"

He raised an eyebrow, smirking as he folded his arms. "Maybe if someone would promise to make dinner while I do it?"

You feigned a thoughtful look, tapping your chin as you eyed him. "Fine. But only if it’s one of those nights where you’re my sous-chef." You said. "You know, like last time, when you almost sliced your finger but made the best pasta I’ve ever tasted."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Deal. Just don’t get too used to me in the kitchen—I don’t want you thinking this roommate thing comes with free cooking classes."

You snickered, leaning a little closer. "Oh, please, you love being my sous-chef. Plus, I think I caught you enjoying it last time."

He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. "Maybe I did." He said, his voice low, his gaze flicking between you and the pile of ingredients waiting on the counter. "Guess I don’t mind spending a little extra time with my favorite chef."

"Alright, hun." You replied, giving him a playful nudge toward the fridge. "Let’s get to work before we both end up ordering takeout."

You pulled out a recipe card, tapping it on the counter thoughtfully as Sebastian finished stacking his laundry basket against the wall. “Tonight,” you announced, “we’re making risotto.”

Sebastian’s face lit up with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Risotto, huh? I thought that was, like, advanced level.”

You gave him a mock serious nod. “It is, but don’t worry—under my expert guidance, I’m sure you’ll rise to the challenge.” You winked, grabbing an apron and tossing one his way. He caught it midair and slipped it over his head, looking surprisingly domestic in the soft light of the kitchen.

The two of you moved around the kitchen, gathering ingredients. Sebastian was on vegetable duty, meticulously chopping onions and garlic, his brows furrowed as he concentrated. You snuck a peek at his handiwork, grinning.

“Not bad.” You said approvingly, bumping his shoulder with yours. “I think you’re getting the hang of this.”

“Only because I have an exceptional teacher.” He replied smoothly, flashing you a grin. “Though,” he added with a chuckle, “I’m pretty sure you gave me onions just to make me cry.”

You laughed, watching him chop with surprising finesse. “I have a weakness for pretty boys with tears in their lashes. Onions aside, I think you’re ready to take on the mushrooms.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking at the bowl of fresh mushrooms with a dramatic sigh. “You’re sure this isn’t just you delegating all the tough parts?”

“Maybe.” You said with a smirk. “But also, mushrooms need love, and you seem like the right person for the job.”

While he chopped mushrooms, you turned your attention to heating up a pot of vegetable broth on the stove. The savory aroma of garlic and onion began to fill the kitchen, and you stirred the mixture in a pan, glancing over at Sebastian as he focused intently on his task.

After a while, he leaned over to inspect your progress, watching as you stirred the rice, coating it in the golden mix of garlic, onion, and butter. “Looks like you’re the expert risotto-stirrer.” He teased, resting his chin on your shoulder for a brief moment. “When do I get to try?”

You nudged him with your elbow, laughing. “Soon, sous-chef. I have to make sure it’s just right.”

He watched, fascinated, as you added a ladle of hot broth to the pan, explaining as you went. “See? You don’t add it all at once. You let each addition of broth absorb before adding more. It’s all about patience.”

“Patience?” he repeated, giving you an amused look. “Not exactly my strongest trait.”

You raised an eyebrow, shooting him a grin. “Well, consider this your culinary crash course in patience.”

For the next twenty minutes, you took turns stirring and adding broth, chatting in between as you shared old memories, random stories, and silly jokes. There was something intimate about the process, each of you moving with careful rhythm, enjoying each other’s company in the warm, quiet space of the kitchen.

"Remember that time we played that cooking game on stream with just one arm each? And you fried a rat?" Sebastian laughed, recalling the iconic moment. It was one of your very first streams together.

You gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me! You told me to be culinarily creative for our dear customers."

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, his laughter warm and unrestrained. "Oh, I remember. How could I forget? You had the chat in absolute stitches when you served that poor pixelated rat like it was a five-star dish."

You placed a hand over your chest, feigning offense. "Excuse me! I was merely following instructions. You explicitly told me to be ‘culinarily creative for our loving customers.’ I just… took it to heart."

Sebastian wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. "And you succeeded, alright. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so passionate about frying something that was absolutely, one hundred percent not food." He mimed holding a frying pan, doing his best impression of you earnestly plating up the rat. “Gourmet rat, fresh from the chef’s hands.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his impression, remembering how you’d tried so hard to keep a straight face on stream, while the chat had been exploding with laughter. "Hey, I’d like to point out that I even garnished it with a sprinkle of virtual parsley."

"Yeah, and I had to pretend it was edible." Sebastian replied, still grinning. "The things I do for the art of streaming."

With a grin, you shrugged. “Guess it just shows what a great team we make, right? You keep up appearances, and I…” You paused, smirking, “I make the riskiest, most questionable food decisions.”

He looked down at you, his smile softening as he held your gaze. "Yeah." He murmured, "I guess it really does. We’re one heck of a team."

There was a gentle silence, one filled with warmth, as you both let the memories linger, the familiarity and playfulness wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. After a moment, you nudged his arm. "So, cooking game or real life—think you’re ready for another ‘creative’ culinary adventure with me?"

He chuckled, leaning a little closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Only if you promise me no rats this time."

At one point, he reached over and brushed a stray bit of flour off your cheek, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You’ve got a little something there.” He murmured, his eyes meeting yours with a soft expression that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thanks.” you replied, your voice a little softer than intended.

With the risotto nearly ready, you handed him a wooden spoon. “Alright, sous-chef. Moment of truth—taste test.”

Sebastian took the spoon from you, giving you an exaggerated nod before taking a careful bite. His eyes lit up as he tasted the creamy, savory dish. “Wow,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “I actually helped make this? Totally doesn't taste like pixel rat.”

“See?” you replied, laughing. “You’ve got more culinary skills than you think.”

He laughed, taking another spoonful. “Okay, I’ll admit, this is pretty fun. You might turn me into a chef yet.”

Together, you plated the risotto, sprinkling a bit of parmesan and fresh parsley on top. You each carried a plate to the small dining table, which you’d quickly decorated with a candle and a couple of mismatched napkins to make it feel a bit more special.

Sitting across from him, you clinked your fork against his with a grin. “To our first official cooking date.” You said, feeling a mix of pride and warmth.

“To the world’s most patient teacher.” He added, giving you a smile that made your cheeks warm.

You ate slowly, savoring not just the food, but the easy conversation and gentle glances shared between bites. Occasionally, he’d sneak his fork onto your plate, taking an extra bite with a laugh as you swatted at his hand.

After finishing, you both lingered at the table, caught in the comfortable glow of shared laughter and the lingering warmth of the meal. Finally, as you stood to clear the plates, Sebastian reached over, gently grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“You know.” he said softly, his gaze holding yours, “I think I’m starting to like cooking. Especially if it means nights like this.”

His hand stayed warm against your skin, and for a moment, you forgot about the dishes, the kitchen, everything around you.

“Well.” you replied with a smile, “Then I guess we’ll have to make it a tradition.”

He nodded, his smile softening as he released your hand, but not before giving it a light, lingering squeeze that promised many more evenings like this one.

The laughter still lingered in the air as you finished washing up from dinner, the lingering warmth from the meal creating a quiet, comfortable bubble around the two of you. Sebastian was drying the last of the dishes, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he talked about what to stream next week, teasing the idea of recreating your infamous “gourmet rat” moment in real life.

But then, a sharp knock echoed from the front door, slicing through the ease of the evening. You both paused, glancing at each other, puzzled by the unexpected sound. Who would be stopping by at this hour?

“I’ll get it.” He murmured, his voice low, as he dried his hands on a dish towel. You watched as he walked toward the door, pulling it open with a curious, cautious expression. But when he looked up, his whole face shifted. There, standing in the dim light of the hallway, were two police officers. Their stern faces were blank, unreadable, and behind them, a few more officers were stationed just outside. The sight of them sent an uneasy chill through you, and your stomach twisted.

“Sebastian Solace?” The officer closest to him asked, voice flat and all business. Sebastian blinked, bewildered.

“Yes? Is something wrong?” He asked, looking back at you as if trying to gauge if you knew anything about this. But before you could even register the question, the officer took a step forward, holding out a pair of handcuffs. It was like a perfect scene from your favourite drama, as if the characters jumped out of the television to fool you.

“Mr. Solace, you’re under arrest on suspicion of multiple homicides.” The officer said, his words like thunder in the silent apartment. “Please turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words took a moment to sink in, and when they did, it felt like the air had been ripped from the room. You stood frozen, mouth open, as Sebastian’s face went from confusion to utter shock.

“What?” He stammered, voice thick with disbelief. “There must be some mistake—I haven’t done anything. I don’t even—” But the officer was already reaching for his wrists, pulling them behind his back as he clicked the cuffs into place with a heavy metallic clink that reverberated in the space. The sound was sharp, final.

"Wait!" You exclaimed, stepping forward as panic washed over you. “This is insane! You can’t just—he hasn’t done anything! Sebastian couldn’t—”

The second officer turned toward you, his gaze steely. “Ma’am, I understand this is a shock, but please step back. We have probable cause, and Mr. Solace will be given the chance to explain himself at the station.”

Sebastian’s head turned, eyes wide as they locked onto yours. "I… I don’t know what’s going on," He said, his voice wavering as he struggled to keep calm. "I didn’t… I didn’t do anything." His eyes, usually filled with easy confidence and warmth, were filled with a mixture of confusion and fear, a look you had never seen on his face before.

“I know you didn’t.” You managed, voice choked. “This has to be a mistake. Tell them!”

But the officers were unmoved, beginning to guide him out the door, leaving you standing in the hallway, rooted in disbelief. You reached for his hand one last time, and he turned to you, gripping your fingers tightly, as if that small touch was an anchor. “It’s okay.” He said quietly, though the panic in his voice was clear. “I’ll sort this out. Don’t… don’t worry about me.”

But how could you not? How could you let them take him, when you knew deep down, in every part of you, that Sebastian was incapable of such a thing?

As they led him out, each step growing heavier, you were left alone in the silence, the stillness deafening. Sebastian’s plate was still on the table, his jacket draped over the back of the chair. It was as if he had only stepped out for a moment, and yet, he was gone. You could still feel the lingering warmth of his hand in yours, the echo of his words ringing in your mind.

You stumbled back against the counter, struggling to breathe as the weight of what just happened settled on you. Someone had framed him. Someone had set up this impossible, unfathomable trap, and Sebastian had walked right into it. And now, the life you’d built together—the quiet mornings, the shared streams, the countless inside jokes—all of it hung in the balance.

“Sebastian…” You whispered, gripping the edge of the counter as if you could steady yourself through sheer will. Your mind raced, images of him, terrified and alone, the weight of this false accusation pressing down on him. You had to do something. You couldn’t just stand by while the man you loved was being treated like a monster.

But as you looked around the quiet, empty apartment, you felt the sinking realization that things would never be the same. The warmth and laughter of the evening had been replaced by a cold, harsh reality, one that you couldn’t ignore. And as you stood there, a single, urgent thought echoed in your mind, louder and louder with each passing second. This couldn't be how it ends.

Hours passed in a blur, each moment more surreal than the last. You sat at the kitchen table, hands clutching a mug of tea you hadn’t even touched. The entire apartment was in disarray: Police officers moved from room to room, rifling through closets, drawers, and even the cabinets in search of… what? Evidence of Sebastian’s so-called crimes?

The entire scene felt like a waking nightmare. You watched in despair as they moved into Sebastian’s room, handling his belongings like they were pieces of some sinister puzzle, prying through his private life without hesitation. The familiar warmth and comfort of the apartment was stripped away, replaced by the cold efficiency of strangers treating your life as a crime scene.

“Ma’am?” A voice jolted you from your thoughts. One of the officers, Detective Hall, took the seat across from you, fixing you with a hard, calculating stare. He placed a notepad on the table and flipped it open, pen poised, ready to capture your every word. This wasn't just a small round of questions. It felt like the pen was a gun that he was holding against your forhead, wanting you to say that he wanted to hear and not the truth you believed in.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steel yourself. “I already told you.” You said, voice barely above a whisper, it was slightly shaking from the pressure. Your whole personality crumbled under the sheer panic. “Sebastian didn’t do this. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Detective Hall tilted his head, his lips curling into a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you want to believe that, but I have to be honest. The evidence suggests otherwise.”

You swallowed, fighting to keep your voice steady. “He’s kind, thoughtful… there’s no way he’d ever—”

“Let’s go over this again.” The detective interrupted, his tone patient yet cold. “You’ve been living with Mr. Solace for some time, yes?”

“Yes.” You answered, nodding slowly. “Some time...”

“And during that time, have you ever noticed anything… unusual about him? Unexplained absences, strange behavior, anything that might seem insignificant but could have been a red flag?”

The question felt like a trap, and you shook your head quickly, heart pounding. “No. Nothing like that. He’s just—he’s always been a good person. A little messy with his stuff sometimes, but that’s it. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Any wrong word could mean Sebastians end. Saying less means providing more support for your boyfriend.

Detective Hall leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Are you sure you’re not trying to protect him? It’s natural to want to defend someone close to you, but sometimes… people can hide dark sides we don’t see.”

“No, you don’t understand—Sebastian’s innocent.” You insisted, feeling the words burn on your tongue. “He wouldn’t—”

“But he did.” Hall’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air with brutal efficiency. He fired the imaginary gun at you with the following statement. “We’ve found DNA evidence at multiple crime scenes that match Mr. Solace’s. His fingerprints, his hair… even traces of his blood.”

The room spun for a moment as his words hit you like a physical blow. You gripped the edge of the table, forcing yourself to process the revelation. DNA evidence? It made no sense. How could that be possible?

“That… that can’t be right.” You stammered, shaking your head in disbelief. “There has to be a mistake. Maybe it’s someone who looks like him, or maybe the samples were contaminated—”

Detective Hall raised a brow, as if amused by your attempts to explain it away. “It’s no mistake. We’ve triple-checked. Mr. Solace’s DNA was found at every single crime scene. This isn’t a matter of chance or coincidence.”

You felt the weight of those words settle heavily, like stones in your chest. This was the kind of evidence that would seal a conviction, the kind of irrefutable proof that would convince a jury. But you knew Sebastian. You knew his heart, his kindness, his gentleness.

“He’s… he’s been with me.” You whispered, half a lie, desperation slipping into your voice. “We’re always together. If he was gone, I would have noticed. He’s not… he’s not capable of this.” There where times, where he was alone. You knew you couldn't cover Sebastian in that part.

„Well, last week, monday evening around 7...Where was he? With you?“ „Well he wasn't with m-“ „Then he wasn't always with you. Listen, we just wanna solve this case. This isn't a witch hunt to spill innocent blood.“ Hall’s gaze softened for a brief moment, as if he pitied you, but his tone was unwavering. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think, ma’am. It’s possible that there are sides to people we love that we never see. You wouldn’t be the first to be blindsided.”

Anger and frustration flared within you, mixed with helplessness as you struggled to find the right words. “No… you’re wrong. You have to be. He’s innocent. I don’t know how his DNA got there, but I know him, and he’s not a murderer.”

Detective Hall sighed, closing his notebook as he got up, leaving you trembling at the table. “I understand this is difficult to accept.” He said, his voice almost condescending. “But it’s better if you start facing the facts. If you think of anything—anything at all—that could help us, I suggest you reach out.”

You watched as he walked away, his words echoing in your mind like a curse. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, suffocating in their familiarity. Your hands trembled as you clutched the edge of the table, the mug of tea long forgotten and cold.

Detective Hall’s words echoed in your mind like a haunting refrain. DNA evidence. Fingerprints. Hair. You had fought so hard against the growing sense of dread, clinging to the belief that there had to be some explanation, some way to rationalize it all. But as time passed, the weight of those words settled on your chest, heavy and inescapable.

The more you thought about it, the more the pieces started to come together in a way that made your stomach churn. Sebastian’s late nights spent in the studio, the times he seemed distracted or distant, the odd comments he’d made that you’d brushed off as quirky or eccentric. What if there had been more going on?

You felt your breath quickening, the panic rising in your throat like a tide. The laughter and warmth of earlier days felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the horror that now loomed over you. How could you have been so naive? How could you have trusted him so completely?

Suddenly, it felt as if the walls themselves were pressing in on you, closing around your heart until you could hardly breathe. “No, no, no.” You whispered to yourself, shaking your head furiously. “He can’t be guilty. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t…”

But as you said it, doubt crept into your heart like a dark shadow. The evidence was overwhelming, and deep down, you knew it. There was a part of you that wanted to scream, to deny the truth, but the realization that the person you loved might be capable of something so horrific shattered your defenses.

You stood abruptly, pushing away from the table as your chair clattered to the ground. Your heart raced, and you stumbled into the living room, pacing back and forth as tears began to stream down your cheeks. “Sebastian… how could you?” The question hung in the air, heavy and full of anguish.

You could see his face in your mind—the smile that lit up his eyes, the kindness in his voice, the way he made you feel safe. But now, the image began to twist, tainted by the knowledge that he might be hiding something monstrous. You pressed your hands against your temples, fighting against the overwhelming sense of betrayal that surged within you.

What if the good times had all been a facade? What if he had been playing you all along?

Your legs gave out, and you sank to the floor, sobs breaking free as your entire world collapsed around you. The warmth of the apartment, once a sanctuary, felt like a prison. You buried your face in your hands, the weight of despair crushing you. “I believed in you.” You cried, voice muffled against your palms. “How could you do this to me?”

The sobs wracked your body, and you could feel your heart fracturing with every breath. The pain was all-consuming, a tempest of emotions swirling within you—anger, betrayal, sorrow. You felt utterly alone, abandoned in a nightmare you couldn’t escape.

It felt as if the walls themselves echoed your despair, a cruel reminder that you were trapped in this reality. The tears flowed freely, and you gasped for air, each breath feeling like a betrayal to the love you once held so fiercely. “Sebastian.” You choked out, the name a whisper tinged with heartbreak. “Please tell me this isn’t true…”

But deep down, a seed of doubt took root, a dark whisper that you couldn’t silence. And as you sat there, broken on the floor, you realized with chilling clarity that you might have to confront a truth you were terrified to face. Sebastian’s guilt. The possibility that the man you had loved so completely could be the monster hiding in plain sight.

The thought sent another wave of anguish crashing over you, and you curled into yourself, the weight of despair dragging you down into the depths of an all-consuming darkness.

The days turned into weeks, and the world outside faded into a distant blur. You had once filled your life with laughter and joy, sharing your passions and adventures with Sebastian on stream. But now, the only sound that echoed in the emptiness of your apartment was the relentless ticking of the clock, a constant reminder of the time that had passed since he was taken from you.

Sebastian’s execution had felt surreal, a nightmarish sequence that played out in slow motion. You had sat in the courtroom, heart pounding, as the gavel struck down on his fate, each word from the judge slicing through you like glass. “Guilty.” The word had reverberated in your mind, drowning out everything else. The cheers from those who had come to watch felt like daggers in your back, as you struggled to comprehend how the world could move on when yours had shattered.

In the days following, you had retreated into yourself, cocooning in the memories of what once was. The apartment felt hollow, the air heavy with the absence of his laughter and warmth. You’d tried to continue with your life, but every attempt felt futile. The vibrant colors of your past had drained away, leaving only shades of gray.

You found yourself staring at the walls, the pictures of you and Sebastian hanging like ghosts of a happier time. You avoided the streaming setup, the computer untouched and gathering dust. You couldn’t bear the thought of performing for an audience that had reveled in the spectacle of his downfall. The playful banter, the inside jokes—everything that had once felt like second nature was now suffocating.

It was in this state of isolation that you began to notice the ringing phone, the unknown number flashing on the screen each time. It became an annoyance, a constant reminder of the outside world that you had closed off. You ignored it at first, but as the calls persisted, you felt an overwhelming urge to pick up and shout into the void, to let whoever was on the other end know that you didn’t care. You were done.

“Just let it go.” You whispered to yourself, gripping the phone tightly in your hand, willing it to stop. But it only rang louder, taunting you, as if demanding a response. It felt like a ghost of your past, lingering reminders of what you had lost. You buried your face in your hands, tears streaming down your cheeks as you mourned for Sebastian—the man who had filled your life with love, laughter, and joy.

Days turned into weeks, and you often found yourself walking the familiar paths that you had taken together, hoping to feel a connection to him, to find something that could ease the ache in your heart. You walked to the small coffee shop where you’d spent countless mornings, the barista greeting you with a sad smile as if he could see the heaviness in your soul.

“Are you okay?” He asked gently, his voice low as he handed you your usual drink.

You forced a smile that felt hollow. “Yeah, just… missing a friend.” You replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, understanding etched in his features. “Take your time. We’re here for you if you need anything. I'm sure your friend will return soon.”

You returned to the apartment, the silence greeting you like an old friend. It was a comfort and a torment all at once, the echoes of Sebastian’s laughter haunting you at every turn. You stumbled through the rooms, feeling his presence everywhere, yet completely gone. The kitchen was a battlefield of untouched dishes, and the living room still bore witness to the chaos of that fateful night.

And yet, you felt compelled to keep ignoring the outside world. You and Sebastian had built a sanctuary here, and now it felt like a tomb—a space to remember and mourn, but also to be consumed by grief. You couldn’t bear the thought of facing Painter, or anyone else who might remind you of what you’d lost. Their calls went unanswered, your heart too heavy to even think of engaging with anyone.

But one night, as you sat curled up on the couch, a sudden urge struck you. You picked up the phone, thumb hovering over the contact list. It was almost automatic, a reflex driven by a desire to feel connected to someone, even if it was only a shadow of what you had with Sebastian. You clicked on Painter’s name, your heart racing as you prepared to dial. But just as your finger touched the screen, the phone rang again, the same unknown number flashing before you.

You hesitated, a surge of anger rising within you. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” you cried out into the stillness, your voice trembling with a whirlwind of emotion. You had no strength left to deal with this mystery, this constant reminder of a life that felt irretrievably lost.

With a trembling hand, you answered the call. “Hello?” The word felt foreign on your tongue, like a brittle leaf falling from a tree in autumn.

A pause followed, stretching into an eternity, and then a voice emerged from the silence, dripping with smugness and taunting glee. “A wonderful evening, isn’t it?”

Recognition hit you like a slap, anger and disbelief coiling in your stomach. “Who is this?” You demanded, your heart racing as you tried to mask the tremor in your voice.

“It’s me… Allison.” She said, and you could almost hear the smirk in her tone. “I’ve been trying to reach you. You see, I want to meet you. In person.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The mere mention of her name felt like a punch to your gut. “What do you want?” You spat, the words sharp and laced with hurt, a raw wound that refused to heal.

“Oh, come now.” She chided, her voice honeyed yet poisonous. “You must know by now that I have the information you crave. The kind of juicy details that could change everything. And let’s be honest, you could use a little excitement in your life after all that’s happened.”

You could almost picture her, leaning back in some luxurious chair, a smug smile on her lips, relishing every moment of your turmoil. “What makes you think I’d want to hear anything from you?” You countered, trying to maintain the semblance of strength. But beneath your bravado, you were shaken, your heart aching at the memories that flooded back, memories of trust and betrayal.

“I know you’re hurting.” Allison pressed, her tone shifting, turning almost persuasive. “But the truth is, I hold the keys to unlocking the real story. You think you know what happened? Think again. Sebastian’s innocence? It’s a farce, darling.” She laughed lightly, and it sent a chill down your spine. “You need to hear what I have to say.”

A cold dread settled in your chest, mingling with your fury. How could she speak of Sebastian like that? Your mind raced with confusion and anger, torn between the desire to protect his memory and the nagging curiosity of what she might reveal. “What do you mean?” You demanded, your voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m not going to just give it away.” She cooed, her tone patronizing, like she was speaking to a child. “But I promise you, once you hear me out, everything will make sense. This isn’t just about Sebastian. It’s about the bigger picture. The real culprits behind the chaos that’s torn your life apart. And believe me, darling, it’s going to be quite a revelation.”

A sick feeling settled in your stomach as you wrestled with your emotions. You were weary of being trapped in this darkness, of the isolation that suffocated you. But could you trust her? Deep down, you felt that small flicker of hope—the chance that perhaps, just perhaps, she might hold some truth that could change everything.

“Fine.” You said finally, your voice steadying as you took a deep breath. “But this better be good. I don’t have time for games, Allison.”

“Good! Meet me at the park, by the fountain. You know the one. Tomorrow at noon. Come alone.” She instructed, her tone brisk and commanding, as if she knew you’d comply without question.

The line went dead, and you stared at the phone in disbelief, a storm of emotions swirling within you. You felt the shadows of your grief deepen, intertwining with the threads of a truth you had yet to confront. What was she playing at? Was this a trap? But the thought of Sebastian’s name hanging in the air like a ghost pulled at you, urging you to seek answers, no matter how painful they might be.

You spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, the weight of uncertainty heavy on your chest. As the sun rose the next morning, you felt a mix of dread and determination settle in your bones. You had to know the truth, even if it meant facing the very person who had turned your world upside down. You were willing to confront your fears if it meant uncovering the secrets buried in the shadows of your past.

As you prepared to leave, a part of you wondered what you would discover in that conversation. Would it bring you closer to the truth, or would it only lead to more heartbreak? Only time would tell, but one thing was certain: You were no longer willing to let fear dictate your life. Today, you would seek the truth, whatever the cost.

The morning air was crisp as you made your way to the park, your heart pounding in your chest with each step. The sun peeked through the branches of the trees, casting dappled shadows on the path ahead. As you approached the fountain, a wave of nausea washed over you. You had no idea what to expect from your encounter with Allison, but the tension was palpable, thickening the air around you.

You spotted her seated on a bench, casually flicking through her phone, the picture of nonchalance. She looked up as you approached, a smile playing on her lips that sent a chill down your spine. “You came.” She said, her voice light as if you were simply meeting for coffee.

“I’m not here to play games, Allison.” You said, forcing your voice to steady despite the tremor in your hands. “What do you want?”

She motioned for you to sit, and despite every instinct telling you to run, you complied, tension coiling in your stomach. “I wanted to talk about Sebastian.” She said, her tone shifting to something more serious. “You need to understand the truth of what happened.”

“The truth?” you echoed, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. “What do you know about the truth?”

Allison leaned closer, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something darker. “Oh, darling, I know everything. I know what you’ve been through, the heartbreak, the isolation. I know you still believe in Sebastian’s innocence.” She paused, savoring your reaction. “But here’s the thing: He’s not innocent. Not in the way you think.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “What are you talking about?” You shook your head, trying to deny the implications of her words. “Sebastian would never—”

“Would never what?” She interrupted, her voice rising with feigned innocence. “Kill? You see, it’s easy to point fingers, especially when the truth is so beautifully complicated.” She leaned back, a smirk spreading across her face. “And I should know, because I orchestrated it all.”

A cold dread settled over you, a sickening realization dawning. “You’re lying,” you said weakly, but even as you spoke, the pieces began to click into place. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “I took my time, did my research. I switched out evidence, planted things to frame him perfectly. You see, the cops would never suspect the innocent ex-girlfriend, would they?” Her eyes sparkled with malice. “And I had just the plan to make sure it all fell into place.”

“Why? Why would you do this?” The words came out as a choked whisper, your heart racing as the reality of her confession settled in. “What did Sebastian ever do to you?”

Allison laughed, a cruel, mirthless sound. “Oh, sweetie, it was never about Sebastian. It was about you. I wanted to see you broken, to watch your world crumble. You had everything I wanted—his affection, his attention, his life. I just thought it would be so much fun to take it all away.” She paused, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “And I must say, it’s been quite the show.”

“Stop it!” You shouted, your voice rising in desperation. “You can’t keep getting away with this. I’ll go to the police. I’ll tell them everything!”

“Oh, but you won’t.” She purred, leaning closer, her voice low and threatening. “Because I’ve already taken care of that. The evidence against Sebastian is airtight. His DNA was at the scenes, his clothes were planted. I even collected hair samples—he won’t be able to escape this.”

You felt your world tilt, your heart racing as the realization hit you. She was right: She had manipulated everything, and there was nothing you could do to stop her. “You’re insane.” You whispered, your body shaking with disbelief. “You can’t just play with people’s lives like this!”

“Why not?” Allison shrugged, her expression unfazed. “Life is a game, and I simply play to win. And right now, you’re just a pawn in my little chess match.”

A shuddering breath escaped you as the weight of her words crushed down on you. “You’re a monster.” You said, fighting back tears.

“Perhaps.” She said, her smile widening. “But I’m the one in control here. And you’re left with nothing but the truth—a truth that will haunt you for the rest of your life. Think of the fun you’ll have trying to navigate this new reality.”

You felt your heart break all over again, shattering into a million irretrievable pieces. “You can’t get away with this.” You said, but your voice lacked the conviction it once held.

“Oh, but I already have.” She replied, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “And if you’re smart, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Otherwise, who knows what might happen next?”

The weight of her threat hung heavy in the air, and you realized the truth of her power over you. The world felt like it was closing in, your vision blurring as the enormity of it all washed over you. With a sickening feeling of despair, you understood that you were utterly alone in this twisted game.

As you rose from the bench, every part of you screamed to run, to escape the grip of her twisted reality. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t. Not yet. The fight was far from over, but now, it was a fight for survival, and you had to gather every ounce of strength to confront the darkness that threatened to consume you. The battle was just beginning, and you would not let her win.

You stepped back, shaking your head as if that could somehow dispel the reality of the situation. “You’re delusional, Allison.” You said, but the conviction in your voice was wavering. “This can’t be real. You didn’t plan all of this from the beginning.”

Allison laughed again, a sound that echoed through the park like a chilling wind. “Oh, but it is real, darling. Every moment we spent together, every laugh we shared on those calls, it was all a performance. I played the role of the girlfriend to perfection, didn’t I?” She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a manic energy. “I had you all wrapped around my little finger, believing I on his side while I was orchestrating your downfall.”

Your heart raced as you felt the blood drain from your face. “No… No, you can’t mean that.” You stammered, disbelief mingling with a sickening realization. “You were there when Sebastian was arrested in court. You acted like you cared!���

“Cared?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I was reveling in your pain! Watching you grieve over someone you believed was innocent while I knew the truth all along was the highlight of my little game.” She paused, her expression shifting to something darker. “And the best part? I’ll always be three steps ahead of you.”

The breath caught in your throat, a chill running down your spine. “You’re a monster.” You whispered, your voice trembling. “How can you do this?”

“Because it’s fun.” She simply repeated, shrugging her shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “And let’s be real: I’m the only one who understands the beauty in chaos. This world is just a stage, and I’m the star of my own show.”

Every word dripped with malice, a taunting melody that twisted your insides. “You’re not a star, Allison. You’re just a pathetic coward hiding behind a mask of cruelty.”

She tilted her head, a smirk still playing on her lips. “But it’s the mask that gives me power, don’t you see? I can walk into any room and make people believe whatever I want them to believe. I’ve turned everyone against Sebastian. The evidence I planted, the stories I twisted—it’s all there. You can’t change the narrative once it’s set in stone.”

A fresh wave of anger surged through you, igniting a spark of defiance. “I won’t let you do this. I’ll find a way to expose you!”

“Oh, sweet naïve darling.” She mocked, her laughter sharp and cruel. “You think anyone will believe you? You’re just the broken girlfriend of a murderer. Who would trust your word against the solid evidence I’ve crafted? You’ll be seen as the girl who couldn’t let go, who couldn’t accept that her boyfriend was a monster.”

You felt your heart shatter all over again, each piece piercing you deeper. The weight of her manipulation suffocated you, leaving you gasping for air. “Why, Allison? Why all this?” You begged, desperation creeping into your voice. “What did you gain from ruining our lives?”

She leaned back, crossing her arms with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “I told you. It’s all a game, and I just wanted to see how far I could push you. I wanted to watch you crumble, to see you lose everything you held dear. It was beautiful, really. Watching you struggle to come to terms with Sebastian’s guilt while I quietly reveled in your despair.”

As her words sank in, a wave of grief crashed over you, threatening to drown you in its depths. “You’re sick.” You murmured, tears brimming in your eyes. “You’re not a person...“

“Call me what you want.” She said, her tone breezy, as if your words didn’t affect her. “The truth is, I’m the only one left standing. You’re the one who has lost everything, and I’m just getting started.”

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. She was right. You had been so focused on saving Sebastian that you hadn’t seen the bigger picture—the twisted web she had spun around you both. You felt like a marionette, dancing to her strings, and the weight of your helplessness crashed down on you.

“And trust me, darling, I plan to keep it that way. The game has just begun, and you’re the perfect player. Let’s see how long you last.”

With that, she stood up, brushing off her clothes with a dismissive gesture. “I’ll be watching, of course. You won’t be able to escape me, not when I’m always just a step away, waiting for you to make your next move.”

As she turned to walk away, her laughter echoed behind her, a haunting reminder of the chaos she had unleashed in your life. You felt the tears finally spill over, hot and angry, as the weight of betrayal and loss crashed down around you.

The heavy silence of the dimly lit store enveloped Allison as she stepped through the door, the creak of the hinges echoing through the darkness. The air felt thick, laden with anticipation, and she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her. The usual comforting scents of paint and wood shavings were replaced by an unsettling stillness that set her on edge.

“Painter?” She called, her voice slicing through the gloom, only to be met with silence. She squinted, trying to make out any shapes in the shadows, but the darkness felt alive, shifting around her as if it were aware of her presence.

A moment later, a soft click broke the stillness as a solitary bulb flickered to life, casting a weak glow across the room. Painter sat behind the counter, his features partially obscured in shadow, but the intensity of his gaze was unmistakable. He leaned forward, his hands clasped around a canvas and some expensive painting tools as he sketched, and the tension in the air thickened.

“Well?” He asked, his voice low and steady. He didn't bothered to even glance at her. “How did it go?”

Allison stepped closer, her heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. “It went exactly as I planned.” She replied, a smirk creeping onto her lips. “She’s fragile, Painter. Perfectly broken, just like we wanted. The meeting was… enlightening.”

Painter’s expression remained unreadable, but the way he tilted his head indicated he was hanging on her every word. “Enlightening how?” He pressed, his voice sharp.

“She is ready for the next step.” Allison continued, the thrill of her deception washing over her like a warm wave. “I spun the tale beautifully—she’s drowning in despair. I made sure to emphasize how she was the one left behind, how she had been played all along.”

“Good.” Painter replied, nodding slowly. “You have her right where we need her. But what about your end of the bargain? You have what you promised me?”

Allison laughed, a sound laced with a hint of darkness. “Of course. Everything is in place. I took care of the evidence. The hair samples, the clothes. No one will ever suspect a thing. It’s all beautifully orchestrated, just like a well-crafted film.”

Painter’s eyes gleamed with interest, and he leaned back, a satisfied smile slowly spreading across his face. “You’ve truly outdone yourself, Allison. I knew I could count on you to bring chaos to life.”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s just another day in our little game, isn’t it? But let’s be clear: I’m not here to play forever. I want my reward.”

“You’ll get it.” Painter assured her, his tone serious now. “But remember, the game isn’t over yet. There’s still more to be done.“

“I’m already steps ahead,” Allison replied, her confidence bubbling over. “She has no idea who’s really pulling the strings. With Sebastian out of the picture, and with me in her life pretending to the enemy, I can manipulate her emotions. It’s a beautiful arrangement.”

“Just ensure she doesn’t catch on too quickly.” Painter cautioned, a warning lacing his words. “Her grief could turn into something more dangerous if she realizes she’s being played.”

Allison waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. I know how to handle her. Besides, she’s already broken. It won’t take much to keep her under my control.”

“Good.” Painter said, satisfaction evident in his voice. “Let’s keep her that way. I have plans for her, and we need her to stay in line.”

As the weight of their conversation settled around them, a shared understanding ignited in the darkness. They were both architects of chaos, and together they would build a world that thrived on manipulation and deceit.

Allison stepped back, a grin spreading across her face. “This is just the beginning, Painter. I can’t wait to see how this unfolds.”

Painter leaned back in his chair, a gleam of malice in his eyes. “Neither can I. But remember, the shadows are watching, and we must stay one step ahead. Let’s make sure that the show goes on.”

With that, the two conspirators shared a knowing glance, the darkness of the store wrapping around them like a cloak, sealing their plans in the hushed stillness of the night. The game was far from over, and they were ready to play.

In the dim, cluttered backroom of the art studio, the air was thick with an oppressive silence, broken only by the soft scratching of Painter’s pencil against the canvas. Each stroke was deliberate, each line imbued with a manic energy that crackled like electricity in the air. As he meticulously worked on capturing your likeness, the glee within him grew, bubbling to the surface like a sinister tide.

The whole sequence of events had been a carefully choreographed dance, an intricate play penned solely by him. From Allison’s arrival at the café to the shocking announcement of Sebastian’s (faked) death, every detail had been crafted with precision, each moment calculated to elicit the maximum emotional response from you. It was all part of his grand design—a masterpiece of manipulation that he reveled in as if it were the finest work of art.

Painter leaned back, admiring his handiwork, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and something darker. Yes, he was in love with you, utterly and completely, to the point where he would twist the very fabric of reality itself to ensure you would see him as your savior. For him, love had morphed into an obsession, one that transcended the boundaries of morality and reason. He had watched from the shadows as you and Sebastian grew closer, the connection between you blooming like a flower in spring, and it had driven him to the edge of madness.

The red strings of fate, which folklore claimed intertwined the lives of soulmates, had become a web of control and manipulation in his mind. He had to act before it was too late, before you were irrevocably lost to Sebastian. That was when he had reached out to Allison, a face from your past, and transformed her into the perfect pawn in his game.

“Skilled, wicked, and naive.” He murmured to himself, a cruel smile spreading across his lips as he remembered the lengths he had gone to secure her loyalty. He had paid her handsomely to infiltrate your life, to steal Sebastian from you, to take your identity, your streaming account, your very essence. It was all too easy to convince her that she was invincible under his protection, too blind to see the truth—that she was nothing more than a tool, a disposable piece in his elaborate scheme.

Painter’s thoughts raced, the joy of his manipulation coursing through him. The climax of his plan had been the final confrontation with Allison, the dramatic reveal that would shatter the illusion she had created. It had all been a performance, rehearsed to perfection. He had relished the moment, watching as her bravado crumbled and the reality of her situation settled in like a heavy fog. She had believed she was in control, but he had orchestrated every twist and turn, and now the stage was set for her downfall.

Yet, despite all his efforts, there was one unexpected variable—your unwavering loyalty to Sebastian. Painter had believed that once he exposed Allison, you would run to him, your savior, the one who had seen the truth beneath the layers of deceit. But you had returned to Sebastian instead, drawn back to the very man he had orchestrated the demise of. In that moment, rage ignited within him, a blazing inferno that threatened to consume everything he had built.

There was no other choice; Sebastian had to go. The thought danced through his mind like a dark melody, sweet and intoxicating. Painter was rich, clever, and dangerously unhinged. He had the resources to make anything happen, to erase any obstacle that stood in his way. It was an easy task to hire the right people, to ensure that the nine murders he orchestrated would lead the trail of blame directly to Allison.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he recalled how he had twisted her mind, making her believe she was untouchable. She would take the blame for everything, painted as the guilty party in a crime that was all his doing. It was a beautiful, tragic irony that thrilled him; the naïve little pawn would never see it coming. The moment she was caught, the world would believe her to be the real villain, and he would be the silent spectator, the mastermind hiding in plain sight.

But Sebastian? He would not be lost to the world. No, he had arranged for his dear friend to become a living test subject for Urbanshade, a dark experiment that would keep him alive, twisting in the shadows. Painter’s smile widened as he imagined the day you would finally see through the fog of lies and betrayal, when you would recognize him as the one who truly cared for you, the only one who had ever understood you.

“Soon.” He whispered, a predatory glint in his eyes, “You will see me, and then all will be right in this world I’ve created.” The canvas before him captured not just your face but the very essence of his twisted love, a love that would stop at nothing to ensure you were his and his alone.

As he continued to sketch, the darkness of his intentions wrapped around him like a cloak, and he couldn’t help but feel that, in this sinister game of puppets, he was the true artist. Each line, each shadow, was a testament to his genius—a dark narrative that would soon unfold, revealing the depths of his obsession and the horrifying lengths to which he would go to have you in his grasp.

Painter had played everyone. Sebastian, Allison, and especially YOU.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Lost FLowers (Lucifer x Human!Reader)

CW: Sex pollen, compromised consent, smut, oral sex, fingering Rating: Adult Summary: Imps doing whatever the fuck they did dropped a sex flower in the human world and it's Lucifer's problem as the king of Hell to find it. When he finds it, picked up by you, he has a obligation to help you ride out the effects.

You walked through the streets, kicking rocks down the sidewalk. Anger seethed under your skin, making you feel like an ass. You were not mad at him. It wasn’t his fault he stood you up on your date. He couldn’t help getting murdered. 

Or maybe he could.

You didn’t know; it was too early to know for sure. 

All you knew was once again, the universe fucked you over. It had been months since your last date and you were excited. Fuck, you spent money to have your hair done up nice. You got your nails done, spending more money.

Just one night, that’s all you wanted. One night out on the town with someone to make you feel pretty, even for a little while. It had been so long. 

Just some affection, some flirting. Was that too much to ask? 

Clearly. 

“Fucking bullshit,” you snapped under your breath, kicking the rock down the sidewalk again. At least home wasn’t terribly far away. “I even shaved everything.” 

It was silly. Not only had you shaved everything you could, you spent money on a cute white and gold bra and panties set on the off chance that your multi month long dry spell would come to an end. 

“So much for that,” you continued, turning the corner. Home was just a block away. So close and yet so far away. 

On the ground, nearly crushed by your stomping heels, was a strange purple flower. Reaching down, you plucked it up, wrapping your fingers around the dark green steam. The petals were a shade of purple you’d only seen in fiction. It didn’t smell particularly strong when you brought it to your nose, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Well, at least the sidewalk can give me a flower today,” you sighed, tucking the unique bloom behind your ear as you marched home. 

Lucifer stomped his black boots as he pinched the bridge of his slight nose. “I can’t believe you dropped a sex flower in the living world.” 

“Look,” the small red imp had no right to be as sassy as he was being. “It’s one flower. I was on a time crunch. The fuck you want from me?”

“I want you to not be making my life harder with whatever it is you do.” 

“We’re assassins, Your Majesty.” Lucifer’s eyes only glanced at the other imp. 

“I don’t care,” he said while making a mental note to figure out why the fuck there were hell assassins coming to the human world.

“It wasn’t a fresh one,” the imp said again, waving his hand as if to brush the issue away. “There wasn’t enough pollen on it to kill a human. Whoever picked it up will be fine.” 

“They’ll be out of their mind with lust,” Lucifer corrected, shoulders sagging. “Fine. Fine. Get out of here. Don’t make your business my problem again or I will fuck you.” He paused for a moment before more words rushed out of his mouth. “I’ll fuck you up.” 

“Right, Your Majesty.” The imps all bowed, leaving him with the task of finding the flower while they ran off, tails between their legs. 

“‘Make imps!’ she said,” Lucifer grumbled to himself as he walked, trying to catch a hint of the magic he used to create everything in hell. It would feel different from the lingering traces of what he had expelled in the earth’s creation and all upon it. Then he was working with a pure divine power. After his fall, the threads of his magic felt different. They were tainted. 

“‘They’ll be fun!’ she said. Now where the fuck is she?” Lucifer was well onto a rant as he walked down the sidewalks. 

“Nice suit!” someone yelled from a passing car. 

Perking up, Lucifer smiled and turned, “Thank-” 

“Loser!” the voice added, the truck speeding away as Lucifer’s smile fell.

“Figures.” He kicked a rock as he made his way down the sidewalk, mentally reaching out for a sense of what was his. “That’s why you all end up down there, with me. Who’s fault is it, anyway? Hey, hey, hey! It’s mine.” 

You looked at the flower sitting in the medicine bottle turned tiny vase. It was dumb; you knew that. It was the only flower anyone had given you in over a year and it came from the streets. 

“Just like me,” you whispered. “Fuck, I’m losing it.” 

You flopped back on the bed, trying to put your wasted night out of your mind. It wasn’t fair. Loneliness clawed at you. 

Maybe you should get up, go out and get a few drinks. Someone would pay attention to you for a little while. Maybe someone would kiss you. Fuck, maybe someone would touch you. 

You rubbed your thighs together, skirt bunching as you laid back. You didn’t want some random man to spend some time fucking you. It would probably be unsatisfying. Deep down though, you knew Buzzy the vibrator or Cocky the dildo couldn’t scratch this lonely itch.

Your hand ran up your thigh as you gave in, pushing your skirt higher and higher. 

Lucifer paced on the landing between the apartment doors. He knew he needed to knock, go in and get the flower before it could cause too much trouble. If the imps- what the fuck was their names? He needed to remember so he could put them out of business or bury them in rubber ducks. 

If they were right, maybe the flower would hold no power. Maybe it wouldn’t be able to influence the living. 

“Ah, who the fuck am I kidding?” Lucifer pulled the hat from his head, running his hand through his hair as he looked at the door. “It’s going to have some pollen on it still.” 

He reached up and rapped his knuckles against the dented metal door. Hopefully, no one would be inside. If whoever had found the flower left, he could just let himself inside and take it. He waited before knocking again. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You ripped your hand from under your skirt as someone knocked on your door again. Fucking again. Was it not obvious enough that you didn’t want to be bothered when you didn’t answer the first fucking time?

Stomping over to the door, you threw open the door, “What the fuck do you want?” 

You blinked at the man, hardly taller than you wearing a rather comical white suit that looked to be more at place in a circus than on the city streets.

“Well,” the man chuckled lightly. “You have a purple flower in there. I- a friend of mine actually dropped it.”

“You’re here for a shitty flower?” You looked to the side, eyeing the make shift vase with the weird flower inside. “How do you know I have it?” 

“I do,” Lucifer smiled, “Don’t lie to me, I’m the first lier.” 

Saying the words stung. He hadn’t intended to corrupt the truth. He hadn’t lied to anyone, as far as he intended, yet that was one of the many crimes he had been accused of. 

Fine, they wanted to brand him a lier- he would embrace it. He embraced everything they charged him with. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You looked at the unnaturally pale man, his eyes looking yellow, jaundiced, felt unnatural. The high flush on his face stood in contrast to the near paper white of his skin. 

There was something wrong about the man standing in your doorway and yet you couldn’t stop your eyes from running over his body. You needed to get laid, you realized, as your eyes greedily took in the way his comically striped vest spread over his chest. 

“You have something that doesn’t belong here,” he said, stepping forward. Though he lacked anything resembling impressive height, his presence was powerful and you stepped back. “It’ll be better for you if we get rid of it.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” you asked as he crossed the threshold into your apartment. The door swung closed behind him, though he didn’t move a muscle to touch it. “What are you?”

“It’s a sex flower,” Lucifer answered, walking directly to the little purple flower. “I made them for my wife… ex-wife, I guess.”

“Sex flower?” You rubbed your thighs together under your skirt, sure you had lost your mind. 

“Yep,” He popped the p as he twitched his hand, fire sparking in the flower and spreading, quickly turning the bloom into ash. “My wife,” he sighed, “Ex-wife wanted something to spice things up.”

“What are you?” You asked again.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, turning to you. “The flower has some rather unique effects- works as an aphrodisiac but amped up through the roof. Hellborn tolerances are much higher than humans.”

“I’m sorry- what the fuck is going on?” 

“You’re horny,” Lucifer observed, eyeing the way you rubbed your thighs together. “That- that was rude, I’m sorry. The flower will influence you for the next eight to twelve hours. You should… you should call your boyfriend to ride it out with you.”

“I don’t have one,” you screamed at him, face ablaze.

“Oh!” He looked at you with wide eyes. “Girlfriend works too. You just need a partner- someone, not something.” 

“I don’t-” you realized he still hadn’t said who he was. Fear and arousal ran through you as you reached out, smacking the comical top hat off the man’s head. “You haven’t told me who the fuck you are.” 

“Was that- that was childish.” 

“So is not answering my question or calling someone horny,” you countered. 

“But you are,” He sighed, running his hand through his bright blond hair. “But you’re right. I’m sorry. My name is Lucifer.”

“Lucifer? Like the devil?” 

“The one, the only.” He said as if it was nothing. To him, it was no big deal. It was just who he was. 

“Lucifer, the devil.” You blinked. “Let me get this straight. I found Lucifer’s lost sex flower while walking home from getting stood up for a blind date I hoped would end my massive dry spell. Not really stood up- he got murdered on his way- and now the flower is going to make me horny as fuck and I’m doomed to suffer unless I have someone to fuck it out with?” 

“Well,” Lucifer started, surprised only to have you cut him off. 

“You’re serious?” You laughed, running your hands through your hair as you stepped away, turning your back to him only to round and face him again. “This is a fucked up dream.”

“You… you should call someone.” Lucifer watched as he questioned if your sanity could hold up to the information. 

“I don’t have someone to call,” you snapped. “If I did, I wouldn’t be in a six-month dry spell!” 

“Well, ah- have fun with that.” Lucifer picked up his at and stepped back.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“Hell?” Lucifer answered, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m horny,” you said, unashamed and deciding it was a dream. “And your stupid flower caused it. Shouldn’t you do something about it? You’re the fucking devil. Tempt me or something. You convinced Eve to eat the appl, for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Lucifer set his hat down, stepping up to you. “Sit down and let me show you how I tempted her.” 

You did, everything feeling too real when he ran his forked tongue from between his lips. Lucifer watched as you sat stone still. He leaned forward, running his nearly nonexistent nose along your neck. 

“You do smell lovely,” he whispered, hands reaching out to touch you for the first time. 

You hadn’t been prepared for the way your body reacted to his touch. It was feather light and yet it had you sighing. Though he hardly touched you, it set your nerves alight. His hands reached up, resting on your shoulders and pulling a moan from your lips.

“What are you doing to me?” 

“Nothing,” he sighed, “It’s the flower.” 

The sound of the zipper gliding down your back was impossibly loud. Shudders racked through your body as his hands slipped under your dress, pushing the back open and guiding it to fall from your shoulders. 

“This… this isn’t a dream, is it?” Your voice came out breathy as he pulled you to stand slightly, letting the dress pool around your ankles before sitting you down again as he sank down to his knees. 

Looking up at you, you realized his eyes were red, “No, dear. No dreams.” His eyes left yours, roaming over your curves, white silk and red accents hugging your curves. It was as if you dressed just for him. 

“Are you going to kill me?” you trembled as you watched his eyes settle on your panties, sharp tipped black gloves running up your thighs. No, those were not gloves. It was his hands. “Are you going to take my soul? Take me to hell?” 

“No,” he laughed softly, “I’d like nothing more for you to never join the ranks of hell.” 

Fingers wrapped around the band of your underwear and guided them down your hips. Shamefully, you realized you were wet. Not a little wet, but body ready to slip over a cock without hesitation or resistance wet. 

“Red and white are my favorite colors,” Lucifer said as his eyes ran over you greedily. “You have a lovely apple. Nice and ready for me to take a bite.” 

There was no chance for you to second guess what you were doing or to back down, not that you could anyway. Need and desire ran through you as the flower’s influence took root. You had been sexually frustrated before but now there was no going back. 

“Are you, are you going to fuck me?” Terror and arousal were both thick in your voice. 

Lucifer pushed your thighs apart, forked tongue once again running over his lips as he glanced up at you one last time. “I’ll take care of you like this, give you some relief. You should be okay, then.” 

Long, thin tongue ran from his mouth, slithering up your soaked folds as you gasped loudly. Each pass of his tongue ended with a flick against your clit. He moaned as he leaned forward, focusing more intently on his work. The pointed tongue caught in your opening, slipping inside of you. 

It twisted, turned and caressed your walls as his face nudged your clit, pushing you closer and closer. Each touch felt like fire. Your chest rose and fell, breasts held perfectly in place by your new bra as he looked up at you with those dangerous, beautiful eyes. 

He let his tongue slip from your opening again, shifting on his knees. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking and nibbling on it. Your back arched as you moaned. 

Lucifer moaned with you, the taste of you coating his tongue. It had been years since he had tasted anyone. He forgot how good it had felt to give pleasure. It made him feel good to know he caused your thighs trembling under his touch, not from fear but from how good he was at what he did. 

He loved pleasure. He prided himself on his ability to give it.

It had been too long. 

“You taste divine,” Lucifer moaned into your folds as he ran a palm up your thigh. Your body jumped as he pressed a finger into your tight opening. Your walls twitched and tensed around him, so ready to send you over the edge. All you needed was a push. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as he added a second finger. Sweat rolled down your back as he worked the long digits in and out of your tense walls. “I’m so close.” 

He hummed in response, hips rocking on instinct against nothing, seeking friction. “Come on, angel,” Lucifer whispered, licking his lips as he took a moment to adjust his jaw. “You’ll sing for me, won’t you?” 

A second finger pushed into you as your body tightened around him. He matched each curl of his fingers with a harsh suck on your clit that had your hips bucking. A surprisingly strong hand pushed your hip down, pressure on your inner thigh. As his fingers pulled out from you, he ran his tongue over your clit just to suck hard on it again, fingers pushing and curling inside. 

“Fuck,” you cried out as he worked his fingers into and out of you, wet squelching highlighting the pace his fingers fucked into you with. It had been so long since anyone had touched you. 

“Fuck,” you said again, body wound tight. It had been so long since you had anyone had been inside you. “Oh, fuck. Please,” you begged. “Please, please.”

 Shudders ripped through your body as your orgasm crashed into you. Fingers reached down, tangled in the devil’s hair. You gripped him as you rode out your orgasm. He moaned as your grip pulled strands taught. 

“Better?” Lucifer asked as he pulled his slick face from your twitch cunt. 

“Worse,” you answered, realizing you were pulling the devil’s hair. “Sorry,” you let your grip go slack.

“Don’t need to be,” Lucifer said as he leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on your sensitive clit. “I’ll head out now,” 

“No,” you whined, leaning forward until you slipped off the couch. Arms wrapped around him as your knees landed between his. 

“Oh,” Lucifer held his hands out as you pressed your nearly naked body to his. The warmth of you soaked into his clothes. The soft mounds of your breasts, still held ever so nicely in position by the white and red bra pressed into his chest and hell, he forgot how good it felt to be held. 

“Please,” you whispered into the ear of the devil, tempting the tempter. “I feel like… like I haven’t been touched in a lifetime. I need you,” 

“S-sit back on the couch,” Lucifer’s hands hovered over your sides, a groan fighting its way out of his throat as you rubbed your thigh against the hardness he had been ignoring in his pants. “I’ll keep going. I’ll give you another.”

“No,” you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “It’s not enough.” 

“What?” He swallowed hard. “What do you need?”

He knew, of course. He had attended plenty of parties featuring the flowers, hosted by his own wife. Ex-wife. He knew how they worked, what it took to scratch the itch the flowers birthed. Orgasms would help, but it wouldn’t be enough, really, to buy you more than a few moments of peace. 

“Please, I need you,” you said, hands running up his chest and over his shoulders, slowly pushing his jacket from his sounders. “It’s been so long.”

“Has it?” Lucifer asked as he indulged in the feeling of your hands running over his arms. 

“Over six months,” you cooed, hands moving to run over his chest. “Please, I can’t stand it. I want more. I need more.” 

“Are you sure?” Lucifer asked, knowing full and well that you could not be sure, even if you thought you were. The power of the pollen clouded your mind, influenced what you wanted. He knew that, but he also knew how much he missed being wanted, the feeling of hands running over his body. “I’m the devil.”

“Who better?” you purred, hand moving down his abdomen. He groaned as your hand wrapped around his cock, caressing him through his pants. “Who better than the devil to break my dry spell?” 

“You want me?” Lucifer asked, face ever so close to yours. You could feel his breath, smell yourself on him. 

“I want you, Lucifer.” 

Lucifer was never a strong man. His heart and mind were weak, fickle things. That’s why he fell, ultimatum. He was too weak to resist the temptation of humanity. In turn, he tempted them. 

He wrapped his arms around you and stood, taking you with him. Once you were on your feet in front of him, he reached down and hooked his hands behind your knees. You jumped, trusting him to hold you. Legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pressing your naked, soaked core against his abdomen. 

He carried you through the small apartment, not needing directions to identify the one closed door that led to your bedroom. While he walked, you ground yourself against his body, seeking any stimulation against your sensitive core you could get. Trembling fingers worked at the buttons of his vest and shirt. 

He groaned as your fingers slipped under his shirt. Warm touches smoothed over firm muscles as he set you down on the bed. Hands left you as he pulled his vest and shirt up and off, throwing it to the side. 

He had hidden strong, lean muscles under the clothes. He was the devil. You should have expected that he would be well built. The suit, though it clung to his frame, obscured it. 

“Please,” you were whimpering now, watching as he worked his belt free.

A cock too long or thick for the size of the man it belonged to sprang free, slapping his stomach. Shamelessly, needily, your eyes ran over the vast amounts of exposed flesh. It was like you were looking at a marble statue.

“You okay?” he asked, sitting next to you on the bed. 

“Why don’t you look very devilish?” 

He could almost believe you were functioning without the influence of the flower, if not for the way you ran your hand over him. Need burned in your eyes as you explored his chest and shoulders. 

“Have to tone it down,” Lucifer sighed into the touch, gathering you into his lap only for you to straddle him eagerly. Wet heat soaked his cock as you ground yourself against him. 

“How?” 

“Magic,” he could feel his face flush golden.

“Wanna see it,” you whined, “Wanna see you before you go.” 

“We’ll see,” Lucifer said as you rose up, sliding his thick cock into your opening with ease. “Oh, hell,” he moaned, head falling back.

Leaning forward, you kissed his neck. Was it too much? Too forward? Too soft to do with the devil? You didn’t care. Your body needed what it needed. Using his shoulders as leverage, you worked yourself up and down his shaft, moaning at the stretch. 

“I’m not that great,” you laughed, only to have the sound die in a squeak. He threw you down, rolling his body with yours into a missionary position. 

Another deep moan left him as he thrust into you, pulling your hips to him. “You’re perfect,” he said. “You all are,” he thrust into you slowly again and again, cock dragging against sensitive walls, “so perfectly imperfect. That’s why I fell.” 

“Lucifer,” you moaned his name as he worked your body softly.

Fanged kisses dotted your neck as you clung to him. Your need for him only grew as he pushed you closer to your finish with each soft, steady thrust into you. His small nose nuzzled the soft skin under your ear as he kissed along your jaw. 

“Please,” you moaned, turning to him, lips begging for the kiss you were so scared to ask for. 

He indulged you, lips slanting over yours in a kiss that, while starting sweet, quickly turned passionate. His thin, forked tongue worked into your mouth, allowing him to swallow your soft moans as he pushed inside your warm walls again and again. 

“You feel so good,” Lucifer whispered as he ran his hands over you, cupping the soft swell of your breast through the silky bra. “So good, wrapped around me.” 

“Lucifer,” you moaned, body craving his touch, needing his kiss. “Please, Lucifer.” 

“You’re close,” his honey voice dropped nearly directly into your ear, “I can feel you tight you are. Every twitch of your muscles. Every wave of pleasure through your core.”

“Fuck, Luc-lucifer!” You cried out as he pushed you over the edge, diving into the rhythmic waves of your orgasm. Each contraction of your walls rippled around his cock, continuing to push into you as he prolonged your orgasm.

Only when your core stilled did Lucifer’s thrusts slow. Panting breaths ripped through your lungs as he kissed the collum of your neck. Just as he was starting to think you had been satisfied, you began to whine and rut against the cock still buried in you. 

“Better?” Lucifer asked, somewhat surprised to find your body seeking more from him. 

“More,” you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “Harder? More? It’s not enough.”

“Harder?” Lucifer asked, pulling back from you.

“Please,” you chased him, wanting his touch. It felt like you needed his touch to survive. Nothing he was giving you was enough. “I’m burning up. I need more. I need, fuck I need you.” 

“But you want it harder?” Lucifer kissed you softly as you chased his body.

“I want the devil to fuck me,” you spoke into the kiss. “Show me what you can do.” 

Lucifer chuckled, “Alright then- on your hands and knees, little dove.” 

You trembled in want and fear as you rolled over onto your stomach. Lucifer stood at the foot of the bed, watching as you moved. Slick ran down your thighs, evidence of your orgasm and the impacts of the flower’s pollen in your system. He didn’t want to hurt you, but it felt so good to be inside you. 

The bed jerked as Lucifer pulled it easily away from the wall. The feet scraped against the carpet as you squealed, looking back over your shoulder at him. He moved the heavy bad frame as if it was nothing. For him, it was nothing. The man you were desperate for the cock of was far from human. 

“What are you doing?” you whined, hips rocking side to side as you leaned forward, presenting your puffy folds to him. The slick poured from your opening. You could feel it running over your sensitive folds as gravity pulled it down your body. “Please, Lucifer. I want you. I need you back inside me.” 

“I thought your neighbors wouldn’t like the sound of the headboard banging the wall,” he said. 

“It burns,” you whimpered, hand reaching down to run along your soaked folds. 

The sight of your fingers entranced Lucifer. They glided over your clit, sinking deep into your fluttering opening. A breathy moan fell from your lips as you looked at him over your shoulder. “I want you. Fuck, I need you. Please, Lucifer. It hurts. I ache so bad. I need you back inside me.” 

“Fuck,” Lucifer groaned as he climbed into the bed, black hands running up your thighs. “I’m so sorry, Dove. You’re like this because of me. It’s my fault. I should have had better control over the imps. That flower should never have come here.” 

“Please,” you whimpered, “I need you.” A sob racked through your body, born of need, desire, and shame. “Fuck, I’m begging the devil for his cock. I’m going to hell for this, aren’t I?” 

“I don’t know.” Your skin was so soft under his hands. Warm palms ran up your back, smoothing skin and unclasping your bra with practiced hands. “I don’t make the rules. I fell before they were in place. Are you sure you want this? I can stay like this instead.”

“Please,” tears ran down your face, fire swallowing you alive. Slick squelching sounds never stopped as your fingers worked in and out of you. “Please, I want the devil.” 

“Don’t worry,” Lucifer purred, lineing his cock up with your opening. Your wet fingers reached out from between your legs, leaving the warm wet heat of your core to wrap around his shaft. It was a battle to reach, arm stretching to pump his shaft, still coated in your slick. “I’ll fuck you.” 

His voice was deeper, power radiating off each word. You watched as the flush on his cheeks deepened, skin growing whiter. The yellow of his eyes deepened and the rusty brown of his eyes changed, becoming a bright vermillion. 

Fear ran through you, eyes locked on him. The blunt head of his cock pushed into your waiting walls, parting them as you watched him change with wide eyes. Teeth grew pointed while a black spade tipped whip extended out from behind him. 

“Oh fuck,” you leaned down as he bottomed out, bra crushing under your chests. 

“If it gets to be too much,” Lucifer leaned down, whip-like tail wrapping around your thigh as he spoke directly into your ear, “Just say ducky.” 

“What?” You yelped as the spade tip of his tail smacked your ass. “Fuck, okay. Just fuck me, please.”

“Good girl,” he said, straightening up.

For a moment he was frozen, looking at the delicate human woman speared on his cock. Soft and wanting. Would you want him if not for the flower? Would you let him touch you if you had anyone else?

“Please,” you begged, and his tail tightened around your thigh. “Fuck me,” 

He smiled, a sharp, cutting look before pulling back from you. His cock dragged through your slick walls, slick coating his shaft in shiny ropes. The thrust that followed was hard, forcing your body to bounce as his hips connected with your ass. 

Each harsh thrust pushed you forward, hips kept up by the bruising grip of his hands. You moaned, eyes looking at him over your shoulder as you rested your head on the bed. The devil was fucking you, spreading you over his thick cock again and again, and it felt so good.

There was a thrill in the danger of it. The sin of submitting to the king of temptation. He filled you perfectly, stretching you around his girth as his tip pressed into your cervix again and again, just enough pressure to tell you he was there. 

“Oh,” you gasped as his balls slapped your clit, each thrust punctuating with it as he rammed his cock into you with a bruising pace. The tail wrapped around your leg caressed you, squeezing and releasing in time with each thrust. 

“Fuck,” you cried out, pushed closer and closer to your orgasm until his powerful thrusts shoved you off it. “Fuck, fuck. Oh, Lucifer, Fuck!” 

“That’s it,” Lucifer groaned, walls convulsing around his cock as he continued to fuck into you. He leaned over you, running his hands up your side as he wrapped his tail around your waist. Your breasts were hot in his hands as he indulged in their soft weight, pulling you up off the bed by them. 

Your orgasm wracked through you, shudders running down your spine and up your legs as he pulled you onto your knees, shoulders against his chest. Each thrust into your quivering walls had you moaning. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Lucifer whispered in your ear as your orgasm subsided. 

He continued to thrust into you, pace turning soft as you gasped for air. While he ran his hands over your front, twirling his fingers over your nipples and taking in the way your breasts moved with each thrust into you, his tail ran down your waist, spade finding your clit.

“How are you feeling?” Lucifer whispered into your ear, hips continuing to push into you at a lazy pace. Your slick dripped from his heavy balls, running down his thighs. 

“Good,” you whispered, head turning to look into the inhuman eyes of your lover. “So good.” 

Taking a chance, you leaned forward, slotting your lips over his. The kiss was sweet and thankful, catching Lucifer off guard. There was a rustling sound, drawing your eyes open again to witness a sea of feathers falling within your room.

“Sorry,” Lucifer whispered sheepishly as your lips left his. 

“You have wings?” You were in your post orgasm haze, a sea of fuzzy satisfaction that your brain floated on, lost in the Devil’s arms as his tail caressed your clit. Each soft pass of the smooth spade had your hips jerking, oversensitive. Pebbled nipples sent shocks of pleasure through your body. “With feathers?”

Lucifer smiled, plucking one from the bedsheet. When he crossed into the human world, he always shed more feathers. It was annoying, a mess, and yet you looked at them with wonder. Perhaps it was the flower. Perhaps it was the cock still wedged inside you. 

He wanted to believe it was just because he was him. 

“I do.” He ran the soft tip of the feather in his hand down your chest, teasing your nipple with it as you shivered in his arms. “I didn’t lose my wings when I fell. I’m the devil but still an angel.” 

“Oh,” you gasped, arching into his back as the feathers teased. 

“Are you done?” He asked, cock twitching inside you. 

He had no business continuing to touch you. Every caress just encouraged the flower’s influence rather than giving it a chance to fade. It was wrong, but he didn’t want you to be done yet. He wanted to finish inside you, with you, and not spill into his fist yet again. It felt good to be with another. 

“More.” you rutted your ass against him, begging with your body and your words. “I want more,” 

“Do you need more?” Lucifer asked, feather running over the bud of your nipple. 

“I want it,” you whimpered. “I want you.” 

“Want?” Lucifer teased, “Not need?” 

“Please,” you whimpered. In truth, you were not sure where want began and need ended. It didn’t feel like you’d burn up without his touch, but you were not ready to be without it yet either. “Please, don’t leave me yet. I want more, please.” 

“You want me,” Lucifer moaned, pulling from your gripping heat as he turned you in his arms. “You want me?” 

“Please,” you wrapped your arms around him, fingers caressing down his feathers as you pressed your body against him. His cock, soaked in your slick, pressed between your bodies. He rocked his hips, thrusting between you as he kissed you hungerly. 

Lucifer grabbed your thigh, lifting it around his waist. His tail slapped against your ass, the sound loud and sharp as he sank back into your wet heat. Sharp teeth scratched your tongue as it danced with the devil’s. Your breasts pressed into his strong chest. 

“So full,” you sighed as he fluttered his six wings forward, feathers caressing against your skin as he laid you back down. 

Fingers dug into your thigh as he pulled it up, higher and higher until he was hugging it to his chest. There was a beat of silence as he looked down at you. Eyes ran over your face, slack and flushed with the fire of pleasure. Breasts moved as you gasped for air, nipples standing out, begging him to run his tongue over them. 

You watched, the fire of the flower still burning through you as his eyes ran down your body, focusing in on where his cock was lodged into your cunt, spreading you wide.

“Please,” you begged, “Fuck me.” 

“You’re so greedy,” Lucifer teased, hips beginning to once again piston into you. Your back arched as his cock pressed against every sensitive tissue of your core, pushing against your stomach.

“Harder,” you moaned as he worked his cock in and out of you. He pulled your hips to him, each thrust brutal as your leg curled around his waist. The thin whip of his tail wrapped around your calf, holding it against the small of his back. “Please, harder.” 

There was a flash of fire as his eyes changed, black and yellow inverting. A loud moan ripped from your chest, nothing more than a pathetic mockery of a scream as tall red and white horns extended from his head. 

A simple small flame stood out between the points. He was terrifying and yet; you reached out for him. Fingers wrapped around his forearm, wanting to him as your body jerked with each powerful thrust. 

“Are you scared?” Lucifer asked, leaning down over you as he folded your leg, bringing it closer to your chest. “Fearful of the devil?”

“No,” you answered honestly, though you should have been. “More.” 

He fucked into you harshly, each powerful thrust driving the bed closer to the wall. Your hips ached. Your ass stung where his body slammed into yours again and again. He nipped and kissed your nipple, hips pushing you deeper and deeper into the mattress. 

“I’m so close,” you whimpered, fingers carding through his hair without care of the horns that brushed the side of your face. “Please, Lucifer, please.” 

“You’re so tight around me,” he moaned as your walls fluttered, a telltale sign that you were as close as you claimed. “Fuck, angel, you’re going to make me cum.” 

“Harder,” you begged, limbs tightening around him. 

“Just for you,” he whispered, strong hands flexing, fingers digging into flesh as he fucked you hard and fast, moaning curses each time his balls slapped against you. The pointed tip of his tail caressed your slick covered clit. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, nails digging into white marble skin as your body ripped apart at the seams, convulsions undoing everything you were, “Fuck, fuck! Lucifer! Fuck!” 

“I’m going to,” he moaned as fingers dug into his hair, pulling at his scalp with the force of your muscle spasms. He fucked into you, the pace harsh and wild as he drove himself closer and closer to his own finish. “Fuck, angel, let go or-” 

“Lucifer,” you moaned, limbs gripping him, breasts presented to him as your back arched. “Fuck, Lucifer! Fuck, Fuck! Don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!” 

“I’m going to-” He moaned, head burying in the crook of your neck. 

“Don’t stop,” you moaned, his name a prayer on your lips as his punishing pace kept you on the tail edge of your orgasm, unsure if it was one long one or many hitting back to back. 

“Fuck,” Lucifer tried to rip himself from the tangle of your limbs, only to lift your back from the bed, body unwilling to part from him. “Going to-” he gasped out as wave after wave of convulsions gripped his cock, “I’m cuming, dove.” 

He slammed into you, wild and reckless. His cock exploded into you as the headboard slammed against the wall. Hot ropes painted your walls white as his cock swelled and twitched, depositing everything he had as he fucked his seed deeper and deeper. 

Only when he had nothing left to leave inside you did he still, panting as he looked down at you. Your limbs grew slack and fell from him. Dazed eyes gazed up at the devil. 

“Fuck,” you gasped, trying to shove air into your lungs. “I can’t take anymore.” 

“Good,” Lucifer said, smoothing some hair back from your face. “You’ll be able to rest now. When you wake, you’ll be back to normal. Won’t remember a thing.” 

“I want to though,” you whispered, body relaxing. 

Lucifer only chuckled. No human would want to remember being bed by the devil. “I’ll get you water,” he said instead of arguing. 

When he returned to the room, you were already asleep. Anxiety clawed at him, pushed deep down as he focused on what was in front of him. You lay, thighs spread with his seed leaking from your opening. Bruises dotted your skin and feathers were everywhere. 

The devil scooped you up into his arms, carrying you to the head of the bed. He used his tail to pull down the blanket, giving him room to set you down. Carefully, he covered your naked body. 

You slept peacefully, body spent as the devil moved around your room. Water was placed on your nightstand and feathers cleaned up. Lucifer took a moment, eyeing the medicine bottle that had housed the cursed flower and the feathers in his hand. 

He pointed at the bottle and it changed into a red and white vase, classical lines accented with gold. Inside, he tucked in the nicest of his shed feathers. It wasn’t flowers, but it was a token at least. 

Looking back at you, he knew he should wipe your memory. Humans didn’t need to know of the divine. You didn’t need to remember you had taken the devil himself into your bed. 

He needed to, but… the way your hands felt on him, the taste of your kiss made him want to believe in the way those touches felt.

“Good night, little dove.” 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[v6quewrlds]

❝ fuksumn, t. higgins. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: competition keeps things interesting in your relationship. but when tee looks that good all the time, maybe losing isn't such a bad thing.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: WHERE ARE THE TEE FICS YALL, did i spend 45 mins looking for a tee pic for the header? yes. why? mind your business, i do in fact have another tee fic i'm working on bc someone gotta write for him and i guess it will be me 🙂‍↕️ day two of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, intentional use of aave in dialogue, "just the tip" trope, pretty tame otherwise.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: tee higgins x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.9k.

"You know you not finna win that challenge," Tee teased, pausing his game to glance over at you. His fingers paused over the controller, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

You rolled your eyes, not looking up from the laptop in your lap. "Oh, really?" You replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what makes you so sure?"

Tee leaned in closer, his tall frame stretching over the couch's arm. "C'mon, babe," he said, his voice low and playful. "Look at us right now. You stressed out with that paper, and I'm just chillin' here. Ain't nobody hornier than you when you stressed."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Is that your strategy?" You looked at him, your eyes sparkling. "To make me so stressed that I can't help but beg for it?"

Tee shrugged, his grin widening. "It's just science, baby. Stress turns into other things, if you know what I mean."

You playfully pushed his face away in an attempt to hide the racing of your heart. You couldn't deny that the tension between you two was growing thicker by the minute.

"Alright, Mr. Science," you said, closing your laptop with a dramatic sigh. "Let's say I'm the one to crack first, what do you want from me?"

Tee's eyes lit up with mischief. "Oh, I'm thinking something sweet," he said, setting his controller aside. "Maybe I'll get you to bake me that apple pie you been promising me for weeks."

You rolled your eyes again, but this time with a playful smile. "A whole pie just because I can't keep my hands off you?" You scoffed. "Try again, Tee."

Tee sat up, his movements deliberate and slow, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or maybe," he began, leaning in closer, "I could get you to wear that tiny ass dress I like so much."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, your cheeks flushing as you thought of the dress in question. It was a dark green dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, one that had driven Tee wild the last time you wore it. "What dress?" you said, playing coy. "The one that barely covers my ass?"

Tee nodded, his gaze lingering on your lips. "You know the one," he said, his voice a low rumble. "The one that makes me want to tear that ass up every time I see it on you. If I win, you gotta wear it without anything extra."

Your heart skipped a beat. The challenge was on, and you were already plotting your revenge. You leaned back into the couch cushions, crossing your arms over your chest. "Fine," you said, raising an eyebrow. "But if I win, you gotta clean the whole house. Spotless."

Tee laughed, the sound rich and warm. "You think that's gon’ be enough to make me crack?" He leaned closer, your bodies touching. "I'm telling you, I got more self-control than anyone you know."

Your eyes narrowed playfully. "Is that right?" you said, your voice a sultry whisper. "Let's see what you made of."

The days ticked by, and the flirty banter grew more intense. Every time you walked by Tee, you would brush your hand against his thigh, feeling the heat of his skin through his sweatpants. Tee would return the favor, placing a kiss to the edge of your jawline as he passed, making your skin tingle with anticipation. You both would catch each other's glances across the room, your eyes holding for a beat too long, before one of you would look away, trying not to crack first.

One evening, as you sat at the kitchen counter with your laptop, Tee came up behind you, his hands resting on the counter to close you in. He kissed your neck gently, his breath hot against your skin. You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as you typed. "You're playing dirty," you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Just a little taste, baby," Tee said, his teeth grazing your ear. "C'mon, don’t tell me you ‘ont want it."

Your resolve wavered. You could feel his solid form pressing against you, and it was getting increasingly harder to resist. You knew he was enjoying every second of this game, watching you squirm. "Tee, I'm tryna focus," you said, your voice betraying the desire coursing through your veins.

"Mm-hmm," Tee murmured, his kisses moving down your neck, sending a shiver through you. "But you know you want it." His voice was a soft caress, his breath a whisper.

Your grip tightened on your laptop, the heat from his body enveloping you. "I'm not gonna be the one to break," you insisted, your voice wavering. You could feel the warmth of his crotch against your backside, the evidence of his desire unmistakable.

"You sure about that?" Tee challenged, his hands sliding around to cup your breasts. He gently squeezed, his thumbs swirling over the soft nipples hidden underneath your shirt. You bit your lower lip to stifle a moan, your eyes squeezing shut. The sensation was almost too much to handle, your body begging for more.

"Tee..." you warned, your voice thick with need. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your resolve slipping away like sand through your fingers. He knew exactly where to touch, and how to make your body sing.

Tee chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Come on, baby," he coaxed, his voice a sweet symphony of temptation. "Just a little bit. Let me fuck you right." He leaned in closer, his warm breath fanning across your face.

"Just the tip." You finally broke, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just to cool the tension."

Tee's smirk grew wider as he pulled back, his eyes gleaming with victory. "Is that right?" He stepped closer, his jeans tenting with his own need. "You want me to give you just a lil’ taste?"

You nodded, your eyes half-lidded with desire. "Just the tip," you repeated, your voice strained. "That's all."

Tee's hand trailed down your stomach, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your jeans. He slid them down just enough to expose the top of your panties. His own breathing grew heavier as he leaned in, his mouth so close to yours. "Just the tip, then," he whispered, his hot breath fanning your face.

With a swift motion, he pushed aside the material of your underwear and found your wetness with his fingertips. You gasped, your eyes snapping open to meet his. "This pussy's always so wet for me," he murmured with a hint of surprise in his voice. He slipped one finger inside, just a little, watching your reaction closely.

"No fair," you panted, your eyes fluttering shut again as Tee's finger slid in and out of you, teasing you with every stroke. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter with every passing second.

"Couch." You almost demanded, your voice trembling with the effort of holding back. Tee chuckled, the sound sending vibrations through your body as he stepped back, allowing you to get up. Your legs felt wobbly, but you managed to make your way over to the couch.

As you lay down, your heart racing, Tee followed, his movements more predatory than ever. He hovered above you, his eyes dark with desire, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. He slid off your jeans completely, leaving you in just your panties and shirt.

Your breath hitched as Tee slid in, just the tip as promised. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through your core. You bit your lip to keep from moaning too loudly, your eyes locked onto him as he began to move. The friction was maddening, so close to what you really wanted but not quite enough to satisfy.

"Tee," you whimpered, your body arching up to meet his.

He smirked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of challenge and lust. "You sure about this?" He whispered, his voice thick with his own desire.

You hesitated, your eyes searching Tee's. The tension in the room was suffocating, the air heavy with need. You could feel your resolve slipping, the desire to give in to the challenge overwhelming. "A little more," you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Tee's smirk grew as he pushed in a little further, his movements deliberate and slow. Your eyes rolled back in your head, a soft moan escaping your lips. The feeling was a delicious temptation, but it was also torture, a sweet agony that made you want to scream. "That's it, baby," Tee murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. "Take it."

Your nails dug into the couch cushions as Tee began to move faster, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was just shy of satisfying. You could feel your orgasm building, the pressure growing with every stroke. "Come on, baby," he coaxed, his voice a seductive purr. "You know you want more."

Your eyes remained locked as he slid in deeper, his thickness filling you just enough to make your toes curl. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your body begging for release. "Fuck," you groaned, your resolve crumbling. "Okay, okay... more."

With a grin of victory, Tee leaned down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as he pushed all the way in, your moan muffled by his lips. You moved together, your bodies in perfect harmony, the challenge forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Your hands roamed underneath his shirt and up his back, your nails digging into his skin, urging him to go deeper, faster. Tee complied, his strokes becoming more intense, each one pushing you closer to the edge. Your kiss grew more frantic, your breaths mingling as your tongues danced together.

The room was filled with the sound of your muffled moans and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in tight, your body writhing beneath him as he claimed you. You were both lost in the moment, the challenge nothing but a distant memory.

Tee's hand slipped under your shirt, his thumb brushing against your nipple, sending a shiver of pleasure through your body. You arched up, pushing your chest into his hand, your breath coming in ragged pants. He broke the kiss, his mouth moving to your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

"Tee," you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair as he worked his magic. His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending an electric shock to your core. "I'm gonna come, baby," you panted, your voice trembling.

"Not yet," he murmured, his voice thick with his own desire. He pulled out almost entirely, leaving just the tip of his dick teasing you.

Your eyes flew open, your pupils dilated with passion. "Tee, you can't do this to me," you pleaded, your voice a desperate whine.

He chuckled against your neck, the vibrations sending another tremor through you. "But I can," he said, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. "And I will."

With every ounce of willpower you had, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, one of your hands curling around the right side of his jaw. "Please, baby," you begged, your voice a breathy whisper. "I can't take it. You win."

Tee's eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned in closer, his voice a low purr. "Are you giving in so soon?" He began to pull out completely, the tip of his dick slipping from your warmth.

Your eyes snapped open, your body taut with need. "Yes, Tee," you huffed, your pride wounded. "I'll wear that damn dress for you, just..."

You gasped as he slammed back into you, his dick filling you up completely. "Just don't stop," you whimpered, your voice a desperate plea as you fell back onto the couch.

Tee chuckled, the sound sending waves of pleasure through you. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a rough kiss as he began to move again, his strokes deep and deliberate. Your legs tightened around him, your hips rising to meet every thrust. The pressure in your core grew, the anticipation of release building like a crescendo.

Tee's hand found yours, your fingers lacing together as he picked up the pace. "You so beautiful when you get like this," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. The love in his gaze only added to the intensity of the moment. "All mine," he whispered, his voice a declaration.

You felt a wave of emotion wash over you, the love and desire in Tee's words fueling your own passion. "Yes, baby," you whispered back, your eyes filled with longing. "Always. All yours."

"Fuck, baby," you groaned, your nails digging into his back as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. His rhythm was unrelenting, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Your eyes squeezed shut, your breath coming in short gasps as you tried to hold on, not wanting the feeling to end.

"Oh, you're so tight," Tee whispered in your ear, his breath hot and ragged. He could feel you tightening around him, your body begging for release. "You gon’ come for me, baby." His words were a promise, a demand, and a question all rolled into one.

"Gonna come all over this couch, baby girl," Tee murmured, his voice a dark promise that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. "Make a mess just for me." He swiveled his hips, hitting that spot deep inside you that had you panting and whimpering his name.

You could feel the orgasm building, a pressure that was almost painful in its intensity. "Tee, I can't," you gasped, your head shaking from side to side as another moan ripped through you. "Baby, it's too much."

"Nah, baby girl," Tee whispered, his eyes locked with yours. "You gotta take this dick, baby. Take it like the big girl I know you are." He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "You wanted this dick so bad, now you gotta take it all."

Your bodies moved in perfect sync, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room. Your breath hitched, your eyes rolling back as Tee's strokes grew more demanding. You could feel the orgasm approaching, no sense in stopping now. "Tee," you moaned out, your voice a desperate plea.

"Come for me, baby," he murmured, his own breathing growing more ragged. "Let it go." And with those words, you shattered, your body convulsing around Tee as you came, your moan echoing through the room. Tee groaned, the sight of your pleasure pushing him over the edge. He thrust into you one final time, his warmth flooding you as he reached his climax.

You both lay there, panting and tangled in each other's arms, the challenge a distant memory. Tee's chuckles rumbled against your skin as you swatted at him playfully. "You're so fucking evil," you accused, your voice filled with love and laughter.

"You love it," Tee countered, kissing your neck. "'Just the tip, Tee. Just a little more, Tee.'" He mimicked your earlier pleas, his voice teasing and full of laughter.

You couldn't help but laugh, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Shut up," you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "You just lucky you good at this."

Tee leaned back, grinning down at you. "Good?" He repeated. "Baby, I'm the fucking best, and you know it."

You couldn't argue with that. "Fine," you said, your voice a mix of defeat and satisfaction. "You win. But you still cleaning the house."

"You the one that lost, remember?" Tee chuckled, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He pulled out of you, a smug smile playing on his lips as he watched you struggle to sit up, your legs still weak.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face was genuine. "Whatever, you agreed to it," you said, though the protest lacked any real bite.

Tee leaned back, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He looked down at you, sprawled out on the couch, your lips swollen and your chest heaving. He couldn't resist the urge to lean down and kiss you again, his lips finding yours in a lazy, lingering press. "Mm, you taste so good," he murmured against your mouth.

Your eyes fluttered open, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "So do you," you whispered, your eyes searching his. The love in his gaze made your heart flutter.

Your fingers traced lazy patterns on Tee's back as you thought about the challenge. "You know," you began, your voice a lazy drawl, "I might have to make sure we never do that again."

Tee chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours. "Why's that?" He nibbled on your earlobe, making you squirm.

"Because you're too good at this," you said with a playful pout. "I'm never going to win anything against you."

Tee laughed, his deep chuckles sending a warm vibration through her. "Don't worry, baby," he said, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "I'll let you win at something."

You squinted your eyes as Tee fought back a laugh. "Nah, never mind," he gave in, retracting his hand and tickling your side. You squealed and giggled, trying to get away, but his grip was too firm, his touch too playful.

"Tee, stop!" you giggled, squirming under him. But your protests were weak, and your laughter only encouraged him more.

"Okay, okay," he said, his chuckles subsiding. "But you gotta admit, that was worth it." He leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a sweet, tender kiss that made your heart swell.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you pulled away. "Maybe," you conceded, your voice light and playful. "But next time, I'm definitely winning."

"We'll see about that," Tee said, his eyes twinkling with a competitive glint.

[mxl633]

a Web of Love

Spiderwoman!Yunjin x Reader

Synopsis: One night, after Yunjin returns from her crime-fighting duties, the two embark on an exhilarating swing through the city that brings them closer than ever. Between playful banter, stolen kisses, and heart-pounding adventures, Y/N learns that love with a superhero is full of surprises—but it’s also filled with warmth, laughter, and unwavering trust

Warnings: pure fluff ,synopsis says it all

Word count:2.3k

You had never quite gotten used to the idea of dating a superhero. Every night was a balance between quiet solitude and the thrill of knowing your girlfriend was out there saving the world—or at least your corner of the city. Tonight, like many others, you found yourself perched on the rooftop of your apartment, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as the cool night air brushed against your skin. Above you, stars dotted the sky, their faint glow fighting against the city lights below.

You checked your phone out of habit, not expecting any messages but still hoping for one. It was past midnight now, the time when Yunjin would usually finish her patrol. It wasn’t that you minded waiting; in fact, you enjoyed these moments of stillness, knowing that any second she could come swooping in, her playful grin lighting up the night.

And right on cue, you heard it—the faint whoosh of webs shooting across buildings. You looked up just in time to see her silhouette flying through the air, her figure moving with effortless grace, as if the entire city was her playground. Spider-Woman. Yunjin. Your girlfriend.

She landed softly on the rooftop, the moonlight casting a silver glow over her suit. Her face was still hidden behind her mask, but you could tell she was smiling by the way she carried herself. She was always full of energy after a night out swinging through the city.

“You’ve been waiting long?” she asked, her voice slightly muffled by the mask as she approached you.

“Not really,” you said, smiling up at her. “Just a couple of hours.”

She winced, clearly feeling guilty. “Sorry about that. There was a little more action tonight than usual.”

“Saving the world again, I assume?” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as the breeze picked up.

“Something like that.” She laughed, finally pulling off her mask. Her hair was slightly tousled, but her eyes sparkled as they always did when she looked at you. “I missed you,” she said, her voice softer now.

You smiled warmly. “I missed you too.”

Yunjin sat down beside you, pulling you into a hug. You let yourself relax in her arms, your head resting on her shoulder as you breathed in her familiar scent, a mix of adrenaline and something distinctly her. It was always a strange contrast—how she could be out there fighting crime one minute, and the next, she’d be here with you, completely at peace.

“So, how was it tonight?” you asked, breaking the silence. “Did you catch any bad guys?”

“Just a few. A robbery downtown and a couple of guys trying to steal a car.” She spoke casually, as if stopping crime was no big deal. “Nothing too serious, though. Pretty standard stuff.”

You looked up at her, admiring how calm she was about all of it. “You make it sound like you’re just running errands.”

She laughed, her arm tightening around your shoulders. “To be honest, it kind of feels like that sometimes. You’d be surprised how much of this job is just chasing down petty criminals.”

You shook your head, smiling. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

She looked down at you, her smile softening. “Not as amazing as you for waiting up for me every night.”

“Hey, someone’s got to make sure Spider-Woman stays out of trouble.”

“Oh, is that your job now?” she teased, leaning in a little closer.

“Someone’s got to do it,” you replied, your heart skipping a beat as she closed the distance between you.

Yunjin’s gaze flickered down to your lips for a brief moment before she leaned in, brushing her lips softly against yours. The kiss was tender, full of warmth and affection, the kind of kiss that made the world disappear for a moment. You closed your eyes, letting yourself melt into the feeling, her presence grounding you in a way nothing else could.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes lingered on yours, a small, almost shy smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I’ve been waiting to do that all night,” she whispered.

You laughed softly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “You could’ve done it sooner if you weren’t out fighting crime.”

She chuckled, resting her forehead against yours. “You’re right. I need to get my priorities straight.”

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the city’s hum fading into the background as you held each other. These were the moments you cherished most—when it was just you and Yunjin, no masks, no superhero responsibilities, just the two of you sharing a quiet night under the stars.

But, of course, Yunjin was never one to let things stay quiet for too long.

After a few minutes, she shifted, looking at you with that mischievous glint in her eyes that you knew all too well. “You know what we haven’t done in a while?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Gone for a swing,” she said, her grin widening as she stood up and held out her hand to you. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

You blinked at her, half-laughing in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” she replied, wiggling her fingers at you. “I promise I won’t drop you.”

You hesitated for a second, glancing down at the city streets far below. The idea of being carried through the air like that was both terrifying and thrilling. But then you looked at Yunjin, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and you couldn’t help but smile. You trusted her completely.

“All right,” you said, taking her hand. “But if you drop me, I’m breaking up with you.”

She laughed, pulling you to your feet. “Deal. But you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

With that, Yunjin wrapped her arm securely around your waist and pulled you close. You could feel her warmth against you as she fired a web at a nearby building, and before you knew it, the two of you were soaring through the air.

The wind rushed past your face, and your heart leapt into your throat as Yunjin swung you both effortlessly between the towering buildings. You clung to her, your breath catching in your chest, but the fear quickly gave way to exhilaration. The city lights blurred below you, and for a moment, it felt like you were flying.

Yunjin let out a joyful laugh, her voice full of pure, unfiltered happiness. “Isn’t this amazing?”

You couldn’t help but laugh with her, the adrenaline making your heart race. “Okay, I’ll admit, this is pretty cool!”

She grinned, spinning both of you in mid-air before gracefully landing on another rooftop. Your legs were a little shaky when you touched the ground, but you were still grinning from ear to ear.

“That was incredible,” you breathed, slightly out of breath. “I can’t believe you do that every day.”

Yunjin smiled, her arm still around your waist. “You get used to it after a while. But it’s a lot more fun with you.”

You looked up at her, your heart swelling with affection. “I guess that makes me your sidekick now, huh?”

“More like my partner in crime-fighting,” she said, leaning down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more passionate, the thrill of the swing still lingering between you. Her lips were soft and warm against yours, and you felt yourself get lost in the moment, your arms wrapping around her neck as you pulled her closer.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, and you could feel her breath against your lips. “You make everything better, you know that?” she whispered.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I could say the same about you.”

For the rest of the night, you and Yunjin stayed on that rooftop, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. She told you stories about her latest adventures as Spider-Woman, and you shared the little things that had happened during your day. It was peaceful, being up there with her, away from the noise and chaos of the city below.

As the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you yawned, leaning your head on Yunjin’s shoulder. “I think it’s time for bed,” you mumbled sleepily.

Yunjin smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, we should probably get some sleep.”

She stood up, helping you to your feet before wrapping her arm around your waist once more. “Let’s get you home,” she said, her voice soft and comforting.

With one last swing, Yunjin brought you back to your apartment, gently lowering you onto the balcony before landing beside you. You turned to her, still feeling a little light-headed from the adrenaline and the late hour.

“Thanks for the adventure,” you said, smiling up at her.

“Anytime,” she replied, her eyes full of warmth. “Get some rest, okay?”

You nodded, leaning in for one last kiss before turning to head inside. But just as you reached the door, Yunjin called out to you.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft. “I love you.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering at her words. “I love you too, Yunjin.”

And with that, you disappeared into your apartment, leaving Spider-Woman standing on your balcony, watching over you as always.

[greengoblinswifey]

Deprived— FratBoy!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you and nicholas have been together for a month and everything has been perfect, except, he’s now touch deprived because you’ve both been busy with university duties.

warnings— established relationship, fluff, sub!nicholas then dom!nicholas, possessive!nicholas, fingering, strip tease, face sitting, face fucking, ass slapping, unprotected sex(wrap it up irl), praise kink, bondage, gagging, creampie, cockwarming.

a/n— thank you guys for 3000+ followers, it means the world to me i love writing🫶🏽requests are open for this au, nicholas and all other characters i’ve written for🫶🏽

Nicholas arrived at your dorm, his hands full of flowers and a basket loaded with little surprises. He couldn’t help but grin, taking in the sight of you.

“Happy one month, baby,” he said, holding out the basket of gifts and the flowers.

“Aw, Nick!”you exclaimed, stepping forward to kiss him. It was a quick, warm kiss, but it had him lingering for more, his heart pounding and his cock suddenly hard. But just as he hoped for something more you pulled away, setting the flowers on your desk. “Thank you so much. You're so sweet, these are beautiful,” you murmured before diving back into your notes.

Nicholas tried to be patient, settling himself on your bed as he watched you work. But after a while, he couldn’t hold back his thoughts. “So, remember the first time we hung out here?” he asked grinning a little.

You glance up with a smirk, remembering. “How could I forget?” He remembered it so clearly — the intensity, the way you’d led him every step of the way, taking his virginity and making him feel like he was the only one in the world. He knew since then that you were the woman for him. You were his first and last.

Nicholas sat on the bed, watching you work, trying to keep his focus on anything but his growing desire. Finally, he blurted out, “I miss you.”

You glanced up, confused. “Sweetheart, you see me almost every day. What do you mean you miss me?”

He shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks slightly flushed. “I mean, I miss, uh, doing—you know.”

A smirk spread across your face as you abandoned your work to straddle him, fingers brushing his hair back. “Use your words, Nicholas. You miss doing what?”

He hesitated, then, eyes dark, murmured, “I miss, um, fucking you.”

You laughed softly, leaning in close. “I didn’t realize you were this touch-deprived,” you teased, noting how he was already hard with barely a touch. “Tell you what, let me finish everything up, and then you’ll have me all to yourself. Sound fair?”

He sighed but nodded, “I think I can work with that.” He gave you one last lingering look. “Be ready for our anniversary dinner at seven, alright?”

At seven, Nicholas arrived, ever the gentleman, opening doors and pulling out your chair just like he did on your first date. Throughout dinner, you kept sending him teasing looks, trailing your fingers over his hand, letting your gaze linger, and even giving his knee a gentle squeeze under the table.

“Everything’s going to be fine when we get back,” you murmured, watching his face as he swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure.

On the drive back, you felt tipsy and mischievous. You let your hand drift to his thigh, rubbing over his hard cock in his pants. His breathing grew heavier, and he muttered, “You’re making it hard to drive like this.”

You just laughed, leaning in close, your hand still caressing his bulge. “Focus on the road, baby.”

He was barely holding on by the time you reached your dorm. As soon as the door closed, he was on you, pushing you gently back against the door, his mouth finding yours in a hungry kiss. His hands trailed up your sides, gripping your waist as he whispered, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

You leaned back from the kiss, giving Nicholas a teasing smile. “Fuck, you’re so needy,” you murmured.

He let out a low chuckle, his eyes dark with desire. “Of course I am,” he replied, voice rough, “when I’m around someone as beautiful as you, my girlfriend, and I can’t have you right then and there.”

A shiver ran through you as his hand slipped under your dress, fingertips grazing your inner thighs as he pulled you closer. His gaze was intense, his lips barely inches from yours as he murmured, “You’re mine. I should be able to take what’s mine.”

With that, he hiked your dress up, his eyes locking onto yours as his fingers slipped inside you. Your breath hitched as his fingers teased and explored, a delicious pressure building as he kept his gaze steady, watching your every reaction.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent, “I want to see you when you fall apart.”

“Nick,” you moaned, as his fingers sped up and his thumb began rubbing your clit.

You could barely hold back, gripping his shoulders as your body responded to every movement of his fingers, finally reaching an orgasm that had you gasping as you squirted all over his fingers. He knew exactly how to make you feel good.

“Taste yourself,” he murmured. You held on to his hand, sucking your juices off his fingers before you took them in deeper.

“Wow, you’re amazing,” he whispered.

You gave him another kiss on the lips before leading him over to your bed and putting him to sit. He watched in awe as you swayed your hips and slowly removed your clothing including the lingerie you had on underneath.

“You’re a-absolutely breathtaking,” he whispered, the dent in his pants growing more than he thought it ever could. You were completely bare and before him, your body he believed to be sculpted by the gods themselves. “I missed this so much,” he said, in between kissing your body, “I need you to sit on my face.”

“Beg me then,” you whispered, your hand in his hair.

“F- fuck, please baby, I need you to sit on my face. Need you so bad, I need it,” he whimpered. You loved when he was like this. Lips pouty, face red and his eyes dark with desire.

“Good boy, now lay back.” As eager as ever, he lay back, but not before loosening his tie and taking off his shirt. He looked so fine all dressed up for you. His hands gripped your hips, making sure you were flat on his mouth, just where he wanted you.

“Baby, oh my god that feels good,” you cried out. He was a man possessed, his tongue circled your clit, flicking it and sucking, making you feel unimaginable pleasure. His mouth engulfed your pussy, eating you out like he was starved—well he was. It didn’t take much and you held on to his hair, grinding as he sucked and licked and soon you were convulsing on top of him, your high overtaking you.

“Give me everything you’ve got,” he murmured, not stopping even when you already came. He continued and you held on to his hair for dear life, crying out as the pleasure became almost too much.

“O-oh, I think I’m gonna cum again,” you moaned. You felt him smirk below you and just as predicted, you squirted all over his face. You definitely had to change your sheets the next morning.

“Good girl, that’s my baby, just gushing for me, you love sitting on my face, don’t you?” You nodded instinctively, now ready to give him a taste of pleasure.

He stood up and you fell to your knees, unbuckling his belt and freeing his cock as you looked up at him with lust blown eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighed, looking down at you. Even then he couldn’t believe a girl like you gave a guy like him a chance.

“So are you baby,” you smiled, admiring his hard cock in your hands. It almost looked painful.

“Fuck, just like that,” he moaned loudly. You giggled as you immediately took his cock into the back of your throat. The taste of his pre cum made you moan in content and you continued sucking, playing with his balls as he struggled to quiet his little whimpers.

“C-can I, uh, fuck your throat?” he asked, “it’s okay if you don’t want to, I- I just heard some of the guys in the frat talk about doing it,” he asked, shyly.

“Of course baby, we can try anything,” you smiled, taking his cock out of your mouth, a trail of saliva connecting you.

As soon as you gave permission, he gripped your hair and thrusted into your throat. Your nails dug into his thighs as he thrusted steadily, making sure you could still be able to breathe. You caressed his balls as he did, earning breathy moans. The sight of you on your knees for him, pre cum and saliva dripping down your chin was enough to make him shoot his load into your throat. You swallowed every drop of his cum, using your hands to milk him of everything he had.

“Oh shit,” he moaned, “I never get tired of seeing you do that.”

You smiled at him but thoughts were swirling in your head, he was new to all of this and it was your job to teach him the kinkier side of things.

“Get your tie and bound my hands behind my back,” you said.

“Uh, are you s-sure?” he asked, face now red with a surprised expression.

“Yes baby, I’m sure, now take up your tie,” you responded. You arched your back, your hands behind you, waiting for him to tie them.

Soon, you felt the bed dip and the feeling of the tie going around your wrists. “Is this okay? I don’t want it to be too tight and hurt you.”

“That’s okay baby.” He hummed in response and you moaned as the leaking head of his cock ran up and down your folds. He slipped inside your slick pussy, both of you moaning in unison.

“You look so fucking sexy like this,” he said, slapping your ass and surprising you. You were enjoying this kinkier side of him.

He held you by your tied wrists, slamming into you from behind. The angle made him go deep, and all you could think about was how good his cock felt.

“You’re doing so good for me baby,” you cried, “faster.”

He obeyed, his hips meeting your ass faster as he thrusted into you, your pussy gripping him as his cock disappeared inside you.

“S-so so tight,” he whimpered, losing himself in the pleasure of it all.

“That’s right baby, and it’s all yours, whose pussy is this?”

“Mine baby, all mine,” he moaned, and with that, you clenched tightly around his dick, creaming all over it.

“Good boy, you make me feel so good, now untie me and sit,” you said, having another idea in mind.

He did as he was told and as you took up the tie, eyeing it and then Nicholas.

“W-what are you gonna do to me?” he inquired nervously.

“Nothing too crazy, I’m just going to gag you, is that okay sweetheart? Do you want that?”

He nodded slowly, heart rising in his cheeks. He had heard his frat brothers talk about gagging girls, never the other way around but, he was different from them. He wanted to be the one gagged.

“Words baby, I need you to tell me what you want.”

“Yes, I want you to gag me,” he answered and you grinned, placing a passionate kiss on his lips before stuffing his own tie in his mouth.

“That’s my good boy, so obedient,” you smirked. You straddled him, rubbing his tip across your pussy. He let out a muffled whimper, feeling your juices drain down the base of his cock.

“Mm-mm,” he mumbled through the tie.

“I can’t hear you baby, you’re gonna have to speak up for me,” you laughed.

He protested through the tie but a muffled moan interrupted him as you slowly sank down on his hard cock. You gripped his shoulders, surely to leave claw marks as he stretched you out and you tried to take as much of him inside you as you could.

“Best dick I’ve ever had sweetheart.”

You began bouncing on his cock, his eyes going from your tits moving, to your face contorting in pleasure to his dick disappearing inside your pussy. His muffled whimpers only willed you further and you continued bouncing, whispering praises in his ear.

“Take it like a good boy.”

“Happy anniversary baby, I promise you won’t go this long without being inside me ever again.”

“I love you cock baby.”

“F-fuck this is my dick.”

“You make me feel so good.”

Tears pricked the corner of his eyes as he gripped your waist lightly, lost in the feeling of your pussy gripping him ever so tightly. He could feel the head of his cock practically touch your cervix and constantly be coated in your juices.

“Hold my baby, hold me close, I’m gonna cum,” you cried, gripping his shoulder tightly.

He did as you instructed, pulling you close and thrusting up into you as you squirted and creamed on his cock. The combination made him lose control and he moaned and grunted into the tie, releasing his load deep inside your pussy. He held you close, slowly thrusting up into you, making sure your grip milked him of all his load until you both fell onto the bed with you on top of him and his cock buried deep inside you.

You removed the tie from his mouth and placed a kiss on his lips as he panted. “That was so hot, you’re amazing.” You smiled and placed another kiss on his lips before laying on his chest.

“We’re gonna stay like this all night okay,” you said, snuggling into him, still feeling his cock pulse inside you.

“Happy anniversary again beautiful,” he sighed, kissing the top of your head, “best gift ever.”

“You’re everything to me Nicholas.”