#i need to get a steadier hand for it. but in my heart this is a promising start

[uselesseaweedbrain]

Supercorptober - 13. L-Corp

And- boom. Kara has blobbed the article. It’s done. The aliens will know, will be able to protect themselves, and Kara might get fired, but- with all these lives in the balance, this feels worth it, still.

Before Kara has too much time to dwell on her grim fate as a journalist, NSYNC sounds in the room - You're all I ever wanted, You’re all I ever needed, yeah-

“Lena!”, Kara answers her phone enthusiastically, relieved for the distraction.

“Kara, I think I found something. Funding into a facility that was supposedly defunct. It’s big enough to build almost anything, or hide something-“

A buzz, clutter, and the sound of something falling on the end of the line. Kara changes into her super-suit faster than anyone can blink, is already out the window when she calls:

“Lena?”

Footsteps, no answer. Kara is already halfway over to L-Corp, it will be fine-

“Stay back!”

Almost there - Kara can hear Lena’s erratic heartbeat and three others’, sounds of struggle-

“Lena?!”

Lena doesn’t answer. It doesn’t matter. 

Supergirl is close, a handful of milliseconds away, Lena will be safe.

A gasp and a cry; a body free falling from the skyscraper’s balcony.

Long hair. Lena’s perfume.

Kara dives headfirst before any conscious thought can form, her arms folding around Lena as she stops their fall and bundles her up in a bridal carry.

“Lena-“, she whispers, and Lena’s hand grips the fabric of her suit like a lifeline.

But in this moment, she’s not Kara. She’s Supergirl. And Supergirl should be maintaining boundaries with Lena Luthor. 

Kara can’t bring herself to care.

Lena is in her arms, both their hearts beating too fast, and Kara hovers in the air - a handful of seconds, minutes, she can’t tell -, thoughts too jumbled and mind too panicked, her hearing focused on Lena’s still beating heart.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. The rhythmic sound is enough to drown everything else. Lena’s alive, she’s alive. She’s alive.

If Lena had plummeted to her death, not knowing to yell for Kara- not knowing Kara would come-

“Lena”, she murmurs again. “I’ve got you, it’s me, it’s Kara, you’re safe. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Lena doesn’t answer.

Kara squeezes her gently against her chest.

She can still hear the imbecilic criminals above her on the balcony, can see them looking at each other in panic as she rises, Lena safe in her arms.

“Dropped something?”, she snarks. 

Her freeze breath makes quick work of them, allowing her to deposit Lena on the solid ground of her balcony’s stone paving.

Lena still hasn’t spoken.

“I’ll be right back’”, Kara promises, pulling her earpiece from a hidden pocket and tapping it twice, before gathering the goons’ unconscious bodies and piling them on the balcony.

“Alex. Three men. They attacked Lena just now. Yes, she’s safe. Yes- Yes, I just need you to pick them up, L-Corp. Lena’s office, top floor. They’re on the balcony, all tied up. Thank you, Alex. Bye.”

Lena stands shell-shocked on her stilettos for the duration of the whole operation, unresponsive, but docilely following when Kara takes her by the hand and leads her to sit on her couch, closing the balcony door behind them.

Kara sits down slowly opposite Lena, grasping both her hands in hers as she tries to catch Lena’s empty gaze. 

“Lena”, she calls gently. “It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe. You’re okay, Lena, I promise, I’m here, you’re okay. Just, try to stay with me, okay?”

Lena squeezes Kara’s hands absently, and Kara smiles encouragingly.

“That’s good. You’re doing great. Just- tell me three things you can see, Lena, anything you want, just three things.”

Lena’s voice comes out strangled as she croaks out: “Your skin.”

“Okay, good, you’re doing well. What else?”

“Your hair”, Lena murmurs, her voice already steadier.

“One last thing, Lena.”

“Your super-suit.”

Kara nods.

“Good. Now, three things you can touch?”

“Your hands- the fabric of the couch- my pantsuit-“

“Perfect, Lena. Now, just breathe with me, okay? Take a breath in - one, two three, four - breath out - one, two, three, four, again, take a deep breath in”- 

 “That’s good, very good, now breathe out, one, two, three, four. Again-“

Lena’s heartbeat slows at last, Kara’s settling with hers as the adrenaline subsides. 

Lena’s okay, Lena’s safe, nothing else matters, and-

Lena’s corporate mask slides back into place as she rises from the couch, taking her hands from under Kara’s and extending her right one in thanks.

“Thank you, Supergirl. I don’t know what I would have done without you, and- I’m sorry you had to see that. I hope I haven’t ruined your evening.”

Oh. Kara recoils instinctively at the formal address, her hands dropping to her sides limply as she gapes.

She doesn’t know it’s me. She didn’t hear me. All of this and she didn’t hear me.

“I- no, of course not- but I-“

“Let me walk you to the door. I can let Agent Danvers in myself, if you’d rather not wait with me, or-“

“Lena.” Kara interrupts. “Did you really not hear me?” 

“Hear you when, Supergirl?” Lena’s tone is even, too controlled, too polished.

She knows. A little voice whispers. This is a test. A game.

I know you believe in her, Kara, but she’s a Luthor.

I’ve learnt the hard way not to trust anything that comes out of a Luthor’s mouth. 

Kara shivers. Lena is secretive, can lie and manipulate like no other, hide her real motives and plan and plot, but it’s always been for the greater good, she’s always helped-

If she turned on her own mother, what’s stopping her from playing the long con on you?

Kara’s fists clench. They’re wrong; they’re all wrong about Lena.

Lena can be trusted, and Kara will prove it.

“Hear me when I caught you, and held you in my arms, and hovered in the air because I just needed to feel for a moment that you were safe. Hear me when I threw all caution to the wind. Hear me when I told you my name.”

Lena’s throat bobs as she swallows, a sheen of tears forming in her eyes as she averts her gaze.

“I- I wasn’t sure if you’d meant to say it. So I thought I’d give you a chance to take it back. Pretend the Luthor didn’t know.”

Kara’s chest aches and twists.

“To- to take it back? How can you- How can you think- Rao, Lena, you almost died!” 

Kara didn’t mean to raise her voice, she didn’t.

But now Lena is folding into herself, making herself smaller, as if to disappear, her gaze averted from Kara’s- there’s a fresh smell of fear in the air-

“Shit, shit, Lena, I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, Lena, I shouldn’t have yelled-“

Kara takes two steps back, then three, stumbling against Lena’s mahogany desk as her own hands tremble.

Lena doesn’t move - just waits, prostrate and in silence - and Kara feels bile rise up in her throat and swallows the urge to puke. 

A knock sounds on the door and none of them move.

“Supergirl? Ms. Luthor? I’m coming in!”

Alex pushes the door open, and Lena straightens but Kara doesn’t - weakly gesturing to the balcony with a “They’re there, Alex.” 

Alex sends her a worried look before calling her team to come in and clean up.

Kara doesn’t want to look at Lena, is afraid to move after her outburst, but she’s making Lena uncomfortable. She should leave.

“I’m sorry, Lena”, she whispers. “I’ll just go- do you- do you need anything? A taxi? A ride home?”

Kara sees Lena shake her head slowly. “No, thank you. Actually, I-“

Kara’s eyes snap up.

“I think I’ll just call George and see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Kara answers quietly.

She exits Lena’s office through the balcony, and if Alex frowns at her departure, she doesn’t comment in front of her team. 

Kara takes to the skies and doesn’t come down - above the clouds, she can think, and forget about the city and the city sounds and the city inhabitants and Lena recoiling at the sound of her voice-

Kara knows she’s powerful - knows she can pound buildings down with her fists, crush metal with her bare hands, bring any element to the point of fusion with her eyes- she knows she’s scary, but Lena-

She reminds Kara of Alex after she broke her hand.

The fear. The realisation that Kara could hurt her. Had the power to crush her. 

Did Lena believe Kara would use it?

************************************

Kara had not gone to sleep but she still had a job to get to - or so she’d assumed, until she reached her office with weary eyes and was called into Snapper Carr’s office, faced with a computer screen displaying her blog, and told in no uncertain words:

“You’re fired, Ponytail.”

Kara had wanted to call Alex, but Alex had other problems, she was surely busy with the DEO and the alien abductions and Lena’s intel from the night before- 

Oh. Golly. 

Kara hadn’t told anyone about it. Had not even gotten the complete information from Lena after the attempt on her life. 

She had lunch scheduled with Lena today - didn’t want to call before she made sure Lena would want to see her - maybe, if Lena forgave her, she could bring it up, after. 

In any case, she had something she thought Lena should have.

Six bags of Big Belly Burger in hand, and a small, squared box in her pocket, Kara headed to L-Corp. As always, she was shown up and into Lena’s office immediately.

“Lena.” Kara began as soon as the door closed behind them. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry for yesterday, for scaring you, for yelling at you-“

Shock registers on Lena’s features and the CEO shakes her head slowly.

“Honestly, this morning, I wasn’t even sure what was real anymore, but- you are her, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Kara hangs her head in shame before resuming her apology.

“Yes, I am her- it was me, yesterday, all me, and the way I behaved was inexcusable, Lena, I’m so sorry- I would never hurt you, but the way I shouted at you-“

Lena raises her hand and Kara pauses.

“Kara, I know. I know that you would never hurt me. The way I reacted yesterday- it wasn’t your fault."

Kara shakes her head but Lena continues.

“I just- being yelled at, it triggered some bad memories, but it wasn’t you, Kara.” 

“Still- I should have never raised my voice at you. I was scared - you came so close to dying, and if I hadn’t been on the phone- if you hadn’t known and hadn’t called for me- I was terrified, but it wasn’t an excuse. I shouldn’t have yelled. The way you shut down, Rao, Lena-”

It’s Lena who comes closer this time, and Kara who recoils. 

“You don’t have to put yourself through this for me, Lena. I am dangerous, and I know that- the whole world knows that. And I would understand if you weren’t comfortable with me anymore, I can just go-“

A hand on her forearm silences her, and Lena gently intertwines their fingers before leading Kara to the couch. 

“Sit.” Lena orders, and Kara obliges.

Lena sits too, close enough to touch - closer than she ever has before.

“I- Growing up with the Luthors- It wasn’t fun. I loved my father so much - for a bit he was the only one opposing Lillian and protecting me, but he- he wasn’t perfect. I think I erased some of his flaws in my head, because after Lillian’s reveal of my lineage- things started coming back to me. Things like the way father would drink in his office and call me or Lex to assist him. The way he would throw tantrums - or his whiskey glass, or the nearest book - when something didn’t go his way. The way he would sometimes rage and yell and destroy, and the way I would hide behind Lex when he was there. The way father would go back to caring and loving the next day and the way I concluded this was all in my imagination.”

Lena lays a gentle hand on Kara’s clenched fist, and Kara makes a conscious effort to relax. Lionel is dead, there is nothing left to be done anymore other than stand at Lena’s side.

“All this to say that yesterday- the free falling from the balcony had shaken me a bit, and I was not in my right mind. Being yelled at- it triggered things that I can usually control much better, but I was unbalanced, and in shock, and it wasn’t you. Please don’t think that it was you, Kara. Please don’t think I am afraid of you.”

Kara exhales as tears run over her cheek.

“I’m sorry, Lena. I’m the one who should be apologising and asking how you are, and instead, you’re the one comforting me after I made everything worse, and I-“

Kara sniffs and Lena’s hand reaches out to caress her cheek, wiping Kara’s tears so delicately with her thumb that Kara is convinced that Lena has forgotten she’s indestructible. 

Kara closes her eyes and listens to Lena’s steady heartbeat and feels the soothing motion of her thumb on her cheek and thinks that she’s never felt so loved.

“Lena”, Kara whispers in contentment.

Lena hums in response.

The clock ticks in the background and Kara forces herself to open her eyes, reaching for the squared box in her left pocket.

“Lena, yesterday, I- you know that I reacted terribly, but the reason why- I just kept thinking, what if we hadn’t been on the phone then, what if I hadn’t heard and you hadn’t called me, and you had just-”

A pause, and then, almost too hushed to be heard:

"And to be honest, Lena, I- I’m not sure I could have lived with that outcome."

Lena’s sharp intake of breath prompts Kara to squeeze Lena's hand with their still entwined fingers.

“And so- I wanted you to have this.”

Kara pulls the box open, presenting it to Lena who hesitantly extends the hand thats’s not holding Kara’s.

“May I?” Lena asks, and Kara nods.

Lena runs her finger pads over the jet-black watch with something close to reverence, and Kara has to remember how to breathe.

“Is this-“

Kara nods wordlessly.

“This is my family’s watch, and you can use it as one, or-“ Kara reaches out and gently pries the watch open, revealing a silver button with the El-Mayarah sigil. 

“This emits frequencies only audible to Kryptonians. If you press it, I will come, whatever the time or place. And I want you to use it, Lena, whenever you’re in danger, whenever you feel like it, whenever you need me. Please.”

“But- Kara- this- are you sure?”

“Very sure”, Kara whispers, and Lena beams and lets Kara tie the watch to her wrist and- why is Kara's heart beating into overdrive?

[isthehorsevideocute]

If I see one more walk/trot adult ammy fly around the country/go overseas to go horse shopping I'm going to have a fucking aneurysm.....

[purkinje-effect]

thesis: mezzanine lights as underlit tables

conclusion: this idea is grandma approved

[pucksandpower]

Pride and Prejudice and Bullets

mafia boss!Max Verstappen x professor!Reader

Summary: your life is predictable — revolving around teaching about Jane Austen novels and grading term papers — and you like it that way … until an old classmate makes a sudden appearance that turns everything upside down

Warnings: minor character death

The sharp rap at the door jolts you from your late-night reading. You glance at the clock — 2:37 AM. Who could it possibly be at this ungodly hour?

Cautiously, you approach the door, peering through the peephole. Your heart skips a beat. Is that ... no, it couldn’t be. But as you swing the door open, there he stands — the boy who vanished from your high school without a trace nearly a decade ago.

“Max?” You breathe, scarcely believing your eyes.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes past you into the apartment, one hand pressed firmly against his side. As he moves, you catch a glimpse of crimson seeping through his fingers, staining what looks like an absurdly expensive shirt.

“Jesus, Max, what happened to you?” You gasp, instinctively reaching out.

He flinches away from your touch, his eyes wild. “I hear you’re a doctor now. Do your doctor stuff,” Max barks the order at you, his voice rough with pain.

You blink, momentarily stunned. “I’m a doctor of British Literature! What are you even doing here? How do you know my address? Why are you here?”

“Needed a doctor, you’re a doctor,” he grunts, stumbling toward your couch.

The reality of the situation starts to sink in. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I need to call an ambulance.”

“No,” Max snaps, his tone brooking no argument. “Don’t. Are you stupid? I’m here because I can’t go to a hospital.”

Your mind races, torn between concern and confusion. “Yes, right, fuck, I should call the cops. Why do you know my address?”

“Wound. Fix it,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Wound. Uhhhh, take off your shirt?” You stammer, fumbling for your phone. “I need to Google this- oh my god that’s disgusting, oh fuck, is the bullet still in there?”

Max’s eyes narrow. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Of course I don’t!” You exclaim, your voice rising in pitch. “I write papers on Jane Austen, not ... whatever this is!”

He groans, both from pain and exasperation. “Fine. First aid kit. You have one?”

You nod frantically, dashing to the bathroom. When you return, Max has managed to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty wound just below his ribs.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steadier now. “Antiseptic. Clean the wound.”

With shaking hands, you do as he instructs, trying not to gag at the sight of so much blood. “Max, please, what’s going on? How did this happen?”

He ignores your questions. “Tweezers. The bullet’s still in there. You need to get it out.”

“What? No! I can’t — I’ll hurt you!”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Trust me, it already hurts. Just do it.”

Swallowing hard, you position the tweezers. Max’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist. “Wait,” he says, fumbling in his pocket with his free hand. He produces a flask, takes a long swig, then nods. “Okay. Go.”

You take a deep breath and plunge in. Max’s entire body goes rigid, a string of curses flowing from his lips that would make a sailor blush. After what feels like an eternity, you feel the tweezers catch on something.

“I think I’ve got it,” you whisper.

“Then pull it out,” Max hisses.

With a sickening squelch, you extract the bullet. Max lets out a strangled groan, then goes limp.

“Max?” You say, panic rising in your throat. “Max!”

His eyes flutter open. “I’m fine. Just ... give me a minute.”

As you clean and dress the wound, a tense silence falls between you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you speak. “Max, please. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in years, and now you show up at my door in the middle of the night with a bullet wound?”

He sighs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “It’s ... complicated.”

“No shit,” you retort. “Start talking. Now.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the movement. “After I left school, I got mixed up in some ... stuff. Bad stuff. It was supposed to be temporary, just a way to make some quick cash. But things ... escalated.”

“Escalated how?” You press.

He meets your gaze, his eyes hard. “You really want to know?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I run the Dutch Crime Syndicate now,” he says flatly.

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s a high, slightly hysterical sound. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate? Are you serious? That sounds like something out of a bad movie.”

“Does this look like a joke to you?” Max gestures to his wound.

The laughter dies in your throat. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He nods grimly. “Dead serious. And now you know why I couldn’t go to a hospital. Too many questions.”

“But ... why me?” You ask, still struggling to process this information. “We were barely even friends in school.”

Max shifts uncomfortably. “I ... kept tabs on people from back then. When I heard you’d become a doctor-”

“A doctor of literature,” you interject.

He rolls his eyes. “When I heard you had become a ‘doctor,’ I made a note of it. Just in case. Never thought I’d actually need to use that information, but ... here we are.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “This is insane. You’re insane. I should be calling the police right now.”

“But you won’t,” Max says quietly.

“And why’s that?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since he arrived. “Because you’re curious. Because part of you, whether you want to admit it or not, is excited by this. By me showing up and shaking up your nice, safe, predictable life.”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not entirely wrong.

“So what happens now?” You ask instead.

Max shrugs, then immediately regrets it, judging by his wince. “Now, I rest for a bit, then I leave. And you go back to your life of Jane Austen and tea cozies.”

“That’s it?” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? That I’d sweep you off your feet and into a life of crime?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well. Maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Y/N.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Shut up. You’re delirious from blood loss.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Or maybe I’m seeing clearly for the first time in years.”

There’s a charged moment of silence between you. Then Max groans, breaking the spell. “God, I sound like a bad romance novel. Must be the whiskey talking.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Well, you did show up bleeding on my doorstep in the middle of the night. It’s all very dramatic.”

“What can I say? I aim to please,” Max quips, then turns serious. “Look, Y/N ... thank you. For helping me. For not calling the cops. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you probably don’t,” you agree. “But ... I’m glad you came. As crazy as this all is, it’s ... nice to see you again.”

Max’s expression softens. “Yeah. It’s nice to see you too.”

Another silence falls, but this one is comfortable, almost companionable. Finally, Max speaks again. “I should go. I’ve already put you in enough danger.”

“Wait,” you say, surprising yourself. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. At least stay until morning.”

He hesitates, clearly torn. “I shouldn’t ...”

“Please,” you insist. “For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

Max searches your face, then nods slowly. “Okay. But just until morning.”

As you help him settle more comfortably on the couch, you can’t shake the feeling that your life has just irrevocably changed. For better or worse remains to be seen, but one thing’s for certain — it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through your curtains, rousing you from a fitful sleep. For a blissful moment, you forget the events of last night. Then reality comes crashing back, and you bolt upright in bed.

Max. The wound. The Dutch Crime Syndicate.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. What were you thinking? In the harsh light of day, the whole situation seems utterly insane.

Steeling yourself, you pad out to the living room. Max is still there, sprawled on your couch, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looks younger in sleep, almost vulnerable. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the hardened criminal he claims to be.

As if sensing your presence, Max’s eyes flutter open. He winces as he tries to sit up.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“How’s the wound?” You ask, your voice carefully neutral.

Max prods at his side gingerly. “Better than it has any right to be, thanks to you.”

You nod, then take a deep breath. “Max, about last night ...”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree, relief washing over you. “Look, I won’t tell anyone about this. But I think it’s best if we just ... pretend this never happened. You should go, and we should forget we ever saw each other again.”

Max nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” you say firmly, trying to ignore the small part of you that’s screaming in protest.

He starts to gather his things, moving stiffly. You turn away, heading to the kitchen to make coffee, needing something to do with your hands.

That’s when you hear it. The sharp crack of a gunshot, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass.

You freeze, your heart pounding. “Max?” You call out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get down!” He shouts back. You drop to the floor just as another bullet whizzes overhead, embedding itself in your kitchen cabinets.

Max is at your side in an instant, his earlier stiffness forgotten. “We need to move. Now.”

“What’s happening?” You ask, your voice shaking.

“Rivals,” Max says grimly. “They must have followed me here. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant to put you in danger.”

Before you can respond, there’s a thunderous banging at your front door. “Open up!” A gruff voice shouts. “We know you’re in there, Max Emilian!”

Max’s face hardens. “The Silver Arrows,” he mutters. “Persistent bastards.”

“What do we do?” You whisper, panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Max’s eyes dart around the room, assessing. “Is there a fire escape?”

You nod. “Through the bedroom window.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice calm and authoritative. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make a run for it. Stay low, stay behind me. Got it?”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak.

“On my count,” Max says. “Three ... two ... one ... GO!”

You scramble to your feet, keeping low as Max leads the way to your bedroom. The banging on the door intensifies, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.

“They’re breaking through!” You gasp.

“Almost there,” Max says through gritted teeth. He throws open your bedroom window, then turns to you. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a split second, then clamber out onto the fire escape. The metal is cold beneath your bare feet, and you realize with a start that you’re still in your pajamas.

Max follows close behind, pulling the window shut just as you hear your front door give way.

“Down,” he hisses, guiding you towards the ladder.

You descend as quickly as you can, your hands shaking so badly you nearly lose your grip more than once. Max is right behind you, his presence oddly reassuring despite the circumstances.

As your feet hit the alley below, you hear shouts from above. “There they are!”

“Run!” Max yells, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You sprint down the alley, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. Bullets ping off the walls around you, and you let out an involuntary scream.

“Keep going,” Max urges. “There’s a car around the corner.”

“A car?” You pant. “How do you know?”

“I always have an exit strategy,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice despite the situation.

Sure enough, as you round the corner, you see a sleek black car idling at the curb. A man in a dark suit is behind the wheel, looking tense.

“Get in!” Max shouts, practically shoving you into the backseat before diving in after you.

The car peels away from the curb before Max even has the door closed. You’re thrown back against the seat as the driver weaves through traffic at breakneck speed.

“What the hell, Max?” You finally manage to say, your heart still racing. “Who were those people? Where are we going?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than you’ve seen him yet. “Those were the Silver Arrows. They’ve been trying to muscle in on our territory for months. As for where we’re going ...” He exchanges a look with the driver in the rearview mirror. “Somewhere safe. For now.”

You let out a hysterical laugh. “Safe? I don’t even know what that word means anymore. My apartment just got shot up! I’m in my pajamas in the back of a strange car, running from a gang war. This is insane!”

“I know,” Max says softly. “And I’m sorry. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid by leaving last night.”

“Well, bang-up job on that one,” you snap.

The driver clears his throat. “Boss, we’ve got a tail. Two cars, about three blocks back.”

Max curses under his breath. “Can you lose them, Daniel?”

The driver — Daniel, apparently — nods grimly. “I can try. Hang on.”

The car suddenly swerves, cutting across three lanes of traffic. Horns blare as Daniel takes a sharp right turn, tires squealing.

You’re thrown against Max, who instinctively wraps an arm around you to keep you steady. Despite everything, you can’t help but notice how solid he feels, how good he smells ...

No. Focus. You shake your head, trying to clear it.

“Max,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I need you to be straight with me. What exactly is going on here?”

He sighs, his arm still around you. “It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it,” you demand.

Max is quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing his words. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate ... we’re not just petty criminals. We’re big. International. And lately, we’ve been expanding our reach. The Silver Arrows don’t like that. They think we’re encroaching on their territory.”

“And are you?” You ask.

A ghost of a smile flits across Max’s face. “Maybe a little. But business is business, you know?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re talking about illegal activities like it’s a corporate takeover!”

“In a way, it is,” Max says. “Just with higher stakes.”

“Boss,” Daniel interrupts. “I think we’ve lost them for now, but we can’t go to any of the safe houses. They might be compromised.”

Max nods. “Good thinking. Head for the marina. We’ll take the boat.”

“Boat?” You echo. “Max, I can’t just leave. My job, my life-”

“Your life will be over if the Silver Arrows find you,” Max says bluntly. “You’re involved now, whether you like it or not. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back.”

The gravity of the situation finally hits you. This isn’t some exciting adventure that you can just walk away from. This is real, and it’s dangerous.

“What have you gotten me into, Max?” You whisper.

His arm tightens around you. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises. “No matter what.”

You want to believe him. Despite everything, despite the insanity of the past twelve hours, you find that you do believe him.

As the car speeds towards the marina, you try to process everything that’s happened. Your quiet life of academia seems like a distant memory now. In its place is ... what? Danger? Excitement? A chance at something you never knew you wanted?

You look at Max, studying his profile. He seems different from the boy you knew in high school. Harder, certainly, but there’s something else too. A confidence, a magnetism that you can’t deny.

As if sensing your gaze, Max turns to look at you. For a moment, the facade of the hardened crime boss slips, and you see a flicker of the boy you once knew.

“I really am sorry about all this,” he says softly. “If I could go back and undo it all, I would.”

“Would you?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

Max looks taken aback. “Wouldn’t you want me to?”

You consider this. “I don’t know,” you admit. “This is all terrifying and insane, but ... I’ve never felt more alive.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well,” he says, echoing his words from last night. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Y/N.”

Before you can respond, Daniel announces, “We’re here.”

The car pulls up to a private dock where a sleek yacht is moored. Max helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, his eyes searching your face. “Say the word, and I’ll have Daniel take you back. We’ll figure out a way to keep you safe.”

You look at the yacht, then back at Max. In your mind’s eye, you see your apartment, your job, your safe, predictable life. Then you see bullets flying, feel the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the unknown.

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice.

“Let’s go,” you say, taking Max’s hand and stepping onto the gangplank.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re leaving more than just the city behind. You’re leaving your old self, your old life.

And as terrifying as that is, you can’t wait to see what comes next.

***

As the yacht cuts through the waves, you find yourself standing at the stern, watching the city skyline grow smaller by the minute. The reality of your situation is starting to sink in, bringing with it a cocktail of emotions — fear, excitement, and a nagging curiosity that won’t let you rest.

You turn to find Max leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. There’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, a reminder that you’re not the only one affected by this sudden turn of events.

“Max,” you say, breaking the silence. “Why did you really pick me?”

He glances at you, a flicker of something crossing his face before his expression settles back into careful neutrality. “The doctor part, obviously ...”

You raise an eyebrow, sensing there’s more to it. Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“And you have no one who would miss you,” he continues, his voice softer now. “No contact with family and, as far as I’m concerned, no friends who would notice.”

Your heart sinks at his words, partly because of the stark truth in them, and partly because of the implications. “Notice ... oh fuck, you’re gonna kill me?”

Max’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in what looks like genuine offense. “No. That’s a last resort, too many questions. You’re on my boat now, aren’t you?”

You let out a shaky breath, not sure whether to feel relieved or more worried. “So what then? Am I your hostage? Your accomplice? What exactly is my role in this mess?”

Max pushes off from the railing, moving closer to you. “Right now? You’re under my protection. Beyond that ... I guess we’ll have to figure it out as we go.”

“Figure it out?” You repeat incredulously. “Max, I left everything behind. My job, my apartment, my entire life. I need more than ‘we’ll figure it out.’”

He has the decency to look chagrined. “You’re right. You deserve answers. But right now, our priority has to be getting somewhere safe.”

“And where exactly is that?” You press.

Max glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning in closer. “We’re headed to Monaco.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Monaco? As in, the luxury resort town on the French Riviera?”

He nods, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “The very same. I have an ... associate there who can help us.”

“An associate,” you echo skeptically. “Another crime lord, I assume?”

Max’s smile widens. “Something like that. His name is Charles. He’s the heir to the Rosso Corsa Mafia.”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally getting to you. “The Rosso Corsa Mafia? Seriously? What is this, some kind of international crime syndicate convention?”

“Hey, networking is important in any business,” Max quips, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

For a moment, you’re both laughing, the tension of the past few hours dissipating slightly. But as the laughter fades, reality sets in once more.

“Max,” you say, your voice quiet now. “What am I doing here? Really?”

He sobers, his gaze intense as he looks at you. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. When I came to your apartment last night, I was just looking for help. I didn’t plan for any of this.”

“But you must have had some idea,” you press. “You said you kept tabs on me. Why?”

Max is quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. Finally, he speaks. “Do you remember our last day of school together? Before I ... left?”

You furrow your brow, thinking back. “Vaguely. It was just an ordinary day, wasn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Not for me. That was the day I decided to leave. I was in the library, trying to figure out how I was going to tell my parents I wanted to drop out. And then you came in.”

“I did?” You ask, surprised. You have no memory of this.

Max nods. “You were returning a stack of books. You looked ... happy. Excited about your future. I remember thinking how different we were. How I’d never have that kind of certainty, that sense of purpose.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. “So... what? You’ve been keeping an eye on me out of some kind of twisted nostalgia?”

He winces. “When you put it like that, it sounds creepy. I just ... I guess I wanted to know that someone from our old life made it. That it was possible to be normal and happy.”

“And now you’ve dragged me into your world,” you say, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

Max looks stricken. “I never meant for this to happen. If I could go back-”

“But you can’t,” you interrupt. “We’re here now. So what happens next?”

Before Max can answer, a crew member approaches. “Sir, we’ve just received word from Monaco. Mr. Leclerc is expecting us.”

Max nods. “Thank you, Rupert. Tell the captain to push the engines. I want to make it there before nightfall.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane. You know that, right? This whole situation is completely insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” Max says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. Say the word, and I’ll have the captain turn this boat around.”

You consider it for a moment. Your old life seems so far away already, like a half-remembered dream. And despite the danger, despite the uncertainty, you can’t deny the thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

“No,” you say finally. “I’m in this now. For better or worse.”

Max’s expression softens. “I promise you, Y/N, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

As you stand there, the salt spray on your face and the wind in your hair, you find yourself believing him. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you trust him.

The next few hours pass in a blur of activity. Max is constantly on his phone, speaking in hushed tones in what sounds like a mix of Dutch and French. You catch snippets about “security measures” and “clean identities,” but most of it goes over your head.

As the sun begins to set, casting the sea in shades of gold and pink, you find yourself back at the stern of the yacht. The coastline has long since disappeared, leaving nothing but endless ocean in every direction.

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Max approaching, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“I thought we could use a drink,” he says, offering you a glass. “To new beginnings?”

You take the glass, clinking it gently against his. “To new beginnings,” you echo, taking a sip. The champagne is exquisite, of course. You wouldn’t expect anything less from a mob boss’s yacht.

“We should be arriving in Monaco in a few hours,” Max says, leaning against the railing beside you. “Charles has arranged for a car to meet us at the marina. We’ll be staying at his family’s villa in the hills.”

You nod, trying to process this information. “And then what?”

Max shrugs. “We lie low for a while. Figure out our next move. The Silver Arrows won’t give up easily, but they’ll have a hard time touching us in Monaco. The Leclercs practically own the place.”

“And where do I fit into all this?” You ask, voicing the question that’s been nagging at you since you stepped onto this boat.

Max turns to face you fully, his expression serious. “That’s up to you, Y/N. I won’t force you into anything. If you want to walk away once we’re in Monaco, I’ll make sure you have the means to do so safely.”

You consider this. The sensible thing would be to take the out he’s offering. Go back to your life of books and lectures and quiet evenings alone. But the thought leaves you feeling ... empty.

“And if I don’t want to walk away?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a place for you in this brave new world of ours.”

As you stand there, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you can’t help but feel like you’re on the cusp of something momentous. Your old life is behind you now, growing more distant with every passing moment. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger ... and possibility.

You take another sip of champagne, savoring the bubbles on your tongue. Whatever comes next, you realize, you’re ready for it. Ready for the adventure, the risk, the chance to reinvent yourself.

As the yacht cuts through the darkening waters, carrying you towards a future you never could have imagined, you find yourself smiling. For the first time in years, maybe for the first time ever, you feel truly, exhilaratingly alive.

***

The yacht glides smoothly into the marina, the lights of Monaco twinkling like a galaxy of stars against the night sky. You stand at the railing, taking in the sight of luxury yachts and sleek speedboats bobbing gently in their berths. It’s a world away from your modest apartment back home.

Max appears at your side, his face tense. “Remember,” he murmurs, “stay close to me and don’t say anything unless you’re directly addressed. Charles is an ally, but he can be ... unpredictable.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The reality of your situation is sinking in again, the brief respite of the boat ride fading away.

As the crew secures the yacht, a figure emerges from the shadows of the dock. Even in the dim light, you can tell he’s striking — all lean muscles and sharp cheekbones, with piercing green eyes that seem to take in everything at once.

“Max,” he says, his accent a mix of French and something you can’t quite place. “You’ve brought trouble to my doorstep again, I see.”

Max steps forward, clasping the man’s hand. “Charles. Thank you for this. I owe you one.”

Charles’ lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Add it to your tab, my friend.” His gaze shifts to you, curiosity evident in his expression. “And who might this be?”

Before Max can answer, Charles is already moving towards you, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips in a smooth motion. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Charles Leclerc.”

You stammer out your name, caught off guard by his Old World charm. Charles’ eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Adorable,” he says. “Now, shall we? It’s not wise to linger here.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the parking lot. Max gives you a gentle push, urging you to follow.

As you round the corner, your jaw drops. Sitting there, gleaming under the streetlights, is quite possibly the most ostentatious Ferrari you’ve ever seen. It’s matte black with an eye-catching racing stripe in the colors of the Monegasque flag, and sleek lines that practically scream speed and luxury.

Charles is already sliding into the driver’s seat, while Max ushers you into the back. As the engine roars to life, a thought occurs to you.

“Is this a kidnapping?” You blurt out, your nerves finally getting the better of you.

Charles catches your eye in the rearview mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. “You seem very willing for one.”

Your cheeks flush. “That doesn’t calm my nerves!”

“It is like this,” Charles sighs, accelerating smoothly as he maneuvers through the narrow streets of Monaco. “Do as Max says or we dump your body.”

“What!” You exclaim, your heart rate spiking.

Max shoots Charles a glare. “Charles, do not scare her more than necessary. The poor girl is already terrified.”

Charles shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road as he takes a sharp turn that has you clutching the seat. “I merely state facts, mon ami. Our world is not for the faint of heart.”

You look to Max, seeking reassurance. He meets your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “Ignore him. You’re under my protection, remember?”

“And what exactly does that mean?” You press, emboldened by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I still don’t understand my role in all this.”

Max hesitates, glancing at Charles. The two seem to have a silent conversation before Charles speaks up.

“You, ma chèrie, are an unexpected variable,” he says, his tone lighter now. “Max has a habit of collecting strays, but you ... you’re different.”

“Different how?” You ask, not sure if you should be offended or intrigued.

Charles’ eyes meet yours in the mirror again, a glint of mischief in them. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? But I suspect you’re made of sterner stuff than you let on.”

The car falls silent as you process this. The streets of Monaco fly by outside the window, a blur of high-end boutiques and lavish casinos. It’s like stepping into another world.

Finally, the Ferrari begins to climb, winding its way up into the hills overlooking the city. The road narrows, becoming more secluded, until you’re passing through an ornate gate flanked by high walls.

The car comes to a stop in front of a sprawling villa that looks like something out of a movie. Marble columns, manicured gardens, a fountain bubbling gently in the courtyard — it’s almost too much to take in.

As you step out of the car on shaky legs, Charles is already striding towards the entrance. “Welcome to Casa Leclerc,” he calls over his shoulder. “Try not to break anything irreplaceable.”

Max appears at your side, placing a steadying hand on your lower back. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Max guides you inside, where you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. Priceless artwork adorns the walls, and you’re pretty sure that’s an actual Fabergé egg sitting casually on a side table.

Charles leads you to a spacious living room, gesturing for you to sit. As you sink into a plush armchair, he busies himself at a well-stocked bar.

“Drink?” He offers. “I imagine you could use one.”

You nod gratefully, and soon find yourself nursing a glass of what’s probably the most expensive cognac you’ve ever tasted.

Charles settles into a chair across from you, swirling his own drink thoughtfully. “Now then,” he says, his tone suddenly all business. “Perhaps it’s time we discussed the situation at hand.”

Max, who’s been pacing near the windows, turns to face the room. “The Silver Arrows are getting bolder. This attack ... it’s a clear escalation.”

Charles nods grimly. “They sense weakness. Your recent expansion has left you vulnerable, mon ami.”

You listen, feeling increasingly out of your depth as they discuss territories, alliances, and what sound like complex financial maneuvers. It’s like overhearing a board meeting for the world’s most dangerous corporation.

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer, you speak up. “I’m sorry, but what exactly am I doing here? I’m not a part of ... whatever this is.”

Both men turn to look at you, as if suddenly remembering your presence. Charles raises an eyebrow at Max. “Yes, do tell. What is your plan for our unexpected guest?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’re starting to recognize as a sign of frustration. “I didn’t have a plan. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“How gallant,” Charles drawls, though there’s a hint of genuine amusement in his voice. “But now we must decide what to do with her. She knows too much to simply let go.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “I won’t say anything. I swear. Just ... let me go home.”

Max’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s not that simple, Y/N. The Silver Arrows saw you with me. They’ll assume you’re involved, whether you are or not.”

“So what then?” You ask, frustration bleeding into your voice. “Am I your prisoner now?”

“Non, ma chèrie,” Charles interjects smoothly. “Think of yourself as ... a valued guest. Under our protection.”

You laugh bitterly. “Some protection. I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, and threatened with bodily harm in the span of 48 hours.”

To your surprise, Charles actually looks chagrined. “Ah, yes. My apologies for that. I have a flair for the dramatic, you see.”

“What Charles is trying to say,” Max cuts in, shooting his friend a warning look, “is that you have options. We can set you up with a new identity, somewhere far from here. Or ...”

He trails off, and you find yourself leaning forward despite yourself. “Or what?”

Max and Charles exchange another of those loaded glances before Max continues. “Or you could stay. Become a part of this.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard. “Become a part of ... your crime syndicate? Are you insane?”

Charles chuckles. “Now you’re catching on, chérie. We’re all a little mad here.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. The cognac isn’t helping. “I’m not a criminal. I’m a literature professor, for god’s sake!”

“And yet,” Charles muses, leaning forward, “here you are. You could have called the police at any point. You could have refused to get on that yacht. But you didn’t. Why is that, I wonder?”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not wrong. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there’s a part of you that’s been thrilled by all of this. A part that’s been longing for something more than your quiet, predictable life.

Max kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I know it’s a lot to take in. And I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I want you to know that if you choose to stay, we’ll teach you everything you need to know. You’ll be protected, valued. Part of something bigger than yourself.”

You look into his eyes, searching for ... you’re not sure what. Deception? Ulterior motives? But all you see is sincerity, and something else. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I ... I need time to think,” you manage to say.

Charles claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “Excellent idea. A good night’s sleep will do wonders for clarity of thought. Allow me to show you to your room.”

As you follow Charles up a sweeping staircase, your mind is whirling. Two days ago, your biggest concern was finishing grading papers on Jane Austen. Now, you’re being offered a place in an international crime syndicate.

It’s absurd.

It’s terrifying.

And yet ...

Charles stops in front of an ornate door. “Your quarters, mademoiselle. I trust you’ll find everything to your liking. We can discuss more in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but call out. “Charles?”

He pauses, looking back at you with those piercing eyes. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this? Helping Max, offering me a place here? What’s in it for you?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let’s just say I have a good feeling about you, Y/N. You might be exactly what our little organizations need.”

With that cryptic statement, he’s gone, leaving you alone in a luxurious bedroom that probably costs more than your entire apartment back home.

As you sink onto the plush bed, your head spinning from more than just the alcohol, you can’t help but wonder: what would Jane Austen make of all this? Somehow, you don’t think even she could have imagined a plot twist quite like this one.

***

The morning sun filters through the luxurious curtains, rousing you from a surprisingly deep sleep. For a moment, you’re disoriented, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to your cozy little apartment back home. Then the events of the past day come rushing back, and with them, a sudden clarity.

You sit up, your mind made up. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. You’re staying.

After a quick shower and change into clothes that have mysteriously appeared in the wardrobe (and fit perfectly, which you decide not to question), you make your way downstairs. The villa is quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

You follow the sound, finding Max nursing a cup of coffee at a marble island. He looks up as you enter, his expression guarded.

“Morning,” he says cautiously. “Sleep well?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve made a decision.”

He sets down his cup, giving you his full attention. “Oh?”

“I’m staying,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I want to be a part of this. Of your world.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on his face. “Are you sure? This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, Y/N. Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “I’m sure. My old life ... it never felt right. Like I was just going through the motions. But this? As terrifying as it is, it feels real. It feels right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face, transforming his features. “Well then,” he says, standing up. “I guess we better start your training.”

“Training?” You echo.

Max nods, his expression turning serious. “If you’re going to survive in this world, you need to learn how to protect yourself. First lesson: shooting.”

Your eyes widen. “Shooting? As in, guns?”

“No, we’re going to teach you competitive archery,” Max deadpans. “Of course guns. Come on, Charles has a range in the basement.”

As you follow Max through the winding corridors of the villa, your heart races with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This is really happening.

The shooting range is state-of-the-art, with multiple lanes and an impressive array of weapons displayed on the walls. Max selects a handgun, checking it over with practiced ease.

“We’ll start with something simple,” he says, holding out the gun. “A Glock 19. Easy to handle, reliable.”

You take the weapon gingerly, surprised by its weight. Max positions himself behind you, adjusting your stance and grip.

“Remember,” he says, his breath warm against your ear, “breathe steadily. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

You nod, trying to focus on the target at the end of the range rather than the heat of Max’s body behind you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs, stepping back.

You take a deep breath, aim, and pull the trigger. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, and you can’t help but let out a surprised scream.

Max tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t do that, it will give you away.”

You turn to him, incredulous. “Like the loud noise wouldn’t? I shot a gun!”

“And missed,” Max points out, nodding towards the untouched target. “Now go again.”

Gritting your teeth, you face the target once more. This time, you’re prepared for the noise and the recoil. You squeeze the trigger, and to your surprise, the bullet hits the outer ring of the target.

“Better,” Max says, a note of approval in his voice. “Again.”

As the morning wears on, you find yourself falling into a rhythm. Aim, breathe, squeeze. The shots become more accurate, your stance more confident. Max is a patient teacher, offering guidance and correction with a gentle touch here, a murmured word there.

“You’re a natural,” he says after a particularly good round. “Must be all those Jane Austen novels. Secret badass under all that propriety.”

You laugh, lowering the gun. “I don’t think Lizzy Bennet ever handled a Glock.”

“Her loss,” Max grins. “One more round?”

You nod, raising the gun once more. As you fire off the last few shots, you’re aware of Max’s gaze on you, more intense than before. The final bullet hits dead center, and you turn to him with a triumphant smile.

“How was that?” You ask, breathless with exhilaration.

Max doesn’t answer immediately. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher — admiration, certainly, but something else too. Something that makes your pulse quicken.

“Max?” You prompt, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

In one fluid motion, Max closes the distance between you. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, sending sparks through your entire body. You respond instinctively, your free hand fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. The gun clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Max backs you up against the wall of the shooting range, his body pressing against yours. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you opened your door that night,” Max admits, his forehead resting against yours.

You laugh breathlessly. “Even with me in my ratty pajamas?”

“Especially then,” he grins. “You were adorably flustered. And then you went and patched me up without hesitation. I was a goner.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane, you know that? A few days ago I was grading papers on 19th-century classic literature. Now I’m making out with a crime lord in a secret shooting range.”

Max’s expression turns serious. “Is it too much? We can slow down, or-”

You cut him off with another kiss. “No,” you say firmly. “It’s not too much. It’s ... exactly right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well then, doctor. Ready for your next lesson?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Max’s grin turns wicked. “I was thinking something in the realm of close combat. Very hands-on.”

You laugh, a thrill of excitement running through you. “Lead the way.”

As Max takes your hand, leading you out of the shooting range, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. It’s dangerous, it’s completely illogical, and yet ... you’ve never felt more alive.

Whatever comes next, you’re ready for it. With a gun in your hand and Max by your side, you feel like you could take on the world. And who knows? Maybe you will.

***

As Max leads you out of the shooting range, there’s a palpable tension in the air, crackling with unspoken promises. You follow him through the winding corridors of Charles’ villa, your heart racing with anticipation.

“So,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “where exactly are we going for this close combat training?”

Max glances back at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought we’d use the gym. Plenty of space, padded floors ... you know, for safety.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Safety, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He stops abruptly, turning to face you. “Y/N, if this is moving too fast-”

You cut him off, stepping closer. “Max, I literally left my entire life behind for you. I think we’re well past too fast.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Fair point. Still, if at any point you want to stop-”

“I’ll let you know,” you assure him. “Now, are you going to show me these close combat moves or what?”

Max’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, I’ll show you alright.”

He pushes open a door, revealing a state-of-the-art gym. The space is impressive, with gleaming equipment and, as promised, a large area covered in training mats.

“Shall we?” Max asks, gesturing to the mats.

You nod, suddenly feeling a bit nervous despite your bravado. As you step onto the mat, Max begins circling you slowly.

“The key to close combat,” he says, his voice low and intense, “is to always be aware of your opponent’s movements. To anticipate their next move.”

You turn, keeping him in your sight. “And how do I do that?”

In a flash, Max is behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “By staying alert,” he murmurs in your ear.

A shiver runs down your spine at his proximity. “I thought I was doing pretty well,” you manage to say.

You can feel Max’s chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Not bad. But you’re still too tense. You need to relax, feel the flow of movement.”

His hands slide up your arms, gently adjusting your posture. You lean back into him, relishing the warmth of his body.

“Like this?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s grip tightens slightly. “Getting there. Now, if someone grabs you like this, what do you do?”

You consider for a moment, then make your move. You twist in his arms, using the momentum to break his hold and face him. “How’s that?”

Max looks impressed. “Not bad at all. You’re a quick learner.”

“I have a good teacher,” you reply, a bit breathless from the maneuver and his proximity.

For a moment, you stand there, faces inches apart, the air heavy with tension. Then Max moves, swift and sure, sweeping your legs out from under you. You land on the mat with a soft thud, Max following you down, pinning you beneath him.

“Rule number one,” he says, his face hovering above yours, “never let your guard down.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what’s rule number two?”

Instead of answering, Max lowers his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily. “I think I like rule number two,” you say with a grin.

Max laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, we’re just getting started with the rules, doctor.”

He leans in for another kiss, but this time you’re ready. Using the moves he just taught you, you manage to flip your positions, straddling his waist triumphantly.

“How’s that for staying alert?” You ask, feeling a thrill at the surprised and appreciative look on Max’s face.

“Impressive,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “But you’ve left yourself open.”

Before you can ask what he means, Max surges upward, capturing your lips once more. As you lose yourself in the kiss, you feel him shift, and suddenly you’re on your back again, Max looming over you with a satisfied smirk.

“Distraction,” he says, “can be a powerful weapon.”

You laugh, breathless and exhilarated. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any other lessons you want to teach me?”

Max’s eyes darken. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more to teach you. If you’re up for it.”

You reach up, pulling him down to you. “I’m a very dedicated student,” you murmur against his lips.

What follows is less a lesson in combat and more an exploration of each other. Clothes are discarded, hands roam freely, and the only sounds in the gym are gasps, moans, and occasional laughter.

Later, as you lie tangled together on the training mats, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. Just days ago, you were grading papers in your quiet apartment. Now, you’re in the arms of a mob boss, in a luxurious villa in Monaco, having just had the most exhilarating experience of your life.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Max asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin.

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Just thinking about how surreal this all is. A week ago, the most exciting thing in my life was finding a rare first edition at an antique book fair.”

Max chuckles. “And now?”

“Now?” You grin. “Now I’m learning to shoot, engaging in ‘close combat training’, and apparently joining an international crime syndicate. It’s ... a lot.”

His expression turns serious. “Is it too much? It’s too late to back out now, you know. I could have set you up somewhere safe, given you a new identity earlier, but now-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Max, I meant what I said earlier. I’m in this. All of it. With you.”

The smile that spreads across his face is radiant. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t think I could let you go now if I tried.”

You settle into his embrace, feeling safer than you have in years despite the objective danger of your situation. “So, what’s next on the criminal training agenda?” You ask, only half-joking.

Max pretends to consider. “Well, we’ve covered shooting and hand-to-hand combat. How do you feel about safecracking?”

You laugh. “Safecracking? Seriously?”

“Hey, it’s a valuable skill in our line of work,” Max defends, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Uh-huh,” you say skeptically. “And I suppose pickpocketing is next on the list?”

Max grins. “Now that you mention it ...”

You swat his chest playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he points out, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Here I am,” you agree softly. “So, what happens now? Do we stay here in Monaco? Go back to face the Silver Arrows?”

Max’s expression turns thoughtful. “For now, we stay here. You need more training before we can risk going back. And I need to regroup, strategize.”

You nod, a mix of relief and excitement coursing through you. “So I get to play princess in a Monaco villa while learning the finer points of criminality? I think I can handle that.”

“It won’t all be fun and games,” Max warns. “The Silver Arrows are still out there, and they’re not going to give up easily. We need to be prepared for anything.”

“I know,” you say, your tone turning serious. “I understand the risks. I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

He studies your face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he nods. “Alright then. Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

***

The Monaco sun beats down relentlessly as you step out of yet another luxury boutique, arms laden with shopping bags. Oscar and Lando, your assigned bodyguards, trail behind you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

“I think that’s the last one,” you say, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice. “Who knew shopping could be so exhilarating?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “I think the exhilaration comes from Max finally letting you out of the villa, not the shopping itself.”

You laugh, conceding the point. “True. I never thought I’d be so happy to see the inside of a Gucci store.”

Lando grins. “Just wait until Max sees the bill. That’ll be truly exhilarating.”

As you make your way towards the parked Ferrari, you can’t help but reflect on the past few weeks. The intensive training, the late-night strategy sessions with Max and Charles, the growing feeling that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. It’s been thrilling, but also claustrophobic at times.

“I still can’t believe Max agreed to this little excursion,” you muse as you reach the car.

Oscar shrugs, opening the trunk. “You can be very persuasive when you want to be. Those puppy eyes of yours should be classified as a weapon.”

You’re about to retort when a sudden movement catches your eye. Before you can react, the air is filled with the deafening sound of gunfire.

“Get down!” Lando shouts, pushing you behind the car as he and Oscar draw their weapons.

Your heart pounds as you crouch behind the meager cover, the sounds of a firefight erupting around you. This isn’t like the controlled environment of the shooting range. This is real, chaotic, and terrifying.

“Y/N, stay down!” Oscar yells over the din, returning fire at unseen assailants.

You nod, too shocked to speak. But as you huddle there, a horrifying realization hits you — you recognize some of the voices shouting orders.

The Silver Arrows. They’ve found you.

Suddenly, a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up and away from the car. You struggle instinctively, but your captor’s grip is like iron.

“Well, well,” a deep voice rumbles in your ear. “What do we have here? Max’s new pet, I presume?”

You crane your neck, looking up into a face you’ve seen before — in photographs, in briefings. Toto Wolff, leader of the Silver Arrows himself.

“Let me go,” you growl, trying to sound braver than you feel.

Toto chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my dear. You see, you’re my ticket to bringing Max to his knees.”

As he speaks, you become acutely aware of the weight on your thigh. The gun. The one Max insisted you carry, “just in case.” This, you realize with startling clarity, is that case.

Moving as subtly as you can, you reach for the holster strapped to your leg. Toto, focused on the fight around you, doesn’t notice.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, stalling for time as your fingers close around the grip of the gun. “There are other ways to resolve conflicts.”

Toto’s laugh is harsh. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand our world. This isn’t a negotiation, it’s war.”

You take a deep breath, Max’s training echoing in your mind. Stay calm. Aim true. Squeeze, don’t pull.

“You’re right,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t understand your world.”

In one fluid motion, you pull the gun free and twist in Toto’s grip. Before he can react, you press the muzzle against his chest and pull the trigger.

The gunshot seems impossibly loud, even amidst the chaos of the firefight. Toto’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on you loosening as he stumbles backward.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze. Then, chaos erupts anew.

“Boss!” Someone shouts, and suddenly you’re being pulled away, strong arms encircling you protectively.

“I’ve got you,” Oscar’s voice says in your ear. “We’re getting out of here.”

As he hustles you towards the car, you catch glimpses of the scene around you. Silver Arrow members rushing to their fallen leader. Lando providing cover fire. And blood. So much blood.

Oscar practically throws you into the backseat of the Ferrari before jumping into the driver’s seat. Lando dives in barely a second later, and then you’re peeling away from the curb, tires screeching.

“Are you hurt?” Lando asks, twisting in his seat to look at you.

You shake your head, still too shocked to speak. The gun is still clutched in your hand, and you stare at it as if seeing it for the first time.

“You did good, Y/N,” Oscar says, his eyes flicking to you in the rearview mirror. “You kept your cool. That’s not easy in a situation like that.”

“I ... I shot him,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Toto Wolff. I shot him.”

Lando and Oscar exchange a glance. “You did what you had to do,” Lando says gently. “He would have killed you without hesitation.”

As the adrenaline begins to fade, the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. You’ve just shot one of the most powerful crime lords in Europe. In broad daylight. In the middle of Monte Carlo.

“Oh god,” you groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “Max is going to kill me.”

Oscar lets out a surprised laugh. “Are you kidding? He’s going to be thrilled. You just took out his biggest rival.”

“Took out?” You repeat, a new wave of panic washing over you. “You mean he’s ...”

“We don’t know for sure,” Lando says quickly. “But a point-blank shot like that ... it doesn’t look good for Toto.”

You close your eyes, trying to process everything. Just hours ago, your biggest concern was whether to buy the Prada or the Fendi handbag. Now, you might have just assassinated a mob boss.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the villa, where Max is already waiting, his face a mask of concern and anger.

As soon as the car stops, he yanks open your door, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “Are you okay?” He demands, his hands roaming over you as if checking for injuries. “When I got the call, I thought ...”

You cling to him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. “I’m okay,” you assure him. “I’m okay.”

Max pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “What happened? Oscar said there was a firefight.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “The Silver Arrows ambushed us. And Toto ... he grabbed me. I ... I shot him, Max. With the gun you gave me.”

For a moment, Max just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, a slow smile spreads across his face. “You shot Toto Wolff?”

You nod, still unsure of his reaction. “I think ... I think I might have killed him.”

Max’s smile widens into a full-blown grin. “Y/N, do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve single-handedly changed the balance of power in our world.”

“I have?” You ask, feeling slightly dazed.

He nods, pulling you close again. “You’re incredible, you know that? I knew you were special from the moment I showed up at your door, but this ... this is beyond anything I could have imagined.”

As Max leads you into the villa, his arm protectively around your waist, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. From literature professor to potential assassin in a matter of weeks. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and completely surreal.

“What happens now?” You ask as Max guides you to the study, where Charles is already waiting, phone in hand.

Max exchanges a look with Charles before turning back to you. “Now? Now we prepare for war. The Silver Arrows won’t take this lying down, Toto dead or alive. But with you by my side ...” He trails off, a fierce pride in his eyes.

“You can be unstoppable,” Charles finishes, raising his glass in a toast.

As you sink into a chair, the events of the day finally catching up with you, you realize that this is your life now. Gunfights and power plays, luxury shopping sprees and criminal empires. It’s a far cry from grading papers on Jane Austen, but as you look at Max, seeing the mix of pride, concern, and love in his eyes, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The war may be just beginning, but with Max by your side and a newfound confidence in your abilities, you’re ready to face whatever comes next. After all, you’ve already taken down Toto Wolff. What’s a little inter-syndicate warfare compared to that?

***

Five Years Later

The small apartment buzzes with the energy of five recent college graduates, sprawled across mismatched furniture in various states of relaxation. Empty pizza boxes and half-empty wine bottles litter the coffee table, evidence of their Friday night catch-up session.

“Alright, alright,” Emily says, reaching for her phone. “What should we put on for background noise? Music? TV?”

Jake, lounging on the worn leather armchair, perks up. “Oh! What about that true crime podcast I was telling you guys about? The one about modern mobs?”

Zoe, curled up on the couch, raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Isn’t that a bit heavy for a chill hangout?”

“No, no, it’s fascinating!” Jake insists. “It’s not just gruesome stuff. It’s all about the economics and politics of modern organized crime. Super interesting.”

Lisa, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shrugs. “I’m game. Could be fun to learn something while we drink.”

“Seconded,” chimes in Alex from his spot by the window. “Hit play, Em.”

Emily fiddles with her phone, connecting it to the bluetooth speaker. “Alright, here we go. ‘The Mob in the Modern Age: Episode 7 — The Dutch Syndicate’s Rise to Power.’”

As the podcast’s intro music fades, a smooth, professional voice fills the room:

“In the world of organized crime, power shifts can happen in the blink of an eye. But few have been as sudden or as dramatic as the meteoric rise of the Dutch Crime Syndicate over the past five years. Once a minor player on the European stage, the Dutch Syndicate now controls vast swathes of territory and influences everything from high finance to international politics. But how did this happen? The answer, dear listeners, lies in an unlikely source: a literature professor turned criminal mastermind.”

The friends exchange amused glances. “A literature professor?” Zoe snorts. “Now that’s a career change.”

“Shh,” Jake hushes her, leaning forward intently.

The podcast continues: “It all began with a chance encounter. The Syndicate’s boss, known only as Max Emilian, was injured in a firefight with rival gang members. Desperate for medical attention but unable to go to a hospital, he turned up on the doorstep of a young literature professor in the middle of the night.”

Emily pauses the podcast. “Okay, this sounds like the plot of a bad romance novel.”

“I know, right?” Lisa laughs. “What are the odds?”

Alex shakes his head, grinning. “Maybe our old prof is secretly living it up as a mob wife somewhere.”

The group erupts into laughter at the absurd image.

“Can you imagine?” Zoe gasps between giggles. “Professor Y/L/N in a shootout?”

Jake wipes tears from his eyes. “God, remember how she used to get flustered just operating the projector?”

As the laughter dies down, Emily resumes the podcast.

“What happened next is the stuff of legend in criminal circles. The professor, whose name we now know to be Y/N Y/L/N, not only patched up the crime boss but ended up joining his organization. Within weeks, she had become his right-hand woman and romantic partner.”

The room falls silent, the friends exchanging wide-eyed looks.

“No way,” Alex breathes.

“It can’t be,” Lisa shakes her head. “It’s got to be a coincidence.”

Jake holds up a hand, shushing them as the podcast continues.

“But Y/N’s true moment of infamy came just a month into her new life of crime. During what should have been a routine shopping trip in Monte Carlo, she and her bodyguards were ambushed by members of the rival Silver Arrows gang. In the ensuing chaos, Y/N found herself face to face with none other than Toto Wolff, the notorious leader of the Silver Arrows.”

“Oh my god,” Zoe whispers, her face pale.

“What happened next would change the landscape of European organized crime forever. Y/N, using a gun given to her by Max for protection, shot Toto Wolff at point-blank range. Wolff did not survive the encounter, his death throwing the Silver Arrows into disarray.”

Emily pauses the podcast again, her hand shaking slightly. “Guys ... this can’t actually be our Professor Y/L/N, right? I mean, it’s impossible.”

The room is silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought.

“Remember how she just ... disappeared?” Alex says slowly. “In the middle of the semester? The department said it was a family emergency, but no one ever heard from her again.”

Jake nods, his brow furrowed. “And it was right around the time this podcast is talking about. Five years ago, give or take.”

Lisa shakes her head vehemently. “No. No way. Our Y/N? The one who cried when we threw her a surprise party for finishing her PhD? There’s no way she shot someone.”

“But think about it,” Zoe says, warming to the idea. “She was always talking about how literature reflects real life, how the best stories come from unexpected places. What if ... what if she decided to live a story instead of just teaching about them?”

The group falls silent again, each of them trying to reconcile the image of their soft-spoken, cardigan-wearing professor with the gun-toting criminal mastermind described in the podcast.

Emily takes a deep breath. “Should we ... should we listen to the rest?”

After a moment of hesitation, they all nod. She presses play:

“In the years since that fateful day in Monte Carlo, Y/N has become a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Known in criminal circles as ‘The Professor,’ she’s rumored to be the strategic mind behind the Dutch Syndicate’s most daring and successful operations. Her background in literature and analysis has proven unexpectedly valuable in the world of organized crime, allowing her to see patterns and opportunities that others miss.”

Jake lets out a low whistle. “Okay, that part I can actually see. Remember how she could break down a text? Find connections no one else saw?”

The others nod, still looking shell-shocked.

The podcast continues: “Last year, Y/N and Max officially tied the knot in what insiders describe as the criminal event of the decade. The guest list reportedly included high-ranking members of various international syndicates, as well as several politicians and business moguls whose connections to the underworld had previously been only rumored.”

“A mob wedding,” Alex says faintly. “Our professor had a mob wedding.”

Zoe suddenly sits up straight. “Wait a second. Guys, remember that weird email we all got about a year ago? The one that looked like spam but had our names in it?”

The others nod slowly, realization dawning.

“It said something about a ‘special event’ and how the sender wished we could be there,” Lisa recalls. “We all thought it was just a weird phishing attempt.”

“Holy shit,” Jake breathes. “She invited us to her mob wedding.”

The podcast wraps up: “Today, the Dutch Crime Syndicate stands at the pinnacle of European organized crime, with Y/N and Max as its power couple. Their story serves as a reminder that in the modern criminal underworld, brains can be just as valuable as brawn. And sometimes, the most dangerous person in the room might just be the one with a literature degree.”

As the outro music plays, the friends sit in stunned silence.

Finally, Emily speaks up. “So ... do we think it’s really her?”

They look at each other, years of shared memories and inside jokes about their favorite professor flashing through their minds.

“I mean, what are the odds of two literature professors named Y/N Y/L/N getting mixed up with the mob in the same year?” Alex points out.

Jake nods slowly. “And it would explain why she just vanished. Why the department was so weird about it.”

“But ... but it’s Y/N,” Lisa protests weakly. “She used to bring us cookies during finals week. She cried when we analyzed sad poems.”

Zoe reaches for her phone. “Only one way to find out for sure. I’m googling her.”

The others crowd around as Zoe types in their former professor’s name. The search results load, and they collectively gasp.

There, staring back at them from countless news articles and blurry paparazzi shots, is an unmistakable face. It’s older, harder somehow, but undeniably the woman who once taught them about Jane Austen and Shakespeare.

“Well,” Emily says faintly, “I guess this explains why she always said Pride and Prejudice needed more action scenes.”

The room erupts into hysterical laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting them full force.

As they catch their breath, Jake raises his wine glass. “To Professor Y/L/N,” he says solemnly. “May her gun be as mighty as her pen.”

The others join in the toast, clinking their glasses together.

“You know,” Alex muses, “I always thought her lectures on Crime and Punishment were a little too detailed.”

Another round of laughter fills the apartment as the friends settle in to re-listen to the podcast, this time with a whole new perspective on their former professor turned criminal mastermind.

As the night wears on, they share memories of their college days, now tinged with the surreal knowledge of where life has taken their beloved professor. And though none of them would admit it out loud, there’s a small part of each of them that can’t help but admire the sheer audacity of it all.

After all, how many people can say their literature professor went on to conquer the criminal underworld?

[yourstruly-caycay]

A "Loving" Husband

Yan! Poseidon x reader

Woo! My first time writing a yandere version of a character, and for the first time in forever I post something ehe.

Warning: yandere behaviour incoming

Synopsis: Poseidon never have any intention to tell Atlas, his son, about the inside of the golden door under the deep sea within the darkness. But, out of impatient and curiosity, Atlas bound to uncover the secret.

....................

The curious little boy finds himself in front of a huge golden door, a shiny one as it shines by the glimpse of the moon. He checks his surroundings once more to make sure he doesn't hear any doorstep near him as the window shows a scenery of the darkness of the sea. He sighs in relief as he's ready to find the answer that his dad has been avoiding to answer, “If this door is in this deep underground, what could dad possibly hide?” 

He tries to push the door, he keeps pushing to the point his face and hand turns red. “I can open it!” He courage himself  as it finally opened a little bit, small enough to fit his size.  

“Ha! Dad must be proud if he knows that I can open a door this heavy.” He pat his back proudly as he goes through the door. The inside of the room is exactly as he questions it, a room full of old neat treasures and artifacts on the shelves. Out of all the treasure he saw, he spotted something bigger. A beautiful and shiny marble statue of a life-sized woman sitting on a couch with a lot of jewelry on her and white silk dress, but he notices that the clothes at the waist part are ruffled, as if that part has always been touched. 

"Hmm, why does the ring seem familiar?" To get a better sight, he climbed to her thigh and sat on her. Observing the ring closer, he remembered the very same pair of rings in his dad's finger.

“But why is it on the statue? I thought mom was supposed to wear this? Perhaps I should try to give it back to her.” Carefully, his eyes focus on taking off the ring from the finger without realizing that his feets slip from the statue's silk dress as he’s hanging by the ring finger. 

Unfortunately, the ring finger cracks as his head knocks onto the floor. He rubbed on his injured head, displeased seeing the gold blood on his hand from the injured head. However, the feeling of pain is replaced by panic as he closes his mouth when he sees the ring finger shatter from the statue. In a speed, he grabs the statue's ring finger and sprints all the way to his room.

… 

By the next morning-

"WHY DO YOU NEED TO BE ANGRY JUST FOR A MISSING PART OF A STATUE?" 

The boy jolted up from the sudden loud voice outside his room, he immediately opened the door. His heart beats fast and eyes go wide seeing his father and mother arguing in the hallway with Hades and some staff hidden in the corner or running away because they’re too scared at the sight of Poseidon.

"WHY? I'VE WARNED EVERYONE IN THIS CASTLE NOT TO ENTER THAT ROOM EXCEPT FOR ME, BUT A HIDDEN INSECT SEEMS TO HAVE BROKEN INTO THAT ROOM! I’LL FIND THE FOOL AND SHRED THEIR HANDS."

"BUT THAT DOESN'T EXCUSE YOUR SUDDEN OUTRAGE LIKE A MAD MAN." 

“You insolent women-” Before Poseidon’s trident even near Amphitrite, Hades held his wrist and said in a stern voice. “Poseidon, calm down,” His eyes now turn to glare at him, but Hades still has the stoic face and staring back at him, “It’s just a statue, I don't know what's so special about that. But, if you’re still determine to punish the culprit, do it, but don’t throw the blame to the wrong person.”

And so, he put his trident down, his breath steadier and turned back to his usual stoic face, yet eyes still glare at his brother, “Just a statue? That statue is a prize possession of mine, worthy of my time to care for it.”

Hades can only sigh and shake his head in disappointment, meanwhile Amphitrite opens her mouth to say something while holding in the trembling voice with knees getting weak pressing down her fear as she stares back at him. The trident might not pierce her at all, but the sharp wind from the trident is enough to cause a scratch of gold blood to flow from her face.  

"You've got to be kidding me, Poseidon, everyone already fucking know that you're protective of that precious little statue of yours. I don’t know what’s so special about it, it might be more special than me, but have you even spared a little heart for your poor wife whom you married by your own choice? Why do you marry me if you never treat me like a wife?"

"Amphitrite," Poseidon said coldly, "Since when gods married for love? Just do your own job as a queen." 

Poseidon is finally out of sight as Amphitrite clenches her fist, glaring at her husband's back. "Tch, what did the statue do to make you this crazy?" she mumbles. 

"Amphitrite, I do apologize for his manners." Hades pats her shoulder as he sees her in a trembling state, she gazes at him with tears spilling from her eyes. 

"There's no need to apologize," she wipes her tears, "It’s his fault… no, it's my fault. How stupid and naive I am to agree to marrying him in the first place. I thought that maybe… if I become a good wife; a good mother, then maybe he can at least show an ounce of love to me like any lover does… what did I do to deserve this?" 

"Don't say that, it’s his fault for being immature." 

"Immature?" she snapped at him, "No no no, it’s insanity. I saw it in his eyes, the possessiveness and madness when the part of the statue is missing, all for the sake of that? I don’t know how long I will have to bear this. I can slowly go insane too for centuries living in this lifeless marriage, Hades, especially when the son he so much loved is not my own blood-" She gasped and closed her mouth, Hades got caught off guard hearing it.

"What?" He holds her shoulder, “What do you mean? Didn’t Poseidon announce to the whole Greek pantheons about you bearing his child?” Amphitrite isn’t able to hold eye contact anymore seeing the confused but angry Hades. 

"Mom..."Her heart drops dead as she turns in horror to see him trembling, the familiar uncomfortable expression when he has to witness the familiar scene many times.

"Atlas!" She runs to hug him, "Did you just see the fight? Oh, I'm so sorry to have you see that." 

"Mom... what do you mean?" 

"W- what is it?" 

"So, you're not really my mom?" His eyes are getting glossier each time passed along with his red nose. "Then, where's my real mom? Did she abandon me?" The tears fall as his crying sound is getting louder making her feeling more guilty, she hugs him tightly and pat his blonde hair. 

“No no, of course not my dear… she’s umm… she-”

“I believe me and him deserve an explanation from you, Amphitrite.” He glared at Amphitrite like a predator caged its prey, unable to let her run away from the problem. After a long uncomfortable silence, she takes a breath first and stands up to glance at him. 

“You both deserve an explanation… but, promise me,” she continued, “Don’t tell Poseidon, at least not now, okay?” He nods as she leads them to Atlas’ bedroom and locks the door. She sits on his bed as she massages her head, trying to find the best words to explain while the two of them wait for her. 

“I already knew Atlas when he’s only a toddler, I still remember the sight of Poseidon holding him…”

… 

~The night before the wedding~

To her younger self when she was still a naive princess, who was once frightened by Poseidon’s first sight. The way he always ignores her or glares at her when she makes a mistake. Hundreds of insults and mockery threw at her, driving her to avoid him even more throughout years staying in Poseidon castle as his fiance because her father thought that it’s a “good thing” for her to get familiar with him before the marriage.

When she’s ready to go to sleep, relaxing her tense muscles before tomorrow's marriage, the sudden strange calming sound arouses her suspicion. She opens the doors and follows the sound. All the way to the bottom of the sea floors. She found the source of the sound from one of the rooms and opened the door a little bit. Her eyes went wide at such a beautiful sight of the cold tyrant of the sea showing a small smile toward the unknown baby, holding the sleeping baby with such a gentle touch while humming a calm deep lullaby with the moon illuminating him heavenly like an angel. 

“Impossible, how can he be so cruel, yet gentle at the same time?” She mutter

“Women, what are you doing?” She jumped at his sharp tone, once warm turned icy in a split second. She slowly opened the door, welcomed by his unamused face. She clears her throat to not feel pressured by the awkwardness, “My apologies, Poseidon, I just happened to hear your heavenly lullaby from my bedroom, I can’t help but listen to it too.” 

She glanced at the sleeping baby, a smile growing wide fighting the urge not to touch the cheek, “So, who’s this baby? He’s just as beautiful as you.” 

“My son.” 

Silence came again, as her mouth slightly opened and eyes wide in disbelief. Unsure what to even say, “S- so, you’ve married before, then?” she frowned when he kept silent, “Where’s your previous wife?” 

“Passed away.” He said in the usual cold tones, but she knew underneath that  there’s a slight crack and irritation as his gaze now turned to the moonlight. Of course she passed away, or else Poseidon wouldn’t even remarry. However, deep in her heart she knew there’s a small crack discovered he’s used to love a certain woman, and now the baby is the only thing left of that woman. 

“Sorry to hear that,” she continued, “What’s the name of the baby?”  

“Atlas.” 

… 

~the night after the marriage event~ 

It was a cold kiss, but she received it welcomely despite his expressionless face throughout the whole wedding, but it’s okay. “It’s really okay, he’s probably not used to me yet. One day he will!” She patted herself. Emerald eyes sparkled at the whole sea regions and the Greek pantheon of deities and nymphs congratulated them, isn’t this what she’s been dreaming of? Marrying a handsome prince and living happily ever after? 

During night time where everyone has a great time of feast, smiling and chattering. While Poseidon were discussing with his brothers and several gods, Amphitrite was accompanied by Aphrodite and Persephone having tea together as the both of them enjoyed their little chats while she quietly listened. 

“Dear Amphitrite sweetheart, may I ask why you would want to marry Poseidon? It’s clear as day that he’s hard to be swayed by love.” Amphitrie got caught off guard with Aphrodite's question, she rested her chin on her hand thinking the perfect way to explain it. 

“Well, I’m aware that a god like Poseidon is difficult to read and likes to close himself off from everyone. I’m aware too that this is a marriage for political reasons, but time itself is impossible to read too, who knows it’ll take time for him to open up to me, and maybe I can fix him.” 

Aphrodite giggled while pinching her cheek playfully, “Amphitrite, I hope you can keep your words, I’ll give you the best gift if you can win his heart.” 

“Haha, to be honest, I’m used to being scared of him too, but when I saw him holding his son gently in his arm it’s like seeing part of the real him open up. How can I not want to win his heart and show his other good side to me too ?”

“Son?” Persephone gasped and stood in surprise causing everyone to look at them, “What do you mean he has a son?” 

Suddenly, everyone is freezed, tons of eyes now peered at Amphitrtie who was surprised too at everyone’s new discovery. “I- I thought everyone know that he has a child-” 

Suddenly Poseidon touched her shoulder and leaned her closer to him as he announced to everyone, “Yes, I do have a son… with her.”

Everyone including his brothers and her families are elated by the news, congratulating the couple as they continued the feast. However, Amphitrite snapped at Poseidon who’s still avoiding her eye contact, questioning his suspicious act… head feels dizzy as she frowned at the announcement. Suddenly, Zeus wrapped his arm around Poseidon and Amphitrite in joyous, “Congratulations on having a child! So it turns out you guys already did a dirty thing before the marriage, huh?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Congratulations, I anticipate meeting my nephew by tomorrow.” Hades shook his hand while laughing, yet despite the wonderful news, Amphitrite got left confused all alone watching the crowd in line congratulate them, leaving her deep in thought of her mind.

…

“Poseidon, what’s with all of this? I thought everyone knew about your son.” Amphitrite sat on bed facing Poseidon who’s changing his clothes to something more comfortable, once again avoiding eye contact with her. She clenches her fist when he has the nerve to ignore her question, “Not only that, but you LIED to them about him being my son in blood? What about your previous wife? How would she feel about this?”

“Don’t remind me about Y/n, Amphitrite.” 

“Y/n? So that’s her name, huh? Don’t tell me that no one also knew about this Y/n.” 

Another silent response made her more convinced, knowing this, she slowly moved away from him, his unreadable expression made her stomach twist. “Poseidon, why would you lie?”

What are you trying to hide?

“All you need to know is that I did all of this to keep her and Atlas safe from the gods’ eyes. If they ever discover the truth about them, I’ll gouge their eyes and shred their bodies to pieces where their mouth wouldn’t spread all over to other realm,” Amphitrite shiver at his calm tone, she felt her heart skipped a beat at his eyes finally made an eye contact, the eyes that threaten her as if a trident ready to strike her if she made a single mistake, “This include you too Amphitrite, just do your job as a queen and a mother, and I’ll turn a blind eye on you. Remember that this is a marriage that’ll benefit your family.”

… 

“That’s all I know,” Amphitrite steady her breath as she lies her head down, feeling uncomfortable with the silence, “It’s true, ever since that, I wouldn’t dare to ask him about her. I- I don’t- I don’t know why my foolish self is still trying to love him despite his undying love for his previous wife.” 

Tears spilled from her eyes, words unable to be formed as she cover her cry from them. “Why did I even keep pursuing?” She thought, but a sudden heaviness on her caught her off guard, uncovering her face to see Atlas hugging her. 

“It’s ok, mom.” Amphitrite hug him back with more tears spilled, her heart melt knowing Atlas is still calling her mom despite the truth. However, Hades is still standing across from her as he Massages his forehead, still surprised yet angry, but at his foolish brother. 

“Atlas, can you please change your clothes and go have breakfast? Your mother and I still have to discuss about… this…further through.” Atlas nods as he changes his clothes and unlocks the door to go to the dining hall, leaving Amphitrite and Hades alone in his room. 

Hades approach Amphitrite to sit beside her as his hand tap on her shoulder, “I’m sorry to hear that… I never thought he would do that.” 

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. As his brother, I shouldn’t have been too lenient on him, he’s just using you for his own benefit.”Amphitrite shake her head, “It’s partly my fault too for not refused it and being naive, I was too scared by my own father,” clearing her throat as she jump to different topic, “But, about her…” 

“Y/n…” Hades humm, “So she’s Atlas' biological mother, why does Poseidon hide her from everyone? Out of shame?”

“Shame?” 

“Poseidon is a pride god, if he loves her that much, what makes him want to hide her in the dark? Have you ever suspected her identity and background?” 

Amphitrite put her hand on the chin as she recalled her moment when she was in the library, however it put a frown on her face, “I have try to search about her in the library, yet no books have had a record about her, so for now I’m assuming that she’s not a goddess from this pantheon nor a nymph.”

“Not even a nymph? How did you come up with that assumption?” 

“From Atlas of course, if Y/n is a nymph from certain creatures, he will have the appearance or characteristic of that creature, however none of it are in him.”

“Fair enough.”

 “How about you? Does the name Y/n sound familiar?” 

“That’s… the problem, it’s new and unfamiliar within this patheon nor any other places, never for eons have I ever heard that name,” Hades massages his head and sighs as the mystery causes a headache to him., sick of his brother’s antics, he stand up, “I will ask him right now, he’s the only one who knows the truth.”

Hearing this, Amphitrite immediately stand and holds his shoulder as she shakes her head, “Don’t! If you ask him he will immediately know I told you and will slaughter me,” she continued after steadied her breath, “Please, I’m not stopping you to research about her, but don’t directly ask him.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him about this too. He has been hiding this far too long, I’m disappointed at his oddly obsessive behavior-” 

“Hades, your shoes.” Hearing her gasp, he looked down and froze, seeing the crimson blood seeping from under the bed all the way staining his shoes. He kneels, and looks under it to discover the missing part of the statue — the ring finger — feeling the hard rock texture, yet when he touches the bleeding part, he shivers from the soft rotten meat and bone texture. 

“There’s a dead body of a mortal hidden inside a statue, how is it under his bed?” He frown, “Moreover, the ring on that finger-“

“It can’t be, that’s the same pair of rings that Poseidon has.”

[jasmines-library]

Hey Jasmine, sry idk if ur taking requests of not but I was wondering if I could do a supernatural fic where the boys take their sister out to hunt some werewolves but their sister gets scratched and has a bad cut and has a panic attack, it’s up to the boys to calm her down and get her stitched up…

Caught Off guard.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•

hey hey hi! thanks for the request anon! I actually have something fairly (?) similar here! but i wanted to write this for you too. sorry its a little short.

Word Count: 733

Warnings: Blood. stitches. panic attack.

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The wound was deep. And it hurt like a bitch. That was for certain. Three, ragged gashes splashed across your torso from just below your ribs to your belly button. Your blood seeped from it like paint, staining the fabric of your shirt and beading across the smooth expanse of your skin. 

The werewolf had caught you off guard. You and your two brothers Sam and Dean had been hunting the pack for just short of a week now and you had managed to take them down without much of a problem once you found them. However, werewolves were clever. And this one had decided to play smart.  It had caught you just as you were about to leave, it had jumped out from its hiding spot at the last second, slashing at you in the process. You screamed, the sound ripping from your lips as your flesh tore open. Your brothers were on the creature quickly. But not quick enough to stop the damage from happening. 

Your wound burnt. Skin searing with an immeasurable pain as you looked down at it, fingers moving to touch it only to come away tainted with blood. And then Sam was in front of you. His slender fingers resting on your cheek, tilting it to look up at him. 

“Hey. hey. Look at me.” Sam said. His voice broke through the haze you hadn’t even realised you were in as he tried to coax you into following his instructions. Despite the panic he was feeling internally, his face betrayed nothing. His eyes were soft and calming as he tried to soothe you. “Breathe,” he told you. 

You hadn’t even noticed until now, too hyper fixated on the wound, that you were hyperventilating. Your chest was heaving, a rasp sounding in the back of your throat as you struggled to suck in air with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The all too familiar feelings of a panic attack hit you full force.

“Calm down.” Sam told you gently. “You’re okay. You’re alright. Breathe.”

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady your breathing. 

“That's it, Sweetheart. Good.” Dean’s hand was on your shoulder. The other one reached to pull your hand away from your wound, placing it on his chest to urge you to follow his breathing. The feeling of his heart beat beneath his shirt was grounding. Slow as steady. 

Another breath. Another second trying to slow your breathing and the rapid rise and fall of your chest which caused a disturbance in your wound, only adding to your pain. 

“Good girl.” Sam said softly as your breathing slowed. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

Dean gave your shoulder a squeeze, trying to hide the grimace as he looked at your wounds. Red raw and still oozing blood. “....she’s going to need stitches.”

Your breath hitched, but Sam squeezed your hand. “It’ll be over quickly, princess. Okay?”

You bit your lip, swallowing thickly before nodding hesitantly. Dean moved quickly, grabbing the first aid kit from Baby before sanitising the needle and threading it before handing it to Sam, who has a steadier hand. Dean’s hand replaced Sam’s gripping yours tightly as Sam reddied the needle, positioning it over your skin.

“I’ll be gentle as I can, ok kiddo?”

You nodded, trying to look anywhere but Sam and the needle in his hand.

“It’ll be a quick pinch, okay sweetheart?” Dean reassured me. “You can squeeze my hand as much as you need. Okay?”

“.....okay.”

After taking a breath, Sam pushed the needle into your skin to make the first stitch. His fingers moved with swift precision, determined to get this over as quick as possible and keep it as painless for you as he could. You couldn't help the small whimper that slipped out of your lips as you gripped Dean’s hand tightly.

He squeezed your hand back reassuringly. “That’s it kid. Just a little more.”

Sam worked nimbly, closing the wounds with a  few stitches before covering them with a gauze pad and bandages just in case. When he was done, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, allowing you to take a breath.

“All done sweetheart. It’s all done. It’s over.”

You shuddered a sigh, relaxing back into Dean a little bit who gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. 

“You did good kid. So good.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

[caitified]

hi hi hi

can you write caitlin x fem!reader where lexi exposes caitlin on having a crush on a journalist or someone that’s around the team a lot? and caitlin is blushing kicking her feet…

maybe with some happy ending pls pls pls

thank u

sidelines

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:none

caitlin clark was a force on the court, but off the hardwood, she struggled with something much more personal: her growing crush on you, the indiana fever’s in-house journalist. your presence lit up every post-game interview, and caitlin found herself lingering on your words, your smile, your laughter. her teammates quickly picked up on her crush, particularly lexie and aliyah, who thrived on teasing caitlin about her infatuation.

“caitlin, do you need a scorecard to keep track of how many times you’ve stared at y/n?” lexie teased one afternoon during practice, earning a chorus of laughter from the team. caitlin shot her a glare but couldn’t hide the flush creeping up her cheeks.

“seriously, just ask her out already,” aliyah chimed in, smirking knowingly. “we all see the way you look at her.”

the banter made caitlin laugh, but inside, she was a whirlwind of nerves and excitement. every time you walked into the locker room, her heart raced, and every smile you threw her way sent butterflies dancing in her stomach. she was determined to keep her feelings under wraps, not wanting to jeopardize your friendship or the team’s dynamic. but it was getting harder to ignore the chemistry simmering between you two.

everything changed one evening after a particularly intense game. the fever had won, and the atmosphere was electric. caitlin was in the locker room, still buzzing with adrenaline, when you entered to conduct your usual post-game interview. the air was thick with anticipation, and caitlin’s heart raced as you approached, clipboard in hand. her gaze wandered over you, admiring how your hair glimmered under the fluorescent lights and the way your smile lit up the room.

“caitlin, can I get your thoughts on tonight’s game?” you asked, your voice steady and professional, yet somehow more intimate in the echo of the empty room.

caitlin nodded, her mind momentarily blank as she struggled to focus. “yeah, um, we played well,” she stammered, and she felt the playful eyes of her teammates boring into her back.

lexie, sensing an opportunity, leaned against a locker, smirking. “caitlin, what’s your favorite play of the night? or maybe your favorite person?”

the room erupted in laughter, and caitlin felt heat rush to her cheeks. you shot caitlin a teasing look, your lips curving into a smile that made her heart leap.

“lexie, come on,” caitlin protested, trying to maintain her composure.

but before she could redirect the conversation, lexie leaned forward, a gleam in her eye. “seriously, caitlin, are you going to tell y/n about your little crush or what?”

caitlin froze, her heart racing at the implication of her friend’s words. the room fell silent, and all eyes turned to you, whose surprised expression mirrored her own confusion. “wait, you like me?” you asked, a mix of shock and intrigue lacing your voice.

the embarrassment felt overwhelming, yet something deep inside caitlin pushed her to be honest. “yeah, I do,” she finally admitted, her voice steadier than she expected. “i’ve had a crush on you for a while now.”

the locker room buzzed with excitement, but for you and caitlin, everything faded away except for the shared gaze. your eyes widened, and you felt your heart leap at her confession. “i like you too,” you said, your smile growing, uncertainty melting into relief. “i thought you were too focused on basketball to even notice me.”

caitlin’s expression softened, her heart swelling with warmth. “you have no idea how much I think about you,” she confessed, stepping closer, the world around you dissolving into background noise. “you make my long days feel worth it.”

lexie and aliyah exchanged knowing glances, their teasing smirks transforming into supportive smiles as they allowed you two a moment. “you two are adorable!” lexie exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement.

“i’m serious about this,” caitlin said, turning her full attention back to you, sincerity radiating from her gaze. “i want to see where this can go.”

“me too,” you replied, your heart brimming with hope. “i’d love to figure this out together.”

the tension between you melted away, replaced with a warmth that felt like the beginning of something beautiful. as you exchanged shy smiles, the teasing faded into the background, and the world seemed to settle into a comfortable rhythm. caitlin reached out, intertwining her fingers with yours, sealing the moment with a promise of something more.

the next few weeks unfolded like a dream. you and caitlin began to share stolen moments—quick glances during games, soft touches that sent shivers down your spine, and whispered secrets in the locker room. every practice felt electric, the chemistry between you palpable as you found little ways to connect outside the confines of work.

the team began to notice the shift, the way caitlin’s eyes lit up whenever you entered the room and the shy smiles exchanged during your interviews. lexie and aliyah could barely contain their glee, constantly nudging caitlin and whispering playful remarks that made her blush.

“so, are you two official yet?” lexie teased one afternoon, leaning back against the wall with a knowing grin. “or do we need to set up a press conference for this?”

“shut up,” caitlin shot back, though the smile on her face betrayed her. “it’s new, okay?”

aliyah rolled her eyes dramatically. “you guys are like a rom-com waiting to happen. just admit you’re in love!”

it was playful banter, but caitlin couldn’t help but feel a rush of affection for you. every time she looked at you, her heart soared. you were kind, intelligent, and so passionate about your work. it was hard to believe that you could be interested in someone like her.

then came the day of the big game—one that everyone had been waiting for. the energy in the arena was electric, the crowd buzzing with excitement. as caitlin took to the court, she could feel your eyes on her, your unwavering support grounding her amidst the chaos.

during a break in the game, caitlin caught your gaze from the sidelines and flashed a smile, her heart racing as you returned it. in that moment, everything else faded away. she was lost in you, the noise of the crowd a distant hum.

after the game, when the adrenaline still coursed through her veins, caitlin sought you out, excitement bubbling in her chest. you were surrounded by fans and teammates, but she didn’t care. she had to get to you.

“y/n!” she called, pushing through the crowd until she stood in front of you, breathless.

“great game, cait!” you beamed, and caitlin felt her heart swell. “you played amazing.”

“thanks! it felt incredible out there,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “and it felt even better knowing you were watching.”

you raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “are you trying to charm me, miss clark?”

caitlin grinned, her confidence growing. “maybe I am. what if I am?”

you stepped closer, the world around you fading as you focused solely on each other. “well, you’re doing a great job,” you admitted, your eyes sparkling.

just then, lexie appeared, a playful smirk on her face. “i’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” she said, winking as she walked away.

caitlin turned back to you, a mix of determination and vulnerability in her gaze. “can we talk? like, really talk?”

you nodded, the excitement bubbling in your chest. “of course.”

as you both found a quiet corner of the arena, caitlin took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “i know this is all new and maybe a little crazy, but i really like you. i want to see where this goes. like, really see where this goes.”

“i want that too, cait,” you replied, your voice steady and sincere. “i didn’t think you’d feel the same way.”

caitlin smiled, a wave of relief washing over her. “it’s more than just a crush for me. you mean a lot to me, and i’d love the chance to explore this.”

with those words, the two of you leaned in, the space between you disappearing. the kiss was soft and tentative at first, then deepened as caitlin wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you closer. everything else faded away—no teammates, no fans, just you and her in that moment.

when you finally pulled away, breathless and giddy, caitlin couldn’t help but grin. “i guess we’re officially a thing now.”

“yeah, we are,” you laughed, the sound like music to her ears. “and i can’t wait to see what happens next.”

[chaoticrockmusic]

Worlds Apart, Minds Connected

Synopsis; After a mission goes disastrously wrong, you and Charles are separated, trapped in an unstable facility with only a telepathic link to guide you back to each other. As he navigates you through the darkness, your minds grow closer in ways neither of you expected, creating a bond that will be hard to let go once you finally reunite. The question lingers: will the connection forged in crisis survive beyond the danger?

Warnings; None but kissing the LOVELY James McAvoy uggghhhhh-

Requested by @kaley612!

The last thing you remember is Charles shouting your name before the explosion. The impact threw you back, slamming you against something hard and cold. Dazed and aching, you pushed yourself up, trying to make sense of the chaos around you. Dust settled like snowflakes, a reminder of the blast that had ripped through the building.

The connection flares to life—a warmth, gentle and insistent, nudging at the edges of your mind.

“Can you hear me?”

Charles’s voice is like a balm, familiar and grounding. Relief floods through you as you close your eyes, focusing on that connection.

“Yes, I’m here,” you answer, your mental voice steadier than you feel.

“Are you hurt?”

You swallow, taking quick stock. A few bruises, a splitting headache, but nothing broken. “I’ll survive. What about you?”

“Just a scratch,” he says, though you sense he is holding back. “Listen, we’re separated. I can’t get to you from where I am—there’s debris blocking my path. But I’ll guide you. If we keep this link open, I can see what you see. All you have to do is keep going. Can you do that?”

Your heart pounds, but Charles’s steady presence brings an odd calm over you. “I trust you.”

And, for a beat, there’s silence. You feel a brush of something—warmth, reassurance, and a trace of something deeper that he quickly shields.

“Then let’s go,” he says, his voice like a hand reaching through the darkness.

You stand and begin to move, Charles’s presence a constant pulse in your mind. Each step is careful, shadows twisting as you make your way down the broken hallways, Charles murmuring directions and gentle encouragements, his voice steady even when your path grows perilous. If you could be with him right now, you'd kiss him. As a thank you of course. Nothing more.

“You’re doing well,” he says softly, his tone dipped in admiration. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Somehow, with him there—though only in your mind—it feels true.

"Thank you, Charles. Where do I go now?"

"Charles?" Your heart dropped before you heard him again.

"I'm here, I'm here. Just... Do you really want to thank me with a kiss?"

Huh. Shit.

You freeze, heat rushing to your cheeks as his question settles in.

“I… thought you couldn’t see thoughts I didn’t direct to you,” you stammer, trying to push the words out as smoothly as possible.

There’s a soft chuckle on his end, warm and teasing. “That’s true… unless you think it loudly.”

You huff, half-embarrassed, half-defiant. His voice is quieter now, almost reverent. “I’m waiting.”

With renewed determination, you make your way down the dark hallway, Charles guiding you through each step and turn until you see the faint light of an exit. Your heart races, each footfall bringing you closer to him. And then, just as you round a corner, there he is, waiting—dust-covered, scratched, but alive and whole.

Without thinking, you run to him, and he opens his arms, catching you before you even realize you’ve thrown yourself into his embrace. His hands settle around you, firm and reassuring, as he lets out a sigh of relief that mirrors your own.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you press a kiss to his lips, a gesture of thanks, of everything left unsaid. Charles freezes for a fraction of a second, then responds, his lips gentle but warm against yours, his hands cradling you like something he never intends to let go.

When you pull back, breathless and unsure, he offers a small, tender smile. “I think we both needed that.”

“Maybe so," you whisper, a smile breaking through your own exhaustion.

And as you stand there, safe and together, the unspoken promise of something more lingers between you, fragile but very, very real.

(JAMES MCAVOY JUST GIVE ME A CHANCE-)

Plz do not copy or translate! -Callme_Bunni

[geordikisser]

comforting you! | isaac, nick & blake

epilogue: continuation from my hcs post! :-D i previously made one of tanner & larry if you’re interested in that piece as well! basically something very personal came up. sorry if yumis sucks 😞😞 i failed u all..

content contains! angst, suggestive ( yumi )

⤷ gender isn’t specific! (gender neutral.)

♡ isaac: you clenched your teeth as tears poured down your cheeks. you would rather be caught dead than like this. you feel your face heat up, audibly sobbing a little too. you shakily reach for your phone and swallow your pride and called isaac. you knew you being alone isn’t what you needed. as you even clicked the call icon, you hear a knock on the door. your heart drops as you quickly wipe your face dry instantly. “yes?” your voice being drowned out from your tear & snot stained shirt. “baby? i’m coming in, ok?” that loving, honey-dripping voice made your heart flutter. “i-isaac?” you accidentally stammer out. he opens the door and gives you a goofy smile. “i got food, did you not see your phone?” his smile falls as he furrows his brows. “baby? what’s wrong.” he notices his phone ringing from you and he felt so horrible. “my poor baby, let me hold you.” he ushers towards you and sits besides you instantly, his arms opening to embrace you.

you felt those familiar tears well up once again and you fall into the embrace. “i missed you so much!” you sob out as he shushes you gently. “i’m here baby, i’m here. don’t ever worry, i’ll always be here.” he hums to you. your breath hitching as you try to recollect yourself. “i know me being gone for 20 minutes didn’t do this. what’s up.” he pulls away, wiping your tears away. you sigh, shuddering slightly. “i- can’t get into that.” you murmured under your breath slightly. he nods, his face meeting your own. “i’m so ugly.” you cover your face, shying away from him. he instantly pulls you back. “no you aren’t. you’re beautiful. you are a thing of beauty. never once have i ever doubt that.” he kisses you cheeks, tracing down to your jaw. “i love you so much my beautiful baby.” he lies you down and wipes the rest of your tears away. his tender hand meeting your worn out face. “you don’t need to tell me anything, okay? but i’d love to know.” he kisses your jaw continuously. “you are ok, i promise baby.” he whispers to you. “i’ll tell the guys to save food for you, okay?” you nod weakly, your hand interlocking with his own. your thumb rubbing on the back of his hand. his gaze being a soft, reassuring one.

♡ nick: you felt uneasy, you were feeling everything but yourself. nick was coming back from the gym as this panic rises in your chest. you feel the heat in your face become unbearable, overwhelming, and started to cry. you began to weep and weep quietly from how overwhelmed you were. you felt so hot and itchy and crazy. you tried to pull your hair back away from your face and couldn’t process anything properly. you chewed on your bottom lip as you began to sob. as the front door jingles, a familiar key sound following it. you recollect yourself and try to stand up, your body lying on the cold floor in the living room. the door opens and nicks eyes are instantly on you. “babe?” he drops his gym bag instantly. closing the door behind him and locking it right after. he rushes towards you and brings you to your feet, instantly falling into his arms. “hey hey hey! what’s up.” he asks worryingly, seating you two on the couch. you crawl close. as close as you can get to him. “i’m so sorry.” you sob into his shoulder as he shushes you. “you have nothing to be sorry for, look at me honey.” your breath hitching as you pull away to look at him.

“what happened, baby? tell me.” his eyes softening. “i- i feel really overwhelmed. i feel so itchy and hot and i can’t breath!” you exclaim, tugging as your shirt. he nods as he pulls your hair back for you with his steadier hands. “this heat getting to you, my dear?” he smiles weakly at you as you nod, clipping your hair back to keep off your face. “i’m sorry this heat is getting to you my pretty baby.” he kisses your temple and his hands envelope yours. “despite this heat, you look iridescent in my eyes.” he coos sweetly as you huff, looking away. “you must’ve felt so weak, i’m sorry honey. next time ill leave the ac cooler for you.” he rocks you back and forth, lifting the back of your shirt up to get some cool air up your shirt. “let’s get you in a thinner and shorter shirt, ok? this long sleeve might be getting to you.” he gestures you to stand with him and you nod. “i’ll always be here to help you, always.”

♡ blake: you reach out to yumi, shaking him awake. it was rather late and you felt like your head was gonna explode. “hmm—.. ugh, fuck.” he groans, bitterness taking his tone. “blake!” you stammer out weakly. his eyes shooting open. “what..” he groans groggily. sitting up. he turns to you and see your eyes welling up. “babe? the fuck happened?” his mouth getting the best of him. you stutter out what the dream was about as you fiddled with your hands anxiously. he nods as he takes your hands into his and uses his thumbs to caress the backs of your hands. “i’m so sorry you had to see that, baby.” he frowns slightly as he kisses your forehead, decorating your face in kisses. you let a few tears fall as he hums gently. “ahh don’t cry now, okay? you’re strong.” he grunts, squeezing your hands. “you are stronger than you know.” he looks at you, a small smile on his face. “you are so strong, babe. don’t let some dream take over that.” he kisses you once more but it’s tickled with passion. you feel your eyes soften as you melt into his kiss. you fall back onto the pillow, yumi hovering over you. his hands still in your grasp, his face heating up. “seeing you like this hurts me too. my strong baby getting fucked up by a dream? i won’t let it happen again. not on my watch.” he kisses your jaw gently, slowly tracing to your neck. you whimper softy as yumi smirks, chucking slightly. he lifts his head to to make eye contact with you. his eyes half lidded, barely opened. his gaze a mix with sleepiness and lust slightly. “i can make you forget that dream.” he offers with a grin. you giggle as you push him slightly. “stoppp..” you groan, yumi chuckling. “you strong, baby. you are so smart and loving. don’t loose that vision because of a bad dream.. i love you.”

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

breathe

pair: Walker Scobell x reader

summary: Walker helps y/n(she/her) through an anxiety/panic attack

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Y/N took a deep breath, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she clutched her script. It was just another day on the set of Percy Jackson and the Olympians, but today felt different. The voices, the people, the bright lights—it was all starting to press in on her, making it hard to think. Her chest tightened, and she felt that familiar, unwelcome sensation of panic creeping up.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get ready for the next scene!” a voice boomed from somewhere off to her left.

Y/N nodded to no one in particular, forcing her feet to move toward her designated spot. She needed to pull it together. She had to. But her breathing was shallow, and her vision blurred slightly at the edges. She could feel the walls closing in, even though they were outdoors. Her heart raced faster than ever, and the script slipped from her trembling hands.

She glanced around, hoping no one would notice the panic that was clawing at her insides. They didn’t know—no one knew about her anxiety. She wanted to keep it that way. But the noise was getting louder, and her head felt like it was spinning. She had to get out of here before she completely lost it in front of everyone.

“Y/N?” a soft voice asked, cutting through the fog in her mind.

She turned her head and saw Walker standing a few feet away, his brow furrowed with concern. She tried to muster a smile, but it came out weak and shaky.

“Hey,” she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible.

Walker’s eyes flickered to her hands, which were trembling uncontrollably. Without a word, he stepped closer and gently took her arm, guiding her away from the bustling set. She didn’t resist. In fact, she was grateful. He led her around a corner, behind one of the trailers, where it was quieter. The noise of the set was just a dull hum now, barely audible.

“Breathe, Y/N,” Walker said softly, his voice calm and steady. He held her hands, rubbing his thumbs over the back of them soothingly. “Just focus on breathing, okay? In and out.”

Y/N nodded, closing her eyes and trying to match her breathing to his words. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, the tightness in her chest began to ease. She focused on the feeling of Walker’s hands holding hers, grounding her.

“Thank you,” she whispered after a few moments, her voice steadier now.

Walker gave her a small smile, still holding her hands. “You don’t have to thank me. I saw you and just… I knew you needed a minute. Is this… does this happen often?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Sometimes. I just… I get overwhelmed, and it’s like my brain can’t handle everything all at once.”

Walker nodded, his expression understanding. “It’s okay. I get it. You don’t have to explain. Just know that if you ever need to get away, I’m here. I’ll help, no questions asked.”

Y/N felt a rush of gratitude toward him. It was rare for her to find someone who understood, who didn’t ask a million questions or make her feel like a burden. “Thank you, Walker. Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up.”

He squeezed her hands gently. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right? We look out for each other. And besides, I kind of like being your secret getaway buddy.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound easing the last of the tension in her chest. “Well, you’re doing a great job.”

Walker grinned. “Come on. Let’s take a few more minutes, then we’ll head back. No rush.”

[sosa2imagines]

You, me and Vegas! Part 12

Warning- Fluff, angst. realization.

After his parents left, Bucky was restlessly and desperately trying to call Peach on her phone.

Bucky's heart sank when he looked around the living room and noticed Peach's phone lying on the coffee table. She had left it behind in her haste to leave, and he couldn't call her to apologize.

He picked up the phone, looking at the screen. It was ringing, but of course, there was no response. She was probably already at Wanda's. He put the phone back down, feeling even more guilty and frustrated than before.

Bucky was still pacing around the apartment, unable to calm his thoughts. He couldn't stand the silence and solitude any longer. He needed to talk to someone, to get a different perspective on the situation.

He picked up his phone and called Steve, hoping he wasn't busy.

Steve sat down next to him, still in shock. “God, Buck,” he said, shaking his head. “You're a real piece of work, you know that?” He sounded a bit scolding, but his eyes were filled with more concern than anger.

Bucky closed his eyes, leaning back against the couch. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered. “I royally screwed up. Big time. I hurt Peach. And I don't know how to fix it this time.”

Steve took a moment before responding, letting the pieces fall into place. “Wait a minute,” he said suddenly, realization dawning. “Is this why you've been so...happy lately? All smiley and all that?”

Bucky looked at Steve, his expression sheepish. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Peach makes me happy. She's just...she's different. She understands me, and she's so good to me, even when I don't deserve it. She has made me realize, that I don't have to be serious all the time. I can find happiness, in even smaller things in life. I don't have to be what my parents want me to be...”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair again. “But tonight, I let her down,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “I stood there like a coward and let my parents insult her right in front of me. I let her leave without saying a word. I've been a total prick.”

Steve could see the pain and frustration in Bucky's eyes, and he understood. He had seen firsthand how controlling and critical Bucky's parents could be.

“Bucky,” he said, his voice gentler now. “It's okay. It's never easy standing up against your parents, especially when they're like that. So…you have fallen in love with Peach, huh?”

Bucky nodded, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I have. I love her. I didn't want to, I tried so hard to not fall for her, to not get so attached.”

He looked at Steve, his eyes filled with pain. “But I can't help it. She's just...she's everything I've ever wanted, but didn't know I needed. And now I've royally screwed it all up.”

Steve sat silently, listening to Bucky's confession with a mixture of concern and understanding. After a moment, he asked, “Have you tried talking to her?”

Bucky shook his head, looking down at his hands in his lap. “No,” he said quietly. “I couldn't. After what happened at dinner, she stormed out, and she didn't even take her phone. And honestly, I don't blame her. I wouldn't wanna talk to me either.”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You gotta talk to her, Buck,” he said firmly. “You gotta apologize and make things right. She's important to you, yeah?”

Bucky nodded, his expression one of determination now. “She is,” he affirmed. “More important than anything, anyone else. I need to fix this. I need to make things right with her. Tomorrow we are getting annulled, maybe I can get to talk to her before that.”

Steve clapped a hand on Bucky's shoulder. “You got this, man...” he said encouragingly. “Go talk to her, and make things right. And if you mess up again, I'm gonna knock some sense into you. And seriously, STOP PAYING ATTENTION TO YOUR PARENTS!”

Bucky chuckled weakly at Steve's last words. “Yeah, I know,” he said, his voice a bit steadier. “I gotta stop letting my parents get to me. But it's not easy to break a habit of a lifetime, you know?”

“I know,” Steve said with a nod. “But you gotta do it, for your own sake. And for Peach's. You want her in your life, right?”

“More than anything,” Bucky replied, his voice firm and resolute. “I can't lose her. And I'm gonna do whatever it takes to make things right with her. I have fallen in love with her, Steve. I need to tell her, how I feel.”

Steve smiled at Bucky's determination. “That's the spirit,” he said approvingly. “Go get your girl. I have faith in you. And as for your parents? I'm pretty sure you'll explode at them.”

Bucky laughed, the first genuine laugh he'd had since dinner. “Yeah, I probably will. But I don't care. I've spent way too long caring about what my parents think of me. It's time I start living for myself, on my own terms.”

Steve grinned, clapping Bucky on his back. “Good man. Now, you fix things with Peach, first thing tomorrow morning, and we'll see if I can come up with some strategy to deal with your parents. Now try to get some rest.”

Meanwhile, Peach was pacing back and forth in Wanda's living room, the anger and frustration from the evening's events still coursing through her body. She had told Wanda everything, about the drunken marriage, the dinner, Bucky's inaction, how she had left.

As she spoke, Wanda listened, her expression one of shock and concern. She knew how much Bucky meant to Peach, and she could see how hurt Peach was by the evening's events.

“And his parents!” Peach exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. “I don't think I've ever met someone as judgmental and annoying as them. They act like they're so perfect, but they're just assholes. They were so rude, they just kept going on and on about how I'm not 'on their level' because I'm not rich like them or something.”

Peach stopped pacing for a moment, looking at Wanda. “But you know what?”

Wanda shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips at Peach's words. She could tell how riled up she was, and she didn't blame her. Bucky's parents did sound like a handful.

“The worst part is,” Peach continued, starting to pace again. “Despite all their criticism, I still think Bucky looks hot. I know, I know, it's crazy. But that haircut I gave him? Made him look adorable. And that stubble of his...it suits him.”

Wanda couldn't help but laugh at Peach's frustration. “Oh man, you really have it bad, don't you?” she teased lightly. “You know this whole situation is a mess, right?”

Peach looking at her with a confuse expression, “what?” Peach then started just to ramble, “I just care about him. He is different from the men I have seen in my life. He is so shy and fun when loosen up. He is a really good man, kind and I love him and I want him to be happy!”

Peach was so lost in her rant about Bucky, she didn't realize what she had just confessed. It wasn't until she said the words ‘I love him’ that she froze, the realization of what she had just said dawning on her.

Wanda, who had been listening quietly, couldn't help but burst into laughter at Peach's shocked expression. “You did not just say that!?” she managed to get out between laughs. “Oh my god, you hadn't realized, you love him?”

Peach blushed furiously, burying her head in her hands. “I can't believe I said that out loud,” she muttered into her palms. “I...I didn't even realize I...”

She trailed off, her thoughts a jumble. She hadn't even processed her feelings for Bucky yet, and now they were confirmed. She did love him. For real.

Wanda, sensing her friend's internal turmoil, sat down beside her and patted her back. “It's okay, Peach,” she said warmly. “It's okay to love him. But what are you gonna do about it?”

Peach lifted her head from her hands, her cheeks still pink. “I don't know,” she said honestly. “I mean, look at the mess we're in. We got drunk and married, his parents don't even know about us, and to top it all off, we're getting an annulment tomorrow.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “And you still love him?”

Peach sighed, sinking back onto the couch. “Yeah, I do,” she said quietly, a mixture of sadness and defeat in her voice. “I fell in love with the idiot, and now I don't know what to do. I don't even know if he loves me too?”

Wanda put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “But you want him to love you back, right?” she asked gently.

“Yes! But what if...”

Wanda squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “Peach, you never know unless you try,” she said gently. “You have to talk to him. Tell him how you feel, and see how he responds. But you won't know if you don't communicate.”

“I left my phone at his place and I can't go back...I don't know if his parents are still there.” Peach pouted.

Wanda patted Peach's back sympathetically. “Yeah, that's a bit of a problem,” she said, a small frown on her face. “You don't want to run into his parents again, that's for sure. But you gotta get your phone back, right? You need it. You can use it as an excuse to go back or...maybe you can talk to him tomorrow, when you meet for the annulment.”

Peach considered this for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. “Yeah, you're right,” she said finally. “I do need my phone. But going back to his apartment isn't a good idea, not with his parents being there. I don't want to deal with them again. I'll go over there, in the morning to talk to him.”

Wanda nodded. “That's probably for the best,” she agreed. “You'll have time to collect your thoughts and what you want to say to him. But just remember, you need to be honest with him about how you feel. You can't keep everything bottled up, it'll drive you crazy.”

Peach nodded, a determined look in her eye. “Yeah, I know,” she said, wiping away the tears that were now dried on her face. “It's just...I'm scared. I'm scared of his response. What if he doesn't feel the same way? Then what?”

Wanda shrugged, her voice gentle yet firm. “Then you'll have to accept it, no matter how much it hurts. But at least you'll have tried. And who knows, he might surprise you. But you won't know until you talk to him, right?”

Peach nodded, taking a deep breath. “You're right,” she said, her voice a little steadier now. “I need to talk to him. I need to know how he feels, and if he doesn't feel the same, then at least I've tried, like you said. It's not going to be easy though.

Bucky couldn't sleep. The guilt about not standing up for Peach was like a weight on his chest, pressing down harder with every passing minute. He kept picturing her face, the hurt in her eyes, how she must be feeling right now.

His parents' words echoed in his head too, their disapproval of Peach, their insistence that he needed someone ‘better’. But he knew he didn't want anyone else. He only wanted Peach.

Peach tossed and turned in Wanda's guest bed, her thoughts swirling in a mixture of anger and frustration. Everywhere she looked, she saw Bucky's face. His wide grin, his bright eyes, the way his face lit up when he saw her. And that thought only led back to his parents.

She muttered curses under her breath, directing all her anger and frustration at them. How they had ruined everything. How they had come between her and Bucky.

Bucky lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkened room. His mind was racing, replaying the events of the day. The almost-kiss with Peach replayed in his mind over and over, a vivid memory that sent his heart racing.

The memory of their almost kiss filled her thoughts, adding to her frustration. They had been so close to something more, something real. But his parents had come barging in, shattering the moment and leaving her feeling shattered too.

“Those assholes!!!!” she muttered, punching her pillow in anger. Why did they have to ruin everything?”

Wanda's voice suddenly rang out from the other room, startling Peach from her thoughts. “Go to sleep, Peach!” she called out firmly.

Peach groaned in response, burying her head under the pillow. Easier said than done, she thought. How was she supposed to sleep when her mind was racing like this?

Bucky kept wondering what would have happened, if he had just gone with his instincts and kissed her. Would she have accepted it? Would things have developed differently between them?

As Peach stared at the ceiling, she couldn't help but think about what the night could have been like. Bucky and her, chatting about everything and nothing. Laughing, smiling, their bodies close together. They were supposed to talk about what came next, after the annulment. Was this just going to be a one-time thing? Were they going to continue seeing each other after this?

The questions swirled in her head, each potential answer filling her with equal parts excitement and uncertainty.

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking, how they were supposed to spent the night together, as husband and wife before the big day tomorrow.

Peach gritted her teeth, her anger flaring up again as she once again thought about Bucky's parents. “Those god-damn parents of his!” she muttered, punching her pillow again. “If they hadn't ruined everything, Bucky and I would be together right now. We'd be planning for our future.”

Wanda, shouted again from her room, “Yeah maybe he would have put a baby in you! For love of god go to sleep and murder his parents in your dream!”

Peach blushed furiously, her mind immediately going to places it shouldn't. But as the thought of Bucky putting a baby in her filled her mind, she realized Wanda had a point. Maybe things could have gone further tonight, if it weren't for his parents.

Her blush deepening, she yelled back at Wanda, “Not helping! And yes, I will murder them in my dream!”

Part 11 - Part 13

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@emerald-writes @caplanbuckybarnes

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans @gracescor3

@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha @sebastians-love @saranghaey @greatmistakes @baw1066

@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt

@unaxv @pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss

[the-offside-rule]

Marc Guiu (Chelsea) - i like the way you kiss me pt.2

Requested: yes

Warnings: none (idk who owns this gif, plz let me know if you know x)

Marc Guiu - i like the way you kiss me pt.1

Y/n stood in her brother’s tiny London flat, the late afternoon sun streaming through the window, casting warm light over the scattered shopping bags around her. She was supposed to be enjoying her visit, but instead, she was knee-deep in organizing her younger brother’s things while he attended his first class at university. She sighed, struggling to reach for a box of cereal she had decided to put on the top shelf. Stretching on her tiptoes, she nearly toppled over, but just as she regained her balance, a sudden knock at the door made her jump.

Frowning, she set down the cereal and walked cautiously to the door. As she opened it, her heart dropped. There stood Marc who she hadn't seen since their argument that had left her breathless, and not just from their heated words. “Y/n.” He said, his voice low, eyes searching hers. “Marc.” She replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Both of them froze, memories crashing over them like waves. “Is your brother here?” He asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

“No, he’s at class.” She said quickly, instinctively moving to close the door. “Wait.” He stopped the door with his hand, his expression earnest. “Can I come in?” Caught off guard, Y/n hesitated before nodding and stepping aside, allowing him to enter. The tension in the room thickened as he stepped over the threshold. He watched as she returned to her task, grabbing another item to place on the shelf. She stretched again, reaching for a canister of tea, but it slipped from her fingers, tumbling toward the floor.

“Let me help.” Marc offered, stepping closer. She felt his presence behind her, warmth radiating off him as he moved in to lift the canister effortlessly, placing it on the shelf with ease. As he held onto her hips for support, a familiar spark surged between them. Y/n’s cheeks flushed, heat spreading through her as his breath brushed against her cheek. She dared not turn around, her breath hitching as they lingered in the space between them, the air charged with unspoken words. Then, without warning, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her neck. A shiver ran down her spine, and she melted against him, memories of their first kiss flooding back; the hazy lights of the nightclub, the rush of adrenaline, and the feeling that had lingered long after he left.

But reality crashed back, and she pulled away, breaking the spell. “What are you doing here, Marc?” She asked, her voice steadier than she felt. “I was looking for your brother.” He replied, watching her intently. “But now that you’re here, I think we need to...catch up.” He said, disguising what he really meant; to talk about all those months ago. “I don’t want to catch up.” Y/n insisted, crossing her arms defensively. He stepped closer, determination in his eyes. “But I do. I don’t want to forget it. It meant something, didn’t it?”

“It was just a mistake. You were my brother’s friend!” She argued, the warmth between them replaced by the coldness of reality. Marc shook his head, frustration seeping into his voice. “We’ve both grown up since then. None of that matters anymore.”

“Doesn’t it?” Y/n challenged, her heart racing with conflicting emotions. Marc sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, how about this? If you agree to go on a date with me, I promise to forget about everything else.” Y/n hesitated, the idea both thrilling and terrifying. Finally, she nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But just one date.” A smile broke out on his face, lighting up the room. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Wait, what?” She exclaimed, caught off guard by the sudden decisiveness in his tone. Marc chuckled, stepping back toward the door. “Just get ready. We have a lot to catch up on.”

And with that, he left, leaving Y/n standing in the middle of the room, heart pounding and mind racing. The excitement of the upcoming date mingled with the worry of where this would lead, but one thing was certain; she had never felt more alive.

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | no point crying over spilled beer... pt. 2

Summary: Now we need a drabble about him having wet dreams featuring what he saw, and what he pictured under his jacket. - @thezombieprostitute

Warnings: My first-ever attempt at writing anything close to smut. It is not good.

Word Count: 924

Series Masterlist

Tags: @winterslove1917 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @thezombieprostitute | @buckys0whore

Sprawled out on his worn-out couch, he had fallen asleep still wearing his jeans and boots, too tired to get undressed after getting home. His mind had been drifting and replaying the events of the night all evening. 

The events of the bar replayed again in his mind, feeling more vivid than ever. He saw you standing there, soaked and embarrassed. Your shirt was clinging to your skin. Stepping forward, he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around you, just like he had earlier in the night. It lingered longer, the details sharper this time round. 

Excusing yourself, you hurried into the bathroom just as you had previously. But now, as Bucky stood waiting, it intensified. The once bustling bar was now empty and quiet. The realization that you were wearing nothing underneath his jacket returned as you emerged from the bathroom. His heart raced, even in his sleep. The flicker of vulnerability in your eyes surged his protective instincts. 

You walked up to him, closer than you had before. The scent of leather mixed with vanilla-laced his senses. Looking up at him, your eyes were soft and full of gratitude, and you whispered, “Thank you, Bucky.”

Nodding, he felt a rush of emotions he had never let himself acknowledge before. Reaching out, he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You’re safe with me,” he reassured, not only you but himself as his voice remained steady. 

His chest tightened when you smiled, a warm genuine smile. You leaned in, resting your head against his chest, and for a moment, you stood there wrapped in each other’s presence. The world around you began to fade, leaving the two of you in a bubble of safety and comfort. 

Your hand began to trail down his arm, a shiver rushing through him. Looking up at him once more, your eyes shimmered with a mix of gratitude and something deeper. He watched as your fingers played with the zipper of his jacket, teasing it open slightly. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of your body closer to him. 

He moved his hand to your waist, pulling you closer, and your body almost touched. A silent tension began to build between you. Your fingers continued to toy with the zipper, slowly pulling it down enough to reveal a hint of skin to him. Darkened, his eyes mixed with a desire as his grip tightened slightly. 

“I feel safe with you, Bucky,” you whispered, barely audible. 

With the bar empty, Bucky surprised you by hoisting you up onto the bar counter, a sweet giggle escaped your lips. As you sat there, looking down at him with a slight shyness, he stepped forward. His hands were placed on either side of you on the bar, your faces inches apart. The feeling of your breath on his skin.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, eyes locking onto his. “Yeah, it’s okay,” you said, your voice steadier than ever.

Gripping your legs, Bucky pulled you closer, your lips almost touching: spreading your thighs slightly as he stepped between your legs. His hand returned to your waist as he leaned in. The kiss was slow and tender, filled will unspoke emotion. His other hand came up to cradle your face, deepening the kiss as your arms wrapped around his neck.

The kiss intensified, your legs beginning to wrap around his waist, trying to pull him closer. He responded by pressing his body against yours as his hands began to roam gently, exploring the curve of your back. 

Pulling back slightly, Bucky’s eyes were dark with desire and a slight mix of concern. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice husky. 

Your eyes met his with an unwavering trust, and you nodded. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice had never been filled with such certainty. 

His lips found yours again, more passionately this time. His hands slid under the jacket, feeling your bare skin. You gasped softly, your nails grazing the skin on his neck as you held onto him. You became lost in each other. 

Your back arched at his touch, he trailed kisses down your neck as soft moans left your lips. Every touch, every kiss amplified the electricity between you two. 

Leaning back on the bar, you pulled Bucky with you. He effortlessly joined you on the bar, his body hovered over you. “I want this,” you whispered. 

He could feel you responding to his touch as his jacket fell open, revealing your bare skin. He couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of your body and vulnerable look beneath him. 

Murmuring your name, his hand moved up your thigh, pressing kisses to the sensitive spot below your ear. As the intimacy deepened, your bodies moved in sync. Finding the waistband of his jeans, your fingers deftly undone the button and slid the zipper down. Your hand slipped inside to grasp him as he groaned against your skin. 

Bucky’s other hand slid higher, coming up to cup your breasts and brushing his thumb over them. You moaned softly, arching into his touch. 

Your movements became urgent, the heat building an almost unbearable intensity. And, as your moans filled the empty bar, he craved more. 

As the dream began to fade, his mind tried to hold onto the feeling of closeness. His eyes fluttered open as the soft light of the morning sun filled the room. He lay there for another moment, a smile played on his lips as the dream lingered in his thoughts.

[green-eyedfirework]

“We’re in need of your services,” Slade said, and Dick stiffened.  Everyone wanted a magic user at their beck and call.  Dick knew it.  Letting him go had been—a mistake, a misstep, Dick had gotten free, the village would’ve protected him but he’d been stupid enough to come back here—“We will, of course, pay for your services.”  Slade’s eye flicked over him, and he added, “If you choose to accept.”

Oh, more games.  Delightful.  Dick drew himself up, as haughty as he could manage while trying not to tremble, “And if I don’t choose to accept?”  His grip spasmed on his knife.

Slade’s gaze was drawn to it, and Dick’s breath caught in his throat.  “If I wanted to keep you, little bird,” Slade said, low and heavy, “All your magic tricks wouldn’t stop me.”  He was right.  He was right, and he was stepping closer, and Dick wasn’t unarmed, wasn’t powerless, but Slade fought with the strength of his whole pack, and one man couldn’t stand against it.

Slade stopped right in front of him.  Dick waited for the hand on his shoulder, the blow sending him to his knees, the fingers gripping his jaw.  But Slade didn’t touch him.

“Birds don’t belong in cages,” Slade said simply.  Dick stared up at him, heart still stuck in his throat.  “If you choose not to accept, I turn around and leave.  No catch.”

Dick took a shallow breath, and stumbled back a couple of steps, not willing to be so close to Slade.  The alpha didn’t follow him, merely stared at him, silent.  Waiting.

Dick’s voice was hoarse.  “What services?”  And could he truly afford to deny Slade?

“One of my pack has been injured.  Fatal if left untreated,” Slade’s gaze was heavy, but not suffocating, “I was hoping you could help.”

Healer.  Slade wanted a healer.  Dick took a shaky breath, and tried not to sink down in relief.

“I can see what I can do,” Dick replied, steadier, because he healed anyone who asked for it, tried to help them to the best of his ability.  Slade backed off, letting him collect the borage by knotting up the cloth, and grabbing his bag as well.

Slade set off towards the northeast, and Dick followed him, careful not to get too close.  Staring at the alpha’s simple, sturdy clothing, another thought jumped into his head.  “Wait, what will you pay me in?  Coin?”  Werewolves didn’t usually do business with humans, not unless they were bartering, and Dick couldn’t imagine they carted around money.

Slade turned to tilt his face towards him.  “If you’d like,” he said casually, before dragging his gaze up and down to give Dick a very obvious once-over.  “I’m open to alternative methods of payment as well.”

Dick nearly tripped over a root, his heart stuttering a beat as his cheeks began to burn.  Slade’s smile turned more wolfish, and Dick willed his expression to stay blank.

“Coin is fine,” he said, forcing his words level.  Slade made a noncommittal sound, and Dick refused to look at Slade’s outline, the easy definition of muscles, the effortless way Slade had carried him those few weeks ago, that smirk—“Tell me about my patient,” Dick said, taking a deep breath and settling in his role, “What happened to them?”

~#~

Dick managed to walk-stumble-hobble out of the tent on his own power, though the world was just a little too bright and painful.  The cuts he’d cleaned easily, but the sickness was a curse, and breaking it took more magic than he’d liked.

He just—he needed a moment to breathe.  Probably sit down as well, but leaning against the tree was working fine for now as he sucked in deep breaths, shivering against the painful sensation of being laid bare, like his skin had been peeled off to let magic seep back into him.

It took him more blinks than it should’ve to recognize that the outline in front of him was a person, to register the eye patch, and to automatically straighten in the presence of the alpha.

Unfortunately, that was a bad idea.

The world tilted alarmingly around him, and Dick gasped as his view of Slade turned to a view of leaves and dirt, bracing himself for a painful and humiliating collision with the ground.

He didn’t hit the ground though, instead caught and pulled up, against something that ran hot.

“You sure you want payment in coin, little bird?” a low voice rumbled against his cheek, “That’s thrice you’ve fainted into my arms, anyone would start getting ideas.”

Dick groaned and tilted his head enough to bury it against Slade’s shirt.  “Fuck you,” he said, muffled.

“You’ve got the general concept down,” Slade murmured, “But you’ll be the one on your knees, little bird.”

The only worthwhile side effect of magical exhaustion was apparently he was too tired to flush.  Not too tired to imagine it though, and Dick had to ruthlessly kill that train of thought before it led into directions he was not prepared for right now.

Slade chuckled, catching the skip in his heartbeat, and the sound vibrated through Dick.  “Sleep first,” he said, and Dick sank deeper into the waiting exhaustion with the swaying of Slade’s gait.

There were sounds around him, low conversations, the rumble of Slade’s voice, and Dick just sank deeper and deeper and deeper, letting go, trusting that he was safe.

[luvzshy]

Idk what type of fic this could be but famous athlete reader with Billie ?🙃

Just breathe

You sit in the dressing room, the air thick with tension. The sound of the crowd outside pulses like a heartbeat, growing louder with each passing second. Your heart races in your chest, and no matter how many deep breaths you take, the anxiety settles like a heavy weight in your stomach.

You glance at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your gear one last time, but the nerves still swirl within you. It’s the championship game, and you’re about to step into the spotlight in front of thousands. You want to be strong, to show everyone the athlete you’ve worked so hard to become, but the fear of failure grips you tightly.

Just then, there’s a soft knock on the door, and it swings open to reveal Billie. She steps inside, her presence instantly bringing a sense of calm. The way her hair falls effortlessly around her shoulders and the way her eyes light up when she sees you makes your heart flutter.

“Hey, superstar,” she says softly, closing the door behind her. “I came to check on you.”

You manage a small smile, though it feels shaky. “I’m just… nervous,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Billie walks over and sits beside you on the bench, her shoulder brushing against yours. “That’s totally normal. I get nervous before every show,” she replies, her voice soothing. “But you’re ready for this. You’ve worked so hard.”

You nod, but the anxious thoughts keep creeping in. “What if I mess up? What if I let everyone down?”

Billie turns to face you, her gaze steady and reassuring. “You won’t. You’re incredible, and you’ve already proven that to everyone. Just think about why you started playing in the first place. This is your moment to shine, not just for the crowd, but for yourself.”

Her words resonate with you, but it’s still hard to shake the jitters. “It’s just… everything feels so big right now,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Billie takes your hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m right here with you. You’re not alone in this. Just focus on the game, on what you love. And if it gets overwhelming, just look for me in the crowd. I’ll be cheering the loudest.”

You look into her eyes, feeling a spark of courage igniting inside you. “You really think I can do this?”

“I know you can,” she insists, her confidence washing over you like a warm blanket. “You’ve faced challenges before, and you’ve come out stronger every time. Trust yourself.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the heaviness begin to lift just a little. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“Good,” she says with a smile. “Now, let’s do a little breathing exercise together.” She takes a deep breath, raising her arms, and you follow suit, mimicking her movements. Inhale… hold… exhale. With each breath, you can feel the tension start to release.

After a few cycles, you start to feel lighter. “Thanks, Billie. I really needed this,” you say, your voice steadier now.

Billie grins, her eyes sparkling. “Anytime. You’ve got this, and I’ll be right there, watching you crush it.”

With her encouragement resonating in your mind, you feel more prepared to face the crowd. The sound of the announcer calls you back to reality.

“Alright, it’s almost time,” Billie says, standing up and pulling you into a warm embrace. “Go out there and show them what you’re made of.”

You pull back, feeling a newfound determination. “Thanks for being my anchor.”

“Always,” she replies, a soft smile gracing her lips. “Now, go get ‘em, baby.”

With that, you walk towards the door, a sense of purpose filling you. As you step out into the arena, you can feel the cheers washing over you, but this time, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. You take a moment to scan the crowd, and there she is—Billie, cheering loudly, holding a sign that says, “You’ve got this!”

With one last breath, you step onto the court, ready to embrace the moment, knowing you have the support of the one person who believes in you the most.

[sandinthemachine]

König x Ghost x Reader Headcanons (part 2!)

Part 1

Warnings: these are copied over from my 2am phone notes so let's say nsfw to be safe and also sleep deprived brain took the wheel here, I think a lot of these are just very mushy actually but also highly unedited I'll fix that later

-

Body Things

Simon has those little dimples on his lower back I just know it

König has a beauty mark above his left hip. You love kissing it, especially before going down on him, and Simon loves brushing his thumb over it when they're spooning or he's holding König's hips.

Simon has stretch marks. They flow over the edge of his chest into his arms and shoulders. There are a few on his legs and abdomen, too, and some across his ass. When he first joined the military he found the training and workouts to be exactly the outlet he needed, and he threw himself into them hard. He grew fast, and his body remembers that. He's not one for looking in the mirror much, but once you caught him after a shower drying himself off with a towel and his fingers lingered over the stripes a second longer than they did anywhere else. Now you take a moment to kiss them whenever you can. You could be lingering in bed placing gentle pecks along them or in the shower letting your lips linger there, feeling him relax under you.

König noticed you paying extra attention to Simon's stretch marks and began running his fingers over them absentmindedly whenever he holds Simon, sometimes even brushing his hands over where he knows they are when they sit together fully clothed. Simon knows you both pay special attention to them now, and although he might not ever be able to tell either of you, he feels his heart pumping just a little lighter and steadier in his chest whenever one of you does.

When König really grins it's lopsided, one side curling up much more than the other. You love it, and you love hearing the full-on maniacal belly-laugh that usually accompanies it. Simon's dry humor gets him the most, and once he's laughing he almost always gets you all going along with him.

König has a slightly crooked nose. He's not as subtle about his insecurities as Simon is, so you'll catch him staring at his reflection sometimes in a window or a mirror, just completely out of it. You like to sit and talk to him, check in on how he's doing and remind him how much you love all the things he hates. Simon is much less verbose about it. He'll walk right up and catch König's gaze, sometimes sliding his arm between him and whatever surface he's staring at. He then likes to smooth his hand or fingers over the mark or body part in question, punctuating the unspoken statement with a lingering kiss over it. Sometimes he'll just throw König over his shoulder and carry him away from the mirror, usually getting him to laugh a bit while he does.

Simon loves König's waist and neck. He also likes your shoulders and how nicely they fit into his hands when he's pulling you onto him. He likes how when he massages them for you your head lolls back into him and your body ragdolls.

König is a thigh man through and through, worshiping them on both of you. However, he's also very fond of Simon's ass. (Who wouldn't be)

Miscellaneous

Simon doesn't really openly preen at praise like König does but he still enjoys it even if he keeps his reactions to himself

One time while König was topping Simon he reached down and intertwined their hands and it was so unexpected Simon short-circuited on the inside not knowing how to react, but König thought he did something wrong because Simon just went still, processing it. He was able to convince König he was fine but hasn't worked up the courage to ask him to do it again yet.

When König is frustrated over something he tends to pace a lot, curling himself very deeply into his own head until he is barely aware of his surroundings. If you move a piece of furniture he'll probably run into it because he's not really seeing anything around him when he's like this. Simon tends to just step in front of him so he either stops or runs into him, and then takes him to go spar or work out and get all the nervous energy out. After he's calmed down and showered a bit, Simon is happy to hold him and listen if he wants to rant, but there's no pressure to speak. Simon isn't a man who feels the need to fill silence.

When you wake up from a nightmare König is really good at talking you down from it, settling you back into bed and bringing your breathing back down. Sometimes you're too worked up though and you can't hear him, your eyes fixated on the shadows that seem to flash around the corners, coming at you like bullets and bodies that keep you jerking and writhing even when you wake up.

Simon steps in for these moments, placing himself in front of you and holding your face a bit before maneuvering you to lay back into König's arms, letting your back rest against his chest. Simon then lays down in front of you, letting the comforting weight of his head and shoulders fall onto your lap and stomach as his eyes scan the room, keeping watch for you.

When the three of you are first getting used to sleeping together König always falls asleep with his limbs too tight around you both, pulling everything in close so he subconsciously knows he won't lose it while he's asleep.

Simon, on the other hand, tends to stay awake, listening for any sounds out of the ordinary and watching over you both.

Simon learns that when König has a bad dream he tends to twitch, his hands spasming, and that if Simon runs his own palms up and down König's arms he'll often settle again.

He learns your bad dreams come in the form of soft little sounds he can soothe by holding your face and whispering to you. He tells you all his softest secrets then, how he'll make sure you and König sleep perfectly right here where nothing can ever get through him to you. Some of his words filter into your dreams, but you have no way of knowing that's where they came from. König was awake to listen one night, the night Simon whispered to you how terrified he is of how much he cares for you both before letting a heavy silence fall over the room. König held him much tighter the next morning. He would never tell Simon why.

Simon sees how openly soft you and König are to each other early on and tries to learn from that, but he sometimes wonders what you both see in him as he fumbles through learning to show affection.

When König looks at you and sees you smile he tends to give in to a lot of the smaller thoughts in his head like kissing you, tickling you, or scooping you up. Simon's instinct is to tamp those thoughts down. With König it's even harder, Simon has a lot to work through and he's trying really hard, and König is a little nervous too, not knowing what Simon likes and not wanting to scare him away or make him shut down completely. Simon picks up on that discomfort and internalizes some of it at first even if he doesn't mean to.

Simon watches you two pepper each other with kisses and slowly starts to do that. He'll kiss you on top of your head and linger, smelling your shampoo instead of immediately pulling away. He'll kiss the back of König's hand and run his thumb along the veins there, feeling him start to soften. As Simon relaxes into the relationship he likes kissing whatever skin is available to him, sometimes pulling clothing aside to reveal a sliver of skin he can kiss and touch.

When you two start doing it to him this brooding old soldier really starts to melt and let himself enjoy them. He could be sitting next to König while he reads and he'll lift his hand from where it wraps around König's thigh, hovering in front of König's mouth until he gets the hint and kisses it. Once König gave in to an intrusive thought and sucked Simon's fingers into his mouth instead, poor man inhaled so fast he nearly burst a lung and it made the funniest noise. But later when Simon had König's legs pinned to his chest as he pressed into him, Simon shoved his fingers into König's mouth and groaned as he sucked them.

With you Simon tends to randomly turn and rest his chin on the crown of your head hoping you'll settle into him and start stroking his biceps or forearms, maybe even turn and give his chest a kiss.

König will beg for stuff like that too but he's much more up front with it, usually making some sound deep in his throat to get your attention, like a little rumble of frustration if he's staring at one of you and you're not getting the so very obvious hint that he wants a kiss.

König will drape himself over your laps like a cat.

Simon will glare at him but as soon as König grins he softens so quickly, that man will give this massive gremlin whatever he wants because of that smile

You tease Simon that he spoils König too much and he's becoming a brat (*wink wink*) but he ignores you you're gonna have to deal with that one yourself

König knows you won't tolerate it like Simon will so he uses that to his advantage when he wants to be dominated. Maybe you'll even get out that tasseled whip he loves to feel dragging over his back between lashes on his ass.

Often you help prep them for each other using the smaller strap-ons you own, and then you love holding their faces and telling them how good they're doing when they take it for real.

They are both chronic starers. When you guys get back from missions you make a point of washing each other to help relax and König has the habit of just laying his cheek on the side of the tub and watching you two.

Simon thinks he's more subtle about his staring. He's not. Although his grin is more subdued and tends to be just his lips curling up at the corners a bit.

-

Have another shitty meme to characterize my current state