#piano man x reader

[angolicious]

Ya’ll wanna see piano man getting a blowjob?? Well. I drew it.

It’s under the cut. I kept the other person kinda androgynous so ya’ll can pretend it’s whoever you want.

Anywho, nsfw under the cut.

I added a really small tattoo because i feel like that’s a common trait in mafiosos. But piano man’s specifically is a family tattoo, worn with pride. It signifies the elegance and dignity of his extensive mafia blood. (I headcanon his entire family is mafiosos and he’s like a little mafioso nepo baby.)

[silverbladexyz]

Hi love! Can I request The Flags and Yukito with a fem s/o who demands princess treatment? I’ve been seeing it all over tiktok and you write all those characters so accurately so I thought I’d request💕

Of course :) I apologise if this wasn't what you wanted, as I tried to base it off of their theoretical love languages 🖤

The images used belong to their original owners.

TW: Mentions of injuries, and uh this ended up kinda long. Chuuya is now included in every request with the Flags. Female reader.

The Flags and Ayatsuji with a female S/O who demands princess treatment

Pianoman:

-You don't need to ask him; he already treats you like a princess. No wait- you ARE his princess :))

-He is the leader of the Flags, and being the leader he is means that he treats everyone with patience and respect, even if he doesn't know them. And it is no different for his beloved S/O; except he treats you with 100x the amount of love, patience, respect, and loyalty than those he deems as his acquaintances

-Pianoman wants to be the perfect boyfriend, and he'll make sure to reflect that in the way he acts towards you. He is a big fan of gentlemanly traditions such as kissing the back of your hand while greeting you or holding the door open for you to pass through, as he views them as the most romantic ways of giving you the love that you deserve- alongside catering to your needs when he can. He's a giver, and he will gladly give everything he can give to you

-He'll definitely call you his princess, and he uses it almost every time he addresses you. It's one of the only pet names that is even deserving of your beauty, and he'll never fail to remind you of it everyday. Sometimes, he'll even call you his queen when he's in a more intimate mood

-Always makes time for you. Even if the Boss ordered for his supernotes to be delivered as soon as possible, Pianoman will still drop everything he is holding and immediately be by your side, ready to listen to every precious word that falls from your beautiful lips. You're the most important person in the world to him; and what kind of boyfriend- no, what kind of man would he be to put his girlfriend after his needs and wants? Even though you do tell him that he doesn't need to be this attentive to you, he still wants to make sure that he's spending enough time with you for your happiness

-He will definitely spoil you! And he's smart about it too; oh, you can't decide whether you want this leather jacket or this silk gown? Why not get them both? Don't worry about the cost, because he's able to negotiate with the salesperson to get a more reasonable price. Don't feel bad about wasting his money, because you're worth every single cent that he spends on you 🖤

-Now he does have a teasing side to him as well... he'd love to fluster you with compliments at any chance he could get. The way you get flustered when he's only telling you the truth make him chuckle quite a bit. Would also be the type to engrave your initials onto his pen so that whenever he's doing his paperwork, the simple texture of the engraved letters brings him a sense of comfort in the dreary time of filling out reports

-Pianoman strikes me as the type to have acts of service as a love language. So he'll not only do all the chores for you, he'll also surprise you with an exquisite breakfast in bed or a lovely bouquet of flowers on your table. And tucked right amongst the flowers, is a small note saying how much he loves you and how lucky he was to be able to call you his <3

-SLOW DANCING IN THE KITCHEN WITH MUSIC PLAYING!! To be able to hold you close, stepping in sync together- it is a very private moment that is only shared between the two of you. He'll dance at whatever pace you're comfortable with, and at the end of it, he'll dip you and look deep into your eyes, leaning in for a slow, passionate kiss

-Surprises you with hugs when you're in the middle of working too. I headcanon that his arms are lean but strong, because pulling wires is no easy feat. Pianoman loves the feeling of you in his embrace, and he equally loves burying his head into the crook of your neck, because it allows him to relax from all the stress he has recently

-He is a craftsman that can make the most realistic supernotes in all of Yokohama, so I guarantee that he's really great at making artistic creations. Pianoman will always handmake your gifts; whether it's an expensive-looking necklace or a fancy bookmark for your everyday use. If you do the same for his gifts too, be prepared to receive affection x10 for the rest of your life :)

Albatross:

-Albatross has probably seen trends of the princess treatment; and when you ask him for him to treat you like that? He'll gladly do it!

-Okay, but he's lowkey adorable when he's giving you the princess treatment. Even though he's like a golden retriever that wants to shower you with hugs and kisses, Albatross is mindful of your boundaries and will only initiate skin-to-skin contact if you were comfortable with it

-But if you love physical affection, then he's over the moon. He'll plant kisses on your cheeks, your lips, your hands; just anywhere that you want him to, really. Albatross knows that he has an image to maintain in public, but he gets really handsy in private. Hugs and cuddles are something you will never be short of, and they're so full of love that you always melt inside when you receive them

-I feel like Albatross is also the type to like play-wrestling with you. He always does it gently, because he never wants to see you hurt; but he does love to tickle you until you're laughing all over. Is also the type of person to pick you up and spin you around sometimes, and place you back down lightly afterwards

-Ah, and don't forget; vehicles of any kind are his forte. Which means that you don't have to worry about transportation anymore, because he'll always arrange it for you (yes, including the way back). And he doesn't just use random cars, oh no. Albatross will make sure that those cars will be high-end and ✨PRISTINE✨. I'm talking about Porsches and Lamborghinis whom are clean and decorated to your very own liking, with interiors so fancy that it could make even celebrities jealous. But your beloved only does it for his princess that deserves the world, which is you 💓

-But if you don't like cars, then that's perfectly fine! This man has a variety of vehicles you can choose from. You want that hot pink motorbike? Just say the word and it's already yours. Oh, you want to work out by riding a bike? He'll make sure that it's custom made and tailored to your taste. Needless to say, he'll very gladly spoil you with any vehicle that you want

-Your lover will definitely throw pebbles at your window at nighttime... just because he missed you. And then, just like Flynn Rider scaling Rapunzel's tower to meet her, Albatross will literally climb in through the window and embrace you in his arms. Sometimes he'll even take you out for a lovely drive in Yokohama, letting you admire the beautiful sights of the city underneath the moon's glow

-But in the calmer moments, Albatross will definitely check up on you and ask you how you were doing. He wants to make sure that you're physically, mentally, and emotionally fine, and that you can tell him all of your troubles. Despite being the talkative and energetic type, he's surprisingly a very good listener; and will definitely comfort you if you were feeling down. Afterwards, he'll do something to lift your spirits up, whether it be cracking jokes and funny stories or bringing you out to places that you liked. He loves seeing you smile, and will do anything to keep you smiling that happy smile

-He'll definitely introduce you to his friends, because he believes that friendships are still important when you're in a relationship. Albatross puts complete trust in you, and he is glad if you get along with his friends too. However, you do notice that he pulls you closer to him when he talks with any of his female friends, clearly signalling that you are the only one he loves

-However, please please PLEASE don't ask him to cook. Now, he is a sweetheart and will gladly cook any meal you like, but it is easier said than done when his cooking skills are on par with my ability to sleep at night (which is bad). If you want, you can teach him how to cook, but you've gotta have a lot of patience for him. Don't worry though, because he can still make instant food taste like heaven for you

-Always is respectful of your interests and preferences. He even encourages you to pursue your hobbies, and never once judges you for what you do or say. Albatross can and will defend you from everyone who thinks otherwise, because to him, those things are what makes you you <3

Doc:

-Doc, upon hearing about this 'princess treatment', is slightly confused. Was he not treating you right in the relationship? But his insecurities quickly dispel when you just explain to him that his best was already enough for you

-He doesn't realise it, but it is noticeable how he is much more gentle, sweet, and affectionate with you than with anyone else. Despite not being as physically strong as the other members of the Flags, he still possesses more strength and knowledge than the average person- and it is due to the fear of hurting you with those attributes that he treats you like his queen

-Definitely has acts of service as one of his main love languages. Doc, ironically, does not about his own health that much. But when it comes to you? You'll find yourself being taken care of so thoroughly that you won't be getting sick or injured anytime soon. He makes sure that you eat nutritious meals three times a day, alongside hydrated and wearing enough clothing for the weather; as well as reminding you to take breaks and getting enough good-quality sleep. Needless to say, Doc always prioritises and puts your needs before his, even in urgent situations

-He loves spending time with you. Doc doesn't want you to feel lonely, and whenever he gets to be by your side, he'll listen to whatever you want to say or do. His full attention is on you, and he will engage in any conversation you initiate, with no sign of his mind wandering off elsewhere even if it was the most frivolous subject that the two of you were talking about

-Oh, but if you liked to be alone sometimes, he is perfectly happy to give you time to yourself. Even though he just wants to be with you at all times, Doc is 100% mindful of your boundaries and respects them. He himself has quite a few boundaries set too, so it is perfectly natural that he abides by yours too

-Now he isn't too physically affectionate, but he is perfectly happy to hold your hand when you take walks with him. He always walks by the curb. No questions asked. You're his queen, and it is only right that you shall be treated as such, even on the littlest and most common of things. Doc wouldn't want to risk even the slightest chance of you getting hurt

-But when you actually do get hurt, this is when he gives you the princess treatment of your life. Firstly, Doc will make sure that you're not in any sort of pain or discomfort while he treats your injuries- he'll even let you squeeze his shoulder as hard as you want if it meant that it relieves the pain. He will work quickly but efficiently; your wound would be cleaned and wrapped up in a bandage before you can say 'Open Sesame'. Afterwards, expect him to do EVERYTHING while you rest and recuperate. Even if your injuries weren't serious, Doc is still going to take over all of your chores while checking up on you whenever he could, because he just wants you to be fully healthy again

-I feel like Doc is the type to get you all sorts of gifts, ranging from books about medical science to different accessories that you could wear everyday. He wants the gifts to be meaningful- so whenever you saw them or used them, you would think of him. And he always manages to make it a surprise; you could never guess what he's going to gift you next. The delighted look on your face when you find another one of his small presents is enough to make him happy for the rest of his days

Iceman:

-Honestly, this man will treat you however you'd like him to treat you (only if it was reasonable). So if you wanted princess treatment from him, he'll happily comply. You deserve to be treated like a princess, anyways

-Iceman is a calm individual with few words to say, which means that he'll mostly listen to whatever you decide to talk about. Same as Doc, he is an excellent listener, and he will remember everything that you mention to him. You could tell him all of your friends' birthdays, and he'll remind you about it when you forget, because his full attention is always focused on you

-Gives you his coat when you feel cold. Even if it means that he'll be the one exposed to the freezing weather, he still gives it to you because he'd rather be the one affected instead of you. Also starts carrying around a spare coat the next time you go out with him, because you insisted that he shouldn't be the one suffering for you, even though he assures you that he doesn't mind it

-Iceman is so observant it's almost scary. If he sees your gaze lingering even a millisecond longer than usual on a particular object, he'll note it down and buy it for you as a gift, even if you've already forgotten about the item you saw. He's also attentive to the slightest sign of discomfort from you. It's too loud? He'll quickly move you to a quieter place. You want to ask for more water but you're too nervous to? He will consult the waiter for you. Someone is making you feel uneasy in public? Your partner will put his arm around your waist in a comforting manner, while keeping an eye on that person to see if they'd dare try anything brash

-He strikes me as the type to like taking pictures of you whenever the two of you do something together. It doesn't have to be a special moment- you could just be tending to a flower, and Iceman would take out a camera to snap a photo of you (with your consent of course). He wants to keep them so he could look back on the memories, and smile as he reminisces those times. Don't worry about him ruining any shot, because he is a pro at photographing, and would gladly take as many pictures of you as you want

-Brewing drinks for you is a must!!! Whether you are a coffee lover like him or not, Iceman will make your favourite drink for you everyday- and they taste even better than the ones you find in cafes. He makes them perfectly, and if you ask him to teach you? He'll be slow and precise, carefully guiding you through the steps of making the drink. But he actually just wants you to relax and leave all the work to him, because he loves showing his appreciation for you through his actions

-He knows that you can handle yourself in a fight; you're not utterly defenceless, afterall. But Iceman will never hesitate to protect you when you need it, and he doesn't care if he himself gets injured during the process. As long as you're safe, then he's content

-When he sees that you're stressed or tired, Iceman will encourage you to tell him about your worries, while giving you a warm and reassuring embrace. He loves the feeling of you in his arms, and sometimes he'll give you a kiss on the top of your head. Don't be afraid of crying in front of him, because he won't judge- instead, he'll hold you and rub your back comfortingly, and afterwards he will make you your favourite meal to cheer you up

-Princess treatment or not, this man definitely treats you right :)

Lippmann:

-Pretty boy is pretty enough to be a prince in fairy tale stories; and he will definitely be the prince to your princess!

-Lippmann has a silver tongue, and you cannot tell me that he wouldn't be complimenting you and showering you with praise at every single chance he could get. However, he doesn't simply tell you that you're beautiful, because that's boring. Instead, he says 'Your smile, your tears, your laugh; everything about you is as ethereal as the goddess Aphrodite, but not even Aphrodite herself can make me fall as deep in love as you.' And he's smooth about it too. So yeah, be prepared to be flustered quite a lot by this gorgeous gorgeous man

-He will also leave notes in places where you could easily find them. And on each note will be a short phrase about how much he loves you, as well as the words being so sweet and encouraging that it makes you melt as you read them. Lippmann will write new notes everyday, just so that you could constantly be reminded about your beauty and how much he loves you if you were starting to feel insecure about yourself

-It doesn't even stop there. When he's feeling more romantic and daring, he will full-on write a letter with several pages detailing everything about you that he finds to be lovely, and how lucky he was to be called yours. What makes it even better is that each and every word on the letter is genuine (he told me himself)

-We all know that he's rich, which means that he would also want to spend his money on you by buying you whatever you want. Whether it be expensive clothing, jewellery, books, anything really- Lippmann would always buy it for you. You are his lady afterall, and he shall treat you like absolute royalty

-Despite having a lot of money, he'll actually ask for your decision before spending it on you. You want to have dinner at the most expensive restaurant in the world? Sure thing! You just want to have a quiet date at home? That's fine with him too! As long as he gets to spend time with you and make you happy

-However, I feel like Lippmann prefers the calmer, softer moments with you. He's always busy with negotiations and acting and whatnot, which means that he can barely catch a break in his line of work. So even when he likes to spoil you, he loves it when he gets to cuddle you on the couch and make you fall asleep in his arms. He treasures every moment he could get with you

-Now since he is so pretty and famous, he has a lot of admirers and acquaintances vying to get his attention. Lots of women will come up and talk to him, some of them clearly with the intent to seduce him with their charms. But Lippmann will politely fend off their advances, while putting an arm around your waist and pulling you closer towards him. He isn't afraid of straight-up telling them that you're his girlfriend, and he will assure you that he only has eyes for you if you start to feel insecure because of those women

-Lippmann is a fan of gentle touches. Includes but not limited to caressing your hand, stroking your cheek, and rubbing your back. But if you don't like physical affection, he's understanding and respects your preferences. Afterall, your comfort is his number one priority

Chuuya:

-Girl, you got yourself the best man for this

-As we all know, Chuuya is a king, and who the king decides to settle for is often named as his queen. But he doesn't treat you like a queen, no. Royalty is simply too insulting of a word to describe how he treats you

-Instead, he treats you like a GODDESS. A divine deity that was simply too good for him- and was so kind that she let herself be tangled together with an ordinary, sinful man who didn't even deserve to cast his eyes upon such loveliness. Chuuya can and WILL give up everything just for you, because you're the only person that deserves all of him and much, much more

-Being a Mafia executive means that he's rolling in money, and no matter how much you protest that he doesn't have to get you gifts, he'll still spend thousands on high-quality items that he knows you'd like. If you don't know what you want, tell him and he'll choose something for you, and his taste is ✨ IMPECCABLE ✨. He'd love to get you matching couple rings and jewellery even though he thinks the precious stones could never compare to your beauty

-Chuuya is extremely loyal, so rest assured that he'll never leave you for someone else. He'll also introduce you to his friends as his lover, and will still treat you as a goddess in front of them with no shame whatsoever. Loves to show you off to his comrades, but he'll tone it down if you're shy or embarrassed about it

-Asagiri said himself that Chuuya respects women, and he will, without a doubt, respect your boundaries, your likings; everything about you, really. Making you feel heard is very important to him, and he would never judge you for anything you do or prefer. Always maintains eye contact whenever the two of you are talking to each other

-Acts of service king all the way around. When you wake up, breakfast is served on the table and your neatly-folded clothes are placed on the bed. Your lunch? Already packed up and placed carefully into your bag. And when you come home, Chuuya's still doing all the chores, no questions asked. However, if you beg hard enough to share some of the load, he'll be willing to compromise (he's still doing most of the chores though)

-But when he sees you tired after a long day of work? Get yourself ready, because this man will pamper you so much that you wouldn't have to lift a finger. Not only will he have finished all of the housework, he'll also prepare a warm rose bath full of candles and scents for you. Then, as he'll present to you an amazing gift that you’ve been wanting for a while, and as you're busy admiring the gift, Chuuya would pour some exquisite wine into a glass for you to savour while you’re in the bath. With enough persuasion, he'll join you in the bathtub, but he is perfectly happy to just massage your shoulders as you relax, while talking about your day. Sometimes, he'll even plant a few kisses on the top of your head, while murmuring how much he loves you

-Would take you flying with his ability. If you're afraid of heights, Chuuya will make sure that he doesn't take you too far off the ground, and you'll find yourself being held a protective embrace as you rise off the ground. Sometimes, if you're feeling up to it, he will twirl you around in a romantic waltz, with the pretty sights of Yokohama serving witness to the love you bore for each other

-Not only is he your king, he also is your protector. If he sees people spreading rumours about you behind your back, or straight-up creeping you out, he wouldn't hesitate to stand up for you and send them a friendly warning with a few words. Nobody gets to badmouth his lover and expect to get away with it

-Always remembers your birthday, and will make it a time that you'll never forget. Needless to say, you're going to be spoiled a lot because it's your special day! You could ask for whatever you want, and Chuuya would buy it for you- if it was reasonable. Takes you to do different things on every birthday, and will even rent out an entire private island for you. I'm not joking when I said that he'll buy you everything you ask for

-It'll be a bonus if you spoil him as well, but he's content with pampering you. If you're happy, then he's happy I love him so much owuajsjdhha

-Chuuya is surprisingly pretty touchy in private. He loves to put his arms around your waist, pulling you close and whispering sweet nothings with his deep, smooth voice. This man also is a fan of planting delicate kisses over your neck, collarbones, wrists- anywhere you like to be kissed, really. His kisses would be light, as he's afraid of hurting you, but he wouldn't mind indulging you if you liked it rough

-Will always return your texts and calls within a few minutes of you sending it. Even if he's busy, he's never too busy to make time for you, and he will apologise if he comes home later than usual. You assure him that it's fine, but he will try his best to finish his work on time so that he could be by your side for longer

-He keeps his promises to you without fail, since he would hate to let you down. At the end of the day, a queen reigns with her king, and Chuuya promises that he shall never stop treating you as his goddess

Ayatsuji:

-'Princess treatment', to this man, was confusing at first. Was it not common sense for him to treat you with respect and love? In his eyes, women should always be treated like queens in a relationship. The fact that this was outlined as 'princess treatment' honestly made him disappointed with most men in today's society

-But he will definitely treat you well! Despite his bluntness and tendency to mock/tease people, he's a lot more soft and kind-spoken with you; a side that he only shows to those he deems worthy of his trust

-Now Ayatsuji does things a bit differently. Sure, he can still hold open doors for you and give you his coat when you're feeling cold, but he tends to treat you like a princess in his own unique way. Such as letting you take the initiative in anything that you want to do with him, and always accompanying you whenever you were going out to do something. His main love language is quality time, and he will ensure that all time spent with you is made to be worth your while

-He definitely will handmake dolls for you. If you liked any particular character in a book or anime, Ayatsuji will model the doll off of that persona, and it ends up being so perfectly alike that it could be sold as official merch. If you want, he'll even teach you how to create beautiful dolls from scratch

-Your partner gives you gifts from time to time, but they aren't generic presents that guys buy for their girlfriends. Instead, he puts thought and careful consideration into each of your gifts, deducing if it could be used in your daily life. And now whenever you use the pen he gifted you, or wear the coat that was your birthday present, you think of him

-Ayatsuji is also the type to buy matching rings for the both of you. He hides his beneath his glove in the daytime, because he doesn't need anybody questioning him about it. But as soon as he returns home to you, he'll take his glove off with his mouth, bringing your hand up to his lips and planting a kiss on the ring that is a reflection of his love for you

-He holds you in very high regard, and this can be mostly seen in the way he speaks to you. While he is cold and emotionless towards others, Ayatsuji is considerate and attentive as he conversates with you, always listening to what you have to say first before adding in his own ideas and opinions. A queen commands respect, and there is no doubt that Ayatsuji gives all of his to you

-Surprisingly good at comforting you. Your lover has a kind heart within him, and he does not hesitate to use it when he sees that you're down in the dumps. He chooses his words carefully, and he actually has more empathy than he lets on. In just a few moments, he'd already have helped you express your emotions, and offered you advice that makes you feel better about the situation you were upset about. Also doesn't mind if you simply wanted him to hold you- he'll hold you for as long as you desire if it meant that you'd feel better afterwards

-Does not even look at the other females that come his way, but anybody would know at first glance that you're his partner because of how he treats you compared to everyone else. Tsujimura is just a colleague to him, and everyone else are mere acquaintances. None of them can even come close to replacing you

-Ayatsuji may have his oddities at times, but just know that you'll always be a princess in his eyes 💝

I feel like this kinda veered off to boyfriend headcanons... but I hope that you enjoyed it :D

@circinuus @riiwrites @sariel626 @chocsra @ruanais @yuugen-benni @angolicious

[bonne-chanson]

✎𓂃 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 : 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ᝰ.ᐟ

a mini-series of one shots dedicated specifically for the characters of bungo stray dogs: stormbringer!

✑ 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨 !

based on the planets suite, op. 32 by gustav holst, one of my favorite orchestral works ever. i thought it would be nice to write something for this, mostly because i attended a very special performance of it around a month ago (and also to celebrate the manga adaptation that recently came out)!

because the piece contains seven movements based on each planet of the solar system (as well as their respective personalities), i will be assigning one movement per character, as listed below:

i. mars, bringer of war : paul verlaine x reader

the ominous and angry first movement of the entire suite ; represents the roman god of war, mars

contains nsfw. MDNI!

ii. venus, bringer of peace : lippmann x reader

the ethereal yet eerie second movement, a slower contrast to the first ; represents the roman goddess of love, venus

iii. mercury, the winged messenger : albatross x reader

the fast and vivacious third movement, short yet playful ; represents the roman god of commerce and messengers, mercury

iv. jupiter, bringer of jollity : piano man x reader

the well-known and majestic fourth movement of the planets containing the most popular theme of the seven ; represents the roman king of all gods, jupiter

v. saturn, bringer of old age : iceman x reader

the slow and unsettlingly powerful fifth movement accompanied by a harp with passages as icy as the planet’s rings ; represents the roman god of time, saturn

vi. uranus, the magician : adam frankenstein x reader

the boisterous and idiosyncratic sixth movement ; represents the roman god of the sky, uranus

vii. neptune, the mystic : doc x reader

the mysterious and other-worldly seventh movement ; represents the roman god of the sea, neptune

✑ 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙚 !

typically, when a performance is well-received, an encore unrelated to the main repertoire played follows. that being said, i’ll be applying the same principle for this mini-series for another character if the audience wishes. should these one shots be received well enough, i will add a bonus (underrated) character to the list, based on the helios overture, op. 17 by carl nielsen, just to complete the entire solar system for this repertoire. ;>

(encore!) an overture to helios : ??? x reader

a concert overture so warm and brooding, it paints a picture of the sun rising and falling over the aegean sea with swelling strings ; dedicated to helios / sol, god of the sun

i have so much love for this piece in particular (as it is one of the orchestral works i grew up listening to), so i hope you guys get to enjoy it as much as i do through some of the stormbringer characters. 🫶 much like holst himself (who favored saturn), i also have a favorite movement here so i tried not to be so biased about it lmao (i gave it to piano man).

these one shots won’t be connected in any way (unless you’re creative enough to find some way to connect them lol)! feel free to read them in any order — i assigned those movements to certain characters solely because i thought they fit the music and the context behind each part of the suite. :}

as for the scheduling: expect the one-shot to drop every time a new chapter of hoshikawa’s stormbringer adaptation is out (which means this will be monthly)! i will do my best to time it right!

next one-shot: verlaine x reader -> march 26! (side note: happy birthday, paul! 🥳)

also, just a short heads-up: some one shots may or may not contain nsfw! and as always, when that is the case, MDNI!

anyway, hopefully i get to play this piece one day! :’>

✎ . . . ᝰ.ᐟ

[i-make-counterfeit-notes]

Announcement

Hey everyone...

After lots of debating on it, I've decided to quit Tumblr.

I know that it may seem shocking, but I just feel that this is the best option for me. My health has been declining in all aspects, and and Tumblr has been one of the factors for it; I am getting better, but there's no telling when it'll worsen again. I also need to focus more on my life now, because it's a very busy period for me and also quite crucial to my future too.

It sucks that I have to do this, but just know that I love and cherish you all deeply. Thank you for letting me have such an amazing time in the roleplay community, and I'll always look back on our experiences with a fond smile. Thank you for bringing the world of BSD alive to me, and I hope that all of your blogs get the recognition they deserve.

@the-real-albatross @stoicsleuth @thenextexec @dniosamu @poems-and-wine @hitmanmafioso @corpse-to-ability @disqualifiedasahuman @may-uprising @crepes-is-life @teddymochi

Thank you guys so so much for being my mutuals and my friends. I will never forget our roleplays together and mod talks, and thank you for supporting me all this time. I know that my future successor will also do an amazing job at roleplaying Pianoman, and I just ask of you to treat them just has you have treated me; welcoming, supportive, and kind.

Here is my Instagram account, and my Discord username is 'Silverbladexyz' if any of you guys still want to keep in contact with me. I won't be as active on there, but I promise that I will try to respond to your messages.

Once again, from the bottom of my heart: thank you, my fellow roleplayers. May we all reunite in the heart of Yokohama one day, toasting to the stray dogs 🥂

Main blog: @silverbladexyz

[gwenphobic]

COWBOYS ARE NOTHING BUT TROUBLE.

(arthur morgan x pianist at a saloon!male reader)

a/n; sorry for not posting for so long!! gwen stacy x black cat reader will return but rn i’ve had this worm stuck in my head for a min so hold on on that. STAY with me now, this one is good i swearr

You’ve never found it especially appealing, the way cowboys hold themselves and yip and yell about. The way they loiter and accidentally make themselves family men. It’s always been quite annoying though you imagine it is what you would’ve been had your parents been present. Nonetheless, it is not envy you hold toward them but.. annoyance. Yes, that red warmth in your stomach and heat on your face is pure annoyance. And nothing more. Of course.

Your town is small, of no concern. It would never even be dotted out on a map, it is so unimportant. You’ve always imagined what it would be like to leave but have never had the strength. Your place is here at town saloon, fingers dancing around the keyboard. The man who’d taken you had been saloon owner Pete Carter who’d taken your street urchin mind and managed to shift it into something greater, or well, something that makes money. Perhaps, this is why your faith is so strong.

The heat of the day beamed even on your face and flooded the floorboards of the saloon. You sigh. Still, the saloon will open and still will you play away. An Irish woman came in for she was new to town, new to America in a way so obvious. Not much people were here, only the town drunk and a few of the working girls. You sat down with her as she weeped softly, her curly brown tresses falling into her eyes. Her face was bent and curved to her age. She was a mother, you knew and had seen her son and daughter around town often. Trailing upon her like ducks to a mom. Her son was sweet and her daughter, proper. Both young, you didn’t believe either were a day over 6.

“Sir,�� she cried, accent thick in her mouth. You rubbed her back before taking her hands. “Yes?” you replied. The mother sighed as she stopped her tears. “I need to write a letter home, but I’ve made no sense of the alphabet. Please do help me, sir,” she said and prayed, “Please know to write.” She looked as desperate as she sounded. She continued, “My Mam has passed, and I don’t know— I need to send my Da a letter. Oh, please, sir!” You shushed her and went to find a piece of paper. That afternoon you’d spent helping her craft a letter home.

As you sent her off, the saloon wasn’t quite full but neither was it empty. A few sat in drunkenness, others sat in a buzz. Some old, some young. It was a comforting feeling, a saloon not so full but neither so empty. You adjusted yourself when you heard it. The sounds of immature folk coming into town. The hooves of horses didn’t stumble as the clambered onto the dirt road. You could feel your stomach tighten with annoyance. Cowboys. Or rather, outlaws. Nonetheless, both were strangely irritating to you. The leather, the boots and all the self-confidence. Can anyone really blame you for holding such disdain? You roll your eyes and sit on the piano bench, beginning to play a tune.

Eventually, the attendance of the church extends and the more proper day drinkers leave. The last to leave is Old Charles McDonald, the union soldier with a limp and a missing tooth. He’s especially fond of his granddaughter who helps him around. He said, some days, he feels crazy. You remember nearly everyone who comes into the saloon, everyone who shares their tale with you. Why would anyone want to forget such history? You begin to help clean up before the sound of jangling spurs throw you off. You froze, completely froze. You turned around;

And there, your worst annoyances stood, an outlaw with two others trailing just before him.

You hid the grimace and continued to wipe down the windows. He wouldn’t be the last cowboy to come out tonight. You just knew the cowboy was walking with some sense of self-importance. You’d only gotten a glimpse but found yourself reflecting on the man’s looks, body. His sandy blond hair and nice tanned skin. Those shining eyes that you were almost certain were a shade of blue or green. You swallowed. He must be popular with the ladies, you came to the conclusion. He’s attractive, alright? Even you can admit that. You pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, suddenly feeling.. insecure of your appearance. But insecure isn’t the right word, maybe just.. very oddly aware.

“Play a good one,” the man shouted out, his more pale friend snorted while the tanner one huffed. You scowled. You’ll play what you want, not what some insolent outlaw wants to hear. Your fingers find the keys and continue the same tune you’ve been playing. The outlaw can deal with it. Faintly, you hear the drunken footsteps coming closer. The saloon is bustling with business now, outlaws and working girls all circulating about.

“Hey there,” he greeted, his voice was faintly reminiscent of a southern accent. He was pretty, his eyes at least. All green and.. nice. You shook the thought away and returned in a hardened voice, “Hi yourself.” The man looked a little embarrassed if not.. nervous. He looked down, his hat shielding his face. “You, uh, you play real nice,” he complimented and a fill of warm crowded inside your stomach. You returned, “Thanks.” You continued playing as he spoke, “I hope.. Uh, we ain’t causing too much trouble for ya.”

You wanted to say something mean, or snarky. Usually, you would. But staring at this.. outlaw— he’s an outlaw, remember— you couldn’t help but fumbling out, “Oh, don’t worry about it. Y’all ain’t no more trouble than a few drunkards.” He smiled nicely. Really, it was a nice smile if you ignore how beat up his teeth seem to be. “Alright,” he drawled, “good.” The sound of the piano and chattering of the saloon kept the scene from being awkward. “I’m Arthur,” he added like it was an afterthought. You told him your name. “That’s a nice one,” he said and looked as if he was about to say something else before one of his friends called him back over.

“It’s alright,” you said, “go.” Arthur smiled a little brighter and touched your shoulder. “This ain’t the last you’ve seen of me,” he said lightheartedly before stepping back and returning to the bar. You could feel your face all warm, you inhaled. What was that feeling? Hate, maybe. But hate doesn’t make you all flustered like that. He didn’t even do nothing! You grimaced.

It was gonna be a long night.

[jackiepackiee]

Hi pooks do could you do romantic headcanons for the flags (anyone you'd like) with a reader that goes absolutely quiet after an argument, but it's not silent treatment, it's just that they've grown so used to it.(totally didn't base it on me, totally not.)

But only if you're comfortable with it of course!

Have a great day or night and take care.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝓁𝒶𝑔𝓈 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝒬𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓇𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔

𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒 - 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈

Iceman

The terrifying thing about your arguments is that Iceman is not very talkative

Or expressive for that matter

So when you’re afraid of his reaction, and he doesn’t have any signs of obvious anger or sadness…

Well, it’s scary!

He’s a big guy

So the argument is going… alright

Bad of course, you’re fighting, but it’s not that bad

Until he makes this face

It’s a sorta of distance, anger that he never ever shows

And god, does it set your brain off

Although, only you know that

Because to everyone else, your face is blank and you’re completely silent

He is confused

I mean, that’s his job?!

To be rather stoic, not you!

His lover, he knows you

And he knows this isn’t normal for everyday behavior

The argument ends there

He’s too confused to speak

So… he figures you’re upset

And when he does, he pauses

Then, he hugs you

Pushing back his coat to have your arms wrap his waist

Covering you from the world

He doesn’t know what to do for you other than a hug

A kiss would be too much? And his voice is calming, however he fears that he’ll stumble his words and make things worse

So, a hug

He’ll be okay with silence, as long as you’re okay by the end of it

Pianoman

He’s a good arguer… unfortunately

His authority shows when he fights and it is QUICK to scare

He doesn’t intend this, but work has changed him

He is so used to dealing with men who’s entire job is full of gun shots and shouts being barked orders at

So he forgets that you’re his sweet lover, and can’t handle the very intense energy

If anything confuses him, it’s silence

I mean, the flags are LOUD

Albatross always joking with Doc, Chuuya telling them off. Lippmann practicing lines with Iceman on book

But his lover shouldn’t be silent

He sorta… freezes?

Finally realizes that you haven’t put a word in for the last 5 minutes

It’s just been… nothing

A blank stare, crossed arms, and a closed mouth

He felt bad with a deep feeling inside his chest

He gave you time, thinking you’d need it

He walked out awkwardly

And left you in the apartment

He goes for a drive, and comes back

When you’re still quiet, he decides action is needed

A kiss on your hand and up for arm

Ending on your lips followed by an “I’m sorry”

He pets your cheek, pulling you against him

It’ll be okay

He is VERY happy when you’re back to speaking

But for now… he can live with the silence you desire

Doc

He isn’t the argument type

But he works too hard!!

And you’re so concerned for him

I mean, he is sick himself so he shouldn’t be around others with a weakened immune system

He is stubborn and defensive, much to your dismay

And he isn’t easy to convince

Your concern over takes you

What once caused words to spill from your mouth at him, now made you silent

He thought you needed a second to think

Process your next sentence

But that next sentence never came

He stares at you, but stays silent too

Maybe this is the vibe now?

Forgive him, he’s more physical and not mental

It finally comes to him that you’re not going to talk

He stares at you for a while

Then he turns to his pocket

He gets… a lollipop?

He always gives his patients lollipops when they’re sad, you know this

So you take it with a weary hand

But… it’s so sweet!

By the time you finish it, you are feeling better

You may not speak for the rest of the night

But! You will feel better emotionally

Chuuya

Fights… well they happen

Serious fights are normal, especially for the double whammy of you two being teens and a couple

He tries his absolute best to not yell

But, his resolve is only so strong

He’s naturally loud

His words aren’t that mean, as he saves those for people he thinks deserve them

And you? He would never love a bad person

That doesn’t mean it isn’t hurtful

So… when his voice raises the way it does when he’s talking to an enemy, you freeze

No longer responding

He isn’t how he is with Dazai, not at all

He notices your change the SECOND you stopped

His heart stopped, thinking you’re scared of him!

That’s one of his biggest fears

He needs to you feel safe with him because you are safe

It doesn’t occur to him it’s the argument making you upset, and not him scaring you

You sad eyes look into him

Body vulnerable and shying away

“Hey… I didn’t mean it.”

He isn’t great with apologies, so this is a bit of a shot in the dark for him

And he isn’t sure why you’re quiet, but he hates it

Unless you ask, he won’t leave you alone for a SECOND

“I’m sorry.”

He sorta rambles out a bunch of words

But one string of them sticks out, the last one he says

“I love you.”

That was the first time he said that

He was so scared you feared him, he wanted to confess truth

And that was enough to let you speak again

Albatross

Alby isn’t exactly… emotionally mature

So when your arguments get truly serious instead of mock and banter, it’s a lot

His colder tone, sharp eyes

He obviously forgets how scary he is

There is a certain growl in the bass of his voice

So, for you it’s no surprise that you can no longer say anything

Words don’t even form

And he melts back into his old self

“Baby?”

He walks over to you… and pokes your cheek

Something that always makes you giggle

But no, not even a smile

Internally, he’s freaking out

So, he walks to the kitchen

He gets little note pads and a pen

He asks you to write down anything

How are you feeling?

Is your throat suddenly hurt?

Can you talk, but don’t wanna?

After each, he gives you a cheek kiss

As a sort of reward for communicating

Finally, he picks you up and whisks you to bed

You’ll be okay in the morning, especially with his cuddling

Lippmann

Lippmann is not the type to get into arguments

He is silver tongued and he knows it

It’s quite literally his job at the port mafia

So when you do fight, he’s a bit unhinged

Since the topic has to be very specific or important

If he knows one thing, it’s how to interpret words

Loads of different types of speaking, tone, speed

He’s a master of speech

So silence?

He is confused

How is he supposed to work with this?

And that makes him realize, “I shouldn’t think of my love as another port mafia case. I need to be genuine”

And his real talent comes out

He gives you time

Before simply pulling you with him to the couch

He puts on a movie, and turns the cold silence to something comfortable and warm

What a guy

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Anime Convention (feat. someone real). Part I

Self-Aware! Flags x GN! Reader

Description: In small towns rumours spread like a wildlife. Especially in an age of Internet .

BSD Cast's presence in your life changed, how other people saw you. Not for the best.

Fears and anxiety eats you up. You are terrified of loosing your new friends, but also feel, that one day, you will be alone again.

After you loose your job, in combine attempt of cheering you up, learning more about real world and came in terms with having fans, Fitzgerald bought all of you a tickets to Anime Expo.

BSD Cast are existed and confused. They want to know, what are you afraid of.

You're nervous and excited. You afraid, that any moment you will make a fool of yourself and they will leave.

You simply hope, that everything will be fine.

Part I Description:

You are trying to get through work day, ignoring rude comments, coming from your co-workers.

Flags don't understand, what is happening to you, and why you allow others to harass you. Either way, they won't allow anyone to upset you.

Warnings: OOC. English is my second language. Forced loneliness in a crowd. (Reader want to have friends, but have troubles with making them). Insecurities (Reader are afraid of being laughed at). Low self-esteem (Reader are sure, that people will think, that they are boring and stupid).

Warnings for Part I: Harassment on a workplace. Fights. Being fired from job. Everyone think, that Reader pay BSD Cast for their help with their body.

| Interlude I| >

___________

Albatross's motorcycle dissapeared around the corner when you opened a café's door.

A familiar jingle of the bells greeted you, when you opened the Sunset Café's door.

Time for work.

You greeted your co-workers. As usual, they have ignored you. And send nasty and disgusted glares towards you, when you passed them.

You went straight to "Employee Only" room. As usual, you had to threw away nasty notes your co-workers put in your locker.

You, now in your uniform, stand behind the counter. As usual, you ignored the whispering, that was coming from your co-workers.

Job sweet job...

_______

You knew, that your new roommates would turn, how people saw you.

You always were a quiet student and co-worker.

Like many other students, you were renting a small apartment, were going to the university and had a part-time job. As many other students, you were quiet one. You study and do your job, and spent your free time in your apartment, enjoying your hobbies.

Your parents always told you, how fun university life was for them. About parties, bar hopping and many other social gatherings.

You tried to attend few parties. You did not like them. They were loud, and, after few drinks, people became too against personal space. You did not have any fun. So, not to torture yourself and not to sour the mood, you stopped attending parties.

You still wanted to make friends. You are not social butterfly, but you are not are dead set on being a loner.

You tried to make friends with other students. At first, it worked. You discussed latest news and everyday problems. You dive in your friends’ hobbies, so you can discuss them. However, with time, you have noticed, that they did not try to know you a little more. Each time you wanted to say even a word about last movie you watched or a book your read, you were being shut down, and “friends” already started a new discussion. And, when you tried to say your opinion on something they were discussing, they ignored you.

They did not noticed, that you stopped hanging out with them.

You tried again.

They were better. They didn't ignore you. They let you talk about your hobbies and listen to your opinion.

And then you learned, that they were laughing at you behind your back.

You stopped trying. You didn't want to be ignored again. You didn't want to be laughed at.

Still, you didn't want to be alone...

But, what next group will laugh at you again?

You choose to listen to your anxiety.

And, once again, as back at school, you became

IGNORED

“Quiet-Nerd-What–was-their-name?”

No one expected you to do anything drastic.

Until, one day, BSD Cast appeared in your living room.

And people remembered, that you existed.

-------------------------

It first, it wasn't too bad.

After Albatross got all documents he needs and finally bought a new motorcycle, he volunteered to constantly give you a ride to the university. It takes you time, before you agreed to his proposal. You were fine going by feet, or taking a bus. But, the new house was further from the university, than your previous apartment, so, to safe time, you agreed to Albatross's proposal.

Now you have more time to sleep and still can get to the university earlier, to prepare for lectures.

You weren't worried about questions, that fellow students would ask. For them, you were practically invisible. They won't pay attention to you, right?

Perhaps, it would be the case. But, you failed to get one thing in consideration.

Sunset Café

Relatively popular place among students. Not only because of delicious pastries, hot beverages and low prices. Mostly, because of owners' willingness to employ students and giving them a normal paycheck. Not enough to buy everything you need, but enough to pay rent and buy a present for yourself twice a year. Besides, employees were allowed to drink beverages and take few pastries. So, free dinner/lunch. Saved money!

So, of course, you were one of the many employees in Sunset Café. And, sometimes, you shared shift with your "classmates". If you were lucky, you could even say a few words to them, and they would react to them.

You didn't quit your job after BSD Cast appeared in your life. Mori, Fitzgerald, Poe and even Mitchell with Steinbeck tried to convince you to quit it. They assured you, that you don't need this job anymore. They have more than enough money to pay for everything you need or want. Everyone told you, that they won't hold it against you, if you quit your job and focus on your studies.

Your decision didn't change. You will work. Not only because you will feel bad for not contributing.

Because you need money for that... And you will feel terrible, taking money from BSD Cast to do it...

BSD Cast accepted it. They only asked you to tell them when your shifts are and text, when you will go home.

You were fine with sharing this with them.

A week passed. Albatross gave you a ride to university. Then, after lessons were over, you will go by foot to Sunset Café and after work take a bus to get home. Everything was fine. Even if other students noticed your "driver", they didn't ask questions. They get used to ignoring you.

And then, one day, after university, you saw Albatross on the parking lot.

_____

"Hey, [Y/N]! How university was, Racing Star?" Albatross waved his hand, smiling brightly. You tilted your head and quickly approach him.

you felt other students gazes on you... since when someone, except professors, knew your name? and since when, you have a person, who will have a nickname for you?

You lean towards him, whispering.

"Albatross? What are you doing here?" You quickly released, that you were rude. "I mean, hello. University was good."

stupid stupid he will think that you are a rude idiot

Albatross smiles at you warmly and took (yours) helmet from his motorcycle.

"Great! I am here to pick you up. Since today, I will also give you a ride to your workplace! And from workplace to home!" He held the helmet towards you.

You took it and put it on.

Albatross mirrored your actions and get on motorcycle.

"Hop on, Raising Star!"

You sat behind him, on your own proper seat, with your feet on your own foot pegs.

You put your arms around Albatross torso.

The motorcycle moved.

many people looked after you two. in a few hours all your co-workers knew about Albatross and you

_______

Questions came.

"Who is this handsome man?"

"Is he single?"

"You get a boyfriend?! You?!"

"Why he is giving you a ride?!"

You shrugged their questions of.

"Just a new roommate. We met online, talked about some anime and manga for a bit (rolled eyes and whispers of 'useless nerd'). And about few other things. He wanted to move over from his city to this town and wanted us to be roommates. He volunteered to gave me rides."

(whispers of 'And how you are paying for the rides?' you ignored them)

------

A shove in the side interrupted your thought chain.

"Wake up, cheap strumpet! Or are you thinking about all this 'rides' the blonde one gave you? The one in sunglasses." John's gaze was full of disgust. It was clearly visible, that your co-worker, and student from your class, want to spit in your face really badly. Thankfully, he decided against it.

"We will have clients soon. Reminder, not clients, that you are used to. So get back to normal, respected work."

He growled and left to the kitchen.

You wanted to protest, that it was summer. University was over. Most students left, and the Café wasn't that popular among other town's residents.

no clients means more trouble for you

But you stay silent.

You didn't want to lose your job. You need it.

🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️

Albatross parked his motorcycle not far from Sunset Café. He returned to the Café on his own foot. There was a restaurant on the opposite side of the street. And, because they didn't serve any deserts and only could offer Earl Grey and espresso, it wasn't a competitor with Sunset Café.

From said restaurant you can clearly view Sunset Café, and see, what was happened inside.

Albatross choose the closest table to the window. He sat down, ordered a sandwich and start observing. His friends will join him soon. For now, he must look after you.

He clenched his teeth, when he saw, how that man shoved you. Albatross gad no idea, what he was telling you, but you looked uncomfortable. And silent. You didn't try to protect yourself.

Albatross doesn't understand. Why you were so silent and don't protect yourself? Why you don't ask them for help?

Albatross doesn't have answers yet. But, he promised, that today he will protect you.

And other Flags will help him.

🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️

The interest in you and Albatross quickly died. Well, in you the interest died. Albatross still was discussed. Handsome man, dressed in leather jacket and rugged pants, who can ride a motorcycle, tend to get people's attention.

Life became normal again, aside from people, who would beg you to give them Albatross's number.

But then, another "new" appeared in your life.

Homemade meals.

"I knew, that you can have cake with coffee, but it is not a meal, [Y/N]. It is a snack or a treat. So, hush, and take your bento." Yosano wasn't listening to your protest, putting a lunch container into your bag.

Lunches became a norm for you.

If people saw you eating your own food, they didn't question it. Perhaps, they assumed, that after getting a roommate, you start having more money, enough for not to worry about constant saving and searching for low prices. Or, maybe, some people thought, that Albatross was also cooking for you.

But one day, you forgot your lunch at home.

___________

You were working on filling coffee machine, when John called for you.

"Um... Person, who are filling coffee machine... [Y/N], right?"

You nodded.

you were used for people forgetting your name

"[Y/N]... there is some kind of freak with IV looking for you!" John sounded confused.

IV? Doc?

You walked past confused John. He still looked confused. You could bet, that it was equally, because of Doc's appearance and, because there was another non-professor, who knew your name.

he and other of your co-workers were listening on yours and Doc's meeting

Doc does look interesting. Mostly because of IV and jagged teeth. But, you can quickly get used to said looks.

Doc flashed a toothy grin at you.

it made your co-workers took a step back

Doc raised a hand, and you saw, that he was holding a wrapped up bento.

Your lunch, that you forgot.

"[Y/N], silly little Kindly Care, you forgot your lunch."

You nodded, taking it from him.

"Hello, Doc. Thank you..."

idiot. your stupidity made him walk all the way here to give you food. apologize. Maybe, he won't hate you and would simply despise

"I am so sorry for all troubles I..." You didn't get to finish. Doc chuckled and pet your shoulder. His gaze was warm. He didn't look angry. Only happy.

"Don't worry this pretty little head of yours. It wasn't trouble at all. Hey, how soon your shift will end? Maybe, I can wait for you, and then Albatross, you and I can hang out?"

you can felt burning gazes of your co-workers on your back

You wanted to say 'yes, let's hang out'. But, your shift was far from over. He could probably go home. He will go home.

you aren't worse waiting for...

"I will be free in three hours, Doc... Maybe, you should..." Doc's grin became even bigger.

"Neat. I will wait for you."

Doc sat on the table in far away corner.

And you go back to your co-workers.

_________

They literally pressed you against the wall, trying to get answers.

"Who is this creep?"

"You have another friend?"

"Another roommate?"

"How big the flat is?"

"Is he the one, who is cooking you food?"

"Are you three dating?"

It was difficult, but you escaped from the encirclement. You ignored half of the questions.

"Yes, another roommate. No, we aren't dating. I won't answer any more questions. My personal life is none of your concern."

maybe, if you say something else... this situation would be solved...

(Kasey, another co-worker, whispered 'what they saw in you? What you give them in return for their help?' you ignored her)

Albatross, Doc and you got ice cream after your shift was done.

_____

You were re-filling coffee machine, when you heard steps coming from behind.

Only your reflexes saved you from having coffee spilled all over you. Kasey's voice was dripping with venom.

"What the matter? Aren't you already dirty?"

She left, stepping on your foot in a process.

You bit your tongue.

Just keep it cool. You need this job.

You need your own money.

🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️

Doc, this time, without his IV, stepped into the restaurant. Albatross waved his hand, without looking away from the Café. Doc sat near his friend.

"Did something bad happened?" asked Doc. Albatross huffed.

"Some guy... John, I think, shoved them. And, yell at them, I guess. [Y/N] looked scared and nervous."

Doc rubbed his temples. He hated all this people, who hurt you.

He saw it. Bruises on your arms.

You assured him, that you were clumsy.

But, doctor and mafioso (especially doctor-mafioso) can see, what bruises came from being clumsy and what was left from being hit.

He didn't blame you for being quiet. In no way it is your fault. But, it was his and others responsibility to protect you.

Because, you are their dear friend.

But, for an hour or two, he still had to wait. He and Albatross need more people to help them.

🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️

People started whispering.

About you, Albatross and Doc.

Some rumors were tossed around.

Still, it wasn't too bad. Albatross, Doc and almost everyone from BSD Cast wasn't too sociable, for now. So, your co-workers and other students can't get more information from them, and you simply refused to talk.

you are too grumpy... you will never have friends... you will always be alone...

But, loneliness can't last forever.

if you are not talking about yourself, of course

BSD Cast wanted to have jobs.

Lippmann was one of the first, who got it.

New actor in a local theater. A new start. New celebrity. Videos with him became viral.

And said start preferred to spend time with a shy, timid student, worker of Sunset Café.

________

Kasey squeaked, when Lippmann, a new celebrity, walked into the Café.

"Y-you..." she looked at him in adoration. Lippmann sent a smile in her direction.

Simple, polite smile.

He read her badge.

"Yes, me. Miss Kasey, can you, please, tell me, where... [Y/N]!" He noticed you, walking with a tray, full of dirty dishes.

Lippmann smiles at you.

Genuine, warm smile. Smile, that was reserved strictly for you.

You tried your best to stay polite and not to lose balance.

"Hello, Lippmann. Good to see you..."

Lippmann immediately was near you, taking away the tray. You didn't even make a sound, when he brought the tray to the kitchen. He returned to you, smiling.

"Well, Star Performer, ready to have lunch together?"

You mentally scolded yourself. Today you had a short day, and would leave the job earlier, than usual. This morning, Lippmann suggested eating lunch together. You were sure, that he was playing a prank on you. But it would be rude to say no. You agreed.

you hopped, that he will show up

you don't deserve them. someone as bad as you should stay from normal people

You nodded. Lippmann grinned.

"Good. I will wait for you to get ready."

"Thanks. I will be ready in a minute." you went to "Employee Only" room to get your bag and change.

_______

Co-workers gathered their courage to talk to Lippmann.

"Do you know them?"

"Do you know two others, that hang out with them?"

"What are they to you?"

Lippmann's answers were empty.

"[Y/N], few other people and I are roommates. I also see [Y/N] as someone close. Please, stop bothering me. I want to pick up my friend and spend the rest of the day with them."

When you returned, Lippmann took your hand and lead you towards the exit, ignoring your co-workers.

They glared at door, that closed behind you two.

If people could do physical damage with their gazes, you would be stabbed multiple times by their gazes.

(Today, all of them took a dive on social media. Trying to find more people, who knew you. They started with Lippmann socials.)

It was the point of no return

__________

You only wanted to have lunch.

You choose an empty table and was ready to dig in into red bean chazuke (thank you, Mori), when someone slammed a hand on the table before you.

Max, baker, were glaring at you. They were older than you, and not a student anymore. But, they were a star student, back there, and still honored the university traditions.

And they were furious at you.

Because of what people thought you were doing.

"You have no idea, how you disgust me. You are a disgrace to the university." they spit. They grabbed your lunch box and threw it down. Food spilled on the ground. You cowered in fear.

Max spit on the floor.

"Clean it up. Or eat it right from the floor. Livestock aren't allowed to eat as normal humans."

You blinked away your tears.

Hold on...

Just hold on...

You need money...

To pay rent...

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

Doc and Albatross had to hold down Lippmann (and themselves) from marching down to the Café and do something really nasty to the bastard.

Lippmann breathed in and out.

"Why... Why they are hurting [Y/N]? For what sick entertainment?" mumbles Lippmann, tapping fingers against the table. Albatross and Doc didn't answer. They don't need to.

Lippmann closed his eyes. He hated not doing anything.

But, he needs to wait for a bit more. To get more evidence.

He remembered about some of the messages he received on his socials.

About how good you are in... "under the table" job. How much will it cost. If he is disgusted by you.

He simply thought, that it was trolls or haters, who just saw your photos on his page.

But, what if this people knew you and him in real life?

Lippmann breathed in again.

You were the only good part of the Real World. Other real people were huge bastards. He must protect you.

His precious Star Performer.

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

They found photos.

Photos with you and BSD Cast.

With all of them calling you a great friend and roommate.

There were some videos.

About you being happy to get a gift or hanging out with them.

Fellow students and co-workers don't understand.

How a quiet, timid, shy nerd could get so much attention? Especially from new big businessmen and businesswoman?

They drew the only "logical" conclusion.

You were selling your body.

Now you weren't nameless anymore.

No, now you have many names.

Cheap, livestock, thing, toy... To call the least explicit.

And harassment came.

They didn't harass you on The Internet or tried to cross the line.

Thay said, that dirt wasn't worth to get in jail or any legal troubles. But they left notes, were rude, yelled at you, shoved you. Some people send complaints to the university.

They didn't want to be near you.

Professors didn't do anything. You were grown-ups, can deal with your own problems. But they asked all of you to be quiet. So you won't ruin the university's image of a prestigious, place with good students.

you were ruining not only BSD's Cast reputation. you are ruining university's reputation

Café's manager didn't do anything. Deal with it on your own. But he demand, that you deal with it not in front of the clients. And promised to fire you, if you start a scandal.

You tried to fight. You tried to explain. Show some of your messages with Oda, Mori, Nikolai, Fukuzawa and Fitzgerald.

But there was no way for you to prove, that you and BSD Cast were just friends.

"You have a second phone, where the evidence are!"

"I don't know, what is more disgusting. The number of your 'roommares'.or their ages."

"Don't come near. You are a freak without any morals."

was it your fault?did you deserve it? if you had friends in university, maybe you would...

there was no use in crying over spilled milk

you simply must move on

summer is soon

after holidays, they will forget about you

_______

You and Piano Man were feeding ducks in local park. Both of you were silent.

Silence was comfortable.

And then Piano Man spoke.

"[Y/N]... Rare Coin, can I ask you something?" his tone was gentle. You threw more seeds into the lake, before answering.

"Ask away." You smiled shyly. It's been three months since BSD Cast appeared in this world, in your life.

It felt good to have friendly conversations.

it was nice to have friends

Piano Man licked his lips, before speaking.

"[Y/N], are you alright? You looked... sad for the last few days. Did something happen? Can we help you?"

You froze.

they will hate you. you are ruining their reputation. LIE

"Everything is fine! I just worried about my finals!" a fake smile appeared on your face. Piano Man crooked an eyebrow.

"Kunikida said, that you are doing great. Or are you afraid of getting Not "100 points" but "99.99 points"?"

You nervously nodded.

"I always worried about my finals..."

Piano Man still didn't look convinced.

"And how your relationship with other students and co-workers?"

You swallow. You felt, iike a rock fall down your stomach.

"It's fine. They not really interested in me. I am just another student."

Piano Man looked at you for few moments. He clearly wanted to ask more questions, but decided to drop the subject.

"Fine. I will believe you. But, please, if you have troubles, talk to us. We care about you. We will help you."

You mumble something under your breath.

they will hate you for lying. idiot. go back to your books

Piano Man threw remaining seeds to the ducks. He held his hand towards you.

"Let's go and buy some groceries. Goncharov promised to cook stew for dinner."

_________

You had a headache. You just wanted this day to be over. You wanted to go home. To stay far away from the Café and University. From students.

They were glaring at you. They hated you.

Duncan, your manager, was towering over you. He bared his teeth and hissed.

"I promise you, you won't stay here for tool long. I will make sure, that you will be fired. Who knew, what diseases you are carrying around. I don't want to have my life ruined because of your debauchery."

You close your eyes. You are hated, because of stupid rumors.

And you can't ask anyone for help.

you aren't important enough to be a burden

to ask for help

you want to cry

you fight the urge

don't show weakness

you need this job

to pay rent

to keep your old apartment

The Café door was opened.

🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹

Piano Man didn't walk into the restaurant. He simply stopped before restaurant window and waved his hand, showing Albatross, Doc and Lippmann, that it was time.

Piano Man kept looking at the Café. At place, where you were working. At place, where you were harassed.

He clenched his fists.

He remembered, how you were acting during last finals. They still were in their world, but they could tell, that you weren't panicking or having a meltdown...

And about students.

There was one thing, that concern not only Piano Man, but all members of BSD Cast.

How empty your list of messages were.

Chat with parents. Chat for your group of students. Chat for all university students (only reading, where students can't post). Chat for Sunset Café workers.

And you hardly interacted with any if the chats.

It would be a good thing, if your parents write even one in a month.

Students in a chat ignored you, if you try to ask something, making you send the message multiple times.

Workers in a café left you on read for a good chunk of time, answering the last moment.

And even after they appeared in this world, they didn't see you hanging with someone else, exept them.

Were you bullied? No, not a correct term.

Piano Man remembered bruises. Bruises, that, according to you, came from falling down.

You were harrassed.

How dare they hurt you?

"[Y/N], don't worry, dear, we will protect you."

You were shy, kind, clever and adorable. Yet, some bastards thought, that they can hurt you. They were wrong.

And Flags will show them, how wrong they were.

"Ready?" asked his friends.

Three "Ready" were his answers.

Ice Man just walked into the café. Piano Man moved forward. Doc, Albatross and Lippmann followed after him.

🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹

Duncan was too absorbed in scoffing at you. He didn't notice, how Iceman walked into a café.

Your other co-workers, however, saw his. And tried to stay as far away as they can.

Iceman was a good man. Soft-spoken and kind. He often invites you to drink coffee together, while listening to some of his records.

But he does have an overwhelming presence. With a scar running down his right eye and emotionless face, tall /hit/ man didn't look like an embodiment of friendship.

Duncan continues to spit insults at you.

"You are everything, that is wrong with your generation. You have no honor or any idea, how normal human beings should behave in society!"

You turned away and tried not to pay attention. You failed. Duncan's yells were loud.

Shouts of approval were heard from different parts of the café. Iceman may have looked scary, but people can't pass up the chance to rub your face in your 'inappropriate' behavior.

With a corner of your eye you saw, how Iceman picked up one of the vases, that was standing on each table and had flowers put in it. With vase in hand, Iceman continue walking to Duncan and you.

You shake your head, trying to stop Iceman from doing what he wanted to do.

you don't need troubles at work!

Door opened again.

The Rest of the Flags walked inside. You have a bad feeling about this.

Duncan's loud howls were interrupted by a soft ringing sound. The fiery speaker fell and hit his face against the floor.

Behind him was Iceman with the most repentant expression on his face. But a sly smile was ruining the image.

"I'm so clumsy!" Iceman “apologized,” pointing with his hand at the glass shards of the vase and the scattered flowers, that were lying on the floor.

“But, honestly, he is such a disgusting guy. It was time for him to shut up.”

Your co-workers realized, what happened just at the end of the speech, and the last words Iceman spoke crouching. A tray of dirty dishes, which Max threw from the kitchen door, passed over his head. The tray flew further and landed on John's head, who tried to escape at the wrong time.

The dishes' life came to an end.

The joyful cry “Get them!” that came from Albatross, announced that the calm day was ruined completely, irrevocably and for everyone at once.

Iceman, with a confident, clearly practiced movement, grabbed surprised you, and threw you behind the counter.

In the café, meanwhile, Piano Man was steadily dipping Max into a bucket of dirty water, Doc was methodically beating John with a rolling pin. Iceman jumped over the tables, running from Steve, the only guard who was already out of breath. Lippmann, who had stolen a frying pan from the kitchen in the midst of a fight, was reprimanding something to the conscious Duncan, reinforcing his words with blows from the frying pan. Albatross throw Kasey onto the counter, and, grabbing her by the collar, began dragging her back and forth.

You didn't know what to do. You were never in a fight before, and, if you stand up, you could become an easy target, putting Flags in disadvantage.

Albatross dragged Kasey away from the counter, so he can deal with another waiter at the same time, and you take a better look at what was going on.

Right that moment, Iceman and Steve ran past the counter, and Steve was close to catching Iceman.

You can't let him hurt your friend!

You grabbed a bottle of vanilla syrup and hit Steve with it.

The guard was now cowered in sticky substance.

And owner finally decided to check on what was going on.

_________

You were standing outside Sunset Café, holding your bag.

Flags brought enough money to pay for all the damage they caused. Owner agreed not to press charges.

But you were fired. You were the reason for a fight. Flags didn't hide, that they saw you being harassed by your former co-workers, and they simply can't let them continue that.

Flags said, that they have proofs. And thanks for that, Max, Duncan, Kasey, John, Steve and others won't press charges.

it is your fault your fault you almost get Flags in trouble

You didn't know what to feel.

You won't be harassed anymore.

But you lose a job. And other places in this town aren't interested in hiring students.

And you need the job

You need money

To keep your old apartment

So you will have...

"[Y/N]? Are you okay? " Iceman's soft voice sounded right above your ear. You looked up at him at the rest of the Flags, who were standing behind him. All of them looked guilty. Iceman spoke again.

"[Y/N], we are sorry, that you have lost your job. But, please, understand, that we couldn't just let some idiots harassed you. We wanted to protect you."

Flags nodded in agreement.

You open your mouth and said the truth.

"Thank you. I really appreciate it. And don't worry about my job. I will find another one"

you wanted this. friends, that will protect you. someone, you can protect

Albatross jumped closer to you and put his arm around your shoulders.

"That's the spirit! So, want to grab a bite, before going home?"

Without waiting for your answer, he led you away from Sunset Café. Flags followed after you two.

🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊

Iceman walked behind you. And he was observing. He was glad, that you were safe now. But your attitude... What was going on? Why you let others walked over you?

Right now, you looked happy. But, what if one day... Because of other students...

Iceman whispered.

"We need to discuss it with others. Something is still wrong with Snowflake."

Piano Man, the only one, who heard him, nodded in agreement.

Iceman continue observing you. Albatross was recalling the best moments of the fight, and how cool you were, hitting the guard with a bottle.

You looked embarrassed, but you also participate in conversation.

For now, everything was good.

🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊

You were half-way to the diner, Flags have chosen to grab a bite.

Your last paycheck felt heavy in your pocket.

Last money you earned.

You will spend them on a rent.

On your old apartment, that BSD Cast thought you left permanently.

Because you need this apartment.

Because, after BSD Cast will see, how boring and stupid you are, they will leave. And you will need a place to return to.

But for now, you will simply enjoy your lunch with Flags.

[lovewithkarma]

Finding an boy in your room.

Ft : the flags (3/5) (pianoman, iceman, doc)

Tw this is very very short and it almost four am to 5am so this isn't edited and for doc part reader got wine

This is my first time writing here and for the flags😿

You are their child or child figure

Pianoman

♡ It was an lovely day, pianoman had the day off, so he was doing errands around Yokohama

♡ Perfect time to sneak In someone.

♡ So after sometime, you called him to come over.

♡ After the call he went straight to your house and y'all started to watch an long movie in your room

♡ After sometime, y'all got bored and started to get really touchy

♡ So touchy that you didn't hear the front door open or your room one.

♡ Mid way of you making out with an unknown boy.

♡ "(reader), it seems I misplaced my wallet, have you see-"

♡ Pianoman stood in stock but regain his composure.

♡ " (Reader)...Who is this (?)

♡ You saw the look in his eye and you knew you were gonna be grounded for an while.

Iceman

♡ As an hitman, he never really knew when he was going to be home

♡ One night he was taking extra long so you texted him

♡ "how long till your back?"

♡ "don't know"

♡ So obviously you took this as an chance to invite an boy over.

♡ You knew iceman wasn't going to be here till the late morning so why not?

♡...And you were right!

♡ y'all did whatever people do when the opposite genders comes to your house and successfully did whatever it was

♡ But the thing is that he (the boy) never left..

♡ So as y'all laid in bed cuddling (at 6am)

♡you saw your doorknob turning..

♡ Fuck.

♡ Every single time iceman works late he comes into your room to make sure your asleep and safe.

♡ How could you forget??

♡ Iceman stood there with his right arm on your doorknob and left hand holding an cigarette

♡ He stood there in an stoic face and takes an deep breath. He points to the boy and said:

♡"...You. Out now."

♡ The boy could already smell the blood on iceman and quickly went out your door

♡ "yes sir"

♡ The boy ran out of your house and iceman turned to look at him an then back at you.

♡ He inhaled his cigarette.

♡ "you're grounded."

Doc

♡ As an surgeon he worked many hours for the pm

♡ So it wasn't unusual for doc to come home late

♡ So naturally you invited an boy over

♡You guys were at first just hanging out

♡ But then it started to get really boring

♡ And you guys were already not there because of the wine you guys already drank

♡ So naturally y'all start to slur your words and well now y'all are mouth to mouth making out

♡ But the thing was that you were on couch.

♡ So when doc walked in, you aren't really surprised ( or you were too out if it from the wine)

♡ "... Fufufu what's this?"

♡you looked up to see doc smirking..

♡ fuck.

♡ The boy quickly leaves the house and doc didn't care to look

♡ he gives you the talk an few minutes after the boy leaves

[mistressoftheelderitchwhorehouse]

Pulling Me Out and Connect Me

A/N: Just some Chuuya lab PTSD thoughts.

TW: Blood, mild gore, child abuse

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Pairing: Chuuya x Reader

Reader Type: Gender neutral, black coded

_____________________________

Small fingers twitched against warm glass as more chemicals were pumped into his tank. He could feel the tubes in his spine and wrist suck them into his veins, and then distribute them to his brain, heart, and stomach.

He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords constricted against the tubes shoved down his throat. He began to thrash, but the needles in his spine dug deeper and deeper into the bones and nerves until the liquid around him was dyed red.

"Doctor his vitals are dropping!"

"Give him-"

"Wait the energy levels are rising. We have to enact Code 535!"

His skin jumped as warm fingers brushed his face. They passed along his forehead, down his temple, and along the curve of his jaw.

"N there's nothing more we can do."

"That's fine. Dump the tank. We can produce another eventually."

He slammed his hands against the glass, but all of the shadowy figures on the other side ignored him.

He slammed his hand again, only for warm, small fingers to lace with his.

"Chuuya. Chuuya? Baby. C'mon you're the one who wanted to be up early."

He opened his eyes, and the slurry of blue, black, and red liquid was gone. Instead he was staring at your face, your curtain of dark curls hiding you both from the outside world.

Your frown broke into a grin. "There we go. Now we're cooking with oil."

"Time is it?"

"4 AM."

He groaned and shut his eyes. "Fuck, why'd I suggest this again?"

"Hmmm." You kissed his jaw, along his cheek, and finally a chaste kiss to his lips. "Cause you're sweet and lovely."

He opened his eyes again when he felt you sit up and your weight shift. You were still astride his hips, but you were looking out the window and at the glowing city. The sun hadn't risen yet, and through the smog and lights he could see a few stars doing their best to burn against the blue and black sky.

He shuddered, and this drew your attention back down to him. You brushed sweat slick strands back behind his ear.

"Baby."

"Doll."

Your smile softened at the nick name. " You okay? You're a million miles away."

"I'm fine. Early as shit." He grabbed your hips, his voice going lower as he slipped his fingers under your shirt to kneed at the soft flesh of your sides. "C'mon. Said I'd take ya out today, yeah? Can do this again later. I promise."

"I suppose I can leave the most comfortable seat in exsistence." He loosened his grip as you got up. "Want me to make coffee before we head out?"

"That'd be fantastic."

You grabbed your robe and slipped it over you shoulders, before going back to the bed, and pressed another chaste kiss to his lips. Without another word you were gone, the soft padding of your footsteps the only hint you were still in the apartment.

Chuuya shut his eyes and and rubbed at his wrist. The past was the past, and there was nothing that he could do to change it. The choices he made, the people he gained and lost, all of it was the rocky and blood slick road that had made the Chuuya Nakahara of today.

He sat up and swung his legs over the bed, before going over to a small table under a window. He plucked up a photograph that had six figures staring at the camera. They all wore the type of straight faces that threatened to burst into laughter if so much as the breeze blew wrong. A smile ghosted upon his own lips as he traced the wood frame with his thumb. He couldn't remember when the picture had even been taken anymore. He supposed that's what happens when a decade goes by.

"Coffee's ready!"

"Kay! Gimme a sec!"

He set the picture down and grabbed his cigarettes out of the drawer, before leaving the room entirely. The photo of a 15 year old Chuuya, Piano Man, Lippmann, Doc, Iceman, and Albatross seeming to wish him the best as he left.

[terrence-silver]

How would CK Terry react to hearing beloved playing his piano for the first time? They've never indicated that they know how to play, and they're under the impression that he can't hear them/isn't home.

---

Even if beloved was completely and utterly bad and anti-talented where music is concerned...you know how when you love someone, everything they do gives you this ( ❤️) reaction?

Well, beloved could be wholly uneducated on a piano or really any instrument, merely just hitting the keys, idly and rather randomly trying to harmonize and clumsily make sense of what they're doing, not a shred of melody in those untrained, amateur fingers --- especially not compared to someone as excellent as he is. Matters not! Terry Silver, the King of Bias, overhears their music, and it's his music now. His music preformed on his piano. They're the greatest in the Valley. The greatest in the world, actually! His little songbird who tries very hard. He's listening in from behind a wall, eavesdropping and digging his teeth into his lips as he smiles as widely as the Cheshire cat. Remember how fierily this man vouched for John Kreese being the greatest Sensei ever even after they've both been beaten by a much smaller old man and promptly thrown against a mirror within five seconds flat?

Well, yes.

Just like that.

He is in your corner, even when you're both doused in wall paint and defeated.

Beloved doesn't have to be a particular virtuoso of anything whatsoever (not when he's here to be the virtuoso for the both of them), but Terry functions under the strict notion of propping up someone he feels belongs to him to the (irrational) high heavens regardless of their actual skill level, whereas, if he doesn't give a rat's ass about someone, he will degrade, sabotage, give backhanded complements and talk down to them cruelly even if they're actually talented. The difference being, one's his person and the other ain't. He isn't fair like that and never has been, never intends to start being, but the man can be loyal and dedicated to a fault when he chooses to be. That much is certain.

That's his mentality.

He overhears beloved playing and he might make himself known, sit down beside them and demand they play for him because he didn't tell to them to stop and he wants them to do it however badly while he watches them, follows every movement of fingers, every reaction, every beat, every bit of posture, sound, everything, genuinely engrossed with what he's witnessing. Don't get me wrong --- Terry Silver's no saint and he ain't kind. If the most talented piano player in the World visited his manor tomorrow to play the most polished, complex piece on the planet for him, Terry might think infinitely less of it than beloved missing basic notes and keys. But again --- he's devoted to one person, and he ain't to another and that's all their is to it.

Now he can take all time actually teaching beloved himself.

His way.

The right way.

However he sees fit.

Dishing out rewards and punishments for every song learned. Not learned. Praising them. Chastising them. Praising them again. Tenderizing them to his every word. Every lesson. Transferring knowledge unto them. Ingraining a part of himself inside of them through a transferred skillset. Owning them that way, mind, body and soul. Etching himself into their mind. Through hours of practice. Dedication. He prefers it like this. If beloved started out anti-talented and it was him who brought out of them something that was beneath the surface, carving out his own Pygmalion, whereas if they were genuinely already well-learned it would bother him deep down that it wasn't him who 'discovered' them as it were. Who taught them first. That they weren't his prodigy, instead, the prodigy and the student of several tutors previously. Goddamn it if that wouldn't make him infernally jealous. He doesn't like it! He hates it! Wants them to unlearn everything! Start from the beginning! But, like this? As things are now? Beloved being fully ordinary and commonplace? Ah, this is perfect. It's perfect! Perfect moldable clay! Beloved is a novice at the piano. He's heard them playing first that day and he's the first one who ever took to teaching them. Honing them. Controlling where their skill could go. Climb. Develop. Like branches bending under his grip, growing in the direction he's telling them to grow. And that's the way it should be. They're going to create music because of him. Thanks to him. Not some other teacher(s) out there.

Beloved belongs to him.

So does everything pertaining to them. Even this.

Catching them tinkering away the notes anxiously was the best thing ever, genuinely.

[pucksandpower]

Wildest Dreams

Charles Leclerc x pop star!Reader

Summary: you seem to have it all �� a successful singing career, complete with a sold out world tour and countless adoring admirers — until an out of control fan sends everything crashing down. With no end to your panic attacks and anxiety in sight, your management team decides to send you to Monaco, where they hope the stringent privacy laws will give you space to recover in peace. What no one can anticipate is that along the way you’ll find love in the form of a piano-playing Formula 1 driver who helps you remember what it means to find joy in your music again

Warnings: descriptions of an aggressive fan interaction and panic attacks

The bass thumps through the stadium, vibrating up through your bones, and the lights are so blinding you can barely make out the sea of fans screaming your name. You’re smiling, though. At least, it feels like you are. Your muscles know how to hit their marks even when your mind isn’t entirely there.

You reach for the microphone stand, letting the chorus carry your voice, a glittering sound that hovers above the crowd. The audience swells, their energy feeding into yours. It’s always like this. As exhausting as it gets, performing feels like standing at the edge of an open window — terrifying, thrilling, and impossible to look away from.

“Sing it with me!” You shout, holding the mic out to the crowd.

They scream back the lyrics. Thousands of voices, cracked and messy, but earnest. For a second, you think you could stay here forever, suspended in this moment.

And then it happens.

The music stutters. Just a second — barely noticeable. You catch the band faltering behind you. Drums off beat. Guitar missing a note. A glitch in a perfect machine.

At first, you think it’s nothing. Someone tripped on a cable. Someone fumbled. It’s a live show. Things happen. But then, the corner of your vision snags on something that shouldn’t be there — movement from the side of the stage.

He comes from nowhere, a shadow slipping past the edge of the lights, fast and jagged like an animal.

You freeze.

He’s on the stage. He’s on the stage.

It takes a second too long for your brain to register it. The security guards stationed by the barrier scramble too late. The man — wild-eyed, his face twisted with something you can’t name — launches himself toward you, a sharp glint of metal flashing in his hand.

A scream catches in your throat, choking on the shock. You’re paralyzed for a second, the space between you and him folding too fast to react.

And then he’s there.

He grabs your arm, fingers like claws, and jerks you forward.

“No-” It comes out as a gasp, not a command, and suddenly the whole world tilts sideways. The microphone drops from your hand, clattering against the stage floor, and you hear the audience roar in confusion. Cheers turn into screams — panicked and raw.

You struggle — instinct kicking in before fear takes over. “Get off me!”

You twist in his grip, adrenaline making your muscles feel like they’re tearing. The man’s breath is hot against your ear as he says something — words tumbling too fast and fractured to understand. His free hand still clutches the knife, too close to your skin.

This is when everything breaks.

There’s a blur of black uniforms, and the weight of him is yanked off you so fast you stumble backward, landing hard on your hands and knees. The crowd’s screams crest into something deafening. Security tackles the man to the ground, and for a second all you can hear is the thud of bodies hitting the stage, fists pounding into flesh.

“Get him out — get him OUT!” Someone shouts.

You press your hands to your ears, everything tilting too sharp, too loud. The lights feel like knives cutting into your skull. Your breath comes in shallow bursts, like you’re breathing through a straw. You try to stand, but your legs give out.

Your heart’s racing so fast it feels like it might punch out of your chest.

“He … he just-” Your voice cracks. You can’t even finish the sentence.

A stage manager rushes toward you, wide-eyed. “Are you okay? Y/N, look at me — are you hurt?”

You shake your head violently, even though you’re not sure if you mean it. Are you okay? What does that even mean right now?

The man is dragged off the stage, kicking and snarling. You see his face for a brief second — twisted into something feral, like he thinks you belong to him. Like he’s owed you. The sight makes your stomach twist, and you have to look away before you throw up.

Someone shoves a water bottle into your hands. You can’t remember who. Your hands shake so badly the water spills down your wrist.

“Should we stop the show?” The stage manager asks, but it’s not really a question. It’s an out. A lifeline dangled in front of you, waiting for you to take it.

But you don’t know what to say. If you stop the show, you’ll have to explain what just happened. If you keep going, you might pass out before you finish the set. There’s no right answer.

The crowd is still buzzing, restless and electric, as if waiting for you to reassure them this was all part of the performance. Like maybe the crazed fan was just another surprise.

“I-” Your voice catches, brittle and weak. “I don’t know.”

Someone touches your shoulder — too light to be comforting, too heavy to ignore. “Y/N, if you need to end it, we can. No one would blame you.”

Wouldn’t they, though? Wouldn’t they pick this apart on social media, frame-by-frame, asking why you couldn’t just handle it?

Your throat feels like it’s closing up. The lights are too hot, the noise too much. It feels like the whole world is leaning in, waiting for you to crumble.

And then it happens.

You break.

It’s not a dramatic collapse. There’s no scream, no cinematic fall to the floor. It’s quieter than that — just a slow unraveling, thread by thread, until all that’s left is the mess underneath.

You drop the water bottle.

Your knees hit the stage again.

And then you cry.

It’s not the pretty kind of crying, either. It’s ugly — snot and hiccuping sobs that make your chest hurt. You bury your face in your hands, trying to hide from the audience, from the cameras, from yourself. But there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape the weight pressing down on your ribs.

You hear someone — maybe the stage manager — swear under their breath. “Shit. We’re cutting it. Get the lights down. Now.”

The stage goes dark in an instant, but the damage is done.

You know what comes next. The headlines. The viral clips. The think pieces dissecting every second of this moment, every tear, every breath you couldn’t catch.

“Y/N?” Someone asks softly, crouching beside you.

You can’t even lift your head. Your chest is heaving, your nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. All you can think is I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Not again.

“I’m so sorry,” the voice says, closer now. You feel a hand on your arm — gentle, not prying. “We’ll get you out of here, okay? Just breathe. You’re safe.”

But you’re not safe. Not really.

Because the fan wasn’t the first. And you know he won’t be the last.

The sobs come faster, ripping out of you in jagged bursts. You’re vaguely aware of someone wrapping a blanket around your shoulders, as if that could hold you together.

The crowd is still out there — restless, confused. Waiting.

And all you can do is cry.

***

The blinds are drawn tight, shutting out the morning light, but the world outside is still there. You can feel it pressing against the windows, thick and suffocating, like it’s waiting for you to crack them open and let it all pour in.

You sit on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, wrapped in a throw blanket you barely remember being given. Your body feels like it doesn’t belong to you — like you’re a puppet someone left slumped in a chair.

Voices hum and swell around you, muffled but relentless. They’ve been at it for hours. Your family. Your manager. The people who care about you, supposedly. They’ve all flown in, clutching their opinions like lifeboats.

“She needs professional help,” someone says sharply. It’s your manager, Grace. She paces the length of the penthouse suite, heels clacking against the marble floor with every angry step.

“She doesn’t need rehab!” Your mother snaps from somewhere near the kitchen. You can hear the frustration in her voice, brittle and sharp. “She’s not a drug addict. Why are you acting like she is?”

“She’s traumatized,” your sister chimes in. “Putting her in rehab would only make things worse.”

“And what do you suggest?” Grace fires back, hands on her hips. “She stays here and … what? Pretends everything’s fine?”

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the voices bouncing off every surface, sharp and loud. You press your forehead against your knees, trying to disappear inside yourself. It doesn’t work.

“Look at her,” Grace says, her voice low but pointed. “She hasn’t spoken all morning. This isn’t just about last night. This has been building for months. You all know it.”

You flinch, just slightly, but it’s enough to send a ripple through the room.

“Don’t talk about her like she’s not here,” your sister warns, her voice tight with anger.

“Well, she’s not exactly engaging with us, is she?” Grace retorts, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m doing my job. I care about her. But you can’t expect me to pretend that this-” She gestures toward you, slumped on the couch like a ghost. “-is sustainable. She’s not fine. And none of you want to admit it.”

“Don’t make this about you,” your mother snaps. “We are not sending her to some clinic to be paraded around like she’s broken. That would destroy her.”

“Destroy her?” Grace barks out a bitter laugh. “What do you think this is doing to her right now? She had a public breakdown on stage in front of thousands of people! Do you have any idea what’s waiting for her online?”

“Enough!” Your father’s voice cuts through the noise like a whip. He’s been silent for most of the conversation, standing stiff by the window, arms crossed. Now he steps forward, pinching the bridge of his nose like the argument is physically hurting him. “Stop fighting. This isn’t helping.”

For a moment, there’s blessed quiet. Just the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft tick of a clock somewhere in the room.

“Rehab isn’t the answer,” your mother says again, this time softer but no less firm. “She’s not some Hollywood cliché who needs detoxing. She’s our daughter. She’s traumatized. That’s not the same thing.”

Grace blows out a breath, frustration curling off her in waves. “Then what? What’s the plan? Because if you think this just goes away with time, you’re fooling yourselves. She can’t even step outside without getting mobbed by cameras. She needs space.”

The word hangs heavy in the air. Space. You cling to it like a lifeline.

Your sister sits down on the armrest of the couch beside you, placing a tentative hand on your shoulder. “Do you want to go somewhere?” She asks gently. “Just to get away for a bit? Somewhere quiet?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The thought of leaving this room — of facing the outside world — makes your chest tighten like a vise. But staying here feels just as unbearable.

Grace watches you carefully, arms crossed over her chest. “Look,” she says, her tone shifting from sharp to calculated. “If you won’t consider rehab, fine. But you need to go somewhere. Somewhere you can breathe without a camera in your face.”

Your mother gives her a skeptical glance. “And where exactly do you suggest?”

“Monaco,” Grace says without hesitation. “Strictest privacy laws in the world. Paparazzi can’t follow her there — not without getting arrested. No one can film her, no one can take her picture. It’s safe.”

That feels like a promise you’re not sure you can believe in.

Your father raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “And you just happen to know this because …”

Grace gives him a tight smile. “Because this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with something like this.”

“Monaco?” Your sister echoes, frowning. “What is she supposed to do there? Sit in some fancy hotel and wait to feel better?”

“Exactly,” Grace says, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “She rests. She doesn’t have to be on all the time. No performances, no interviews, no one breathing down her neck. Just … time to get her head straight.”

Your mother looks unconvinced. “She needs more than a vacation.”

“She needs a break,” Grace counters, her voice firm but not unkind. “And right now, Monaco is the only place I can guarantee she’ll get one.”

The room falls into another uneasy silence, everyone waiting for someone else to make the next move.

Grace sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I know you all want what’s best for her. I do too. But pretending this is something she can just push through isn’t going to work. If she stays here, the pressure will crush her. We’ve all seen it happen before.”

Your father shifts uncomfortably, like he hates that she’s making sense.

Finally, Grace looks at you, her expression softening for the first time all morning. “What do you think?” She asks quietly. “Do you want to go?”

It feels like everyone in the room is holding their breath, waiting for your answer.

But you don’t have one. You can’t think beyond the next minute, the next breath. The world feels too big, too loud, too sharp. You don’t know what you want. You don’t know if you even care.

Your sister squeezes your shoulder gently. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she murmurs.

But Grace shakes her head. “No. She does. The longer we wait, the harder this gets. This-” she gestures around the room, frustration leaking into her voice again. “-isn’t working. She’s drowning, and none of you seem to see it.”

Your mother bristles. “Don’t you dare-”

“She needs to get out of here,” Grace says, cutting her off. “Before it’s too late.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the finality of them settling over the room like a weight.

And for the first time all morning, you feel something other than numbness. It’s small, barely noticeable — a flicker of something that might be relief. Because maybe, just maybe, getting away — really away — is exactly what you need.

Grace leans forward, her expression soft but determined. “Monaco,” she says again, like she’s offering you a lifeline. “What do you say?”

***

The jet touches down with a soft bump on the runway at Nice Côte d’Azur Airport, and you jolt awake from a sleep so light it barely counted. The low hum of the engines winds down, and the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom.

“Welcome to Nice. Local time is 11:42 AM. Weather is clear, 22 degrees Celsius. Please remain seated until we’ve come to a full stop.”

You sit up slowly, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your bones. Your mouth feels dry, and there’s an ache deep in your chest that hasn’t left since the night everything went wrong. The cabin is dim, but even the weak sunlight filtering through the windows feels too bright.

Grace is already on her feet, tugging her bag from the overhead compartment. She glances down at you, scanning your face like she’s trying to gauge how much of you is actually here. “You good?”

You nod, even though the answer is no. It’s always no. But that’s the answer everyone expects, so you give it.

“Let’s move, then,” Grace says, her voice clipped but not unkind. She’s been running on fumes, too, trying to stay two steps ahead of everything — flights, accommodations, press rumors. She’s doing her best. You know that.

But it doesn’t make any of this easier.

You reach for the sunglasses perched on your lap and slide them on. They’re oversized, swallowing half your face, and the tinted lenses turn the world into a duller, slightly safer version of itself. It’s a fragile kind of armor, but it’s all you have.

The plane door hisses open, and the warm Mediterranean air slips inside. It smells like saltwater and jet fuel, a strange combination that makes your stomach flip.

“Okay, let’s go,” Grace says, nodding toward the exit. “Straight to the car. No stopping.”

You stand slowly, clutching the strap of your bag like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Every movement feels heavy, like you’re swimming through molasses. You follow Grace down the narrow steps of the jet, keeping your head low, as if shrinking into yourself will make you invisible.

The tarmac is bright and blinding, and your skin prickles with the heat. A sleek black car waits just a few feet away, engine humming softly, driver standing at the ready.

But then you see it.

Beyond the airport fence, just far enough away to be contained but close enough to be seen, a cluster of people is gathered. Fans. Some are holding signs with your name scrawled across them in glittering ink. Others have their phones up, cameras trained on the plane like they knew you were coming.

Your heart stops, just for a second.

And then it starts again — too fast, too loud, slamming against your ribcage.

“They’re not supposed to be here,” you whisper, but your voice is barely audible over the pounding in your chest.

Grace follows your gaze and swears under her breath. “Ignore them. They can’t get to you.”

But it doesn’t matter. They’re still there. Their eyes are on you, their phones are on you, and suddenly the ground feels like it’s shifting beneath your feet.

Your breath catches in your throat, sharp and painful.

“It’s okay,” Grace says quickly, stepping closer to you. “They’re behind a fence. You’re fine.”

But you’re not fine. The fence isn’t enough. The sunglasses aren’t enough. Nothing feels like enough.

Your vision blurs at the edges, and your lungs feel like they’ve shrunk, leaving no room for air. The noise in your head gets louder — memories slamming into you all at once: the man’s grip on your arm, the microphone hitting the stage, the screams from the crowd.

You can’t do this. You can’t do this.

“Y/N.” Grace’s voice cuts through the static in your brain, sharp and insistent. “Look at me. You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe.”

You shake your head, gasping for breath that won’t come. The world tilts sideways, and for a second, you think you might pass out right here on the tarmac.

“I can’t — I can’t-” Your voice breaks, and panic claws its way up your throat, sharp and relentless.

“Okay, okay.” Grace moves fast, slipping between you and the fence, blocking your line of sight to the fans. “Breathe. Just focus on me.”

The driver approaches, concern etched into his features, but Grace waves him off. “Give us a minute.”

You clutch the edge of the car door, knuckles white, trying to find something solid to hold onto. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, and tears sting your eyes, hot and unwelcome.

“Listen to me,” Grace says firmly, crouching just enough to be at eye level. “You’re not on stage. You’re not there. You’re here. And nothing bad is going to happen.”

The words are meant to ground you, but they float past like smoke. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to shut out the world. Trying to make yourself smaller.

Grace’s hand lands gently on your arm, not pulling, just there. “In through your nose,” she says softly, like she’s guiding a child. “Come on. You’ve got this.”

You suck in a shaky breath, and it catches halfway, but it’s better than nothing.

“Good. Now out through your mouth. Slow. That’s it.”

The air comes out in a stutter, but you follow her lead. In. Out. The panic is still there, sharp and insistent, but the edges start to blur just enough to make it bearable.

“See? You’re doing it,” Grace murmurs. “Just a little more.”

Another breath. And another. The tarmac stops spinning, and the pounding in your chest eases, just slightly. You’re still shaking, but the panic isn’t quite as sharp anymore.

“There we go,” Grace says, relief softening her voice. “You’re okay.”

You nod, even though you don’t quite believe it.

“Let’s get in the car, yeah?” She says gently, her hand still resting on your arm. “We’ll be at the apartment soon. No one can get to you there.”

The thought of the apartment — a place with walls, with locks — feels like the only lifeline you have.

You let Grace guide you into the car, sliding into the cool leather seat. The door shuts behind you with a reassuring click, and the tinted windows turn the world outside into a blur. The fans are still there, but they’re just shapes now — distant and meaningless.

The driver slips behind the wheel, and the car glides forward smoothly, leaving the airport behind.

You lean your head against the window, the cool glass soothing against your skin. Your hands are still trembling, and your chest still aches, but at least you’re moving. At least you’re away from the fence.

Grace settles into the seat beside you, pulling out her phone and firing off a quick text, probably to your team. “You did good,” she says without looking up.

You don’t answer. You don’t feel like you did good. You feel like you barely survived.

The car glides onto the highway, the Mediterranean stretching out in the distance, sparkling under the sun. It should be beautiful, but all you can think about is how far you are from home.

The apartment in Monaco is supposed to be a refuge — a place where no one can reach you. But you know better than anyone that no place is ever truly safe. The fear follows you, no matter where you go.

“Almost there,” Grace murmurs, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “You’re going to be okay.”

You rest your head back against the seat and close your eyes, trying to believe her.

But the truth is, you don’t know if okay is something you’ll ever feel again.

***

The silence in the apartment feels suffocating. Days have blurred together, each one stretched thin and lifeless. Grace left three days ago — urgent work stuff, she had said, promising she would be back soon. But her absence hangs heavy in the air, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Too many thoughts.

You sit curled on the couch, scrolling through the same apps again and again, looking for something — anything — to hold your attention. But everything feels distant. Even messages from your family feel like they’re coming from a world you can’t reach. They’re checking in every day, sure, but no amount of emojis or reassurances will change the fact that they’re thousands of miles away.

And you? You’re here. Alone. In this rented apartment with towering walls of glass and not much else.

Your stomach growls, and the noise breaks the heavy quiet in the room. You groan softly and curl deeper into yourself, trying to ignore it. But then a sudden, vivid craving hits you.

It’s not just hunger. It’s that craving — the one you haven’t thought about in years.

Your mom’s pasta. Specifically, that simple tomato-and-garlic spaghetti she used to make on weeknights when you’d come home from school. You can practically smell it — fresh basil, lots of olive oil, that rich comfort of home cooked into every bite.

The craving grips you so hard that for a moment, it’s the only thing you can think about.

The thing is, ordering it wouldn’t be the same. Even if a fancy Monaco restaurant could somehow recreate it, it wouldn’t taste like hers. And you’re desperate for that — something familiar, something safe. Something to anchor you.

You sit up slowly, chewing your lip.

You could go out. Just this once.

Your mind drifts to the last time you were out in public — those fans at the airport fence, the panic that had swallowed you whole. But you remind yourself: this is Monaco. There are laws here. Strict ones. No paparazzi, no public filming.

You’ll be fine. Right?

You slide off the couch and move toward the mirror by the front door, hesitating only a second before putting on your sunglasses. The oversized lenses feel like a flimsy shield, but you pull on a baseball cap anyway, tucking your hair up underneath it.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. It’s not much of a disguise, but it’ll have to do.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Just in and out. Quick.”

The grocery store isn’t far — just a few blocks from the apartment. You clutch a reusable tote as you step out the door, heart thumping a little too hard in your chest.

The streets of Monaco are bright and clean, the kind of picturesque perfection that should calm you. But every step feels heavier than the last, like you’re wading into unknown waters. You focus on the task ahead — pasta, garlic, tomatoes, basil. Nothing complicated.

You tell yourself it’ll be easy.

But the city feels too open. The sky, too wide. You pull the brim of your cap lower, keeping your head down as you pass luxury boutiques and sunlit cafés.

Finally, you spot the grocery store. Relief trickles through you. Just a little further.

The automatic doors slide open with a soft *hiss*, and the cool air inside wraps around you like a small mercy. You exhale.

You grab a basket and move quickly down the aisles, avoiding eye contact with the handful of people browsing nearby. It feels like you’re being watched, but you know it’s just paranoia clinging to you from the airport incident.

You find the pasta easily enough. Next, olive oil. Then a bundle of fresh basil. You reach for the tomatoes — ripe and bright — and drop them into your basket with care. It’s almost done. Almost over.

Then you hear it.

“Wait … is that-”

Your heart stops.

You keep your head down and turn away, hoping — praying — that they’ll second-guess themselves. But the whispering spreads like wildfire.

“It’s her. I swear it’s her!”

A couple of girls with phones raised approach from the next aisle. You catch their reflection in the shiny packaging of a can of beans, and panic prickles at the base of your spine.

They’re already snapping photos.

Your heart slams against your ribs as you whip around, heading for the checkout.

“Y/N! Oh my God!”

The name cuts through the air, loud and clear, and suddenly it’s like the whole store shifts focus. Shoppers turn. Heads swivel.

Your breath catches, and a wave of dizziness crashes over you.

You make it to the front of the store, but by now, more people have noticed you. Some are pulling out their phones. Others are whispering, excitement buzzing in the air.

They’re not paparazzi, but it doesn’t matter.

You bolt out of the store, leaving the basket behind.

The sun feels blinding as you hit the street, and the sound of footsteps follows you — people moving fast to catch up, phones aimed like weapons.

“Y/N, can we get a selfie?” Someone calls out, too cheerful, too loud.

The walls close in, and you can’t breathe.

You need to get away. Now.

You turn down a narrow street, heart pounding in your ears. But the footsteps are still there. Someone’s still following.

You push forward, scanning the street for an escape, but everything looks too open, too exposed. You spot an alleyway, leafy and shaded, and veer toward it without thinking.

Your feet hit the cobblestones hard, and the cool shadows swallow you whole. But you keep running, legs burning, lungs screaming for air.

The alley twists and turns, and you don’t know where you’re going — you just know you have to get away.

And then-

You slam into something solid.

Or someone.

The impact knocks the air out of you, and you stumble backward, heart racing, sunglasses slipping down your nose.

Strong hands grip your arms, steadying you before you can fall.

“Whoa,” a voice says, low and surprised. “Easy.”

You blink, dazed, trying to make sense of what just happened.

The man’s chest rises and falls under your hands, and for a second, all you can hear is the sound of both your breaths, mingling in the stillness of the alley.

His hands steady you gently, warm through the fabric of your jacket. For a moment, everything blurs — the edges of the alley, the sounds from the street behind you, your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. All you can feel is the solid presence in front of you.

“You okay?” The man asks, voice low and careful, like he’s speaking to a frightened animal.

You shake your head without meaning to. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, and your chest feels like it’s wrapped in iron bands, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“Hey, hey,” the man says quickly, tilting his head to look at you under the brim of your cap. His voice stays calm, soothing. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

You try, but it’s no use. The air won’t come.

He shifts, crouching slightly so that he’s eye-level with you. “Alright,” he murmurs. “We’re going to sit down, yeah? It’ll be easier.”

You don’t resist as he gently lowers you both to the ground, sitting cross-legged on the cobblestones. His hands stay on your arms, not holding you down, just there — anchoring you.

“You’re alright,” he says, voice quiet but steady. “It’s just your body playing tricks on you. We’ll get through this.”

The kindness in his tone is almost unbearable, and you bite down on your lip, hard, trying to keep from breaking down completely. Your sunglasses slip down your nose, but you’re too shaken to care.

“Okay,” the man says softly, “listen to me. Look at me. In through your nose, real slow.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to get a grip on yourself, but the panic is relentless, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“Hey, open your eyes,” the man urges gently. “Just focus on me. Can you do that?”

Something about his voice — steady, grounded — makes you listen. You force your eyes open, though it takes everything in you.

“There you go,” he says, smiling slightly, like you’ve already done something right. His eyes are warm and kind, crinkling at the edges. “Now, breathe with me, okay? In through your nose.”

He inhales deeply, showing you how, and you try to mimic him. The breath catches halfway, ragged and shaky, but it’s something.

“Good,” he murmurs, still calm. “Now out through your mouth. Slowly.”

You exhale, and it stutters on the way out, but the pressure in your chest eases just a bit.

“There we go,” the man says. “Again. In through your nose. Nice and slow.”

You follow his lead again, and this time, it feels a little easier. The world isn’t spinning quite as fast, and the ground doesn’t feel like it’s going to drop out from under you.

He keeps breathing with you, slow and steady, until the worst of it passes. The iron bands around your chest loosen, and you can finally get a full breath.

“See?” He says softly, still sitting close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. “You’re doing it.”

A lump rises in your throat, and you swallow hard, trying to keep it down. It’s been so long since someone’s been this gentle with you.

The man leans back a little, giving you space but not leaving. “I know it feels horrible,” he says, his voice low and empathetic. “But it won’t last forever. I promise.”

You nod weakly, swiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Sorry,” you manage, your voice hoarse and barely audible.

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head, brushing it off like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve been there.”

You glance at him, surprised. “You have?”

“Yeah.” He offers a small, knowing smile, though there’s a flicker of something sad in his eyes. “When I was younger. My godfather died in an accident, and I didn’t really know how to deal with it. For a while, I used to get these panic attacks out of nowhere. Thought I was going crazy.”

His admission catches you off guard, and for a moment, the world feels a little quieter. Less threatening.

“I get it,” he continues, his voice soft but sure. “It feels like you’re drowning and there’s no way out. But there is. You just have to breathe through it, even when it feels impossible.”

You blink, still trying to process everything — his story, the way he’s sitting here with you on the dirty cobblestones, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Does it ever … go away?” You ask quietly, not sure if you really want to hear the answer.

He tilts his head, considering. “It gets better,” he says after a moment. “But it takes time. And it helps when you’re not going through it alone.”

Something tightens in your chest again — not panic this time, but something softer. Loneliness, maybe. Or the weight of everything that’s happened, pressing down on you all at once.

The man watches you carefully, as if he can sense the shift in your mood. “What’s your name?” He asks gently.

You hesitate for a second, unsure whether you want to tell him. But there’s something about him — something genuine — that makes you trust him, if only a little.

“Y/N,” you whisper.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling again. “I’m Charles.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell, and you’re too drained to think about it. All you know is that, for the first time in days, you don’t feel completely lost.

Charles shifts slightly, adjusting his position on the cobblestones. “Mind if I ask what happened? Why were you running?”

The question hangs in the air between you, and something inside you shifts, loosens, like a knot finally starting to untangle. You’ve been holding everything in for so long, clenching your teeth and forcing yourself to get through each moment without falling apart, but now the dam cracks wide open. It’s like the words have been waiting, boiling under the surface, desperate for release.

You inhale sharply, eyes stinging. “I-” Your voice wobbles, but you press on. “I’m a singer. I was on tour …”

The words spill out, halting at first, but Charles stays quiet, his gaze steady, listening without a flicker of impatience.

“It started during one of the shows,” you continue, hands trembling as you clasp them in your lap. “Everything was going fine — until it wasn’t. This … this fan rushed the stage, and I just froze. Completely froze. He was coming straight at me, and I couldn’t even-” Your breath catches, and you press a fist to your mouth, as if you can shove the memory back down.

Charles shifts a little, making sure you’re still steady on the ground, but he doesn’t say anything. He just listens.

“They tackled him before he got too close, but I … I lost it.” Your throat tightens painfully. “I started screaming, couldn’t stop. They had to cut the mic — God, it was all over the internet the next day.” You laugh, but it’s a thin, brittle sound. “Every headline called it a breakdown. Which — yeah, it kind of was, I guess.”

Charles’ face stays calm, focused. There’s no pity in his expression, only quiet understanding. That makes it easier to keep going.

“I thought it’d get better after that, but it didn’t.” You shake your head, feeling like you’re unraveling as you speak. “The panic attacks just kept coming every time I thought about performing again. I felt trapped. And then the airport happened …”

You glance away, biting down on your lip so hard it stings. “I saw all the fans lined up by the fence, taking pictures, and I just — I couldn’t breathe. Everything caved in again.” Your voice is cracking now, raw and exhausted. “It’s been like that every day since. I can’t sleep, I can’t leave my apartment without thinking someone’s going to-” You choke on the words.

Charles doesn’t say anything, just shifts a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. That quiet presence grounds you, keeps you from spiraling too far.

“And now I’m here,” you murmur, gesturing vaguely around you. “In Monaco. Supposed to be getting better, but … I’m not. I feel like I’m drowning. And today …” You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, voice dropping to a whisper. “I just wanted to make some stupid pasta.”

The tears hit before you can stop them, hot and unstoppable. “I needed it,” you manage between sobs. “My mom used to make it for me — simple tomato and garlic spaghetti — and I just … I really wanted it. I thought if I could make it, maybe I’d feel normal again. Just for a little bit.”

You press your palms to your face, trying to stem the tide of tears, but they keep coming. “But I left everything back at the store. All the ingredients. I ran out, and now I can’t go back, and I just-”

The weight of everything — the panic, the isolation, the craving for something familiar — crashes over you, and all you can do is cry.

Charles stays quiet for a moment, letting you ride out the wave of emotion. Then, softly, he says, “Hey.”

You sniffle, peeking at him from behind your hands.

“I think,” Charles says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I have everything you need for that pasta at my place.”

You blink at him, thrown off by the sudden shift in the conversation. “What?”

He nods, still smiling gently. “Yeah. Tomatoes, garlic, spaghetti, olive oil — pretty sure I’ve got all of it.”

You stare at him, overwhelmed and disoriented by how easily he’s offering exactly what you need. “You don’t have to-”

“Come on,” Charles says, standing and offering you his hand. “We’ll make it together. I’ve been told I’m not too bad in the kitchen.”

The kindness in his voice cracks something open in you again, but this time it’s not panic — it’s something softer. Hope, maybe.

You hesitate for just a second before slipping your hand into his. His grip is warm, solid. Steady.

He pulls you gently to your feet, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of something like relief.

“Pasta for dinner?” Charles says, still holding your hand as he tilts his head toward the end of the alley. “What do you think?”

You manage a shaky smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

Charles’ smile deepens, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you’re not drowning after all.

***

Charles’ apartment is tucked on a quiet street, close to the harbor but far from the chaos of the main city. He leads you up a narrow stairwell, his hand lingering lightly on your back, a reassuring presence. You’re still jittery, the weight of what happened earlier pressing down on you, but Charles seems calm — like nothing fazes him. It’s comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

He unlocks the door and pushes it open with a casual, “Make yourself at home.”

Before you can even take a step inside, a blur of cream-colored fur bolts toward you, yipping excitedly. A small dachshund launches itself at Charles’ legs first, wagging its whole body like his happiness can’t be contained.

“Hey, Leo,” Charles says, crouching down to ruffle the little dog’s ears. Leo’s tail thumps wildly, and he licks Charles’ chin enthusiastically.

Then the dog turns to you, nose twitching as he sniffs curiously before deciding you’re a friend. With a delighted bark, he jumps against your shins, demanding attention.

“Leo,” Charles laughs, scooping him up before the dog can trip over himself. “You’re too excited, baby.” He holds the squirming dachshund in his arms, scratching behind his ears. “This is Y/N. Be nice, okay?”

Leo wriggles in Charles’ grip, tongue darting out toward your face, eager for kisses. Despite everything — despite the panic, the exhaustion — you can’t help but smile. Something about Leo’s pure, boundless joy is infectious.

“Can I?” You ask, holding out your hands, and Charles grins, passing the little dog over.

Leo practically melts into your arms, licking your cheek with enthusiasm. You laugh softly, a sound that surprises even you — it’s been a while since you’ve felt light enough to laugh.

“He likes you,” Charles says, his eyes warm as he watches the interaction.

“I think I like him too,” you admit, pressing your nose to Leo’s soft fur.

Charles steps aside, gesturing for you to come further in. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

You follow him inside, cradling Leo as the dog rests his head contentedly against your shoulder. Charles’ apartment is bright and modern, with big windows that let in the soft afternoon light. It’s stylish but not showy — comfortable, lived-in.

As you step deeper into the space, your eyes catch on something: a row of helmets lining one wall, polished and carefully displayed on shelves. Nearby, there’s a stack of racing tires leaning against the wall, and framed photographs of what looks like racecars.

You glance around, taking it all in. “What’s with all the helmets?”

Charles glances over his shoulder, an amused smile playing at his lips. “Ah, that.” He gestures to the shelves. “I’m an F1 driver.”

You blink, trying to process what he just said. “Wait … like Formula 1?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I drive for Ferrari.”

You stare at him, your mind spinning as you try to reconcile the man who just helped you through a panic attack with the image of a world-famous racing driver. You don’t follow motorsports — your life has always revolved around music — but even you know Ferrari.

“Wow,” you manage, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I, um, I had no idea.”

Charles laughs, and the sound is warm, not mocking. “That’s okay,” he says, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal. “You’ve had other things on your mind.”

You feel your cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I probably should’ve known. You must think I live under a rock.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Honestly? It’s kind of nice. Most people freak out when they find out what I do.” He tilts his head, studying you with a playful glint in his eyes. “But you? You’re just worried about your pasta.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “I really am.”

Charles grins, clearly pleased to have lightened the mood. “Come on,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen. “Let’s see if I actually have everything we need.”

He leads you through the apartment, Leo trotting happily at your feet. The kitchen is open and modern, with sleek countertops and a large island in the middle. It’s the kind of kitchen that looks like it belongs to someone who knows what they’re doing — though you suspect Charles probably doesn’t get much time to cook.

He moves easily through the space, opening cabinets and pulling out ingredients. “Alright,” he says, setting down a few items on the counter. “We’ve got tomatoes, garlic, olive oil … and spaghetti.” He turns to you, raising a brow. “How’s that sound?”

“Perfect,” you say, feeling a little lighter already.

Charles smiles, his expression softening as he watches you. “Good. Then let’s make some pasta.”

***

After dinner, you help Charles rinse the dishes, working side by side at the sink. It feels strangely domestic, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him in the quiet kitchen, water running over plates, Leo curled up at your feet. Charles hums to himself as he scrubs a pan, and you catch yourself smiling — not because you have to, but because you want to.

When everything is clean and put away, Charles nudges you gently with his elbow. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s relax a bit.”

He leads you into the living room, a cozy space with deep couches and big windows that overlook the marina. The soft hum of the city outside filters through the glass, mingling with the sound of Leo’s paws clicking across the floor.

As you settle onto the couch, something catches your eye: a sleek black piano tucked into the corner of the room, polished to a shine. You sit up a little straighter, curiosity piqued.

“You play?” You ask, nodding toward it.

Charles follows your gaze and smiles. “Yeah, a little. Nothing professional, but I like to mess around when I have time.”

You lean forward, intrigued. “Can you play something for me?”

Charles tilts his head, considering, then shrugs. “Sure. Why not?” He crosses the room, sits down at the bench, and runs his fingers lightly over the keys, warming them up with a few random notes.

You stay on the couch for a moment, watching the way his hands move — deft and confident, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Then he glances back at you, a playful gleam in his eye.

“Do you know Coldplay?” He asks.

You nod, a flicker of excitement rising in your chest. “Yeah, of course.”

He smiles and turns back to the piano, pressing a few familiar chords. The soft, haunting opening of “The Scientist” fills the room, the notes flowing effortlessly from his fingers.

You feel the first swell of emotion as the melody settles around you like a blanket, warm and comforting. Charles plays with quiet intensity, his head tilted slightly to the side, lost in the music.

Then the lyrics drift into your mind unbidden, and before you can second-guess yourself, you open your mouth to sing.

“Come up to meet you, tell you I’m sorry. You don't know how lovely you are …”

Your voice is soft at first, hesitant, but the music pulls you in, makes you forget the tension knotted in your chest. Charles glances at you from the corner of his eye, and something shifts in his expression — like the light inside him just got a little brighter.

You keep singing, your voice growing stronger with each line.

“I had to find you, tell you I need you. Tell you I set you apart …”

Charles grins as you get more comfortable, his fingers dancing across the keys with a little more flair now. He slows the tempo slightly, matching the rise and fall of your voice perfectly.

Without thinking, you slide off the couch and move toward him, sitting down on the bench beside him. The wood creaks under your weight, but neither of you seem to notice.

“Nobody said it was easy …”

Your voice wavers slightly on the word easy, the emotions threading through your tone without you meaning them to. Charles doesn’t say anything — he just keeps playing, like the music is his way of holding space for you.

When you hit the next line together-

“No one ever said it would be this hard …”

-it’s like the air between you thickens, heavy with unspoken things.

You finish the verse in perfect harmony, your voice blending with the soft notes of the piano. And for a moment, everything else — the anxiety, the exhaustion, the noise in your head — fades away.

When the last chord drifts into silence, you realize you’re smiling, a real, unguarded smile.

Charles leans back slightly, his hands resting on the keys as he turns to you. “You have a beautiful voice,” he says quietly.

You feel your cheeks warm under his gaze. “Thanks,” you murmur. “That was … nice.”

“Yeah,” Charles agrees, his eyes sparkling with something you can’t quite place. “It was.”

For a moment, neither of you move. The room feels suspended in time, like the music has cast some kind of spell over everything.

Then Leo trots over, pressing his nose against your leg, and the spell breaks. You laugh softly, reaching down to scratch behind his ears.

Charles watches you for a moment longer, then nudges you lightly with his shoulder. “So,” he says, his voice teasing, “any plans for tomorrow?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Not really.”

“Well,” Charles says, drawing out the word like he’s building up to something. “I was thinking of taking the yacht out for a bit. Maybe you’d want to come?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “You have a yacht?”

He grins, unapologetic. “I do. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, though. Just something to get away from everything for a few hours.”

The idea of spending a day on the water — away from prying eyes, away from the noise in your head — sounds almost too good to be true.

“Are you sure I won’t be intruding?” You ask, though you already know your answer.

Charles shakes his head, his expression sincere. “Not at all. It’ll be fun. Leo will come too,” he adds with a playful wink.

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “Alright,” you say. “I’m in.”

***

The yacht rocks gently as you step aboard, the crisp breeze off the Mediterranean whipping through your hair. The sun glints off the water, dazzling and endless, and Leo is already scampering ahead, his tiny paws tapping happily on the deck. Charles follows closely behind, carrying a cooler and a bottle of wine under one arm like this is just another day for him.

“Welcome aboard,” Charles says with a grin, setting down the cooler. He gives the yacht's railing a quick pat. “It’s not a superyacht or anything, but she does the job.”

You laugh softly, shielding your eyes against the sun. “It’s more than enough.”

The yacht isn't enormous, but it’s sleek and beautiful, just like everything else Charles seems to surround himself with. A couple of cushioned sunbeds are arranged at the front, and there’s a small dining area shaded under a canopy. Leo wastes no time climbing onto the sunbed, claiming it like a king, tail wagging furiously.

Charles catches your look and shrugs with an easy smile. “He thinks he owns the place.”

“Clearly,” you say, grinning, feeling lighter than you have in days. It’s hard not to, with the sun on your skin and the promise of a peaceful day out at sea.

Charles casts off the ropes with practiced ease and starts the engine. You sit cross-legged near the bow, letting the wind ruffle your hair as the boat glides out into the open water. For a while, neither of you speaks — you just sit in companionable silence, watching Monaco’s coastline grow smaller behind you, the glittering city shrinking into the horizon.

Eventually, Charles kills the engine and drops anchor somewhere far from shore, where the water is crystal clear and the world feels blissfully quiet.

He turns to you, leaning casually against the railing. “So,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Do you swim?”

You raise an eyebrow, already suspicious. “Yeah … why?”

Charles grins, and before you can react, he lunges toward you. “You look hot. I’m doing you a favor.”

“Charles, no!” You shriek, scrambling backward, but it's too late. He hooks an arm around your waist and lifts you effortlessly off the deck.

“Don’t you dare!” You shout, laughing despite yourself.

“Dare?” He echoes, grinning wickedly. “Oh, I dare.”

Then he throws you over the side of the yacht.

You hit the water with a loud splash, the coolness shocking your skin. For a moment, everything is muffled — just the sound of bubbles rushing past your ears and the soft sway of the sea surrounding you. You surface quickly, gasping and sputtering.

“You are so dead!” You shout, treading water and glaring up at him.

Charles leans over the railing, grinning like a kid who just pulled off the perfect prank. “You said you could swim!”

“That’s not the point!”

He laughs — this carefree, delighted sound — and before you can protest further, he vaults over the side of the boat and plunges into the water after you.

He surfaces with a splash, slicking his wet hair back from his forehead, his grin still firmly in place. “Now we’re even,” he says, swimming closer.

You roll your eyes, though you’re laughing too, the tension between you dissolving with the salt water. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” he says with a cheeky shrug, floating lazily beside you.

The water is warm and buoyant, cradling you both as you drift together. For a while, you just float there, surrounded by nothing but the sea and sky. There’s a peace to it — a kind of freedom that you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

Then Charles’ grin softens into something quieter, more sincere. He drifts closer, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth of his skin, even through the water.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

You smirk, giving him a light splash. “Maybe just a little.”

Charles chuckles, then reaches for you — his hand finding your waist under the water, steadying you as the gentle current pulls at your limbs. His touch is light, careful, as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, you let yourself float closer, the air between you humming with something unspoken. His gaze flicks to your mouth for just a second — so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t looking for it. But you are.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if you’re both testing the waters. But then Charles tilts his head, his hand tightening on your waist, and the kiss deepens — slow and unhurried, like you have all the time in the world.

The water laps gently around you, but it feels like everything else — the sea, the sky, the boat — fades into the background. There’s just the warmth of Charles’ lips against yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat where your hand rests lightly on his chest.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Charles’ forehead presses lightly against yours, his grin returning in full force.

“So,” he murmurs, his voice low and playful. “Still mad?”

You laugh, your heart lighter than it’s been in a long time. “Not even a little.”

Charles grins, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “Good,” he says, his voice soft. “Because I really didn’t want you to be.”

You smile, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like maybe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Leo barks from the yacht, his tiny form bouncing excitedly along the edge as if to remind you both that he’s still there.

Charles glances up at the dog and laughs. “Looks like Leo’s getting jealous.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “Better get back before he starts plotting revenge.”

“Good idea,” Charles agrees, giving your waist one last squeeze before reluctantly pulling away.

He swims toward the yacht, reaching up to pull himself back onboard with effortless grace. Then he leans over the side, offering you his hand.

You take it, and he hauls you up easily, his arms steady around you as you find your balance on the deck.

“Not bad for a first date,” Charles teases, water dripping from his hair as he gives you a cheeky grin.

You raise an eyebrow, wringing the water from your shirt. “Is that what this is? A date?”

Charles shrugs, grinning. “It could be.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, his smile widening.

You can’t help but laugh again, the sound carried away on the breeze as the yacht rocks gently beneath your feet. Maybe this is ridiculous. Maybe it’s spontaneous and reckless and exactly what you needed.

Either way, you’re not about to overthink it.

Not today.

***

Charles tilts the bottle of wine, filling your glass with a smooth stream of red before refilling his own. The late afternoon sun filters in through the windows, casting long, golden streaks across the hardwood floors of his apartment. The air feels easy between you two — comfortable in a way that feels new but natural, like you’ve fallen into a rhythm neither of you had to try too hard to find.

You sit cross-legged on the couch, your lyric notebook balanced in your lap, the pen twirling absently between your fingers. It’s the first time in weeks — months, really — that you’ve felt the itch to write. The pages are filled with old scribbles, half-finished ideas, and false starts, but today something feels different. There’s a spark, a sense that maybe this time it will stick.

Charles wanders back toward the couch, a glass of wine in each hand. “What are you working on?” He asks, setting your glass down on the coffee table and sliding onto the couch beside you.

You hesitate for a second, fingers tracing the edge of the notebook. “It’s … a song,” you admit softly. “Or, it’s the start of one. I haven’t written anything in a while, but now I think I’ve got something.” You chew on your bottom lip, a little shy. “I just don’t know where to take it from here.”

He leans in, his shoulder brushing yours as he peers into the open notebook. His eyes skim the lyrics you’ve scratched onto the page.

“He said, ‘Let’s get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds.’”

Charles reads it aloud, slow and thoughtful. “I like that,” he says, tapping the edge of the notebook with one finger. “It sounds like … an escape.”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s the vibe I was going for. But I don’t know what it sounds like — like, I have no idea what the melody would be.”

Charles takes another sip of his wine, studying the words for a beat longer before setting his glass down. Then, without a word, he stands up and heads over to the piano.

You blink, surprised. “What are you doing?”

He glances back at you with a small, playful smile. “Helping.”

He sits down at the piano, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to play a concert. His fingers hover just above the keys, teasing a few notes to test the sound, adjusting the weight of his hands. Then, slowly, he begins to play. The first few notes are tentative, like he’s searching for something just out of reach.

You watch, mesmerized, as he falls into the melody — soft, dreamlike chords that seem to float through the air. It’s gentle at first, and then it starts to shift, becoming something more steady, more certain. He hums along quietly, head tilted, eyes closed, as if he’s feeling his way through it.

After a few moments, he glances over at you. “What do you think so far?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you scoot closer to the piano. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiles, pleased, and keeps playing. “Come here,” he says, patting the spot on the bench beside him.

You slide onto the bench, your thigh brushing against his as you sit down. The music wraps around you like a cocoon, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. Charles’ fingers glide effortlessly over the keys, filling the room with that delicate, hopeful sound.

“Try singing what you’ve got,” he suggests, glancing at you with a look that’s both encouraging and a little mischievous. “I’ll follow your lead.”

You take a breath, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves in your chest. But there’s something about the way Charles looks at you — like he believes in you without a shred of doubt — that makes you want to try.

So you do.

“He said, ‘Let’s get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds.’”

Your voice is tentative at first, but as the melody begins to take shape beneath you, you feel yourself relax into it. The lyrics come more easily now, flowing out in a way that feels almost effortless.

“I thought heaven can’t help me now … nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down.”

Charles smiles as he plays, nodding slightly to encourage you. His fingers never falter on the keys, steady and sure. The notes swell, lifting the words, giving them wings.

The next lines slip from your lips without hesitation, the music carrying you along.

“Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe …”

Charles hums the harmony under his breath, and it sends a shiver down your spine. There’s something magic in the way the song is coming together, as if the music and the words have been waiting all along for this moment — this exact combination of notes and timing and connection.

You lose yourself in the lyrics, the melody unfurling like a secret finally spoken aloud.

“Even if it’s just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha. Wildest dreams …”

The final chords linger in the air, sweet and melancholic, as your voice trails off into silence. For a moment, neither of you moves. The room feels suspended in time, like the last note of the song is still hanging between you.

Charles turns his head toward you, his gaze soft and unreadable. “That,” he says quietly, “was incredible.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the adrenaline of the song still buzzing under your skin. “It felt … right,” you whisper, almost in disbelief.

He smiles, and there’s something in his expression — something tender, something knowing — that makes your breath hitch.

Before you can think twice, Charles leans in.

His lips brush against yours, warm and careful, like a question waiting to be answered. And you answer it, leaning into the kiss with a soft sigh, your hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck.

The kiss is slow and unhurried, just like the song — like you have all the time in the world to figure out where this might go. His hand finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you — no fans, no cameras, no expectations. Just you and Charles and the quiet hum of something new unfolding between you.

When you finally pull back, Charles rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Wildest dreams,” he murmurs, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You smile back, your heart still racing. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Wildest dreams.”

***

The yacht rocks gently on the still water, the evening air warm and soft against your skin. The sky is a canvas of fading oranges and purples, the last light of day slipping into the night. You and Charles are seated across from each other on the yacht’s deck, surrounded by flickering candles, plates of pasta, and a bottle of wine nearly emptied between you.

Charles twirls a forkful of spaghetti, his other hand resting lazily on the table, fingers tracing circles on the wood. There’s an easy silence between you, one that has become familiar in the last few weeks — a silence that speaks more than words sometimes can. The kind where you don't feel the need to fill every gap with conversation because being together is enough.

But tonight, there’s something behind Charles’ quietness — something thoughtful, like he’s working up the courage to say what’s on his mind.

You sip your wine, watching him as he chews on his pasta and glances out at the horizon, his brows slightly furrowed. “What’s up?” You ask, sensing the shift in his mood.

He blinks, almost like you’ve caught him off guard. Then he smiles, a little nervous. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You set your glass down and lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. “That sounds serious.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not serious, exactly. Just … something important.”

You tilt your head, waiting.

Charles exhales softly, the kind of breath you take when you’re gearing up to say something that matters. “The summer break is almost over,” he begins. “In a few days, I’ll be flying out to the Netherlands for the next race.”

You nod, trying to keep your expression neutral, even though the thought of him leaving tugs at something inside you. The past few weeks with Charles have felt like a bubble — something delicate and safe, like you’ve both been hiding from the world together. And now the bubble is about to pop.

He taps his fingers lightly against the table. “After the Dutch Grand Prix … we race in Monza. The Italian Grand Prix.”

You raise your eyebrows slightly, waiting for him to get to his point.

“It’s Ferrari’s home race,” he explains, his eyes flicking to yours. “It’s always a really special weekend for me. It’s … a lot of pressure, but also really meaningful.”

You nod slowly. “That makes sense.”

Charles shifts in his seat, leaning closer to you. “I was thinking … I’d really like it if you were there.”

The words hang in the air between you, delicate and tentative.

You blink, caught off guard. “At the race?”

He nods, studying your face carefully. “As my guest.”

There’s a long pause as you try to wrap your head around the idea. Charles at a race is a public Charles — a version of him that exists under a magnifying glass, scrutinized by cameras and fans and reporters. It’s a world that feels miles away from the quiet, private moments you’ve shared with him on his yacht or in his apartment.

Charles seems to sense your hesitation, because he adds quickly, “You wouldn’t have to interact with anyone if you didn’t want to. You’d have a VIP pass — my personal guest pass. It would get you into places the fans can’t go.”

You bite your lip, your mind racing. “Charles, I don’t know …”

“I get it,” he says softly, reaching across the table to take your hand. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, soothing and patient. “It’s a lot to ask, I know. And I don’t want to pressure you. But it would mean a lot to me if you came.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. This isn’t just about a race — it’s about you being part of something important to him.

“I don’t want to put you in a position where you feel uncomfortable,” he continues. “If it’s too much, we don’t have to do it. But … I think you’d enjoy it. And you wouldn’t be alone. I’d make sure of that.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. The idea of being surrounded by people — fans, photographers, reporters — makes your heart race with anxiety. But then there’s Charles, sitting across from you, his green eyes soft and hopeful, asking you to be there for something that matters to him.

“Would I really have a place to hide if I needed to?” You ask, your voice hesitant.

Charles nods, squeezing your hand gently. “Absolutely. There are private areas for drivers and their guests. No fans, no cameras. And if you want, I’ll introduce you to some of the other drivers — they’re good guys. But only if you want.”

You let out a slow breath, feeling the tension in your chest loosen, if only a little. “Okay,” you say finally. “I’ll come.”

Charles’ eyes light up, and the smile that spreads across his face is so genuine it makes your heart skip a beat. “You will?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah. I’ll come to Monza.”

Charles grins, and before you can say anything else, he’s out of his seat and leaning across the table to kiss you. It’s the kind of kiss that’s filled with gratitude and excitement, a kiss that says thank you without words.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he’s still smiling, like he can’t help himself. “You’re amazing,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You laugh softly, your cheeks warm. “I’m just coming to a race.”

“It’s more than that,” he says seriously, his hand cradling the side of your face. “It means more than you know.”

His words linger in the air between you, and you realize that saying yes to Monza wasn’t just about the race — it was about showing up for Charles, being there for him the way he’s been there for you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, and for a moment, everything feels right.

***

The air around Monza buzzes with energy, a whirlwind of cheers, Ferrari red, and Italian pride. The grandstands are a sea of waving flags and chanting fans, their roars echoing through the paddock even after the race is over. Charles has just crossed the finish line first, and the entire circuit feels like it’s vibrating from the weight of it — Ferrari’s golden boy has won at home.

You watch the celebration unfold from the safety of the private viewing suite Charles arranged for you. From here, tucked away from the chaos, you see the team erupt in joy, mechanics and engineers throwing themselves at each other in wild celebration. The commentators’ voices, crackling over the monitors in the room, narrate Charles’ victory lap with giddy enthusiasm.

“Charles Leclerc wins the Italian Grand Prix! What a race! What a moment for Ferrari!”

You smile softly, knowing how much this means to him. Even from the suite, you can see the glint of happiness in his eyes as he climbs on top of his car, throwing his arms in the air. The crowd chants his name, the fans surging against barriers, trying to get closer to their hero. Charles punches the air and lets out a joyous roar before jumping down to embrace his team.

But your smile is tinged with anxiety. You know what comes next: endless interviews, the champagne-soaked podium, media obligations, and swarms of fans. Part of you wonders if he’ll even have a moment to breathe, let alone a moment to sneak away to find you.

You sit back, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, heart fluttering with a mix of emotions — pride, nerves, and that ever-present thread of uncertainty that’s lingered since you first said yes to coming here.

The minutes crawl by, and you try to distract yourself, fiddling with your phone and glancing every few moments at the screen broadcasting the race aftermath. Charles is still out there, getting pulled in every direction. You watch him hug mechanics, shake hands with journalists, and answer rapid-fire questions while grinning through it all.

He’s in his element. Confident, radiant, unstoppable.

But all you can think about is how much you want to see him.

Just when you’ve convinced yourself to give him space, the door to the suite creaks open — quietly, almost suspiciously — and Charles slips inside, still wearing his race suit, damp and sticky from champagne. His hair is a mess, waves clinging to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed from exertion. He smells faintly of sweat, champagne, and adrenaline, the chaotic mixture of victory.

“Charles?” You whisper, sitting up, startled. “What are you — aren’t you supposed to be-”

“Shhh,” he grins, breathless, holding a finger to his lips. “I escaped.”

He’s like a kid sneaking out of school, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Before you can say anything else, Charles strides across the room and pulls you into his arms without hesitation. You barely have time to react before his lips are on yours — urgent, warm, and full of something that feels dangerously close to gratitude and relief.

The kiss takes the breath out of you. His hands slide up your back, pressing you closer as if he needs to make sure you’re real, like victory only means something if he can share it with you.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel his rapid breathing against your skin. He’s still grinning, like the joy of the win hasn’t even begun to wear off.

“You,” he murmurs between breaths, “are officially my good luck charm.”

You laugh, breathless and dizzy from the kiss. “I think your driving might’ve had something to do with it.”

He shakes his head, eyes locked on yours, a gleam of playful determination in them. “Nope. It was you.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest is undeniable. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” He presses a quick kiss to your temple, still grinning like he can’t help himself. “But I’m right.”

Charles takes a step back, still holding your hand as if letting go might cause you to disappear. “I didn’t want to stay out there without seeing you,” he says, softer now. “I just … I wanted you here, with me, for this.”

Your heart flutters, and you don’t know what to say, so you just squeeze his hand in response.

“I don’t care about the interviews or the photos,” he continues, brushing a stray curl from your forehead. “This is what I wanted. Just this.”

You exhale a shaky breath, overwhelmed by how easy it feels with him — how natural, like you belong here despite all the noise and chaos swirling just outside this room.

He glances down at himself and grins sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m probably disgusting.”

“You kind of are,” you tease, brushing a damp curl off his forehead. “But I’ll allow it, just this once.”

He laughs, low and soft, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans in for another kiss. This one is slower, more deliberate — like he’s savoring the moment, like he knows it’s fleeting and wants to make every second count.

When he pulls back again, there’s a flicker of something more serious in his eyes, something that makes your chest tighten. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For being here. For coming.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you feel a lump rise in your throat. “Of course,” you manage, your voice barely audible.

Charles takes a step back, exhaling slowly as if trying to gather himself. “Come with me to my driver’s room?” He asks, a hint of that playful glint returning to his eyes. “I need to hide for a bit longer.”

You nod, smiling. “Lead the way.”

He slips his hand into yours and pulls you gently toward the door, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one’s spotted him. The halls are buzzing with activity — team members shouting, media swarming — but Charles weaves through the chaos like it’s second nature, keeping you close behind him.

When you reach his driver’s room, he ushers you inside quickly, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

“Safe,” he whispers, grinning.

You barely have time to process before he’s kissing you again, backing you gently against the wall, his hands on either side of your face. There’s a fervor to the kiss now, a kind of desperation that only comes after holding something in for too long.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads pressed together. “I told you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “Good luck charm.”

You laugh softly, still catching your breath. “You really are ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admits, his grin widening. “But I won in Monza, so I think I’ve earned it.”

You can’t help but smile, your heart full in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the chaos of the world outside doesn’t seem so overwhelming — because right here, in this stolen moment, it’s just you and Charles. And that’s enough.

***

Sunlight filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the sheets. The familiar scent of Charles — his cologne, mixed with a hint of sweat from yesterday’s excitement — wraps around you like a cocoon. His arm is slung loosely over your waist, and his chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, his breath warm against the back of your neck. It feels safe. For once, you feel like the chaos of the world can’t reach you here.

And then your phone rings.

The sharp, jarring sound slices through the quiet morning. You groan, disoriented, fumbling blindly on the nightstand until your hand closes around your phone. Charles shifts behind you, murmuring sleepily but not waking.

You squint at the screen. Grace.

Before you can think better of it, you slide your thumb across the screen and lift the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“What the hell, Y/N!” Grace’s voice cuts through the line, sharp and unrelenting. You wince, instinctively sitting up, trying not to disturb Charles as your pulse begins to race.

“What are you-”

“Don’t even start,” Grace interrupts, her tone laced with frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be out in public? Let alone at a Grand Prix? I thought you were supposed to be laying low, taking time to recover.”

Your stomach drops. “What are you talking about?”

“The pictures, Y/N!” Grace huffs. “They’re everywhere — Twitter, Instagram, even some sports blogs. You were at Monza, weren’t you?”

You blink, heart pounding now. “What pictures?”

“The ones of you in the VIP suite, for starters. And a couple from the paddock exit too — probably some fan with a long lens. They’re blurry, but it’s definitely you.”

Your throat tightens. You and Charles had been so careful — at least, you thought you had. You didn’t talk to anyone, stayed tucked away from crowds, and only left his driver’s room when the paddock had mostly cleared out. But now it’s all unraveling.

Grace’s voice barrels on, not giving you a chance to respond. “Do you realize how this looks? You’re out at public events now, so obviously you’re feeling well enough to get back to work. Your team is already asking me when we can restart your tour dates. They think-”

“Grace-”

“-they think this whole thing was just overblown. Maybe you just needed a break, but now you’re good, right? If you’re ready to attend races, you can-”

“Grace, stop!” You blurt, your voice cracking. Your head spins as the walls start closing in. The pressure, the expectations — everything feels like it’s crashing down on you all at once.

You clutch the blanket tight around you, trying to hold yourself together, but the familiar sensation of your chest tightening makes it hard to breathe. It’s happening again — your mind racing, spiraling into the panic you thought you’d escaped.

Charles stirs beside you, sitting up now, his brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice rough with sleep, but the moment he sees the look on your face, he’s wide awake.

You barely register him. Your heart pounds violently in your chest, and your breath comes in shallow gasps. Grace’s voice keeps drilling into your ear, relentless, a never-ending stream of words about tours and schedules and deadlines.

You can’t answer. Can’t breathe.

Charles sees it — he sees you unraveling — and in one smooth motion, he plucks the phone from your trembling hand and presses it to his ear.

“Y/N is busy,” he says, his voice low and firm. “She’ll call you back.”

“Wait, who is-”

Charles doesn’t let her finish. He ends the call with a click and tosses your phone onto the nightstand. Then he’s back at your side, cupping your face in his hands, his touch steady and grounding.

“Hey, hey — look at me,” Charles murmurs, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You try to nod, but the panic is clawing at your throat, making it hard to focus on anything except the tightness in your chest and the overwhelming sense of failure that threatens to swallow you whole.

“Breathe with me,” Charles whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “Come on, just like before. In, slowly … now out.”

His voice is a lifeline, pulling you out of the storm raging inside your head. You grip his wrist like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality and try to follow his lead — inhale, exhale, again and again, until the tightness in your chest begins to ease.

“That’s it,” he soothes, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’ve got this.”

After a few more breaths, the world starts to come back into focus. The sharp edges of panic soften, and the spinning in your head slows to a manageable hum. Charles stays close, his presence warm and steady, as if daring the panic to come back and try again.

When your breathing finally evens out, Charles shifts slightly, but he doesn’t let go of you. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You shake your head, still too raw to explain everything that just happened. But Charles doesn’t push. He just nods, his thumb brushing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

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

“Don’t,” he says immediately, his brow furrowing. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

You drop your gaze, your fingers twisting nervously in the blanket. “Grace thinks I’m ready to go back to everything. She thinks because I went to the race, I should be able to start working again.”

Charles’ hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together. “And what do you think?”

You swallow hard, guilt prickling at the back of your mind. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready. But what if everyone expects me to be? What if-”

“Hey,” Charles interrupts gently, tilting your chin so you have to meet his gaze. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else expects. You don’t have to do anything until you want to. Not Grace, not your team, not anyone.”

You blink, the weight of his words sinking in. “But what if-”

“No,” he says firmly, his green eyes unwavering. “Listen to me. You are allowed to take your time. You are allowed to say no. And if anyone has a problem with that, they can deal with me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. “You’re going to fight Grace for me?”

“If I have to,” Charles says with a grin. “But I think I’d win.”

The corners of your mouth lift, a small smile breaking through the storm of emotions. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he says confidently. Then his expression softens, and he squeezes your hand. “You’ve been through a lot, mon cœur. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

You nod slowly, the knot in your chest loosening a little more. For the first time in what feels like forever, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to put yourself first.

Charles leans closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Whatever you need, I’m here. No pressure, no expectations.”

The words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. And for the first time in a long while, the crushing weight of other people’s expectations lifts — just a little.

Charles shifts, pulling you gently into his arms, and you curl into him without hesitation, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, a quiet reminder that you’re not alone in this.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs into your hair. “One day at a time.”

And somehow, with Charles holding you like this, you believe him.

***

The familiar opening notes of Cars play softly from the TV, the colorful animation flickering across the screen in the dim light of your apartment. You’re curled up comfortably on the couch, Leo nestled between you and Charles, his small, warm body shifting every few minutes as he tries to snuggle deeper into the cushions. He paws insistently at your hand, his tail wagging whenever you stop petting him.

Charles laughs quietly beside you, clearly amused by Leo’s persistence. “I think he likes you better than me now,” he teases, running a hand through his messy hair and leaning back against the couch.

You smile, scratching behind Leo’s floppy ears. “Maybe I just have better petting skills.”

Charles grins, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. “Unfair advantage,” he murmurs, tilting his head toward the screen as Lightning McQueen barrels into Radiator Springs.

It’s peaceful — easy, even. For the first time in a long while, the constant buzz of anxiety in your chest has quieted. Charles is beside you, Leo’s warm little body sprawled between you both, and the world outside feels far away, like it can’t touch you here.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

Your heart skips a beat. You glance at Charles, who raises a brow but doesn’t seem concerned, probably assuming it’s nothing more than a delivery. Leo lets out an excited little yip and hops off the couch, his tail wagging as he scampers toward the door.

You pull your blanket tighter around yourself, feeling the familiar trickle of anxiety starting to creep back. “Did you order something?”

Charles shakes his head, giving you a curious look. “No. Were you expecting anyone?”

You frown. “No.”

Before you can think to stand or tell Charles to wait, the door swings open — without so much as an invitation — and Grace strides inside, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Grace announces, her tone brisk and no-nonsense. She’s balancing her phone in one hand and a folder in the other, looking like she’s just come from a meeting. “I’ve been trying to call-”

Her voice trails off mid-sentence as she looks up and takes in the scene before her — Leo skittering around the room, the two half-empty wine glasses on the coffee table, and you huddled on the couch in sweatpants and a hoodie.

And then her gaze shifts to Charles.

For a split second, Grace freezes. She stares at him, her mouth opening slightly, confusion flickering across her features. Then she does a sharp double take, and her eyes widen as recognition clicks into place.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, blinking as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. “You’re … you’re Charles Leclerc.”

Charles shifts slightly beside you, offering a polite but slightly awkward smile. “Uh, yes.”

Grace’s eyes flicker between the two of you, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn’t make sense. “You’re … here. In Y/N’s apartment.”

“Yes,” Charles repeats calmly, his tone light but cautious, as if he’s waiting to see where this is going.

You watch the realization spread across Grace’s face, her expression shifting from disbelief to something resembling stunned amusement. “Wait — are you two … together?”

Your cheeks burn under her gaze, and before you can answer — or even figure out what to say — Charles gives a small, easy shrug. “We are,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Grace blinks, visibly thrown off her game. “Since when?”

Charles glances at you, his eyes warm. “A little while now.”

There’s a beat of silence as Grace processes this new information. Then she lets out a half-laugh, half-exhale, clearly bewildered. “I mean … obviously I knew you were in Monaco, but — Charles Leclerc?” She looks at you with a mixture of shock and something close to admiration. “I guess I can’t say I saw that coming.”

Leo prances back toward the couch, demanding attention from both of you again. Charles leans down to rub the little dachshund’s head, his expression calm and unbothered, like this is the most natural situation in the world.

Grace, however, is not one to be easily distracted. She clears her throat and crosses her arms, focusing on you now. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ve been staying under the radar all this time, but now you’re … dating a Formula 1 driver?”

You glance at Charles, who gives you a reassuring look, his hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the blanket. It’s subtle, but the touch steadies you.

“Yes,” you say quietly, meeting Grace’s gaze head-on.

For a moment, she just stares at you, as if trying to decide how to respond. Then she lets out a long breath, shaking her head. “This is … unexpected.”

Charles chuckles softly beside you, clearly amused. “That seems to be the general consensus.”

Grace narrows her eyes at him, though there’s no malice in it — just the cautious protectiveness of someone who cares deeply about you. “And you’re … serious about this?” She asks, her gaze flickering between you and Charles.

“I am,” Charles replies without hesitation. His voice is steady, sincere. “Very.”

The simplicity of his answer makes your heart squeeze in your chest. You glance at him, finding that familiar warmth in his expression — like you’re the only thing that matters to him in this moment.

Grace watches the exchange closely, her sharp gaze softening just a fraction. Then she sighs, pressing a hand to her temple. “Okay,” she mutters, almost to herself. “This is … a lot.”

You shift uncomfortably, the anxiety from earlier threatening to bubble back up. “Grace, I didn’t plan any of this,” you say quietly. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but … I’m happy. For the first time in a long time.”

Grace’s expression softens further at your words, and she lets out a slow breath. “That’s all I care about,” she admits, her voice quieter now. “I just want you to be okay.”

Charles gives her a small, understanding smile. “I want the same thing.”

For the first time since she walked in, Grace seems to relax, her shoulders loosening as she takes in the scene once more — the cozy apartment, the soft lighting, the half-finished movie on the TV, and the way Charles’ hand rests protectively on your knee.

“Well,” Grace says finally, rubbing the back of her neck. “This is … definitely not how I expected this conversation to go.”

Charles chuckles. “Life is full of surprises.”

Grace shoots him a wry look but doesn’t argue. Instead, she gives you a small, tired smile. “I guess if you’re happy … then that’s all that matters.”

You feel a weight lift off your shoulders at her words, the tension easing just a little. “I am,” you say softly, and for the first time in a long time, you truly mean it.

Grace nods, seemingly satisfied — for now, at least. “Okay, well … I guess I’ll leave you two to it, then.” She glances at Leo, who’s now sprawled dramatically across Charles’ lap. “And your dog.”

Charles grins, scratching behind Leo’s ears. “He’s good company.”

Grace rolls her eyes, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll let myself out.”

She heads toward the door but pauses just before stepping out. “Y/N?” She calls softly.

You look up, meeting her gaze.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” she says sincerely. “Really.”

You offer her a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Grace.”

With that, she gives you a nod and slips out the door, leaving you and Charles alone once more.

The room feels lighter now, the tension from earlier dissipating into the warm, easy atmosphere you’d shared before Grace arrived. Charles turns to you, his expression soft and amused.

“Well,” he murmurs, “that went better than I expected.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Yeah. Me too.”

Charles leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Told you — we’ll figure this out. One day at a time.”

And somehow, with him beside you, that feels like enough.

***

The Instagram Live notification pings on Nora’s phone as she sprawls across her bed, scrolling aimlessly.

@yourusername is going live now.

Her thumb hovers over the screen for a second. Nora hasn’t seen a post or update from you in months, and the gossip forums have been buzzing with wild theories — everything from burnout to secret rehab stints. It’s been radio silence since your tour abruptly ended, with no official word on what had happened.

But now you’re back? On Live? Nora’s heart races with excitement and curiosity as she taps the notification, the screen loading just in time for your face to appear.

The video is a little shaky at first, as if you’ve just propped your phone up on something last minute. You’re sitting cross-legged on a couch, wearing a cozy hoodie that looks two sizes too big and barely any makeup.

The person Nora sees looks different from the polished pop star she’s used to — more real. Your eyes flicker nervously between the camera and something off-screen, as if you’re not sure whether this is a good idea.

“Hi, everyone,” you start, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The live chat immediately explodes with greetings.

OMG SHE’S ALIVE

We missed you so much!

Are you okay? What happened?

You smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Uh, I’m not really sure how to do this, but I just … I wanted to talk to you guys. To explain everything.”

The chat rolls by so fast that Nora can barely keep up, but she keeps her eyes glued to the screen, her heart thumping. This isn’t the usual PR-filtered message, it feels personal.

“I know a lot of people have been wondering where I’ve been,” you say, shifting slightly on the couch. “The truth is … I had to step away from everything for a bit. Things got really overwhelming. It wasn’t just one thing — it was a lot, all at once.”

Your voice wavers slightly, and Nora finds herself leaning closer to her phone, feeling the vulnerability in your words.

“The last few months of the tour were … hard. I started having panic attacks. At first, I thought I could push through, you know? Just keep going. But I couldn’t.” You pause, taking a deep breath as if the memories are still too close. “One night, a fan ran on stage, and something in me just … broke. I couldn’t pretend I was okay anymore.”

The chat slows slightly, the flurry of emojis replaced by supportive comments.

It’s okay, take your time.

We’re proud of you for talking about this.

We love you no matter what.

Nora can feel the wave of empathy through the screen. She has always admired you for your strength, but this — seeing you raw and open — makes her respect you even more.

“I know I kind of disappeared,” you continue. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I just needed time to figure things out … away from the cameras, the shows, everything.” You smile sadly. “And that’s why I didn’t say anything earlier. I wanted to come back when I was ready, not when someone told me I had to.”

The chat fills with heart emojis, and Nora finds herself tapping one as well, caught in the warmth of the moment.

Just then, there’s movement in the background. Someone off-screen calls your name, the sound muffled at first. The camera wobbles slightly as you turn your head.

“Hang on a sec,” you say with a small laugh, glancing toward the doorway.

The viewers — Nora included — watch with curiosity as a figure steps into the frame. A man in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he’s just woken up from a nap.

Nora’s eyes widen. Wait. No way.

It takes a second for the recognition to sink in, but when it does, the chat explodes.

WAIT IS THAT CHARLES LECLERC?

OMG WTF IT IS HIM

Y/N AND CHARLES?! HOW?!

Charles strolls into the room casually, clearly unaware that you’re on Instagram Live. Leo scampering at his feet, barking happily.

“Do you want pasta or pizza for dinner?” Charles asks, his voice soft with that unmistakable Monaco accent.

You let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I’m … I’m on Live right now,” you whisper, as if trying to warn him.

Charles blinks, his gaze shifting to the phone propped up in front of you. His eyes widen slightly, but then he gives a sheepish grin, as if to say, well, the damage is done now.

“Oh,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hi, everyone.”

The chat is in chaos.

CONFIRMED. THEY’RE TOGETHER.

I CAN’T BREATHE WTF

LEO FOR PRESIDENT!

Nora can’t believe what she’s seeing. Charles Leclerc — Ferrari’s golden boy, Monaco’s favorite son — standing casually in your apartment, talking about dinner like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You give him a look that’s equal parts amused and mortified. “You just outed us to the entire internet.”

Charles chuckles, completely unfazed. “Oops.”

Leo, as if sensing the excitement, jumps onto the couch beside you and wiggles his way onto your lap. You scratch behind his ears, looking between the dog, Charles, and the phone as if wondering how this all escalated so quickly.

“Well,” you say with a helpless shrug, “I guess … surprise?”

The chat is relentless now, a mix of fans freaking out, congratulating you both, and demanding answers.

HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING?

THEY’RE SO CUTE TOGETHER I CAN’T 😭

DO YOU NEED A THIRD?

Charles leans over the back of the couch, peeking at the comments on the screen. “They seem happy,” he observes, his lips twitching with amusement.

“Yeah, well, they’re also never going to let us live this down,” you mutter, but there’s no real annoyance in your voice — only fondness.

Charles smiles, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Could be worse.”

Nora can’t help but grin at the interaction. It’s rare to see celebrities in such an unguarded, domestic moment, and the fact that it’s you and Charles Leclerc makes it even more surreal.

“Well,” you say, addressing the camera again, “I guess now you know. This is Charles. Charles, meet … everyone.” You gesture vaguely at the phone, and Charles gives a small, amused wave.

“Ciao,” he says with a playful grin.

The chat is relentless with heart-eye emojis, fire emojis, and messages about how happy everyone is to see you smiling again.

“Okay,” you say, glancing between Charles and the phone, “I think that’s enough excitement for today. Thanks for listening, and … thanks for being patient with me.” Your expression softens. “It means more than you know.”

Charles leans in again. “So … pasta or pizza?” He asks quietly, his voice just for you.

You laugh, the sound light and free, as if the weight on your chest has finally lifted. “Pasta. Definitely pasta.”

With one last smile to the camera, you reach for your phone. “Okay, we’re going to make some dinner. Love you guys. Talk soon.”

And just like that, the screen goes black, leaving Nora — and the rest of the internet — in stunned, delighted disbelief.

***

The energy at the Australian Grand Prix is electric, a swirling mass of noise, speed, and anticipation. The grandstands vibrate with thousands of cheering fans, the scent of burnt rubber and adrenaline thick in the air. It’s the first race of the season, and the world’s eyes are locked onto Melbourne’s Albert Park Circuit. But right now, all you can focus on is Charles.

You stand behind the barrier with the Ferrari team, the red-clad crew surrounding you as they watch the final lap on a sea of screens. Your heart thunders in your chest, each corner of the circuit feeling like a heartbeat skipped. It’s not just nerves — it’s pride, excitement, and a flicker of disbelief. Charles is about to win. The lead he built throughout the race holds steady as he tears through the last straight, the commentators’ voices booming through the loudspeakers, growing more frenzied.

“Charles Leclerc comes through the final corner … and wins the Australian Grand Prix!”

The Ferrari pit wall explodes into wild cheers. Engineers and crew members throw their arms in the air, shouting and hugging each other. Flags whip through the air, and the roar from the grandstands becomes deafening. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your hands clutched together, knuckles white with tension.

“He did it!” Someone from the team shouts beside you, their voice almost drowned out by the collective noise.

You can’t help but laugh, a giddy, breathless sound that surprises even you. There’s something surreal about witnessing it all — seeing Charles cross the finish line and knowing how much this win means to him. It’s the perfect start to his season, and part of you is so proud that you feel like you might burst.

Charles brings his Ferrari to a screeching stop in parc fermé, right beside the boards marked P1. Without missing a beat, he jumps out of the car, tearing off his helmet as the crowd erupts again. His face is flushed with triumph, damp with sweat, and his grin stretches wide, full of unbridled joy. He climbs onto the nose of the car, throwing his arms in the air to soak in the cheers and applause.

You feel your chest swell, warmth blooming from within at the sight of him — your Charles, victorious, on top of the world.

Then it happens.

He jumps down from the car, his eyes searching the crowd. He’s supposed to go be weighed in. The cameras are supposed to be on him for the formal celebrations. But Charles doesn’t care about any of that. As soon as his gaze locks onto you, standing among the throng of Ferrari team members, everything else fades for him.

He takes off running.

“Wait-” someone from the team starts to say, confused by Charles’ sudden sprint.

You freeze as he barrels toward the barrier, helmet still in one hand, the other hand brushing through his tousled hair. Your heart slams against your ribs as you realize what he’s about to do.

“Charles-” you start, but it’s too late.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t hesitate. In front of everyone — Ferrari, journalists, FIA officials — Charles sprints towards the barrier in a few smooth steps, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. And before you can even react, he’s cupping your face with both hands and kissing you.

The world falls away.

The crowd’s noise becomes a distant hum as Charles’ lips press against yours, firm and desperate, like he’s been waiting all race to get to you. His hands hold your face as if he never wants to let go, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. The kiss is everything — celebratory, intense, and filled with a raw kind of joy that makes your knees weak.

For a moment, you forget where you are. All you know is Charles — his familiar scent, the roughness of his jaw, and the way his lips move against yours, like he’s trying to pour every bit of emotion into this one moment. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands gripping the front of his race suit, pulling him closer.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Charles’ forehead rests against yours. His grin is impossibly bright, and the look in his eyes makes your heart flip.

“Hi,” he whispers, his voice low and full of laughter, like he can’t believe he’s standing here with you after all of it.

You laugh, trying to catch your breath. “Hi.”

Around you, the team starts cheering again, even louder this time. Someone whistles, and another engineer yells, “That’s our boy!” as if Charles’ kiss is part of the victory itself.

It’s then that you realize what just happened. You glance over Charles’ shoulder and catch sight of the cameras — the journalists on the other side of the barrier, the fans in the grandstands with their phones raised. The internet is about to explode.

“Charles,” you murmur, half-laughing, half-panicking, “everyone saw that.”

“I know,” he says, his grin widening. He doesn’t look the least bit sorry. “Let them.”

You shake your head, but a laugh escapes you anyway. There’s no point in worrying about it now. The moment has already happened, and — surprisingly — you don’t regret it.

Charles pulls you into another hug, squeezing you tight against him. His suit is thoroughly damp with sweat, but you don’t care. All you care about is the way he holds you, the way he whispers, “Thank you for being here,” against your hair.

“You didn’t make it easy to say no,” you tease, your words muffled against his chest.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You know me. I never play fair.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His green eyes are warm and shining with happiness, and for a second, everything feels perfect. The noise, the cameras, the crowd — it all fades into the background, leaving just the two of you standing together in the aftermath of his victory.

Someone from Ferrari taps Charles on the shoulder, reminding him that he still has obligations to do. He groans, clearly reluctant to leave your side, but you give him a gentle nudge.

“Go,” you whisper. “I’ll be right here.”

He kisses you one more time, quick and soft, before finally turning toward the waiting media. As he jogs back down the pit lane, the crowd cheers even louder, the energy electric with both victory and the revelation of your relationship.

You stand behind the barrier, watching as Charles throws his arms around his team and gets swept into the celebrations. A part of you knows that the media frenzy is only just beginning — that by the time you check your phone, social media will be ablaze with photos and speculation.

But for now, none of that matters. All that matters is the way Charles looked at you, like you were the most important person in the world.

And as the Monegasque anthem plays over the speakers and champagne sprays into the air, you smile, knowing that this — this moment — is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

The stadium hums with anticipation, a low buzz of excitement rippling through the crowd as thousands of fans fill every seat. The lights are dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of phones peppering the darkness. It’s been well over two years since you last stood on a stage, and tonight marks the beginning of your long-awaited comeback tour.

Your heart thrums in your chest — not from nerves, but from exhilaration. This is the moment you’ve dreamed of, the one you thought might never come.

Backstage, you take a deep breath. The setlist is memorized, the band is ready, and the stage awaits. But there’s one song you’ve kept secret until tonight. One that means more to you than anything you’ve ever written. And Charles — your Charles — is somewhere in the audience, waiting to hear it for the first time.

The stage manager gives you a nod, signaling it’s time. The lights drop completely, plunging the arena into black, and the crowd erupts into cheers. You walk onto the stage, the soles of your boots vibrating against the platform as the energy of thousands of voices surrounds you. You step into the spotlight as the first few notes hum through the speakers.

The crowd’s roar crescendos as they finally see you, and you offer them a soft smile. Then you lean toward the microphone, your voice amplified but intimate, as if speaking to an old friend.

“New York,” you begin, grinning as the crowd cheers even louder at the mention of the city’s name. “Thank you for being here with me tonight. I’ve waited a long time for this moment, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be back on this stage.”

The crowd roars, chanting your name, the sound enveloping you like a warm embrace. You pause for a beat, your hand resting lightly on the mic stand. “For those of you who’ve been with me from the beginning … you know it hasn’t been an easy road. But here we are, and I feel more alive than I ever have.”

A wave of cheers crashes over you again, and you feel your heart swell in gratitude.

“Tonight,” you continue, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I want to do something a little special. I’ve got a song — one you’ve never heard before. I wrote it for someone very important to me.” You pause, your gaze sweeping over the crowd, imagining Charles out there somewhere, hidden among the sea of faces. “This one’s called The Alchemy.”

The arena erupts into applause and whistles, the fans feeding off your excitement. The band strikes up the first few chords, a shimmering pulse of sound that builds slowly. You close your eyes for a moment, feeling the rhythm settle in your chest. And then you start to sing.

“This happens once every few lifetimes. These chemicals hit me like white wine …”

Your voice is clear and powerful, carrying through the stadium with ease. The crowd sways along, captivated by the song even though they’ve never heard it before. The verses flow effortlessly, the words spilling from your heart as if they were written only yesterday.

“What if I told you I'm back? The hospital was a drag. Worst sleep that I ever had …”

The memory of those dark months flashes briefly in your mind, but you push it away. That’s not where you live anymore. This song isn’t about what you lost — it’s about what you found.

As the music builds, your thoughts drift toward Charles, and a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you reach the next verse.

“So when I touch down, call the amateurs and cut ‘em from the team. Ditch the clowns, get the crown. Baby I’m the one to beat …”

The crowd catches onto the energy, cheering as if they know exactly who you’re singing about. And then, at last, you reach the line that you’ve been holding close to your heart since the day you wrote it — the line meant just for Charles.

“Where's the trophy? He just comes runnin’ over to me …”

The audience erupts, but you barely hear them. You can only picture Charles, the memory of him bounding over the barriers in Melbourne, high off a win and still drenched in sweat, just to kiss you in front of everyone. That moment plays like a movie in your mind, the emotion of it surging through your voice as you sing.

The song carries on, the lyrics unfolding like pages in a story — your story. The fans are swaying, waving their arms in time with the music, some already singing along despite hearing the song for the first time. You feel weightless, completely immersed in the moment, knowing that Charles is somewhere out there, listening.

As you belt out the final chorus, the band swells around you, lifting the song to its peak.

“Cause the sign on your heart said it’s still reserved for me …”

Your voice soars over the crowd, and when you sing the final line, your heart feels like it might burst.

“Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?”

The song ends, the last note lingering in the air before the crowd explodes into applause. The stadium feels alive, vibrating with energy, and for a moment, you just stand there, basking in it. This is what you missed — the connection, the joy, the sense of belonging.

You step back from the mic, catching your breath, and glance toward the side of the stage. There, just out of sight from the audience, you spot Charles. His arms are crossed over his chest, a proud grin stretching across his face, and his eyes gleam with something that looks a lot like love.

You give him a small, almost shy smile, and he mouths the words, “I love you.” Your heart swells, and for a second, everything else fades — the lights, the noise, the crowd. It’s just you and Charles, exactly where you’re meant to be.

Turning back to the audience, you grin and raise a hand in the air. “Thank you, New York!” You shout into the mic, and the crowd roars in response.

You can feel it in your bones — this is just the beginning. The tour, the music, the life you’ve rebuilt. And Charles will be with you every step of the way.

As the next song begins and the crowd’s cheers grow louder, you glance toward the wings again. Charles is still standing there, watching you with that same proud, loving smile.

And you know, without a doubt, that the alchemy between you two is something no one could ever fight.

[silverbladexyz]

will you please do something on having a first kiss with the flags?

Yes of course! <3 I also included Chuuya because he will always be a part of the Flags in our hearts 🏳

TW: None. Stormbringer spoilers below! Reader is gender neutral

The image does not belong to me. It belongs to it's original owner.

First kiss with the Flags + Chuuya

Pianoman:

-Despite being the whimsical and teasing type, I actually see him wanting to take the relationship at your pace. Which means that when you do have your first kiss with him, both sides are ready and have consented

-Pianoman has been thinking about how the aforementioned event should happen at the starting stages of your relationship. He is quite the fickle perfectionist, and wants this experience to be perfect for you. I feel like he probably has kissed a few people before, but none of them have meant as much to him as you

-And above all, he wanted you to actually like your first kiss with him. Which meant that he would indirectly try to find out about your preferences. Did you want it to be slow and sensual? Or rough but passionate? Even when he knew that most first kisses were awkward and inexperienced, he didn't want you to be left unsatisfied

-But as I said before, Pianoman wants to take it at your own pace. He'll prepare you a lot beforehand, such as initiating more kisses with your forehead, cheeks, and hands; he'll also ghost his lips over yours sometimes to see your reaction, and thus determine if you were ready or not. However, he won't try anything until he physically hears you say it

-So when you do bring up the topic of the first kiss, Pianoman naturally takes the lead. He'll gently caress your cheek, looking into your eyes deeply as he tentatively kisses you. You don't have to worry if you don't know what to do, because your lover is a fast learner and is quick to adapt to your tastes

-The kiss is not too long and not too short, and it is at the perfect pace for you. Pianoman might even put his hand on your waist and draw you close, but only if you were comfortable with it. His lips are soft, and there's an underlying warmth to them that assure you you're in good hands

-When you part with him, he'll draw back a bit to observe your reaction. Did you like it? Or was he a bit too much for you? If he sees that you were still wanting more, he wouldn't hesitate to capture your lips again in a slightly more passionate kiss; but let's be honest he's damn good at kissing because he's just that talented

-I feel like he might tease you a bit if he sees you wanting to kiss him more. Pianoman would simply smile and say 'Oh? Am I just that kissable?~' but he will shut up if you pull him into another kiss

-He's addicted to your taste now, and he makes sure to kiss you at least once everyday to show his love for you

Albatross:

-This energetic menace is... actually nervous about your first kiss with him

-He knows that sometimes he may seem carefree and uncaring, which is definitely not what he wants the first kiss to be like. You see, Albatross can be serious when he wants to be, and there's no doubt he most likely will be serious as he pops the question

-I can see your first kiss with him happening in the early stages of your relationship. Even though Albatross wants it to happen when you're comfortable, I can see him also being curious about it. So he'd definitely ask you if you'd like to progress your relationship by having your first kiss possibly a month or two after dating

-He's a bundle of nerves once you say yes, but you won't notice it, because Albatross is good at hiding it. If you pay attention closely enough, you might detect the slightest bit of a tremor in his hand as he cups your cheek, but he draws attention away from it by quickly capturing your lips in a kiss

-The kiss is somewhat messy due to you both trying to cooperate with the other, but it's adorable how Albatross tries to match your pace and tilt his head to ensure that you were comfortable. I headcanon that his lips are warm but slightly chapped, and his gloved hand on your cheek just adds to the sensation of the kiss

-This is probably one of the moments where you see Albatross fumble a bit, but he's quick to cover up his inexperience by letting you mostly take the lead, letting him adjust himself to suit your tastes

-Expect him to ask if he could kiss you again. I feel like he would experiment with different kissing styles afterwards to see which one you like the most, and his next kiss would have much more of his usual energy incorporated into it

-Albatross loves kissing you even more now; he always wants a kiss in the morning before he leaves for work and a kiss at night before he goes to sleep. What can I say? You're just that irresistible to him

Doc:

-I can see him being a nervous fellow too, and it'd be much more noticeable than Albatross

-As a doctor, he does know that kissing could cause the human brain to release dopamine, oxytocin and serotonin; which would make the individual feel good and therefore want more. Even though he has this knowledge to somewhat assure him, he still can't help but have fears of messing up your first kiss

-He would research more into what types of kisses would be the best for a first kiss, and even consults the resident pretty boy Lippmann for some advice. Doc would also go as far as to see which parts of the mouth should move and in what way; in order for the kiss to be more comfortable

-I feel like you'd have to be the one to initiate the first kiss. Doc is one with insecurities, and the longer he doubts himself, the less likely he'd actually perform the precious act. Not to mention, he doesn't strike me as an overly affectionate partner, and would rather receive physical affection than to give

-He is secretly relieved when you ask if you could kiss him. Now you will have to mostly take the lead as well, since Doc doesn't trust himself all too much to do a good job. Be gentle with him; this first kiss means a lot, and he'd want it to be a memorable experience

-Doc will most likely place his hand on yours to steady the both of you as you kiss, since he knows how some people might become frazzled and lose all sense of themselves during their first kiss. His touch is soft yet grounding, and his breathing is slightly quicker, but he quickly gets used to the feeling of your lips on his

-Despite seeming unhealthy and ill, he actually has smooth lips. In preparation for this, he had been applying lots of lip balm onto his lips so that they wouldn't be chapped and ruin the precious experience for the two of you

-Expect him to take the lead halfway through the kiss if you decide to extend it. Doc believes that in a relationship, both sides have to contribute equally, so don't be surprised if he suddenly decides to be slightly more straightforward and dominating in the last few moments of your first kiss with him

Iceman:

-Iceman, ever the calm and collected one, has had thoughts of kissing you, but never brings up the prospect to you as he also wants you to be ready in your own time

-It's up to you to instigate the first kiss as well, but I can see it happening through an unspoken agreement between the two of you

-You would be relaxing on the couch as he hugs you in his arms; and when you lift your head to look into his eyes, that's when you both simultaneously lean forward to kiss each other

-Iceman would taste like coffee and smoke, but it's not a bad taste overall. In fact, it was comforting to you since it was unique. Simultaneously, Iceman would be finding your taste special yet tantalising

-The kiss would be slow, calm, and sensual; reflective of the man you loved. Iceman might exhale a few breaths through his nose, and his hands hold your waist firmly as you deepen the kiss. He prefers for you to lead him as he doesn't want to hurt you, but he can totally do the same if he senses that you want him to

-Kiss the scar across his right eye afterwards, and you might just catch the slightest shiver travel across his body. Not many things can make Iceman have this sort of reaction, so treasure it since it's a rare sight

-Kisses afterward happen more often in calm moments, where you can just relax with him without worrying about a thing in the world ❤

Lippmann:

-Huehuehue one of my personal favourites >:)

-Since he is rather pretty, he must have acted in some romance movies where he is the main male lead in the protagonist's life. Which means that our beloved actor has had experience in the art of kissing; and I bet he must have had to seduce some people on his missions, so he is more or less familiar with the act

-But when he thinks about kissing you, he can't help but feel a little anxious. Lippmann knows that he's pretty, and he's fairly confident in his skills, but just like any great actor, it's the last-minute performance nerves that get him every time you think he's about to kiss you

-Thankfully, he catches on quickly to his behaviour, and silently wills himself to not listen to those butterflies in his stomach the next time his gaze lands on your lips. Of course, he also asks for your consent before initiating anything; and you quite readily give it to him

-Lippmann takes the lead; he wants your first kiss with him to be something pleasing for you. His lips are so soft that it feels like you're kissing silk, and he smells and tastes nice too! The smell of his expensive cologne only drives you more crazy, yet his hand that tenderly rests on your waist grounds you as you focus on nothing else but him

-This is where his experience with kissing bears fruit. He knows how to move his lips to make you experience brand new ecstasy just when you think the kiss is ending, and he'd incorporate some tongue if you nibble on his lower lip. Lippmann is still cautious and is attentive to any signs of discomfort that you may display, but lets be honest who wouldn't want to stop kissing him?

-Run your hands through his hair during the kiss, and he might just let out a breathy groan. It's very soft though, so you'd have to pay close attention if you want to hear it

Chuuya:

-My most favourite boy in the entirety of BSD :')

-Chuuya, being the calm and thoughtful gentleman he is, never fails to treat you right; whether it is helping you with whatever problems you had, or simply just being there for you after another tiring day

-And that includes prioritising your needs over his. He always asks for consent before he does anything that requires your decision, which includes holding your hand, hugging you, and everything else that counts as affection

-Now Chuuya is also one who wants to take it slow in the relationship. Partly because he wanted everything to be at your comfort, and also partly because a relationship is so foreign to him that he needs time to to get used to it

-I can see your first kiss happening two ways; 1. You bring the topic up, or 2. You kiss him to comfort him when he's vulnerable

-The first scenario is most likely going to happen, because even though Chuuya is patient and waits for you to be ready, you can see how he holds back the urge to kiss you whenever your arms are wrapped around him. So you decide to let him wait no longer

-Chuuya will 100% take the lead in your first kiss with him. He's slow and withdrawn, since he is afraid of hurting you with his monstrous strength. But despite his unhurried and steady pace, his presence and scent is overwhelming (in a good way), and the rich taste of his lips is enough to sate your hunger for him

-At the start, he'll gently tilt your chin with his fingers so he could meet your lips, but further on into the kiss, his hands may wander towards your hips and pull you closer, while your arms wound around his neck. I can see him testing the waters in the first kiss; keeping it nice and slow until he gets a good grasp on how to kiss you just as you like it

-Even though your Romeo has no experience whatsoever in kissing, he has talent and flexibility to make up for it. After a few moments of adjusting to your pace, Chuuya would slightly deepen the kiss, still being mindful of your comfort level

-Also likes to feel your hands in his hair as he locks lips with you. I headcanon that he actually is sensitive up there, and just slightly pulling on a strand of his hair is enough to elicit heavier breaths from him. Were it not for the human need of oxygen, he would've continued kissing you then and there for as long as he was allowed to

-Apart from your lips, Chuuya likes to kiss your neck and your palms. He views them as the most intimate places to place his mark on you, and your scent alone is enough to drive him crazy. But he is a gentleman, and will stop if you tell him to

-Now on to the second scenario. Even though Chuuya is a confident person, he has his moments of vulnerability and doubt too. Especially when he considers those who have left him, and how he could've done something to improve their fates

-So this first kiss will be full of raw and untinged emotion; very much similar to the storm that rages inside Chuuya. He is still cautious and doesn't want to hurt you, but he lets instinct take over as he holds onto you like you'd fade from his grasp at any moment

-He might end up being a little rough during the kiss, but forgive him as he is letting out everything in this one moment. He'll apologise once the two of you separate to breathe, but depending on your reaction, he'll most likely incite another kiss; except it is filled with more love and tenderness

-Savours each and every kiss he shares with you; and you will always be left wanting for more

So I may have gone overboard in Chuuya's part... forgive me :') I just love him too much

@circinuus @chuuyas-beloved @chunshiya @angolicious @sariel626 @ruanais @dazaiyohane @ashthemadwriter-uwu @oldworldpoolhall

[bonne-chanson]

currently cooking something for the stormbringer characters! i’m just preparing the masterlist bc i’m basing it all on one of my favorite orchestral suites which i think suits them very well ;D

it’s one movement per character (which means there will be seven)!

hopefully i can get it out by the end of the month and maybe publish the first work by march! 🫶 masterlist for this mini-series will be published once all (if not, then at least the majority of) my requests are done :>

i’m veryyy excited for piano man mostly because i assigned him my favorite movement (i think he fits the theme so so so well ��)

[deathofacupid]

ceo!sukuna x bubbly!barista!reader, i fear it's my new obsession. banner credits to @/uzmacchiato. both inspired by, and dedicated to @salsakiyoomi! hope you like it, pretty <33

ceo!sukuna, a man whose resting face could curdle milk, hates physical touch. like, he'd rather wrestle a rabid badger than endure a friendly pat on the back.

his employees? mere rodents scurrying around his corporate cheese grater, their sole purpose to make his existence slightly less agonizing.

of course, they mostly failed at that. they were less "competent assistants" and more "walking disasters with access to staplers." his day was basically a high-stakes game of "clean up the employee-induced apocalypse," and he was running out of patience, and more importantly, employees.

ex-employees, he'd mentally correct, adding them to his ever-growing blacklist. he'd personally ensure they'd be lucky to get a job at a clown college.

and yet, despite this raging misanthropy and deep-seated aversion to human contact, he ends up craving your arms. the irony was thicker than his expense reports.

"'kuna?" you ask, peering up from your couch fort. "how was your day?"

a grumble is his reply. you've deciphered his grumbles into a complex language, and this one translates to "hell on earth."

you open your arms, and he promptly transforms into a sentient, grumpy weighted blanket, flopping onto you with the grace of a falling grand piano.

you wheeze, but you're used to it. he’s basically a cat, except instead of knocking things off tables, he knocks the air out of your lungs.

"don't even get me started," he mutters, his voice muffled by your chest. he sounds like a toddler who just lost his favorite pacifier. "do you know how many people i had to terminate today?"

"fired, you mean? sukuna, you mean fired, right?" you’re picturing a corporate bloodbath, and it’s not a pretty image. he waves a dismissive hand, which, due to his position on top of you, almost knocks your phone out of your hand.

"yeah, yeah. whatever. they were basically performance art pieces of incompetence."

"okay, but, like, how many?"

"enough." he then changes the subject. "what about you, flower? how was the café?"

your mood instantly does a 180. "oh! it was great! nice and slow. but this one guy came in, all grumpy about his coffee. said he could make it better."

"he did?" sukuna raises an eyebrow, a feat considering he's basically face-planting into your chest. "what happened?"

"told him to go do it, then," you say, grinning. "and then kicked him out."

"that's my girl," he says, a rare flicker of approval in his eyes. "did you throw his coffee at him first?"

"i considered it, but i didn't want to waste good coffee."

he's impressed, that much he'll admit. he shifts, crushing you further. "sukuna!"

"i've been away from my girl all day," he grumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "let me have this."

for a man who supposedly treated physical contact like it was kryptonite, he sure seemed to enjoy clinging to you. maybe he just needed a you-shaped stress ball, you think. and maybe, just maybe, he was secretly a giant softie, hidden under layers of corporate armor and general grumpiness.

or maybe he just liked your couch. either way, you were trapped, and honestly, you weren't complaining. too much.

general taglist: @jeonwiixard. (i didn't forget this time 👩‍❤️‍👩)

[astonmartinii]

(piano) keys to your heart | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem fan reader

who knew the fan stages could be so romantic?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

f1

liked by liamlawson30, yukitsunoda0511 and 1,340,667 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, lewishamilton, oscarpiastri & landonorris

f1: it's always chaos at the fan stages

view all comments

user1: what is in the air today?

user2: i think it's so early in the season that they haven't lost the will to live yet

user3: there's still light in their eyes LMAO

lewishamilton: let me just say... that was an experience

georgerussell63: i wish all media commitments were this entertaining

lewishamilton: we can only pray

user4: wait i'm so lost what happened at this damn fan stage

user5: there was a girl with a baby toy piano who played one of charles' songs for him 😭

user6: and he was SO IMPRESSED

user7: he was impressed? I WAS IMPRESSED like it sounded so good and it has five keys that make ANIMAL NOISES

user8: aniMAL NOISES???

pierregasly: i think i watched that man fall in love in real time

charles_leclerc: are you not also enchanted?

pierregasly: by animal sounds? no?

charles_leclerc: so rude! you wouldn't know real art even if it hit you in the face

pierregasly: nuh uh !!!

user9: girlies i do think he might be in love what is going on?

user10: has he even spoken to her other than through hundreds of people on a microphone?

charles_leclerc: can a hopeless romantic live ?

user11: yeah it's terminal people

user12: well i'm not gonna lie if someone learnt my music on such an esteemed instrument i'd also be flattered

charles_leclerc: EXACTLYYYYYY

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 12,309 others

yourusername: got to play a pretty boy piano this weekend, what about you?

view all comments

user15: PIANO WOMAN MY QUEEN

user16: you have a real piano?

yourusername: where do you think i honed my skills in order to play it on such a crazy model

yourbff: MAMA THERE'S 12,000 PEOPLE ON YOUR POST 💜

yourusername: act natural

yourbff: how can i ACT NATURAL BABE THE HOTTEST MAN IN THE WORLD IS IN YOUR LIKES

yourusername: as he should be

yourbff: i know for a fact you are not that chill rn ... i can hear you screaming from my house

yourusername: *harmonising

user17: we're all stalkers for being here but i'm pleasantly surprised with how funny she is

yourusername: damn ask me out on a date first

user18: so you are single queen?

yourusername: chronically so ...

charles_leclerc: i FOUND YOU

pierregasly: * i found you

oscarpiastri: not that i want the title of chief stalker but it was me (you have very niche mutual friends with my sisters)

yourusername: OMG OSCAR !!!!!!!!!!!! (tell hattie i said hi and take me to the next kpop concert)

charles_leclerc: so fuck me i guess

yourusername: i would love to fuck you, yes

charles_leclerc: oh hehehehehehehehehe

yourbff: for a man who is the sexiest in every room he's in, you're embarrassingly easy to please

lewishamilton: he's not the sexiest in every room, that is lewis hamilton erasure

yourbff: WHAT THE FUCK

user19: so is like all of the current f1 grid here?

maxverstappen1: i'm just here to watch charles embarrass himself

danielricciardo: i am retired but i must be interested in the exploits of my countrymen

pierregasly

liked by yukitsunoda0511, charles_leclerc and 885,489 others

tagged: charles_leclerc & kika.c.gomez

pierregasly: he's making us take a flight on our one week off

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user20: deadass if they're going to australia

user21: these are levels that i would actually completely expect from charles

user22: pierre and kika are better than me because a flight to AUSTRALIA oh no baby

maxverstappen1: well this is an update that SOMEONE (i'm talking about you pierre) forgot to put in the group chat

pierregasly: i'm kind of in the middle of a flight and sat to the nosiest motherfucker in the world

charles_leclerc: what group chat?

georgerussell63: nothing!

oscarpiastri: nothing!

landonorris: nothing!

alexalbon: nothing!

maxverstappen1: we're laughing about how down bad you are behind your back 👍

charles_leclerc: thanks max!

charles_leclerc: WAIT?

user23: oh charles how can you be so smart yet so dumb

user24: all brain power goes to f1 and piano

user25: and piano girl now apparently

yourbff: you're not being serious ....

pierregasly: deadly

yourusername: this is so charming

yourbff: this man is flying 24 HOURS TO SEE HER ???

yourusername: i'm not appreciating your tone rn

yourbff: oh no you're more than worth it pookie but DAMN the air miles

charles_leclerc: i chartered a private jet :D

yourbff: you're crazy

yourusername: i'm in love with you?

user26: guys i think they're just as insane as each other

user27: a match made in heaven i fear

liked by charles_leclerc & yourusername

yourusername

liked by yourbff, charles_leclerc and 41,298 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, pierregasly & kika.c.gomez

yourusername: guys there's a cute guy at my door (and a guy with a bad hairline but he doesn't matter (i love you kika))

view all comments

user29: chat - it's never been so over i fear

user30: we've lost him

yourusername: :P

user31: she's so unserious i love her

user32: i know every other wag wants to be this in our face so i respect it

charles_leclerc: i'm very happy to be the cute guy at your door

yourusername: you best be :)

charles_leclerc: i'm here to swipe you off your feet

yourusername: believe me you won't have to do much

charles_leclerc: i saw you have a proper piano ...

yourusername: you don't want to serenade me with my animal noise piano ???

user33: so like this is real? how did this actually happen?

user34: like surely they had met before this - it can't be the animal sounds piano of monaco that did it

user35: have you ever considered that maybe someone doing something as ridiculous but as time consuming as that is incredibly endearing

charles_leclerc: my love language is acts of service :)

pierregasly: i am sat in your living room and you're blasting my hairline on instagram?

yourusername: yes!

pierregasly: you know what? you two are perfect for each other

yourusername: i know :D

user36: oh to be a girl who has charles flying across the world for her

user37: if we get a video of them playing piano it might just kill me

maxverstappen1: interesting.... very interesting....

yourusername: can i help you?

maxverstappen1: just observing ....

yourusername: you're observing very loudly

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 1,894,300 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: obviously we had to take the real piano for a drive

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user38: killing myself <3

user39: the most rational reaction

user40: THEY'RE SO FUCKING CUTE (i want to die)

yourusername: as if you needed to be any more handsome

charles_leclerc: i gotta match your beauty some how

yourusername: SHUT THE FUCK UP

yourusername: YOU'RE SO CUTE

yourusername: and also objectively the most beautiful man in the world

lewishamilton: once again, stop lying to him please 🙏

yourusername: okay queen..... whatever you wanna hear

user41: lewis not being in the GC but always being here to stunt on charles is killing me

user42: getting in the psychological warfare for next year

yourusername: lewis hamilton psychological warfare (immovable object) vs sleep deprived y/n y/ln (unstoppable force)

lewishamilton: YOU'VE KNOWN HIM MAX A WEEK ???

yourusername: there's no set timeline for love girlypop

maxverstappen1: piano? this is boring

yourusername: i would post me treating him the way he should but that would violate instagram's guidelines sorry!

charles_leclerc: no !!! i don't wanna share you with anyone

maxverstappen1: i don't wanna see all that anyway

charles_leclerc: don't lie buddy

yourusername: you're just intimidated :P

user43: couples who bully max together, stay together

maxverstappen1: it seems that way ...

yourusername: omg we're so couple goals

charles_leclerc: we so are <3333

user44: CONFIRMATION???

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, yourbff and 68,309 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: guess i'm a recording artist now? oh and i have a bf, he's there i guess?

view all comments

user46: oh they want me dead

user47: ignoring this for my mental health

user48: they're 😭 so 😭 cute 😭 i'm 😭 so 😭 happy 😭 for 😭 you

charles_leclerc: no one i'd rather work with!! we've been in a whirlwinf but i'm glad i have you

yourusername: you have had the (piano) keys to my heart long before we met

charles_leclerc: i still had to charm you though ;)

yourusername: oh i was smitten straight away i was just trying to play it cool

pierregasly: you weren't very convincing

yourusername: i was ???

yourbff: the day you found out he was flying over to aus you did 20,000 steps just pacing in the living room

yourusername: well...

charles_leclerc: i found it very cute no worries

user49: they're so hilariously embarrassing for each other it's so cute

user50: i mean they're both insanely attractive so yeah i'd be just as nervous around them

user51: everyone is just hating on their whimsical love

arthurleclerc: so you're official and you've still not met us 🤨🤨🤨

yourusername: well............. i'm in aus what do you want me to do about that?

arthurleclerc: charles irresponsibly uses a private jet - i expect to see you for dinner this weekend ! (that's an order from maman)

yourusername: CHARLES I CAN'T LET YOUR MUM DOWN

maxverstappen1: does this mean i might get air max back in europe?

yourusername: you've been hating this whole time but it was YOUR JET THAT GOT CHARLES HERE?

maxverstappen1: and what?

yourusername: i'm just observing, loudly

charles_leclerc: he loves me really <3

yourusername: but not too much 🤨

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, yourbff and 2,398,099 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: i am never complaining about media again

view all comments

user52: so when i do an interpretative dance as a cat to seduce max then what?

maxverstappen1: if you dare do that anywhere near me i am getting a restraining order

user52: anyone tell you you're no fun?

maxverstappen1: all the time, i'm still not going to fuck someone dressed as a cat 👍

yourusername: loving you is the easiest thing in the world

charles_leclerc: the most natural thing in my life - we were made for each other

yourusername: forged by the gods for each other and they decided to give me the prettiest boy in the world

yourusername: @lewishamilton i dare you to say otherwise

charles_leclerc: she's so protective 🤭🤭🤭

roscoelovescoco: ...

yourusername: i'll still fight your dog i have no shame when it comes to defending my man

user53: see this ^^ is appropriate action for wags i too would fight a bull dog to defend charles' honour

yourusername: it's the least i can do

charles_leclerc: i will literally run someone over with my ferrari

yourusername: considering i've seen your road parking - that's a real threat, so romantic

pierregasly: so i really am stuck with this for the rest of my life?

yourusername: it doesn't have to be a long life

pierregasly: you're breaking up with charles ???

yourusername: i'm threatening your life 👍

pierregasly: oh!

charles_leclerc: so romantic

user54: childhood friends being thrown under the bus? this is real romance

user55: and this all started with an animal sounds piano?

yourusername: i owe my baby cousin everything

charles_leclerc: does she want a ferrari?

fin.

note: HAPPY CHARLES LECLERC BIRTHDAY DAY TO ALL WHO CELEBRATE

[mariasont]

What if the team has slowly been finding out that Spencer has a girlfriend, so one day while on a case they basically play 20 questions trying to figure her out. However, Spencer is struggling to answer because he’s dating reader and she works with the BAU. (sorry if that isn’t broad enough, I just wanted more of the secret relationship trope)

Dimple Deductions - S.R

summary: when morgan & jj notice spencer reid acting suspiciously happy, they do what they do best — profile him. unfortunately, spencer's biggest tell is your dimples pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: fluff, secret relationship, reader has dimples, morgan & jj being shit stirrers wc: 1.4k

Watching Spencer read feels vaguely inappropriate. His fingers ghost over the page before settling, skimming the text like he's absorbing it through sheer proximity. His lips part, just slightly, like he's tasting the words, rolling it over his tongue before swallowing it down, taking it apart, making it his. The cabin light catches in his hair, making his curls glow like some kind of bookish deity.

It's distracting, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the unconscious flick of his lashes as his mind devours information faster than you can process a single thought.

He's mesmerizing in a way that feels almost unjust, a spectacle of intellect wrapped in a body far too beautiful for reason.

You don't even realize you're staring until he speaks.

"I will pay you to stop talking."

It's not aimed at you, Morgan and JJ are doing what they do best, picking apart his every move, but the sound of his voice breaks through you like a snapped thread, severing whatever trance you'd fallen into.

Morgan whistles, all amusement. "Now, why would you be so eager to change the subject, pretty boy?"

Spencer finally looks up, dragging his gaze upward with the slow resignation of a man who knows resistance is futile. He sighs, shaking his head.

"Because I value my peace?"

JJ grins, practically giddy now. "Too bad. We don't."

Your magazine is just a forgotten accessory now, lying stiff and ignored on your lap. Pulling your eyes from Spencer feels unnatural, but somehow, you manage.

You turn at last to JJ and Morgan, who are, without question, enjoying this way too much.

"What exactly are you guys talking about?" you ask, flipping the magazine with indifference, as if that somehow proves you'd been deeply invested in its pages and not making heart-eyes at Spencer.

JJ's eyes gleam with unfiltered delight. "Oh, just that Spencer here has been acting different lately."

"Suspiciously different," Morgan corrects, side-eyeing Spencer. "Relaxed. Preoccupied. Dare I say... a little too happy?"

"So, let me get this straight, you're bullying him for being in a good mood?" You cross your arms, biting your lip to keep from laughing, while Spencer looked genuinely offended.

Morgan stretches his arms behind his head, looking quite pleased with himself. "We're observing."

Spencer, who returns his gaze to his book, doesn't even flinch. "It's harassment."

"Wait. Wait." JJ points at Spencer, squinting. "Are you seeing someone?"

You tell yourself to be cool. Unbothered. Just another face in the crowd, a neutral bystander in this totally-not-terrifying conversation. You even try to breathe like you're not on high alert, but your body immediately mutinies, shoulders locking up, throat tightening, nerves snapping taut like piano wire. 

A single stupid, microscopic flinch that must, on some subconscious profiler level, set off JJ's internal alarm bells. Because she looks at you.

It's quick, so quick you almost miss it, but you feel it like a pinprick of static against your skin. A flick of her eyes, a fleeting brush of attention, there and then gone. 

Just as swiftly, she's back on Spencer.

Across from you, Spencer freezes for half a second. It's subtle enough that if you weren't staring at him, directly, shamelessly, obsessively, you might have missed it entirely.

Instead, you watch as he carefully schools his expression, turns a page, as if it matters, as if you couldn't see the calculations running in that big, brilliant brain, trying to find the most efficient escape route. 

And then, with a levelness that would be impressive if it weren't so obviously practiced, he finally says, "I don't see how that's relevant."

Morgan's smile is positively wolfish. The kind of smile that spells out, he smells blood in the water. "Oh, so that's a yes."

You watch Spencer. Closely. Nothing. Just that calm, emotionally bankrupt expression as he lifts his gaze, eyes so flat, so opaque, they may as well be made of glass.

"That's an assumption."

But Morgan isn't buying it. And then, he leans in. Hands clasped. You already know where this is going.

"Alright. First question. Is she blonde?"

"I am not doing this," Spencer says flatly.

"So... not blonde."

JJ taps her fingers against the table. "Brunette, then?"

Spencer exhales through his nose, all restrained patience, all carefully manufactured impassiveness. If you didn't know better, you'd think he still wasn't affected by the topic of conversation.

But you do know better.

He does this thing, barely a tell, not noticeable to an unloved eye, where his jaw tenses just slightly, the muscle feathering like a tremor beneath his skin. It's the same thing he does when you're being particularly difficult, when you're testing him, teasing him, saying something so unserious that he refuses to dignify it with anything more than this.

"This is ridiculous."

"You being weird about it is way more suspicious than just answering." Morgan shrugs.

Spencer clamps his mouth shut so hard, it's a miracle his teeth don't crack.

"Freckles?"

Spencer just presses two fingers to his temple like the headache they are causing him has officially become chronic. "This is — as I have said — harassment."

Morgan smirks. "Dimples?"

It stops Spencer mid-motion, like a misfire.

His fingers twitch, pull away from his temple, then hesitate midair, caught between freezing and fixing whatever just broke his expression. His mouth presses into a firm, flat line, but not before he falters, just once, lips parting like a reflexive inhale of shock he didn't mean to take.

JJ practically convulses, hands flying to her mouth as she gasps. "Oh my god, she has dimples!"

"See that? That was a pause, man. You're cooked."

Spencer snaps his book shut, the sound sharp, final, entirely too loud. 

His gaze cuts to you, like maybe he's checking to see if you're as deeply mortified as he is, and then he's back on Morgan and JJ.

"Even if, she hypothetically — had dimples, that means absolutely nothing," he starts, too fast, too precise, like he's clinging to logic as a life raft. "Dimples are present in roughly 20-30% of the population. That is millions of people. Trying to deduce someone's identity from that alone is not only statistically absurd, but frankly, beneath you."

Morgan and JJ exchange a look, one of those wordless, holy shit did he just say that? looks.

"So there is someone's identity to deduce?" 

A pause. A smirk.

"And she has dimples?"

They had kept going. Of course they had. 

More questions, each one shot off like a bullet with no time to dodge. What's her favorite colors? Does she drink coffee or tea? Dogs or cats? Landmine. Landmine. Landmine.

What does she do for work?

That last one had been dangerously close to blowing your cover.

Spencer had paused. Just long enough for you to panic. Long enough for your reflexes to kick in (literally), and you'd kicked him, hard enough in the shin under the table to snap him out of it. He'd blinked once, then shrugged, as casual as ever. 

Something intellectually stimulating, he'd said.

Which was, technically, not a lie. 

And Morgan and JJ had finally, finally let up after a while, though not before making sure Spencer left with at least three lingering smirks, two unsubtle eyebrow raises, and one last dig at his mysteriously happy mood.

It had been exhausting, but that was a tomorrow problem, because now you were home. 

Spencer's couch was too big for him but just right for you, and at some point, you had stopped being separate from him altogether, folded yourself into every available space he had left vacant, legs draped over his, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, cheeks smushed against his chest. 

It wasn't cuddling so much as absorbing him, your entire body molding to his like a particularly determined barnacle.

"You really almost sold us out there," you murmur, basically burrowed into his sweater. Your face is half-hidden, mostly because you are simply too tired to function, but also because he deserves to be shamed for this.

"The dimples, Spencer? Really?"

Spencer sighs, his chest rising and falling beneath you, fingers brushing over your spine. "I can’t help it. I really like your dimples."

You squint up at him. "Yeah, I noticed."

Spencer's lips twitch, just the faintest pull at the corners, like he's not entirely willing to let it happen. "They're cute."

His thumb presses into the hollow of your cheek, just barely, just enough to test it. Like he's confirming that, yes, it's real, it exists, and it belongs to him now.

Before you can roll your eyes and tell him to stop being ridiculous, he leans in.

And kisses it.

Like he's stamping his approval.

You let out a slow, lazy sigh as he pulls back, stretching out against him. "You really need to work on your poker face."

Spencer hums. "You think so?"

"I know so," you tease, shifting just enough to get a good look at him. "I mean, if I had been interrogated like that, I wouldn't have cracked."

His brows lift. "Oh really?"

"Not even a little."

You should have seen it coming, the way his fingers tighten at your waist, the way something sharp and knowing flickers behind those honey-brown eyes, but you don't.

Not until you're flat on your back with the couch swallowing you whole and Spencer braced over you, grinning in pure satisfaction.

"Oh?" His voice is smooth, as he leans in just a little closer, close enough that the warmth of his breath kisses your skin. “So if I decided to test that theory — ask you a few things — you wouldn’t crack?”

Your stomach flips.

"...That's not what I meant."

Spencer's laughter is soft but wicked, full of certainty, full of amusement at your expense. His fingers trace absentminded shapes against your hip, a contrast to the sharp intent in his voice.

"Mm. Too bad." His voice dips lower. "Because I already know you would."

Your part your lips to argue, but no sound comes out.

"See?" he murmurs, brushing his lips over your jaw. "Cracking already."

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