#just say silver-haired person or something

[julymusings]

simplicity

out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home

or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]

jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam ⎯ based on this !

A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances as his own business.

“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”

If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.

All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it. 

You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.

Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.

He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.

“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”

He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.

A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”

You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.” 

You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.

“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”

He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”

You don’t have to be the world’s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.

You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.

“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.

“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”

You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.

There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back. 

When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.

“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.

Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.

One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”

Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”

At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.” 

While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.

“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.

You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him, and feel his shoulders relax.

“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.

He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and give a reassuring squeeze.

“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.

You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.

“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.

He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.

You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.

Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.

It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’

“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.

You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.

 Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”

You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.

“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”

He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door. 

At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.

There’s voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.

“Baby? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There’s some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”

Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”

You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”

He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”

“No.”

He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.

“How bad is he? Like, on scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”

Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”

There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.

“Robin? Really?”

Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.

He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.

"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.

"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."

You beam under his pride.

He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.

You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night, a fighter, crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.

You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.

am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷‍♀️);

the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...

divider is from here

[wholoveseggs]

Dark Star {Part Four}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Four

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} In the present day, Cami takes matters into her own hands by going to the police, urging detectives to search for your killer. Meanwhile, Rebekah and Kol return to Mystic Falls to seek Bonnie Bennett’s help...and run into an old friend. In the past, your church has a watchful eye on your every move as fear of demons brew among the villagers, risking your exposure and ruin.

5.4k words - Warnings: so much angst, Cami trying her best, Kol and Rebekah being an iconic duo in Mystic Falls, murder investigations, pain with a sprinkle of more pain on top, hallucinations, demons and Klaus having a little treat...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss

Cami sat nervously in the waiting area of the police department, wondering why she ever thought this was a good idea. What was she going to say? That she knew a vampire that was murdered? They would want details she couldn’t give… like, where’s the body? How does she know there was a murder?

She could already hear them laughing her out of the office.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. This was the right thing to do. She had a hunch, and it was her job to follow through.

A door opened, and a tall, no-nonsense detective stepped out, scanning the room until his gaze landed on her. With a slight nod, he motioned for her to follow him, leading her to a small, windowless room.

“How can I help you, Miss O'Connell?” he asked, settling into a chair across from her.

Cami took a breath, the uncertainty bubbling up again. “I… I have a friend who went missing, and I was hoping the police could help me find her.”

“Missing?” The detective’s brow lifted, his expression shifting to mild skepticism.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. She’s been missing for several months…” Cami replied, realizing too late how wrong that sounded.

“Months?” His skepticism deepened, one eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” she repeated, trying to sound more confident.

“Miss O'Connell,” he said, softening his tone just slightly, “you’re aware that most missing persons cases aren’t solved. Many aren’t even reported until it’s too late.”

“I understand,” she replied, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

The detective sighed, studying her closely. “Do you have any evidence of foul play?”

Cami’s mind raced. “No… I don’t have evidence, but I know something is wrong. She wouldn’t just disappear.”

“Alright,” he said, pulling out a notepad. “Let’s start with her name and tell me what she looks like.”

Cami swallowed again, steadying herself as she described you: the color of your hair, the shade of your eyes, the way you always wore that silver bracelet. She felt the lump in her throat grow as she spoke, picturing you more vividly with each word.

The detective listened, his expression hardening slightly. “Did she have any enemies?”

A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “She… well, she had a lot of enemies,” she admitted, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, jotting something down. “Enemies?”

“Yes, but she was… a private person. I don’t really know who they were,” she said, guilt pricking at her as she lied.

The detective’s patience began to wear thin. “Miss O'Connell, if I’m going to help, you need to be honest. What aren’t you telling me?”

Cami hesitated, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. She glanced down, trying to find the words. “It’s a long story,” she managed, her voice small.

“We have time.”

“It’s a very long story,” she repeated, almost pleading.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I have several open murder cases on my desk. I’m not going to spend hours on a missing person unless you can give me a reason to. So if you have something to tell me, spit it out. Otherwise, we’re done here.”

“Right, sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks burning. “It’s just… my friend was married into a very powerful family of vampires, and she is one herself. And she was murdered, I know where and when, so I need your help collecting forensic evidence.”

He stared at her, his face blank. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was,” she said softly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “Please leave.”

“But-”

“Miss O'Connell, unless you want me to throw you in jail for wasting police time, I suggest you leave now,” he said, his tone cold.

Cami rose, shame washing over her. “I’m sorry. I was just hoping-”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his expression hardening.

She hurried out, her heart pounding, a mix of anger and humiliation clouding her mind. She had been foolish to think the police would help. As she walked down the hallway, she caught sight of a bulletin board covered in photographs and reports. Missing people. Her heart sank as she stared at the faces.

“Hey!” she called out as a young officer passed by.

“Yeah?”

“What’s this for?” she asked, nodding to the board.

“Murder victims, same motive. Possible serial killer,” he said.

A chill ran down her spine. “Can I look at the case file?”

The officer raised an eyebrow, giving her a wary look. “Sorry, ma’am, but those files are confidential.”

“Right. Thanks.” She forced a polite smile, walking quickly out of the building. Once outside, she pulled out her phone and dialed Klaus’s number.

“Cami?” Klaus answered, his tone warm.

“I’m at the police station. They’ve got a case on a possible serial killer,” she said, her words spilling out. “All the victims… Klaus, they look just like her.”

There was a long, tense pause on the line.

“Stay where you are,” he said finally, his voice low and serious. “I’ll be there in minutes.”

Relief washed over her as she hung up, the weight of fear lessened. Maybe, just maybe, they were onto something real.

“Rebekah, darling, be a dear and pass me that bottle,” Kol gestured lazily toward the expensive bourbon behind the bar.

She raised an eyebrow. “Planning on getting wasted? We’ve got work to do, Kol.”

“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy,” he replied, grabbing the bottle as soon as it was in reach. He poured himself a generous amount, then one for her. “I died in this town. I’m entitled to a drink.”

Rebekah sighed but accepted the glass, taking a small sip. “Technically, we both did. Though, you managed to do it twice.”

Kol smirked, savoring his drink. “Ah, yes. I nearly forgot how much fun it was the first time.”

He turned, leaning back against the bar, surveying the Mystic Grill’s bustling crowd. Music hummed in the background, laughter and chatter filling the air along with the scent of alcohol. The place had changed, yet a strange sense of familiarity lingered.

“This place brings back memories,” Kol mused, his tone light. “There was a lovely little spot nearby where I’d... relieve myself. Quiet, private.”

Rebekah grimaced. “You’re disgusting.”

"What? Like you didn't have your spots, Rebekahhh," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I liked the view, nothing makes the bowels move quite like the morning sunrise,"

She let out a sound of disgust, and tossed back her drink, setting her glass down and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Not much has changed about this place, still a glorious shit hole," He quipped, taking another gulp of his drink.

She rolled her eyes, leaning back against the counter and scanning the crowd. Her eyes landed on a familiar face sitting in a booth, and she smirked. "You can't be serious,"

"What?" He asked, arching an eyebrow, turning to look at where she was staring. "Oh, for fucks sake,"

Stefan Salvatore was sitting in a booth, alone, sipping on his drink. He was watching them, his expression carefully neutral, his body tense.

"I'll deal with him," Kol muttered, standing up.

"Kol, behave," Rebekah warned, elbowing him.

"When have I ever not behaved?" He shot back, smirking.

"Do you want a list?" She snapped, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "We are here to convince that Bennett witch to help us, not cause trouble."

"I'm just going to say hi," he defended, holding his hands up. "If anything happens, it will be entirely his fault,"

She rolled her eyes and released his arm, giving him a pointed look.

He winked at her and strode towards Stefan, a grin spreading across his face, sliding into the seat across from him. "Well, well, if it isn't the famous Ripper of Monterey. Seems you have a new hobby of stalking people,"

Stefan smiled faintly, swirling the bourbon in his glass. "I'm just enjoying a drink at my local bar,"

Kol chuckled, shaking his head, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "How long have you been following us, hm?"

"Since you showed up," Stefan answered, taking a sip of his drink. "I thought you and your family moved on to New Orleans."

"Oh, we did," Kol grinned, tilting his head. "But, we've always had a fondness for this place. We are sentimental like that,"

"So this is just a vacation then?" Stefan asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"In a sense," Kol shrugged. "Family business, you know how it is,"

Stefan hummed, raising an eyebrow. "Does this have anything to do with the death of your sister-in-law?"

"Oh, you're a busy little birdie," Kol drawled, his smile widening. "Where did you hear that?"

"It's not everyday that a Mikaelson dies," Stefan replied, his tone light. "That kind of news gets around."

"Ah, yes, the supernatural grapevine," Kol sighed, rolling his eyes. "A dreadful thing. So, have you heard anything useful?"

Stefan stared at him, his jaw clenching, Kol could tell he was afraid, even though he made great efforts to hide it. "Like I said, just rumors."

Kol laughed, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Stef. You're safe, Rebekah would have my head if I killed you."

Stefan raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that would stop you,"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Kol scoffed, tilting his head. "Your neck is intact, isn't it?"

"Why are you really here, Kol?" Stefan asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Looking for a friend of yours, perhaps you could help me," Kol replied, a smile tugging at his lips. "We need to speak to a young Miss. Bennett."

Stefan frowned, his eyes darkening. "What do you want with her?"

"Relax, Stefan," Kol sighed, shaking his head. "We're not planning on harming her. We just need her help, that's all."

Stefan leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering to Rebekah who was walking towards them. "And if she says no?"

Kol's smile widened, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Then we'll convince her otherwise,"

Stefan tensed, his expression hardening, his hand tightening around his glass. "Is that a threat?"

Rebekah let out an annoyed sigh and leaned over the table, pinching Kol’s arm. "Stop being an ass."

"Ow," he whined, rubbing his arm. "You're supposed to be helping,"

She glared at him, then looked at Stefan. "Don't mind my brother, he was dropped on his head when he was a baby,"

"I was not," Kol protested, frowning.

She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to Stefan, placing her hand over his, smiling sweetly. "Tell me, what is Bonnie up to these days?"

"Bonnie isn't going to help you," Stefan answered, his voice hard. "She's not exactly a fan of your family,"

"We aren't looking to be friends," Rebekah said, shaking her head. "All we need is a little help,"

"Help with what, exactly?" Stefan pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Kol and Rebekah exchanged a glance, and Rebekah gave him a nod.

"The death of my sister-in-law was a bit unexpected," Kol explained, his voice low, his smile fading. "We want to fix that, bring her back,"

Stefan let out a dark chuckle, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head. "So it's true? Elijah has gone off the deep end?"

"You are hardly one to judge, darling," Rebekah remarked, glaring at him.

"Look, I have no interest in being dragged into Mikaelson family drama," Stefan replied, his voice tight. "And neither will Bonnie,"

Rebekah let out a soft sigh, and glanced at her brother, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Brother, will you get me a drink?"

"Sure, Bex," he said, giving her a wide smile before heading up and walking to the bar.

Rebekah leaned in, her voice lowering. "I think you have misunderstood us, this isn't a request. We are asking politely for you to tell us where Bonnie is... Or I will force the answer out of you,"

"I would like to see you try," Stefan replied, his words laced with challenge.

"I'm stronger than I look," she murmured, her gaze lingering on him, her smile turning sly. "You of all people should know that."

Stefan stared at her, and she could see the tension in his shoulders, the wariness in his eyes.

Kol returned and set a glass of whiskey down in front of her, sliding back into his seat, sipping on his own drink.

"One last chance, love," Rebekah purred, taking a small sip, her gaze locked on Stefan's. "Tell us where to find Bonnie, or things will get ugly."

"You can do whatever you need to do to me. I'm not giving up my friends," Stefan said, his jaw clenching, his eyes flashing.

Rebekah let out a long sigh, and reached over, her fingers trailing along his jaw, tilting his head to the side.

"Look around Stef, all the people in this bar, they have interesting looking drinks in front of them, don't they?" She asked, her voice soft.

Stefan stiffened, his brow furrowing, his gaze sweeping over the bar. All the glasses in front of the patrons seemed to be filled with a bright blue liquid.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice strained.

"Those drinks aren't exactly... safe," Kol chimed in, his tone full of amusement. "It's absolutely horrid what antifreeze can do to a human's internal organs."

"Antifreeze?" Stefan repeated, his eyes widening, a hint of fear flashing across his face.

"Mhm, it's actually a rather effective poison," Kol added, grinning.

"To Stefan Salvatore," Rebekah said, raising her glass, her gaze locking with his.

Stefan watched in horror as all the patrons raised their glasses with her, some holding their cups to their lips, poised to drink. She had compelled the whole bar, and it was a terrifying sight.

"Wait, stop," he stammered, panic rising in his chest.

Rebekah smiled and put her glass down, everyone else doing the same. "Where is Bonnie?"

"Fine," he said, swallowing hard, his pulse racing. "I'll give you her address,"

"Good boy," she said, her smile widening, patting him on the cheek.

"You're psychotic," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Oh, darling, I'm a Mikaelson, this is just a Tuesday for us," she replied, winking at him. "Write down the address,"

Stefan glared at her, but obliged, quickly scribbling down the address on a napkin.

She snatched it from him, and tucked it into her purse, before getting to her feet. Her blonde hair swayed behind her as she turned and headed towards the exit, not looking back.

"Lovely seeing you again, Stef," Kol called out, smirking. He got up and followed her, leaving a defeated Stefan sitting alone.

13th century Europe

Evening mass was almost over, and you were growing more and more bored, wishing you were anywhere else. Your attention was drawn to the window, the full moon hanging low in the sky. It was a beautiful sight, reminding you of your night with Elijah, and the promise he had made. You smiled faintly, a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

You could feel Mother Mathilde's stern gaze fixed on you, and you tried to look serious, straightening in the pew. But the thoughts wouldn't leave your mind. You wondered if he would ask you to marry him, if he would take you away from the convent. A strange sort of longing gripped your heart, and you realized, more than anything, you wanted to be his wife. You wanted to live by his side, grow old with him, share his bed, have his children. The realization surprised you, a wave of panic rising within you, and you swallowed hard, trying to calm yourself.

As the priest finished his final prayer, you joined the others, standing and reciting the closing hymn. Your voice faltered as Mother Mathilde stood, moving to the altar, her expression unreadable. She nodded to the priest and turned to face the congregation.

"There has been some troubling news," she announced, her voice loud and clear, filling the sanctuary.

Your brow furrowed, and you listened, waiting for her to continue.

"There is reason to believe demons may be among us," she continued, her eyes sweeping over the crowd.

Murmurs erupted from the congregation, and you felt a chill run down your spine, your stomach twisting into knots.

"Two of our children were nearly attacked last night in the forest," Mother Mathilde's voice rose, silencing the crowd. "We must be vigilant and pray that God will protect us from this evil."

Your heart was pounding, and you were certain that you had heard her correctly. In the woods? Was it near the same place you had spent the night with Elijah? 

"Be wary of those who tempt you into sin," Mother Mathilde's gaze swept over the room, her eyes stopping on you. "Be mindful of those who wish to lead you astray,”

Your stomach sank, and you felt a rush of embarrassment, a sudden urge to run out of the chapel. You stared at the ground, heat rising in your cheeks, shame burning within you.

"Have any of you been tempted? Speak now so we can root out this evil," the priest called out, his eyes searching the crowd.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down, your heart racing. You knew it was a trap, and yet, you couldn't resist the urge to look at her. You raised your head, catching her gaze, and immediately regretted it. She was staring at you, her expression full of judgment. You felt like a child being scolded, your eyes falling back to the floor, unable to look at her anymore.

"For those who lay with demons are anointed by evil, and must be cleansed," she declared, her voice full of conviction. “We must prevent this sickness from spreading by all means that we possess,”

You couldn't move, frozen in place, panic rising within you. You didn't know what to do, or where to go, so you sat there, waiting, hoping she wouldn't come for you.

The priest began speaking again, and the rest of the congregation joined in, reciting a prayer. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the words, but it was useless. All you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears, the sound of your heart pounding. You were terrified, and all you could think about was running.

Suddenly, there was a commotion behind you, and the chapel door swung open. Several of the nuns rushed in, their faces pale, their eyes wide. They were carrying a limp body between them, and as they laid it on the ground, you realized with horror, that it was Sister Claire.

The other nuns gasped, and several cried out, crossing themselves. You couldn't look away, transfixed by the gruesome scene. Her throat had been torn out, and her blood was everywhere, pooling on the stone floor, staining the white robes of the nuns.

"Dear God," Mother Mathilde exclaimed, her eyes wide, her face ashen.

The priest crossed himself, his voice shaky. "It seems the demons have claimed their first victim."

Elijah was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, studying his reflection. His hair was damp and tousled, his cheeks smooth, his chin freshly shaven. His deep, dark brown eyes, full of secrets and sadness. He could see the weight of his years etched in the lines on his face, the shadows beneath his eyes that refused to fade.

He could feel the ghost of your hands wrapping around his shoulders, see your smiling reflection in the mirror as you gazed at him, your face radiant with happiness. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, allowing himself the dangerous comfort of imagining your touch. It was like being caressed by a shadow… your fingers tracing the contours of his body, exploring the planes and ridges. Your voice echoed softly, teasing and affectionate, calling his name as if you were still there.

"It’s okay to be sad, Eli," you had once told him, pressing a kiss to his neck, your fingers resting over his heartbeat. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."

He felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids and swallowed hard, forcing the memory back. He had been vulnerable enough already, and he couldn’t afford to give in further. Opening his eyes, he steadied his gaze in the mirror, his grip on the sink tightening until his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched. He had promised to always protect you, and yet, here he was. A failure. The ache in his chest spread, crushing, unrelenting, leaving him feeling like a ship adrift, helpless in the abyss.

He avoided looking at the wedding ring on his finger, a sharp reminder of what he had lost. It felt wrong to take it off, yet the temptation to cast it aside was almost overwhelming.

Turning away from the mirror, he grabbed a towel, drying himself off before wrapping it around his waist. Returning to the bedroom, he saw you. Your phantom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"You know it's your fault, right?" you teased, tilting your head. "If you had just left me alone, none of this would have happened."

"I didn’t have a choice," he replied, his voice hoarse, tight with emotion. "I loved you. I couldn’t let you go."

"Liar," you laughed, shaking your head. "You didn’t love me. You wanted to own me, possess me."

"No, I-" he started, but the words caught in his throat.

"You turned me into a monster, corrupted my soul," you hissed, your eyes flashing, a cruel smile tugging at your lips. "You destroyed me, Elijah."

He closed his eyes, turning his face away, unable to look at this twisted version of you. "I’m sorry," he whispered.

"Pathetic," you sneered, contempt dripping from your voice.

He couldn’t bear it anymore, his heart breaking all over again. Retreating to the bathroom, he shut the door behind him, pressing his back against it as he took a shuddering breath, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"Go away," he whispered, his voice strained.

"No," your voice answered, the doorknob rattling, the door shaking as if it would break under your rage. "You promised to love me, to protect me."

"I know," he murmured, his voice thick with grief and regret. "I know."

"You lied," you spat, the doorknob rattling harder, the door creaking and straining against its hinges.

"Please," he begged, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Open the door," the voice hissed, rattling the knob with renewed violence, the door cracking under the pressure.

"Go away," he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest, every muscle tensed.

And then, abruptly, there was silence. The only sound was his own heartbeat, thudding in his ears, drowning out everything else.

He stayed still, afraid to move, unsure of what might happen if he did. His entire body felt frozen, rooted to the spot, waiting.

From downstairs, he heard the sounds of Cami, Klaus, and Marcel entering the compound, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain his composure. He couldn’t let them see hin so weak and broken. He knew he couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever.

"Elijah?" Klaus’s voice echoed through the compound, laced with worry.

Clearing his throat, Elijah steadied himself and opened the door. The bedroom was empty, the ghost of you nowhere in sight. He let out a long, uneven sigh, then went down to the courtyard, where Klaus, Cami, and Marcel waited for him.

On the table were at least forty photographs, each one of a different woman. They all looked hauntingly like you.

Elijah frowned, stepping closer, his gaze sweeping over the pictures, brow furrowing as he took in each face.

"What’s this?" he asked, his voice low.

"It’s the list," Klaus answered, his tone grave.

"Of what?" Elijah asked, his confusion mounting.

"Victims," Marcel explained, watching Elijah closely. "Louisiana has a serial killer."

Elijah stiffened, his eyes darkening as he picked up one of the photos, staring at it, his stomach twisting. It was an image of a woman lying in the woods, stab wounds in her hands and feet, her face pale and ashen. She had the same hair as you, the same shape of your mouth. He swallowed hard, anger rising in his chest.

"Why are you showing me this?" he asked, his voice strained.

"We think there might be a connection to your wife’s death," Cami said softly, her eyes full of sympathy.

"This has nothing to do with her," he growled, his fingers gripping the picture.

"They all look just like her, brother," Klaus pointed out, his brow furrowed. "It’s hard to ignore."

"No," Elijah muttered, shaking his head, refusing to accept the implication. "You’re wrong."

"Look at the pictures," Klaus insisted, his voice firm. "It’s too much of a coincidence."

Elijah’s gaze dropped back to the photos, the truth sinking in. It felt like looking at countless versions of you. And yet, none of them were truly you.

"The killer has been operating in Louisiana for years," Cami continued, her voice gentle. "No one has ever gotten close enough to identify the suspect, much less stop them."

"There was a pattern to the murders, at least until recently," Marcel added. "They were all killed in or around churches,"

"My wife wasn't murdered in a church," Elijah said, his voice hard.

"As far as we know," Klaus argued, his eyes flashing. "You found her body in the streets, but it doesn't mean she was killed there."

Elijah let out a frustrated sigh, his jaw clenching. He knew his brother was right, and the thought made his blood boil.

"Whoever did this is a sick bastard," Marcel said, his voice edged with anger. "They take their time, torture their victims for days, even weeks before they kill them."

Elijah's stomach churned, and he set the photo down, his eyes closing, a wave of nausea hitting him. The thought of you suffering like that made his skin crawl, his heart ache.

"I compelled a very friendly detective to let me borrow his files," Klaus said, smirking. "The last crime scene was not too far from here,"

Elijah's eyes snapped open, his gaze locking with his brother's.

"We could take a look," Klaus suggested, his tone cautious. "Maybe there's something there we can use,"

"I'll get my coat," Elijah said, his voice flat.

Klaus nodded, a grim smile tugging at his lips.

Cami sighed, her shoulders sagging, worry etched on her features. Marcel squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, his expression solemn.

"Let's go," Elijah muttered, moving past them, his thoughts racing.

There was no way this was connected to your death, it couldn't be. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a chance. He didn't know what he would do if it was true.

13th century Europe Since the announcement of demons in the village, Mother Mathilde had increased her scrutiny over the sisters. You knew she was watching you, waiting for you to slip up, hoping to catch you in the act of sin. But you were careful, keeping your distance, staying out of her way. Still, she found excuses to punish you, giving you extra chores and longer hours.

"She's going to work you until your fingers bleed," Sister Margaret said, her voice hushed.

You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, though you felt anything but. "It's nothing I can't handle,"

Sister Margaret looked at you, her eyes full of concern. "Still, it isn't right. You haven't done anything wrong."

You swallowed, thinking of the night you spent with Elijah, the promises he made. Had you been foolish? Had you led him to Sister Claire, causing her death? A wave of guilt washed over you, and you shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away.

"I'll be fine," you insisted, forcing a smile.

"If you say so," Sister Margaret sighed, turning her attention back to the task at hand.

You worked in silence, scrubbing the floors, your thoughts drifting. You couldn't stop thinking about Elijah, the way he held you, the promises he made. A part of you feared him, what temptation he had brought into your life. Another part was drawn to him, the desire still lingering within you.

You felt tainted, dirty, knowing that he was a demon. Still, there was a part of you that longed for him, the desire pulsing deep within you. You couldn't explain it, the way he made you feel, the way he changed your life. It was like a force of nature, powerful and all-consuming.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up, surprised to see Sister Margaret rushing towards it.

"I'll get it," she called, hurrying to the front of the convent.

You continued working, but your curiosity was piqued, wondering who had come to the door. You heard the muffled voices of Sister Margaret and the visitor, but you couldn't make out what they were saying.

"She's here, she'll see you," Sister Margaret said, her voice sounding surprised.

You straightened, wiping your hands on your apron, wondering who the visitor was.

Sister Margaret returned, her eyes wide, a hint of panic in her voice. "There is a nobleman here to see you... Lord Mikaelson,"

You swallowed, feeling a mixture of dread and excitement. What was he doing here? Why did he want to see you?

"Tell him I'm not available," you said quickly, trying to keep your voice steady.

Sister Margaret frowned, studying you. "Is something wrong?"

You shook your head, unable to meet her eyes. "No, everything is fine, I just... I don't feel well. Tell him I can't see him,"

She hesitated, her eyes full of concern. "I'm sorry, but he's very insistent. He says it's urgent."

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "Fine, I'll speak with him. Just give me a moment."

Sister Margaret nodded and turned, leaving you alone. You took a few moments to compose yourself, knowing that whatever Elijah had come for, it wouldn't be good. You smoothed your hair, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

You walked down the corridor, stepping into the reception room. The space was sparsely furnished, with only a few chairs and a small table. The walls were bare, save for a cross and a painting of the Virgin Mary.

You could see Elijah standing by the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked out of place, dressed in a fine tunic and cloak, the sunlight casting a glow on his pale skin.

You stood in the doorway, unable to move, feeling a strange mixture of emotions.

"You shouldn't be here," you said finally, your voice trembling slightly.

He turned, his gaze locking on yours. "Neither should you,"

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"I need to speak with you, in private," he replied, his voice low.

You glanced around, looking for Sister Margaret, but she was nowhere in sight. "This isn't the place," you said, shaking your head.

He approached, a hint of desperation in his eyes. "Please, just give me a moment of your time."

You hesitated, your mind racing. You knew you should send him away, but your gaze dropped to his lips, remembering the way he had kissed you, the way he had touched you.

"Tonight, in the place we went before," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt a flush of heat, the memory of that night washing over you. "I can't,"

"You have to," he said, his voice urgent. "Meet me there."

You bit your lip, torn between fear and desire. Finally, you nodded, unable to deny the pull he had on you.

"Tonight," he repeated, a flicker of relief in his eyes. He turned, walking towards the door, then paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll be waiting."

You stood rooted to the spot, watching as he disappeared through the doorway, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall.

"What did he want?" Sister Margaret asked, startling you from your thoughts.

"I'm not sure," you lied, swallowing hard.

"Well, he seemed upset," she said, her voice full of concern. "Perhaps you should talk to Mother Mathilde."

You shook your head, the thought making your stomach churn. "No, it's not necessary."

Sister Margaret studied you for a moment, a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "Don't stray from His light, sister," she warned, before turning and walking away.

You watched her go, her words echoing in your mind. You had already strayed, you thought, a wave of guilt washing over you. But what choice did you have? Your heart was drawn to Elijah, despite the danger, despite the consequences. He had stolen your heart, and you knew there was no going back.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}{Part Six}

[chaifootsteps]

if Vassago is in the next episode that means Mastermind is the one where Stolas is summoned to presumably face consequences for lending out the book

this is one of Viv's last chances to show she actually meant it when she was doing the 'both sides have made mistakes' routine

how Stolas losing everything is framed is one

how he and Blitzo probably get together for real is the other

but honestly I'm not confident. the obvious writing choice for making Stolas actually change is to have someone in the courtroom say something along the lines of 'he leant out his precious book in order to get sex out of an imp when he could have given him a crystal from the start, taking advantage of him and hurting both his heir and his reputation'. then Stolas has an epiphany where he realizes he did a little more than 'come on too strong' or 'read things wrong' or whatever the song tried to minimize it as

and have him pay that off when he and Blitzo get together

but what I think is going to happen is this:

the episode is called mastermind because Stella & Andre are the masterminds behind oh-so-evilly using the fact that *checks notes* Stolas is terrible at his job and objectively broke demon law to get him stripped of his titles. this is portrayed as very tragic and totally not something Stolas could and should have foreseen if he hadn't been spending all his time getting drunk and being gaslighting Blitzo. only silver lining is Satan himself will call Stolas an embarassment or whatever the line was in the trailer, but if he has a celebrity VA he probably won't be too harsh

anyway, losing his power results in him getting the Gabriella stripe for real in his hair (it's symbolism for the fact he is indistinguishable from his telenovela heroine and needs a hero to save him, something the audience should root for and not find pathetic and weird) and Andre taking over his palace, turning it to ice. He tries to call Via but can't get through and in either this episode or sinsmas decides to go over there in person

Andre/Stella try to attack him and Blitzo, who has been given one last push either offscreen or onscreen to accept his fate as Stolas' romantic object, goes to save him, risking his life and his employee's lives once again to do so. He doesn't thank them but presumably gets all shoujo romance filter when Blitzo protects him with a sword, clinging to him like a helpless baby who can't be expected to even bother trying to defend himself (this is no different than how he was as a royal when he got nerfed just so the show could have another fanfic torture and rescue plot in western energy)

Via may or may not have to end the battle by killing Andre/Stella. she's understandably a bit upset about having to kill her uncle but this is written like she's just mad he and Blitzo are together (something Blitzo but not Stolas is made to feel responsible for) and being upset about Stolas' antidepressants so she can look unreasonable. the fact he let her down by breaking demon law, got caught, is still fantasizing about having Blitzo rescue him even when it hurts everyone around him, goes totally unmentioned. she cuts him off. it's portrayed as very tragic...for Stolas. he lost everything but got Blitzo as a consolation prize (something which he won't show much appreciation or even love for him onscreen but offscreen they'll totally have cute date nights and Blitzo will never be happier)

old timey title card 'that's all folks!' comes up (just kidding, there's two more seasons of this to get through)

The ride never ends, folks!

[cherrylng]

My Chemical Romance exclusive sneak peek [INROCK (January 2011)]

L→R: Ray Toro (g.), Gerard Way (vo.), Mikey Way (b.), Frank Iero (g.)

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE Exclusive sneak peek of the private art studio for this magazine!!!!

REPORT: RIE FUJIWARA/Warner Music Japan (★) PHOTOS BY KAORI SUZUKI

Nov. 19, 2010 in Los Angeles

My Chemical Romance continues to treat their albums as works of art. This time, we got an exclusive sneak peek into their private art studio, which is the source of their ideas. The works of art there are, of course, being shown to the public for the first time in the world. It was as if the mysterious world inside the brain of one artist, Gerard Way, was unfolding…

The location chosen for the My Chemical Romance (MCR) photo shoot was an art studio owned by MCR themselves. The location is near Silver Lake, which is famous for being home to many artists and art professionals in Los Angeles. It is hard to explain because there are not many places like this in Japan, but the art studio owned by MCR is a room in a building that is a collection of many square spaces like a warehouse, but with white walls and high ceilings. Gerard's wife, Lindsay, also has her studio in this building, where she holds exhibitions and is the centre of the MCR family's art activities.

When I opened the door, I was first surprised at how small it was. The space is about the size of a four-and-a-half-tatami room [2.5 x 3 metres] (although in reality it was a little larger). Standing at the very back of the room were the four red, green, yellow, and blue dolls that also appeared in the music video for "Na Na Na". Above their heads is an illustration of the spider used on the album cover. One black-painted wall was decorated with handwritten "Na Na Na" lyrics, while the other wall was artistically decorated with Gerard's sketches and drawings. What appeared to be Gerard's sketches were also randomly placed on the desk. Naturally, this studio is all about MCR.

Ray was the first to arrive at the studio. He has that sociable, cheerful personality and chats with the hair and make-up ladies. Gerard was the next to arrive. It's still warm in Los Angeles, so why was he wearing a furry Russian hat with earmuffs? Mikey and Frank came next and went crazy over their souvenir Japanese sweets!! Their favourite was the strawberry-flavoured Koala March, while the second was the classic, Kit Kat matcha-flavoured. The matcha-flavoured Melty Kisses was also a big hit. They couldn't wait for their visit to Japan in February, and the four members fought over the chocolates while gobbling them down.

Once the snacks have filled their stomachs, the photoshoot can begin. First, from inside the studio. The members brought several different jackets. They all asked Gerard for his opinion on which jacket would look best with the background. Gerard checked the balance of everyone and gave quick instructions, saying, “You do this, you do that.” Gerard is in charge of MCR's art direction, but he also manages the band as a fashion leader, and the three members listened to Gerard's advice obediently, giving us a glimpse of the strong unity of MCR, or rather, their friendship, which was a very heartwarming moment. The shoot ended successfully with some shots outside the studio as well. The members were very tired after a gruelling two-week ���European promotional tour,’ but they were harmonious from start to finish and allowed us to take many wonderful photos.

Translator's Note: There's something pretty funny to picture MCR just gobbling down Japanese snacks to the point that there's a small fight over the chocolates.

Please do support me with Ko-fi! ☕

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

The poster read: Are a male between the ages of 20-30? In top physical condition and have fighting experience? Well good news! You might just be able to win the Knight Contest to be the personal knight guard to Prince Adam Kadmon of Eden.

Huh? A prince you say......

Luicfer: Why a contest?

OM: Something about it being fair, not that it is he never picks anyone. And if he does they don't last long.

Lucifer: Oh..... Well thank you.

The old man left and Lucifer went towards the castle. He looked through the crowd and he had to stop himself from audibly gasping.

Prince Adam was sitting on his throne, a woman with a spear standing next to him. Lucifer couldn't help but find him very attractive, his silver crown resting in soft brown hair, his eyes the color of honey, plush pink lips and even just sitting there Luicfer could tell he was tall.

Adam didn't look very impressed with what he was watching. He looked rather bored like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

Lucifer smirked, maybe it's time to give the prince something worth watching.

Adam sat there as he watched the contestants, Lute at his side. Honestly, the people who entered were worse than last year.

Adam: How many more Lute?

Lute cheeked the paper: 12.

Adam groaned, fuck his life.

Then this one guy entered the arena, he was on the shorter side so Adam didn't pay any mind.

Until he started to kick some serious ass. That made Adam perk up a bit.

((Lucifer took someone's spot he knocked them out lol))

Prince x Demon King Au @fanofstuff01

Lucifer sighed as he sat upon his throne, it has been so lonely since his wife left him and it has only been him and his only daughter.

Charlie: I wish you would find a way to be happy again dad, it pains me to see you so sad.

Lucifer: I know honey but it's just not easy.

Not to mention there was no one in the underworld he wanted to try to pursue. Yuck.

Charlie: What about a human?

Lucifer perked up: Human?

He never thought to try and court a human before. They don't have long lifespans but if he could turn one......

Then maybe things would work out.

[zombiemollusk]

"let's invent a variation of the word 'brunette' for this hair color so we don't have to say the character's name" <- this is the devil speaking

[faunandfloraas]

the colour theory thing drives me crazy because to me it should just be a fun lil thing- like oh you're a cool winter, so you'll probably suit x y z well! but most colour match videos i see are so like YUCK- You cannot wear *insert huge swath of colours and tones here* and I'm just like.... Shut up. Shut ya mouth.

[glitterslag]

because I am literally incapable of keeping gossip to myself

[pearlywritings]

Intimacy records

synopsis: what kinds of horny stuff they have in their phones and which is the favorite?

pairing and characters: Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dr Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sampo, Sunday (separately) x fem!reader

tw: SMUT, established relationship (marriage/dating), consensual recording of lovemaking, nudes, oral, lingerie, fingering, masturbation, public sex, breast play, shibari/blindfold, sex machine, creampie

word count: 4.3k+ words

Aventurine

Undoubtedly this man has a whole separate folder for intimate stuff. Of course, he demands you send him something on a daily basis - doesn’t matter if it’s a quick snap of your choice of lingerie in the morning, or recordings of touching yourself - but never enough to cum, it’s his job. Naturally he loves having reminders of you being at his mercy - thus there are also videos of you both (with primarily established consent). All that to say - he has quite the collection, so it’s really hard to pick a favorite, the most desire-arising one.

Maybe it’s a category actually - self-made media created out of bet. Who’ll cum first? Can you keep going without tearing up from pleasure for longer than 10 minutes? Is he patient enough not to touch your sexy self, while you masturbate in front of him? Who is going to be louder this time? These kinds.

”I hope you are ready to lose,” your lover smirks, making himself comfortable between your legs. Camera floats a little, as you chuckle behind it. With a momentary adjustment, the focus is on his face again and he winks, before turning to trail a little path of kisses across your thigh. The image jumps, when he sucks on the skin, and slightly trembles as you let out a sigh. Then it’s firm, as Aventurine wraps his arms around your thighs, his nose teasingly rubbing against your clit. Suddenly there is a lick, then your breath hitches…. And then he buries his mouth into your pussy. It doesn’t take much time for the image to begin shaking wildly, almost matching your debauched noises. There is squelching, there are award-winning male moans, muffled by your heat, soon there is a hand, your hand, reaching down and grabbing his hair. Phone strangely angles, hardly supported by just one hand, until it falls camera down onto the shits. After that, there are just delicious screams of yours, chanting the name of your lover and begging him to stop, while he doesn’t listen, taking his reward for yet another win.

Yeah, he proved you can’t keep the camera focused while he is eating you out in that one. It’s truly a pity, that more than a half of what was going on, didn’t get recorded in image. Maybe next time you'll do better - oh... That's actually not a bad idea at all… Looks like you are in for another bet.

Blade

His situation is… quite peculiar. First of all, he has so little care for his own phone outside using it to get info for the mission, to the point ANYONE from the Stellaron Hunters can just take it and do whatever with it (Silver Wolf and Kafka practice it a lot). Even your relationship doesn’t change it much, he messages you rarely and quite shortly, preferring to save the conversation for personal interaction. 

However recently, Kafka has been putting a plan into action - the first step of which was banning everyone from getting into his phone (herself excluded). Then she’d start sending her colleague an occasional picture of a set of lingerie she’s oh so sure would look wonderful on you. Blade never answers, but he doesn’t tell her off either, and by the snooping she knows that the pictures get bookmarked, the links for the shops she attaches are visited, and sums of money are being spent.

Oh, and by checking the chat… She knows you get them delivered. Does she text you to shower you with compliments? She does. At first it was a little embarrassing and you asked Blade if he could, maybe, pay better attention to his phone??? But soon, when your lover started showing the telltale signs of jealousy... It became pretty hot (plus praise from THE Kafka? Ego-boosting).

Blade doesn’t voice it, but more than seeing you all pretty for him, he loves seeing you ruined for him, and doesn’t complain when you ask him to take a picture with your phone of whatever part of you, focusing on the marks, or the torn crotch of your panties, or something alike… There are times when he would text you with a simple ‘send me pictures with torn stockings’ or ‘yesterday. open nipples bra. now’ , because he knows you have them, and you deliver, because you know he loves them. 

Has his favorites:

Depicts your thighs, bitten and opened wide, while the black panties are pushed aside to let two thick, scar-covered fingers dive into your pussy.

Your body after one of the sessions - bra roughly pushed down under the mark-covered breasts, panties missing, one stocking still on the leg, but with multiple holes in it, and the other tying your wrists above your head.

A small video you insisted on recording of the man tugging onto your garter belt whenever he wanted your hips to push towards his thrust, threatening for the thin elastic material to snap.

Even though he doesn’t save them, he knows how to get an easy access to them, so for Blade it works quite fine (and Kafka’s plan does too, making Blade look less intimacy-repulsed and spicing up your relationship).

Boothill

A cyborg, whose only human part of the body is the head, and sex life… How can this be possible? 

Oh, trust me, it can. Sure, his bodily reaction differs, but he still is excited to get nudes from you, finally able to express through the text what he really thinks with that foul mouth of his. A voice recording of you dirty talking to him? Awesome. A video? You can bet his engine is overheating and vents are whirring.

But in all honesty, the ones he truly loves and returns to are the recordings of him doing stuff to you. Call him self-conscious, it’s not like he can bite back with a swear, but the reminder that he can bring you pleasure even now is sometimes necessary.

The lights are intimately dimmed, not enough to bring the room into utter darkness. Two bodies are lying almost intertwined with your back turned to the camera. The metal arm of your lover has sneaked under your side and around your waist, fingers digging into the plush glob of your ass, tugging on it, to further the spread which is created by your leg thrown over his hip. Your pussy is perfectly presented to the camera, puffy and slick, with two gray plated fingers massaging it. Digits slide up and down your labia, occasionally staying on the clit, to rub tight circles on it and elicit some sweet moans out of you, only to return to their previous ministrations, dipping the tips juuust a little bit into the quivering hole. Your back arches and body deliciously shivers from the contrast of his cool and your heat, and you softly whine, when he releases your ass cheek to give it a spank and then grab it again, unwilling to let the sight of your cunt escape his phone’s camera. You whimper something, muffled by his chest, but he remembers by heart what you were begging for. ‘Please, put your mouth on me.’ He will, in a minute, but right now he pushes both fingers to the second knuckle in, making you jolt in his hold, but not letting you go anywhere.

It’s captivating, how his inhuman digits disappear and reappear with every thrust he makes; slick-covered they look shiny, as if you polished them, and the cyborg shudders, imagining your tongue running around them. That’s one dangerous video, he may just give in to his want to see you and abandon the mission he was assigned to…

Dr Veritas Ratio

Unsurprisingly, Veritas’ phone doesn’t contain that much stuff in general. Maybe some downloaded articles, notes to put down later, if he doesn’t have a piece of paper at the moment, and very few pictures, mainly of his writings on the chalkboard. Don’t be discouraged though, of course he has pictures of you. Some selfies you took after “borrowing” his phone and ones he doesn’t have a heart to delete (but he will scoff at you, should you decide to tease him), and some very well-thought images he took on his own accord - he needs reference for when he decides to let his mind rest from research and focus on sculpting.

And one might think that such a reserved and cold man will not entertain storing anything explicit on his phone. Well, he indeed does not have any pictures and videos saved - if he wants, he can either find what you sent him via your chat or just demand your assistance. However… There is something that strangely became his way of concentrating when doing his research…

”Oh! Mh- *thrust* Veri- ohmygod! *thrust*”

“Wait- Aaah! I can’t! I’m sore! MmmmMMM!” “No, you can and you will. Now hold still, I can’t eat you out if you keep thrashing around.” “Oh Aeons!”

*Slick sounds of you going down on him, gurgling and choking on his girth, occasionally gasping to catch your breath, only to have his cock buried in your throat again*

“Baaaby… I miss you so much… Can I come to your office? I promise to be good… Just need to cockwarm you - nothing else I swear. Let me keep you company pleeease. Imagine how nicely it'd be to have your cock buried in my pussy, while you are working… Need to help you with stress-relief, it's gonna feel so-so good.”

“Oh fuck, o-oh, love, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I’mcumMIN-” “Ngh, s-so…tight…” “Aaaaaaah~!”

“Veritas Ratio, if you come home in ten minutes, I will give you a nice massage and then ride you damn cock, till the only thing you can think about is not your work, but me. If you fail to do so though… I wonder if my threat to use some toys instead will work. Just know that your wife is very mad. And horny.”

It doesn't matter if the audio was taken while you were intimate or it was something you sent to him and he saved - he thoroughly enjoys everything your voice has to offer to him. And if instead of concentrated it accidentally makes him horny - he'll just play the next one, while undoing his pants.

Gallagher

Oh, this man is a menace. And a huge ass-lover. His gallery is full of pictures of your booty: clothed, just panty-clad or bare. There are shots with your body clearly being bent, ass up and back covered in his load. Videos of him fucking you from behind, with cock sliding in and out of your pussy? Obviously. Recordings of it jiggling as he spanks you? Would’ve been strange if they weren’t there.

However, in that vast collection of his, there is a video that’s most peculiar - one might say scandalous. It was one of those nights when he took over the bar for Siobhan and you came over at some point, all enticing and so sexy in that little dress of yours… He could not resist taking you right there once the establishment was closed. And it got on security camera...

Moans so loud, that they are reaching the recording device, are still of the delicious kind. Your back is arched over the bar counter, arms lifted and wrists tied by none other but Gallagher’s wine-red tie, and held by his own hand for good measure. The front of your dress is pushed down, revealing your pretty breasts, jiggling with every thrust of the man’s hips, and the hem of it has ridden up, baring your stomach and mark-covered thighs. Your lover is barely unclothed, pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free his cock and the tie, obviously, missing. The hand that is not holding your wrists, is grabbing onto your leg, under the knee, lifting it for a better angle, and showing off a lewd detail - your black lace panties hanging on your shin. You are looking positively debauched, and he is no better, groaning and cursing, with an occasional exceptionally rough trust that makes you scream and whine. There are teeth-gritted ‘slut’s and huskily chuckled ‘bad girl’s with your pleading ‘sir’s and ‘Gal’s, all of that deliciously seasoned with the clapping of the wet skin colliding. But nothing beats the moment of you cumming, depicted by no less than three cameras from all of the hottest angles…

Of course this footage was ‘confiscated’ by him with some dumb excuse for Siobhan (he doubts she believed it, given the knowing look and shit-eating grin she gave him), with all traces destroyed except just one copy thoroughly hidden on his phone. He thinks you two should repeat that - this time, however, he’d love to bend you over the counter with your back facing him…

Gepard Landau

Gepard would die if someone took his phone and got into his gallery. Poor man has to change the password weekly to throw Serval off his case (she was only teasing, but that made her brother paranoid). There is a reason for such behavior - while he is way too sweet and gentlemanly to suggest making sexy pics or, Supreme Guardian forgive, videos, he can't help but to be too whipped for you. 

This man dutifully saves every single photo and video of yours - nudes included.

You don't send them very often - you don't want to kill your darling husband. But sometimes the yearning is unbearable, and there is a suffocating need to show Gepard what he is missing while away on duty (you always leave a warning message though, so he could check it while alone and undisturbed).

No matter how red and embarrassed he gets, the man timidly admits that he enjoys this kind of attention. He is not beyond the earthly pleasures - he too has a favorite theme, that recently became more present in what you send him…

At first you looked so absolutely cute and domestic with his huge sweater on, the one you personally knitted for him - the beginning of the video didn’t look all that different from the photos you sent him just minutes before. But soon it becomes clear why you asked if he was alone, because once you position the phone and climb onto the bed, your full attire gets revealed. White stockings are replacing your usual home pants, and as your fingers grab the hem of the sweater and tug it up, the white panties from a matching set start peaking. The view is both pure and alluring, with the way your legs are spreading wide, and the sweater being pushed further up, baring your braless breasts. The hem gets secured between your teeth and both hands teasingly run down your sides, index fingers drawing circles around the tits, before squeezing them; as one remains right there, the other slowly slides down your stomach, disappearing under the hem of those flimsy panties. Imagination paints wild images - every next is hotter than the previous, and only your muffled moans of his name and rapidly rising chest are indicators of how good you feel with fingers pushing in and out of your pussy. And that damn sweater… You are not taking it off.

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards has one guilty pleasure - you, wearing his clothes. Domesticity, longing, finding comfort in something of his touches his heart and heightens his love and desire for you, almost making him consider taking a regular day off.

Jing Yuan

This man literally worships the ground his wife is walking on, so OF COURSE he wants to have as many pictures and videos of you as possible. It gets so boring and lonely when he is at work, after all. But don’t be fooled by his sweet and innocent smile, there are not only cute shots of you both or just you, he has sexy stuff too.

Man is obsessed with your chest. It’s his favorite pillow (thus so many pictures of him snuggling his face right between your breasts), his best stress-relief (photos and short videos of his big veiny hands cupping and squeezing your girls, with an occasional swipe of the thumbs over the erect nipples), his favorite place to leave marks on (no one can see them under the clothes, but just one tug of his finger on your collar and he is met with a delicious sight. Plus the photos he asks to send occasionally).

Loves, loves, loves, purchasing lingerie for you and when you demonstrate your bra-clad tits. He immediately wants them in his face, but there is the phone screen keeping him away.

But oh does he love recordings of playing with them.

Your body is steadily bouncing on your husband’s lap, creating a beautiful melody of skin slapping against skin. There is an occasional peak of his thick cock, covered in your juices, that immediately disappears again, undoubtedly swallowed by your pussy. One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, supporting you, while the other hand is palming at your left breast. The right one has fallen victim to his eager mouth, lips wrapped around the nipple, sucking on it tenderly, tongue toying with the overstimulated nub. His eyes are half-lidded when he looks up at you, moaning around your breast, when you tug on his luscious locks, trying to push him away, to give you a small rest. He is drawing back indeed, planting a soft kiss to the valley between the jiggling globes, and you sigh in relief, deceived by his affectionate action. Only for you back to arch and mouth hang in a loud moan, when Jing Yuan brings your other breast to his awaiting tongue, dropping both hands to your hips to aid you in speeding up your riding, sensing your nearing orgasm.

Maybe next time you should try recording him making you cum by playing with your chest only… Ah, just the thought makes his cock swell.

Loucha

As much as Loucha enjoys your company and more often than not allows you to accompany him in his journeys, there are times when he can’t take you with him. Which means he leaves for weeks, or sometimes a couple of months, going through the days without a single touch from you. Before getting into a relationship with you, he could survive without intimacy just fine, but now, since he knows the taste of affection and being spoiled by you, it’s getting hard.

That’s when recordings on his phone come in handy, especially when there is no opportunity of a video call to indulge. And there is one he most frequently returns to…

Your chest is rising and falling, pretty breasts with perky nipples brought together by a wrap of a rope. Red and purple marks bloom on your skin akin flowers, some fresh, some from days before. Sweat shines on your hot skin, indicating just for how long the blonde has been torturing you with pleasure and denial. There is a small shake of the video, as your lover is establishing his phone, having just started the recording, and softly making you aware of how good you look - you wouldn’t know with that blindfold covering your eyes. Once the angle is perfect - capturing your arms, tied above the head, the arch of your back and thighs pushed together for stimulation, the man is joining you on the bed. It is cock-hardening, how you lift your head to find his lips, when you sense him leaning down, needily allowing him to indulge in a kiss before the game of orgasm denial continues. His hand meanwhile is creeping down your body, starting with caressing your cheek, fingers sliding down your neck, over the swell of your breast, thumb pushing against the nipple, eliciting a moan out of you right into his mouth, and then palm splaying on your stomach, traveling even lower, before it disappears between your thighs.

Loucha is a man of foreplay. There is nothing more satisfying to him, than indulging into your body before sinking his cock into your warmth. He loves making you squirm, completely at his mercy, drawing you right to the edge, and then denying you the sweet release, just to make you yearn, just to stretch the process out.

Sampo Koski

Sampo is nasty and that is not a secret. I am sure, if you were up for it, he’d suggest filming porn just for the giggles (and extra cash, come on, you both are fucking hot). There are teasing nudes and intimate videos, and it’s not a rare occasion of either of you texting the other with some found porn with a caption ‘let’s try it?’ and you do, frequently recording the process to compare later, and claiming that your performance is better.

However, sometimes it tends to not go according to the script (not like you usually have one). Sampo is chaotic and it’s not hard to lose focus with a lover like him, and these exact moments are Koski’s favorite. Despite being a Masked Fool, during these times he himself looks so sincere, it’s as unnerving, as it is exciting. Rewatching such videos and seeing how you mirror the look in his eyes, giggle with him, even crack a joke, all without ruining the mood - makes him believe he’s found his soulmate (and if you did film porn with him, he’d never share this level of intimacy with your viewers, it solely belongs to you two).

You are giggling, shaking your head with a wide smile, all the while lying on your stomach between his toned mark-covered thighs and leisurely fisting his hard, leaking cock with an angrily red tip. 

‘Sampo, please, be a little serious, we are trying to be sexy here.’

‘We are sexy! What’s not hot in shaping my and your pubic hairs into the lips?? They could kiss, when we fuck!’

‘You are unbelievable,’ you snort, trying to save the last bits of your composure, and leaning forward to mouth at his tight balls. This makes your lover pornographically (how ironic) moan, throwing his head back.

‘Mmm, yes, right there~ Oooh… If am soooo unbelievable, it must mean I am dreamy? How about I bring you to a Penacony, to a Dreamscape? I bet in your dream I’d be as good in bed as I am in reality.’

Your resolve snaps and you burst out laughing, letting go of his sack and pressing your face to his thigh, shaking, dropping the hand from around his cock. Sampo whines.

‘Come ooooon, I was so close!’

‘Shu-ah-ha-t-ah-uh-p,’ you manage through your laughter. The man pouts, but the gaze of mint green is summer-warm as he is looking down at your trembling form. Your voice is pretty, your cackles are pretty, and oh damn he is laughing too.

And these are just the first few minutes of the last video, the thing has a duration of half an hour, so, obviously, you didn’t stop there. That’s what Sampo Koski loves - no matter how cringe you become, it’s never a reason to stop the whole process. If anything it’s something to spark an even longer and intimacy-filled one.

Sunday

Keeping personal stuff on his phone is quite dangerous, given Sunday’s position. That’s why he owns two phones - his work one, and one to mainly contact you, his sister, and a small circle of the most trusted people. He is extremely good at handling the owning of two separate devices, never mistaking one for another, that people are often convinced he has only one.

But it’s his personal cellphone that interests us. Oh, does he have a whole collection of photos and videos of you, one folder in particular hidden just for good measure. Sunday is a collected and regal man, yet it doesn’t mean he has a hard time enjoying your teasing. Quite contrary, sometimes he welcomes it, loving the photos you send him from an outing, shopping for clothes, or better yet, lingerie, sending him multiple shots of different sets and asking him which he loves most, and which he’d like to see on you tonight. 

There are videos too, especially when he’s been extremely busy, and you are oh so needy, sending him short recordings of touching yourself, sighing out his name, begging him to come and help you. However, there is one he particularly likes…

Big silicone cock is being pushed in and out by the machine he purchased for you to quell your need when your husband can’t be there for you. You are on your stomach, with hips slightly raised and pushed backwards, chasing the toy, and he can see the perfect outline of your pussy, outer lips swollen and puffy, covered in a sticky substance, opening and constricting in attempts to accommodate the girth. Your moans are sweet, so-so sweet, hitting a high pitch, when the dildo falls out and a thick glob of cum substitute escapes your pussy. And then another, and another, messing your thighs even more, ruining the towel underneath you. Yet you don’t stop, reaching behind, and pushing the tip back into your tight warmth, making the toy pick its pace again. It’s squelching, it’s so dirty, but it’s so hard to look away. You give yourself creampie, after creampie, sometimes stopping to collect the substance and push it inside with your digits, fingering, moaning and whining for your husband, wishing it’s his cum sploshing between your walls, breeding you.

Yes, it’s his favorite, almost 4-minute video. Ever the neat freak, he can’t deny you look heavenly when ruined, on an equally ruined bed, begging for his attention and semen. You have to forget about the machine for some time, however, because since then Sunday has been truly devoted to breeding you.

[littlelamy]

with rafe

a/n: SPOILER for S4; rafe x pogue!reader; if you haven’t seen s4 yet and don’t want spoilers please do not read it !!! i wanted to post it tomorrow but i love it so much so I’m posting today!

proposal with rafe

The sun casts a golden glow across the water as Barry’s boat floats in the middle of the water while a determined rafe zooms on his jetski to shore. He swings a leg off the jet ski, wading through the shallow waves as he makes his way to where you’re sitting under a tree, your gaze meeting his. There’s something different in his eyes—a softness, maybe even a hint of vulnerability, and you feel your pulse quicken as he reaches for your hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Come sit with me,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady, leading you to a spot beneath the shade. His expression is so uncharacteristically tender, it leaves you feeling both anxious and curious. He takes a deep breath, as if summoning the courage for something important.

“Before I... before I take off, I wanted to say something,” he says, his eyes searching yours, his tone holding a weight that makes your heart race. Confused but drawn in, you nod, watching as he sinks down on one knee before you, reaching into his pocket to pull out a beautiful diamond ring. The delicate silver band catches the light, and you see his hand tremble slightly as he holds it out, a touch of vulnerability showing through.

“It was my mom’s,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a softness that you rarely hear. "Been in the family forever, so I know that's some Kook bullshit, but I..." His gaze holds yours, a gentle warmth shining through. “I just wanted to you to have it, before I...I left, so you know that we're real.”

Your heart swells, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his eyes and the gesture that feels so intimate, so unexpected. You nod, a smile breaking across your face, and the weight of his love wraps around you as he slides the ring onto your finger with a tenderness that takes your breath away.

Your heart still pumping fast at his words as warmth spreads through you as he steps forward and sweeps you into his arms, holding you close as his lips find yours. His kiss is deep and passionate, filled with longing and the intensity he’s been holding back. He groans softly, pressing you closer, and you feel the weight of his emotions as you loop your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. He pulls you deeper into the kiss, as if it’s his way of saying everything he can’t put into words.

He pulls away smiling at your now heavy finger, his thumb brushing over your hand before he reaches into his pocket again and pulls out his keys. He holds them out to you, his fingers brushing yours as he places them into your palm.

“I want you…” he starts, his voice husky with feeling, “…I want you to quit your job, and I want…I want you to move in with me.” He pulls you in again with a even more passionate (if it’s even possible) kiss that makes your knees buckle. "Now we got that sorted," Rafe says laughing with the biggest smile as he pulls away from the kiss.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks, all right? Here. Stay at my…..Stay at our place.” He presses the keys into your hand with a firm but gentle insistence. As he pulls back his hands, he rests his forehead against yours, smiling, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you,” he says softly, pressing a final kiss to your forehead, then lips before stepping away. He pauses, looking back at you one last time, his eyes holding a promise, a warmth that leaves you feeling like the luckiest person in the world as he steps back onto his jet ski.

As he starts up the engine and disappears across the water, you’re left with the keys, the ring, and the weight of his words—feeling the love and commitment he’s offering, and the life he wants to build with you.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @wniektty

[sushiyuzu]

sugar daddy

warning: fluff + tension — sugardaddy!sylus spoiling you with his black card 🤑 [ x fem!reader ]

- second acc: @blushpawss

“here,” sylus says, tossing something onto the table in front of you. you glance down, your eyes widening when you see it—the shiny black card, his personal, unlimited credit card.

“what… what’s this for?” you stammer, looking from the card to him, confused. sylus leans back in his chair, a small smirk playing on his lips, crimson eyes locking onto yours.

“for you to spend, of course,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal. “buy whatever you want.”

your jaw drops slightly, and you feel a mix of disbelief and excitement bubble up inside you. “sylus, are you serious?”

he raises an eyebrow, his silver hair catching the light as he gives you a teasing look. “do i look like i’m joking?”

you can’t help but laugh nervously, shaking your head. “you’ve got to be kidding me… i can’t just spend ALL your money.”

sylus leans forward now, resting his elbows on his knees, and his smirk turns into a playful grin. “trust me, you couldn’t spend all of it if you tried.”

your eyes flick back to the black card, still in disbelief. “but… why?”

“because i like spoiling you,” he says, his tone softer now, almost serious. “and because i can.”

you bite your lip, suddenly feeling a little shy under his intense gaze. the thought of him giving you free rein with his money, his ridiculously large fortune, is overwhelming. but there’s also a part of you—a curious, excited part—that can’t help but wonder what it would be like to indulge.

“you really want me to?” you ask quietly, looking back at him, searching his expression for any sign of hesitation.

sylus tilts his head slightly, studying you with that same intensity that always makes your heart race. “of course i do. i want you to have whatever makes you happy.”

he stands up then, coming around the table until he’s standing behind you. his hands rest on your shoulders, fingers brushing your skin gently as he leans down to murmur in your ear, “go ahead, take the card. spend the day however you want. anything you see, it’s yours.”

a shiver runs down your spine at the feeling of his breath against your ear, and before you know it, you’re reaching for the card, picking it up with slightly trembling fingers. sylus straightens up, satisfied, and moves back to his seat, watching you with a look of amusement.

“i… i don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your mind racing with possibilities. clothes, jewelry, shoes—you could buy anything. it’s almost too much to think about.

“start wherever you like,” sylus says smoothly. “i’ll have a car ready to take you wherever you want.”

you glance up at him, still feeling a little overwhelmed but also more excited than you’ve ever been. “you’re not coming with me?”

he shakes his head, smiling softly. “not this time. today is about you.”

and just like that, you’re whisked away in one of his sleek black cars, the driver patiently waiting as you step into the most expensive stores you’ve ever seen. the salespeople seem to know the moment you walk in, eyes widening at the sight of the black card in your hand. they practically trip over themselves to help you, showing you everything from designer clothes to luxury handbags, expensive jewelry, and shoes that cost more than you could have ever dreamed.

at first, it feels strange—almost surreal—to just point at things and have them brought to you. but as the day goes on, you start to get into the rhythm of it. you try on dresses made from the softest silk, shoes that make you feel like you’re walking on air. the jewelry sparkles under the store lights, and each time you say “i’ll take it,” the salespeople smile and hurry to wrap it up for you.

by the time the afternoon comes around, you’re carrying bags filled with everything you could want and more. sylus’s card never gets declined, no matter how much you spend, and you start to understand just how insane his wealth truly is.

it’s only when you step into the last store—a boutique that specializes in high-end lingerie—that you feel a small pang of nerves again. you’re not sure why, but there’s something about this particular place that feels different. more personal.

“is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” the saleswoman asks politely, her eyes flicking to the black card in your hand.

you hesitate for a second, then smile. “i’m just looking.”

but as you browse through the delicate lace and silk, your mind drifts back to sylus, to the way he looked at you earlier. you pick up a particularly beautiful red set, running your fingers over the soft material, and you wonder what he’d think if he saw you in it.

without even realizing it, you find yourself buying the set. as the saleswoman wraps it up for you, you can’t help but smile to yourself, imagining the look on sylus’s face when he sees it.

when you return to the house, your arms full of bags, sylus is waiting for you in the living room, lounging on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand. he glances up as you walk in, his crimson eyes lighting up with amusement.

“looks like you had fun,” he says, setting his glass down and standing up to greet you.

“you could say that,” you reply, laughing as you set the bags down one by one.

he walks over to you, his hands slipping around your waist as he pulls you in for a kiss. “did you get everything you wanted, sweetie?”

you nod, feeling a little giddy from the day. “more than i wanted.”

his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “good. because i want to see everything you bought. especially that little red number you picked up at the end.”

your face heats up, your heart skipping a beat as you realize he somehow knew about the lingerie. you look up at him, wide-eyed, and he grins, his thumb brushing against your lower lip.

“nothing gets past me,” he teases, his voice low and playful.

you can’t help but laugh, feeling the warmth of his arms around you, the weight of the day’s indulgence sinking in. “you really spoil me, you know that?”

“i enjoy spoiling you,” sylus replies, his eyes darkening slightly as his lips find yours again. “and i’m not done yet.”

[cherry-leclerc]

we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by this !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him. 

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean.  Think back to it quite often."

-

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?” 

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters. 

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t. 

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones. 

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body. 

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver. 

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower. 

He’s just becoming— too real. 

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his. 

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush. 

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

-

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble. 

-

The start of the season is always tough. 

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn. 

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or sometimes even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of  them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

-

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world. 

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing. 

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention. 

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand. 

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough. 

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles. 

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend? 

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words. 

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing. 

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.” 

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement. 

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

-

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry. 

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room. 

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help. 

Woah, are you feeling alright? 

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.” 

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright. 

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from to you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you. 

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.” Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter. 

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek. 

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little. 

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration. 

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you. 

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground. 

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open. 

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

-

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver. 

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace. 

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.” 

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.” 

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat. 

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.” 

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose. 

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering. 

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it. 

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers. 

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers. 

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs. 

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess. 

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon. 

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando. 

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.” 

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands. 

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.” 

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.” 

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t  mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him. 

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again. 

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan. 

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing. 

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.” 

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief. 

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.” 

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

-

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision. 

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk. 

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing. 

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off. 

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop. 

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you? 

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning. 

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other. 

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry. 

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath. 

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer. 

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn’t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning. 

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Lennon gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.   

“Learn from my mistakes, won’t you?”

-

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome. 

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando. 

You what? 

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers. 

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that  things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream. 

-

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean. 

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.” 

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still.. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts. 

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice. 

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare me have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to. 

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has. 

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might. 

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, does eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.” 

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct. 

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now. 

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once. 

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it. 

It was never going to be you.

-

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues. 

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt? 

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend. 

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing. 

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you. 

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded. 

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you? 

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks as tired as you are. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab. 

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough. 

But then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.” 

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring. 

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle. 

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.” 

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed me—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

-

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a sheepish laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes. 

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. 

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes. 

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock. 

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it’ll continue for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place. 

“What about me?” 

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

[f1fantasys]

It ends with, how quick can you get it up?

Summary - y/n and lando are exes who meet again, some angst, then a whole lot of smut. ITS FILTHY. MINORS DNI !!

Warnings - angst, swearing, smuttttt, fingering, oral m and f receiving, p in v sex, anal, squirting, blowjobs, pure filth. Magui lol - no hate to her at all. Her character is a negative character.

7.3k words

It was coming up to years since the day that you and Lando had broken up. You were together for almost two years prior - young and in love, naive. But then the realities of both your jobs jumped right in front of you, and you mutually decided to breakup, it being too much to handle.

The breakup wasn't messy. You were both understanding of each other, and you'd decided to remain friends - though you could count the number of interactions you'd had since on one hand. That was the whole point of separating - not enough time to each other.

As hard and weird as it was to admit, the it affected you more than you let on, to anybody. You absolutely adored Lando. Yes you were young, but he'd stolen your heart the second you two met for the first time. You loved him with everything you had in you, and even know going you own ways hurt in the worst ways possible, you knew it was for the best.

During these two years, you struggled everyday, and had to build yourself up each day from what it seems. You still held onto a thread of love for the boy - you don't think you'd ever stop, and so whenever you saw a new picture of him on socials, or when you knew you were to be at the same event, you stayed as far away as possible, because you knew seeing him in person again would crumble all the walls you've built so hard to put up.

Neither of you had deleted pictures together on Instagram, and you still often wore things and precious gifts that Lando had showered you with - he had done the same. The one thing that always made your heart tingle was a certain silver bracelet. It was a gift you had given him after his first podium in F1, and he'd always say it was his favourite because it was a memory of the two things he loved the most - racing, and you.

Of course, you'd tried to move on, meet new people, but you only ever got as far as an hour into a date until you started comparing a guy to Lando. Although they'd be decent looking with a good body, you'd notice how none were close as to how devilishly handsome Lando was, how no one's body could be compared to his slim but stern and toned abs, no one's hair would curl in all the right places, and how no one would give you the smile that melted your heart.

You always told yourself that Lando was the man who was made for you. Everything about him was absolutely perfect. But, it wasn't to be, and that was something you had to keep reminding yourself.

Recently, Lando had been spotted a few times with an actress, Magui. You had known her through your modeling connections. From the time you knew her and had interacted with her on a few occasions, quite a few years ago, you knew she wasn't someone who you could ever be friends with. There was always something about her that made you hold a step back, no disrespect to her.

It was a surprise that Lando chose to be with someone like her - not that you were judging - but you just thought he could do better. But whatever - it was his life and as long as he's happy, that's all that mattered to you, even though a piece of your heart broke everytime you saw them together.

Last week, your agency had told you that you were to attend an event at the Singapore Grand Prix. This wasn't the first time since the break up that you'd be attending a race, but what hitched your breath was when you found out this morning that it was a McLaren event, where the full team would be present.

As much as your heart wanted to, you weren't sure if you were ready to meet Lando. Yes, it had been a long while, but again, you were scared of crumbling down.

But you had to be strong, because you were currently in the elevator to the top floor of the building for the event. Of course, you made sure you looked like a million bucks - not skimpy like a certain someone.

When the door opened, you held your breath and walked through, face lightening up when you immediately spotted a friend of yours that worked at a different agency.

''Y/N'' Lissie squealed, just as excited to see you.

''Fuck I'm so happy you're here'' you said as she hugged you tightly, knowing exactly why you appreciated seeing her here.

She pulled back. ''Think you'll be ok?'' she asked.

''Yeah'' you said, taking a breath, has to happen sooner or later.

The night was actually going well, until the presentation started and you saw none other than Lando walk on the stage, making his presence known for the evening.

You swore you stopped breathing for a second. Here he was, in the flesh, and even though you'd seen countless pictures of him since the last time you were together, he looked ten million times better, devilishly handsome.

The lights shining on his face showed off the perfect contour of his jaw, nose, lips, the way his eyes glistened beautifully, and don't even get me started on his hair. It was overgrown but his curls sat so effortlessly gorgeously on his head. You really couldn't tear your gaze away from him.

And as if not breathing properly wasn't enough, your legs turned jelly when his eyes found yours, staring into your soul, face shocked though a smile spread over it quickly when his brain caught up with who he was looking at. You smile back gently, when you heard the elevator ding from where you were standing, you watched how Lando's eyes left yours and instinctively looked over your shoulder, his smile widening even more so like a small boy seeing candy. You quickly looked back and felt a knot in your stomach.

It was her. She looked beautiful no doubt. Long curled hair, perfect taunt body. You felt Lissie grab your hand and squeeze it.

For some reason, the thought of her being here tonight hadn't crossed your mind.

You don't why the hell you did what you did next, but your eyes drifted over to Lando again, and it almost felt as if your heart broke into a million pieces when he winked at at her - it was something he'd always do to you in a crowd full of people, his way of telling you he loved you.

As the presentation went on, you tried your best to keep your mind and eyes from drifting to him, though when it was his turn to talk you allowed yourself to take him in for a few minutes. Your mind started drifting away to the days you'd wake up snuggled up in bed together, share looking looks, before Lando would ruin you by fucking you senseless.

''Shit'' you thought, that was the last thing that should be on your mind. You needed to focus on something else, but not surprisingly, you struggled to do so.

Once all the formalities were done, the evening went on with lots of food and drinks, dancing, catching up with people. There were a number of people you knew, which was good, and Lissie was stuck to your side through it all.

While you were at the bar waiting for another drink, your body shivered as you felt a presence next to yours.

Magui. ''Hey'' she greeted, leaning in to kiss your cheeks. You reciprocated the gesture.

She knew your history with Lando, hell the two of you were dating when you used to have to work with her before, so to say this was awkward would be an understatement.

''Hey, been a long time'' you pressed, hoping she would just leave already.

''Yeah it has. Works been busy, plus following Lando to a lot of races as well'' she said.

You tried to keep a neutral face, internally screaming for Lissie to come rescue you.

You chatted about random things, until she dropped the elephant in the room.

''So this must be weird, being here, seeing me and Lando together.''

''Uh, I mean, maybe a little, but we've all moved on with our lives. Each to their own'' you said, not believing yourself one bit.

''But still. I mean, do your feelings for someone so handsome just go away?'' she asked.

This time you had to keep a scoff in. Yes, Lando was a handsome man, but that's not all he was. He was passionate, clever, kind, caring, honest, intelligent, selfless, every single good wood in the dictionary. His looks did not define him. And even though you aren't together now, what you had with each other was real. Your love was real. And no one could take that away from you.

''I,-'' you started, but of course you had to get interrupted by the man himself.

''Y/n!'' he called your name out, came jogging over from where he was.

You held a breath as he hugged you, and it took everything in you not to keep him tucked in your arms.

''Lan Lando, hi'' you smiled gently.

''How are you? It's been forever'' he said.

You didn't miss the way Magui's arms slid around his waist as she kissed his cheek. He placed his hands above hers.

You cleared your throat. ''Yeah, um, I'm really good, keeping busy'' you cooed. ''How are you? Congratulations on your first win, by the way, you earned it'' you said.

His first win made you both cry with joy and sadness. When you were together, his first goal was always to get that win under his belt. It's what he worked tirelessly for day in and day out, and ultimately, towards the end of your relationship, it almost seemed that the only way he could do that would be to have zero distractions. At the time, and even now, you never took that as a reason for your break up or a reason to hate him for it. It was what was best back then, and you couldn't go back now. So as happy as you were for him, a part of you was sad that it was something that couldn't be celebrated by you at his side. It was her.

''Thank you, yeah, finally got that done. Next up, championship, hopefully'' he said, smiling year to ear.

The conversation went on for a few more minutes, but you decided you needed to get away from it. Magui was giving you eyes. Eyes that warned you, eyes that basically said back the fuck up, even though it was Lando who was making most of the conversation.

You excused yourself and made your way to the bathroom after failing to find Lissie in the crowd.

You fanned your face and tried to control your breathing to stop the tears that were threatening to spill down your face, as the door opened.

She walked in.

''What the fuck are you playing at?'' she all but shouted at you.

''What?'' you asked in disbelief.

''Seriously, stay the fuck away from him'' he spat before walking out the door.

You were shocked, where was this coming from? You had an innocent conversation with your ex boyfriend and his new girlfriend. What's more to it?

You went back out and found Lissie, told her everything that happened. She had been no where to be found as she was pulled to go do a few photos for her page, but now she was fuming with how it all played out.

You decided to block all of that out of your mind and enjoy the rest of the night, It was all you could do, besides curl up and cry in a corner, and you really weren't in the mood for the latter.

At some point, a few of the crowd had wanted to carry on the party at a nearby club, and so you found yourself at the back of a taxi, waiting for Lissie to come in, and until it was Lando who had taken a seat next to you, beaming at you.

Your breath halted as he closed the door and told the driver the address of the club. (Obviously it was a race weekend, so he wouldn't be drinking, but had to make an appearance)

You were glad it was dark out so Lando hopefully wouldn't be able to see the flush on your cheeks. But fuck, where was his girlfriend in all of this. Did she know he was here with you right now?

''I-'' you started though he cut you off.

''It's actually so good to see you y/n'' he said, softly.

''You too Lando'' you replied, not sure where this conversation was going.

''Even though we left each other as friends, i feel like i have to tell you...'' he started.

You just listened and waiting, not sure what to say back.

''What we had was good, so good. So real... Some of my best moments in life were the ones spent with you'' he almost whispered. ''I wish we could get those days back. Just be together, never have broken up, but just lived on with each other, loved each other forever..''

You let out a breath, more tears threatening to spill out your eyes.

''Lando..fuck. You know i feel the same way. But i don't think it's fair firstly to Magui, that we're talking about...us, like this, and secondly it's not fair to me. Because I've been trying to move on every fucking day since, and hearing you say that breaks down all the words I've built up.

''I just feel like there was too much left undone'' he said softly.

''Lando, stop. I..Where-where's Magui? Why are you here saying all to this to me right now?'' you asked.

''She got pissed that I came to talk to you. Went back to the hotel.''

''So go back to her then.''

Now he took a breath.

''Fuck..we're not even together. We're just hooking up. I mean, she's great, but i just don't see myself with someone like her, y'know?''

You kept quiet for a bit.

''Well that's not what she makes it seem to be. She fucking told me to stay away from you not even an hour ago'' you said, sounding angrier than you intended to.

''What?'' he questioned.

''Yeah'' you said softly. ''Honestly? with the way your fans are treating her, and all that she's said to me tonight, this is something i can't get involved with. She's toxic, and with where i am in my career, i can't be having her drama follow me'' you said.

Suddenly Lando's whole demeanor changed. He was agitated, fuming, metaphoric steam blowing out of his ears.''

He chucked, to himself then looked you. ''It's always gotta be about the other woman, right? Forget everything good we had, blame it on the other woman.''

''Lando what? What are you even talking about? I'm not blaming her for anything, just saying I don't want to be associated with her. And I'm sorry if i do become, I'm not willing to jeopardize myself to look like the bad one.'' you said.

''Honesty? fuck off'' he spat.

The rest of the ride was silent, you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay, and when you finally got to the club, Lando got up and slammed the door with such force it had you jolting in your seat.

You took a minute to compose yourself before telling the uber driver to take you back to your hotel. Your tears were flowing freely, uncontrollably.

The man you loved basically said he wanted to get back with you, and you shut him off because of the woman he's just fucking. And now he was done with you. Fucking fantastic.

Needless to say, you cried yourself to sleep that night. Seeing Lando, thinking back on memories you hadn't allowed yourself to for so long, having her there, Lando telling you things you'd wanted to hear forever though it wasn't so simple to live through them, and eventually ending with Lando basically telling you to fuck off. You were broke, all over again.

You were to attend the race as well, and you did, because you were cooped up in the Ferrari hospitality all day. Your heart clenched when Lando won the race. He deserved it, no doubt. But everything still hurt. Once again, it wasn't you he'd be celebrating with. And whatever good thing about your relationship ended a few nights ago.

Lissie had dragged you to a club to just let loose and forget about all your problems - something you'd kill for right now.

It was nice to have a night out with the other wags and people you knew, though your mind kept drifting back to Lando. He still had a hold on you, and no matter how much you tried to forget him, you just couldn't.

Him being less than 20 meters away from you wasn't helping either. You'd just seen him walk in, with Magui on his arm. The both of them joined at the hip.

He hadn't noticed you yet, though she did. She smirked, and quickly pulled Lando's face in for a heated kiss. You forced yourself to look away, and walked in the other direction.

Much to your mismay, you found yourself within your friends group, and now Lando and Magui included. They were sat directly opposite you. You seriously wanted the ground to swallow you up, rather be anywhere else but here.

It was awkward, sure, because only you, Lando and Lissie knew what went on the other night - unless he told anyone else.

Everyone was chattering and drinking, laughing and dancing, and for the first time tonight, Lando glanced your way.

You breath - hitching as it always does when he looks at you, caught in your throat as you took a sip of your drink, keeping your eyes trained on his, which were lingering at you still.

He was throwing daggers at you, and when Magui jolted him out of his trance, he immediately pulled her closer, practically on to his lap as he started nuzzling her neck.

You quickly busied yourself, trying to make conversation with Charles and Alex though your eyes kept involuntarily wandering back to Lando.

Now he was full on making out with her, tongue and all, as his hands groped at her ass.

Deciding you needed some air, you went to the bar to get another drink, and while waiting, as if the universe was playing tricks on you, the pair of them, landed beside you, Lando's back to you.

Although the club was loud, you could still just about make out what Lando was saying to her.

He was whisper-shouting dirty words into her ear. Telling her how plans to ruin her later. Fuck her into oblivion, kiss every inch of her body, devour her pussy, and salivate over her delicious juices. The most delicious he's ever had.

Forget the universe. It was Lando. Lando himself who was playing you dirty.

When you were together, dirty talk was one thing that you absolutely loved during sex. Lando knew how to do it well, and he'd fuck you for hours while whispering filthy words into your eyes, making you cum again and again until you had none left in you.

You knew he was playing you - trying to get a reaction from you. From what he old you the other night about whatever he had going on her Magui, you knew he would never have shown her a second glance or said things like this. It was all just a act to rile you up.

She, though, was loving it. Giggling in his neck as he showered her with kisses all over, hands roaming each others day, and you wouldn't be surprised if she was putting on her own show - to make it clear to you ''into her'' Lando was.

You grabbed your drink, downed it, as you clenched your thighs together, trying your hardest not to let Lando's words affect you as he knew they would, because what the fuck - you wouldn't stoop so low hearing him say those things to someone else, would you?

A short while later, needing some proper air this time, you made your way outside, using the excuse of needling a cig break to the others.

As soon as you walked out the door, you let out a big breath you didn't realize you holding on to. It felt like a weight lifted over your shoulders, though that chest-tightening feeling returned straight away when you saw Lando walk out behind you and follow you to a secluded area.

''Lan-'' you started but he cut you off, his eyes piercing through yours with something you weren't sure you'd ever seen from him. A mixture of longing yet laced with anger of some sort.

''Out celebrating my win, yeah?'' he said, cockiness oozing out of him.

You scoffed. ''Huh, what are you doing out here? Thought you'd be rushing out to get back to your hotel? Something about fucking your girl and all'' you said, gaining confidence from the few drinks you had.

''Y/n'' he warned, stepping into your space and bring his hand up to cover your mouth.

His touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, like suddenly you were alive again.

''Shh'' he whispered softly. ''Only one person who gets to call themselves 'my girl,' and it ain't her.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. You wanted to be mad at Lando, forget him and move on, but how can you do so when he was looking at you like this, talking to you like this?

''I-'' he cut you off again.

''Don't need to say anything right now, baby, but let's get out of here?'' he said, voice low and hoarse. The nickname sending shivers down your spine.

You bit your lip, not knowing what to do. Your heart was telling you to go with him, though your head was screaming at you not to.

But all thoughts and hesitations were lost when Lando leaned down and kissed your cheek ever so gently, letting his head rest against it.

Instinctively, your hands reached up and cupped his face, pulling it back to look at him again.

''What about her? you asked.

''Already told her to fuck off, she was already throwing herself at someone else'' he said quickly.

''Lando''

''Fuck, please'' he said, licking his lips, while his hands were now wrapped around you and on the small of your back.

''Fuck'' you whispered, your mind racing more and more by the second the more you took into account what was really happening.

Lando so close you could feel his breath on your face, the smell of his musky and expensive cologne, the intensity of his crystal blue eyes staring right through you, his hold on you as if his life depended on it. Fuck, you were screwed.

''Baby'' he whispered, but this time you were quick to react.

You roughly pulled his face in, crashed your lips to his to which he responded immediately. It was rough, desperate, messy, but somewhere at the back of both your minds, there were fireworks going off.

Lando pulled you impossibly closer and his hands ran through your air, pulling at it from the ends as you both fought for dominance over the kiss, tongue battling each other until you gave in and let him slip his through. He explored your mouth like a starved man.

It may have been years since your last kiss, but right now, it felt like you were both home. It felt right, and with the way you knew each others triggers, it felt timeless.

You played with the hair on the back of his neck as his lips left yours, both desperate for air, sloppy smiles playing both your lips, until a voice broke you out of your trans.

''Are you fucking joking me? You're leaving me for this piece of shit?'' said the voice as you both looked to where it was coming from.

Magui.

Lando's hold on you tightened to a point where it was painful.

''Of fuck off'' he said. ''As if your tongue wasn't down that guys throat the minute i ended it with you, what not 10 minutes ago'' he spat.

''Don't turn the subject around. Seriously Lando, fucking going back to leftovers when you can have the finest ass in town?'' she pressed.

''Yeah actually, because the 'finest' ass in town already rotten though MY leftovers are as fresh as day 1'' he threw back.

Your heart clenched at that.

This time she didn't have any answer back, so she muttered something incoherent to herself and walked away.

''Don't listen to anything she said. Ignore her. I'm sorry for the way she spoke to you the other day as well. I'm sorry for how i fucking spoke to you. I was a dickhead and you deserved better'' he said softly, eyes begging for forgiveness.

You didn't say anything back. Instead you pecked his lips a couple of times before pulling him in for a simple hug, pouring all your love for him into it.

''Take me back to the hotel'' you whispered. ''Now.''

Lando smiled to himself, took your hand and called for the valet to bring his car.

The ride back was palpable with tension, no words spoken again, just cheeky glances at each other, eyes dark with lust, as Lando let his hand rest on your thigh, achingly close to where you craved him the most.

Your mind was racing, not paying attention to where he was driving, so when he stopped the car and parked at an area overlooking the sea you were quick to question him.

''Lan?''

He said nothing, but adjusted his seat back, manhandling you and pulling you onto his lap.

You straddled him, your dress already bunched up at your stomach as his hands roamed your body, eyes glued to yours.

''Need you now'' he said breathlessly before leaning up to lock lips again, biting down harshly on your lower lip causing you to whimper.

You started grinding down on him, feeling his cock grow through his jeans as he practically ripped your dress into two pieces, eyes growing big when he saw you weren't wearing a bra.

''Fucking hell. Can't say i haven't missed my babies'' he said, smirking as he rolled your left nipple between his thumb and index fingers, earning a series of dirty moans from you.

''Please, Lan'' you begged. Your cunt, still grinding down and creating a wet patch through your panties and on his jeans, was clenching achingly around nothing.

As he continued to toy with you nipple, his mouth found your other one, wasting no time in biting and sucking on it harshly, making you pull his hair tightly, still begging for more.

''Still taste so good'' he mumbled, snaking his hand down your toned body until he reached your core. He ran his fingers over your clothed pussy, smirking when he realized how wet you were.

''Don't flatter yourself'' you teased when you saw his smirk.

Lando raised his brows, ''didn't say anything babygirl'' before he pushed your lacy panties to the side and finally touched you, sliding his fingers through your juices and quickly finding your clit. He knew your body better than you did.

''Fuck Lando please'' you begged again, the feeling of him on your clit having you more desperate than before.

''Patience love'' he whispered, holding your hips still to stop your movements.

His fingers suddenly pulled away from your cunt, you were about to protest when you saw what he was doing - licking them clean on your juices, before he bought them up to your own lips to take in.

''My favourite fucking taste'' he murmured and you moaned around him.

Finally though, he returned them down there and settled at your entrance His eyes gave you a questioning look and you eagerly nodded, before he thrust two fingers in at once, curling them straight away having you a shuddering mess in his arms.

You bit down on your lip, letting a few guttural moans escape you as Lando sped up his movements of thrusting in and out of you.

''Yes, fuck, so fucking good'' you said through bated breaths, while Lando started edging you on with his own words.

''Baby you're so fucking tight, how the hell are you gonna take my cock, huh? You think you can take it? Being so fuckin tight'' he threw at you.

''Fuck, yes, please'' you said, quickly feeling the warmth start to build up in your stomach.

''Lan I'm close,'' you warned, and this time he added a third finger while his thumb toyed with your clit, causing your orgasm to rip through your body as you came violently all over his fingers.

''Oh my, fuck'' you said, eyes squeezed shut as Lando didn't slow his movements. Instead he added a whole fourth finger, you heard him say something about ''needing to stretch you out before you were ready for his cock''

Within minutes you came again, your warm juices gushing out, making a mess of everything. Again, you were blanked out, just about hearing what Lando was saying again. Something like ''''you're so fucking good for me darling, such a good brat'' until he finally pulled his fingers out, and once again licked them clean as you sat there, eyes hooded, sweat shining on both your faces, and a shy smile on your face, chest heaving.

''Lan'' you said, pecking random parts of his pace.

''Think you're ready for me y/n? Wanna ride me? Then let me take you back to the hotel and take you from behind, yeah?''

His words had you dripping with want, needling more from him. When you dated before, you were young, but your sex life was amazing. You wondered though how it would feel now. Would it feel more fulfilling? Even better than before? You certainly couldn't wait to find out.

You bit your lip as you gently lifted yourself off Lando's lap, just enough o let him unzip and unbutton his jeans, pulling them down, together with his boxers.

You won't lie, seeing his thick girth spring out and stall tall before you had your mouth watering.

''Like what you see?'' he asked, a smirk on his face.

''Fuck off'' you threw.

''I'd rather you fuck me''

'''Gladly'' you said, before taking your place again, cupping him and pumping him a few times. You were internally thanking him for ''stretching'' you out because he was bigger than average, and you weren't sure how he'd have fitted easily.

Lando reached to his pocket and pulled out a condom, ripping the packet open with his teeth as he was about to roll it on though you stopped him.

''Lan we're not 20 anymore, I'm still non birth control, but fuck, i need to feel all of you. Please'' you begged.

His eyes turned even darker, breath hitching as he listened to your words before you grabbed the condom from him and threw it somewhere in the car, then palmed him again.

You slid his dick through your folds, which were clenching uncontrollably as Lando leaned back and shut his eyes, taking in the feeling of having your hands on the place he's dreamed about for almost two years.

''Fuck baby please'' he begged now, impatient to slide into you.

You mimicked his words from earlier. ''Patience baby'' you said, though you were just as desperate as he was.

Lando was not having it today, instead he roughly took a hold of his dick, and pushed you down onto him by your waist.

You gasped at the intrusion, mind foggy at how incredible it felt, but at the same time there was always the unavoidable sting because of just how much Lando stretched you out.

He bottomed out straight away, hips joined together, as you sat still on him, both your faces contorted with pleasure as you allowed your body a few minutes to respond.

After a few seconds though, your braced your hands on Lando's shoulders and began to move, up and down, up and down, riding his pole like your life depended on it.

''Fuck baby, that's it, so fuckin tight around my dick and taking me so well'' Lando cooed as he felt your walls clench around him, making his dick twitch uncontrollably through your movements.

''Fuck Lan, missed this, feels so good, fuck'' you said between breaths.

Both your moans were lewd, filthy, and anyone walking by your car would be able to hear how you were ruining each other, fucking each other hard and fast, rough,but you didn't care. You wanted the whole world to know. You wanted her to know.

''Lan I'm gonna come'' you said, feeling your orgasm approach, not holding back.

''Let it out, fuck y/n, cum all over me, then later cum again when i push my dick through your asshole'' he threw, his words instantly sending you over the edge, releasing your sap all over him.

''Oh my god, yes, uh, i can't you panted, body like jelly in his arms as Lando had to hold you upright, and now fuck himself into you to chase his own high.

You slumped forward on him as he placed his head over your shoulder, bouncing your body up and down his pole until suddenly he was ready for his own release.

''Uhhh, gonna cum y/n, where?'' he asked.

''In me! Please'' you all but shouted, needing distressingly needing to fell his cum inside of you.

Your words sent him into overdrive, and before he knew it, Lando was spraying your insides white with his warm cum, letting out a series of swear words through your ears as he held onto you tightly, spit flying out of his mouth.

''Feels so good'' you whispered, leaning back and cupping his face that was dripping with sweat, cheeks flushed.

Both your movements slowed, riding each other through the high as eventually it halted and you just sat there, Lando softening inside you.

He gave you a sheepish smile, chest heaving, before kissing you gently.

''How are you this fucking amazing?'' he asked. ''you were incredible back then, but now, fuck me, how did i survive this long with you?''

You bit your lip, ''feeling's mutual.''

''Back to the hotel? Let me ruin you again?'' asked, excitement in his voice.

'''Please'' you said, climbing off his dick and settling into your seat again.

Before he could zip himself up again, you leaned over the console and deep-throated him, having Lando jolt in his seat at the contact.

''Fucking hell'' he said as you pulled back, cum and spit running down your chin.

''Wanted to taste...us'' you said, watching the darkness in his eyes return.

The drive back was quick, desperate, his hands wrapped around the steering wheel painfully tight.

You had to wear his jacket, which luckily was oversized and big for you, for the walk up to his room, since he'd torn your dress.

As soon as the door was closed he pounced on you, shoving the jacket off leaving you standing bare in front of him.

Lando was about to kiss you before you pulled back and pouted.

''You're still wearing too many clothes'' you whined.

He chuckled, couldn't hold back his smile as he shed everything over, leaving himself bare you are were.

''Hmm better'' you said as your eyes shamelessly roamed his body, stopping at his dick which was twitching and growing harder by the second.

He cleared his throat. ''Permission to touch?'' he asked, already having cupped your face.

''Always'' you said, before he left your face and ran his hands down to pick you up, hauling you over his shoulder and giving your ass a few smacks.

He threw you on the bed before throwing himself on you, kissing you with an urgency, groping your body while his hands found your cunt, waltzing through your folds.

''Please fuck me?'' you asked innocently.

He smirked. ''Gonna destroy you'' he said lowly, leaning up and wrapping your legs tight around his hips before he pumped himself a few times, already hard as rock.

He lined himself up and pushed in gently, setting a slow, painfully slow pace as you whined and wriggled your body, begging for more.

''Noo Lan please, faster'' you pressed.

But he ignored you, instead bringing his mouth up to your boobs, ravishing them violently as he continued to thrust slowly in and out of you.

You were impatient though, and so you roughly grabbed his face and pulled it away from your boobs.

''Lando, fuck me now, or-'' you started sternly though he cut you off.

''Or?'' he asked teasingly, eyebrows raised.

You blushed, not having an answer. ''Or no sex for two weeks'' you threw.

''Hmm, survived two years, think I'll manage two weeks'' he said softly.

You eyes grew wild with shock. ''Of fuck off'' you said, thinking of what else to come up with but your brain short circuited when suddenly his pace was faster, rougher, harder, fucking his dick deep within you.

You shut your eyes, nails digging into his biceps and surely leaving bruises for tomorrow when you could practically hear him smirking at you.

''You fucking asked for it baby, don't take back your words now'' he said.

You got a burst of energy at his words, your eyes flying open.

''Not complaining, am i?'' you said, sending your own smirk his way.

''Fucking brat'' he mumbled, reaching his thumb down to your clit, pinching at it dramatically which within seconds had your body shaking underneath him, your cum coating him and leaking out of you with each thrust as your mind was blank again, no energy to say anything, just broken breaths as you bit down on his shoulder.

He slowed for a moment, before pulling out. ''Let me do you from the back? he asked.

''Uh huh'' you responded, though your body was jelly so he basically had to pick you up and manhandle you again until you were on your tummy, ass up in the air.

Lando coated two of his fingers in his spit before circling your rim, teasing you with a thrust but not in enough.

''Lando, now'' you threw at him, causing him to giggle.

''Okay baby, no more teasing'' he said, letting his two fingers enter your ass.

You held your breath, bit your lips together as he gave you a few licks as well.

''Gonna take me so well, my love, yeah?'' he asked.

''Yes, please, hurry'' you said, your body responding as if you haven't had multiple orgasms already.

Finally Lando coated his dick with his spit again, before pushing into you, both your moans obscene at the feeling.

He braced his hands on your hips as you held onto the headboard, his pace quickening quickly as he slammed himself in and out of you.

''Fuck, so good, look at you, such a whore for me, my own dirty slut, that's it baby, doing so fucken well for me'' he said between moans through gritted teeth.

''Lando, huh, gonna cum'' you said in a daze, letting him take full control of your body.

''Go on baby'' he pressed, and before he could even finish his sentence your orgasm rippled through you, shaking your body literally uncontrollably with the stimulation.

He slowed his movements, knowing how exhausted you were, though he didn't stop. He was just gentle now, letting you catch your breath as you body calmed down.

Lando pulled out and flipped you over again gently this time, kissing you long and slow as your wrapped your arms around him.

''Think you have one more in you baby?'' he asked. ''For me?''

Who were you to say no? You gently opened your tear-stained eyes and nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist again.

''You've done so well for me today, fuck'' he said, lining up against your cunt again, sliding in once again.

''Hmm, Lan, too much'' you cooed.

''I know love, almost there, you can do it'' he encouraged you.

By now, your brain was blacked out, you were saying things without thinking through, and your next words shook Lando to his core.

''Í love you Lando, missed you so fucking much. Baby, please, please, i fucking beg you, fuck a baby into me''

Lando had no words, no actions as to how to respond to you. He wasn't even fucking into you at a quick pace right now, but his dick thought faster than his brain, and in seconds he was cumming deep within you again, filling you up to the brink as his cock twitched painfully so inside of you.

''Lan?'' you questioned when he stayed silent - apart from his pornographic moans and pants.

''I love you too, so much, and fuck, i want a baby, like right now with you. Fuck y/n, you're it for me'' he whispered, and eventually his brain caught up to what was happening. He also noticed that you hadn't cum the last time, so he quickly pulled out and placed his tongue on your cunt.

You grabbed onto his hair and pulled it, unable to keep your groans in, as he lapped and lapped at your folds, moaning himself when he tasted the mix of both your cum.

You looked down to see his face a mess. Spit, cum, sweat, everything just sticky and dripping. Just the one look at him sent you spiraling over the edge, erratic noises leaving your mouth, though this time you didn't just cum, you squirted all over his face and hair, hands flying to cover your mouth in shock, though all Lando did was smirk and lick everything up, swallow as much as he could.

Eventually he pulled back and leaned down to your lips, letting all the juices drip down from his mouth and into yours.

You seriously didn't know how you were wake right now, but having Lando close like this had given you enough to carry on.

''That was so fucking hot, fuck y/n'' he whispered, leaving wet kisses all over your face.

All you did was hide your face in his chest and hold him tight, get both of your breaths back to a decent rate again, bask in what had just happened.

A short while later, as much as you both just wanted to doze off, your bodies were too slick and sticky to be comfortable.

With not enough energy to shower, Lando got up and gently cleaned you both up with a warm towel, before he jumped into bed beside you sleep-clad body, pulling you to his side.

You were half asleep, though awake enough to say something.

''I love you Lando, please don't leave.''

He kissed your forehead. ''Trust me baby, I'm stuck to you forever. And I'm so fucking sorry for the other night. I love you so much. So so much.''

''Nah, forget that. Just happy to be together now. I'm home'' you said, smiling in your daze.

Suddenly, something piped up and you shot out his arms.

''Lan!''

''Baby what, are you ok?'' he said, shocked at your burst of energy.

You giggled.

He shot his eyebrows and hands up.

''We did...a lot of things tonight..'' you started.

''Yeahh, and? he asked.

''I didn't get to blow you'' you pouted.

''Fuck'' he mumbled, and you didn't miss the way he palmed himself.

You wiggled your eyebrows.

''How quick can you get it up?'' you asked as he pulled you onto his lap.

''You're gonna fucking end me'' he whispered.

But finally, it was you and Lando. Together. Forever.

A.N - i think this is my longest fic. Wasn't sure if I liked where it was going, but pretty happy with how it turned out. The smut is probably my favorite that I've written, so please enjoy and let me know what you think in the comments. Also - absolutely no hate to Magui.

[agoodflyting]

Why Aziraphale is completely ridiculous in the Bastille scene (and I love him so much for it)

A while ago I posted a comparison of Aziraphale and Crowley's costumes in the 1793 flashback in Good Omens and I wanted to add these little tidbits. (Because they haunt me.)

I feel like most people know this but IF YOU DON'T, Paris in 1793 is right in the middle of something called La Terreur.

HISTORY LESSON If you didn't learn this in school the French Revolution was when, after years of escalating social tension, a coalition representing the working classes of France revolted against the monarchy, violently overthrew King Louis XVI, and declared France to be a republic.

The new National Convention governing France ruled that King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette were traitors to the people of France because of how they had spent ridiculous amounts of money on luxuries for themselves while vast numbers of the lower classes were literally starving to death. (keep the bold in mind - wealth and class disparities were one of the key causes of the whole-ass revolution)

In 1793 (year of the flashback) both the King and Queen were executed by guillotine for their crimes.

This kicks of something called The Reign of Terror (La Terreur if you want to be French about it). A multi-year-long period in which the National Convention goes on a bloody witch hunt for any and every member of the middle or upper classes who could even possibly be considered a traitor by those same standards.

If you A) had money or privilege, and B) had ever used your money or privilege to treat yourself, you were getting executed. Over 25,000 people died during the Reign of Terror, half of them by guillotine. In fact, the iconic guillotine was used because it was physically impossible to keep up with the sheer number of people they were executing in Paris every single day.

Some things that could get you killed (actually and completely seriously) during the Reign of Terror:

Implying in any way you were sympathetic to the monarchy

Having a noble title

Having expensive things

Wearing expensive, luxurious clothes (*cough* AZIRAPHALE)

helping or sympathizing with anyone who did any of the above

a working-class person saying you were mean to them once

And then there's this bitch...

I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME So we have established that Paris in 1793 is in the middle of a frenzied, state-sanctioned bloodbath in which the working classes are massacring everyone even remotely nobility-adjacent. And in the middle of this frenzy, Aziraphale proceeds to roll up in Paris in this outfit:

How will this outfit get him killed? Let me count the ways...

First off- at this point everyone with even the tiniest shred of self- preservation is hiding the fact that they are in any way associated with the monarchy. The wealthy are straight-up abandoning mansions. The middle-class are plastering over decorations to make their house look 'poor'. The only people dressed remotely decent are the guys leading the National Convention and that's just because nobody can stop them. Everyone else is in 24/7 peasant cosplay or else they are covering themselves in cockades and sashes on to show they're pro-Republic.

Aziraphale is basically a giant shiny white sign saying I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME.

First off the lace jabot and lace cuffs are both associated with the old-school wealthy in the 1790's.

His coat is also decorated in gold braid and silver buttons, which are both marks of wealth and luxury.

He basically looks like he works for Louis XIV - not just rich, but old school rich.

We know it's his natural hair color, but hair powdering (with clay and starch) had been a big trend with the rich all throughout the 18th century to get that clean white venerable look . To someone who doesn't know it's natural, it would very much look like he's wearing hair powder.

He's wearing shades of cream and white, which are very hard to keep clean and clearly states that the wearer is rich and can afford the upkeep necessary to keep an outfit like that stain-free.

He's wearing white knee-breeches and stockings, also called culottes. See above about laundry and how rich you had to be to wear white, but also working-class men wore long pants like this:

A large faction involved in the Revolution were the Sans-Culottes (no-culottes aka we wear long pants LIKE GOOD OLD WORKING MEN). Culottes are specifically associated with everything the revolution hated. That's right - Aziraphale is literally wearing The Fanciest of Fancy Pants in a city where a group called The Men Against Fancy Pants are running around murdering people.

And then there are his shoes.

Oh god his shoes

I could do a whole post about Aziraphale's blessed little white satin pumps and how ridiculous they are.

Actually I might just do that because this is getting so long and I still have to talk about the brioche.

So I can't remember if it's in the script book or if it's from Neil Gaiman's tumblr, but it's apparently canon (?) that Aziraphale was going around in that outfit asking people where he could get crepes and brioche when he was arrested.

The Affair of the Brioches

So... uh... we've all heard the line attributed to Marie Antoinette- how when she was told that her people were starving because there was no bread left in Paris, she famously said...

It's morphed into 'let them eat cake', but the line is first recorded as, "Then let them eat brioches."

While it's unlikely she ever actually said it, the important thing is that... people in 1793 would have thought she said it. It was used as political smear to show how arrogant and out of touch the monarchy was. Marie Antoinette in particular was reviled by the people of France, who thought she was the main cause of their economic problems. That's why she was executed too.

Bread and brioche and the lines between poverty and privilege were a big thing in Revolutionary France. There was a lot of political connotation to what you ate. The French Revolution came about because of decades of suffering among the lower classes of France. It wasn't something that some dudes just decided to do. The people of Paris have been through years of the absolute worst, most oppressive poverty and starvation you can imagine, all while watching the rich throw money around crazy.

So let us recap.

Aziraphale is dressed so ridiculously posh that he looks like a joke parody of a nobleman... and he is bumbling around Paris during the Reign of Terror. Asking people. For brioche. How I imagine everyone looked at him:

It is so astoundingly tone deaf and tactless. He is basically cosplaying as Marie Antoinette and then going around asking the poor for cake.

I just.... Aziraphale. babygirl. no. oh no. You're lucky they even bothered to take you to prison. I am amazed Crowley ever let him live that down.

I have no conclusion other than this. Aziraphale is ridiculous and I love him so much.

YES YOU REALLY SHOULD SIR.

[svartalfhild]

Elf Lore in the Forgotten Realms for BG3 Players who are Unfamiliar

I've been seeing some...uninformed takes lately about certain elf characters from BG3, so let me just throw some stuff out there for y'all to consider.

Elves in FR live to be about 750.

They physically mature at roughly the same rate as humans i.e. 18-20.

Culturally, elves don't consider other elves emotionally mature i.e. adults until the age of 100, at which point they may choose an adult name to go by.

What does this mean, logically? Well, consider their very long lifespan. If you are going to live 750 years, your perspective on wisdom is going to be quite different from a human's. While 60 years might be plenty mature for a human, for an elf, that means you still haven't had enough time to watch all of your shorter lived friends pass, which I imagine is something of an emotional milestone for elves.

Halsin is 350. This means he's just hitting middle-age.

Astarion is 239 (Idle Champions claims he's 350, but I call bullshit because his birth and death dates are literally in BG3 and also IC frequently gives the characters bullshit ages, like they say Jaheira is 36, which couldn't have been true even during BG1). He died at 39, which is quite young, but he had the same emotional maturity as a human 39 year old at the time, so he's not Like That because he's undeveloped. He's Like That because he's a snapshot of a privileged young nobleman who then spent 200 years being used and abused by the worst sort of person imaginable. He wasn't a full adult by elven standards, though, and I'm sure there's lots of elven rites of passage he didn't get to experience because he was dead.

BG3 does not mechanically distinguish between sun elves and moon elves and simply puts them all under the high elf umbrella, but they are very much a thing in the lore and have distinct appearances, cultures, and histories.

Moon elves tend to have black, blue, or silver-white hair and have pale skin, sometimes with a bluish hue. Their eyes are usually blue or green, sometimes with gold flecks.

Sun elves tend to have blond, black, or red hair and brown skin tones. Their eyes are usually green, gold, black, copper, silver, or hazel.

Based on his appearance, Astarion is probably a moon elf, and it's likely his original eye colour was either blue or green.

There are many other types of elves than those that are playable in the BG3, such as sea elves, winged elves, star elves, wild elves, and lythari.

It's possible that Shadowheart's father is lythari, because lythari are lycanthropic elves.

[alicentofhightower]

the cost of a dragon

pairing: addam velaryon x wife!reader

synopsis: addam is covered in cuts and scrapes from falling and running in the forest, and now you must take care of him.

includes: fluff, episode 6 heavy spoilers, probably historically inaccurate w some parts but we’re just gonna Let That Slide, not proofread again oops

wc: 1.3k

a/n: i love him so bad. rn my top 3 tb characters are rhaenyra rhaena and addam. he’s so sweet!! i really hope we get to see a lot more of him in the next few episodes

-

Addam is bewildered when he returns to your home, panting, eyes wide and mouth agape. You’ve never seen him like this, but you guess that it’s the dragon laying beside your house that’s done it.

“What’s happened?” You exclaim when you see the way he’s stumbled in, bleeding from a cut on his cheek.

“…The, the dragon,” He mumbles, locked hair spilling over his shoulders. Addam walks over to where you stand by the kitchen table, hands gently grasping your forearms, as yours do his, thumbs running over your skin to ground himself. He smells strange, like something otherworldly. Could it have been because of the beast outside your door?

“It came to me, followed me through the woods by the shore. I think I’ve claimed him. Yes, that’s what I’ve done. I must go.” Addam attempts to retract himself from your grip, but to no avail.

The pots and pans inside rattle when the silver creature lay its head on the yard outside, no doubt resting from its flight. “Please, my love,” Addam insists. “I need to go and see the queen myself. She is in need of more dragons herself, is she not? If I serve her, perhaps she will allow you and I to live at Dragonstone with her. This is our chance.”

You shake your head, apron ruffling from the beach’s wind blowing through the window. Addam has always been ambitious, has always wanted the best for you and himself. He’s fiercely loyal to you, a quality that made you want to marry him in the first place.

“Addam.” Your hands fly up to cup his cheeks, stopping him from continuing on with his tangent. “You’re covered in gashes and dirt and sand. At least let me lend you a hand.”

He softens at that, jaw seeming to unclench. Addam’s brown eyes have always been expressive, and now they seem to look at you as if you’re the sweetest person he’s ever known. “…I suppose you’re right,” He mutters, “but we must make haste.”

Finally, you let go of each other. You use one of your hands to intertwine your fingers with his, and the other to grip your skirts as you lead him to your room. It’s small and modest, mostly swallowed up by the bed you share. “Sit,” You say, almost commandingly, quickly fetching a spare piece of cloth by the tub in the main room and a bowl of water.

Addam’s eyes almost glint at the way you flounce about before him. He spreads his legs so you are able to stand between them, chin tilting up so he can make eye contact with you while you fix him up.

“Let me see.”

He holds out his right arm, palm up, covered in tiny scratches and sand from his poor attempt to escape from his new dragon. Seasmoke, he remembers. Addam squeezes your right hand lightly while the other cleans him up.

You barely manage to suppress a heavy scoff at the mess in front of you, but you dab gently at it with the towel anyway, soaked with water. “What did you do?” You ask, brows knitting together. “Did you try to run from it?”

“Yes,” He admits, face scrunching together at the fresh memory. You’ve told him to be careful of the sky-beasts constantly looming over the two of you, and he knows he’ll be scolded for trying to escape the damn thing.

You shake your head, mostly to yourself, and Addam’s shoulders deflate. “Well, what would you have done?” He asks, exasperated. “My apologies for wanting to come home to you tonight.”

You pinch his arm. “I only worry for you,” You say, voice soft. Addam and his brother, Alyn, are the only family you’ve left; you’d never known your father, and your sweet mother had died of a fever shortly after your seventeenth nameday. She hadn’t been able to last, to see you wed the man you love so dearly.

“…What will you say, when you see Queen Rhaenyra? She may think you are coming as a foe, to battle rather than service.”

Addam hisses as you brush against a particularly deep cut, eyes squeezing shut. “Sorry,” You say, and he only tips your interlaced fingers up to his lips and kisses the back of your hand.

Your husband pauses after he lets your hands back down, considering the weight of whatever his words to the Black Queen will mean. He almost thinks of it as a duty, to you and his brother. To further your ever so small family.

“I suppose the words will come to me when it happens.” He swallows harshly, eyes averted from yours, darting around like he’s telling himself to fucking think.

You’ve moved onto his other arm, now, and suddenly the odor of him has become unbearable. It’s nothing like anything you’ve smelled before.

Grimacing, you drop the washcloth and cover your nose with your hand, taking a step back. “What?” questions Addam, clearly confused. “What’s the matter?”

“Gods, you fucking stink. What is that?”

Addam laughs. He laughs, tension seeping out of him as he does. “It must be the dragon,” He claims, reaching out to grab your waist and pull you back towards him. “Don’t mind it, please.”

You’re unable to fight the smile you feel blooming, because despite the fact that your husband reeks of his new dragon sleeping outside your home, and your feet are sore from walking to the markets, only to find nothing, and your nerves are set ablaze thinking of his meeting with Rhaenyra, Addam is here. He’s here with you, holding you, safe in the comfort of your humble little home.

The feeling is fleeting, only settling in you for a moment, but you tip your head down to press a kiss to his mouth. “You must be vigilant,” You plead when you pull away, ignoring the way Addam’s lips seem to chase after yours. “And you must return to me. I do not know what I would do if I were to lose you.”

“I will be. I swear it.”

You brush away the dried blood on his cheek with the cloth, frowning. “We should leave, shouldn’t we? Fly to Essos, where we will be safe without the threat of war. That dragon is large enough to saddle three, isn’t it? We can go-“

A thumb soothingly presses against your lips, silencing you. “…If I can put the thing to use, it will strengthen us. Strengthen whatever I have with my father.”

Addam had always been desperate to get the same attention from Lord Corlys that Alyn had always seemed to receive after he’d saved the man. You’d never spoken to the Lord Velaryon yourself before, but it was hard to miss the way he’d stare at you when you visited your husband in the shipyard, almost melancholically.

“I do not care for jewels and gowns and for you to be gilded in glory, Addam,” You state, pushing his wrist away from your face. “I care for you. Should we not go now? I could find your brother.”

“No.” He shakes his head, standing from the bed, now towering over you. His fingers, callused from his seemingly never-ending work on Lord Corlys’s ship, caress your waist almost reverently.

Almost every inch of your skin heats up when Addam leans down to kiss your chest, right where your heart is. The skin is covered by the sea-blue gown you wear, a white apron tied about your waist, and you shudder at the feel of his lips on such an intimate spot.

He kisses up from your bosom to your mouth again, firm and sweet and longing. There’s no guarantee you’ll ever see him again, but some strange part of you feels that all will be well. It’s a naive thought, perhaps, but one you welcome nonetheless.

“I will come back to you,” He promises, voice rasping. “I love you.”