#introduce her to the people in the office

[runariya]

Beyond Probability JJK (m.)

summary: Matching with an idol? Unlikely. But with a 99% compatibility? Beyond probability. pairing: idol!Jungkook x f!reader genre: idolvers, S2L, fluff, smut rating: 18+, MDNI! warnings: fluff, fluff, a bit of self doubt, fluff, fluff, explicit sexual content, shower sex, unprotected sex, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 4k

a/n: It’s a rly cute and short oneshot, light and mainly fluff, nothing too deep, no big words etc this time. Just had to get it out of my system since the idea’s been on my mind for months now (unedited bc I fell ill halfway through writing it 🤒)

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

Your biological clock’s ticking—has been for some years now—and even though you’re only now nearing 30, you’re painfully aware that the life you pictured as a kid might never come true.

It’s not like you’re unstable in who you are or what you’re doing. You’re fairly successful at your job, you’ve got your own place, and you’re more social than most people these days. Still, you’re only what most would call average-looking, and even though you’ve got a good career, you’re too soft to keep it up forever. You picture yourself more as a loving wife and mother than a corporate boss bitch climbing the ladder of success.

That’s also why your dating life has been rocky all along. Men see what you put out there, but they don’t like who you really are or what you want from life, which has left you single for most of it.

So, when a new project starts—after the K-pop industry finally acknowledges that idols need partnerships and a life of their own, and fans finally understand that these people are human too, that they deserve to experience love and happiness like everyone else—you decide to take your chances too.

Funnily enough, all the labels have teamed up, hiring not only the best scientists and psychologists from Korea but from around the world to create a program that can find ideal matches for their idols. Sure, science shouldn’t determine who you fall in love with, but… what if it could?

After being pre-selected—just to confirm you’re not some crazed fan—you’ve spent over two weeks going through tests. Recorded interviews, personality assessments, even physical evaluations… now you’re staring at your company’s computer screen, listening to Dr. Song explain the results through the phone. 

“Ninety-nine percent?”

“Yes. The chances of such a high compatibility score are next to impossible. We see it as a perfect match and would like to introduce you to your match.”

“Sure, of course.” Even though your voice is steady, you can feel your nerves flaring up like never before.

“Is tomorrow at 8 p.m. alright for you?”

“Yes, that works for me.”

“Perfect, we’ll see you then.”

Well, joke’s on you, you didn’t expect this outcome. 

Meeting an idol feels surreal, and the closer you get to 8 p.m. the next day, the more you can feel the anxiety and doubts inside you rising. Every last detail in Dr. Song’s calm, clinical rundown replays in your mind, the ninety-nine percent match, the endless rounds of testing, the surreal realisation that, somehow, all those numbers and algorithms miraculously spat out a name next to yours. 

You want to trust that there’s a reason for this, that somehow science isn’t just working with chance, but the tension of actually meeting someone this special is so overwhelming you barely notice yourself entering the lab building until you’re standing outside Dr. Song’s office.

“Right on time,” she chirps, giving you an approving nod. She seems to sense your nerves, and as she leads you down a hallway you’ve never been before, she gives you a reassuring smile. “I know this is all a lot. But he’s likely feeling the same way. The tests told us that he’s, well, quite like you.”

Her words would make you laugh in any other situation, though disbelief and a strange kind of comfort floods through you still. Like you. An idol, standing here in a lab somewhere to meet some random stranger, feeling just as out of place as you. You’re not sure of that but still like to think it must be true. 

You don’t have time to process it fully before you’re led into a quiet room with yellowish walls so plain they almost blur in the corners of your vision, a low, comfortable couch and a couple of chairs standing there and none of the lab equipment that surrounded you in the testing rooms all those weeks ago. 

And then you spot him, sitting on the couch, alone. He stands the second you walk in, hands half in his pockets, a slight, almost unsure smile grazing his lips as he glances down at you. He’s got that casual look about him, the same dark eyes you’ve seen a hundred times on a screen that somehow feel warmer and more human here. 

He looks not quite better than he does on screen, but not worse either. Somehow, he’s realer, if that’s a word—close enough that you can see the little flecks of colour in his irises, the slight tension in his posture, the faintest trace of nerves hiding under his composure.

“Hi.” Jungkook’s voice is lower, softer than you expect from an idol. “Nice to meet you, I’m Jungkook.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m ___.” There’s a pause, and you can tell he’s just as unsure what to do with the space between you two as you are. The click of the door makes you turn around briefly, only to realise Dr. Song has left you both alone. “This is, um, weird, right?”

He nods, a quick, breathy laugh breaking through. “Very. I mean, this isn’t exactly a ‘normal’ kind of meeting, right?”

His words are awkward but disarming, and suddenly, you’re aware of all the tiny, meticulous details of him that somehow make him feel more relatable than his polished, on-screen persona. The way his hand keeps moving to rub against his thigh or abs, his tongue playing with his lips and piercing ever so slightly—everything about him is familiar but also somehow close enough to feel completely new.

“I don’t think I was ready for this,” you admit. You aren’t really talking to him but more like letting your own thoughts slip out in the safest way possible, like saying it makes it feel less absurd.

“Honestly, same.” He laughs, and you think there’s a light flutter in your chest now. “I kept thinking about this whole ninety-nine percent thing. Like… how does that even work? Isn’t it supposed to feel, I don’t know, obvious? Like you know the moment you see someone?”

You nod, understanding exactly what he means, and somehow you move on autopilot, walking towards him and sitting down on that couch with him beside you. It feels like you should both somehow know, like there’s a sign or an instant connection, something that would make all of this feel simple, easy. But it’s just the two of you in a quiet room, barely knowing each other, held together by nothing but a number on a report.

“Yeah, that’s so wild. I didn’t think I’d have a match, this close to a hundred even less. Might be a glitch if our score is this high.”

Jungkook nods with sparkling eyes, seemingly relieved by your honesty and humour. “Yeah, I get that. I kept thinking about it too. Wondering if maybe the tests were wrong, or maybe I was just…thinking too much.” He lets out a sigh, his gaze meeting yours for a long, meaningful second. “But I think maybe this is about finding out, right? Not having it all make sense right away.”

“Hm, makes sense.” You giggle, because what else can you do in the presence of him.

The two of you sit there in a momentary silence, as if testing each other, feeling out the small boundaries that keep you both distant.

“So, what did the report tell you about me?” You ask the question half-jokingly, trying to break the quiet, but also curious. You want to know what he knows, how much of this supposed ninety-nine percent compatibility is actually something that either of you feel. 

He lets out a silent breath, looking down as if slightly embarrassed. “Honestly, not as much as you’d think. They told me you were kind of… soft-spoken but resilient? And that you have a job that’s, uh, stable and…” He trails off, the tips of his ears slightly pink, like he’s embarrassed to keep going.

“And?” You can’t help but push further—not maliciously, just way too curious and playful for your own good. Jungkook’s expression shifts from embarrassed to surprised, and then to a look that’s just as playful.

“And that we’re, apparently, very much sexually compatible.”

Really, you should be the one feeling embarrassed or shy now, but you can’t help the laugh that slips out. You know exactly what he’s hinting at—your report clearly showed the same.

“Well, it might be not wrong. And they told me…” You pause, realising that you barely remember the details in the face of the reality in front of you but alas. “They said you’d be a good match because, I think, there was something about humour?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Humour? Never heard of it.” And it makes you laugh all over again. “I feel like they just told us things we’d want to hear, to make it seem easier and normal.”

His words hit close to home, but they’re strangely comforting in the way he says them. You reckon, he’s just as bewildered by this as you are, maybe even more so. And somehow, in the middle of all the awkwardness, you find yourself genuinely smiling at him, naturally gravitating towards him, finding that there’s a softness and reassurance in his gaze, a gentleness that cuts through your nerves like a knife through melted butter in the sun. 

You start talking more freely after that, exchanging stories that are too mundane to make sense in any real context but feel right here. You tell him about your last trip to the beach, how you got sunburned and spent the whole evening sitting on your balcony, nursing it with iced water and aloe, wishing for a helping hand that you didn’t have. He laughs, nodding along as if he can picture it exactly and tells you about how he tried to make pasta he ate in Italy for the first time a few months back and ended up burning the whole batch, because no one was by his side, so badly his kitchen smelled like smoke for days.

The more you talk, the more you notice the little things about him that aren’t so polished, aren’t so perfect, and make him feel more human and real than anyone you ever met. He has a way of listening, eyes intent on yours, like he’s trying to pick apart every word to understand it better. When he laughs, it’s with his whole face, even body, not the careful, composed look of an idol but a natural, carefree laugh that makes you feel like maybe he’s as relieved as you are to be here, to have someone he doesn’t have to impress. 

At some point, you both lapse into a comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts but somehow still connected. The tension from earlier has faded away, replaced by a soothing aura you know you don’t want to miss for a day in your life.

Eventually, Jungkook glances over at you, his eyes sucking you in without much resistance. “I kept thinking this would feel forced, you know? Like we’d be sitting here, struggling to find anything in common.” He leans back, drapes his arm around the back of where you’re sitting, glancing up at the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “But… it doesn’t feel that way. You feel… I don’t know, right?”

The slight flutter in your chest has now swelled into a full-blown hurricane, and you’re not sure if it’s that ninety-nine percent compatibility causing it. But you don’t let yourself think too much—not when you’ve both been inching closer with each word, not when you take a chance and lean in, resting your head against his side. Especially not when his arm settles directly over your shoulder, pulling you a little closer, his other hand finding yours, fingers intertwining just to see how it feels.

“Yeah, it feels right. I really like this.”

As you absently play with his fingers, breathing in his scent for the first time and deciding it’s like heaven, you let yourself trust science. Because this feels like exactly where you’re meant to be.

While the first meeting with Jungkook went better than you’d ever hoped, you’re painfully aware of your overthinking nature. Overthinking in a way that makes it painfully clear there are countless women out there who, on the surface, would seem a better visual match for him than you.

Overthinking to the point where you wonder why Jungkook would even need matchmaking when he could so easily choose a partner on his own. It’s also why staying focused at work isn’t exactly easy today, knowing that soon his label will be sending a car to pick you up for your next meeting with him.

You understand the precautions they’ve taken and completely agree it’s better to meet in a private, safe space rather than making headlines this early on. That’s why, as the tinted car arrives, you feel a bit more at ease than you have all day.

Soon enough, you’re driving down the path to the label’s underground garage, and while you fix your makeup real quick, the car comes to a stop. The driver nods and guides you towards the lift, where the lights are dim and everything has this quiet, professional atmosphere you’ve only seen on screen.

You try to take it all in, letting your thoughts settle just a bit more as you follow through to the hallways upstairs, past doors labelled with room numbers and studios, and then finally, you’re outside the door to Jungkook’s studio, right where you’re supposed to meet.

Your heart beats a little faster as you hear Jungkook’s familiar voice call out, “Come in,” and when you open the door, you find him leaning casually against the chair before his equipment with an easy smile that somehow manages to be both happy and slightly flirty. 

Again, Jungkook’s dressed just like uniquely him, with a few silver rings glinting on his fingers. And while you didn’t think he’d even get up to greet you, he steps forward and embraces you in hug so tight, it leaves you drowning in him. 

“Hey,” he greets with that disarming grin, eyes boring into you, taking in your formal work attire, as he gestures to the coffee set up besides his laptop. “Hope you don’t mind the casual vibe.”

You laugh a little, settling onto the free chair beside him, feeling a bit strange but somehow not. “I think it’s perfect. And to be honest, I don’t think I’d cope well with the whole five-star dining treatment and whatnot.”

He laughs, nodding in agreement, taking your purse from your hands and draping it casually over the back of his chair. The fact that he’s still so attentive, even though he’s clearly in his element here but completely relaxed, is rather fascinating and pulls you in even more.

Like the day before, talking with him comes easy, and while there’s nothing groundbreaking in your conversations, every word feels meaningful in the bigger picture.

Eventually, you feel yourself relaxing like you were at home by your own, getting comfortable enough to let out the thoughts that have been swimming in your head since last night. “I’ve thought a lot about how all of this could play out,” you admit, taking a sip of your coffee, trying to find the right words, though knowing there won’t be any wrong words when talking with Jungkook. “And honestly, I’m not really interested in taking things public if they did work out. I know that’s probably strange to say, but I’m not cut out for the spotlight.”

He tilts his head, watching you thoughtfully. “No, it’s not strange at all. I get it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you go on, “I just want something real. A partner who’s loyal, someone who’s there because we get each other, not because we’re some public ‘it’ couple, parading around every chance we get. Does that sound crazy?”

He shakes his head, while he swings from one side to the other.  “Not at all. That actually sounds perfect to me.” There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes you feel, for the first time, like there’s some truth to your report. “The whole ‘idol’ thing is just a job. It’s not who I am, not at the core. And having someone who sees it that way, is what I want too.”

It elates you to know that you could have something like this, with him,  someone you could genuinely share your life with.

Then, in a thoughtful voice, he asks, “What do you want for the future? I mean, outside all of this.” 

You take a breath, feeling a little nervous but wanting to be honest. It’s not like it’s news to him, seeing that this information’s written in the report he was handed. “I want something traditional. A home, a family, maybe staying home with kids, having that steady, grounded life. It sounds simple, I know, but it’s what I’ve always pictured.” You look up at him, expecting maybe a hint of judgement, but instead, you find him nodding, his eyes lighting up like a candle in the night.

“I don’t think that sounds simple at all, but meaningful.”

A shy smile forms on your lips as you add, “Sometimes I feel like people don’t see that side of things anymore, you know? Like everyone’s so focused on careers and success and everything else… and I get that, I do, but I’ve always just wanted something steady. Something I can hold on to.”

His hand finds yours, his fingers like second nature intertwine with yours, and the gesture is so simple yet so heartwarming that you feel like squealing out of happiness. “That’s exactly what I want too.” It’s nothing new to you too, but him saying that, seeing the honesty in his eyes, is better than any data shown to you. “I want that sense of home.”

You feel yourself falling a little harder, a little faster, and maybe that scares you a bit. You’ve seen the kind of attention he gets, the kind of girls that throw themselves at him, and it’s hard not to let those doubts creep in. Especially now. “I know this probably sounds insecure,” you start awkwardly, glancing away, “I think, I don’t know, maybe I’m not the kind of person someone like you would go for. I mean, you could have anyone, and not just because you’re an idol.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. And while his mouth opens to say something, the pull against your hand surprises you as much as him settling you in his lab. “Hey, don’t think like that. I’m here because I want to be. And trust me, I’m not looking for ‘anyone’. I’m looking for someone who gets me. And that someone is you, no?”

The look in his eyes is so genuine, so unguarded, that it’s hard to keep your heart from doing all sorts of stunts. He’s not the polished idol right now; he’s just Jungkook, being flirty, being compassionate, being so him, sitting in a cosy studio with his tattoos, his piercings, his moles, his beautiful smile, his whole presence more comfortable and inviting than you could have imagined.

And as he sits there, looking at you like you’re the only person in the world, you realise that you definitely don’t have to doubt this. Maybe it’s okay to let yourself believe that he’s here because he wants to be, that he’s falling for you irrevocably just as you’re falling for him. 

“Sooo… that means?” You know you need to be brave now, because if this isn’t a dream, you’d never forgive yourself for not taking the leap.

“That means, if you want to, I’d love to have you as my girlfriend.”

“Isn’t it a bit rushed?” You don’t actually think so, but you still need to be sure.

“I’m all in if you are. I don’t want to waste any more time, and even though it’s just a report, I can feel there’s real truth behind it.”

Fast forward seven months, and you find yourself pressed against the shower wall like you do every night. But this time, it’s different—just hours ago, you made your first public appearance on a music show with Jungkook, just because you both felt ready, where he was not only nominated for Best Singer of the Year but won as well.

“Koo, right there, right there.”

It still amazes you how his cock seems to find your g-spot as soon as he enters you, though you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Yeah? Right there, hm? Or is it…” he trails off, shifting his hips ever so slightly, making you realise he’s actually hit the centre point of your g-spot now, his hard, unrelenting thrusts pushing you over the edge without warning.

“Oh my goooddd,” your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open against the cool shower wall, as your cunt keeps gripping him even though it’s already creaming around his cock.

“Good girl, keep going, love. Show me how many you can take tonight.”

There’s nothing you can do, not that you’d want to do anything other than let him rearrange your insides. Especially not when his tattooed hand finds its way from the back of your hair to your jaw, tilting your head to the side, giving you the perfect view of his upper body—rivulets of water cascading down his chiselled form, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed. 

He’s the epitome of perfection. Not just a ninety-nine percent but a hundred. 

His eyes, though hooded, bore into your soul as his hips pick up the pace. It’s this connection you share with him make being with him feel so special.

“Koo…”

“I know, love, just a bit more. Can you be a good girl?”

“Yes,” you moan, because hell, you can. “Yes, for you…ah, winning the trophy.”

Even though you shouldn’t feel his cock twitch with the pace he’s set, you do, realising instantly what he needs tonight.

“Best singer, Koo…fuck…best boyfriend, only fucking me when, hmm, the whole world wants a piece of you.”

“Only you. Always you, ___, love.” You think you catch him licking a drop of saliva from his lips as he stares down at where your bodies connect, sending another wave of arousal from your stretched-out hole.

“You’re so big.”

“Just for you, fuck, squeeze a bit more.”

It’s not that you did it on purpose, but when his hand shoots down to your clit, circling it just right, your body responds as though it’s never felt this good, soaking him even more and gripping him tight as a vice.

“Like that, love, like that.” Jungkook grunts and pants, holding you harder, tighter as his cock seems to swell even more, pumping frantically in sync with your impending second orgasm.

When Jungkook can’t hold back any longer, it’s all you need to let go too, the rush flowing through your veins just as fiercely as the love you feel for this man.

After some time, Jungkook pulls out, helping you straighten up and lean against his chest under the stream. His veiny hands trail down your body, washing away his release dripping out of you, as he plants kisses along the side of your face.

When he’s had enough, he, like always, turns you, brushing the wet strands of hair from your face. And as you do the same to him, captivated by how content and in love he looks, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world when, for the first time, Jungkook declares his feelings.

“I love you, till the day I die, ___.”

“I love you too, and beyond.”

Because this, because having Jungkook calling you his, is beyond probability.

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! ��� If you liked what you read, pls consider buying me a ☕️ Ko-fi.com/runariya 💕

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[viktorianity]

okay, i’ve been wanting to say something about this woman…

for awhile.

i know that a lot of people are liking her and find her cute, happy-go-lucky, and all that. but the scene where we’re introduced to her has made me feel a lot unsettled by her.

the sun shining behind her does not do anything to make me feel like “oh, i can trust her!” and i believe that’s the point.

there’s supposed to be this unease with the image above and the following moment where she holds out her hand to vi because there is a clash happening:

the sun being this natural source that provides for living beings vs. this manufactured oppressive force, where officers part of it killed vi’s parents, has someone like maddie trying to sell this idea that it’s great for someone to be an enforcer and be considered as “one of the good ones.”

the scene reminds me a lotttt of US military propaganda where they’ll constantly try to paint joining the army in a positive light and that its a cool, heroic act, completely glossing over the harm, death, and inhumane actions that the entity has done.

maddie reminds me of some sort of military recruiter that would’ve came up to me back when i was in high school, thinking that telling to me join was helpful for figuring out my future and would “set me on the right path.” meanwhile, they ignore/refuse to tell me how much of a negative impact it would have on my life and how it continues to devastate others across the globe.

[planetpedri]

Can you write hector fort x FC Barcelona intern reader where she's talking with her supervisor in the area the boys are training and Hector got interested in her, then she and the supervisor go talk w the boys and Hector start showing her his interest for her. (sorry for my bad english😭)

Only angel — Héctor Fort.

Pairing: Héctor Fort x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Héctor first saw you, he swore you looked just like an angel.

Word count: 980+

Disclaimer/s: fluff , reader is a sports photographer intern + the supervisor is made a up person (oc sort of) !

A/N: haven’t written for Héctor in a while so hi!! this was lame and bummy asf but whatever..

Walking through the quiet halls that lead around Ciutat Esportiva building, you take a peak into one of the open doors. Luckily for you, it held just the person you were searching for.

“María?” You call out, pressing a hand onto the wooden door and pushing it open further. “It’s me.”

The dark haired woman glances up from her desk, smiling at the sight of you. “Oh! Good! You found me, I was beginning to wonder wear you were.”

María was a friend of your aunts, so when she found out about your interest in sports and photography, she offered you an internship. It’d made your year, and today was your first official day.

“Yeah, I got a little… lost.” You chuckle, closing the door behind you. Finding a seat in front of her desk, you clasp your hands together. “Where do we start?”

María’s eyebrow lifts, amusement flashing across her face. “Eager, aren’t we?”

“Very.” You nod vigorously, “and a little nervous.”

Standing up, she grabs her camera and another, “this one’s for you.” She beckons for you to grab it, which you do with wide eyes.

“Oh wow.” You exhale, “this is.. thank you.”

“You’re welcome, now, let’s go meet the team, shall we?”

The walk up to the field was, well—it took a lot of breathing. The stairs had nearly winded you. Brushing a few pieces of hair from your face and straightening your shirt, you take a look around. Your eyes landed on a lot of different people.

It was hard not to be in awe seeing the players of your favorite team only feet away from you, live in action. María, beside you, watched you with a smile. “Impressed?”

“Very.” You laugh.

Twenty feet away from you stood Héctor Fort, his eyes trained on you curiously. Leaning to his left, he nudged Pau. “Who’s that?” He asks, pointing in your direction.

Pau followed his line of sight, shrugging when he didn’t recognize you. “No clue. But if she’s with María, i’m assuming family or maybe an assistant.” He glances at his friend, who was still staring. He smirks, “chill out, you don’t know how old she is.”

“Why would you say that?” Héctor gasps, swatting the back of Pau’s head. His friend laughs, jogging away from him.

Héctor’s eyes look back to you, his heart skipping a beat as you laughed at something María said. You looked like an angel with the sun shining down on you as your smile brightened.

When it came time for their water break, María leads you to the group. You followed her, nervously fidgeting with the straps that held her camera securely around her neck. “Boy’s!” The woman called out, waving to get their attention.

Hansi Flick, their coach, turned to face you first. He says something to the team, which you couldn’t hear, but it has their rowdiness turning into calm behavior.

“I’d like you to meet my new intern,” María introduces you, and in turn, the guys all say their ‘hello’s’. “She’ll be working alongside me and when i’m gone, she’ll take my place. Please be kind to her.”

Your lips had formed a pursed lipped smile while nerves wracked your body. It was awkward having so many eyes, much less all men’s eyes, on you.

Once that humiliation ritual was over, you found a seat on the sidelines where María suggested you sat while she ran back to her office to grab a few more supplies.

You snapped pictures here and there, not realizing you’d focus on one person in specific. Héctor Fort. He was your age, your friend’s favorite player, and he was cute—very photogenic.

You were clicking through the photos you’d taken, deleting the bad ones and smiling proudly at the good ones. You failed to notice when a shadow came over you, too enthralled in your camera.

“Hello?” A deep voice spoke above you, nearly scaring you. Nearly.

Snapping your head up, you come face to face with the man who belong to the picture you were just looking at. “Oh! Hey! Sorry, I didn’t notice you! Do you need something?”

Héctor shrugs, “just wanted to introduce myself. I’m—“

“Héctor.” You force a quick smile, “I know.”

A faint flush spreads across his cheeks. “Right. I suppose you would.” His eyes drift down to your camera, “is that me?”

Now it’s your turn to blush. “Uhm, yeah. I was taking individual pictures while I wait for María.” There’s a beat of silence, in which you realize he’s waiting to see it in full. “Oh! Here.” You take the strap off around your neck and diligently hand the camera to him.

Heart spreads across your hands when his fingers graze yours. He examines the picture, an impressed look passing over his expression. “Wow, this is.. really good.”

You laugh, “it’s really not that impressive. But, thank you anyways.” A sense of pride swells in your chest, his approval meaning more to you than he might have known.

“Could you send it to me?”

Blinking at him stupidly, you don’t catch onto the fact that he wanted you to send it to his number. “Sure! I can have María email it to you.”

Héctor suppressed a smirk, your obliviousness only made you all the cuter. “I meant send it to me, personally. As in, my number.”

Oh! Oh, right. Because he definitely wasn’t lowkey asking for your number.

“For sure, yeah. Like, me? Or, María..” You trail off. You sounded silly stumbling over your words so hard.

“After practice, find me. I’ll give you my number.” He smiles, “it was nice meeting you,” he says your name, and the way it rolled off his tongue so smoothly had your heartbeat stuttering.

“You too.” You force out, waving goodbye to him as he walks away. You were really starting to love this internship.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future héctor posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @sakashq @hrts4havertz @spidybaby !

[fanfics4all]

Crossing Paths

Request: Yes / No Hey I was wondering could you write for Luke Alvez where y/n is Hotch’s daughter and she was like 17 when the show started and the team loves her and she’s kind of like a mini Spencer and wanted to be just like her dad and when she was old enough she went to work in Afghanistan and when she’s there she meets Luke and they fall in love but then she gets transferred and they know if they’ll see each other again and all Luke has of her is a Polaroid picture he took of her that he carries with him. She gets back to the BAU in season 11. When Luke starts working there she is injured from a previous case so she’s not in to see him straight away so when she comes in and the team introduces her to Luke she acts like they were just friends in Afghanistan ( not wanting to announce in front of everyone and her dad) but when they are alone it’s a very heartfelt reunion and very fluffy @sxphia-g

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Luke Alvez x Fem!Hotchner!Reader 

Word count: 1493

Warnings: Nothing I think

Y/N: Your Name 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

*Luke’s POV*

I had many expectations when stepping into the BAU, but seeing her again was not one of them. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again, not after we were separated in Afghanistan. Her transfer tore us apart and all I had left was a single Polaroid as a reminder. I kept the photo close, folded it carefully, and tucked it into my wallet as if I would bridge the distance between us. But here she was, just as I remembered, maybe a little different. She looked a little worn from the line of work we both knew all too well. 

When the team introduced her as ‘Hotch’s daughter’, I kept my expression as neutral as possible. My heart was racing to see her in person again. She nodded politely at me, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips as if we were nothing more than people meeting for the first time. 

“Alvez, nice to meet you.” She said with a lightness I recognized. It was the same one she used in Afghanistan when they couldn’t be anything but professional. 

I couldn’t help but be impressed. She was brilliant, just like her Father and Reid, a natural in the world of profiling and deduction. The team adored her, and from what I could tell, she was every bit as committed to the work as I remembered. But we weren’t on just professional terms back then, and the reality of it hit me hard when I caught her gaze from across the room. Her eyes softened for just a second like she wanted to reach out and hold me. 

After what felt like an eternity, we finally found ourselves alone in one of the small rooms of the office. The door clicked shut and for a moment, neither of us spoke. We just took each other in after so much time apart. 

“Luke…” She whispered, her voice barely above a whispered. It was like no time had passed. I crossed the space between us in a heartbeat, pulling her close. My hands rested on her shoulders, I was afraid to let go. 

“God, I thought I’d lost you for good.” I whispered, my voice thick. I looked down at her, trying to take in every detail as if I could memorize her all over again. She was different, but somehow the exact same. She had the same spark in her eyes, the same quiet strength that had captivated me back in Afghanistan. 

“I missed you.” She admitted softly, her hand coming up to brush my cheek. The professionalism we held up during our reintroduction faded away, leaving only the tenderness we hadn’t been able to share until now. We stayed like this for a moment, lost in each other, both realizing how much we held onto the hope of this reunion. A reunion we never thought would come. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as she rested her head against my chest. We stood in silence, feeling the steady rhythm of each other’s heartbeats. It was a quiet reminder that we were both finally together again. After a few moments, she pulled back, looking up at me with that familiar glint in her eyes that I’d fallen for so long ago. 

“Did you keep it?” She whispered, but I knew exactly what she was asking. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and carefully unfolded the worn Polaroid. Her face in the picture was younger and carefree, her smile wide and bright as she laughed at something I said before snapping the picture. I remembered that day so clearly, the warmth of the sun, the laughter that filled the air, and the unspoken promise between us. 

“Every day. It got me through some rough times.” I whispered, holding it up so she could see. Her eyes softened and she reached out, brushing her fingers over the image before looking up at me. There was a hint of sadness mixing with the joy in her expression. 

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. I tried not to get my hopes up.” I felt my chest tighten. 

“You don’t have to hope anymore. We’re here now. We’re back.” We both fell silent, sharing a tender look, knowing we’d have to navigate this new reality cautiously. 

There was the team to think of, Hotch to think of, and we weren’t the same people we were back then. There was a lot more on the line now, but somehow, standing here with her in my arms, I didn’t feel like any of it mattered. 

Just then, the door cracked open and JJ poked her head in, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

“Hey, Hotch wants to debrief on the last case. You two ready?” We exchanged a quick look, our shared secret settling into a comfortable place. 

“Yep, on our way.” She replied smoothly, pulling away with a professionalism that almost made me chuckle. There was a small, knowing smile she sent my way, one that promised we’d pick up where we left off as soon as we had a moment. I watched her walk out, the weight of the photo in my pocket felt a little lighter, and followed her out of the room. 

As the weeks went by, Y/N and I sipped into a rhythm, balancing work with the unspoken bond we shared. It wasn’t easy. We kept things low-key, but every time our eyes met across the bullpen, every time we passed each other in the halls, there was a spark that ran deeper than words. 

One late night, after the rest of the team had gone home, I stayed behind, working on case files. I thought I was alone until I heard a soft knock on the door and looked up to see her leaning against the frame. She had that familiar, mischievous smile on her face. 

“Burning the midnight oil?” She teased, slipping into the dimly lit office. I chuckled, dropping my pen. 

“Could say the same for you. What’re you still doing here?” 

“Oh, you know…” She shrugged, coming closer. 

“Couldn’t sleep, thought maybe some company would help.” She took a seat next to me and we slipped into comfortable conversation. Memories from Afghanistan waving into stories from recent cases. Being around her felt so natural like no time had passed at all. Eventually, the conversation slowed, leaving only the soft glow of the lamp illuminating our faces. She looked up at me, her expression vulnerable, her voice soft as she spoke. 

“Luke… sometimes I wonder if we’d still feel like this, even if we hadn’t been through so much back then. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I can’t let go of that version of us, you know?” I reached out, taking her hand gently in mine. 

“Afghanistan brought us together, yeah, but what I feel… it’s so much more than that. We’re not just some memory for me. This…” I lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

“...This is real.” She held my gaze, the weight of my words settling between us. It was something we both needed to hear. Afghanistan had been intense, but what we had not was grounding, rooted in shared dreams and hard work. We stayed like that, the quiet comfort of each other’s presence enough to fill the room. But then she tensed, a small frown creasing her brow. I noticed instantly, my thumb brushing over her hand. 

“What’s wrong?” She took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to our hands. 

“It’s just… my Dad. He’s protective. I don’t know how he’d react to this, to us. He’s always been supportive, but when it comes to me, he’s got blind spots. And you know, you’re not just any guy, you’re a part of his unit now, too.” I nodded, understanding her concerns. Hotch wasn’t just her Father, he was my superior and a man whose respect meant the world to me. We both knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but my grip on her hand tightened. It was a quiet reassurance that I was ready to face whatever came our way. 

“I’ll talk to him. When the time is right. He deserves to hear it from me. But you gotta know, nothing, no one, could make me walk away from you. Not after everything we’ve been through.” I said firmly. She looked at me, her eyes shining with gratitude and love. Leaning in, she brushed a soft kiss to my lips, one that held all the promises we didn’t need to say out loud. 

“I love you, Luke.” She whispered, her voice full of all the warmth and strength I’d come to know so well. My heart swelled and I pulled her close, pressing my forehead to hers. 

“I love you too, Y/N, and we’ll figure this out together. One step at a time.”

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @pettyjayy @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens @andreasworlsboring101 @liz-owl

[fazcinatingblog]

Gonna be training a new girl on Monday and she's got Monday to Wednesday as "work experience" (unpaid) so idk she'll just be observing me while I run around like a headless chook amid piles of papers on fire and answering calls from Sophia every two seconds and

[can-i-get-a-yippee]

There’s an alternate universe where the 911 writers didn’t murder Shannon, and she, Buck, and Eddie get to have a similar dynamic to Micheal, Bobby, and Athena

[grabattheseballsss]

141 and their captain’s assistant

- it all started with a comment made by Laswell, she mentioned to John how tired he seems, how his eye bags are growing heavier each day passing

- she recommended him to get an assistant, John declined the offer and tried to get back to work, but laswell already made the call, she knew how annoying John can be when it comes to getting help

- then enters a pretty little thing, your hair in a messy bun, glasses neatly resting on your pretty face, short pencil skirt hugging your curves perfectly

- John couldn’t help himself from staring, gawking at you like some horny teenager

- the boys began seeing you scurrying around the base more often, the first to approach you was Johnny of course

- his deep voice partnered with his thick Scottish accent made you subconsciously bite your lip, staring up at him with your big doe eyes, you don’t even mean to, it’s just that more than half of the people in here were 6feet+

- Johnny’s flirtatious nature made you giggle, lightened up your day, but not your boss’

- every time the Scott decided to drop by your desk to accompany you, he’d get scolded by his captain

- “don’t need you distracting her from her job”

- “it’s her break, cap, plus, she’ a good lass, I’m sure she’s on top of…all her work” the scott would throw you a wink before his captain orders him to run laps around the base

- next came gaz, since he’s always visiting his captain’s office for reports, he saw you at the new desk in the captain’s office, the aura around you not matching anything in the dim, old and boring office, you gave him a slight smile before returning to your paperwork

- but gaz wasn’t going to let that be the end of your interactions no no

- he’d walk up to you in the mess hall, as you’re loading your plate up, striking a conversation with you, making last long enough for him to lead you to a table with his other teammates

- you shyly but politely sit down and introduce yourself to the masked man who sat opposite of you, his brown eyes staring into yours as his arms stayed locked, he just nodded and replied “ghost”

- you figured he’s not a social one, the Scot and the Brit both kept asking you questions, some may have been a bit intrusive but maybe they’re just being friendly !

- “so why ar’ ye here?”

“Kate laswell requested that I work for John price for a few months to ease the paperwork load on him”

- “I’m sure there’s a different kind of load he’s trying to get you to ease off of him”

- the three of your heads snap to the silent man, his brown eyes seemed to be crinkled, suggesting he was grinning or smirking underneath that mask

- “OI! LT’s got jokes, but he doesn’t mean anything by it” Johnny tried to reassure you, glaring at Simon as you looked down at your food

- you excused yourself as you made your way back to price’s office, you saw him still there, no signs of him moving at all “captain ? Did you eat today?” You asked sweetly

- oh what this man wouldn’t give to have the honours of eating you for every meal of the day, to have you sprawled on his desk, papers sticking to your sweaty skin, your chest rising and falling as you try to quiet yourself so nobody hears what your captain is doing to you

- “captain” fuck he’d love to hear you moan his rank, begging him to be gentle, but he knows deep down you’re a dirty girl and you want your “captain ?!”

- John snapped out of his daydream, he looked up at you, you were leaning to the side trying to check on him “have you eaten today?” You asked again, a worried look in your eyes

- John nods, not looking you in the eyes “yeah yeah” he cleared his throat as he tried to get back to work, but your soft, smaller hand stopped him from grabbing his pen, his brown eyes looked up, ab eyebrow raised as if to ask ‘what are you doing?’

- “I’m sorry, captain but I can’t allow you to get back to work if you haven’t had food” you stated, your body trembling as you stood your ground

- truthfully, price can easily launch you across the room with one arm, he knows his limits, and you’re nowhere near it, but you were right, he does need to eat, and although he wishes he could order you to spread your pretty thighs for him and let him have his fun, he doesn’t want to lose such a pretty sight so fast

- he let go of the pen, leaning back on his office chair “I haven’t brought any food”

“The mess hall still have some food there”

- “I don’t eat that rubbish”

“Well too bad, you need to eat”

- ooh… I guess his little kitty got claws now

[w4ndal0ver]

Seduction Techniques (mommy!wanda x sub!fem!reader)

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: mommy!wanda maximoff x sub!fem!reader (set in the 1960s decade of wandavision, i forgot she doesn't have children at this point but I'm not rewriting it so pretend pls <3)

summary: You work for Stark Innovations as a secretary for Vision. After getting invited to a party at his house you turn up with a clingy and flirtatious colleague. Wanda immediately takes a likening to you, wanting to make you hers, but when she see's your colleague trying to mark her territory, she has to teach you a lesson.

content warnings: shameful mommy kink, gagging, slapping, praise and degradation, slut shaming, masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, toxic possessive wanda, mention of innocence and wandas fascination in your age gap and inexperience, images linked to breast feeding, adultery and gloriying affairs.

word count: 8k (strap in, its a long one)

Seduction Techniques

Stark Innovations, you read tracing the words with your finger. You hadn’t been at the company long, but to be completely honest you had no idea what you were actually working for. You knew that it was a leading technology and defence contractor, known for pushing the boundaries of modern engineering, but that wasn’t where your specialities lied. You’d been Visions secretary for about a week now, basically just running files between different sectors, answering emails and calls, but mainly you felt like you floated around the brightest minds within a 40 mile radius of Westview. 

This morning you were sitting at your desk, papers scattered across the surface, trying to figure out what you were supposed to do with all the folders. The office as a whole is a large, sterile space, intimidatingly quiet and you would do anything you could to avoid being noticed by the people who worked around you. This was impossible considering the only woman in the office was sitting adjacent to your desk and every time you glanced over at her, she was always looking curiously at you. 

The door of the main office creaked open and everybody looked up as Vision walked into the room, visiting each and every person at their desk with little A6 pieces of card. Once he got to you he spoke in a professional manner, “I wanted to give you this,” He reaches over the unorganised mess of your desk, acting as if he was pretending not to see the state of all of his files, giving you the benefit of the doubt considering it was only your first week. 

You take the card, glancing over the elegant script. It was an invitation to a party at his house, seemingly addressed as a mildly professional birthday gathering for himself. “It will be good for you to meet some people outside the office so please come along if you can,” He suggests, “And get this sorted out, come on.” His hands gestured to the stacks of paper all out of order. 

You nod, returning the gentle smile, though your mind is already racing with anxiety. You hadn’t expected to have to attend something quite this personal, a considerable line you were forced to cross so soon. You looked around the room, nobody else seemed mildly interested in the invitation, clearly a usual event for the rest of your colleagues. You glanced down at the invitation again, it was signed, Wanda and Vision. 

As you looked up from your desk, the brunette woman from across the room was now perching against your desk. “Hi, I’m Natasha by the way, I felt rude for not introducing myself.” She spoke softly, her eyebrow raised slightly as you held your hand out to meet hers in a shake. “Especially considering the testosterone in the room.”

You both giggle, yours slightly more nervous than hers. “Are you going to this thing?” You ask, unsure if you’d be able to attend without a friendly face you could use as a safety blanket if things went south. 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Her eyes flickering over you in a way that makes your pulse quicken, even if you weren’t entirely comfortable with how publicly she was speaking to you. “But if you’re going, maybe I could tag along with you?”

“Well I’ve got an invitation, so I guess I’ll see you there.” You laugh nervously, not wanting to seem too thrown by her advances, considering she was the first person, other than your boss, to make an effort to talk to you. Not seeing you as below her as Vision’s secretary. “Who’s Wanda?” You ask, trying to shift the conversation away from her advances.

Natasha’s raised eyebrows tell you all you need to know, her expression clearly surprised. “You haven’t heard about Wanda? Everyone knows who she is.” She smirks, stepping back a little as she sips her coffee out of her floral patterned mug. “She’s Vision’s wife, you’ll see her this weekend. Trust me, you won’t miss her.” She winks, brushing her arm past yours as she walks away. You just nod, feeling a strange flutter of anticipation in your chest at the mystery that went by the name of Wanda. 

A few days went by and you were finally in your car, parked outside the address on the envelope. You were a little later than planned, but the grandeur of Vision’s house sat in front of you and you felt a wave of nerves pass over you. It was taking every part of you to not pull out and drive away from the white picket fence that enclosed the well-manicured lawn and perfectly trimmed hedges. You take a deep breath and decide to just face it, knowing that this might be your only chance to be forgiven for what you had to admit was a very bad first impression on your first week. 

Inside, everything is even more pristine than the front, polished wooden floors and family souvenirs scattered purposefully everywhere that you looked. It was a warm and welcoming atmosphere, aided by the warm lighting and harmonies of multiple conversations that was happening in the main room. You felt a little out of place, glancing around the small crowd that had gathered all together. You pull at your white buttoned blouse, re-adjusting your collar and smoothing down the creases in your forest green pencil skirt. 

Your eyes quickly find Natasha, standing in the corner with a glass of champagne in her hand. She notices you immediately, flashing you a mischievous grin as she saunters over, a slight sway in her hips as she approaches you. “You made it!” She says, her hand sliding casually onto your lower back as she leans her hip slightly closer to yours. You stiffen slightly but you try to play it off, not wanting to break friendships already. 

“Yeah, I couldn't miss it.” You admitted honestly, feeling stuck in a state of awkwardness which was quickly cut off by Vision approaching you both, dressed in a well tailored suit. 

“I’m glad you could both make it.” He exclaims, his voice slightly tired from the endless introductions and greetings that he was forced into at his own party. He shakes your hand briefly, then glances over his shoulder. “Wanda, darling, come say hello.”

You feel the air shift as Wanda emerges into your eyeline. She’s breathtaking in a subtle, but devastating way. Her red hair twisted into a French plait, pinned elegantly at the back of her head, the soft curled strands falling loose around her face. She’s wearing a deep green dress that hugs her curves in a professional manner, the material catching the warmth of the light just right. Her eyes are green, sharp, almost knowing as they settle on you. Then came her smile, one that could make you melt in an instant, making it hard to look away. 

“So, you must be the new one Vision’s told me about.” Her voice is rich, with a slight teasing edge that makes your hairs stand on end. She looks you over in a way that feels far too intimate for a first meeting, her eyes lingering just a little longer than they should, not remaining solely on your face. 

Before you have a chance to respond, someone calls her name from across the room. “Sorry I have been summoned,” She laughs, “But please get yourself a drink darling, don’t make me look like a bad host.” You watch her walk away, your eyes drawn to the casual sway of her hips, the graceful way she appears to move through people, like they magnetically moved and formed a path for her. 

For the next hour you tried to remain focused in your conversation with Natasha and other fellow colleagues who dropped in and out of your small circle. There was a pull in your chest that kept drawing your gaze back to Wanda, her auburn hair bounced as she spoke, that blush across her cheeks was a magnetic pull. Your stare always seemed to find her figure in the crowd, barely adding anything to any conversation. 

“I’m just going to grab another drink.” You say, interrupting the aimless conversation that you weren’t the slightest bit interested in. You, less elegantly, move through the crowd and through the arched doorway into a kitchen that was so suburban you thought you’d stepped into a film. It certainly was no match for your tiny apartment where you can sit on your bed and also open the oven at the same time. There was metres of space around you, but still photo frames and children’s paintings littered the room. 

You walked by, eyes catching a wedding photo of Wanda and Vision and you felt guilty for drooling over the way the housewife looked in her wedding dress. You immediately put the frame down, walking to the bottles of wine that were stacked on the counter, twisting the lid open and refilling your own glass. 

You’re lost in thought when you hear the soft click of heels against the wooden floor. You turn and your breath hitches when you see Wanda entering the room, a glass of red already in her hand, her lips, slightly wine-stained curling into a smirk as she catches your eye. 

“Hiding in here?” She asks, her voice low and smooth as she steps closer. You swallow hard, feeling your heart race in your chest, silently praying that she couldn’t hear it thump against your skin. 

“Just needed a moment,” You say, trying to sound casual, “And you know.” You laugh nervously, lifting your freshly refilled glass as Wanda’s eyes beam at you with satisfaction. The tension between the two of you is palpable, almost like you could slice through it with a knife. 

“Hm, I don’t think you’re supposed to refill your own glass, especially not at your boss's party.” She teases humorously, watching the pink flush into your cheeks and you hold up your hands ready to apologise. “Ah, ah no need, you’re always welcome.” She reaches over you, your back up against the counter as her fingers graze your upper arm as she grabs for the bottle that you opened. You feel the spark of the touch, sharp but settling as you swallow hard. 

“It’s a lovely party Mrs Maximoff.” You compliment, not sure what else to say. She looks down at you, satisfaction lies deep within her green eyes. She waves her hand as if to say she’d heard enough of the small talk all night. 

“I couldn’t help but notice how close you and Natasha are.” She asks with genuine curiosity, but you blink surprised by her unashamed bluntness. 

“Natasha? No, It’s not like that.” You stammer, caught off guard as your bodies remain intensely close. “We work together, that’s all.” 

Wanda laughs softly at your nervousness, her eyebrow arched as she presumed you were suggesting that she would have a problem with it even if you were more than colleagues. “Relax, I’m not that kind of woman.” Her eyes gleam as she takes a deliberately slow sip of her wine, never once breaking eye contact. Your flush was creeping up your neck now, unsure of how to respond. “So no one special hm? Pretty girl like you.”

You couldn’t almost choke on your small sip of wine at the compliment, the liquid getting stuck in your throat. “No, I don’t, most of my time is spent taking care of Vision and work.” You’re not sure why you’d lied, you spent the majority of your time worrying about your job, spending less time doing what you were actually paid to do. There was something about her gaze that was making you feel strangely exposed to the point you were making stuff up on the spot. 

Wanda’s lips twitch in amusement as she swirls the wine around her glass at your response, “Oh trust me, I know what that’s like.” There's a wicked glint in her eyes, and just as you’re about to ask what she means, a familiar figure fills the doorway as Vision walks into the room. 

“Wanda my darling, can I steal you for a moment.” Wanda nods instantly, turning back to you and rolling her eyes, but not before stealing another slow and lingering glance as she steps past you, her hand brushing your arm, this time her fingers squeezing harder against your skin, lasting far too long to be deemed as innocent. 

“We’ll talk later,” She says softly, almost under her breath before she slips out of the room, leaving you standing in the empty space of her kitchen, breathless and more confused than ever. You gulp down the wine, refilling your glass once again. 

You noticed how quickly you were getting through drinks, beginning to feel yourself get a little more tipsy. You were now perched on a stool in the living room, listening to the drunk slurs of Natasha still rambling on about something that you lost interest in about half hour ago. Your eyes were still fixed on Wanda, who by the continuous scrapes on the back of her neck and quick breaths that she took when she walked away from someone, you could tell was also becoming slightly more tipsy. She was holding herself better than you, somehow her heels keeping her stable as she pranced elegantly around in that dress that was driving you crazy. 

The evening continued to progress and the effects of the wine were at the forefront. It was more than a gentle buzz now leaving your thoughts clouded and your steps a little uneven. You were trying so hard to leave Wanda alone, but the faint clicks of her heels against the polished floor kept bringing you back to watching the way her emerald dress clung to her curves. You watched as a faint shadow of discomfort clouded her usually poised face and you watched her try to slip away unnoticed towards the hallway, which would have been successful if you weren’t watching her so closely. 

The tension in her shoulders when she walked made you feel uneasy at your core. Instinctively, you followed her steps, slow and measured, trying to stay upright as you trailed her toward the bathroom. You stop in your tracks when you hear muffled voices behind the door. You could recognise it anywhere, Vision’s voice stern and sharp cutting through the silence.

“You should’ve paid more attention Wanda. Do you know how stupid you’re making yourself look?” His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the irritation beneath it. You could barely make out her response, but the emotion in the silence that followed was clear. Moments later, the door flew open and Wanda rushed out, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She didn’t see you as she brushed past, head down, her heels clicking faster as she made her way to the back door, escaping into her back garden away from the crowd. 

You didn’t know what came over you, your heart racing at the sight of her as you followed her out into the garden. The cool night air hit your wine muddled brain and you spotted her sitting on the low stone wall that bordered the garden, her head in her hands, the hem of her dress sitting perfectly around her form. Her red hair was slightly messed from the evening, a few stray tendrils escaping the elegant french plait she had worn so proudly earlier, but you thought she still looked beautiful. 

You hesitated, questioning whether the wine was pushing you forward, but you needed to make sure she was okay. “Mrs Maximoff,” Your voice was soft as you stepped closer, she lifted her head quickly, her tear-streaked face turning toward you. In a flash, she wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself.

“Hi, sorry it’s my turn to have a moment.” She tried to laugh, but her voice was hoarse and the lie was painfully obvious. 

You sat down beside her, keeping a respectful distance. “You don’t seem fine,” You reach out, placing a comforting hand on her knee. While the contact meant to be reassuring, it sent a jolt of electricity through you both. 

Wanda’s lips twisted into a wry smile, her hand overlapping yours as a silent thanks, “It’s just hard you know, You think you’re doing everything right and then it's suddenly not enough.” She let out a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m trying to be a good wife, a good mother, but I don’t know what I’m saying, you’d have no idea, you’re so young.” You could hear the wine laced tone in her voice as she continued rambling, but the genuine hurt was written all over your face. Without thinking, you reached out, brushing her hair back gently, your fingers lingering at the nape of her neck. 

“You are an amazing wife Mrs Maximoff, Vision is lucky to have you. And your kids? They’re lucky to have a mother like you,” You compliment honestly, letting your wine thoughts take over, “You’ve got them all plastered all over your house, It’s obvious how much you care about them.”

She paused, her eyes widening slightly, a mixture of surprise and hope. There was a flicker of something deeper in her gaze, and for a moment, it felt like the world around you both faded away.

“You think so?” Her voice softened, a hint of unexpected vulnerability breaking through. Yet despite it all, the tension hung tick in the air as she searched your eyes, her expression shifting. “You barely know me. How could you possibly think that?”

You felt a surge of confidence as you leaned in slightly, heart racing quicker than before. “I don’t need to know everything about you to see what kind of person you are.” You paused, letting your gaze roam over her face, the way the moonlight illuminated her features. “I can see good people from the moment I meet them.”

Her lips now formed a teasing smile, her eyes holding a certain depth that made your breath hitch in the back of your throat. They were flickering with something unreadable. She leaned in just an inch closer, her voice low and laced with flirtation. “Good people, hm?” Her fingers now create circles against the back of your hand, “Careful darling, you might find that I’m not as good as you think.” She tilted her head, deciding to go easier on your innocent face that responded silently to her teasing, “I can’t imagine a young, attractive girl like you could really mean that.”

You felt heat flood your cheeks, caught off guard by her compliment. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady, though you were sure she could hear the slight tremble in it. “I do mean it. I might not know everything about you, but you’re more than just Vision’s wife or your children's mother.” You shifted closer, your heart pounding harder in your chest as you dared to let your gaze linger on her lips. “You’re something special Mrs Maximoff.”

Her face darkened at your words, her smile fading into something softer, more intense. She let out a quiet breath, every inch of your skin tingling with anticipation. Her thighs subtly began to squeeze together, every time you addressed her by her title rather than her name which she had introduced herself as, but you choosing to remain innocently respectful was driving her crazy. Wanda couldn’t help but imagining corrupting your innocent little mind, having you bent over for her while she fucked you dumb. 

“Special... is that what you think I am?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, dripping with curiosity and something else—something far more dangerous.

You nodded, the words caught in your throat as your pulse quickened, your heart hammering in your ears. Her fingers stopped their slow, deliberate movements and instead curled gently around your hand, her thumb brushing the side of your palm in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

Wanda’s eyes darted down to your lips, her breath warm and shallow. She hesitated, her voice now even softer than before, vulnerable beneath the weight of the growing tension between you. “You’re so sweet to me honey, and you barely know me.” Her lips now hovered inches from yours, so close you could feel the warmth of her breath against your skin. “I might not be the good person you think I am. What if I make you regret it darling.”

Your core trembled at how close her face had become to your own. The desire in her voice was slowly unravelling you, but instead of pulling away, you allowed the wine to give you the confidence to lean in further, closing the distance until your lips were almost touching. Your voice trembling, “I don’t think I could regret you Mrs Maximoff.” 

That was her final straw, she snapped the tension as she closed the gap between you with a soft, deliberate kiss, the kind that felt like a blow burn igniting deep in your chest. The touch of her lips was light at first, testing, teasing, but when you didn’t pull away from her advance, her hand cupped the back of your neck, tangling itself in your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss. 

Your fingers instinctively gripped her waist, feeling the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her now bunched up dress, and for a moment, nothing else mattered but the way her lips moved against yours, her tongue swiping your bottom lip before taking it into her teeth and tugging against it, making you whine desperately against her mouth. 

Wanda pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breathing uneven as she whispered, “I told you, I’m not as good as you think,” Her thumb brushed over your jaw, her lips ghosting yours again, a low, teasing chuckle escaping her, “But I could take care of you, you know that don’t you.” 

Her voice dropped lower, that familiar tone slipping into something more playful, more commanding, “Mommy knows how to make her good girl feel special.” 

Your pulse quickened again, heat flooding your body as her words wrapped around you. You were at a loss for words, you were particularly inexperienced and you’d never had anyone that looked or sounded like the way Wanda spoke to you. You could feel the arousal pooling between your legs, your mind reeling from the kiss, from her touch, from the way she held complete control. Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps approached from behind you.

“Well this is cosy.” Natasha’s voice broke the tension like a whip. You jerked away from Wanda, your heart racing as Natasha appeared at the edge of the garden, her expression one of amusement, but there was something dangerously possessive flashing behind Wanda’s eyes. “There you are,” She slurred, her hand reaching out to grab your arm and you could see Wanda desperately trying to not stand up for your defence, “Come on, let's get back inside gorgeous.” 

You were too stunned to resist as Natasha pulled you up from the wall. You glanced back at Wanda, your heart aching at the sight of her. She sat there, watching you with a look that was far more than just jealousy—it was something primal, something dark.

Your chest tightened with a sense of dread, knowing you were in deep trouble. You’d crossed a line, and there was no going back.

The rest of the night passed in a blur, but Wanda’s gaze never left your mind. You didn’t see her again before you left, and now, the thought of returning to work and seeing Vision—after kissing his wife in their own garden—was enough to make you feel dizzy.

That night, after you’d managed to find your way home, you felt a shameful amount of guilt and you couldn't sleep. Even as the moonlight spilled through the slats of your blinds, casting a soft glow across your room, your mind was racing. Every time you close your eyes, you see her. The way her lips had felt pressed against yours, the warmth of her breath, her voice, thick with desire, echoing in your ears.

"Mommy knows how to make her good girl feel special"

The words sent a shiver through you, settling deep in your core. Your body stirred, heart pounding harder as you recalled the way her fingers had brushed over your skin, the unspoken promise in her touch, the way her lips had lingered just a moment longer than necessary. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away, but it was no use. Wanda was all you could think about, and the more you tried to ignore it, the worse it got.

Your hand moved slowly beneath the sheets, almost without thinking, fingertips grazing over your stomach as a small gasp escaped your lips. You hesitated for a moment, but the memory of her was too strong, too intoxicating. Your body ached with need, your breath coming quicker as you gave in to the desire swirling inside you.

You imagined her—her red hair falling in loose curls, the way her lips had formed into that teasing smile. The way her eyes had darkened with want when she’d leaned in close, her voice a low murmur meant only for you. "You’re so sweet…" her voice replayed in your head, as though she were there beside you, whispering in your ear. "But maybe I’m not as good as you think..."

Your hand slipped lower, and you bit your lip as a soft moan escaped you, your body responding to the thought of her, the memory of how she’d kissed you in the garden, her fingers so possessive, so commanding. Every touch, every word, was still fresh in your mind, and it made your pulse quicken.

You imagined her voice, soft and sultry, like velvet wrapping around you. "You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?" you could almost hear her purring, her lips ghosting over your neck as her hand trailed lower, just like yours was now. "I could take care of you, make you feel so good…"

Your breath hitched as your fingers dipped lower, finally giving into the need that had been building since that kiss. The pressure of your hand, the soft movement, made you arch into the sensation, biting your lip harder as the heat coiled in your belly. You imagined that it was her touching your clit, making you gasp carefully at the touch. The image of Wanda’s smile, her possessive gaze, fueled the fire, every thought of her pushing you closer to the edge.

"Mommy knows how to make her good girl feel special…"

Your fingers moved faster, the wetness between your thighs a stark reminder of how much she had affected you. You pressed your head back against the pillow, your free hand gripping the sheets as the memory of her touch consumed you. The way her voice had dipped, teasing and dangerous, the way her hand had lingered on your skin—everything about her had left you aching for more. Your eyes were closed, the image of her face hovering over you, that smirk cutting through you as she watched you fall apart underneath her touch. 

Your breath came out in soft pants, your body tense as the pleasure built, spiralling out of control. It was all Wanda—her lips, her touch, her dominance—everything about her had ignited something in you that you couldn’t ignore. Your hips bucked against your hand as you chased that release, imagining her there with you, whispering in your ear, telling you how much she wanted to take care of you.

"Good girl."

That was all it took. Your body tensed, your back arching as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, your soft moan filling the quiet room as your hand stilled between your thighs, shivering in the aftermath. The tension released in a rush, your body trembling as you slowly came down from the high, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

But even as the pleasure ebbed away, Wanda’s presence lingered in your mind, a constant pull that you knew would only grow stronger the more you thought of her. And you couldn’t stop thinking about her.

As you lay there, your heart finally slowing, one thought circled back in your mind, sending a thrill through you: this was far from over. You had tasted something dangerous, something forbidden—and you weren’t sure if you’d be able to hold yourself together if you got the chance to see her again. 

You woke up a few hours later to the sound of your alarm, hitting the clock you rose and was immediately drawn to the stickiness between your thighs from your activity the night before. You’d made such a mess of yourself to the thought of her, something that you had barely done before. Even without her there she made you feel so dirty and a part of you absolutely loved it. You decided to leave the same underwear on, enjoying how uncomfortable you felt sitting in the dampened fabric, a constant reminder of Wanda. 

Your head was aching from the alcohol you’d consumed, but you managed to find your way to your desk as the office settled into its usual afternoon quiet. You’d been struggling to stay focused all day and when Vision approached you earlier you felt your voice squeak, squirming in your chair as you felt your arousal grow just at the thought of his wife.

Once again, Natasha was hovering over your desk, finding reasons to brush her hand over your arm, her touch lingering in a way that sent mixed signals. You were trying your best to stay focused, but your distracted mind didn’t have the energy to shake her away from you. 

“I wouldn’t mind taking you out for a drink later, If you’re up for it.” She leans in, her voice low and teasing but unlike Wanda’s tone from the night before, she didn’t make you want to drop everything in order to go on an uncomfortably flirtatious date with your needy colleague. You felt bad leading her on, but your mind was elsewhere. 

Before you can even formulate an excuse, you catch a flash of red out of the corner of your eye, the familiar daunting sound of the click of heels against the laminated floor. Everything around you seems to freeze. Wanda Maximoff. You tense up, recognising her immediately before her mind catches up to you. She walks into the office, a few greetings heading her way from the other men sitting at desks closer to the door. Your mouth hung ajar slightly at her figure wrapped in an elegant dress. 

You try to maintain your composure, but as you watch Wanda glance around, her expression purposefully remaining neutral, yet you still feel the weight of her gaze land briefly on Natasha, who still stands too close to you. 

“I’m just dropping off some files for Vision.” Her voice is calm, smooth, but you can sense the underlying tension in the way her eyes dart between you and Natasha. 

“Vision’s actually out for the day, but I can take care of that for you.” You stand up from your desk, stepping towards her as you gesture toward the file in her hands, hoping to appear professional though your nerves are evident in the tremble in your fingers. 

Wanda’s lips twitch into a smile, her fingers tightening slightly around the folder as if she was considering whether to hand it over. For a moment, her gaze locks onto yours, and there's something intense, something dangerous simmering just beneath her incredible composed exterior.

“Are you sure? It’s important.” She says, her voice dropping with faux innocence, though the way her eyes linger on you sends a very different message. You nod, managing a small smile. 

“I’ve got it. You don’t need to worry.” You reach for the file, your fingers brushing hers briefly as you take it from her. That sends a jolt through your core and you can’t help but notice the slight smirk that pulls at Wanda’s lips as she watches your reaction. 

Natasha is standing behind you, recognising the obvious tension between you both. “Always so helpful, aren’t you?” She teases, but there's a sharp edge to her tone now. She steps closer to you, her hand lightly brushing your shoulder once again, as if claiming her territory in front of Wanda. 

Wanda’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, though her smile remains calm and composed. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands then.” Her voice is velvet, but you can feel the jealousy bubbling beneath her words. 

“I’ll make sure your husband gets them.” Natasha says, a harsh tone to her voice, accentuating heavily on the reminder that Wanda is married. The brunette continues to hover far too close to Wanda’s liking and you watch her gaze harden, her green eyes practically burning with unspoken possessiveness. The air between the three of you feels suffocating, and all you can do is stand there, caught in the middle, your heart pounding in your chest. 

Suddenly Wanda retracts her previous statement as she was about to leave, “Actually we need to talk privately,” She doesn’t wait for a response, her hand lightly gripping your arm as she gestures towards Vision’s office, “Now.”

The way she says it makes it sound less like a suggestion and more like an order and you follow her without hesitation, your heart racing as she sways her hips purposefully in time with the click of her heel as she steps. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, the atmosphere shifts. Wanda is no longer the calm, collected housewife she usually presents herself as. She turns to face you, her eyes darkening with something that was dangerously close to fury. Before you have a chance to greet her properly she shoves you harshly into the office door, the blinds to the door window already closed from Vision before he left. 

“What the fuck was that.” She spits at you, her voice dripping with disdain. She grips your jaw between her hand, forcing your face up to look directly at her, her thumb digging particularly hard into your cheek. “Natasha is a bit too friendly, don't you think?” She growls her name, her manicured nails scratching into your skin as she sputters her name. 

You blink, taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanour, yet there was something so intoxicating and addictive about it. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Didn’t mean to what? Let her flirt with you.” She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing against your ear as her grip on your jaw tightened. “You think you can play around with people like her? You’re just a little girl, you don’t know what's good for you.”

Your heart raced at her words, the fire in her tone igniting a thrilling mix of fear and desire within your core. “You’re so young, so naive. You think you can handle this?” She steps back slightly, her eyes narrowing as she assesses your body trembling, wincing as she roughly tugs your face up further, making you uncomfortable. “You need someone to teach you, to take care of you. Someone who knows what’s best for you.” There was an edge to her voice, a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off. “No, don’t say a word.” Her voice was low, commanding, stepping in closer again, feeling the heat radiating from her fury. She leans into your neck, her grip tugging your head to one side as she licks a strong stroke up the length of your throat, biting into your ear lobe making you whine. 

“You need to learn your place.” Her other hand gripped your wrist, shoving you harder into the door, “Your place is with me, not that pathetic little whore.” You felt a rush of submission wash over you at her words. 

“Mrs Maximo-”

She delivered a sharp slap to the side of your face and you let out a sharp moan at the hot sensation spread across your cheek. “You don’t get to speak right now.” Her eyes flashing with a fierce protectiveness, “You are mine, you listen to me.” Her hand finds its way to your throat, gripping you so tightly she’d cut the oxygen completely off, your eyes fluttering as you went lightheaded. 

She loosens her grip, not letting you go, your head still flush against the door looking up to her with your innocent eyes. “You’re not ready for that type of attention.” She was looking at you now as if to be assessing your worth to her, “I will teach you to be good, how to belong to someone.” 

“But I want to make my own choices.” You plead, your cheeks flushed as her grip tightened harder than before, your throat caught in the whirlwind of her anger and jealousy. 

“No you don’t” Her voice had calmed and her grasp around your neck was now just fingers brushing against your skin, finding the curve of your jaw and gently caressing you. “You want me to take care of you.”

You couldn’t help but nod, the truth of her words resonating deep within you. You had wanted this since the moment you set your eyes on her, you just didn’t really know what this was before now. You felt your innocent leaking out of you in the form of your arousal dampening your already ruined underwear. 

“You don’t think pretty girl, just let Mommy think for you.” Her fingers like fire brushing against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Aw, you like the idea of that don’t you.” Her breath was stern against your neck, “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.” Her hand brushing the pink flush of your cheeks, one side significantly darker from the slap you received earlier. 

“Now Mommy’s going to teach you how to behave.” She teases, finally letting go of your face and your throat and you breathe heavily in order to catch up with your racing heart race. You’re stuck flush against the door, watching as she packs up a section of Vision’s desk, tapping the top of the wooden surface, gesturing you to come and sit up on it. 

You do it immediately, but as you go to perch against it she grabs your thighs from underneath and roughly pushes you to where she wants you. Her hands bunch your dress up to your waist, revealing your light pink underwear, a little bow sewn in the middle of the hem. She also saw that you weren’t wearing tights, but thigh high socks and she scoffed at the sight of you. 

She cups your pussy, only again chuckling at the warm dampness that immediately soaked into her palm. “Honey you’re soaking for mommy.” She places more pressure into you, the heel of her palm pushing dangerously into your sensitive clit, making you yelp. You could tell that you looked guilty, immediately remembering how you’d ruined them a few hours before. “Have you touched yourself in these?”

You nod shamefully and she hooks her finger under the hem at the side, yanking them down quickly and removing them completely from your legs. “Did you get some big feelings, pretty girl? Tell me.” She bunched your panties in her hands, bringing them up to her face and inhaling your sweet scent before tossing them to the side. 

You could choke on her words, but when she pushed your thighs apart wider, standing between you, forcing them to stay open as she roughly pushed two fingers inside of you, immediately curling them upwards at a relentless pace you had never experienced before. “Tell me.” She warns dangerously, quickening her pace, wanting to hear the desperate shake in your voice. 

“There was a funny feeling in my stomach that night you kissed me.” You panted heavily, “I had to touch myself, imagining that it was you.” You sounded so pathetic but Wanda was lapping it up, her thumb finding your clit as you leant back against the desk, holding yourself up by gripping the opposite end of the desk. 

“When was this pretty girl?” Wanda asks, her motions now remaining a continuous pace now that she’d found the one level higher than it seemed you could take comfortably. 

“Last night.” 

“And you wore them today.” Wanda scoffs, her smirk dangerous and sultry, her green eyes dark as she starts thrusting hard into you. You nod in shame, your head hanging low as she scrunched your eyes at the rough contact against your bundle of nerves. “You’re filthy aren’t you, a filthy little girl for mommy.” 

“Yes Mommy, I’m your filthy little girl.” You could barely string sentences together, each word caught in a high pitched moan. You hear footsteps from outside the office, people walking by and Wanda stills her movements, pulling out of you and moving backwards remembering that she’d forgotten to lock the door. 

“You sound so pretty for Mommy, but you need to stay quiet.” She whispers, her own hand dipping underneath her dress, feeling the soaked fabric of her own underwear before pulling them off. You watch in awe as her black laced panties hooped at her ankles, she steps out of them, the click of her heels louder as they step back to the ground. She bunches them in her hand, her other hand grazing your lips, prying them open before slotting her dampened underwear between your lips, “For safe measure.” She smirked, you looked so pathetically desperate with her laced lingerie gagging you. 

You felt dizzy as the taste of her arousal leaked onto your tongue, you groaned at the sweet taste of her, but your groan was painfully muffled. She delivered a quick slap to your thighs, you opened your legs immediately and she pushed her fingers back inside of you, once again not giving you a chance to react before she was thrusting harshly into you. “You enjoy the taste of Mommy while I ask you why you’ve come to work looking like such a slut when you don’t work for me, but rather my husband.” 

You try to defend yourself, but no words come out as your tongue continues to circle the dampened fabric, barely able to see as Wanda adds a third finger to the other two relentlessly working inside of you. “Who are you trying to impress?” You shake your head at the accusation, no other way of getting your words across. 

Your core is trembling as Wanda harshly fucks you with her fingers, her nails now digging into your back, forcing you forward to lean into her chest. The new angle made her go insanely deeper inside of you, leaving you moaning loudly into her chest. Your head rested right against her breasts and you could feel her painfully erect nipples against your cheek through her dress.

As her thumb begins to draw torturous circles around your clit, the sensations are way too stimulating for someone of your little experience. You tug desperately at the buttons of her dress and she looks down at you while her wrist continues its same rough thrusts. “You wanna suck on Mommy?” You nod frantically at the assumption and she smiles at you, placing a gentle kiss to your temple, your emotions confused at the gentle gesture while her fingers were fucking you dumb. She removed her underwear from your mouth, draping them over the edge of the desk as a constant reminder that she could gag you if you mess up. 

She allows you to undo the top of her dress, managing to find your way to her soft porcelain skin, her breast perked upwards and you immediately latch onto her hardened nub. You whimper softly at the feeling of your lips against her nipple, using your tongue to softly flick over her breast, making it easier for you to manage the pace in which she was fucking you, her nails gripping into your waist, pulling your front flush against hers as your mouth refuses to let go of your natural gag. 

Each time her thumb flicked your clit so precisely, you whined against her nipple, the vibrations making her wrist pump harder into you. She felt you suckles getting harder, your teeth lightly grazing as you felt your core tighten around her fingers. “You’re close aren’t you princess.” 

You nod desperately, letting go of her aching nipple with a pop as you look up at her pleadingly. “Those puppy dog eyes aren’t letting me forget how you let Natasha touch you, only good girls get to cum when they want.” Then suddenly all contact was removed from you and you looked up at her with desperate confusion. She brushes her hand across your lips, your sweet arousal lingering on your mouth. 

“Mommy?” You say, your voice laced with confusion as you are left on the brink of your orgasm, your hips jutting uncontrollably to try and gain contact. 

“Mommy wants to taste you, I’ll give you what you want once I hear what I want from that pretty mouth of yours.” She says, her voice stern as she drops to her knees in front of you, her hands caressing your inner legs through those sheer thigh-highs that were driving Wanda crazy. She imagined having you in her and Visions bed, ankles lied to your wrists as you lied on your front before she fucked you senseless with her strap. But she was more than satisfied as she smelt your arousal in front of you, your wetness glistening against your skin and your perfect folds. She was obsessed with the way your pussy looked, so tight and neat, perfectly untouched. 

Wanda pushes her hair behind her ears, diving in to consume you, taking one long lick from the bottom of your slit, right up to the top of your trembling clit. She looked up at you, trying your best to sit so she could see your face, your eyes crunched and bottom lip between your teeth. “Who do you belong to?” She asks, before sucking against your exposed clit, protruding desperately as she clasps her lips around it.

“You Mommy only you.” You pant breathlessly, your feet digging hard into her back in an attempt to stay still and docile for Wanda. She continued to suck against you, pulling back, kissing an individual kiss against your bundle of nerves. 

“Who is not allowed to go near you.” She says, before diving straight back in, this time her hand reaches the top of your mound, stretching your skin upwards so her tongue could flick harshly against your aching clit, pushing you dangerously close to the edge. 

“Natasha.” 

With the name spoken, her teeth gently nip at your clit and you let out an exasperated cry of pain before she soothes it with her saliva, spitting softly onto your cunt so her tongue would glide effortlessly through your folds. She pulls back one more time, enjoying the sound of your worn out voice, still trying so hard to please her. “What happens if Mommy finds out something like today happens again.” 

“Mommy will punish me.” You gasp, your core burning as the orgasm twirled in your stomach, threatening to rip right through you as Wanda maintains her hold, leaving your clit completely exposed to the rough attack of her tongue. You were doing everything you can to drag out the feelings of pleasure and pain against your cunt, not wanting this spaced out feeling to end, you knew you’d do anything she asked, take anything she wanted you to in this moment. With the grip of her nails into your waist, her tongue relentlessly working you up you reach the point of no return, the inevitable orgasm ripping through you at an intense level, your skin felt like it was burning apart as her name tumbled from your lips, her tongue not once stopping. 

She continued until you rode out your high, your hips rutting against her tongue as she tried to hold you down, but secretly loving the feeling of your body not being able to control itself, knocking into her mouth over and over again. Once you let out your last heavy breath, Wanda emerged from under your bunched up dress, one final kiss delivered to your entrance before immediately grabbing you into a soft, gentle kiss that shared your arousal through your tongues sliding against each other. 

“That's a good girl, I think you learned your lesson.” Wanda smirks, pulling you into a careful embrace as your body shakes against her hold. “Now you go back out there and pretend Mommy didn’t just fuck you dumb in your bosses office.”

[street-smarts00]

in omnia paratus

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer's been on the fence with his feelings for you. Due to his past traumas he’s decided to keep his feelings hidden. Until you’re caught in a dangerous situation at work

WC: 3.5 k

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long. I’ve been sitting on this for two months because I was being a perfectionist and had writer's block. Thank you so much to the person who requested this idea and I hope ya’ll like it! beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Protective!spencer, Friends to lovers, age gap (25 and idk 33 or 34), during season 9 (sadly no post prison Reid, I refuse to watch the show after Derek & Hotch leave), Maeve is implied 

Warnings!: mentions of murder, stalking, gunshot wounds, hostage situation and incorrect info about hostage situation cause Idk I'm not in the FBI

Everyone knew Spencer Reid had a soft spot for you. Well, everyone except for you. 

Since the moment you met you’ve been on his mind. 

“Do you know how old she is?” 

“No, how old is she?” 

“25!” Penelope squeaked before being shushed by Rossi. 

“Wow, she’s gotta be the youngest person to ever be in the BAU. Well, second to genius over here,” JJ commented while pointing to Reid. 

“That’s if she gets the job,” Morgan added. 

They were all crowded around the desks in front of Hotch’s office. The blinds were cracked and they could just barely make out the woman seated across from their boss for an interview. 

Due to the increase in caseload after Alex joined, Hotch made the request to add an additional member of the team. After interviewing a few people that didn’t pan out, he heard quite a bit about you from your supervisor saying how well you’ve done with the FBI and you’d be an exceptional fit for the team.

Then of course Penelope looked up everyone who was interviewing with Hotch. You being her most recent victim. 

“How long has she been with the FBI?” Alex questioned. 

“Three years,” Penelope answered 

“What? Did she join right after college?” 

“Not right away. She graduated early and got experience with law enforcement first.” 

Spencer sat at his desk quietly while everyone was peering into Hotch’s office. Not to say he wasn’t nosy as well. You were already behind the blinds when he arrived for work. 

“Oh they’re shaking hands! That has to be a good sign,” Penelope cheered. 

Morgan turned to the window, “It’s definitely not a bad one.” 

Her eyes widened before loudly whispering, “Oh no they’re leaving. Disperse.” 

She scurried off in her heels towards Derek’s desk while he followed behind with a grin. JJ, and Rossi averted their eyes from Hotch’s office and found Alex’s desk far more interesting. 

All while Spencer’s attention was brought to the woman led down the stairs by his boss. It felt like his heart stopped beating when he saw how beautiful you were. He was brought back to earth as Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he gestured to the man sitting at his desk. 

You offered him a small wave and a kind smile, “Nice to meet you.” 

It became quite obvious you two would get along very well. From very early on conversation flowed incredibly well between the two of you. There were very few people that he felt were easy to talk to because of his niche interests and the way he would ramble spitting facts left and right. 

But he never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or talking too much with you. You often were a content listener or you would even match his passion on certain subjects. Most were topics Spencer already knew about. 

When you first met Spencer you didn’t know the Dr in his name meant he held 3 PhD’s or that he was quite literally a genius. 

So you were often telling stories or facts you found interesting that he already knew. In fact, almost every “fun fact” you brought up, he knew about already.  

But he never interrupted you. He always was listening intently to what you had to say. Like he was hearing about it for the first time. 

At some point you learned of his eidetic memory and how vast his knowledge was. It was during a case where you found out and mentioned it to him. 

“Reid, remember when we were at the harbor and I mentioned that thing about sharks?” You hesitated, “did you know that already?”

“Yes,” he guiltily admitted. 

You partially deflated suddenly feeling that the whole tangent you went on was pointless. “Why did you let me go on and on if you already knew?” 

His eyes softened, “because I wanted to hear you talk about it.” 

That was when his feelings started to peek through. As the months went on it only grew and grew. And you were none the wiser.

To the average person, it might not seem like much. Perhaps you were just good friends. But to a team of profilers (and best friends) it was painfully obvious. 

It was almost painful the way he looked at you with a longing in his eyes. Or when his gaze immediately turned to you to catch your reaction or smile. 

It was obvious by the way he found any excuse to bring you up in conversation. Or how in conversation with you he would mirror your mannerisms and lean closer to you. 

As well as the things he remembered about you or the little things he did for you. Like the countless coffee cups he bought for you from his favorite coffee shop before work. And when he saw you struggling to find something or open something he was always right there to help. 

Spencer Reid had feelings for you. Feelings so deep that he couldn’t pull the roots out even if he tried. 

He didn’t know what to do with his feelings exactly. He hadn’t felt this strongly for someone since … well for a while. He was terrified of history repeating itself. 

He couldn't lose you. He’d seen first hand what this job did to him, what it did to Hotch. Their loved ones ripped away from them too soon.

So for now at least, he kept his feelings to himself. 

Well, until your last case. 

The BAU was called in on a case that just turned serial. They found the unsub to be a man named Mark, who started killing because his girlfriend cheated on him. The first two victims reminded him of the man she cheated with. When that didn’t satisfy him, he hunted down and killed the other man. 

Now the team and SWAT was stationed outside a bus that Mark was holding hostage. He stalked his ex-girlfriend and tracked down the new city bus she took. 

The officers couldn’t get a clear shot of him because of where he was standing and he kept using the passengers as shields. Rossi was currently on the phone with him trying to make negotiation terms and get some of the people off the bus. Mark however was incredibly stubborn and didn’t want to let his leverage go. 

So Rossi asked about the children on the bus and if Mark would be willing to let them off. They were met with silence on the other end of the phone, contrary to his previous behavior where he loved to hear himself talk. 

After a short pause the phone spoke. “I’ll only send out the kids if you send in an agent.” 

Rossi shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Are there any other circumstances you’re willing to send out the children for?” he asked. 

“Nope,” he said with a pop at the end of the word. 

A look of concern was quickly exchanged between Rossi and Hotch. While their faces didn’t reveal much, their eyes spoke volumes. 

“How about this,” the unsub continued. “I’ll send out their moms too.” 

Rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the eagerness to comply from the criminal. “You’ll send out the children and their mothers if we send in one of our agents?” 

“I promise.” 

Rossi returned his eyes to Hotch who stood rigid and tall with his arms folded. He was met with an approving nod before returning to the call. 

“Alright, we can agree to those terms.” 

“Oh and agent Rossi?” Mark perked. 

“Yes?”

“Send in a girl.”

There was a tension that quietly branched out between the agents listening to the phone call. 

“Why do you want a woman?” Rossi asked, clearly changing the dialogue used.

“I’m losing too many ladies sending out these moms. I want one back,” he replied with a cockiness to his voice. 

Ross confirmed they could send in a female agent. Almost immediately after the unsub hung up, you volunteered to be the agent going on the bus.  

“I’ll do it.”

Spencer’s head shot in your direction. “No you're not.” His voice was laced with concern and a hint of demand.  

“Reid-”

“He specifically asked for a woman. We don’t know what he’s planning, he’s devolving.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk to make sure those kids are safe,” You defended yourself. 

You turned to your boss waiting for his thoughts. Hotch knew you’d been exposed to enough high tension scenarios to know what you were doing. But just like any member of his team, he silently hesitated, worrying for your safety. 

He took a breath before meeting your eyes again. “Send her in.” 

Right before you were led to the bus, Hotch took off the holster on his ankle and handed it to you. “Some extra protection in case something happens.” You couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, but you saw it clear as day in his eyes. 

You made your way to the bus and saw through the window Mark holding a gun to the driver and telling him to open the door. You stepped on and the doors closed quickly behind you. The unsub took a long look at you, panning up and down. 

“Well how about that. Aren’t you a beauty? He said with a cheeky grin. 

You tried your hardest not to look disgusted with him. Instead you kept your composure and spoke with courage and a confident demeanor. 

“You this flirty with all your hostages?” you asked plainly.

As he gazed down at your legs his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He bent down and with the gun in his hand, pushed away the bottom of your pants leg. When he saw the gun in the holster, he tsked. 

“You always carry this much dead weight on you?” 

He stood back up and put his hand out, “hand it over, I told them no weapons.” 

You reluctantly took off Hotch’s holster and placed it in the unsubs hand. Your one line of defense was gone. 

The longer you were on the bus, the more anxious Spencer got. He knew you were an exceptional profiler, and you had enough experience and skill to handle yourself in situations like this. 

But that couldn’t stop the ache in his stomach or the fact that his heart rate could power a car by now. 

He stood closer to the bus now to get a clearer view of the windows. They managed to successfully get the children and moms off and to safety, but you weren’t safe. Spencer figured you were trying to negotiate with the unsub, but that was going nowhere. This was confirmed when Rossi tried calling him again but every call was ignored. 

This unsub was stubborn as hell. He knows he trapped himself, but didn’t want to back down. At least he didn’t want to go quietly. 

Spencer was talking with the rest of the team trying to devise a plan when the gunshots were fired. The team immediately ran back to the cacophony on the bus. 

More shots were fired, he didn’t know where from. He didn’t care. 

He just needed to get to you. 

When he got a decent view through one of the windows that hadn’t shattered he saw you. Your hand over arm in pain but still standing in front of the civilians to protect them. The unsub stalking over to you, gun in hand and smacking you over the head with it. You slammed against the chairs and fell to the floor. 

Spencer's face paled. He swore he was going to throw up. 

Through the fog of his mind Spencer saw Morgan escorting Mark off the bus, his hands now behind his back in cuffs. 

He rushed past them, clambering through the door and up the stairs to get to you, calling your name. 

“Reid?” he heard your small tired voice through the crowd. 

He followed it to you, laying on the ground struggling to open your eyes and clutching your left arm. 

He crouched down to your level with a gentle hand on your uninjured arm. 

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” he comforted. 

“My head hurts,” you mumbled.

His eyes softened, “I know. I think you might have a concussion, you need to go to the hospital.” 

You slowly started to fade out of consciousness. Spencer’s heart dropped and his hand moved from your arm to your face. 

“No no no no stay with me okay?” he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he consoled.

Your eyes stopped struggling to stay open and finally made their close. His other hand rushed to your pulse point as he called for a medic.

Time seemed to stand still while Spencer sat next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. He couldn’t leave your side. He didn’t want to. 

You were okay. You were laying in the bed in front of him. But of course in his mind he ran through all the possible scenarios of how things could’ve gone worse, how things could’ve gone better. What would’ve happened if you didn’t have your gun taken away, or if the unsub got angry that you tried to bring a gun in. What if he didn’t lose his cool and start firing. What if you never went inside in the first place. 

And with all of those possible scenarios, the same thought plagued him. 

He was wrong. 

Before he was too scarred from past traumas to reveal just how much you meant to him. Not wanting to repeat the past and lose yet another person he loved cared for. 

But now, after seeing you in danger right in front of him, now he was terrified at the thought of you never knowing. He was now more scared you would never know how much he loved the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. How he thought the sound of your voice could cure any ailment he had. How he admired your strength and desire to protect others. How you could light up anyone's mood by just being you. How he could listen to you for hours, even if you were lecturing him on things he’d known like the back of his hand.

To him it was a whole new experience hearing it from you. 

Spencer was pulled from his thoughts as you stirred awake. He saw your eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights ahead. He quickly got up to dim the lights for you. 

When he returned to his seat you smiled at him, “hi.” 

“Hi,” he smiled back.  

“How are you feeling?” 

You sighed. “Like shit,” you complained with a hint of humor. 

“The doctor said you have a minor head injury, bruised ribs, and the shot to your arm thankfully didn’t break any bones.” 

“Fun,” you said sarcastically. 

A moment of silence passes between you two. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. How do you casually tell your friend and coworker you have a crush on them? 

There is no casual way. 

“You called me sweetheart,” you broke the silence. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

You fidget with the blanket, “earlier, when I passed out on the bus. You called me sweetheart.”

He searches his mind for the memories of the day. When he finds the memory he realizes in the heat of the moment the term of endearment slipped out. 

He wasn’t aware you heard it. 

“I did,” he confirmed as his ears flushed.

“Why?” you asked curiously. 

He didn’t know how to tell you that he’s wanted to call you that for weeks now. So instead he settled with-

“It just … felt right.” 

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

Spencer tensed up at your response. 

“If I crossed the line-“ 

“No. Of course not,” you interrupted with a comforting voice. 

The corners of your mouth lifted and cheeks dusted pink. “I thought it was sweet. You don’t normally say stuff like that.”  

His heart warmed at your confession and a smile spread on his face. 

“You thought me calling you sweetheart was sweet?” he lightly teased.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

Your laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in your abdomen. You bit down on your lip and gripped the side of the bed in pain. 

The reality that you were injured on the job was rushing back to him. 

He licked his lips, his nervous unconscious habit. 

“I was really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he interjected. 

“The entire time you were on that bus I was sick to my stomach. Terrified that something bad was gonna happen and it did,” he started to ramble. 

You leaned closer to him. ”But I’m okay Reid.”

“You still got hurt. He shot you for christ sake!” his voice raising in pitch and volume. 

“Reid-”

“He lashed out at you! You could’ve died!” 

“Spencer,” you said firmly, pulling his attention towards you. 

He never heard you say his name before. No matter how many times he said you could call him Spencer, you still called him Reid. Hearing his name fall from your lips was like the consistency of honey.

You placed your hands on his face caressing his cheek. His golden eyes meet yours. 

“I’m alright. I’m still here,” you consoled. 

“But if-“

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s important.” 

You nodded your head, signaling for him to continue. He gently grabbed your wrists and brought your hands in his. He took a deep breath before he decided to spill the thing that had been eating away at his heart. 

“I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Almost as long as you’ve been at the BAU,” he started. 

With your hands in his he started tracing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“If we don’t have work I count down the days until I can see you again. When I do see you I desperately want to see you smile, see you happy. And if I’m the one that causes that smile, it makes my whole day. That’s why I never interrupted when you talked about something I already knew. The way your face lit up when you talked with such passion was the highlight of my day.” 

“For months I was scared of my feelings and I kept them to myself. I was too scared to admit how much I liked you because I-” his hold on your hands tightened.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone. This job takes so much from us; I never wanted it to take you.” 

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“Today I realized it would be more painful if I went the rest of my life not telling you, than having even a fraction of a moment with you.”

A moment of silence danced between you two. Your head reeling from his confession, heart beating so hard you could feel it in your bones. Your palms sweaty from holding onto Spencers, but still neither of you let go. 

The silence was deafening, plaguing him. 

“Please … say something,” he begged. 

Your lash line was collecting tears that you simultaneously tried blinking away. Your eyes found his tie less intimidating than his gaze.

“I never thought you would like me back,” you said with a soft tone. 

Spencer's cheeks turned red as his heart started melting. “I do.” 

You brought your eyes back to his. That precious smile on his face was infectious. 

“Listen,” you squeezed his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. So you have as much time with me as you want.” 

Spencer's eyes softened at your words. He raised your hands and placed a loving kiss on your knuckles. 

The two of you were too lost in eachother to notice the footsteps towards the room. 

“Hey, I found some Jello for her if she-” Alex abruptly stopped once she noticed what she walked into. 

You both awkwardly pulled your hands away from each other; you fiddling with the hospital blanket, him rubbing his palms on his slacks. 

“So, feeling better?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Much,” you answered, still a bit flustered. 

“Good, good to hear,” She tried not to sound too smug, but the small smile on her face said otherwise. 

She raised and shook the jello container in her hand. 

“I’m gonna leave this here,” she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“Thanks Blake,” you thanked as she left. 

Once she was gone you quietly giggled and mumbled “oh my god,” under your breath. 

“You know, she kept teasing me asking when I was going to ask you out. And don’t even get me started on Morgan,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

Your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed. “Did everyone else know but me?” 

He pressed his lips in a thin line, “pretty much.” 

“I must be a shitty profiler,” you half joked.

“Absolutely not,” he said in the most comforting voice. He brushed the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. 

“You’re an amazing profiler.” 

You smiled that smile he loved so much. The one where you couldn’t hide your joy and your nose crinkled. 

“So, how do you think you’ll spend all those moments with me?” you inquired with a bit of a teasing tone. 

“Doing anything sweetheart,” he answered seriously. He looked at you with awe written all over your face. “I'm ready for anything with you.” 

“in omnia paratus” - ready for anything

Tag asks: @adrienneleclerc @ladybirdbeetle7

[roanofarcc]

A MISJUDGMENT

pairing. tyler owens x fem!reader

summary. when kate drags you back to the home for a one-week stint to help out one of her old friends, you meet tyler owens. the uncouth cowboy and his reckless actions when dealing with something as dangerous as tornados almost instantly prick your nerves until you realize maybe there's more to the cowboy than meets the eye.

warnings. description of tornados, a curse word or two, slightly inaccurate meteorological info, reader is from the midwest.

word count. 2k || masterlist

a.n. did not expect my other fic to get so much love!! sending kisses to everyone who sent me such nice words <3 and I am having a ball with all of the wonderful requests I'm getting!!

The difference between the Oklahoma and New York was more jarring than you remembered. The wide-open skies and fields that stretched for miles were a distantly familiar sight as you stepped out of the truck. You had grown up in the Midwest, smack dab in the middle of tornado alley, which meant your youth was spent listening to your cautious mother warn you every tornado season of the dangers the storms posed so you’d always be prepared when worst came to worst. You’d hunkered down more time than you could count in your storm cellar, listening to doors rattling and the radio speak. Your father was less cautious; he enjoyed watching the storms roll in on the front porch as he listened to the distant hum of sirens. 

You’d never been a fan of storms, not like your father. They made you nervous; the unpredictably and devastating destruction wasn’t something you found fascinating enough to chase.

Moving to New York was a culture shock but you were lucky enough to score to a job working in tandem with someone who also grew up in tornado alley. You and Kate quickly became friends, bonding over your upbringing and knowledge of the weather. She had opened up to you about her storm-chasing days, all ending with the tragedy that took the lives of three people she loved. Her story only cemented your opinion of storm chasing; it was too risky. But she had suckered you in with your love for the science behind weather, and the next thing you know you were in Oklahoma with Kate and a friend of hers on a one-week mission.

You stuck back with the team in charge of reading the data the chasers collected. Your apprehension wasn’t thwarted by Kate’s reassurance, but you’d always known her to be smart and she knew those storms better than anyone. Your distaste for storm chasers was not because of those there for the science of it all, but rather those who did it for the thrill. 

Tyler Owens was exactly the kind of person you expected to drive into tornados with no regard for the danger. What he was doing, from what you gathered from Javi’s brief explanation, was for entertainment and the excitement of facing down peril, laughing in the face of it. 

You stretched in the nighttime air as Kate closed the truck door behind her and turned to you with the same unsure smile she’d been carrying around since you arrived in Oklahoma. You could tell her feelings were mixed about being back there, but you also saw the spark of enjoyment she was slowly relighting. 

“I’ll go check us in,” Kate said, gesturing to the front office of the motel before she took off. You leaned against the side of Javi’s truck, yawning and taking in the scene of more storm chasers lounging around the motel’s lot, enjoying each other’s company as you all waited for another storm to pop up amidst the outbreak. 

The sound of boots under gravel approached you, belonging to none other than Tyler Owens himself. “How ‘ya holding up, city girl?” he said. 

He introduced himself to you and Kate when you first arrived with Javi, meeting his team and the other groups of chasers who were all gunning after the same storm. She had told him the two of you were in from New York for the week, and he assumed that meant you both were born and raised there. Maybe you had lost your Midwest twang during your stay, but no matter how far you moved away, a piece of you would always remain there. 

“Just fine, thank you,” you replied. His team had set up not far from where you two stood; they all seemed busy working on their equipment, but their work was often cut by howls of laughter. They seemed to be enjoying themselves more than Javi’s team was. They’d all split up into separate rooms for the night, so they’d be ready to leave first thing in the morning. 

He rested his arm against the bed of the truck, making himself comfortable as he too looked out across the lot at the people. “I’ve always wanted to visit New York City,” he said, surprising you. That seemed like the last place someone like him wanted to go. “What’s it like?” 

You shrugged. “A lot different than this.” You looked upwards at the sky, seeing stars blinking back at you. The skies were never that dark in New York City, but the towering buildings made for a cool scene too. “I haven’t lived there too long, though. I’m still figuring it out.” You were still trying to gauge if you liked it more than home. You liked the hustle and bustle most of the time, but being back under starry skies and open plains, you had to admit you missed it a little. 

“Really?” he furrowed his brows. “Where’d you move from?” 

“Kansas.” 

He smiled in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. City girl’s not actually a city girl after all.” 

“I’m full of surprises.” 

“I’m seein’ that.” Tyler was quiet for a moment before he asked, “Do you miss it?” 

You weren’t sure why he asked or why he seemed to care, but you answered regardless. “Sometimes. Not so much the storms though.” 

He laughed. “Yet, you’re out here storm chasing anyway?” 

“I’m just here to help my friend; their business is to help people. That kind of storm chasing I can get behind, I guess. Yours on the other hand…” You trailed off, and he scoffed in mock offense. 

“My kind of business is to face my fears.” 

It was your turn to scoff. “By putting yourself and your friends in danger for…what, exactly? Your internet audience? I know plenty of people like you from back home. You’re reckless and irresponsible.” You saw Kate waving you down by the stairs of the motel, flashing a set of room keys in the air. You said nothing more to Tyler, didn’t even give him a chance to defend himself, before you walked off and into your room for the night

You’d seen devastation before following a tornado, but it was still a harrowing sight. Homes flattened, family belongings flung miles away, and people left hurt in the ruins of their town. You, Kate, and all of Javi’s team arrived just as the storm subsided and the damage was fresh as wounds many of the townspeople bared. You wasted no time going around to help people; Kate did the same. 

An old woman sat in her front yard, carefully cradling windchimes in her arms. “Are you all right?” you asked, kneeling down in the wet grass in front of her. She looked up slightly startled but smiled kindly as she shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m just fine, dear, thank you.” 

“Here you go, Ms. Riley,” a familiar voice sounded from behind you. You turned your head just as Tyler appeared, holding a small box in one hand and a little kitten in the other. The woman, Ms. Riley, gasped and sat her windchimes back on the grass. She took the kitten, teary-eyed, as it purred. “There’s food there too. Make sure you eat, and if you need more my team’s got a table set up just down the road, all right?” 

“Thank you,” she said. 

Tyler said nothing to you as he began to walk away, but you followed him, not catching up with him until he was at a little table surrounded by his team. They had a stack of brown boxes they were handing out, filled with sandwiches one of the members was making quickly. They also handed out bottles of water to the line of people who had just been affected by the storm. 

One of his team members smiled at you, holding out a box of food. “You hungry?” they asked, but you shook your head. 

“No. These people need it, but thanks.” 

You weren’t sure for a moment that Tyler was going to say a word to you. You hadn’t left your last conversation on the nicest note, only to find him and his team working hard to help the ravaged neighborhood. 

But he turned toward you for a moment, looking a little conflicted. “At least take a water,” he said before looking at another member of his team. “Lily, can you take some boxes up the road? There’re  some people who can make it all the way down here.” She nodded, filling her arms with the boxes before she took off.

You were quiet for a moment, staring at Tyler as he and his team came up with a plan to help and feed as many people as they could before night fell. You felt a complicated set of feelings topple over you. And as Tyler started to walk away, you surged forward and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn around. 

“What can I do to help?” 

Together, you and Tyler spent the rest of the afternoon helping members of the neighborhood find their lost belongings and connected anyone with injuries to the EMTs working overtime. It wasn’t until the sun started to set that you took a break, finding a blown-away lawn chair that was still usable to sit on. All day you had eaten your judgment and first impression of Tyler and his team. Maybe they all were reckless and a little irresponsible in their storm-chasing, but they were doing just as Kate was, helping people, just differently. He and his team apparently did that often and were some of the first responders to the damage the tornados they chased caused. You had overheard Lily tell Kate they used the money from their t-shirt sales to buy food for victims of the storm. 

“Hey,” Tyler greeted, approaching you with two boxes of food. “Here.” He handed onto to you before he found a seat and pulled it up beside you. 

You thanked him before the two of you ate in silence for a little while. Some of the debris had been picked up, but the wrecked houses haunted the street. You’d been lucky enough to never lose your home turning a storm, but you knew too many people who had. It was terrible. That was why you had gotten a metrology degree. You had witnessed the devastation storms brought and even though you were trapped behind a computer most days, your goal was to help improve warning systems for all kinds of disasters and ensure that people knew the best way to prepare for them, but it wasn’t foolproof. Sometimes all there was to do was help pick up the pieces in the wake. 

“I think I misjudged you,” you said, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?” He smiled slightly, his face warmly illuminated by the ironically beautiful sunset. “Are you taking back the reckless and irresponsible comment?” 

“No.” You smiled too. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. You guys did a good thing here, helping these people.” 

Maybe there was more to him than you had originally believed. 

“It’s all a part of the job,” he said, a bit too casually for all of the work they actually did to help; one could say he was humble about it, which confused you even more. From the second he climbed out of his truck the first time you saw him, you were so sure you knew exactly the kind of guy he was. 

“You aren’t exactly how I expected you to do,” you said, honestly. 

He seemed to take that in stride, smirking at you bright enough to bring heat to your face. “Well, if you stick around, you might even get to like me.” 

You laughed. “Don’t push your luck, cowboy.” But you had a feeling he right be right. The week wasn’t over yet; you still had time to figure out exactly who Tyler Owens was. 

[julymusings]

Jason Todd x Single Mom!Reader

I've been plagued for many months now by the idea of jason todd x young single mom!reader. I literally made this blog this morning just to post this

this is so LONG try as i might to shorten it i've been itching to get all this out of me so enjoy this word vomit i might just make a full fic if i'm feeling extra frisky

You got pregnant in college, and now you’re fresh out of grad school moving to a new city with your 3 year old daughter

You got a job at Wayne Enterprises, leading an important new project. You and your colleagues are invited to the latest Wayne Gala, hosted at the billionaire’s own manor. All these years as a young mother and a student, you hadn’t any experience with such extravagance-- how could you say no?

the party lowkey sucks because it's all old rich people so you sneak out to a balcony where you find a young man drinking whiskey and texting on his phone.

he introduces himself as jason, and his hand is rough and calloused when you shake it, but it's warm and sends a tingle up your arm. (😏)

You chat about your work, he complains about the stuffiness of a life at Wayne Enterprises and you laugh when he warns you to get out while you can (he's joking, of course. not because he thinks it's worth staying but because if you leave he'd never be able to hear that adorable laugh again)

when you go off on a tangent about how excited you are for your project, he's not even listening anymore. the sheer passion that lights up your face has his mind going fuzzy and a full orchestra playing in the background

you're pulled back in before he can get your number :( he's so mopey all weekend he doesn't even have it in him to retaliate when damian makes fun of him for having pink pony club as his top song for this month :(

when you get home your email is flooded with warnings from other parents at your daughter's daycare about a lice scare?? okay, you think, she's definitely not going on monday, you can just bring her to work with you, right? what's the worst that could happen?

the following monday he just happens to show up at the office (He can't just stop by to say hi to his brother who he loves?) (tim calls security almost immediately)

you're not at your cubicle (in a meeting, your desk neighbor informs him) so he mills about the floor like a lost puppy just waiting for you to show up so he can "accidentally" run into you

the woman at the front desk has a chair pulled up next to hers where this little girl with pigtails is sitting, trying to console her as tears stream down her face

jason springs into action, kneeling in front of her chair to ask what's wrong

she just sniffles and holds up her stuffed animal, an elephant whose button eye has popped out, the woman watching her trying to get her to hand it over so she can sew it back on but she wont let go

he goes full grey's anatomy, fussing over the toy like it's in mortal peril and complimenting her for being so brave before gently asking if he can try to fix it

she lets him take it and he uses the woman's travel sewing kit to stitch it back on

she's ecstatic, leaping forward into his arms to give him a big hug

but now she won't let him leave because no he has to have a conversation with the elephant first and introduce himself and give it post-surgery care instructions and listen to it talk about how much she it wants a puppy and he feels like such an idiot talking to that thing but anything to make this little girl smile

she pulls a little picture book from the backpack hung on the back of her chair and asks him to read with her and he can't just say no!

so he plops down on the tile floor and starts reading out loud and even though she's standing next to him craning her neck to see the pictures he's a head taller than her

when you finish your meeting and head back to the front desk to thank gretchen for watching your kid the sight you see makes your heart absolutely melt

jason and your daughter are sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor of Wayne Enterprises as he reads to her, and he's pulling out all the stops, he's doing voices, sound effects, and she's giggling so hard she can't sit up straight

but then they both finally notice you

"mommy!" she yells, running to you and wrapping herself around your leg

you're surprised to see him, but definitely not disappointed, and if what you just walked in on indicated anything, it was that you wanted, nay, needed this man

so now you're flushed and hopeful, mind running with possibilities of why he's here; could it be? he couldn't stop thinking about you either? he came all the way to ask you out?

but jason is also surprised, astounded even, by the miniature carbon copy clinging to your leg saying something about scooby snacks

he's freaking out on the inside

through a tight-lipped greeting he excuses himself with what he hopes is a neutral demeanor (spoiler alert: it's not) and goes home to think

and you obviously know exactly what that was about, one doesn't go through pregnancy at 19 without becoming well-acquainted with the whole catalogue of surprised/judgy reactions

of course you're a mess because the early/mid 20s dating scene is hard enough as it is but with a toddler? forget it, might as well just give up now

you go home to call your best friend and get drunk over face time while she assures you that men aint shit and offers to put a curse on him (you consider it, but how are you supposed to get a lock of his hair?)

he's up all night hating himself for being such an asshole and trying to come up with a scenario in which this works, in which he can have you in his life and also a child and be the red hood because he can't stop thinking about you

so then he just says fuck it and the next morning he shows up at your office with flowers and a puppy stuffed animal and finally asks you out

[lucysarah-c]

I wrote this little piece a while ago and I decided to do a little continuation.

Masterlist to all the parts.

"Oh, there he is," Erwin said, spotting his friend in the crowd at the military event. He began navigating through the sea of people, keeping his hand close to the small of her back without actually touching it—a subconscious gesture of protectiveness over her petite frame. It was as if he was afraid she might get hurt as he led her through the throng. When they reached their destination, he cleared his throat to get the attention of the two standing before them. Hange smiled warmly, but Levi turned around, frowning deeply. Social events were Levi's least favorite, especially those Erwin coerced him into attending. "Levi, this is Y/N. Y/N, Levi," Erwin introduced them, gesturing between the two. Y/N smiled softly. "Nice to meet you, Captain." She had met Hange a few times in the past, but seeing Levi at such an event was a rare occurrence. "Yeah, same," Levi replied curtly, maintaining his usual stoic and uninterested demeanor. Y/N spent a bit more time with the group of scouts until some of her friends arrived, beckoning her to join them. "I should get going," she said, turning to properly greet her friends. She nearly collided with Levi in the process, causing her to chuckle with a mix of embarrassment and mischief. "Well, since we're here—" she murmured, and before Levi could react, she made a kissing sound and pressed her cheek against his. "Bye, Captain. Take care." She then bid farewell to Hange and Erwin the same way and disappeared into the crowd. Later that night, on her way home, she bumped into Erwin again. "I don't think your friend liked me very much," she commented, tightening her coat against the chill. "He was so quiet and didn't seem very friendly." Erwin chuckled. "Don't worry… he's always like that." -- Meanwhile, Levi and Hange were making their way back to the scout facility. "She's going to be the mother of my children," Levi said, almost in a trance. Hange burst into laughter. "You'll have to actually talk to her for that to happen." "Fuck—"

 "So..." 

Levi cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea; his Adam’s apple rise and fall as the brown liquid slid down. He sat on a chair opposite Erwin’s desk, one arm draped casually over the back, his right leg crossed on top. The chair’s wheels allowed him to rotate slightly, giving Erwin a side view. 

Erwin's hand, which had been meticulously working on a map for the upcoming expedition, paused for a moment. A subtle grimace flashed across his face before he regained his composure and continued. Levi had been acting strangely ever since he stepped into the office to deliver paperwork. Normally, he would have left the pile and walked out. But today was different. Levi had seated himself, poured a cup of tea, and now, he was clearing his throat. Erwin knew Levi wanted something. By his demeanour, it was clear that whatever was on Levi's mind was significant enough to make the usually decisive Captain hesitate. 

"So, mhp—" Levi cleared his throat again and adjusted his position in the chair, trying to appear nonchalant but only raising suspicion. Erwin kept his eyes on his work, though his mind was wandering, waiting for Levi to reveal his purpose. "How did you and..." Levi paused, frowning slightly, as if searching for a name. "Y/N? I think that's her name." 

Erwin couldn't help but chuckle, a sound that echoed in the empty office. He bit the inside of his cheeks to stifle his laughter as Levi shot him a glare. 

"What’s so damn funny?" Levi's tone was sharp, a stark contrast to his earlier hesitation. 

"You," Erwin replied without hesitation, a smirk lingering on his lips. "It took you three years to remember Nile's name and stop calling him 'pathetic mustache.' And now you expect me to believe you casually mention my friend’s name as if you don’t remember it?" 

Levi snorted, offended by the implication that he was being less than straightforward. 

“What about my friend?” Erwin set his pen down carefully to avoid staining his work with ink. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers. 

"You always say I need to be more sociable with other divisions, and now—" 

Levi's feeble excuse was cut off by Erwin. "And you decided to start by getting to know my close friend?" 

The tension was palpable, like a taut wire ready to snap. Erwin had caught Levi, much like a parent waiting for their child to confess a known transgression. 

"Levi, if you’re trying to hit on a friend of mine whom I consider like a little sister, at least have the guts to admit it." 

Levi's eyes remained fixed on the wall, motionless as if hoping the scrutiny would vanish if he stayed still, like a cornered animal. 

"You never introduce me to anyone interesting, and when you do, you gate-keep them." 

"I never introduce you to anyone interesting because you never attend social events," Erwin countered. 

Levi’s expression was impassive, but Erwin could almost see a hint of a pout. "Y/N was in her final year of nursing training in the military when I needed a medical companion for my aging mother. They initially refused because such services were usually reserved for the MPs. But after insisting, they sent their least experienced one. Despite that, Y/N was young but extremely dedicated. My mother adored her, treating her like her own daughter. She cared for my mother until her last day, and that's how I know her." 

Levi nodded slowly, as if absorbing the information. Erwin’s account only heightened her appeal in Levi’s mind. Her charming, outgoing nature and the sparkle in her eyes as she smiled captivated him. It felt offensive that he didn’t know every detail about her. 

"With that said..." Erwin continued, straightening up and returning to his paperwork, "Whatever plans your former thug mind is conjuring, I suggest you rethink them." 

Levi frowned. "I can't even ask? I wasn’t planning on doing anything." 

"Yeah, yeah, and I was born yesterday," Erwin replied with a hint of sarcasm. 

The truth was, Levi wasn’t doing anything. Since they first met, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. It made him feel like one of the awkward teenagers he often supervised, hoping to spot her in a crowded room only to shy away when she appeared. Talking to her casually seemed more daunting than reclaiming Wall Maria. 

Their paths had crossed occasionally, but usually, she approached to greet Erwin, and Levi remained silent. 

"Your hair doesn’t look that shitty," Levi mentioned once, out of the blue. The bustling hallway of the Capital building suddenly felt quiet, amplifying the awkward silence. 

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, then frowned slightly as she processed his comment. "Well... considering I’ve been on emergency on-call for the past 48 hours, I'll take that as a compliment," she chuckled, half-friendly, half-confused. 

‘It was a compliment...’ Levi thought to himself. 

If there were a cure for his infatuation, it would require something he absolutely lacked: sociability. 

"Hope you have a great expedition," she offered her best wishes. 

"Yeah, you too..." Levi responded before he could think. 

She laughed softly. "Thank you, but the only expedition I'm planning is to my bed." 

‘Smooth as sandpaper,’ Levi thought, grateful for his stoic expression to hide how much he wished he could disappear at that moment. 

Each encounter felt worse than the last. He said less each time, feeling increasingly awkward. He clenched his teeth as he watched her joke around with Erwin, effortlessly friendly and outgoing. 

It shouldn’t be this hard. He just needed one chance. She was always surrounded by MPs, and Levi knew he was ten times the man they would ever be. But every opportunity slipped away like water through his fingers, and he found himself watching her leave with a sweet smile and a gentle kiss on the cheek, her hair flowing behind her. 

‘Do you need landing lights on my bed? I want to sleep with you!’ 

It was a paradox. He constantly thought about her, yet Levi realized he hadn’t felt such a strong necessity to pin someone down in his bed in years. Imagining those eyes looking at him half-lidded, hearing her soft whimpers... it was intoxicating. But it also felt wrong, as if even thinking about it insulted her honour. 

One chance. That’s all he needed. 

"Oh!"  

Levi could recognize that voice from a mile away. He turned around in the hallway while they were idly waiting for a meeting with the higher-ups. There she was, walking confidently towards them. To the Captain, it felt like she was coming straight to him. "Aren't you my saviour?" 

'Savior? Yeah, I can be whatever you want,' Levi's brain struggled to form a coherent thought. But as soon as she reached them, and Erwin was the first to receive her greetings, Levi's hopes sank like a stone to the bottom of a river. He clicked his tongue in frustration while the two of them caught up on their respective lives. 

Automatically, he dissociated, feeling like a third wheel. "So... wouldn't you be my saviour?" The question was repeated, and it took Levi a couple of seconds to realize by the sudden silence that she was referring to him. His eyes lifted to find her looking at him with a cheeky smile and subtle, pleading eyes. 

"Huh?"  

"Wouldn't you do me a tiny, teeny favour, Captain?" She asked, holding her fingers close together to show just how small her request was. 

Levi gulped, feeling weak under her doe-eyed look and subtle pout as she feigned innocence. The sensible part of his brain told him to at least ask what the favour entailed. However, his other instincts took over, and he found himself saying, "Sure." 

"Oh! Thank you so much!" Without another word, she grabbed his hand and started dragging him down the hallway. Levi offered no resistance. Her pace was brisk, and as she turned to call back, "Don’t worry, Erwin. I won’t keep him long!" 

"You better not; I went all the way to the Underground to get him," Erwin joked, playing along. 

Levi wasn’t fond of being touched, but her hand felt so soft against his. For her, he’d make an exception. Even as she led him out of the building and down the streets of the Capital, he didn’t mind. When they reached the hospital nearby, Levi started to wonder if he had inadvertently agreed to donate his organs. 

"I have a group of orphans at the hospital who were brought in to get the new vaccine," she explained. "But they've been very fussy about it. I bet if they see the mighty Captain Levi, humanity’s strongest soldier, getting his shot, they’ll be brave enough to get theirs too. Right?" 

'So... I just agreed to get a vaccine because my brain is as fucking sexually frustrated as Kirschtein,' Levi thought, mentally kicking himself.  

The wide-eyed children stared up at Levi with so much admiration that their mouths hung open. He couldn’t help but smile subtly. Usually, the loud admiration from citizens wasn’t something he enjoyed. But seeing the kids' starry-eyed wonder was heartwarming. 

"See, Captain Levi isn’t scared of getting his shots," she told the kids as she prepared a cotton swab with alcohol and loaded the syringe. The children’s tears dried up, and their cries ceased as they watched the soldier intently. 

"Could you take off your sleeve on one arm, Captain?" she asked sweetly, hastily moving around. Levi quickly complied. She turned back to him once everything was ready and chuckled, "You’re more ripped than I thought under that uniform," she murmured, slightly blushing as she wiped his pale skin with the cold cotton. 

Levi's eyes never left her face as she was so close that he didn’t even feel the needle go into his arm. He was intoxicated by her delightful perfume and the way her eyelashes framed her eyes. He was tempted to lean in and close the gap between them. 

"All done. See, it doesn’t hurt!" 

Before he knew it, she had finished. She placed a band-aid on his arm and stepped back. "If you all want to grow up to be as strong as Captain Levi, you’ve got to get your shots and eat your vegetables! Right, Captain?" 

Levi snapped back to reality, which was far less appealing than his fantasies. "Ah, yes, listen to her, kids," he said, rolling his sleeve back down. 

"Now, who wants to go first?" 

Suddenly, all the children raised their hands eagerly, begging to be the first to get their shots. It was his chance—stay around until the kids left the room and offer his services for any future occasions she needed him. Maybe next time, they could have tea together, and then... 

"Here," she interrupted his thoughts, placing an ice pack on his arm and handing a bottle of painkillers to the nun in charge of the kids. 

Levi looked at her, puzzled. "You’ll need this. Your arm will hurt like crazy in a couple of hours." 

"I thought you said it didn’t hurt," he said, incredulous. 

She laughed, her chuckle echoing in the hospital room. "First rule of medicine: you never tell a man or a child how much a shot will hurt. You’ll probably have a fever tonight." 

Levi felt absurdly and grotesquely tricked. "And what about my painkiller?" he asked, feeling like a little kid begging for a lollipop. 

"Oh, Captain, I’m sure you have someone who can take care of you tonight if your temperature rises a bit," she teased, sassiness in her voice. 

'Wait... what?' 

--- 

"So, let me get this straight—you’ve got a 39°C fever, and you didn’t even ask her out on a date?" Hange questioned, checking the thermometer that confirmed Levi's high temperature. 

Levi slumped in his office chair with a cold compress on his forehead and another on his arm, his cheeks flushed, feeling as though a Titan had stomped on him. 

"You truly are an idiot," Hange declared. 

"At least she thinks I'm getting laid!" Levi argued back weakly, his voice hoarse and his eyes glazed. 

"Yeah... she also thinks you’re taken, so she wasn’t hitting on you." 

"Fuck—"

(If I get any new idea on how to persue Levi's journey on trying to win the reader over, I'll haha)

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @levisecretgfblog @searriously @blackdxggr @ackermanswifee @galactict3a @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-12345 @twruui @lemonsupernova @r3becca_o @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @leti224-blog Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[gguk-n]

Chapter 1- The Proposal

A+ in Pretend Love (Lando Norris x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- The sponsor's say they'll pull out if Lando doesn't fix his ways. So, Zak stages an intervention. Y/N can't get approved for visa, no matter how hard she tries. Zak offers to help. An honest and mutually beneficial relationship is formed.

The scene is set. The MTC is almost empty to the wandering eye, but in reality, every one was sat in the huge conference hall Zak had constructed for other reason not pertaining to the one they had gathered for. "So, we're gathered here today" Zak began only to be interrupted by Oscar, "I still don't get why I'm here when this is about Lando." Zak sighed, "This is about me?" Lando asked surprised. Oscar looks at him with a raised eyebrow and then the other people at the table like in the Office. "Oscar, this is a team problem and we must deal with it as a team." Zak spoke while pinching the bridge of his nose. "Now where was I? Before I was rudely interrupted" Zak paused; "The sponsors aren't happy and want to pull away because of Lando's antics" Zak finished. "What? Why me? What about Oscar?" Lando pointed out like a child caught in trouble. "As far as I know, Oscar is extremely sponsor friendly with his long term girlfriend and polite demeanour" Zak said looking pointedly at Lando.

The table erupted in whispers, "What have I do?" Lando piped in. "The partying, the girls, the drinking. Might I continue?" Zak asked. Lando sighed, "So, what do you want me to do? Live like a monk" he asked. "No, we just need to polish up your image, make it more sponsor friendly." Zak said. "I have an idea" someone on the table suggested. "Go on" Zak prompted. "What if we say that Lando's been in a long term healthy relationship and is about to get married?" they suggested. Everyone seemed to hum in agreement. "What no? Ask me first, I'm the one involved. This is nonsense. Ask the sponsors to leave" Lando almost shouted. "Lando, you do know those sponsors are the reason you can drive in Formula One, so that we can make cars for you to race" Zak asked pointedly. Lando's shoulder's slumped, he looked at Oscar for support but he just shrugged at Lando; "Fine" Lando sighed. "So, which model is it?" he asked. "No, we need someone low- key. Out of the public eye to make this believable" someone else piped in. "But which girl will want to agree to that" someone else argued. Lando was currently a by-stander in his own life.

Finally after much deliberation, it was decided that to help Lando clear up his image; he would fake date someone who lived a normal life. And Zak would pay them to keep their mouth shut.

Y/N Y/L/N was in her last semester at University of Monaco of her Master's programme. She been living there since the start of the programme while working as a teaching assistant to gain experience towards her final goal of becoming a Professor. The university was great; culturally diverse and the job paid decently well; in her opinion. Right now, the biggest dilemma she faced was the stupid visa that for some reason wouldn't get renewed no matter how much she tried. She was sat in an almost empty cafe in the street's of Monaco, tucked away from the public. "You must understand. I'll have the job as soon as I graduate. Please extend my visa" she almost begged. "We can't Miss Y/L/N. Those are the rules. You will have to leave the country at the end of your visa" the voice replied sternly. Y/N sighed exasperated while running her hand through her hair for the hundredth time today as the call cut.

Some one else had entered the cafe during this whole ordeal, he walked up to Y/N, "Is this seat taken?" Zak asked. Y/N just nodded without looking up. "I'm sorry for eves dropping but it seems like you're having visa issues?" Zak asked. Y/N looked up, he pushed his business card forward. "I'm Zak Brown, CEO of McLaren" he introduced himself. "Y/N Y/L/N" she shook his hand. "I could help you if you'd like" he suggested. "What do you get in return?" she asked skeptically. "Well, I will have to discuss this with the person who might help you and let you know" he said. "Maybe you can forward me your CV. I can see what I can do" he spoke slowly. Y/N bit her lip before thinking, fuck it. What's the worst that could happen? and forwarded her CV to Zak. "I'll contact you as soon as possible" Zak said smiling while he walked away. "Arrange a meeting in the MTC, I have the woman for the job" Zak called his assistant.

Back at the MTC, when everyone had gathered; "So, I met this girl, around Lando's age. She is in need of help with her visa renewal" Zak said. "If she needs a visa for Monaco, wouldn't she be better off marrying Charles" Oscar interrupted. Zak sighed loudly, "Can you stop interrupting me?" he asked. "Can you stop having me attend meeting that have nothing to do with me?" Oscar retorted. "Touche" Zak relented. "So, we help her with her visa and she helps us with Lando" Zak suggested. Everyone seemed to agree unanimously. Lando was quite the whole time, he felt like he had lost any credibility since they were in trouble with the sponsors because of him. He quietly agreed to the arrangement. "Let's meet up with her. I'll arrange for a meeting. Just the three of us" he told Lando already on the phone with Y/N before Lando could even say anything.

They had decided to meet at a cafe in Monaco. The cafe was quite, with barely any customers in site. When Zak and Lando entered, they found a woman sat at one of the tables placed at the back, nursing a cup of coffee. As soon as she saw Zak, she greeted him with a smile. Lando was looking at her the whole time. Zak cleared his throat, "This is Lando Norris" he introduced Lando to her. She smiled at him, introducing herself and the three sat down when Zak began talking. "So, here's the thing, I need help" She nodded along, "If it's not money related I think I can help" she suggested. "It isn't. I need someone to help with damage control." Zak drawled. "Lando here is a Formula One driver, he drives for my team" Zak explained, watching the confusion on Y/N's face. She nodded along. "The sponsors are creating an issue, all baseless I might add. But I do want to please them and I believe, you would be of great help" Zak said. "How can I help?" she asked. "I would like it if you two would date. Maybe like a fake relationship, just for like a year or so." Zak said quickly. "I don't...this is crazy." she expressed. "I understand this is crazy, but please help me. Being with a millionaire helps" he pleaded. "He's a millionaire" Y/N asked looking at Lando now. "I might not look the part but they pay well" Lando laughed gesturing towards Zak. "This will help, they wouldn't want to cause issues for a public figure." Zak further elaborated. "Like a mutually beneficial relationship" Zak finished. "I need to think about this. All of this is too much for me" she said quickly grabbing her things to leave. Before the two men could stop her she was out of the cafe. "Told you this was a bad idea" Lando said shaking his heading, getting up to leave.

Back home, Y/N was in turmoil. She ended up googling Lando and whatever they said was true. This wasn't some MLM or cult they were trying to indoctrinate her into. And from all the news article, it seemed that Lando had bit of a reputation of partying and sleeping around. She could see why having a girlfriend would help him. She couldn't see why she could help him though. Wouldn't he do better with a model or someone famous?

A few days of her mind being plagued with thoughts of that weird meeting with Lando and Zak; the visa officer called. "Please ma'am you have to understand, I can't do anything. I can't renew your visa" he stressed. Y/N was annoyed, "Please, you can't do this" she cried. "It's out of my control" he expressed. "Please stop calling us" he warned and cut the call. Maybe, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Y/N called up Zak, "Hi, This is Y/N" she spoke slowly. "Hi, Y/N. How are you?" Zak chirped. "I'm good. I'm up for the offer. I'll date...I mean fake date Lando" she stated. "Wonderful. That's what I would've liked to hear" he gloated. "Let's meet at the same place this weekend. And please answer a few questions my assistant will email you before we meet" Zak said before cutting the call. Zak had to make a few more calls like to Lando and his assistant.

Y/N and Lando both received emails asking them questions most couples would know about each other. Y/N wasn't sure if she should fake a personality but decided against it and answered it as truly as possible.

The weekend rolled around rather quickly and the both of them were getting dressed to meet. The cafe seemed empty yet again, a strange occurrence in their eyes. The three of them greeted each other before receiving files from Zak. "These contain information about each other learn it. And this contains how you two met, fell in love and are now happily engaged" Zak said, pulling a velvet box from his pocket. He placed the box in front of Y/N which housed a beautiful ring, "It's fake, so don't worry about losing it" Zak said looking at the pair. "I think this will turn out great. Now, Y/N, Lando's home race is soon. So, two of you will make your debut then." he explained. Y/N looked at Lando, the two of their eyes locked together as Zak explained everything.

"Here's the contract and an NDA" Zak said pulling out more papers. "How long will the contract be valid for?" she asked beginning to read it. "For a year" Zak stated. "Don't you have any questions?" Y/N asked Lando. "No" he said shaking his head and proceeded to sign the contract while Y/N took her time to read through it, not wanting to be tied by anything she couldn't be able to repay. Y/N finally signed the paper after a few more minutes of going through the contract. "Welcome to the McLaren family. Don't worry about the expenses, they will be covered by us" Zak said quickly putting the contracts away. "Pleasure doing business with you" Zak remarked. "I hope we get along well" Y/N told Lando, directing her attention to him. "Hope so. My number is in my details. I'll contact you before the weekend. See you on the Thursday after this" Lando stated. "The weekend is on the Saturday or Sunday" Y/N quizzed. "Not in Formula One" Lando said, "I'll text you the details soon" he said leaving before anyone. Y/N watched both Lando and Zak leave, confused at what she had just gotten herself into.

She reached home, kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the sofa before calling her best friend. "Guess what I just did" she said as her best friend answered the call.

Tag list- @gamesetmatch-me @seonghwaexile @yootvi @hadesnumber1daughter @khaylin27 @abq654

[starkwlkr]

was i such a fool? | mark webber

part 1 part 3

ENGLAND

You felt embarrassed. You didn’t know who was the person who spread the confirmed rumor around the paddock, but you knew that being in the paddock was the last thing you wanted to do.

Your daughter, Grace, had been reading in her room while you were in your home office replying to some emails. Zak had let you get some time off, which you were hesitant to take at first but you knew how chaotic it was going to get in the paddock if you were present.

“Mommy!” Grace called for you from her room.

“What is it, my love?” You asked, closing your laptop as you stood up and walked to her room. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, i finished my book. Can we go to the bookstore and get more?” Grace asked.

“Of course we can, baby.” You replied. As you were about to leave to go back to your office, Grace spoke once again.

“Can I go to a race?”

Grace had never attended a race before. She knew what your job was and why it required you to travel so much, but she never once attended a race. It surprised you that she even thought about it.

“A race . . .” You sighed. “You really want to go to a race?”

Grace nodded. “I want to see the fast cars.”

You thought about it for a second. It would be nice for Grace to see a race after years of only seeing it on tv. But then again only several people knew that she existed and you liked it that way.

“I’ll think about it.”

TIME SKIP TO ABU DHABI 2023

MCLAREN GARAGE

Grace watched as several men dressed in orange with helmets on sat in their chairs. She was introduced to the pit crew by you. Everyone on the team was more than happy to meet her. She was extremely excited to be able to watch her first race in person.

“I’ll be over there watching the race, okay? Stay here with Lucy.” You told Grace. Lucy was an old friend from school. When you explained that Grace wanted to attend a race, she offered to look after the girl while you worked.

“Okay. I love you.” Grace gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“I love you more, my love.” You replied and hugged her before you left.

From a distance, Mark watched the girl wave goodbye to you. It made him feel like the worst person ever. How could he do that to you? You never deserved it. You were always so supportive of him, comforting him when he needed it and that all changed the second Mark kissed someone else.

He thought about going up to Grace and making small talk, but he knew you wouldn’t like it. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t want to upset you even more. Seeing her, so close yet so far away, brought sadness to the older man’s heart. She had his eyes, his smile, they even shared the same laughter, something you loved when you were dating Mark.

By the end of the race, he had decided to talk to you.

He tried to find you, but it seemed like you knew he wanted to talk so you hid from him. Only it wasn’t like that. Grace wanted to walk on the track so you took her. Lucy was tired so you told her that you would meet her back at the hotel. She held your hand as you and her walked around. It was a perfect moment for you and your daughter.

“Did you enjoy your first race?” You asked.

“Yes! The cars go faster than on the tv, it was so cool!” Grace exclaimed. “Can I go to another race?”

“You’ll have to wait until next year, my love, and you have school. I don’t want you missing a day of school because of a race.” You explained.

“Okay. . .” She sighed. “Who was the man that was in the garage?” She suddenly asked.

“There’s a lot of men in there, Grace.”

“He didn’t wear orange like the rest of the team. He had one of these too.” Grace pointed to her paddock pass. “I think Lucy said he used to be a driver.”

You had an idea of who Grace was talking about and you didn’t like it.

When you made it back to the Mclaren garage, you saw that it was almost empty. A few members of the pit crew were cleaning up, but that didn’t catch your attention. It was Mark that was pacing around the garage.

“Mommy, that’s the man I was talking about.” Grace whispered to you.

Mark noticed your presence and stopped pacing. “Hi.” Was all that he said.

“It’s getting late, Mark. You should go back to your hotel room, get some sleep. I know you don’t like early morning flights.” You said to the Australian.

“Hear me out, please. Just this once and I’ll leave you alone. Give me five minutes.” He pleaded. The remaining pit crew took that as a sign to give you privacy so they left.

Grace held onto your hand even tighter. “Who’s that?” She whispered again to you.

“His name is Mark.” You said.

Four words was all it took to break Mark Webber even more. He was just Mark to his daughter and he had to accept that.

“Three minutes and that’s it.” You said.

“I’ll take that.”

@glow-ish @vicurious28 @dannyriccsupremacy @viennakarma @pear-1206 @nathalielovesonedirection @jaydaaasworld @shimmermotorsport @honethatty12 @a-beaverhausen

[dumpywrites]

Cat-astrophe - Min Yoongi / Suga

Summary: Your pet cat keeps going to your neighbor’s apartment and it’s a problem. 

Genre/tags: Fluff-ish, strangers to ???, minor mention of anxiety.

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

a/n: cus we're all soft for long haired Yoongi, right? hehe

It had been officially a month since you had moved to a new apartment place. You loved the new place honestly. It was cozy and the neighborhood looked nice. There were many convenience store nearby and the street was always still busy until late at night, making you feel a little bit of secure when coming home late.

While the place was nice it had one tiny downside. It was rather on the far side from your workplace. It took you an hour of bus ride just to get home from the office, so some days could be more tiring than others. And today was one of those tiring days. 

It was around nine at night on a Monday. Having to work overtime for the deadline and missed the bus, really dreaded you out. You were both tired and hungry, arriving home only to find that your pet cat was missing. It really just was not your day.

To say you were panicking would be a bit of an understatement. Cookie was barely a four month-old cat and had a very tiny body. All the negative possibilities start filling your head and you were horrified by all of them. Not to mention how it was basically forbidden to bring pets in the apartment complex. It was one of the policies but you couldn't help it since Cookie was a rescue.

When you arrived at your apartment lobby with a cat snack on your hand, there wasn’t that many people there. You walked past a guy by the front desk, who had medium-length black locks and fair skin, with headphones dangling on his neck. You began to call your pet’s name as soon as you were outside the lobby, but suddenly you felt a light tap on your shoulder. 

“Are you looking for a small black Bombay cat?” It was the same guy who just walked past you.

“Oh my god, I am! Have you seen him???” You said, your voice was a little bit shaky. 

“He’s in my place, I’m on the seventh.” 

“Oh, me too!”

“I know.”

“Oh.” You said, surprised at how stoic he sounded saying that, but didn’t further question him on it. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, can I go get him now?”

“Sure, I was just gonna go up as well.”

When you both entered the elevator, you made a mental note to ask his name or at least introduce yourself. He was a neighbor after all. It was pretty silent inside the lift and you just hoped he didn’t hear your stomach rumbling ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, bearing the hunger for a little while. 

When the elevator door opened you followed him from behind as he led you to his door. When he stopped at his front door, your eyes were widened in shock. 

“You live next to me?!” 

“Yeah.” He said casually and unlocked the door. "I've seen you multiple times."

You chose to not further question and followed him but stopped when you had only took two steps in, because technically, the homeowner had not really officially permit you to come in. The guy seemed to notice how you just stood awkwardly and looked back. 

“You can sit down for a sec, I’ll go get him.” 

“Oh, right… yeah. Thank you.” You said awkwardly and walked to sit on his couch. 

A few seconds later the man came back with your cat in his embrace. Cookie was clinging on his tshirt before he tugged him and gave him onto your lap. 

“Cookie!” You called, almost teary. 

“I think he jumped from your balcony to mine. Make sure to close your balcony door next time.”

“Thank you so much, I owe you… uh…”

“Yoongi.” 

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You repeated and introduced yourself in return. “I’m Y/N, and if you ever need anything please let me now.” You said as you stood up, already making your way out. 

“Also, thank you for not reporting it…”

“No problem.” Was all the guy said and by this point you figured he was not much of a talker. 

You bid your goodbye to your neighbor, which only gained a small nod before he closed the door on you. You walked to your door and let Cookie down as soon as you got inside. Sighing deeply, you began to feel your stomach rumble again, this time it rumbled quite loudly. Your feet were aching from standing on the bus and now your body finally got on how tired you were. 

Cookie meowed and immediately went to his cat bed and laid down. You sighed and smiled at the small creature. 

“You little rascal… you’re lucky I love you.” 

You then went to your kitchen to cook yourself some instant ramen. 

The next day you went to work and had to take another overtime. Unfortunately you had to for the rest of the week until your current project was done. It was exhausting but you had to make it and mostly thinking about the bonus pay from it helped quite a bit. You spent the next few days the same, repeating the schedules, and the tiring work. 

It was almost ten at night that you arrived home and found out Cookie had gone missing again. For some reason your first instinct was to knock on your next door, in hope the neighbor who once helped you, could lend you a hand again, and hoping maybe Cookie just ran to his place again instead of being gone somewhere where it wasn't safe for him.

You knocked on the door and didn’t get immediate answer. You waited for what felt like five minutes, before the door opened and you were greeted with the sight of your neighbor with wet hair. He had a small white towel around his neck and the hoop earring that you saw him with before was absent. His skin looked glowing, you probably needed to ask about his skin care routine later.

“So sorry to interrupt you, I was wondering if Cookie might have gone to your place again?” 

“He’s right there on the couch.” He casually pointed. His expression was straight and had you wondering if he did not mind it, bothered, or simply didn’t care. 

You slowly walked to approach your cat and bent down to its level. “Cookie, you need to stop this…” You tapped the cat's nose, as if scolding the poor cat would do anything. 

“He jumped to my balcony again, did you forget to close the door?” 

“But I made sure to close it this morning…” You looked at your neighbor, who walked closer to inspect the cat. 

“I think he knows how to turn door knobs, since he’s quite a jumper. You need to lock the door.” 

“I can’t believe this little demon…” You sighed, fingers still stroking the purring cat. 

“He’s… alright.” 

You were slightly taken aback by the response and looked up to him, but much to your disappointment, his expression still looked the same. You were about to get up and excuse yourself, but you notice a small steel bowl under his dining table, half full with what you assumed to be cat milk (I mean, it would be weird if it was his, duh!). 

“You also have a cat?”

His eyes followed yours. “Oh, that. I got it the first time Cookie came here, I figured he must be thirsty since he came in around noon time.” 

“That’s… that’s very nice of you.” You looked at him and smiled. Somehow him addressing your cat by his name sounded lovely. 

“You can have the rest of the milk if you want, since you’ve figured out how he escaped and all…” 

“It’s okay, you can keep it! Just in case he ran into you again…” You chuckled but then stopped after realizing how that just sounded like you did not mind troubling him with your cat continuously. “I mean… I’m sorry, I’ll make sure he’ll never escape again.” 

“It’s alright, I’ll keep the milk for now.” He paused for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just in case.”

You looked at your neighbor and couldn’t help but to feel all warm inside. He seemed like a nice person and from the looks of it he also liked your cat. 

“Thank you so much, Yoongi. I’ll be taking this little guy here then...” You smiled at him and stood up with Cookie in your arms. 

“I got some dim sum…” 

You looked at the guy questioningly. 

“Do you maybe want some?” 

“That’d be too much, it’s okay, you go ahead and eat.” You politely declined. Although you were hungry, you could bring yourself to bother your neighbor any more than what you had done. 

“Have you eaten?” 

“Y-yeah?” You asked, afraid you heard it wrong. 

“Have you eaten?” He repeated. “If not, then I insist you take some.”

“I…” You wanted to lie, but at this point it would come off as rude if you refuse him again. “I actually haven’t. Thank you very much though, I feel so bad that you’re being this nice to me.”

“You can just eat them here.” 

“I don’t wanna disturb—“ You were awkwardly cut by the sound of your stomach rumbling. 

“You’re not disturbing me.” He cleared his throat and looked away. 

That was embarrassing. 

And that was how you ended up sitting down on your neighbor’s dining table, eating dim sums. 

In silence. 

This Yoongi guy really did not like conversation it seemed. He was sitting down on his couch and had turned the TV on. The volume was on but not quite loudly, and Cookie was on his lap, sleeping as he occasionally stroked the cat’s head softly. Funny that somehow you could see some resemblance of Yoongi with your cat.

“So… how long have you lived here?” You bit your bottom lip as you waited for his answer. You kind of regretted asking as soon as the words came out from your mouth, afraid it would be awkward. 

“Around ten months or so.” He paused. “No, I think it’s been almost a year cause I spent two months overseas.”

“Really? What were you doing overseas?” You regretted asking again. Looking at how quiet Yoongi was, you didn’t want to ask too much or indulge into too much conversation, afraid it would be too much for him. 

But much to your surprise, he answered. “I’m a producer. I was working for this artist and all the work had to be done in America.” 

“Wow, that sounds amazing!” You said. At this point you no longer were sitting facing the table, but to him. “Who was the artist?”

“Uh… Halsey.” He replied while looking at the TV screen, seemingly to avoid your stare.

“Oh my god???” You gasped. “That’s incredible! So you’re like crazy talented?!”

“I’m alright…” 

“You should show me some of your work someday!” You said enthusiastically. When Yoongi did not reply to it and stayed silent, you cursed yourself internally. “I mean compared to what I do that’s like really amazing.” You chuckled nervously. 

“I’m sure you’re great at what you do.” He looked at you, a small smile was on his lips. 

You realized it was the first time you saw him smile and it made your heart raced rather faster than usual. It was the first time you saw him with facial expression other than his usual poker face. 

“I’m just a normal product designer at a very normal company.” You shrugged. 

“Don’t downplay yourself like that. You work very hard.” 

“Thanks…” You replied shyly. 

After finishing your food, you got up and went to wash the dishes, which immediately got stopped by the homeowner. He politely told you to go back home and rest. Which again, you could not thank him more for. 

You took your pet in your arms and said your goodbyes to your neighbor. Right when you arrived back in your place you came to realize something. Yoongi did not eat with you and there was only one portion of the food. While it could just meant he had already eaten beforehand, you felt giddy, thinking about another possibility. Was this a crush you sense forming? Frankly speaking, you could not care less. You were welcoming the possibility with open arms.

— 

Friday finally came and you were ready to take it in. The days of working with your company project was going to an end, which meant you no longer need to work overtime after this. The thought of it put you in a very good mood. 

This time right after arriving home, you walked to a nearby chicken restaurant and grab some not only for you, but also for your neighbor. You wanted to repay his kindness the past few days. After changing into some comfortable clothes, not to mention the multiple times you had to re-check the outfit in the mirror for some reason, you took your cat in your left hand and the food in the other. You knocked on your neighbor’s door hoping he was home. 

And he was. You were greeted with his silence but he opened the door wider as soon as he saw your face without question. One thing that caught your eyes though was how he was dressed up like he was ready for a night out. He wasn’t in his usual sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, but instead in a ripped wide legged jeans and a light blue shirt, unbuttoned, with a plain white tee underneath. He looked handsome. And here you were, in your so-called comfy outfit that you were starting to regret.

“Before you ask, no, Cookie’s right here.” You smiled awkwardly as you raised the small cat in your hand for him to see. “I’m just here to drop by some chicken I got for you… as a thanks for your help these past few days.” You handed the plastic of food to him. “Alright, that’s all…”

He took the food from you hesitantly. “You don’t wanna come in?” 

“Aren’t you going out or something?”

“I was… but you are here.” He said, sounding unsure. 

“That’s ridiculous, why would I stop you from going out?”

“I was gonna go to your place…” 

Your mouth formed a small O shape, unable to form a word. He was going to your place? But what for??? The butterflies in your stomach were having a blast. 

“But you’re all dressed up…”

“I was gonna change back.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair, which made you gulped at the sight. “I knew this was a bad idea I shouldn't have listened to Hoseok—”

You stopped his rambling. “What do you mean?”

“I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go eat together at that one Chicken restaurant nearby…”

“Oh.” You widened your eyes.

“Yeah.” He looked at you, biting his cheek in annoyance. 

“This is awkward.” You chuckled. 

“Whatever, just… just come in first.”

You saw Yoongi putting the plastic of food on his table. You offered help after putting down your cat on his couch and walked to his direction. Both of you plated the food in comfortable silence, it felt oddly domestic and you liked it. At this point you were used to him being not talkative and see it as his charm. 

After you took the plates to the living room, Yoongi suddenly came back with cans of beers and soju in his hands. 

“We’re drinking?” You said with an amused grin. 

“You can drink, right?” 

“Sure, but can you?” You playfully eyed him. 

“Don’t challenge me.” 

You could see how he was trying to hide his smile, and it brought colors to your cheeks. 

—

You did not know how you got in this situation. Five episodes in randomly rewatching Avatar The Last Airbender and you both were drunk. You were resting your head on his shoulder as you watch the screen. It seemed like the booze gave you confidence, or made you shameless, or both, but the guy didn’t complain so it could be a sign of a good thing. While you could see Yoongi holding his alcohol better than you, he was not completely sober either. 

It was at this very moment where you saw things through a pink tinted lense. Had Yoongi’s hair always looked that soft? Had he always looked this handsome? You began to question things you should not be questioning.

“Why didn’t you change your clothes?” You randomly asked. 

“Do I look bad?” He replied, eyes still on the screen, hands stroking the sleeping cat on his lap. 

"Of course not, I just feel severely underdressed now..." You chuckled.

He eyed you from top to bottom, which made you nervous, but he shrugged, seemingly to not have any problem with your clothes.

“You look… handsome.”

“You think I look handsome?” He suddenly moved to face you, making you move to look at him as well. The tone of his voice sounded like he was teasing more than asking a question.

You nodded and bit your lips. “And you kinda look like Cookie.” You giggled. 

He raised one of his eyebrows, clearly not satisfied with your answer. 

“Your eyes…” You began to ramble. “They look just like Cookie’s, and when you look annoyed, or just your plain expression… you look like a cute cat.” 

“Really…” Yoongi hummed. 

“Yup!” You giggled like an idiot. 

You failed to notice how at this point, Yoongi has put Cookie down from his lap to the floor. His face only inches away from you as you kept rambling. 

“Your hair look so soft… like a cat’s fur.” You reached your hands closer to his hair, but stopped mid-way, scared he’d get uncomfortable. 

Yoongi surprised you again by grabbing both of your wrist and putting your hands on his hair, letting you stroke his head slowly. You saw his expression softened and as you kept playing with his hair, he closed his eyes. You swore you heard him purr. 

“Pretty.” You said with a drunk smile. 

“Hmm. Pretty.” He mirrored. 

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense. 

Yoongi chuckled. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.” 

—

To be frank, you could not recall what happened after. You recalled some bits of karakoe-ing? Singing random PSY songs in your broken Korean using a bottle of whiskey as your mic. That was probably all? You couldn’t think while the throbbing headache was present in the room with you.

So why were you now in a bed that was not yours, wearing a t-shirt that was too big for you and was clearly not yours, also for heaven’s sake, WHY IS YOONGI SLEEPING NEXT TO ME??? 

You froze. Did you??? There was no way. Sure you found him attractive and all, and you definitely had this huge crush on him, but you couldn’t just sleep with a guy you barely knew. Besides your headache, your body didn’t feel any pain, so that was probably a good sign. What if he was just that gentle? Okay, you need to stop thinking at once before you started a whole fiction about you and Yoongi in your head.

When you turned your back, you felt the other side of the bed shifted as well. 

“You’re up?” He asked with a raspy voice. 

“Yeah.” You said, still back-facing him. “We didn’t… you know…”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Oh, okay good.”

Yoongi did not answered to that, but instead you felt him scooting closer. 

“I’m sorry, this isn’t probably how you’d wanna spend your weekend.” You chuckled. 

Your breath hitched when you felt a hand over your waist. “Is this okay?” He suddenly stopped when your body tensed at his touch. 

You nodded, heart beating too loudly for you to form any sentence. 

“This is nice.” He said, resting his forehead on your back. 

When you stayed silent, he took your hand and turned you over to face him. Heat immediately took over your body as soon as your eyes meet. You noticed he was back in his usual home attire, oversized tee and sweatpants. His hair was messy, but it seemed like universe had its favorite cause he still looked good. 

“You know, I haven’t had good sleep in… weeks.”

You were surprised by his sudden confession.

“It’s half past eleven now, and it’s not even ten minutes after I woke up…” He tittered. “My anxiety has been getting worse the past month and out of nowhere a black cat suddenly jumped to my balcony, meowing non-stop while I was working.”

You looked at him, letting him finish his talk. This was the most words you had ever heard coming out of Yoongi’s mouth and it made your heart flutter. 

“I haven’t been caring. I’ve stopped caring, for a while now. Seeing you care so much for such a small creature… I don’t know, it feels good. It makes me wanna care.”

“Yoongi…” You cooed, caressing his cheek. "It's not true, all you have been since I first met you until this moment, was caring."

"I'm sorry if it feels like it came out of nowhere but I feel at home with you and I don’t know why...” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yet, at least.”

“I… like this too. A lot actually.” You said shyly. 

“I would like to get to know you more if you’d like.” He was being honest and exactly to the point, no flirty bullshit to spice his sentences.

“I’d love that...” 

Suddenly you heard a low meow from under the bed and Cookie jumped into the bed, joining you two. Apparently his bedroom door was left opened and none of you noticed how Cookie had entered. You giggled and he smiled as well, the widest smile and the most genuine you had ever seen from him, as he took the cat and cuddled both of you close.

"I think it's about time you give me your number..." You squinted at him playfully. "You know, so we don't repeat the whole chicken restaurant accident again?"

“Okay, but promise me first you won’t apologize again after kissing me.” He chuckled. 

“EXCUSE ME WHAT???”

— 

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense. 

Yoongi laughed. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.” 

“I can be crazier if you open that whiskey.” You wiggled your eyebrows.

Yoongi just shook his head, smiling at your silliness. He stood up and went to grab his Hibiki anyway, which earned a shout of celebration from you. 

Things escalated quickly after opening the bottle. Somehow you were starting a drunk karaoke session which followed by many dance breaks. You ended up crying when a sad song randomly came up in the playlist and when Yoongi asked why, you replied. You replied with your lips on his.

In your head it just made sense. It was his lips’ fault for looking so juicy. Yeah, totally his fault for looking so hot that it was driving you insane.

None of you moved and it only lasted seconds before your mood turned sour again. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean…” You pushed him gently. “Oh my god, you’re so gonna hate me!!!”

“Hey, calm down…“ 

You started to panic, tears now forming in your eyes again. “Please don’t hate me, I just wanted to kiss you…” You cried. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough drinking—“

And you puked. 

Yes, Yoongi did see your lilac colored bra when he helped you change into his t-shirt. But that’s a secret between him and little Cookie. 

Thank you for reading! 💎

part 2 is here!

[pucksandpower]

Lose Yourself

Day 31 → Mind Break 💋 mafia!Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent, guns, and forced dumbification

Kinktober Masterlist

The office is small, dim, smelling faintly of coffee and old paper. A narrow window lets in thin, grey light, cutting across the surface of your supervisor’s desk. He’s sitting there, looking at you with that familiar mix of intensity and mild concern. There’s a file in front of him, thick, overflowing with papers, and he taps it once, twice, like he’s deciding whether or not to speak.

“You know I wouldn’t bring you in for something like this unless it was absolutely necessary,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

You nod, but don’t say anything. You’ve worked for Interpol long enough to know that when he starts like this, something big is coming. Bigger than usual.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he continues, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “This isn’t like the other assignments.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting. He hasn’t even told you what the assignment is yet. The edge in his voice is making you uneasy, though. It’s not like him to drag things out like this.

He sighs, opens the file, pulls out a single photograph, and slides it across the desk toward you.

It’s a man.

Dark hair, sharp features, eyes that seem to stare through the camera lens. He’s sitting at a table in some restaurant, probably expensive judging by the suit he’s wearing, and there’s a woman draped over his arm. But the man doesn’t seem to notice her. His expression is unreadable.

“Charles Leclerc,” your supervisor says, as if the name should mean something to you. It doesn’t.

You glance up at him. “Who is he?”

He hesitates, just for a second, and then says, “The leader of the Rosso Corsa.”

You freeze, the weight of the words sinking in immediately. The Rosso Corsa is infamous. A criminal organization that operates in both Italy and the Côte d'Azur, responsible for everything from arms trafficking to political corruption. They’re untouchable.

Untouchable, because no one can get close enough.

Your supervisor lets the silence linger for a moment before he speaks again. “Interpol’s been trying to infiltrate them for years. We’ve had no success. No one’s gotten close enough, and the few who have …” He trails off, shaking his head. “They didn’t make it out.”

“So why now?” You ask, already knowing you’re not going to like the answer.

“Because we have a lead.” He pulls another piece of paper from the file, but doesn’t show it to you yet. “Leclerc’s been recruiting. Quietly. His organization’s expanding faster than anyone predicted. He’s looking for new people, trusted people.”

You stare at him. “And you want me to-”

“Get close to him,” he finishes. “Infiltrate. Gather information. Help us bring him down.”

The air feels heavier, thicker, and you shift in your seat, trying to make sense of what he’s asking. “How am I supposed to get close to someone like that? He probably has a hundred people screening anyone who tries to-”

“You’ll be playing a role,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “We’ve been building a cover for you for months.”

He hands you a new folder, this one slimmer, but just as important. Inside, there’s a fake ID, a name you’ve never heard before, and a backstory so detailed you’re almost convinced it’s real.

“Giulia Santini,” he says, nodding toward the papers. “You’ve been living in Monaco for years. High-end art dealer. A few shady connections here and there, just enough to make you interesting to Leclerc, but nothing that’ll get you killed if someone digs a little too deep.”

You let out a breath, leafing through the details. “And you’re sure he’ll be interested?”

“His mother’s an art collector,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s not foolproof, but we’ve done the groundwork. We’ve arranged for you to be introduced through one of his contacts in the next week. From there, it’s up to you.”

You blink, trying to process the enormity of what he’s asking. “Up to me? You’re sending me in without backup?”

“You’ll have backup,” he says quickly. “But you know how this works. You’re going to be on your own for most of it. We need to keep the operation quiet. If Leclerc gets even a hint that you’re not who you say you are, it’s over. For you. For all of us.”

He’s not sugarcoating it, and you appreciate that, but it doesn’t make the task ahead of you any easier to swallow. You swallow hard, feeling a weight settle in your chest.

“Why me?” You ask softly.

He looks at you for a long moment before he answers, his voice lowering. “Because you’re the best. You’re smart and you can handle yourself. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.”

“But this is different.”

“Yes,” he admits, and his eyes soften just a fraction. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You sit there, the folder in your hands, feeling the weight of everything he’s just laid out for you. There’s a part of you that wants to say no, that wants to walk out of this office and leave the impossible task for someone else. But you know you won’t. You’ve never walked away from a challenge before, and you’re not about to start now.

Still, there’s one thing gnawing at you, something you can’t quite shake.

“If I get close to him,” you say slowly, “what’s the plan? What happens then?”

Your supervisor hesitates again, and that makes your stomach twist. “We gather information,” he says finally. “Enough to bring him down. We’re not rushing this. This could take months, maybe longer.”

“And in the meantime?” You press. “What if he gets suspicious?”

He’s silent for a moment, and then he leans forward again, his voice low and steady. “Then you do whatever you have to do to keep your cover intact.”

The meaning behind his words is clear, and it sends a chill down your spine. You’ve done undercover work before, but nothing like this. Nothing this … intimate.

You clear your throat. “And how far am I supposed to go with this?”

“As far as you need to,” he says, his tone hardening. “But you keep your head. You remember why you’re there. This isn’t about you and him. This is about bringing down a dangerous organization.”

You nod, trying to focus on the mission, on the end goal. But it’s hard when you’re staring at the photograph of Charles Leclerc, at the cold, unreadable expression on his face.

Your supervisor stands up, signaling the end of the meeting. “You’ll leave for Monaco in two days. We’ll have everything set up by then.”

You stand too, feeling the weight of the assignment pressing down on your shoulders. But before you can turn to leave, he says one more thing.

“Be careful, Y/N.”

You pause at the door, glancing back at him. “I always am.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches as you walk out of the office, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

You stand in the hallway for a moment, the folder still in your hand, staring at the photograph of Charles Leclerc one last time.

You wonder, not for the first time, if this is the mission that will finally break you.

***

The Grand Hôtel in Monaco is every bit as lavish as you imagined. Opulent chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting warm light over marble floors and deep, velvet chairs that look more like art pieces than furniture. You’ve been here before, but never in this role. Never as Giulia Santini, the art dealer with a knack for finding rare treasures.

You glance around the lobby, your heels clicking softly against the marble as you make your way toward the bar. Your heart is steady, though there’s a subtle tension in your muscles. You’re about to meet Charles Leclerc, one of the most dangerous men in Europe, and you can’t afford to slip, even for a second.

At the bar, you spot Fabien — your contact, someone who’s vouched for you enough to get you this meeting. He’s sipping a glass of wine, leaning casually against the polished counter as if this is any other evening. When he sees you, he nods once, lifting his glass slightly in greeting.

“Giulia,” he says smoothly when you approach, his voice like honey. He leans in to kiss both your cheeks in the European fashion, his cologne strong. “You look stunning. Leclerc will be impressed.”

You smile at him, playing the part effortlessly. “Let’s hope so.”

Fabien gestures to the bartender and orders another glass of wine for you. “He’ll be here soon,” he says quietly, his eyes scanning the crowd. “He’s already asked about you. You’ve made quite an impression, and you haven’t even met him yet.”

You pick up the glass the bartender slides toward you, taking a small sip. The wine is rich, expensive, but it doesn’t do anything to calm the simmering anticipation in your veins. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth, of course,” Fabien replies with a grin. “That you’re the most elusive art dealer in Monaco, and that you specialize in pieces even the richest men in Europe couldn’t get their hands on.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Quite the reputation you’ve given me.”

Fabien shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “It’s not far from the truth.”

You glance at the entrance to the bar, but there’s no sign of Leclerc yet. “And what should I know about him?” You ask, keeping your voice low. “What does he like?”

Fabien’s eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place — is it wariness? Curiosity? He leans in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “He’s intelligent. He’s quiet, but not because he’s shy. He’s watching everything, always calculating. Don’t let the charm fool you. He’s dangerous, but you already know that.”

You nod, your grip on the wine glass tightening just a fraction.

“And,” Fabien adds, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, “he’s not immune to beauty.”

Before you can respond, Fabien straightens suddenly, his eyes locking on something behind you. “He’s here.”

You don’t turn around immediately, though every nerve in your body is telling you to. Instead, you take another sip of wine, steadying yourself, letting the moment stretch out. You feel his presence before you even see him — a subtle shift in the energy around you, the way people in the bar seem to take notice without even realizing it.

Finally, you turn.

Charles Leclerc is standing just a few feet away, speaking briefly with the hostess, who gestures toward the table in the back corner. He nods at her, his expression unreadable, and starts walking in your direction.

He’s taller than you expected, more imposing. His dark hair is perfectly in place, his suit tailored so sharply it looks like it was made just for him — which, of course, it probably was. His eyes, though — they’re exactly like the photograph. Cold, unreadable, scanning the room like he’s memorizing every face, every detail. When they land on you, there’s a flicker of interest, just for a moment, before his expression smooths out again.

Fabien steps forward to greet him, his smile wide and easy. “Charles,” he says, offering his hand. “Good to see you.”

Leclerc shakes his hand, his movements controlled, almost too smooth. “Fabien,” he says, his voice deep, with the hint of an accent that’s hard to place — part French, part something else. His eyes flick briefly to you before returning to Fabien. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Fabien replies. “In fact, I’ve been waiting to introduce you to someone.”

He turns toward you, and for a split second, it’s like the entire room goes quiet. The air between you and Charles seems to shift, though he gives no sign that he’s noticed anything unusual.

“This is Giulia Santini,” Fabien says, his voice warm and confident. “The art dealer I’ve been telling you about.”

You extend your hand, offering a small, professional smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Charles looks at you for just a beat longer than necessary before taking your hand. His grip is firm, but not aggressive, and his skin is warm against yours. “The pleasure is mine,” he says, his voice lower now, meant just for you.

You hold his gaze as long as you dare before letting your hand slip from his. Fabien gestures to the table in the corner, and the three of you make your way over. Charles sits across from you, his eyes flicking between you and Fabien, though most of his attention seems to be on you.

“So,” Charles says once you’ve all settled, leaning back in his chair slightly, “Fabien tells me you’re quite the expert in rare art.”

You smile, playing the role with ease. “I wouldn’t say expert. Just passionate.”

He watches you, his eyes dark and focused. “And what kind of pieces does someone like you find … exciting?”

The question is loaded, and you know it. He’s testing you, seeing how you’ll respond. You take a breath, keeping your expression calm, your voice light.

“It depends,” you say slowly, leaning forward just slightly, enough to draw his attention. “Art is all about perspective, isn’t it? What one person finds valuable, another might overlook entirely.”

Charles’ lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a smile, but it never quite reaches his eyes. “True,” he agrees. “But I imagine you have a talent for finding the pieces that others overlook.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze evenly. “It’s what I do best.”

There’s a pause, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension. Charles taps his fingers lightly against the table, his eyes never leaving yours. Fabien shifts slightly, glancing between the two of you, clearly pleased with how the conversation is going.

“You know,” Charles says after a moment, his voice soft but deliberate, “I’ve been looking for someone like you.”

Your heart skips, but you don’t let it show. You raise an eyebrow, keeping your tone playful. “Is that so?”

He nods, still watching you carefully. “Someone with connections. Someone who can move in circles I can’t always reach.”

“And what circles are those?” You ask, keeping your voice light, though you already know the answer.

He leans forward, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “The kind that deal in things not everyone should know about.”

There it is. The subtle shift from pleasantries to something more dangerous, more real. You feel the tension tighten in your chest, but you smile, pretending you’re completely at ease.

“Well,” you say, letting your voice drop just a fraction, “I’m sure we could work something out. If you’re interested.”

Charles doesn’t respond right away, just watches you, his expression carefully controlled. Finally, he nods. “I am.”

Fabien jumps in then, filling the silence with talk about upcoming events, art auctions, places where you and Charles might cross paths again. But you’re only half-listening. Most of your attention is still on Charles, watching the way his eyes flicker with interest, the subtle shifts in his posture as he listens to Fabien. It’s clear that he’s more focused on you than the conversation, and you need to tread carefully.

Fabien’s words become background noise, blending with the clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation around you. You’re not oblivious to the tension under the surface, though. Every move you make, every word you say, it’s all part of the game. And Charles knows it, too.

Fabien laughs, clapping Charles on the back. “I think Giulia could be quite useful for you, Charles. Her contacts run deep, and she’s good at staying … discreet.”

Charles’ eyes meet yours again, and you hold his gaze, refusing to look away. There’s a challenge in the air, subtle but undeniable. It’s as if he’s trying to peel back your layers, see what lies beneath the surface of the woman sitting in front of him.

“I can be discreet when necessary,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing. “But sometimes, it’s better to make a statement. It depends on what kind of art you’re dealing with.”

Charles’ lips quirk into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and for the first time, you catch a glimpse of the man behind the mask. “I agree,” he says, his voice low. “Some things are worth putting on display for the world to see.”

Your pulse quickens at the double meaning behind his words, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you lean back slightly, crossing your legs under the table and allowing your hand to rest casually on the stem of your wine glass.

“Perhaps we could discuss it more in private,” you suggest, your tone light but deliberate. “I’d love to hear about the kind of pieces you’re interested in.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then, he nods, his smile widening just a fraction. “I think that can be arranged.”

Fabien stands, finishing the last of his wine. “I’ll give you two some space,” he says, with a knowing smile, his tone laced with implication. “Giulia, Charles — enjoy your evening.”

With that, he walks away, leaving the two of you alone at the table. You feel the shift in the atmosphere immediately. The casual conversation is gone, replaced by something far more charged, far more dangerous.

Charles leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes locked on yours. “Tell me, Giulia,” he says, his voice soft but commanding. “How far are you willing to go for a deal?”

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication. You know this is it — the moment where the line between professional and personal blurs, where the real game begins.

You take a breath, keeping your expression calm, though your mind is racing. You need to keep him hooked, keep him interested, but you can’t give away too much too soon. This is a dance, and you need to make sure you’re leading.

“I’m willing to go as far as I need to,” you reply, your voice steady. “But that depends on what’s being offered.”

Charles watches you for a long moment, and you can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he’s analyzing every word, every movement. Finally, he leans back, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re good,” he says, his voice almost admiring. “I can see why Fabien recommended you.”

You smile, taking a sip of your wine. “I’m very good at what I do.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, still watching you with that same intensity that never seems to waver. He’s waiting for your next move, and you can feel the moment stretching out, charged with unspoken tension.

You lean in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough to draw him in. “So, tell me, Charles,” you say, letting your words linger in the air between you, “what kind of art are you really interested in? What would make it worth your while to work with me?”

His eyes darken, just slightly, as he considers your question. “I’m interested in pieces that are … unique,” he says slowly. “Rare. The kind of art most people don’t even know exists.”

You nod, pretending to think it over, even though you already know exactly where this conversation is going. “I can find you rare pieces,” you say, your voice smooth. “But unique? That’s harder to come by. What makes something unique to you?”

As you speak, you casually slide your hand from the edge of the table to your lap, then slowly, almost imperceptibly, move it under the table toward his leg. You don’t make it obvious. Just a gentle touch at first, your fingertips brushing the fabric of his dress pants as you talk, keeping your expression calm, your voice steady.

Charles doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react — at least, not outwardly. His gaze flicks down to your hand for just a second, barely noticeable, before he meets your eyes again. “Unique,” he repeats, his voice lower now, quieter, “is something no one else can have. Something priceless.”

Your hand moves a little higher, just grazing his knee, but you keep your face composed, the conversation continuing as if nothing has changed. “I can work with priceless,” you say, leaning in a little more, your lips curving into a smile. “But it’ll cost you.”

There’s a flicker of something in Charles’ eyes — amusement, maybe — as he watches you, as though he’s enjoying the game as much as you are. “Everything has a price, Giulia,” he says, his voice smooth, controlled. “What’s yours?”

You pause, letting the question hang in the air for a moment before answering. “That depends on how much you’re willing to offer.”

As you say this, your hand slides up higher, just above his knee now, your touch still light, teasing. You can feel the muscle tensing slightly under your fingers, but Charles doesn’t say anything. He just keeps watching you, his eyes dark, his posture still relaxed, but you can sense the shift in the air between you.

“I can offer you more than you’ve ever had,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you’d have to prove to me that you’re worth it.”

You smile, your fingers moving a little higher, just brushing his thigh now, your touch deliberate but still subtle enough that no one else in the bar would notice. “I don’t think proving myself will be a problem,” you murmur, your voice low and seductive. “I think you already know I’m worth it.”

Charles leans forward slightly, just enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, though his expression remains perfectly controlled. “What I want,” he says, his voice almost a growl now, “is something unforgettable. Can you deliver that?”

Your hand moves up just a bit more, your fingertips grazing the inside of his thigh now, and you feel the way his body responds — just a subtle tension, a slight shift in his breathing. But still, he doesn’t pull away. He’s letting you set the pace, letting you see how far you’re willing to go.

“I think I can deliver whatever you need,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your hand pressing just a little harder now, a little more insistent. “If you’re willing to trust me.”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you, his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the silence between you is so thick you can almost hear your own heartbeat. You can feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter, and you know that you’ve reached the point where the conversation is about to shift again — from playful to something more serious, more real.

Finally, Charles leans back in his chair, just slightly, but his eyes never leave yours. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “You know that, don’t you?”

You smile, your hand still resting on his thigh. “I don’t mind a little danger.”

There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes — desire, maybe, or something darker. It’s hard to tell with him. He’s so good at hiding what he’s really feeling, keeping everything just below the surface. But you can see the way his body reacts to your touch, the way his breathing has changed, just slightly.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels electric, charged with anticipation. You can feel the heat of his body under your fingertips, the way his muscles tense slightly as your hand moves just a little higher, pressing against the inside of his thigh now.

Then, suddenly, he stands up.

The movement is so abrupt, so unexpected, that for a split second, you freeze, your hand dropping back to your lap as he pushes his chair back. He doesn’t look at you as he adjusts his jacket, his expression unreadable once again, but there’s a tension in his body now that wasn’t there before.

“We’re leaving,” he says, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You blink, surprised, but you recover quickly, standing up and smoothing your dress, your heart pounding in your chest. You’d expected a reaction, but not this. Not so sudden, so decisive.

“To where?” You ask, though you already know the answer.

Charles glances at you, his eyes dark, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Back to mine,” he says, his voice low. “For the rest of the night.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, and you nod, your mind already racing with what comes next. You’ve got him. You’ve hooked him, and now it’s just a matter of playing the role, of keeping him interested long enough to get what you need.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, already walking toward the exit with long, confident strides. You follow, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor, the sound of the bar fading behind you as you step out into the cool night air.

Outside, a black car waits at the curb, and Charles gestures for you to get in first. You slide into the back seat, feeling the leather cool against your skin, and he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The driver doesn’t say a word as the car pulls away from the curb, and the city lights blur past the windows as you head toward the unknown.

You glance at Charles, who’s sitting next to you now, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body even though he’s not touching you. His expression is calm, but there’s a tension in his jaw, a darkness in his eyes that makes your heart race even faster.

The game is far from over.

***

The car glides through the narrow streets of Monaco, the city lights flickering outside like fireflies in the dark. You try to focus on the blur of neon signs and elegant façades, but your thoughts keep circling back to Charles, who sits beside you in silence, his presence filling the confined space like something dangerous and magnetic.

He hasn’t spoken since you left the bar, and you haven’t dared to break the silence. There's a simmering tension between you, thick and almost suffocating, and though you try to appear calm, the anticipation gnaws at you. You’ve played these games before — seduction, deception — but something about Charles makes it feel different. He’s unpredictable, his control over every moment unnerving.

The car finally pulls to a stop outside a sleek, modern building that towers over the waterfront, all glass and steel reflecting the moonlight. Charles steps out first, and you follow, the cool night air hitting your skin as you walk toward the private entrance. The click of your heels against the pavement echoes in the quiet.

Charles doesn’t say anything as you step inside the elevator with him. The doors slide shut, and the air seems to grow thicker, the silence stretching. You can feel the tension crackling between you, every second charged with something unsaid, something dark and thrilling.

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. But the way he stands, just inches from you, makes your skin tingle with the anticipation of what’s to come.

When the elevator doors open, you step out into a penthouse that’s every bit as luxurious as you’d expected. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the harbor below, and the minimalist design — all clean lines and muted tones — feels cold, impersonal.

Charles walks ahead of you, loosening his tie as he goes. “Drink?” He asks, his voice low, casual, as if the air between you isn’t thick with tension.

You shake your head, your voice catching slightly in your throat. “No, thank you.”

He turns toward you then, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, and though you’ve done this before, there’s something different this time — a sense of danger that feels very real.

Charles watches you, his eyes dark, unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun.

You freeze.

He doesn’t point it at you. Not yet. He holds it loosely in his hand, his expression calm, controlled, as if this is just another part of the game.

“You’re afraid of this, aren’t you?” He asks quietly, tilting his head slightly as he watches your reaction.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing. “Should I be?”

Charles’ lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. “Not unless I give you a reason to be.”

He steps closer, and you can’t help the way your body tenses, your gaze flicking to the gun in his hand. You’ve seen weapons before, handled them even, but the way Charles holds it — so casually, so confidently — makes your stomach tighten.

He raises the gun, not toward you, but slowly, deliberately, running the cool metal along your jawline. The touch of the cold barrel against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and though every instinct in your body is screaming at you to pull away, you don’t. You can’t.

“Do you trust me?” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, the gun still tracing along your skin, down your neck, over the curve of your shoulder.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your breath shallow. “I don’t trust anyone.”

Charles smiles, a dark, almost amused smile, as if he expected nothing less. “Smart.”

He steps even closer, and the gun dips lower, grazing the top of your chest now, the cool metal contrasting sharply with the heat building under your skin. He moves slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch of the barrel as it slides over your skin, a slow, deliberate tease.

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. The danger of the moment — the unpredictability of Charles — sends a thrill through you, a heady mix of fear and desire. You’ve never been in a situation like this before, never felt this kind of tension coil so tightly in your chest.

He presses the barrel of the gun against your sternum, just enough for you to feel its weight, and you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him. His eyes darken, watching your every reaction with a predatory intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

“You like this, don’t you?” He asks softly, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

You open your mouth to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. You can’t lie, not when your body is betraying you so completely. The truth is, you don’t know what you feel — fear, excitement, something far more dangerous — but you’re too far gone to stop it now.

Instead of answering, you tilt your head back slightly, exposing more of your neck to him, a silent invitation, a challenge. Charles’ eyes flash with something dark and primal, and for a moment, you think he might actually pull the trigger. But he doesn’t. He’s still in control. Barely.

He moves the gun lower, pressing it against your stomach now, and your breath catches in your throat. Every nerve in your body is on fire, the tension so thick you can barely think. Charles steps even closer, his body almost flush with yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“Do you know what happens when you push someone like me too far?” He whispers, the gun sliding lower, tracing the curve of your waist.

You swallow hard, your body trembling with the weight of his words, the cold metal of the gun still pressing against you in ways you never imagined it could be used.

“Tell me,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling despite yourself.

Charles’ smile widens, a dark, dangerous thing, as he presses the barrel of the gun against your hip now, his other hand finally reaching out to touch you, gripping your waist with a firm, possessive hold.

“I don’t like to be tested,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But I think you already knew that.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to escape as the gun moves even lower, brushing the inside of your thigh now, the sensation sending a wave of heat through your body that leaves you dizzy.

“And yet,” Charles continues, his voice low and rough now, “you keep pushing, don’t you?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer. Your entire body is focused on the slow, deliberate path of the gun as it moves between your legs, the cold metal making your breath hitch, your heart racing so fast you can barely think straight.

Charles pulls back just slightly, just enough to meet your eyes again. There’s something wild in his gaze now, something dangerous and unrestrained, and for the first time, you realize how far you’ve pushed him.

But instead of pulling away, you lean into him, your lips brushing against his jaw, a silent surrender to whatever he has planned next.

He moves the gun away from your body, but the loss of contact only makes the heat between you more intense. Before you can react, Charles grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to look up at him, his grip firm but not painful.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he growls, his voice thick with warning.

And then, without another word, he pulls you against him, his lips crashing into yours with a force that steals your breath away. The kiss is hard, demanding, and you respond with equal intensity, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you pull him closer, desperate for more.

Charles’ hand moves to your hair, tangling in the strands as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a rough, possessive edge. The gun is still in his other hand, but he doesn’t use it, not now. Now it’s just him, the raw power of his touch, the heat of his body pressed against yours.

You’re drowning in the sensation of it, the heady mix of fear and desire overwhelming every sense. Every nerve in your body is on fire, and when Charles finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your lips swollen, your body trembling.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with a hunger you’ve never seen before. “We’re not done,” he says, his voice rough, almost ragged.

You nod, unable to speak, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath.

Charles lowers the gun to his side, his fingers tracing along your jaw with a surprising gentleness. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because this is just the beginning."

Charles doesn't let go of you immediately. His hand lingers on your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips with deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. His eyes are still dark, dangerous, and that smirk — subtle but sharp — hasn’t left his face.

"Come,” he says, his voice low, commanding, as he steps back, breaking the electric contact between your bodies. His hand catches yours, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, and without another word, he starts to lead you down the hallway, deeper into the penthouse. The gleam of city lights fades behind you as the door to the bedroom opens, revealing a space as sleek and cold as the rest of his world.

Charles doesn’t slow down. His grip tightens just a fraction as he pulls you into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You’re aware of the luxurious bed, its sharp angles and cool, satin sheets, but your focus is on him. The way he moves, so sure of himself, so utterly in control, sets your pulse racing again.

Without a word, Charles releases your wrist and steps away, walking over to a small table near the window. The city lights reflect off the polished surface as he picks up the gun again, handling it like it’s nothing more than an extension of himself. He weighs it in his hand, almost thoughtfully, before glancing back at you, his eyes gleaming with that same intensity as before.

“You’ve never had anyone like me, have you?” His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. He turns the gun over in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of the barrel as if considering his next move.

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “What makes you so sure?”

Charles’ smile is slow, deliberate, as he crosses the room toward you, the gun still in his hand. “Because no one else knows how to make you feel like this,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “No one else can make you want something you should be afraid of.”

He’s right. You’ve felt desire before, but never like this. Never this consuming, this dangerous. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the gun in his hand as he stops in front of you, so close that the heat of his body seems to seep into yours.

Charles raises the gun again, the cold metal pressing against your collarbone. He drags it slowly, down the length of your chest, teasing the edge of your dress, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitches, but you don’t flinch. Not this time. Instead, you tilt your head up slightly, meeting his gaze head-on, daring him to keep going.

The corner of his mouth twitches into something darker than a smile. “You like this more than you want to admit.”

His words send a jolt of heat through you, and before you can respond, he moves the gun lower, pressing the barrel lightly against your stomach, the coolness making you shiver. He steps closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Tell me how much you want this.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to catch your breath, but the feeling of the gun, the weight of his words, are too much. You manage to speak, your voice barely a whisper. “I-”

Charles doesn’t let you finish. He presses the gun harder against your stomach, just enough for you to feel the cold metal, his lips ghosting over your neck as he murmurs, “Say it.”

Your heart is racing so fast you can barely think. The danger, the thrill, the way he’s completely in control — it’s intoxicating. You know this is a game, but it’s one you’ve already lost. The gun slides lower, grazing your hip now, and it’s enough to tip you over the edge.

“I want it,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your body trembling under the intensity of the moment. “I want you.”

Charles’ grip on the gun tightens slightly as he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice rough, raw. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Without another word, he moves the gun even lower, tracing the inside of your thigh with the barrel, his other hand reaching up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so that you’re completely exposed to him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel the way your body responds, heat pooling low in your stomach, every nerve on fire.

Charles’ fingers tighten in your hair as he presses the gun between your legs, just hard enough to make you gasp, your body arching toward him involuntarily. The cool metal contrasts sharply with the heat building inside you, and the sensation is almost too much to bear.

“Look at you,” he says softly, his voice laced with dark amusement. “I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already falling apart.”

You try to speak, but the words don’t come. Your pulse is racing, your body trembling under his control, and all you can do is hold on, your fingers gripping the edge of the bed behind you as you try to steady yourself. Charles watches you, his expression calm, but there’s a hunger in his eyes that makes your knees weak.

He presses the gun harder against you, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, your body reacting to the dangerous mix of fear and desire that’s consuming you. Charles’ smile widens, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You like being on the edge, don’t you?”

You nod, barely able to think, your body trembling with the weight of his words, the sensation of the gun still pressing against you, teasing, pushing you closer to the brink.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound low and dark. “Good. Because I’m not letting you come until I say so.”

Your eyes widen at his words, but before you can protest, he pulls the gun away, leaving you breathless, aching for more. He steps back, his eyes still locked on yours, his expression calm, controlled, as if he hasn’t just left you on the edge of something you can barely control.

“Take off your dress,” he says, his voice firm, authoritative.

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Charles watches you, his gaze never wavering as you slowly peel the fabric away, letting it fall to the floor in a soft pool around your feet.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes dark with something that makes your heart skip a beat. Then, without warning, he steps forward again, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you flush against him, the gun still in his hand, though now it’s pressed lightly against your back.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “But I think you’re even more beautiful when you’re scared.”

You shiver at his words, the weight of the gun against your skin, the way his hands hold you so tightly, so possessively. You’ve never felt anything like this before — this combination of fear, desire, and the intoxicating pull of surrender.

Charles’ hand moves to the back of your neck, guiding you toward the bed, and you follow without hesitation, your body completely under his control now. He pushes you down onto the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours as he follows, the gun still in his hand.

You’re trembling, your body on fire with need, with the overwhelming sensation of being at his mercy. And he knows it. He can see it in the way you move, the way your breath hitches every time he touches you.

Charles climbs onto the bed, his knees straddling your hips as he leans down, the gun now resting on your stomach again. He presses it there, hard enough for you to feel its weight, its presence, and you gasp, your body arching toward him, desperate for more.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he whispers, his voice dark and rough. “Tell me how much you need me.”

You’re beyond words now, your mind clouded with desire, with the intoxicating pull of his control. All you can do is nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to steady yourself.

Charles’ smile is dark, satisfied, as he leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both possessive and demanding. You respond immediately, your hands fisting in the sheets as you kiss him back with equal intensity, your body trembling beneath him.

The gun presses harder against your stomach, and you moan into his mouth, your body on the verge of something overwhelming, something you can’t control.

“Now,” Charles growls, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Now you can fall.”

Charles doesn’t move. He hovers above you, eyes dark and dangerous, his body tense with control. The weight of the gun on your stomach feels like a tether to reality — cold, hard, and unforgiving. But the heat between you is anything but cold. It’s burning, pulling you deeper into a place you’ve never been before. You’re on the verge of something, teetering dangerously on the edge, and Charles knows it. He can see it in your eyes, in the way your breath stutters in your chest.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, his voice thick with authority. “I want you to tip over the edge for me. Right here.”

You shudder under the intensity of his gaze, his words pulling at something deep within you. Your body is aching, trembling with need, but still, there’s that sliver of control — something keeping you from falling completely, from losing yourself in this dangerous game. It’s a fine line, and Charles knows exactly how to push you over it.

His free hand moves to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around your neck, not tight, but just enough to remind you of his dominance. The cold barrel of the gun still rests on your stomach, a contrast to the heat radiating between your bodies. His touch is everywhere — overwhelming, all-consuming.

“You’ve been holding back,” he says softly, almost a whisper. “I can feel it. But not anymore. I want all of you.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your pulse racing. You’ve never been pushed like this before, never been with someone who can see so clearly through the walls you’ve built. It terrifies you, but at the same time, it excites you in a way you can’t even begin to explain.

Charles leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Let go,” he commands, his voice low, a dark promise. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

You tremble beneath him, your body arching instinctively toward his, the need coursing through you like a wildfire. You’re so close, teetering on the edge, and the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s speaking to you, makes it impossible to hold on any longer.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, gripping them tightly as you feel the tension inside you building to an unbearable peak. Charles watches you, his eyes never leaving yours, his hand still resting lightly around your throat, a reminder of his control.

The gun presses harder against your stomach, and it’s enough to send you spiraling. A gasp escapes your lips, and then you’re falling — completely, utterly losing yourself in the moment, in him. The sensation is overwhelming, a wave of heat and electricity that crashes over you, leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly undone.

Charles’ eyes darken as he watches you, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “There it is,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a dark kind of triumph. “That’s what I wanted.”

You’re still gasping for breath, your body trembling beneath him, your mind spinning. The sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, that it takes you a moment to even remember where you are. But Charles is there, grounding you, his presence inescapable, his control absolute.

Slowly, he lowers the gun from your stomach, setting it aside on the nightstand without a word. His other hand releases your throat, and instead, he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost tender.

You blink up at him, still trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You feel raw, exposed in a way you’ve never been before, and the vulnerability of the moment hits you like a tidal wave. But Charles doesn’t push. He doesn’t say anything else. He just watches you, his gaze steady and calm, as if he’s waiting for you to process everything that’s just happened.

For a long moment, the room is silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. You feel the weight of his body pressing into yours, the heat between you still simmering, but now there’s something else — a sense of calm, of connection, that lingers in the air.

Finally, Charles moves. He shifts his weight, sliding off you, and then he lies back on the bed, pulling you with him until you’re resting against his chest. You go willingly, your body still humming from the intensity of what just happened, your mind still trying to catch up. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close, and you find yourself resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

The silence between you is comfortable, the tension from earlier now replaced with something softer, more intimate. Charles’ hand moves idly along your back, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself relax into him, your breath slowly evening out.

After a long silence, Charles finally speaks, his voice low and rough. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

You tilt your head slightly, opening your eyes to look up at him. “So are you.”

His lips quirk into a half-smile, and for a moment, the dangerous edge in his expression softens. “I don’t like surprises,” he says, his tone almost teasing. “But I think I could make an exception for you.”

You can’t help but smile, despite everything. There’s something about the way he says it — so calm, so assured — that makes it feel like a promise, like something more than just a passing comment.

Charles’ hand slides up your back, his fingers brushing lightly against the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. He’s still in control, even in this quiet moment, and you can feel it in the way he touches you, the way he speaks to you. It’s intoxicating, in a way that makes you want to stay wrapped up in this moment with him for as long as you can.

He’s quiet again for a while, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns on your skin. The weight of his chest rises and falls beneath you, the steady rhythm lulling you into a strange sense of calm.

Then, just as you’re starting to drift into that comfortable silence, he speaks again. “I have a feeling,” he says softly, almost as if he’s thinking out loud, “this is the start of a beautiful business relationship.”

You blink, caught off guard by the statement. You lift your head slightly to look at him, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Business?”

Charles looks down at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not just talking about business in the traditional sense. “We’re both professionals, aren’t we?” He says, his tone casual, but you can hear the underlying meaning in his words. “I get what I want. And you — well, you seem to enjoy the thrill of this as much as I do.”

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in. This is more than just a fling, more than just a moment of passion. Charles isn’t someone who does things by half-measures, and you can sense that this — whatever it is between you — is going to be something much more complicated, much more dangerous.

But in this moment, as you lie there with your head resting on his chest, the world outside the penthouse feels a million miles away. You’re still catching your breath, still reeling from everything that’s just happened, and for now, that’s enough.

So you don’t respond. You just close your eyes again, letting the steady rhythm of Charles’ heartbeat guide you, and allow yourself to stay wrapped in the calm before whatever storm comes next.

***

The months blur together in a haze of danger and desire. You’re deeper into Charles’ world than you ever expected to be, and somehow, it’s easier than you thought. He lets you in bit by bit, peeling back the layers of his empire with a subtle but growing trust. His guard drops incrementally, his power over you surging with every stolen kiss, every whispered command in the dark. You’re in his bed more nights than not, wrapped in the silk sheets of his penthouse, and it feels almost natural to exist in this dangerous limbo.

Charles keeps you close — closer than he probably keeps anyone else. He starts to share more with you, letting you into the cracks of his life, though always with a calculated air. You begin sourcing illegal art for him — stolen paintings, ancient artifacts, pieces of history with blood on their provenance. Each exchange is thrilling, a high-stakes game where you’re playing both sides, confident you’re getting what you need.

The deeper you go, the more you convince yourself you’re making real headway. Each deal brings you closer to the heart of his operation. You’re gathering intel for Interpol, keeping one foot in the shadows of your real life, but it’s easy to get lost in the persona you’ve built — the woman Charles thinks you are. The lines blur, and you let them. It’s easier that way.

But you’re still playing a role. Always playing a role.

Tonight is no different. You’re waiting for him in his bedroom, dressed in only a sheer babydoll slip, the soft fabric clinging to your skin, hinting at everything and revealing nothing. The city lights outside the window cast a faint glow over the room, and you can hear the quiet hum of the nightlife below, but up here, in this penthouse, it’s just you and the anticipation of Charles’ arrival.

He’s late, but that’s not unusual. His world operates on its own time, and you’ve grown accustomed to waiting for him. You lie back against the pillows, the cool silk brushing against your skin, a quiet thrill running through you as you imagine how he’ll react when he sees you like this — waiting, vulnerable, and his.

The door creaks open, and you hear his footsteps before you see him. Your pulse quickens, and you sit up slightly, anticipation curling in your chest.

“Charles,” you say softly, your voice a mixture of seduction and warmth, the way you know he likes it. “You kept me waiting.”

But something is wrong.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t smile, doesn’t give you that familiar smirk that tells you the game is about to begin. Instead, he stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his gaze heavy as it sweeps over you, taking in the sight of you in the flimsy lace.

You frown, your confidence wavering slightly. “What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice faltering as you shift under the weight of his stare. You sit up fully now, swinging your legs off the side of the bed, your bare feet brushing the floor as you watch him.

Charles doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms crossed, his eyes locked on yours with a cold intensity that sends a chill down your spine.

“It’s funny,” he says finally, his voice quiet, measured. “I ran into someone today — an old associate of mine. Someone I trust.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your expression calm, forcing yourself not to react, not to show the sudden panic rising in your chest.

“Oh?” You try to sound casual, even playful, but there’s an edge to your voice that you can’t quite mask. “And what did this associate have to say?”

Charles takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. “He mentioned something interesting,” he continues, his voice still unnervingly calm. “He said he saw me at lunch the other day. Thought the woman I was with looked familiar.”

Your stomach drops.

You know what’s coming next, but you keep your expression neutral, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for him to say it.

“He said,” Charles continues, his tone hardening slightly, “that she looked a lot like an Interpol agent he dealt with earlier this year. The one who brought him in for questioning.” He tilts his head, his gaze narrowing. “I told him it must be a coincidence.”

The air in the room feels heavy, oppressive, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm, but your mind is racing. How much does he know? How much has he pieced together?

“And then,” Charles says, taking another step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “I decided to do a little digging of my own.”

Your blood turns to ice. Every instinct is screaming at you to run, to get out, but you’re frozen in place, trapped under the weight of his gaze, under the crushing realization that everything is falling apart.

Charles moves closer, his face now inches from yours, his eyes dark with anger, with betrayal. “Tell me something,” he says quietly, his voice deadly calm. “How long were you planning to play me for a fool?”

You open your mouth to respond, to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat. You’ve been trained for moments like this — moments when everything goes wrong, when the mission is compromised — but nothing could have prepared you for this. For him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage to say, your voice trembling slightly, but even as you speak, you know it’s useless. He knows.

Charles’ eyes flash with anger, and he reaches out, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look up at him. “Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice low, dangerous. “You think I don’t know who you are? You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. “Charles, please-”

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I trusted you. I let you into my life. Into my bed. And the whole time, you were playing me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising as you realize there’s no way out of this. No way to salvage what’s left of your cover. You’ve been found out, and now all you can do is brace yourself for what comes next.

“I didn’t-” you start, but Charles cuts you off with a sharp laugh, releasing your chin and stepping back, his expression hard, cold.

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’m not an idiot. I know exactly who you are. Interpol agent. Sent to infiltrate my organization. To bring me down.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words crashing down on you. There’s no use denying it anymore. He knows. He’s known for some time, and now, there’s no escaping the consequences.

For a moment, the room is silent, the tension between you thick, suffocating. You can feel your pulse racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to think of a way out, but there’s nothing. No way to fix this. No way to undo the damage.

Charles stands there, watching you, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly, a dark smile spreads across his face — a smile that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You thought you could manipulate me,” he says, his voice low, almost amused. “You thought you could use me to get what you wanted. But you made one fatal mistake.”

You swallow, your throat dry. “And what’s that?”

Charles steps forward again, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. “You underestimated me,” he says softly. “You thought I wouldn’t find out. You thought you were smarter than me.”

He pauses, letting the silence hang heavy in the air before he speaks again. “But now, you’re going to pay for that mistake.”

Your breath catches in your throat, fear clawing at your chest as you stare up at him, his words echoing in your mind. You try to say something, to reason with him, but the words won’t come. You’re trapped, caught in a web of your own making, and now, there’s no way out.

Charles leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m going to make you regret everything,” he whispers, his voice dark and dangerous, a promise that sends a chill down your spine.

And as he pulls back, a cold smile still playing on his lips, you know that he means it.

***

The moment Charles steps back, the door opens, and a tall, severe-looking man enters the room without a word. He’s dressed in a stark white coat, the kind physicians wear, and carries a small metal case. Panic rushes through you like ice in your veins. The cold smile on Charles’ face tells you everything you need to know — this has been planned.

“Charles,” you say, your voice tight, trying to suppress the tremor in it. “What is this?”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He moves with a calm, deliberate grace as he steps away, gesturing toward the man who’s now setting up his equipment on a small table near the bed.

You make a move to stand, but Charles's hand clamps down on your wrist with brutal force, pulling you back down. His grip is like steel, and for the first time, you realize how much stronger he is than you. It’s not just physical — it’s the mental stranglehold he’s had on you all this time. His eyes gleam with a terrifying calm, and you know there’s no talking your way out of this.

“You really thought I wouldn’t have a contingency plan, didn’t you?” His voice is cold, amused. “Do you know what I find most interesting about betrayal?” He leans closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he speaks. “It’s not that you were able to fool me. It’s that you thought you would actually get away with it.”

The physician opens his case, revealing a set of electrodes and wires, cold and clinical against the backdrop of the luxury penthouse. Your pulse quickens as your gaze darts between the two of them. The man doesn’t even look at you — he’s focused entirely on his task, his movements methodical, detached, as though he’s done this a hundred times before.

“Don’t-” you start, your voice breaking as you try to pull your wrist free. But Charles tightens his grip, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of your wrist with just enough pressure to make it hurt.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. “You won’t win this. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

You grit your teeth, trying to summon every ounce of strength you have. You’ve been trained for this — your body conditioned to resist, to fight. You know how to break holds, how to defend yourself. But when you try to twist out of his grip, he’s ready. His free hand snaps up, grabbing you by the throat, and before you can react, he slams you back down onto the bed.

Your vision blurs for a second as your head hits the pillow, and you gasp, struggling against him. But he’s stronger, faster, and he knows exactly how to overpower you. You lash out, kicking at him, but Charles only chuckles darkly, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to keep you pinned.

“I wouldn’t try that again,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “You don’t want to see what happens if you do.”

The physician approaches, his footsteps quiet but deliberate, the faint sound of the electrodes clicking into place sending your heart into a frenzy. You thrash again, but Charles’ grip holds you firmly in place, his body pressing down on yours, keeping you trapped beneath him.

“Let me go!” You snarl, trying to twist away, but it’s no use. Charles’ hand remains locked around your throat, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, a sick mockery of tenderness.

“Fighting won’t help you now,” he says softly, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You had your chance. Now, it’s mine.”

The physician moves in, and before you can react, the cold press of metal touches your skin. The first electrode adheres to your temple, then another at the base of your skull. The sensation is chilling, the wires snaking down toward the machine the physician has set up by the bedside. Your pulse races, fear clawing at your throat as you feel the weight of what’s happening settle over you.

“Stop-” you choke out, your voice cracking as you struggle to push against Charles’ hold. But he just watches you, his eyes cold, emotionless. He’s enjoying this, you realize. The control. The power.

The physician attaches more electrodes, the cold metal sticking to your bare skin. Your chest. Your abdomen. The sensation is invasive, humiliating, and no matter how much you want to fight, you can’t. You’re trapped, helpless under Charles’ grip, and the realization of just how little control you have in this moment sends a wave of terror crashing over you.

Charles’ hand finally releases your throat, but only so he can trail his fingers down your collarbone, watching you with that same eerie calm. “You always had a certain spark,” he says, his voice almost fond, like he’s reminiscing. “I admired that about you. It’s a shame, really. If you hadn’t lied to me, things could’ve been different.”

Your breath hitches as you feel the last electrode being placed on your lower back, the sensation cold and foreign. You don’t know what they’re going to do, but every fiber of your being tells you it’s going to be bad.

Charles leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, his voice a dark whisper. “I’m going to tear you apart and rebuild you,” he says, the words sending a violent shudder through you. “Bit by bit. Until the only thing you can remember is that you belong to me.”

Your stomach turns, and you thrash again, but the electrodes are in place now, the wires humming faintly, connected to a machine that you can’t see from where you’re lying. The physician adjusts something on the device, and the air feels heavier with each passing second, the tension mounting to an unbearable peak.

“You can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice cracking as fear claws at your insides. “You can’t-”

“Oh, I can,” Charles interrupts, his voice sharp, cutting through your panic. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze burning with something dark, something that chills you to the bone. “And I will. I told you — I don’t like being played.”

The physician steps back, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he waits. Charles releases your wrist, finally standing up and looking down at you with an air of satisfaction.

“Let’s begin,” he says.

The physician nods, turning to the machine. There’s a faint click, and then you feel it — a low hum, a strange tingling sensation at the base of your skull where the electrodes are attached. It’s not painful at first, but it’s disorienting. You try to focus, try to push the sensation away, but it only intensifies, spreading through your body like a wave of static.

You clench your teeth, refusing to cry out, but the pressure builds. Your muscles tense, your fingers curling into the sheets as the tingling becomes sharper, more intense. It feels like your mind is being pulled in two directions at once — like something is being torn away from you.

Charles watches, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on you with a cruel, almost clinical detachment. He’s studying you, observing every twitch, every breath, as if he’s enjoying the sight of you unraveling.

The pressure builds, and your vision blurs at the edges. It’s not just physical — it’s mental. The sensation of losing control, of losing yourself. It’s terrifying, and you can feel it slipping, feel the person you’ve built inside yourself starting to fray at the seams.

“I told you,” Charles says quietly, stepping closer once more. “You’ll forget everything except me. Every thought, every memory, every piece of who you are — it’ll all belong to me.”

Your chest tightens, and you gasp, trying to hold on to something — anything — but the machine hums louder, and the electrodes pulse, sending a jolt through your body that makes you cry out in pain. The sound is ripped from your throat before you can stop it, and Charles’ smile widens in satisfaction.

“You won’t be able to resist for long,” he says, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’ll break. Everyone breaks eventually.”

Tears blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. You can’t let him win. You can’t lose yourself to this.

But as the machine pulses again, the pain sharp and searing, you wonder how long you can hold on before everything you are is stripped away, piece by piece, until the only thing left is his will, his command, and the terrible truth that you are no longer yourself.

You are his.

***

You wake to a soft, persistent hum, like the remnants of a dream that’s slipped away. Everything feels hazy, like your thoughts are floating just out of reach. The sheets beneath you are silk, cool against your skin, but there’s a heaviness in your limbs, an unfamiliar ache that lingers in your muscles.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open, squinting against the dim light filtering into the room. You recognize it. Charles’ bedroom. The deep maroon walls, the heavy velvet curtains drawn shut, casting shadows across the space. The soft, muted scent of him lingers in the air — spiced cologne, leather, something dark and intoxicating.

For a moment, there’s a quiet stillness, and then you feel it — a presence, looming near the bed. You turn your head slowly, your gaze catching on the figure sitting in a chair beside you.

Charles.

He’s watching you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. There’s a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips, like he’s been waiting for this moment, for you to wake. His eyes are dark, intense, scanning your face as if searching for something.

“Charles,” you murmur, your voice low and thick, like you haven’t used it in a long time. The sound of his name feels right on your tongue, like it belongs there. You shift slightly, the silk sheets rustling as you try to gather your bearings, but there’s an unfamiliar fog clouding your mind.

Who …

Before you can grasp the thought, Charles moves, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity.

“Good,” he says softly, his voice smooth and warm, like honey sliding over your skin. “You’re awake.”

Something in the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, but not from fear. It’s something else, something you can’t quite name but feel deeply. There’s a pull in your chest, a magnetic force drawing you to him, and it feels natural. Like instinct.

You try to speak again, but your mouth is dry, the words sluggish in forming. “I … I don’t …” Your brow furrows as you search for the right words, but nothing comes. There’s a strange emptiness in your mind, like pieces of a puzzle have been scattered, and you can’t find the edges to start putting them back together.

Charles stands, moving closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He sits on the edge of the mattress, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body. His hand reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The touch is tender, but there’s something possessive in it, a silent claim.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your cheek as his eyes search yours. “You don’t need to worry about anything right now.”

You blink up at him, confusion flickering in your chest. “I … I don’t …”

“Shh,” he soothes, his thumb pressing lightly against your lips. “Don’t try to think too much. You’ve been through a lot.”

You look at him, trying to piece together the fragments in your mind, but everything feels disjointed. There are no names, no faces, just the overwhelming presence of him. His gaze holds you in place, grounding you, tethering you to something solid.

He smiles softly, his hand moving from your cheek to your throat, his thumb brushing the pulse point there. The touch sends a wave of warmth through you, and instinctively, you lean into it, into him. It feels safe. He feels like home.

“Do you remember your name?” Charles asks, his voice soft but laced with a dark curiosity, his fingers resting against your neck like he’s waiting for your answer to betray you.

Your lips part, but nothing comes. There’s a void where your name should be, a blank space in your mind that sends a ripple of panic through you. You search for something — anything — but there’s nothing. No name. No history. Only him.

“I …” You swallow hard, trying to force the words, but all you can do is shake your head, a soft tremor running through you. “I don’t know.”

His smile widens, just a fraction, and his thumb presses a little harder against your pulse. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet. “That’s exactly how it should be.”

You look up at him, confusion and fear swirling in your chest, but there’s something else too. Something deeper. A pull. The moment he touches you, your fear dissipates, replaced by something warm, something that blooms under his gaze.

“Why …” Your voice is barely a whisper, the words slow to form. “Why don’t I remember?”

Charles’ eyes darken slightly, his hand trailing down your throat, over your collarbone. “Because you don’t need to,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “The only thing you need to know is that you’re mine. That’s all that matters now.”

His. The word echoes in your mind, settling deep in your chest. It feels right. Familiar. And yet, there’s something at the edges of your consciousness — something you can’t quite grasp. A fleeting thought, a whisper of something else.

But it slips away as quickly as it comes, lost in the warmth of Charles’ hand on your skin.

“Mine,” he repeats softly, his fingers tracing a slow path down your arm. “Say it.”

You hesitate, the word lingering on the tip of your tongue. There’s a part of you that feels like you should resist, like something isn’t right, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming presence of him. The way he looks at you, the way his touch makes you feel grounded, anchored. Safe.

“Yours,” you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

Charles smiles again, satisfied, his hand moving back up to cup your cheek. “That’s right,” he murmurs. “You belong to me. No one else.”

The declaration settles over you like a heavy, comforting blanket. You don’t know why, but it feels right. The fog in your mind lifts just enough for you to feel that certainty. That pull toward him.

You try to sit up, but your body feels weak, unsteady. Charles immediately moves, slipping an arm behind your back to help you, his touch firm but gentle. You lean into him, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming the last remnants of panic in your mind.

“How long …” You ask, your voice barely more than a murmur.

“How long have you been here?” Charles finishes for you, his hand moving in slow circles against your back. “A few days. You needed time to … adjust.”

You close your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch. There’s still a part of you that feels like you should be asking more questions, but every time you try to think, the fog presses back in, heavy and suffocating. And every time it does, the only thing that makes it bearable is him. His presence. His touch.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask softly, your voice fragile.

Charles’ hand stills against your back, and he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your hair. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll take care of everything. You just need to stay by my side. I’ll tell you what to do when the time comes.”

There’s a faint whisper at the back of your mind — something that feels like resistance, like a question you can’t quite articulate. But before you can grasp it, it’s gone, swallowed by the comforting warmth of Charles’ presence.

You nod slowly, resting your head against his chest. His arms tighten around you, and for the first time since you woke, the fear ebbs away completely, leaving only the quiet certainty that you are his. That you belong here.

Charles pulls back slightly, tilting your chin up so that you’re looking into his eyes. “Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, the words coming easier this time, settling over you like a binding promise.

Charles’ smile is slow, satisfied. “Good girl.”

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, and you melt into the kiss, your mind going blank as everything else fades away.

***

Every morning begins the same way: with Charles.

Your eyes flutter open, the soft light filtering through the heavy drapes casting a golden glow over the room. But it isn’t the light that pulls you from sleep. It’s him. It’s always him. The way his arm is draped possessively over your waist, the way his breath fans across your skin as he sleeps soundly beside you. Even in sleep, you can feel the weight of his presence, grounding you, reminding you of your place — at his side, where you belong.

You turn your head slightly, your gaze catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the tousled mess of his hair, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. He looks peaceful like this, in the quiet moments before the day begins. And as you watch him, a warmth blooms in your chest, spreading like wildfire until it consumes every part of you.

He’s all you think about. The first thought that greets you in the morning and the last thought you cling to as sleep takes you at night. Even now, your body instinctively leans into him, seeking his warmth, his touch. You can’t remember a time when it wasn’t like this — when your mind wasn’t consumed by him.

You reach out, fingers lightly tracing the curve of his arm, and your heart swells with an overwhelming sense of devotion. He is everything. Your whole world revolves around him, and the thought of being anywhere else, of being with anyone else, is unfathomable.

Charles stirs beside you, a soft hum escaping his lips as he shifts closer, his arm tightening around you. You feel the heat of his skin against yours, and a shiver runs down your spine. You live for these moments, for the feeling of his body against yours, for the way he looks at you as though you’re the only thing that matters.

“Morning,” his voice is thick with sleep, low and gravelly, sending a thrill through you as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips brushing lightly against your skin.

“Morning,” you murmur back, your voice barely more than a whisper as you press yourself closer to him. You feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, and it calms the whirlwind of thoughts that constantly circle your mind.

He hums in response, his hand sliding down your waist, pulling you tighter against him. “You sleep well?”

“With you? Always.”

There’s a low chuckle from him, the sound vibrating through your skin. “Good girl.”

The words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. You live for his praise, for the way his voice wraps around you, making you feel whole. It’s been this way for what feels like forever. There’s no one else. No other name, no other face that holds any meaning. There’s just Charles.

You tilt your head back, offering more of your neck to him, and he takes the invitation, pressing soft kisses along your skin. It sends a familiar warmth coursing through your veins, spreading like fire. You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you.

“Do you know what I love about you?” Charles’ voice is a soft murmur against your skin, his lips brushing the words into your neck.

You hum softly, your heart racing in anticipation. “What?”

“You’re mine. Completely. Your mind, your body, your heart — every part of you belongs to me.” His hand slides up to your throat, his fingers resting lightly against the pulse point there. “And you love that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breathless, the word coming out in a soft exhale. It’s not just an answer — it’s the truth. It’s the only truth that matters.

Charles’ grip on your throat tightens just slightly, a reminder of his control, his ownership, and you feel the edges of your mind blur, leaving nothing but him. “Say it,” he demands, his voice low and commanding.

“I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping out with ease, a mantra that’s been etched into your very soul. “Only yours.”

His grip loosens, and his hand moves to cup your cheek, turning your head so that you’re looking into his eyes. They’re dark, filled with a dangerous mix of desire and satisfaction. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, leaning in to capture your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Your entire world narrows to this moment, to the feel of his lips on yours, to the way his hands move over your body with the confidence of someone who knows he owns you completely. There’s no room for anything else — no thoughts, no worries, no memories beyond him.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “You’ve been good lately. Very good.”

The praise sends a rush of warmth through you, your heart swelling with pride. You’ve been good. You’ve done everything he’s asked, without hesitation, without question. Because you don’t need to question anything when it comes to Charles. He knows what’s best for you.

“Do you know what that means?” He asks, his voice dropping lower, a hint of something dangerous in his tone.

You shake your head, anticipation buzzing under your skin. “What does it mean?”

“It means I’m going to reward you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

His words ignite something in you, a fire that burns hotter with each passing second. You live for his approval, for his praise. And the thought of a reward — something only he can give you — sends your heart racing.

Charles shifts, rolling you onto your back, his body hovering over yours as he looks down at you with that dark, possessive gaze. “You want that, don’t you? You want me to take care of you.”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”

His lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile as he leans down, his hand trailing down your body with deliberate slowness. “I love it when you beg,” he murmurs, his fingers dancing over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “It reminds me of how much you need me.”

“I do,” you gasp, your body arching into his touch. “I need you, Charles. I need you.”

He hums in approval, his fingers teasing at the edge of your waistband. “You’re mine,” he whispers again, the words settling into your bones, branding you as his. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that.”

There’s a moment of stillness before everything shifts. Charles’ hands are everywhere, his touch igniting every part of you as he takes his time, drawing out every sound, every gasp, every plea. And you give it to him freely, because there’s no one else you’d rather surrender to. There’s only him.

Hours pass in a blur of heat and sensation, your body responding to his every command, your mind lost in the haze of him. You tip over the edge more times than you can count, each time feeling like a fresh wave of devotion crashing over you, pulling you deeper into him.

By the time the night is over, you’re left trembling, your body spent, your mind a fog of exhaustion and pleasure. But even then, as you lay in his arms, your head resting against his chest, the only thing you can think of is him. His touch, his voice, the way he looks at you like you’re his entire world.

And as sleep pulls you under, the last thing you hear is his voice, a low murmur in the darkness. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

And in your dreams, it’s the same. Charles is there, waiting for you, pulling you into his arms, reminding you of who you are.

His.

Always his.

***

The sun is unforgiving in Monaco, beating down on the yachts that crowd the harbor, their glossy decks gleaming in the light. Philip adjusts his sunglasses, squinting against the glare as he navigates the narrow streets leading toward the marina.

This mission wasn’t supposed to be anything out of the ordinary — routine surveillance, gathering intel on a trafficking ring suspected of operating through the port. But the heat is unbearable, the air thick with the scent of saltwater and sunscreen, making it harder to focus.

He tugs at his collar, feeling the weight of the mission pressing down on him. Monaco always feels claustrophobic, all the wealth and power packed into such a small space. Everywhere he looks, there’s money, status. It’s suffocating.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, reading the latest message from his supervisor.

Stay sharp. Don’t let your guard down.

He rolls his eyes, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. Standard procedure. Philip’s eyes drift to the yachts moored in the harbor, each one more extravagant than the last. His attention lingers on one in particular — a massive, sleek vessel, easily the largest in the marina. The name etched on the side glistens in gold: La Bellezza.

It doesn’t take long for him to recognize it. Charles Leclerc’s yacht. Of course, it had to be Leclerc. The rumors about the man are legendary — how he runs his empire with an iron fist, how he’s untouchable in Monaco, how anyone who crosses him ends up six feet under. It’s why they never found-

Philip shakes his head, pushing the thought away. There’s no use dwelling on the past, on missions gone wrong. Y/N was one of the best agents Interpol had, and when she went dark, they all knew what that meant. There was no coming back from that. Charles Leclerc didn’t make mistakes.

Still, as he watches the yacht, a figure steps onto the deck, catching his attention. At first, he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. The sun is too bright, the distance too far, but there’s something about the way she moves, the silhouette that feels … familiar. He takes a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

And then he sees her.

His heart stutters in his chest.

It can’t be.

Philip freezes, staring at the woman on the deck. She’s laughing, her hair catching in the breeze, and Charles is right beside her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. She turns, and for a split second, their faces are clear.

It’s you.

It’s Y/N.

His throat tightens. This isn’t possible. Y/N is dead. You’ve been dead for months. They had a memorial service for you, for Christ’s sake. He remembers the grief, the unanswered questions. No body was ever found, but that’s how it goes with someone like Charles. You must’ve been discovered. You must’ve been killed.

And yet … there you are. Alive. Right in front of him.

Philip’s mind races, trying to make sense of it all. He can’t trust his eyes. Maybe it’s someone who just looks like you. Maybe this is some sick coincidence. But everything in him is screaming that this is no mistake.

He takes a step closer, heart hammering in his chest.

“Y/N?” He calls out, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Then, louder. “Y/N!”

The woman doesn’t even glance his way. No flicker of recognition crosses your face. You’re entirely focused on Charles, your hand resting on his arm, your body pressed close to his.

Philip’s stomach drops.

This doesn’t make sense. If it’s really you, why wouldn’t you respond? Why wouldn’t you … remember?

Before he can call out again, Charles leans down to whisper something in your ear, and you smiles — a soft, genuine smile, one that Philip hasn’t seen in months. It’s a smile he used to know well, back when you were both agents, before everything went wrong.

Philip feels a wave of nausea wash over him. There’s no way you would be here, on Leclerc’s arm, if you knew who you were. If you remembered.

He pulls out his phone, fingers trembling as he dials his supervisor. It rings twice before the familiar voice picks up.

“Philip, what’s going on? You’re supposed to be surveilling the port.”

“I … I just saw Y/N.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end.

“Philip,” the supervisor says slowly, as though speaking to a child. “Y/N is dead. You know that.”

“No,” he insists, his voice urgent. “I’m looking at her right now. She’s on Charles Leclerc’s yacht. I swear, it’s her.”

“Philip,” the supervisor sighs, a heavy, resigned sound. “You’re tired. You’ve been in the field too long. We all grieved Y/N, but you need to accept that she’s gone. No one survives after crossing Leclerc. You know that better than anyone.”

Philip’s hand tightens around the phone, his mind spinning. “But-”

“Enough,” the supervisor cuts him off. “Stay focused on the mission. Do your job. That’s an order.”

The line goes dead, and Philip is left standing there, staring at the yacht, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind refuses to believe it, but what other explanation is there? He knows what he saw. He knows your face, your mannerisms. But if you’re really alive, then …why are you acting like you don’t know him?

As he watches, Charles takes your hand, leading you to the center of the sundeck. From this angle, Philip can see everything. The way you gaze up at him with a look that could only be described as adoration. The way you follow his every movement, like he’s the only thing in your world.

Philip’s stomach turns. This isn’t right.

Then, without warning, you sink to your knees in front of Charles, your eyes fixed on him as though he’s the sun and you’re orbiting him. Philip’s breath catches in his throat, disbelief surging through him.

What the hell are you doing?

Charles leans down, his fingers lazily tugging at the string of your bikini top, his eyes never leaving yours. It’s a calculated display, one meant to assert control, dominance. And you — you just kneel there, completely submissive, completely his.

Philip feels the bile rise in his throat as the knot comes undone, your bikini top slipping off your shoulders. You don’t flinch, don’t hesitate. You just kneel there, bare before him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a long moment, Philip can’t breathe. The scene playing out in front of him feels like a punch to the gut. This isn’t the Y/N he knew. The Y/N he knew would never …

But then, maybe you aren’t the same person anymore. Maybe you’ve been broken down, rebuilt into someone else entirely. Someone who belongs to Charles Leclerc.

As Philip watches, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away, he feels a crushing sense of helplessness settle over him. Y/N — if it is you — has been lost to him. To them. To everything you once were. And there’s nothing he can do to bring you back.

Charles pulls you up by the chin, his lips brushing over yours in a possessive kiss that’s all dominance, all control. You lean into him, your eyes half-lidded, completely pliant in his hands.

Philip turns away, his stomach churning. Whatever happened to you, whatever Charles has done — he’s too late.

You’re his now.

And there’s nothing Philip can do about it.