#the best place to invest money right now

[noonecareslol]

𒀯𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚

Anaxiphilia: love for or attraction to unsuitable mates; an act of falling in love with the wrong person

Hwang In-Ho x Fem! Reader

wc! 7k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After you move away from your childhood best friend (and first love), the last place you expected to see him was stuck with you as a “player”.

TW: Violence (duh its squid game), cursing, smut 18+ pnv, unsafe sex, probably pregnant lol

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Classical music filled your ears as your eyes adjusted to the bright lights. It played throughout the room as you woke slowly and attempted to make sense of your surroundings. But, as you looked at the number placed on your tracksuit you remembered where you were.

Or at least why you were there.

You were never uncomfortable growing up. You were actually quite wealthy. Your father owned a very successful company, your mother invested money intuitively, and life seemed to improve daily. That was until you were 17 and news broke that your father’s company was a front. A money laundering business that cleaned his filthy money from years and years of fraud. When they died, they left you a monumental amount of debt. And when a suspiciously attractive guy handed you a little brown card, you couldn’t help but call the number on the back.

You knew the games were too good to be true. And you realized you were right after the first one. It took you 30 minutes to wash the blood off your face and out of your hair.

Now you were standing next to a girl with the number “222” written on her tracksuit, watching as an older lady and her son begged the guards to let them go. You fiddled with your hands, flinching at the rawness after scrubbing them relentlessly. Your attention was grabbed when another person stepped through the crowd.

“Clause three of the consent form!” Your eyes trained on him as he spoke angrily, “The games may be terminated upon a majority vote.”

Your heart stopped. You could go home and be safe. But you would still be drowning in debt. You bit your lip, remembering about the share of money you would receive. Would you have enough to cover it?

As if the guards could read your mind, a large piggy bank lowered from the ceiling, “The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91. Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated.” Every eye watched as the piggy bank began to fill, “If you quit the games now, the 365 of you can equally divide the 9.1 billion won and leave with your share.”

Another man shoves past the crowd, “And how much is that?”

“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won.”

Exasperated sighs and annoyed words broke out amongst the crowd. But your eyes stayed trained on the man who first spoke, “456” written on his chest.

The pink guard spoke loudly, “The rule is that a hundred million won will be accumulated for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

The crowd stayed silent, “The total amount of prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won.”

The crowd erupted again, full of enthusiastic words and motivated cheers. The girl next to you placed her hands over her stomach, almost cradling it closer to her body.

If you went home now, you wouldn’t even have enough to cover a third of your debt. But if you stay and continue the games, you could die.

The doors opened and two guards wheeled out a metal podium with two buttons, a red X and a blue O. “Now, let’s begin the vote. If you wish to continue the games, press the O button. If you wish to end them, press the X button. The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers.”

“Player 456.”

The same man from before stepped forward without hesitation. As he walked to the podium his stride was filled with wrath and as he slammed his palm against the X, his eye contact didn’t break with the guard.

The voting continued, each person stepping forward to decide whether to live or die. Each time either button was pressed you silently celebrated, still not sure if you should stay or go.

“Player number two.”

Your face fell as your eyes centered on the podium. And with each slow step you took, you became more sure of your decision. And as you reached the podium, you had made up your mind entirely.

A high beep rang through the room as your face reflected the blue button. You decided to continue. Flinching at the sound of defeated sighs from behind, you took the patch embroidered with an O and joined the other voters.

“Player number one.”

You hadn’t cared to look at the man when he was standing next to you earlier. But now that he was about to break a tie, your eyes were locked on him. You didn’t catch his face but you studied his figure. He had a tall frame and dark brown hair that seemed to be styled perfectly. He walked with a thick sense of confidence and you hadn’t failed to notice how his tracksuit clung to his biceps.

You watched intensely as he lifted his hand and hovered between the two buttons. The room held suspension and your eyes were locked on his hand. He hesitated for a few more moments before pressing his hand down. Blue light illuminated his face and the surrounding crowd cheered as he walked from the podium.

He had selected to stay. To play another game where you, or him, could die. You voted for that too. So why aren’t you happy about winning?

Because he’s turned around now and you’ve seen his face. And you would recognize that face anywhere.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

“I don't understand, you’re moving?” He grasped the sides of your face, afraid to let go.

You looked at the boy in front of you who’ve you known your whole life. You went to private schools together, fancy parties together, and you shared your first time together. And now you’re leaving.

You placed your hands over his, “I don’t understand either In-ho. I want to stay, I don’t want to leave you.” Tears fell down your rosy cheeks as In-ho placed his forehead gently against yours.

You ignored your mother’s frantic yells for you to come and pack your things. You didn’t want to leave him. You loved him, and you knew if you left now you wouldn’t just be leaving your house. You’d be leaving your life behind. Your father would be arrested and your mother would have to work while taking care of you herself. You would move from Gangnam to Daegu. And you would have to start a new life. You just didn’t understand why In-ho couldn’t be a part of it.

That was the last time you saw him.

Well, until now.

You kept your distance, watching him talk to player 456. You recognize him from before as the man who’s already played.

You observed intensely, not bothering with your food. You watched how he exchanged words with 456. How his hair moved slightly as he used his hands to talk. You didn’t understand why he was here. The last you heard about him, he was married and his wife was expecting.

What could’ve gone so wrong for him to be here?

The girl next to you shuffled in her seat, setting her empty dosirak-tong on the ground. You knew she was pregnant just from how she walked uncomfortably with her hands supporting her back.

“Here, take mine. I don’t like dosirak.” It was a lie, dosirak is one of your favorite meals. But she was eating for two, and you didn’t have an appetite.

She looked up at you before gently taking the metal box from your hands, “Thank you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and you smiled in return.

Your eyes searched for In-ho again to find him walking towards a fight you hadn't noticed had broken out. His frame was large and towered over the boys as he approached them, “Boys, what are you doing in the middle of mealtime There are elders present, mind your manners. Aren’t you embarrassed?”

“You’re lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too?” In-ho’s jaw clenched as he tilted his head at the boy, “Dude, stop running your mouth and take care of your own damn kids.”

You knew where this was heading, In-ho always knew how to fight. You smirked as he grabbed the boy, turning him around and twisting his arm behind him.

Forcing him to the ground with a thud as he whined, “Wait! I’m sorry! Please, let me go!”

He let go of his arm and stood up straight, adjusting his tracksuit. As he looked around the room while walking back toward player 456, his eyes suddenly met with yours. And he froze as he scanned your face. He was so caught up in Gi-huns plan that he had failed to realize you had entered the game. The girl he fell in love with. Who he shared his first kiss with, who he has thought about every day for 20 years since you were 17.

Your heart ached as old feelings rushed over you, watching as his eyes softened slightly before player 390 dragged him over.

You couldn’t sleep that night. You were too busy trying to figure out why he was here. Plus, you caught word of the next game being Dalgona. Which worried you because you had always sucked at cutting out the tiny shape, always giving in and eating the cookie whole.

You spent the night staring tiredly at the piggy bank, the soft yellow light casting across your face. What you didn't know is that 50 feet away, In-ho watched you. His mind also trying to understand why you were here. He stared at you, his eyes tracing the curve of your jaw, remembering when he would trail kisses on your pretty little face.

When he met your eyes earlier, he froze. Not because he didn't expect to see you, which he didn't, he froze because his heart did. He marveled at your beauty, and you took his breath away. Just like the first time he saw you all those years ago.

And now as he lays in his bed, his pillow propped up on the opposite end so he can see you, he can't help but address the elephant in the room. You know his name. You know his identity. You could ruin everything, his plan that he had focused solely on for the past three years.

As the lights turned on and classical music rang out from the speakers, his eyes stayed on you and only you.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"Welcome to your second game. This game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of six in the next ten minutes. Let me repeat."

Sand kicked behind you as you walked into the room. The speakers repeated the instructions as you whispered to the girl next to you, "Is Dalgona played in teams?" She shook her head and her hand caressed her belly. You've grown somewhat protective over the girl, whose name you learned is Kim Jun-hee.

You take her hand as you look to find a team and your eyes try to pick out In-ho from the crowd. You think you spot the back of his head and start to pull Jun-hee towards him when she makes a be-line to a group. Your protests go ignored as she reaches them. Your eyes still search for In-ho as she inquires about joining their group.

"Of course, you can join." The voice snaps you from your search as you meet familiar piercing brown eyes with your own. Your breath hitches in your throat as he doesn't break eye contact.

"Time for team selection is up." The PA system breaks your stare, but In-ho holds his. You look around the room, scanning over the tall blue walls and the rainbows painted on the floor, "The game you will be playing is Six-Legged Pentathlon. You will start with your legs tied together. Each member will take turns playing a minigame at every ten-meter mark, and if you win, the team can move on to the next one. Here are the minigames: Number one, the Ddakji. Number two, Flying Stone. Number three, Gonggi. Number four, Kendama. Number five, Spinning Top. Number six, Jegi. Your goal is to win all the minigames and cross the finish line in five minutes. Please decide on players for each minigame."

Your team divides the games between you. You get stuck with Kendama, a game that is played by tossing a ball into the air and attempting to catch it on a wooden stick point. You're fairly confident in yourself. You and In-ho grew up playing games like these.

You sit with your group as each team competes. You sat at the end next to Jun-Hee, checking on her every once and a while. You flinched every time a gunshot rang out, anxiety bubbling with every elimination.

In-ho could not stop looking at you. It was as if you had a magnetic pull, and he couldn't look away. You were a piece of art, crafted with the hands of God himself. And he was jealous of God's hands, wishing it had been his very own that created such beauty. Every time you looked his way, he looked elsewhere.

"Final two teams, please get ready." You help Jun-hee stand up, 390 stepping in place next to her. Standing on the other side of 388 as you all line up at the start. You lower your gaze as In-ho steps in line next to you. He's always been intimidating, especially with his large frame towering over yours.

390 chuckles, "It's weird to be the only ones who don't get an audience, isn't it?" His attempt to lighten the mood works a little, a small smile forming on your lips.

"I think it will help us focus more!" You rub 388's shoulder in comfort while he repeats the motions of throwing and catching the Gonggi.

The guard finishes locking In-ho's and 456's shackles before you feel an arm snake around yours. In-ho's bicep compresses your own as your face heats up. You glance up daringly meeting In-hos sharp gaze. You should say something. Anything. Ask him why he's here, or where his wife is. But before you can speak, 456 starts the chant and steps forward.

"Hana dul! Hana dul! Hana dul!" You chant as you approach the first game. Jun-hee slams the red ddakji down, successfully flipping the blue one on the first try.

As you chant and walk to the next game, 388 breaks the pace and steps forward quickly. Without hesitation In-ho's hand moves from your arm to your waist, effortlessly steadying you "Hey! Keep the pace!"

388 steps back into pace as we reach the next game, "Back when I used to pitch, I never threw very fast, but the ball always went where I wanted." 390 steps one foot back before aiming and throwing the stone precisely, hitting the target on the first try!

You all cheer before continuing forward, quickly approaching three minutes. As you sit on the ground you feel In-ho steadying you again, allowing you to lean slightly against him to give 388 more room to play his game.

"Okay, just take your time. You got this." I reassure 388 as he grabs the gonggi. With a quick hand, he tosses one in the air before collecting them one at a time. Then two at a time, Then three and one. Then all. He flips them on the back of his hand before catching them effortlessly.

Your cheers were quick as you stood up and rushed towards the fourth game. The guard hands you the Kendama and you can feel In-ho's gaze on you intensely. You held the Kendama out in front of you, tossing the ball up, quickly moving your hand to catch it. You close your eyes as you feel the ball land on the spike.

"Yes! You did it Y/N!" In-ho grabs your shoulders and shakes you, you shake his back as he beams a smile at you. And for a second, you forget about the timer and you're both 17 again, in love.

He wraps his arm around your waist again as you move to his game. He takes the spinning top in his hand and begins to wrap the rope around it, confidence radiating from him. We have this in the bag! -oh.

The rope fell off.

You feel his body tighten as stress began to build. He wraps the rope around once more before tossing it, praying that the top spins. It falls to its side and In-ho curses under his breath. You remember him using his left hand when growing up to play this game. You wondered why he was using his right, but you didn't ask him. You could tell he was getting annoyed at himself.

"It's okay! Just try again!" You let go of In-ho's arm to give him more room. He flings the spinning top with too much power and it flings backwards.

In-ho freezes, too embarrassed to move. The man next to him, 456, grabs his shoulder firmly, "It's okay, we'll get it. All right, backwards. Ready, set."

In-ho holds my waist tightly as we walk backwards in step, "It'd be boring to win everything fast." The group nods in agreement at 390's words, " 'Cause if you're ever gonna grow, you need to fail first, right?"

In-ho picks up the spinning top and we trek back to the line. He wraps the rope around successfully, "Okay now take it slow, wait- no don't rush it!"

In-ho interrupted 388's instructions by quickly, and messily, throwing the top. It falls to the side and you feel In-ho throw his head back and laugh. You quickly remove your hand from his waist, knowing what's about to happen.

"You piece of fucking shit! You ruin everything! You're worthless!" In-ho drops the piece of rope in his hand as he hits his head against his hands. "You're so pathetic!"

The group stands shocked as he hits himself angrily, stomping in the dried blood below him. You bend down and pick up the rope, glancing at the clock.

50 seconds.

"Hey!" You slam the rope against his chest and pull his face to look at you, "No one's blaming any of this on you! Now, take a deep breath, okay?"

In-ho nodded slowly, the feeling of your touch burning on his face as he placed his right hand over his chest, something he would do when you were younger. As the group shuffles to pick up the top, you place one of your hands over his and slow his breathing, "You can do this In-ho. Use your left hand like you did when we were kids. And if I die because of this I will kill you myself."

In-ho gave a small smile at your sarcasm as he wraps the rope around the axel, then the top. He places it in his left hand and looks at you quickly before throwing the top.

It spins.

You erupt in cheers as In-ho succeeds! He gives a quick hug to you, that you wished had lasted longer, and your group moves to 456's turn. In-ho's gaze darkened as he focused on 456, and you failed to notice it, still flustered from the quick hug.

"One! Two! Three! Four!" You all counted as 456 bounced the jegi on his foot, watching him and the clock as it counts down. For a split moment it seemed that he wouldn't be able to get the last hit in, but suddenly In-ho swoops in and reaches with his foot. "Five!"

You all cheer as you practically run to the end, crossing right as the timer hit zero. The heavy shackles get removed and you are immediately engulfed in a bear hug from In-ho. His arms wrap around the small of your back as he pulls you closer to his frame, if possible. He buries his head in the crook of your neck and you stay frozen. Not from the near- death- experience you just had, but because you realized you had forgotten what his hugs had felt like. You threw your arms around him in return, deepening the hug you have longed for every day for 20 years.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You sat closely next to In-ho as the group chatted and complemented each others moves from the game. You were looking forward to catching up with In-ho, but you were too engrossed in 388's retelling of 390's stone toss, "And, sir, you were incredible at Flying Stone!" He proudly stood up and pretended to throw a stone, "You just lined it up and... Boom! First try!"

You giggled as 390 proudly shaked his head, and In-ho turned to look at you. God, that laugh. He had forgotten what it sounded like, and he frowned when you stopped, "I was thinking, what if we go around and say what our real names are? I'll go first, my name is Kang Dae-ho. Dae as in 'huge' and ho as in 'tiger'!"

390 laughed as Dae-ho gave himself tiger fangs with his fingers, "Now that's a cool name. My name is Park Jung-bae. It means 'righteous' and 'double.' So, I should be living twice as righteously."

"My name is Kim Jun-hee. I don't think I know what it stands for." Jun-hee smiles as she pushes a stray hair from her face.

"Jun means 'talented' and hee means 'star'. You are a talented star Jun-hee!" You ruffle her hair as she beams at you, "My name is Y/N. L/N, Y/N."

You can feel In-ho's stare as he watches your lips move, "My name is Young-il. You know, like 'yeong il.' 'Zero one' in Korean." You whipped your head towards him. Was there a reason he was hiding his name? Did he not trust anyone? He gave you a reassuring look, you'd just ask him later.

"My full name is Seong Gi-Hun." You looked away from In-ho's gaze as you watched 456 introduce himself.

"Seong Gi-hun. Like our un-'Seong' hero?" Everyone laughed but you. You were still pondering about In-ho. There were so many unanswered questions running through your mind. In-ho must have noticed your distant look, because he gave your hand a squeeze. A promise that he'll explain everything.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

After another failed vote to go home (you had voted to leave this time), Gi-hun warned about the possibility of an ambush. It plagued your mind with worry as you laid on your mattress. Another night of no sleep adding to the eyebags growing under your pretty E/C eyes.

Gi-hun stood from his watch as In-ho took over, and headed to bed. Now was your chance to fully reconnect with In-ho, "Can I sit here?"

In-ho turned to you, "Cant sleep?" He asked as he scooted over a tad, making room for you. He didn't make a whole lot of room though, which you didn't mind.

Your thighs touched as you sat next to him, "No, never could when my mind is running like this." You dusted off your pants as you placed your legs out in front of you, fingers avoiding the blood that plagued your bottoms.

"You shouldn't be anxious about the game tomorrow." He watched your face intently, trying to read you. You were always so easy to read.

You stifle a small laugh, "Oh i'm not anxious, 'Young-il'. " You tilted your head towards him as you dragged out his "name", smirking as he nodded defeatedly.

"Ohhh, okay." He leaned in close, making your heart flutter, "I just don't want anyone to know my name yet. In a game like this there's a lot of... betrayal."

Your spine shivered as his words tickled your ear, "Oh, I guess I didn't think about that..." You turned to look at him but failed to realize how close he was.

Your lips were now inches apart, barely. You could feel his breath fan across your lips and his eyes remained focused on yours, "It can be our little secret? Hmm?" You found yourself nodding before you could even process what he said.

You didn't move, instead, you tested the waters. You leaned in closer, tilting your head slightly, "Last I heard you were married?"

He shook his head no, not caring to explain as he quickly licked his lips, his eyes now focusing on your own. Your breath caught as your heart beat at an unearthly rate, he was so close. If either of you moved your head even a centimeter, his lips would be on yours.

But you weren't able to find out. The small metal door slammed as Jun-hee, Hyun-ju, and Ae-sim walked in, and you pulled back quickly. "I should try and sleep."

In-ho nodded as you walked away, his eyes trailed the curve of your ass and he adjusted his pants slightly before going back to his watch.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"Players, welcome to the third game. We will begin momentarily. The game you will be playing today is Mingle." The beady-eyed horses caught your attention first. The black, soulless, painted eyes boring into your own as you followed behind In-ho. "I will now explain the rules of the game. All players will step onto the platform in the center of the arena. Once the game begins, the platform will spin. Shortly after, a number will be called out. You must then form a group that matches this number, enter one of the surrounding rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds, or be eliminated."

You stopped in front of the red platform, In-ho stopped next to you, "The real crucial thing for us to do is to stay calm and don't panic. Trust each other. And we'll all get out of here in once piece." He looked down at you, a need to protect you suddenly clear, "Deal?"

You looked up at him, "Deal." And he took your hand as you both stepped on the platform.

"With that, let the game begin!" The woman over the PA system was replaced with a nursery song, "Round And Round". The platform jolted before starting its spin, and you grasp onto In-ho for support as he steadies you.

"Ten."

The lights were replaced with flashing red as In-ho pulled you close. Gi-hun grabbed a group of 3 people as you searched for an open door, "Room 44!" You pointed to the light green door before dragging In-ho and Dae-ho with you. Hyun- ju grabbed a stray woman while running through the green door, barely making it.

In-ho placed his hands on the sides of your arms firmly, "Are you okay?"

"Yes." You breathed out, trying to catch your breath.

He took one hand and cupped your face, "Just stick with me. You'll be okay." You nod as the door unlocks and he grabs your hand, leading you back to the platform.

You spin for another few agonizing seconds with your hand still firmly grasped in In-ho's. "Five."

Your face fell, there were six of you. Who was going to leave? In-ho quickly pushes you into Jung-bae's grasp, "Watch her, i'll go! Hurry!" In-ho takes one more glance towards you as he runs through the crowd.

Jung-bae drags you with the others as you call for In-ho, "Young- il! Young-il!" The door locks behind you and you break from Jung-bae's hold.

"Im sure hes okay. He's smart Y/N." You press your face to the door, peering out of the small window, searching for his tall frame. You know he's smart, but you were so scared of losing him again you couldn't even register the other players getting shot in front of your door.

It unlocks and you push it open, rushing out and onto the platform. You whip your head around as you scanned for In-ho. When you lock eyes with his brown ones you make a beeline towards him, pushing past other players as you jump into his arms, "What ever happened to, "Stick with me"?"

His hand wrapped protectively behind your neck, cradling you in his arms, "I know, im sorry. But i'm okay." He pulled your head away to look at him, a small smile resting on his face.

The platform began to spin as you and In-ho stood next to Jun-hee, "Attention, players. The final round will now begin." The God forsaken nursery rhyme plays again, and this time, your eyes were glued to In-ho.

"What do you think the number will be?" Jun-hee asked curiously while clinging onto Dae-ho.

"It will be two." In-ho looked towards her.

"Wait, why?"

He squeezes your hand, "We're at 126 people, and there are 50 rooms. Even if there's two in every room, then there's still only enough for 100 of us. If you don't find one fast, you're done for."

The platform comes to a halt. "Two." The lights flash again and In-ho pulls you on instinct, running to a yellow door.

In-ho was going to keep you safe, at any cost.

You look back towards the group for a split second when your body meets the ground, you look up in slow motion as the man who pushed you runs to the door. You took a staggered breath before grabbing onto his ankle, slamming him to the ground and buying you enough time to run in behind In-ho and close the door.

Relief washed over you only momentarily as your eyes met with a third person in the room. In-ho steps in front of you, "Out."

"But, we were here first. Why don't you put her out and I stay?" In-ho tilts his head at his last remark before wrapping his biceps around the man's head.

The door behind you shook as the other man tries to push it open, you are quick to press your body weight against it to hold it close, "In-ho, what do we do?" Your voice was frantic as the countdown continued.

In-ho's arms tighten around the mans neck as he pulls and pushes at his grasp, but In-hos eyes never faltered. Not once. They stayed piercing yours, full of determination.

"Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two..." The cracking sound of the mans neck made you flinch, his lifeless body hitting the floor with a thud.

I did say in-ho would keep you safe. At any cost.

"One."

The door locked behind you as you pressed your back against it, In-ho's stare stuck on you as he stepped over the man's body and towards you. He pushed your body against the door, his hand finding the flesh of your waist as his other hand pulled your neck into a desperate kiss. You became putty under his touch as he dug his fingers into your skin, he craved your touch as much as you did. And it was taking every muscle in his body not to take you and fuck you right now.

Your hands traveled from his chest and up to his neck, pulling him closer. A small whine escaped your pretty lips as he slid his hand up and under your shirt, the same hands he just used to kill for you.

For you.

You felt the door unlock with a click behind you. And In-ho pulled away reluctantly as your head fell back against the door, "I need you Y/N." He brushed his thumb over your red and swollen lips before taking your hand, and leading you out of the door.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"Attention, all players. Lights-out will be in approximately 30 minutes. With the remaining half hour, please disperse, and prepare to return to your beds for the night."

You sat next to Jung-bae who was excitedly talking about the next vote with Dae-ho as you watched In-ho move your mattress next to his. You hadn't dared to tell a soul about what happened in the yellow room, the kiss or the dead guy.

And you weren't going to tell anyone.

You should be concerned, right? Concerned over how easy it was for him to snap a guys neck without breaking eye contact? He was emotionless, cold, really attractive. You had witnessed many fights between him and other men while growing up, especially when it came to fighting over you.

But he never once killed for you. Until now, at least. Were you wrong to think it was really hot?

"Once the lights go out, the ones who wanna stay are gonna come for us." Gi-huns voice broke you from your thoughts, "Killing us would mean they win the next vote. It would also increase the prize money."

In-ho sat down next to you, his hand immediately finding your back, "We have to attack first then, it's our only chance. Those guys assume we're just waiting it out till the next vote. When the lights go down, we should hit them first since they won't expect it." He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, watching is you nod in agreement.

Gi-hun shook his head and leaned in closer to the group, "No, we can't. We'd be playing right into their hands if we did."

"Who is 'they'?" You tilted your head as you asked, failing to notice In-ho's gaze darken.

"The ones who built this whole place. The ones who created the games and who watch us play." The group listens closely, "If we're gonna try and fight anyone, we should be going after them instead."

"Sure, but where are they?"

Gi-hun looks up, "They're up there. At the top of the staircases. They keep everything here running from up in their central control room." He looks back at the group, "There's a man in a black mask who's the head of the operation. If we can get to him, we finally can end this."

In-ho sighs in disagreement, "It's too risky. Even if we manage to get a few guns they'll outnumber us when we try to get out." You feel his hand slide from your back and wrap around your waist.

"What are you suggesting? That we fight the other group through the whole entire night, and hope that we all make it? Is that it, Young-il? Do you really think that's a good plan?" Gi-huns voice is a little raised and you feel In-ho's grip on you tighten.

"Do we... stand a chance?"

"If we can manage an ambush, yes. Those bastards up there, they'll never expect our side to attack. They'll be focused on other things. This is it." You nodded with Dae-ho, ready to fight, "This is our last chance to put an end to these games and make sure they never happen again."

"Lights out in ten seconds."

"Once the lights are off, we have to get under our beds as quietly as we can. We can't afford to get caught by the other side. And we know they'll be out for blood." Gi-hun whispers as he slides under his bed.

You and In-ho follow suit, laying on your stomachs as you peer out from under your bed. You feel the contrast between your shaky breaths and his own steady breathing, and you can't comprehend how he could be so calm.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."

"I have a plan." In-ho's voice was barely above a whisper, and a shiver runs down your spine at the sound of a woman yelling.

You look at him, "But, what about Gi-hun's plan?"

You didn't miss the small smirk that played on his lips, "Just stay by my side." Without a word In-ho swiftly moves from out of his bed, pulling you with him.

"Wait! What are you-" His hand came to your mouth as you both hugged the wall while discreetly moving towards the small metal door.

In-ho removed his hand to place a short knock. The small window opened, a guard peering through the flap. Without a single question, the door opened, and In-ho was quick to push you through.

You watched as the guard swiftly opened the bathroom door allowing you and In-ho to enter. You turned to the door as it shut behind you before looking at In-ho, "How did that guard just let you through? I don't understand, we have to go back In-ho."

"Or we can stay. We're safe here- you're safe here." He stood on the opposite wall in front of you, watching as you rested your hand on the doorknob.

He knew you were thinking about going back. But he also knew you weren't going to. He had you wrapped around his finger, just like all those years ago. And you knew it too.

You dropped your hand from the doorknob, biting your lip as you feel him slowly stalk towards you. Need courses through your veins as his hand comes from behind and wraps around your neck, his other hand pulls your waist against him. His lips find your neck and you've melted instantly.

His bulge presses harshly against your ass as he sucks and bites your neck with unhuman desire. This wasn't like when you were younger, when you were flustered and shy. No. You were hungry with want and your eyes were filled with lust.

He whips you around, lips on your own now as he moves you backwards to the counter. Your knees go weak and he lifts you with ease, as if you weighed nothing, and places you on the counter. Your fingers dug into his back, desperate for more. Hungry for him.

In-ho bites your lip roughly, and you give him what he wants, opening your lips wider and letting his tongue fuck your mouth. You were intoxicated, In-ho was the man you thought of each night as you fucked yourself, screaming his name into oblivion. And now here he was, hiking your shirt over your head.

"Y/N." Your name slipped from In-ho's mouth swiftly as he lifts your shirt over your head before his lips find your exposed skin. A small whine escapes your lips as his hot mouth gives your cold skin goosebumps.

It was like that small little noise ignited something animalistic within him, a grunt fell off his tongue as he bit your skin. He loved the way you squirmed as he dipped his tongue into your collarbone, his eyes looking up at you.

Sweat slicked your forehead as your head throws back, your bra falling from your tits, landing on the floor. How did he take it off? His hand didnt even-

oh.

Oh.

You looked at the bra, the back was still clasped.But the straps, the straps were ripped. He had ripped your bra off of you with hunger. But, you couldn't focus on the bra anymore as a moan escaped your mouth, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as In-ho rolls your nipple under his tongue.

He trailed sloppy kisses up to your mouth before stepping back, observing you. He pulls his shirt of with ease, "Take off your pants." It was demanding, and you obeyed. Your fingers trembled as you slipped off your bottoms and panties.

In-ho presses his tongue against his cheek, cocking his head as he takes you in piece by piece. You were sprawled out on the counter, your back resting against the mirror and your chest heaved, "What. What are you looking at In-ho."

"I'm thinking about all the bruises your pretty body is going to have after I fuck you."

He sinks to his knees in front of you, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he delves his tongue into your folds. You gasp, your legs involuntarily locking around his head. His tongue laps as he looks up at you. His nose perfectly brushes your clit, and he knows it as you rock your hips, "Oh, f-fuck. In-ho please."

He smirks against you as you sputter his name. He feels himself growing harder each time you whimper under his mouth. He drinks you up, your taste slicking on his face as you his tongue finds your clit.

One of your hands remove from the edge of the counter and find its way to his hair, "In-ho please," You pull his hair up to make him look at you, "If you stop now, I-I will kill you."

A small chuckle vibrates through your core as his lips latch your clit, rolling it under his tongue. Your legs pull him closer, if possible, and you feel your climax building. You arch your hips, rolling against his mouth as the need to cum grows louder. In-ho roughly laps on your swollen clit, desperate for your release.

And suddenly the earth stops spinning as you dissolve into pleasure, letting yourself unravel under him. Your body jerks as shockwaves move throughout your body, and you let his name roll of your tongue.

"Scoot down." You do as you're told and wiggle your ass until its slightly off the counter. In-ho watches as you still attempt to steady your breathing, smirking as he dips the waist of his pants down.

Your eyes widen as he places one of his hands on the side of your body, letting him tower over you. Your eyes trailed to his other hand that was busy lining his dick up with your core, but his eyes are on you. Waiting to watch your reaction as you take his cock.

He sinks into you, your breath catching and your eyes closing as he doesn't ease you into it, stretching you out. A grunt escapes his mouth at your reaction, you were so beautiful like this.

In-ho leans back and takes a hold of both of your ankles, holding them above you as he sets the pace. Your knuckles turn white as you grip the counter with one hand and cover your mouth with the other.

In-ho quickens the pace with each thrust, pounding into you like a toy. Animalistic grunts escape his mouth, "Y/N, you're so good for me. I've missed this so -fuck- so much."

You whine at his words, desperate attempts to buck your hips failed. He had you pinned down under you, controlling everything. He can feel the way you grip him, lustful tension building in the air, "Atta girl."

Oh fuck, he feels so good. He fits perfectly in you, just like all those years ago. The passion was still there, and god, he made you know it. You're drunk with desire, clenching around him as the pace picks up. His thrusts are sharp, deep, and you can tell he's close.

Your hands find his face, forcing him to look at you. His eyes met yours as his cock hit every. right. spot. His eyes softened, a contrast to his pornoraphic thrusts. In the middle of everything, all the death around you, you rekindled a love you never thought you would experience again.

Your eyes stay locked as the grip on your ankles tightened, In-ho's head dropping slightly as he came, time slowing as waves of electricity engulfed him. Warmth flooded over your body as he pulsed inside of you, gently laying your legs back down before leaning forward.

He pulled you close to him, his hands cupping your face and his thumb gently lifting your chin, "I love you Y/N." A smile displayed on his lips as he kissed you softly.

You bit back a sob, "In-ho... I never stopped loving you. You've been my person, even when you weren't mine."

He kissed you again, this time with promise. A promise of making it out of the games, a promise of love, a promise of hope.

In-ho never thought much of a future. He always saw himself living for the games. He expected to die as the front man, he didn't have anything to lose. But now he does. He has a future now, and it's you. He is not living for the games anymore. He is living for you.

Would you still love him when you find out the truth?

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

A/N: Hey pookies!! Tysm for all the love recently it's definitely motivated for me to come out of retirement. Pls lmk who I should write for next! I'm in a squid game mood so maybe Gi-hun?

@tsarinaaaz @flowersbloom8787 @vixtyhu @dottoremybbg @fnl9zer @cdej6 @galadoesart @watasinekoru @icantcryicantstopcrying @seasaltrasp @pepsicolacoochie @lily-ann-b @gurjxxpp11

[recommendationfinderseo]

Crafting Your Financial Future: Exploring the Best Investment Plans

Crafting Your Financial Future: Exploring the Best Investment Plans

Introduction

In the ever-evolving world of finance, choosing the right investment plan is paramount to securing your financial future. With an array of investment programs and options available, the task can seem daunting. However, in this article, we will explore the key elements of investment planning and introduce you to the best investment plan options that can help you make your money work smarter for you.

Understanding Investment Planning

Successful investing is not a haphazard endeavor but a well-thought-out strategy. Investment planning involves setting clear financial goals, assessing your risk tolerance, and creating a roadmap to achieve your objectives. It's the foundation upon which your financial success is built.

The Best Investment Plans

What makes an investment plan the best? It depends on your unique financial situation and goals. Here, we'll introduce you to some of the best investment options to consider in your investment planning journey.

Monthly Investment Plan

This approach involves consistently investing a fixed amount of money every month. It's an excellent way to build wealth over time, as it takes advantage of the power of compounding and dollar-cost averaging.

Money Investment Plans

These encompass a wide range of options, from stocks and bonds to real estate and cryptocurrencies. Diversifying your portfolio across different money investment plans can help mitigate risk and optimize returns.

Best Way to Invest Money

The best way to invest money is to strike a balance between risk and reward that aligns with your financial goals. It's crucial to stay informed about the latest market trends and seek professional advice if needed.

Best Place to Invest Money Right Now

The financial landscape is constantly evolving, and what's considered the best place to invest money can change over time. Keeping a close eye on market trends and staying flexible in your approach is key.

Best Investment Ideas

Innovation is the driving force behind new and exciting investment ideas. From sustainable investing to emerging technologies, there are countless opportunities to explore.

Conclusion

Crafting a successful investment plan involves careful consideration of your financial goals, risk tolerance, and available options. While there's no one-size-fits-all solution, there are indeed best investment plans tailored to your unique circumstances. Remember to revisit and adjust your plan regularly to stay on track towards your financial objectives.

If you're seeking the best investment options and want to explore the best investment plan tailored to your goals, visit our Investment Plan page. We're here to help you navigate the complex world of investments and make informed choices that lead to a brighter financial future. Don't wait—start planning and investing wisely today.

[yandere--stuck]

NEED to know your thoughts on a yandere bill cipher

⚠️ Listen, pal, I KNOW why you're reading this. You've got a crush on YOURS TRULY! That's right, buddy, the cat's outta the bag! Well, not like the cat was ever really in the bag to begin with. What? Didn't think my all-seeing eye would spy you making goo-goo eyes at artistic depictions of me? AHAHA, aw, hey! Nothing to be embarrassed about. It's not like I can blame you, I mean, have you met me? A winning personality, great sense of humor, beautiful singing voice - I'm a total catch! And between you and me, you have better taste than the rest of your species’ population.

👁 There are probably numerous reason why you like stuff like this: The obsession, the possessive behavior, the VIOLENCE. Sure sounds like romance to ME! But as for you… Is it the abandonment issues? Lack of validation in your life? Feeling misunderstood and ostracized by the world? Loneliness? A desire for an escape into a fictional world? Or are you like me? Is romance just no good without the true passion of twisted devotion and obsession? There's no need to LIE! We're kindred spirits, you and I.

⚠️ I know just how you feel. You've been kicked down, laughed at, and made to feel small. You've gone unappreciated by blind MORONS who wouldn't know greatness if it melted their eyeballs out their ears. Because you are MEANT for greatness. You are meant for something more, and I bet it burns you to know that. That you're better than all of them. That they're nothing without you, and they DESERVE nothing. They deserve to BE nothing. I know just how you feel because I was in your place. Surrounded by flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams. HA, and I sure showed them. WHO'S LAUGHING NOW, HUH? ME!!!!!!

👁 The point is, I know you. I've had my eye on you for quite a while, kid. Q U I T E A W H I L E. And might I say, out of all the flesh bags that have clogged my vision over the centuries, YOU'RE clearly the best looking outta all of ‘em, hot stuff. But looks aren't everything, of course! You've got a personality to match. Gotta admit, it's cute how you get so invested in your interests, the little hobbies you pick up, just watching you go about your day is like the universe’s greatest reality TV show starring my favorite person in the multiverse! OH, I could just decaptiate you and nuzzle your fleshy little head in an approximation of a kiss right now!!!

⚠️ So, c'mon, just let me in. Shake my hand! Let's make a deal. No matter how big or small! And it’s not just for the purpose of liberating your dimension, no. I want to really get under your skin. To feel what it's like to be in the body of my favorite person. As close as two beings can get, closer than you can get with unworthy specimens of your own kind, more intimate than any experience in the world. I want to be that close to you. Because you're mine. You're MY HUMAN and NOTHING WILL CHANGE THAT. Y'HEAR ME?

👁 So, you might as well accept that you and me are destined, kid. The signs are all there. So, if I were you (and I could be, if you'd just let me), I'd do this the easy way. Because right now, there's two ways this can go down. The easy way: You summon me, and we make a deal. Anything your precious human heart desires - and more! You'll be my precious human pet, my puppet, my toy. Mine to own and have rule beside me! You'll prove everyone who put you down wrong! Anything you want - love, money, fame, worship, vengeance - it'll all be yours, and I'll give it to you. Because I want you to be happy. Because I want what's best for you. Because I’M the only one who actually cares about you. Everything you wanted will be yours. And there'll be an eternal party to celebrate our eternal love… Or, you could do this the hard way. Cause I'm gettin’ outta here one way or another. And when I do, well… I don't think you'd like being locked up in The Love Cage to be TORTURED until you reciprocate my feelings and see the light. I'd say I wouldn't want to, but that'd be lying. So, it's probably not a good idea to give me more of a reason to. So, whaddaya say? You know you deserve the best. Shake my hand and join the winning team. Either way, you're mine.

[guspartenza]

SUPERWOMAN: BEGINNINGS

This is a fragment of my fanfic "The Superwoman from Krypton". You can read it here SUPERWOMAN FROM KRYPTON-FREE ILLUSTRATED FANFIC by lordmallory on DeviantArt or here THE SUPERWOMAN FROM KRYPTON - LordMallory - Just three chapters pending!

If interested only in this complete chapter, you can read it here THE SUPERWOMAN FROM KRYPTON: THE ETERNAL COURSE - Chapter 11 - LordMallory - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

September 1945

Metropolis

"Nothing to see here, nothing to report. I don’t know what brought you folks down, but it’s just routine detentions. Now, kindly move along."

A stout, red-haired policeman with an almost absurdly friendly face was trying to shoo away a small swarm of reporters from the precinct. Among them was Clara Josephine Kent, an assistant reporter for Major Louis J. Lane at the Daily Planet—on probation, of course. She had only been at the paper for two weeks. Gone was the nurse’s uniform; she’d invested in a few smart suits and shirts, landed a decent little apartment—old, cramped, but with a hatch in the ceiling that would certainly come in handy—and picked up a new pair of glasses, elegant but thick, designed to obscure her gaze a little more.

The journalists groaned at the officer’s dismissal. Most of them were men, but there were also two strikingly well-dressed blonde women, polished to perfection. Clara felt a little plain, a little unkempt in comparison. She pulled out a cheap lipstick—money was tight—and began touching up her reflection in the glass door.

She needed a story if she didn’t want Major Lane assigning her only to translations and typing up dull reports, but the idea of writing about herself felt dishonest. She hadn’t made any real friends yet, though the Planet staff were polite, if too busy to chat for more than five minutes—except Major Lane, who left her with an odd mix of frustration and admiration.

Then, the precinct door creaked open. Out slipped a short, dark-haired man, middle-aged and slightly disheveled, carrying two cameras—a small one dangling from his neck and a larger one in his hand. He regarded Clara with sharp curiosity.

"Well, well! Hello there!" The little man winked.

"Uh… Hello?" Clara answered, hesitant.

"You’re new, aren’t you? Haven’t seen you around." He struck a match and lit a cigarette.

" Yes, yes - I'm afraid I'm new”. Clara offered a small smile.

"Pleasure’s mine. Leo Bernzy, photographer. And where the devil did you come from, sweetheart? Who do you work for?"

Clara shook his hand. "Clara Kent. Daily Planet. Just started a few days ago."

"Ah! But you're not a local, right?"

"No, I’m from Kansas. Smallville."

"Oh, Smallville!"

"You know it?"

"Not in the slightest, but I’m always in favor of bright-eyed Midwestern girls making their way to the big city."

Clara bristled at the remark but decided to let it slide. It was typical Metropolis banter—half playful, half intrusive, sometimes crude, sometimes snobbish. She was still adjusting.

Bernzy pressed on. "So, who’s your boss?"

"Oh, I’m assisting Major Louis Lane."

"Louis Lane’s a Major now? That chutzpahdik! Didn’t know he was back in town. Say, I know everyone from your paper. Catherine Grant’s a friend, and I grew up misbehaving in the same neighborhood as Bob Mailer. Been published plenty of times there. Just ask around for the Great Bernzyni. You’ve got the best director in the city—Perry Weiss—and the finest chief editor, George Taylor. You know ‘em, don’t you?"

"Yes, sir…" Clara wasn’t sure how to steer the conversation. Chutzpahdik? What did that mean? Metropolis was so different from Kansas. So many people from so many places… The Planet newsroom was a symphony of accents, peppered with Yiddish and Italian. She had also noticed with sorrow that the city was a bit segregated compared to Smallville. But she had expected that. She had seen it firsthand in the Navy.

Bernzy leaned in, lowering his voice. "So, Miss Kent… You and Major Lane—what do you make of these rumors?"

"Oh, Mr. Lane doesn’t think much of them. Me? I think there’s something there."

“Let’s share information, I like you. I like your newspaper.”

 Clara cleared her throat and flipped open a small pink notebook. In a softer voice, she listed the facts: "Sixteen anonymous detentions since August 27th. A hit-and-run prevented by what witnesses described as a ‘fast-moving shadow’—maybe two. A liquor store holdup thwarted by a woman dressed like an aviator. Three fires extinguished before the fire department even arrived…"

Bernzy gave a low whistle. "You’ve done your homework, huh? And they expect us to believe nothing’s going on? Ridiculous. Now, what’s really happening? That’s the question."

"Oh, maybe it's something like Gotham’s Bat."

"Bah!" Bernzy scrunched up his face in disgust. "That’s a joke. A cop or a thug in a bat-shaped tin suit, cracking skulls in back alleys? Gotham’s a madhouse. Everyone’s nuts over there. With enough money and a screw loose, sure, you can run around dressed like a flying rat. But this? This is something else. Stranger. I figured it was just the usual pile-up of absurd coincidences—classic Metropolis. Or maybe a case of mass hysteria… You know, the bomb? People lost their marbles over that. The war ending, the whole damn world changing overnight."

"Yes, yes… It’s awful." Clara’s naivety was sincere.

Bernzy leaned in. "But hell, this is different. Something big is happening here—something unnatural. FBI’s swooping in on this case, which means they’re getting ready to feed us a load of bunk. But a pal of mine let me snap a photo of something incredible…"

"Oh? The FBI?"

"A gun. Bent. Crushed. Like it had been twisted by a force no man alive could muster—not a hundred men, not a thousand. Found right beside the detainees. And that’s not the work of some lunatic in a bat suit."

"You’re serious?"

"Dead serious. And doll, if you’re looking to get ahead with this story, this photo should be yours. I can send you a copy—bit grainy, but clear enough to get you thinking. A goddamn gun, twisted like taffy. Special price, just for you—twenty bucks. A welcome gift for the new girl, and a little something to build a beautiful friendship."

***

Louis Lane peered through a magnifying glass at the small photograph Leo Bernzy had sent free to the Daily Planet, struggling not to laugh.

“Good Lord. Welcome to Metropolis, Miss Kent.”

“What do you think? I believe we might be onto something serious here…”

“Are you joking, Kent? You’ve just met the great schlepper Leo Bernzy—the best photographer in the city and also a first-class swindler, a born vagabond despite the fact that everyone admires him and bought his book. This is nonsense. That gun was put through a press or some kind of machinery to play a prank on us, to make us believe something that isn’t real.”

Clara huffed, knowing full well that she herself had bent the gun in the blink of an eye with her superhuman strength. “Well, he seemed sincere.”

“Oh, he’s sincere, all right. And he’s also a master of pulling legs. And an artist. And a man with deals on both sides of the law—the police and the mafia. For all we know, someone put him up to this, spreading the photo to stir up fear or send the city into a frenzy. He saw you as a rookie and went in for the bite. If you see him again, tell him he’s a momzer.”

“And you don’t think there might be something behind all this, Major Lane? The rumors are piling up.”

“Miss Kent, there is no ‘fast-moving shadow’ putting out fires or stopping runaway cars. There is no woman dressed like a pilot, wearing aviator goggles, arresting criminals and bending metal guns. It’s end-of-war madness. People are exhausted, ecstatic. They’re pulling your leg, Miss Kent. At best, they don’t even know what they’re seeing.”

“Then let me write a piece on that—covering it as rumors and hysteria, a chronicle of the city’s nerves…”

Louis regarded her for a long moment, then allowed himself a small smile. “It's a nice idea. Human interest. Kind of like what you wrote during the war that Perry liked so much. Let's see if the rumor picks up steam. Cat would have our heads if we published that people believe there's a mysterious figure moving at super speed, even if it's just to make fun of them.”

Clara couldn’t quite hide her frustration. “I understand.”

“Don’t get obsessed with this story, Kent. Keep pounding the pavement. They gave you a generous probation period—three months. You don’t need to bring me an exclusive just yet.”

***

Clara adjusted the aviator jacket—two sizes too big—along with the helmet and goggles. She was completely unrecognizable. She had found them at a clearance sale and thought they made for the perfect disguise, even though she moved at super-speed to ensure no one saw her. She still hadn’t decided when to reveal herself to the public in a deliberate, controlled way. The war was too recent. The bomb was too recent. She didn’t want to cause too great a disturbance—not yet. But sooner or later, she would.

Her Kryptonian suit was still there, carefully folded in the dresser of her new apartment. She had felt secure, resolute when she wore it—so why did she hesitate now? She wanted to wear it again, but the right moment never seemed to come. Soon, she kept telling herself. She had been telling herself that for a month now.

Soon, the rumors in Metropolis would spiral out of control, whether Major Lane wanted them to or not. And Clara wasn’t just operating in Metropolis. Though she moved like a shadow at super-speed, she was already acting across the world. It was only a matter of time before someone started piecing together the pattern behind these impossible, miraculous rescues. And that could lead to even greater fear and chaos. She needed to show her face—to let the world see her, to trust her.

Clara soared through the sky at great speed, then descended onto a deserted rooftop. That evening, she would patrol Metropolis. Then, the skies of the world. In Alaska, Kelex and the projections of her Kryptonian parents had trained her to sharpen her hearing to near-impossible extremes—and, just as importantly, to filter out the background noise. She had learned to listen only for cries for help, for distress signals. It was a Herculean task. Could she truly handle it?

Then she heard it—a cry for help. A child was falling. In less than a fraction of a second, she was there. Twelve floors above the street, the boy plummeted toward the pavement. Clara caught him in her arms just before he hit the ground, hovering in midair for a few seconds. The child’s eyes were wide as saucers. On the street below, people saw her. In broad daylight.

She moved fast. In the blink of an eye, she carried the boy to the safety of a rooftop corner. “How did you manage to fall?” she asked, her voice sharp with worry, the tone of a mother scolding a reckless child. “You nearly killed yourself! Do you realize you could have died?” The boy stammered something about reaching for a ball. Clara pressed her goggles tighter against her face. Below, her super-hearing picked up the excited shouts of a dozen curious onlookers. They had seen her. A woman flying through the air to save a child.

She exhaled. Then, in an instant, she vanished like a whirlwind.

*** 

The projector flickered, its final frames dissolved into white static on the small screen. The lights came on, revealing an elegant hotel room. Fifty, maybe sixty people sat in hastily arranged chairs.

At the back of the room, Clara stood frozen, gripping her handbag so tightly that she had nearly torn it apart in a fit of anger and shock. Half an hour ago, she had felt radiant. She had gone to the hairdresser to have her hair styled into an elegant bun, her makeup carefully applied—something she had never been good at. She had rented a navy-blue dress and a string of pearls, wanting to look her best. Now, her entire face was streaked with tears. Her makeup had run, her glasses were fogged over.

In the audience, many people looked disheveled, as if they had run their fingers through their own hair in distress. Some rose heavily from their seats, sighing. Others sat with their faces buried in their hands. At the front of the room, standing near the screen, Louis Lane remained motionless. Dressed in a black tuxedo, he did not look pleased, yet silently lit a cigarette. A few people attempted to applaud, but the gesture felt inappropriate. They hesitated, uncertain.

Clara stared at Louis, her gaze unyielding. He met her eyes, his expression weary and sorrowful, absently smoothing his mustache.

The small audience, mostly journalists close to Louis and a handful of well-known figures, slowly approached him, offering their congratulations with difficulty.

Clara had been invited the day before, after a heated argument with Louis about the credibility of witness accounts describing a flying woman saving a child. She had been excited to receive the invitation, despite knowing that the event was bound to be dark, heavy, suffocating.

Finally, she made her way toward Louis.

“Are you alright, Clara?”

“Yes… Excuse me, it was just… a little overwhelming.”

She felt foolish, but Louis smiled at her.

“I perfectly understand Clara, thank you very much for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me, I’m very grateful.”

“I think it’s important that we all see these things.”

“Yes… Are all these yours?”

“The Dachau footage? Yes. The Nordhausen reels were shot by a friend of mine. I couldn’t visit any of the extermination camps in the East—I was not allowed due to…bureaucracy. But this… this gives us an idea of the scale.”

Clara lowered her gaze, murmuring a quiet thank you.

No one had the heart for the cocktail reception that was supposed to follow. She declined Louis’s offer to call her a taxi. She walked for a while, then, when she was certain she was alone, soared into the sky. Above the clouds, Clara curled into herself, floating weightlessly.

Tomorrow, she would wear the cape.

Tomorrow, she would reveal herself to the world.

She needed to act freely.

October 1, 1945

Metropolis, Afternoon

Clara stood uncertainly in front of the mirror, undoing her shirt again and opening it slowly, gazing with lingering disbelief at the red-and-gold crest of the House of El and the vivid blue tights beneath. Her fingers gently traced along her back, feeling the neatly folded red cape that lay inconspicuously flat under her shirt. Wearing the ceremonial Kryptonian garment beneath her everyday clothes felt oddly surreal. It wasn't uncomfortable; in fact, the fabric was remarkably pleasant against her skin, and surprisingly easy to conceal. But knowing that millions of people would soon recognize it made her dizzy.

To openly wield her abilities and justify their origin, she knew she had no choice but to wear it publicly. Despite her reservations, she admired the suit’s elegance, and deep inside she felt a profound sense of pride whenever her eyes caught the striking colors. Still, its boldness—its vivid hues, unique texture, and striking contours—sometimes made it feel extravagant, even scandalous, despite covering her fully. She had briefly considered layering a red skirt over it but quickly dismissed the idea. There simply wasn't a fabric strong enough that wouldn’t shred to pieces as soon as she took flight or moved at super-speed.

Last night and throughout the morning, she performed her heroics still secretly disguised in her aviator outfit. But now, the decision was irrevocable. Clara would step into the light, act freely without hiding, and strive to bring hope. Yet a nagging doubt lingered… Could she maintain her life as Clara Kent, or would someone inevitably recognize her?

The phone rang abruptly, jolting her from her thoughts. Her mother’s voice called cheerfully from Smallville, announcing she had adopted a puppy. Her mother had chosen to name it Krypto and hoped Clara would take the little dog back with her to Metropolis for company. Clara nervously agreed to everything, keeping silent about her recent decision.

With a deep breath, she gathered her belongings and headed back to the Daily Planet, her mind racing as she prepared to deliver an article proposal to Major Lane.

***

“Death, destruction, total chaos,” Louis Lane’s voice, simultaneously melodious and solemn, drifted distantly as he paced around the office. Clara hardly heard him; she was lost in her own thoughts, knowing that in just a few short minutes she would reveal herself to the world.

“Excuse me, Major Lane?”

“It was a joke, Smallville. Your article is actually very good. Wouldn't you prefer writing this kind of story rather than that fantastical tale about some flying woman dressed like a pilot?”

“Oh yes, absolutely… Ordinary people’s troubles. Honestly, I really want to write about this,” Clara responded earnestly.

Louis shrugged dismissively. "Meanwhile, they've got me going to a party on a damned, supposedly indestructible zeppelin - just another one of Lex Luthor's brilliant ideas - so I can report on how optimistic we should all be about the future of transportation and the end of the war. I'll be forced to spend hours drinking and chatting with terribly dull people, and Luthor himself won't even be there.”

“I understand.”

“You seem distracted.”

“I'm just very tired, Major Lane, I…”

“Go home. You've done enough for today. The article is decent, perfectly usable.”

Clara nodded distractedly, offering Louis a faint smile as she noted his white tuxedo.

“You look very elegant, Major.”

“I look like a bloody waiter. Haven’t worn one of these since Christmas of '41,” Louis grumbled.

Clara’s lips curled slightly into another faint smile, though her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

“Go home, Miss Kent. I’ve never seen you look this exhausted.”

I’m not tired…

***

A couple of hours later, night had already begun to fall, and Clara Kent had yet to take flight with her cape. She was about to leave the Daily Planet, uncertain of where to go next. Meanwhile, high above Metropolis, the small helium-powered airship Gilded Swan, built by TELCORP, glided through the sky.

Inside the zeppelin, a young, cheerful man, accompanied by a product engineer, presented a model of the very machine they were traveling in to nearly a hundred guests.

"As you can see, thanks to the combination of helium and antidermis, along with the use of alternative metals and plastics, we've created an airship half the size and weight of the previous generation—far more resistant to electrical storms and, of course, much faster. The fusion of helium and antidermis not only eliminates the risk of fire but also allows for a gondola and cabins twice the size. The Gilded Swan and this new series of mini airships aren’t designed for long, treacherous journeys spanning days but rather as modern and efficient short-range transport. Being smaller and lighter makes launching and landing much easier—and quicker. If converted into a passenger cabin, this model could transport up to 300 seated individuals. It’s an alternative to trains and airplanes—faster, safer, even if it may seem cumbersome at first..."

Louis stifled a yawn. He was a vaguely snobbish yet well-educated man, born into a family of modest origins that had already clawed its way into high society. His father had even served as an auxiliary admiral. Yet, despite all that, he felt completely out of place at that gathering. It had been nearly four years since he had attended anything similar, and he still couldn’t believe people insisted on those damned zeppelins after the bloody Hindenburg.

The mayor—an insufferable man in Louis' opinion—applauded enthusiastically. He moved toward the panoramic windows of the gondola and pulled back the curtain. Lighting a cigarette, he recalled TELCORP’s cheeky advertisements: "On these airships, you can smoke!" Meanwhile, the shrill, relentless voice of Metropolis' most notorious reporter, Tess Harding, grated on his nerves.  The whole scene irritated him. The Daily Planet irritated him. Clara Kent and her wild tales about a flying woman irritated him—though he tried to be polite. The young woman was a talented writer, an excellent typist, and deserved a fair chance.

With a sigh of resignation, he leaned slightly out the window. The air was brisk at this altitude. Below, the skyscrapers of the city sprawled out, barely a few hundred meters from his reach.

"We're going to descend a little, carefully now—you'll get a stunning view of the city. We're also considering a prototype with a reinforced glass floor, though only for those without a fear of heights."

Polite laughter filled the zeppelin’s gondola.

Louis flicked his cigarette into the air. He had only been in the city for two months. Happy to reunite with his daughter—whose first four years of life he had mostly missed—as well as with his parents, siblings and old friends. Beyond that, he felt disconnected, out of place.

His pact with Pat remained intact—her coldness wounded him, but he repaid her in kind. Separate bedrooms. They only sat together to discuss their daughter. Louis didn’t miss the war. Maybe some of his fellow soldiers, but not the battles. He had done too many things he wasn’t proud of. And he had no intention of ever picking up a weapon again.

"Now we’re going to descend so you can enjoy an extraordinary view of the skyscrapers of our beautiful city."

Applause. The crowd surged toward the windows, and Louis positioned himself at the edge of the last viewing pane. The dirigible descended swiftly, yet gracefully, hovering just two or three hundred feet above the spires and domes of Metropolis’s tallest towers. Among them stood the towering Empire Estate, the elegant Crysler, the TELCORP tower, the twin-spired St. Cloud—whose sibling loomed in Gotham—and the stately American International.

Murmurs of admiration—though directed at a view all too familiar to the locals—filled the gondola. The publicist explained, in a voice both rehearsed and upbeat, that within two years, there would be a dedicated docking station for these small urban airships atop both the TELCORP and St. Cloud towers.

While the crowd marveled, Louis ducked behind a curtain to sneak a swig from his flask. Meanwhile, the airship crew—nervous from the trial run and thrown off by the ever-changing instructions of the publicists—initiated an ascent to avoid passing to close to the Crysler building but such ascent was far too abrupt. The lightness of the gases and the delicate materials of the zeppelin made ballast management deceptive. To make matters worse, the winds were stronger than forecast.

Without warning, as the airship rose, it suddenly tilted at a sharp angle. Nearly all the passengers tumbled across the floor, sliding among tables, chairs, and shattered champagne bottles, their screams of panic ricocheting off the walls. Louis instinctively grabbed the curtain, his heart clenching in terror. “NO, NO, NO—NOT ANOTHER HINDENBURG, FOR GOD’S SAKE.”

The dirigible jolted again, veering violently in an attempt to stabilize. Had the swerve been any more forceful, dozens of passengers might have been hurled out the windows. But only one was. Clinging to the curtain, Louis was wrenched out through the glass, finding himself dangling from the very same drape—only now outside the gondola, suspended above the vast cityscape nearly fifteen hundred feet in the air.

***

Few pedestrians paid much attention to the dirigible overhead, and even fewer noticed the two violent lurches it made within the span of ten seconds. A few pointed skyward, sensing something was off. But it was the chorus of cries for help that reached the ears of a woman capable of hearing from many, many miles away.

Clara Kent was walking down a quiet side street. She’d stayed late at the Daily Planet, hoping to get ahead on tomorrow’s work so Louis would find everything prepared, and to make another effort—albeit mostly fruitless—to connect with her colleagues. The only one she’d managed any real rapport with was the young photographer Jimmy Olsen, who seemed as out of place in the chaotic, abrasive newsroom as she was.

Now, Clara was slowly making her way home, waiting for the moment—any excuse, any flicker of urgency—that would finally let her shed her clothes and soar, cape unfurled, with that peculiar indifference that sometimes grips the heart just before a great leap.

But the cries—dozens of them—and the groaning metal of the zeppelin shattered her stillness. Her heart seized. She straightened sharply, instinct taking over. Spinning on her heels, she looked skyward, eyes narrowing. With her telescopic vision, she saw the airship tilting, rocking now with less violence, its gondola full of partygoers tumbling about in formal wear...

And then her breath caught. Her heart dropped.

There, clinging to a curtain billowing out into empty air, was a figure she knew too well. A face she would never mistake.

“Louis! Oh my God!”

Clara gritted her teeth, resolve flashing through her. Without hesitation, she sprinted into the nearest alley.

***

Louis didn’t last more than thirty or forty seconds. They felt both eternal and fleeting.

At first, there was a strange calm, and with it, the quiet certainty that he was going to die. A gentle, fatalistic voice within him whispered that he should let go, that he should surrender to the fall. But then, the nearness of death became unbearable—too real, too close. A blurry image of his daughter flashed in his mind, and something inside him rebelled.

With a desperate surge of will, he clung tightly to the curtain, now tearing in the wind. Just beside him hung one of the dirigible’s many support ropes. It looked thicker, sturdier than the fragile fabric beneath his fingers. Instinctively, he believed he could climb it—if he could just hold on, if he could just try.

He reached for it with defiance. He didn’t dare let go of the curtain. Inch by inch, he brought the rope closer and finally managed to grip it with both hands. For a fleeting moment, there was hope. Then he looked up. He followed the line of the rope with his eyes, saw where it anchored, and understood: there was no way to climb back toward the windows. Not now. Not from here.

But once again, disbelief overrode reason. And then—the rope gave.

Louis plunged into the void.

A sudden, shattering awareness of what was happening, the cold, the wind, and a clumsy attempt by his brain to begin a prayer blurred his senses as he dropped, heavy as a stone and vertical, into the open air.

***

No human eye could have seen it clearly—the shadow of a well-dressed woman, wearing a beige office suit beneath an autumn coat and hat, her face half-hidden behind thick, round glasses, slipping hastily into an alley. Nor could they have seen how that shadow blurred, how it shifted color, transforming into a brilliant streak of red and blue as clothes, glasses, shoes, and stockings flew off in every direction.

Then the red-and-blue blur shot into the sky like a meteor.

A few bystanders, who had just gasped in horror as they watched a man fall from the dirigible, let out a deeper, more breathless sound as they glimpsed that strange, radiant shadow tearing through the heavens.

*** 

The fall lasted ten seconds.

A fleeting jolt of pain pierced Louis as he plummeted. He didn’t see his life flash before his eyes. Instead, he thought of his daughter. Of his younger brother, with whom he didn’t talk to often enough. His mind scrambled for the words of the Lord’s Prayer,  but stalled at the first line. He saw nothing around him, the wind and the velocity turned everything into shadowy streaks, blinding him, battering his senses.

And then… something changed.

It was as if the fall slowed. As if something—someone—had wrapped around him. Firm, yet gentle arms caught him, held him. The descent shifted, no longer vertical but gliding, diagonal, as though he were being cradled by the air itself. A luminous red-and-blue shadow enveloped him, shielding him from the night.

"Death," his mind concluded.

But the motion stopped. He was no longer falling. He was floating—suspended nearly three hundred feet above the ground. The shapes of buildings restored around him. The deafening rush gave way to the sound of fabric rippling like torn silk. The blur resolved into a floating red cape, a sculpted blue form, and the strong, steady arms of someone holding him.

His mind still lagged behind. Was he dead? Louis turned his head, instinctively—and saw her.

A face unreal in its kindness. Striking blue or turquoise eyes. Tousled, dark curls. The soft, fierce features of a woman who did not seem possible.

"I’ve got you. Don’t worry, sir. You’re safe."

Her voice was clear, sweet, commanding—almost regal.

Louis, still dazed, still convinced this might be the afterlife, choked out a question.

"What the hell is going on? Who’s holding you?"

She smiled. And kept floating with him, descending gently through the night.

"Please calm down, sir. I’m grounding you now. Everything is under control."

Clara’s chest brimmed with relief, with joy. Louis was alive. His eyes were wide, stunned, but it wasn’t fear she saw—it was something like wonder, disorientation, and overwhelming disbelief.

Below them, a wave of gasps and cries pointed skyward.

Clara touched down carefully on the sidewalk, surrounded by a frozen, half-hysterical crowd. She helped Louis to his feet—he was barely reacting, still in shock. With a quick pass of her X-ray vision, she scanned him for fractures. Nothing broken.

Louis seemed to finally register that he was alive. On solid ground. A crowd was gathering fast.

He looked at her and croaked:

“Who... who are you?”

“You didn’t recognize me! What a relief!”

Clara smiled, ignoring the shouts and flashes of curious onlookers.

“A friend.”

Then, with a graceful nod, she turned and soared skyward once more. The crowd erupted into cries of awe and disbelief as she vanished into the night, transformed again into that blazing blur of red and blue.

And Louis, trembling, reached into his coat in search of his flask.

The liberation was absolute, exhilarating. The feeling of freedom—of being able to show herself to the world at last, to act without concealment, to smile and greet the very people she helped—was like shedding a weight that had pressed upon her for years. During what was, for Metropolis, a single night—but for her, a sequence of night and day across the globe—hundreds, perhaps thousands of people responded with a strange blend of astonishment, wonder, joy, and disbelief to the sight of a flying woman in a strange costume and crimson cape. A woman who arrested criminals, prevented accidents, untangled bizarre dilemmas, and shielded the weak.

Telegraphs chattered, telephones rang off the hook, and radios buzzed with conflicting reports. People abandoned their suppers, their evening shifts, their quiet routines, to peer out of windows or gaze skyward, searching for a glimpse of that mysterious figure soaring above. There would be many nights like this.

The flying woman in the red cape delivered thieves to precinct doors, extinguished fires, pulled ships from storms, warmed the freezing, carried the injured to hospitals. To all, she gave the same radiant smile—no longer tinged with melancholy. And when asked who she was, she declined to say.

In the vast of the night, as a meeting of utmost urgency convened within the White House, the mysterious woman appeared seemingly out of thin air. With impeccable manners, she requested a brief audience with the President. The conversation lasted no more than twenty minutes, but it left Harry S. Truman somewhere between dazed and reassured.

Millions were roused from sleep or gripped by sudden alarm as reports spread—warped, distorted, amplified—by the slow-moving machinery of communication. Many refused to believe it: A woman? Flying? Impossible.

But within hours, or days at most, they accepted it. Not without confusion. Not without questions. But they accepted it.

*** 

Clara scooped up the frightened cat with a soft smile, cradling it gently in her arms as she floated down to the ground. There, she handed it to the little girl, who looked up at her beaming, her school lunch bag swinging excitedly at her side.

How do you fly?” the girl asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s... complicated,” Clara said, chuckling softly. “But it took me a long time to learn.”

“Why do you wear those clothes?”

“Do you like them?”

“The cape is wonderful. You look like a princess.”

“It’s from my planet,” Clara replied, with a playful twinkle in her eye.

“You’re from another planet?”

October 2, 1945

Metropolis, Morning.

Clara landed dressed in her Kryptonian supersuit behind a stack of beams at a construction site near the Daily Planet. A second later, she emerged dressed as Clara Kent. She smoothed out her skirt, adjusted her hat. It felt strange to wear her Kryptonian suit underneath, but it was comfortable—like slipping into a snug silk pajama beneath her everyday clothes. She patted her back several times, still incredulous that the cape didn’t create a noticeable bulge. She had an irrational fear that, somehow, her red cape would peek through, revealing itself to the world. But no—it fit tightly, and her daily attire concealed it perfectly.

It was only the second day of her life wearing the cape.

She glanced around. No one had noticed her. People hurried past, engrossed in their newspapers, chattering excitedly, or moving with urgent purpose. The construction workers had gathered inside a large tent, listening to the radio, which was breathlessly reporting on sightings of the mysterious flying woman. American-occupied Korea. Brazil. Seventeen states across the U.S. Belgium. Spain. Ethiopia. The open seas of two different oceans. All within the last twelve hours.

All true, Clara thought nervously.

With her super-hearing, she could catch hundreds of conversations at once. The world was stunned—but enchanted. There was tension, nervous excitement, countless questions—but, above all, there was wonder. The voices of awe and joy outweighed those of fear or alarm.

She bought five or six newspapers, her hands trembling slightly. The Daily Planet’s headline read: "CAPED WONDER STUNS CITY". It was the same title from last night’s special edition, though the subtitle, accompanied by a blurry photograph, now added: "SIGHTINGS AROUND THE WORLD IN THE LAST HOURS—FLYING WOMAN PERFORMS INCREDIBLE RESCUES AND STOPS CRIMINALS". "Caped Wonder." She liked the sound of that. Still, she planned to publicly announce her Kryptonian name: Kala-El. The Metropolis Times had chosen a different name: "SUPERWOMAN". That one unsettled her a little more. Their cover featured a profile shot of her mid-flight, her face nearly blurred beyond recognition. Another newspaper called her: "MIRACLE WOMAN."

Clara sat down at a café, tuning in to dozens of nearby conversations with her super-hearing while scribbling a thousand-word article about Metropolis’ reaction to the events. The piece would read as if Clara Kent had spent the night interviewing citizens on the streets, not soaring across the world. It felt slightly dishonest—disrespectful, even. But she needed the job. She needed an explanation for why she had been unreachable until ten in the morning. A father and his small children gushed excitedly about her, as if a comic book had come to life. A solemn-looking couple debated whether she was a war machine or some kind of demonic trick. A young officer passionately argued with the bartender, convinced that the flying woman was the result of an atomic experiment gone wrong.

Clara smiled to herself, timidly. "Most of them aren’t afraid of me. They’re not terrified. They… they like me. Or at least, they like what I do. I just hope they never come to fear me”. She paid for her coffee and hurried off to the Daily Planet, skipping lightly with a quiet joy—though she had to focus hard on not floating off the ground, something that had happened far too often in moments of happiness lately.

Stopping before the newspaper’s towering headquarters, she took a deep breath.

"Here we go."

The newsroom was a frenzy of voices, movement, and barely controlled chaos. People rushed back and forth, shouting for testimonies, demanding photos. Artists sketched; editors pored over maps. In the center of the main newsroom, a massive world map had been pinned up. George Taylor and a group of journalists were busy sticking bright red flags onto every location that had reported a sighting of the flying woman. And in the middle of the storm, lounging with an air of studied nonchalance, sat Cat Grant—wearing sunglasses, sipping a glass of whiskey, and seemingly paying attention to nothing at all.

Jimmy Olsen, a new intern photographer, nearly collided with her.

“Miss Kent! Where have you been? Mr. Lane has been looking for you everywhere!”

“Oh, Jimmy! How are you? Crazy, right? Can you believe it?” Clara waved the freshly scribbled pages of her notes. “I’ve been working. The city is absolutely excited.”

“Come with me to see Mr. Lane. Yes! It looks like she’s the real deal! We’ve recorded up to sixty sightings worldwide—ten of them right here in Metropolis. And still, not a single clear photo of her face! She’s too fast! People say she’s beautiful, that she’s like an angel. Most think she has something to do with the atomic bomb. Can you believe that? The government hasn’t said a word! Did you know the FBI detained Mr. Lane for four hours? They wanted to know exactly what he had seen! Have you read it? He’s lucky to be alive!”

Clara hadn’t yet read Louis’ article. In truth, she hadn’t even thought about him since she had set him safely on the ground after saving his life. How would he be?

She followed Jimmy toward the office she shared with Louis while the young photographer chattered on nervously.

“I’m going to grab my camera and stay awake for the next 24 hours. She’s bound to show up in Metropolis again, and I have to capture her. Can you imagine, Miss Kent? What it would mean to get that shot?”

Clara responded with a small smile, adjusting her glasses. Sooner or later, full, clear photos of her face would be plastered across the world. Would anyone recognize Clara Kent in Superwoman?

They stepped into the office. Louis Lane was still wearing the white tuxedo from the night before when she had rescued him—only now, the jacket was unbuttoned, his shirt unkempt. He looked utterly exhausted, deeply troubled. And, of course, he had a drink in hand. He glanced at them with weary eyes.

“Major Lane! How are you? I just heard! Are you all right?”

“Where the hell were you, Kent? Never mind… Congratulations. You were right.”

Louis said it almost begrudgingly.

“I was doing my job, sir. I spent the night and morning all over the city, interviewing people. I think I’ve got a solid article.”

Louis took her notes and read them in silence, his expression dark. “It’s very good, Miss Kent. Very good. I think it captures the mood of the city well. Take it to George Taylor—tell him I think it should go in the midday edition. Title it ‘Metropolis Faces the Unthinkable: How the City Responds to the Emergence of the Caped Wonder’.”

He buried his face in his hands.

"Well, I saved his life, and thanks to me, he’s got an exclusive story. He was the first person I publicly rescued, and yet… He looks absolutely defeated. What a strange man," Clara thought.

“Are you leaving the paper?” Louis suddenly asked, straight to the point.

“Oh? Why would I? Mr. Lane, first of all, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re safe…”

“We just cost you a massive exclusive. You were the only one at the Planet who took those early rumors seriously—stories of a woman dressed like a pilot, rescuing people and catching criminals. And you wanted to write about it.”

“Well, it’s fine. No newspaper in the world would have published that story back then. Besides…” Clara grinned playfully. “She doesn’t seem to dress like a pilot anymore.”

Louis let out the faintest of smiles. “Well, your trial period is over. You’re officially hired as an assistant reporter. I’ll try to get your piece on her first rescues published in the Sunday edition.”

“Thank you so much, Major Lane! Was that what you were worried about?” Clara asked gently.

Louis frowned. “Don’t be childish. Aren’t you worried? Don’t you think this is a radical, absolute upheaval? A flying woman with super strength, appearing all over the world? There are even rumors she can shoot fire or beams from her eyes.”

"Oh, I can do a few more things than that," Clara thought with amusement.

Then, putting on her most convincingly naïve voice, she sighed.

“Of course I’m worried. I mean… Who is she? Where did she come from? She’s incredible… You saw her, didn’t you? What was she like?”

Louis made a strange face.

“She’s… I don’t know how to put it. She wasn’t human. It all happened so fast. She seemed calm, composed—heroic, even divine—but not human. She was like a statue come to life. I don’t entirely understand what she was wearing… a red cape, some kind of emblem—a stylized ‘S’? Why an ‘S’? And the worst part… I didn’t notice it myself, but people say she wears some kind of briefs over her tights—like a circus performer. It’s odd. Even scandalous. But those details don’t matter. What matters is… She wasn’t human, Miss Kent. She was something else. She saved my life, and so far, she only seems interested in rescuing people, helping them… But only God knows what comes next.”

Clara bit her lip, slightly disappointed, as she sat down to type her article.

Louis kept talking. “Almost everyone thinks she’s connected to the atomic bomb. A government experiment or something of the sort. It makes sense. The bomb drops, and a month later—this. God, I hope she’s a robot. If she is, then sure, her costume is a bizarre choice, but whatever—a robot. That would be simple. That would be fine. But if she’s an alien? Or worse, if she claims to be some self-proclaimed angel or goddess… Imagine if she says she’s here to bring Judgment Day. Or that she’s Athena, come down from Olympus.”

Clara adopted a deliberately somber expression. “What would be so bad if she weren’t a robot? Or if she were an alien?”

“For God’s sake, you must be exhausted. I haven’t slept either, Miss Kent, but think. What are we supposed to do with someone that powerful?”

“Maybe… Maybe she just wants to help.”

“That’s not the point.”

Louis sighed again, deeper this time. “I should have grabbed onto her leg or her cape—something—and demanded she tell me who the hell she was. But all she said was… ‘a friend.’ A friend. What kind of bloody answer is that? Disastrous. I was too shaken.”

“You’ll have more chances, Major Lane,” Clara said with a small, knowing smile.

A knock at the door—then, without waiting for a response, several people burst into the room. Perry Weiss, the newspaper’s director. George Taylor, the editor-in-chief. Hank Ibsen, the best portrait artist in the city. And, leaning casually against the doorframe, Steve Lombard—the paper’s most popular sports reporter, and someone Clara found deeply unpleasant.

Only Weiss greeted her. “Well, well, Miss Kent! Quite the morning, huh? Have you ever seen anything like the madness in this newsroom?”

Louis gestured toward her with uncharacteristic deference. “Miss Kent spent the entire night and morning pounding the pavement. She’s put together a solid article on the city’s reaction—it’s going into the midday edition.”

“Yes, yes, very good, whatever,” Weiss waved dismissively. Then he turned to Louis.

“Lane, we need you to put some real effort into this. Give us a thorough, detailed description of the woman. We’ve brought some of the blurry photos people managed to take. We want a proper portrait of her for the back page of the midday edition. Ibsen here is the best portrait artist in this damned city.”

Louis sighed, resigned. Ibsen sat down between Clara’s desk and Louis’, pulling out his sketching materials while Taylor tossed the grainy photos in front of an exhausted and thoroughly annoyed Louis.

“Come on, Lane,” Taylor urged. “Just get through this, then go home. Your wife and daughter will want to see you.”

Lombard smirked from his perch at the doorway, clearly amused by the scene. Then, turning to Clara, he drawled in a mocking tone: “Clarybelle… Wild stuff, huh? A flying woman. I really hope she’s a robot. Because if she’s not… Well, then we’re screwed. You ladies will start demanding pay raises next.”

Clara forced a smile, thin and sharp as a blade.

Lombard grinned wider. “Come on, Clarybelle—place a bet. We’re all doing it. What do you think she is? Robot? A real woman, a product of atomic experimentation? Alien? Fairy? Angel? Ancient goddess? Divine messenger?”

Clara’s voice was dry as dust, “I’ll bet on fairy, thanks.”

Meanwhile, Louis was laboriously describing the flying woman to Ibsen, “Yes, like Gene Tierney, but with a stronger jaw and larger eyes. No—Hedy Lamarr’s face is too long. Something in between. Give her thicker eyebrows. Not plucked, but not too bushy—just natural-looking. And her eyes—piercing turquoise. I don’t know if they were blue or green, but they were… striking. And the expression… more like a statue. Divine. Her hair—thick, jet black, a little wild. Almost curly.”

Ibsen worked quickly. A few minutes later, he lifted the finished portrait for everyone to see.

Clara’s face burned. It was her.

Exactly as she had seen herself in the mirror that morning dressed in her Kryptonian supersuit.

Everyone nodded in agreement - except Louis and Clara. Then, suddenly, Taylor's usually gentle face took on a strange expression. He stared at the drawing, then turned sharply to Clara.

“Ibsen… You’ve basically drawn Miss Kent with messy hair and no glasses.”

A pause.

Then—laughter. Loud and raucous. Everyone laughed. Everyone but Clara, whose face was now the color of a ripe tomato.

Louis, mercifully, stepped in, “Ibsen—no. That’s not right. Make her less human. Less… normal. That face is too warm, too familiar. She—or it—was regal. Composed. Divine. But not human. Not friendly. Think… I don’t know… Alma-Tadema, something decadent, something distant.”

Ibsen huffed but adjusted the sketch. He held up the revised portrait. Clara no longer recognized herself.

“That’s it,” Louis said at last, sounding utterly exhausted. “It’s close. Still… something’s missing. I don’t know what. But it was something like that.”

“Perfect, thank you, Louis. Goodbye, Miss Kent.” Weiss said quickly before vanishing into the chaos.

“The story of the year,” Clara murmured hesitantly.

“The damn story of our lives,” Louis replied, thoroughly exasperated.

Clara glanced at him sideways. Great. Just my luck—I get stuck with Louis, the Grand Master of Skepticism. She sighed in frustration and finished typing up her article.

“Let’s take it to George,” Louis muttered, rubbing his temples. “He might suggest some changes… Now that I think about it, the tone might be too optimistic. A little too cheerful. Then again, no need to scare people. There’s probably plenty of time for that.”

Idiot. Clara bit her tongue to keep from rolling her eyes.

The two of them walked toward the newsroom as Louis shrugged his jacket back on. Taylor reviewed the article and gave it an immediate nod of approval without further comment.

The newsroom was a whirlwind of movement, voices clashing in the frenzy of breaking news. Perry Weiss, short but commanding, dashed from desk to desk, barking out chaotic orders. Cat Grant was nowhere to be seen—until suddenly, she reappeared, her ever-present sunglasses and whiskey glass in hand.

Clara wasn’t particularly fond of Cat—she found her brash, arrogant—but she also had to admit the woman was brave, a gifted writer, and still men found her strikingly attractive, her resemblance to Barbara Stanwyck only adding to her undeniable presence.

Without preamble, Cat leaped onto a chair in the center of the room and, without clearing her throat or greeting anyone, bellowed: “I just got off the phone with Senator Taft. The White House is releasing a statement in one hour, but we need to start working on it now.”

The newsroom fell silent.

“The flying woman met with the President last night.”

A wave of murmurs, gasps, and even a few stunned whimpers spread through the room like a shockwave.

Louis looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

“She’s an alien,” Cat continued, her voice sharp and theatrical, milking every ounce of drama. “From another planet.”

Clara barely heard the words over the rush of blood in her ears.

"I forgot!"

So much had happened in the last few hours that she had barely thought about her brief meeting with the President at the White House in the dead of night, reassuring him, calming his fears. She hadn’t wanted to hold a press conference. She still didn’t know what to say. She wanted to stay anonymous. Maybe she should reveal her Kryptonian name—but even that felt too intimate, too personal.

“She comes in peace,” Cat continued, her voice cutting through the newsroom. “She claims to be an American citizen, raised here since childhood. She just wants to help. She’s offering her service to the government and the United Nations. The President will stand beside her at six o’clock this evening to give further details. They don’t think she’ll speak.”

Perry Weiss took over, his voice booming over the noise. “You know the drill—every man for himself! Call everyone—scientists, politicians, philosophers, cops. Hit the streets. Grab your cameras. If anyone wants to go to Washington, they can—but on their own dime. We’re chartering a small plane, but management decides who gets a seat.”

Cat sauntered over to them, her sharp gaze landing on Louis. “Louis, darling, you were the first to see her last night. If you want a seat, you’ve got one. We leave in an hour. It’s me, Mailer, probably Perry. I’m trying to convince that diva Leon Bernzy to come as our photographer—I want real photos of the press conference. Dark, raw, natural. But you know how expensive he is…”

Louis sighed and shrugged.

“The first person to hear about her was Clara Kent,” he said flatly. “Apparently, this woman was performing small civic actions while disguised as a pilot these past few weeks. It was an open secret among the police. I refused to publish her article.”

Cat turned to Clara with a mixture of arrogance and reluctant admiration. “I don’t blame you, Louis. Miss Kent, congratulations on your instincts, but let’s be real—no one would have believed it back then. You’re too young, too green to come to Washington this time, but I’ll be keeping my eye on you. Welcome aboard.”

Clara suppressed a small, proud smile. “Well, I’ll be in Washington anyway,” she said to herself.

Louis turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Clara, I’m going to church. Then I’m going home to my wife and daughter—I haven’t seen them in almost 24 hours. We’ll talk tomorrow. If you want to walk around Metropolis tonight and report on how people react to the alien’s press conference, fine. I don’t want you stuck in that kind of journalism forever, but for today, it’s the most useful thing you can do.”

Clara nodded, though her super-hearing had already picked up something urgent. She was needed again. Superwoman had work to do.

“Of course, Mr. Lane. I’ll head out now, get some rest, and start right away.”

“Do whatever you want,” Louis muttered, already making his way out the door.

The newsroom roared with frantic energy. No one noticed Clara quietly slipping into her office.

In a fraction of a second, she shrugged off her jacket, unbuttoned her shirt, pulled out the pins in her bun, and placed her glasses carefully in the desk drawer. The red cape, folded neatly beneath her clothes, unfurled as she kicked off her skirt and stockings, revealing the unmistakable blue and red of her Kryptonian suit.

She took half a second to glance in the mirror.

She felt strong.

She felt ready.

"Here we go… Up, up, and away!”

A red and blue blur streaked across the sky, weaving between the skyscrapers of Metropolis.

Hundreds—maybe thousands—of people pointed, gasped, and cheered as they watched the impossible come to life before their very eyes.

***

Superwoman soared at full speed over the Metropolis skyline, fresh from battling floods in Anglo-Egyptian Sudan. She had spent the night and most of the morning there—redirecting torrents of water, pulling people from drowning currents, constructing dikes at super-speed. The only break she had taken was a brief stop at the Daily Planet, just long enough to be seen as Clara Kent.

She entered the building unseen, a red-and-blue blur vanishing into an empty corridor, and, in the stairwell, she changed back into Clara Kent. For the first time in nearly two weeks, she felt a flicker of exhaustion. Two incredibly intense weeks. The most intense of her life. And yet, she was happy. Energized. Eager to keep helping.

Still, the sheer attention she was generating made her uncomfortable. Since her first public appearance, she had become the single most talked-about subject in newspapers, on the radio, in casual conversation—even in diplomatic relations. Just that morning, the Soviet Union had issued a scathing statement, demanding that their supposed ally, the United States, clarify whether the so-called “Superwoman” was truly an extraterrestrial or some elaborate propaganda campaign for a military android. Most people, however, were in awe.

And that made her happy. She loved helping them, using her powers openly, flying—it was freedom. The moment she transformed from Clara Kent into Superwoman was liberating. When she unfurled her cape and took to the skies, she felt filled with hope, with purpose, with an unshakable determination to work for others.

Despite her doubts. Despite the cruel voices of a handful of detractors. Despite the memory of her father. Even with all of that… she was happy.

Her mother, Martha, was ecstatic. She had been buying every newspaper and magazine that made it to Smallville, clipping and saving every mention of her daughter, despite Clara’s repeated pleas for discretion. Martha had framed the best photos of Superwoman, images of a face now recognized around the entire world. Clara just had asked her to keep them stored away in case of visitors. The Daily Planet’s Sunday edition from the first week after her debut had been Martha’s pride and joy. The front page featured a stunning full-color photograph by Leo Bernzy—Superwoman levitating above a stunned crowd. The headline read:

"YOU’LL BELIEVE A WOMAN CAN FLY."

Inside, among countless articles, was a piece Clara herself had written weeks ago—back when she was just following rumors of a flying woman dressed as a pilot. The very article Louis had dismissed as nonsense. Now, it was republished with a preface acknowledging that the so-called pilot had, in fact, been Superwoman, acting in secret.

But Clara had decided she would never write about Superwoman again. It felt dishonest. There were far more important stories to tell—about Metropolis, about the world. And besides, her father, Joe, would never have approved of her using her own heroism to advance her career at the Daily Planet. She had the job now. She had to be honest. Responsible.

She was beginning to feel the first signs of real fatigue, and she was worried about how much scrutiny she was under. The fact that the public had settled on Superwoman as her name, out of all the possible monikers, unsettled her.

And yet… these were happy days. Clara believed—truly believed—that what she was doing mattered. Crime in Metropolis had plummeted. No one wanted to face a flying woman in whom bullets simply bounced off. In cities across the U.S.—even beyond the U.S.—criminals were growing wary, knowing that the Woman of Steel could show up at any moment. But the further from Metropolis, the better their chances of acting before she could arrive. She couldn’t be everywhere.

And then there were the refugees. The world was full of them. Millions upon millions. Displaced by war. Homeless. Wandering. Suffering in the cold, in the heat. The victors. The defeated. As Superwoman, Clara had seen the camps. And she had begun to feel the crushing weight of the fact that, during the war, she had done nothing. Not because she didn’t want to. But because she didn’t know how. Most of her time now was spent protecting refugees, delivering humanitarian aid—hauling tons of food, blankets, and medicine across continents. But none of it weighed as heavily on her as the guilt of having waited.

She had heard the whispers—both with her super-hearing and without it.

"Why didn’t she appear sooner?"

"Why didn’t she stop it?"

"Why didn’t she help then?"

And they were right. It was the shadow that crossed her heart.

Sighing, Clara Kent stepped into her office and, at super-speed, typed up the translations Louis had requested. Louis hardly spent time at the office. She barely saw him. He gave her free rein to chase stories across the city, completely unaware that, in reality, she was taking flight—racing to help those in need. Occasionally, Major Lane would assign her tedious administrative work—filing reports, translating articles—blissfully ignorant that she could finish in minutes, sometimes seconds, and spend the rest of the day on her true mission.

Like everyone else, Louis was growing increasingly fixated on Superwoman. But unlike many of his colleagues, he hadn’t thrown himself off a building window just to force a rescue and try securing an exclusive interview. He seemed to respect her more as a journalist these days—though, at times, Clara got the distinct impression that he found her… dull. He rarely invited her along to investigations or meetings, and when he did, it felt like an afterthought. But she played the fool, insisted on tagging along. Other times, Louis was incredibly considerate, even charming. It all depended on the day. At times, Clara found him infuriating. At others, oddly pleasant.

“Smallville, if you’re done with the translations, you can go. If you need me, I’ll be on the roof—I need some air.”

Louis leaned in through the doorway, his voice dismissive, and disappeared just as quickly as he had arrived.

Clara smirked to herself. Louis doesn’t work too hard sometimes…

He no longer carried a cane or wore his military uniform, though, technically, he was still enlisted. Then, suddenly, an idea struck her. She liked the way Louis wrote. He was a good interviewer—he had a way of making people feel at ease, making them talk more than they intended. He was a gentleman. And when he wanted to be, he was a relentless bulldog. A respected journalist. Her newspaper’s journalist. And, after all, he had been the first man she had ever saved publicly—without hiding her face, without vanishing at super-speed. They worked at the same paper. Maybe it was time. Maybe Superwoman should give an interview. Maybe the world deserved to know more about her. It was time to tell her story.

Clara pushed the thought away. No. Louis was arrogant. They argued too much. Tess Harding was the best interviewer in the world—if anyone should get the first exclusive, it should be her. Clara admired Tess, almost as much as she admired Miss Roosevelt. And yet, the thought lingered. She needed to start telling her story. And she liked Louis as a journalist. Sure, he was a snob. Arrogant at times. Dismissive. He seemed skeptical of Superwoman—though, in recent days, he had spoken of her almost admiringly. But he was a good writer. A gentleman. He had hired her. He respected her work, even if he found her presence annoying. He was a war hero.

And once again, Clara couldn’t resist her own impulses. In a swift spin, she became Superwoman. She shot out of the window at super-speed, a blur of red and blue streaking across the sky and landed gracefully atop the golden globe crowning the Daily Planet building.

Below her, Louis Lane—jacket off, sleeves rolled up—stood at the rooftop’s edge, cigarette in hand, staring absentmindedly at the city. It was one of the few things they had in common. Both of them had an uncanny ability to lose themselves in thought.

Louis was at her feet. She cleared her throat, adjusting her voice—neutral, aristocratic, commanding. She erased every trace of her Kansas accent.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lane.”

Louis jolted as if struck by lightning. Whirling around too quickly, he slipped. Before he could hit the ground, Superwoman caught him effortlessly and lowered him gently onto the rooftop.

He lay there, wide-eyed, staring up at her in stunned silence. She hovered above him, her cape billowing in the wind.

“Superwoman…” He breathed, barely a whisper.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Lane?” Her voice was steady, calm—but warm, almost playful. “I apologize for startling you. That was never my intention. I saw you while flying past and recognized you from the other night. I hope you’re doing well—that was quite a fall…”

“Thank you… Thank you so much… You saved my life.”

“It was nothing. A small leap.” She gave him a polite, measured smile, “I hope you don’t find my greeting too forward. I didn’t know who you were when I rescued you. But I’ve read your work, and I’ve heard you on the radio. I simply wanted to introduce myself properly and make sure you were well.”

Louis still looked dazed, overwhelmed. Clara tried not to enjoy it too much.

Then, suddenly, he pulled himself up, regaining his composure. His voice, too, shifted—more controlled, more professional.

“Once again—thank you, Miss Superwoman. I’m honored.” He hesitated. “May I ask you a question?”

“I’d prefer not to be called Superwoman, Mr. Lane.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But of course. Go ahead.”

“My apologies,” Louis said smoothly. “How should I address you?”

She didn’t answer.

He continued, “I wanted to ask… Are you planning to hold a press conference soon? The world is full of questions. You barely said anything alongside the President.”

For a brief moment, Clara recalled her own hesitant words when she had stood beside President Truman, addressing the world for the first time.

"Hello, everyone. Thank you for your kind greetings and warm words. I only wish to say that, as the President has indicated, I was born on a distant planet that no longer exists. As a very young child, I was sent here, where I developed these abilities during my journey. I am an American citizen, raised in the United States of America. I only want to help and to use my abilities in service of all of you. I deeply appreciate your kindness and ask that you pray for me.”

She exhaled slowly and looked Louis straight in the eye while planting her hands on her hips. The wind sent her long red cape rippling behind her. “Mr. Lane,” she said, voice firm. “I’ve been told you’re the best interviewer on the East Coast.” She let the words hang in the air. “Perhaps,” she continued, “I could tell my story, explain my origins, my true name… in a private interview at another time.” She arched a brow. “What do you think?”

Clara smiled to herself. “All set for high adventure, excitement, and romance… as Superwoman!”

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Marriage is a Contract

Sooooo I got this idea in my head after reading way too many "arranged marriage between grumpy ceo x sunshine wife" tropes... it's quite honestly just a bunch of scenes I had in my head that I mashed together for some semblance of a coherent plot. And 100% self-indulgent fluff and so wildly different from what I usually write but please enjoy because I love this. Also so sorry there is no smut in this oops... but enjoy!

My marriage was a business agreement in every sense. A match made in a boardroom with a dozen bland, graying men who decided how they could sell me to the highest bidder and who that would be. A merger that let every person in that boardroom walk away with hundreds of millions while I got a new last name.

My family was wealthy and influential but a crumbling institution. A few too many bad investments and scandals meant we needed a lifeline, a distraction from the failing dynasty. What better than a shiny new-money CEO who built his company from the ground up. It didn’t matter that he had a ruthless reputation, known to cut down his boardroom rivals without a second thought, coldly pragmatic with no concern for anything other than the growth of his own empire. In fact, all of those were positives and I made the perfect bargaining chip.

-

He remembers the meeting, the boardroom cold, every person present speaking in calculated measured tones. My father had smiled too wide, my mother’s gaze blank, neither of them concerned with the idea of selling their daughter off to the best buyer. And me? I sat there, silent, hands folded, almost bored looking as I surveyed my surroundings with a gaze of indifference.

He almost respected that. The terms were too attractive for him not to agree with. His company would absorb my family’s, he could restructure easily, cut out the rot and save the parts that were still worthwhile. He would get a foothold into the old money world, the connections forged in generations of blood and wealth, a place he could never enter without a connection like mine. The fact that I was well-bred, sat pretty, and kept quiet was an added bonus.

He signed the papers without looking at me.

-

I moved into his penthouse in the city. Separate bedrooms and his busy work schedule meant that I hardly saw him. We found a new normal: polite, indifferent words exchanged the few times we did cross paths during the week (nothing beyond a cursory inquiry and a blank smile); formal events added into our calendars by his secretary where our combined presence was required, charity galas, investor dinners, flashy events of opulence where he needed his pretty wife on his arm; the biweekly date penciled into our calendars to keep up public appearances so the high society papers kept their noses out of our lives.

Months passed. Our wedding became old news, our regularly scheduled appearances and perfectly tailored performances of romance made us a boring couple to keep an eye on. His company’s performance was stable. Life was standard, clinical, unobtrusive.

Until I got bored.

-

His company has been deadlocked in a merger for months. A deal worth billions that could either double the company’s profits or bankrupt them. And right now, they were losing. He was furious, going over every contract, negotiation, email, and memo to try to salvage what should have been his legacy.

Every internal c-suite meeting feels like a step off a fast-crumbling cliffside. Every lawyer on retainer at the company is working overtime, every consultant ordered to drop other cases to focus on this single merger. It’s the third meeting of the day, he sits at the head of the conference table, fingers steepled, jaw clenched tight enough to crack granite. The silence is suffocating as every executive stares helplessly at the strategies they’d laid out on the screen, nothing good enough to salvage this. Until, his CFO cleared his throat hesitantly.

“There might be someone who can help.”

His gaze swings to him, sharp enough to make the CFO cower a little before clearing his throat and standing his ground.

“She’s a strategist, consultant for hire but she hardly ever takes cases and no one has really heard much from her in the past year.”

“Who is she?”

“No one knows, she operates under a pseudonym. Rumor has it she forced Harvard Law to sign an NDA when she graduated and demands the same from every company she works with. Top firms have tried to hire her but she’s never accepted. Refuses to be on retainer for anyone.”

He rubs his temples, his voice cold with barely contained frustration. “Get a meeting with her.”

Two hours later, there’s a memo on his desk.

She agreed to meet but wants a million and a half upfront. 30 minute meeting, Thursday 10am.

He feels his blood pressure rise. This bitch is playing him. But he has no choice, he fires off an email to approve of the meeting… and the $1.5 million wire transfer.

-

Thursday 9:55am

The boardroom is ice cold. His patience is in the negative as he sits, tapping his fingers furiously against the conference table. The rest of the c-suite executives sit around him, each of them wearing various faces of trepidation, anxiety, and sheer exhaustion.

10:05am

He is ready to murder someone. She’s five minutes late, for a meeting that cost $1.5 million to set up. No one has spoken since the clock ticked past the hour. One of the lawyers coughs and he glares hard enough to make the man swallow his next cough, choosing to lose oxygen rather than piss of the CEO any further.

10:07am

The sound of clicking heels comes from down the hall and he looks ready to burn the building down as every head turns towards to door in anticipation.

The door opens silently.

His sharp inhale is the only sound in the room. Then his voice, barely restrained fury.

“What the fuck?”

A light chuckle bursts out of me. “Is that any way to greet your wife?”

The room is frozen. I take my time sauntering around the conference table, taking off my coat to settle in the one empty seat across from him.

“What the fuck is the meaning of this?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Honey, you’re paying a million and a half for me to be here. I sure hope you know the meaning of this.”

He scoffs, ears reddening. I can see his hands fisting on the table, the vein on his forehead pulsing with his fury.

“I paid for some expert to come fix this merger, so unless you somehow have a law degree hidden under that pantsuit, you have nothing to offer here.”

I roll my eyes, “Touchy, is this because you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?”

His response is more of an angry growl than anything resembling the English language.

I laugh, “I am in fact, hiding a law degree under here. A doctorate too. It’s really not a good look for a husband to not even know about his wife’s background.”

I turn to his CFO and smile sweetly. “Now, you all know how expensive my time is, so let’s not waste anymore. I’ve seen the documents, there’s another angle you all haven’t considered…”

It takes me seven minutes to dismantle their merger and redesign it into a deal that no one could turn down. It’s a solution so elegant it’s almost insulting that no one else saw it. I watch the vein on his forehead pulse as every sentence that leaves my mouth effortlessly rewrites the deal he'd struggled with for months.

The tension in the room finally breaks and there’s quiet celebration from every executive. A collective sigh of relief in knowing that they no longer have to consider the reality of bankrupting the company and losing billions.

It’s 10:27 when we wrap up the conversation. He dismisses the meeting with cold efficiency, every member of the team scurrying off to cross T’s and dot I’s before sending out the revised contract to the opposing side.

I stay seated, playing with a pen while staring at my husband.

“You still have 3 minutes left, dear husband,” I say, smiling.

He glares, “Technically, I have 10, you were 7 minutes late.” He stalks around the table towards me, grabbing my chair and hauling it to face him.

I stand to look at him, a little smile still playing across my lips.

“Why did you never tell me you were more than a trophy wife?” His voice is low and angry.

I blink at him, “You never asked. Plus, it was in my file and in our marriage contract. I would know, I wrote that contract myself. It’s not my fault you didn’t read it.”

“You fucking brat,” he growls before his hand comes up to tangle in my hair and his lips find mine.

We violate several HR protocols in the remaining 10 minutes of that meeting before he drags me into his office.

—

That night, the financial news runs the headline: "Billion Dollar Merger Saved by CEO's Secret Weapon—His Wife."

Meanwhile, his secret weapon is currently bent over their bed, moaning into the sheets as he ruins me, his grip bruising, his teeth on my neck.

"Still—fuck—smug now?" he rasps.

I gasp, arching. "Y-Yes."

He snarls, flipping me onto my back. "Good."

When we’re both spent and collapsed on the bed, my body curled into his and his fingers stroking through my hair, he finally takes the time to learn about his wife. To ask questions and actually care about my answers.

He learns about the Harvard law degree I never mentioned. My PhD in Economic Theory I keep hidden away. The published papers under a penname he actually recognizes from industry journals. He truly sees me for the first time, a nuclear weapon hiding right under his nose. I could've bled him dry months ago.

“What are you even going to do with the 1.5 million?” He asks, his tone an exasperated tease. “Don’t I give you enough of an allowance?”

I grin at him. “I want a yacht.”

He rolls his eyes, “You’re insufferable.”

The next day, at his board meeting, I text him a photo of a yacht listing with a heart emoji.

He responds with an eyeroll and a barely there smile that makes the executive next to him choke on his coffee.

At the end of the meeting, his VP hesitates before clearing his throat.

"Sir, should we draft paperwork for your wife’s board seat?"

He replies coolly.

"Yes. And she goes by Doctor."

And of course, when he hands me the paperwork to sign, I turn it down at first and made him negotiate (beg) for it. I think he’s really pretty on his knees.

-

The company gossip takes on its own life as I reshape his empire at my will.

I attend board meetings when I want and I spend most of them doodling in my notes.

I’m drawing my husband as an angry stick figure when I glance up at the quarterly finance presentation and interrupt the speaker without even looking at him. “Your projections are off by 16% because you didn’t consider the Asia-Pacific market value.”

The room is silent. My husband coughs to cover his laugh before ordering his research team to come back with updated numbers.

I get my own corner office with a view that rivals his own. I never use it, instead, I spend my time lounging on his office couch, snacking while I tear apart his contracts with red pen and doodles in the margins.

I send memos with contract corrections signed with kissy faces to the c-suite members.

I befriend every intern, assistant, and even the janitorial staff. When I find out my husband made some poor college intern cry by snapping at him in a meeting, I send out a company-wide email of him, the feared CEO, passed out on our couch, with drool on the corner of his mouth and my lipstick stain on his cheek. He makes me pay for that but he never yells at another intern again.

When there’s a flash rainstorm and he tracks mud and water into the office, I yell at him and make him clean it himself because “the custodial staff just waxed the floors and you need to respect that.”

I completely restructure compensation for all employees at every level. Benefits are tripled, six-month paid parental leave is guaranteed, student debt for all employees and their children is 100% covered by the company. When news got out, the company’s stocks tanked for a day before I rewrote every ongoing deal we had to force every other competitor to match our benefits and we made back triple the losses. My husband took a screenshot of the stock chart from those 48 hours and had it framed in the company lobby.

The stories only escalate from there. It seems like every single employee has some juicy gossip about the scary CEO and his badass wife.

"The way the CEO looks at her when she corrects him in meetings—like he wants to either strangle her or bend her over the desk." (He’s done both individually and simultaneously).

“I was at the quarterly meeting where she threw a pen at his head and called him childish because he yelled about Q2 losses.” (This is true and I made him apologize to everyone at the meeting after).

“I saw him carrying her out of the late-night Blackstone negotiation and it was so cute. Then he glared at me but #goals.” (Also true and I demanded that we get McDonald’s on the way home.)

“I heard she rewrote the indemnity clause of the Hong Kong deal while they were having sex.” (Sometimes inspiration strikes at odd times. He came so hard he blacked out a little.)

“The Kensington CEO had tried to write a clause into their contract to bar her from attending joint meetings.” (It didn’t work and I show up to every single one out of spite.)

-

There is a private Slack channel that has literally every employee in it called #overheard-from-mr-and-dr-ceo with a pinned message that reads: DO NOT LEAK ANYTHING FROM THIS CHANNEL, HE WILL FIRE US ALL.

The top messages include:

[Anna_Finance]

She demanded we add ‘company-wide nap pods’ to the budget in the last finance meeting. He said no. She stared at him for five seconds. He caved in three.

[John_Intern]

I shared an elevator with them. She wanted to drink his coffee and he didn’t even hesitate before handing it over. She called him 'good boy.' I thought he was going to kill me.

[Luke_ExecutiveAssistant]

She called him “a little bitch” in the boardroom for vetoing her childcare policy for employees. We got the go-ahead three minutes after the meeting ended.

[Paula_PublicRelations]

I overhead them fighting at lunch. It was about pineapple on pizza.

Dr. CEO: "You’re wrong, and I will die on this hill."

Mr. CEO, while cutting her burger for her!!!: "Then I’ll bury you here."

[James_VP]

I just witnessed a masterclass in the global investor call:

Mr. CEO: "We are not restructuring the Asia-Pacific division."

Dr. CEO, from off-screen: "We are restructuring the Asia-Pacific division."

Mr. CEO, pausing mid-sentence: "...We are restructuring the Asia-Pacific division."

Investor: "Since when?"

Mr. CEO, sighing: "Since my wife said so."

[Lauren_Intern]

GUYS. SHE JUST CALLED HIM 'BABY TYRANT' TO HIS FACE IN THE ELEVATOR. HE JUST SIGHED AND LET HER FIX HIS TIE.

[Dr. CEO]

Hey guys. Just so you know—he reads this channel.

(Read by 3,742 users. 2,916 panic reactions.)

[Mr. CEO]

…Keep the quotes coming. I need evidence for my eventual defamation lawsuit against her.

[Dr. CEO]

He’s lying. He thinks they’re cute.

(Mr. CEO is typing…)

(Mr. CEO has left the channel.)

[Dr. CEO]

Don't worry, he'll be back. <3

Is this pure, disgusting fluff? Yes. Do I understand anything about the corporate world that I just wrote about? No. Do I know what an indemnity clause is? No. Nor do I fully understand what a merger is. But I love this story and will take no criticisms. <3

I lowkey don't even know how to tag this...

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

SO LET ME LOVE YOU

Brushing genshin and honkai men's hair (Blade, Aventurine, Baizhu, Wanderer and Zhongli included)

General masterlist

Blade

You sighed, admiring Blade's long, shiny hair. You almost couldn't believe your lover finally allowed you to take care of him in such sweet way after days of asking him for it with your best puppy eyes. You brushed through his hair with your fingers, they were silky smooth and much softer than you expected. Probably living with so many girls in Stellaron Hunters headquaters rubbed off on him and he had decent haircare routine.

-What are you waiting for? - Blade chuckled. - Few minutes ago you were so eager to become my personal stylist.

You blushed heavily, grateful that he can't see your face right now. Blade sat in a chair in front of you, facing the window. You glance at snowflakes dancing on the wind outside before turning your eyes back to the back of his head. You began to detangle his hair, starting from the bottom and slowly working your way up through layers of his strands. You noticed Blade relax over time, his head learning back comfortably and shoulders dropping down slightly. When you reached his scalp Blade's breathing got suspiciously regular. Massaging the skin his head with your fingertips you heard soft purring sounds coming from him. You realized he fell asleep and snored quietly. In this state he reminded you of an old, lazy cat. You just wanted to scratch behind his ear. Being his source of comfort filled your heart with joy.

Aventurine

You loved those cozy evenings at Aventurine's place. Dimmed, indirect light in his bedroom giving your bodies soft glow, Aventurine humming sweet, foreign melody unknown to you and sensation of expensive sheets under your skin. Words were unnecessary. There was nothing to say or ask about, you were by his side when he won game after game and when he was fighting for his life. Now you wanted to help him get rid of the tension from his body. His job exciting and well-paid, but very dangerous one. Constantly chasing money, fighting and dealing with his enemies left a toll on his mind.

So you reach for the brush on his nightstand and he immediately turnes around, so you can brush his hair for him. Even his locks smelled like luxury, after years of poverty and humiliation he was not shy to invest in himself. Since you started hanging out with him your own skincare and haircare routine got so much better, Aventurine bought only the best things for you. He wanted you both to look perfect on every business meeting, not to mention nights he went to casino with you as his lucky charm.

As you brushed through his hair for him you noticed his sharp and calculating eyes follow your every move in the mirror. Sometimes you thought you knew him like nobody else after all you have been through together, he even told you so much about his past. Yet moments like this were a reminder.

No matter what, he will never let himself be vulnerable again in front of anybody, not even you. He never fully takes off his mask, waiting for the blow to come. You couldn't blame him for not being able to let go of his defenses, not after all he went through, all those years he was forced to keep his guard up to survive. Not when he protected you, took care of all your wants and needs and and chose you to be at the top of the world with him. Even if it wasn't easy to love him, knowing you will never be able to truly see the man behind the persona.

Wanderer

Wanderer would rather die than admit just how much it meant to him when you initiated intimate moments like this. Of course, he could order you to come closer and massage his back or fix his clothes for him, but he hated to beg for attention, afraid of rejection and pushing you away with needy behaviour.

To him it seemed like the world stopped around the two of you when your nails gently scratched his head, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. Your hands went lower, teasing his neck and shoulders. Wanderer exhaled loudly, if his skin wasn't synthetic it would be covered in goosebumps by now. Your warm hands left his body to grab his favourite wooden comb, adorned with intricate carvings and jade.

Wanderer never slept, his body didn't need such human thing and memory of being discarded for crying in his sleep haunted him still, after all those years. So why when you gently brush through his like this he can't resist the urge to close his eyes? You both know he won't shed a single tear this time, with you by his side.

Baizhu

Days flew by fast in Bubu Pharmacy, beloved doctor selflessly served all his patients, sometimes at his own expense, sacrificing even his own health and free time. As he became more and more successful and famous, people from whole Teyvat sought him out, putting their trust in his legendary effectiveness. Burden on your lover's shoulders grew each day, but despite his own physical condition he never gave up on his clients.

Your heart was breaking at sight of Baizhu overworking himself for the third week in a row, your man just returned from the Pharmacy, barely touched his dinner and sat down to write prescriptions. Fortunately, you knew just what to do.

- You have so much on your head, dear - you spoke in a soothing, low voice. - Can I help you with at least one thing and brush your hair for you?

Baizhu looked at you with tenderness in his tired eyes, and pulled out his hairpin, muttering thanks with relief. His long strands cascaded down his back and fell down his surprisingly toned arms you loved to hide in so much. He flexed a bit, finding your reaction to his body cute. You couldn't hide your blush when your eyes fixated on his biceps.

You went behind him, rolling your eyes at Chansheng's teasing remarks. His hair were in great condition, long and voluminous, regularly oiled up and always styled flawlessly. When you effortlessly detangled those smooth like silk strands Baizhu put his paperwork down for once and leaned back into your touch.

You wished for this intimate moment to last as long as possible. You put his hair in a fishtail sealing it with a kiss. Next thing you knew you were embraced by your beloved in your shared bed.

Zhongli

Even in his human form your beloved geo archon could be intimidating, with powerful aura and divine light shining in his eyes, his true might peaked through mortal disguise.

Now, hidden by the walls of your shared home, ancient dragon took on the most natural and comfortable form, letting his draconic features show. His tail curled up in your lap, intricate golden patterns on his skin illuminating the room, pair of horns adorning his head, even scales showing up here and there looked like they manifested straight out of legends. In this moment you were so aware of your own fragility and mortality, understanding that the one you touch is eternal and wields power beyond your comprehension.

As if not mindful of how undeserving you felt to touch him in this form, Zhongli craved to be as close to you as possible when he let his draconic nature come out. He always had to touch you in some way, usually putting his tail around your waist. This time he sat by your feet on expensive pillows, while you occupied his usual place on the couch.

He was so tall you could almost lay your chin down on top of his head, instead you rubbed one of his horns, earning a low purr out of him. Your hand slid down, caressing his hair, so long and thick in this form. You noticed his purring got louder, it gave you an interesting idea.

- Darling, can I brush your hair? - you asked, already reaching for your brush.

- That would be sweet of you, my treasure. - he answered with charming smile.

You kisses him before taking care of his majestic mane. Surrounded by countless souvenirs from centuries long gone he collected for his herd, you wondered how much he lived through, all the friends he lost and lives of his people he watched from beginning to end, witnessing the world around him constantly changing. Did he remember all of them? He was a god of history, burdened with both a blessing and a curse to keep all those people alive in his memory. Does the grief pass if you can never forget?

Lost in your thoughts you didn't realize your fingers kept touching over the base of his horns. Soon, you felt Zhongli's embrace and his strong arms pulled you down on his lap.

- What are you doing? - you asked when he took the brush from your hand.

- Just returning the favour - he answered, letting your hair down.

[storiesofsvu]

Love You Always

Rafael Barba x reader warnings: language maybe? it's pure fluff y'all. This was a request that I took a little bit of a spin on but the end result is the same and the prompt still fits and works lol Quick reminder: as Barba has over 50 ppl on his taglist and that is tumblr's max, if you do not interact with this/other barba post you will be removed for someone who is on the wait list who actually does want to read and interact.

When you’d made the move from a small town in Pennsylvania out to New York you really had no idea what was in store for you. Getting the opportunity to live in the city was a huge enough thrill on its own, delicious food, incredible night life, easy enough to get around and a plethora of places to meet people. Work was consistent, busy enough to keep you stimulated and making money but never overwhelming, you always had weekends off and were reminded you never had to take work home unless you really wanted to.

The level of freedom you felt was an incredibly good thing, especially considering your boyfriend seemed to never stop working. You were free to swing by on your lunch, making sure he ate something other than chocolate covered espresso beans and would happily be the one to drag him out of the office at the end of a long day. Though you had no complaints about the matter, you loved him no matter what and knew that what he did was important, not to mention incredibly admirable.

The two of you had moved in together a couple of years ago, a nice two bedroom apartment smack in the middle of your commutes. Rafael had turned the second bedroom into a home office but hadn’t completely taken it over, leaving half of it for you to outfit however you’d like. He never wanted it to just be his space, wanted to make sure you always felt welcomed and wanted even if the most you normally did was curl up with a book in the arm chair beside his desk. He utterly adored having you around, the quality time beside another human was more than enough for both of you, you were able to communicate without words by now. There were moments where Rafael wouldn’t even realize he’d been letting his work stress him out until your gentle hands were on his shoulders, massaging out the knots. There were other moments where you were so sucked into your novel you had no idea how much time had gone by until he was pressing a kiss to the top of your head, mentioning you’d both missed dinner.

There had been talks of the future of course, some of them happening before you bought the apartment, making sure you were making the right investment, but there had never really been a talk about marriage. You’d talked about where in the city you wanted to live, decided on kids or no kids, if you wanted to stay in the same career path, what you’d like to do after retiring and while you knew you were in each other’s stories, a ring never came up. You loved your romantic movies and Rafael knew that, often watching them with you, a small smile on his face as you tried to hide your happy tears or blamed your sniffling on allergies. He knew you were a hopeless romantic and did his best on a regular basis to show you how much he loved you, flowers, treats, fancy date nights and the like.

The first time marriage truly came up was when you were out for dinner and witnessed a very public proposal that you immediately turned your nose up at. Rafael raised a brow and you let out a small laugh, explaining that not only were they incredibly tacky, nearly forcing the person answering to say yes, but this one in particular was going to end in a fight once they were home. Never ask a question like that if you don’t know the definite answer. On the other end of the spectrum, the two of you had a fantastic date night and you were certain it ended better than the not so happy couple.

The second time it technically came up Rafael was coming home entirely too late and while you didn’t have particular plans, you had happened to fall asleep on the couch waiting for him. He felt a pang of guilt wash through him when he found you, half full glass of wine on the coffee table with an empty one meant for him. When he woke you up to get you to bed he apologized, promising that it wouldn’t happen again. You let out a soft giggle, still half asleep and mentioned something about it not being a problem, you knew you were his side chick, he was married to his job after all, it was his wife and you were okay with that.

The third time it came up when your cousin’s wedding invitation came in the mail and you asked if he wanted to come with you. He laughed, saying of course he did and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, he was your plus one forever after all. You returned the laugh, letting him know it was back in Pennsylvania, it would be a minimum of a three day trip out there, you’d have to leave midday Friday and likely return late on Sunday, if not Monday. He simply shrugged, saying he’d make absolutely sure that his schedule was cleared, this was something that was important to you and he didn’t want to miss any of those.

Rafael had been expecting the usual wedding festivities, friends new and old reuniting between a couple of smaller hotels or bars around the town. Some whom had kept in touch, some who hadn’t spoken since graduation. There was plenty of catching up, questions asked and answered about careers, families, kids. He was prepared for all of that, prepared to whisk you away the second anyone started nagging a little too hard about getting married or starting a family of your own. Instead he was met with you laughing, winding your arm in his and saying that the two of you were your own family.

What he definitely wasn’t expecting was to be hit with a brick wall of emotions when the actual wedding started. Everything was so incredibly beautiful, the church lit up perfectly, stunning bridesmaids dresses that correlated with the groomsmen pocket squares, ties and socks. The flower arrangements were gorgeous, the music matched the vibe immaculately, every single detail you could imagine was well thought through and executed amazingly. His hand in yours as the ceremony started, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as the bride stepped into the room and he knew you would be teary eyed in a matter of seconds.

He couldn’t help but watch you throughout the ceremony, a small smile on his face, one that you caught and smiled back to every time you looked over at him. You loved love, and you loved him and that made him feel so incredibly warm inside, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Your eyes glistened in the sunlight, a glimmering of happy tears in them as the couple began their vows and it became very obvious you weren’t the only hopeless romantic in the room. They told stories of their childhood, how they’d been best friends at such a young age, how through time they had went their different ways but always seemed to find their way back to each other. How they’d gone to different colleges, lived on opposite sides of the country and even when they didn’t stay in touch, life had a way to keep their invisible string intact. How she’d been smitten from the moment they reconnected, how he surprised her on their first anniversary with a plot of land where she’d always dreamed of living, and how he was going to build their dream home. How much they meant to each other, that they wanted to spend the rest of their days and then some together, how much they believed in destiny and how thankful they were that they were brought back together and realized what true love was because it was so often sitting right in front of your nose.

Rafael didn’t think he was a sap, but the misting in his eyes would prove otherwise.

The way your hand was softly squeezing at his thigh whenever something particularly romantic or emotional certainly wasn’t helping either. And the look of complete love, awe, hope and longing reflecting from your eyes was enough to drive him wild. He found his heart beating faster in his chest, butterflies racing in his stomach, he wanted to be the one on the receiving end of that kind of a look. He was utterly lost in his romantic thoughts until the couple kissed, the church erupting in applause and you were tugging him to stand, cheering to celebrate their new union.

He managed to keep his cool throughout dinner, though he got a little misty eyed when the speeches started. Out of pure instinct you were cuddled into his side, the more intimate and loving the stories and speeches got, the closer the two of you got to each other. There was nothing either of you wanted than to be with each other and this celebration of love was solidifying it.

The two of you were up on the dance floor, encouraging your nieces and nephews to burn off all the sugar from the cake dancing around as wildly as they could before having to leave. A slow song started and you thought for a moment you were leaving the dance floor until Rafael grabbed your hand, a sparkle in his eye as he twirled you under his arm and then his other hand slid around your waist, leading you in a slow rhythm around the dance floor. A blooming of happiness started in your chest as your cheek rested next to his, small smile on both of your cheeks as you danced.

“You’ve been quiet,” you murmured, “not having any fun?”

“Quite the opposite.” He chuckled, his lips brushing your cheek.

“Then what’s going on in that brain of yours, hmm?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“About?” You asked, your head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“You.” He replied, his hand rubbing at the small of your back, “love. This.” You felt his hand come off your back, gesturing to the room, “How beautiful it is. How beautiful you are. How happy I am with you, and that I want that kind of happiness forever. That I want this. With you.”

“Careful Rafael, this is starting to sound like a proposal.” You teased from your spot on his shoulder, feeling his chest rumble as he chuckled.

“Never. That would be incredibly inappropriate, I’m not one to steal someone’s moment.”

“Sure.” You laughed and he playfully rolled your eyes as you lifted your head up. The hand he had holding yours moved to cup your face as you stepped even closer together. His eyes gazed into yours with nothing but absolute adoration.

“But believe me when I say this, I’m going to marry you one day and one day soon.” His thumb brushed over your cheek and you felt a dopey smile take over your lips, “our own special day where I get to tell everyone just how much I love you, how I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, how you deserve the entire world and I got so incredibly lucky because you chose me.”

“And I would a million times over.” Leaning in you pressed your lips to his, a small sigh relaxing both of you into the kiss as you continued to sway. Your cheek came to rest against his once more, his hand briefly cupping the back of your head before moving back to your waist. “Because I love you Rafael, more than anyone in the world. I’m lucky to have you to love.”

“I love you too.”

He pressed a tender kiss to your temple, continuing to guide you around the dance floor until the song came to an end. For the third time today he found a misting of happy tears in his eyes, the same ones reflecting in yours except this time it was because of your own love, your own little secret that no one else in the room knew quite yet. That not only did you have a future together but he was going to be able to call you his wife, and that meant the entire world to him.

____________

@fandom-princess-forevermore @bisexualcrowley @detective-giggles @plaidbooks @averyhotchner @beccabarba @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @prurientpuddlejumper @letsdisneythings @neely1177 @mrsrafaelbarba @lv7867 @bisexual-dreamer02 @skittle479 @amelia-song-pond @madamsnape921 @altsvu @svulife-rl @caracalwithchips @mysticfalls01 @ssaic-jareau @barbasbodaciousbeard @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @michael-rooker @rafivadafreddy @darkheart-brightsmile @australiancarisi @tinyboxxtink @ex-uallyactive @lawandorderuswnt @lustvolle-liebe @sia2raw @narvaldetierra @dxtery @lannister-slings-and-arrows @poisonedcrowns @anlin2058 @xoxabs88xox @momlifebehard @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @godard-muse @somethingimaginative17 @alexxavicry @dextur @onmykneesformarvel @kmc1989 @valentinesfrog @silversprings-mp3 @wittygutsy @gamma-rae-bursts @int4n @just-moondust @deanwinchestersgirl87 @bubbleswrld

[demonlorddiva]

I've seen you doing a lot of the "sugar daddy stuff they do for you" type stuff, so I was wondering if we can have a rich MC, and do it the other way around? 😉

AHHH this is actually amazing cause I already had ideas for this! Generalized hcs cause I want this to be in one spot so I’ll mention as many of the boys as I can so everyone can have some fun! Long af and kinda mammon centric sorry but moneys kinda his thing 🤣

I mention:barb, diavolo, Lucifer, mammon, Levi, asmo, Satan, beel, belphie

RICH OBEY ME MC

SO It’s Canon that the rumor is in the devildom that if you make a pact with mammon all the riches you could ever want would come to you

But you don’t really see that when your in the devildom, you have to work for any money that you have so you pass it off as some sort of fantasy the people came up with

That is till you go to the human world

You go about living your life as normal. Oh hey! The supermarket is doing a raffle for a new tv! Why not put your name down?

What? You won? That’s crazy! Maybe the rumors are true?

You begin to test the theory with other sweepstakes, scratch offs, and even try out a slot machine all winning big on your first try!

The shock comes to you when you try the biggest lottery in your country. Maybe this has all been a coincidence and-wait what? Are those your numbers?

You decide to accept the prize anonymously, not wanting to draw attention to anyone around you

What do you even do with all this money? Your in the devildom half the year so it barely gets spent besides upgrading your apartment from the one bedroom you’ve been staying at

You decide to hire an accountant and a broker. Your elders always told you to invest in your future right?

Well your luck may have rubbed off on your broker, because the stocks he has you invest in skyrocket, causing the savings account you have to increase in numbers day after day

Lucifer has been insisting that you move into a nicer apartment that place your living in is too small-

“What do you mean? I moved already”

While having tea with Lucifer, Barb, and dia you spill where you moved and diavolo looks surprised to say the least

“YOU MOVED THERE?? that’s one of the best apartments in your city! If you need help paying for it I-“

“No need I have it taken care of!” You say with a smile

They decide to drop it… for now

Until you invite the boys for dinner at a nice restaurant

You’ve been here multiple times before so you know the food is fantastic!

All the boys order their food and everyone’s chatting

Beels eating up a storm just as you expected, your so happy to be together with everyone!

You even order some wine for the table! They might not feel the effects of human world alcohol but it still tastes nice!

After desert Lucifer and Diavolo flag down a waiter to pay the bill.. what? It’s already been paid for? By who?

The waiter points to you across the table

Diavolo speak up first

“Mc, I know you invited us but please let us help pay the bill, this is very expensive with so many people”

“Expensive? No way! And don’t worry about it I’m fine!”

Mammon speaks up next

“So your paying for this whole meal all by yourself? How are ya doing that?”

Well…

You explain to them the whole money situation

Mammon is floored and asmo looks like he’s about to FREAK

Asmo squeals “so you have a ton of money now? Omg that’s so amazing! How much do you have?”

“Well I’m not sure let me look” as you check your bank account on your phone

When you show it to them they are losing it

“So many numbers… I’ve never seen so much human world money in my entire life” mammon says, about to pass out

Don’t be surprised when he asks for cash or to go to the casino

Satan is SHOOK “this is insane, I never would have thought”

Lucifer looks at the numbers, surprised himself, and worried

But when you explain that you have people helping you invest and take care of your money he seems to relax

Barb and dia are also surprised but having experience in human world exchanges are more then happy to give you advice on investing in real estate or whatever financial advice you would need

I think beel and Belphie are just happy that your able to live comfortably! Beel loved the meal and from seeing your apartment bel loves the fancy bed and pillows you have, perfect for a nap!

Levi had some sort of idea that you came into some sort of cash. That figure that you bought and sent a picture to him cost a pretty penny! Not to mention the cosplays and custom wigs you ordered were expensive. But this much? WOW!

Asmo needs to take you shopping NOW. What do you mean you don’t have the most high end designer bags right now?

Satan is also just happy for you, it’s good that your able to take care of yourself here and that you have people helping you with taking care of this money

You laugh with your boys, ending the night wonderfully at a rooftop bar before they have to leave

You guys should do this again! It didn’t even put a dent in your wallet and you had so much fun! So what’s the harm?

[cutielando]

FIC IDEA WITH LANDO: So reader recently moved to Monaco bc of her job (any remote job u want and content creater) anyways she is working at a café just to get some money and lando is a customer. He flirts with her and stuff and she writes her number on the cup without him noticing at the moment. The reader then like a week later mentions it to her friend and talks about how he did not respond yet and like what exactly happened not knowing her friend was on live and her fans get invested and call this mystery boy “café boy” (kind of like Alix Earle with nfl man) Then McLaren invites the reader to the paddock and lando sees her and then have like a talk together in his drivers room and he mentions how he was nervous to text or something. After she makes a soft launch post captioned “my café boy 🤎”. IF U DO IT PLEASE TAG ME!

my coffee boy | lando norris

synopsis: in which you met the love of your life when you least expected it

pairing: lando norris x barista!reader

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yourusername my new home is pretty damn beautiful

📍Monte-Carlo, Monaco

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user1 mother is finally living her dream 😭

francisca.cgomes yayy!!!!!❤️❤️

yourusername ❤️❤️

yourbestfriend can’t believe you left me behind 🥲 JK I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU ❤️❤️

yourusername i miss you already 😭😭❤️

user2 who is she?

user3 she’s a content creator and up-and-coming model🫶🏻 she makes a lot of F1 content since she is very good friends with Kika

user2 how come i’ve never heard of her until now?

user4 she’s only starting to become famous and accustomed to the public eye, maybe that’s why

yourmother so proud of you!!❤️❤️

yourusername love you mom!!!!

user5 if i don't grow up to be just like Y/N, i'm giving up

Real life

Moving to Monaco had always been your dream. Living in the beautiful country right on the water, starting a new life in such a peaceful place and being able to follow your dreams.

It had been your dream ever since you were a little girl.

However, moving to Monaco was in itself very pricey. It hadn’t been easy, gathering the money you needed to lead a relatively comfortable lifestyle in the exclusivist country, but you had managed to do so.

And now, you now had to step up a bit until things got going for you.

And you figured that working at the local coffee shop was the best solution. At least just until you got settled in your new home country and your career kicked in.

You knew that Monaco was the home to a lot of athletes, especially Formula 1 drivers, but you didn't really expect to meet any of them. Monaco was not really as small of a place as people thought, you wouldn't just run into an F1 driver in the street that casually.

No, you run into them at coffee shops.

You had been minding your own business one day, thankful that it was still early and people were not yet coming for coffee. But then the entrance bell rang, and your eyes met the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on.

The one and only, Lando Norris.

You didn't want to seem like an obsessed fan, so you tried to keep your excitement at bay the best you could.

"Hello" he greeted when he approached the counter, that famous smirk adorning his features.

"Hi. What can I get you?" you asked sweetly, praying to God that he wouldn't notice the furious blush on your cheeks.

"I'll just have a cappuccino, love" he asked, giving you a dazzling smile.

You blushed even more and nodded, getting to work on his drink.

He didn't say anything else for a second, he just watched and admired your movements as you effortlessly prepared his coffee.

"I haven't seen you around here before, and trust me. I would have remembered a face as beautiful as yours" Lando suddenly asked, leaning forward against the counter.

You almost did a double take, not wanting to get your hopes up. Was he actually flirting with you? Were you just dreaming?

You cleared your throat before you answered, which made Lando smile even more cockily.

"I just moved here a couple of days ago, got a job with a modelling agency and figured I would work for some extra money until the modelling gigs kick in" you explained, looking at his from the corner of your eye to see his wide eyes when you mentioned being a model.

"With a face as beautiful as yours, figured you were a model of some sort. Nobody would pass on someone as pretty as you"

You blushed again, thankful that the shop was almost empty and people couldn't see you falling apart just from talking to the man.

"Do you flirt with every barista you meet, Mr. Norris?" you teased, pouring the drink into a to-go cup.

"Just the insanely pretty ones"

You chuckled and shook your head, taking the sharpie in your hand to write his name on the cup. As soon as you wrote his name, your hand moved on its own, scribbling your phone number underneath and the message 'call me <3' next to it.

Biting your lip, you gave him the drink with a smile, biding your goodbyes.

"I'll see you around, Y/N" he said, looking at your name tag.

"Okay" was all you could say, your mind too fuzzy to come up with a better response.

He turned around just before he exited the cafe, winking at you before departing.

What the hell had just happened?

♡♡♡♡♡

Much to your disappointment, a couple of days had gone by without a single text from the driver.

You hadn't thought much of it, way too busy with unpacking and such to even think about your encounter. It was our friend who kept asking you about it, going out of her mind when you mentioned you had given your number to an F1 driver.

"Y/N, come here, you left me all alone" Samantha, your friend, called out for you from the living room.

You sighed, unwillingly getting out of your very comfortable position on your bed and walked into the living room.

Not even paying attention to what Samantha was doing, you fell on the couch face first, your sore limbs tired from the short walk from the bedroom to the living room.

"I was very comfortable in bed, thank you very much" you mumbled, but Samantha paid you no mind.

She knew how grumpy you got in the evenings, so she had learned to ignore your comments in such instances.

"Has he texted you yet?" she asked, making you glare at her.

"I don't know how many times you've already asked me that and how many times I've given you the exact same answer. No, he hasn't" you grumbled, hiding your face in your pillow.

Samantha hummed, casting a sneaky glance to her phone.

"But like what exactly happened?" she pressed, making you sigh.

"It's not that interesting of a story. He came in the coffee shop, ordered a drink, we flirted a little and then I wrote my number on his cup" you explained once again, and unbeknownst to you, your fans were going wild over the information they had just heard.

Samantha almost wanted to laugh when she saw the dozens of comments flooding in, calling Lando the "mysterious café boy" that hadn't texted you.

"If I were him, I would have texted you the minute I walked out" she defended, making you sigh.

"But you're not him. There are numerous reasons that could explain why he hasn't texted me, he's a busy guy, Samantha" you defended, getting up from the couch to head back to your bedroom, so done with the conversation.

Samantha waited until the door was closed before switching her attention back to her phone.

"And there you go, ladies and gentlemen. Our girl is finally finding love" she giggled, clapping her hands.

If only Lando would have the courage to make the first step.

♡♡♡♡♡

You had always been a fan of Formula 1, you got that from your father. He would always bring you with him to races when you were younger, and his love and admiration was passed onto you from a very young age.

However, you hadn't attended a race in a while, you hadn't had the opportunity or the time to go to one.

Until now.

McLaren had contacted you a couple of days before the Silverstone Grand Prix, inviting you as their VIP guest for the weekend. And who were you to refuse a weekend with the team of the guy you were crushing on?

That's how you found yourself walking towards the McLaren hospitality, bag clutched tightly in your hand as you approached the brightly papaya colored building.

Sighing with a smile on your face, you had just put your hand on the handle when the door opened from the inside and Lando stepped out, stopping in his tracks when he saw you in front of him.

The both of you froze, not knowing how to react. The first one to break the tension was Lando, who smiled at you widely.

"Hey, Y/N. Long time no see" he said, making you chuckle and nod.

"Yeah"

He nodded, and silence settled for a split second between the two of you before he spoke up.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't text you. I saw your number, even saved it in my phone and was meaning to say something. I was just too nervous to screw things up, cause I really like you" he confessed, making your heartbeat quicken significantly.

Your eyes widened, and relief finally settled into your troubled mind. There had been so many thoughts and theories in your head about why he hadn't contacted you. Maybe you had misread the situation, maybe he wasn't interested, maybe he didn't see your number written next to his name, countless possibilities had been swirling around in your head.

But now, you were finally content. He was just nervous, bless his heart. If you were being fair, you would have been way too nervous to contact him if the roles had been reversed.

"Don't worry, it's okay" you reassured him, which made Lando feel better.

"I want to make it up to you. How about dinner tonight? My treat, I'll show you around the city" he suggested, his eyes full of hope.

You couldn't possibly deny him, so you found yourself nodding.

"Great" he smiled and leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek before departing towards the garage.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile.

He hadn't forgotten you after all.

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yourusername my café boy 🤎

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francisca.cgomes i’m so happy for you guys!!!❤️❤️

yourusername thank you babe!!!✨❤️

user1 who is that????

user2 i’m so jealous 🙂‍↕️🥲

pietrapilao ❤️

yourusername 🫶🏻

user3IS THAT LANDO?????

user4 why would you think it’s lando?

user5 some people saw him with someone at the race and think this is his girlfriend

maxfewtrell smooth

yourusername thanks 🙂‍↕️

user6 this is basically confirmation that’s Lando 😭

maxfewtrell don’t take my word for it, people

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[formulakracing]

x. bringing the heat in miami - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 3.6k

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, mentions of masturbation, lewd humor, age gap relationship, ANGST, naughty text messages, banter, light flirting, toto being down astronomically bad (like actually in the trenches) yadayadayada

prev. | next.

party in the city where the heat is on 

all night, on the beach till the break of dawn

“welcome to miami”

“bienvenidos a miami"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

will smith’s infamous track fills your ears as you stroll in through the main gate of the track, fans clustered in thick waves. your name is called more times than you can count. posters, caps, shirts, you name it, wave about, begging to be signed. 

the sun shines overhead, casting bright, fiery light all around. although it was only around eight in the morning, humidity clung to the air, creating a sticky, dewy sensation on your exposed skin. fluffy clouds drift along, carried by a breeze as it rolls through. 

god, the weather was perfect.

hopefully it would be like this on race day.

“welcome to miamiiii,” alex bobs his head, singing along to the music, “are you excited? it is your home turf, after all.”

“if we were in phoenix, i think i would feel a little closer to home,” you suppress a giggle, “but yes, i am really fucking excited. everyone loves a race in their home country.”

“we’ll be in austin soon enough in october,,” alex shrugs, “when we’re in austin, i need you to show me how to ride a bull and teach me how to perfect that smooth texas drawl. i want to be like one of those little aunties who always say, ‘y’all come back now!’ like dolly parton! ” 

“you’re ridiculous,” the giggles blossom into a full-on laugh, “you don’t just start speaking with a southern accent. that’s not how that works.”

“sure it is,” alex nods, “hey, your parents are coming out for the race, right?”

“yes sir! they will finally get to see their baby girl in action!”

“they didn’t come out for a single grand prix last year?” alex raises a brow.

“i wasn’t winning races last year,” you counter, “i told them not to worry about spending that money during my rookie year. not everyone’s parents are loaded, you know.”

which, was a true statement. 

your parents had invested their time, hard-earned cash, weekends off, and a portion of their lives to get you here. you didn’t expect them to fly out for every single grand prix, make every event, or pay another dime towards your expenses. 

unlike many of the drivers, you were not born into an extremely lavish lifestyle. your parents were modest people, who happened to have a child later in life. ever since you were born, they lived in the same house, drove the same vehicles, and got by adequately. since they both worked full-time, getting you into the racing world was no simple feat. 

yet, they were determined to make your dreams become a reality. after years of careful coordination to the karting tracks, weekends devoted to races, and thousands upon thousands of dollars spent, you were offered a contract with williams racing. of course, you accepted that offer graciously. 

now, you were steadily paying your parents back for their dedication. once you signed your contract and those zeroes hit your bank account, you went out to the nearest dealership, purchasing a suburu wrx. with the premium package, at that. 

you would never forget your dad’s face the moment you pulled into the driveway, beaming as you placed the keys in his hand. 

that was one of the only moments you had ever watched him cry, wrapping you up in a tight, loving embrace.

“you didn’t have to do this. being your father is a gift in itself.”

“but you deserve it. you’ve sacrificed so much so that i could be in this position.”

“and you deserve nothing but the best, baby girl. you are going to be one of the greatest drivers formula one has ever seen. you make us so proud. keep making us proud. keep defying those odds. keep making history, baby girl.”

keep making history, baby girl.

as you stroll into the paddock, greeting the engineers, pit crew, and other team members, you can’t shake that feeling brewing deep within. 

it’s is a fiery desire, setting you ablaze with determination. 

you were going to keep making history. 

you were going to be the first american to win the miami grand prix. 

you were going to be the first woman to win two consecutive grand prixes. 

you were going to be the first woman to earn that title of world champion. 

you were going to chase that high. by any means possible. 

and nothing was going to stop you now. 

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“look at him,” lewis hamilton shakes his head, “he looks absolutely pitiful.”

“you think his little relationship is on the rocks?” 

“quite the contrary mate,” lewis remarks, folding his arms across his chest, “i think it’s more like the poor man is depraved. obviously the euphoria has worn off. he’s come down from that high. the man is craving more. plain and simple. a hand can only do–”

“i don’t need the mental image of my team principal wanking off,” george russell scoffs, rubbing his temple, “fuck, that is disgusting, lewis.”

toto wolff stood a few meters away from the drivers, engaged in deep conversation with bono and members of the crew. now that lewis knew the truth, he couldn’t help but notice how much power that american girl held over the team principal. it was almost as if he were deep in a trance, under some sort of spell. 

it was pitiful, really. just the sight of her was enough to send the team principal spiraling, intoxicated off her alluring aura. not like lewis could blame toto, though. there was no denying that the woman was extremely breathtaking. 

with her stunning features, witty mouth, unapologetic personality, and angelic presence, she was practically miss america.

well, not practically. 

she was miss america.  

everyone adored her. lewis could barely go throughout his morning without hearing her name being mentioned. whether it was fans, journalists, social media, even members of the mercedes crew, she was the hot topic of formula one, taking the world by storm.

toto was a lucky man. an extremely lucky man. 

if only she was into men her age. 

“my apologies mate,” lewis nudges george with his elbow playfully, “did we have anything going on today? any obligations?”

george’s brow furrow, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, “if we’re being honest, i can’t really remember. i think something to do with monster energy, maybe.”

“perfect,” lewis licks his lower lip, fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

time to text that little assistant. 

in all seriousness, he felt horrible for taking advantage of that young girl. she was only nineteen for fuck’s sakes, a fresh face to mercedes at the start of the 2024 season. that made her the perfect target to do his bidding. 

well, it wasn’t really bidding. 

more like investigative journalism. 

at least, that’s what lewis told himself to feel a little less guilty for what he was about to do. 

hey, do you by chance know toto’s schedule today?

seconds later, little text bubbles appear. 

he was meeting with you guys this morning, then he has an interview with the press around two-thirty p.m. it’s nothing super serious, just a brief session entailing his thoughts for the weekend. at four, he has a zoom call with a few of the mercedes execs. after that, he told me he was going to be out for the remainder of the evening. why? 

hmmm. how convenient. 

i was just curious. thanks for letting me know! i appreciate you, natila. 

of course, mr. hamilton! let me know if you need anything else! :))) 

it was now or never. go time.

after the meeting with the mercedes executives, lewis hamilton was going to knock on toto wolff’s door. he was going to stroll into that office, settling into one of those plush leather chairs. and before toto had the opportunity to speak, lewis was going to confront him about that american girl. 

how he was going to start that conversation, he had no idea. that would come to him in time as he went about his day, meeting with sponsors, flashing that lovely lewis smile, flirting with the reporters just a little. not too much so that it was obvious, but enough to make them blush a tad, giggling as they scrambled to stick to their script. 

but for now, it was time to focus on the matters at hand. 

across the track, a dutch driver strolls through the crowds, a jersey in one hand, phone in the other. glancing down at his screen, he curses under his breath at the throng of people. why were there so many people? where did they all come from? 

pausing for a moment, he taps his screen, thumb gliding through his contacts. 

“hey, where are you again?”

“we’re in the williams paddock!” her voice is an octave higher than usual, more than likely from anticipation, “we’ll see you soon!”

“sounds good,” max verstappen stifles a chuckle as he hears a voice on the other end, the words firm, demanding almost.  

“honey, who are you talking to? who’s coming over here?” 

“mom, please, just let me be on the phone for two seconds,” she exhales, “okay, i have to go. i’ll see you soon!” 

the walk to the williams paddock was excruciating, as max had to bob and weave through the masses to avoid reporters, potential sponsors, and any individual who called his name. it’s not like he didn’t like the fame that came with his success, it’s just that he didn’t like the constant cameras in his face. the prying questions. the intrusive comments. 

sometimes he wished he could just blend in, be like any other face in the crowd. yet, how could he when he was max verstappen? 

yet, as he steps into the paddock, he makes out the williams driver, her parents hovering around her as she introduces them to various members of the crew. at the sight, max can’t help but feel the corners of his lips curl into a smile as he notices the sheer and utter pride plastered across their faces. 

and they had every right to be proud of you. 

you earned it. 

“goedemorgen,” max clears his throat, raising his hand for a small wave, “i just came to stop by.”

the instant your mom realizes who is standing before her in the paddock, her eyes widen, lips parting, “oh my gosh – honey. look who it is!” 

“good morning max,” your laughter rings like bells as you cross over to the dutch driver, “how are you?”

“pretty good,” he nods, sticking out his right hand, “hallo, i’m max.”

your dad shakes his hand, squeezing it firmly, “nice to meet ya, max. i’m tony. this is my wife, heather.”

“pleased to meet you,” max beams, turning to your mom, “i brought something for you today. your daughter mentioned that you were a big fan of mine. so, i brought this jersey for you. she let me know your shirt size, so it should fit perfectly. my signature is on there somewhere, but i just can’t quite remember where.”

graciously, heather accepts the jersey, her eyes glossy, shifting to you as she wipes a tear, “oh, honey, you planned this?”

“of course i did,” wrapping an arm around her shoulders, you pull her in for a hug, “i couldn’t bear the thought of you guys attending the race without meeting any of my friends. besides, you deserve an all-inclusive experience at your first grand prix.”

“besides,” max shoots you a wink, “i wanted to meet the woman who crafted such a talented driver.”

at max’s compliment, your mom’s face flushes, “oh please! i can barely make it on the freeway without having a nervous breakdown. i don’t know how she can drive these things. it amazes me how confident she is and–.”

“i could show you,” max offers, “i have some free time tomorrow. i’m sure we could all meet up somewhere and i could take you for a spin, show you the ropes. how does that sound?”

“oh max,” your mom waves a hand, “you do not–”

“but i want to. it’s no issue. no issue at all.” 

“then it’s a plan,” you can’t help but grin as your moms’ eyes light up, “what time works for you, max? since it’s only thursday, we’ll have some time in the morning before the practice laps. or, we could go after. whatever works for you.”

“let’s go in the morning,” max suggests, checking his phone, “i think i can make a few calls. have someone bring in a car. we’ll take it out on the track.”

“is that allowed?” your mom arches a brow, “i just don’t want you two to get in any sort of trouble. 

“oh mom,” you roll your eyes playfully, gesturing to max, “that is max verstappen. whatever max verstappen wants, max verstappen gets.”

“she’s not wrong.”

“okay fine,” your mom nods, and you feel a giggle forming at her overprotective nature. 

“just don’t give me a heart attack out there, max. i have a very important race to watch on sunday.”

as your parents talk to max, alex making his way into the conversation, you feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket. carefully, you fish it out, ensuring to shield your screen from your mom’s wandering gaze. 

this is unbearable. i need to see you tonight. are you going to have any free time? i vaguely recall you mentioning that your parents were going to be here. i will take no offense if you would like to spend time with them. i know you do not get to see them often. 

i need to be inside you, schatzi. i can’t think straight right now because the only thing i can think about is fucking that perfect pussy of yours. 

i miss my golden girl. more than anything. 

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“lewis? this is a pleasant surprise.”

“how’s it going mate?” lewis hamilton bears a quaint smile as he settles into a chair, face-to-face with the team principal, “things going well?”

“eh,” toto shrugs, his head bowed as he types away on his phone, “same old shit, you know.” 

“things going well with the horseback rider?”

oh, so he wasn’t going to drop it. silently, toto curses the attentive nature of his british driver, “they’re fine.”

“so,” lewis leans back, folding his arms across his chest, “when were you going to fess up and admit that your little girlfriend doesn’t ride horses?”

“i don’t understand what you–”

lewis scoffs, clicking his tongue, “i know exactly who your little girlfriend is because she’s a few spaces ahead of me on the grid.”

shit.

the expression painting lewis’ features is brimmed with satisfaction, his gaze piercing right through the team principal as he shifts uneasily in his desk chair, running a hand through his hair. 

toto was well aware that lewis had completely blindsided him, pinning him in a corner. it was quite literally perfect timing, as the team principal was merely minutes away from organizing his things, shutting down his computer, and heading out the door, well on his way to his golden girl. 

well played, lewis. well played. 

yet, he had to maintain his composure. he had to maintain that poker face as lewis cocks his head, prompting him to formulate some sort of witty retort. 

“i’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“bullshit,” lewis shakes his head, “you’re not a very good liar, toto. you of all people should know that i can read you like a bloody book. how long has this been going on?”

well, he had to fess up now. lewis would continue to call him out on his shit if he kept up with the lies. letting out a shaky breath, the team principal hangs his head in defeat, his heart thumping against his rib-cage, wiping his damp palms on his slacks.

no going back now. time to come clean. 

“since she won in jeddah. but if we’re being technical, it started in bahrain.”

“wait,” lewis sticks his hands up, squeezing his eyes shut, “pause. this has been going on since the start of the season? for weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting up with her in secret or something? was she the one who came to brackley between melbourne and suzuka?”

with all of the questions pouring from lewis’ mouth, toto’s mind reeled, a swirling torrent of anxiety, fear, and disappointment. his cheeks burn with shame, tinged pink. 

“yes, she was.”

tilting his head, lewis’ lips purse, “you like her?”

“well isn’t that blatantly fucking obvious,” propping his elbows on the desk, he massages his temples with his fingers, “how did you find out?”

“it wasn’t hard,” lewis shrugs, “i mean, i see the way you look at her.” 

toto’s eyes narrow at lewis’ vague response, “how. did. you. find. out?”

“natila texted me about it,” lewis coughs, averting the team principal’s beady stare, “she may have heard a conversation or two.”��

“regarding?” toto presses, satisfaction pumping in his veins as lewis starts to crack, shifting in the chair, “come on, lewis. you can’t just march in here and demand answers from me without sharing your sources. what did natila hear?”

“she heard the entire conversation you had with the drive to survive crew while we were in suzuka. they mentioned that they had footage of you walking over to her motorhome. that’s all natila heard. don’t fire the poor girl,” the words were rushed, breathy, “it was my fault. i asked her what she heard. i told her i would pay her if she told me what she knew.”

“well,” toto blinks, swallowing thickly, “did you end up paying her?”

“only like five thousand.”

“that’s quite a large sum over something you could have just asked me about personally,” clasping his hands together, toto raises a brow, “why didn’t you just come to me instead?”

“because you got so fucking defensive the first time i asked about it!” 

lewis did have a point. 

a good point, at that.

it was not like the team principal would have withheld information regarding his developing relationship with the williams driver. it was more like he feared what would ensue if he did share what had transpired. he trusted lewis, he really did. additionally, it wasn’t like this was just some average woman. his career, her future, and so much more were at stake. the benefits of keeping it all under wraps greatly outweighed the risk of discovery. 

more importantly, he was protective of his golden girl. 

she was his little escape from it all. a breath of fresh air after excruciatingly long nights in the paddock or disappointing days on the track. she was his sun, shining her vivid, warm, golden rays into his dreary and dull life. 

sure, toto was a billionaire. but money was not everything. 

nearly every day, toto’s mind wandered to their time spent together in brackley. the way she felt against his skin. the way her shy smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. the way her fingers felt intertwined with his. the way her lashes fluttered as she slept, lips parted ever so slightly. the way his hands roamed her curves, relishing the softness of her. 

that memory alone was worth far more than the number of zeroes in his bank account. 

“you’re falling in love, aren’t you?”

lewis’ voice is low, dangerously quiet. yet, there’s a curious glint in his eyes, the bitterness and anger no longer present. his body language is more relaxed, legs crossed, the driver fiddling with his thumbs. 

“i –” toto stutters, scrambling to find the right words, “yes, i am.”

“does she know?” 

“no,” he inhales sharply, “she doesn’t.”

“you want to tell her though, don’t you?”

“it would just feel rushed,” the team principal dismisses lewis’ inquiry, his voice hardening, “i have to be realistic here. no one falls in love that quickly. that’s just petulant.”

“well look at it this way,” lewis offers, “if you’ve had your eye on her for some time, then it’s really not that rushed. clearly, if you’re feeling those emotions so deeply, then it’s accumulated over time. i don’t want to pry, but how long have you been attracted to her?”

“you don’t want to know,” a chuckle rumbles in the team principal’s chest, “it’s embarrassing, really.”

“no, no, no,” lewis tuts, “tell me, toto. how long?”

“december 2022, when she signed her contract with williams. when i saw that photo of her, i knew i had to have her. last summer, in monaco, i may have slipped up and approached her at the afterparty. i flirted with her, but she dismissed me. so, i kept my distance. however, it was just growing harder and harder to stay away. it was impulsive, that night in bahrain. but i wanted to make a move before anyone else got to her.”

as toto finishes, he can’t help but notice lewis’ smirk, “holy shit, toto. you’ve been wrapped around her finger for quite some time then, yeah?”

“i wouldn’t say that–” toto begins, clicking his tongue, yet, he’s swiftly cut off as a new figure cracks open the door. 

george russell leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. his lips are pressed together, forming a tightly wound frown. 

“way to include me in the gossip session, guys. what did i miss? clearly, quite a lot. if you don’t mind, i would like to join the conversation. toto, would you start from the top? even though i’ve already heard most of it, when were you going to bring it to my attention that you were fucking that bloody williams driver?”

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taglist: @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @martwll @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010  @sinners-98-world @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic

as always, if i forgot to include you, please let me know! thank you all for the continuous support! i love y'all sm!! <33

[loves-77]

You Are My Honey

*TW* Yandere, obsessive tones, mates, Bear hybrid, NOT PROOFREAD (Tell me if you notice anymore)

THIS IS MY FIRST STORY I HAVE EVER WRITTEN SO IGNORE ANY MISTAKES, I AM STILL TRYING TO FIND MY PERFERED WRITING STYLE!

TELL ME IF YOU WANT A SMUT PART 2!!

*One part of my story is inspired by a scene in another story I read, don't remember the author*

*Not My Picture*

What had the world become? You sit alone on your couch in a small little apartment you could barely afford, for what? To get up in the morning go to your job at the floral shop and make a couple bucks a day?? All alone because you don't have time to invest in a romance that would probably end after a month, because who would want to be with a 'workaholic' who only has time to stay at their job. All your friends got some husband or boyfriend or...... mate.

The subject of 'mates' confused you, hybrids are just now being accepted into society and now are 'mating' on people. With how many hybrids are finding their mates the government is passing a law allowing them to be with said mates. The thought scared you, maybe because you didn't know enough about it. Imagine going about your normal day and some random person, with ears or a tail, starts talking about how you are destined to be together. Scary, or romantic??

Finally getting out of your daydreaming you look at the clock and realize you are gonna be late for work if you don't leave this second. Running out the door, almost forgetting your bag, you rush downstairs and run down the street. You lived pretty close to the floral shop so it was easy for you to get there fast. Barley making it on time your boss gives you a long list of orders you have to prepare. Your day has officially started..

*Time skip*

After work you make it back to the apartment, dropping your keys in your tray and making a bee line to the couch. Your phone rings and you realize your best friend was asking if you were free. Once you text them you are you start getting ready. They didn't give you a lot of details but told you to dress casual.

They text you to meet them outside your apartment in 30 min and they were gonna pick you up. Getting ready you finally make it down the stairs and wait outside for her. Seeing her car pull up and her getting out you both greet each other. "You are gonna love it" she said, "I got invited to some party on the nice side of town, supposedly there is going to be a lot of nice, respectable men there!!!" Winking at you she started the car and started driving. "You know I am not looking for anyone right now, no one is gonna wanna be with me when I can barely go out. I mean I got lucky today and my boss let me off early!" "You might find someone who doesn't mind.... Or someone who makes some money, so you don't have to work as much." Both of you start laughing.

Finally making it to the house you guys pull into the drive way and a bunch of people walking around, inside and outside. "Is the house made of just glass" you question. "I guess it is the new thing with rich people, let everyone see your business" You both get out of the car, after parking it, and walk toward the entrance. Suddenly the both of you tense, realizing there weren't just humans at this party. Now you both don't have a problem with hybrids going into public places or having the same rights you have, but never being near one before and seeing their sharp teeth or ears freaked you both out.

You were the first one to relax a little, realizing they were just there to have fun, like everyone else. "I didn't know they were gonna be here sorry" your friend apologized. "It's OK, they are here just like us, no problems." You both walk in together and browse around to see who and what exactly was here.

A loud booming voice can be heard across the room. Everyone's heads turn towards the owner of the voice. You freeze in fear, or maybe just shock, you aren't quite sure. But you know for sure that the owner of that voice is not someone you want to cross paths with ever again.

He was ginormous with arms that could pick you up and throw you a mile away.... maybe even more than that. His shaggy honey brown hair draped around his face almost majestically. He smiled and you noticed his canines are pointier that anyone you have ever seen before.... wait, wait, wait. You could hit yourself for not noticing the round brown ears on the top of his head. That is why he is so much bigger than everyone in the room.... he is a grizzly bear hybrid.

You look to your friend in panic and notice she had the same look on her face. Grizzly bear hybrids are rare and tend to be more aggressive than other predator hybrids. You have never seen one before in person, you considered yourself lucky until now.

Finally zoning back in from your panic you realize that some non-hybrids share the same look as you and your friend do. Looking back over to the owner of the voice you catch his stare. Freezing up once again you can't look away from those... black eyes? or maybe they are a dark brown, you can't tell from the distance. Snapping out of your shock you realize he stops to... sniff.... no he can't be sniffing the air... can he?

Then realization hits you when he starts heading your way. You heard that hybrids could smell who their mate is, but it couldn't be. You can't possibly be his mate. Panic sets in again and you couldn't tell if you were overreacting, it couldn't be you he was heading towards. But still, you grab your friend's arm and bolt away before he could get close enough to start a conversation.

"What- Where are we going??" Your friend asks "We need to leave right no-" "WAIT, YOU IN THE (F/C) SHIRT!!" You could have sworn the ground shook with how loud his voice was. You don't freeze, now that you know for sure he was looking for you. "Is that-" You cut your friend off "We need to leave." She doesn't hesitate to grab her car keys from her pocket and catch up with your fast steps.

Looking behind you see the hybrid trying to make his way through the crowd. "WAIT, WAIT!!" He sounded so desperate, you almost felt bad if you still didn't feel the pit in your stomach. Looking ahead of you again, you both make it to the front door, storming out of the house and to the car. While your friend was starting it you both hear the front door slam open, turning your head to the side you see the hybrid rushing out. Your friend gets the car started and hits the gas to go forward. Looking back, you see him chasing the car with.... were those tears in his eyes? No, it couldn't be, he didn't even know you. Finally relaxing in your chair, you lay back and look at your friend and say, "I don't think I am going to go to a party with you for a while." Making eye contact you both start giggling. "I understand completely" she says in between her giggling.

*Time Skip*

You wake up with a raging headache, barley remembering what happened yesterday you groan and sit up. Then you pause as you remember who you saw and ran away from yesterday. A chill goes down your spine and you remember his smile with those pointed teeth. But you snap yourself out of it and say, "He didn't do anything wrong; I shouldn't be scared for no reason." But you can't shake the feeling of fear you felt when you saw him.

Getting out of bed you get ready for work, which you are supposed to be there in an hour. Changing into a cute shirt and jeans you make yourself your (Favorite breakfast). Once you finish your food, you grab your keys and head for the door. Getting in your car you start heading over to the floral shop. Entering the store was a whole dream, all the beautiful flowers and the addicting smells you can't help but smile. Making it to the back your boss greets you and gives you the orders to start the day.

A couple hours later you hear the door open and close, looking up to greet the customer you freeze. "Welc-...." Standing before you was the (at least 6'3) huge hybrid from yesterday. "I have been looking all over for you! Since you left so abruptly yesterday, I tracked down your scent and found you here! I was going to go to your apartment, but I thought that might have been too far." The smile on his face not disappearing, even after you didn't respond and just stared at him.

"You found me by my..... scent??" The sheer surprise you had confused him, his eyebrows furrowing. "Well of course honey, how else would I find you?" ..... Honey?!?!? Why is he calling you that?? Shaking the shock off you respond "Excuse me? I don't know you sir and I don't appreciate being called honey." If it could even be possible his eyebrows furrowed even more, before it looked like he realized something. "Oh dear! I forgot to introduce myself!! My names is Caleb, and I realize this might seem weird for you but... how do I word this.... well you are my mate!" The smile on his face grew 10 times when he said 'mate'

Chills rushed down your spine, and not the good kind. "Did you just say mates? No that can't be, I am sorry, but you have the wrong person." You almost felt bad as his face dropped, but you reminded yourself he basically stalked you to work! "But -" You cut him off, "I am really sorry and I wish you the best of luck finding who you are looking for." Tears started welling in his eyes.

"(Y/N)!" Turning around you see your boss, "Yes, sir?" "Come here right now!" Looking back at Caleb you quickly turn and rush to the backroom. "Wha-" You were cut off, "You need to leave, and take the b-bear with you!" "What si-" "LEAVE! You are gonna make business go down, so take him with you!" "Bu-" You were being shoved out of the room towards a very hopeful looking bear.

"You kids have fun!" Turning around the store door was closed in your face. Turning around to look at Caleb, you turn and start walking towards your car, keeping silent. "Wait!" Your arm was yanked backwards. "LET GO!" "No." He growled with a snarl on his face. "You are going to come with me so we can talk. Don't argue because you aren't going anywhere." Shutting your mouth, you start to walk with him, not wanting to be on his bad side. But you can't stop the small tingle you feel in the spot he touched.

He led you to a black car, opened the door, and gently pushed you inside. Once he got in, he started the car and got on the road. "Where are we going?" you managed to get out in a calm voice. Smiling over at you he replied, "Home of course." You had the feeling that it wasn't your house he was talking about.

*Time Skip*

It seemed like you had been in his car for hours, but it was just 30 minutes. Glancing over at him he seemed very content with a light smile on his face. You realize this might be because he finally has what he has waited his whole life for, his mate. Thinking back, you feel bad you just ran away from him and didn't even give him a chance to talk. Looking at his face you think he is very handsome, and you are surprised you didn't notice before. His jawline sharp, light freckles dusting his face, his shapely nose, and he had longer lashes then you did. "I hope you are pleased with how I look." His deep voice scared you out of your daze. Quickly looking away from you stare at the road ahead of you. Out of the corner of your eye you see him look towards you and say "You are so beautiful. So much better than what I imagined my mate to look like." You felt your cheeks heat up as you take a quick glance at him, luckily, he was looking back at the road.

Now going through an internal debate, you realize you don't feel scared anymore. It was almost like your body was relaxing after being with him and not fighting it. Trying to fight off the feelings you can't help but look over at him and say "Why am I feeling like this?" He glanced at you before turning his eyes back on the road. Looking concerned he said "Feeling like what? Are you feeling ill?" Sighing you say "No I don't feel sick but why do I feel comfortable with you? You basically just kidnapped me." You see a small smile making its way on his face, "It is because we are mates, you don't feel it as intensely as I do, since I have better senses than a normal human. But we were destined to be together it's only natural your body is reacting to my pheromones while your brain might be denying it." He suddenly reached a hand over and grabbed your hand. Tingles exploded everywhere just from that touch. You didn't move your hand away, even though you probably should have. Staring at your intertwined hands you couldn't help it, it just felt.... right.

Not even paying attention to the time anymore it takes you a quick second to realize the car stopped. Looking up you make eye contact with Caled. The smile on his face was so sweet you practically felt yourself melting, those dang pheromones. He turned and got out of the car, gently dropping your hand. You can't help but want to hold his hand again, even after everything. He opened the door for you, gently taking your hand again as you got out. As he went to pull his hand back you held on, refusing to let you go. You could see a big smile formed on his face as he looked at your hands.

Looking up you realize how far you must be from the city; you look at the beautiful cabin house, the log details, and the wrap around porch. The forest surrounding you was just as beautiful. Looking to the side of the house there is a small gravel pathway leading into the forest.

"Welcome to my home, well I guess it's ours now."

Looking at him, the sentence and you lightly pull your hand away from his. There is no way you are going to move in with him after just meeting him.... mates or not. A big frown formed on his face when you pulled away and hurt flashed in his eyes.

"I am not moving in with you. We just met! I don't appreciate being pushed into things. I know nothing about you, and you don't know anything about me."

Stepping back from him just a little. You see a change in his eyes, anger, or frustration? You are not completely sure.

Completely ignoring what you said before he continues on.

"My grandparents built this cabin when hybrids were still outcasts. Then it passed to my parents and now me. My parents built their own house further into the forest and decided I could have this house for my mate when I found her. No one knows about it."

Something flashed in his eyes when he said the last sentence. A chill ran down your spine and not a good one. You didn't like the implication of that at all. Your instincts were screaming to run and you couldn't fight your instincts. Not even giving your brain a chance to think, you bolted.

Running straight into the forest you curse yourself for not wearing running shoes to work today. You heard Caleb behind you shouting something, he sounded desperate and wounded. He sounded far enough away you know you surprised him by running. But you knew he would catch up to you eventually and you could hit yourself for not thinking about it before just bolting. There was a pain that you felt in your chest, but your adrenaline stopped the pain. You jumped over rocks and logs not wanting to slow down or trip. You could hear behind you Caleb was gaining on you and fast. Your legs burning you suddenly change routes. You hear a loud curse behind you and knew you shook him off your tail for just a second. That small victory didn't last long as the back of your shirt was yanked. Your back hitting a soft but solid chest.

You were absolutely winded while it seemed like he didn't even break a sweat. Looking at his face you shrink into yourself seeing a furious look. He had a snarl on his face and his eyebrows were furrowed together. You can't help but whimper slightly and you see sadness flash in his eyes just for a second before going back to anger.

"Where do you think you are going." He growled and you couldn't help but flinch at his tone.

"I was being nice and showing you my home, the one you are going to live in with me. I was going be nice and give you a week to stay at your house before moving in but after that stunt you pulled aren't ever going back."

"I'm sorry!" you practically cry out, shaking with fear. Turning around and grappling onto him, crying into his chest.

You couldn't explain it but the moment you ran it felt like your heart got torn out. But now, next to Caleb, the pain stopped.

"Why do I feel like this?!?!" Tears streaming down your face.

"Why do I want to be next to you so bad? Why did it hurt when I ran away!?"

You feel his muscular arms wrap around you and start rubbing your back. He started cooing and telling you it was ok, and he would explain later. His anger completely dissolving as he realized you felt the same pain he felt when you ran. Like someone just stabbed his heart out. Feeling yourself get picked up, you wrap your legs around his waist, stuffing your face in his neck, and wrapping your arms around the back of his head. You felt yourself calm almost instantly after putting your head in his neck. But the tears didn't stop even if you felt better.

"Let's get you back home, then we can clean up and eat something." He spoke so softly you almost wouldn't believe the anger he held in his voice not even 10 minutes ago.

Relaxing into his body you think to yourself, maybe it wouldn't be to bad if you just stayed with him.

[nocreativityfornames]

I must love being tortured with unrequited love, because why does my brain keep cooking up different ways for Sylus to break nonmc's heart with this trope? Guess I should thanks @comatosebunny09 and her writing of Second Best for this (check it out right now!), because now I'm thinking of this trope with a nonmc who's a dragon, like Sylus.

He finds them through rumours of "the last of the dragon species" being captured and placed to be sold at an upcoming auction, and although he doubts the legitimacy, he goes to check. Sure enough, there they are- broken and bleeding, one wing torn as they tremble in the corner of the cage.

Crazy amounts of money are being put on the line, because dragons were believed to be extinct for centuries now and who wouldn't want to get their hands on the last one? But Sylus is the most fascinated, hopeful, for he'd long ago accepted he was alone grieving the death of his kind. He'd never been more glad to be proven wrong.

Of course, his bid surpasses all others and he gets the "product." But it's not that easy, since he still has to work to get their trust—the trust of a dragon who'd lived in isolation from society their entire existence, and very much acted like an animal still.

Even after showing them his dragon form, it was a struggle for them to allow him close enough to examine their wounds. But Sylus has taken strays before. He thinks of the street cats, used to being mistreated and fending for themselves in a world with no allies. He approaches them with the same gentleness, slowly gaining their trust by just hanging around, silently watching from afar as they eat the food he brought.

It's a slow process, but they go from hiding in the corner of the room to just being weary of him, and then letting their guard down in his presence, eventually allowing him to check on their injuries. And when it becomes clear that he isn't a threat, they start being the one to approach him. "Can I... see your wings again?" And he lets them take in his form a second time, now with more ease. Even lets them touch him when they reach out for his wings and horns.

He essentially teaches them how to be human from then on, and part of him heals with each step, being able to give someone what he never had and had to figure out on his own. Sylus sees them as part of the family he deeply cares for and he treats them as such, unaware that they've been developing feelings all along.

Then she comes around, and he starts putting all his time on her. What Sylus cares about, they do too, but it becomes too much. They rarely ever see him, and the routine that had built over the years is broken by him not being around, shared daily activities that a "complete day" couldn't go without long forgotten.

And they have to hold back from attacking Sylus' human whenever she's around, because just like him, they have urges to feed on the oh so tempting Aether Core. They need to show restraint, but they're not nearly as good as him at doing so, and it's not as though Sylus is around to help them either, with how much time he's investing into better things.

So it's incredibly hard to keep control. Especially when she's so worried about them avoiding her and looking away from her when they talk, nails digging into their palms like they need to escape before something tragic happens. Always so kind and ready to help others—in another life, they think they could fall in love with her, too.

Then it comes the day when they're hungrier than usual. Happens to every dragon, a period of time where they're more insatiable. They do their best to send her away but she keeps on pushing, sweetly wanting to ensure that they're okay. And when she places a gentle hand on their shoulder, they attack.

When the scent of blood rushes through their nose, their stomach churns. They scramble away from where she's bleeding on the floor and cover their mouth, holding back from vomiting as they call the twins. Please, please, please–

To everyone's relief, she ends up okay. Bedridden and still unconscious, but on the way to recovery. But Sylus is furious, and they'd never been a target to his anger before, especially not like this.

So they mostly just stand there quietly as he yells.

"I know but I didn't mean to! I-I'd never hurt her, Sylus. I swear, I couldn't control–"

"Well, if you don't have any self control, then maybe you were always meant to be alone in the first place." His words cut deep, freezing them on the spot.

They didn't know what to say after that, and the relationship that was already broken felt beyond repairing. By the next morning, all of their belongings were gone from the base and they were nowhere to be seen.

[kiyomitakada]

hi everyone so ages ago i translated watari's diary from the movie tie-in material L File No. 15 (sourced from this post by @mikami) but i just realized i never posted it here?? of all places??? so here you go! i recommend reading this translation along with the screenshots from that post since there are pictures that i did not bother actually including.

(spoilers for the live action films!)

---

QUILLISH WAMMY'S DIARY

The following diary was included in the discovered files. It is thought to have been written by Quillish Wammy (who is said to have gone by "Watari" while acting as L's intermediary), but as with the previous files, it contains information of dubious veracity.

May 7, 1973

Recently, I find myself thinking idle thoughts.

The metal I invented, which is superconducting under 28.7°C, is now used in 87% of electrical cables worldwide. It has brought me great wealth. Too much to know what to do with, I feel. No matter how much money I accumulate, there is no way to buy a human life, so I can't imagine any interesting way I could spend it.

May 12, 1973

Today, I had a revelation.

My talents mainly skew towards the sciences, and there are many things I can do with them, but also many things I cannot. But what if I use my wealth and my enthusiasm to raise new talents? Then there will certainly be one or two who can achieve things I cannot. Extremely interesting. To what extent can humans cultivate their talents? This is what I should dedicate the rest of my life to finding out.

I will gather children with talent and intelligence from all over the world — the brain develops very quickly from ages 9 to 13, so children around that age range should work best — and educate them thoroughly. Eventually, I believe, they will be able to change the world. Perhaps I will call the institution Wammy's House.

[Notes on the children]

F: Strong sense of justice, and quick to action — which is why he can make mistakes.

R: Has recently shown interest in astronomy. Has fallen asleep while looking through a telescope before, and thus contracted a cold. Twice.

K: Talented in multiple fields. Has perfectly understood almost everything I teach. I have not yet determined which area she is most skilled in — very exciting.

*1 (T/N: shaky translation): Many researchers have reason to believe members of Wammy's House are referred to by single letters of the alphabet. However, there is no consensus as to what extent these nicknames were used. Some suggest only Quillish Wammy and the person themselves recognized the nickname.

February 23, 1987

Today, I have learned a lesson. Sometimes an overly nurtured talent goes beyond the will of the person who nurtured it. [T/N: I genuinely can't tell if he's talking about the kid raising their talent or Watari raising the kid] K has left Wammy's House of her own volition. This is the first time something like this has happened since I founded Wammy's House. I feel a strong sense of loss.

---

[Notes on the children, 2]

D: Mainly talented in physics. Frequently smashes radio-controlled models, possibly to conduct their own experiments. The degree of destruction is being monitored.

P: Often found with their nose buried in a novel. I think I will try teaching them psychology once they are a little older. It would be nice if they showed some interest in profiling.

L: Invests in stocks. Clearly talented, but so far an unknown variable.

July 10, 1994

Currently, out of all the children, L holds most of my interest.

While he does show interest in existing fields of study, he is even more enthusiastic about using his own methods (adjacent to statistics) to make deductions. Right now, he is spending the most time on criminal investigations. He is working against actual human beings, which is why the cases are so complex and difficult to unravel… He seems immensely fascinated by this.

L, when in pursuit of an objective, is able to immediately determine the necessary information. L. You are my hope.

August 13, 2005

L has selected FBI agent Naomi Misora for the Los Angeles B.B. Murder Cases. It seems he did so in recognition of her bravery and deductive abilities. L dislikes unnecessary physical exertion, since he wants to keep his mind functioning as quickly as possible. Thus, he has to rely on others to act as his agents on the scene. Naomi is reliable.

[A photo of Naomi, along with the text:]

Naomi Misora FBI Investigator Achieved investigator status unusually quickly Specialty: Marksmanship Intelligent and passionate

---

February 26, 2006

I was present at an ICPO conference today. The focus was exclusively on the "Kira case." Criminals all over the world are dying of simultaneous heart attacks. Some members of the public might call this "judgment," but it is murder. L is very intrigued by this new type of crime.

*2: The Kira case, as detailed in the other files, refers to the phenomenon where criminals globally die of simultaneous heart attacks. Rumors flew around the Internet claiming that "'Kira' is our savior and carries out justice," and the name was attached to the phenomenon even though this was not actually proven yet. Since the case affected the entire world and was growing in momentum rapidly, the ICPO's response was necessarily rushed.

March 2, 2006

It seems Naomi Misora and Raye Iwamatsu are now engaged. They are planning to hold the ceremony in Japan. Naomi says she is retiring from the FBI. That took me by surprise.

I am unsure how L feels about Naomi's decision, but he has chosen her for his plan to make contact with Kira. Raye will be the driver. I'm sure Naomi will carry out the plan perfectly. Yes, L's choice is correct. But making a bride approach a murderer… making her groom drive her there…

L. That calmness in you is what I hoped for, what I raised. Still. Is hesitation not an option for you?

March 10, 2006

It's been raining since morning. It's coming down in sheets. I haven't seen such weather for a long time.

L believes there is a 97% probability Kira is in Japan, so we are headed there. Even so… Why did L say something like that? He never says things so sentimental, so unsettling… Could it be that he can see something I can't even imagine lurking in the future of this case? L, why did you say, "I might not be able to come back?" You are only in charge of directing the investigation. There's no reason to think you will come face to face with danger.

The lesson I learned from K is once again swirling in my head. Sometimes an overly nurtured talent will go somewhere I cannot follow…

L. Tell me you weren't thinking straight. Please. Tell me it was just the rain.

---

April 1, 2006

The twelve FBI agents who L ordered to tail the families and associates of the Japanese police have all died simultaneously of heart attacks. …Including Raye Iwamatsu… It was a shock, considering the pattern up to now, that Kira would kill so many human beings who weren't criminals. I think L wasn't able to predict it either.

I tried expressing my condolences to Naomi Misora over the phone, but I couldn't reach her. I am worried.

April 2, 2006

L met the Japanese investigators in person. Starting from now, he will work together with them to advance the investigation. L has never shown his real face to anyone before now. I can feel his anxiety about this case radiating off this decision. Or perhaps it's impatience?

L asked them to call him Ryuzaki.

[Notes on the Japanese investigators]

Soichiro Yagami: Chief of the task force assigned to the "Kira case." Overflowing with a particularly Japanese sense of justice. Trustworthy.

Ukita

Aizawa

Sanami: The only woman on the investigation team. A little too kind.

Mogi

Matsuda: A hot-headed young man. Slightly too presumptuous.

---

April 11, 2006

L is fixated on Light Yagami. He says that the probability of Light being Kira is only around 1% to 3%, but from his behavior, I can't help but think it must be higher. But although I suppose Light is decently intelligent, he's nothing more than a regular college student. To even consider the possibility of him being a mass murderer, there has to be some additional factor — an inconceivable one.

What is it?

Are we fighting against something entirely new?

[A photo of Light, along with the text:]

Light Yagami Student majoring in law at To-Oh University. A prodigy — he has already passed the bar exam. Hates to lose; focuses on winning in everything. His father is the chief of the task force, Soichiro Yagami.

[Memo so I don't forget my orders]

An emergency order from L. Written below so I don't make a single mistake.

Macarons (DALLOMIU) x 12 boxes

Marshmallows (MEIGI-YA) x 12 bags

Donuts (Donkin Donuts) x 12 bags

Black tea (F and N) x 12 cans

Potato chips (Golbee) (specifically BBQ flavor) x 2 bags

[T/N: The potato chips are the type Light eats in The Chip Scene — they're consomme in the original Japanese (both manga and diary) but BBQ in the Viz translation, which I'm going with.]

*3: The Donkin Donuts company shut down all its stores in Japan in 1998. Therefore, this memo conflicts with the range of time in which L and Quillish Wammy were thought to be in Japan. Whether this is a mistake on Wammy's part or an indication that the diary is of unreliable origin is still a topic of discussion.

April 15, 2006

I think the incomprehensibility of what happened today will stay with me for the rest of my life. Naomi Misora shot herself. It was after she told L, "I'll use my own life to prove that Light Yagami is Kira." But Naomi wasn't able to prove anything.

She must have, in her own way, found something confirming her theory. Considering her actions up to now, she wouldn't have made such a declaration without some kind of proof. But she took Light's girlfriend hostage at the museum. She killed her. And then she took her own life. Why would she do such a thing?

It wasn't like her. No matter how I think about it, it wasn't like her. She looked almost… confused, right before her death. Not like Naomi at all.

[Photo of Shiori, a movie-only character!]

Shiori Akino Student majoring in law at To-Oh University. Dating Light Yagami. Possesses a strong sense of justice and articulates her ideals clearly. Postscript: Was shot and killed by Naomi Misora at the Oumei Museum of Art.

*4: Naomi Misora's murder of Shiori Akino and subsequent suicide is the greatest mystery of this case. As Quillish Wammy wrote here, the question "Why did Naomi kill Shiori?" is still entirely unexplained; some have even proposed that it had no connection to the Kira case at all. Also, in regards to Shiori, it bears mentioning that some believe she was dating Light Yagami while others believe they were simply classmates.

---

April 18, 2006

The construction of the Kira Response Building is complete. We will be moving the investigation headquarters there.

[Memo with cutouts so I don't forget]

[T/N: As you can see in the Tumblr screenshots, this page of the diary is entirely filled with cutouts from advertisements showing different parts of L's outfit.]

[picture of jeans]: The feeling of a new working style, a dominating sense of existence — Loose silhouette, straight frame. Its special characteristic is the five pockets it boasts on the front. Two of the pockets are integrated into the seams on the sides for a working-style taste. There is an adjuster in the back so you can adjust the size slightly.

[T/N: I tried for ages to figure out if this meant 5 or 7 pockets total, and then I decided accurate translation of an advertisement for jeans in the tie-in material for a movie spinoff for a 2000s manga wasn't worth this effort.] [No offense, L.]

[picture of sneakers]: A strong impact! Each step brimming with confidence — These shoes are made with the ripstop fabric used in military wear. It won't tear, no matter how much you wear the shoes out. Additionally, the camo pattern is piece-dyed with black and deliberately scuffed, giving it a tasteful finished look.

[picture of white sweater]: It looks good in any season: a must buy item — Silhouette is loose enough to hide the lines of your body. The neckline is also loose, so wearing it is a delightfully relaxed experience. The white color has outstanding compatibility with denim.

[picture of Hyottoko mask] Hyottoko mask

[doodle of white bag]

[picture of a chessboard] CHESS: The definitive version of the battle of minds

---

April 29, 2006

An individual calling themselves "the Second Kira" has sent video tapes to TV stations. Their patterns are clearly different from those of the Kira who has acted up to now. According to L's theory, while the previous Kira needed a face and a name for the murder, this Kira only needs to see someone's face to kill them.

Also, Light Yagami is now part of the task force. Light can't forgive Kira for taking his girlfriend's life. He's burning with determination to solve the case. He really is a smart teenager.

I wonder which L feels more for him: sympathy or competitiveness. Even I can't tell.

*5: In this time period, there were several unexplainable events, documented by the news and TV broadcasts in Japan at the time. For example, several police officers died of sudden heart attacks near the doorstep of the TV station that was broadcasting a message from the person claiming to be "the Second Kira" (including a detective whose name appeared in the earlier "Notes on the Japanese investigators"). It is thought that L's theory that "this Kira only needs to see someone's face [...]," as documented by Quillish Wammy above, was based on this incident.

May 11, 2006

Misa Amane has been arrested under suspicion of being the Second Kira. She is in confinement. The Japanese investigators seem somewhat opposed to this method. L is feeling cornered. It makes me anxious.

[Photo of Misa Amane, smiling in a sleeveless skull-and-crossbones shirt]

Misa Amane Idol There was an advertisement on the bus for fashion magazines with her on their covers. She seems to be a rather well-known figure in Japan.

Postscript: I have acquired Misa's photo albums, CDs, and DVDs as evidence. I passed them to L. L has not informed me of any new data from this analysis, but he has been playing the CD.

---

June 2, 2006

L announced to the investigators that "as of now, I have concluded that Light Yagami and Misa Amane are not Kira."

Light will still stay in the Kira Response Building to help with the investigation. L has accepted this. Could it be that L has recognized that someone else is on his level for the first time? I am happy for him, but also have complicated feelings about this. Is it possible that Light has become L's first-ever friend?

June 9, 2006

The Kira murders continue. L has been chewing his nails more often lately.

L, you should already know this: you do not need to carry the burden of all the world's crimes on your shoulders.

June 26, 2006

Light Yagami's theory may be our breakthrough in the case. His line of investigation has turned up a name: a Sakura TV newscaster, Kiyomi Takada.

[Photo of Kiyomi Takada, smiling placidly on a news channel, hands folded together]

Kiyomi Takada Newscaster for Sakura TV

She became the current face of the news channel EVENING SPOT after her predecessor Saeko Nishiyama's sudden death in a car accident. She quickly began hosting segments supporting Kira. She lives alone in a condo within the city.

---

June 30, 2006

You could say my scientific skills have started to rust, but as an inventor who tries to always think things through logically, I am feeling bewildered. There are "Shinigami," gods of death, who exist in this world. The Shinigami each carry a notebook, which is called a "Death Note." And the human whose name is written in the Death Note will die.

What on Earth? We've been up against Shinigami this whole time?

L was shocked. Unusual for him. But when I saw that surprise on his face, I actually felt relieved. At least Wammy's House — my creation — has not taken the capability for shock away from him.

Death Note: How to Use (Rules) — a partial excerpt

[T/N: Translations mostly copied from the Death Note wiki, with minor edits]

The human whose name is written in this note shall die.

If the cause of death is written within the next 40 seconds (in human-realm units) of writing the person's name, it will happen.

If the cause of death is not specified, the human will simply die of a heart attack.

After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

If the time of death is written within 40 seconds after writing the cause of death — even if the cause of death is a heart attack — the time of death can be manipulated, and the death can go into effect even less than 40 seconds after writing the name.

The note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.

The owner of the note can shorten their own life by using the note.

Even someone who does not own the note can use it by writing a name and thinking of a face, with the same effect as if they were the owner of the note.

After a name is written in the note, it cannot be changed.

The time of death written in the note must be within 23 days (in human-realm units).

July 3, 2006

Misa Amane has been released from the Kira Response Building.

July 4, 2006

The strange situation of a Shinigami coming in and out of the Kira Response Building has continued. I can't help but feel restless seeing a huge, white silhouette wandering about. This Shinigami is not cooperating with us, but isn't trying to hinder us either, it seems.

There have been multiple persistent calls for L to assist with the investigation into Princess Joan's overturned yacht. But L seems uninterested in any other cases right now. I have filed the investigation requests where he won't see them.

---

July 7, 2006

[This entry was translated here by @lunalit-river. I'll copy it over, but please show some love to the original post!]

L.

Was this the outcome of giving you the opportunity to learn? Was it arrogant of me to think that I had given you everything you needed? A genius without parents or relatives, without food or education, a genius who may have had a miserable past. Was I wrong?

L wrote his name in the Death Note.

Was this all for victory? Was this all for justice?

To fight something supernatural like the Death Note, it is true that we must arm ourselves with something that is also beyond human understanding.

It is highly possible that Light Yagami will write L's name in the Death Note. In theory, L must write his name in the Death Note first to prevent Light from doing so.

But don't human emotions have a tendency to refuse to accept the truth and instead hope to twist logic and theory?

L. Don't you ever place your emotions prior to your goals?

L. I never meant for things to end this way. Your talent has surpassed mine, and now you are consuming yourself. But I…

Today I learned F's death. Am I about to lose you, too? I have never felt so powerless as I do now.

L. I am confused. When I established Wammy's House, I might not have anticipated this.

I learned a lot from being with you, L, just as parents learn a lot from their children.

L. Just one sentence is enough. Please tell me you want to live.

L. L…

July 7, 2006

L Lawliet Heart failure Dies 23 days from now, peacefully, in his sleep

---

July 10, 2006

This is the end of the case, isn't it? Everything has been arranged. I will bring Misa to headquarters, and as long as Soichiro Yagami and the other Japanese investigators do as L says, everything should go perfectly. Tonight, the Kira case will be solved.

I have learned from L, who moves towards his goal still, indifferent in the face of death. I too will not waver.

L still has 20 days left. I'll spend them with him. Not because of everything I gave him in his lifetime, but because of everything I deprived him of. I can devote all my time to him now.

L, what do you want to do? You can play silly games, if you want. You can go make friends. If you don't mind my old age, I would gladly be your friend. Or your

Do you want to see sights you've never seen before? Do you want to feel breezes you've never felt? [T/N: He switches to polite speech just for this paragraph. Back to regular now.]

Get up from that way you always sit; let's go outside. Everything I took from you — the small, the inconsequential, the boring things — and the beautiful, dear ones too: let's go find them together. It's okay if you don't have any conclusions to draw. I just want you to have fun. To love the world in front of you. To savor it.

L. That's right. Just like a father and son on holiday.

I've been writing in this diary for forty years. I think I will stop in twenty days. I can't imagine anything I would want to write about, anything I should write about, would happen after that.

Alright. I'd better go and bring Misa over.

This is where the diary ends. The Kira case has been dormant ever since the last entry here.

[honeytonedhottie]

incorporating luxury⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌺

this is a remake from one of my older posts in my newer style, im having a lot of run doing post remakes bcuz its a rly good way for me to display my old work to my newer audience, and add on ofc.

when u think of luxury, oftentimes we tend to think of materialistic things like expensive shopping sprees, expensive trips and brands. and although that is luxury, luxury isnt a solely materialistic thing.

luxury is abundance. luxury can be incorporated thru ur habits, the way that u hold and manage urself etc. u dont have to wait until u reach ur financial goals to live in luxury.

SET STANDARDS FOR URSELF ;

set a high standard for urself and the rest will follow. when u pour into urself the way that should, you'll literally exude luxury. luxury is synonymous with self care. when u care for urself the way that u should, and when u give urself princess treatment everyone else will too. treat urself RIGHT.

if u wanna live in luxury or be a luxurious girlie there are STANDARDS that ur environment should meet, the company that u choose to surround urself with, the thoughts in ur head etc. there is a new standard when u decide to live differently.

DECIDE AND DIRECT ;

once u decide what luxury means to you, direct ur focus towards that thing. for example if luxury to u means convenience and a fresh space, invest in organizational tools that'll make ur life more convenient. invest in candles and cleaning products etc. once u find out what luxury means to you -> direct ur money that way 

the idea behind this basically is whatever makes u feel the most luxurious or whatever adds luxury to ur life, u should identify it and aim to do that thing more often. that way u can familiarize urself with the luxury that u deserve.

BE INTENTIONAL ;

take ur time and slow down. take ur time to rly process and romanticize and enjoy ur life. experience it. give yourself time to sit with ur thoughts and ponder.

be choosy with everything, the people u surround urself with, the foods that u consume, the products that u use etc.

set aside time for urself to breathe and think about things that are interesting to you. also, choose the words that u say with intention, do everything intentionally to truly EXPERIENCE.

ADAPT A MINDSET OF ABUNDANCE ;

think as IF. nothing is too good for u and u only deserve the best that life has to offer so why wouldn't you let urself experience that? change the way that u think and the rest will follow.

MANIFEST things that are favorable to u. dont ever come from a place of lack. so stop saying things like "i can't afford this" instead say, this doesn't serve me right now i can do x,y, and z instead.

DO AFFORDABLE THINGS IN LUXURY PLACES ;

physically place urself in an abundant area. for example, go to a pretty cafe in an affluent area and do some work there, get some tea or coffee. doing so literally puts u in a different space, and around different people.

[vigilskeep]

as a fellow rook de riva player i’m really curious how sol took the whole… house egrativi being founded with the specific intention of taking in orphaned kids to become crows. final nail in the coffin moment for my rook personally

this plot thread was the first and easiest target of my mental rewrites because it just... doesn’t make sense, to me? functionally, regardless of thematically. like, i think it suffers the most obviously from the writers not really getting into how the crow power structure works. crow houses are business ventures that require money and manpower. you can’t just start one with a name and a dream while everyone smiles approvingly. also, you can’t just not have belonged to one in the first place! i spent all game trying to figure out if he belonged to the de rivas or the cantoris or the dellamortes or someone else, and when he started his own house at the end of his arc (again, ???) it was very apparent to me that this is just a misinterpretation that there is a general force of crows and the houses are simply nobility among them. no, somebody paid for your training and they want back on that investment so they own you. also, taking in orphans being your grand new venture for the crows is both insane and doesn’t make sense because the crows already do that as one of their main recruiting strategies. teia cantori is standing right in front of you as the evidence!

my provisional rewrite which i think works fairly smoothly without losing too much is that jacobus & his cousin are the sole surviving heirs of one of the three houses whose talons were killed in the antaam plot in tevinter nights: balazar, valisti, and arainai. (my self-indulgent vote is balazar, because the tevinter nights context of the dynamic with teia and viago is juicy. there’s no real reason for it to be arainai and bringing in that name for no reason would be cruel, but you could definitely cook with it if you really wanted to go for it.) naturally, these kids already have a grudge against the antaam, one that teia and viago are struggling to corral while having to treat them like crow hierarchy equals (iirc a balazar or valisti would actually technically outrank them both), and the elder cousin goes and gets himself killed trying. we’re now forced to operate with one of the four houses present in treviso being led by an even younger grieving child who is obviously a liability. this should be good for paralleling lucanis’ immediate future and highlighting what the crows do to their younger generations. in my most ideal of worlds where the crows are truly crow-ish on screen, maybe you’d have a plot choice with no good answers like...

a) teia would present this option. you decide to take a risk on this kid and believe in him and let him stand on his own two feet, and this actually pays off with sudden help in your fight against the governor like it does in the game. he chooses this idealistic, childish direction for his house where they’re taking in kids who have lost their families like him and it will all be one big family again! and he says some suddenly very nervewracking things about how they’ll understand it’s the best place to be eventually and one of the kids got hurt in the governor’s estate but heir has promised they’ll take care of it and train them all so hard they’ll never lose anyone again. he’s going to make sure of it. you’ll see! they’ll take the best contracts until they’re godslayers just like you! there’s a final shot of him standing very small and very alone. and that’s on you

b) viago would present this option. you decide this kid is too much of a risk to count on while you’re trying to save the city and the world, and maybe you care that he’s also a danger to himself. you back house de riva to forcibly seize jacobus’ house and all its assets to get the job done with, while jacobus himself is locked up out of harm’s way until the fight is over. this route also helps in your fight against the governor, there’s no sudden chaotic helping hand but everything goes smoother and cleaner, and hey, there are no children in the fight, if that kind of thing matters to you. however, all the ferocity of jacobus’ grudges turns on you and viago. he hates you. and letting him loose afterwards and giving back his house would be viago, the most paranoid man in thedas, handing a knife back to someone who wants to kill him. (which is, i suppose, the utmost charitable interpretation of viago’s main reasoning to keep hold of a bunch of assets, but no less true.) so they’re just keeping hold of jacobus... indefinitely. and that’s on you

but that’s me being self-indulgent and making it a bigger choice lmao. in answer to your actual question about my rook rather than this massive tangent, yes it was dizzying to stand there as another child was given full crow status and already planning to train other children. the cycles are cyclinggg