#thank you !!! this is such an interesting question

[mrspiastri]

✩ lights, camera, action! 📸

pairing: lando norris x reader

cw: fluff, annoying reporters, austria 2024

wc: 4.9k words

an: thanks for the req anon, hope u like it! pls excuse any spelling errors i could not be arsed enough to proofread this more than twice :p

“So, they’re just going to be in our house… recording us the entire day?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“And this is happening for a month?”

“Maybe two, depending on how much footage they need.”

A beat of silence.

Lando turned to his girlfriend, watching as she set her Kindle down and looked at him with a sharp glare. All she had wanted was a quiet night in, some light reading before bed, not this conversation.

“So, what do you think?” he asked carefully.

“I think you’ve lost your fucking mind.”

Lando stifled a chuckle, scooting closer despite the warning in her eyes. “It’s not that bad, I promise. They’ll get all your good angles. And if there’s anything you don’t want in, I’ll make sure they cut it out.”

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. The idea of letting a camera crew into their home, her safe space, the one place where she could collapse onto the couch after work without a second thought, was unsettling.

“Look, I’m not going to force you,” Lando said, his voice softer now. “Just think about it. It’s like… our moments together being immortalized.”

She arched her brow, still unconvinced.

“We could even look back on them years later,” he continued, ever the optimist. “Show them to our kids!”

Y/N gave him a long, unimpressed stare.

“Just give me a day or two,” she muttered at last.

“Of course, love.” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before letting the subject drop.

Three days later, Y/N found herself reluctantly agreeing, under strict conditions:

1. No cameras before 9 AM or after 10 PM.

2. No filming arguments or fights (if they happened).

3. No recording private conversations.

The production team had no issue following her rules, and soon enough, cameras and microphones became a regular sight in their living room and kitchen.

To her surprise, it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. The Drive To Survive crew was respectful, and off-camera, they were actually lovely to talk to.

Not that she’d ever admit it to Lando. She had no interest in hearing an “ I told you so.”

Still, she had to admit, there was something oddly enjoyable about it. The cameras felt natural, capturing the effortless way she and Lando fit together. Their banter. Their energy.

Even the crew enjoyed filming them. Because if there was one thing about Y/N and Lando, it was that they were effortlessly entertaining.

The couple had an air of domesticity around them, which was visible during certain moments, like when Y/N announced she was going grocery shopping.

🪻🪻

She didn’t question it at first.

Lando had followed her around their apartment, slipping on his hoodie and sneakers, acting as if they were about to embark on some thrilling adventure rather than… well, a simple trip to the grocery store. But when he practically rushed out the door behind her, stuffing his hands into his pockets like he was trying to play it cool, she finally turned to him with a raised brow.

"Alright, what’s going on?"

Lando blinked at her, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

"You insisted on coming with me," she pointed out as she slid into the passenger seat of her car. "Since when are you so eager to go grocery shopping?"

Lando smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Maybe I just like spending time with you."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "It’s just shopping, Lando."

"Yes… and?"

She shot him a look, but he only grinned, reaching over to intertwine his fingers with hers as he started the car. She glanced down at their joined hands, warmth flickering in her chest.

Maybe it was just shopping. But to him, time with her, no matter how mundane, was worth tagging along for.

The grocery store was as uneventful as ever, aisles filled with tired parents, students grabbing last-minute essentials, and employees stacking shelves. Y/N navigated the space with practiced ease, mentally ticking off the list in her head.

Lando, on the other hand, was thoroughly entertained by everything.

"You know, people are going to think I’m useless because you’re the one actually shopping," Lando mused, walking beside you with a basket dangling from his arm. A small mic was clipped to his hoodie, and a camera trailed at a respectful distance, catching every moment.

"You are useless," you teased, grabbing a carton of eggs and placing them into the basket.

Lando let out a scandalized gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "Excuse me? I am an excellent grocery shopper. Watch this."

Before you could stop him, he darted toward a display of snacks, dramatically grabbing a family-sized bag of chips and tossing it into the basket. The camera crew caught it all, no doubt enjoying his antics.

"Wow," you said dryly, watching him grin. "Such a valuable contribution."

"You’re welcome." He leaned in, brushing a kiss to your temple before whispering, "At least pretend I’m helpful, love. My reputation is at stake."

She shook her head, amused. He stayed close beside her, fingers occasionally brushing hers when he pointed out random things, a ridiculous cereal box, a weirdly shaped vegetable, an overpriced snack that made him nearly collapse in shock.

Then, as they rounded the next aisle, something caught her eye.

"No way," Y/N gasped, halting so suddenly that Lando bumped into her.

"What? What happened? Are we in danger?" he asked dramatically, clutching her arm.

She ignored him, grabbing a brightly colored package from the meat fridge. “It’s the spicy chorizo I was looking for! It’s been out of stock for months! Lando, do you know what this means?"

"Uh," he blinked, glancing at the box in her hands. "That some company is trying to get people to buy their products again?"

She huffed. "No, dummy. This means I can finally make those chorizo tapas you love so much."

Lando stared at her, as if processing her words. "Wait. You mean—?"

"Yeah," she said, waving the package at him. "You always say it’s one of your favorites, right? So I’ll make it the way it’s meant to be made, not with those other lame brands.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at her. And then, unexpectedly, he reached for her hand and squeezed it, his thumb running over her knuckles.

"You remembered that?" His voice was quieter now, softer.

She scoffed. "Of course, I did. You never shut up about it."

Lando let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head, but there was something fond in his eyes, something almost touched.

"You’re the best," he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. Right there in the middle of the grocery aisle, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, with an old woman giving them a knowing smile as she passed.

Y/N felt warmth creep up her neck, but she just rolled her eyes. "I know."

Lando grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulder as they continued walking. "See? And you thought I was weird for wanting to tag along."

"You are weird."

"Yeah, but I’m your kind of weird."

She laughed, leaning into his side as they made their way to checkout.

Maybe it was just shopping.

But with Lando, even the ordinary felt like something special.

🪻🪻🪻

The morning sun cast a golden glow over their Monaco apartment, filling the space with soft warmth. The neatly packed bags by the door were a reminder of the plans they’d made, plans Y/N had initially thought were just a fleeting idea when Lando suggested them. But here they were, two years into their relationship, and he was still finding ways to make things special.

Lando stirred beside her, his arm tightening around her waist as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, voice still thick with sleep.

“Happy anniversary, love.”

She smiled, tilting her head slightly to press a kiss to his forehead. “Happy anniversary, Lando.”

He hummed in contentment, pulling her closer. “Can we just stay in bed all day instead?”

Y/N laughed softly, tracing lazy patterns along his back. “As tempting as that sounds, weren’t you the one who planned this whole day trip?”

Lando groaned dramatically, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “Who let me make decisions?”

“You did.”

Another groan.

A small chuckle from the corner of the room made her glance over, where one of the film crew members was adjusting a camera, capturing the intimate yet domestic moment. Lando peeked an eye open and groaned even louder when he saw them.

“Great,” he mumbled. “Now the world gets to see me beg to stay in bed.”

Y/N grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his nose before slipping out from under the covers. “Come on, sleepyhead. We have a road trip to go on.”

By mid-morning, they were driving along the winding coastal roads of the French Riviera, two crew members filming them from the back seat, capturing snippets of their journey. Lando’s hand rested on Y/N’s thigh as he effortlessly steered with the other, the soft hum of music filling the space between them.

She glanced over at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. “So, are you ever going to tell me why you picked Èze?”

Lando smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to impress you with my impeccable taste?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her fondness.

The moment they arrived in Èze, Lando reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers as they wandered through the narrow, cobbled streets. The medieval village, perched high above the Côte d’Azur, was breathtaking, its stone walls adorned with climbing vines, small boutiques tucked into hidden corners, and the salty sea breeze carrying the scent of fresh flowers.

The crew trailed them subtly, capturing the way Lando would lean in every few minutes just to steal a quick kiss, or how his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns against her skin as they stopped to admire the view.

“You do realize people are going to say you’re way too clingy, right?” Y/N teased, nodding toward one of the cameras.

Lando shrugged, unbothered. “Let them.” He turned to the nearest cameraman, grinning. “I am clingy. Make sure you put that in the episode.”

The crew chuckled, but Y/N just shook her head, laughing as Lando pulled her into the nearest café.

Lunch was slow and easy, filled with stolen bites of food, quiet laughter, and the occasional “Look at him being soft” comment from Y/N to the film crew. Lando didn’t seem to care, not when she was there, looking at him like he was her favorite thing in the world.

When dessert arrived, two chocolate soufflés, Lando picked up a spoonful and held it out for her.

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re going to feed me while they’re filming?”

He smirked. “It’s romantic.”

She rolled her eyes but leaned in anyway, letting him feed her. Lando grinned triumphantly, stealing a bite for himself.

“Put that in the episode, too,” he quipped.

As the afternoon stretched on, they hiked up to the Jardin Exotique, a stunning garden perched at the very top of Èze. The panoramic view of the coastline was nothing short of magical, the kind of scene that made everything else feel small in comparison.

Lando wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“This might be my favorite anniversary so far,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, tilting her head to rest against his. “We’ve only had two.”

“Still. It’s hard to beat.”

A breeze drifted through, ruffling his curls as he held her, their hands fitting together so effortlessly.

Y/N turned in his arms, her gaze soft. “I love you, you know.”

Lando’s eyes searched hers for a moment before he cupped her face, pressing a slow, tender kiss to her lips, one that felt like a promise, like forever.

When they pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, exhaling deeply. “I know,” he whispered. “And I love you more.”

A cough from behind them broke the moment, and one of the crew members hesitated before speaking.

“Uh… that was beautiful,” they admitted. “Can you do it again for a better angle?”

Lando groaned as Y/N burst into laughter.

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, pulling her closer with a mischievous grin. “Guess we have to keep kissing.”

🪻🪻🪻

The second Y/N stepped into the apartment, she knew something was different. It wasn’t just the warmth of the space or the soft glow of the kitchen lights, there was something familiar in the air. A rich, buttery scent, layered with warm spices, the kind that immediately sent a comforting feeling straight to her soul.

She froze mid-step.

That was butter chicken.

Her favorite food.

And there was only one person in this house who would make that for her.

Her heart raced as she set her bag down and rounded the corner into the kitchen, where she found exactly what she hoped to see Lando, standing at the stove, stirring a pot with the kind of focus he usually reserved for a race car. His curls were still damp from a recent shower, his sleeves pushed up as he leaned against the counter, tasting the sauce with an expression of concentration.

He looked up just as she entered, and the slow smile that spread across his face made her stomach flip.

“Hey, love.”

She blinked, still processing. “You’re… home?”

He smirked. “Surprise.”

Her mouth fell open. “But… you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow night?”

“Got an earlier flight.” He turned back to the stove, giving the pot one last stir before lowering the heat. “Figured I’d come back and make your favorite.”

She couldn’t believe it. She had been fully prepared to spend the evening alone, eating something mediocre while scrolling through her phone, missing him. But instead, he was here. Cooking for her.

Y/N didn’t think, she just launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his hoodie as she breathed him in.

Lando laughed as he caught her, arms circling her shoulders as he held her close. “I take it you missed me?”

“Obviously,” she mumbled against his chest. “You were gone for so long.”

“Babe, it was five days.”

“Exactly. Too long.”

He chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to her hair. “Missed you too, love.”

A throat cleared from the corner of the kitchen, and Y/N stiffened slightly before peeking over Lando’s shoulder, only to find one of the crew members, clearly amused.

She groaned, burying her face back into Lando’s chest. “You let them film this?”

“I didn’t let them,” he said, amused. “They just… didn’t leave. Wanted to see you surprised and all.”

One of the crew members laughed. “In our defense, this is adorable.”

Lando grinned, tilting her chin up so she had to look at him. “Come on, love. You don’t want the world to see how obsessed you are with me?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I will shove your face into that butter chicken.”

His smirk widened. “Joke’s on you, I made extra.”

She rolled her eyes but let him pull her closer, letting herself bask in the warmth of his touch, the familiar scent of home.

Later, as they sat at the dining table, Lando watched her take her first bite, waiting for her reaction like a nervous contestant on a cooking show.

Y/N hummed in delight, eyes closing briefly as the flavors hit her tongue. “Oh my God.”

His lips twitched. “Good?”

She opened her eyes, pointing her spoon at him. “Suspiciously good. Since when can you cook like this?”

Lando leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “What, you think I can’t learn things?”

“I just… didn’t know you wanted to.”

He shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Maybe I just wanted to impress my girlfriend.”

Y/N softened, her heart swelling. “You have impressed me. This is amazing.”

“Damn right it is.”

She giggled, shaking her head before taking another bite. “Okay, tell me about Shanghai. How was the race?”

Lando exhaled dramatically, shifting in his seat. “Ugh. Where do I even start? First of all, the strategy was so weird, like, I don’t know what they were thinking. And then, I had this fight with Max for like a hundred laps, and I swear, I thought we were gonna crash at least three times—”

As he continued, his hands animatedly reenacting the on-track battles, Y/N just sat there, watching him, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

She loved seeing him like this, completely in his element, passionate, excited. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about racing, the way his hands moved as if he were still behind the wheel.

“You’re staring,” Lando suddenly noted, smirking.

She blinked, cheeks warming. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.” He leaned in, resting his chin in his hand as he grinned. “You’re in love with me.”

She scoffed, trying (and failing) to hide her smile. “Don’t flatter yourself, Norris.”

“I mean, I did just fly home early and make your favorite food…” He reached across the table, running his fingers gently over her wrist. “Pretty sure that earns me some extra love points.”

Y/N laughed softly, flipping her hand to intertwine their fingers. “You already have all my love points, you idiot.”

He squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Good. I plan on keeping them.”

She shook her head, taking another bite of the butter chicken. “Okay, but seriously, I want to hear the rest. So, you and Max—”

“Shh.” Lando reached over and gently placed a spoonful of rice on her plate, then another, before looking at her expectantly.

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you just—”

“Just shh and eat,” he said, his voice playfully firm. “I know you. If I let you talk too much, you’ll forget to eat, and then you’ll be grumpy later.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the corners of her lips twitched. “You’re so annoying.”

Lando laughed, leaning over the table to steal a quick kiss. “Yeah, yeah. Now eat up.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but obeyed, feeling impossibly warm inside.

There was something so simple about moments like this, the quiet, easy rhythm of their lives together. The way Lando cared for her in ways that weren’t always grand gestures but in the little things. The way he listened, the way he noticed, the way he just knew her.

Even with cameras in the background, even with the world watching, this was theirs.

And Y/N wouldn’t trade it for anything.

🪻🪻🪻

Las Vegas was supposed to be his night.

Lando sat in the dimly lit hospitality suite, still in his race suit, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles were white. The weight of the evening pressed down on him, Max had clinched the title, and he had been so close. The points gap wasn’t enormous. If things had gone just slightly differently, if the strategy had been sharper, if he had just pushed a little harder—

He exhaled sharply, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the floor.

The suite was silent, except for the muffled sounds of celebration echoing from outside. His team was still proud, of course. McLaren had fought hard all season. He had fought hard. But second place wasn’t the dream. First was the dream.

And he had lost it.

The quiet creak of the door barely registered in his mind, but the soft footsteps that followed were unmistakable.

Y/N.

She didn’t say anything at first. She simply walked over, standing beside him for a moment, watching him.

Then, she crouched down in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his knee. “Lando.”

His eyes flickered up to hers. He knew the cameras were still rolling somewhere in the room, capturing all of this, his frustration, his exhaustion, the moment where his season had slipped away.

But right now, he didn’t care.

Y/N’s gaze was steady, her touch grounding. Slowly, she reached up, cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the sharp line of his jaw.

“Talk to me,” she murmured.

Lando exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to cover hers, pressing it against his skin as if he needed the contact to anchor him.

“I should’ve done more,” he finally muttered.

She frowned. “Lando—”

“No, really,” he cut in, shaking his head. “It was so close. We had the pace. We had the car. I just—” He exhaled roughly, eyes darting away. “I wasn’t good enough.”

Her heart ached at the way he said it, at the way his voice dipped into something raw and self-deprecating.

“Lando,” she said softly but firmly, tilting his face back toward her. “You were more than good enough.”

He let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Because you expect perfection from yourself. But look at what you did this season. Look at how hard you fought. You challenged Max. You took it down to the wire when no one thought you could. You made them believe.”

His gaze softened, but she wasn’t finished.

“You think second place makes you less?” she whispered. “It doesn’t. You’re still you, Lando. And I’m so, so proud of you.”

His throat bobbed, his grip on her hand tightening.

“You’re just saying that,” he mumbled.

Y/N shook her head. “I never just say things. You know that.”

He let out a slow breath, his eyes searching hers like he was trying to hold onto her words, trying to let them sink in.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, with a small sigh, he pulled her into his lap, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

She smiled faintly, running her fingers through his curls. He never did well with failure, not because he wasn’t used to it, but because he always carried it too much.

But he wasn’t alone in this.

And as she held him, rocking him slightly, she could feel the tension in his body slowly start to ease.

The crew was still there, capturing every second.

But all Lando cared about was her.

And somehow, for the first time all night, losing didn’t feel quite so devastating.

The press pen after the race was always exhausting, but tonight, it was unbearable.

Lando had lost the championship. He had done every interview with his usual composure, polite, measured, controlled. He had smiled when necessary, congratulated Max, and answered the same four questions in slightly different ways.

But this one?

This one was pushing it.

"Lando, do you think this was your only real shot at a title? Or do you worry you might just not have what it takes?"

The question landed like a slap.

Lando barely blinked. His PR training kicked in immediately, forcing a neutral expression as he nodded, exhaling through his nose.

"Look, we had a great season, and I’m proud of what we achieved. Obviously, it didn’t end the way we wanted, but I know we’ll come back stronger."

It was the kind of answer that was designed to deflect, to keep things from escalating.

The interviewer, however, seemed satisfied with their little dig, moving on to the next driver.

Lando barely had time to process it before he heard a very familiar voice from just beyond the camera crew.

"Are you actually kidding me right now?"

He turned just in time to see Y/N standing off to the side, arms crossed, glaring absolute murder at the interviewer’s back.

The Drive to Survive crew, who had been filming his interview, immediately turned their cameras to her.

"What kind of stupid question was that?" she ranted, clearly not caring that she was being recorded. "‘Do you think you don’t have what it takes?’ Seriously? What kind of journalism school did this guy go to? All he knows is how to rile people up!”

Lando pressed his lips together, trying very, very hard not to laugh.

She was fuming.

"He should be embarrassed," she continued, still glaring. "Lando literally fought for this title until the last possible second, and that’s the best he could come up with? I should go over there right now—"

Lando immediately stepped in, wrapping his arms around her from behind, pulling her into his chest before she could march into the press pen and make headlines. "Alright, alright," he murmured against her hair, biting back a grin. "That’s enough murder threats for one night."

"I wasn’t threatening murder," she huffed, but she didn’t resist when he turned her to face him. "I was just saying that guy deserves to step on fifty Legos barefoot."

"That’s fair," Lando admitted, his grip tightening slightly as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. "But I promise, I’m okay."

She searched his face, still frowning slightly. "You shouldn’t have to deal with that."

"I know." He smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "But I’d rather deal with bad interviews than have to bail my girlfriend out for punching a reporter."

"No promises," she muttered, but her lips twitched, betraying her frustration.

Lando chuckled, then, because he simply couldn’t help himself, tilted her chin up and kissed her, slow and soft, like he had all the time in the world.

He felt the presence of what seemed to be a thousand cameras on them, but he didn’t care.

Because right now, nothing else mattered.

🪻🪻🪻

The studio setup was familiar by now, the sleek black backdrop, the dramatic lighting, the Drive to Survive crew hovering around with their cameras and microphones. It was the same place where all the serious, intense driver interviews had been filmed throughout the season.

Except today, it wasn’t serious.

Because today, it was Lando and Y/N sitting on the interview couch together, and nothing about them being in the same room was ever serious.

Lando leaned back comfortably, one arm draped over the back of the couch behind Y/N, while she sat cross-legged beside him, her fingers lazily toying with the hem of her dress. The crew had barely started rolling when he shot the camera a mischievous grin.

“So,” he said, adjusting his mic, “are we finally getting our own spin-off? Because I think the world deserves to see the behind-the-scenes of my life with this one.” He nudged Y/N playfully.

She snorted. “Your life? Excuse me? I’m the normal one in this relationship.”

The interviewer chuckled. “Lando, would you agree with that?”

Lando turned to her, looking absolutely scandalized. “Absolutely not. This woman started a verbal fight with a group of fans and nearly went after a reporter on my behalf. The only reason she’s not banned from the paddock is because she’s cute.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “The only reason you weren’t banned from my apartment after losing the title was because you’re cute.”

Lando grinned, nudging her shoulder. “So you admit it? I am cute?”

The crew laughed as Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “Fine. You’re alright.”

“Alright?” He turned to the camera. “You see how she treats me?”

The interviewer, still chuckling, moved on. “Alright, let’s go back to the start of the season. You’ve had a whirlwind year Lando, you were a title contender, and Y/N, you were very vocal throughout. What’s been your favorite moment we’ve captured?”

Y/N hummed, tapping her chin. “Ooh, good question. Probably when Lando lost his mind after that crash with Max.”

The crew laughed knowingly.

Lando groaned, but he was smiling. “Of course that’s your favorite. Not like, I don’t know, any of my actual racing?”

“Oh, right,” she said, grinning. “The whole driving really fast thing. You’re decent at that.”

The interviewer raised a brow. “Just decent?”

Lando turned to Y/N, smirking. “I was in a title fight, you know.”

“Okay, okay, you were great,” she admitted, patting his knee. “There. Happy?”

Lando nodded smugly. “Very.”

The interviewer smiled. “And Lando, what about you? Favorite moment we’ve captured?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Her reaction after my first win in Miami.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Wait, really?”

Lando looked at her, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah, I mean I’d never seen you that happy.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And I like making you happy.”

Y/N bit her lip, warmth spreading in her chest. “Okay, that was kinda sweet.”

“I have my moments,” Lando said, leaning in closer. “You should kiss me now.”

The crew laughed, but Y/N just pushed his face away with a laugh. “We’re literally being filmed right now, Norris.”

“Yeah, and?”

The interviewer, still amused, decided to wrap things up. “Alright, last question. If you had to describe this season in one word, what would it be?”

Lando thought for a second, then smirked. “Chaotic.”

Y/N groaned. “Please don’t say—”

“Because of you,” Lando finished, grinning as he dodged the pillow she threw at him.

She sighed, shaking her head with a smile. “Fine. Then my word is entertaining, because watching Lando suffer through PR answers all season has been hilarious.”

Lando turned to the camera, deadpan. “She’s so lucky I love her.”

The crew laughed as Y/N leaned into him, stealing a quick peck on his cheek. “And you’re so lucky I put up with you.”

He smiled, lacing their fingers together. “Best kind of luck, isn’t it?”

And just like that, the season wrapped.

not so sure about this one, but then again when am i ever sure about anything! <3 also i am accepting requests, so feel free to send your prompts or ideas with any of the drivers xoxo

[no-144444]

right here- k. antonelli

summary: you realised how much he misses you.

pairing: andrea kimi antonelli x fem! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He stared at his phone screen, basically begging it to light up.

It didn’t. 

Which was fine. You usually called him at the same time everyday, but not today. That was fine. He would be fine. 

A knock at his hotel room door pulled him out of bed, it was his dinner. He sat down to eat it, feeling every ache and pain the past few weeks had caused. He hadn’t expected the jump to be so… much. He thought it would be simple, easy, just like F2. He was wrong. He was driving well, but not well enough, and he was worried. He pushed it all to the back of his mind, but the only other thing in his mind was you. 

What would you be doing now? On your way to uni, probably. Probably finishing off your makeup on the train because you’re allergic to waking up early enough to get it all done. Or maybe you’d actually woken up early, and you could get some reading done before your lectures took your attention. Friday. Free practice and sprint quali. He had time, but not enough. He needed rest. He needed you. But you were halfway across the world and he wouldn’t see you for another few months. 

Another knock at the door. He dragged his exhausted body to the door and opened it without question. 

And there you were. 

Waiting for him. Suitcase in hand. Bright smile despite your long day of travel. 

“Hey baby,” you smiled, your voice soft. It immediately put to bed the thoughts he’d been thinking about you pulling away from him. 

He took a step closer and wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace. The world seemed to slow around you two, allowing space for the subtle calmness you brought him. He pressed his head into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath in. Your shampoo, the perfume he got you last Christmas, his your cosy hoodie, you. He’d needed this, needed you. 

“I missed you.”

His gentle admission in the low light of the hotel hallway made your heart ache. Sometimes you forgot Kimi wasn’t always your happy, go-lucky, bright Kimi. Sometimes he was beaten down by his sport. Sometimes he was exhausted. Sometimes he was just… meh. And that was fine with you. 

“I missed you too,” you whispered, hands pulling through his curls as he leant against you. “How are you doing?” 

He pulled back and ushered you in, taking your bag from you (ever the gentleman). “I’m… alright. Tired,” he admitted. “Just… needed you, I guess,” he chuckled as he scratched the back of his head, not realising what was coming out of his mouth. 

You stared at him, smiling. “Yeah?” You mused, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

He blushed but nodded, wrapping his hands around your waist. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m here, and I’m all yours for the whole weekend,” you smiled. “No uni work, nothing like that.” 

He smiled. “You’ll come to the race?”

“Only if you want me there,” you chuckled. 

“I want you everywhere. Wherever I am,” he admitted, his fingers drawing small shapes on your skin. “Always.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Well, I’m right here.”

And how true it was. You were right there in front of him. And he wasn’t going to let the weekend pass without allowing himself to spend some time with you. You sat on the couch together, watching whatever show you’d convinced him was hilarious. He didn’t spare the TV one glance. You were right there. You were a thousand times more interesting than some fucking TV show. 

And he thanked his lucky stars that he knew you.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

williams and merc masterlist

[baepsays]

i'm sorry but i'm still not over "ADORATION & AFFECTION" like AHHH 😭✨ i’m SCREAMING at him pinning us down like “nah u stay here forever”—SIR?? i’d fold so fast 🔥 it's like toxic but make it sexy 💦

hiii baby<3 omggg i am so happy you liked it!!! he is soooo crazy lol but he is really good at hiding it. here is something i wrote related to him lol just never thought about releasing it.

cw: descriptions of gore, mentions of blood, violence, fem reader, torture, he is very crazy.

Cult leader husband Geto Suguru, who does not hesitate to kill people in cold blood. And does not shy away from cutting a few limbs, or slitting a few throats, or unleashing unfathomable amounts of curses in a public space. Crossing him is like starting your own death clock, that ticks really slowly and painfully. 

But nothing comes first to his wife, he would not hesitate to pick up a call or maybe just flee the scene altogether, if you are involved. 

So when he is sitting in his torture room, all bored and slumped in his seat, head in his hand, leaning on the armrest of the chair—your voice calling him from the other side of the door, piqued more of his interest than the guy being tortured in front of him. 

“Sugu, are you there?” your hesitant voice drew him off his chair.

“One second darling.” He made his way over to the door, avoiding the whimpering man on the ground and the pool of blood on the floor. Thank god it was not a wooden floor, imagine cleaning that, not that he has to clean anything himself. 

As soon as he opened the door, he got a sash off his robe, and immediately blindfolded you; to lead you to the seat he was sitting on. 

“Careful there sweetie.” weaving you around the blood, mutilated limbs, and dead bodies, he carefully got you and himself to the chair. He reoccupied his seat, and pulled you down on his lap to take a seat on your rightful throne. With your back to his chest, his head on your shoulder, a smile on his face that displayed more contentment than being in heaven, with his eyes set on your face and nose nuzzling in your neck; he moved one finger for his henchmen to cut off that one half alive man’s tongue out of his mouth. So you don’t have to hear his pathetic whimpers of agony. What if it gives you nightmares like that one time you walked in on him making a man beg for his life, while Suguru’s curses chewed on his legs. 

“What do you need darling?” He kissed up the side of your neck and his teeth bit down on your earlobe.

“The girls wanted to go out for dinner, so i wanted to ask you if you can make it?” you focused on his kisses and the strands of his loose hair tickling the side of your face, instead of thinking about what happens in this room.

“How can I ever deny all three of my favorite girls anything? Hmm? ” and with one motion of his eyes, the bodies were gone, along with all the blood and severed limbs. After some room freshener, of course, he took off your blindfold to a now completely clean room. And it was not the first time, but it always surprises you how he can manage something like this. But after over a decade with your husband, you have stopped questioning him, and given up all of your soul and trust in his hands. 

“Go get ready darling.”

a/n: dividers by @/omi-resources.

find 'adoration & affection' here.

[triplefrontierbabe]

1,1,3 😛😛😛 i feel like i gotta

Max’s Shift in Career

summary: you ask the million dollar question to have a baby

pairing: f! reader x Max Verstappen

prompt: asking for a baby x Max Verstappen x fic

warning: mentions of pregnancy, if that is not a topic you’re interested in, please skip

a/n: part of 600 followers celebration!!! thank you anon for this!!! you’re doing a service for asking for this hehe

600 followers celebration

You were visiting Max’s sister, Victoria and her family, during summer vacation. Spending a few weeks away on the beach with family was your perfect idea of a break. Mornings were slow and the days were long, but in the right way. While you and Victoria enjoyed sunbathing, Max and Joris spent time playing with the kids in the water. While it warms your heart seeing Max interact with his niece and nephews, you’d be remiss to not say there was a part of you that yearned for more.

Over the course of the couple years you and Max have been dating, the talk of children and the future definitely was a topic of conversation more than once. Given Max’s career and the constant travel, there was a mutual understanding that having kids was something to be put on the back burner for the time being. And, you understood why. But, the want has always been something that’s flashed through your mind more than once– especially when you see him around his sister’s kids.

“What’s on your mind?” Victoria says, pulling you out of your deep thoughts.

“Well, what isn’t at this point?” You reply with a small chuckle. Victoria smiles at you knowingly. Ever since you started dating Max you had become instant best friends with Victoria. She’s become the sister you never had.

“How did you and Joris know it was the right time?” You ask after a moment of silence. Victoria tilts her head inquisitively. She follows your line of sight which is on Max who is holding one of his nephews splashing around in the water. She nods in quiet understanding, knowing what you’re implying.

“Well,” she begins, turning to face you more, “there really isn’t a “right” time, honestly. There’s always going to be something coming up in life but you just go with the flow, I guess.”

You turn to look at her, your brow furrowed in thought.

“To be frank, even after our third, there was still that apprehension but once the baby’s here, everything falls into place.” Victoria continues, now shifting her gaze to her husband and kids.

As the words sink in, your yearning for a family grows. Having a family of your own has been a dream of yours forever and the more time you spend with Max, the more the desire grows. And it’s not out of your own selfishness per se, rather it’s out of the love you have for Max. You know he’d be a great father, especially with the amount of love he has for you, you can only imagine that would double, even triple towards a baby.

“Talk to him, you might be on the same page even more than you thought.” Victoria urges you. If there’s one person who knows Max more than you, it’s his own sister. And, she would never steer either of you wrong.

Later that night, after dinner and after everyone has turned in for the night, the conversation you had with Victoria earlier is still swimming in your mind.

Max notices your pensive expression as you stand at the bathroom sink washing your face. He walks up behind you and lays a kiss to the crown of your head as his arms come to wrap around your waist. For a moment, the two of you stand there in a domestic bliss. It’s now or never, you think.

“Can we have a baby?” You blurt out as you finish patting your face dry with a towel. Your eyes meet Max’s in the mirror as he raises his eyebrows in surprise by your straightforwardness. His mouth opens, almost as if to say something but you turn around to face him, your back now up against the sink counter.

“I know we’ve talked about it before and that with racing and everything it wouldn’t be the easiest to do so but I feel ready and I love you and I want this with you no matter how crazy or hectic it may be but I also understand if you’re not ready-” You ramble before Max butts in.

“Is that why you’ve been quiet lately?” He asks, you can only manage to nod in response.

You both stand there in silence for a few moments, allowing the words to sink in giving Max time to respond. After a beat, Max draws in a sharp breath.

“Of course I’m ready, I always have been. The only thing I’ve been hesitant on is leaving you at home while I’m halfway across the world.” He finally says, studying your face.

“Max,” you say, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek, “I would be okay. I have your sister, your mom and my friends that will be there while you're gone. I don’t want to wait for a “perfect” time, because that’s taboo. I want you and I want a family with you.”

After a moment, Max cracks a smile.

“Well, I guess we better start cracking then.”

“Really?” You say full of surprise.

“Of course, honey. You’re the most important person to me and, I know we’ve always beat around the bush with this but it’s only because I didn’t want you to feel alone in it. So as long as you're comfortable and ready, I’m ready too.” Max says pulling you into an embrace.

“But if anything happens while I’m away, call me and I will stop the car mid race to be next to you.” He says faking seriousness.

“Oh no, you’re finishing your races. Our baby will not have a quitter as a father.” You respond teasingly.

Although you say perfect timing was taboo, the universe was on your side for this because you went into labor shortly after the race in Monaco the next season. And Max, finished the race and was by your side through it all.

F1 Masterlist | Indycar Masterlist

taglist: @bernelflo @ifyouaintfirstyourelastt @f1updates4you @r0nnsblog @meglovesmclaren

[peanutheaddd]

Hiii!!! Loving your swap AU so much! Your Greg especially is very cute as a 'bad guy' lolol, I think seeing any version of Dogman angry itches something in my brain—he's usually so happy...

I had a question: where is Petey's dad in this AU? Is he a good guy since it's a Swap? Or is he dead and Grace alive? Is he the same bitter old man from the original?

If he's still a crappy person, it would be interesting to see the dinamic between the more cheerful Petey and his dad, or maybe Greg meeting him...? Endless possibilities!

GRAAAGHHHH THANK YOU !!!!!! and ur so right i feel like js having dog mans show some emotion other than being silly and carefree is Very compelling js bc hes usually Always silly and carefree (my goat!)

my au isnt super Consistent but the general gist is that it swaps petey + dog mans main personality and roles . so other than that everything else stays Mostly the same ^_^ so grampa is still a pos (unfortuantely) and he is still alive (unfortunately)

swap petey is just . way more forgiving. and hes also Very sensitive to what other people think of him (similarily to canon dog man) esp if its people he regards highly . swap petey never rlly gave up the hope that grampa would come back and he kept holding onto this belief that he was only a deadbeat for reasons out of his control .

so when grampa shows up again and hes literlaly Just a piece of shit its . kind of a lot for him. he would try rlly hard to please him and be uncharacteristically timid around him like hes constantly walking on eggshells; his people pleasing tendencies would just come out full blast (since yk those people pleasing tendencies only exist bc of this old hag) . ultimately when it comes to grampa petey is still that little kitten who just wants his dad to love him .

ultimately he would cut contact like in canon mostly because he sorta has a wake up call after lil petey Basically asks him why hes letting this crusty dusty old man walk all over him and hes like Lord what example am i setting for my son .

as for dog man he wouldnt like this old man LMFAOOOOOO hes encountered lots of scumbags in his life so far and grampa js seems like a textbook scumbag to him LOL . his dislike probs is mostly surface level until he gets closer to petey and he tells him exactly what he did to him + his mom and then from that point he hates his ass . its on sight

[rrezshifts]

the last shifting ask game reblog where i ask for asks for my smosh reality!! there’s two other reblogs with different questions in case these don’t interest you enough!! anyway thank you to anyone who asks me anything!!💕💗

🍒 — FRUIT ASK GAME

( reblog … send a fruit … get an answer !! what will the fruit oracle tell you about other realities hmm )

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

— 🍋 TERRIBLY SOUR LEMON … who’s your least favorite person in your DR? a poisonous ex, a toxic professor—maybe someone who tried to straight up murder you. who do you truly go sour in the face at the thought of?

— 🍎 SHINY RED APPLE … what are you the absolute best at in your DR? the thing that, when people need help with it, they let out the most gigantic sigh of relief when you walk in the room—everyone knows you do it best

— 🍓 SUGAR SWEET STRAWBERRY … what’s the most romantic, sugar-sweet moment you’ve had or will have in your DR? something so terrifically soft and perfect it could’ve come straight from a wild strawberry patch

— 🍆 DEEP UMBER EGGPLANT … what’s the most thrilling fantasy you have about your lover in your DR? no information is too much or too little, it’s all according to your comfort—a midnight rendezvous, a sudden vacation for two, or maybe just a night in with one-or-two extra glasses of wine and hanging out :)

— 🥝 FUZZY BURST KIWI … what’s something about you in your DR that people wouldn’t expect to be true? it doesn’t quite line up, some fabulous detail about you. when people find out, they’re positively shocked

— 🥭 TROPICAL LUSH MANGO … what adds the most dynamic, vibrant color to your DR? a person, a place, an activity, a part of your identity—its presence lights up your existence there like sun rays on a blank canvas

— 🍏 CRISP GREEN APPLE … what’s a memory from your childhood in your DR that stands out amongst the others? the edges of the picture are crisp, it may not be particularly good or bad—but intricately memorable

— 🍈 HONEY BLISS CANTALOUPE … what’s your favorite season in your DR? do you enjoy sun-drenched summers, an exhilarating back to school time in autumn, or perhaps some particularly festive Christmas traditions that make the wintertime special?

— 🍒 BLOODRED CHERRIES … what is your biggest fear in your DR? you don’t have to get deep if you don’t wanna—it can be as small and horrifying as a spider or the dark. something that truly rattles you to your bones

— 🥑 EARTHY AVOCADO … what’s the most comforting part of your daily routine in your DR? it’s grounding—something that no matter where you are or what you have going on, will always give you reprise and solace

— 🫐 DEWY BLUEBERRIES … what’s your comfort meal or dessert in your DR? maybe it’s something your parents make for you, something you order from room service while you’re reclined in a hotel room, or something simple you prepare for yourself—it makes you feel better the second you sink your teeth into i

— 🍑 OVERRIPE PEACH … what kind of a future do you imagine for yourself in your DR? white picket fence material, with marriage and a couple kids? perhaps childless but continuing on your adventures til old age, or all of the above?

— 🍌 SUNNY BANANA … what’s a piece of art, literature or music that truly moved you in your DR? perhaps something that shaped your identity, something that you enjoy for purely academic reasons, or just your favorite

— 🍅 SCARLET TOMATO … what’s the juiciest secret you’ve ever kept or will keep in your DR? the kind of scandalous thing that would positively burst into drama if revealed

— 🥥 SUN-KISSED COCONUT … what would your ideal vacation be in your DR? a tropical getaway, with white sand and bungalows? a secluded retreat into the foggy mountains? where would you go, and who would you bring with you?

— 🍉 JUICY WATERMELON … what’s your favorite thing about your lover in your DR? the way they smell like home, how they make your chest hurt with laughter, how they take care of you. maybe the way their hair falls in their face just so

— 🍍 SPIKY BOLD PINEAPPLE … if your life in your DR had a color palette, what would it look like? perhaps pastels, or a range of jewel tones? maybe a collection of shades that seem totally random, but that make perfect sense just to you

— 🍐 MELLOW PEAR … what’s a dream or goal you’re pursuing in your DR? it could be as small as reading more often, or going out with your friends more, or as large as saving the entire cosmic universe. whatever you’re working towards!

— 🍇 TART PURPLE GRAPES … if you could bottle the scent of your favorite memories in your DR, what would the notes be? base notes of parchment and ink for your academic pursuits? middle notes of jasmine and rose petals for a lover you hold close to your heart? perhaps top notes of sea salt and sand for a place you find solace in?

— 🍊 SUNSET CITRUS ORANGE … what’s your favorite kind of outing to go on in your DR, with your friends, family, or your partner? whether it’s a classy art gallery, a carefree rocky beach, or an urban jaunt to the mall, you know you’ll have a good time every time

— 🍋‍🟩 ZESTY SOUR LIME … do you have any scars in your DR? a little mark on your knee from a childhood mishap on a scooter, or some gigantic mark left as proof of your world-saving tendencies—one that tells a story, big or small

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

[invincibledc]

SNIPPET OF JACKLYN “JACK” OSWALD QUINN

“Why aren’t you interested in love?” a henchman asks, eyeing the boy Joker with curiosity. Jack Quinn, a pint-sized version of his notorious parents, exudes mischief with his striking green hair, a splash of his natural blonde peeking through.

“Why aren’t I interested in love, you ask?” he replies, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. A shadow flits across his face, dark and brooding.

“Maybe I am. Or maybe I just haven’t realized that I’m utterly obsessed with someone,” the boy Joker continues, a cruel, chilling laugh escaping his lips, sending shivers down the henchman’s spine. But just as quickly as it came, the moment passes, and he shakes it off like flipping a switch.

“Oh! I’m about to miss my 6 o’clock appointment. Got to dash,” he chirps, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder. “Thanks for... whatever questionable use my dad found for you.”

As he strides away, his mind drifts back to a certain batkid that has anchored itself in his thoughts. His future puddin’—just waiting to be scooped up and consumed.

Is he crazy in love? You bet he is.

[ptej1980]

Well isn’t this interesting….

A creator on x decided to use AI to ask some Questions about PR relationships…

💀 GPT chat

Explain to me in 10 steps what a successful PR would be for a hidden relationship between two famous actors.

Successful PR for a hidden relationship between two actors follows a careful strategy to maintain mystery, generate interest, and control the narrative without completely exposing them. Here are 10 well-structured steps:

1. Define the purpose of the PR

Why keep the relationship a secret? It could be to protect their careers, avoid disrupting a film they're working on together, or simply to fuel the mystery and media attention.

2. Design an official story

Establish how you'll explain your relationship if questions arise. Are you just friends? Do you have mutual friends? Did you meet at an event? Your answers should be consistent.

3. Create strategic meetings

Situations are arranged where they can be seen together without raising suspicion: parties with other celebrities, group gatherings, or events where they both "coincidentally" meet.

4. Manage social media with subtlety

They may not interact too much, but they can leave subtle clues: liking specific posts, wearing similar clothes at different times, or sharing photos from similar locations without making it obvious they're together.

5. Control leaks

They carefully choose which details to leak to the media: someone saw them speaking at an event, a blurry photo at a dinner, a gesture that seems intimate but ambiguous.

6. Use allies in the media

Publicists work with trusted journalists and media outlets to influence how rumors are reported, ensuring the narrative remains under control.

7. Deny without denying

If you ask them directly, they can use answers like:

"We get along incredibly well, he's a great coworker."

"Don't believe everything you read, we're just friends."

"It's funny how people invent things."

These answers maintain the doubt without completely confirming or denying it.

8. Distract with other headlines

To prevent rumors from spreading too far, alternative news is generated: new projects, interactions with other actors, or even false rumors of relationships with other people.

9. Prepare a contingency plan

If a compromising photo is leaked or the relationship is accidentally confirmed, you should have a strategy ready:

"Yes, we are dating, but we want to keep it private."

"We're very close, but there's nothing romantic about it."

"We have nothing to say about it."

10. Decide the end of the PR

Over time, they may choose to reveal the relationship with an interview or a social media post, or they may quietly "break up," letting the media attention fade without explanation.

This type of strategy is frequently used in Hollywood to control the public narrative.

Do you have a couple in mind who you think follows these steps?

Why yes we do thank you chat GPT….

Me: Yes, Luke Newton and Nicola Coughlan.

Luke Newton and Nicola Coughlan have generated quite a bit of speculation about their relationship, especially due to their chemistry on Bridgerton and their off-set interactions. If they were following a PR for a secret relationship, it might look something like this:

1. Official narrative: They would say that they are "very good friends" and that their chemistry is only a result of their work as actors.

2. Strategic appearances: They would be seen together at group events, award ceremonies, and interviews, but never in overtly romantic situations.

3. Social media with subtle clues: Likes on posts, photos from similar locations without showing them together, ambiguous comments in interviews.

4. Controlled leaks: Some tabloids would publish that "a close source" has seen them very close, but without conclusive evidence.

5. Denial without denial: In interviews they would say things like: "We had a lot of fun working together, we have a great connection."

6. Media allies: Some more reliable media outlets would handle the issue with caution, while tabloids would exaggerate rumors.

7. Distraction with other rumors: They would be linked to other actors or attention would be focused on their upcoming projects to divert attention.

8. Crisis control: If a compromising photo were to come to light, they could say it was a moment between friends or an off-camera scene.

9. Possible revelation: If the PR works well and generates enough interest, they could make the relationship official at an event or on social media.

10. If they decide not to go public, they would simply stop interacting as much until the rumors die down.

Hmmmm Chat GPT interesting 🤔 what do you think?

[dammit-tazmuir]

Just collecting some highlights from the tags and other branches of reblogs bc they all deserve to be seen.

She's deeply self-aware, and in many ways so confident and comfortable with herself, but also aware of her struggles and short-comings in a way that frustrates her but she isn't ashamed of. She knows her psychological hangup on the replacement arm that Wasn't Perfect So She Didn't Want It was petty and stupid and she still couldn't get over it, and she hated but really deeply accepted that. When she has huge ugly reactions to the first time in the River or to RB/Herald proximity, there's no denial or covering or anything really, she lets body do what it's gonna do. About the only thing she really gets flustered about is getting caught having positive feelings lol.

She has extremely low empathy and is deeply humanized about that and I will love that about her for all of time. She cracks jokes at the worst times. ("Some people will do anything to get.... a head..." I adore her.) She's decisive and owns every decision she ever makes. At no point has she ever shown typical guilt or regret, only occasional adjacent frustration or doubt at most. At no point has she ever felt particular pity or sympathy for anyone, and she doesn't need to.

She's kind to Harrow because she likes her and is interested in forming a bond with her. She gets upset at the idea Harrow might die because she doesn't want Harrow taken from her. She's nice to Augustine because flattering him benefits her and his company is enjoyable and his skills are admirable. She can and will be kind, funny, at times charming, helpful, extremely reliable if she's committed to something, and at times do her best to be comforting and even do things that for all intents and purposes are selfless, even though it is at all times rooted in a selfish mindset. She does things for other people because she WANTS to, sometimes to a point the thing SHE wants most IS what's good for them even if there's no other benefit for her.

She's also a big dumb whiny baby sometimes in the most endearing way. She's one of the funniest characters in the series. She genuinely seems to think she's "the main character" or at least more important than most people. She is a walking pile of snark and apathy and mean jokes and unpleasantness crossed with selective but terrifying and ferocious levels of devotion and brilliance. She's a massive bitch and is entirely at peace with that and she looks like someone left stale bread and butter out in the rain, and that coexists fully with the fact that she is beautiful and loves fiercely and always understands she has room to improve.

Harrow early on begrudges knowing Ianthe has a brain, but "the heart was an open question." But later, and before that from the reader's perspective, in the Prologue, she can hear the beating of "her wet and human heart", and I think there's something evocative about the way that's phrased. She is actively trying to be mean and nasty in many instances and she also very much does do many heinous crimes, but she is always sympathetic and always feels like a very real person. And honestly if even one or two people have ever better understood and been better able to communicate with someone they knew with similar tendencies (hopefully minus the murder and cannabilism but you know) thanks to Ianthe, then all the more reason to be forever grateful she exists.

It’s “can you think of anything nice you like about Ianthe” time! I’ll go first.

She really didn’t play the game at Canaan House. She very much was like, “fuck your keys and fuck you” and did it her way. The reverse engineering plus the common sense is neat. She really is a genius. I mean, she overdoes it sometimes…. Aaaand… she did do a spot of ‘the murder’. But it was just Babs. Who even cares about Babs?

And then we can round this out by just thinking about Ianthe noticing Harrow noticing her. 👍

[ahgasegotarmy116]

The Art of Etiquette Part 11 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: The days leading up to the ball become fewer but a harsh reality hits you leaving you more conflicted than you already were. Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook Word Count: 2k~ Warnings: No real warnings a/n: So yeah...it's been a while. Sorry it took me so long to update this story and sorry it's so short but I wanted to bring this one back into the light. I know I keep on saying the ball is in the next chapter but it really will be in part 12 I promise. I wanted to make this chapter longer but I figured I made you guys wait long enough...plus I needed to reintroduce something I spoke about in the first chapter. Start from the beginning

The next couple of days go by in a blur. 

Extra long lessons with Jungkook after my seemingly never ending lectures have my head pounding. 

"Miss y/n?" my professor calls me over to his desk, finishing up my last lecture before I have to go see Jungkook. "Yes?" I ask and wait patiently for him to hopefully get to thee point sooner rather than later. 

"The submission deadline for the writing contest is this weekend. Have you submitted your piece?" he asks, looking up at me through his glasses from his seated position.

I curse at myself internally, having completely spaced about it.

"I haven't but I plan on doing so as soon as I can! The deadline is Sunday night right?" I pray, hoping that I'm correct. "It's Saturday night at 11:59 pm. Do you think you'll be able to complete it in time?" he questions, adjusting his glasses. 

"Yes, of course. They won't be holding the awards ceremony until next month though correct?" I ask and he hums, confirming my suspicions. "Should be around two or three weeks after depending on how many submissions they get" 

I nod and thank him once more for the opportunity and luckily the reminder as well and quickly rush out. I choose to text Jungkook this time the reason why I'll be a few minutes late again, hoping that'll keep him from nagging me about it too much

~~~~~

"You seem...distracted today" Jungkook points out, watching as I wondered off in thought for the fifth time today. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. What were you saying?" I ask, feeling guilty since he's gone out of his way to go through the guest list of the rsvp'd attendees of the ball this weekend. Making sure to tell me a little about each family to hopefully prepare me for the kinds of people that'll be there and how to compose myself around them.

"Let's take a break, otherwise you'll start mixing everyone up" he chuckles and sits down in a chair that's more or less facing me. 

"Are you alright?" he asks, tilting his head and taking note of the wrinkles between my brows as I'm clearly fighting some sort of internal battle that doesn't involve him today. 

"I have this writing contest that I had completely forgotten about and the due date is this Saturday" I sigh, slumping in my chair but this time he luckily doesn't scold me for it. 

"The same day as the charity ball..." he trails off and I nod, covering my face with my hands.

"He told me about it over a month ago" I grumble and Jungkook chuckles warmly at my inner turmoil. I groan as a response and he decides to not tease me about it anymore. 

After a while of sitting in silence he pulls my hands away from my face, making me glare at him as a response.

"Today is Tuesday correct?" he asks and I respond with a sigh of a small 'yes'. "I have an idea then" he says, peaking my interest. "Why don't we spend part of our time on our lessons and the rest of the time on your paper" he offers making my brows furrow.

"You'd do that for me?" I say, sitting up straight in my chair, trying to figure out if this is a joke or not but he simply nod.

"I don't see why not. You've been doing well in all of your lessons with me and I think you're more than prepared for the ball so there's no need to beat a dead horse. We'll just spend a little bit of our time getting to know the attendees and do a dance or two to keep you sharp and then I'll help you with your paper" he says and get's up to clear a space on his desk. 

"You'll help me?" I question, his willingness to sacrifice our lesson time for my extracurriculars surprising.

"I know it's important to you and if there's any way I could be of any sort of help to you then just let me know. You can work at my desk if you'd like" he says, picking up my bag that he knows has my laptop in it and bringing it over to said desk. 

It's times like these where he's sending me mixed signals of going from an etiquette teacher to someone who seems to truly care about me that makes me almost want to ask him questions like 'What are we?' or 'What are your intentions with me?' but even that last one is too open ended. 

"Are you alright?" he asks, when I haven't moved a muscle to walk over to his desk yet leaving me shaking my head in a way to get me out of my train of thought. 

"Yes. Sorry, yes I'm fine. I'm just trying to figure out what sort of topic I'd like to write about" I explain, owning up to what my partial train of thought might've been earlier. 

"Well what sort of contest is it? Is it for an article? A study?" he asks, going at it with a more academic approach, which makes sense in this case it's anything but that.

"It's creative writing. Basically anything from stories of love to poems of heartbreak to even the most suspenseful horror thrillers you could come across!" I say, getting more excited as time goes by, thinking about all the possibilities and topics I could write about. 

Picking one though is going to be difficult.

"Have you chosen your genre yet?" he asks and I plop myself down on his desk chair, sighing and opening up the blank document that I've been staring at off and on for weeks. 

"You haven't even started it?" he sighs and I shake my head, disheartened at the thought of waisting so much of my precious free time with nothing to show for it.

"What do you usually write about?" he asks, helping me work through the creative process. "Mostly love stories" I sigh and when I look up at him I see him smiling down at me, "Don't laugh" I glare and he holds his hands up in surrender. 

"I wasn't laughing, I was smiling. There's a difference" he smirks and brings a chair over to sit near me. "Yeah well don't do that. It makes me feel like you're mocking me for being a lovesick schoolgirl" I grumble and he chuckles. 

"Aren't you?" he says, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his chin on his fist, giving me that infuriatingly attractive grin he knows does wonders on a girl's nervous system. "No, I'm not. Now would you please be quiet if you're not going to be helpful" I huff, pulling the flyer out of my bag and giving it a once over. 

"Okay enough with the teasing I'll help" he says and looks over my shoulder to check it out as well before I hand it to him and go looking through my Pinterest board to see if I can find some inspiration.

"Have you ever written a love story set in the eighteen hundreds? Something to do with kings and queens? Princes and Princesses?" he suggests and I know for a fact that I haven't. "Isn't that a little too cheesy with the whole fairytale kind of route?" I say, pointing out how cliché it would be.

"Not if I help you" he offers and I look at him suspiciously. "What sorts of people do you think I would have to study in order to be a proper etiquette teacher?" he says, his words answering the question I had telepathically asked. 

"I guess you'd be the perfect collaborator in that respect" I admit and he nods and moves his chair closer making me lean away from him as a response. 

"You know I don't bite pretty now come on, we've got some work to do" he taunts, slipping in that pet name he knows messes with my head, leaving me scoffing in response before turning back to the blank document staring me in the face on my computer screen. 

~~~~~

The next two days we do just as he had said, spending an hour or two on my lessons and the rest on my story. However rushed it is I feel like it's my best story yet. 

The research on the time period has been simple since Jungkook's had all the answers and if not he finds them out for me, making this whole piece seem even more authentic.

When I take breaks Jungkook pours over the text, doing edits here and there and talking me through the scenes to help formulate some parts a little more artistically, making the regal setting come to life. 

Friday has been a different story, as both deadlines approach us the time we have left is in conflict of where our priorities should lie.

"We can skip our lesson today" Jungkook finally says after I've put my heels on. "But tomor-" "You're ready" he say, cutting me off mid sentence. "Spend the rest of your time on your story" he smiles softly and places a hand on my shoulder before leaving the room, no doubt to get us some sustenance to keep us going.

Something about the interaction made my heart flutter. His confidence in me as well as his want for me to spend time on something I'm truly passionate about makes a sort of funny feeling settle in my stomach. 

Am I-?

"Black or green tea this time?" he asks, coming back into the room with a little tray of food and tea pot ready to envelop the tea leaves of choice. "Black please, I need all the energy I can get" he chuckles and does just that, adding a few scoops to the pot before closing the lid and letting it steep. 

"Were you able to work on it again once you went home?" he asks, bringing my bag over to his desk and pulling my laptop out for me. "I did but it's hard to work on it without yo- without being here" I say, not wanting to admit that I in some way needed him, my cheeks heating up at the slip up.

"Right" he smiles, not sparing me a glance as he plugs in my charger and pulls the chair out for me. 

"Is everything alright?" he asks once he sees my hesitance in coming closer but I shake my head and as a result shake myself out of the headspace I had allowed myself to trail into.

"There's nothing to be nervous about" he says, reading me perfectly like he always does. "What if it's not good enough?" I sigh, my hands resting in my lap, not making moves to reach for the keys. 

"It's a beautiful story told from the heart about a love so true one could only dream to experience something so heartbreaking" he says and his compliment however sincere seems unable to reach me now.

Once he's seen my head droop further he turns my chair around and crouches in front of me, tilting my chin up the slightest bit. "Your writing is beautiful. Anyone who's eyes get to land on a single word of yours should thank their lucky stars" he says making me smile just the slightest bit.

"There she is" he says with a warm tone, one I had never heard before making my heart flutter once again. 

"Now come on" he says spinning me back around to face the screen. "We've got a deadline to meet do we not?" he says and places his hands on my shoulders as a way to show some confidence and solidarity, believing in me until his last breath.

"We do indeed" I chuckle softly and finally rest my fingers upon those familiar keys.

prev / next Series Masterlist

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @coralmusicblaze @whoa-jo @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater Taglist continued in the comments 💜

Join my Taglist!

Feel free to fill out the form or just comment on any of my fics to be added :)

[blessedmisery]

ONLY GOOD GIRLS GET GOOD GRADES!

✰ pairing: professor!sylus x fem!reader ✰ summary: desperate to raise your failing grade, you meet professor sylus in his office where he gives you feedback that looks a little different from what you expected. wc; 4.9k (im so sorry) ✰ warnings: use of pet names, dirty talk, fingering, oral m!receiving, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, slight dom/sub dynamics, power play, pussy slapping (once), minor cum play, some thigh riding, size kink bcz sylus is huge, tummy bulge, choking, kinda pet play, sylus might be abit ooc (sorry i tired), 18+ MDNI ✰ note: first time writing for sylus, i hope i did him justice. guys those slutty fucking glasses get me everytime. likes and reblogs always appreciated <3

You exhale a shaky breath, looking down at your paper through blurry eyes. Thick, wet tears prick at the corners, threatening to fall onto the big, mocking red ink that displays your grade. A fucking fail. 

Having been a straight A student throughout university—and really, for as long as you could remember—you couldn’t wrap your head around how things had spiraled to this point. Any grade below an A had always been unthinkable for you. But now, for the first time in your life, you were actually failing a class.

You thought that you might actually be losing it— that all the non-stop studying you’ve been doing must be finally getting to you. All those all-nighters and sleep deprived study days, all the long readings and writing until you can’t feel your hand— you might have finally achieved what they call ‘burnout’. 

No, that just couldn’t be right. Every other prof handed you A’s without a fight, but professor Sylus? The bastard had you fighting a war you were never meant to win—just to leave you with failing grades and nothing to show for it.

Though despite his harsh grading style, he was a good professor—there was no doubt about that. Always so clear and concise with his assignment instructions, answering every single question he was asked during lecture, and always providing his students with the most thorough and meticulous feedback. Yes, he sure was a good and generous professor—to everyone but you.

If it weren’t for your disappointing grades, one might say you were actually his best student. Sitting in the very first row of his class, listening so attentively to every word he spoke with that deep, soothing voice of his, and always wearing a cute lil’ skirt, paired with thigh high socks. Perfect student? Your grades might suggest otherwise but at least you managed to look the part.  

Professor Sylus however, didn’t see you that way. Sure, you always had interesting points to add to his lecture and great questions to ask him, but god, he couldn’t lie to himself— your too good, eager to learn attitude fucking pissed him off. Always raising your hand with that stupid excitement every time he asked a question, never forgetting to thank him after class like the good student you were, and looking like a little fucking whore — jesus, it drove him nuts.

And that’s exactly why he failed you— you were just too good. His gaze lingered on you anytime he returned a grade to you, watching your brows furrow and your face twist with confusion through his piercing red eyes. He didn’t mean to look—but fuck, he always did. Your frustration simply amused him. 

This little game of his might be wrong— some might even call it unethical, but he couldn’t help it. Some fucked up part of him wanted to see just how far a perfect student like you would go for a passing grade—what kind of unspeakable lines you’d cross to get what you wanted.  

You clutched the paper in your hand, crumpling it up, as the hours of painstaking writing—to meet his absurd instructions and demands— became absolutely meaningless. Looking up, you found him leaning with his arms crossed on the wooden lectern, looking at you through watchful eyes— lips pulled into an amused, lazy smirk. Fucking bastard. 

The class was finally over and people were slowly pouring out of the room, everyone leaving with graded papers in hand. Throwing your own, now, crumpled paper in your bag, you stood up, walking up to the front of the class. Sylus looked like he’d been waiting ages for this moment. 

“Sir, do you mind if I speak to you about my grade?” you ask, trying to keep your erratic emotions under control. You were fuming. Without a doubt, you deserved an A for that paper. But what really got to you was how effortlessly confident he looked, fully knowing he was failing you. 

“What, not happy with your grade?” he drawled slowly, his tall frame towering over you, studying you intently through his thin, frameless glasses. 

“To be honest sir, not at all. I was just wondering if you could give me some feedback” you replied, eyes fixed on your hands, nervously twiddling your thumbs, too afraid to meet his burning gaze. 

“I'll be at the university charity event until later this evening, you can come by my office afterwards. Room 305” he said flatly, his eyes wandering over your body, scanning over your ridiculously slutty outfit. Looking up at him, you nodded, giving him a quick “thank you” before leaving the room. His self-assured demeanor had a way of making your confidence flawlessly melt away. It disgusted you.

The rest of your day was spent in nervous anticipation, drifting in and out of focus during every class. You spent too much time in your head, thinking and crafting the perfect things to say to your professor—desperately hoping that he would be reasonable enough to raise your grade.

Hours later, with the sun sinking low in the sky and your head weighed down by the stress of your day, you finally found yourself planted in front of the dark brown wood door that was labelled as room 305. Nervous sweat beaded at your forehead as you stood there, arms glued at your sides, fingernails digging into your palms. This was fucking nerve wracking. You lifted a trembling knuckle to the door, lightly knocking before hearing a faint “Come in.”

Walking into the office, you saw your professor sitting behind his desk, wearing just a half buttoned dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves— holding that same, mocking red pen between his fingers. 

“Sit” was all he said without looking up from his page, pointing to the red leather armchair that stood in front of his desk. Red eyes, red leather chair and ridiculous red ink. Sitting down, you pressed your thighs together, placing your hands nervously in your lap. Your stomach felt like it was running laps—fluttering and twisting from the anxiety.

His office was pristine and expensive, just like him—decorated throughout with rich red, gold, and black accents. Not a speck of dust could be found in sight—the only semblance of a mess being visible on his dark, wooden desk. Books and stacks of papers to grade were scattered across it, with a pack of those awful red pens on top—almost like they were placed there just to mock you.

“You wanted to see me?” he questioned, scribbling comments on the paper he was currently grading—clearly too occupied to meet your eyes. You shifted nervously in your seat, reaching down to retrieve your crumpled paper from your bag. 

“Y-Yes, I was wondering what I could have done differently on my essay” you replied, noting how silly and small his pen looked in contrast to his big, slender hands. Sighing, he put it down, his red eyes finally shifting to meet your own. A warm rush made its way up your cheeks, turning them a light shade of pink. With a long finger, he adjusted his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, then folded his arms across his broad chest.

Finally, your professor spoke up. “Fix your spelling” was all he said, leaning back in his chair, not sparing your paper a second glance. Your eyes widened. That was it? All he had to say was to fix your spelling?

“But sir, I don’t think I had any spelling mistakes, I read my paper over at least ten times before handing it in,” you countered. You weren’t one to argue about your grades—it wasn’t in your nature, but fuck, was this starting to piss you off. 

“Fix your punctuation then” he said lazily, clearly putting little to no effort into the feedback he was giving you. What could he say to such a perfect student like yourself? There was nothing he could have asked you to improve. 

“I also looked over that before submitting my paper” you protested, growing angry with his lazy attitude. This is not how you expected this to go. 

“Then fix whatever else needs to be fixed” he stated plainly, still leaned back in his chair, watching the growing anger spread across your face with a calm, measured gaze.

“I don't understand” you huffed hopelessly. He was impossible. But fine, if he wanted to play this stupid game, you would play.

He hummed lightly, a playful smile pulling at his lips. Sylus was enjoying this—maybe a little too much. Standing up, he walked from behind his desk to the right side of the room, towards the big wall of bookshelves. Your eyes carefully followed him, watching his slender fingers trail slowly over the books.

“I’m sorry sir, I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. I’m frustrated because no matter what I do, my work never seems to please you” you admitted quietly, lowering your eyes back down to your fidgeting hands—a nervous habit of yours—that no matter what you did, you couldn’t seem to break. 

Sylus chuckled a deep laugh. “Please me? Your work is always a pleasure to read.” he replies smoothly, his surprising compliment sending an unusual warm sliver of hope mixed with pleasure down your spine.

Sylus was testing you—playing with you. He’d become too invested in this little game of his and now he finally had you pinned down right where he wanted you—at his mercy.

“Then what can I do to get a better grade in your class?” you ask, muttering the question quietly. For the second time just today, tears were threatening to escape your eyes. 

Gaze still locked on your nervous hands, you didn’t actually notice him walk across the room. Flinching slightly, you felt him place his hands on either side of the leather armchair behind you, bringing his lips close to your ear—his warm breath sending goosebumps racing over your trembling skin. Frozen in place, you anxiously awaited his next move.

“Don’t you get it? Only good girls get good grades.” you felt his soft whisper hit the shell of your ear. This was so wrong, he was too close to you—closer than a professor should ever get to his student. But if this was so wrong, why were your thighs pressed against each other, desperately trying to suppress your warm arousal from settling in your panties? 

Speechless, you were unsure of what to say. His tone hovered just on the edge of seduction, and you felt his gaze on you—sharp and deliberate, as if he were studying you. Sylus was lingering on the brink of sweet and forbidden temptation, waiting to see if you’d step in with him. 

He moved his head to the other side of yours, his warm, steady breath now tickling your other ear. 

“Awww, has the kitten lost her claws?” he said, his taunt a mere whisper, ghosting over your skin. That you had. Your anger had begun to dissipate, slowly being overridden by an unfamiliar feeling of arousal. Every shift in his movements, every word he spoke, blurred the line between right and wrong a little more.

“S-Sir” was all you managed to utter. He was hovering over you, gently running his finger tips up and down the length of the arm chair. Your own hands were clutching onto the hem of your skirt, fidgeting nervously with the fabric. 

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he asked mockingly, raising an amused eyebrow at your stunned, silent state. 

You were heavily debating the ethical implications of your current situation. On one hand, you were a fair student—one who’d never go as far as fuck her professor for a better grade. On the other hand, it couldn’t be a coincidence that you only dressed the way you did for professor Sylus’s class, only answered his questions with that stupid excitement, and only ever went as far as you currently found yourself—just for him. Fuck, this was already bordering on morally wrong, but you couldn’t deny the fluttering feeling you felt low in your core— the slick coating your panties. There was truly no denying the fact that you craved your disgustingly attractive professor's attention and praise. 

Dropping your head down lower, you managed to mutter out the most pathetic question you’d probably ever asked, “Am I not good enough sir?” 

Letting out a quiet laugh, he walked in front of where you were sitting, easily pushing your pressed thighs apart with just his leg. Warm fingers met with your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. Sylus was nearly twice your size and absurdly tall, forcing you to crane your neck just to meet his gaze.

“You’re arguably my best student”

“Sir, I—”

“But what kind of good student dresses like a little whore? What kind of good student comes begging her professor for better grades? Hm?” he cuts you off, lightly tugging on your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You try to stop your restless trembling, try to stop the arousal from running through your body—but it's no use, those red, hungry eyes can see right through you—can see how worked up he has you. 

“Open up, kitten” he taps your chin and your mouth falls open, lips parting for him without question. Sylus has finally crossed that deliciously dangerous line—and you crossed it right with him. 

He pushes his thumb into your mouth, smiling as you eagerly wrap your wet lips around it, playfully swirling it with your tongue. He chuckles at the drastic switch up in your attitude—going from angry to obedient within minutes. 

Placing his other hand on the chair beside your head, he removes his finger from your mouth with a little ‘pop’. Sylus puts a knee on the chair between your legs, and brushes his fingertips down your skin, letting them travel to your thigh. His eyes are locked on yours, not wanting to miss a single flicker of emotion that crosses them.

You gasp at the feeling of his fingers meeting your inner thigh, gently squeezing and playing with its soft skin.

“Tell me something sweetie. Do you dress like this for every professor?” his voice a low, sultry whisper. Another wave of arousal courses through you, now passing through your soaked panties and settling in the armchair. Oops. 

“N-No sir” you reply breathlessly, too busy relishing in his warm, electric touch. Sylus moves his hand further under your ridiculously short skirt, long fingers meeting with your lacy, drenched panties. 

“Oh? She’s wet.” he purrs his surprise in your ear, and you think you might cum right then and there. His voice is so hot it’s fucking dangerous. You’d already crossed a line you swore you never would—but you hadn’t expected to get addicted so soon.

Your panties are pushed aside and two long fingers find their way into your dripping pussy. “Fuck” you moan at the intrusion, hand grabbing onto his strong arm that rests on the chair beside your head. 

“Such filthy words, kitten” he clicks his tongue mockingly, gently using two fingers to push every smart, coherent thought out of your brain.

“Sorry s-sir” you mutter the apology, ready to do anything to please him—anything to get that A. 

You whimper at a third finger being added into your tight cunt, your whole body already feeling overstimulated from all the attention. Sylus lets out a degrading laugh, enjoying watching you squirm from his fingers. So worked up already, how were you going to take his cock? 

“Too much already?” he lowers his lips to yours, mumbling the mocking taunt against them. You whine, pathetically rutting your hips up against his hand. You’re desperate for it—desperate for his touch. You had spent so many classes dreaming about this moment, fantasizing about what it would be like—now that you finally had it, you didn’t want to let go.

Sylus is thoroughly enjoying this—watching your chest heavily rise and fall with every shallow breath, struggling to keep your eyes open and fighting against the pleasure—it was the only thing he ever wanted to see.

The pleasure pulses through your body as you feel your climax quickly approaching. Throwing your head back on the chair, you let out pleasurable mewls and moans as Sylus’s fingers speed up their pace inside you. You finally meet your blissful end when his thumb lands softly on your clit, rubbing and playing with it. The fucker knew all too well what he was doing— dangling your orgasm on the edge like that. 

“Mmh—ah, fuck” you breathe out the moan, feeling the string of pleasure in your core finally snap. You arch your back off the chair, pulsing as you release your warm cum all over his fingers.

“That’s a good kitty” he pulls his fingers out, and you yelp when he lands a harsh slap on your swollen pussy. Amusement flickers in his eyes—did you really think he’d hand it all over to you without a fight? Stupid kitten.

Lifting his wet fingers to your neck, you feel him wiping them against the stretch of it, spreading your cum all over your bare skin. 

Your head tilts easily to the side with two of his fingers, allowing him better access to the exposed, glistening skin of your neck. He begins licking your cum off of it, dragging his tongue up and down—quickly pushing you right back into a state of arousal. It’s just too much. His mouth reaches the base of your neck, grazing his teeth over it before unexpectedly biting down, making you cry out.  

“Sir ah—”

A hand quickly clasps over your mouth, shutting you up. Sylus releases your pulsing skin from his sharp teeth, lightly nuzzling his face in your neck before moving his lips back to your ear.

“Shhh kitten, wouldn’t want anyone hearing your feedback would you?” he whispers, finishing off with a little nibble on your earlobe. 

That’s right. If someone heard you, you would likely be expelled and Professor Sylus would be fired—never to see a classroom again. But somehow the thrill of getting caught made it all the more exciting for you.

“N-No sir” you answer, keeping your voice quiet and small. 

Without another word, Sylus grabs your waist, scooping you up into his arms. Your breath hitches from the sudden motion as he switches your positions on his chair, sitting himself down in your place, and placing you in his lap. He’s so fucking big, your legs can’t quite straddle both of his—so you adjust, sliding onto one thick thigh instead.

Sylus groans at your shift, feeling his hard erection poking through his tight pants. You look down, devilishly smiling at it, suddenly sensing a flicker of control return to you. Looks like you’re not the only one who’s all worked up.

“Professor, is this the kind of feedback you give all your students?” you ask teasingly, purposely dragging out every word in the sentence.

His eyes darken, and you can almost feel his gaze burning right through you. “Just you” he replies rather possessively, tightening his grip on your waist. You make a mental note of this minor crack in his composure. Interesting.

Bringing your face closer to his, your lips hover over his—realizing you hadn’t even kissed him yet. Sylus had made you cum before even kissing you.

A big hand travels to the nape of your neck, pulling you down closer to him. Your lips crash onto his—the two of you quickly entering a fight for control. Naturally, Sylus wins, kissing you ravenously and passionately, claiming every inch of your mouth as his. 

“You know sweetie, my job is in your hands” he pulls away momentarily, muttering the almost pleading words against your lips. Another fracture in that carefully built composure—he was finally grasping the gravity of the situation.

You press your forehead to his, closing in the space between you. “And my degree is in yours” you whisper before pressing your desperate lips back on his—mind too clouded with lust to discuss what stupid things the pair of you had done.

Desperate for his touch again, you start rubbing yourself on his thigh, urgently grinding—hips begging for more. Letting your hand travel to his bulge, you feel Sylus tense briefly, before melting into your touch, allowing you to paw at him like a kitten as much as you pleased. 

Sylus never expected himself to go down this road—his favorite student grinding desperately on his lap, palming his cock and begging for his attention—it was ridiculous. By no means does Sylus consider himself a saint, but this certainly was a new step in his constant battle with morality. Now he had truly fucked up. 

Long fingers tug at the hem of your shirt, letting him pull it over your head, leaving you in just your cute pink lacy bra. He easily unclasps it with one hand, exposing your bare chest to him. He groans at the sight of your hardening nipples, his eyes displaying quite possibly the hungriest expression you’d ever seen. 

Fingers meet with your nipples, and he pinches, letting a painful whimper escape your lips. His hands begin squishing them softly, soothing the tingling pain. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. With his composure slowly crumbling, and you getting hotter and more worked up by the minute—he just couldn’t do it. 

“Fuck” he grunts, waiting no longer to pick you up and lay you down on the desk. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching Sylus quickly push off all the papers and pens around you, creating as much room as he needs to do whatever he desires with you. 

You swore you felt the air around you change—suddenly becoming overbearingly hot and thick with lust. Sylus had a raw, animalistic energy about him—an insatiable hunger that he desperately needed to fix. 

He bunches your skirt up around your waist, pushing your panties aside with just his thumb. “Fuck, kitten you’re already fucking wet again” he growls, fisting his thick length through his pants. You moan, letting yourself surrender to the pleasure of his fingers yet again—surprised when it doesn't feel the same. Clearly, your desperate need has grown. Your pussy is soaked and swollen, begging for a much bigger form of attention. 

As if reading your mind, he unbuttons his pants, letting his thick, hard, cock pop out before you. You audibly gasp at the sight, admiring his full length—practically drooling at the thought of all that being inside of you. He’s fucking huge.

“I-Is that going to fit?” you stutter stupidly, eyes glued on the sight of his cock. 

“You’ll be a good girl and take it all won’t you?” he replies in a low, husky voice, looking at you through half-lidded, lust filled eyes. Your wide-eyed expression amuses him more than it should—and he can’t help but admire it.

“I-I’ll try my best” you reply, nervous, yet so desperately eager to please.

He grabs your thighs, pulling you closer to where he stands at the edge of the desk. Sylus lowers his mouth to your panties, biting down on them and slowly pulling them off using just his teeth. You shudder a little, feeling another flush of need ripple through your body. 

He studies you intently, admiring every curve and inch of your exposed skin. Your cheeks flush, trying to close your legs out of embarrassment. 

He doesn’t let you though, instead, he lifts your legs, placing one on each of his shoulders—essentially rendering you helpless under his touch. His cock head prods at your entrance— thick and leaking with precum. 

“Ready, kitten?” he adds in a thick voice, leaning down closer to you, almost folding you in half. You nod quickly— practically reeling with impatience. 

A long whine escapes your lips as he pushes just the tip in, pulse hammering as you struggle to handle the stretch. You bite down hard on your lip, feeling a metallic taste fill your mouth. There was no way it was going all in. No fucking way. But it would. Sylus would make it fit. 

“So tight kitten, I’ve only put the tip in and you’re struggling already?” he asks in between ragged breaths, slowly pushing his cock further in. 

“Sylus—sir p-please wait” you rasp out, overwhelmed by the stretch. He’s not even halfway in and tears are already beading at the corners of your rolled back eyes—and you couldn’t help feeling like you were being split in half. 

“I didn’t know we were on a first name basis now, kitten. I have to say, I enjoy hearing my name on your lips” he drawls, wrapping a hand around your neck, squeezing it lightly. 

“I-I’m sorry” comes out as a pathetic, breathy stutter as you ball your fists, desperately clutching on to the air around you. You’ve never felt so stretched out before, so blissfully full. 

He slowly pushes the rest of his thick cock in, coating it in your slick. Your back arches off the desk and you moan, finally letting those tears escape your blurry eyes. You can’t form a single coherent sentence or thought anymore—he’s pushed that ability out of you entirely with his cock. 

“Crying already?” he mocks, wiping a tear with his thumb. He’s so mean, mocking and teasing your every expression, fully aware of what he’s doing to you. Being at your professors mercy like this—it’s actually humiliating, but also so fucking arousing.

“Please d-don’t move” you inhale sharply, trying your best to adjust to both his length and his width. He removes his other hand from the desk, pushing down on your stomach, admiring the bulge visible through your skin. He has you filled so nicely, the curve of him pushing up beneath your skin, marking you from both inside and out.

Your pathetic please falls on deaf ears, and he starts slowly moving his hips in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot with the head of his cock over and over again. You choke out a sob between moans, barely keeping your eyes open. 

“Eyes on me, kitten” his voice pulls you out of your trance. Your eyelids feel so heavy but you obey, noticing how every thrust makes his glasses slide a little further down the bridge of nose. The sight was erotic. 

His pace was absolutely agonizing. The sheer stretch of him, paired with everything else, left you impossibly overstimulated— moaning and whimpering around his cock. The room was filled with lewd sounds, echoing and bouncing off the walls, every moan and groan reminding you of the forbidden moment the two of you found yourselves in.

“Nngh—Sylus, fuck” you whine, unable to take all the pleasure. It was too much all at once. 

“What is it sweetie? You’re doing so well” he purrs, lifting his hand from your throat to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. How sweet. 

You look so blissfully fucked out. Your forehead is glistening with sweat, eyes drooping low and voice slowly losing itself to the pleasure coursing through you. Of all the things Sylus had seen, this? This was truly unforgettable.

His pace was bordering on frantic—the feeling of his tip hitting your cervix was literally tearing you apart. “P-Please, I’m gonna come” you cry out in between harsh sobs—feeling like you were being held captive by the pleasure—unable to rip away.

“Go on” is all he says before your body releases, convulsing from pleasure, your sweet orgasm finally crashing over you. Toes curl in your shoes, and your hand grabs onto his, gripping him so tight your knuckles begin to turn white. Sylus only chuckles at your quivering body, and continues fucking into you until he reaches his own high.

“N-no more, please, no more” you whine, desperately trying to push him away when he doesn’t stop mercilessly pounding into you. 

“You can take it, kitten” he replies with a grunt, slowing down his pace as he approaches his climax.

“Shit—” you barely hear him mutter under his breath, as his cock begins to throb inside of you, releasing thick strands of his own cum inside you warm walls. His breathing is shallow, glasses barely holding onto his nose, as he drops his head down, keeping himself buried deep inside you. 

You both stay there a while longer, catching your breath and letting the last pulses of pleasure escape your shuddering bodies. Sylus finally pulls out of you, and you prop yourself up on trembling elbows. 

“Aren’t you going to clean up your mess?” he asks—your eyes visibly widening as you instantly understand what he means. 

Sylus takes a step back from the desk, sitting back down in that damn red armchair. You barely manage to slide off the desk, almost stepping on that mocking pack of red pens— which have now made their home on the ground after Sylus had pushed them off the desk. Fuck those red pens. Fuck the colour red. 

He leans back lazily, a playful smirk pulled on his lips. You drop to your knees in front of him, wrapping two hands around his half-hard cock. Your tongue meets the tip and you begin to kitten lick every drop of cum, cleaning every inch of it like the good girl you were. 

When you finish, Sylus zips himself back up, and tilts your head up with two fingers. 

“Good kitty” he purrs, gently rubbing his thumb along your jaw. 

“Sir?” you ask after a brief moment of silence, looking up into those burning red eyes.

“Hm?”

“A-About my grade” you trail off nervously. Kneeling before him like this, the weight of your own desperation burned bright on your cheeks—it was fucking humiliating.

He’d been waiting for you to ask him the burning question—seeing how far you went before you begged for a better grade.

“Didn’t I tell you? Only good girls get good grades” he echoes his earlier words, voice so sweet it was practically dripping with honey. 

“I don’t understand?” 

“Good girls don’t fuck their professors for A’s”

© @blessedmisery 2025

[hivemuthur]

Unrequited love setting with viktor please! BUT make it hurt no comfort. I want ANGST (reader is in love with jayce) i have no plot in mind so you may go wild with your impressive writing.. i want him to cry, i want him to yearn.. oh myshaylaa TAT

Anon, idk what's your beef with our beautiful boy, but here you go! (jk, thank you for the ask, this was a nice writing exercise for me)

(To Speak Or) To Die

viktorxgn!reader general - ANGST (!), Viktor-centric

word count: 0,9K

author’s note: I have nothing to justify this, I promise to put a band-aid on it soon. Artist in case you haven't figured, @petitesieste

—

Feeling like a fool is a sensation utterly unfamiliar to him. Not knowing, just guessing, then second-guessing himself as he mistakes kindness for affection, attention for interest, mere politeness, human decency and perhaps a platonic fondness for infatuation. He could spit into his own chin for ever hoping and deems hope to be the stupidest feeling of all.

Never in his life has he gone thus far to just ask, it’s all a matter of observation for a conclusion to spark. Weighted by a broken limb and a grimy legacy he moves unnoticed, invisible, until a hot balloon of his intellect lifts him above the mediocre and finally, finally, he is noticed. Only then he dares to doubt. Only then he dares to ask.

First, he asks himself: Is it better to speak or to die?

Every day you cross the threshold of lecture hall and sit in the same spot, between his arm and Jayce’s arm. The two compare poorly and he is aware of how many of his arms would have to be bound together to make up for one of Jayce’s. And maybe that’s the only reason for you to pick that other arm to lean on or swat in a jest, but Viktor choses to remain in the realm of not knowing. The realm of guessing, as this is something he does not dare to ask about.

Until it becomes familiar and almost equal when this maddening thing called friendship blooms amongst the three of you and suddenly his arm also gets granted a lean and a swat, an occasional squeeze and the most infuriating—a brush. A warm kind, gentle caress, most likely performed without any thought put into it, which makes it this many times better—or worse. It is better to think that instinct guides you, rather than a thought, when you touch him with something resembling love. It is worse to think that it means nothing.

There is more, and the more there is the more undone he becomes. There is your mouth when you whisper a question into his ear. And he knows, possibly, it is because he would get the answer sooner than Jayce would, or maybe it’s because Jayce’s head is resting on the study bench as he drools all over his notebook. But he hopes maybe, it’s because it’s his ear, not Jayce’s, you want to tease with the plush of your lips when your arm comes to wrap against his backrest and the warmth has his skin prickling in insistent excitement. Hoping.

One of the worst things that happens to him is your hand on his knee that comes there after you’ve said the same thing three times and he wasn’t listening, because he was busy staring at your ankles. They protrude strangely and are perpetually kicked and bruised and Viktor is so utterly busy picturing himself kissing the blotches away that he doesn’t hear anything you are saying. Once your scalding touch has marked him, the feeling remains hours, days later, as he tries to clutch onto that sensation by putting his own hand in the same spot, but it’s nearly not warm enough to rival yours.

Heart flutters unbearably when he spies on you looking at Jayce and sadly, this time his conclusion comes from the realm of knowing. Painfully, it comes from there because the familiarity of your eyes ogling Jayce is a slap across the cheek. It’s familiar, this expression—he catches a glimpse of it in his own reflection each time his mind wanders to you. It’s dumb, this face he makes then, the way his eyes soften, and jaw slackens, pupils expand nearly to the rim, and he doesn’t look anything like himself, he notices.

The ache overwhelms reason once, when you swing by the lab, undeniably searching for Jayce. You ask for him even, unable to hide what is there, on the top of your shoulder. Deflate, when Viktor says there is no Jayce to be found. Almost retreat and bid him goodnight, when Viktor clutches to the fool within him and that fool whispers into his ear that maybe, just maybe, it’s better to speak.

And when he speaks finally, his voice sounds foreign to him, thick and frightened as he gives his heart away for you to stab. And at least you hesitate before you do. At least you pity him, when he asks if it is at all possible for you to ever consider him, instead of beautiful Jayce. At least it’s a clean slide of a blade when you say you value this friendship above affection. At least it’s only once you have to stab when you say it’s only Jayce for you.

And suddenly feeling like a fool is all the same familiar and a distant memory to Viktor. Because what he is feeling now is not foolish, it is worse than dying, it is remaining with his heart beating, but split in half by the blade of your apology. Will he have his heart ever mended into something resembling whole, Viktor is profoundly certain now: it is better to die.

[mbbmz]

Hi! I just discovered your blog and I'm loving it🩷 can i ask if you have headcanon about Bonten Sanzu in love with his best female friend? a bit red flag? including smut if possible. if you don't write for Sanzu, ran is also fine. sorry for the inconvenience, it's the first time I've made a request🥹 and sorry for English, it's not my first language. Thank you so much. now I'm going to read all your other works, bye 🩷🩷

Bonten!Sanzu x BestFriend!Reader (sfw and nsfw)

Thanks for your request love, you’re so sweet! Sorry i didn’t write this sooner, hope you’ll read and enjoy! Sorry if it’s not as sweet as you wanted, I really wanted to keep the Bonten energy and not sugarcoat it

SFW

- Sanzu is very focused on Bonten and on Mikey particularly, so I don’t see him being interested in romantic pursuit.

- But if you were previously his friend and he finds himself catching feelings for you, he won’t do anything about it for a while.

- Boy’s in denial at first

- But he realizes that your life doesn’t stop when he stops talking to you and that while he’s not around, you’re getting hit on.

- I think Sanzu view people as either possessions or tools for Bonten to grow, in that case he sees you as a possession. (The others are just scraps)

- Very controlling, he wants to know where you are at all times, even when you’re not dating.

-Would kill someone if you wanted, no questions asked

- Although when he wants to take care of you, he DOES

- When you’re feeling unwell he’s already searching for doctors, even though you tell him it’s fine

- He likes to do your hair for you, sometimes it’s perfect sometimes it’s a mess, you never know with him (he does it on purpose)

- Unironically asks you to skip work to stay with him

- He is very touchy, whether you’re dating or not. And it’s very weird because I see him as someone who hates touch but with you it’s an addiction

- Will not sugarcoat the truth, you will know the exact details of how he tortured that man who betrayed Bonten

NSFW

-WILD

- Bro loves to try new things

- Control is a must, if he feels like he’s losing control he’ll pull away really fast

- Loves to pin your wrists, tie them with either his tie or sometimes your own panties (he’s just like that sometimes)

- Will degrade you and praise you at the same time, creating a confusing mix

- "You like it, huh? Such a good slut f’me babe…"

- Doesn’t use toys because he thinks nothing feels better than his dick (he also has that ego)

- Loves to eat you out but also loves to see you choke on his cock, will press his finger on your throat just to hear you gag

- Speaking of eating you out, there’s no leaving unscathed with this one.

- He might be really clean in every day’s life, in bed he’ll eat you out like he’s starved, holding your thighs down because he loves it when you cannot move

- Will moan against your pussy if you pull his hair

- Always wears condoms (he’s a neat freak so that just makes sense, PROTECT YOURSELVES <3)

- Soft groans and sometimes whimpers, but his hands pinning you down never let you forget who’s in control

(I have so much headcanons for him, maybe I’ll do an nsfw alphabet 🤭)

[spicycinnabun]

can i ask for werewolf au 🐺🐺🐺 please in "make me write"

“Don’t go down there.”

Tommy’s voice didn’t startle Buck—perks of the super wolfy hearing—but he did take his hand off the doorknob with a guilty smile.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just curious.”

He was feeling well enough now to get up and move around, and though he hated leaving Tommy’s bed, his wolf had been tugging restlessly on the leash, urging him to explore more of the den.

Tommy chuckled. “Yeah, I’m gathering that. Kinda surprised you’re a werewolf and not a werecat.”

“I’m not nearly graceful enough to be a werecat. You, uh, hiding some dead bodies or something?” Buck joked. He glanced at the door again. 

Knowing he wasn’t allowed to go into the basement now made it so much more tempting. Like looking at a big red button that said do not touch! 

“No. It’s just a mess. I’m renovating.”

That was a perfectly normal, acceptable answer, yet Buck couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t the truth.

“Hmm, don't know if I believe you,” he said playfully. “Maybe you're actually a mad scientist, and your secret lab is down there?” He tugged on the drawstring of his borrowed sweats. “Or maybe you’re hiding a crazy sex dungeon.” 

“You caught me,” Tommy responded, dry as sand. “It’s my sex dungeon. So unless you want to get tied up and spanked, you’ll stay out.”

Oh.

Oh, boy. 

Those were some interesting images going through his head. 

“Um,” Buck said eloquently, blood rushing to his cheeks.

Tommy took pity on him. “I’m kidding, Evan.” 

Buck laughed. It sounded weird. Where was his sanity? It certainly wasn’t in the room anymore.

And he still wanted to open that door. But, like a good boy, he didn’t push. Instead, he hastily altered course. “You’re a pilot, right? At the harbor station? I saw your pictures on the mantelpiece.” 

The connection had excited Buck. And maybe he had drooled a little seeing the Alpha standing next to a chopper, wearing a flight suit and sporting a big grin. He looked so happy. Right in his element. Just like Buck felt at his job.

Tommy’s smile grew, crinkles appearing. It transformed his face, just like in the photos. Buck’s heart literally pitter-pattered. (God, he needed to get a grip.) “Yeah. I was with a different station before I transferred to air ops. Best decision I’ve ever made.”

“Nice.” Buck stopped himself from adding how cool he thought it was. He had repeated that word far too many times since he’d met Tommy. “Must be fun to fly. Which station were you at before?”

“The one-eighteen.”

Buck’s eyes widened. “No way! That’s my station! I—I’m a firefighter, too.”

That meant Buck wasn’t the first werewolf to work there. He wondered if Bobby knew about Tommy’s lycanthropy, and that was why he’d taken Buck’s so stoically. It was such a crazy coincidence. If their timelines had synced up, they could’ve worked together.

“Yeah?” Tommy folded his arms, appraising him. “That makes a lot of sense. You seem like the type.”

Buck’s chest puffed up with pride, his blush reigniting. Was it his physique? His demeanor? Did Tommy think he looked like a hero? “Thanks!” He quickly changed the subject, not wanting to linger on himself. “So, you know Hen and Chim?”

Tommy nodded. “I did. They’re great people.”

Buck was about to ask another question when he noticed Tommy subtly glancing at his watch. He stepped backward. “Sorry. I-I’m talking your ear off again.”

Tommy’s eyebrows raised. “You apologize too much, Evan. You’re fine. I do have to go pick up a package in a few minutes, though. Want to come for a ride?”

Those words triggered the same internal reaction as wanna go for a walk? Buck grinned. Some fresh air would probably feel awesome and stop him from making a bigger fool of himself. “Okay! Uh, do—do you mind if I shift?” 

His wolf loved truck rides, which Eddie never failed to tease him about. He could easily be mistaken for a dog if he kept himself somewhat hidden. 

Tommy looked amused. “I don’t mind. I’ll have to re-wrap your dressing, though.” 

Have Tommy’s hands on him again? Buck had no problem with that at all.

“I’ll be right back.” He dashed for the bathroom, pleased when he only limped a little bit.

“Hey, take it slow!” Tommy called after him. 

Sheepishly, Buck followed the Alpha’s command.

⏾

tag list: @justahumblecabbagemerchant @loulou-land @harmonic-intervention @sweaters-and-silly @theallyandhisbeast @brassm-tagged @scuderiadebauchery @chococara25 @darkqueen458 @cinderellarhea @setmeatopthepyre @buffaluff @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @figuringitoutaloud @cannibalhellhound @i-dont-even-know-anymore976 @ambernotember @the-omniscient-narrator @zeraparker

[elodieunderglass]

FAQ March 2025

(wtf is #eggs for killie, etc)

Killie / Throw Your Heart Over

okay, so I apologise, because KILLIE is A LOT OF THIS TUMBLR at the moment. but also I don't.

Killie is an original character. he's an angry little racehorse jockey with an unfortunate psychic connection to his rancid racehorse frenemy (O Holy Thunder), a redemption-arc relationship with his nice nerdy boyfriend (Derek), an elusive twin brother (Charlie) and a messy, rambling family of horse-obsessed weirdos who are overly-invested in the fascinating, complex, dirty, problematic and unhinged world of horse racing. he is a short athletic ginger jock like an angry little wet cat, who is always getting injured, and we love him for this. at some point his book (Throw Your Heart Over) will get written (probably). but as I wasn't actually expecting to do this in real life, at the moment, we write comics and AUs and fanfiction about him. yes I know this is backwards, shut up, WE ARE HAVING FUN, and maybe it's actually FORWARDS. (by the way - does anyone know how to write a book?)

@aqueenvictorious kindly and brilliantly did this roundup.

Eggs for Killie

I will have to be UNPRECEDENTLY brave and work VERY hard to write a book about Killie. so I've said that if you are very very brave, and attack a similarly scary creative project by the end of March, Killie can have an egg. that's it. we shall all leverage each other's courage and momentum to all make progress together.

to add urgency, Killie is trying to stay fit to ride in the Grand National, a large UK steeplechase, on April 5th.

The Leucism Channel (open to other colour morphs)

I have had this tag for over 10 years! I collect leucistic animals, but I am also interested in other colour morphs. Rather than trying to run separate channels, I am now putting non-leucistic animals in this tag.

Horrible things with legs

Apparently this tag is only 8 years old, but I genuinely think that's a mistake on tumblr's part. I think I've been running it since the Palaeozoic era.

what do you like, do?

this is such a good question. here's how I tried to answer it.

Works In Progress

His Delicious Materials - chapters 10/12, IN PROGRESS

Dungeon Meshi x His Dark Materials fusion. Tumblr tag https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/tagged/his%20delicious%20materials

A Weasel Heart in Defiance - chapters 12/20, IN PROGRESS

Dungeon Meshi x His Dark Materials fusion. Tumblr tag https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/tagged/weasel%20heart%20in%20defiance

Swan Comics for the Palestine Children's Relief Fund.

general swan comics.

I am sousverre on AO3 and I have a bluesky.

Sorry, I don't do fundraisers as asks. my fundraiser policy for the past 10 years has been that I'll signal boost for mutuals.

thanks for your time and attention. goodbye.

[yuriosakawa]

Jason Todd had been dreading this moment for weeks. He wasn't afraid of much—death itself had only been a temporary setback, after all—but telling his family this? That was another thing entirely.

He stood on the edge of the Batcave, watching from the shadows as Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian gathered around the Batcomputer. His fingers twitched in anticipation. His heart—if it could still be called that—was beating like a war drum.

Taking a deep breath, Jason stepped forward. "Alright, no one freak out."

Bruce turned first, brows furrowing in suspicion. "Jason?"

"That's me," Jason muttered, rolling his shoulders. "But also... not just me."

Before any of them could question what he meant, green ectoplasm swirled around him like fire, and in an instant, Jason Todd was gone. In his place stood Red Ghost.

His human skin darkened into a shade of near-ebony. His messy black hair bled into snowy white, save for a single streak of black cutting through the left side. His leather jacket and street clothes had been replaced by a sleek, armored suit—white over black, marked by a glowing red bat across his chest. His eyes burned like rubies, eerie and unnatural.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

"The Lazarus Pit turned you into a ghost?" Tim was the first to break the tension, his analytical mind already working through the implications.

"Half a ghost," Jason corrected. "Halfa, technically."

Damian narrowed his eyes. "You look like a wraith. Tt. That is actually impressive."

Jason smirked. "Thanks, Demon Brat. Always knew you had good taste."

Dick, ever the emotional one, took a hesitant step forward. "Jay... how long have you been like this?"

Jason sighed, letting the tension in his shoulders loosen. "Since I crawled out of that damned Pit. Took me years to even figure out what this half of me was. But I think I'm finally done pretending it doesn't exist."

Bruce had yet to say anything, his expression unreadable. His piercing blue eyes scanned Jason’s form, assessing, calculating, before finally—"You’ve been hiding this from us."

Jason bristled. "Yeah, well, can you blame me? I was already the black sheep. What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh hey, by the way, I’m part ghost now, and sometimes I phase through walls when I get mad’? Figured that’d go over realwell."

Bruce sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Jason…"

"Bruce," Jason shot back, crossing his arms.

"Does this change anything about your… condition?" Tim interjected. "Your mind? Your body?"

Jason hesitated, glancing down at his gloved hands before clenching them into fists. "I heal faster, but I also… glitchsometimes. My powers are tied to my emotions, so if I lose control—" He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. "Let’s just say it gets messy."

Dick studied him carefully before a slow grin spread across his face. 

"So you're telling me you can fly?"

Jason rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I can fly. Among other things."

"Like what other things?" Damian asked, eyes gleaming with interest.

Jason arched a brow. "What, you wanna see a magic trick?" Without waiting for an answer, he lifted a hand, and a crackling ball of green ectoplasm formed in his palm. The air in the Batcave grew colder, and for the first time since Jason transformed, Bruce’s eyes widened just slightly.

Dick let out a low whistle. "Okay. That’s new."

Jason smirked, tossing the ecto-energy between his hands like a baseball. "Yeah, well, don’t expect me to be handing out ghost lessons anytime soon."

Bruce finally stepped forward, and Jason stiffened as the man stood directly in front of him. There was something heavy in his father’s gaze—something unreadable. For a moment, Jason thought he was about to be scolded, but then—

Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You should have told us sooner," he said, his voice quieter than Jason expected.

Jason blinked, caught off guard. 

"...What?"

Bruce sighed. "You’re my son, Jason. No matter what form you take, that won’t change."

Jason swallowed hard. He hadn't been expecting that. He glanced at the others, half expecting to see hesitation, maybe even fear. But instead, Dick was smiling at him like he was proud, Tim was analyzing him like a science project (nerd), and Damian… well, Damian was nodding in what might have been approval.

Jason huffed, running a hand through his white-streaked hair. 

"Great. So now that we’ve all had this heart-to-heart, what’s next?"

Dick grinned, draping an arm over Jason’s shoulder. "Now? We test your limits. You do realize we’re gonna have to see how fast you can fly, right?"

Jason groaned, but deep down, something warm settled in his chest.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as alone as he thought.