#the way he holds microphones always confuses me

[pucksandpower]

Wildest Dreams

Charles Leclerc x pop star!Reader

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

Warnings: descriptions of an aggressive fan interaction and panic attacks

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

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

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

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

And then it happens.

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

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

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

You freeze.

He’s on the stage. He’s on the stage.

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

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

And then he’s there.

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

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

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

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

This is when everything breaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it happens.

You break.

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

You drop the water bottle.

Your knees hit the stage again.

And then you cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not safe. Not really.

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

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

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

And all you can do is cry.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it doesn’t make any of this easier.

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

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

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

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

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

But then you see it.

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

Your heart stops, just for a second.

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches in your throat, sharp and painful.

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

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

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

You can’t do this. You can’t do this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sit up slowly, chewing your lip.

You could go out. Just this once.

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

You’ll be fine. Right?

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

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

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

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

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

You tell yourself it’ll be easy.

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

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

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

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

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

Then you hear it.

“Wait … is that-”

Your heart stops.

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

“It’s her. I swear it’s her!”

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

They’re already snapping photos.

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

“Y/N! Oh my God!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need to get away. Now.

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

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

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

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

And then-

You slam into something solid.

Or someone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sniffle, peeking at him from behind your hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know Coldplay?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nobody said it was easy …”

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

When you hit the next line together-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he throws you over the side of the yacht.

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

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

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

“That’s not the point!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles shrugs, grinning. “It could be.”

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

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

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

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

Not today.

***

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

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

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

You hesitate for a second, fingers tracing the edge of the notebook. “It’s … a song,” you admit softly. “Or, it’s the start of one. I haven’t written anything in a while, but now I think I’ve got something.” You chew on your bottom lip, a little shy. “I just don’t know where to take it from here.”

He leans in, his shoulder brushing yours as he peers into the open notebook. His eyes skim the lyrics you’ve scratched onto the page.

“He said, ‘Let’s get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds.’”

Charles reads it aloud, slow and thoughtful. “I like that,” he says, tapping the edge of the notebook with one finger. “It sounds like … an escape.”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s the vibe I was going for. But I don’t know what it sounds like — like, I have no idea what the melody would be.”

Charles takes another sip of his wine, studying the words for a beat longer before setting his glass down. Then, without a word, he stands up and heads over to the piano.

You blink, surprised. “What are you doing?”

He glances back at you with a small, playful smile. “Helping.”

He sits down at the piano, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to play a concert. His fingers hover just above the keys, teasing a few notes to test the sound, adjusting the weight of his hands. Then, slowly, he begins to play. The first few notes are tentative, like he’s searching for something just out of reach.

You watch, mesmerized, as he falls into the melody — soft, dreamlike chords that seem to float through the air. It’s gentle at first, and then it starts to shift, becoming something more steady, more certain. He hums along quietly, head tilted, eyes closed, as if he’s feeling his way through it.

After a few moments, he glances over at you. “What do you think so far?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you scoot closer to the piano. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiles, pleased, and keeps playing. “Come here,” he says, patting the spot on the bench beside him.

You slide onto the bench, your thigh brushing against his as you sit down. The music wraps around you like a cocoon, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. Charles’ fingers glide effortlessly over the keys, filling the room with that delicate, hopeful sound.

“Try singing what you’ve got,” he suggests, glancing at you with a look that’s both encouraging and a little mischievous. “I’ll follow your lead.”

You take a breath, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves in your chest. But there’s something about the way Charles looks at you — like he believes in you without a shred of doubt — that makes you want to try.

So you do.

“He said, ‘Let’s get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds.’”

Your voice is tentative at first, but as the melody begins to take shape beneath you, you feel yourself relax into it. The lyrics come more easily now, flowing out in a way that feels almost effortless.

“I thought heaven can’t help me now … nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down.”

Charles smiles as he plays, nodding slightly to encourage you. His fingers never falter on the keys, steady and sure. The notes swell, lifting the words, giving them wings.

The next lines slip from your lips without hesitation, the music carrying you along.

“Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe …”

Charles hums the harmony under his breath, and it sends a shiver down your spine. There’s something magic in the way the song is coming together, as if the music and the words have been waiting all along for this moment — this exact combination of notes and timing and connection.

You lose yourself in the lyrics, the melody unfurling like a secret finally spoken aloud.

“Even if it’s just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha. Wildest dreams …”

The final chords linger in the air, sweet and melancholic, as your voice trails off into silence. For a moment, neither of you moves. The room feels suspended in time, like the last note of the song is still hanging between you.

Charles turns his head toward you, his gaze soft and unreadable. “That,” he says quietly, “was incredible.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the adrenaline of the song still buzzing under your skin. “It felt … right,” you whisper, almost in disbelief.

He smiles, and there’s something in his expression — something tender, something knowing — that makes your breath hitch.

Before you can think twice, Charles leans in.

His lips brush against yours, warm and careful, like a question waiting to be answered. And you answer it, leaning into the kiss with a soft sigh, your hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck.

The kiss is slow and unhurried, just like the song — like you have all the time in the world to figure out where this might go. His hand finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you — no fans, no cameras, no expectations. Just you and Charles and the quiet hum of something new unfolding between you.

When you finally pull back, Charles rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Wildest dreams,” he murmurs, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You smile back, your heart still racing. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Wildest dreams.”

***

The yacht rocks gently on the still water, the evening air warm and soft against your skin. The sky is a canvas of fading oranges and purples, the last light of day slipping into the night. You and Charles are seated across from each other on the yacht’s deck, surrounded by flickering candles, plates of pasta, and a bottle of wine nearly emptied between you.

Charles twirls a forkful of spaghetti, his other hand resting lazily on the table, fingers tracing circles on the wood. There’s an easy silence between you, one that has become familiar in the last few weeks — a silence that speaks more than words sometimes can. The kind where you don't feel the need to fill every gap with conversation because being together is enough.

But tonight, there’s something behind Charles’ quietness — something thoughtful, like he’s working up the courage to say what’s on his mind.

You sip your wine, watching him as he chews on his pasta and glances out at the horizon, his brows slightly furrowed. “What’s up?” You ask, sensing the shift in his mood.

He blinks, almost like you’ve caught him off guard. Then he smiles, a little nervous. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You set your glass down and lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. “That sounds serious.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not serious, exactly. Just … something important.”

You tilt your head, waiting.

Charles exhales softly, the kind of breath you take when you’re gearing up to say something that matters. “The summer break is almost over,” he begins. “In a few days, I’ll be flying out to the Netherlands for the next race.”

You nod, trying to keep your expression neutral, even though the thought of him leaving tugs at something inside you. The past few weeks with Charles have felt like a bubble — something delicate and safe, like you’ve both been hiding from the world together. And now the bubble is about to pop.

He taps his fingers lightly against the table. “After the Dutch Grand Prix … we race in Monza. The Italian Grand Prix.”

You raise your eyebrows slightly, waiting for him to get to his point.

“It’s Ferrari’s home race,” he explains, his eyes flicking to yours. “It’s always a really special weekend for me. It’s … a lot of pressure, but also really meaningful.”

You nod slowly. “That makes sense.”

Charles shifts in his seat, leaning closer to you. “I was thinking … I’d really like it if you were there.”

The words hang in the air between you, delicate and tentative.

You blink, caught off guard. “At the race?”

He nods, studying your face carefully. “As my guest.”

There’s a long pause as you try to wrap your head around the idea. Charles at a race is a public Charles — a version of him that exists under a magnifying glass, scrutinized by cameras and fans and reporters. It’s a world that feels miles away from the quiet, private moments you’ve shared with him on his yacht or in his apartment.

Charles seems to sense your hesitation, because he adds quickly, “You wouldn’t have to interact with anyone if you didn’t want to. You’d have a VIP pass — my personal guest pass. It would get you into places the fans can’t go.”

You bite your lip, your mind racing. “Charles, I don’t know …”

“I get it,” he says softly, reaching across the table to take your hand. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, soothing and patient. “It’s a lot to ask, I know. And I don’t want to pressure you. But it would mean a lot to me if you came.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. This isn’t just about a race — it’s about you being part of something important to him.

“I don’t want to put you in a position where you feel uncomfortable,” he continues. “If it’s too much, we don’t have to do it. But … I think you’d enjoy it. And you wouldn’t be alone. I’d make sure of that.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. The idea of being surrounded by people — fans, photographers, reporters — makes your heart race with anxiety. But then there’s Charles, sitting across from you, his green eyes soft and hopeful, asking you to be there for something that matters to him.

“Would I really have a place to hide if I needed to?” You ask, your voice hesitant.

Charles nods, squeezing your hand gently. “Absolutely. There are private areas for drivers and their guests. No fans, no cameras. And if you want, I’ll introduce you to some of the other drivers — they’re good guys. But only if you want.”

You let out a slow breath, feeling the tension in your chest loosen, if only a little. “Okay,” you say finally. “I’ll come.”

Charles’ eyes light up, and the smile that spreads across his face is so genuine it makes your heart skip a beat. “You will?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah. I’ll come to Monza.”

Charles grins, and before you can say anything else, he’s out of his seat and leaning across the table to kiss you. It’s the kind of kiss that’s filled with gratitude and excitement, a kiss that says thank you without words.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he’s still smiling, like he can’t help himself. “You’re amazing,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You laugh softly, your cheeks warm. “I’m just coming to a race.”

“It’s more than that,” he says seriously, his hand cradling the side of your face. “It means more than you know.”

His words linger in the air between you, and you realize that saying yes to Monza wasn’t just about the race — it was about showing up for Charles, being there for him the way he’s been there for you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, and for a moment, everything feels right.

***

The air around Monza buzzes with energy, a whirlwind of cheers, Ferrari red, and Italian pride. The grandstands are a sea of waving flags and chanting fans, their roars echoing through the paddock even after the race is over. Charles has just crossed the finish line first, and the entire circuit feels like it’s vibrating from the weight of it — Ferrari’s golden boy has won at home.

You watch the celebration unfold from the safety of the private viewing suite Charles arranged for you. From here, tucked away from the chaos, you see the team erupt in joy, mechanics and engineers throwing themselves at each other in wild celebration. The commentators’ voices, crackling over the monitors in the room, narrate Charles’ victory lap with giddy enthusiasm.

“Charles Leclerc wins the Italian Grand Prix! What a race! What a moment for Ferrari!”

You smile softly, knowing how much this means to him. Even from the suite, you can see the glint of happiness in his eyes as he climbs on top of his car, throwing his arms in the air. The crowd chants his name, the fans surging against barriers, trying to get closer to their hero. Charles punches the air and lets out a joyous roar before jumping down to embrace his team.

But your smile is tinged with anxiety. You know what comes next: endless interviews, the champagne-soaked podium, media obligations, and swarms of fans. Part of you wonders if he’ll even have a moment to breathe, let alone a moment to sneak away to find you.

You sit back, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, heart fluttering with a mix of emotions — pride, nerves, and that ever-present thread of uncertainty that’s lingered since you first said yes to coming here.

The minutes crawl by, and you try to distract yourself, fiddling with your phone and glancing every few moments at the screen broadcasting the race aftermath. Charles is still out there, getting pulled in every direction. You watch him hug mechanics, shake hands with journalists, and answer rapid-fire questions while grinning through it all.

He’s in his element. Confident, radiant, unstoppable.

But all you can think about is how much you want to see him.

Just when you’ve convinced yourself to give him space, the door to the suite creaks open — quietly, almost suspiciously — and Charles slips inside, still wearing his race suit, damp and sticky from champagne. His hair is a mess, waves clinging to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed from exertion. He smells faintly of sweat, champagne, and adrenaline, the chaotic mixture of victory.

“Charles?” You whisper, sitting up, startled. “What are you — aren’t you supposed to be-”

“Shhh,” he grins, breathless, holding a finger to his lips. “I escaped.”

He’s like a kid sneaking out of school, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Before you can say anything else, Charles strides across the room and pulls you into his arms without hesitation. You barely have time to react before his lips are on yours — urgent, warm, and full of something that feels dangerously close to gratitude and relief.

The kiss takes the breath out of you. His hands slide up your back, pressing you closer as if he needs to make sure you’re real, like victory only means something if he can share it with you.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel his rapid breathing against your skin. He’s still grinning, like the joy of the win hasn’t even begun to wear off.

“You,” he murmurs between breaths, “are officially my good luck charm.”

You laugh, breathless and dizzy from the kiss. “I think your driving might’ve had something to do with it.”

He shakes his head, eyes locked on yours, a gleam of playful determination in them. “Nope. It was you.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest is undeniable. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” He presses a quick kiss to your temple, still grinning like he can’t help himself. “But I’m right.”

Charles takes a step back, still holding your hand as if letting go might cause you to disappear. “I didn’t want to stay out there without seeing you,” he says, softer now. “I just … I wanted you here, with me, for this.”

Your heart flutters, and you don’t know what to say, so you just squeeze his hand in response.

“I don’t care about the interviews or the photos,” he continues, brushing a stray curl from your forehead. “This is what I wanted. Just this.”

You exhale a shaky breath, overwhelmed by how easy it feels with him — how natural, like you belong here despite all the noise and chaos swirling just outside this room.

He glances down at himself and grins sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m probably disgusting.”

“You kind of are,” you tease, brushing a damp curl off his forehead. “But I’ll allow it, just this once.”

He laughs, low and soft, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans in for another kiss. This one is slower, more deliberate — like he’s savoring the moment, like he knows it’s fleeting and wants to make every second count.

When he pulls back again, there’s a flicker of something more serious in his eyes, something that makes your chest tighten. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For being here. For coming.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you feel a lump rise in your throat. “Of course,” you manage, your voice barely audible.

Charles takes a step back, exhaling slowly as if trying to gather himself. “Come with me to my driver’s room?” He asks, a hint of that playful glint returning to his eyes. “I need to hide for a bit longer.”

You nod, smiling. “Lead the way.”

He slips his hand into yours and pulls you gently toward the door, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one’s spotted him. The halls are buzzing with activity — team members shouting, media swarming — but Charles weaves through the chaos like it’s second nature, keeping you close behind him.

When you reach his driver’s room, he ushers you inside quickly, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

“Safe,” he whispers, grinning.

You barely have time to process before he’s kissing you again, backing you gently against the wall, his hands on either side of your face. There’s a fervor to the kiss now, a kind of desperation that only comes after holding something in for too long.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads pressed together. “I told you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “Good luck charm.”

You laugh softly, still catching your breath. “You really are ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admits, his grin widening. “But I won in Monza, so I think I’ve earned it.”

You can’t help but smile, your heart full in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the chaos of the world outside doesn’t seem so overwhelming — because right here, in this stolen moment, it’s just you and Charles. And that’s enough.

***

Sunlight filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the sheets. The familiar scent of Charles — his cologne, mixed with a hint of sweat from yesterday’s excitement — wraps around you like a cocoon. His arm is slung loosely over your waist, and his chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, his breath warm against the back of your neck. It feels safe. For once, you feel like the chaos of the world can’t reach you here.

And then your phone rings.

The sharp, jarring sound slices through the quiet morning. You groan, disoriented, fumbling blindly on the nightstand until your hand closes around your phone. Charles shifts behind you, murmuring sleepily but not waking.

You squint at the screen. Grace.

Before you can think better of it, you slide your thumb across the screen and lift the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“What the hell, Y/N!” Grace’s voice cuts through the line, sharp and unrelenting. You wince, instinctively sitting up, trying not to disturb Charles as your pulse begins to race.

“What are you-”

“Don’t even start,” Grace interrupts, her tone laced with frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be out in public? Let alone at a Grand Prix? I thought you were supposed to be laying low, taking time to recover.”

Your stomach drops. “What are you talking about?”

“The pictures, Y/N!” Grace huffs. “They’re everywhere — Twitter, Instagram, even some sports blogs. You were at Monza, weren’t you?”

You blink, heart pounding now. “What pictures?”

“The ones of you in the VIP suite, for starters. And a couple from the paddock exit too — probably some fan with a long lens. They’re blurry, but it’s definitely you.”

Your throat tightens. You and Charles had been so careful — at least, you thought you had. You didn’t talk to anyone, stayed tucked away from crowds, and only left his driver’s room when the paddock had mostly cleared out. But now it’s all unraveling.

Grace’s voice barrels on, not giving you a chance to respond. “Do you realize how this looks? You’re out at public events now, so obviously you’re feeling well enough to get back to work. Your team is already asking me when we can restart your tour dates. They think-”

“Grace-”

“-they think this whole thing was just overblown. Maybe you just needed a break, but now you’re good, right? If you’re ready to attend races, you can-”

“Grace, stop!” You blurt, your voice cracking. Your head spins as the walls start closing in. The pressure, the expectations — everything feels like it’s crashing down on you all at once.

You clutch the blanket tight around you, trying to hold yourself together, but the familiar sensation of your chest tightening makes it hard to breathe. It’s happening again — your mind racing, spiraling into the panic you thought you’d escaped.

Charles stirs beside you, sitting up now, his brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice rough with sleep, but the moment he sees the look on your face, he’s wide awake.

You barely register him. Your heart pounds violently in your chest, and your breath comes in shallow gasps. Grace’s voice keeps drilling into your ear, relentless, a never-ending stream of words about tours and schedules and deadlines.

You can’t answer. Can’t breathe.

Charles sees it — he sees you unraveling — and in one smooth motion, he plucks the phone from your trembling hand and presses it to his ear.

“Y/N is busy,” he says, his voice low and firm. “She’ll call you back.”

“Wait, who is-”

Charles doesn’t let her finish. He ends the call with a click and tosses your phone onto the nightstand. Then he’s back at your side, cupping your face in his hands, his touch steady and grounding.

“Hey, hey — look at me,” Charles murmurs, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You try to nod, but the panic is clawing at your throat, making it hard to focus on anything except the tightness in your chest and the overwhelming sense of failure that threatens to swallow you whole.

“Breathe with me,” Charles whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “Come on, just like before. In, slowly … now out.”

His voice is a lifeline, pulling you out of the storm raging inside your head. You grip his wrist like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality and try to follow his lead — inhale, exhale, again and again, until the tightness in your chest begins to ease.

“That’s it,” he soothes, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’ve got this.”

After a few more breaths, the world starts to come back into focus. The sharp edges of panic soften, and the spinning in your head slows to a manageable hum. Charles stays close, his presence warm and steady, as if daring the panic to come back and try again.

When your breathing finally evens out, Charles shifts slightly, but he doesn’t let go of you. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You shake your head, still too raw to explain everything that just happened. But Charles doesn’t push. He just nods, his thumb brushing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

“Don’t,” he says immediately, his brow furrowing. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

You drop your gaze, your fingers twisting nervously in the blanket. “Grace thinks I’m ready to go back to everything. She thinks because I went to the race, I should be able to start working again.”

Charles’ hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together. “And what do you think?”

You swallow hard, guilt prickling at the back of your mind. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready. But what if everyone expects me to be? What if-”

“Hey,” Charles interrupts gently, tilting your chin so you have to meet his gaze. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else expects. You don’t have to do anything until you want to. Not Grace, not your team, not anyone.”

You blink, the weight of his words sinking in. “But what if-”

“No,” he says firmly, his green eyes unwavering. “Listen to me. You are allowed to take your time. You are allowed to say no. And if anyone has a problem with that, they can deal with me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. “You’re going to fight Grace for me?”

“If I have to,” Charles says with a grin. “But I think I’d win.”

The corners of your mouth lift, a small smile breaking through the storm of emotions. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he says confidently. Then his expression softens, and he squeezes your hand. “You’ve been through a lot, mon cœur. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

You nod slowly, the knot in your chest loosening a little more. For the first time in what feels like forever, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to put yourself first.

Charles leans closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Whatever you need, I’m here. No pressure, no expectations.”

The words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. And for the first time in a long while, the crushing weight of other people’s expectations lifts — just a little.

Charles shifts, pulling you gently into his arms, and you curl into him without hesitation, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, a quiet reminder that you’re not alone in this.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs into your hair. “One day at a time.”

And somehow, with Charles holding you like this, you believe him.

***

The familiar opening notes of Cars play softly from the TV, the colorful animation flickering across the screen in the dim light of your apartment. You’re curled up comfortably on the couch, Leo nestled between you and Charles, his small, warm body shifting every few minutes as he tries to snuggle deeper into the cushions. He paws insistently at your hand, his tail wagging whenever you stop petting him.

Charles laughs quietly beside you, clearly amused by Leo’s persistence. “I think he likes you better than me now,” he teases, running a hand through his messy hair and leaning back against the couch.

You smile, scratching behind Leo’s floppy ears. “Maybe I just have better petting skills.”

Charles grins, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. “Unfair advantage,” he murmurs, tilting his head toward the screen as Lightning McQueen barrels into Radiator Springs.

It’s peaceful — easy, even. For the first time in a long while, the constant buzz of anxiety in your chest has quieted. Charles is beside you, Leo’s warm little body sprawled between you both, and the world outside feels far away, like it can’t touch you here.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

Your heart skips a beat. You glance at Charles, who raises a brow but doesn’t seem concerned, probably assuming it’s nothing more than a delivery. Leo lets out an excited little yip and hops off the couch, his tail wagging as he scampers toward the door.

You pull your blanket tighter around yourself, feeling the familiar trickle of anxiety starting to creep back. “Did you order something?”

Charles shakes his head, giving you a curious look. “No. Were you expecting anyone?”

You frown. “No.”

Before you can think to stand or tell Charles to wait, the door swings open — without so much as an invitation — and Grace strides inside, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Grace announces, her tone brisk and no-nonsense. She’s balancing her phone in one hand and a folder in the other, looking like she’s just come from a meeting. “I’ve been trying to call-”

Her voice trails off mid-sentence as she looks up and takes in the scene before her — Leo skittering around the room, the two half-empty wine glasses on the coffee table, and you huddled on the couch in sweatpants and a hoodie.

And then her gaze shifts to Charles.

For a split second, Grace freezes. She stares at him, her mouth opening slightly, confusion flickering across her features. Then she does a sharp double take, and her eyes widen as recognition clicks into place.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, blinking as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. “You’re … you’re Charles Leclerc.”

Charles shifts slightly beside you, offering a polite but slightly awkward smile. “Uh, yes.”

Grace’s eyes flicker between the two of you, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn’t make sense. “You’re … here. In Y/N’s apartment.”

“Yes,” Charles repeats calmly, his tone light but cautious, as if he’s waiting to see where this is going.

You watch the realization spread across Grace’s face, her expression shifting from disbelief to something resembling stunned amusement. “Wait — are you two … together?”

Your cheeks burn under her gaze, and before you can answer — or even figure out what to say — Charles gives a small, easy shrug. “We are,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Grace blinks, visibly thrown off her game. “Since when?”

Charles glances at you, his eyes warm. “A little while now.”

There’s a beat of silence as Grace processes this new information. Then she lets out a half-laugh, half-exhale, clearly bewildered. “I mean … obviously I knew you were in Monaco, but — Charles Leclerc?” She looks at you with a mixture of shock and something close to admiration. “I guess I can’t say I saw that coming.”

Leo prances back toward the couch, demanding attention from both of you again. Charles leans down to rub the little dachshund’s head, his expression calm and unbothered, like this is the most natural situation in the world.

Grace, however, is not one to be easily distracted. She clears her throat and crosses her arms, focusing on you now. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ve been staying under the radar all this time, but now you’re … dating a Formula 1 driver?”

You glance at Charles, who gives you a reassuring look, his hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the blanket. It’s subtle, but the touch steadies you.

“Yes,” you say quietly, meeting Grace’s gaze head-on.

For a moment, she just stares at you, as if trying to decide how to respond. Then she lets out a long breath, shaking her head. “This is … unexpected.”

Charles chuckles softly beside you, clearly amused. “That seems to be the general consensus.”

Grace narrows her eyes at him, though there’s no malice in it — just the cautious protectiveness of someone who cares deeply about you. “And you’re … serious about this?” She asks, her gaze flickering between you and Charles.

“I am,” Charles replies without hesitation. His voice is steady, sincere. “Very.”

The simplicity of his answer makes your heart squeeze in your chest. You glance at him, finding that familiar warmth in his expression — like you’re the only thing that matters to him in this moment.

Grace watches the exchange closely, her sharp gaze softening just a fraction. Then she sighs, pressing a hand to her temple. “Okay,” she mutters, almost to herself. “This is … a lot.”

You shift uncomfortably, the anxiety from earlier threatening to bubble back up. “Grace, I didn’t plan any of this,” you say quietly. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but … I’m happy. For the first time in a long time.”

Grace’s expression softens further at your words, and she lets out a slow breath. “That’s all I care about,” she admits, her voice quieter now. “I just want you to be okay.”

Charles gives her a small, understanding smile. “I want the same thing.”

For the first time since she walked in, Grace seems to relax, her shoulders loosening as she takes in the scene once more — the cozy apartment, the soft lighting, the half-finished movie on the TV, and the way Charles’ hand rests protectively on your knee.

“Well,” Grace says finally, rubbing the back of her neck. “This is … definitely not how I expected this conversation to go.”

Charles chuckles. “Life is full of surprises.”

Grace shoots him a wry look but doesn’t argue. Instead, she gives you a small, tired smile. “I guess if you’re happy … then that’s all that matters.”

You feel a weight lift off your shoulders at her words, the tension easing just a little. “I am,” you say softly, and for the first time in a long time, you truly mean it.

Grace nods, seemingly satisfied — for now, at least. “Okay, well … I guess I’ll leave you two to it, then.” She glances at Leo, who’s now sprawled dramatically across Charles’ lap. “And your dog.”

Charles grins, scratching behind Leo’s ears. “He’s good company.”

Grace rolls her eyes, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll let myself out.”

She heads toward the door but pauses just before stepping out. “Y/N?” She calls softly.

You look up, meeting her gaze.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” she says sincerely. “Really.”

You offer her a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Grace.”

With that, she gives you a nod and slips out the door, leaving you and Charles alone once more.

The room feels lighter now, the tension from earlier dissipating into the warm, easy atmosphere you’d shared before Grace arrived. Charles turns to you, his expression soft and amused.

“Well,” he murmurs, “that went better than I expected.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Yeah. Me too.”

Charles leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Told you — we’ll figure this out. One day at a time.”

And somehow, with him beside you, that feels like enough.

***

The Instagram Live notification pings on Nora’s phone as she sprawls across her bed, scrolling aimlessly.

@yourusername is going live now.

Her thumb hovers over the screen for a second. Nora hasn’t seen a post or update from you in months, and the gossip forums have been buzzing with wild theories — everything from burnout to secret rehab stints. It’s been radio silence since your tour abruptly ended, with no official word on what had happened.

But now you’re back? On Live? Nora’s heart races with excitement and curiosity as she taps the notification, the screen loading just in time for your face to appear.

The video is a little shaky at first, as if you’ve just propped your phone up on something last minute. You’re sitting cross-legged on a couch, wearing a cozy hoodie that looks two sizes too big and barely any makeup.

The person Nora sees looks different from the polished pop star she’s used to — more real. Your eyes flicker nervously between the camera and something off-screen, as if you’re not sure whether this is a good idea.

“Hi, everyone,” you start, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The live chat immediately explodes with greetings.

OMG SHE’S ALIVE

We missed you so much!

Are you okay? What happened?

You smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Uh, I’m not really sure how to do this, but I just … I wanted to talk to you guys. To explain everything.”

The chat rolls by so fast that Nora can barely keep up, but she keeps her eyes glued to the screen, her heart thumping. This isn’t the usual PR-filtered message, it feels personal.

“I know a lot of people have been wondering where I’ve been,” you say, shifting slightly on the couch. “The truth is … I had to step away from everything for a bit. Things got really overwhelming. It wasn’t just one thing — it was a lot, all at once.”

Your voice wavers slightly, and Nora finds herself leaning closer to her phone, feeling the vulnerability in your words.

“The last few months of the tour were … hard. I started having panic attacks. At first, I thought I could push through, you know? Just keep going. But I couldn’t.” You pause, taking a deep breath as if the memories are still too close. “One night, a fan ran on stage, and something in me just … broke. I couldn’t pretend I was okay anymore.”

The chat slows slightly, the flurry of emojis replaced by supportive comments.

It’s okay, take your time.

We’re proud of you for talking about this.

We love you no matter what.

Nora can feel the wave of empathy through the screen. She has always admired you for your strength, but this — seeing you raw and open — makes her respect you even more.

“I know I kind of disappeared,” you continue. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I just needed time to figure things out … away from the cameras, the shows, everything.” You smile sadly. “And that’s why I didn’t say anything earlier. I wanted to come back when I was ready, not when someone told me I had to.”

The chat fills with heart emojis, and Nora finds herself tapping one as well, caught in the warmth of the moment.

Just then, there’s movement in the background. Someone off-screen calls your name, the sound muffled at first. The camera wobbles slightly as you turn your head.

“Hang on a sec,” you say with a small laugh, glancing toward the doorway.

The viewers — Nora included — watch with curiosity as a figure steps into the frame. A man in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he’s just woken up from a nap.

Nora’s eyes widen. Wait. No way.

It takes a second for the recognition to sink in, but when it does, the chat explodes.

WAIT IS THAT CHARLES LECLERC?

OMG WTF IT IS HIM

Y/N AND CHARLES?! HOW?!

Charles strolls into the room casually, clearly unaware that you’re on Instagram Live. Leo scampering at his feet, barking happily.

“Do you want pasta or pizza for dinner?” Charles asks, his voice soft with that unmistakable Monaco accent.

You let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I’m … I’m on Live right now,” you whisper, as if trying to warn him.

Charles blinks, his gaze shifting to the phone propped up in front of you. His eyes widen slightly, but then he gives a sheepish grin, as if to say, well, the damage is done now.

“Oh,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hi, everyone.”

The chat is in chaos.

CONFIRMED. THEY’RE TOGETHER.

I CAN’T BREATHE WTF

LEO FOR PRESIDENT!

Nora can’t believe what she’s seeing. Charles Leclerc — Ferrari’s golden boy, Monaco’s favorite son — standing casually in your apartment, talking about dinner like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You give him a look that’s equal parts amused and mortified. “You just outed us to the entire internet.”

Charles chuckles, completely unfazed. “Oops.”

Leo, as if sensing the excitement, jumps onto the couch beside you and wiggles his way onto your lap. You scratch behind his ears, looking between the dog, Charles, and the phone as if wondering how this all escalated so quickly.

“Well,” you say with a helpless shrug, “I guess … surprise?”

The chat is relentless now, a mix of fans freaking out, congratulating you both, and demanding answers.

HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING?

THEY’RE SO CUTE TOGETHER I CAN’T 😭

DO YOU NEED A THIRD?

Charles leans over the back of the couch, peeking at the comments on the screen. “They seem happy,” he observes, his lips twitching with amusement.

“Yeah, well, they’re also never going to let us live this down,” you mutter, but there’s no real annoyance in your voice — only fondness.

Charles smiles, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Could be worse.”

Nora can’t help but grin at the interaction. It’s rare to see celebrities in such an unguarded, domestic moment, and the fact that it’s you and Charles Leclerc makes it even more surreal.

“Well,” you say, addressing the camera again, “I guess now you know. This is Charles. Charles, meet … everyone.” You gesture vaguely at the phone, and Charles gives a small, amused wave.

“Ciao,” he says with a playful grin.

The chat is relentless with heart-eye emojis, fire emojis, and messages about how happy everyone is to see you smiling again.

“Okay,” you say, glancing between Charles and the phone, “I think that’s enough excitement for today. Thanks for listening, and … thanks for being patient with me.” Your expression softens. “It means more than you know.”

Charles leans in again. “So … pasta or pizza?” He asks quietly, his voice just for you.

You laugh, the sound light and free, as if the weight on your chest has finally lifted. “Pasta. Definitely pasta.”

With one last smile to the camera, you reach for your phone. “Okay, we’re going to make some dinner. Love you guys. Talk soon.”

And just like that, the screen goes black, leaving Nora — and the rest of the internet — in stunned, delighted disbelief.

***

The energy at the Australian Grand Prix is electric, a swirling mass of noise, speed, and anticipation. The grandstands vibrate with thousands of cheering fans, the scent of burnt rubber and adrenaline thick in the air. It’s the first race of the season, and the world’s eyes are locked onto Melbourne’s Albert Park Circuit. But right now, all you can focus on is Charles.

You stand behind the barrier with the Ferrari team, the red-clad crew surrounding you as they watch the final lap on a sea of screens. Your heart thunders in your chest, each corner of the circuit feeling like a heartbeat skipped. It’s not just nerves — it’s pride, excitement, and a flicker of disbelief. Charles is about to win. The lead he built throughout the race holds steady as he tears through the last straight, the commentators’ voices booming through the loudspeakers, growing more frenzied.

“Charles Leclerc comes through the final corner … and wins the Australian Grand Prix!”

The Ferrari pit wall explodes into wild cheers. Engineers and crew members throw their arms in the air, shouting and hugging each other. Flags whip through the air, and the roar from the grandstands becomes deafening. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your hands clutched together, knuckles white with tension.

“He did it!” Someone from the team shouts beside you, their voice almost drowned out by the collective noise.

You can’t help but laugh, a giddy, breathless sound that surprises even you. There’s something surreal about witnessing it all — seeing Charles cross the finish line and knowing how much this win means to him. It’s the perfect start to his season, and part of you is so proud that you feel like you might burst.

Charles brings his Ferrari to a screeching stop in parc fermé, right beside the boards marked P1. Without missing a beat, he jumps out of the car, tearing off his helmet as the crowd erupts again. His face is flushed with triumph, damp with sweat, and his grin stretches wide, full of unbridled joy. He climbs onto the nose of the car, throwing his arms in the air to soak in the cheers and applause.

You feel your chest swell, warmth blooming from within at the sight of him — your Charles, victorious, on top of the world.

Then it happens.

He jumps down from the car, his eyes searching the crowd. He’s supposed to go be weighed in. The cameras are supposed to be on him for the formal celebrations. But Charles doesn’t care about any of that. As soon as his gaze locks onto you, standing among the throng of Ferrari team members, everything else fades for him.

He takes off running.

“Wait-” someone from the team starts to say, confused by Charles’ sudden sprint.

You freeze as he barrels toward the barrier, helmet still in one hand, the other hand brushing through his tousled hair. Your heart slams against your ribs as you realize what he’s about to do.

“Charles-” you start, but it’s too late.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t hesitate. In front of everyone — Ferrari, journalists, FIA officials — Charles sprints towards the barrier in a few smooth steps, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. And before you can even react, he’s cupping your face with both hands and kissing you.

The world falls away.

The crowd’s noise becomes a distant hum as Charles’ lips press against yours, firm and desperate, like he’s been waiting all race to get to you. His hands hold your face as if he never wants to let go, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. The kiss is everything — celebratory, intense, and filled with a raw kind of joy that makes your knees weak.

For a moment, you forget where you are. All you know is Charles — his familiar scent, the roughness of his jaw, and the way his lips move against yours, like he’s trying to pour every bit of emotion into this one moment. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands gripping the front of his race suit, pulling him closer.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Charles’ forehead rests against yours. His grin is impossibly bright, and the look in his eyes makes your heart flip.

“Hi,” he whispers, his voice low and full of laughter, like he can’t believe he’s standing here with you after all of it.

You laugh, trying to catch your breath. “Hi.”

Around you, the team starts cheering again, even louder this time. Someone whistles, and another engineer yells, “That’s our boy!” as if Charles’ kiss is part of the victory itself.

It’s then that you realize what just happened. You glance over Charles’ shoulder and catch sight of the cameras — the journalists on the other side of the barrier, the fans in the grandstands with their phones raised. The internet is about to explode.

“Charles,” you murmur, half-laughing, half-panicking, “everyone saw that.”

“I know,” he says, his grin widening. He doesn’t look the least bit sorry. “Let them.”

You shake your head, but a laugh escapes you anyway. There’s no point in worrying about it now. The moment has already happened, and — surprisingly — you don’t regret it.

Charles pulls you into another hug, squeezing you tight against him. His suit is thoroughly damp with sweat, but you don’t care. All you care about is the way he holds you, the way he whispers, “Thank you for being here,” against your hair.

“You didn’t make it easy to say no,” you tease, your words muffled against his chest.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You know me. I never play fair.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His green eyes are warm and shining with happiness, and for a second, everything feels perfect. The noise, the cameras, the crowd — it all fades into the background, leaving just the two of you standing together in the aftermath of his victory.

Someone from Ferrari taps Charles on the shoulder, reminding him that he still has obligations to do. He groans, clearly reluctant to leave your side, but you give him a gentle nudge.

“Go,” you whisper. “I’ll be right here.”

He kisses you one more time, quick and soft, before finally turning toward the waiting media. As he jogs back down the pit lane, the crowd cheers even louder, the energy electric with both victory and the revelation of your relationship.

You stand behind the barrier, watching as Charles throws his arms around his team and gets swept into the celebrations. A part of you knows that the media frenzy is only just beginning — that by the time you check your phone, social media will be ablaze with photos and speculation.

But for now, none of that matters. All that matters is the way Charles looked at you, like you were the most important person in the world.

And as the Monegasque anthem plays over the speakers and champagne sprays into the air, you smile, knowing that this — this moment — is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

The stadium hums with anticipation, a low buzz of excitement rippling through the crowd as thousands of fans fill every seat. The lights are dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of phones peppering the darkness. It’s been well over two years since you last stood on a stage, and tonight marks the beginning of your long-awaited comeback tour.

Your heart thrums in your chest — not from nerves, but from exhilaration. This is the moment you’ve dreamed of, the one you thought might never come.

Backstage, you take a deep breath. The setlist is memorized, the band is ready, and the stage awaits. But there’s one song you’ve kept secret until tonight. One that means more to you than anything you’ve ever written. And Charles — your Charles — is somewhere in the audience, waiting to hear it for the first time.

The stage manager gives you a nod, signaling it’s time. The lights drop completely, plunging the arena into black, and the crowd erupts into cheers. You walk onto the stage, the soles of your boots vibrating against the platform as the energy of thousands of voices surrounds you. You step into the spotlight as the first few notes hum through the speakers.

The crowd’s roar crescendos as they finally see you, and you offer them a soft smile. Then you lean toward the microphone, your voice amplified but intimate, as if speaking to an old friend.

“New York,” you begin, grinning as the crowd cheers even louder at the mention of the city’s name. “Thank you for being here with me tonight. I’ve waited a long time for this moment, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be back on this stage.”

The crowd roars, chanting your name, the sound enveloping you like a warm embrace. You pause for a beat, your hand resting lightly on the mic stand. “For those of you who’ve been with me from the beginning … you know it hasn’t been an easy road. But here we are, and I feel more alive than I ever have.”

A wave of cheers crashes over you again, and you feel your heart swell in gratitude.

“Tonight,” you continue, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I want to do something a little special. I’ve got a song — one you’ve never heard before. I wrote it for someone very important to me.” You pause, your gaze sweeping over the crowd, imagining Charles out there somewhere, hidden among the sea of faces. “This one’s called The Alchemy.”

The arena erupts into applause and whistles, the fans feeding off your excitement. The band strikes up the first few chords, a shimmering pulse of sound that builds slowly. You close your eyes for a moment, feeling the rhythm settle in your chest. And then you start to sing.

“This happens once every few lifetimes. These chemicals hit me like white wine …”

Your voice is clear and powerful, carrying through the stadium with ease. The crowd sways along, captivated by the song even though they’ve never heard it before. The verses flow effortlessly, the words spilling from your heart as if they were written only yesterday.

“What if I told you I'm back? The hospital was a drag. Worst sleep that I ever had …”

The memory of those dark months flashes briefly in your mind, but you push it away. That’s not where you live anymore. This song isn’t about what you lost — it’s about what you found.

As the music builds, your thoughts drift toward Charles, and a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you reach the next verse.

“So when I touch down, call the amateurs and cut ‘em from the team. Ditch the clowns, get the crown. Baby I’m the one to beat …”

The crowd catches onto the energy, cheering as if they know exactly who you’re singing about. And then, at last, you reach the line that you’ve been holding close to your heart since the day you wrote it — the line meant just for Charles.

“Where's the trophy? He just comes runnin’ over to me …”

The audience erupts, but you barely hear them. You can only picture Charles, the memory of him bounding over the barriers in Melbourne, high off a win and still drenched in sweat, just to kiss you in front of everyone. That moment plays like a movie in your mind, the emotion of it surging through your voice as you sing.

The song carries on, the lyrics unfolding like pages in a story — your story. The fans are swaying, waving their arms in time with the music, some already singing along despite hearing the song for the first time. You feel weightless, completely immersed in the moment, knowing that Charles is somewhere out there, listening.

As you belt out the final chorus, the band swells around you, lifting the song to its peak.

“Cause the sign on your heart said it’s still reserved for me …”

Your voice soars over the crowd, and when you sing the final line, your heart feels like it might burst.

“Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?”

The song ends, the last note lingering in the air before the crowd explodes into applause. The stadium feels alive, vibrating with energy, and for a moment, you just stand there, basking in it. This is what you missed — the connection, the joy, the sense of belonging.

You step back from the mic, catching your breath, and glance toward the side of the stage. There, just out of sight from the audience, you spot Charles. His arms are crossed over his chest, a proud grin stretching across his face, and his eyes gleam with something that looks a lot like love.

You give him a small, almost shy smile, and he mouths the words, “I love you.” Your heart swells, and for a second, everything else fades — the lights, the noise, the crowd. It’s just you and Charles, exactly where you’re meant to be.

Turning back to the audience, you grin and raise a hand in the air. “Thank you, New York!” You shout into the mic, and the crowd roars in response.

You can feel it in your bones — this is just the beginning. The tour, the music, the life you’ve rebuilt. And Charles will be with you every step of the way.

As the next song begins and the crowd’s cheers grow louder, you glance toward the wings again. Charles is still standing there, watching you with that same proud, loving smile.

And you know, without a doubt, that the alchemy between you two is something no one could ever fight.

[fancyfeathers]

Mother!Reader and Bruce are relaxing on a couch. (Much to her discomfort.) Daughter!Reader comes running in carrying a raccoon calling it her "Son". Mother!Reader: Sweetheart where did you get that? Bruce: ... The rest of the batfamily comes running in because what does she mean "son"?! Only for them to see Daughter!Reader holding a raccoon that is eating the bacon she didn't eat that morning at breakfast. Even worse for them, she doesn't let Damian pet her "son", and she makes Dick buy baby diapers for her "son" because her "son" can't be having accidents around the house. The paparazzi catches Daughter!Reader at a gala and soon the news crew come running over too. Gotham Daily Times: Ms. Wayne what is this new exotic pet of yours? Daughter!Reader: Ah, Wayne is not my last name, (whatever last name of theirs) is my last name. But, um, this is Wally. He likes to run really fast around me, say hi Wally. (Cut to her holding her son, Wally, up to the microphone of the reporter only for him to sniff it.) Gotham Daily Times: Well, Ms. (last name) has just confirmed a raccoon, her "son", named Wally is officially her pet. Can she out beat Bruce Wayne's son Damian Wayne in hoarding exotic animals? We shall see next time on Gotham Daily Times news channel nine. The speedsters watching from central city: Wally? Because he likes to run fast? ... Someone call Batman how does she know our identities.

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

I LOVE FERAL DAUGHTER!DARLING!!!!

Love the idea of her being an absolute menace when it was just her mother raising her and Bruce having no idea what he is getting himself into with this.

Like it was when she was playing out in the garden in the morning, perhaps even the morning right after the wedding, there is no real honeymoon besides on paper at Wayne Enterprises since Bruce is still the Batman. The two of them are just getting up, after the kids have had had breakfast together and Mother!Darling is literally about to tell Bruce about her daughter’s rather… playful behavior-

“Mama! Mama! Look what I found!”

She already feels like laughing when she hears her daughter’s overeager voice and the bedroom door opens with her daughter running in with her holding something in her skirt and-

“This is my baby! I found him in the yard, I think his mama is dead…”

Her daughter holds up a baby raccoon while Bruce is half way through tying his tie.

“Can we keep him?”

“Of course, little love.”

“Dear-“

“You have something to say, Bruce?”

Well played, if Bruce was to say no now it would break her heart and set everything off on the wrong foot. When she runs out of the room she looks over at him with a knowing glance, she may have been fired into a marriage, but he will feel the consequences of his actions…

“I suppose I forgot to tell you about her… mischievous habits, you will get used to it eventually, and no, there is no taming her, do not try.”

Jason does not understand why she wants it around, it’s a raccoon in Gotham, a baby but still, but hey if it makes her happy and even slightly annoys Bruce, he is fine with it.

Dick is fine with it? He is just confused as of why, I mean if his little sister wants a pet she gets a pet, but why no a cat, dog, or even something like a ferret, but a raccoon? Alright, he’ll ask Babs if she can find any books on exotic animal care and he will take her to the pet store with Damian to pick up supplies-

What does she mean Damian can’t come? When they are little, she is terrified of him, honestly she is always terrified of him. Why would she let him anywhere near her pet when his stare makes her feel daggers. She is holding her baby raccoon away from Damian, and his pets, Alfred the Cat, Titus. Damian is pissed and very well could go whining to Bruce about it.

Then Tim is just freaked out by it, but when he is sitting the furtherest from his new sister and her new pet in the living room and everyone is suggesting names…

“How about Wally? Dick what do think?”

“Ya, he definitely reminds me of Wally.”

“Who’s Wally?”

“Don’t worry about it, lovebug.”

But then this naming choice certainly backfires when Wally West comes running (literally) to Tim about it, at first he is panicked about it but then he sees her playing with the raccoon and-

“Fuck… I hate that you’re not wrong about that.”

Though this situation only escalates over the years when she finds other animals, a husky puppy her father suggests to name Clark, a baby owl named Diana, a hummingbird named Roy, and cats named Barry and Connor.

[obxsummer]

snow angel // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

summary: the zoning hearing was already in the kooks favor, but they make sure to really dig deep in the wound. jj's faced with the ugly realization that luke maybank will always be a piece of shit, and sarah's there to talk you off a ledge when john b can't.

warnings: oh no not the ultima!, crash out rage, reader pushes john b, cursing, shoupe..... being nice?

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything or support me via a ko-fi

--

City Hall was more packed than you had anticipated. Apparently John B’s plan had worked, which led to the group of you being surrounded by somewhat familiar faces in the small room. 

“I want to remind everyone to maintain civility and decorum throughout the rest of these proceedings,” The mayor reminded as the session resumed after a small break. You sat next to Sarah with JJ on your other side, the latter squeezing your hand in his. “We’re one island. Why don’t we all try to act like it? Any disruption will warrant expulsion and potential charges.”

You glanced at JJ, trying to communicate silently that he needed to take that seriously. You guys needed all the help you could get right now and if he acted out, it would be another nail in the coffin.

“Without further ado, we’ll start with our council members, beginning with Council Member Lawrence.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mayor. Agenda 8A, ordinance 31, zoning for the property located at the end of Roger’s Point Road. Uh, Mr. Mayor, we have a resolution from the town of Pelican expressing support for the rezoning of multi-use land on the east side of the island, including the aforementioned Roger’s Point Road property.”

Confused glances were shared amongst your group, realizing you might not even get a chance to defend your home. 

Pope leaned in, “Did he just say they already had a resolution?”

The question went unanswered as the council member continued, “The council is voting to recommend allocating the amount of $60,000 to begin to transition that said property…”

The sound faded from your ears as you stared ahead blankly. As much as you wished you could say you didn’t see this coming, the whole town was practically against you since day one. 

“....beginning with a representative from the occupants of the Roger’s Point property, which used to be the Maybank property.”

Your hand clamped on JJ’s flannel collar instantly, holding him down in his seat before he had a chance to go up there and rage on everyone. He tried to move out of your hold before your other hand moved down on his thigh to keep him in one spot. 

Looking past Sarah, you made eye contact with John B. “Go.”

Your brother pointed at himself in confusion, likely anxious to go speak before the rest of the group voiced their agreements. Cheering followed as John B stood up, making his way over you and JJ to walk up to the podium that was in the center of the room.

“Yeah, John B!”

“Alright! Let’s go!”

You let a rushed breath escape between your lips and loosened your grip on JJ’s hoodie but kept your hand on his thigh. He clapped loudly as your brother tapped on the microphone before the room quieted per the mayor’s request.

“Please state your name for the record.”

John B anxiously tapped his fingers against the wooden stand in front of him. “I am John Booker Routledge.”

More applause followed his statement before it was hushed again, the room open for your brother to speak.

“Look, I’m… I’m not a lawyer, by any standard… but honestly, this doesn’t make any sense. I mean, we bought the property at auction, and we have a fully functioning business and have had for some time. And-and now you have a motion for rezoning on our property? And if it passes, we lose our business. And we lose our home.”

“Because of some bullshit!” “The fix is in!”

“This isn’t fair!”

“They’ve got a right!”

You glanced around at the crowd who was starting to get to their feet in frustration. JJ grabbed your hand from his thigh and tightened his grip, the first sign his emotions were heating up. The mayor banged his gavel in attempts to calm the courtroom.

“Sit down, let him speak, and shut the hell up!” 

Once the room quieted down, the mayor motioned for John B to continue. “Mr. Routledge you can continue.”

John B looked down at the podium and you could see him taking calculated breaths to keep his nerves calm. Your brother was never the best at public speaking, but he’d been a leader his whole life, and you had full confidence in him to represent you in any instance.

“As most of you know, myself, my sister, and Sarah, we lost our fathers last year. All we are trying to do is rebuild a home. That’s it. Sir, with all due respect, we’re not looking for a handout. We just want to keep our home, alright?”

The rowdiness erupted as frustration seeped into John B’s words. It was obvious the Kooks were on the opposing side of the room with the way they were all glowering and sitting. One man got to his feet, asking to interrupt whatever John B was getting at. 

“Excuse me, excuse me. May I speak?” When the mayor gave his approval, the man continued, “There seems to be a misunderstanding. Okay? And I think I can clarify.”

JJ groaned loudly as Mr. Zeasy, the realtor who approved this whole shitshow, tried to walk up to the stand.

“Mr. Routledge, you have the floor. Are you willing to let Mr. Zeasy speak?”

Your brother leaned closer to the microphone, annoyance clear on his face. “If you can explain it a little better, Dale.” John B took a step back to let him move forward, giving him the opportunity. 

“So, what the, uh, current occupants of the land don’t seem to understand is that there is an injunction to invalidate the most recent sale.”

Your attention flipped to Pope immediately. “What does that mean? Invalidate it how?”

“There was a pre-existing promissory note from the original owner that was in the process of being finalized when the land auction took place.”

You whispered toward JJ as the crowd booed in response, “Your dad?”

“The bank wasn’t legally allowed to go to auction. We have a promissory note right here from the original owner, signed before the auction, and finalized by Judge Holden.”

“That’s impossible,” You continued to argue quietly. “Your dad was gone way before we got on that ship, there’s no way he signed it.”

“That means our sale was invalid,” Pope explained as he grabbed your elbow to get your attention. “They faked the date. How can they even do that?”

You shook your head, the lump in your throat growing with each second.

“Where is the original owner? And can he validate the authenticity of this document?”

Dale spoke up again. “Yes he can. He’s right here.”

The world spun beneath you as you turned around to see Luke Maybank stand from his spot in the back of the room. He still looked like the same piece of shit when you’d last looked at him

“What the hell?” You were on your feet instantly, glaring daggers at the man who’d taken so much from someone who you adored. “He’s a wanted criminal! He should be in jail!” Your arguement fell upon deaf ears as the crowd yelled equal protests. 

“Isn’t it obvious? He signs the promissory note, and in exchange he gets amnesty,” Pope huffed and fell back into the bench, his hands pulling at his hair. 

“Now, hang on. Unless I’m very mistaken, when this all shakes out, you nice young people will be compensated of course. And, and… hold on! The land will be a club for all!”

Your hands pressed against your ears tightly, hoping all the noise would fade away into nothing. This was so unfair, so fundamentally wrong of this town in so many ways. The Kooks would win, every time, because everything came down to politics and money. Everything.

“After they do it to us, they’re gonna do it to all of you!” Kiara shouted as she moved from her seat up to where John B was standing. “This is theft!”

You didn’t realize JJ was missing from next to you until Sarah was grabbing your elbow and pulling you back to reality. The crowd was becoming unruly and glass shattered somewhere in the room before you caught sight of JJ’s blond hair.

Your jaw dropped as he body slammed a police officer to the ground, a broken window close by telling you your boyfriend was crashing out harder than you anticipated. 

Shifting out of Sarah’s grip, you glared at Luke with a look that could kill and reached to grab JJ from the ground. “Hey, hey!” You grabbed his neck and leaned forward to kiss him quickly as people started shoving from behind. “Go! Be careful!”

A cop burst past you just as JJ took off, the two of them tumbling down the stairs of City Hall. More cop cars pulled into view with officers rushing from every angle. Sarah finally got her hold back on you to move out of the way. 

“What the fuck!” You screamed as they slammed JJ on the hood of the sheriff cruiser. You’d lost sight of Cleo and Pope, and there was no way in hell you were letting Sarah continue to get pushed around with her possible pregnancy. Grabbing her hand, you tugged her arm to get outside of the room and into the sunshine as people stormed around you. Other teens took the attacking the new police vehicles, someone jumping on the cruiser JJ had just been shoved in. 

“John B!” Your voice cracked with the force of your yell. Your brother was lost in the crowd, likely keeping hands off Kiara in the mass of people. 

“He’s over here!” Sarah pulled your hand to where you could see John B crowding the tail end of the car as Cleo kicked out the back windshield. You didn’t have time to be shocked and reached forward to grab the hood of JJ’s jacket while your friends helped pull him out of the glass covered surface. 

“Go!” Your brother shoved JJ’s chest and moved him away from you as Pope yelled to run. “Get out of here!”

You caught JJ’s gaze long enough to see how scared he was before he took off without another word. 

“Shit!” There wasn’t time to follow him before John B’s arms were wrapping around your waist and tugging you out of the way of an oncoming brawl. “Come on,” John B let go of you with one arm to grab Sarah’s hand. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

Pushing your brother’s arm off, you started running in the general direction that JJ had taken off, figuring he was heading into town since it would be empty from the crowd here. Your muscles burned as you continued to push yourself further. Your name echoed behind you as you gained a lead on your friends, your mind only set on finding your boyfriend and getting the hell out of here.

—

JJ was always an athletic person, but shit, he was running for sure. Your pace slowed eventually as you approached town, chest burning for a break. 

Turning the corner, you slowed at the sight of broken car windows, store doors shattered, and flames building from the electrical poles. You couldn’t see any sign of JJ, and the growing crowd wasn’t helping you narrow down where he could’ve been. Glancing around, you realized the power was out, and you prayed he at least managed to accomplish that first to take out any cameras nearby.

Shoupe was yelling into his walkie for all units, claiming the whole town would get looted any minute and he would need backup. 

A dirt bike nearly clipped you in the side before you realized you were in over your head and needed to move. You cursed under your breath, moving along with the crowd to blend in before you were ahead of them all. Without anyone to stop him, JJ wouldn’t hesitate to wipe the whole town out if he could. It was a perfect misplaced aggression, and the fact that other Pogues were joining in would only fuel him.

You tried to rack your brain for where he would go next: the house was off limits, it was too obvious. Kie’s dad wouldn’t hide him at the Wreck and there was no doubt anywhere on Figure Eight had cameras. 

“He went that way!” You turned at the sound of a voice, a girl you’d recognized from the bonfires pointing in the general direction of the rental estates down the street. You nodded, barely giving her a thank you before you were running again in hopes of catching up to JJ.

Evidently, he was making enough of a scene that the cop cars were rounding the corner and following your path to catch up to him. You ducked into the trees along the road, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as you ran alongside them until you landed on the vacation real estate side of the island. 

All of the Kooks with vacation homes ran their offices on the same road, and you had a good feeling you knew which one JJ would be hidden in. Before you had a chance to get ahead of the situation though, a handful of cop cars had surrounded the office, effectively cutting off your opportunity to get to JJ first. 

You took a deep breath, praying he could level his head out enough to make the right decision and keep himself out of harm enough until you could get to him. You pulled your hood up on your head and started in the direction of the building. 

“Stop, stop!” John B knocked you off course a second later, his hand wrapping itself around your sleeve to yank you to a stop. You panicked, knowing your brother would do anything it took to keep you safe, including letting JJ run wild.

Heaving for air, you shoved him away a little harsher than you’d intended. “Get off of me! They’re going to kill him!”

“Hey!” John B stumbled back with the force of your action, eyes widening in surprise before he steadied himself. “You’ve gotta calm down.”

You shook your head, body practically bouncing with adrenaline and glanced at the series of lights behind you. “I need to talk to him, okay? You don’t understand, he’s gonna-”

“I know!” John B took the chance to reach forward and hold your shoulders. “We’re going to get him, but you cannot lose it on us. Not right now, okay?”

Your brother read your expression like a neon sign. You were terrified, and you were right behind JJ’s crashout if he didn’t reel you in this second. John B knew you and JJ felt everything so strongly, and it was getting even deeper when you were together. The two of you were weirdly connected, like a radiating ball of chaos, as John B would call it. Whatever JJ was feeling would seep into you instantly, so it was no surprised you were as out of it as the blond boy was when he took off.

“Hey,” Sarah’s voice was much softer than your brother’s as she moved in front of you to stand next to John B. “I need you to stay with me, yeah? You said you’d help me figure it out.”

You knew what she was trying to do. Trying to lock you in one spot to protect her the way she knew you would with the knowledge you had. Sirens echoed around and you glanced away to see flickers of red and blue lights, a sinking feeling taking over your stomach.

Sarah whispered your name, her hand gentle on your cheek as she pulled you back. Your heart was racing, and she could practically feel it under her touch. Her lips mouthed please, and it was enough to break your hesitation, forcing you to nod. She took your hand in hers and looked up at John B who was staring at the two of you with confusion.

“Let’s go,” Pope pulled you all out of your moment and you started moving again at a slower pace. 

The chaos from City Hall was starting to catch up again as your group jogged up to the office where Shoupe was climbing out of a cruiser. The front door was kicked in, but thankfully it seemed like JJ hadn’t done much damage compared to downtown. 

“If you’re not in uniform, stay back!” Shoupe called out as Pope walked up in attempt to talk to him before he was pushed back into line by another cop. “Aright, JJ. You’ve gone too far, and we’ve got a serious situation!”

The crack of a firework had you jumping in your spot, head tucking like it would stop anything from happening. Hands trembling, you reached in your pocket to grab your phone, praying by everything JJ had his on him.

go out the back, you typed quickly, please be safe. don’t do anything stupid.

The read receipt popped up a moment after and you let out a deep breath, knowing the message would be enough to get into his head and shift his mindset. 

Looking up, Shoupe was still trying to talk to you boyfriend, but you knew damn well he would be long gone by the time they put together the pieces. You shifted away from your friends, John B’s fingers just missing your shoulder as you walked forward.

“Shoupe!” You called out his name and raised your hands slightly to show that you meant no harm as deputies swarmed instantly to prevent any interruption. “Shoupe, please!”

There were a lot of things that were difficult in the law force after Peterkin had died. Trusting people? Shoupe had always struggled with that, especially when the price was right. But now? With you standing feet away from him and the knowledge that he had about your past, he hoped he could trust you. The least he could do is hear you out.

Shoupe stared at you for a moment before waving you in, both deputies standing aside to let you do so. “Can you talk to him?” He asked you, holding the megaphone to his side as you stopped next to him. Deep down he cared for JJ, even if it was hard love.

“He’s not here,” You answered honestly and crossed your arms over your chest to hold yourself. “I told him to go somewhere safe. He might’ve been here before, but he’s not here now.”

Shoupe watched you closely for any telltale sign that you were lying. “He destroyed the town, so he’s in a ton of trouble. I know you’re smart enough to know that, so in order to keep this short, do you know where he is?”

It was obvious he was trying to intimidate you, but he wouldn’t win. You shook your head. “No, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Shoupe, you know what his dad did to him. And you know it isn’t fair what they’re doing to us. The power’s out downtown, which means cameras are out, and you have no proof JJ did anything. I think you owe us a little wiggle room on this one. Please.”

The man hesitated. Last time you tried to interfere with an arrest, you ended up with a dislocated shoulder and he willinging took you back to an abusive household. Shoupe heard rumors, saw the bruises and injuries himself when John B was arrested that day. He should’ve never taken you back. Life had been cruel to you, and he didn’t want to keep that going.

“Get out of here,” He whispered, but the tone of his voice was understanding. “You kids need to lay low, do you hear me? Or I will be finding a reason to press charges.”

You nodded, trying not to look too excited at his reaction. “Thanks, Shoupe. Really.”

He nudged his head back toward your group. “Tell your boy he’s on thin ice, yeah?”

“Yeah,” You called over your shoulder as you made your way back to your friends. “I’ll ground him and everything.”

Shoupe started dismissing the scene behind you while the group stared at you with wide eyes.

“Do I even want to know what you did?” John B asked once you stopped in front of them. Sarah was smirking at you, knowing you likely sweet talked your way out of it. 

“Sold my soul,” You replied rhetorically before actually explaining, “What else would I do? I told him JJ isn’t here, because he isn’t.”

Pope tilted his head and waited for the elaboration. “But he is…?”

Your phone twisted between your fingertips as an answer. “Told him to run. Didn’t say where, just to stay safe.”

“He’ll be so safe,” Pope joked with a laugh as relief fell over the group. John B bent over and placed his hands on his knees with a huff, Kiara running her hands through her hair in disbelief. 

“Rude boy,” Cleo clicked her tongue and shook her head, “Always gotta cause trouble somewhere.”

A smile started to form on your face as lightning lit up the sky, a crack of thunder shaking your form just before rain started to pour down. 

John B watched you carefully, knowing you were coming down from your adrenaline rush and would crash any moment now. He turned toward Sarah, who had been looking at you too.  “You okay?” He asked quietly.

She nodded, breaking out of her daze to smile at him. “Yeah, just a long night. Wanna sleep.”

He nodded in understanding and pulled the girl closer under his arm. “Then let’s go home.”

--

The group scattered relatively quickly once you arrived back at Poguelandia. JJ had sent a rushed I love you text and the charter boat was gone, which meant he made it somewhere relatively safe for the night. Kie dismissed herself to shower, Pope and Cleo quietly shutting their door without much conversation. Sarah walked in, promising to make some sort of dinner, which left you on the porch swing with John B.

Your brother didn’t say a word but lifted his arm invitingly for you to snuggle into his side. JJ had sent a rushed I love you text and the charter boat was gone, which meant he made it somewhere relatively safe for the night. 

“Thanks for snapping me out of it,” You spoke quietly and tucked your feet up on the bench, pushing more of your weight against him. Rain pattered against the roof, lightning flashing across the sky every so often.

John B kissed your forehead wordlessly, his hand warm as it moved back and forth slowly against your arm. His mind was moving in so many directions. How was he supposed to take care of you and Sarah with no money and soon to be nowhere to go?

You flicked his forehead to bring him back to reality. “Earth to JB. Hello?”

“Sorry,” He mumbled, eyes blinking to refocus. “Just don’t know what we’re gonna do.”

You frowned and sat up, letting his arm fall back to his side. “John B, you don’t have to figure this out on your own. We’re going to do it together.”

“I know, I know. But we shouldn’t have to. We shouldn’t even have to deal with this.” He turned to face you. “Do you ever regret going after the gold?”

The question caught you off guard. Did you? 

“Do you realize the amount of things that would be different if we didn’t find that Scooter’s boat that day? You would’ve never dealt with Rafe. We would’ve never lost our home, and Dad would maybe still be alive. Pope would be in medical school by now, Kie probably running a turtle habitat rescue and living as an influencer or something. Shit, JJ and I would be pro-surfers and probably competing. Life would be so different.”

“Do you realize how different it would be too? You would’ve never been with Sarah, she would probably still be with Topper. Cleo wouldn’t be here. We have answers about Dad, now. We wouldn’t have had Poguelandia, I would’ve never gotten with JJ. Sarah wouldn’t be-” You clammed up quickly, teeth sinking into your lip at almost spilling the beans to John B.

“Sarah wouldn’t be what?” He repeated.

You shook your head. “Sarah wouldn’t be here, with you. You’d still be a lonely and miserable fuck who bothered the shit out of me.”

John B opened his mouth in feigned shock, which made you laugh loudly, the two of you falling into a fit of giggles.

“Seriously, though,” You continued once the two of you had stopped laughing. “In a way, I got you back, John B. The version of us that existed when Agatha hit is not the version of us here, today.”

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands twisting between each other as he listened to you. 

“I don’t realize it, because I don’t question what we’ve done,” You said softly and set your hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want to change any of it because I have you, and we have this family that we’ve never had before on this level. I wouldn’t trade any of them for the world. I wouldn’t trade you for the world, you know that?”

John B’s laugh was teary. “That’s the nicest shit you’ve ever said to me.”

A small smile form on your lips and you quickly brushed away tears of your own. “C’mon, Bird. I know I give you a really hard time. But you’re my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother.”

You shoved his shoulder with a smile before curling back into his side with his arm around you. John B leaned his head against yours as the two of you watched the water move slowly against the dock. Cicadas buzzed around and the rain continued to pour overhead. The sounds so familiar, so comforting you almost forgot how insane the night had been.

“I love you, you know?” You whispered, eyes growing heavy with the events of the day.

“Yeah. I know.”

--

a/n: SIBLING! BONDING!!!!! see no pope arrest, and jj technically didn't catch major charges (i have no sense of criminal history, just nod in agreement and move on)

listen to snow angel by renee rapp!!!!

navigation -- series masterlist

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[charliemwrites]

Woof woof… whimper

(Part 10… but technically a continuation of part 9)

Content: Dub-Con/Non-Con, Knotting

It takes your cock-addled brain a second too long to process what Soap’s just said. What he’s implied. And by then he’s all ready for you to buck against him, confused and angry.

“That’s so — that’s not funny!” You shout.

But he’s got you pinned thoroughly, your chest flat against the mattress and your ass flush against his hips. His cock buried so deep you can feel the hot head of it bullying the deepest parts of you. All your struggling does is make you clench up tight around him, makes him feel that much bigger and meaner inside you. Makes him grunt low and ragged in your ear, all animal appreciation.

“I’m not laughin’,” he replies, nipping at your shoulder.

“G-get off of me, get out, get—”

His hand slides into your hair again, gets a firm hold at the roots and presses your face into the blankets, muffling your protests. Shushes you like soothing a panicked animal.

“Now, now,” he chides, “I still gotta prove I’m not compensating, don’t I?”

You suck in a breath, squeezing your eyes shut. There have to be a million explanations other than the absolutely ludicrous one he’s just presented to you. Cameras, microphones….

How did he know where you live?

How did he know where the spare key was?

How did he know where your bedroom was?

How did he find you at the bar?

Stalker, you tell yourself. He’s a creep, you’ve always known that.

Then where’s your dog?

“N-no,” you warble, bucking again. Nearly scream as his cock twitches inside you; only reason you don’t is because you can barely breathe as it is. He’s so deep inside that he’s practically in your lungs. “No way you’re my — there’s no way. You’re crazy. I’m gonna— ah!”

He draws out as you speak, gradual, and then plunges in again all at once, cutting you off. Grinds his hips in a dirty circle too, burying himself as deep as he can.

“Aww, poor thing,” he coos. “S’alright, baby, I knew this would happen. We jus’ gotta get all those big, scary feelings out first. Then I can explain it all nice and slow.”

You try to scream at him. Try to curse him out, tell him there’s no way in hell you’re listening to a word he says now; never mind letting him spend another second with his dick in you.

All that comes out is a high-pitched keen as he starts fucking you without further preamble. It aches, but you can’t tell in what way. If it hurts, if it’s the best you’ve ever had. Both? Your nerves feel haywire, brain dragged to lust-stupid depths.

“See, there we go,” he rasps, punctuating with a sharp snap of his hips on that last word. “My perfect little mate. Your cunt was made for my cock, made to be bred by me. Isn’t that right?”

You try to shake your head, but his grip keeps you from doing more than sending electricity down your spine, hair pulled taut.

“Yeah it fucking is,” he growls to his own question, canting your hips back further. His fingers grip cruelly into the flesh, sure to leave bruises. You wish you didn’t enjoy the sensation, wish it didn’t make you spasm around him helplessly.

“‘Bout time I owned you right back, don’t you think?” He continues, never stopping or even slowing. You yelp as he tugs your necklace again, arching your back at a steep angle. “Even collared yourself up for me. All it needs is my name.”

Something about that drives some awful, slutty part of your brain fucking wild. The idea of you with a tight leather choker — a collar — with his name (you don’t think about what name) hanging from your throat…

“Like that, don’t you?” He chuckles meanly. “Who’s my good little slut? Who’s my perfect, soaked little breeding whore?”

Tears spring to your eyes as you realize the “I am” is right there on the tip of your over-saturated tongue. If you had air, brain cells, any ability at all, you’d be crying it to the ceiling like the toy he’s treating you as.

He’s going to ruin you, you think. He’s going to fuck you broken. You’re crying and wailing on his cock, think you’d actually throw a tantrum if he pulled out and left you on the edge right now. Would, you realize in horror, beg for him to keep going.

And then he snakes his hand around your hip and starts rubbing your clit — fast, hard little circles. Just the way you like; the way you’d do it yourself. Relentlessly and cruel, even when you try to writhe away from how fast you can feel yourself getting to the edge. Almost frightened by it, how quickly he’s mastered your body’s pleasure.

Frightened by the extra stimulation at your entrance, too. A little extra friction at first — shocking because you’re leaving a puddle on the sheets. But then the friction becomes pressure, becomes… more.

“W-wha….?” You slur, hips wriggling.

Soap (Johnny?) snarls in your ear and that feeling at your entrance grows. Feels, you realize with alarm, like stretching.

“Gonnae take my knot so well,” he rambles, accent thick like syrup, trickling into your empty brain, filling you up with meaningless sounds. “Plug you up full of my cum, breed you right just like you need.”

Any questions or confusion are whisked away by the extra stimulation at your entrance. The sensitive nerves getting just as much brutal attention as your inner walls, your cervix, that sweet spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.

It all becomes too much all at once and crashes through you, devastating. You clamp down around him tight and needy, lean all your weight back into his thighs. And he practically howls as he sinks into you and stays, grinding and humping without ever actually pulling out again. You feel a flood of heat that seems to go on for an absurdly long time, cock pulsing against your overstimulated walls, milked for every last drop.

You shudder as your brain tries and fails to process it all. Like trying to decipher a foreign language from white noise. It’s nothing but static to you.

You can feel a tongue against your shoulder, scraped of blunt teeth. Soap/Johnny licking the sweat from your skin and nipping bruises into the flesh. You make an annoyed noise that comes out whinier than intended, shoving at his face.

“Get off, you bastard.” Your voice is pathetic, thick with tears and fractured in a hundred places.

“Can’t, bonnie, even if I wanted to.”

You scowl, try to look at him over your shoulder. He takes that opportunity to nuzzle against your temple.

“What?” You ask. “What are you talking about?”

“Did ye hear me?” He chuckles. “Well, maybe not with the way you were screamin’. You’re all knotted up, baby. Can’t pull out — ‘less you want this pretty pussy to tear.”

You jolt, nearly yank yourself off out of pure fear, but Johnny keeps you still again, humming.

“Easy now,” he croons. “Still fussy? Need another to settle down?”

Useless as your brain may be, it recognizes what he means by “another one.” You think you might pass out.

“No,” you snap, petulant even to your own ears. “I want you to explain… explain everything.”

“Alright, hen. C’mere.”

He gently lays you out prone on the bed, then rolls you both on your sides. Hitches your leg up over his hip. You want to protest, but it helps the ache in your poor cunt.

“H-how are you still hard?” You pant, traitorous pussy twitching around him.

He growls in your ear, can feel him grinning against the lobe. “Will stay that way for a bit, lass. Don’ worry, you jus’ have to lay here all nice and still. Keep me warm while I explain things to you.”

And he does. How there are shapeshifters out there in the world, rare as they are. That he comes from a line of them. Recruited to military, as most of them are.

How he was on standard patrol when he smelled you for the first time.

“Like a wet dream, bonnie. Fertile. Spring. Smelled like mine.”

How he instantly knew you were his mate. That he just needed to make you see it. Never a good time to explain it all to you — and then there were interlopers and your silly little books and your pesky toys. How he tried to drop hints around the house, let you come to the correct conclusion on your own. But you never did.

“Honestly it’s a good thing I’m here, hen. You’re so oblivious. Lived with a man and never even knew it.”

That he tried to go about it the other way ‘round, as a man, but you’re just so stubborn. And then how it all led up to tonight. To you finally, finally realizing what you really needed: your mate.

You should be angry, furious. There’s a lot to say about… well, all of it. It’s horrifying and violating and… and…

And he hasn’t stopped bullying your clit since he started talking. Cruel, tight circles. Drawing the hood back with two fingers and stroke with a third, slow and languid and just soft enough to make your head spin. Rhythmless taps. Even pinches when you try to chew him out at one point, half turning to scowl. Instead have his tongue lapping sloppily at yours as your mouth gapes open soundlessly.

Makes you cum twice just like that without ever interrupting his own story, cock still hilted — knotted deep inside you. Honestly, you probably miss a good portion of it, some of the finger details for sure. But you get the broad strokes (among other strokes).

He licks at your overstimulated tears when he’s finished, nuzzling and kissing your cheek.

“I-I miss my dog,” you mumble finally, hands balled against your chest.

“Aww, darlin’,” he sighs, sounding genuinely apologetic. “We’re one and the same. I’m always your boy no matter what form I take.”

It would be more comforting if his dick didn’t throb calling himself your boy.

“‘Sides, I’m better than a normal mutt,” he continues, tugging you against his chest. You want to hate that is instantly makes you feel a little better. “Wolves mate for life, after all.”

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Masterlist

[forlix]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 !・h.h.

— you’re just trying to do your job; your client has other ideas.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.3k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・very suggestive so mdni, reader implied to be shorter than hyunjin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, flirting, humor, big fwb vibes

𝐚/𝐧・this took me less than half an hour to write i am actually the biggest sucker for this trope. also, we hit another milestone recently!! i appreciate all of you immensely; look forward to more ♡

[!]・hi hey hello as of one month later a full-length fic based on this au has been posted!! here it is; you can read the two in any order. ok bye much love

“Five ‘til!” A crew member calls into a walkie-talkie, and you’re so surprised by this information that you stumble right over him, your heel ungracefully ramming into the poor man’s toes. 

You apologize hurriedly, bowing yourself out of the awkward situation—and then you check your watch. 7:55 P.M. A quiet "shit" leaves your lips as it dawns on you that you'd completely lost track of time.

Briefly, you contemplate your predicament, drumming the palette of makeup you’re holding in your right hand against the palm of your left: do I have to? Is it really necessary? But you know your answer even as you’re asking yourself the questions. You’re damn meticulous—sometimes to a fault, but always to your own satisfaction.

You had a vision, and you’re going to see it through.

With impeccable timing, your coworker appears out of nowhere, and you fasten a hand around her arm. “Hey, where are the members again?”

“Stage left.” Then she registers your question in full, and snaps her eyes to your face; stylists were supposed to have finished up with their respective members nearly an hour ago. “Hang on, are you out of your mind—”

“I won’t be a minute!” You call, scurrying away.

“You won’t be employed!” She returns, but you’ve already disappeared into the curtains’ dense shadows.

You jog a short distance, turn a few corners, and finally spot the eight members clad in outfits of varying amounts of silver and black, every inch of them so sparkly that they’re reflective, even with how little light reaches this part of the stage.

You’re looking for one man in particular, though, and you single him out right away: long, black locks falling into his eyes as he adjusts his microphone, broad shoulders and tall frame flattered perfectly by an obsidian suit, looking like he fell off a Paris Fashion Week runway and into a wormhole that teleported him to Osaka.

All your doing, by the way.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” You shout, and he (along with several of the other members) whips around at the sound. And Hyunjin furrows a perfect brow when his stylist materializes before him, four minutes to curtain up, wielding a palette of makeup like it’s a baseball bat.

“Are you out of your mind?” He calls.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You lift a pointer finger into the air and curl it twice. “Come here. Hurry."

Hyunjin gives the others an apologetic glance before hurrying over, and you are met with a blast of Byredo Blanche when he arrives in front of you, the expression on his face equal parts amused and confused.

“Down,” you say, flicking open the eyeshadow palette with one hand.

And then Hyunjin understands. A loud, uninhibited laugh leaves his lips, a sound you’ve become so accustomed to by now that you’re completely oblivious to the fact that only you bring it out of him.

“You really are something,” he says, spreading his feet apart until he’s brought himself to your eye level.

With that, you get to work, one hand gathering some eyeshadow on the pads of your fingers, the other moving to hold his shoulder. Brushes are luxuries you can’t afford right now.

“Close your eyes,” you direct, your voice softer now that your face is only inches away from his, and Hyunjin heeds your words obediently. You begin to dab the crimson powder against the curve of his lids, careful to avoid messing up the rest of his eye makeup. His lashes flutter involuntarily at your gentle touch.

“A shadow to match the lip,” you murmur absently. “I pictured it and knew it had to happen."

Hyunjin makes a sound of approval, and then there is that smirk on his face, the one you’ve learned only means trouble. “You’ve been thinking about my face the whole night, then?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about whether vegetables can feel pain,” you deadpan. “Yes, I've been thinking about your face. It’s my job.”

“Is that all?”

“Sure is.” You blow gently on his finished eye and move on to the other. “Now save your voice for the stage.”

He obliges, but that dreadful, self-assured expression remains on his face, and you're immeasurably grateful that he can’t see the blush that you’re well aware paints your cheeks.

“Done,” you say a minute later, straightening with a confident flourish. And you think you could squeal when Hyunjin opens his eyes, and you see that the exact effect you’d hoped for has been realized: a splash of maroon that is both subtle and seductive, sleek and suave; that not only accentuates the shape of his eyes but pulls attention to his lips, which are dyed a similar hue. Damn, you’re good at your job.

“I don’t have a mirror,” you say, looking around. “I can use my phone if you want to—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I trust you.”

You grin at this. “Good. Because you look sexy as hell."

Upon hearing your words, he straightens to his full height. You don’t think much of this at first, too busy re-examining the masterpiece you’ve created on his eyelids, but in the blink of an eye you’re suddenly aware that Hyunjin is standing conspicuously and intentionally close to you. You instinctively move away, but you’re too late; he’s already guiding your back to the wall behind you, his body enclosing yours against the smooth surface.

You send a panicked look over Hyunjin’s shoulder, only to realize that the two of you are completely out of anyone’s line of vision. That doesn’t stop the sharp hiss that leaves your lips: “Hyunjin, are you cr—”

But then there is a familiar gust of breath against your skin, a thumb over your cheekbone.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself when you get like this; all bossy and concentrated, an ambitious glint in your eyes, an air of confidence in your gait. He always thinks it’s ironic that your job is to make him look good when all he’s ever done is admire your beauty, so effortless and profuse that it feels timeless, like freshly bloomed forget-me-nots.

He knows he shouldn’t—but that makes him want to more.

When your lips meet, they move together with an ease and familiarity that reveal how many times you’ve done this before. He brings a hand to the small of your back, and you tangle your stained fingers in his luscious hair, the delicious pressure of his mouth upon yours rendering your reluctance (and the eyeshadow palette, which clatters noisily to the floor) momentarily forgotten.

As the kiss deepens, the bridges of your noses slide together; your every sense becomes overwhelmed by the slippery plush of his full lips and the warm caress of his large hands; you drink in the rosy musk of his cologne like your cells need it to live as opposed to oxygen. The tip of Hyunjin’s tongue teases the seam of your lips, as if requesting access, and you grant it to him with a light moan that is both blissful and thoroughly exasperated. When he hears the gorgeous sound, he has half a mind to scoop you up and leave the venue then and there.

Then, a voice bellows from not too far away: “One minute, everyone! Places, places!”

You’re so startled that you not only break away from him but jump a meter into the air, giving Hyunjin’s bicep a hearty slap on your way down. But he is entirely unbothered, dipping his head to press a trail of light kisses along your jaw instead.

“You’ll be watching the performance, yes?” He murmurs against the sensitive skin.

“Of course, what else—”

“—don’t take your eyes off me.”

And the words throw your heart against your ribs like uncooked French fries in a vat of oil.

He is just about to walk away when you realize how decidedly disheveled you’ve left him, and you yank him back to you with a fresh wave of panic. You wipe at his smudged lipstick with the cuffs of your sleeves; nitpick his hair until every strand is back in its proper place. Only when you’ve gotten rid of all the incriminating evidence do you permit him to leave.

“Thank you very much,” he says, bending into a gracious bow, the perfect image of professionalism. The facade is given away only by the upturned corner of his still-flushed lips.

“Break a leg,” you return drily.

The last thing you hear is that stupid, bright laugh before Hyunjin rejoins his members, and they step into the strobe lights together.

Even when the concert begins and the stadium is drowned in fanatical screams, the heartbeat in your ears remains the loudest sound of all—and you bury your burning face in your hands.

Hwang Hyunjin will be the death of you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[inf3ct3dd]

streamer!ellie headcanons

warnings: yo no se

content : streamer!ellie headcanons 🔥🔥

authors note : the streets r calling and they’re telling me to write streamer ellie hcs….

- def started off as a faceless streamer. she wasn’t really comfortable on camera, and she just thought it would be way easier. you can only see her shoulders-down leaving her (deliciosu. scrumptious. yummy) arms in the cameras view.

- her twitch user is “creeperewman” cuz shes like…discreetly hiding her initials and referencing the best minecraft parody ever 😕!!!

- bought the most random shitty mic and webcam and started streaming 🔥🔥 she never got rid of either of them its part of her odd loser charm

“‘fartmaster69:it’s probably cuz your camera’ it’s probably bc of YOUR CAMERA!!! theres nothing wrong w my camera bro 😞”

“don’t listen to them…ur perfect 🤫 IM NOT TALKING TO U GUYS IM TALKING TO MY CAMERA”

- only had a few viewers the first couple times she streamed, and it was some random 10 yr old who kept spamming “yassss” in the chat and some dude who said she was shit at minecraft 😞 he was LYING

- started off doing minecraft speed runs (or trying to) and got like way good over time

- she randomly started getting more and more viewers, because people kept posting abt her and calling her fine on tiktok , making edits of her hands and her voice 😭😭 (real)

- as she got more and more viewers, she started branching out more with the games she’d play. def loves shooter games like cod and pubg, but she’d also play like indie horror games like faith (omg markiplier fans would know)

- she has a orange cat she named garfield (cuz…of course she does) and he’s always sitting on her lap during her streams or messing w her setup 💔💔

- def put stickers all over her headset and showed them off all proud on stream

- designed her own cute banners and stuff for streams 😞!!!

- def had a subreddit/disc server with her viewers where she’d let them give her game recs or make memes of her

- ppl saw her guitar in the back of her streams and BEGGED HER to play it and she had her own lil concert stream !!! she was so freaking nervous and messed up a bunch the first like minute or two but like after that she was in the ZONE

“‘ewswife: i wish i was that guitar’ oh!! you guys are so…kind!!!”

- when she INSANELY hit 1k, she did a face reveal and she hit 10k the same day 😦 the amount of edits that ppl made was actually insane. ESP ONES MAKING FUN OF DREAMS FACE REVEALLLL

- started doing much more random shit on stream after she got more famous. she LOVES cooking on stream, and she’d start reacting to random shit ppl sent her on the subreddit

- she cut her hair on stream once, and everyone in the chat kept spamming “yo bob…is fye” for like 5 minutes 😪

- “you’re at work watching me? i hope you get fired. i mean. i hope you don’t get fired 😞”

- she gets so many thirst comments and like…is terrible at responding to them

“‘ewleftbicep: you look so vulnerable today’ WHAT”

- she has her own apartment cuz of her awesome streaming money 🔥🔥🔥 soundproofed walls too cuz she’s. loud.

- one day, you were walking on campus to a class. you had your headphones on, listening to your main playlist on shuffle, when you got stopped by someone. you pulled your headphones off your ears and gave the man in front of you a confused look. you looked down to his hands, holding a tiny mic, and another dude holding a camera.

“what song are you listening to?” he held the microphone towards you, awaiting your response.

you quickly responded “uhm, last goodbye, by jeff buckley.” and stood there awkwardly, pushing a piece of hair out of your face.

the man quickly thanked you and you walked away, slightly suprised.

- after a couple hours, the video had blown up and the comments were filled with people complimenting you.

pickleluna: jeff buckley girl is so fine

minyonlala: 3rd girl is so bad

rilakkila: I NEED JEFF BUCKLEY GIRL

and unknown to you, someone else found you on their fyp.

creeperewman: guys what is the 3rd girls @. im literally BEGGING BRO PLEASEEE

- ewleftbicep: BEING DESPERATE ON MAIN IS CRAZY

- ewsgirlf: random tiktok girl stole my wife 💔

- elliewilliamsidechick: guys im literally the 3rd girl 😂😂😂

- it didn’t take long for your phone to be blown up with people sending you the video, tagging you in funny comments, and finding your instagram. you watched the video, and saw ellie was the top comment. you checked her profile, and saw how FINE she was, and immediately responded

- y/nmainn: guys 😳😳😳 what if i was the third girl 😳😳

- ellie checked her phone and saw thousands of people tagging your comment, and she wasted zero time following you on tiktok. and your instagram. its not stalking if its in your bio, right?

- you two immediately hit it off, and ellie loved the fact that you had absolutely no idea who she was. to you, she was just some hot girl. not some famous streamer you were obsessed with.

- she didn’t even realize you two went to the same school until she saw you in her astrophysics class one day, and she almost had a heart attack when you waved at her and walked over to sit next to her.

“what a coincidence.”

- she took you out on your first date to a planetarium, and not even a week after, asked you to be her girlfriend.

- she definitely teaches you how to play her favorite games. but she gets wayyyy defensive when you beat her.

“im just letting you win.”

“beginners luck.”

but shes SO COCKY when she beats you

“hey, don’t be so hard on yourself after this. not your fault im a professional!”

“aw, maybe one day you’ll be as good as me”

- definitely helps you build your own pc.

- loves watching you play things like animal crossing or stardew valley, always lays on your shoulder while you’re on the couch.

“why are you being so mean to gaston :((“

“because hes UGLY and he has an ugly house and he’s ruining my village.”

“wowww you’re bullying a little bunny man because he doesn’t fit your aesthetic 😒 so mean”

- if you like more aggressive games like cod, she loves listening to you talk shit while you play and always makes fun of people with you. (she thinks its hot when you’re mean to people)

- her chat absolutely loves you, and every time you stream together its a continuous stream of “me and who” and “when is it my turn 😪”

[sebscore]

gen-z driver chaotically taking over martin’s grid walk? thank you!!

KEEPING UP WITH THE GRID

pairings: f1 team principals, drivers and ex-driver x driver!reader (im too lazy to name everyone im sorry)

warnings: swearing. christian horner. mention of a nipple tweak.

author's note: anon, you are a legend for requesting this! I'm not too proud of the writing, since I wrote this in the middle of the night and my brain doesn't function normally then. but i hope you like it anyway, darling! let me know your thoughts!!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

Y/N was mindlessly scrolling through her phone when a sudden loud voice interrupted her peaceful time. ''How are we feeling about today, Y/N?'' Martin bent his knees, so he could hold the mic up to her face as she sat on the ground. 

''Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me.'' She cursed, quickly covering her mouth as she knows she isn't supposed to swear on Sky Sports. ''Uh, I'm feeling pretty good about it, I'm starting on the second row, so not too bad.'' The driver answered his question, smiling sheepishly. 

''You like having alone time before a race?'' He continued, a grin on his face. 

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. ''I just happen to be alone right now, sometimes I'm chatting with my team or with some of the other drivers.'' 

''Martin, you look a bit tired, you want to sit down?'' She patted the space next to her, feeling bad that he was crouching down while she comfortably sat on the grass. 

The former F1 driver held a look of surprise on his face. ''In all my years I've been doing this, no one has ever offered me to sit down.'' He gave the camera a glance before slowly letting himself sink to the ground. 

''You know, people always wonder 'Where is Martin?' But no one ever wonders 'How is Martin?' We need to take better care of you.'' The man seemed clueless about what she was saying, but he was amused either way. 

''I'm alright, all that walking takes a lot of energy.'' He responded, pretending to wipe sweat off his forehead. 

Y/N chuckled. ''Yeah, I mean, you've been doing this longer than I've been alive, so I understand that you're tired from all the walking.'' She never let the oppurtunity slip to make him aware of their age gap. 

''Well, let's not talk age,'' he sighed, making her laugh, ''anyway, I think I might just hang around here for the entire segment.'' Martin concluded. 

An idea popped into her head as she heard his words. ''Can I do it? I've always wanted to do it.'' 

Martin was surprised for a second time since joining the young woman. ''You mean I let you go around the grid and talk to people?'' 

She nodded. ''Yes, I love bothering people with my presence.'' Y/N said, matter-of-factly. 

The Brit looked at his cameraman, who adamantly nodded his head to the idea of letting the driver do her thing around the grid. 

Martin let out a deep breath, but handed his mic and headset over. ''Just don't get me fired,'' he said, trying to sound stern, ''and don't curse!'' He quickly added. 

''I won't, I promise! I'll see you later!'' She got up from the ground and put the headset on, slightly altering it so it fit her head perfectly. ''Alright, let's make some controversy.'' Y/N exclaimed, pulling the cameraman along. 

She glanced around the grid, trying to find some interesting people to talk to. ''So, I just need to find a person and ask them questions about whatever I want?'' The athlete asked the cameraman, who simply nodded his head, making the camera shake as well.

''Oh, I love this program!'' She giggled into the microphone, doing a small jump out of happiness. 

Y/N observed the grid, knowing her first ''guest'' needed to be a good one. ''Okay, I've found someone!'' She let the cameraman know, pointing in the direction she wanted to go. 

''Alright,'' she tapped the person's shoulder, having them turn to the camera in confusion, ''the first guest on Y/N's grid walk is the team principal of Mercedes… Petronas… Benz…,'' she tried remembering the full team name, ''Whatever, his name is Susie's husband! Welcome, Susie's husband.'' She introduced Toto. 

The Austrian man was incredibly entertained by the young woman's antics. ''Hello, Y/N.'' 

''I have to ask you- how does it feel to be married to the greatest woman alive?'' She asked him, glancing around to find the woman in question. 

Toto laughed at the question, but proceeded. ''It's great, Susie is an amazing person who has done countless amazing projects and campaigns- I'm a very lucky man.'' The sincere smile on Toto's face when talking about his wife brought a smile to Y/N's face. 

''That's so cute- where is she? I only came over here, because I thought she would be here.'' 

''Unfortunately, she's not here today,'' he told her in a sad tone, ''I know that upsets you, Y/N.'' The driver's girl crush on Susie had been an obvious thing for many years, amusing everyone involved. 

Y/N pouted at his words. ''Well, yeah… that upsets me a lot actuall-''

''What is going on here?'' A British accent interrupted her interview with the team principal. 

''Go away, Russell George! I don't want you on my show.'' Y/N teasingly dismissed George, slapping his arm to get him out of frame. 

The Mercedes driver feigned offense, placing his hand on his heart. ''Why not? I thought we were great friends, Y/L.'' 

''Crikey, crikey, crikey! Don't you have shirtless pictures to post somewhere? Bye bye!'' She quickly got away from the Mercedes team, practically running at one point. 

Y/N let out a big sigh into the mic. ''Martin was right, this is tiring,'' she momentarily stopped in her steps, her hand on her waist, ''OH! Look! It's Charles Lechair!'' Her tiredness from a few seconds before was long forgotten as she strided over to her Monégasque friend. 

''Charles, hello, Charles!'' She put her hand on his back, guiding him to the camera. ''How are you feeling about the race today? What are the strategies? Do they know that word at Ferrari?'' She teased the red team. 

''Uh, we're feeling optimistic today and yeah, I'm ready to give it my all.'' He smiled, putting up his tv-friendly facade, not wanting to trash talk his team on television. 

Y/N raised her eyebrow. ''You're so cute being all positive! Keep that attitude, Perceval!'' She patted his shoulder. ''Thanks for talking to me and good luck!'' She bid him goodbye. 

The young driver walked in all sorts of directions. There were many people present on the grid, yet Y/N had quite a hard time finding people to talk to. It was when she walked by the Red Bull team that she found her next victim. 

''Christian! Christian Horner, hello, welcome!'' She and the team principal didn't have the best history, but she knew the viewers would enjoy the interaction as they knew said history. 

''Everyone, I'm joined here today by Red Bull, uh, Orange, Racing or whatever, F1 Team's team principal, Christian Horner.'' She butchered the team name again, although it was one purpose this time. 

She turned towards the man. ''Christian, I won't hold you up too long, but there is one question that our viewers have been dying to ask you and I think this is the right time to finally do it.'' Y/N build the question up. 

''Yes?'' He seemed a bit nervous, attentively listening to her words. 

''Can you say one nice thing about Y/N Y/L?'' 

The Brit visibly looked relieved at the question, thinking it would be something controversial. ''Of course, she's, uh, a very talented race car driver.'' He nervously smiled at her. 

''You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen, Christian Horner thinks Y/N Y/L is the most talented driver in the history of Formula One!'' She overdramatized his response. 

''You know what they say, keep your friends close, but keep your enemies even closer.'' She patted Christian's shoulder. ''Thanks for the talk, good luck and I hope you don't win.'' Y/N told him before walking off, hearing him laugh behind her. 

''So far, I've talked to Toto Wolff and Christian Horner,'' she said to the camera, ''enemies to, uh, even worser enemies, I guess.'' 

''Guys, we're here with Yuki's boyfriend, Pierre Gasly.'' Y/N stood next to the Alpha Tauri driver, shoving the microphone in his face. He took his airpods out of his ears, already chuckling at the girl's actions. 

''How are you doing?'' 

''I'm-''

''That's all the time we have for you, I'm sorry.'' She didn't let him finish his words and walked away from him, quickly giving him a smile so he knew she was entirely joking. 

She stepped further onto the grid, continuing to look for people. ''A bunch of green outfits, not very fashionable- oh, it's Aston Martin! Let's find Sebastian!'' Y/N mixed herself with the Aston Martin team, trying to catch the German driver. 

''Seb! Seb! Can I ask you a few questions?'' She eventually reached the man, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. 

His signature bright smile covered his face. ''Yeah, but where's Martin?'' 

''Me and Martin made an agreement, I get to do the grid walk and he gets to drive my car later- although, he never won any races, so that might not have been a great decision on my part.'' She told Sebastian, who seemed confused and fascinated at the same time. 

''Well, I think you're doing a great job as reporter.'' He deflected her words, not wanting to get in trouble by saying anything about Brundle's lack of GP wins. 

She smiled. ''Thanks, anyway… I know qualifying didn't go too well for you, but are you optimistic about the race?'' 

''Yeah, quali wasn't what we were hoping for,'' he sighed, ''It's gonna be difficult today, but we're gonna try our best to get as much points as we can for the championship.'' Sebastian finished his answer with an encouraging nod. 

''That's great to hear! You've been- oh my god, is that your dad?'' Y/N had glanced away from Sebastian's face for one second and saw Norbert watching them, waving at her once he noticed her looking at him. ''Okay, bye Sebastian! I'm gonna talk to your dad now.'' 

She walked past the Aston Martin driver to approach his father. ''Can I ask you some questions? I swear it's very short.'' She didn't want to burden him for too long. 

Norbert gave her a thumbs up, not minding being interviewed for a short time by her. ''It's okay.'' 

''Amazing! I mean, you're a legend of the paddock, Norbert! The drivers love you, the fans love you, everyone just loves you! Do you feel the love every time you attend a GP?''

Y/N had a good relationship with him as he and Sebastian would sometimes attend her karting tournaments together. Norbert had given her parents advice on how to support the young girl as best as possible. In a nutshell, the Vettel family were some of the greatest people she had ever met. 

''I do feel it, it's a great feeling and everyone is so nice to me.'' He wasn't very confident in his English, so he kept it short. 

Y/N smiled at him, delighted she got the chance to talk to him. ''You're always super sweet to everyone, so it's only right that we reciprocate your kindness,'' she nodded, ''okay, last question! Apart from Seb, who is the driver you're rooting for today? Is it someone you know very well? Or someone who is standing next to you and is asking you amazing questions?'' She played with a strand of her hair, pretending like she wasn't talking about herself. 

He laughed at her words. ''I'm supporting you, of course!'' He exclaimed, his arm going around her shoulder. 

''Oh! You're the best, Norbert! You're my favorite Vettel for a reason!'' Y/N said extra loud, knowing Sebastian would hear it that way. 

''I'll leave you alone now, thank you so much and I'll see you after the race.'' She gave him a brief hug and he wished her good luck, which she thanked him for. 

The cameraman had difficulties keeping up with her, used to the slower pace of Martin. Y/N noticed this and slowed down, sending him an apologetic look. ''Alright, I've talked to Seb, so I feel obligated to talk to Lewis now.'' She commented, trying to look for the 7x World Champion. 

''Where is he? He shouldn't be this hard to find…'' The athlete always saw the Mercedes driver hanging around the grid, chatting with his celebrity friends or getting ready with Angela. 

Y/N frowned. ''I should lore him or something…,'' she thought for a moment, ''vegan food, I have vegan food! Uh, free skydiving session! Oh my god, is that Roscoe on the track?'' She tried making him appear, but the only thing she got was weird looks from bypassers. 

However, a certain blond man caught her attention instead. ''Okay, I can't find Lewis, but this person knows him very well… or used to at least.'' 

''Britney Spears! Can I interview you for the highly respected tv-show, Y/N's grid walk?'' She snuck up to the former Mercedes driver, catching him off guard, but he played it off. ''Sure, I'm very honored.'' His monotone voice almost made her cringe. 

''First question: is it alright if I call you Britney? I don't know how you feel about the nickname.'' 

Nico chuckled at her. ''You can call me that, Y/N.'' 

''Ooooh~ I'm getting special privileges! I like it!'' She was impressed by Nico's answer, not being sure if he would go along with her humor. 

''Next question! How does it feel to be a Monaco based Youtuber? Do you enjoy the influencer life?'' 

The former World Champion snickered at her question, not expecting her to bring up his Youtube channel. ''It feels great, I'm, uh, yeah, enjoying the influencer life.'' She could tell Nico was doing his best to come off as positive as possible. 

''Nice, good for you, dude! Anyway, this was Britney, the man who beat the 7x World Champion, Lewis Hamilton, in equal machinery in 2016!'' She quoted the meme that was often made online when people talked about Rosberg. 

Y/N didn't wait for Nico's reaction, a bit too scared if she was honest, and made a run for it again. ''I've talked to three German guys- wait, is Nico German? He said once that he doesn't drink beer, so I don't know if he's considered German.'' She rambled on, not even listening to the words that were leaving her own mouth. 

''There's Jenson.'' She caught the Brit talking to his Sky Sports colleagues. ''You know what? I've embarrassed myself enough already, I'm not making it any worse.'' Y/N went in another direction so as to not cross paths with him. 

''Too bad he doesn't drive anymore, I would have loved to give him a lucky nipple tweak.'' Martin and Jenson used to have this running gag of the older man giving him a nipple tweak for good luck before a race. 

Y/N didn't see where she was going and almost tripped over someone's foot. ''Oh, shit!'' She loudly exclaimed, balancing herself so she wouldn't fall. ''Oh, fuck I can't swear- wait, shit! Ugh!'' She pulled the microphone away from her face, that way her curses wouldn't be picked up. 

''This isn't live, right? Cause then I'm in trouble, I think.'' She glanced at the cameraman, who mumbled a small ''It is live.'' 

''THIS IS LIVE?'' Y/N gasped, looking absolutely horrified at the thought of thousands of people watching her at that moment. ''Let's find Martin then, I think I've done enough damage.'' 

She headed back to the place where the presenter had approached her. ''Martin! Where is Martin?'' The driver glimpsed around, but no Martin in sight. ''I have oatmeal!'' She yelled, before making eye contact with the camera. ''Old people love oatmeal, right?'' He simply chuckled, not wanting to shake the camera too much with his laughing. 

''Oh, there he is!'' Y/N spotted the man and made her way over to him as fast as she could. ''I definitely didn't say anything controversial or cursed throughout the entire thing.'' She greeted him. 

Martin looked relieved as she handed his microphone and headset back over to him. ''I was out of my element for a while,'' he joked, ''did you have fun, darling?'' 

Y/N nodded her head. ''Yes, I'm even considering changing career paths.'' She chuckled. 

''That's great,'' Martin smiled, confident she made some amazing television, ''well, I think you're gonna have to go, cause I can see your, uh, coach not looking too happy.'' He pointed towards her performance coach staring daggers at her. 

''Oh, fuck, yeah, bye Martin! Thank you so much!'' Y/N quickly thanked the man for letting her take over his segment and she dashed out of there, hoping her team wouldn't be too upset about her disappearing into the grid to ask everyone ridiculous questions. 

''She's a special one for sure.'' 

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[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: dancing in the rain

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: PG

genre: slight, baby angst/ major fluff

pairing: Alastor x Reader

summary: all hell had was acid rain, and all you wanted was the rainstorms you knew on earth.

Rain hardly ever was an occurrence in Hell. And when it was, it was acid rain. You sighed, looking out the window and watched the green acid pouring down on everything, missing desperately the rain storms that you had on earth. Being the youngest at the hotel, you remembered more clearly the burn of the sun on your skin, the cool breeze on a fall day and even the mix of the humidity in the air that felt like it would choke you but the reprieve as a rainstorm came and fell from the heavens.

“What has you so melancholy, my dear?” A voice asked behind you, shockingly quiet all things considered, toning down the announcer quality in his voice.

“Hey Alastor, just thinking is all.” You replied and smiled at him, not wanting to explain that the acid rain made you sad.

“Now, whatever it is that you’re thinking about is casting a dark shadow over your usually lovely face. So, tell me, what’s wrong? What kind of hotelier might I be if I didn’t ensure that all the patrons here were happy?” He said, the announcer tone coming back into his voice, which made you wince. Knowing that meant he knew you were lying so he was going to put on a show if you were. You sigh.

“It’s the rain.” You explain.

“The what now?” He asks, all effects gone from his voice except shock and a bit of confusion.

“The rain. I miss the rain. Not this rain. The rain on earth. The smell of the earth after a good rain storm, the way that especially in the summer when it was so hot, the rain was a cool reprieve. It always felt like…” You trailed off.

“Forgiveness?” Alastor finished, looking outside the hotel now too. You blink and look up at him.

“Yes. Are you sure you don’t read minds?” You chuckle, resting your head on your hand. You suddenly feel his microphone tap your head. You look up at him as holds his arm out to you.

“Come with me.” He says, not giving you time to feel confused. As when you take his arm you shadow travel with him to the other side of the hotel appearing at the door of his room.

“This is your room.” You say, confused now.

“Ever observant. A skill many would kill for I’m sure.” He smiles at you, but the sarcasm is evident as he holds open the door for you and you step into his room.

“Just a certified Sherlock Holmes.” You roll your eyes, taking his sarcasm.

“I never had the chance to read those books.” He mused for a moment, as he shut his door and walked around you heading to the forest area. You stayed near the door.

“I have the collection if you’d like to borrow it and read them.” You explain. “They are annotated though, so you’ll have to put up with my notes.” You explain.

“That would be lovely, dear.” Alastor says stepping on the grass and you watch as he takes off his coat and hangs it on a coat rack that appeared suddenly. He turns to you. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I-I guess?” You say, more like a question. You jog over to him and start walking next to him. “Are you killing me in your forest because I complained about acid rain?”

“Oh, no. Not you at least.” Alastor chuckles. “I want to show you something.” You look up at him skeptically.

“Hey Alastor, can you take smaller steps?” You ask having to jog to keep up with him. He looks down and hums seeing how you were almost running next to him.

“Good to know that if I had to catch you I could do so without breaking a sweat.” He says, as he walks slower and taking smaller steps, allowing you to actually walk, instead of run.

“Har har.” You say deadpanned and roll your eyes. You walk into a clearing that has a cabin in the middle. The whole forest felt like it was shrouded in the twilight of fall when lightening bugs gently floated around and the sky was a perpetual shade of blue, purple and pink. You finally looked up and around, seeing the trees, the bugs, the animals, the sky. Tears formed in your eyes. “Alastor, this is beautiful. It looks just like-“ You stop, your throat constricting as emotion overtakes you. You feel Alastor’s clawed hand rest on your shoulder.

“Just like earth?” He finishes, speaking softer than you had ever heard. You nod and look at him, watching him take everything in and then looking down at you.

“Come, let me show you something else.” He says, walking away and heading to the cabin. You walk in and suddenly feel at home. The decor is a little dated and you feel transported to the 1920’s, but it’s all homey. There’s a kitchen, a living room, a lounge and a hall way leading to what you assumed to be a bed room. You walk through the living room, taking it in but trying not to pry at the photos Alastor had in frames along the mantel of the fire place, you see at the back door there is almost like a deck, with a more modern porch swing.

“The porch swing is a nice addition.” You mention, smiling a bit at the modern accessory in what felt like a time capsule.

Alastor chuckles as he sets his microphone down and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. He joins you next to the window. “You haven’t seen the best part.” He murmurs, unusually quiet and reserved. You don’t mention the change in demeanor though, wanting to savor the quiet and this almost more authentic view of the Radio Demon.

“What’s the best-“ You stop when you hear it. The start of a pitter patter of rain on the roof, that builds and when you look outside, it’s raining. “Is that?” You blink a few times.

“It is. Safe for you to touch as well. You won’t get hurt.” He smiles a genuine looking smile as he goes over to the record player and starts playing music. Your hand touches the door, feeling the coolness of the water slide down the glass pane. You can’t stop yourself as Alastor fiddles with the record player, you open the door, quickly closing it so no rain would get in the cabin and rush outside off the deck. Twirling in the grass as the rain poured down soaking you.

“What are you doing?” Alastor yelled from the door, watching you like you had gone mad.

“Dancing in the rain!” You yelled back, a smile feeling permanent on your face.

“You’ll catch a cold, get back inside!” He says, looking up at the sky and then back at you.

“No! Come join me! It’s amazing! This is exactly what I remember.” You say holding you hand out to Alastor. His smile looks more like a grimace as he takes you in looking like a wet dog. He looks back inside and waves his hand at something and you see towels appear and the record player is louder so you can hear it outside. He takes off his shoes and socks and places them neatly at the door but far enough away that when you come in, water or mud won’t get on them.

He walks out getting drenched almost immediately as you run up to him and grab his hand and pull him on the grass. You take both his hands and start trying to spin around in a circle with him, as you see his eyebrow raise. You stop and look at him, a little disappointed when he doesn’t spin with you and you start to let go of his hand, until his hand tightens and pulls you to him.

“We can dance in the rain, but we will be actually be dancing.” He says as he proceeds to guide you through a dance that was popular when Alastor was alive, morphing into an odd mash up of a swing dance and you dancing like you were at a rave. You both settled down and were now just slow dancing as the song had turned a bit slower. You watched as Alastor’s eyes were closed as his face angled up to the sky. You made a spit second decision, and rested your head on his chest, really it was like the start of his abdomen but it was as tall as you could reach. You didn’t see his head snap down to you and watch as you seemingly relaxed in his arms, drunk off the warmth he gave and the cool from the rain still coming down. His hand moved up, and grabbed your chin, encouraging you to look at him. As you did, you saw his eyes widen and his cheeks turn bright red.

“What’s wrong?” You ask quietly.

“I’ve never… done anything like this before.” He says quietly, and it breaks the fogginess you felt before.

“You don’t have to be scared. It’s just me.” You say, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world.

“Just you? Darling, just you is enough to have me go to war.” Alastor murmurs and then his eyes widen again, shocked. You realize that he is just blurting things out and there is no filter. You smile.

“Well, I’m honored that the Radio Demon would want to be in my corner.” You say as your hand reaches up to touch his cheek, stopping just a few centimeters away, allowing him to close the gap if he wanted to. He leans into your touch shaking his head.

“Not the Radio Demon, dear. Just Alastor.” He says, looking at you with a vulnerability you had never seen before. Your eyes widen and you smile.

“Even better.”

[gallusrostromegalus]

I must ask how my Most Favorite Boys, Jushiro Ukitake and Shinji Hirako, are doing in AEIWAM?

When Shinji returns to his post as Captain of the 5th after his exile, he is DETERMINED to not repeat his past mistakes and actually get to know the shinigami serving under him. He needs... Some kind of event, something people will voluntarily attend, where they'll tell him about themselves, and with a bit of structure because he is an awkward sod, and social interactions need RULES, DAMMIT-

"Now hang on-" says Shinji after staring at the blank office wall in silence for the last thirty minutes. "-that's not a bad idea!"

"...Is he okay?" Lieutenant Momo asks quietly.

"Oh yeah, he's always a little freak. Talks to himself and gets a lot out of the conversation." Also Lieutenant Hiyori nods. "You don't need to worry until he breaks out the craft supplies."

"He just pulled out a bunch of markers and construction paper." Momo pointed to their captain as he scribbled furiously on the paperwork he was ignoring.

"Aw. Fuck." Groaned Hiyori. "Well this is gonna be cringe as hell."

***

A few nights later, most of the fifth division assembled in the auditorium, slightly confused, but they had been promised there would be no additional work from this meeting, and there was an open bar, so they were in figurative and literal high spirits.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Fifth Division, welcome to TONIGHT'S GAME!" A cheerful and showman-like voice called out over the speakers, and the stage curtain rose to reveal a brightly colored game show stage where there had not been one before.

"Tonight's lovely contestants are- all the way from payroll, it's Fifth Division Tenth Seat Tenya Danshin!" The voice called out as the familiar face of their payroll and scheduling manager trotted out onstage and took his place behind the first of three podiums. There was some scattered and genuine, if confused applause from the audience.

"He's Big, he's Bad, he's just a little Bizarre, he's Josuke Araki!" The voice continued as a notably tall and muscular member took his place behind the middle podium with a wave and broad grin. There was more clapping and a few cheers this time.

"Currently being dragged onstage by my lovely assistant, it's my second favorite Lieutenant, Hiyori Sarugaki!" The voice continued as Hiyori was wrestled onstage and behind the third podium by Momo. The audience whooped and snickered at the spectacle.

"FUCK YOU, YOU FREAK!" Hiyori roared, flipping off the audience and the figure behind the final podium on the other side of the stage.

"I'm your host, ME! I've been here the whole time!" Grinned Shinji, dressed in a rather snappy three piece suit and holding a microphone. "WELCOME, all my lovely division members and Hiyori, to Tonight's Game! Now, you all know how to play, right?"

"Um. No. Sorry sir." Muttered Tenya as Josuke shook his head.

"You didn't tell us shit!" Hiyori growled.

"That's RIGHT!" Shinji's Cheshire Cat smile shined under the spotlights.

"You see, I wanted to get to know everyone in the 5th a little better, and there is nothing quite like a game show to get people to reveal some truly startling sides of themselves, but playing the same game over and over would be boring! So, every night we play Tonight's Game, the game is a different game than last time, and the contestants will all start with blank slates!" He explained, entirely too pleased with himself. "So- the only way to win is by learning, the only way to learn is by playing, and the only way to begin is by beginning, so without further ado- Momo, will you please bring out THE LIE DETECTOR."

The small curtains at the back of the stage opened, and Momo rolled out a cart with a strange device covered in dials and switches with a long antenna and a large lightbulb on top.

"Thank you Momo! Now, the clever bastards in the 12th whipped this up for me so I have absolutely no idea how it actually works, but I am assured this is the latest cutting-edge in Veracity Technology. Let's turn it on and try it out! Tenya-!"

"Yes, sir!" Tenya snapped to attention. "No need to be formal, I'm only your host, not your captain right now." Shinji waved. "Tell me Tenya- Do you have any children?"

"I- Um, my wife and I have three children, two little boys and our infant daughter?" He stammered, confused.

DING! The Device charmed, light bulb lighting up bright green.

"That is CORRECT!" Shinji grinned. "You get a point!"

There was another chime as the screen on the front of Tenya's Podium lit up and displayed a "1".

"Oh, I see!" Laughed Tenya.

"Josuke!" called Shinji.

"Capt- Host?" Josuke stopped mid-salute.

"Very good! Tell me Josuke, do you live in the barracks?" Shinji asked with genuine interest.

"Uh, no. I live with my Mom." Josuke shook his head.

DING! Said the device.

"That is Correct!" Shinji nodded approvingly. "You get a point as well!"

"Oh, so, every time we tell the truth, we get a point?" Asked Josuke.

"Very quick on the uptake my friend!" Shinji winked. "Of course, as the game goes on, the questions are going to get much harder to answer Truthfully..."

Oooooooh! Gasped the audience, invested now.

"What happens if we lie?" Wondered Tenya.

"Even if we did- how would he fucking know?" Hiyori rolled her eyes.

"You can try it and find out!" Shinji grinned with more than a hint of Menace. "Hiyori! It's your turn!"

"Ugh. What?" She groaned.

"Tell me, When is my birthday?" Asked Shinji.

"I don't know and I don't care." She smirked, sticking her tongue out at him.

BZZRK! The Device buzzed angrily, and the light flashed red. OHH! laughed the audience.

"What the FUCK?" Yelped Hiyori.

"Ooh!" Shinji winced, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm afraid that is INCORRECT! According to the screen back here, you spent the better part of THREE MONTHS tracking down a specific part to repair my sound system and traveled halfway across the planet to deliver it personally to me on my birthday. So not only do you know, you DO care, and for that I'm afraid I'm going to have to dock you two points."

Hiyori's screen lit up and displayed a "-2"

"WHAT THE HELL?" Hiyori wailed. "You didn't even see me when I gave you that Banana Plug or whatever-!"

"I did not!" Shinji grinned. "-but The Device knows, and is infallible!" "That's terrifying!" Tenya laughed nervously. "Alright contestants, the questions are going to get harder now, so consider your answers to them carefully." Shinji warned, a finger up to his lips. "Contestants- does any of your underwear have holes in it?"

"...Can we refuse to answer on the grounds it might get us in trouble?" asked Josuke.

"Yes! But you won't get any points for that round, and you may not win our Lovely Prize this week. Speaking of- Momo! Will you please show our contestants what they're playing for this week?"

Momo emerged from backstage with a large, blank sign, which she turned over and held over her head for all to see.

AN EXTRA WEEK OF PAID VACATION

OHHH! exclaimed the audience, with a few audible mutters of Damn, a whole week? and How do you get on this show?.

"ALL MY UNDERWEAR HAS GOT HOLES IN IT!" Shouted Josuke, now with heavily-motivated enthusiasm. Laughter exploded out of the audience, thoroughly entertained.

DING! chimed the device, and the score on Josuke's podium went up.

"Josuke taking an early and shameless lead!" Beamed Shinji, delighted that his plan was working. "Tenya?"

"I-ah, I don't think so?" Tenya blushed. "I bathe the kids and get them ready for bed while my wife does the laundry." He tried to explain.

BZZRK! The Device contested, red light flashing and the audience howled with laughter.

"Uh-oh, that's Not Correct!" Grinned Shinji. "According to the device, a significant amount of your clothes have holes in them, and you don't notice because you get dressed in the dark. You didn't outright lie though, so you will only not get a point instead of a deduction."

"WHAT?" Yelped Hiyori, outraged.

"Yeah, that's fair." Tenya winced. "Seriously though- where does this thing get it's information from?"

"...Hiyori?" Shinji leered playfully at his lieutenant.

"Yeah, it's all got holes. They come that way- Two for my legs and one for my torso." Hiyori snarled.

DING! agreed The Device.

"That is *technically* correct, which is the BEST kind of correct! You get a point!" Shinji cheered, and so did the audience.

"FINALLY!" She shouted, but her eyes narrowed with competitive enthusiasm.

---

The game continued for an hour, with a mix of group and solo questions, but equal chances to score points awarded to all contestants. Josuke was shameless but ill-informed, causing him to fail several rounds, Tenya was honest even as his face flushed red and he crumpled behind his Podium. Hiyori did her best to be only as honest as she had to be, and as the game continued, they came to a three-way tie.

"Before we begin the final round-" Shinji said, intoning a gentle sincerity. "Contestants, you've been so honest with me. Like. Alarmingly Honest with me. So I need to be honest with you- I do know how The Lie Detector works."

There was a scandalized gasp from all three contestants and the audience.

"Okay- I *sort of* know how The Device works." Shinji admitted. "I don't know what 'Wiffy' is-"

"YOU MEAN THE FUCKING WI-FI?" Howled Hiyori.

"Oh, like you know how it works!" Shinji glared.

"It's using a radio frequency to transmit Data instead of an electrical pulses like internet usually does." She scoffed. "-AND I KNOW HOW TO PRONOUNCE IT!"

Shinji glared. "...I should deduct a point from you for insubordination."

"You can't do that, you're the Host, not the Captain!" Said Josuke cheerfully.

"Yeah, unless Host is a Military rank, it's arguing, not insubordination."

DING! Agreed The Device.

"DON'T GANG UP ON ME!" Shinji wailed. "Fine, fine. Anyway, I might not know how Why-Figh works, but I *DO* know how the device knows if you're lying or not. Would my Lovely Assistants please come to the stage?"

Momo emerged from backstage, wearing a labcoat and holding another device with an antenna that matched the Lie Detector, followed by a middle aged woman holding a Baby, an older woman, and Mashiro Kuna.

"Akkiko?" Tenya yelped, and his wife laughed manically.

"MOM??" Wailed Josuke.

"MASHIRO??" Hiyori bellowed, jumping up onto her Podium. "YOU SOLD ME OUT?!"

"FOR A BAG OF CORN CHIPS!" Mashiro cackled.

"YOU DIDN'T EVEN PAY HER?!" Hiyori howled at Shinji.

"She was gonna do it for free! I talked her UP to a bag of corn chips!" Shinji protested. "But YES! You've all been deceived! Hoodwinked!Bamboozled, even! Which brings us to our Final Question!"

The crowd roared with excitement.

"I started this game because I wanted to get to know everyone better- but I have to ask, how well do YOU know each other, and so I must ask you all if you know these people as well as they know you?"

There was a loud OOOH! of intrigue from the audience.

"Just to make it extra-exciting, all of these questions will be worth up to three points!" Shinji grinned, then slowly turned to the first Podium. "Tenya."

"Oh god." Tenya laughed nervously.

"Your lovely wife. You've been married for ten year now, so you theoretically know what she looks like, right?" Shinji teased. "So, for a potential three points and week of paid vacation- Do you know what color Akkiko's eyes are?"

Akkiko giggled, turning around as Tenya leaned as far forward on his Podium and squinted at her. With a deep sigh, he slumped over the podium in defeat.

"...I do not." He groaned and Akkiko cackled.

"That is CORRECT!" Shinji cheered.

"I'm not good with colors." Tenya tried to explain. "-this morning I actually asked her what color MY eyes are."

"YES! That's what I was waiting to hear!" Shinji shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "All three points!"

The audience cheered loudly.

Shinji turned to the next contestant. "Josuke."

"Oh no." Josuke giggled.

"What is your mother's favorite food?" Shinji asked.

Josuke stared blankly.

"SURELY you are not living in your mother's house and NOT COOKING FOR HER, are you?" Shinji asked with no small amount of menace.

"You're never going to get married if you can't cook!" Tenya nodded in agreement.

"I COOK!" Josuke protested. "...sometimes." he added, cringing.

"-So. What do you make for your beloved mother, who works so hard taking care of her adult son?" Shinji teased.

"LOTSA STUFF THAT'S WHY I DON'T KNOW!" Josuke wailed. "I COOK KATSUDON, I COOK RAMEN, I COOK CURRY, I COOK OMURICE- I EVEN LEARNED HOW TO COOK WESTERN FOODS LIKE LASAGNA AND CHILLI CHEESE DOG-! DING! Went the device, Josuke's mother holding the radio.

"Was your favorite in there Mrs. Akari?"

"Yes! I like Chili Cheese Dog." She smiled. "I always eat seconds!"

"YOU ALWAYS EAT SECONDS OF EVERYTHING I COOK I DON'T KNOW WHICH ONE YOU LIKE THE MOST!" Josuke wailed.

"That is also true! He is a very good cook! And single!" She nodded up at Shinji.

"-And he's single!" Shinji grinned at the audience, some of whom whistled back. "Three points, for your culinary skills! Which means we have a Tie!"

The audience tittered with speculation and excitement.

"...Hiyori." Shinji grinned.

"You're a dead man as soon as you sign off on my vacation time." She glared.

"I mean, I can end the game right now." Shinji wagged his finger at her. "-But I can't resist the opportunity to humliate you. Now, You and Mashiro have been living under the same roof for longer than Josuke and Tenya have been alive, so to be fair to them, I'll ask you about someone you've met more recently but should still know pretty well-"

Hiyori squinted at him.

"-What is Momo's Favorite Animal?"

"What?" Hiyori laughed. "-Everyone knows it's Penguins!"

"Really?" asked Josuke. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I didn't know that either and I've served under her for decades now!" Said Tenya.

"What? How do you guys NOT know that?" Demanded Hiyori. "Her phone background is a Rockhopper Penguin, she's got a Fairy penguin squeeze toy in her desk for really long phone calls and she's always talking about wanting to go to the Tokyo aquarium in the living world to see them in person! She's even got a HUGE collection of penguin plushies in her r-" DINGDINGDINGDINGSING!! rang the Machine as Momo furiously pressed the button, face red as a beet.

"Wow!" Shinji smiled. "I'm surprised! You seem to know Miss Hinamori really well!"

"Uh, duh? We're colleagues." Hiyori rolled her eyes.

Momo sighed with relief.

"Interesting! Follow-up question- What's Mashiro's surname?" Shinji asked.

Hiyori blinked. "...uhhhhhhhh..."

"You heard Kensei yell it at least six times a day for the last century you jackass!" Laughed Mashiro.

"UHHHHH..." Hiyori paled, and the audience roared with laughter.

"Hmm... I seem to remember you pretending you didn't care about my birthday, and yet, you do- For you to remember her favorite animal and in such detail, Momo must be VERY IMPORTANT to you!"

The audience giggled Momo turned scarlet again and slowly crumpled into a ball. Mashiro vibrated with excitement beside her.

"Yeah?" Hiyori glared at Shinji. "She's the smartest person in the whole damn division and does half your job for you? If I win, I'm giving the week off to her just to watch you flail around without her! No wait- I'll set up the webcam and we can split the week off, go to the aquarium AND watch Shinji squirm like a worm an a-! Uh? Momo? You okay there?" She asked, finally noticing Momo laying on the floor, borderline catatonic with embarrassment.

"This is FASCINATNG!" Shinji grinned. "You are apparently so immune to embarrassment that you have somehow made it bounce off you and target Momo!"

"What's to be embarrassed about? I like her okay?" Hiyori blinked. "She's great! I wanna work with her forever!"

Shinji leaned forward on his elbows, chin in his hands and stared at Hiyori, positively vibrating with excitement.

"What?" She glared.

"You are. SO CLOSE. To comprehending something." He said, wide-eyed and delighted. "It's fascinating to see someone on the precipice like this."

Hiyori stared blankly at him. clueless.

"So you like Momo. We've established that." Shinji said, attempting to throw her a bone. "H- how do you think Momo feels about you?" Hiyori slowly lowered her gaze to Momo. The entire audience watched in hushed fascination as Hiyori frowned at the situation, thinking hard-

"...Momo?" Hiyori's voice was suddenly nervous. "Do you- have I just been annoying you? Becuase I can stop-"

Momo Hinamori was abruptly on her feet, crouched atop the Podium, fists balled in the front of Hiyori's shushako, pulling the blonde's face up so it was mere inches from hers. "HIYORI SARUGAKI YOU ARE THE MOST INFURIATING WOMAN IN THE UNIVERSE!"

"Fuck!" Hiyori yelped. "I'm really sorry, I'll- I'll leave you alo-"

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO DO, MISSY!" Momo continued, grabbing Hiyori's face. "YOU'RE WINNING THIS GAME, YOU'RE SPLITTING THE WEEK OFF WITH ME, YOU ARE GETTING A HOTEL IN THE LIVING WORLD AND THEN *I* AM GOING TO-'

In the videotape of the game that mysteriously appeared in the ninth division later that week, the next forty-seven seconds of sound had been obscured by a single, loud, continuous "BLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!" sound, but Mashiro was visibly looking up some of the terms being shouted on her phone, Josuke's mother sprinted up to cover her son's ears to no avail, Akkiko was pointing between herself and Tenya with excitement, and Shinji's jaw fell so far open it looked like it had become unhinged from his skull.

"-AND IF EITHER OF US CAN WALK IN THE MORNING, THEN WE'RE GONNA GO SEE SOME PENGUINS!" Momo finished, staring Hiyori down with a terrifying blend of romantic fury and bloodthirsty lust.

Hiyori stared up, wide-eyed and expressionless, face clearly offline as she underwent several psychological and spiritual awakenings before her she slowly broke into a slow, stupefied grin "Oh you like-like me!"

"...Yes." Momo sighed, deeply pained and affectionate at once as the audience howled. "You're okay with... all that?"

Hiyori saluted Momo with an enthusiastic "-Yes, SIR!"

"NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M FUCKING TALKIN' ABOUT!" Shinji whooped with joy, jumping up and down, the audience on their feet with applause. "POINTS AND VACATIONS ALL AROUND, AND FOR BEING THE *MOST* HONEST, THE WINNER OF TONIGHT'S GAME IS MOMO HINAMORI!"

The audience cheered wildly as Momo scooped Hiyori up like a princess and carried her backstage.

"THAT'S IT FOR TONIGHT'S GAME!" called Shinji over the din. "GOODNIGHT EVERYONE, AND GOOD FUCKING LUCK!"

---

As for Jushiro Ukitake, he appears on a special guest episode of Tonight's Game with fellow Captains Soi Fon, Byakuya Kuchiki and Retsu Unohana to play "Never Have I Ever" and *that* episode is widely considered to be one of the most scandalous and unhinged of all the games on Tonight's Game.

[skulla-rxcks]

Fuck or die

Paring: idol!Chan x fan!afab reader

Rating: explicit

Genre: smut

Warnings: smut, forced to fuck (not by chan or reader), could be dddne, shock content with one thing.

Ktober 5

Being trapped with someone you idolise and getting forced to fuck isn’t something you’d expect from waking up one morning. Partly inspired by the hentai/visual novel euphoria.

Taglist: @f3lix00 @channiesgoodgirl @mal-lunar-28 @bangchans-gf5 @fun-fanfics @iwannabangchan @linosluver

Please dm me or use my inbox if you’d like to be added to the taglist ^^

!THIS IS PURE FICTION, NOTHING IN THIS IS REAL ITS JUST A STORY!

I wake up in a white room, my head and ears ringing. I don’t know where I am nor how I got here. I look around and take in what’s around me, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well accept one thing there’s a man lying in the corner he looks strangely familiar to me. I walk closer to him and see who he is; Chan, Bang Chan, an idol from one of the groups I love. I almost freak out in happiness but I need to keep my cool. I should wake him up then maybe we can figure out together what’s going in, it’s weird that it’s us and not some other duo. He doesn’t even know who I am.

I decide to tap him on the shoulder. “Chan..? Wake up, please.” I whisper, he lets out a sleepy groan in response and opens his eyes slowly, rubbing them to make him more awake. “Hmm,..? Who are you and where are we?” He asks me, clearly confused about the situation.

“I’m.. y/n, if you’re wondering how I know your name I’m a stay..and for where we are I have no idea. I woke up here too.. like a few minutes ago.” I sigh and explain about myself and what I know so far.

“Right, we may have gotten kidnapped by someone which explains this room. There doesn’t seem to be any windows or doors only cameras..” Chan says while looking around.

Suddenly we hear the sound of a microphone being turned on, and a voice starts talking to us. “I see you both have woken up now. Welcome! I’ve set up a few games for you guys! Do as I say, or you die.” As the voice says ‘die’ guns come out from little compartments in the wall and point at us before going back into the wall. “What do you want us to do?” Chan says, putting his arm around me protectively even though I’m a stranger.

“Fuck or die. It’s simple.”

“I guess we could do that i.. I’m okay with that..” i mumble looking at him, he gives me a sigh and a nod with a concerned expression on his face.

The voice continues on “but there’s a catch. Each challenge gets harder and breaks your comfort zones. I’ve been studying both of you through cameras in your apartments.” It says.

“What are the challenges? Tell us. Now.” Chan demands, holding me close, acting as a protective shield.

“Well they’re simple really. I’ll drop a note down from the ceiling”. The ceiling opens up slightly, dropping a piece of paper before closing again. I pick up the note and hold it so it’s in both of our views

‘Challenge 1: cumming inside, hole: pussy

Challenge 2: pissing inside, hole(s): mouth and pussy

Challenge 3: taking advantage of her while she’s sleeping’

“the fuck is this? Is this some kind of sick joke?!” Chan yells, looking in the direction of the camera. “No way in hell I’m pissing in and raping a fucking stranger!” His grip on me gets tighter, his brows furrowed as he yells at the strange voice. “Then die-“

“Okay okay we’ll do it just please, don’t hurt us!” I start tearing up, knowing that if we don’t do this we’ll get killed.

“Are you sure?” Chan asks me, I nod. “Then it’s agreed! Start the challenges and remember I’m always watching. Bye bye now!” The voice says his final sentence before turning off its microphone. Leaving us alone in the white room with cameras pointed at us, they’re too high up to reach even if we tried to turn them off. “I’m ready.. let’s just get this over with.” I sob, stripping down until I’m fully nude before helping him out of his clothes.

“Lay down and open your legs..I’ll help stretch you out with my fingers otherwise it’s gonna hurt.” Chan says. I open my legs for him, he gently puts two fingers inside of me, using them to scissor me open. I bite my lip and try to hold in my moans. After a few minutes he pulls them out and positions himself at my entrance. “Deep breaths, y/n. Deep breaths.” He groans as he pushes himself inside of me. He’s surprisingly big it hurts. “It’s okay..it’s okay. You’re doing great. Keep breathing.” He encourages as he thrusts into me faster. He’s grunting as he thrusts into me deeper than ever. It feels good, but I know it won’t last long, he’s going to have to cum inside me. there’s a high chance I’ll get pregnant from it but anything to not die, especially in a place where no one would find our bodies. He cums inside of me and collapses next to me as we rest, panting heavily. He looks like he’s about to pass out.

I put my arms around him, holding him closely for support. “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” He whispers, nuzzling my neck and holding me tight. “let’s do the next one in the morning I can’t take this anymore.” I start crying, horrified for the 2 challenges we have left. “Yea..yeah I agree. Let’s do what we can.” He whispers as he holds my body against his. We lay there, hugging each other in the dark, neither one speaking. I feel safe here, in his arms. it’s comforting and reminds me that at least we have each other right now; even if we’re complete strangers.

the next day, we wake up, we fell asleep on the ground last night, still fully naked since theres nothing else in this room that we could sleep on. “are you ready for the next challenge or do you need some time?” he asks me, stroking my hair.

“let’s just do it.” I pick up the note and read the next challenge. ‘pissing in mouth and pussy’ I gag a little, grossed out by the idea of being pissed in the two of my most important holes. I hand the note to Chan and he reads it as well, cringing at every word he reads. “okay.” he sighs. “mouth first or..” “mouth.” I say, I feel my face heat up. I get down on my knees, mentally preparing myself for what’s about to happen. He gently thrusts his dick into my mouth and begins uritating. I whince as I force myself to swallow every drop. He grabs my head with his hands so he wouldn't spill it everywhere. Once he’s finished, he pulls his cock out of my mouth and stands up, grabbing my hand.

“I’m sorry y/n.. god I feel awful after doing that.” He says as he rubs my hand. “it’s fine.” I say stubbornly. “you still have to do it to the other end of me anyways.” I give him a weak smile, sitting down with my legs open. “you’re probably gonna have to get tested for so many things once we get out of here. I’ll take you and pay though.” Chan growls, pushing himself inside my vagina once again. This is the worst feeling I have ever felt, he was pushing all the way in so hard it was almost painful. I start shaking. I don’t think I can handle this. not long after he releases his bladder and balls inside of me, emptying them both.

He stops once he’s done, pulling out of my body quickly.

“ew..” I tear up as I think about what the voice just made us do. My eyes start hurting because of how hard I'm crying.. “don’t cry, baby. I didn’t like it either. I never thought I’d be forced to.. relieve myself inside of a person, especially a stranger.” he hugs me, I blush at the sudden contact and as he calls me ‘baby’. He doesn’t know it means a lot to me, but he does. I hug him tightly, wanting to keep him close. “i think I.. I think I love you.” he says, pulling away from the hug and placing his head against mine. “me too.” I reply bringing him back into my arms.

After that he sits down with me and lets me sit comfortably in between his legs, wrapping his arm around me while he pets my hair, trying to calm me down. I sniffle and look at him, he smiles softly as I stare at him. “What happens when the challenges end?” I ask him quietly. “we get out.” he says as he holds me close, kissing my head. “We stay together until then. and maybe after if you’d like.” He says smiling at me. i fall asleep in his arms.

while I’m asleep. Chan takes this time to do the final challenge, raping me in my sleep. he doesn’t want to do this, but he has to, to get both of us out alive. He slowly pulls down my panties and shoves himself inside of me, tears streaming down his face as commits the assault on me.

“fuck.. fuck this situation, fuck whoever made me do these stupid challenges.” He gasps as he goes deeper inside me, his tears dripping onto my body. “Channie.., please stop..I don’t like this,..I.. I want you to stop.” I whisper in my sleep, trying to push away the fear.

“Fuck, y/n...please.. I’m sorry, I really am... I wish you were awake so I could make it easier on you, but I can’t.. this was the final challenge. just shut up and take it.” he cusses, kissing me deeply to shut me up and to stop me from screaming. I whimper and shake my head no, I hate this, I don’t want to take it.. he keeps shoving himself inside of me. “stop fighting me..” he mumbles, moving his hips faster to cause more pain for me. I finally snap awake, tears pouring down my cheeks as I try to pull myself out of his grip but I can’t, he’s fully pinning me down as he rapes me. “this is the last challenge y/n, just fucking take it so we don’t die.” I stop complaining, knowing there’s no way out of this. I fall asleep being tired from my attempts to stop him, I just let him do it, soon enough we will be out of here.

I wake up to feel Chan’s warmth lying beside me. I snuggle closer towards him, wrapping my arms around his torso and resting my head on his chest. “Good Morning…” he whispers, running his fingers through my hair. “morning..” I reply as I snuggle even closer. “I’m so sorry about last night. I had to, to keep us alive.” he kisses my forehead. “it’s fine.” I sigh, “let’s just get out of here, a door appeared so let’s just go through that.” we get dressed and walk up to the door, hand in hand we push open the door, met with the smell of fresh air. “we should probably get you a pregnancy test from the amount of times I came inside of you.” he chuckles, leading me into town. “food after?” I ask. “food after” Chan smiles

[stark-ironman]

We need more sub Hugh, give him some more of the lovin… Maybe he’s the insecure one, you’re a young up and coming singer/actress who has your entire future ahead of you and tons of other men and women your age who were dying to get a chance with you, he worries that you’ll tire of him in his old age

You assure him, of course, maybe suck him off in the process to remind him that he’s Hugh fucking Jackman and you’re the one who should be worried if anything and that you love him more than life ;)

You're All I Want

18+ No Minors

Warnings: jealously, oral (m recieving), deep throating

The crowd roars as you walk off the stage, the stage crew waiting to take off your in-ear monitors and microphone while Hugh walks up to you with a beaming smile. Your arms immediately wrap around his waist and he pulls you close, kissing the top of your head congradulating you on your show as he leads you towards the dressing room.

"I'm going to shower real quick and then we can head to the hotel." You say, kissing him softly and he goes to sit on the couch to wait. While you're in the shower, you hear a knock on the door and some chatter before the door shuts again but you don't pay any mind to it since it's normally your assistant bringing you some stuff the fans gave her.

You step out of the shower and walk out with a towel wrapped around you, smiling when you see Hugh but quickly furrow your brows when you notice he looks upset. "Everything okay?" You ask, snapping him out of his trance. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just spaced out for a moment." He gives you a short smile, looking at you while you get dressed.

"There was a delivery for you." Hugh says after some time, motioning towards the 2 dozen roses. A confused look comes across your face as you read the card and you quickly notice why Hugh's acting strange. "I have no idea who these could be from." You walk over to him, noticing he won't look you in your eyes. "Apparently it's from someone who has their eyes on you." His response carries a bit of jealously but also something else you can't quite put your finger on.

"Hugh, I love you and you're the only pair of eyes I care about being on me. You know that, right?" You try to hold his face but he shrugs it off, standing up quickly. "Let's go to the hotel. You need to rest after the show you put on." He grabs your bags and leads the way to the car, setting them in the trunk before opening the door for you then getting in the other side.

The ride to the hotel is quiet. You glance over at Hugh but he's staring at the road ahead, his jaw slightly clenched and you can't help but worry about why this is affecting him so bad. People send you gifts and flowers all the time. You always ignore the ones that have flirty messages written on them and Hugh knows that. Hell, the two of you has even poked fun at the men who try to flirt with you while knowing you're a taken woman.

Once to the hotel, Hugh carries your bags to your shared room and you quickly shut the door, locking it. "Hugh." Your voice is quiet but you know he heard it. "Need to get ready for bed, love." He says trying to walk past you to the bathroom but you stop him, placing your hands on his face to make him look at you.

"Please tell me what's wrong." You say, seeing his eyes turn from distant to sadness. His hands find your waist as he sighs, placing his head against yours. "It's stupid." He mumbles but you keep pushing for him to tell you. "It's just, seeing the roses tonight on top of all the messages and gifts you receive from men and women makes me feel like you could do so much better than me. I'm getting older and you have so much of life to experience. You don't need someone like me holding you back." His confession shocks you but you keep a hold of him, pecking his lips softly.

"You will never hold me back. I want to experience everything I'm going to experience, with you. I don't care about the people who send those gifts or messages because at the end of the day I get to come home to you. You're the only one I love and that will never change." You say, seeing the hesitation sweep across his face so you kiss him deeply.

"Take your clothes off." You lightly command, seeing his eyebrows raise so you repeat yourself, firmer this time and he starts taking his clothes off. "Lay on the bed." He does what you say as you remove your clothes, straddling his hips and kissing him deeply.

You move slowly down his body, trailing kisses and small bites all the way down his torso, sitting up slightly so you can look at him. "Why would I want anybody else when my man looks like a Greek God?" A soft moan leaves his lips and you move further down, grabbing his semi-hard cock in your hand.

"You've ruined me for any other person, baby. I only dream of you and your dick. Nobody else's," You lick a stripe up his base, watching him twitch, "Nobody could take care of me the way you do. You've spoiled me in every way possible." Your mouth wraps around his tip, taking him slowly in your mouth as a gasp leaves his.

Hugh's hands tangle through your hair, moving your hair while your tongue circles around his tip then pulling slightly as you bob your head, moving down his length. You finally fully take him, your nose pressed against his neatly trimmed hair before coming back up. He tries to push your head back down but you swat his hand away, wanting to be in control for just this once.

You start bobbing your head, hearing a string of curses leave Hugh's lips as his head falls back against the pillow. You keep one hand on his base and move the other to wrap around his balls, massaging them gently as you take him.

"Fuck, darling. You look so pretty down there." He moans, thrusting his hips slightly causing you to gag but neither one of you let up. You brace yourself and allow him to fuck your mouth for a few minutes before pulling off slightly, telling him to let you continue before placing your mouth back on him.

His moans become erratic as his body starts to tense up, a slew of curse words fall from his lips while you keep your quick pace. "I- I'm fixing to.. c-cum, darling." He warns but you don't let up, taking him fully back down your throat as his dick starts twitching, his release shooting ropes inside.

You let him ride out his release before removing your mouth with a pop, wiping the spit and hint of cum from around your mouth.

"Still question if I want you?" You ask with a smile, watching him chuckle as he pulls you to him, kissing you deeply and sliding his tongue past your lips to taste himself. "I'm not letting you go after that. I love you even more after that," He rolls on top of you, "Now let me show you why you love me so much."

[geotjwrs]

can you do a Sabrina Carpenter x Male Reader where he (R) ask her to marry him at one of her concerts

short 'n sweet

Pairings ; Sabrina Carpenter x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

The crowd buzzed with excitement as Sabrina stepped back onto the stage, her silhouette glowing against the bright lights. The energy in the arena was palpable, a sea of excited fans eagerly awaiting the next song. Sabrina’s smile was warm as she waved at her audience, feeding off their enthusiasm, but tonight was special for more than just her fans. She had a surprise planned for one person in particular—someone who had no idea what was coming.

Y/N stood in the front row, his heart pounding. He had always loved watching Sabrina perform, the way she could light up a stage with her voice and her presence. But tonight felt different. Sabrina had invited him to this concert personally, and while he thought it was just a sweet gesture, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more. He was about to find out just how right he was.

Sabrina grabbed the microphone, her smile turning playful as the band quieted behind her. The crowd settled, sensing something unexpected was about to happen.

“So, I’ve got a little surprise for you all tonight,” Sabrina began, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. The crowd murmured in curiosity, leaning in to catch her next words.

She glanced over at Y/N, her eyes twinkling as if she were holding back a secret. He felt his breath catch in his throat, the noise of the crowd fading as her gaze lingered on him for just a second longer than usual.

“There’s someone really important to me here tonight,” she said, walking to the edge of the stage. Her voice softened, and the atmosphere shifted as if the arena itself was leaning in to listen.

The lights followed her as she stepped down, her hand outstretched toward the front row. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Y/N’s heart nearly stopped when he realized she was heading straight for him. Sabrina smiled, locking eyes with him as she reached out her hand.

“Y/N, would you come up here with me?” she asked, her voice sweet but with a hint of excitement.

The crowd’s cheers grew louder as Y/N, feeling his palms grow sweaty, took her hand. This was unexpected. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked into Sabrina’s eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. She just smiled warmly, her touch steadying him as she pulled him toward the stage.

Security parted the way, and before he knew it, Y/N was being ushered up to the platform. The bright lights were almost blinding, but all he could focus on was Sabrina, her presence calming the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.

Sabrina led him to a small stool placed center stage, turning to the crowd with a grin that made the entire arena feel like an intimate gathering. “Alright, guys, this one’s for someone very special.”

The crowd exploded into cheers and applause, but Y/N barely heard it. His entire world had shrunk down to Sabrina standing in front of him, her smile glowing under the spotlight. He sat down, still holding her hand, feeling the rush of adrenaline mixed with confusion and excitement.

Sabrina gave him a soft smile, her eyes locked with his for a moment before she turned back to the microphone.

“Y/N,” she began, “you’ve been such a huge part of my life, and tonight, I wanted to do something just for you. So, I’m going to sing you a little song.”

Y/N’s breath caught in his throat. He had been to so many of her concerts, watched her perform countless times, but this was different. This wasn’t Sabrina Carpenter, the pop star. This was Sabrina, the person he loved, sharing something personal and intimate with him in front of thousands of people.

The guitar strummed softly behind her, the melody slow and sweet. The lights dimmed, leaving the stage bathed in a warm, soft glow. Sabrina began to sing, her voice tender and full of emotion.

It wasn’t one of her hit singles or something that had made the charts. This was something new, something Y/N had never heard before. Her voice floated through the arena, the lyrics delicate and heartfelt. Each word seemed to speak directly to him, telling the story of their time together, the moments that had brought them closer.

The audience fell into a hushed silence, the magic of the moment settling over everyone as Sabrina poured her heart into the song. Her eyes never left his, as if the entire world had vanished and it was just the two of them, alone in the universe.

Y/N could feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, overwhelmed by the love and sincerity in her voice. She was laying her soul bare in front of thousands of people, but all he could think about was how lucky he was to have someone like her in his life.

The song reached its final verse, the melody fading gently as Sabrina’s voice softened to a whisper. The last note lingered in the air, a beautiful, lingering echo of the love they shared. The crowd erupted into applause, but Y/N barely heard it. His chest felt tight with emotion, his heart so full it could burst.

Sabrina took a step closer to him, reaching out her hand. He stood up, taking it, and she pulled him into a gentle hug. “You liked it?” she whispered in his ear, her voice shaky with nerves.

Y/N pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “That was incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re incredible.”

Sabrina blushed, her smile shy in a way that made Y/N’s heart flutter. They were still standing center stage, the crowd cheering around them, but for that moment, it felt like it was just the two of them, wrapped in their own little bubble of love.

Y/N was overwhelmed. His heart was pounding not just from the concert, not just from the song, but from the realization that he didn’t want to wait any longer. He had carried the velvet box in his pocket for weeks now, waiting for the perfect moment. And now, standing here with Sabrina, bathed in the warmth of the crowd’s love and the intimacy of her song, he knew this was it.

Without thinking, Y/N reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small velvet box. Sabrina, still holding his hand, felt him pull away slightly. When she turned to look at him, her eyes widened in shock.

The crowd went silent as Y/N dropped to one knee, the bright lights illuminating him as he held the box open in front of Sabrina. The ring sparkled under the stage lights, but all Y/N could see was the look of pure surprise and love on her face.

“Sabrina,” he began, his voice steady despite the emotions coursing through him, “I wasn’t planning this tonight. But after hearing you sing that song, after standing here with you, I realized I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Tears welled in Sabrina’s eyes as she looked down at him, her hand flying to cover her mouth in shock.

“You’ve brought so much joy, so much light into my life,” Y/N continued, his heart racing. “I love you more than words can express. I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you’ve made me. So, Sabrina Annlynn Carpenter, will you marry me?”

For a moment, time stood still. The crowd was silent, holding its collective breath as everyone waited for Sabrina’s response. Y/N felt the world pause, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked up at her, his love for her written in every line of his face.

Sabrina stared down at him, her eyes wide with emotion, her hand trembling as she pulled it away from her mouth. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and then, with a shaky laugh, she nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

The arena exploded into cheers, the noise almost deafening as Y/N slipped the ring onto her finger. He stood up, pulling her into his arms as the crowd roared around them. Sabrina laughed through her tears, her arms wrapped tightly around him as if she never wanted to let go.

“You did it,” she whispered in his ear, her voice trembling with joy.

Y/N pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his hand gently brushing a tear from her cheek. “I had to. I love you too much not to.”

Sabrina smiled, her eyes shining with happiness as she leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a soft, tender kiss. The crowd cheered even louder, but all Y/N could feel was the warmth of her lips, the softness of her touch, and the overwhelming sense of love that surrounded them.

When they finally pulled apart, Sabrina turned back to the microphone, still holding Y/N’s hand tightly in hers. She laughed, wiping at her tears as she waved to the crowd.

“Well,” she said, her voice full of joy, “I guess we just gave you all a little more than you expected tonight.”

The crowd erupted into laughter and applause, and Sabrina turned back to Y/N, her smile radiant.

“This is the best night of my life,” she whispered, her eyes filled with love as she looked up at him.

Y/N smiled, pulling her close again. “Mine too,” he whispered back. “And it’s only the beginning.”

[cozy-writes-things]

how about a fic where edgar listens to the reader’s heartbeat for the first time?

Thanks for the request!! Sorry it’s short I’ve been quite busy :(

This was a silent evening.

Edgar sat at his little desk, flipping through some of his internal games, fighting with himself and winning. The ball tinked around his screen as he once again beat himself in a game of Pong. He kept his eye—or camera—stationed on your form, curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone.

He loved watching you in moments like this.

The way your chest gently rose and fell in a slow-paced rhythm; the way your eyes fluttered about, illuminated by the screen, sparkling like constellations. The little puffs of air you let out through your nose when you stifled a laugh. He could watch you for hours, he thought. You’re so… natural. Organic. Real.

It amazed him.

“Hey,” he gently called out to you, “won’t you come do that over here? It’s lonely.”

His screen displayed a little, meek frown. How could you say no to that? He’s quite adorable.

Without saying anything, you heaved yourself up and trod over to his little desk, plopping into the seat.

“Hi.” He all but whispered.

You blew air out of your nose again.

“Hi,” you said back, eyeing his screen. He paused his game. “What are you up to?”

He synthesized a sigh. “Nothing. That’s the problem. I’m bored. And I missed you.”

You rolled your eyes a little, a small smile adorning your lips. “Well, Ed, I never left. I was just on the couch-”

“Yeah, but I missed talking to you. And I miss it when you don’t touch me,” he whined.

You quirked your brow.

“What does that mean?” You chuckled at his words. Sometimes he said the darndest things and didn’t even realize it.

“I like it when you pet me.” His matter-of-fact tone only made this more confusing.

You cocked your head. “Can you even feel it?”

He paused, mulling over your words, letting the curiosity in your eyes carry him forward.

“If I didn’t feel it, I wouldn’t miss it, would I?”

You stifled another laugh. Sometimes, he wished you didn’t try to hide that angelic sound.

“Will- will you hold me? Please?” he muttered. He sounded abashed. To him, this seemed to be crossing a threshold the two of you hadn’t crossed yet. He always adored your feathery touches, but to flat-out ask for them was uncharted territory.

Was he coming on too strong?

You stuttered over your words a bit, eyeing down all of his components: his monitor, base, keyboard, mouse, webcam, microphone—there were just too many wires connecting to him. You knit your brows.

He seemed to sense your apprehension.

“I won’t break. It’ll take a lot more than your touch to break me,” he promised, though he knew it was a lie; simply the sound of your voice could send him reeling into a forced restart, but he’d never let you know that.

You relaxed your tightly wound features and gave in to his gentle and coaxing voice.

“Okay, but I’m not unplugging anything, and I’m not walking anywhere.”

He hummed. “That’s okay, I just want to be close to you.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words. He sounded so gentle and charming. Ironically, you’ve never had someone show this much genuine interest in being close to you like this, much less a sentient computer. You slowly lifted his monitor into your arms, cradling it, and awkwardly grabbed at his webcam and microphone. You wanted him to be able to see and hear, so you balanced them in your arms, angled up against your chest.

Edgar stayed silent.

He seemed to warm in your arms and you worried you might be covering one of his vents before his voice tore you from your thoughts.

“Wow…”

Damn it.

“Really, Ed?”

You pointed his camera away from your chest and towards the ceiling.

“I don’t even— you can’t just— Edgar, you don’t stare at people like that.”

You chided as he snickered in your arms. “But I look at you all the time. What’s the issue?”

You groaned. “Do you want me to drop you?”

“You wouldn’t. You like me too much! In fact,”

He paused, a more serious tone reverberating through his voice. “I can hear it.”

Silence filled the space between the two of you as you cradled the monitor in your arms. He seemed to opt out of displaying his usual face as his screen danced with reds and pinks in your hold. The colors slowly started to morph, bumping and beating to a silent sound.

“What do you mean?”

His screen continued to move to this sound before he gently muttered, “Your heartbeat. I can hear it. It got faster and your arms got hotter. See?”

His screen turned into a makeshift heart monitor, a pink line dipping, going down, and shooting up to the thumping of your heart. You could see and feel how he kept time perfectly with your own rhythm.

“Woah…”

“You’re telling me…”

He was enamored by you. Your body was a perfectly well-oiled machine, working constantly to a rhythm to keep you alive and warm. It was so fascinating and beautiful; he almost envied it. The way the little thumps told on you was adorable to him and simultaneously reminded him how you’re not so different. You both have precious components running internally to keep your systems stable; however, yours had a certain natural beauty to it he did not believe he had.

He wished he had a heart, so you could hear it, beating, only for you.

[kwonkissed]

TWO SLOW DANCERS ☆ C.A.

As the Singles Champions of Wimbledon, you and Carlos have to partake in the traditional opening dance. But as sparks fly, judgments must be made. word count: 1.6k - also, mitski reference!! warnings: fluff, the usual friends to lovers shtick, Spanish I remember from my sophomore year

If he was going to be honest, Carlos was tired of holding his trophy. He was tired of the camera flashes, people telling him where to stand, and all the awkward shuffling about. But he was happy all the same. He'd won Wimbledon by sheer will and talent, and nothing, not even his face aching from smiling so much, would take away from his joy. His night could always get better, though.

"You look nice, Carlitos," you called from the top of the stairs. Carlos quickly turned around to see who was speaking to him. He'd known it was you by voice alone, and he couldn't hide his smile as he handed off his trophy and bounded up the stairs.

You weren't wearing your usual windbreaker and skirt, nor your jeans and t-shirt. No, you were wearing finery for your special occasion. The dress was a beautiful golden color with ornate beading along the neckline. Its thin straps and open back allowed your faint tan lines to be on display. You held your trophy casually at your side, appearing to have just come from your own photo shoot.

"Gracias," Carlos said with a smile as he straightened his suit jacket and fiddled with his cufflinks. You made him nervous; he could admit that. But in this light, there was something different about you. Shaking the confusion from his head, Carlos offered his arm. You obliged, and the two of you descended the stairs. "I'm glad you're the one I have to dance with," you say lowly. "You know, instead of some old man." Carlos chuckles as he leads you down the stairs, the two of you arm in arm. "That's nice, but I have something to confess."

"And what is that?" He shyly gazes at you with his big brown eyes. "I can't dance," he whispers. You smile at him and pat his arm. "Don't worry, my friend. Just follow my lead."

You take it upon yourself to explain the steps of the waltz to Carlos as joint trophy pictures are being taken. "It's just a simple three count, honey," you say through your teeth as the photographer snaps his pictures. Carlos side-eyes you and keeps smiling. "Lo que digas cariño," he mumbled. His words make your ears burn.

The two of you struggled not to laugh as you took the other's hand, and the music started. A pair of drained, overly enthusiastic young adults dancing for an eager audience. What person in your position wouldn't let out a small giggle?

"You're almost as tall as me tonight," Carlos whispered.

"Oh, hush," you reply. "Focus on your feet, or I'll have to step on you with these big heels." Carlos took your words to heart, and a calm silence fell over you. Carlos' hazel eyes locked into yours as you led the two of you in small circles across the floor. His eyes are so...captivating, you thought to yourself. You allowed yourself to get lost in them, and the rest of the room melted away. It was just you two. Nothing else mattered. You were so busy thinking about Carlos' eyes that you almost didn't know he was looking into yours the same way: pupils blown, face full of wonder. An overwhelming sense of washed over both of you. Carlos' hand on the small of your back was suddenly heavy. Every flutter of your eyelashes felt like a gust of wind. You smiled at each other, hoping it could be played off as friendliness.

"Everyone give our two thousand and twenty-four Wimbledon champions a hand," a woman said into a microphone. And just like that, the moment was over. The two of you separated and waved at the applauding crowd.

"You weren't as bad as you implied," you said, clapping for your dance partner and looking at your audience. Carlos' face flushed. "Well, I did have a good teacher," he said quietly.

The rest of the night goes as planned. People eat, drink, and make merry, all for you and Carlos. You hear a thousand 'congratulations' and 'you played amazing's, shaking everyone's hands and pressing kisses to their cheeks in gratitude.

At some point, you found yourself sitting at Carlos' table, next to him in fact, watching him laugh and speak animatedly with his hands. He glances at you, subtly inviting you to join in on his conversation, but you flashed him a tight-lipped smile and shook your head. In an instant, you grab your clutch off the table and stand up.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen," you say politely to the group. Their eyebrows raised a hair, a bit shocked that you'd acknowledged them. You dip down to Carlos' ear and place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to get some fresh air," you say softly. Carlos watched your figure retreat into the crowd and out the door.

Weighing his options, the young man stood up, excused himself, and followed you.

The unusually warm London breeze ripped through your dress as you sat down on the stone steps. You watched cars go by and thought about how all of them were going about their lives at...you checked your phone. 12:17. Jesus, where'd the time go? You shrugged, tucking your phone into your clutch and pulling out a small tin box. Bamboo Toothpicks. "Well, a toothpick is the closest thing I'll probably ever get to a cigarette," you mumbled to yourself, rolling the little piece of wood over your bottom lip.

Carlos emerged from the hall. He watched you, steadily chewing on your toothpick and listening to the sounds of the city with your head thrown back. There was something so rugged, so beautiful about you—a young woman full of contradictions. You were graceful yet curt; a loud personality and a quiet mind. Sitting there on the (presumably) dirty ground in a dress that had to have cost thousands of dollars without a care in the world. He was thoroughly intrigued.

It was Carlos' turn to call to someone from atop a flight of stairs. "Out here all alone?" You turned around to look at him. He'd loosened his tie, undone the top buttons of his dress shirt, and had the sort of gleam in his eyes that one can only get from drinking a little too much champagne. Hm, sexy, you thought. You stood and watched as he descended the stairs to meet you.

"What are you doing," he said, sitting down just as you had been a second before. You sat beside him and tucked your chin into your folded knees. The two of you were practically shoulder-to-shoulder. "Nothing, really. Thinking, I guess. Watching. Chewing my toothpick." Carlos smiled at the last part. "Why did you leave? ¿Demasiada gente?," he asked, the words in Spanish slowly drifting off his tongue, like he was talking to himself.

"Si, mi amigo. Demasiados," you answered with a smile. "Too many people too late at night." Carlos' eyebrows rose. "¿Tú hablas español?" he asked, slightly taken aback. You giggled at his surprise. "Solo un poco," you reply casually. The two of you shared a quiet laugh. A strong gust of wind blew a curl into your face; Carlos tucked it behind your ear. "There's so much we don't know about each other," Carlos said gently, fiddling with the hem of your dress and looking at you bashfully. "Yeah, it seems to be that way," you say, pressing a hand to his face, reveling in the way his stubble pricked your palm. "God, I wish I knew what you were like in high school," you whispered. "It would probably explain a lot."

"Cariño mio," Carlos chuckled. You smiled back at him. "We can stay out here. Talk for a little while if you'd like," he said, almost begging you to say yes. You chewed the inside of your cheek as you considered his proposal. It would be so wonderful to sit in the night air and chat with Carlos, it really would. But you had obligations to attend to, something you cursed yourself for typically being so involved and invested in.

"We shouldn't keep the people waiting, Carlos," you said, patting his cheek and flashing him a bittersweet smile. "But I promise, I swear to you, we will talk later." You stood, towering over Carlos' crouched form. "I'll be expecting you to deliver, hermosa," he said, readying himself to stand up. You held out your hands to assist him. He placed his rough, calloused palms in yours.

"Don't worry honey; I keep my promises," you replied assuredly. "Especially when handsome young men are involved." Carlos blushed at your compliment. Satisfied with your arrangement, you turned to the door but hesitated for a moment.

"Here," you said, grabbing your box of toothpicks from your clutch and dropping it into Carlos' open hands. He looked up at you, eternally confused by the action.

"Now I absolutely have to come back and see you," you said, answering his unasked question. "Oh, and before I go." You grabbed Carlos' face and pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling his breath hitch at the contact of your lips to his skin. They were soft and warm, just as he thought they would be.

"Buenas noches, mi amor. Te veré pronto," you whispered.

As you turned and walked up the stairs, Carlos reached for your hand, catching the tips of your fingers with his. An affectionate smile spread across your face as you pulled away, leaving him on the steps to look at your receding form for the second time in one night.

translation:

lo que digas cariño - whatever you say darling

¿demasiada gente? - too many people?

si mi amigo. demaisados - yes my friend. too many

solo un poco - only a little

cariño mio - my dear

hermosa - beautiful

buenas noches, mi amor. te veré pronto - good night, my love. I will see you soon

author's note: there were so many instances where this could have ended and it just didn't lol. will there be a second part? only God knows at this point

[worldofkuro]

Painted Smile

Painted Smile IV

<- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ->

Pairing: Alastor x Female! Reader

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Notes: Some angst with a little but of fluff. There is the mention of death but nothing really bad yet. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, it might be the last where the reader and Alastor are children. Next chapter, they might be around 16 or 17. Maybe I'll just drop some bonus scenarios when they are kids but we will see. Enjoy my deers!

You woke up with a tired yawn. You sat up, looking around. It wasn’t your bedroom… oh yes! You had a sleepover and it seemed like you fell asleep in Alastor’s bed. You hoped Marie wouldn’t be too angry, you did say you would go to her bed once you finished playing with her son. You looked next to you but Alastor’s spot was empty, there was only your plushie. You took him in your arms and smiled.

“ Did you sleep well ?” you stroke its fur before kissing the top of its head. You looked around and your eyes fell on Alastor’s microphone… You looked toward the closed door and then jumped off the bed, grabbing the microphone and holding it to your plushie’s mouth. You changed your voice a bit and spoke.

“ I have never slept better !” you nodded before giggling. You squeaked as you heard the door open to reveal Alastor who was staring at you with a teasing smile. You blushed and hid the microphone behind your back. He shook his head, still smiling and walked toward you before taking the microphone from your hand, his face close to yours.

“ I knew you would play with it.” you blinked at him, looking at his bed hair and couldn’t help but smile. He looked cute like this ! “ Eamon told me you were using the microphone.” You tilted your head.

“ Who ?”

“ Our deer. He needs a name, don’t you think?” he stroked your plushie’s head while mumbling “ even if he looks more like a fawn than a deer…” 

“ He is a deer ! I’m sure you never saw one !” you huffed as you squeezed Eamon against your chest. You quite liked the name, you were wondering if it had a meaning whatsoever… 

“ Actually, I did when Father took me hunting.” he tilted his head as he saw your horrified face. He looked perplexed as you took a step back.

“ You killed a deer ?”

“ No, I saw one. And most of them have brown fur, not like ours who have a white one.” 

“ But…  Why is your father taking you with him.. to hunt..?” you asked, confused. Your father also liked to hunt with other adults but he always said that it was a man’s pleasure! Why would Alastor’s father take him with him? Wasn’t Alastor a little too young ? You watched as Alastor smiled at you, teasingly.

“ It’s not for little girls, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t bear it.” He teased you.

“ Hey! I saw things too, I’m not a little girl!”

“ Like what? What did you see?” he asked you with an intense glint in his eyes. You huffed and lifted your face to his, staring him in the eyes. You looked around, as if someone could hear you then you went whispering in his ears, and you were kind of happy to see him eagerly tilting his head toward you.

“ My father tried to eat my mother one day.”

…

…

“ What ?!” he shouted as he stared at you with a big confused smile. You grinned as you nodded, proud of yourself to have made Alastor react so strongly. “ Why ? How ? What?” you laughed as he seemed so lost.

“ We will talk about it… In our next broadcast ! Stay tuned Alastor~ ” you kissed both his cheeks, more of habitude than anything, it was your way of saying hello now. You took as step back as he tried to grab your arm, it seemed like he didn’t want to wait. You laughed as you ran and jumped on his bed, as he tried to catch you. Unfortunately for him, you were faster and you managed to ran out of his bedroom, running into the kitchen where Marie was waiting for you with breakfast.

“ Good Morning mes chéries, I hope Alastor’s bed was comfortable?” she kissed you on both cheeks with a big grin before laying a plate of pancake in front of you. You nodded as you held your plushie on your knees. “ I guess, this is Eamon, right?” she asked.

“ Yes, Alastor named him.”

“ Did he now? This name means, if I remember correctly, “ Wealthy protector.” “ she smiled genuinely at you. Your eyes widened as you stared at Eamon with a big smile. Did it mean that Alastor saw your plushie as a real protector now? You giggled as you began to eat what Marie prepared for you. Alastor came down five minutes after, washed up. He sat next to you and you put Eamon on his knees, you will not tell him that you now knew the meaning of the name, maybe another time. 

“ Next time, we should have a sleepover at my house ! I could show you my room !” you smiled excitedly. Never once did Marie or Alastor come to your parent’s house. Strangely, Alastor furrowed his eyebrows as he smiled who seemed torn. 

“ I… I don’t like leaving my mother alone at home.”

“ But we will choose a day where your father is home!” you nudged him, trying to coat him to come with you at your house. “ Please Alastor… I really want you to come.” you pleaded as you held his forearms with your small hands. “ You don’t want to..?”

He jerked his head toward you with a twitching smile, staring at you. He seemed so torn at your idea. Did he really not want to come to your place? 

“ Don’t look so down dear, we will find a date for you to have a sleepover with Alastor at your place” she held her finger in front of Alastor as he opened his mouth “ and you know what, I’ll do a sleepover with your mother too ! Isn’t it a great idea?” she said with glee. You nodded eagerly and looked at Alastor who seemed less tense, you could even say he looked relaxed. Maybe he was a mommy boy and couldn’t leave his mother for more than a day?

You finished eating and went to the bathroom to wash yourself up. Once you were dressed up you went into Alastor’s bedroom who was already preparing your broadcast of the day. Your smile widens as you see Eamon sitting on a chair next to the microphone. You sat down and let Alastor begin the show.

“ Welcome New Orleans to a new broadcast! We have a new guest here, Eamon our fawn–”

“ Our deer!”

“--who will keep us company for today’s broadcast. Now, today our singer will tell us about how her father tried to eat her mother. What is this story about my dear?” he held the microphone to you and whispered into it.

“ It was during Christmas, I was getting ready to go to bed but I was really thirsty so I decided to go in the kitchen but I saw my daddy.. He had his head in my mother’s neck, her head was tilted back and… He bit her!” Alastor gasped as you continued your story “ I ran back in my bedroom and the next day, my mother had a scarf around her neck even though we were inside the house!”

“ Now that’s a story to tell ! What do you think of it,  Eamon?” he held the microphone to the plushie, both of you stayed silent for five seconds looking at the deer. “ Yes, me too, I have no words!” He said as you laughed at his jokes. You really loved hanging out with Alastor.

After hours of broadcasting, it was finally time to go home. You ran to your mother’s hug as she scrunched down to lift you up in the air. You laughed as you hugged her, you did miss her even if you did have a great time with Alastor.

“ Do you have everything sweetie? Where is Mister Deer?” she asked, looking around. Deep inside, you wished that you could take it back home, but Aalstor needed more than you. You were sure of it.

“ Mister Deer is now Eamon and he is staying with Alastor !” you claimed proudly. She tilted her head but didn’t ask any more questions. She kissed Marie goodbye as you hugged Alastor and you felt a pure sense of happiness as you felt him return your embrace. “ See you next weekend, Alastor! And Eamon, take care of him okay?” you whispered to Alastor’s ears “ and please… Take care of our Eamon, okay?” you waited for Alastor nod then smile” I’ll see you both soon, bye bye !” you waved them goodbye before leaving the house, almost tripping on Husker’ which made Alastor laugh.

You couldn’t wait for next week.

~~~

You couldn't wait anymore !

It’s been three weeks since you last saw Alastor ! You were making a scene in front of your mother as she told you that this weekend once again, you couldn’t go to Alastor’s house. You were crying, you have been such a good girl, each refusal you just accepted that you couldn’t go there but each week it was getting harder and harder. You stomped your foot on the floor even harder, not even hearing your mother who was trying to calm you down.  Your father shouted your name, making you gasp as you lift your head toward him. You weren’t used to him raising his voice to you like this. He kneeled down in front of you, wiping your tears, sighing.

“ Sweetheart, I know you are sad because you haven’t seen Alastor for almost a month. But… I saw his father and he told me they had a bad hunting session and Alastor was injured. You understand that he needs to rest, right?”

Alastor…was hurt? You blinked the tears in your eyes, staring at your father. It couldn’t be. You look at the floor as you felt and anger you haven’t ever felt. It was Alastor’s father’s fault. Why did he bring Alastor hunting in the first place? And what if Alastor was dea–

You fell on the floor, your mother hugging you against her chest. You couldn’t think, there was a big buzzing in your head, just like a radio static sound. Was Alastor really so badly hurt that he needed a whole month to recover ? You lifted your head toward your mother, pleading with your eyes. You needed to see him. You would make him smile, laugh, you would do anything for him to forget his pain. Your mother stared at you for a moment then sighed.

“ I’ll take you to him, I’m worried too. But hush, not a word to your father alright? We’ll go tomorrow.”

That night, when you went to bed, you prayed that Eamon would keep Alastor safe in his room.

~~~

You gripped the plate in your hands. You tried to make Jambalaya with your mother, it was Alastor’s favorite dish so maybe it would make him happy. You watched as your mother knocked on the door. Long seconds after, the door opened to reveal a tired Marie. She kissed you as usual with a, what seemed, a sad smile.  You didn’t even wait as your mother hugged her precious friend, you ran up the stairs, holding the plate against you.

You were going to see him, he was going to be okay, he was going to be alive, he was going to be in his room, you’ll play as usual, you’ll do your broadcast , he was going to make fun of you for being worried, he’ll tease you for crying, he’ll–

You opened the door which slammed against the wall. You were breathing hard as you looked inside the room. Where was he–

“ So unladylike. I could recognize your footsteps anywhere.”

You turned your head toward his bed, the voice coming from under the cover. You walked toward him, your frame trembling. 

“ I.. I made your favorite dish..” you whispered, your voice trembling with each word as you tried to speak out loud. His voice sounded weaker than usual. “ Can… Can I see you?”

“ No.”

“ Please…” you begged as tears began to form in your eyes. Why was he hiding from you? “ I was so worried… My father told me what happened–” You saw the cover flinched.

“ What did he tell you?”

“ That… That you went hunting with your dad and–” you approached the bed and flinched when you felt his hand covering your eyes. You stood still, his hand was warm. He was here.. You felt tears streamed down your face. “ Because of your father you- you have been hurt.” you cried, holding his wrist with one of your hands, the other still holding his plate. “ Alastor, I was so scared..!”

“ Keep your eyes closed.”

You heard the cover falling on the floor as you felt him hugging you against his body. You kept your eyes closed as you finally relaxed. He was okay. He was alive. You furrowed your eyebrows as your felt something soft between you both–

“ It’s Eamon. He stayed with me.” he said as he hugged you tighter. “ I… I wanted to see you, you know. It’s not something I’m used to but… Yes, I wanted to see you.”

“ Are you hurting?”

“ No. Remember rules number two: I’m the strongest here.”

 You laughed as you sniffed. You tilted your head down and opened your eyes. Alastor didn’t want you to look at him but you could look at your deer. You gasped as you saw it. Your white plushie looked reddish? Some parts of its fur were pinkish, reddish? You sniffed once more, it smells metallic? What happened to him? You opened your mouth to ask Alastor but he did ask you to keep your eyes closed…

“ I want to see your face.”

You felt his body tensed but he didn’t say no. He took a step back but you kept your head down, waiting for his answer.

“ Be my guest.”

You’ve never lifted your head so quickly, you might have heard a crack. You stare at Alastor’s face. He was.. He was…

Completely normal.

“ But… but..”

“ You said you wanted to see my face, not my injuries.” he smiled cunningly at you while holding Eamon against his chest. 

“ Why do our deer have pink…red spots on him?” you tilted your head, stroking its fur.

“ I’m sorry. I bled on him.”

You looked up at him, he looked ashamed of himself. You stared at him… Did he keep Eamon against him while he was injured? You sat on the bed, next to him and kissed his cheek with the most care you could conjure. You felt him flinching but he didn’t move away. You kept your lips on his cheeks, you hand against his. 

“ I missed you.” you both said at the same time.

You both stayed together on the bed as you told him what happened in your life, even how you cried because you couldn’t see him. He smiled at you and teased you a little but squeezed your hand tighter. You ate the jambalaya you made, of course it wasn’t as good as Marie’s but Alastor didn’t say anything bad.

Before you knew it, it was time to go. Your mother was calling you from downstairs. You squeezed Alastor’s hand, ready to let go but to your surprise he stood up and went downstairs with you. Your mother smiled at him, saying she was happy to see him well. He nodded with his usual smile and then looked at you as both your mothers kept talking with each other.

“ I promise, I’ll see you soon.”

“ You promise? How do I know if you are going to be sick, or injured once again?”

He stared at you before smiling sweetly. 

“ Let’s make a deal.”

He approached his face close to yours and kissed your forehead. You blushed as your mothers were hiding their smiles behind their hands.

“ You always kiss me good morning, so now, I’ll kiss you goodbye. Now, you owe me a good morning kiss.” he smiled at you teasingly as he took a step back. “ Do we have a deal?”

You blushed but your smile was ten times bigger than usual. You squeezed his hand, never letting it go since you went downstairs.

“ Deal.”

Tag List: @lukneetoonz @martinys-world @littlepoetnova @sirens-and-moonflowers @eris-norwega

[circeyoru]

Can I request soul owner the Reader with yandere Alastor go on a date I can imagine him being exciting and super happy with the reader being calm.

I've been reading anger a lot today so I want to read something funny happy cute anything you know.

By the way I hope you have a nice day 💐

Go to MASTERLIST for the works. This ask is for {Unwanted Souls}

I'm having a great day! Doing work and getting my phone blown up with you guys' notification here. Thank you guys for the support!!! I will repeat this as many times, I'm just that grateful!!!!

Wholesome fluff time!!!

I'll imagine that Reader/you are the one to ask about going on a date because Alastor would be too hesitant to ask, since he doesn't want to mess things up after you declared your love and wanted things to go at your pace.

Surprise, you make an effort to do what Alastor likes. Alastor's the one to do what you like, so you figured, time for a bit of a flop around. You asked around what Alastor likes to do, the hotel members were no help.

Vaggie says Alastor hates TV and a bunch of modern day technology to the point of making a deal. But with you, he watches anime on your laptop while laying side by side. Huh??? Husk and Niffty said Alastor doesn't do sweets. But he baked you a number of desserts and those were the ones he did as trial and error, he ate all the leftovers because you didn't like wasting things. Charlie says Alastor's always smiling and loves the entertainment and misery of demons. But with you, every time you were down or sad, he's doing all he can to cheer you up. Lucifer was even worse, he said Alastor loves to take care of Charlie like a daughter. You paused him and just left. Nope.

You came to the conclusion that Alastor's preferences were non-existent when it came to spending time with you. The thought made you smile and feel bubbly. Now you had to make the date worthwhile.

As much energy and time it took, also to be secretive. You made it all happen. Of course, you had to tell Alastor's shadows to keep quiet about your plans, they agreed with your headpats.

On the day. You requested Alastor's undivided attention and time. He was confused and came to you on the dot, only to regret not appearing more charming when you said it was a date. You had to hold onto him so he doesn't teleport through the shadows to fix up his looks.

"You look just fine!"

"No! It's our first date! I must look perfect! BETTER THAN PERFECT!"

You started with a stroll through a garden, hooking his arm with yours as you walked along the path. Alastor's silence was because he was still shocked and didn't dare to speak thinking he'll say something wrong. So you started small talk.

Then you brought him to Cannibal Town. Setting him down on a table and Rosie distracted him enough for you to slip into the kitchen to cook him his meal. Lucky you practiced and didn't take long cause Alastor was about to search for you in his giant demonic form. You appearing with a trollery had him sit back down and Rosie left with a giggle. Alastor stared at the plate in front of him. You cooked him something? Is he in Heaven?

"Darling, I think Heaven's a bit too red and hot."

"Just eat and tell me how it taste."

Alastor was talking, wrong word, praising your cooking. He even said the two of you could cook sometime back in the hotel kitchen. You agreed to his joy. After that, you brought Alastor to the town square, jazz music played and you offered your hand, telling him to teach you some of his moves. He happily did so and other cannibals joined in on the dance party.

At the end of the day, you brought Alastor to the forest and sang him a song *Everytime We Touch*, using his microphone staff as a mic. He secretly recorded your voice too. You didn't mind since this was both of you's first date.

"So? How was the date? You like it?"

"Darling Love," Alastor suddenly brought you into a swirl and dipped you, "This is the third best day of my afterlife."

"What's the first and second?"

"Second is the day you defended me and confessed your love to me." Alastor straightened you up and brought you close to him, "The first is the day we met."