#i do not want to have to converse with someone else | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedroscurls · 2 days ago

Text

you put a spell on me (one-shot)

summary: hugh attends a masquerade-themed party and you capture his attention the moment you step into the building. pairing: hugh jackman x fem! reader content warnings: smut (18+, mdni), fingering, oral - m receiving, multiple orgasms (from reader), missionary (legs over hugh’s shoulders obvi), doggy style, cowgirl, light spanking, unprotected p in v sex (be safe folks!), creampie , no use of y/n. word count: 5.2k a/n: so after all the shit that’s happened in the last twenty four hours, I just needed to write something and Hugh’s most recent post is the inspiration of this story. song lyrics are in italics btw. hope you all enjoy! this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. song: you put a spell on me by austin giorgio

A masquerade ball.

Hugh was speaking with Ryan and Blake when someone caught the corner of his eye. Turning to look in your direction, he feels his breath catch in his throat at the sight of you descending the stairs to the main dance floor.

Everyone else in this ballroom was either dressed in tones of black, white, and gold, but you… the color of your deep wine red dress adds just the right amount of color to this room. He can’t help but let his eyes take in your frame - the gown trails behind you so elegantly and serene as you walk, an a-line cut with a slit that reveals your leg, an empire waist that clings to every curve, and the slightly puffy sleeves of your dress makes you look so angelic. When you turn slightly, he takes note of the open back as well, biting his lower lip.

There’s a familiarity to you, that maybe he’s seen you before, maybe even talked to you before too. Hugh watches your eyes sweep the area and when your eyes meet his, he lets the corner of his lips turn upwards and then he sees you bite your lower lip, returning his smile with one of your own.

But you’re wearing a masquerade mask, just like he is, just like everyone else in this room is. He can’t tell if he knows you, can’t decide if he should just go up to you and strike up a conversation because if he could hear your voice, it’ll at least give him some idea of who you might be.

Hugh has to peel his eyes away from you for a moment, turning his attention back to Ryan who’s staring at him with a big grin.

“What?” Hugh asks, bringing a hand up to adjust the mask on his face.

“You gonna talk to her?”

“I don’t know her,” Hugh admits. “Or at least I don’t think I do.”

“Well, go and find out.” Blake says with a smile, gently nudging him with her arm.

“Yeah?” Hugh asks. “You think it won’t be awkward?”

“Well, what was awkward was watching you stare at her like you wanted something, if you get what I mean,” Ryan teases.

Hugh rolls his eyes and lets out a quiet chuckle. He runs a hand through his hair and then straightens out his bow tie as he nods at Ryan and Blake before he leaves the table in search of you.

Hugh scans the entire room, trying to catch a glimpse of your red dress in the sea of black, white and gold, but he can’t seem to find you. He places his hands in his pockets as he continues to walk casually throughout the room, stopping every now and then to talk with someone he knows. Even in the midst of the conversations, Hugh’s eyes still search for you.

Just one glimpse, he tells himself. Hugh just needs to see the color of your dress and then he’ll be able to get to you.

He excuses himself from another conversation and then decides to walk towards the bar. Hugh sighs to himself, not having found you since you first stepped into the building. He takes the champagne glass from the bartender and then turns his gaze back to the entire room. Very briefly, does he see a glimpse of your smile. His eyes move lower and notices the color of your dress.

It’s you, finally.

Taking a deep breath, Hugh takes another glass of champagne and walks in your direction. It takes less than ten seconds to get to you, the person you had been talking to leaving you alone conveniently as he moves to stand next to you.

“Refill?” Hugh asks quietly, handing you the glass of champagne.

You smile up at him and Hugh feels his heart race even faster. You don’t say anything, instead you just give him a thankful nod and take the glass of champagne from him, your fingers brushing against his.

“I’m Hugh,” he says with a small smile.

“I know,” you finally tell him.

Your voice is quiet and he can’t tell if he’s heard it before, so he leans in closer. Hugh can hear your breath hitch and it gives him just the right amount of confidence to ask you a question.

“And you? What’s your name?”

You lift the glass of champagne to your lips and take a small sip. “Well, what’s the fun in that if I just tell you,” you tease, whispering quietly.

Hugh smiles and pulls back to look down at you. All of a sudden, no one else in this room matters but you. Everyone fades into the background and all he can see is you.

“Okay,” he chuckles. “Well, do we know each other? Have we met before?”

“We’ve met before, yes.”

Hugh bites the inside of his cheek but he can’t focus. He just wants to reach out and slowly lift the mask from your eyes so he can get a clear view of who you are.

“Have we worked together?” Hugh asks.

“I think I should be offended that you can’t tell who I am,” you laugh quietly.

Your laugh. The way your smile lights up your entire face. There’s that sense of familiarity all over again and it’s a fleeting moment where he suddenly realizes where he knows you from. The after party for Deadpool & Wolverine. He remembered leaving that night with a huge smile on his face after spending the entire night talking with you.

That was months ago and while you two have had brief conversations between then and now through social media, neither of you ever tried to pursue each other. Though, there was an obvious attraction, an obvious pull that you felt towards one another.

Hugh doesn’t ask anymore questions about you, but instead he watches you finish your glass of champagne. He smiles to himself and finishes his own glass before he takes yours and sets both glasses down on a nearby table.

“Would you like to dance?” Hugh asks, large hand extending out for you.

Gently, you place your hand in his and nod, stepping closer to him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hugh smiles to himself and leads you to the dance floor, his free hand moving to rest on your lower back. He feels your other hand come to rest on his shoulder as he’s careful not to step on the ends of your dress. Even under the shadows of the dance floor, Hugh can see you so clearly.

you put a spell on me

I’m losing my mind

As the song begins, Hugh sways with you, hand splaying on your lower back as he feels your skin underneath his fingertips. He bites his lower lip, staring into your eyes through his own mask. He feels a bit at ease with the mask, like everyone else in the room won’t be focusing on the two of you and how you’re both becoming increasingly closer.

you better stop things

it’s a matter of time

You can feel his fingertips run lightly along your back as his eyes remain locked on yours. Since meeting him, Hugh had occupied your thoughts and the brief conversations you had with him always left you yearning for more. It was easy to talk to him; it felt so natural and he always made you laugh.

Hugh pulls you flush against him, your body pressing firmly against his as the song continues.

before I hunt you down

grab your chin

and kiss your lips

Your eyes move to his lips, biting down on your lower lip in anticipation. The tension between the both of you thickens and your hand on his shoulder moves to rest on his chest, the muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt tensing and flexing at your touch.

you bring me back

I lay you down

and grab your hips

Hugh then drops your hand and moves both of his own to rest on your hips, gripping them tightly as he lowers his head to press his forehead lightly against yours. Quietly, almost above a whisper, Hugh finally says your name with a cheeky grin on his lips.

“Y–You figured it out,” you say.

“Knew it the minute you smiled at me,” Hugh replies.

As you continue to sway on the dance floor with him, your own hands move to wrap around his neck, linking your fingers together to rest at the nape of his neck.

I put a spell on you

and now you’re mine

I’ve got a hold on you

at least for the night

“Do you wanna get out of here?” You ask him hesitantly, looking into his eyes hopefully.

Hugh nods instantly. “Yes,” he answers.

—

When you finally get to his penthouse, you walk inside and look around, still wearing your mask. You gasp quietly when you feel his strong hands on your hips, turning you around to face him. He slowly lifts his mask off and away from his face, his hazel eyes now glimmering with excitement.

He’s so handsome, so beautiful and breathtaking. Hugh then reaches up to slowly lift the mask away from your face, eyes gazing directly into your own once he removes it completely. He feels his heart race faster again at the sight of you.

“Beautiful,” he whispers.

“Hugh?” You ask, hand coming up to gently run along the lapel of his white suit jacket.

“Yes, love?”

“Kiss me, please.”

Hugh nods and then leans in to press his lips firmly against your own. His hand moved to cup your cheek, fingers splaying against the side of your neck. Your own hands move to the lapels of his white suit jacket, gripping it lightly as you begin to move your lips with his own. You’ve imagined this so many times, but you never thought that it would feel this perfect.

His free hand moves to rest on your hip, rubbing his thumb against the fabric of your dress. Hugh darts his tongue out to tease your lips and when you let out a gasp, his tongue slides in your mouth to meet your own. The grip around his jacket tightens further and you feel a familiar throbbing between your legs, your wetness now staining the panties you have on.

Hugh pulls away from the kiss momentarily to look down at you. You’ve occupied his mind since meeting you and the brief conversations you did share has always left him wondering if this could be more. He didn’t want to push this, push you, into something that wouldn’t become anything but the moment he knew it was you, Hugh realized he wanted you. Bad.

He’s staring into your eyes, searching for any doubt in your features. Hugh drops his hand to rest on the side of your neck, thumb now brushing against your collarbone. “Tell me…” he sighs. “Tell me I’m not the only one that feels something here.”

“You’re not,” you admit. “I’ve been– Since the night of the party, I kind of expected you to ask me out or…” you feel the heat in your cheeks rise and you bite your lower lip. “I thought maybe I had just imagined it.”

The hand on your hip moves to your back, fingertips grazing your skin as he dips it lower and lower beneath the fabric of your dress. “I didn’t want to scare you away,” he confesses.

“I don’t think you ever could.” You move your hands up his chest and slowly undo his bow tie, biting your lower lip in anticipation.

“And if we do this?” Hugh asks, hopefully.

“Well, if we do this,” you say quietly, your fingers slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. “It’s not going to be just a one time thing… but if you want it to be a one time thing, then we should probably establish–”

Hugh shakes his head and interjects, “it’s not going to be a one time thing.”

You smile up at him, your fingertips grazing the exposed skin on his chest as you continue to unbutton his shirt. “Good. Take me to your room?”

“Yes,” Hugh breathes out. He steps back and away from you, taking your hand in his and leading you to his main bedroom upstairs. You don’t even have time to look around, to get acquainted with his personal space that he allowed you to get a glimpse of because the moment you step inside, Hugh gently sets you on the edge of his large mattress.

You watch him get rid of his bow tie and white jacket, discarding it on the floor. You’re about to reach down to remove your heels, but Hugh drops to his knees in front of you, taking one foot to slide the heel off. You clear your throat, hands resting on the edges of the mattress as Hugh proceeds to your other foot to remove your heel. Slowly, he lifts the ends of your dress to reveal more of your legs, his fingertips hovering lightly over you.

Once your dress bunches up at the waist and he gets a clear view of your matching red lace thong, he has to reach down to squeeze his throbbing erection. Hugh leans in and presses soft kisses on your inner thigh, the stubble of his beard and his sideburns grazing your skin and causing a shiver to run through your body.

Hugh stares up at you, eyes silently asking for permission. When he sees you nod, Hugh moves further between your legs, his nose brushing against your clothed sex. It causes a gasp to escape your lips, eyes falling shut as nudges you with the bridge of his nose.

“Hugh,” you whimper. “Please, baby…”

Hugh smirks and pulls away to look up at you. He stands up – albeit with protest from you – and takes your hand. Once you’re standing in front of him, he reaches for the zipper on the side of your dress and lowers it until the dress becomes loose around your frame. He feels your hands come back up to finish the job of unbuttoning his shirt and once it’s fully unbuttoned, you push it off his shoulders and the shirt drops to the floor. He’s now completely shirtless and your eyes deviate to his strong and chiseled chest. You lean in and gently nip along his collarbone, hands coming up to graze his abdomen and up his chest.

Hugh lets out a quiet moan at your touch. Slowly, he takes your hands and presses a soft kiss on your knuckles before he reaches out to pull down your dress. Once it pools around your ankles, he feels his breath catch in his throat yet again. You’re standing in front of him in a deep red lace bra and matching thong set.

“You’re breathtaking,” he compliments. “Fuck,” he adds.

Hugh has always looked at you like the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, has always given you his undivided attention, and right now is no different. You’d usually be very conscious about your body, about how you look, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel very confident and secure in your skin.

“I think it’s only fair we take these off, huh?” You say, hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You can see his obvious bulge from beneath his slacks, can see the outline of him and you feel only slightly nervous because he looks big. At least, bigger than you’ve ever had before.

Hugh nods and then undoes his pants, quickly stepping out of them as he kicks his shoes off. He’s wearing black boxer briefs and you slowly reach out to rest your palm over him, his girth and size not a match for your hand. You’re tugging on his boxers, tugging on the fabric to pull it away from him, but Hugh shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist instead.

“Gotta see you first, baby,” he whispers, lips grazing your jawline. Then, Hugh sets you on the middle of his bed, biting his lower lip at the sight of you all splayed out for him. He quickly moves to settle himself between your legs, making sure to press himself against you. When he feels you roll your hips, Hugh lets out a groan.

Hugh reaches around you and unclasps your bra, pulling it slowly away from your body. He tosses it over his shoulder, eyes moving to your now exposed breasts and he pushes further into you. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your thong, pulling it down your legs. “Gonna keep these,” he growls, bringing the fabric up to his nose and inhales your scent.

You bite your lower lip and nod up at him, watching him set your panties on his nightstand. When you look back up at him, Hugh’s eyes scan every inch of your naked frame, almost like he’s committing it to memory. When he presses his clothed length against you, he feels your wetness stain the fabric of his briefs.

Hugh slowly lowers himself further to press light kisses on your collarbone, lips moving further and further until he wraps his lips around your nipple. He groans to himself and uses his free hand to begin kneading your unattended breast. Hugh feels your hips continue to roll upwards into him and he’s throbbing so painfully beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs. He pulls back, flicking his tongue against your nipple before he moves to give the same attention to your other breast.

“Oh god,” you whimper. Hugh smiles to himself and moves a hand between your legs, a finger slowly grazing your exposed sex. You’re already so wet, juices building and trickling down to his sheets. He slides the tip of his finger into your heat, growling against you as he feels your walls tighten around him, sucking him in.

He slides his finger further into your heat, pulling away from your breast to look up at you. Hugh rests his forehead against your temple, whispering lowly in your ear. “You’re so wet, baby…” he smirks, nibbling at your earlobe as he begins to pump his finger in and out of your depths.

Your hands move to his shoulders, gripping it tightly as your walls begin to tremble. When Hugh pushes another digit into you, your back arches and your fingernails dig into his skin. “Hugh!” You moan loudly, your head tossing back slightly against the mattress as you feel your walls begin to clench around his digits, your orgasm approaching faster than what you’re used to.

Hugh grins to himself and quickens his pace. He can feel your juices around his fingers, can hear the squelching sounds of his fingers pumping into your wet heat. After a few more pumps, Hugh presses his fingers fully into, palm firmly against your bundle of nerves.

“Come for me,” he growls into your ear.

And on command, your walls clench further around him and a loud moan escapes your lips. You roll your hips against his hand, his palm providing the right amount of friction against your clit. When you slowly come down from your high, Hugh then pulls his hand away from you. He sees your arousal coat his fingers and he grins, bringing it to his lips and sucking them off his fingers. His eyes flutter at your taste and he leans back against his knees.

“God, you taste good.” Hugh’s about to lower himself to get a taste of you directly through the source, but his eyes slightly widen when you sit up and gently push him onto his back. “Baby,” he says softly, seeing the dark gaze in your eyes. Hugh feels your hands tug down his briefs, his erected manhood now resting against his lower abdomen.

“You made me come,” you tell him, licking your lower lip. “Already,” you continue.

“Oh, you’re gonna come a few more times tonight before I’m done with you,” Hugh grins proudly.

You don’t answer. Instead, you lie on your abdomen and grasp the base of length, wasting no time in wrapping your lips around his tip. Hugh lets out a loud groan in surprise, hand coming down to tangle itself in your hair. You whimper at the taste of him, at his girth stretching your mouth. He lifts his head slightly off the bed to look down at you, groaning at the sight of you. You smile at him – fucking smile with his cock in your mouth and it makes him go wild. Hugh rests his head back against the mattress, eyes fully shut tight when he feels you lower your mouth further onto him.

Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t take and he knows that he can’t fucking come right now, knows that he doesn’t want to come in your mouth when he hasn’t even felt how you would feel wrapped around him.

“Baby, baby, fuck,” he groans, gently pulling you away from his length. Hugh looks down at himself, seeing your saliva coating half of his size and when he looks up at you, you’re fucking smiling again. He rolls you onto your back and settles himself between your legs, grasping his base and running his tip along your throbbing sex. “As much as I loved the sight of you with my cock in your mouth,” he growls, eyes staring deeply into yours. “I still need to feel you.”

Then, Hugh pushes his tip into you. He groans to himself, pushing his hips into you as he slides into your tight walls inch by inch. You’re so wet, so warm, so fucking tight. He rests his forearms at either side of your head, gently stroking your hair back and away from your face. He stares into your eyes, rolling his hips into you until he fills you to the hilt.

“You feel good, baby,” Hugh whispers, lips brushing against yours. He feels your legs wrap around his waist, whimpering quietly as your eyes flutter when he pulls out to his tip only to thrust back into you slowly. “It’s taking a lot of restraint in me to not just…” he slams into you roughly, causing a loud moan to leave your lips. “Fuck.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, moving your lips to his jawline and neck. “Fuck me, Hugh… I can take it. I promise.”

Like a switch turned on, Hugh pulls back and sits back on his knees. He brings your legs to drape over his strong shoulders as he slides back into you. He turns his head and kisses the inside of your calf gently, softly, as he delivers a sharp thrust into you.

Hugh’s thrusts don’t falter, his skin slaps against yours as he picks up the pace. When he leans forward, your legs still over his shoulders, you feel him slide further into your depths. He rests his hands on the mattress, using it to ground him as he feels your walls slide along his throbbing length, gripping him so tight.

You can feel the tightness begin to build, your walls beginning to clench once more as your orgasm looms closer and closer. You reach out to rest your hands on his chest, feeling like you can’t handle anymore. Your body is overly sensitive and with each drag of his hips, with each push he thrusts into you, is enough for your walls to tighten even further around his length.

“Oh god,” you moan aloud. “Hugh!”

Hugh groans at the sight of you, at the feel of your walls clenching and trembling around him. He slows his thrusts for a moment, placing your legs back to your side as he stares down at you. “That’s two,” he grins proudly. Hugh pulls out completely, looking down at his length to see it slick with your arousal.

“It’s not a game,” you pant, moving to sit up with your legs still spread wide for him.

Hugh smirks, reaching down and stroking himself slowly as his eyes take in your entire frame. He’s surprised that he’s held out this long, driven by his desire to get you to come at least one more time before he does.

“Really? Because I’m kind of enjoying myself, baby.”

You narrow your eyes and then slowly roll yourself into your abdomen. You bury your face against the softness of his pillow as you bring the sheet to cover your lower half. “Good, well I’m gonna get some sleep. You can fix that little problem yourself.” You bite your lower lip, knowing that Hugh’s not going to like that. When you look over your shoulder at him, you can see his lower lip between his teeth and he tugs the sheet down and away from your body.

“Oh, we wanna be a tease, huh?” Hugh straddles your hips, caging you in as he brings his hand lightly down your ass. The sound of his palm connecting with your backside echoes throughout his room. You gasp loudly, fully surprised that you actually like it. “We like that, do we?” Hugh smirks and then spanks you once more, feeling you wiggle back into him. “Oh, baby, you’re naughty.”

Then, he slides into you fully, this new position making you feel even tighter around him. You reach back, trying to push him away – your walls so sensitive with two orgasms already. Hugh clicks his tongue and grabs your hands and places them above your head, gripping your wrists firmly. He rolls his hips into you, eyes fluttering at the feel of you around him.

“Hugh, baby, please–”

Hugh interrupts you with a harsh thrust, resting his chest firmly against your back as he whispers into your ear. “Tell me how it feels, love,” he pants, a groan leaving his lips.

“Feels good,” you whimper, pushing back against him. “You’re so–” your breath catches in your throat when he pushes all the way into you, filling you so fully and deeply. He’s crowding your space, holding your wrists down, the weight of his body weight firmly pressing against yours, and his tip kissing your most inner parts… it’s enough for you to reach yet another orgasm.

“Fuck, Hugh!”

Hugh releases your wrists to grab your hips and pull out of you abruptly. He turns you over and leans down to lap at your juices, eyes fluttering at your taste as his tongue helps you ride out your climax. Your hand immediately moves to his hair – what was once neatly done for tonight’s event now is a complete mess as you tug and pull.

Hugh brings a hand to press his thumb firmly against your clit, feeling your entire body tremble and shake against him.

“Hugh!” you moan loudly, back arching. You’re truly spent and he’s still so fucking hard for you. When he pulls away, he licks his lips and gently slaps your already-sensitive pussy, which causes a gasp to escape your lips. You’re breathing so heavily, chest raising as you stare at him with a dazed look on your face.

“Three?” He smirks.

“How are you still…” you bite your lip and see him move to lie down next to you, his hand dropping down to slowly begin to stroke himself. “Don’t you want to come?”

Hugh growls lowly, eyes looking at you from top to bottom. “I do,” he answers. “But seeing you come is just as good.”

You take a few deep breaths and then slowly move to straddle his waist. You take hold of his base, holding it firm in your hand. You keep your eyes locked on his and slowly lower yourself onto him, feeling his girth stretch you out once more. You know you won’t be able to last long, your entire body already on overdrive. When you slowly begin to lower yourself onto him, inch by inch, it surprises you at how deep he feels in this position. Your walls slide down each inch of his length and when you lower yourself completely, until you’re sitting firmly on his lap, your hands move to rest on his chest.

“So deep,” you whisper, slowly rolling your hips forward and backwards, the hair at his base providing just the right amount of friction against your clit. “Now, it’s your turn to come– Hugh!”

He delivers a sharp thrust upwards, hands moving to grip your hips tightly and his fingertips dig into your flesh. Hugh licks his lower lip, staring up at you as you try your best to hold out another orgasm just so he can come. It’s cute, very considerate, but he needs one more out of you. Hugh isn’t usually like this, but there’s something about you that brings out this feral animal in him.

One hand moves to grasp your breast, massaging and kneading it into his palm as his other keeps a tight hold on your hip. Hugh lets out a loud moan when he feels you begin to bounce along his length – all the way to his tip and back down completely. He’s close, he’s surprised he’s even held out this long with coming, but he knows he’s close and he can’t hold it anymore.

“Baby–” Hugh groans, thumb brushing against your nipple as he sits up and wraps his arms around your waist. You continue to move along his length, your own hands moving to rest on his shoulders. In the time that he’s known you, you’ve always been so determined, especially when you put your mind on something and right now is no different.

He feels you lean in to press your lips against his own. It’s a messy kiss, but fueled with so much passion, so much intensity. Hugh feels the tightness build and build in the pit of his stomach as his hands hold you firmly still, his hips stuttering upwards into you at an erratic pace.

“Oh god,” he groans, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face against the side of your neck. Slowly, he feels your hips roll forwards and backwards, causing a shiver to run through his body. Hugh pulls back enough to look up at you and he sees that same fucking grin on your face. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he rolls you onto your back and slowly pulls out of you, seeing his release trickle out of you.

He’s about to say something, but you interrupt him by reaching down to scoop some of his release onto your finger and lift it to your lips. Without hesitation, you suck the remnants of his release off your fingertip and maintain eye contact.

“Minx,” he groans.

You smile and lean up to kiss his cheek, resting your head against his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for the next few days,” you giggle. “I can’t believe you made me come three times.”

“Let’s aim for four next time,” Hugh grins.

“I don’t know if I can do four…” you laugh.

“Oh, baby, I believe in you,” he winks and moves to hover above you again. Hugh’s hand comes up to rest on your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin lightly. “But before we do that, can I take you out on a real date?”

You nod and turn your head slightly to kiss the inside of his wrist. “Yes, Hugh.”

Hugh grins and then leans down to capture your lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman request #hugh jackman requests #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x fem!reader #hugh jackman x f!reader #story: mystery woman #hugh jackman oneshot #hugh jackman smut

275 notes · View notes

tune-on-in-folks · 3 days ago

Text

Day 19! I think this one is a little sweet. A bit short and fast, but sweet. Human Alastor for the win!

Tags/Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, discussion of murder, murderous intent, murderous ideation, fem!reader, abuse mention, reader's husband is abusive. Word Count: 1,735

When Alastor first met you it wasn't by accident, nor coincidence. Instead it was due to his meticulous planning. You were married to a very affluent man. A man who used his wealth for anything but good. His reputation had preceded him, and Alastor was certain that anything and anyone that man associated himself with, was also tainted. Which is what he had thought of you and was precisely the reason he had orchestrated your ‘fateful’ meeting at Mimzy's establishment.

Initially he had approached you in an attempt to get closer to your husband, and if he had to kill you too, what was the harm? But one conversation with you had turned into several, and months later he found himself no closer to killing your husband.

Alastor had been correct in his assumption that by association, you were tainted by your husband. But for all the reasons he hadn't expected. The first time he noticed the bruises he nearly flew into a blind rage. And you had the audacity to laugh it off, as though the abuse you were enduring at his hands, was not worth any fuss. As though your well-being was nothing more than an afterthought, something to be swept aside for everyone else's. It was on that day Alastor became increasingly impatient to kill your husband. He had it all planned out; from the time, to what he would do to make your husband suffer a fate worse than death for hours on end, before extinguishing his pathetic existence.

But you were a distraction.

That's what Alastor ultimately decided you were. A beautiful, wonderful, annoying distraction. You with your beautiful smile, your captivating laugh. Your wondrous eyes, your…he could go on. Get lost in everything that was intrinsically you. And for the past several months he had. He had allowed himself to grow fond of you. He held a deep seated affection for you. He craved you in ways he had never craved another soul before. What he felt for you was raw and vast. It left him feeling split open, as though your very presence had taken an axe to his chest, carving a home there. A place for you alone. It was only natural that the budding relationship between you both blossomed into something more, something deeper. Something sinful.

It had started with a stolen kiss one night outside of Mimzy's establishment. Upon seeing the time you had pulled him down, pressed a kiss against his lips, and called out a goodbye as you rushed away. He had been left stunned, his fingers brushing against his lips as he watched you run. How he wished he could have given chase. That kiss had spawned the first instances of longing for you. He wanted more, craved it. From that night it spiralled. Soft smiles and lingering touches, small kisses. You were driving him insane, he was certain of it. Until one night he cornered you and took you right up against the wall in an alley. He had been consumed by lust and desire, wanting nothing more than to have you. All of you. You were a thrill unlike any other. Being intimate with you gave him a high better than he had ever known. Not even watching the life drain from someone's eyes compared to how it felt to be with you. To kiss you, to hold you, to fuck you. You were intoxicating.

You were a damned distraction.

Distracting him from what he truly wanted. And that was for your husband to be dead, killed by his hand.

The ringing of his phone snaps Alastor out of his thoughts, his hands tighten around the book he's holding. With a sigh he picks the phone up from the receiver, setting his book aside.

“Hartfelt residence.” He answers smoothly, smiling with false brightness.

“Hello, my love.” You greet him softly, “are you alone?”

His smile softens and he leans back in his chair. “Hello, my dear… What are you doing calling me at this hour? I thought you and your…darling husband had a party.”

You chuckle at the contempt in his voice. “Yeah, well my ‘darling husband' as you put it, is currently fucking his mistress.”

Alastor's hand tightens around the phone in anger, but you continue on, not letting him get a word in.

“So while he's off having fun, I thought I might as well have some too.”

He can hear the amusement in your voice. As though your husband actively cheating on you wasn't such an insult. How you remained so bright despite that man, he'd never know.

“Some fun?” He asks, wanting nothing more than to snuff out the life of your blasted husband.

“With you, Alastor. Over the phone.”

He laughs softly, “my dear, what fun could we possibly get up to over the phone?”

Your sigh filters over the phone, and he can hear the pout in your voice. “Well I can’t have you in person right now, so can’t I just pleasure myself while listening to your voice?”

He laughs again, caught off guard by your candidness. “And are you, my dear? Pleasuring yourself, that is.”

You flush, “Well I haven’t started! I was…asking. I wanted to make sure it was okay with you, if we did that, if we do that.”

He leans further back in his chair, his voice tinged with amusement. “It’s perfectly fine, my dear... Do you often sneak away to finger yourself?”

You snort, smiling, “Only when I know I can moan your name.”

He can feel his cock twitch in his pants, a sensation that he had slowly grown accustomed to when it came to you. You made his body respond in ways he once found a nuisance, now he welcomed it.

“I think it’s only fair, little doe, if I get to touch myself too.” He decides, hearing your breath hitch.

He can imagine you in a room someplace, your skirts bunched around your hips as your hand creeps towards your centre. He hears a small whimper from you and he wonders how exactly you’re touching yourself.

“Please.” You breathe out, your voice shaky. “I want to hear you too, Al. I want to know that you’re getting as much pleasure out of this as I am.”

He reaches for the clasp of his pants, working it undone. In a moment he’s freed his rapidly hardening cock. He closes his hand around it, pulling a groan from the back of his throat.

“Oh..” He moans, letting his head fall back as he slowly pumps his length. “The sinful things you make me do, my dear.”

You giggle, working your fingers faster, “Ah, but you do them for me.”

He chuckles, the sound deep within his chest, sending shivers down your spine. Your walls clench at the sound. You adored his laugh and the things it made you feel.

“Hah, I do them because I adore you.” He breathes out, his hand moving faster.

He can hear the muffled sounds of you pleasuring yourself, your whimpers and moans growing louder. His own breathing is laboured, the sound of him fisting his cock carrying back over the phone to you.

“I wish..” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep quiet, “that I was married to you, Alastor. I hate him.”

His hand tightens around the phone again at your words, an ache settling in his chest. You occasionally said things like that. Things that made it feel as though you’d taken one of his knives and stabbed him right in the heart.

“Sweetheart…” He murmurs, clenching his jaw in anger at the thought of your husband. “Think of me, not him.”

You whimper, so close to your edge already. “I always think of you..oh fuck, I’m so close. Fuck, Alastor!”

He tightens his hand around his cock, his pace quickening as you moan his name. He hates how low and quiet your moans are. He knows that you’re attempting to stay quiet, keeping your voice down to stop your husband from finding out. It angers him. He wishes he was there, fucking you into your martial bed, drawing out all the sounds he loved to hear from you. He wishes he was there, forcing you to be louder and louder, as he took you hard and fast.

“Keep going,” He urges over the phone, “I want to hear you cum for me.”

“Fuck..” You breathe out, focusing on your pleasure, focusing on Alastor’s soft grunts over the phone.

He wished he could kill your husband tonight. Lure him out with a false sense of trust only to shatter it. Oh, he’d take great pleasure in drawing out the man’s death. Of ensuring that he felt all the pain he had caused you and more. Alastor’s breath hitches as he imagines how your husband would scream, how he’d try to get away, only to find that he couldn’t escape. Alastor imagined that fear in your husband’s eyes, imagined watching the life dim from them. He groans, his release growing nearer

“Ah, fffuck, Al-lastor!” You cry out, a bit too loudly for your own liking, as you cum around your fingers, your body shaking with the effort of your release.

He’s drawn out of his fantasy by your voice, a shiver running through his body as you moan his name.

“There we go.” He praises. “So good for me, sweetheart… Fuck-”

His cock twitches as his orgasm washes over him with surprising force. Hot ropes of cum splatter his hand and slacks, but he can’t find himself to care about the mess at the moment.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, wiping his hand with a handkerchief. “Are you still there, my doe?”

“Still here.” You say softly, having let your skirts fall back into place. “Still missing you.”

He smiles, glad you hadn’t disappeared on him just yet. “What would you say, if I told you I could get your husband to leave? Permanently.”

He can hear the smile in your voice as you reply without missing a beat. “I’d say I’d marry you.”

He chuckles softly, his smile widening. That was all the permission he needed. He was going to kill your husband, make sure he never touched you ever again. No more waiting. No more rushed calls, or stolen kisses, no more longing. It would just be you and him.

He couldn’t wait.

@pumppkinlynn I promised to tag you in this one! So here it is.

245 notes · View notes

zigdirty · 13 hours ago

Text

By the time I got off work this year, I’d already seen that the election had been called. I already knew the results.

Normally I have the tradition of watching this spectacular film every Guy Fawkes Day, November 5th, so I can enjoy it all over again, but also do I am always aware of how easily fascism can take over.

The irony of this Election Day being on Guy Fawkes Day, and the stakes of said election, were not lost on me. Not in the slightest.

But having been unable to watch it before I went to work Tuesday, I planned to at least start it before the end of the day. That is, until I saw the news.

All I could hear in my head was the speech broadcast across the emergency channel:

Good evening, London. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of everyday routine, the security of the familiar, the tranquillity of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration, whereby those important events of the past, usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, are celebrated with a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the fifth, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat. There are, of course, those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well, certainly, there are those who are more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable. But again, truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. They were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic, you turned to the now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent. Last night, I sought to end that silence. Last night, I destroyed the Old Bailey to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than four hundred years ago, a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words; they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you, then I would suggest that you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked. But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me, one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgot.

This has played on repeat in my mind since I learned of the election results, searing itself into my psyche.

We are now at that place. We are now the people to whom V was speaking in the movie.

I cannot bring myself to rewatch this marvel of live-action film. I do not believe it would bring me joy any longer.

We have no one else to blame but ourselves.

And we have a long road ahead of us out of hell.

V for Vendetta (2005)

#realtalk #sobering

2K notes · View notes

aealzx · 2 days ago

Text

_______________________

Update Post

Prologue | AO3

_______________________

“...o, he hasn’t woken up yet.”

Someone had entered the room that morning, and now Jazz was talking to someone that could have been them or another person entirely. The haze of their lowered conversation was helping to pull Danny from the fog of sleep. But after the initial part it sounded like the conversation was one sided.

“Clothes?.... Actually, I don’t know what he would like. He hasn’t bought anything for himself for two years now. And never has a response when we ask.”

That response made Danny feel like they were talking about him. Jazz and whoever she was talking to. It was probably on the phone. He felt a little bad, but what she had just said was true. He hadn’t really done much when it came to clothing lately. Sam and Tucker had mostly been the ones to give his Phantom attire an update, and he just hadn’t bothered to address anything else.

“No, I’m not going to wake him up. He needs his rest-”

“Mmm… ‘s fine, J’zz. ‘M awake,” Danny forced himself to mumble even though he wasn’t quite fully alert yet. Relaxing in the study the previous evening had been really nice, and his spirits had risen a little when the few sips of broth he’d had a few hours before bed hadn’t made him sick again. But he still felt like a truck had hit him in his sleep, which made that morning hard. “Izzat for me? Here…” he asked, lazily flopping his hand into the air so that Jazz could give him the phone.

Jazz seemed to consider it for a moment, but eventually sighed and walked over to put the borrowed cellphone in Danny��s hand. Danny couldn’t see, having not managed to open his eyes yet, but Alfred was waiting patiently at the door to get it back. For now Danny just flopped it next to his head and turned his ear into it. “Mm…’ello?”

“Danny! Good morning~”

It was Stephanie. Chiming in a bubbly way that was much too energetic for… what time was it? Still felt too early.

“So, we’re out shopping and getting some new clothes for everyone, but your friends are being unhelpful and keep saying you don’t have any kind of style you like. Soooo, you get to answer. What would you like us to pick up for you? And what size do you usually wear?” Stephanie rambled, anticipating Danny would have more answers than the others.

“Uhhhhhh….,” Danny stalled, both because he was still waking up and she had said a lot of words, but also because he didn’t have an answer. “I dunno. A t-shirt and jeans? I’m usually a size smaller than Tucker though.”

“Seriously? That’s it? That’s so boring,” Stephanie complained.

“See? We told you, but you didn’t believe us.” Danny could hear Tucker’s voice, and figured he was on speaker.

“He just kept wearing the same clothes he had when he was fourteen, and only has new ones because the rest of us bought some for him. But he was so unhelpful then too that we had to settle for just getting him space themed stuff,” Sam huffed, and Danny could hear her folding her arms in annoyance.

“Hey, I got a lot of other stuff to worry about than clothes,” Danny protested to defend himself.

“You like space themed stuff though?” Dick’s voice chimed in now.

“Yeah, I still like space,” Danny confirmed. “Can’t do much with it these days, but I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut,” he admitted, feeling a little embarrassed about admitting his childhood dream.

“Cool. What about puns?” Dick hummed, adding another question quickly.

“No. Dick, don’t you dare,” Stephanie scolded.

Danny could only smile though. “I love puns,” he confirmed, not able to pick out who was all contributing to the chorus of groans and complaints, “Why? You got a good one?”

“Maybe. You’ll see,” Dick’s response was with barely held mirth. “Thanks kiddo, take it easy,” he bid before ending the call.

Well at least that was something to look forward to. Danny’s smile didn’t fade as he lifted the phone from the pillow to hand back to Jazz, who then returned it to Alfred. He ended up rolling over and laying there for a little longer, which made Jazz giggle and run her fingers through his hair for a bit. It was comfortable, and at least he wasn’t so tired he fell asleep right after waking up.

“...Alfred made some more of the broth you got last night. Do you want to try some more?” Jazz eventually asked when Danny finally managed to keep his eyes open and focus on things.

Danny considered how he felt before answering, and ended up nodding. “These help,” he admitted, pointing to the anti nausea patch behind his ear. It was enough confirmation for Jazz to move to help him sit up, stuffing all the pillows she could behind him when he was upright so he wouldn’t have to worry about spilling. The broth really did taste good, despite only being slightly warmer than room temperature. He found that if he only took small sips, and waited awhile between them he didn’t end up with his stomach wanting to revolt again. Maybe eventually he’d want a fat burger again, but for now this was enough.

He soon learned that he hadn’t woken up until after 10:00 am, but while that felt weird to hear he eventually realized there was nothing wrong with it. Apparently the others had been out all morning, Stephanie having come to get them since it was a holiday for her school. Not that her attendance was stellar anyway with all the mishaps she ended up in during the daytime, but it helped convince Bruce to let her carry on. She’d even managed to drag Dick and Barbara to join them. And that and the phonecall earlier led to Dick being the one to burst into the bedroom shortly after noon with the bags he’d promised over the phone.

“Head’s up!” Dick called as the only warning before he tossed a new t-shirt over Danny’s head.

“Dick!” Barbara scolded mildly, having only heard how Danny was doing and not completely sure he was up for being harassed.

To her surprise Danny just snorted. “It’s fine. It’s just a shirt,” he excused, pulling the t-shirt off his face and spreading it where he could see. While Dick grinned triumphantly at Barbara before turning to watch Danny expectantly, Danny quickly read the text on the shirt and promptly half choked on a snort. “HAHAHAHA H-,” he erupted with full on laughter, wheezing as he tried to vocalize the text. “I have - PFFFF HAHAHA - so many prob- HHHHH Jazz,” he howled and wheezed, turning the shirt so his sister could see the astronaut image surrounded by the text ‘Houston, I have so many problems’.

“Oh-.... Ohhhhh that’s great,” Jazz grimaced, giving a thumbs up as the content of the shirt was enough to dampen her own joy over seeing Danny laughing so openly. Considering his current situation, Danny probably thought it was rather fitting.

“I’m so upset we were right that he would love that,” Sam grumbled with a shake of her head.

“I think it’s great,” Danielle chimed in, though not laughing quite as much as Danny since she’d already seen everything.

“Of course you do,” Tucker sighed.

“I have more!” Dick took that as a chance to continue, plopping on the bed and digging out another shirt to pass over to Danny.

“Oh no, I’m leaving. Have fun,” Tucker groaned, quickly heading out the door partially to get away from what he had a feeling was going to be a terrible session of puns and bad jokes, and partially to take care of his own haul. Sam was quick to follow his lead, dragging Danielle after them so she didn’t skip out on helping.

As Danny excitedly held up the next shirt another honk laugh escaped him, though not quite as uproarious as the first. “HA! Just need space. Classic,” he complimented, lowering the shirt to his lap and looking up at Dick again to see if he had more.

“This was the last shirt they had, but if you want more puns after I have plenty to give,” Dick complied, handing the final printed shirt over to Danny.

It took Danny a second to realize the graphic of the earth was suggested to be spinning, staring at the conversation between the characterized moon and their own planet. The moon was asking what the earth was doing, and the earth responded ‘Making everyone’s day’, and as soon as the joke clicked in Danny’s head he was almost crying with laughter again. He didn’t even notice Stephanie joyfully recording both of them.

“Give me what else you have,” Danny requested after getting his breath back, reaching out to tug on Dick’s arm. It felt good to laugh. Even if it hurt his ribs, hurt the still healing burns on his chest, it felt good to just sit and laugh about something stupid. He didn’t want to give it up just yet, and it seemed Dick had actually planned for this in the past few hours after learning Danny loved puns too.

“Alright, get comfy ‘cause I have got a real gemstore to show you,” Dick agreed eagerly, squirming up onto the bed next to Danny and getting comfortable as well where they could both look at his phone. He had a folder saved just for collecting his favorites.

Danny was quick to settle into place wedged against Dick’s side, quickly reading and giggling or outright barking more laughter as they flipped through the saved images of jokes ranging from ‘I’m more confused than a chameleon in a bag of skittles’ to ‘astronomers got tired of waiting for the sun to go down, so they decided to call it a day’. Throughout the scrolling and varying degrees of laughter at the jokes, Danny even added some of his own that he remembered after seeing some of the others.

Eventually their session was interrupted by Damian pausing at the doorway, getting their attention with a light knock.

“Pennyworth would like to know if you would prefer supper in the study once more,” the youngest Wayne informed, and waited for the response.

“Who…?” was what Danny ended up responding with, having not heard people’s last names yet.

“Alfred. Damian calls everyone by their last names,” Dick thankfully supplied, earning a small noise of understanding from Danny. It wasn’t hard to tell the hours and hours of jokes had worn him out, but he seemed quite content so Dick didn’t feel bad. “You’ve upgraded to the couch already though? Hell yeah.”

The comment made Danny snort again, though he also had to grimace at Dick incredulously. “What kind of lifestyle do you people live?” he asked before giving a quick answer to Damian. “Here is fine for today. If that’s okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Your recovery is of utmost importance to those in this household. If supper in bed will facilitate that, then it is of no consequence to anything else,” Damian responded easily, giving them a nod before leaving to report back to Alfred.

“Eh. We’ve had our fair share of injuries through the years,” Dick admitted to Danny’s question, lifting a finger to tap the small bandage on his own forehead once. “Enough that a knife wound is more like a papercut,” he half joked.

Danny snickered at the response, but wasn’t sure how he really felt about it. Was it really a good thing to be so used to being hurt that they seemed to have started making a game out of things relating to it? Maybe it was just something so inevitable for people like them, that they’d just had to make the most of it in the best way they knew how.

“Does it…,” Danny found himself speaking before he’d fully committed to the question in his mind. He had half the thought to retract his half voiced question, but opted instead to complete it. “Does it ever get to be too much?”

The question made Dick recognize a little more about what state of mind Danny was in, and his brows furrowed in concern before he eventually brought the smile back. “All the time,” he admitted. “Especially when you get all these meta humans and aliens involved. But… it’s too hard to stop.”

For a moment Danny had forgotten that the others, aside from Duke, didn’t have any special abilities that weren’t common for a regular human. It must be very stressful for them to have to deal with people like him that ended up rogue. But also, hearing someone else admit that they too, sometimes, only kept going because it was too hard for them to stop brought Danny a strange kind of bitter comfort. Maybe they were just all doomed together.

But, even if they were, at least he had company.

“...Thanks,” Danny chose to respond, relaxing a little more heavily into the pillows. The laughter had felt good, but the exhaustion and aches didn’t. “For all the jokes. I loved them.”

Dick could only grin fondly, reaching out to ruffle Danny’s hair after sitting upright. “No problem, kid. Anytime you need some more, just let me know.”

“Does that mean I can have your number after I get my phone back?”

Dick could only snort, having not expected that question. “Sure. We’ll figure something out for the whole interdimensional communication thing. I’m sure someone has already figured it out,” he chuckled, scooting to the edge of the bed to get ready to join the others at dinner.

Danny could only hum in acknowledgement, content with that answer, and let Dick leave to get his own food. Having someone to appreciate good jokes with was something to look forward to at least.

____________________

Iiiii struggled a lil with this one too =3= But there were some notes I needed to be mentioned before getting too far along.

Thank you for whoever sent me some puns though XDD they really helped. I love puns, but I'm terrible at coming up with any or even remembering them.

____________________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai,

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira

#my art #long post #writing #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #phantom rogues #fanfic

155 notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 1 day ago

Text

Day seven of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“. . . ‘fast’,” Kon echoes awkwardly, glancing down at their hands. Tim tries not to wince. He definitely sounds like an idiot or a prude or–whatever. Just incredibly, incredibly uncool.

He has actually never felt less like a prude since getting to know Kon well enough to notice things like how good the bastard looks soaked in Kool-Aid, but now is just . . . really not the time for thoughts like those, yeah.

“I, uh–I’ve never actually, um . . . with anyone, actually. Guy or not,” Tim half-admits, though it feels stupid that being a virgin is something to admit instead of just a statement of fact. Normally it wouldn’t be, is the thing, but he just really doesn’t want Kon to think he sounds lame or antisocial or . . . whatever, exactly. “I actually would literally not even know how to, uh . . . give you ‘tips’ or anything. Unless I had like, the prep time to do some research, I mean. It’s just, uh–I don't date much, to be honest. Or, uh. Pretty much at all? Like, you're definitely more experienced than I am either, uh, either way, like that's just–I don't do much of this stuff. Any of it. I have in fact gone out with exactly two girls in my life and they both were definitely, um–also the ones who were making the moves and all.”

It's not that he never want to make a move, just usually he's too busy being way too in his own head about it or something else entirely or–

God, he is rambling so much, Tim realizes, repressing a cringe when he realizes how blankly Kon’s currently staring at him. Because it is very, very blankly, that Kon is staring at him.

Crap.

“Uh,” Tim says with a grimace. “Sorry. Um. If you were expecting something . . . faster, I mean.”

Kon should definitely not have anything that fast if he’s thinking of himself as a product, Tim’s basically positive, but also that’s actually not any of his damn business, but also he definitely needs to look into Kon’s dating history just to add a few names to his list for when he finally goes supervillain and just maybe look into–

. . . Kon is still just staring blankly at him.

Tim fails to repress the cringe this time.

“Uh,” he attempts again. “Kon? Are you . . .?”

Kon turns literally crimson and ducks his head, but also doesn’t actually stop staring at him.

. . . alright then, Tim thinks.

“I do like you. I like you a lot. Like–I like-like you a lot, if I have somehow managed to not be embarrassingly obvious about that at this point,” he tries, borderline flailing in the conversation now since Kon is apparently no longer willing to use his words and he was already not doing that great with it when Kon was using his words, and he can’t even talk with his hands or anything because he’s holding Kon’s hands like an actual grade schooler, except probably no one ever has held Kon’s hands like–no, no, he is not far enough down the supervillain pipeline to be able to finish that thought process and deal with the psychological consequences of having to not burn down the system about it, he really cannot do that at any point in the next ten to fifteen years whatsoever. “This isn't–I'm just–it's not me not wanting to . . . take some pictures, eventually. Just . . . maybe we could wait a bit on it. Stick with the streets and buildings for a little while longer, maybe?”

He tries for a smile and also tries not to cringe again over how weak an attempt it feels like, and then has the uneasy and uncomfortable thought that actually doing anything like that isn’t even really–is that ethical, even? Even the idea of doing something like that? Kon doesn’t really know Robin all that well, no, but they’re on the same team and the same side, and they’re teammates and at least arguably friends, and Kon also doesn’t know he is Robin, and–

“Um,” Kon says, his hands tightening just a bit around Tim’s and his face still blazingly and borderline inhumanly red as his head ducks a little lower and his mouth curves into what is, in fact, the most unfairly soft smile that Tim has ever seen on the bastard’s face. “We could do that, yeah.”

Tim was thinking about something, probably? Which hopefully wasn’t something important, considering just how ruthlessly Kon just fried his brain out of his head. Which is not even reasonable or logical, because all Kon did was . . . well, imply he was fine taking things at Tim’s pace and not actually going to get immediately bored if he didn’t put out and was actually interested in just being together, and also did it while smiling at him like that.

Alright, fine, Tim knows exactly why his stupid brain got itself fried. He’s still apparently embarrassingly easy, though.

Well, that’s not exactly new information in regards to Kon anyway.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon #implied past grooming #implied past abuse #unhealthy coping mechanisms

125 notes · View notes

madlori · 14 hours ago

Text

Sometimes the delulu IS the solulu.

After some thought, and reading a lot of really insightful thoughts here and on Discord, I think I've reached a conclusion.

I'm going full tinhat. Not in an unhinged way, though.

I don't think this is the end.

I'm not going to count on it. I'm barely going to hope for it. But I am going to...keep an eye out for it.

The one common refrain we've heard from each other is that this did not feel like a permanent breakup. It felt so obviously and blatantly like a setup for Buck to fight for the relationship. It was that "one partner freaks out a bit and the other has to show their commitment" relationship hurdle which is so common it's a trope. In fact, most of us assumed that's just what it was...until those interviews

Now, I do not put Tim Minear up on some kind of pedestal of writerly greatness - far from it. And he did not write this episode, but the plotlines all go through him.

BUT.

He has always been very attached to Tommy as a character and to this relationship. He loves it. He loved red string theory so much that he wrote it into this episode. And I'm about halfway convinced he's in love with Lou but that's beside the point. (I mean, we get it, Tim.)

Tommy's what he always said he wanted to get for Buck. Firefighter, integrated into the 118, yadda yadda, we've been over this a lot. Someone he chooses, someone he works to build something with. Someone who shows up for him. He had Buck SAY in this episode that he'd never felt like this since Abby.

The thread of Tommy wanting a found family like Buck's. The intense settled/caregiving vibe of 8x05. It all felt so...purposeful. And yes, I agree that this could have been done just to punch up the angst for Buck when it ends. But that's not the only explanation.

The many, many comments of wanting to move Buck along in his personal life. Oliver wanting to do settled, domestic storylines with him. Giving Tommy the big hero romcom entrance in that hospital.

And what now? Cycle Buck through another love interest? It's hard to imagine recapturing what he had with Tommy with anybody else, or for the GA to embrace it as much as they did. What little we can see of the GA reaction (because the official socials are weirdly quiet and have not posted) is that they're not happy about this. Tim knows this.

I can buy Tim making some dumb writing decisions but he's not stupid. I find it very hard to swallow that he'd voluntarily toss away all this, and this potential, and what they'd already established, and a pairing/character/actor he loves, for what? For nothing.

So I think that it's not for nothing.

I think the plan IS to reunite them...

...they just don't know when, or how.

For some reason he wants to give it a break for awhile. I don't know why. There could be off-camera reasons. But I think it happened recently. Two weeks ago we got interviews talking about hurdles being overcome, relationships deepening, etc etc. It's a great episode for them, came out of Oliver's mouth. Not important, not consequential - great. And hey, what happened to that very important Bobby conversation where he gave Buck important advice? It wasn't there.

I think a change was made in the last two weeks. And yes, I know the loft stills were dated 9/17.

Two weeks is plenty of time to reshoot one scene, between when those interviews came out and last night. The stills could be from the first time it was shot, in September. Put the guys in the same wardrobe, we'd never know the difference, or that those stills weren't from the scene we actually saw.

The scene was always the one we saw, but was always meant to be temporary, and the change was in how they talked about it in the interviews from last night. That is a simpler explanation, as it doesn't involve reshoots, but it doesn't explain those very incongruous interviews we got two weeks ago that do not match the scene we saw. Now, they have always vagued it up, and talked around things in interviews, but this was an entirely new level of misdirection and outright lying that isn't typical.

I'm really tinhatting it up now, but hey, what have I got to lose? I'm not investing anything in this. It's just...a thought.

If you think the network interfered (I don't, at least not for plot-related reasons, see below) or Oliver demanded the relationship be cut (I don't - I know lots of you are mad at him but I'm not), whatever it was...I just get a vibe. It could be as simple as money. It could be a ratings thing. Honestly? It could be that they've found out they're getting cancelled, and were ordered to cut bait on guest stars. They could be kicking the can down the road to goose ratings for spring when they do bring it back. There are lots of reasons I can think of and probably more that I can't.

I read a thoughtful and reasonable post about how it was more or less a mercy killing to post those interviews - most showrunners like to keep viewers guessing and coming back, so for them to say definitely BT was dead meant it's really, really dead (although how definitive they actually were is another question).

They might be right about that. I don't know.

Or they just might not know themselves. Even if the plan IS to reunite them eventually - if they don't have a plan for how or when, the safest course is to shut it down. No guarantees they can make it work, so play it safe. Oliver and Lou might not be looped in on this.

It's pretty thin. They probably would be, although we have ample evidence of actors not knowing stuff until the last minute. The other option is that they are looped in and are intentionally lying but I think that's very unlikely - although Lou has demonstrated a keen skill in keeping his mouth shut when necessary.

I'm not going to get nuts about this and neither should anybody else. I'm not going to be scouring socials or the internet looking for support or clues. I'm not going to be holding my breath waiting for a sign.

The only thing I'll keep an eye on is how they handle any flirtation or dating Buck does in the near future. How they handle it might be telling.

This is ALL very unlikely, let's be real.

I'm still tinhatting, though. Why not? What have we got to lose?

But if I'm right, I expect that red dodgeball in my inbox toot sweet.

(And Buddie still isn't going canon, btw.)

#911 abc #911 speculation #911 spoilers #bucktommy #tevan #hope springs eternal #not for nothing but I accurately predicted that the Miceli's scene would be their first and it would be their 6 month anniversary

127 notes · View notes

lukalnst · 2 days ago

Note

pretty pls with a cherry on top some hurt/comfort w/ luka from alien stage where him and reader were close as kids at anakt garden but as they grew up and entered alien stage he started to become more cold and mean which hurts reader :(( but despite that he shows he’s still the same luka they know and love :))

LUKA X READER (HURT/COMFORT)

Includes: Luka x reader, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, can be both read as platonic or romantic

Luka had changed, or so you thought.

You had noticed this, much more than anyone else. Of course, you couldn't help but notice the changes in his demeanor, not after you two had basically grown up being sewn together.

It hurt, of course. It hurt a lot — you wanted to be close with him again. You had gotten some chances to speak with him, but most of those conversations were nothing but small talk.

You wondered if he missed you the same way you missed him. Did you even cross his mind?

He seemed to be having so much fun with the other participants. Yeah, you were glad to see him happy and enjoying his new relationships, but you felt left behind. Still, it tore you apart to see him doing not so greatly back in your Anakt Garden days, but still, you missed his friendship, the ways he would latch onto your arm while you both laid down in the grass and he would whisper a small 'I love you'.

... You just wanted him back.

What an irritating feeling. He had grown distant, so if you were to ask him for any sort of affection, you'd probably just be greeted with nothing but coldness.

Strangely enough, you had asked him to meet you after a round with some participants who, being completely honest, you didn't really care much about. He just stared at you for a while, then hesitated before accepting.

...

It had been a few days since then, the round had just finished, and you both arrived at the spot where you told him to meet you. Surprisingly, he was pretty early, and he didn't seem too nervous about talking to you once again, something which you couldn't relate to.

"Hey, Luka," your lips trembled slightly as you spoke. You stood up beside him, and he just gave you a nod of acknowledgment. Did you mean nothing to him?

You didn't want to know.

After a few seconds of silence, which seemed to be nearly eternal, he spoke. "So, what do you want to talk about?" He questioned you but didn't make any eye contact with you.

"Well, I just wanted to catch up with you. It's been a while since—" You were cut off by his own words.

"... You still care about me, no? It seems like you haven't changed at all," Luka whispered your name after finishing that sentence.

He was right. When you both were younger, you were always worried sick about him. You made sure that he didn't get hurt or anything similar, something which he showed his appreciation for.

But now, he barely even acknowledged your mere existence. You were surprised that he even remembered your name.

Trying to laugh it off to lighten up the mood, you laughed softly. "I guess," you murmured. "That's not the case for you, though."

Luka's eyes finally met yours.

"Who said it wasn't?" His voice seemed genuinely confused. "Maybe we don't talk that much... but you're still someone who means a lot to me."

His cheeks seemed to have a small pink color dusting them. He had grown up now, so he felt sort of forced to be different from when he was a kid. "If you think I don't care, you're pretty wrong." He added onto his words.

"What... what do you mean?"

"We may not talk much, but you will always be completely and utterly adored by me," A small smile formed in his lips. "After all, you showed me what love really was."

The words that were being said made you feel weirdly emotional, so you latched onto his arm, just like how he did to you when you both were children.

"... I won't let you leave again, Luka."

#alien stage x reader #alnst x reader #fluff #alien stage #alnst #luka x reader #luka alnst #luka alnst x reader #luka alien stage #luka alien stage x reader #alnst luka #alnst luka x reader #emotional hurt/comfort #luka

96 notes · View notes

sunflowersturn · 2 days ago

Text

*shouldering off someone trying to hold me back* no, you see, the thing about sam is—stop it, man, give me a second—because she—dude LET ME—it’s about how danielle describes sam’s mental state as “if i keep smiling everything will be okay” and “i’ll fix it i’ll fix it i’ll fix it” and how she was so careful with the qhoyle because she knows how stories work and how wishes work and she was so desperate to save her friends and gave up a scene of introspection for her own self to save evan’s soul, did we all collectively forget that—and how she manages to charm people around her simply by being a pleasant person who likes to listen and smile and be kind, who approaches almost every conversation with a lack of guile and an expectation of the same in return—and how she has to work so hard to get people to take her seriously and understand her genuineness and kindness are not an act or a facade—and how when she does choose to lower her voice and be stern she DOES wield power and the people who love her the most understand that and even stand in the crosshairs of it if necessary—it’s about how her first thought when presented with the option was to preserve her friends’ free will over all else and ‘if they really wanted to, they’d do it on their own without having to magic about it’ and once again passing up on an opportunity to learn about herself and her magic to protect her friends—it’s about how i’ve never had the opportunity for success like sam britain/black, but i have so frequently had friends and family tell me they admire me for how outgoing i am and i can see that girl i was (and still am) in my early twenties, smiling through everything and offering solutions and pretending not to hear it when people say things about me but WHIPPING my head around if they said something about my friend—it’s about how danielle lies to you as a player and a performer and presents sam as simple and sweet when she is, in actuality, one of the most complex characters at the table—

#dimension 20 #d20 misfits and magic #sam black #danielle radford #sam britain #Christ I could go on forever and ever and ever about how much I love her—#about all of them really

104 notes · View notes

amywritesthings · 2 days ago

Text

early this morning i told my partner i was going to announce an indefinite hiatus and abandon my writing altogether while i deal with the grief of what's happening.

i decided to check tiktok (instinct when i'm waiting for my bagel to heat up) -- the first video was someone saying 'running to spend the week reading fanfic and nothing else'. comments upon comments were asking for fluffy, immersive fics of any kind just to keep people going. to feel something. to have some kind of hope.

my mom and i had a lengthy conversation at 6am about everything, and something she said curbed my crying instantly: "do not let those motherfuckers take your light."

so i won't.

i have really incredible people who interact with my stories, this is my joy and safe space, and as hard as things are right now, as hopeless as i may feel, i can create art and help put some good out there in a time where that light feels dimmed. i will still be kind to myself -- i'm still processing, and i'm sure i won't feel right for a very long time -- but quitting writing and disappearing would only bring joy to the people who want to police art, fiction, humanity.

so i will be working on the drabble challenge through november. i will still post a poll about amymas sometime later this week. i will still open my docs for silver underground, dating mode, seven days, etc. i may need more time. i may be slow. i may start an entirely new wip to cope. but i'll still create.

#amy babbles #tw politics #tw election #i had my hiatus post drafted to be like 'yeah i'm logging out and idk when ill ever be back' bc i am just so very fucking sad right now #but if i can make others who are way less fortunate than myself have something to escape to #especially in the next few months #then that's my power and they can't take that

95 notes · View notes

ravengards-rogue · 2 days ago

Text

bright as the morning, soft as the rain

sebastian (stardew valley) x reader

✧ tags : gender neutral reader, canon divergence, a lot of author liberties, alcohol, fluffy, pre-relationship, mildly suggestive but sooo mildly lol.

✧ wc : 3.4k (this is ridiculous lol)

✧ a/n : the thing to get me out of my writing slump being sdv fanfiction is hilarious.

hi! this is the first part to a silly little alternative first kiss series i have planned for the stardew romanceable characters. i think the other ones will be shorter (hopefully but lol).

i will link the rest of them as they get posted. i hope u like. rbs appreciated. also tagging @antique-remains (hi this is fang on my side blog lol)

✧ synopsis : sebastian wants to do anything but think of you. he's failing miserably on that front. sam and abigail are not helping.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

“Earth to Sebastian,” Sam snaps his fingers in front of Sebastian’s face. Sebastian jumps in his skin. “What’s with you today? If you’re not gonna take our pool playing tradition seriously, I’m not playing.”

He swipes a hand over his face, cursing under his breath. Half-empty Joja-Cola can sits directly besides his pool stick, the faint air of smoke and liquor in the air. Right. He’s here to play pool.

He pinches the bridge of his nose with exasperation, shaking off the feeling before scratching the back of his neck.

“No, sorry. I wanna play, just…give me a sec.”

“Got something on your mind Seb?” Abigail prods, unfortunately intuitive. Sebastian scowls at her. She stands to her feet to get closer, sitting on the edge of the pool table with her cheek turned just enough to look at him. Her smile is coy. “A certain someone, maybe?”

His scowl deepens, lip curled in distaste. “No. Move. You’re in my way.”

“You’re a bad liar.” Abigail says with a resigned sigh, arms crossed. “You weren’t this spacey last time you dated someone. ”

“Fuck off,” Sebastian sighs. “It’s not like that yet.”

Abigail grins before Sebastian can correct the slip up. “Yet. Yet, he says.”

Sebastian feels himself blush. “Ugh.”

He sighs as he stands back up, leaning against his pool stick. Sam stops whatever he was doing (messing with the pool table deliberately, Sebastian assumes), taking newfound interest in the conversation.

“Oh, you two talking about our new neighbor?”

“Not really new. It’s been like… what a year or two almost?” Abigail adds. Sam shrugs.

“That’s true. But it feels new to me anyway.” Sam says. He gives up on pool it seems like, abandoning his stick on the table in favor of navigating to the box pizza balancing on another table nearby and his drink. Sebastian watches him shimmy a slice of the pie, not bothering to blow on it as he eats. “Oh is that why your heads in the clouds? Figures.”

“I didn’t say that. Abigail said that.”

“And you’re saying she’s wrong?”

Sebastian huffs. “…Yes.”

Sam laughs good-naturedly. “Pfft. Uh-huh, yeah. I super believe you.”

“Fuck you both.”

“Come on, Seb. It’s not like everyone in town doesn’t know.”

Sebastian’s frown deepens. “Not everyone.”

Sam seats himself on the couch again and Abigail joins him. It creaks under the weight of them as they get comfortable together. Sebastian stays where he is, sitting on the tables edge with a drink in his hand and an itch for a cigarette.

Sam counts on his fingers. “Your mom knows. My mom knows. Abby’s mom knows. If they all know then our dads definitely also know. Who else does that leave? Our towns tiny dude. Like I’d say Elliot doesn’t, but he’s here on Friday’s and he catches up with gossip all the time. So basically everyone.”

“…Shit.”

“See? Told you.”

Sebastian doesn’t need everyone to know what’s going on between you. He doesn’t even know what’s going on between you. It’s taken him longer than he cares to admit to even acknowledge that there was something there. And he didn’t know it was mutual until recently when Abigail came dropped by to tell him she overheard her dad explaining old Pelican Town traditions on dating and romance.

(Abigail always describes things in excruciating detail, adding all the bells and whistles. This makes her great to play the Solarion Chronicles with.

It also makes her good at artfully recounting interactions. He can easily picture you the way she said she saw you, overalls half unbuttoned, dirt covered and leaning over the counter just slightly giving Pierre your rapt attention.

The thought of it is enough to trigger some sense of affection he’s never entirely felt before.)

It’s not like Sebastian is against the idea of dating you, it’s just—

“I think you should go out with them Seb. I like ‘em a lot more than your exes.”

Sebastian sighs. “You guys know why I’m on the fence.”

Sam shrugs. “Does they even count though? They’re not actually from here. They live here sure but they didn’t grow up here.”

“Right? That’s what I think too. Might as well go for it.” Abigail shrugs, glancing at Sebastian. “I really don’t get why you’re hesitating. Something else has to bugging you.”

“I thought that too.” Sam adds.

A faint blush creeps up his neck. He loves his friends and sometimes, he appreciates how well they know him. Times like this, he thinks it wouldn’t kill them to be a little less perceptive.

They’re not wrong. It is something of a flimsy excuse to try not to think about you. Sebastian has always had a not dating policy about people he grew up with. He nearly dated Abigail in highschool and it was a shitshow. So he’s vowed to never do it again.

But that’s not the real reason he’s been rejecting the possibility in his head. He uses it more for himself than anyone else. It’s not like he can give them the real answer because he thinks it’s one hundred times more embarrassing.

How the fuck is he meant to tell them the reason he keeps hesitating to define your relationship is because he feels like he likes you too much?

That’s the real reason he’s going in circles about it. It’s so cringe it makes him want to break out in hives but well, it is true. Sebastian likes you—like really fucking likes you—and it’s freaking him out because he thinks it’s the first time he’s really liked anyone.

Dating has never been all that fun for Sebastian. It wasn’t something that felt meaningful. He dated mostly in college and only one of those relationships lasted a significant amount of time. And even then the relationship was never all that genuine. They ultimately broke up because Sebastian realized they were fundamentally incompatible. As bad as it sounds, there wasn’t a real sense of attachment there, not once. It was just convenient for both of them. He realized at that point he should probably just focus on himself.

That was about when he moved back home to the valley to live with his family in his post graduation.

And he had honestly expected it to be another few mundane years, akin to his early adolescence. He was so sure that he would spend it with the same restless feeling in his stomach, the same longing to be somewhere else. If he could never feel any belonging, at least he wanted to be somewhere he could blend in. He thought for sure moving back to Pelican Town was going to be nothing but dreadful and boring and existential. That he would come back and remember why he wanted to leave in the first place.

Until one day, someone from the city moved into the old, overgrown farm and turned the entirety of the valley upside down.

When you met for the first time, Sebastian honestly didn’t care. Nothing goes on in Pelican Town, so he figured you’d be the main subject of gossip for a few weeks before ultimately blending into the background of his life just like everyone else. He also didn’t think you’d last long living here. You were part of the corporate rat race he so detests and you didn’t grow up in the valley. It’s a hard place to get used to after living somewhere more populated.

Against all odds though - you did stay. And you’ve integrated yourself so much with the people living—himself included here it kind of baffles him. He doesn’t entirely remember what it was like before you came here.

Sebastian couldn’t have predicted in a million years that that stupid help wanted sign in front of Pierre’s store would start actually being useful. But lo and behold, at least three times a week he finds you with full pockets - jogging after whomever last posted to give them what they need. And you do that without anyone really asking you too.

You’re just so… helpful. And social in a way he can’t describe. Everyone in town has nothing but nice things to say about you. You’ve given everyone a gift on their birthday thus far. You’re keeping the entire economy afloat with your farm right now and you regularly clear those mines out for monsters. You even paid for the bus to get repaired, too - so now it’s up and running again.

You’re full of surprises. And easy to adore, himself included.

What surprises him most often is how easy it is for him to be around you. He doesn’t turn you away even when you visit his room sharply at 9am and hover over him in bed. He doesn’t get even the slightest bit upset when you have a mundane and disruptive conversation hours before he usually gets up. He keeps everything you’ve ever gifted him, and he often thinks of inviting you to things he does with his friends. He smiles when he sees you running around doing some chore, frantic and covered in muck - all mess and sunlight.

You’re… nice. Honest, hard-working, and cheerful. Kind. Sincere in wanting to know him. You should completely and utterly exhaust him given those are your main characteristics. You should be someone he’s simply fundamentally incompatible with.

But more than anything, you’re thoughtful. And it disarms him so utterly he feels overwhelmed by the thought. From the start, you put in a lot of effort into maintaining connections and he was no different. It’s just impacted him so much more than he thought it would. If he lets himself think too far on it, he really won’t stop thinking about you.

To the point he’s been picturing what it’s like to live on the farm. He’s in deep.

Despite all of your idiosyncrasies, you really seem to give a shit about things in a way that feels utterly foreign to him. This extends to anything and everything. It extends to Sebastian, and it shows in the ways you don’t undermine him. Little things. You take his work seriously and apologize for disturbing him, you don’t immediately take the side of his family when he talks about them despite being friends with them too, you don’t interrogate him about what he is or is not comfortable with. You show up and linger in his life, and then you go off to your own thing.

More and more, he gets the urge to stop you before you go. It’s too much. It makes him act…lame and he’s not too fond of it. He’s never really felt this strongly about anyone before and he’s a little bit of a wreck about what it does to him. So it’s not that he doesn’t want to date you, but more that he does so bad he doesn’t even want to admit it.

But well.. He isn’t sure it’s even working. As soon as you walk into a room it’s like—

He’s lost in his thoughts for a while, only to get pulled out of them by some big commotion happening in the main part of the saloon.

“Ah, you’re here. What perfect timing kid,”

Shit. Shit

Only somewhat obscured by the distance and wall separating their space from the bar - Sebastian catches a glimpse of you and feels something uncomfortably warm in his chest. His friends both make little oooh sounds, no doubt planning to do something stupid. He should intervene but he gets too caught up in pretending he doesn’t see you. Turning away stiffly, he pretends to be looking at something else while he listens on your conversation. It’s not too hard to hear, anyway.

“Hi, Pam.” He can practically hear the smile in your voice. “Here’s your ale. Managed to grow a hops plant indoors this season so the brew is pretty fresh. It’s strong, fair warning.”

A beat of muffle conversations follows up with a a loud sigh. “That’s exactly what I needed. Your pretty good with your liquor and spirits, huh kid? Thanks for the drink. Here’s what I owe ya.”

“Selling alcohol under the table at my establishment? Tsk tsk.” Gus adds.

It’s at this point Sebastian lets himself look at you properly. You lean with your elbows against the counter. You look a mess like usual, but you’ve got on a cowboy hat today that Sebastian finds ridiculously cute. You smile at Gus sheepishly.

“Sorry. Can I buy myself a drink to make up for it?” You offer.

“I’ll do you one better and give it to you on the house.”

“Aw, what? Can’t let you do that Gus.”

“You can and you will. You’re always looking out for everyone. Here, it’s a nice imported IPA. Nice and cold. Have a drink and go relax. Some of your friends are here too tonight I think.”

“Oh?”

On cue, you turn your head to the group of them. When you and Sebastian meet eyes, you brighten visbly - all smiles. He’s so caught up in it, he doesn’t even catch Sam next to him until he throw an arm around his shoulder and waves you over.

You weave through the tables until you cross the threshold of their little hide-out. Abigail greets you first with a short sidehug before you go over to him and Sam.

“Hey,”

“Hi Sam.” You pause, tilting your head. “Did you cut your hair? It’s shorter than usual.”

Sam beams. “I did! And you’re the first one to notice, other than my mom. Goes to show who my real friends are,”

Sebastian nudges him, pulling away from his grip. “I see enough of your face everyday. There’s nothing for me to observe.”

“It looks nice,” You add. Charming and genuine. Sam smiles at you.

“Thanks,”

Sebastian is weirdly jealous until you address him in conversation. “Hey to you too Sebastian.”

His heart thumps. This is ridiculous. He swallows. “Hey. Uh. How have you been?”

Awkward. So awkward. You smile a little and lean on the pool table besides him with your drink, taking a sip. “Good. Busy as usually getting ready for Winter. Renovated our coop recently so I’ve got a whole bunch of baby bunnies I gotta take care of. Went and bought another heater, some extra hay. Just farm stuff. Not very interesting,”

“I find it interesting,” He replies quickly. You lip twitches in a smile.

“I’m glad.”

“Baby bunnies sound so cute,” Abigail adds. Sebastian glances at her as she joins the rest of them. “What else have you got in there?”

“A little of everything. Chickens, ducks. I’ve got a void chicken too, kinda freaky. Oh and these little dino looking guys.”

Abigail looks bright eyed. “Would it be like… weird if I asked to go over? I kinda wanna see them?”

You laugh. “Not at all. I don’t mind. You could honestly go over whenever but it’s hard to navigate the farm if I’m not there, though I’m trying to fix that this upcoming winter.”

You glance then at Sebastian, eyes almost sparkling. “You should come over sometime, too. You’d like the void chicken I think. And I’ve got a slime hutch.”

Sebastian sputters at the obvious invitation only barely managing to cover up the shock to his system. You don’t seem put off, but it’s obvious you know what you’re doing. He’s going to explode.

Abigail and Sam make not-so-subtle eye contact before Sam clears his throat.

“Well, uh, me and Abi are gonna head out. We’ve got some stuff to catch up on, but there’s still a few hours until the saloon closes so you two should stay here and finish up our drinks and stuff. Uh… yeah. See you again,”

Sam nods, quickly rifling for his things. Abigail follows in his foot steps.

“Mhm, yep. See you,”

Sam gives him one last encouraging look before turning around and leaving. The two of them scurry off in a blink of an eye, before Sebastian can get a single word in about the situation or tell them to stay. And now he’s alone with you, quietly wondering if it’s as awkward as it feels.

You’re the one to break the ice. “Do you have anywhere you need to be tomorrow?”

Sebastian blinks. “Uh no. Not really.”

“Me either. We should stay back then, for a little while.” You offer with a shrug. “Why not, right?”

Right. Sebastian is being really chill about this entire interaction. “Right.”

“I’m glad I got to see you tonight,” You say, out of the blue. Sebastian nearly jumps in his skin at the admission. “I’ve been pretty busy with the growing season ending so I haven’t been you know, able to come by as often. I don’t know if it made a huge difference to you but—“

“It did.” He blurts out. Your mouth opens then closes again, a blush crawling up his neck as he tucks his chin in embarrassment. “It was uh, weird for me. I know you’re busy and I like my alone time but I did… miss you.”

“Yeah?”

He’s almost too afraid to meet your eyes. When he manages - you’re smiling fondly, sweetly with a sense of amusement. It rolls off of you in waves and it becomes clear to him in that split second that you don’t really intend to hide how you feel despite him being so hellbent on making sure he does. You’re not hiding that you like him. It feels stupidly warm and fuzzy.

You look like you’ve been working all day and you smell a little like grass and rain in a way that makes him want to draw that much closer to you. So he does, leaving into your space.

“Yeah.” He manages, barely getting the words out without being a complete wreck. “It’s new for me.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder or whatever they say.” And then, even more sweetly. “I missed you too.”

Fuck. You’re… fuck.

Sebastian pretends to wipe something from his face just to cover it and make his blush less obvious. This is embarrassing. He likes you so much and for what.

There’s a million things he wants to tell you but he can’t find the words for any of them. So he tucks in on himself and wonders how the fuck he would ever go about actually dating you.

You inch closer to him. Tentative, until your thighs are touching. He doesn’t move away.

Suddenly, you’re close to him than you’ve ever been. Looking from the corner of your eye, Sebastian turns his head to meet your gaze. You’re an inch apart, and he’s looking at your lips - slightly chapped from the weather. The faint scent of alcohol on your breath makes him dizzy. Your smile is what does him in ultimately. A subtle tug at the corners of your mouth, a little teeth. Something about it precious.

“Hey,” You mutter.

“Hm,”

“Can I kiss you?”

He responds with leaning forward to do it first. It’s chaste and easy, and he does it because you’ve already taken so many first steps and he should, at least, take this one. So he leans into kiss you and it feels like his whole body is melting. It’s brief and light and he pulls away before it feels like it should be over.

You part for a breath, a single heartbeat - before your hands go up to cradle the side of his face. You kiss him deeper that time. A real kiss where he can taste you enough to know that you drank - one he would only want to do in the privacy of this confined spaced. He feels you in your entirety - returns your gesture with a careful hand on your waist that you don’t pull away from.

And it doesn’t stop. Like neither of you want it too, despite everything else. Despite the fact he’s doing this in the bar of his hometown where everyone will gossip about it without doubt, and despite knowing that - the drive to kiss you is stronger than his usual sensibilities. So you kiss and kiss and kiss, short presses followed by long, firm ones. A slight brush of tongue, the soft nip of teeth as you tease and tug. All mirth and amusement and fondness and bravery and god he is so into you it’s ridiculous.

You manage to pull away from each other after a while. His lips are tingly. And there’s a sheepishness to you both that makes it hard for him to look your way.

“Hey, Sebastian.”

He clears his throat.

“Uh. Yeah?”

“I’m gonna ask you out tomorrow. Properly.”

He blushes. “…I’d be cool with that.”

You grin. “Yeah?”

Shit he’s happy. He is not gonna get a lick of sleep tonight. He smiles a little to himself.

“Yeah.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#sdv x reader #sebastian sdv x reader #sdv fluff #sebastian sdv fluff #rogues love letters

89 notes · View notes

hikakuriyyu · 1 day ago

Text

Scream men as a soft yandere (headcanon)

⁎ warnings: jealousy, implied !murder!, posessiveness, female!reader. not proof read.

⁎ summary: how (modern!au) Billy, Stu, Mickey, Charlie and Ethan would act if they were a yandere.

⁎ author note: thank you guys for all the support ! i got one more headcanon and i'll move on from scream. i am writing a anon request right now ! :)

Billy Loomis

If you're out with friends, Billy will casually ''drop by'' to check in, telling you he just wanted to see you. He'll stay close to you, keeping you by his side at all times. If anyone starts to take up too much of your attention, he'll try to put your attention back to him, reminding you that he's there.

While you are out with your friends, you laugh at one of the jokes they made while Billy was sat next to you. A few moments later, he slips his arm around your waist. He flashes a fake smile to your friend before turning to you, ''I missed you.'' He stays close for the rest of the conversation, his hand lingering as a silent warning to anyone nearby.

When you're upset or going through a rough time, Billy will be right there, pulling you close and whispering that he's the only one who understands you, the only one you can be with. He'll listen to you and basically gaslight you into thinking he is the only one for you.

After you vent about your day, Billy gently takes your hand and looks into your eyes. ''I'm here. You don't need anyone else... right ?'' his voice is warm, and the way he looks at you makes you feel like he is indeed the only one who truly understood you. It's comforting. Exactly what he wanted.

He'd always make sure to give slight warnings to people he saw as a threat to your relationship. Perhaps a guy who was staring at you for too long or when somebody gets too close to you for his liking. He'd be very discreet with the warnings he'd give.

When your friend touched your shoulder in a friendly way, Billy catches up with them afterward, blocking their path with a casual smile. ''I’d keep some distance from her if I were you.'' he says in a low voice, his eyes turning cold. The message is clear. No one gets close to you without his permission.

Stu Macher

Stu would always be around you, seeking your attention and approval. He'd act like your personal hype man, getting over excited about everything you do. If he feels like you're not paying attention to him, he'd playfully sulk or even resort to exaggerated antics to keep all eyes on him and you. Because in his mind, no one else deserves your attention except for him.

Stu shows up unexpectedly at your favorite hangout, waving and grinning as he calls out your name. He right next to you, wanting you catch him up on everything he missed. If anyone else tries to talk, he abruptly interrupts them, making sure he keeps your attention on him. ''C'mon, it's way more fun when it's just us.'' he says, giving you that familiar smile.

Stu would have very bad mood swings. He'd be his usual goofy self, but suddenly turn possessive if he someone is trying to come between you. His cheerful nature would return as soon as you give him reassurance, but anyone watching might feel uneasy at how quickly his mood changes when it comes to you.

You're chatting with someone when Stu suddenly pulls you aside, his expression a little darker than usual. ''What's so interesting about her ?'' he asks, trying to play it off with a laugh, but there's a hint of edge in his tone. Once you reassure him, he relaxes, grinning and wrapping an arm around you, back to his usual self as if nothing happened. But you catch the dirty look he gives the person you were talking to before you leave.

Stu would joke around about ''keeping you all to himself'' or make comments about others ''getting in the way'' but there would be a hint of seriousness in his tone. While he'd brush it off as a joke, his possessiveness would be clear, especially when he laughs just a little too long.

Stu drapes an arm over your shoulder, watching as someone tries to approach you. With a laugh that's just a bit too loud, he mutters, ''They better watch themselves, huh ? Wouldn't want anyone getting in our way.” He grins, leaving you wondering if that was really joke.

Mickey Altieri

Mickey would have a habit of watching every little detail about you. He'd know your class schedule, your favorite spots, and even memorize your favorite foods. If you happen to change your plans or mention something new, he'd be the first to know. He'd never directly admit it though.

You're surprised when you mention a new movie you wanted to see, and Mickey immediately pulls two tickets from his pocket with a casual grin. ''Already got us seats.'' he says smoothly, as if it's a total coincidence. But the way his smile tells you he's has been paying very close attention. Maybe closer than you realized.

Mickey would always be on edge when it comes to your safety. He'd insist on walking you home, sending texts about every 5 minutes, and questioning anyone who gets too close to you. If he senses someone is giving you unwanted attention, he'd intervene. And the person he said he'd ''talk to'', mysteriously disappears the next day.

Walking together after class, you notice Mickey glancing over his shoulder every few minutes, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist. When he noticed someone was looking at you for too long, his grip tightens on your waist. ''Some people just don't know how to mind their business.'' he murmured to himself, already planning to take care of the person.

Mickey would be very intense in his affection, doing anything to prove how much he cares. He'd bring you gifts or show up unexpectedly just to remind you he's there. But beneath the charm, there'd be vulnerability in his gestures. Like he's afraid of losing you. His entire happiness relies on keeping you close.

One evening, Mickey shows up at your door with a small gift bag and that charming smile of his. Inside, it's filled with little things that only someone who really listens to you would know you love. He shrugs casually. ''Just thought you could use a pick up.'' His eyes are so fixed on your reaction that it feels like he's studying every expression, almost as if he needs the reassurance of seeing you happy.

Charlie Walker

Charlie would secretly collect stuff from things you had lying around or things you've touched. A pen you dropped on the grond, your hairtie, even a napkin you used. He'd tuck these away like small treasures, creating a hidden shrine that only he knows about.

You leave a study session at Charlie's place, and after you go, he carefully picks up the pencil you left behind. With a soft smile, he adds it to a small, hidden box in his room, where he keeps little things that remind him of you. He runs his fingers over the items, each one carrying a memory that makes him feel closer to you.

Charlie would stalk on you. Like following your social media or always knowing where you are. He wouldn't comment much, just liking posts But he is always aware of what you're up to, but never enough to be obvious about it.

One night, you post a picture at a new restaurant. Within moments, Charlie texts you, asking casually if you're enjoying the food. ''Didn't know you liked that place. Let me know if you want company next time !'' he writes, acting as though he just happened to see it. You don't know, but he already knew exactly where you were.

He'd frame his actions as concern, subtly making you rely on him by helping you with homework, offering to lend his favorite books or movies, or even inviting you over under the guise of study sessions. Over time, he'd make it seem like he's the one who understands you best, all while gently isolating you from others.

You mention struggling with an assignment, and Charlie offers his help, insisting he has all the right resources. As you work together, he subtly dismisses advice from other classmates, saying things like, ''They just don't get it like we do.'' His calm reassurance makes you start to rely on him more, and bit by bit, you feel like he's the only one who truly understands your needs.

Ethan Landry

He would always be by your side, no matter where you go. Whether you're at school, walking through a crowded hallway, or sitting in a library, his presence is constant, a shadow that never leaves.

You're sitting outside, trying to get some work done, when Ethan slides into the seat next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. He doesn't say anything at first, just sits there, his hand resting inches from yours. When you glance at him, he smiles softly, eyes fixed on you. ''You okay ?'' His voice is calm, but his gaze lingers, as if he’s waiting for you to give him your full attention. It's like he doesn''t want to leave your side, not for a second.

Ethan is the perfect boyfriend in public: soft, gentle, and attentive. He'll bring you your favorite coffee, ask about your day, and always make you feel cared for. But behind closed doors, his thoughts are far more twisted. If he sees anyone he doesn't like you to be around, he would go as far as killing them. Just for you.

Earlier, a guy from your class was annoying you on purpose, trying to get a reaction from you. Ethan glared at him, his fists tightening in anger. A dark thought crosses his mind. “Don't worry, he won't bother you again.'' The sweetness in his tone doesn't reach his eyes. They're colder now, calculating. You don't realize it, but he was planning something much more sinister than you would ever expect.

Behind closed doors, Ethan would have photos of you, recordings of conversations, even small things like your handwriting on scraps of paper, all kept in a hidden journal. It's his personal shrine, a way to relive every interaction with you in obsessive detail. If anyone ever found it, they'd realize just how deep his obsession is.

You enter Ethan's room for the first time, and something feels off. His walls are covered with posters, but there's one section with pictures of you, some taken from far away, others shots from class or during lunch. You freeze, your heart racing. Ethan notices your reaction and walks over, a soft smile on his face. ''I just thought they were pretty.'' he says casually, as if it's nothing. ''Don’t worry. You're safe with me. I'm just making sure I never forget you.”

136 notes · View notes

sparkleofpizza · 1 day ago

Text

The Alchemy

THE 2019 SEASON

Melbourne, Australia, 2019

I was nervous, I knew you shouldn't be, but I was.

The sun was shining bright down at the Melbourne Circuit, you could hear the delighted conversations from fans just outside of the motorhome. Everyone was excited for the upcoming season of Formula 1, with new drivers and grid line up changes. And I was one of the new faces at the paddock, although not a driver.

I’ve been no stranger to this whole life at the paddock and following Formula 1. I grew up with it as I’d follow my father around since the moment i learned how to walk.

Jenson Button, former Formula 1 driver and world champion. I carried my last name with pride, I love my dad more than anything in the world, but the moment I showed genuine interest in the motorsport world people started to talk.

So now, I can't help but wonder, what is everyone going to say the minute you walk into the paddock as not a guest, but as a McLaren intern.

Sure, I will be the first to admit that having the Button last name did help I get this internship, but I conclude the training to be here on your effort, with my intelligence, my studies and everything I prepared myself for.

I knew working at the PR department didn't come easy in the motorsport world, I not only had to deal with PR, reporters, FIA, and the drivers, but you had to understand the dynamic of the sport, of the car, and everything else in case I needed to step up to give a statement on behalf of a driver or the team.

I spent countless days, in 2018, going over the FIA regulations, learning about the cars, all while taking classes in UNI and juggling the McLaren PR training.

Someone called out my name in a soothing manner. I lifted your head, meeting Sophie's smile. Behind her there were two men, one standing tall and proud and the other a bit more awkwardly. I knew very well who they were as I will be working close to them.

"Hi, Sophie." I smile at her "Would you like to join me for coffee?"

She nods, taking a sit across from me and gesturing the two men to do the same.

"I wanted to introduce you three properly since you'll be working close together." She says "These are our 2019 drivers, Carlos Sainz and Lando Norris. This is Y/n, she is our new PR intern."

I smile at both of them.

“It’s nice to finally meet you both.”

Carlos smiles “Likewise, I hope we get along well, the three newbies of McLaren.”

I laugh at his little joke and Lando follows suit with his own laughter that is a bit too contagious.

He seems a bit shy, maybe it’s because it’s his first season in Formula 1 and he feels like he has a lot to prove. In a sense I relate to him. We’re both here to show we’re good and deserve to be here.

And without even speaking for more than 5 minutes with him, I can already feel that we’re going to be friends soon enough.

Xangai, China, 2019

I have my back turned to the door of McLaren hospitality as I fumble with the coffee machine. It’s very early in the morning on Friday, a few hours away from the start of free practice. I am feeling exhausted from the long flight from England to China and the different time zones.

“It seems like the coffee machine is winning the fight.” A voice cut through the silence of the hospitality.

I turn around to find Lando standing beside me with a smile on his face, showing his dimples and amusement.

“I can’t get it to make coffee, I think it’s broken.” I complain with a huff

“Did you turn it on?” He asks me amused

“What?”

“Did you turn on the machine?”

“Of course I…” He reaches his arm across from me, pushing a button and the coffee machine beeps before finally brewing my coffee. I feel my cheeks go warm in embarrassment “Sorry, I’m uh still half asleep.”

He giggles, that infectious laugh of his that I always find myself smiling and giggling along whenever I hear it. If there is one thing I have already learned from Lando, it's that it’s nearly impossible to be serious around him. He carries this natural good natured aura, and he’s funny and likes to make jokes and see the good side of things. And whenever I’m around him I find myself a giggling mess.

We grab our cups of coffee and take a seat at one of the comfortable arm chairs at the corner of the room.

“You look tired.” Lando points out, sipping his coffee.

“I’m jet lagged, and I had a paper to turn in for uni so I stayed up until late and I only got a few hours of sleep on the plane because I had to review the questions for yesterday’s press conference.” I tell him, basically chugging down my coffee “Do you think I’d get fired if I drank Red Bull?”

He shakes his head.

“You should get some sleep during FP1.” He tells me

I sigh “Yeah, but it’s not really worth the drive back to the hotel, I will probably only manage a twenty minute nap before I have to come back here.”

“You can nap in my driver's room.” He offers, a friendly smile on his face

“Oh, no, I can’t accept it.” I shake my head “Thank you, thought.”

Lando smiles, leaning over the armrest of his seat to get closer to me.

“I insist. You need sleep to be on top of your game. Come on.” He stands up offering his hand. I eye it for a moment before accepting it. He pulls me up to my feet.

He guides me through the corridors of the hospitality until we reach his driver’s room. He opens the door and I’m a bit surprised at how neat it looks. I half expected it to be a mess of clothes.

“Here, you can sleep on the couch, it isn’t much but it’s better than nothing.”

“Thank you.” I smile, sitting on the couch and taking off my shoes.

I get into a comfortable position, curling up on the couch and instantly closing my eyes. I feel something soft covering me and I open my eyes a bit confused.

“I don’t have a blanket.” Lando says, his cheeks turning red. “So I uh… covered you with my jacket.”

I feel my chest grow warm at his sweet gesture. I smile at him.

“Thank you, Lando.”

He smiles back at me, and at that moment, I think is when I started to have a crush on him.

Barcelona, Spain, 2019

I should have expected Spain to be a bit insane considering the fact that I work with a Spanish driver. The minute I stepped out of the car with Carlos following behind me, the fans started to scream and throw themselves at us.

I’m not unfamiliar with the whole passionate fans wanting pictures and autographs, but since I used be a toddler or a child, they at least head the decency to not push and pull at my dad because I was clinging to him.

But now I am an adult, and they don’t care about those things anymore and I had never been mobbed by fans before without having my dad or my uncles by my side.

The fans screamed at Carlos who was doing his best to attend each and every single one of them. And things only got worse when Lando arrived and they suddenly wanted pictures of the best new funny duo of the grid.

They pulled at me, shoving pictures on my face to get them to sign since I worked with them, and they yelled questions about what it was like to work with the both young drivers.

I tried to step away, get away from them fans, but I was stuck in between the mass of people and to make matters worse they managed to separate me from Carlos and Lando who were looking at me concerned over the chaos.

“What the fuck?! What the fuck is going on?” A harsh loud voice cut through the yell of fans “Stop pulling at her! Get your hands off of her!”

Suddenly a tall blonde man dressed in red was pushing the fans away from me, shielding me with his body as he yelled.

I cling to the back of Sebastian's Ferrari shirt, telling like a little girl again, but completely relieved that he was there with me with his familiar force of comfort he always knew how to bring me.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, gluing me to his side and I knew if I wasn’t 20 years old anymore he would have picked me up and carried me like a toddler out of this mess. He glared at everyone who tried to get in our way and stirred me inside the paddock.

“Prinzessi.” Sebastian called me the same nickname from when he first met me as a newborn “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

I shake my head “No, I’m… I’m fine.” I say, but my voice is shaky and he can tell that I’m holding back tears.

He places his hands on my shoulders, peering down at me with intense concerned eyes as he scans my body to look for any injury.

“What the hell is wrong with you both?” Sebastian yells the minute Lando and Carlos finally catch up to us “They were eating her alive!”

They look sheepish and terrified of being scolded by the German who looks lived with anger.

“She’s your PR assistant, but you’re supposed to keep your fans in check to keep her safe!” Sebastian continues with the harsh tone “She could have gotten hurt! They were touching her and shoving her! That was so reckless from the both of you!”

They nod, stiffly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vettel.” Lando says, eyes wide “I promise this will never happen again. I’ll- I’ll make sure she is safe at all times from now own. I- I swear!”

Sebastian doesn’t correct him on the Mr. Vettel name calling, he nods still with a glare.

“Come on, prinzessin.” He says in a much more soft tone, his arm resting against my shoulder in a protective parental manner “Let’s get you to Ferrari, uh? I will get you one of those chocolate pastries you love so much.”

With one final glare Sebastian takes me away from them. The McLaren drivers share a confused look as they watch me walk away.

Monte Carlo, Monaco, 2019

The Monaco Grand Prix is always a big event. Lots of celebrities and former drivers gather in the city to watch the historical race, and that’s how I find myself sitting at the McLaren hospitality chatting away with uncle Nico while my dad gets us drinks.

“Are you sure you don’t want to watch the race from Mercedes, uncle Nico?” I ask him, making my best innocent look that always got me away with things when I was younger and probably until this day when it comes to the drivers who watch me grow up.

“No, of course not.” Nico Rosberg shakes his head, a found and almost proud smile on his face “This is the first race I am watching this season in person and you’re officially a Formula 1 employee, I’m staying all weekend here with you at McLaren.”

I want to argue with him that I’m not technically a F1 employee as I’m just an intern, but he gives me a pointed look and I only nod.

“So, what is this that I hear about you and a rookie driver?”

I widen my eyes as I look at him.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Nico laughs at me “Seb has told me that you’ve become inseparable from the rookie McLaren driver, Norris.”

I huff, I should have known uncle Sebastian would open his mouth and gossip about me to his retired friends.

As if being summoned, Lando walked into the McLaren hospitality, wearing his cap backwards and smiling big as always. Carlos is beside him as usual and they both make their way over once they spot me.

“Hola, pequenita.” Carlos greets me, ruffling my hair affectionately before spotting Nico sitting across for me and getting a bit embarrassed.

Lando stands beside me ready to make a joke when he notices Carlos’ expression and widening his eyes when he sees Nico as well.

“Hello, Nico.” Carlos greets him

“Carlos, always good to see you.” He smiles before turning to Lando “And you must be one of the 2019 rookies, Lando?”

Lando nods quickly “Yeah, yeah. That’s me, nice to meet you Mr. Rosberg.”

Nico’s smile widens as Lando addresses him as Mr. Rosberg, feeling pleased with himself. I shot him a warning glare.

“Please, join us.” He says, motioning for the boys to the empty seats.

Lando sits beside me as Carlos sits across from me, leaving one empty space at the head of the table.

Nico makes light conversation, asking mostly questions about Formula 1, but I could see the glint in his eyes every time he asked Lando something, who seemed incredibly shy at receiving attention from a World Champion.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get the drinks, I ran into some old friends.” My dad says walking to the table with a glass of my favorite refreshing drink to have in Monaco “There you go, sweetheart.”

I smile, accepting the drink “Thank you, dad.”

Lando and Carlos both choke on their saliva at the same time when they hear me call Jensen Button my dad.

“Ah, just the men I wanted to meet!” He exclaims “Carlos, Lando, you both have been doing such good jobs here at McLaren. My daughter talks a lot about you.”

I watch as they become flustered over the news. My dad smiles, taking a sit at the head of the table.

“I heard you both let her get swamped by a mob of fans?” He asks with a smile, but I can see the hard look in his eyes.

“Dad!” I scold him “Uncle Seb already gave them a hard time!”

My father chuckles, soon being followed by Nico. Carlos and Lando’s eyes are wide and they look terrified.

“I know, I know.” My dad lifts his hands in surrender “I’m just messing with them. But I still have eyes and ears on the paddock so…”

“Dad!” I scold him once more.

He laughs again and finally switch subjects, talking about the new grid line up of this year and asking questions to Lando and Carlos who seem to become a bit more comfortable at the presence of Jenson Button and Nico Rosberg.

Hockenheim, Germany, 2019

Lando was in a bad mood, I could tell it from far away. He was moving frantically around the garage and he had a scowl on his face.

The past five races have been of ups and downs from him, he had two DNF, one race out of top ten because he got p11 and two races where he scored points. But he was pissed off still from his p11 on his home race in England.

It also didn’t help that the reporter he got placed with decided to improvise some questions that wasn’t pre approved and it made Lando uncomfortable with the way he was pressing on the matter of him doing a bad job at his home race.

And then, to make matters worse, he DNFed again today.

“Lando.” I say his name in a soft tone

He whips his head quickly towards me, a deep frown on his face.

“It wasn’t your fault.” I say, I place a hand on his forearm, squeezing it in reassurance “It’s raining terribly today, everyone is spinning.”

He huffs annoyed.

“I should be good at racing in the rain.” He complains.

“How many times have you raced in this circuit?” I ask him, calmly.

“Well- this was the first time, but…”

I cut him off “And how many times have you raced in the rain in a Formula 1 car?”

Lando blinks at me as he answers “This was also the first time.”

I nod, my thumb rubbing sof circles on his forearm.

“And how do you expect to be good at something you’re doing for the first time?”

He looks away from me, and I can tell he is staring to consider my words.

“Valtteri has been doing this for a long time and he also crashed.” I tell him.

That get him to look at me again, his frown turning into something a bit more hopeful.

“Bottas didn’t finish the race?”

I shake my head “No, he didn’t. Even the experienced ones are having a hard time out there. This is only your first race in the rain, Lando.”

He sighs, and slowly he nods his head. He shifts his arm, making my hand slide down and towards his. His hand is much bigger than mine and it’s warm despite the cold weather from the rain. He squeezes my hand.

“Thank you. I just-…”

I smile at him, squeezing his hand back.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

And for the first time since he DNFed, I saw Lando’s dimples as he smiled at me.

Marina Bay, Singapore, 2019

Singapore has always been a hard circuit. The warmth and humidity did no good for the drivers to be racing for long periods of time. Still, it’s one of my favorite circuits because I find it beautiful to watch the race at night.

I’m watching from the McLaren garage, this time considering the hot weather conditions, they allowed the PR team to wear lighter clothes, so I’m in a simple dress, standing close to the AC and sipping water every few minutes.

I wince when I watch Carlos spin and crash into the barrier. The garage grows quiet for a minute.

“He’s ok!” His race engineer announces and we all finally breath normally again

A few moments later Carlos enters the garage with an annoyed look on his face. He places his helmet on one of the shelves and go to speak to his team.

I keep my eyes trained on the screen to watch Lando’s progress while I look for the schedule of reporters who want a world with Carlos after his DNF.

I accept the request of two journalists and move over to where Carlos is.

“Hey… you ready for some interviews?” I ask, eyeing him

He clenched his jaw before nodding and following me out of the garage and onto the media pan.

I give out instructions to him on the way there and step back when he positions himself to give the interviews. I watch intensely, jotting out necessary information on my iPad and ready to intervene at any given moment, but despite the bad situation, the interviews go smoothly and soon enough we’re back at the garage.

Carlos excuses himself to go shower and change clothes, clearly not in the mood for conversation.

In a blur of moments I watch as uncle Seb wins the Singapore Grand Prix, a proud smile on my face. Lando finishes in p7 which is great since he’s on the pointing zone.

“Congratulations, Lando. You did a really good job today!” I tell him

His smile grows bigger “Thank you, thank you!”

Even though he’s happy, I can notice the tiredness ok his face. He’s completely drenched in swest and I can see the slightly tremor of his hands, probably about to begin an hypoglycemic episode without even realizing.

“Hey, why don’t you take a sit?” I say, gently grabbing both his arms and walking him to a chair. I move quickly as I push my water bottle into his hands and search for a snack “Here.”

Lando looks at me a bit confused, but obliged.

“Oh.. wow.” He chuckles “How did you even know how to do this? I didn’t even realize I was feeling weak.”

I smile, my hand twitches at my side as I feel the want to run my fingers over his curls.

“I’ve been on the watching side of this sport since I learned how to walk. I learned a thing or two.”

He nods, still munching on the chocolate protein bar I gave him.

“Yeah… I uh sometimes forget you’re the Jenson Button’s daughter.”

“I’m glad you do.”

Lando tilts his head to the side, confused, but doesn’t say anything and I’m grateful for that.

Austin, United States, 2019

The season is coming to an end, thankfully. All the traveling, working and university studying at the same time has been taking a toll on me. It is too much, and I could see it every time I woke up and looked at myself in the mirror. The circles staring back at me.

My body was sore, my throat scratchy and my head hurt. I knew the flu was making it’s way to dominate my body.

Still, I put on makeup to cover up my sickness face and went to the paddock for media day.

“Buenos dias!” Carlos greeted me once I entered the van and sat across from him and beside Lando who was bouncing with energy on the seat

“Good morning.” I say, cringing a little at the way my voice sounded

Lando frowned, pushing his face close to mine to examine me.

“What’s wrong?” He asked in a low voice, his brows furrowing

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Still, he kept analyzing me. From the corner of my eyes I could see Carlos lips turn upwards in a smile he hid behind his phone as he scrolled through it.

Lando said my name slowly, softly.

“You look sick.”

I pout slightly as I say “Geez, thank you for saying I look terrible.”

He huffs, clearly not finding my attempt to brush it off as funny as I did. He lifted his hand up before placing it on my forehead.

“You’re hot.”

“Oh, so now I’m…”

“Stop trying to deflect it.” Lando cuts me off before I can make another joke. “You’re sick. Why didn’t you say anything? You should be in bed resting.”

I shake my head, getting away from his hand.

“I’m not sick. I’m great. I’m just jet lagged and a bit tired, nothing some coffee won’t fix.”

Lando frowns and it takes me by surprise to see the irritated look on his face directed at me. Sure, I’ve seen him mad before when the race doesn’t go the way expected or when the media gets too much, but never aimed at me.

“I’ve seen you jet lagged and tired before and this is not it.”

I say his name in a sigh and he says my name in a warning. We stared at each other for what feels like forever, before Carlos giggles at us and says we arrived at the paddock.

The minute I get out of the van I start to quickly walk inside the paddock, scanning my pass, knowing the guys will stop to talk to the fans and I will be free of Lando’s questioning. I start to make my way to the McLaren hospitality when I feel a large hand land on my shoulder.

I flinch in surprise, whipping my head around and finding Lando beside me, still frowning.

“Lando.” I try to sound stern as I say his name, but it gets mixed up with a cough I try to hold in.

That only makes his frown deepen. He starts to drag me somewhere.

“You’re going to the medic center now.” He says, stern.

I complain and try to stand still, but he is taller, bigger and much stronger than me so he basically drags me.

I can see some people turning around to look at us, but I keep telling him to let go.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Sebastian shows up in front of us, hands on his waist and I know that behind his sunglasses he is glaring at Lando. “What is going on here?”

“She’s sick and she’s being stubborn about it.” Lando says, still holding onto my shoulder “So I’m taking her to the medic center.”

Sebastian frowns, placing his sunglasses on top of his head as he takes a step closer to me.

“I’m not sick.” I say “Lando is being dramatic. Tell him to leave me alone.”

“She is sick! She even has a fever!”

Sebastian looks between the two of us, but he knows me long enough to know I am lying. He places a hand on my forehead.

“Norris ir right, you do have a fever, prinzessin.”

“No I don’t.” I say stubbornly.

He arches an eyebrow, as if challenging me.

“Do you want me to carry you to the medic center like you’re still a tiny baby?” He asks and I shake my head quickly, knowing very well he isn’t bluffing “Then let Norris take you and follow everything the medics say.”

“But Sebby!” I whine.

“Prinzessin.” He gives me an unimpressed look “Go to the medic center with Norris, now. And I’m not asking, I am telling you to go.”

I huff with a pout, knowing I won’t win this argument so I let Lando take me to the medic center while Sebastian watches from the distant as the McLaren rookie fusses over me.

Abu Dhabi, Saudi Arabia, 2019

The paddock was busier than ever, so many people with so many big smiles and shouts of happiness.

It’s the last race of the season and it leaves a bittersweet feeling on my chest. On one hand I am extremely happy that the season is finally over and I will be able to go back to a somewhat normal routine, going to college everyday, normal sleep schedules, as normal as an university student sleep schedule can go, and staying at home for a bit.

But at the same time, I am upset about being away from Formula 1 for the time being. I got used to seeing Lando and Carlos everyday, they are already a big important part of my life. I like the thrill of being in a different place every other week, of learning new things and watching the races.

I’m sitting at the VIP lounge section at the rooftop, overlooking the paddock bustling with activities. I’m sipping an Italian soda while I soak in the last moments of the 2019 season.

I don’t say anything as Lando slips quietly on the seat beside me. He has dark sunglasses perched on the top of his nose and he’s wearing a black McLaren shirt. His thigh brushes my slightly to gather my attention.

I shift in my seat to look at him and he already has that dimple smile on his face.

“It’s been a long year, huh?” He says quietly

I nod, smiling softly at him.

“It has been… feels like it was yesterday that I meet you and Carlos on my first day at the paddock.”

He hums, reaching out for my glass of Italian soda and taking a sip without even asking for it. I don’t mind, it’s normal between us by now.

“How was your first year as a Formula 1 employee?” He asks

“Better than I expected to be honest.” I tell him, playing with the hem of my dress “I didn’t get bad words from people for being Jenson Button’s daughter.”

Lando nods, understanding what I’m hinting at.

“You’ve been doing a good job, I think you’ve proved yourself here.”

“No, I haven’t yet.” I tell him. “But what about you? How was your first year as a Formula 1 driver?”

His smile widens “It was insane. Sometimes still feels like I’m dreaming. I know the results I’ve been getting aren’t ideal yet, but being here… it’s great.” I can tell he’s happy by the way his eyes lit up “I got so luck to have a good teammate.”

I nod, he sure indeed found a friend in Carlos.

“And even luckier to have the most beautiful and incredible PR intern.”

My cheeks grow hot the minute my brain register and processes his words. I lift my eyes to look at him, his cheeks are also tinted pink and he was a sweet smile on his face.

We stare at each other for a moment, only gazing in each others eyes. I reach for his hand and he squeezes mine in his big one.

“Will you be here with me next year?” Lando asks in a soft tone.

“Yes.” I breath out “I’ll be here with you next year.”

#fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #sebastian vettel x reader #carlos sainz x reader

113 notes · View notes

koolades-world · 1 day ago

Note

Hiya! May I request an mc who daydreams a lot? I have maladaptive daydreaming and always catch myself daydreaming about something everywhere, especially when I’m bored. (Long car trips with music is a disco).

I’d love to see how the brothers would react to this. Thank you :)

- 🖤✨

hi! sure thing!

enjoy!

Mc who daydreams a lot

Lucifer

he doesn't hold it against you

especially during class and student council meetings

if you can't help it, what is there to be done?

he'll catch you up if he notices you may have missed out on parts of a conversation

Mammon

he just wants to know if your daydreams are about him

come on, he won't tell anyone!

in fact, he'd be more than happy to make those daydreams come true if they're about him

he'll even cut you a deal. buy one, get one free!

Levi

to an extent, he feels like he can relate

that is, if his silly scenarios in his head count as daydreaming

do they still count if it happens at one in the morning

nevermind that! he gets it, and that's all that matters

Satan

if not anything else

he's just curious

he'd love to learn about why and when this happens

he's going to research and get back to you!

Asmo

will most likely be the one to interrupt you

because hello? it's supposed to be all eyes on him after all

if it seems like a good daydream

he'll probably ask. be prepared for questions haha

Beel

he doesn't mind

it's nice to have someone sitting with him while he eats

even if you're daydreaming

your presence was more than enough for him <3

Belphie

the only thing better than a daydream, is a dream dream

he can be there to ensure your dreams are just as sweet as your daydreams

it'll only cost you an hour of cuddling!

if you cuddle with him longer, he'll make sure he's in your dreams too <3

#gn reader #headcanons #obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me asmo #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me shall we date #obey me beel #omswd #obey me! shall we date #obey me! shall we date?

81 notes · View notes

emjayewrites · 1 day ago

Text

in between the lines • jules kounde (2/4)

SYNOPSIS: At Zuri’s engagement party, Senait meets her best friend’s fiancé, Aurélien, and his friend, Jules. A spontaneous hookup with Jules sparks undeniable chemistry, but when Senait ghosts him afterward, she finds herself wrestling with her insecurities as the casual fling begins shifting into something deeper.

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules, instant attraction/fast development. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @saturnville @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @serpenttines-library @sucredreamer @julescpu @tchouathon @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @shelovesfootie @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior

A/N: This is the last 'book' of the "football baes universe". Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. Gif by @tchouathon

Barcelona's streets hummed with late afternoon energy as Jules left training, his body pleasantly sore and his mind, as usual, drifting to Senait. Her latest text sat unanswered on his phone:

Just booked the flight.

A smile played on his lips as he slid into his Lamborghini Urus. Everything with Senait felt like a delicate dance – one step forward, two steps back, but always moving to some rhythm only they understood.

The drive home gave him time to appreciate how different she was from anyone else he'd pursued. Her unpredictability should have frustrated him, but instead, it only made him more intrigued. Where other women were an open book, Senait was a story that revealed itself one carefully guarded page at a time.

Their late-night conversations had become something he looked forward to, not just for the content but for those rare moments when her guard dropped completely. Beyond the sass and witty comebacks was someone thoughtful, complex, and surprisingly vulnerable.

Pulling into his driveway, Jules checked his phone again. The flight details still seemed surreal – as if he'd somehow managed to convince a wild bird to willingly fly into his hands. His mind wandered to all the places in Barcelona he wanted to show her, though he knew she'd probably resist half his suggestions just on principle.

Inside his house, he dropped his training bag and headed straight for the shower. The hot water soothed his muscles as anticipation built in his chest. Everything about Senait challenged him – her sharp mind, her fierce independence, the way she matched him stride for stride without backing down.

His phone rang just as he was stepping out of the shower. Zuri's name flashed on the screen.

"Your best friend is impossible," he said by way of greeting.

Zuri's laugh crackled through the speaker. "She's coming to Barcelona, isn't she?"

"How did you—"

"She called to complain about how pushy you are." He could hear the amusement in Zuri's voice. "Said something about you being 'criminally dominant' and 'annoyingly persuasive.'"

Jules grinned, toweling off his hair. "She's not wrong."

"Just... be careful with her, okay?" Zuri's tone turned serious. "Senait's independent to a fault. She's been hurt before."

"I know." Jules sat on his bed, sobering. "I'm not trying to cage her, Zuri. I just want..."

"Want what?"

Good question, he thought. What did he want with Senait? "I want to know her," he said finally. "The real her, not just the walls she puts up."

Zuri was quiet for a moment. "You really like her, don't you?"

"She's... different." It felt like an inadequate description, but it was the best he could do.

After hanging up with Zuri, Jules checked his messages again. Senait had sent another text:

This is crazy. I have meetings.

I have excellent wifi, he typed back.

S: That's not the point. J: What is the point?

There was a long pause before her reply:

You're too much.

Jules smirked. You haven't seen anything yet.

He could almost see her rolling her eyes. Another message came through:

S: I have to go. Some of us have actual work to do. J: Have dinner with me when you land Thursday. S: We'll see. J: That wasn't a question, chérie. Her response was immediate: You're so fucking bossy. J: You love it. S: I tolerate it. Barely.

Jules laughed, settling back against his pillows. This was what he enjoyed most – their back-and-forth, the way she pushed back against his dominance while simultaneously responding to it.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of training sessions and match preparation. Jules found himself checking flight trackers, making sure Senait's flight was still on schedule. He'd arranged for a car to pick her up from the airport, knowing she'd protest but do it anyway.

Thursday evening found him pacing his living room, checking his phone every few minutes. Her flight had landed twenty minutes ago. She should be through customs soon.

Landed, came her text. Then: Your driver is very persistent.

J: Good. Let him take you to the hotel. S: I could have gotten an Uber. J: But you didn't need to. Stop arguing and get in the car.

There was a pause, then: So bossy.

Jules smiled, knowing he'd won this round. He gave her time to check into the hotel before calling.

"Hello?" Her voice was tired but carried that edge of amusement he'd come to recognize.

"Dinner in an hour," he said without preamble. "Wear something nice."

"I just got here. I'm jet-lagged."

"Perfect time for dinner then. One hour, Senait."

He heard her intake of breath, could picture her preparing to argue. But then she surprised him: "Fine. Text me the address."

"No need. I'll pick you up."

"Jules—"

"One hour," he repeated, then hung up before she could protest further.

Exactly fifty-eight minutes later, Jules stood in the hotel lobby, ignoring the appreciative glances from other guests. He'd chosen dark blue pants and a Jacquemus men's horse-print camp shirt that he knew looked good on him, though he suspected Senait would roll her eyes at his effort.

The elevator dinged, and there she was. His breath caught slightly – she wore a fitted spaghetti-strap pink mini dress that hugged every curve, her hair falling in tight curls around her shoulders. She looked incredible, and from the slight smirk on her lips, she knew it.

"You clean up nice," she said, approaching him.

Jules let his eyes roam over her deliberately, enjoying the way her breath hitched slightly. "You look edible," he replied, his voice low.

A faint flush colored her cheeks, but her voice remained steady. "You're impossible."

"So you keep saying." He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. "Yet here you are."

"Against my better judgment."

"Your judgment isn't as good as you think it is."

She laughed despite herself, the sound making something warm unfurl in his chest. "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

The restaurant he'd chosen was one of Barcelona's hidden gems – intimate without being overwhelming, elegant without being stuffy. He'd called ahead, ensuring they had a private corner table with a view of the city lights.

Senait took in the space with appreciative eyes. "Trying to impress me?"

"Always." He pulled out her chair, his hand brushing her shoulder as she sat. "Is it working?"

"Maybe." She picked up the menu, then frowned. "It's in Catalan."

"That's why you have me." Jules settled across from her, enjoying the way the candlelight played across her features. "Let me order for you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Bossy as fuck."

"You knew that in Paris."

"Paris was different."

"Was it?" He leaned forward slightly. "Or are you just scared it wasn't?"

Senait met his gaze, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes before her walls came back up. "I'm not doing relationships right now, Jules."

"Why do you keep saying that? Maybe I just enjoy your company. And the way you moan when I—"

"Jules!" She glanced around, but no one was paying them any attention.

He grinned, unrepentant. "Just stating facts."

The waiter approached, and Jules ordered in fluid Catalan, including a bottle of wine he knew she'd love. When they were alone again, he studied her face.

"What?" she asked, fidgeting slightly under his gaze.

"Just thinking about how beautiful you look when you're pretending not to be affected by me."

"Your ego is astronomical."

"It's well-earned."

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the smile she tried to hide behind her wine glass. "Tell me about your week," he said, genuinely interested in her life beyond their charged exchanges.

To his surprise, she did. She told him about work drama, about a funny incident with her neighbor's cat. He listened, offering input when needed but mostly just enjoying seeing her gradually relax.

"What?" she asked again, catching him watching her.

"Nothing. I just like seeing you like this. Real."

"As opposed to fake?"

"As opposed to guarded." He reached across the table, taking her hand before she could pull away. "You don't have to protect yourself from me, Senait."

She stared at their joined hands, something uncertain crossing her face. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"This. Whatever this is. I'm not good at... letting people in."

Jules squeezed her hand gently. "Good thing I'm patient then."

She looked up at him, and for a moment, her walls completely dropped. The vulnerability in her eyes made his chest tight. Then she blinked, and her usual sass returned.

"Patient? You literally demanded I come to Barcelona."

He laughed, accepting her need to lighten the moment. "And you came. What does that say about you?"

"That I have questionable judgment?"

"That you want this too." His voice dropped lower. "Even if you're not ready to admit it."

The rest of dinner passed in a blend of comfortable conversation and charged silences. Jules paid the bill despite her protests ("Let me be a gentleman, Senait") and led her back to his car.

"Taking me back to the hotel?" she asked as they drove through Barcelona's lit streets.

"Eventually." He glanced at her, enjoying the way the city lights played across her profile. "But first, I want to show you something."

He drove them up to one of his favorite viewpoints, where the whole city spread out below them like a carpet of stars. Senait's soft intake of breath was worth the detour.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, stepping out of the car.

Jules moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. To his surprise, she didn't resist, instead leaning back against his chest.

"Thank you for coming," he murmured against her hair.

"Thank you for being annoyingly persistent."

He laughed softly. "Stay with me this weekend. At my place."

"Jules..."

"If you're not comfortable with that, let me know. But let me show you my city. Let me have some quality time with you."

She was quiet for a long moment, and he let her think, content to hold her while she processed.

"Okay," she said finally, so quietly he almost missed it.

"Okay?"

She turned in his arms, looking up at him with a mix of uncertainty and determination. "Okay. But I have conditions."

"Name them."

"I need to work at times during the day. And... and I need you to understand that this doesn't mean..."

"I know what it doesn't mean," he interrupted gently. "Let's focus on what it does mean. You're here. With me. The rest we'll figure out."

She studied his face for a moment, then nodded. "You're still annoying."

"And you're still pretending not to like it." He bent down, capturing her lips in a kiss before she could argue further.

Above them, Barcelona's stars twinkled, witnesses to whatever this was becoming. Jules didn't know where it would lead, but for now, he was content to have her here, in his arms, gradually letting her walls down.

The drive back to her hotel was charged with possibility. Jules found himself hyperaware of every small movement Senait made – the way her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh, how she kept stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

"Stop analyzing me," he said without taking his eyes off the road.

"I'm not—"

"You are." He reached over, placing his hand on her knee. "Still trying to figure out your escape route?"

She didn't immediately brush his hand away, which he counted as progress. "Maybe I'm just wondering why you're so intent on... whatever this is."

Jules squeezed her knee gently. "Because you intrigue me."

"That's a dangerous word."

"I like dangerous." He glanced at her then, taking in her profile against the passing city lights. "And you like that I like it."

Senait turned to face him, challenge sparking in her eyes. "You think you've got me all figured out?"

"Not even close." Jules smiled, genuine rather than cocky. "That's part of the appeal."

When they reached her hotel, he killed the engine but made no move to get out. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"Coming up?" Senait finally asked, her voice carrying a note of something almost like nervousness.

"Not tonight."

That got her attention. She turned to him sharply, brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

Jules enjoyed the flash of indignation in her eyes. "You heard me." He leaned across the console, close enough to feel her breath hitch. "You're still settling in. Get some rest."

"I don't need you to—"

"I know you don't need anything from me," he interrupted smoothly. "But I want you fully present when I have you again."

The way her pupils dilated told him his words had hit their mark. "You're infuriating," she muttered.

"So you keep saying." He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. "Dinner tomorrow night. I'll pick you up at eight."

"What if I made plans?"

"Cancel them."

She narrowed her eyes. "You can't just—"

Jules cut her off with a kiss, deep enough to make her grab his shirt but brief enough to leave her wanting more. When he pulled back, her eyes were slightly glazed.

"Eight o'clock," he repeated, enjoying the flush in her cheeks. "Don't be late."

Senait gathered herself, trying to regain her composure. "You're not as irresistible as you think you are."

"No?" He traced her jawline with his finger. "Then why are you still sitting in my car?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile as she got out. Jules watched her walk into the hotel, admiring the sway of her hips that he knew was at least partially for his benefit.

His phone buzzed as he pulled away from the curb: This doesn't mean anything.

J: Keep telling yourself that, chérie. S: I mean it, Jules. J: Get some rest. Dream of me. S: I fucking hate you.

Jules grinned, imagining her expression as she read his texts. He'd learned that Senait's protests were often directly proportional to how much something affected her. And tonight? Tonight she'd been affected.

Back at his place, he found himself restless with unused energy. The thought of Senait, just a few miles away in her hotel room, was maddening. But he meant what he said – he wanted her fully present, not jet-lagged and guarded.

His phone lit up one more time before bed: I don't dream about annoying men.

J: Liar. S: Goodnight, Jules. J: Bonne nuit, ma belle. Don't fight it too hard.

He could practically hear her scoff through the phone, but she didn't respond. Progress, he thought. Small steps.

Just as he was drifting off, another text came through: Thank you for dinner. And the view.

Jules smiled into his pillow. Senait offering genuine gratitude without a sarcastic comment? Definitely progress.

J: Thank you for letting me show you. S: Don't get used to it. J: Too late.

Tomorrow, he thought as sleep pulled at him. Tomorrow he'd show her more of his city, more of himself. And maybe, if he played his cards right, she'd show him more of herself too.

Sleep had eventually claimed Senait, but it wasn't Jules who invaded her dreams. Instead, her subconscious dragged her back to a moment she'd tried hard to forget:

Tymir, lounging on their college apartment couch, barely looking up from his phone as she confronted him about another girl.

"You really don't care, do you?" Dream-Senait had asked, her voice cracking.

Tymir had just shrugged, the gesture so casual it cut deeper than any words could. The same shoulders she'd massaged countless times after his basketball practices, the same nonchalance that had once seemed cool back in high school now just felt cruel.

Senait woke with a start, her heart racing. Fucking perfect timing, brain, she thought, glancing at her phone. 6 AM. No point trying to sleep now.

As she made coffee in her hotel room, memories she'd carefully tucked away began surfacing. High school Senait – glasses, braces, always first to raise her hand in AP classes. The kind of girl who spent lunch periods in the library, who tutored other students in calculus, who had a ten-year plan before she even hit puberty.

Then came Tymir. Star shooting guard, dreads always perfectly maintained, smile that made every girl's head turn. When he'd first started showing interest in her junior year, she'd thought it was a joke. Guys like him didn't go for girls like her.

But he had. He'd wait for her after her tutoring sessions, charm her with that easy confidence of his. "My smart girl," he'd call her, and she'd melt every time.

God, I was so naive, Senait thought, settling at the desk with her laptop. Work would be a good distraction from this unwanted trip down memory lane.

Her phone buzzed: Morning, chérie. Sleep well?

Jules. Of course he'd text first thing. She stared at the message, suddenly hyper-aware of the similarities. The confidence, the natural authority in their bearing. Hell, they even both had dreads, though Jules wore his longer.

Fine, she typed back, not wanting to engage too much. Her mind was too full of ghosts.

They'd followed Tymir to college – her on an academic scholarship, him on a basketball scholarship. That's where she'd met Zuri, in their freshman orientation. They'd bonded over being some of the only Black girls in their communications seminar, and soon became inseparable.

Zuri had never liked Tymir. "He doesn't deserve you," she'd say, especially after the first time she caught him with another girl at a party. But Senait had forgiven him. And the second time. And the third.

Her phone buzzed again: You're quieter than usual.

Working, she responded, though she'd been staring at the same email for ten minutes.

It had been the injury that changed everything. A bad landing during a game their junior year – torn ACL, shattered dreams of going pro. The coach had been kind, allowed him to keep his scholarship, even offered him a position as student assistant coach.

But Tymir's pride couldn't take it. He'd spiraled, started partying more, caring less before eventually dropping out. And through it all, Senait had tried to be there, to be understanding. Even when understanding meant turning a blind eye to lipstick stains and late-night texts from unknown numbers.

Stay focused, she told herself, forcing her attention back to work. But memories kept intruding.

Senior year. The final straw. Not even finding out about his latest cheating from another girl, but the casual way she'd mentioned her pregnancy. As if Senait was the afterthought, the footnote in someone else's love story.

Her phone lit up: You're in your head today. Tell me.

Senait stared at Jules' message. That was another similarity – the way they both seemed to read her so easily.

Just tired, she lied.

J: Liar.

She almost smiled despite herself. Almost.

The hours ticked by, a blend of actual work and unwanted reminiscence. Jules checked in periodically, each message carrying that same quiet authority that both attracted and unnerved her.

By 7 PM, she felt wrung out, but somewhat happy to be able to log off work early. The emotional toll of the memories, combined with jet lag and the lingering effects of the dream, left her wanting nothing more than to curl up alone.

Not feeling up for dinner, she texted Jules. Rain check?

His response came quickly: You can rest. But you're still coming over.

S: Jules… J: What snacks do you like?

The question caught her off guard.

S: What?

J: Snacks, chérie. Simple question.

She found herself listing her favorites, almost on autopilot. Salt and vinegar chips, dark chocolate, Swedish fish candies, peanut M&M’s…

At 8 PM sharp, a knock on her door announced Jules' arrival. He stood there, looking unfairly good in casual clothes, eyeing her oversized sweater and leggings with amusement.

"Comfortable," he commented, picking up her weekender bag before she could protest.

"I told you I wasn't feeling up for—"

"You can rest at my place just as well as here." His tone brooked no argument as he guided her to his car.

The drive to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Jules seemed to sense her mood, not pushing for conversation. His hand found its way to her thigh though, thumb stroking absent patterns that somehow managed to both soothe and unsettle her.

His house was exactly what she'd expect from a bachelor athlete – modern, minimalist, but with personal touches that made her smile despite herself. Action figures lined the soundboard beneath a massive TV, various gaming consoles neatly arranged below.

"Very adult," she commented, gesturing to what looked like a limited edition Naruto figure.

"Judge all you want, but that's worth more than your monthly rent."

She rolled her eyes, but found herself relaxing slightly. This was better than being alone with her thoughts in the hotel room.

Jules disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a bowl of her favorite chips and the exact candy she'd mentioned. "Bathroom's through there if you want to change," he said, nodding toward a hallway. "Make yourself comfortable."

The casualness of it all – him providing comfort food, not pushing for conversation – made something twist in her chest. It was thoughtful in a way Tymir had never been, even in their best moments.

Don't, she warned herself. Don't compare them. Don't fall into old patterns.

But her traitorous mind kept pointing out the differences. How Jules noticed when she was off-balance but didn't demand explanations. How he managed to be commanding without being controlling.

When she emerged from the bathroom in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, Jules had set up what looked like every pillow in the house on his massive couch. He patted the space next to him, and she went, telling herself it was just because she was tired.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked as she settled in.

"No."

"Want me to distract you?"

She glanced at him sharply, but his expression was innocent. Well, mostly innocent.

"Not like that," he said, though his small smirk suggested he wouldn't object if she changed her mind. "I have every Studio Ghibli film ever made. Your choice."

His thoughtfulness – remembering she'd mentioned loving these films during one of their late-night calls – made her throat tight.

"Howl's Moving Castle," she said finally, her voice smaller than she intended.

Jules pulled her closer as the movie started, and Senait found herself gradually relaxing into his warmth. This was dangerous territory – this comfort, this ease. She'd been here before, let herself believe in the security of strong arms and gentle touches.

But as Jules's fingers played absently with her hair, as the familiar story unfolded on screen, her inner voice spoke up: He's not Tymir.

It was a dangerous thought. More dangerous than any physical attraction, any heated moment. Because physical she could handle. Physical was safe, contained.

This… this quiet intimacy, this understanding without demands… this was what had broken her before.

"Stop thinking so loud," Jules murmured against her hair.

"I'm not—"

"You are." His arms tightened slightly around her. "Whatever ghost you're wrestling with, let it rest. Just be here."

Senait closed her eyes, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. Just be here, she repeated to herself. Don't overthink it.

But as she drifted off to the sound of Sophie and Howl's adventure, one last thought slipped through: He's not Tymir. And maybe… maybe that's exactly why I should be worried.

______________________________________________

Consciousness came to Senait slowly, her mind registering sensations one by one: soft sheets that weren't hotel-issued, a mattress that cradled her body just right, and the gentle sound of a spoon clinking against china. The last detail made her eyes flutter open.

She was in Jules' bedroom – presumably having been carried here at some point during the movie – and beside her, propped up against the headboard and wearing his durag, was Jules himself. He held a delicate teacup in one hand while his other worked steady circles into her shoulder, touch firm but gentle.

"Tea?" she mumbled, voice rough with sleep. "In pitch black darkness while watching..." She squinted at the massive TV mounted on the wall. "Is that The Dark Knight Rises?"

Jules' chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Don't judge my nighttime rituals, chérie."

"Oh, I'm definitely judging." But she made no move to escape his touch as his fingers found a particularly tight knot in her shoulder. "Professional footballer drinking tea like a British grandmother."

"It's chamomile," he defended, setting the cup aside to use both hands on her shoulders. "And you're incredibly tense."

Senait bit back a moan as his thumbs dug into a spot that had been bothering her for weeks. "Occupational hazard. Hunching over laptops isn't great for posture."

"When's the last time you had a proper massage?"

She had to think about it. "Before graduation maybe? Zuri treated me to a spa day after..."

After finding out about Tymir's baby mama, her mind helpfully supplied. She felt Jules' hands pause momentarily, sensing the weight in her unfinished sentence.

"That's too long," he said simply, resuming his ministrations. "I'll arrange for someone to come by tomorrow while I'm at training. My regular masseuse is excellent."

"Jules—"

"This isn't a discussion." His fingers found another knot, making her gasp. "You're carrying too much tension. It's not healthy."

"You're bossy even about self-care," she muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

"Someone has to be." He worked his way up to her neck, touch careful but firm. "You're too busy taking care of everyone else's PR nightmares to look after yourself."

The accuracy of that observation made her uncomfortable. "I take care of myself just fine."

"Is that why you're wound tighter than Aurélien before a Clásico?"

She wanted to argue, but between his skilled hands and the late hour, she found herself drifting off again, lulled by the quiet sounds of Gotham's reckoning and Jules' steady breathing.

An unfamiliar sound jolted Senait awake. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, and she found herself alone in Jules' massive bed. The sound came again – was that... a rooster?

Confusion drew her from the warmth of the sheets. She spotted one of Jules' hoodies draped over a chair and pulled it on, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne as she went to investigate.

She followed the sound through the house, down the staircase, and onto a beautifully landscaped patio. There, in what appeared to be a luxury chicken coop that probably cost more than her first car, stood a proud rooster.

"Ah, I see you've met Maurice."

Senait turned to find Jules leaning against the doorframe, looking unfairly good in training clothes.

"Maurice," she repeated flatly. "You have a rooster named Maurice."

"Technically, Aurélien has a sense of humor and I have a rooster named Maurice."

The absurdity of it made her laugh despite herself. "Explain."

"Aurélien gave him to me as a housewarming gift," Jules explained, looking far too fond of the preening bird. "Said every proper Frenchman needs a rooster. You know, since it's our national symbol."

Maurice strutted over to the edge of his enclosure, eyeing Senait with what she could have sworn was judgment.

"So naturally, you kept him."

"Of course. Look at him – he has excellent posture."

Senait turned to stare at Jules, trying to reconcile this image – the elite athlete who kept a gift rooster – with the dominant man who'd commanded her to Barcelona. The contrast shouldn't have been charming, but somehow it was.

"You're ridiculous," she informed him.

"You like it." He guided her back inside, toward the kitchen. "Breakfast?"

She watched as he moved efficiently inside his kitchen, beating eggs with the same precision he probably used on the pitch. There was something domestic about it all – the morning light streaming through windows, the sounds of Maurice greeting the day, Jules cooking while explaining his training schedule.

"I'll be done around three," he was saying, sliding a perfect omelet onto her plate. "The masseuse will come at four. Then dinner?"

"You just assume I'll still be here?"

He set a cup of coffee in front of her – prepared exactly how she liked it, because of course he'd noticed that detail too. "You will be."

"Awful confident there."

"Just observant." He leaned against the counter, studying her face. "You slept better here than at the hotel."

She wanted to argue, but he was right. Despite the emotional turbulence of yesterday, she'd slept more soundly in his bed than she had in weeks.

"That's because your mattress probably costs more than my yearly salary."

"Among other reasons." His smile was knowing. "Eat. The food will get cold."

They ate in comfortable silence, interrupted occasionally by Maurice's commentary on the morning. Jules' phone buzzed with messages – probably from teammates – but he ignored them, focusing instead on her.

It should have made her uncomfortable, that focused attention. It had with Tymir, eventually. His gaze had gone from admiring to possessive, from protective to controlling.

But Jules... Jules watched her like he was trying to solve a puzzle, not own it.

Dangerous thoughts, she warned herself. Very dangerous thoughts.

"There you go again," Jules murmured. "Thinking too much."

"Some of us have to think. Can't all coast by on good looks and football skills."

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "You think I'm good looking?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

The challenge in his voice sent heat pooling in her belly, but before she could respond, his phone buzzed again.

"Time for training," he sighed, standing. He bent to kiss her temple, the gesture so casual it made her heart stutter. "Rest. Let the masseuse work her magic. I'll bring dinner."

"I didn't agree to—"

"Senait." His voice dropped to that tone that seemed to bypass her brain and go straight to her nerve endings. "Stay. Let yourself be taken care of, just for today."

She wanted to argue. Wanted to maintain some semblance of the control she usually clung to. But something in his eyes – concern mixed with that quiet authority – made her pause.

"Fine," she conceded. "But I'm not promising to be here when you get back."

His smile said he knew better. "Whatever you say, chérie." He grabbed his training bag, pausing at the door. "Oh, and feed Maurice around noon. He likes classical music with his lunch."

"You're joking."

"Am I?" With a wink, he was gone, leaving Senait to stare after him.

Through the window, she watched him get into his car. The morning sun caught his dreads, and highlighted the easy grace of his movements.

He's not Tymir, her mind whispered again. Not even close.

That thought should have been comforting. Instead, it terrified her. Because Tymir she knew how to handle. Tymir was a familiar hurt, a known quantity.

But Jules? Jules with his tea and his rooster and his gentle hands that could so easily command her? Jules who noticed everything but demanded nothing?

Jules was uncharted territory.

And as Maurice continued to crow his morning opinions to the world, as the scent of Jules' cologne lingered on the hoodie she wore, Senait realized she was already in deeper than she'd planned.

Fuck, she thought, but couldn't quite tell if it was despair or anticipation coloring the word.

Only time will tell.

_______________________________________________

Training had been intense, the Barcelona sun unforgiving even in the cooler months. Jules wiped sweat from his forehead as he headed toward his car, his muscles pleasantly sore from the session.

"¡Julio! ¡Hola, Julio!"

He turned to see Lamine Yamal jogging toward him, still full of energy despite the grueling practice. At seventeen, the kid seemed to have endless reserves.

"¿Puedo practicar conducir en tu coche de nuevo?" Lamine asked, flashing his most winning smile. "He estado mejorando!" (“Can I practice driving in your car again? I've been getting better!”)

Jules snorted. "¿Quieres decir que es mejor casi estrellarse?" He nodded toward the parking lot where he spotted Lamine's mother waiting. "Además, parece que tu viaje está aquí." (“Better at almost crashing, you mean? Besides, looks like your ride's here”.)

"Vamos, ¿solo una vez alrededor del lote?" ("Come on, just once around the lot?")

"No después de la última vez. Todavía tengo pesadillas sobre mi transmisión.” (“Not after last time. I still have nightmares about my transmission.")

Lamine rolled his eyes. "No fue tan malo." ("It wasn't that bad.")

"Confundiste el freno con el acelerador”. (“You confused the brake with the accelerator.")

“Menor detalle”. ("Minor detail.")

Jules ruffled the teenager's hair, earning a protest. “Vete a casa, chico. Tal vez cuando tengas dieciocho años”. ("Go home, kid. Maybe when you're eightteen.")

“¡Seré mejor conductor que tú para entonces!” ("I'll be a better driver than you by then!")

“¡Establezca metas realistas, Lamine!” ("Set realistic goals, Lamine!")

Sliding into his car, Jules couldn't help but smile at the exchange. But as he started the engine, his thoughts drifted back to Senait. Something had been off since last night – beyond just the usual walls she put up. The way she'd tensed when mentioning that spa day with Zuri, the shadows that had crossed her face…

He checked his phone before pulling out. She'd answered his texts throughout the day, but sporadically:

J: Masseuse coming at 4. Don't overthink it. S: I know how massages work, Jules.

And later:

S: Maurice is judging my lunch choices. J: He has refined taste. S: He's a rooster. J: A sophisticated one.

J. Cole's voice filled the car as Jules navigated Barcelona's streets. He'd been surprised to learn Senait liked Cole too – another little detail he'd filed away during their late-night talks.

A thought nagged at him – what if she'd left? But no, she wouldn't. Not without saying goodbye at least. Besides, he'd seen how she melted under his touch last night, how she'd curled into him despite her usual aversion to cuddling.

He pulled into his favorite restaurant, one that made the best paella in the city. The owner, Maria, greeted him warmly.

"Lo de siempre, Julio? (The usual, Jules?)"

"Y alga extra gambas al ajillo (And some extra garlic shrimp)," he added, thinking of how Senait had mentioned loving garlic shrimp once.

While waiting for the food, he sent another text: Bringing dinner. Hope you're hungry.

Her response came quickly this time: Can't move. Your masseuse is a sadist.

He grinned. Good. You needed it.

I hate that you're right.

The drive home was filled with anticipation. Jules found himself thinking about how natural it had felt, waking up with Senait in his bed. How she'd looked wearing his clothes, sleep-soft and unguarded.

Don't push too fast, he reminded himself. He could sense her skittishness, knew there was a story behind her careful distance. But patience was one of his strengths – on and off the pitch.

The house was quiet when he entered, but he could hear soft voices from his home gym. Following the sound, he found his masseuse, Clara, instructing Senait through what looked like some final stretches.

"Breathe through it," Clara was saying as Senait winced. "These knots didn't form overnight."

Jules leaned against the doorframe, taking in the scene. Senait lay on the massage table, face down, looking both relaxed and slightly murderous.

"I'll let you finish," he said, enjoying Senait's half-hearted glare. "Dinner's getting set up."

In the kitchen, he arranged the food, opened a bottle of wine to breathe, and tried not to think too hard about Senait's bare skin under Clara's expert hands.

Twenty minutes later, Clara emerged. "She'll need another session," she told Jules as he walked her out, accepting his generous tip. "Lot of old tension there."

"I'll set it up," he promised.

Senait appeared in the kitchen, wearing his hoodie again, her hair piled messily on top of her head. She looked soft, relaxed in a way he had come to enjoy.

"Your masseuse tried to kill me," she accused, but her voice was languid.

"You'll thank me later." He guided her to sit, placing a full plate in front of her. "Eat."

The appreciative sound she made at the first bite sent heat through his veins. "Okay, maybe I'll thank you now."

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, Jules watching as some of her usual sharpness returned with each bite.

"Stop analyzing me," she said without looking up.

"Can't help it. You're interesting."

"I'm really not."

"Disagree." He topped off her wine. "Want to tell me what was bothering you last night?"

She tensed slightly, then consciously relaxed – probably feeling the ghost of Clara's warning about tension. "Not particularly."

"Okay." He let it drop, knowing pushing wouldn't help.

Senait looked surprised at his easy acceptance. "That's it? No interrogation?"

"You'll tell me when you're ready." He shrugged. "Or you won't. But I'm here either way."

Something flickered in her eyes – surprise, vulnerability, maybe both. She covered it by taking another bite, but Jules caught the slight tremor in her hand.

"Tell me about your day instead," he offered. "Did Maurice actually judge your lunch choices?"

That got a laugh out of her. "He turned his back on my sandwich. Literally turned around and ignored me."

"He prefers a proper meal. Very French that way."

"He's a bird, Jules."

"A French bird."

She rolled her eyes, but he could see her smile. This was what he loved – how easily they fell into banter, how her wit matched his step for step.

Loved. Dangerous word. He filed that thought away for later examination.

As they finished eating, Senait seemed to relax more fully. Whether from the wine, the massage, or just the comfort of the moment, her usual guardedness had softened around the edges.

"Thank you," she said suddenly. "For… this. All of it."

Jules reached across the table, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "My pleasure, chérie."

She leaned into his touch, just slightly, but it was enough. He stood and drew her up against him.

"Jules…"

"Shh." He traced her jawline with his thumb.

When he kissed her, she tasted like wine and possibility. Her hands fisted in his shirt as he backed her against the counter, deepening the kiss. She made a small sound in the back of her throat that drove him crazy.

"Still planning to leave?" he murmured against her lips.

"Shut up," she breathed, pulling him back down.

Jules smiled into the kiss. They both knew she wasn't going anywhere – at least not tonight.

And tonight was all he was asking for. For now.

Jules guided Senait over to the couch, his touch gentle but insistent. He sank down, settling her on his lap, her legs straddling his thighs. His hands slipped beneath her hoodie, pushing the fabric up and over her head, revealing bare, beautiful skin.

He paused, taking in the sight of her breasts. A low, appreciative groan rumbled in his chest, and he leaned forward, pressing kisses to her collarbone before his mouth found one sensitive nipple. His tongue swirled and flicked, and she let out a soft, breathy moan, arching into him. His large hands cupped her breasts, kneading and teasing as he lavished attention on her, making her squirm and press herself even closer.

"Jules," she whimpered, her voice cracking under the pressure of his touch.

He looked up, his lips curving into a wicked smile. "Mm, I like the way you say my name." His thumbs brushed over her hardened nipples before he helped her shimmy out of the rest of her clothes. Each piece fell to the floor, leaving her bare and flushed under his intense gaze.

Her eyes fell to the bulge straining beneath his pants. Senait slid off his lap and dropped to her knees between his legs, her fingers working on the waistband of his pants. Jules lifted his hips to help her, and she peeled the fabric away, followed by his boxers, freeing his dick. He was already hard for her, the head flushed and glistening with precum. The sheer size of him made her bite her lip in anticipation.

She leaned forward, her tongue darting out to taste him. She ran it along the length of his shaft, swirling around the tip, savoring his reaction. Jules let his head fall back against the couch, a deep groan spilling from his lips. His hands found their way into her hair, fingers tangling as he watched her work.

"Merde," he muttered, a smile pulling at his lips when she tried to take more of him into her mouth. She had gotten better since their last time in Paris, but even now, she could barely fit him in. The way her mouth stretched around him, though, was enough to send a jolt of pleasure through his body. Senait’s hands moved to play with his balls, and he hissed in pleasure, his hips bucking slightly.

She hollowed her cheeks, doing her best to take him deeper, but he was still too thick, too overwhelming. The challenge of it only made him harder.

Jules tugged gently at her hair, guiding her off of him, and his eyes were dark, filled with need. "Come here," he instructed. "I want you to ride me."

Senait climbed back onto his lap, but not before grabbing a condom from the sideboard. She tore it open and rolled it over his length with practiced ease. He watched her with hooded eyes, hands steadying her hips as she positioned herself above him.

Slowly, she sank down onto his dick, and both of them moaned as he filled her inch by inch. The stretch made her head spin, a delicious ache that left her gasping. Jules groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as she took him all the way.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he growled, his hands guiding her as she began to move. Senait’s hips rocked against his, her movements slow at first, savoring the friction. But as the tension built, she quickened her pace, riding him with growing desperation.

Jules’s hands slid up her sides, one coming to wrap around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her whimper. "Look at you," he whispered, thrusting up into her. "Taking me so well."

The dirty talk spurred her on, her nails digging into his chest as she bounced on him, her moans growing louder. His grip on her throat tightened, sending sparks of pleasure through her. He thrust up to meet her movements, their bodies colliding in a frenzy of need.

"You like that?" he taunted, his voice low and rough. "Like me fucking you like this?"

"Yes," she gasped, her voice breathless. "God, yes."

The room filled with their sounds—moans, grunts, and the slap of skin against skin. Jules’s control was slipping, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chased his release. The feel of her, the way she moved on top of him, was almost too much. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close, his other hand still lightly squeezing her throat.

Senait’s head fell back, her entire body trembling as she came, her walls tightening around him. Her orgasm sent him over the edge, and with one last thrust, he followed, spilling into the condom as he groaned her name.

They stayed there, tangled together, catching their breath. Jules finally let his hand drop from her throat, cupping her cheek instead and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Crazy," she whispered, a smile curving her lips.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over her flushed skin. "Yeah. But you liked it."

She laughed softly, leaning into him, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

Senait was curled up in Jules' home office, half-listening to a virtual meeting, when her phone buzzed with the news alert. The headline made her stomach drop: "Police Visit Real Madrid Star's Home Amid Domestic Dispute Claims."

"Fuck," she breathed, quickly unmuting herself to make an excuse about technical difficulties before dropping from the call. Her fingers flew over her phone screen, pulling up the article.

The tabloid's tone was deliberately salacious, painting Aurélien as some kind of monster. But Senait knew better. She could see Ernest's fingerprints all over this – the strategic leaks, the twisted narrative. Her PR brain picked apart the story even as her heart ached for her friend.

I should have been there, she thought, guilt gnawing at her. Here she was, playing house with Jules in Barcelona while Zuri dealt with this nightmare alone.

Before she could spiral further, she hit call on Zuri's contact.

"Hey," Zuri answered, sounding tired but steady. "I guess you saw?"

"Why didn't you tell me it had gotten this bad?" Senait demanded, already pulling up flight searches on her laptop. "I can be in Madrid in two hours."

"Sen, breathe. We've got it handled." There was a rustling sound, like Zuri was settling somewhere comfortable. "The police visit was just a wellness check. My father's accusations were so obviously false they didn't even need to do a full investigation."

"Still—"

"Still nothing. We're actually moving forward with a restraining order. And…" Zuri paused. "We're planning a trip to New York. Going to handle this face to face."

Senait sat back, processing this. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"Probably not. But necessary." Zuri's tone shifted, becoming lighter. "Now, enough about my drama. Tell me about Jules."

"Zuri…"

"Come on, give me something good. I need the distraction."

Senait couldn't help but smile, even as she rolled her eyes. "He's… attentive."

"Attentive how?"

"Like, I can barely walk some mornings attentive."

Zuri's delighted laugh filled the line. "Get it, girl! Though I have to say, I'm surprised you're still there. Wasn't this supposed to be just a weekend thing?"

The question hit a nerve Senait had been trying to ignore. "Yeah, well…" She glanced around the office she'd somehow claimed as her workspace. "His team lost to Osasuna last night. He needed cheering up."

"Mhmm. Very selfless of you."

"Shut up."

They chatted a bit longer before hanging up, but Zuri's question lingered. What was Senait still doing here? She should be back at her hotel, maintaining some semblance of boundaries. Instead, she'd seamlessly integrated into Jules' space – her laptop on his desk, her toiletries in his bathroom, her clothes hanging next to his.

This is getting to be too much, she thought, eyeing her hotel app. She should check out, stop wasting money on a room she wasn't using. But that thought felt even crazier – actually moving into Jules' house?

"You're thinking too loud again."

Senait jumped. Jules stood in the doorway holding a plate of what smelled like his signature chicken and rice.

"Just work stuff," she lied, accepting the plate. He gave her a look that said he didn't believe her but wouldn't push.

"Eat," he said simply, dropping a kiss on her head before leaving her to her 'work stuff.'

Soon the sound of his PS5 drifted down the hall, his voice mixing with his friends' as they played some shooting game. The rapid-fire French was oddly soothing, domestic in a way that made her chest tight.

Stop it, she chided herself. This isn't real life. You're going back to New York on Wednesday.

But even as she thought it, she knew the truth – she'd be back. Jules would make sure of it, with his quiet commands and knowing smiles. And worse, she'd want to come back.

Her mind drifted to this morning, how she'd woken to find him watching game footage, absently stroking her hair. How natural it had felt to curl into his side, offer observations about the opposing team's defense. How he'd listened, actually considered her amateur analysis.

"Putain!" Jules' curse carried through the house, followed by laughter from his gaming friends. Senait found herself smiling before she caught herself.

This was exactly the problem. She was getting too comfortable, too attached. What had started as a steamy weekend fling was morphing into something… else. Something that made her think about time zones and flight schedules, about whether her company had a Barcelona office — it did not, but still.

Absolutely not, she told herself firmly. You are not reorganizing your life for a man. Not again.

But Jules wasn't Tymir. The thought snuck in before she could stop it. Jules noticed things – like how she took her coffee, which shoulder carried more tension, what made her laugh genuinely versus when she was deflecting.

More dangerous still, he noticed but didn't use it against her. He just… stored the information away, used it to take care of her in ways so subtle she often didn't realize until later.

Like now – she'd mentioned once, offhandedly, that she struggled to eat during workdays. So he'd started bringing her lunch, never making a big deal of it, just ensuring she was nourished.

"Merde!" Another French exclamation, followed by what sounded like good-natured trash talk.

Senait stabbed at her chicken, annoyed with herself. This was exactly how it started with Tymir – the small comforts, the easy intimacy, the gradual entanglement until she couldn't imagine her life without him. Until she'd lost herself trying to keep him.

She had to leave Wednesday. Had to go back to New York, back to her carefully constructed independence. Back to late-night calls with Jules that felt safer, more controlled.

Her phone lit up with a text from him, even though he was just down the hall: Stop overthinking and eat.

Stop bossing me around, she sent back.

Never. You like it too much.

And that was the real problem, wasn't it? She did like it. Liked how he took charge without taking over. Liked how he pushed without pressuring. Liked him.

Fuck, she thought, not for the first time since arriving in Barcelona. But this time, there was definitely more despair than anticipation in the word.

Because this thing with Jules? It wasn't just fun anymore. It wasn't just physical. It was becoming real, with all the terrifying possibilities that entailed.

And Senait wasn't sure she was ready for that. Wasn't sure she'd ever be ready for that.

But as Jules' laugh echoed through the house, as she sat in his office eating food he'd prepared just for her, she had to admit – ready or not, it was already happening.

The only question was: would she let it?

A week of silence from Senait felt different this time. Jules found himself checking his phone more often than he'd like to admit, even while being photographed at the Messika show during Paris Fashion Week. The flashing cameras caught him adjusting his cuffs, but missed him checking for messages beneath the table.

Nothing.

His texts had gone from casual to concerned: Miss your morning sass. Maurice is depressed. He needs his daily judgment. Chérie, talk to me.

Even his calls went straight to voicemail. This wasn't like her usual ghosting – something felt off.

It wasn't until he was back in his hotel room, fashion week obligations finally complete, that his FaceTime call connected. The sight of her face made his chest tight – eyes puffy, dark circles beneath them barely concealed.

"Senait," he said softly, all his prepared lectures dying at the sight of her obvious distress.

"Hey." Her voice was rough, like she hadn't used it much lately. "Sorry I've been... away."

"What happened?"

She shook her head, trying to deflect, but Jules wasn't having it. "Don't shut me out," he said, his tone carrying that authority he knew affected her. "What's scaring you?"

"I'm not scared," she snapped, but it lacked her usual fire.

"Liar."

They stared at each other through the screen until Senait finally broke. "I ran into my ex at Whole Foods," she said, the words coming out in a rush. "Him and his... them. With the baby."

Jules felt his jaw clench. "And?"

"And nothing. It just..." She gestured vaguely. "Triggered some stuff."

"You want that nigga back?"

That got a reaction. "What? No! God no." Her eyes flashed with genuine anger. "That's not... I don't want him. I just..." She deflated slightly. "It brought up a lot. About choices. Mistakes."

Jules studied her face through the screen. "You took time off?"

"A few days. Then threw myself into this new project." She rubbed her eyes. "Deadlines don't care about emotional breakdowns."

"Your anxiety is through the roof," he observed. "Take more time."

"Can't. Unless I quit—" She cut herself off at his expression. "Don't look at me like that. I have bills, Jules. Rent in New York isn't exactly cheap."

"That job is killing you." He leaned forward. "What about your calligraphy? The Etsy shop?"

Senait laughed, but it was hollow. "That barely covers my coffee habit. I can't support myself on—"

"You could expand it," he interrupted. "Make it a lifestyle brand. Manifestation journals, wedding invitations, calendar books—"

"Jules, stop." She looked tired. "I can't do that right now."

"Do you enjoy it? The calligraphy?"

"Of course I do, but—"

"Let me help you start up."

"Absolutely not." Her response was immediate, sharp.

"Senait—"

"I have to get back to work." She was shutting down, he could see it happening. "I'll talk to you later."

"Don't do this," he warned, but she was already reaching for the disconnect button.

"Bye, Jules."

The screen went dark. Jules slammed his hand against the hotel desk, frustration coursing through him. She was running – not from him, he realized, but from the possibility of change. From letting anyone help her.

But he wasn't about to let her push him away. Not when he'd seen how well they fit together, how she came alive when she felt safe enough to be herself.

His phone lit up with a text from Aurélien: How's Senait?

Stubborn, he typed back. Scared.

A: Sounds familiar. Zuri was the same way.

Jules thought about that. About how Zuri and Aurélien had found their way despite the arranged marriage, despite family drama. About how sometimes the best things in life required fighting through the fear.

I'm not letting her run, he sent to Aurélien.

A: Good. Zuri says she needs someone as stubborn as she is.

Jules smiled slightly, already forming plans. Senait could try to push him away all she wanted. But he'd seen the real her – curled up with Maurice, lost in her calligraphy, laughing freely in his kitchen.

That was the woman he... that was the woman he wasn't letting go. Not without a fight.

His fingers hovered over his phone, considering his next move. Finally, he typed:

I know you're scared. I know you're trying to protect yourself. But I'm not him, chérie. And I'm not going anywhere.

He sent it before he could second-guess himself. Then, after a moment:

Maurice misses you. He's playing Chopin to cope with his depression.

Let her try to resist that. His stubborn, beautiful, frustrating woman who thought she had to carry the world alone.

She'd learn. He'd show her.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

#emjayewrites #jules lore #jules kounde #jules kounde x black oc #jules kounde x black reader #footballer x reader #footballer x black reader #fc barcelona fanfic #fc barcelona fanfiction #jules kounde fanfic #in between the lines #jules x senait

66 notes · View notes