#and then he sews them or something n makes them Personal

[memoryhallows]

why doesnt anyone talk about freddy making his own comic/character figurines????? he has the supplies on his dining room table!!! he makes arts and crafts!!!! hes crafty!!!

[whirlybirbs]

— CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; 焦凍

summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen. pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings wordcount: 5.6k a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.

You never did go pro.

Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development. 

The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:

What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?

How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun? 

You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago. 

Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide. 

You see it differently.

Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest. 

You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent. 

You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence. 

Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.

What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time? 

Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown. 

He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care. 

He isn't a villain-in-training. 

None of them are.

It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children. 

So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents. 

You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet. 

After all, you never did go pro.

And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.

He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it. 

It was the beginning of the end, then.

His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class? 

Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.

It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes. 

Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:

Endeavor's wing. 

There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now. 

Very different.

Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."

"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"

"Oh, ho, no way!"

Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again. 

"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"

"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."

It is you.

You look... good. 

Happy. 

You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time. 

For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.

It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto. 

"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"

Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.

Shoto is on the move.

The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.

Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero. 

Shoto Todoroki.

He looks... good. 

Really good.

He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.

For a second, you're seventeen again.

It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.

They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.

There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.

"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever." 

You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk. 

Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher. 

"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"

"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember. 

"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"

"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.

Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing. 

"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"

There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle. 

You're using him as a teaching moment.

Shoto's smile is soft.

You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."

"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"

Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute. 

You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all. 

He hangs back. 

He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto. 

...It's kinda cute.

Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was. 

Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds. 

And he deserves to be happy.

Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.

You hang back. 

Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.

"Hey."

"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."

"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."

His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."

You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.

Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."

"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."

"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are...  good."

Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose. 

And the underdog in question can read a room. 

This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.

"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"

You jump.

How long has he even been there?

"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.

"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"

"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."

Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.

"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"

"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."

Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."

"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."

There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions. 

It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment. 

"Would you like to—"

"Are you free—"

Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.

"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"

You make yourself available.

Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.

Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell. 

From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.

"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?" 

"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy." 

"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.

"Father was the one who suggested it."

"...That old dog." 

Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"

The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.

Shoto winces.

"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.

"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."

Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.

"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.

Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya. 

"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."

"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"

"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"

"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."

"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?" 

"She wants me to call her after—"

"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"

Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.

"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."

Shoto lets out a long breath. 

Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"

"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"

It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."

Easier said than done.

You never did go pro.

Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates. 

You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.

He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful. 

Fuyumi's contribution. 

You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.

The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back. 

It feels like you've been lit on fire.

You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine. 

Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables. 

The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.

You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you. 

For a second, you're seventeen again.

Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A. 

You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks. 

A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass. 

He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy. 

"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."

Graduation day was the last time you saw him. 

Until this morning, that is. 

You smile into your drink. 

"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.

His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.

"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."

Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."

He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."

The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."

You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.

He notices.

Shoto's face feels hot. 

He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school. 

Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.

Now, less so. 

It's adorable. 

Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home. 

While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it. 

Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.

His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you. 

His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss. 

But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen. 

The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you. 

It's sweet.

Really sweet. 

The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit. 

"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.

His hand settles there. 

Your stomach does a flip. 

You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure. 

Keep it together. 

He isn't seventeen.

He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years. 

...Right?

Green light.

His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment. 

The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park. 

It makes your chest ache.

Shoto swallows thickly.

Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.

He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.

What if you don't want to kiss him?

When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?

Why does he feel like he's going to die?

"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly. 

"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."

You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."

"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."

"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"

Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."

"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"

"I'm not being weird—"

"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.

"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."

His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest. 

It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?

Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now. 

"You don't need to be."

Shoto's breath catches at that.

So, he makes his move.

His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment. 

Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.

Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone. 

He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful. 

The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.  

Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together. 

Then, his eyes stick to your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face. 

You never did go pro.

But, Shoto did. 

It shows. 

Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—

His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory. 

It's better than anything he could have ever imagined. 

And then you whimper. 

It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching. 

You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.

He needs to slow down.

He is not having sex with you in his father's car.

That's shameless.

He needs to slow down.

He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up. 

Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him. 

You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.

It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that? 

He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect. 

"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."

A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person. 

"Are you serious?"

"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.

"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"

Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face. 

"Are you free this weekend?"

"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."

"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"

"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."

Shoto scoffs. 

Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:

"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."

Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.

Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend. 

Not so seventeen anymore, Shoto Todoroki. 

[yey56]

HARLEY SAWYER X PSYCHOLOGIST READER

You have been working at Playtime CO for some years now, you worked as the head department of psychology but most of your work consisted on providing profiles of the children in the lower levels or as your coworker called them, experiments.

Over the years of working with them and knowing what they are being turned into, you've learned to work with them pre and post experimentation. Another thing you've learned through time was to deal with the partner you were assigned for the project. Harley sawyer.

What is there to say about that man. He is the head scientist in the project but he is absolutely horrible at dealing with them, or with anyone. That's how you were assigned to work along side him . He made the experiments and you maintained them under control.

Initially the ones who needed to be under control where you two because of your crashing personalities. While he was a serious control freak and borderline antisocial you one the contrary seemed to not take things seriously, constantly taunting him and the other stuff and with a permanent sarcastic tone in your voice voice.

Of course at first he didn't like you much, and to be fair you didn't make it easy. Everything he said refering to the experiments was refuted by your obsession to keep a mildly stable mental health in the subject.

Dr Harley sighed heavily looking your way with an annoyed look- What now?- he asked

If you keep treating the subjects like that your are going to break them.-you said in the observation room with him while you were both supervising experiment 1355, a young girl turned into a smiley unicorn.

They're toys, they can be fixed easily- he responded as if he had repeated you that phrase for the 11th time (he did)

You know what I mean Sawyer, they are of no use if their minds break-you explained with a calm smile- or have you forgotten what kind of problems an unstable subject could bring?- your asked him, your question mocking him.

It turned out well with Yarnaby or have you forgotten Dr (Y/L/N)?- he said imitating your question

You laughed slowly- ah yes the kid you isolated as your pet, great example Dr-

Harley Sawyer was well known for working alone, he didn't like others company and whenever he got an assistant or a guard, he scared them off by being authoritarian or exposing them to dangerous situation. You were the only one at the company who actually could keep up with him.

In the interviews with the children you would lead the conversation while Harley observed and took notes. In the laboratory you were more of an assistant, helping the Dr with whatever tool he needed or just preparing the chemicals.

Even though he hated to admit it, his experiments have been more controlable and causing less troubles since you started working together.

You would be unbothered by the kids, showing enough compassion for them to not recognise you as a threat, but showing not an ounce of regret in your eyes while seeing how Harley turned them into toys.

Do I have to remind you that compassion is useless in this job?- Sawyer said while closing a wound he had made on the experiment while operating

You haven't realised how much time have passed since your prior conversation have ended. It was strange for the doctor to initiate them, usually preferring silence but you weren't complaining.

Compassion can make a person go through great lengths- you said- But I understand that in this line of work it's nothing but a limit, a wall that needs to be broken in order to obtain results.-

For once in a long time both you and Harley agreed on something.

He finally stopped sewing the toys fresh wound and started reading the inform you had redacted about the psychological profile of the child before the operation- you should do another one once she wakes up (Y/L/N)- he reminded you while reading the little notes and highlights you left about her.

You always reserved a space the paper work to express your personal opinions on the experiment and Harley always read them. It's another thing he started doing, considering your opinions and advice as something worth of noticing.

-Doc...-

-Sawyer...-

-Sawyer??...-

-HARLEY!!-

He looked at you not noticing how he had spaced out of his mind for a moment while reading your report.

What is it?- he asked actually surprised that he was actually distracted enough to not hear you.

I was asking you about the experiment 1322, Doey. How are the three conscience developing? are they getting used to they're new body?-you asked. Doey was your favourite experiment so far, it was the one you have showed more interest in and your involvement with him was way bigger than with others. Sawyer didn't understood your fascination with Doey.

Since you both started developing the project, you had shown special interest in the idea of three people combined in a toy. In fact, the reason you had starting working more time with the doctor was because of your eagerness to see how the experiment would turn out.

You have become much more comfortable with one another, even after years of coexisting with each other in the lower levels of Playtime.

Sometimes he would catch himself looking at you while you were with the kids in the interviews. He observed your calm demeanor through the crystal of the observation room. He could see how the children grew more confortable with you while you were joking.

The cognitive abilities of the toys were improving each day thanks to your work so of course the bosses permitted you both to perform as many experiments as needed.

Another thing Harley noticed about the last week's was how you would spend most of your time testing and conversing with 1322. He had grown so used to your presence that it was getting harder to work without you present.

He would never admit that he missed your sarcastic comments about the designs of the toys or how he missed to call you a germ, his germ, whenever you were getting to annoying.

Sometimes when you went to the cafeteria upstairs to get some coffee or a sandwich to eat, you would get him something too.

You haven't brought anything recently and that was because of your new obsession.

He finally finished the last transformation successfully, now the only thing left was for the experiment to wake up and for you to examine them.

Harley wandered through the corridors searching for the one room he knew you would be in, this time, he was the one bringing you a coffee.

He watched you through the crystal of the observation room. You always insisted on talking face to face with Doey. The mass of doe seemed calmer with you around. The two more peaceful personalities of Doey talked to you, voicing their regrets and fears. Though the violent part of the creature always seemed reluctant to talk to you. Not responding what was asked of him or simply not responding at all.

Dr ( Y/L/N), your presence is required in the observation room number 29- Sawyer interrupted your conversation. Doey seemed afraid for a moment only to turn his expression into an angry one. With a gesture of your hand you calmed him down and signaled silently for Harley to turn on the ice so the doe wouldn't scape.

You exited the room to find your coworker handing you a cup of coffee. You looked at him with a raised brow but accepted it either way.

Well, look who it is.-you said with satisfied grin- I thought you were supervising Yarnaby?- you commented

Yes I was, are you aware of how much time you spend with that... Mass?- he said with contempt- what's so fascinating about him anyways? He's only been trouble.

You're only trouble as far as I'm aware- he rolled his eyes you sipped again- he's a time bomb and I want to be there to see it explode- you finally responded- I want to be the germ that makes him mutate.

Germ... It's a fitting name for you- he laughed with a smooth voice.-

You both stayed silent in the middle of the room, he looked at you calmly while you ended your coffee. He was looking at you trough his glasses without blinking, with his tired eyes.

You looked back at him and when you realised he had his fist raised at you, brushing with his tumb the remaining coffee right next to your upper lip.

Neither of you realised how close you where, the dim light of the room illuminated both of your bodies. Yours against the door and his right in front of you, your external layers of clothing touching lightly.

He got even closer, feeling his breath against your own. His thumb caressing your cheek

He thought about everything that had happened recently. How Pierre and the ones closer to him had started to go against you both in the semanal meeting with the executives regarding the experiments. Pierre's demands being met by your indifference, claiming that you will keep securing the experiments as much as possible.

The doctor remembered how you, just as him, were completely devoted to the project. He had became paranoic for the past months. More irritable, unwilling to socialise with someone who wasn't you or the toys

He got even closer to you, he though he heard you whisper his name. You closed the gap between the both of you. Hands on his shoulders

Lip against lip, his hand still in your face. You felt that Harley was the only human you could trust down here. No one understood you like he did. Your desperation to contribute to humanity, your desire of achieving a more lasting body. One that could endure more.

If you ever shared this with anyone else, you'll probably be in trouble.

Your closeness with Harley and his with you was out of understanding, a feeling of trust and comfortability that had just materialised thought he kiss you were sharing with each other.

He slowly pulled apart, his breathing uneven and one of his locks of hair misplaced a slight smile on his face. His forehead touched yours and he whispered just above your lips- My germ~

Only if you knew... That exact same week Harley Sawyer would be reduce no nothing more than a system, a screen, a conscience.

At the mercy of playtimes desires while you... Well ... Your whereabouts were unknown, even though they knew you didn't get out of the building.

Somewhere... hiding between wires and toy corpses...

I'm in love with the voice of the doctor AKA Harley Sawyer.

My drawing of Harley Sawyer:

[cherspastries]

Cher!! I love your writing and you aesthetic so much :)

You’re a graphic designer yeah? What driver do you think would work well with a graphic designer reader, and on that note, what occupation do you think each driver’s s/o would have?

And do you do emoji anons? 👀 If so can I be 🫧?

I LOVE HER AS SHE IS,

DOING HER THING!

WORK IT!

2025 Grid x Reader

SUMMARY 𐙚 What jobs I think each driver’s girlfriend would have + how you first met.

WARNINGS 𐙚 Fluff, reader is described with feminine terms, mentions of alcohol / handling alcohol, not proofread

WORD COUNT 𐙚 6.3K

A/N 𐙚 Hi!! Tysm I love my theme, and yes I do accept emoji anons! Hello 🫧 !! Also, before I actually write, I love all the WAGs and respect their jobs, but I wanted to romanticize this a bit so… All the drivers are getting hypothetical new girlfriends with weird and interesting occupations and personalities

DIRECTORY | MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN

RedBull ෆ

Max Verstappen

Bartender

You cannot convince me this man isn’t always in need of a drink. Whether he’s celebrating or he’s upset, Max likes a good gin and tonic. Sure, he can make his own, but nobody makes it as good as his lovely girlfriend: a bartender. That’s right! He met you at a club in Monaco, of course. It was after he had won a grand prix, and he kept coming back for more and more alcohol until he was blackout drunk. You had to call him a cab home, and he kept mumbling about how beautiful and perfect you were. When he came back to retrieve his lost phone the next day, he apologized and properly asked you out.

But it’s also nice because Max’s favorite way to relax with you is to lay across the couch, drink in hand, and watching a show you both enjoy. He doesn’t want to overwork you, but if you offer to whip something up real fast, he’s definitely not going to say no to your hard work and encourage you to keep doing what you love. Side note, I genuinely think he loves being able to party at the club you work at. He loves getting to enjoy a night out, but also being able to visit you whenever he wants. His friends have stopped wondering where he’s ran off to after they found out who was behind the bar. They shouldn’t be surprised when he disappears every five minutes to go chat you up again. Sometimes regular patrons give him dirty looks because they think he’s hitting on you inappropriately, but then you flash the matching set of rings and they simmer down.

Yuki Tsunoda

Seamstress

I’ll be honest, I was unsure about this one, but I honestly think it makes a lot of sense. Yuki has really good style, so I had a feeling his partner should be related to fashion. However, seamstress was a bit of a stretch. I think you’d make a lot of clothes for him, which is why he has such great style to begin with. He’s wearing handmade, high quality patchwork hoodies and jeans and shoes that you decorated yourself, all made by you! So yeah, whenever someone compliments his very fitting form of fashion, he lets you know that the people are certainly admiring your work. Do we all remember when the internet went crazy over Yuki wearing his RedBull shirt unbuttoned? Yeah. All you.

He first met you when you were still just a fan. Some might argue the dynamic seems inappropriate, but you were never a huge fan of him specifically. Just… An F1 fan. You sewed shirts for the RedBull team, and they weren’t the typical tacky wear that the team usually received. These had lots of thought and enthusiasm put into them— He could only imagine how hard and how long you have slaved away making those, so he wore it with pride… Even if it was a tad bit too big. After that, he kept seeing you in the paddock, communicating with various engineers and drivers, collecting autographs like it was your job. He complimented your work, you introduced yourself, and the rest was history. So yeah, you ended up falling for the irresistible charm of Yuki Tsunoda, and honestly who can blame you?

Mercedes ෆ

George Russell

Graphic designer

Yes, okay. This is my line of work, and I honestly believe George would be the most supportive for a graphic designer out of everyone. I mean, he at least thinks he knows fashion and technology, so he assumes that he’s being helpful. I can see the two of you being high school sweethearts that pursued different paths, but stuck together. Of course you knew George was into racing at the time, because he was karting even back then, but you never expected him to reach such fame. He even managed to get to a job with the FIA, designing graphics for winners and podiums and such, so yeah. People have been silently appreciating your work for years. You’re the one who gets to see all the unused winner graphics.

Whenever you’re working on a project, you consult George. Even though half the time you don’t listen to his advice, it’s nice to get somebody else’s opinion and support. You know he’ll be honest instead of giving you that “it’s perfect the way it is” bullshit, so his unfiltered opinion is just what you need to get a sense of what the right direction might be. He used to sugarcoat it, but you eventually told him that his honesty wouldn’t hurt your feelings, and he started to be more open. Not that it was rude, because his opinions were still helpful and polite! He always tops it off with a kiss and a wish of good luck. He knows you’ll make the right decision.

Kimi Antonelli

Tutor

Alright. We all have fun joking about Kimi needing a math tutor, but what if he doesn’t. Because his girlfriend is one. You know? You’re still in school, just like him, so you make a lot of money by people paying you to help them out in classes. Yes, Kimi needs a nerd girlfriend I feel it in my SOUL. Now, contrary to popular belief, you actually don’t tutor him. Why? Because he gets distracted by you very easily. He can’t stop looking at your pretty eyes, your plump lips, and your soft hair. All he wants is to bury his face in your neck and lay on top of you 24/7/365, because you’re so soft and warm. So no, you don’t tutor him. You can’t tutor him. You’ve tried. You’ve failed.

He brings you to the Imola Grand Prix, happily showing you off and introducing you to all of his track mates with that huge boyish grin. He tells them all that you’re just his tutor, and that afterwards you’ll be in his drivers room teaching him the pythagorean theorem (which he doesn’t even know how to pronounce in any language, mind you, so he’s just stumbling over syllables to get the idea out.) You correct him and politely let them know you’re actually his girlfriend. They all tease him, insisting that this whole story was just an excuse to sneak you into his room for a cheeky make out session, which you both quickly deny with flushed cheeks and slight stutters. Looks like he’s been caught before he could even try.

Ferrari ෆ

Charles Leclerc

Fashion designer

Now this isn’t to say that Charles doesn’t already have good fashion sense, because he definitely does. However, I do think that after the two of you started dating, there was a noticeable change in his choices. He started to dress in a manner that was suitable to his… Well, everything. He had custom made clothes with logos pertaining to him on them, everything matched his face and body shape, and he was dressed to an absolute T. All thanks to you! He doesn’t even have to ask, you just quietly sketch up designs for jackets and shirts that he can proudly show off at races, and you’ve even helped him customize merch that is both affordable, and fits the aesthetic of most of his fans. Goodbye trashy t-shirts with a logo lazily slapped on, and hello well thought out designs.

You were definitely hired to design some of his merch after the team saw your concept sketches. He was completely clueless to your arrival, but once he saw you he knew there was something irresistible that surrounded you. Your aura was undeniably attractive, and you were a genius when it came to your job. Of course. He loved your sense of fashion, so Charles discreetly asked you out to go get coffee and discuss things some more. Except, the two of you ended up talking and laughing the entire time, so of course you had to reschedule. And then you had to reschedule again because the same thing happened. Then finally you realized what he was doing, and asked him out on an official date. From then on, he proudly showed you off as his girlfriend. No more hiding!

Lewis Hamilton

Makeup artist

Yes, both of the Ferrari boys have their fashion girlfriends. I think if they existed in the same universe they’d be really good friends, too. I think Lewis loves to listen to you rant about different qualities of makeup, and how different makeups can affect break-outs on skin, and how to prevent all that. There’s a lot that goes into your line of work, and he never gets tired of hearing it. I think his favorite thing is hearing you talk about different color palettes and how you decide what colors suit a client best. You’ve definitely done similar things on him, and he stays true to your advice and tries to mix those colors in to his outfits. He also refuses to hire anyone but you to do his makeup for events, and he brings you everywhere he can. Trust that you were attached at the hip during the Met Gala, and that he was announcing to everyone he met that you did his makeup, and how talented you are. Watch out because you’re gonna have so many clients coming your way.

Unlike Charles and his girlfriend, you were not hired to work for him when you met. It was actually more of a meet cute— He was asking for advice in your local beauty shop, because he figured you looked like you knew what you were doing and could tell him what the correct shade of blush was for his niece, who was clinging to his side. You were in awe because holy shit, the Lewis Hamilton was asking you for advice, which you gave while stammering to an embarrassing extent. He thanked you, and asked for your number with the excuse that he might need more advice in the future. You did not hesitate to give it to him, and while he didn’t call for advice, he did call to ask you out properly. Your dynamic is very much so “girlfriend who knows a lot about fashion and boyfriend who pretends not to so he can hear her ramble.”

McLaren ෆ

Oscar Piastri

Food critic

Oh yes, the two of you are most certainly bonding over a shared love of food. Oscar Piastri doesn’t present himself as a foodie, but it’s more of a hidden pleasure of his. I won’t lie, when you first mentioned your occupation he thought it was somewhat funny. Reviewing food for a living seemed like something simple. He took it at the base level ideation and assumed that’s all it was. However, when you got really invested with talking about it, Oscar was quick to learn there was so much more. You discussed about different types of recipes, and methods when it came to baking. You ranted about cuts of meat and how each one had its own taste. With your influence, he quickly became quite the enthusiast himself. So, every time you guys went to a restaurant, you both ordered something entirely new to compare and contrast to past dishes. It was fun getting to try new things with you.

When you first met, it was in a restaurant. One of those crowded places where you ended up shoulder to shoulder with a random stranger because of how busy it was. For you, that random stranger ended up being famous racer Oscar Piastri. Although it was awkward at first, you sparked up soft chatter about the meal. He told you he was having the same thing he always did: pasta. You explained your meal, which was exotic to the both of you. When you expressed your disinterest in the taste he teasingly asked what made you so qualified to comment on such a thing. That’s what he found out. Intrigued by your charm, and your passion for all things food, Oscar couldn’t help but ask for your number.

Lando Norris

Teacher

Lando, in my firm opinion, is fantastic with children. He’s a little immature himself, which gives him that natural charm that makes getting along with children easy. He has no troubles throwing on that enthusiastic tone that lights their brains up. One morning in particular, Lando’s dear friend Max had a huge favor to ask of him: Take Penelope to school. Kelly was out for work, and he was running a high fever, which meant ‘Uncle Lala’ was on duty for the day. Admittedly she was a little late, and she showed up with a smoothie from Lando’s favorite coffee shop and a brand new pair of shoes. While he’s good with kids, he’s terrible at saying no. He walked the young girl into her classroom, and he damn near lost his mind. You were perfect— radiant, kind, soft-spoken but not timid. The dream girl that mirrored him perfectly. Even though you playfully scolded them both for being late, all he could focus on was how beautiful you were.

From that day forward, Lando made it painfully clear that something was up. He offered nearly everyday to take Penelope to school, which Max and Kelly would not complain about. She always returned with a huge grin on her face, recommending that her uncle take her again because he was so fun. However, when she started talking about the flirty comments he’d exchange with her teacher, they realized why he was suddenly taking an interest in the life of their child. Lando loves hearing about your day and listening to the various interactions between the kids in your class. He’s smitten with you and your ability to flawlessly interact with children— Unfortunately this means your relationship is destined to be filled with baby fever from you both. 24/7.

Aston Martin ෆ

Fernando Alonso

Wedding planner

As expected, you meet at the wedding of a mutual friend. You planned everything from the venue to the number of flowers in each arrangement, and both the bride and groom were eternally grateful for your help. It was always much easier to have someone else do a majority of the planning for you while you got to sit back and nod along to every suggestion made. In short, your efforts paid off immensely. When you sat down at your assigned table, you were surprised to see the Spanish man in question not far behind you. He seated himself across from you, reaching a hand out to shake yours politely. He was charming right off the bat, his flirty comments flowing with ease. You almost wondered if you were intentionally set up to sit beside this guy, because your fun-loving personalities matched up nicely. He matched your vibe and you matched his.

Now you were going 20 years strong, each anniversary celebrated more profound than the last. You were teased nonstop by friends and friends of friends about the lack of a ring on your finger. “Twenty years and he still hasn’t made it permanent?” was something you heard more often than you were willing to admit, but in all honesty, neither of you were interested in the concept of marriage. Your love was all you needed to seal the deal. You didn’t require a fancy ring to know that. But finally, after years and years of waiting, Fernando dropped down to one knee to give you the opportunity to finally plan your own damn wedding, and you happily accepted. You harbored no anger towards his decision to wait, because ultimately it made the experience a lot more special. You finally got to be on the other end of things and understand firsthand why people hire you to begin with: Planning your own wedding is not all it cracks up to be.

Lance Stroll

Author

Lance needs the peace and quiet that an author girlfriend brings to his life. He’s a well known introvert, which has yet to go unnoticed by anyone that he’s met. Lance prefers to keep to himself, and tends to distance from individuals who are overly loud. While opposites tend to attract, such an ideal is not the case for this fellow. He dreams of a romantically quiet life, and you’re there to fulfill that for him. You meet in the most cliche spot possible: a library. He’s not even that big on reading, but the spot was quiet and it gave him an excuse to brood in a corner and listen to music. You happened to be doing a book signing that day, which made the joint just a tad bit louder than he would have liked. However, when he saw you sitting at a table with a line extending outside the door, a cute smile on your face… Lance was utterly captivated. Your voice was low, your smiles were awkward, and your hands were trembling. Maybe it was weird, but that was everything he yearned for and more. When people started to clear and you started to pack up, he made a move.

Safe to say that said move was successful. The early stages of the relationship were less than ideal with both of you waiting on the other person to initiate every single thing, but finally you warmed up to each other and fell into a comfortable rhythm with your everyday lives. He cherished the days where he came home from loud engines and bustling crowds to the soft clicking of your keyboard, and the occasional flipping of pages. At the end of the day, no matter how stressful things get, Lance will always be grateful for the safety of your warm embrace as you hold him close to you at night. You’re his rock and his anchor, keeping him safe from the extroverts of the world. The media finds the two of you to be the ideal celebrity couple. Matching aesthetics, personalities, and beliefs. Your relationship is private, but it’s far from a secret!

Alpine ෆ

Pierre Gasly

Social media manager

I thought I was funny for this. You’re not a very good manager, because you’re always sitting there beside him, giggling at every post he scrolls by that’s related to him. With that being said, you always reach out and double tap the screen, liking whatever stupid thing had you guys giggling to begin with. So, to the people who wonder why Pierre is always liking every F1 related post, it’s actually your doing. You’re less focused on your actual job, and more on whatever content other people have managed to come up with. It’s really funny, in your defense. You guys first met because you were hired as the Alpine social media manager, but you always ended up laughing just a tad bit too much with Pierre over your ridiculous ideas that he kept building on to. Half the time you barely were able to execute said ideas, and ended up going with something entirely different.

Pierre loves that he found someone to match his energy and be okay with his teasing, along with tease him back. You’re fun— sometimes even more fun than him. Everyone in the paddock would agree. He loves filming videos and taking pictures with you for social media pages, and he loves even more than you get a little bit more freedom with his personal account and have directly spiced up all of his most recent content. Pierre fans have been wondering why most of his stuff has been a lot more enjoyable. Little do they know, you’re quietly working your magic behind the screen. Sorry Pierre, you get no credit. Although, having a hilarious muse does make it much easier.

Franco Colapinto

Florist

With this little flirt, knowing a lot about flowers actually proves to have some value. Franco’s always going out of his way to impress you: fact. He loves bringing home flowers, especially after triple headers, or just generally weekends that felt extra long without you right there beside him. It’s a new bouquet every time. While it is handpicked and arranged by him, it’s safe to say that Franco actually has no clue what he’s doing; his decisions are based off the initial beauty level of the flower. But, we can’t rule out that he intentionally picks randomly, because he does seem to love hearing you lecture him about flower language. He’s got roses being romantic burnt into his memory, but he can’t quite remember that yellow carnations are supposed to mean rejection. He does remember your face the day you brought them home, though, so he decides based on that. You sounded so sad as you explained the initial idea, and Franco was quick to make something up. So now, you guys decided they meant the love of Franco Colapinto— Yeah. He got his own damn flower.

You, as expected, had a meet cute as well. It came straight from a tacky hallmark movie. You had simply been arranging your outdoor stand one day, when a particularly fast biker flew by, clipping the edge of your stand and sending flowers flying through the air. You were devastated to see your hard work flying through the air and drifting away from you. Thankfully, one kind passerby stopped to help you pick up the lost work. He was handsome in his own, unique way. Somewhat familiar, you were sure. He laughed with you as he helped you set things back up, dropping a few flirtatious remarks that had your cheeks growing increasingly warm. It wasn’t until he dropped a joke related to racing that you picked up on it and breathed out a rather distressed, “Oh my God you’re Franco Colapinto!” He barked out a laugh and nodded to confirm your suspicions. He insisted you take his number. You know, just in case you need help dealing with a runaway biker again. It had nothing to do with the fact he thought you were the most beautiful person alive. No, no way.

Williams ෆ

Carlos Sainz

Baker

Get this man a beautiful baker girlfriend who can make him all the sweets in the world. No, but I did have a thought process for this. First date, he still doesn’t quite know that you’re a professional baker, so he’s going on and on about his incredibly pancake recipe when you mention that it’s your favorite breakfast food. You have a recipe of your own, of course, but you’re intrigued by the way he seems so cocky with said recipe, so you let him make you some when you visit him. And honestly, they’re really quite good! You’re considering replacing your own recipe. You repay his kind offer by baking him sweets— and I mean you really got busy in that kitchen, because you’re probably about to hand over 10 large containers full of sweets with flushed ears that tell him everything he needs to know. He’s a little embarrassed that he was ranting about his tasty pancakes to someone who makes them professionally, but he was happy to hear you sincerely liked them.

Now imagine Carlos’ embarrassment when he recounts how the two of you met to begin with. After a long night, he stopped by a local café to pick up a pick-me-up. You were there, but you weren’t behind the counter. You were standing off to the side, leaning over it as you chatted to the barista with a cup of coffee in hand. He approached the register, and you both paused your conversation so said barista could assist him. When Carlos pondered on a dessert from the display case, you very casually suggested that he take a croissant with that ‘trust me’ sort of vibe. He teases you— asks you what makes you a master of breakfast pastries, and you just shrug nonchalantly and tell him that maybe you have ‘insider’ information. He assumes you’re a regular by now, and accepts your suggestion. He gets the croissant. And your number. And a first date… And the embarrassment of finding out way too late into your relationship that you’re the damn baker for the café. That was your insider info.

Alex Albon

Veterinarian

The more obvious choice, yes. While I was afraid this might be too on the nose, I think it makes a lot of sense, really. He has a lot of pets. What does a guy with a lot of pets often do? He takes them to the vet. Alex already takes great care of his pets, so this visit was a little out of the ordinary. His cat had fallen ill, and he needed to get the proper medicine to care for her. But there was you, the newest hire at the clinic who seemed so good with his pet. You gave her treats to keep her distracted as you checked her out, ensuring the man that this was just a common sickness and would pass, but if he wanted he could slip some allergy medicine into her food next time. He was forever grateful. But then, suddenly his pets were falling injured or ill left and right. A man who rarely visited the vet was now becoming a regular, always coming up with some sort of concern. “Doesn’t her leg look weird?” “Nope, looks good to me.” You eventually caught on, and told him that at a vet clinic there was no rules against dating clientele. Now, there was rules against dating patients, but that was because your patients were animals.

He works well with your nonchalant charm. You’re easygoing and laidback, and that’s just what Alex needs. He appreciates having someone he can chill with because his life is often so chaotic that it’s hard for him to take time for himself. Therefore, he has you now. Plus it’s always nice to no longer have to visit the vet when you can now just stop by his house for a quick check up. It becomes even easier when you move in with him, because instead of being worried he can just rely on you to tell him when things are wrong and need to be taken more seriously. All in all, he found an absolute keeper, and the internet won’t stop encouraging him to put a ring on it to ensure nobody else does. Although, not sure anyone needs a veterinarian quite like Alex Albon does. So, I think he’s safe for now.

Visa Cash App Racing Bulls ෆ

Liam Lawson

Actress

I like to think you actually met when filming the F1 movie. You’re a background support character in the film, and Liam was just there to play himself, much like all the other drivers. You two managed to bump into each other, and it seemed like day to day conversations started to take place. You’d share a joke you heard while standing behind him at the coffee making station, or catch him up on the latest set gossip in passing. He was charmed by your wit, and you were charmed by the way he cluelessly fumbled over words around you. Imagine how surprised he was when you asked him out. He felt somewhat disappointed because he had been hoping to have that honor for himself, but he was glad that you reciprocated his feelings.

I think Liam with an actress girlfriend just makes sense anyway. He’s all for the drama you bring to the table, and loves watching every single film you star in, whether it’s a big or small role. He’ll go to every premiere, red carpet, and gala you’re invited to as your plus one. Not only does he love to show his support, but he also realized early on that he gets to meet a lot of his own idols this way. You have lots of connections, and he now has a stack of autographs from famous celebrities at home. It’s a win-win.

Isack Hadjar

Photographer

Your first time meeting Isack was actually a little chaotic. The team hired you to shoot some shots from the first practice on Friday. It was experimental, because it was their first time hiring you, and it was your first time working for a huge company, let alone shooting athletic shots. When it started raining, you hadn’t even noticed. You were so focused on capturing everything perfectly, and with the right settings, that eventually you were completely drenched without a care in the world. It was really down pouring. Subsequently, teams were pulled in from the nasty weather to dry off and warm up. You, however, were still perched in the stands out in the rain, laser focused on your camera. Isack, ever the gentleman, came out with an umbrella and held it over your head. You hadn’t even realized he was there until you felt his shadow cast over you. You looked up, and nearly dropped your camera. You were stuttering all like “Oh- It’s- Oh no, it’s you- Gah, I’m so sorry!” Which only confused him more. You explained you were meant to be taking shots of his team today, but all the ones you got were bad. You were better with portraits. He was stunned by you too. You were beautiful, even with your wet hair plastered to your face and your clothes soaking wet. So, with red cheeks himself, he invited you in to take some portraits, which would hopefully give you a chance at staying with the team. And you did! Which then gave him enough time to work up enough courage to make a move.

You’re a little scatterbrained, it’s true. Every-time you come to the paddock, you’re in a panic as you ramble about how you accidentally left your SD card at home in your laptop, and that your whole reason for coming was now ruined because you didn’t have a way to take photos. Isack reassured you that missing one race wouldn’t be the end of the world. Besides, he ended up finding your SD card in your purse when you asked him to grab your phone. You’re lucky to have found him, because he certainly helps keep you grounded. You’d probably have floated off into space without Isack there to hold you down and keep you steady.

Kick Sauber ෆ

Nico Hülkenberg

Sommelier

You were evidently flawless at your job. You knew everything there was to know about wine, and all of its pairings with food. It was an elegant and refined drink to be saved for fancy events, much like the one you met your beloved at. Your relationship has been in the making for about three years now, and despite its… Awkward start, the two of you have been developing nicely. There was an event for F1 drivers hosted at a vineyard, and you were hired to take care of the wine: a rather simple job. Famous people weren’t a surprise to you anymore, but as you were sharing with your audience the history behind the drink you picked out, you felt your breath leave your body in an untimely manner. That was when he walked in, stealing away your attention. Salt and pepper stubble, a lazy smile, and an appearance that screamed ‘just woke up from a nap in the sun’ in the most endearing way possible. You, a normally charming and easygoing woman, were caught off guard and ended up muttering something stupid like “this wine is… fermented” followed by a nervous laugh, which cued your audience to chuckle along with you.

He teased you later. Of course he did, because how could he not notice the way you’d freeze as you quietly eyed him. When you were setting up glasses, he approached from behind, and you immediately turned around at the sound of his voice, which consequently sent one of the glasses flying. Nico, a man trained in his reflexes, caught it with ease that made your heart flutter. Thank God you managed to snatch him up, because nobody had ever made you feel such a way. It didn’t matter if he didn’t win on the track, because everyday he came home to the most beautiful woman possible, who’d shower him with lots of well deserved love. Plus, you always knew what wine would suit his mood. Yeah. He made the correct choice.

Gabriel Bortoleto

Streamer

We know how brain-rotted Gabriel is. You can’t tell me he doesn’t have a favorite streamer too. It’s you. Before you guys started dating he was a fan. He found your unique commentary on games to be interesting and the way you played— yada yada. Truth be told, he just thought you were pretty and funny. He even suggested through donations (under a secret account name, mind you) that you play one of the F1 games. With the money you earned from the donation, you bought it and showed the whole world just how awful you were. Gabriel secretly messaged you on instagram, claiming he had just found you when you were playing F1 24, and would love to come properly teach you how to play on stream. You agreed, of course. And it was a success. After the cameras turned off, he shyly admitted that he had actually been a fan of yours for awhile, because he felt bad for deceiving you. You just thought it was cute, and offered him the opportunity to come back if he so wanted.

Now, Gabi is a frequent feature on your streams. Not necessarily just as your partner in multiplayer games, but he can be seen on your face cam. Maybe he’s sleeping in the background, or he just happens to pass by. Sometimes he’ll even come give you a kiss in front of thousands of viewers, acting like he forgot you were streaming when in reality it was done intentionally. Sneaky bastard. Your fans love him, but Gabriel also loves to remind them that you’re a happily taken girl. You don’t mind anyway. It’s nice to see your longterm fanboy staking his claim in a way he thinks is secretive. Trust that you know… You always know what he’s up to. There’s no hiding it. Don’t be surprised if he starts spamming your chat with italian brainrot. Imagine having to explain to newcomers that it’s a regular thing, too.

Haas ෆ

Oliver Bearman

Artist

This is a pair nobody expected, to be honest. The Haas team was directed by PR to show up to an art event. Apparently the establishment was sponsoring them for the next race, and it was the polite thing to do. Oliver didn’t really care— He wasn’t a fan of PR events and media. He was outgoing and charming, but he tended to keep his life private for the most part. But he was glad he went, because when he saw you on a shaky ladder hammering in a stubborn nail with frustration, he knew you were someone to keep him on his toes. You had on overalls covered in paint. Some was fresh, but most of it seemed deeply imbedded in the fabric, like you wore them just to get them dirty. Your arms, too, were covered in colors. It was quite the sight. When you saw him, you dropped your hammer. Right on your foot, and then it tumbled down the ladder to fall unceremoniously on the ground. You hissed as you descended the ladder, jittery with excitement. You greeted him with a very enthusiastic handshake, announcing how you didn’t think he’d show up. You kept rambling, and he kept listening. Eventually you asked him if he could sit still, and he said yes, to which you replied with, “I wanna sketch you, then. You have this beautiful angelic vibe and I need that.” So, if that’s not forward I’m not sure what is.

It’s true. You’re his joy, and he’s your muse. And, for what it’s worth, Ollie was right. You certainly do keep him on his toes because he never really knows what’s next with you. You’re vibrant and fun and you love nature— The stereotypical small town girl who falls madly in love with a city boy. You like to run through tall grass barefoot and paint in the middle of giant fields whatever your heart desires, and now you’re dating Oliver Bearman. But it’s a good thing, because you both have changed each other in the best way possible, and even though you’re so different, you work harmoniously in a healthy relationship. You’re both happier than you’ve ever been, truly.

Esteban Ocon

Model

This man is TALL. He needs a tall girlfriend to sit by his side, and that just so happens to be you. You met at a huge gala for F1, where various other celebrities were invited to bring more attention to the sport. You’ve always been a fan, so you were glad to have the opportunity to meet a lot of the people you had admired for so many years. One of those people was Esteban Ocon. He was hated by his own community, regarded as one of the least likable people around, but you saw through that. This was a sweet guy with a bad reputation over one incident that took place many years ago. He was a bit surprised when you intentionally sat down beside him and introduced yourself with a huge smile and a delicate handshake. You were beautiful. It was almost too good to be true. He couldn’t let go of an opportunity like this, so he clung to you the entire night and asked if you’d be willing to see him again. Of course you would.

He supports your career through and through. He admires your skill, and all the thought that goes into modeling. It’s truly impressive. In turn, you support his racing career. You frequently feature his races, and while you do try to avoid the cameras, it’s impossible to not be featured when reacting on occasion. You have a loving dynamic— almost the perfect couple, and everyone in the paddock knows it. You’re the type of people to solve every disagreement by calmly talking it out. You’re the type of people to live by the rule “never go to bed angry.” You both get bad reps. In his community’s mind, Esteban is cruel and vicious and impossible to like. In your community’s mind, you’re stuck up and bossy and rude. So, together you make a perfectly misunderstood pair that understands one another. Delightful, right?

[onlybeeewrites]

Finding Magic

Request: May I request a hunger games request Haymitch x wife reader, she is a district 12 victor from the laye 50's games. She is around 4-8 years younger than him. It is set in district 13, we see him with their young daughter named after his fellow 50th game tribute and just fluff, please Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x wife!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS, characters mentioned

A/N: the first of many Haymitch requests UGH I loved this and seeing soft Haymitch. Enjoy!! <3 ~~~~~~~~

The quarters in District 13 weren’t much—gray walls, stiff bedding, and a distinct lack of anything that could be called personal. Everything was practical, assigned, and strictly regulated, from the meals to the uniforms to the way time itself seemed to tick by in rigid blocks.

But somehow, you had made it feel like home. Haymitch wasn’t sure how she did it. Maybe it was the warmth she carried with her, the way she never let the weight of their reality smother the small joys you still managed to carve out of the days. Or maybe it was the way you saw things—not just for what they were, but for what they could be.

Even here, underground, you made the world seem bigger.

Your ten year old daughter, Louella was sprawled out on the cold floor, utterly lost in the book she held, her small fingers gripping the worn pages as if they contained the secrets of the universe.

Haymitch could see the crease between her brows, the slight parting of her lips as she whispered words under her breath, tasting them as she read. Whatever world she had discovered in those pages had its hooks in her now, and nothing short of an emergency would pull her out of it.

And you sat nearby, your head bent over a needle and thread, patching up yet another hole in your daughter’s jumpsuit. It wasn’t the first tear she’d fixed this week, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Louella was always running, climbing, sneaking into places she wasn’t supposed to be. She had the boundless energy of someone who had never known anything but motion.

Haymitch liked to pretend he didn’t know where she got that rebellious streak from, but between your quiet defiance and his own tendency to do exactly the opposite of what people expected, the girl hadn’t stood a chance.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching them for a moment before speaking. “What’s she reading this time?”

You didn’t look up, but there was a small smile on her lips. “Poetry. About magic.”

Haymitch raised a brow and pushed off the wall, making his way over before flopping down beside Louella. “Magic, huh? Didn’t think District 13 allowed that kind of thing.”

Louella shot him an unimpressed look over the top of her book. “It’s poetry, Papa. Not spells.”

Haymitch smirked, leaning in as if she had just admitted to something scandalous. “Still sounds like nonsense.”

Louella let out a dramatic sigh and held up the book. “Just listen.”

She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and read aloud:

“The wind hums secrets through the trees,

The river sings to passing bees.

The sky bends low to kiss the land,

And leaves spell stories in the sand.”

She closed the book with a decisive little snap and looked up expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

Haymitch tilted his head. “Huh. Not bad.”

Louella beamed, victorious, and turned to her mother. “See? Even he likes it.”

You chuckled, tying off the stitch with practiced ease. “Took him long enough.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes but turned back to Louella. “So, you really think there’s magic in all that?”

Louella nodded eagerly. “Mama says magic is just seeing things the right way. Like when the sun looks like melted gold, or when the air smells different before a storm.”

You take a pause, setting down the sewing, stretching your fingers before smiling at your daughter. “My family always believed in magic,” you said, voice soft with nostalgia,

“We grew up in the fields, and we saw it in everything—the way fireflies danced like little stars, the hush of the earth before the first snowfall, the way seeds always knew how to find the sun.”

Louella’s eyes widened in that way only a child’s could, full of wonder and longing for things just out of reach. “I wish I could’ve seen all that.”

You smiled fondly, brushing a curl from Louella’s face. “You still can, sweetheart. Magic’s in the little things. You just have to know how to look.”

Haymitch snorted, shaking his head. “That why people used to call your family wild?”

That caused you to smirked at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Of course. You’d know that. You’d also remember that people often said we were odd for believing in things you couldn’t hold in your hands. But it takes special people to see the magic in little things.”

Louella grinned. “Good thing I’m special, then.”

Haymitch hummed, “yes you are, sweetheart,” he said glancing between the two of them—you, his wife, with your quiet strength and stubborn belief in things bigger than themselves, and his daughter, practically glowing with excitement at the idea of unseen wonders hiding in the world around her.

Louella yawned, rubbing at her eyes but still stubbornly gripping her book. “Can I read one more?”

You glanced at the clock on the wall—lights-out was soon, and rules were strict here. But sighed, a small, indulgent smile on your lips. “Just one more.” How could you deny one of the few pleasures you were able to indulge in?

Louella grinned and flipped through the pages, searching for the perfect poem. Haymitch, meanwhile, leaned his head back against the wall, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

He wasn’t much for poetry, but he liked the sound of Louella’s voice as she read, soft and full of belief. Reminding him so much of you.

“The stars will shine beyond the dark,

Their light will never wane.

A whispered wish, a hopeful heart,

And magic stays the same.”

Luella looked up, blinking sleepily. “That means magic is always there, right? Even when we can’t see it?”

You ran her fingers through Louella’s hair. “That’s right.”

Haymitch huffed. “Poetry’s got a lot of nerve making promises like that.”

Louella giggled, pressing her face into his side. “You just don’t get it, Dad.”

He smirked, pulling the blanket up over her. “Guess not.”

She let out another small yawn, and this time, her eyes didn’t open again. Haymitch exhaled, shifting to pick her up. She made a sleepy sound of protest as he scooped her into his arms, but she didn’t fight it, just curled against his chest like she’d done since she was little.

You stood and followed as he carried Louella to the small cot she called a bed. He tucked her in, smoothing down the blanket while you brushed her hair back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Haymitch stayed there a moment longer, watching as Louella breathed slow and deep, already lost in dreams. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Sleep tight, wild thing.”

She didn’t stir. You slipped your hand into his, lacing their fingers together as they stepped back from the bed.

Haymitch pressed a kiss to you temple as they settled onto their own bed. “You’re gonna turn her into a dreamer.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Good. The world needs more of them.”

Haymitch didn’t answer right away. He just held you a little tighter, his fingers absently tracing slow, idle patterns against your arm.

Even after all these years, it still felt surreal sometimes—having this family, having you.

He thought back to the first time he saw you, standing on that stage at seventeen, trying to keep your face blank as your name was called. He’d been your mentor then, five years after winning himself. And he had been forced to watch 10 kids die since then. He was sure you would be the 12th.

And so he was forced to watch as you stepped into the arena, as you fought. But this time you proved everyone wrong as you won.

He had known, back then, what kind of person would walk out of that place. What it took to survive.

But you had come back still you, against all odds. You had come back stubborn and sharp and kind in ways the Capitol couldn’t kill. You still held onto who you were. And that alone was the perfect act of rebellion.

And somehow, in the years that followed, through nightmares and rebellion and the slow, aching process of trying to be something more than just survivors—you had found your way to each other eventually. And then became more.

Then two, became three. You had sobbed in his arms when you found out, fearing the day that she too would have to be reaped from the bowl of names. With a high chance of her dying in that god forsaken arena. The guilt, Haymitch remembered, took such a toll on you.

“How could I do this? Bring a child into this world?” You had once said. But after some time you had come to terms with the baby—Luella. Light in the dark. And a memorial name after the one of the tributes from Haymitch’s games. A sweet little girl you remembered from the Seam.

But now, you all were here, in a dimly lit room beneath the earth, with the most incredible daughter who believed in poetry and magic, in a place where hope was hard to hold on to.

And yet, somehow, you still did.

Haymitch exhaled, pressing his forehead against your hair. “You know,” he muttered, “I always knew you were trouble.”

You laughed softly, shifting closer. “Oh? Since when?”

“Since you looked me in the eye after they called your name and didn’t cry.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Since you gave me an attitude that first day on the train. And especially afterward,”

Your fingers brushed against his hand, lacing together. “Guess that means you didn’t do a terrible job as a mentor.”

Haymitch huffed a small, dry laugh. “Didn’t do a great one, either.”

You squeezed his hand, tilting her head at him. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You were here. You were still you. Even after everything you both had gone through.

Maybe that was magic too.

[peachpitfics]

Cruel Summer

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Following your romp with Benedict Bridgerton in his art studio, he asked your brother for your hand! Now you're on your honeymoon, and you're getting a little bored, posing for him. A lady must find ways to amuse herself!

Length: 2.1k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), Penetrative vaginal sex, unprotected sex, light bondage, food play.

a/n: This is an anonymous request for a continuation of 'Guilty as Sin'.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Benedict Bridgerton escorting you to view his artwork, at his private studio, was just the beginning of your story. After sneaking around behind your family’s backs for a small while, Benedict gathered enough courage to ask your eldest brother’s permission for your hand. This seemed strange to the y/l/n family, not one of them had ever seen the two of you together, which showed how much attention was paid to the middle child. Benedict made sure to ask you in the Bridgerton drawing room, just before family tea, for everyone to see. He made such a big to-do, confessing his love to you, before every member of the Bridgerton family in attendance. It felt particularly safe there, amongst people who took interest in who you were as a person.

It was bittersweet to have siblings who offered their time, their attentions, and their hobbies freely. You learned so many new things from each of them, from pall-mall, to sewing, even horse riding.  In six months, you were married and moved into the Bridgerton house for the meantime, until after your honeymoon. You would never outright tell Benedict you did not want to move out, but he felt it, he knew.

“My love” Benedict whispered, shaking your shoulders gently. Honeymooning in Paris was something the two of you had instantly agreed upon. So far, two weeks of sleeping late, making love, and eating copious amounts of divine food was your only concern. Of course, there were a lot of other lovely things Benedict had planned for your honeymoon – river boat rides and romantic dinners, every moment between locations filled with fine bread, wine, and cheese.

“Yes, my love?” You grumbled, rolling away from him, clearly having not had enough sleep.

“You must wake up, it is midafternoon!” Benedict exclaimed with a chesty laugh, rolling you back into him and tickling your sides. You howled with laughter, pushing him away playfully, leaning up to distract him as only you knew how. His lips were warm and wet against your own, seductive, and luscious.

“You must come downstairs! The housekeeper has left us a feast and I wish to paint my gorgeous wife” Benedict slid his hands around your naked body, lifting you out of bed as you groaned.

“Again?!” “My darling, I’ll be painting you until death takes me” Benedict chuffed, sliding sideways between doorways and down the stairs to the sitting room.

“What if death takes me first?” You smirked back, figuring you had him cornered here.

“I have made God promise I am to go first. And even so, I’ll have every detail committed to memory and these paintings and sketches of you now to keep me company” Benedict squeezed you in his arms, he didn’t like to joke about parting ways, in any sense. It was his truest nightmare, his deepest fear.

Benedict set you down in the sitting room and gestured to what he and the house keeping staff had readied. Paint, canvas, a staging area - littered around the room were bowls of fresh fruit, bottles of wine, candles surrounded by plates of cheese, oil, and bread. You relaxed back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, cupping your breasts sweetly. You giggle a little, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He nodded to your position for the rest of the day, a chair with the back faced to a very high window, casting a streak of sunlight down upon the spot.

There you sat, for hardly an hour before your mind began to wander, circling Benedict in your mind like a shark in open water. You had learned to become comfortable being nude for long periods of time these days, however Benedict had learned nothing of your persuasion or power when your attentions were dashed. Your movements started slowly, daintily taking your hands to your knees, and spreading your legs wide upon the chair. Resting a little, relaxing your back and cupping your own breasts. Your fingers gently grazing your nipples. But nothing, no attention from your husband. He sat close to his canvas, squinting into the detail of his work, his realm of perception clearly inhibited. With a huff and a light moan, you continued to palm at your own breasts, fingers trapping your nipples in a pulling motion- you decided to pretend Benedict wasn’t here. Suddenly, taking notice, you watched as his brush left the canvas, his mouth hung open a little and he removed his glasses, almost tossing them to the floor.

“What are you doing, darling?” He mumbled, swallowing hard. Your hands ran down your mid-section, over your belly and down your thighs sensually, soft mewls slipped from between your lips. Benedict loved the sounds you made.

“I’m just amusing myself, continue on with your painting my dear” Your replying comment was nonchalant in the best way. Benedict almost looked offended that you would suggest he could go back to painting.

“How do you suppose I paint, while my wife ravages her own body before me?” He blinked at the audacity of you.

“Well, dear one, this is what you have chosen for this afternoon’s activities… Now, you must endure” You smiled, sliding your hand between your legs, dipping your finger in the wet warmth there. Benedict shuddered, wishing any part of him were exchanged with your finger.

If there was anything you had learned about Benedict in the last six or seven months, it was that his desire for you was consistent and all encompassing. Benedict watched on as your fingers circled your clitoris, you moaned and exhaled gently - his paint brush never did return to the canvas. Beads of sweat formed on his brow line, the hot, French summer finally taking its toll in the late afternoon. You reached to the small stool next to you, extracting the tiniest jar of honey. You looked into Benedict’s eyes, holding the jar above your body, dangling your head back and pouring a steady stream of honey over your chest. The sun glistened, reflecting little pools of light off your sticky, sweet skin.

Taking your finger, you swept up your belly from your navel, placing your finger on your tongue in clear view of him, and that was his very last straw. Benedict threw his paintbrush to the ground, thrusting himself up and out of his chair, to march across the room to you.

“What do you think you are doing, wife?” Benedict’s voice rasped, his eyes were so dark, the colour had all but gone.

“Playing, my love” You replied cheekily, sucking another nip of honey off your finger. He all but growled watching your finger slip between your lips, his breath quickening in sheer lust for you.

“Are you punishing me for getting you out of bed?” Benedict’s face was so close now, his nose tip to tip with yours. There was such tension in his jaw, his teeth clenched hard in his fierce need of you. You fluttered your lashes back at him, refusing to answer with your words.

“Do you have even a semblance of an understanding of what you are doing to me? This is unbelievably cruel,” He breathed heavily down on you, desperation flooding his body and adrenaline surging behind, “You can’t begin to imagine the things I want to do to you right now” His stubble gliding across your ear and cheek, making you shudder.

“Show me then,” You challenged, “You are my husband after all”.

Benedict’s hands slowly moved to his shirt, shedding it, and throwing it somewhere behind him. He acted with a sureness and a strength you hadn’t yet experienced, but it was drawing you in. Undoing his pants, Benedict took his hard member into his hands, stroking himself against your chest, lathering it in honey. His other hand wove into your hair, tangling the perfect hold, bringing you forward.

“Oh. Goodness. Seems I’ve made quite a mess of myself… Wife, help me clean it up” He smiled smugly down at you.

 Something feral, untamed, was unleashed inside you, your eyes darkening, “Certainly, my lord”. As your tongue reached out to meet his tip, his head lulled back in pleasure, his hand still wrapped around the base of him. Your lips parted slowly, encasing his first inch, and swirling your tongue around to suck the honey from him. Benedict exhaled headily, his breaths deep, but quick with the slightest grunt mixed in. The way he sounded, even now, made you wetter and wetter.

There was something maliciously keen in Benedict’s eyes as he watched from on high, your pretty mouth sucking all the honey off him and then some. His body gently rocked forward, his hand heaving your head forward, onto him in a more perverse manner. His head hung back in greedy caution, grasping to the very last straws of his gentlemanly nature as you sunk to the base of him, your tongue wriggling slyly underneath.

His fingers grew taut in your hair, reefing you backwards. His laugh was low, both impressed and challenged by your ministrations. In the next moment, Benedict had hauled you up and over his shoulder, he was charging up the stairs, mad with temerity.

Entering the bedroom, he threw you down on the bed, scrambling for any piece of material in reach, he began ripping. Four pieces of silk fabrics in his hands, he loomed over you in profound ownership. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, Benedict taking each wrist and ankle, tying them to each to their respective corner post of the bed.

“There” He stood, hands on his hips, proud of his work, “There’ll be no more of that”. Clearly touching yourself had had a dire effect on Benedict’s work ethic.

Kneeling between your thighs, his naked body unjustly out of reach, Benedict’s supercilious smile sick with goofy dominance. He thumbs over your folds, his finger descending, extorting whines of pleasure you never knew existed within you. Broad strokes of the most painful, unapologetically evil gratification. Benedict’s tongue flicked over his lips hungrily.

“I need you” The words escaped you violently, the thrill of his touch, his charming smile becoming all too much for you. He ignored you and continued another moment or two, reducing you to a begging mess beneath him.

“Shall I oblige you, my marvellous bride?” His grin was jubilant and all knowing, his hands came down on your wrists, pressing them into the bed. Benedict’s brutal, familiar kiss sown into your lips permanently, as he pushed inside of you with surprise.

“Y/n” He groaned, growled with unrepentant lust. Your eyes cast wide, the length of him stretching you mercilessly while he thrust in and out. His villainous face claiming your entire consciousness as he used your body to his pleasure, decadent facial expressions, and damnable sounds he was delivering straight to your right ear.

“You feel unimaginably perfect” Benedict groaned, your moans joining in alongside his.

Hands grasping for silk to hold onto, you longed for your own release, grinding your hips back against Benedict’s. His movements became more ferocious, keeping up with the sounds you were making. Frenetic energy began to move through your body, your ravenous thirst for him finally quenched. Every muscle in your body engaged in vivid contortion, Benedict pressing into you as deeply as he possibly could before his own body found its own powerful release.

Covered in sweat and honey, you laid tangled together for a moment before Benedict recalled your wrists and ankles were tied. He chuckled with giddiness, sitting up to admire his knots.

“You look fantastic like this, perhaps we should do this more often” He suggested sweetly. His thumb caressed the side of your face, your panting, tired body unable to give a response. Benedict littered your face and neck with loving pecks.

“We could be one person and I still would never be close enough to you. No amount of time with you will ever satisfy me. You are the centre of my world” Benedict whispered gently. Every day you were reminded of the intoxicants his poetic mind dabbled into every sweet thing he said to you.

In another instant, Benedict had sprung from the bed, running downstairs. You laughed, thinking he must be returning with some of the food the housekeeper had left strewn about his romantically planned afternoon. Instead, Benedict returned with a new canvas and his implements. Your mouth fell open all on its own, blinking furiously in his direction as he set himself up off the side of the bed.

“If you could just stay there, like that, that’d be great!” Benedict’s grin, excruciatingly exquisite, and concocting. He held himself with such pride in his agendum, cockiness seemed to fill the room in a potent manner.

“BENEDICT!?” You squealed, tugging frantically on his bindings, your laughter filled with rich resolve.

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

tagging: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr //

If you'd like to be added to this tag list, please let me know!

[misteria247]

Frank could admit to his supposed flaws. Out of all the neighbors, he was the one who was the most prickly, so to speak. He went with logic rather than feelings and was the polar opposite of his best friend Julie. He could admit that his snippy personality could make him difficult to be around. That it could make him unapproachable to some. Yet he wasn't an unreasonable man or puppet. But at the moment.....

'I'm gonna start killing people.'

The grey puppet thought briefly as he grounded his teeth to not get into an argument. Praying to any deity out there to give him some patience. To spare his last nerve that was on its last leg. Across from him was Barnaby, the large blue dog puppet looking just as annoyed despite his easy-going grin.

"I just don't think it's a good idea exposing us."

The larger male said his tone lazy but firm. Frank took a deep breath, reminding himself that Barnaby was only thinking about the others. Just like himself.

"We can't keep this hidden forever. Sooner or later (Y/N) is gonna find out about us. And I think it'd be wise if we eased them into this rather than spring it on them."

Frank explained, trying to get Barnaby to see what he was saying. Just as he'd been trying to in vain to get him to see for the past two days.

"And what makes you think that we can trust (Y/N)?"

Howdy piped up, ever the question asker as much as a salesman. His eyes were narrowed a bit, staring Frank down. The smaller puppet wasn't phased, but he didn't respond. He didn't know how to convey that just from watching you for these past few weeks, he'd just got this gut feeling that you were trustworthy. Not in a way that was the logical manner that he was known for.

"Because they've been fixing us up! Despite all the bumps and road blocks, (Y/N) has done nothing but put us first! If they're willing to fix us old puppets, then I'm sure they're trustworthy!"

Julie chimed in, speaking Frank's thoughts exactly.

"I mean, look at my dress! My hair! Eddie's mailbag and Poppy's feathers! For goodness sake, they'd cleaned you up Howdy! And they just finished Frank's vest!"

The chipper puppet explained, holding the end of her red dress to show your handy work. The tears and holes that once littered the skirt were now patched up with adorable flower styled patches that were sewed on and ironed on. Some of them looked a bit bad, but they were stable enough to stay in place until you could figure out how to make them look better. Yet it was clear that they were done with care. And you'd gotten quite a few burns and pricks from trying to fix it. Poppy, who'd been quiet, jumped a bit, her feathers looking much better since their arrival to your home.

'Countless hours spent preening and fixing those feathers.'

Frank noted remembering how long it'd taken you to get the worst ones out.

"Julie darling....just because they fixed us doesn't mean that they're trustworthy with this."

Sally replied, sounding like she was exhausted and uninterested. The actor was next to Poppy, looking rather unimpressed with Julie's arguments.

"Now, now, let's not fight, please. This is a discussion, not an argument."

Poppy said, ever, the motherly one, as she sensed the possibility of an argument brewing. Julie, who had opened her mouth to reply, closed it, and Sally just sighed, not commenting.

"Well.....I don't know about you and Ms. Starlet, but I agree with Mr. Frankly and Ms. Joyful. (L/N) has been nothing but thoughtful. I think if we just explained, they'd understand."

Eddie, who hadn't really given his stance, put in. Frank looked at the larger mailman, who was nervous but steady in his words. Not wanting to stare too long, he quickly looked away.

"This could end badly if we tell them, you three realize this, right??"

Howdy asked his tone, judging.

"Howdy is onto something, pal. I'm not saying that (Y/N) is a bad person, but they're not him. Humans aren't always nice."

Barnaby threw in, looking a bit regretful at Julie and Eddie's expressions falling. Poppy and Sally didn't say anything else, but by their expressions, they were taking Barnaby and Howdy's words into consideration. Frank wanted to tear his hair out because he understood where they were coming from. He knew humans sometimes were not kind, especially to people or things who were different. But he couldn't give up. Something within him just couldn't let himself completely agree.

Not after watching you fix and clean them. Not after having you talk to him, always friendly save for when you were tired from work and other things. Not after watching you burn, cut, and prick your fingers and hands so much just to make them look better. Everything you did, it just screamed kindness. He wanted to give you a chance to be eased into this, not be taken by surprise.

You deserved that much, at least.

Frank steeled himself to again argue his, Julie, and Eddie's case on trusting you when a voice spoke up.

"No, they're not him. (Y/N) won't ever be him, but........they have his kindness. They've spoken to us and treated us like living beings. I think.....that they can be trusted."

Wally, who had been silent the entire time, had caused them all to quiet down and look at him. The smaller yellow puppet was calmly sitting on your armchair, a thoughtful expression on his face. Frank could see the others' expressions becoming resigned despite their displeasure. While Julie and Eddie perked up immediately at another one of their group agreeing.

"Wally buddy...."

Barnaby started to say, but Wally looking at him with a head tilt, quietly listening to his best friend, made him stop. The dog puppet just gave a sigh, knowing that Wally wasn't one to put his opinion in unless he was sure. And trying to change his mind was futile.

"I don't like this. You better think of a plan on how to do this, Frank..."

Barnaby said, gaze boring into him. Frank just thinned his mouth, meeting it head on.

"I always have a plan, Barnaby. I'm a bit offended you'd think otherwise."

[mentally-unstable-hottie13]

Hii! Soo i saw a moodboard and fell in love with the vive

you think you could do a one shot about being Henrys innocent girlfriend

Thats the mood board, but instead of Patrick could u do a Henry one plss🙏🙏

✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽

Thank you so much for the ask! Sorry it took so long I hope I did it justice. I also re did the mood board to make it a cover. Hope you like it .

✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽

Henry x innocent! Reader!

Content warnings: mention of sex, suggestive material, underage smoking, theft, language. Misogynistic language.(Not from Henry)

(NO ACTUAL SEXUAL ACTS HAPPEN IN THIS STORY. ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18 IN THEIR SENIOR YEAR)

A/N: I'm kinda back! Yay! | didn't add smut to this because I didn't know if any of y'all would be willing to read that so l thought it would be best to ask here. Leave a comment if yes! All my story's will continue plus I have a new man I plan on writing for! Hope you like it!

✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽

You lived in Derry for a few years when you were younger but your father had gotten a promotion at his job that required your family to move to a whole new state. Now after 10 years, here you are. You had to move back because of your grandmothers worsening condition. You loved Granny. She was your best friend.

After moving back you have been spending all of your time at granny’s house. She’d teach you to sew, cook, she’d ask you to read to her as she lay in her recliner chair. It’s almost like you lived at her house and not with your parents. Don’t get me wrong you love your parents, they just understood how much granny meant.

The past few weeks at Derry high have been almost Hellish. People push you in the halls, this girl Greta and her friends are ruthless in their taunts and now there was him.

Henry Bowers. He apparently had been suspended the first 2 weeks you were in town. Now he was at school everyday, in almost every class. He always had his eyes on you. You wont lie, he scared you. In comparison to him you were much smaller, and not just in stature. Henry’s personality, energy and voice was big in comparison to your shy, calm, innocent one. He was the definition of fear. He looked at you like a wolf looked at a lamb. And that was the scariest part. All Henry ever did was look.

Until one day.

It stopped looking and did something.

You remember the day clearly, the day that set everything in motion. It was a warm day with wet air. It had rained the night prior and was overcast all day. You had an English quiz today. You never minded English class but on days with quizes you felt unshakable anxiety. You always read the material but what if?

Yep, you were one of those. You always knew the material, but felt like you would choke on a test. (You never have).

Just for the test the teacher decided to finally switch up seats. Yippie. Every person would now have a different table partner. You could almost see the murder in Henry’s eyes when she pointed to a desk and announced that you and Henry would be tablemates.

Double yippie.

The paper was placed before you and Henry and the hour timer started. Simple questions if you read the book. But like always, there was a hint of fear embeded in your skin. About 40 minutes in your absolutely anchient English teacher fell asleep. Seriously he was so old you don’t know if he was safe to dive himself home anymore.

Henry kicked your foot. Oh no.

You tried not to acknowledge his attempts at your attention. That didn’t last long. He finally annoyed you enough and got you to look at him. He slid over a small paper note.

“Help me out.”

Was all the almost illegible note said. The hadwriting was so bad it was almost endearing.

“With what?” You gently wrote back.

After a long minute of Henry writing in the note he slid it back.

He asked for only half the answers? Why not all of them? He also didn’t ask for any of the short response questions . Just the multiple choice ones.

You sighed and flipped the note over before writing out the answers.

“AACDBCCDA.”

You passed it back and silently slid it to Henry under the table. You really didn’t need to get in trouble because someone saw you helping this guy out. What if the teacher called your parents? What if Granny got mad? God that would be the end of the world for you. You hated upsetting your family. You always tried to do what you were told.

Henry takes the paper and unfolds it before quickly copying the answers and then shoving the note in his pocket, from there he writes a few words for the short response before drawing shit on his paper.

You finish up the test and get up to turn it in. Just as you start raising out of your chair Henry put his hand on your thigh. Startled by the contact you jump a little and look down at him. With a bored expression he hands you his paper. You sigh again before walking up to the teachers desk and walk back to your desk to gather your things. As you walk the bell for lunch rings and everyone leaves. Because of that little interaction with Henry you were the last one to turn in your paper and now you were the last one left in class. You didn’t mind. You sat alone for lunch. You could read your books when you were alone. Even the teacher had left.

You grab your bag and begin gathering your things to leave. By the time you are done the hallways appear empty. Just as you exit the room a sharp hand grabs your wrist. Startling you backwards, you turn to face your “attacker” only to come face to face…. With him.

Henry. You were all alone. With him.

You can’t deny that he was attractive. His bright blue eyes, muscles and long hair made you blush.

You’d never really looked at boys like this, not for any particular reason. They just never interested you. until today that is.

Henry leaned against the lockers with a vexed expression lain across his features. Why was he annoyed?

From his perspective the blush on your checks was ever-noticeable. You avoided his gaze but kept your eyes on him. Strange. He though.

“I need your answers for Mr. Clark’s math class. I know you have him the hour before me.” Henry stares

“W-what?” You ask absolutely bewildered that he’s demanding answers after you already helped him cheat. You already felt icky about helping him in the first place.

“You heard me. I need you to do the study guide and give me the answers. He allowed us a cheat sheet for the test based on the study guide but I don’t feel like doing the work. So. You are gonna help me. Got it?” It’s not a question, he’s telling you that you’ll help him. What a jerk.

After a moment of you not responding he snatches your phone from you. “Hey!” You lunge after your phone. He holds it above your head.

“Open it and go to your contacts. Now.” He hands you back the phone. He was scary, you knew the things he did to other kids who didn’t listen to him. Might as well listen.

You open your phone and open up contacts before handing it back to him. He types for a second before handing it back.

“Text me your address so I can come by after school. If you ghost me I’ll kick your ass into a pulp. Don’t test me.” And with that, Henry was gone.

What was this kids deal?

You messaged Henry the address to your Granny’s house after school. As you enter her house you call out for her.

“Gran?”

“I’m in here love!” She responds from the living room.

You walk to Granny and kneel beside her in her rocker.

“Hi love, what’s got you lookin all down today?” Gran wonders.

“A boy is coming over today to study, I wanted you to know.”

“Oh a boy you say? Why don’t you two work in your room? I won’t be a bother to you in there.”

“Are you sure Gran?”

“Positive.”

With a heavy sigh you go to your room. You decided clean up a little before Henry comes over. You liked your room here. Most of your material belongings were at home with your parents but Grans house had all your clothes and stuffed animals and blankets. The dusty blue walls made the room feel cozy. Your bed spread was a light pastel pink with little blue flowers all over it. Your lamp was in the shape of an old teapot and your stuffed animals that you didn’t regularly sleep with were placed in a “hammock” in a corner. Potted plants scattered your room. These little details made you feel so at home it was hard to describe.

A knock came from the front door snapping you out of your comfortable daze. You exit your room and walk to the front door. Before you even speak Henry pushes past you into the house. You sigh and shut the front door before showing him to your room and shutting the door behind you.

God this guy is a jerk…

He sits himself on your bedspread and you cringe at the thought of his dirt covered jeans on your bed. You see that he has nothing on him. You knew this wasn’t gonna be a regular study session but nothing? Not a pencil? Not even his own book?

Whatever.

You get yourself situated on the floor in front of your small table and get out your book and paper. You finished most of the study guide in your last few classes today. You just had a few more things to put down. When you were done you looked up to see Henry had lain fully back onto your bed. In his dirty farm clothes.

Don’t panic.

Sheets can be washed.

The mattress however bust be set aflame.

You tossed the pencil and cheat sheet up onto his lap before turning on the tv from where you sat. He stirred at the feeling of something touching him he steadied himself on his elbows to look at you, then the paper. He scoffed before retrieving a notecard from his pocket. He slid of the bed and sat next to you on the floor, leaning over the table as he wrote. You rolled your eyes and found a good show to watch.

Once he was done writing he looked up.

“What the fuck is this?” He asked gesturing to your tv.

“It’s my favorite show.” You shrug.

“This?” He asks confused, “no way this boring shit is your favorite.”

“Well it is, I usually watch it with Gran”

“Do you only really watch tv with her?” He asks weirdly.

“Pretty much.”

“Do you do everything with your gramma’?”

You just nod.

“That explains fucking everything!” He shouts and laughs loudly.

You try to throw your hands over his mouth. “SHHHH!! Not so loud! she doesn't like swearing!”

He laughs louder through your hands. Once he calms a little he grabs your wrists and removes your hands from his face.

“Fuck, that makes so much sense now.”

You look at him oddly. “What makes sense?”

“You” he gestures, “the old lady clothes, the knitting in class, the books, the no swearing, the way you talk. You are a clone of your grandma!” He laughs again.

Your cheeks turn pink with embarrassment.

No I'm not… I’m me, my grandma and I just spend a lot of time together that’s all….

“Just shut up Henry!” You snap.

….

“What did you just say to me, freak?” He levels you with a glare. You couldn’t find it in you to care.

“I said shut up! I’m helping you for tomorrow when I don’t have to! You have no idea what you are talking about so just shut up!”

He leans in closer to you with that angry look on his face.

You were in so much trouble. Would he hit you? Beat you? Yell at you? You’d heard stories of what he’d done to other kids that tried to stand up to him.

You close your eyes in fear of what’s to come. You’d never even raised your voice like that before. Of course the first time ever had to be at Henry Bowers. You wait for him to hit you, but instead you feel 2 hands grab at the side of your face before Henry smashed his lips to yours.

Your eyes snap open in shock. The kiss is rough and demanding but not awful. After a few seconds of initial shock you melt into it before Henry pulls off.

Your eyes flutter open to see Henry smirking with a flushed face. You assume the red on his cheeks is matching you.

“W-why would you do that?” You cover your face with your hands.

“Because I felt like it.” He deadpanned.

This made no freaking sense. Why would this guy do that?!?

“Yo” he starts again. “Relax. I’ve liked your look for a while, what do ya say you go with me for a while?”

WHAT WAS HE EVEN SAYING?????

“Pardon?….”

“I’m sayin go steady. Hang with me fer a while”

“Are you insane!?” You whisper yell. “You threaten to beat me up, swear in my house, make fun of me then kiss me???”

“And now I’m askin to go steady.” He confirms.

This kid was insane. What was even more insane was the fact that you were pondering it. Maybe it was the fact that he called you a clone of Granny. That implies you were like an old lady, uptight, boring, no fun. You could be fun.

“Why not?”

He looked a little surprised.

“Really?” He asked in a bored and skeptical tone.

“Yeah, why not?”

And from there you and Henry have been together for months.

Being with Henry has taught you things you never knew. He’s influenced you to do things you never would have done. Not that you are complaining.

He and his friends took you to the quarry today. You had never really seen boys your age undressed before… that was quite a strange feeling. You’d never really been undressed in front of boys before. The way Henry looked at you confused you. For about 30 minutes after you caught him staring he refused to get out of the water. Even when everyone else did.

One of Henry’s friends, you’d come to learn was Belch, brought a speaker to listen to music as you sat in the shaded rocks and watched the boys fool around in the water. You’d never listened to music like it before. Screaming, loud, sex and drug filled music. You’d be lying if you said you completely hated it.

Another thing you learned was how these boys speak. Once they all exited the water they began talking about a girl. Greta. The girl who was always mean to you. They called her things like a “slut” and “total bone material”. Not Henry of course. But they all talked and laughed about sex in such an unserious way. You wondered what that was like. To not be intimidated by sex.

You knew what sex was and the basic mechanics of it but absolutely nothing else. You were curious. You appeared to be the only senior in your school who was almost totally clueless. Others definitely were taking notice.

On the car ride back to your house the boys stopped at a corner store for snacks. You knew they stole. You told Henry your only rule was “don’t get me involved” and he never did. Although Henry was teaching you new and foreign things he tried to keep you out of the worst of it. Anything that gets you in trouble.

As he hopped back into the Trans Am that was uncomfortably full now that you tagged along, he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and hit the box on his palm twice. He asked Patrick to light it and the smell of the burn filled your nostrils. Belch started the Trans Am and began driving. A little while after lighting the cigarette it was passed around until you were the only one who hadn’t had a puff. Patrick looked at you.

Oh no.

“C’mon babe, give it a try.” He said and practically waved the half gone thing in your face.

“Leave it, hockstetter.” Henry said firmly, turning in his seat to look at you with almost apologetic eyes.

“Oh come on Henry she’s a big girl, let her try.” Patrick laughed.

You look at Henry one more time. In the months you had spent together you’d heard his friends tease him about you. Of course you’d never tell him that. You heard them say you were too clean to be with a Bowers, that you were “so fucking boring it’s amazing Henry hasn’t boned someone else”.

You never wanted Henry to be ashamed of you, you didn’t want Henry to think you were boring.

You look at Patrick defiantly and snatch the cigarette from him before inhaling. Inhaling wasn’t the problem. It’s getting it out that caused some issues. On the exhale it tickled parts of your lungs you never want tickled and you coughed, sputtering. The boys laughed and as you got yourself composed you made eye contact with Henry who was still looking at you. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes said something different.

✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽

After returning you and Henry to Gran’s house the boys sped off. You unlocked the door and went into the living room to sit with Granny for a bit while Henry went to your room. Gran wasn’t particularly fond of the Bowers but she liked that you were happy.

You sat and told Gran that you and Henry and a few friends (not including that you were the only girl) went to the quarry for a swim. She smiled weakly and asked you to help her to her room for a nap. Grab had a very specific sleep routine. Wake up at 4, two naps a day for about an hour and a half each then in bed by 8. She never slept without her mask or her earplugs. She was on the verge of being deaf but she swore any and all sounds while she was sleeping would overstimulate her. So she wore earplugs. Due to the earplugs alarms were rendered ineffective so in about an hour you would be waking her.

After getting Granny all settled you shut her door then went to find Henry in your room across the house.

Henry is sitting on your bed, not unusual but he looks upset (also not unusual but you don’t know why he’s upset).

“You ok baby?” You asked timidly while stepping closer.

“Why would you do that?” He asks angrily but not yelling.

“What?”

“Why the fuck did you take the cig from hockstetter?” He spits.

“I wanted to try it”

“Bullshit, you've never wanted to try anything like that.”

“It’s not bull it’s true!” You try to lie but it’s not getting you anywhere.

“Bull. Shit.” He repeats. “You don’t drink, you don’t smoke, you get mad when we steal, you hate what I do every fucking day. So why the fuck did you do it?”

You stay silent and he huffs. He stands up and moves to leave.

“No!” You block his way.

“Move. ____” he says your name like he’s tired.

“No, I don't want you to go!” You admit.

“Then tell me why you took it from him!”

You look away, embarrassed.

“Because I don’t want you to be ashamed to be around me..”

He looks confused, which is pretty par for the course when it comes to Henry and feelings. “What?”

You try to breathe and explain. “I don’t do the things you do… I don’t do the things other girls that you guys hang out with do.”

“And what the fuck about it?” Henry snaps.

“I just-“

“No.” He cuts you off. “I’m not responsible for your insecurity. Don’t put that on me.”

“I wasn’t-“ you panic at his defensiveness but are cut off again.

“I ask if you wanna hang out with my friends because you are my girlfriend. You. Not that bitch Greta. Or Stacy, or Lana. You. I wanted you to be my girlfriend, if you are getting all insecure and shit that’s on you.”

“It’s not like that! I just don’t know the things everyone else seems to!” You try to explain.

“And!? I fucking chose you! You think I want a girl that knows everything!? A girl that thinks she’s better then me at everything?!

“No!”

“Then what the fuck is the problem?!”

“There is no problem henry. I’m just confused..”

“You’re confused? I’m confused!” He retorts. “I thought everything was fine!”

“It is!”

“Then what’s the problem!” He shouts again.

For once you are happy about Grans earplug habit.

“…I can’t do the things other girls do..”

“What?”

“I heard patrick say you had sex with Beverly and Greta”’

….

Silence. The scariest thing your boyfriend could do. Give you pure. Excruciating silence.

You start thinking of a way out. Try thinking of a way to backtrack. But nothing is coming to mind. Your heart sinks as you begin to think you royally messed up.

“I didn’t.”

…

“What?” You ask incredulously.

“I never had sex with either of them. Greta and I got pretty close to doing it a few times but I never did anything with Beverly.”

Your eyes must be wide with shock and self induced embarrassment horror.

“You don’t believe me?” He asks defensively.

“No no no I do”

“When I said I wanted to be your Boyfriend I meant it.” This sweet, almost domestic side of Henry was rare and always but you in a confused state, mostly because you knew it was only for you. “I don’t wanna fuck anyone else. I want to completely ruin you for anyone else, I wanna teach you things you never knew existed, I want you to go home to your parents one day with music that kills them of shock. I wanna teach you. Not anyone else.”

As crazy as those things may sound coming from someone you understood what he was trying to say. It was Henry’s way of saying if I was gonna learn he’d rather it be him. It was him acknowledging that you weren’t gonna be innocent forever, so why not learn it from him. What sounds even crazier is you think you loved the idea.

Henry took a step closer to you. He put his heavy calloused and bruised hands on your arms and kissed you roughly. Henry didn’t do soft. Never had and never will, and you loved it.

He led you to the bed while maintaining the kiss and once your knees hit the bed they bent and you fell to the bed. Henry continued kissing you, getting tougher as time went on. He began kissing you with his tongue, something he’d only ever done once before and you loved it. His hands slowly but firmly went up your blouse to touch the exposed skin. He brought his knee up between your legs and you gasped at the contact, having never felt it before. After a few seconds Henry broke the kiss and got off you.

Confused. You looked at him. He took off his shoes and grabbed the tv remote before holding you. Your heart swelled at the realization that he was trying to take it slow for you. Even if it left him uncomfortable. And trust me it was. Henry sat with a hard on for the entirety of the movie he put on while holding you.

✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽ ✽

Please tell me if there was any mistakes so I can fix them ❤️☺️

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 || 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬

part one: the fallen fruit || part two: here

summary_after freeing Rome, you’ve lost Marcus Acacius, his baby and you are forced to marry Lucius Verus in order to freely rule as empress and visit Acacius’ grave

warnings_ CRINGE, age gap (legal) (I’m 20, sorry) historical inaccuracy, angst, sexism and misogyny, fluff but angst, a lot of canon divergence bc I said so. ANGST ANGST I CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS

note_ that’s it, it’s official, Paul Mescal my new bf, don’t you ever make me write a fic where I knowledge any Pedro character’s death (even if it’s canon) listen to 13 beaches pls

♪ ♫ Pedro playlist

♫ ♪ Paul playlist

✰ Index (+ fics here)

𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸

Once your eyes opened, reality struck you in the harshest possible way. This time, no one was there to tend your wounds. Although they weren’t severe, they had dozed you off for days. You heard Lucilla’s scream and you closed your eyes, knowing your love was dead.

Numbness assaulted you, nausea struck you and you heard everyone gasping in horror as their beloved general’s body collapsed in the arena.

Hours after Marcus Acacius’ died, you lost his baby as well.

A day later, Rome was freed. Lucius Verus became the new emperor and you caught a fatal fever when the sun came down.

That night, death seemed like the most convenient alternative. You had lost everything you had fought for over the years. The man you loved and the prospective children were taken from you before you could’ve claimed them.

Something changed when you woke up. Like time has passed so rapidly that the pain from the loss of Acacius and your baby has healed. But as soon as you think about the would’ve, could’ve, should’ve… you start sobbing.

It’s a bright morning and the city sounds peaceful. Everyone has moved on. And you know you’ll have to. Only that, you don’t know how.

With your brother’s death, your lover and baby’s, everyone was gone.

Lucius is alive…

There’s a knock on the door and soon it opened.

A man should never intrude into a woman’s chamber he had no relationship with.

“Ah. Princess y/n you’re awake….” He says uncomfortably. You didn’t knew his name, but had been running as a politician for several years.

“I suppose I’m no longer a princess”

“Trials are happening right now, the senate is a disaster but we’re handling it okay. Lucius Verus Aurelius refuses to be crown emperor but he has argued in your favor and you have been found not guilty, but you face conspiracy charges. Consequently, you’re still a princess. And the only person we can rely on according to the law…”

You sigh, looking away from the old man to focus on the tapestry that hangs from a wall. It has a naked woman’s statue in the middle of a garden. A woman being the center of attention.

You were the maximum authority at the moment. But you still had barriers to break.

“What did you do with the corpses of my brothers?” perhaps your siblings weren’t the most lovable people, but you grew up with them. They were your last remaining family.

“Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla rest in the secluded area of the cemetery of Rome. Where the punished are buried…” you nod.

They deserved punishment, but still, an odd sensation in your stomach rested, feeling shame and pity for your brothers.

Where did the good one go? An imaginary little light sparkles upon your eyes.

“And General Acacius?”

“In his Death Will, General Acacius stated that he wanted to be buried alone in one of the islands belonging to Rome” Your eyes water and you have to bite your tongue and gulp to calm your tears.

Where he had wanted to build a home with you.

“His wife Lucilla was buried in the neighbor island upon petition” You nod, trying to sit down. You finally spot the cuts and sewed arm. Fighting Pretorials had been more difficult than participating in the war.

Alongside Marcus…

“I would like to visit his grave. Marcus Acacius’s grave” Your voice sounded broken and you could barely see the man, failing to hide your growing tears.

“There is one problem, princess y/n. Until you’re officially crown empress, you can’t leave Rome and command without being considered charged, despite being not guilty. You must marry first and I’m afraid the only suitor is Lucius Verus Aurelius”

The man that made you feel so much in no time. Who made you feel like you could be for once unconditionally loved. And that maybe Acacius was not your downfall. Maybe you had one more chance to nourish your wounded heart.

You suppress a smile. You want to see him and talk. See if he felt the same way about you and if he did, it would be a new beginning.

“Where is he?” You ask trying to hide your excitement.

“The prince is back in Numidia. He wanted to give a proper burial to his friends and his late wife especially”

The little smile on your face disappears and you look down. Unbeknownst to the man standing in front of you, you felt shame. For believing Lucius would be waiting for you.

“How so?”

“He was given permission to go back with an audience from the council” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“And why he was allowed to go to territory that is not declared Roman by the law yet…. But I can’t go to an island that is less than four hours away, claimed by the empire hundreds of years ago?”

The man gulps, seemingly uncomfortable by your sudden snapping. Your heart beats in anxiety and the anger increases. The first minutes after you awake you already feel the burden of your new present.

“Because he’s an heir…” to that, you can only sigh. Knowing the real answer.

“And I’m a heiress. I’m… a woman”

Rome was free. But as a woman, you probably never would.

“I suggest you rest and prepare for his arrival, princess. You’ll want to be ravishing to negotiate and assume the wedding”

“I haven’t decided if I’ll marry Lucius Verus Aurelius”

“It’s not like you have much of a choice, princess. I’ll send a doctor to check on you” The bitter tone of the man made you frown. You quietly curse him as he leaves the room.

Finally alone again. Like it seemed it would be for the rest of your life.

You should’ve run faster the first time you tried to escape Rome. You should’ve climbed that wall higher, maybe, just maybe none of your disgraces would’ve happened.

You had to go to Marcus’ grave. You had to say goodbye to him. Tell him all the things you couldn’t say the last time. Because he deserved it. To let him know that no matter where your baby and he were, you would always love them.

Lucius meant nothing, you try to lie to yourself.

I won’t be part of a deal, you remember as you look at the renewed Rome.

Suddenly you realize no matter whom you decide to love, you’re always the lover, not the wife.

Always the second option, never the one.

…

Four days later, you realized you had no other choice but to attend the hearing that would determine your future. Where you would face Lucius. If you had seen him once again before he left, many things could’ve been different, you liked to think.

But given the circumstances, you had no desire to see him again. You barely knew the man, of course, he would choose his wife first even when she was dead.

Your mind betrayed you with the idea of Lucius using you just all those nights to find a way to get out of the Colosseum. No matter what, he didn’t visit you, he didn’t bother to see if you were okay. Likely, he never knew you had fallen ill.

Everyone left you behind.

Happened once as a little girl who fell for her best friend, once as a teenager who fell for an older officer who turned General and once as a young woman who fell for a gladiator and turned out to be a missing prince.

With golden brackets that cover your arms and the heaviest earrings, you nervously walked through the long marble halls of the justice building. Near the temple of the god of war, there rested the place where justice was brought.

A guard opened the door for you and once you stepped in, the room was already full.

Every man inside stood up to greet you with a little reverence and you could feel a migraine already coming.

But when your eyes found a blue pair of aquamarine diamonds looking piercingly at you, the anger mixed with nervousness.

Immediately you look away from the prince. As you took a seat at the end of the long table, you could feel him everywhere. As if Lucius was silently begging for you to look at him.

“We reunite here to revoke any charges and penalties addressed to Prince and Princess; Lucius Verus Aurelius and y/n y/l/n”

You barely hear the man speaking, you were only waiting to hear the next part.

“From the power the senate gave us and by the guidance of the gods, said charges and penalties will be revoked by uniting the prince and princess in sacred marriage. Everyone who agrees says accipio…” everyone says the word, and you close your eyes trying to avoid huffing or ending up screaming in disagreement. Your father ascended to the throne rightfully. Every politician voted for him. When he died your brothers were young and naive and remained as so throughout their rule. Your only crime was to conspire against the empire along with Acacius when he was alive.

All a big nonsense.

“Hear hear, now… Do you Lucius Verus Aurelius agree to the terms of conditions of this agreement?” you look up to see the man. He looked different.

His wounds were healing, his hair looked trimmed, his beard styled. Without sweat, blood, and dirt covering his face, he looked gorgeous. Like an actual prince.

Lucius also looks at you. You can’t tell how he feels, but his eyes look hopeful. And his lips are slightly tilted. Was he trying to smile at you?.

“Accipio…” he says, looking away from you.

Your lips sealed shape a full face of anger.

“Do you y/n y/l/n agree to the terms of conditions of these agreements?”

“I would like to resign to my titles”

Gasps could be heard, and a mixture of shock and disapproval was all over the men at the table.

Lucius looks with curiosity at you. But you can see he’s also shocked.

“Princess y/n… you can’t resign” a man says and you roll your eyes.

“Exile me if needed. I can also recommend a handful of women who would be perfect suitors for Lucius Verus Aurelius” As much as you tried to sound calm, you sounded enraged.

“Then I won’t sign the agreement…” Lucius says looking at the same man who spoke first, then at you.

You eye him with confusion, he crosses his strong arms and he intimidates you with his strong gaze.

“I want you or nothing” he admits with tranquility. Which makes you even angrier. But also make your cheeks turn hot after feeling every man in the room exchange awkward looks.

How could he act so cooky and shameless?

Before you can say another thing, you are interrupted.

“If none of you agree, your charges and penalties will prevail. That would lead to several trials, where both of you could end up with death penalties despite being two rightful heirs”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh.

You’re so tired, drained from everything.

But you won’t give any man the satisfaction to see you crumbling.

Never again…

“You may constrain me all you want, Lucius Verus Aurelius. But you won’t hear what you want from me today”

The poison filling your voice intoxicated everyone, leaving the room flooding with awkwardness and uncertainty. Lucius and you share looks. There’s an odd warmth that makes you remember how good he was when you first met him. He is not a bad man. But you fell in love with him and overrated him so early.

With the silence reigning, the sound of your chair sliding as you stood up drew all the attention to you again. But you didn’t face anyone, you simply left.

The air hit you and you could already feel the tears threatening to spill.

It’s a shame because it seemed like it was a good day for Rome. You can hear kids playing nearby, and people selling goods while the clear sky warmed the afternoon.

“You really don’t know why I want you, y/n?” You hear behind your back, Lucius approaching with heavy steps, making you wipe your eyes before you turn around to see him.

“I would say to gain power. But I know you don’t want that so no… I’m clueless. All I know is I won’t be part of a deal when all my life I’ve lounged for love”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember…” he responds and you frown, disappointed that he has ignored your words. So rudely, you move away, farther from him.

“Who was there when you fell ill after breaking your bones?” your eyes almost pop out, you stop walking only to slowly turn around again and eye him in shock.

“Who was there when you used to escape the palace and needed someone to accompany you back?” Lucius pleads with every word he lets out, he walks towards you and tries to grab your hands but you slip away from his touch, defying him.

In your shock, you can only sigh as memories start reminiscing in your head. A childhood love that couldn’t be. Which involved some feelings you thought had no meaning. But sure they had. More than you wanted to admit as an adult.

Lucius Aurelius Verus was that little boy that you fell in love with as a child. That little boy disappeared without saying goodbye. A boy you thought you’d never see again.

“I left you and resented it all my life, y/n. Now I can be here for you again. Allow me to retrieve the memories we had…” This time you weren’t fast enough to prevent his touch.

He feels warm and at home. His fingers are calloused and his raspy fingertips slowly caress your knuckles. You want to hold him in your arms and cry from happiness. You want to curse him for making you believe he was dead.

But you are selfish after so much pain.

“Why you didn’t say anything when we met again?” You coldly ask, freezing the warmth he has built.

“I needed to know I could trust you first,” he says apologetically.

There’s so much to talk about. Never in your dreams, you thought you’d have the boy you loved once now turned into a man you must marry.

“Please, y/n. We’ll meet each other again, fill the empty promises we made years ago”

“You knew I was alive all this time. Why did you never come for me? We could have escaped. If I had known you were alive, a lot of my suffering could’ve been prevented” he looks away, he feels guilty.

“You married, Lucius. You were happy before Rome conquered Numidia. And I won’t diminish the death of her. But you moved on… like I never existed”

He grabs both of your hands but you move away.

“I thought you were safe. I had no chance of getting you back, that’s why I married. But when I saw you again at the celebration where I had my first fight…” even when he sounds convincingly remorseful, you still keep the distance.

“I don’t care, Lucius. The only thing I want now is to say goodbye to the only love that mattered while you were gone. I can’t visit his grave now for the charges, and when I marry you, I won’t be able to visit his grave because of it. Don’t act like you are not wanting me as your second choice”

If only you knew, Lucius thought as he watched you leave.

…

As a kid, your father would be delighted whenever you danced in the celebrations he hosted. Your brother Geta and Caracalla would sneak in and try to ruin your performance, they weren’t allowed to attend the parties because of their mother; a whore. Your father’s ginger hair had not spread across the twins’ heads and they certainly not looked anything like your mother. There was a snake hidden in the basket of flowers you carried while dancing. But a gentleman realized earlier and as soon as you dropped it because of the bite, he took you to the doctor. And that night you developed a little crush for the officer Marcus Acacius.

Soon you forgot about the older man when you took food and made your way out of the palace. Near the stables, you had found a safe place. Where you always met with who refused to tell you his name.

So you always called him amicus. You could only refer to him as a friend.

“Amicus…” you called him.

Soon he appeared, with burnt blonde hair, blue eyes, and his kind smile.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked pointing at your bandaged extremity.

“Geta and Caracalla placed a snake on my flower basket”

Your friend huffed, clearly annoyed that they tried to hurt you again.

“I wish I could be there, I would always protect you”

You smiled, caressing his face. You were no stranger to his proximity. At the rough age of nine years old, you two had grown a big friendship.

“But you’re always here for me, amicus”

“I won’t be always…” you frowned confused.

That was the last night you saw your friend; Lucius.

You shake your head, pushing aside the memories. Realizing you are once again in a party, but your father is gone. Nobody sits on the throne, your twin brothers are not around to try to banish you. There is no Acacius to help you and you are no longer a kid.

You wonder why Lucilla never told you his son was alive. That he was your best friend. You understand that probably she didn’t trust you enough, given that you looked like you were on your brother’s side most of the time. Although the reality was very different.

Lucius arrived at the celebration with many people trying to talk to him. His tone was kind, but he felt overwhelmed responding to the variety of questions thrown at his face.

Having all the attention resulted in frustration. He was no god and Rome started seeing him as such thing.

He was a humble man, despite growing up knowing he was a prince, he was accustomed to the peaceful farming life in Numidia. He married and thought he would die as a farmer. But even when he finished a rough day of tending his sprouts and counting seeds, mostly he would go to sleep thinking about you.

Lucius never forgot the little girl he found pacing through the secret passages under Rome. Surely he always knew you were a princess, you were alive and well within the walls of the city he grew to hate.

He thought he was correct in never telling you who he really was. He had no chance to say goodbye, he was forced to leave. For a lot of years, he thought he would never be able to fall in love again, but he found a new love.

As soon as he married, he tried to forget about you. And as much as he loved his wife, he always went back to you. Wondering if you were also married, if you remained as beautiful as you were as a kid, or if you missed him like he missed you.

His answers were given to him when he saw you eating figs and softly arguing with one of your red-haired brothers.

Lucius swore his heart stopped a few seconds before he had to fight under the demand of Macrinus. When he recited poetry, he understood you didn’t know who he was. He locked eyes with you for too long, which made you frown and exchange confused looks with Geta.

But he did a good job because you went to visit him later, realizing you knew only half of the truth.

Lucius never stopped loving you.

He watched you twirl around in a purple dress and he couldn’t help but smile. His need to know who you had transformed into was eating him. The curiosity over your love affair with Acacius and how you ended up on the battlefront of war killing him. And he wished nothing buy you to understand that destiny wanted you to be separated but now there was a chance to heal together and be together.

Although it seemed like you were beyond hurt. Only makes Lucius feel guilty for some reason.

A man from the senate reveals to the party you and Lucius are officially engaged and he knows you must be boiling in anger. Lucius tries to go and talk to you. Assure you that he wasn’t involved in the early announcement. He wanted your consent and forcing you would never fix your anger and resentment.

But when he tried to reach you, you were gone. And he knew to where.

To visit Acacius’ grave.

…

With white roses and a dirty cloak, you arrive at the island. Is smaller than you thought. It’s just a hill.

No gold, no ostentatious mausoleum, just a little mark in the middle of the hill that over the centuries would be swallowed by the Earth. There rests Marcus Acacius.

You swallow hard, hoping to get there before your legs betray you and you end up on the grass crying. After hearing the announcement of the engagement, you sprinted out of there making a mess of fury. Your desire to say goodbye to your love would never become a reality. So you took matters into your own hands and risked three hours of absence in Rome.

Each step adds a little more pain to your chest and you want to leave as fast as possible.

But you remain silent, looking at the little plaque.

Not even beloved General of Rome. Just his name.

“I don’t regret saying that I hated you the last time we talked…” you start, biting your cheek from the inside and frowning, competing against the tears that were already coming.

“I closed my eyes so hard to pretend I wasn’t witnessing your death” The chilly air makes you shriek, it also makes some scary sounds as you talk.

“We had a baby, Acacius. I suppose conceived in Athens. He left me hours after you did. I guess he sensed my bad luck…” you coldly say, attempting to joke with the silence.

“Not of importance anymore. I just came to say goodbye. To thank you for training me, and for making me a strong woman. Thank you for loving me the wrong way…”

“You can rest now, Marcus. Your death was worth it, Rome is free. But I’m not…” Finally, your voice breaks and you start sobbing, weeping, and crying so loudly that your lungs hurt.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough to come back again, Acacius. Your death will always be the loss of my life but our baby is my little hope. To always remind me that I was very close to having you…” with your legs trembling, you stand up and grab the basket. The flowers are gently placed and your tears fall over his name, washing the accumulated dirt.

“I’ll move on. Because I know that’s what you would’ve wanted. I’ll keep your memory alive. And I’ll never love the same way I did with you. You earned it, Marcus. In life and death…”

Dried from all the tears, suddenly you felt less weight on your shoulders. You feel light and in peace.

In that hill would rest the memories of your past, of the love you gave to that General and what could’ve been.

You leave in silence. And when you step foot in the boat again, you have the strength to smile and realize that you don’t care about anything anymore.

The sense of everything comes into question.

Nothing can hurt you anymore.

…

He’s there when you step a foot into the salty shores of Rome. Lucius looks worried. He gives confident steps until he’s facing you.

“You went to that island. Didn’t you?” He asks judging you, which makes you frown.

“I did…”

“Why are you risking yourself? I had to tell everyone you felt ill” You roll your eyes, not handling his words with patience.

“I have nothing to lose, Lucius. I don’t care anymore if I die right now…” he huffs and slides his fingers through his blonde hair, exasperated.

“Why can you understand you’re the one I want? I want you to be safe. But you can’t stop acting like there is no hope left. Why?”

You finally explode.

“BECAUSE I’M HURT!. You know my brothers never loved me, I thought I had you and you disappeared. I spent years in love with Acacius and when he finally looked down at me, he never chose me above your mother. But he wanted to give me a house, a family. I lost him and that night I lost our baby too, I didn’t even know I was with child. And now everyone’s gone, you’re back but I feel like you are just choosing me because you have no choice” Your lungs so tired of your crying make you ache as you end up sobbing once again.

Lucius immediately places his arms around you. And it’s the first hug someone gives you in a long time. So you sob harder and slide your arms to hold him closer.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry” he whispers in your ear, one of his hands caressing the back of your head, fingers sliding through your hair.

“You’re not my second option. You were always the first. I choose you all or nothing because I couldn’t before. And now that I have you in my arms, I’m never letting you go”

Lucius feels like the home you never experienced but always dreamed of. His words start soothing you. His words feel bigger, like an oath this time. A healed promise of the one he made as a kid.

“When I looked at you again, I remembered that little girl I used to play with. With her dazzling hair and loving eyes” you look away, to the shore. You never liked receiving compliments.

“Look at me…” his fingers grab your chin and gently, he makes you look at him but you close your eyes after briefly meeting his eyes.

Just like the first time, you get lost in his blue irises. Blue like the sea you traveled, like the sea you once thought would be your way to freedom.

“Please look at me, y/n,” he says pleading, with his warm touch you know you won’t be able to oppose any longer.

Slowly you open your eyes and finally accept his gaze.

“You loved another man and I loved another woman. But we had already marked each other’s hearts before we met them”

Slowly, you nod. He smiles and wipes the tears from your eyes. He looks so gorgeous. You know he means every word. Only a man who did everything to save his mother and free a city would make such a big promise to a woman and beg.

You caress his strong jawline, ignoring the way his beard tickles at your fingers. You smile back at him.

“I love you”

Before he could finish, you kissed him.

…

You hadn’t thought back on your love Acacius in months, but that morning you dedicated the bright sky to him. You hope he’s happy for you.

You look at yourself in a mirror and smile at your reflection.

“Are you ready?” Lucius asked entering the room. Your smile grows at the sight of him dressed in gold and a crown in his head. He also eyes your dress and you blush at the way he is mentally undressing you.

Your husband is possessive, kind, brave, and an emperor.

“Stop staring like that…” he looks back at your eyes and it makes you chuckle.

“Come here…” he pleads and when you try to kiss him you both hear a tiny yelp.

“Oh Lucilla, I’m just trying to kiss your father…”

You had birthed a daughter two months ago in Egypt. And was named after Lucius’ mother. She had matted hair the same color as you and she had the blue eyes of his father.

“I’ll get her…” Lucius carried her and leaned to let you look at yourself tiny baby yawning, as she had woken up from a little nap. Her tiny hands flirt fists and her face scrunched in slumber.

She was a winter baby and every citizen of Rome was waiting to meet the daughter of the emperor and empress.

“So fussy like her father…” you claimed, making Lucius roll his eyes at you.

He had grown patient. A perfect partner and father. You felt lucky and blessed to have him. Thinking all the pain was worth it. Your head would now and then think back on what could’ve been if Acacius had survived, and his baby as well.

But you accepted that in this life, he wasn’t meant to be yours. So you prayed to meet him again in the next one. But for now, you were in the arms of your first love.

“I love you, Lucius…” he seemed lightly surprised, as he was the one that says it more often. But he knows he looks so clumsy and in love.

“Not more than me…” you kiss your daughter’s cheek and then your husband, making him softly gasp as you deepen the kiss.

“Don’t do this to me now, y/n…” you giggle, taking the baby from his arms and leading the way towards the door.

“Wait, satis… I know it’s nonsensical to ask at this point but…Do you think I’m being good at this?” Lucius asks pointing at little Lucilla, you sigh, walking back towards him.

“My love, there is no way of being good at this. But if she knows that we love her and that we’ll be here for her forever, is enough…”

He had his doubts a couple of months after the wedding when you got pregnant.

“You don’t know how proud and thankful I am of you. You decided to agree and give me a family after so much pain, satis” You form a smile grin, opting to avoid the memories of your old love. Because that was the past, sacred to you but still the past.

“We deserved it, Lucius.” He nods, taking your free hand.

“I have the feeling that this one will be a boy…” you say pointing at your still-flat stomach.

“Whatever it is… as long as you’re the mother, it’ll be okay”

You both exit the room hand in hand, hearing the excited crowd outside waiting.

_________________

PAUL X PEDRO X READER FIC IS COMING, COMMENT TO BE TAGGED :)

I won’t ever ever ever write a fanfic where a Pedro character dies again. NEVER AGAIN! I don’t care if you think this was cringe, I cried a lot while writing on different days. I love Lucius but in my head Acacius never died, so from now on if I write for him, he WON’T DIE.

[tellingtell5]

You Can't Hurry Love (1) 《Clark Kent, superman x reader》

Clark Kent (Superman) x superhero tailor fem!reader (Edna Mode vibes but make it romantic)

Summary: Well, the best superhero tailor in the city just met one of the biggest around. How much fabric would it take to wrap him in something decent? Guess we’ll find out.

A/N: Decided this is gonna be a series of short little posts showing how their relationship grows.

I’m really into the whole “black cat meets golden retriever” dynamic.

Hope you enjoy it! If you do, I’ll keep posting the next parts as their bond evolves.

Thanks for the support, the comments, and all the excitement — it warms my grumpy little heart. 🖤

The voices beyond the door were muffled. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, or even who they belonged to, but there was a tone—low, unsure—that you didn’t recognize.

Whoever it was, they were getting closer, their footsteps hesitant, their questions too many for your taste.

The door creaked open halfway. The person behind it hadn’t even bothered to look in yet—still talking over their shoulder to Roy, the sweet old man who let you use the back of his shop for your work.

“Are you sure this is—”

“Get your ass in there, kid. She’s the one you’re looking for.”

There was a murmur, something like an apology. You barely had time to react before you felt someone fully step into your space.

You looked up from the sewing machine—and immediately wished you hadn’t.

The light from the other room carved him into silhouette, but there was no mistaking that frame. That presence. That red and blue.

You froze. The machine fell silent. Your hands hovered above the fabric. Your mouth hung open a little.

“…Hi.”

Superman. Superman was standing in your doorway, tall and broad and… was he nervous? He seemed tense, like he’d tried to wave but stopped halfway through—probably afraid of drawing attention to how absurdly large his arms were.

Words failed you. You wanted to ask what in the hell one of the big leaguers was doing in your little corner of the world. Sure, you were talented—hell, you were the best at what you did—but you mostly worked with second-stringers. Your suits were top-tier, but PR wasn’t exactly your thing.

“I’m not sure if I’m in the right place,” he said, scanning the space like he expected it to be booby-trapped. “Guy Gardner gave me this address. Said I could get help here.”

You exhaled hard. Of course it was Guy. That loudmouth couldn’t keep a secret if his ring depended on it. You’d told him a dozen times not to hand out your location like coupons at a gas station. But this wasn’t just some new recruit or wannabe vigilante—

This was Superman.

“The actual fucking Superman.”

The words slipped out before you could catch them. You watched his face twist into something between surprise and mild disapproval—the same kind of look your grandmother used to give you when you swore in front of the good china.

“…Excuse me?”

You were already on your feet, circling the table to get a better look at him. A respectful distance, but close enough to study him properly.

You squinted. The suit was made from something you didn’t recognize. You felt your fingertips itch—an overwhelming urge to touch it, to test it, to know what kind of fabric could possibly keep up with someone like him.

He tensed. You could see it in the way he squared his shoulders, how he barely breathed. Your scrutiny was clearly making him uncomfortable, though you couldn’t imagine why. You were no threat to him. You barely came up to his collarbone. The only thing remotely weaponized on you was a measuring tape slung around your neck.

“I, uh…” he cleared his throat and looked everywhere but at you. “I’ve had some trouble with the suit lately, and I was hoping… you might be able to help?”

You raised an eyebrow at the stammer. You moved in closer, scanning the damage. His forearms—torn. Clawed, maybe. Down by his calves—punctured, definitely. Bite marks?

“Help, huh?” you said, stepping forward. Close enough now that if you lifted a hand, you could touch him. You did.

“May I?”

Your fingers hovered over the symbol on his chest. You didn’t wait for an answer, but he nodded anyway, slow and cautious.

The moment your fingers met the material, your jaw slackened. It didn’t feel like anything you’d ever touched. It looked rough—like a scaled mesh—but felt softer than silk. Breathable. Strong. It was like if armor had a baby with a cloud.

You ran your hand along the seams, walking around him as you inspected it. He didn’t move—just turned his head to follow you. When you reached the cape, you lifted it with exaggerated disinterest, brow raised, lips curled. It was heavier than it looked.

When you came back around, your hands dropped. Your eyes locked on him. He looked like a deer in headlights.

“I can’t help you.”

You said it like you were commenting on the weather. Then you turned your back to him.

He blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

You adjusted your glasses. They were slipping down your nose as you worked. You looked up at him over the rims with mild irritation.

“Whatever that suit’s made of, it’s not from here. And if that thing couldn’t handle you, big guy, I don’t know what could. Anything I use would probably disintegrate the minute you sneeze.”

He took a half-step back, clearly thrown off by your bluntness. You could almost hear the gears grinding behind those pretty blue eyes.

“Wait—handle me?”

You sighed.

“Don’t play coy. Every one of your fights gets caught on camera. I’ve seen you crash through frozen tundra like it’s paper. Take lava baths like they’re spa days. Free-fall from the upper atmosphere and somehow keep your pants on.”

Something flickered across his face at that. Not offense—something else. Was that… pride?

He didn’t say anything, so you kept going.

“So I don’t even want to know what managed to rip this thing—”

“A dog.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“A dog did this. Well. My dog. Krypto.”

You hated that your heart did a little flip at that. You had a soft spot for animals—a stupid, unrelenting weakness—and he’d just found it without even trying.

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to take it on. It’s a big ask. I just… Guy said you were the best. That if anyone could help, it’d be you.”

“Don’t try to butter me up, big blue. That trick doesn’t work on me.”

“I wasn’t trying—”

“And yes, I am the best. But I don’t have anything in this dimension that I’m confident could hold up. I’ve got durable fabrics, sure. But even my best blends would probably tear if you breathed too hard.”

“…Thanks?”

“Not a compliment, sweetheart. A fact. You’re going to need multiple suits, just to keep up.”

“I guess that makes me… a regular customer?”

He smiled. The bastard smiled. Like this whole thing was a joke. Like he wasn’t asking you to pour hundreds of hours into outfits he’d ruin before the week was out.

You rolled your eyes.

You didn’t even know why you were doing it—why your head was already halfway to nodding, why your mouth was moments from saying yes to a deal that was clearly only beneficial to the giant alien in front of you.

“If we’re doing this…”

“You’ll help me?” he cut in, eyes practically glowing with hope. The sheer enthusiasm in his voice was almost absurd, like he didn’t realize how contagious it was. He had that kind of face—radiant, earnest, open. The kind you usually only saw on babies. You’d read somewhere—TikTok? Tumblr? Only reliable sources—that babies looked like that on purpose, so all the adults around them would instinctively want to take care of them.

His face worked the same damn way.

One smile and you almost forgot how inconvenient this whole thing was.

But you were made of sterner stuff. You raised an eyebrow and held up a hand to stop him.

“Hypothetically,” you said. “I haven’t agreed to anything. We still need to negotiate the terms.”

“The… terms?” He blinked at you, actually confused. Maybe he didn’t hear ‘no’ that often.

“In addition to the standard commission—”

“I don’t know what the standard commission is,” he murmured under his breath, but you ignored it.

“—I’ll need coffee. And sugar. In industrial quantities. Enough to take down a horse.”

“Done.”

“I’m not finished, big blue. The dog.”

“Krypto?” His whole posture shifted. He started shaking his head before you even got the sentence out.

“Oh, come on. I want to meet him. Just once.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m a grown woman. I’ll manage. I want to pet the dog. Not negotiable. You want a new pair of pajamas to fly around in? I need to see the so-called ‘menace’ that shredded your last one.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. In the end, he pressed his lips together like a man defeated, lifted his hands in surrender, and sighed.

“Fine. But I’m not paying for anything he breaks. My day job doesn’t exactly cover collateral damage.”

“You have a day job?” you asked, genuinely surprised. “What, the government doesn’t pay you for saving people?”

“What? No. No one pays me for that.”

There was a pause. A long one. You stared at him, and he stared at you, and you could practically see the restraint rippling through him like tension wire.

“…Wow,” you said eventually. “You really are out here doing this for free. That’s—wow. Saint-like. Unsettling, honestly.”

“Can we get back to the terms?” he asked, voice tight like he was trying very hard not to die of embarrassment.

“Of course. Let’s recap: coffee, sugar, my usual rate, dog time. And now for the fun part: modifications. How open are you to a makeover, sunshine?”

You noticed it before he spoke—the way his gaze dropped to the floor, the way his fingers scratched nervously at the back of his neck. The flush that bloomed at the tips of his ears. You had no idea why he looked so shy all of a sudden.

“It’s… kind of a family thing,” he said quietly. “The suit. I’m not sure I can…”

You stepped closer, ignoring the way he straightened instinctively, like you might bite. Your fingers brushed across the fabric, light but deliberate, assessing.

You stopped at the emblem on his chest, index finger pressing against the big, bold “S” like it personally offended you.

“What if we change this? Are you that attached to the big letter? Is it meant to stand for ‘sexy’? You walking around broadcasting that energy, Big Blue?””

It was the first time he saw you smile. Really smile.

And though your personality still confused the hell out of him, the sight was… a little devastating. It softened your whole face. It made him forget what to do with his hands.

“What? Why are you like this?” he muttered, cheeks warm. “It stands for hope. On my home planet…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Hope and heart and puppies and rainbows. You’re biologically predisposed to goodness, I get it. Just looking at your face gives me a sugar high, sweetheart.”

You glanced back down at the rest of his suit with mild distaste.

“Underwear on the outside? You’re a walking offense to fashion. But I’m guessing that’s non-negotiable, too.”

He shook his head.

“The cape is ridiculous,” you added. “I’ve seen capes get caught in jet engines. One little snag, and boom—another Icarus, fried on re-entry.”

“I like the cape,” he muttered, sulky as a teenager.

“Well,” you said with an exaggerated sigh, “I suppose those are my terms. I’ll take the job. Even if it crushes my creative soul.”

That stupid grin returned—wide, open, dazzling. Dimples. Actual dimples.

Who the hell had dimples like that?

You turned before he could weaponize it any further, walked back to your workstation, and grabbed your measuring tape. You folded it in half, snapped it against your palm like a whip, and pointed it at him like a weapon.

“Now… measures, sunshine.”

You had no idea how a strip of soft fabric could look so threatening in your hands, but from the way he tensed, he clearly felt it.

Good.

Let the golden retriever squirm a little.

[angelickks]

For a lion request can you write one on how they met Ik in lucky it days drive bar and she sewed his hand and I think that’s such a cute idea tbh

GUESS IʻM JUST LUCKY          lion kaminski

angel talks              Hehe i had fun writing this one. something short n' sweet. for the vibes, i was listening to "dead of night" by orville peck while writing this. you guys lmk if u wanna see maybe more drabbles centered around lion's lucky girl. muah muah!!

#NAV.ᐟ jack o’connell mlist ⋆.˚ lucky charm (based on this drabble)

IT HAD BEEN ONE OF THOSE MATCHES WHERE THE CROWD SMELLS BLOOD BEFORE THE REF EVEN RANG THE BELL.

Lion had come out slow. Measured. But the other guy—a wiry southpaw from Jersey—threw wild. Cheap shots. A headbutt. Lion had eaten it all with quiet fury.

Then came the clinch. The break. The moment when the guy spit on the mat and called Lion a “washed-up meathead.”

And Lion saw red. Not rage. Not ego. But survival. The kind you don’t unlearn.

That’s when his hand got cut. When the guy’s tooth split his skin open on the second uppercut. Lion won, of course. He always did when it got personal.

But it still hurt.

Lion was bleeding through the sleeve of his hoodie, the dark spot soaking through slow and steady. One hand jammed into the kangaroo pocket, the other gripping the worn seat of Stan’s car. His knuckles were split—skin torn like wet paper, the gash near his thumb still leaking from the fight an hour back.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t say a word.

He was used to bleeding.

Stan, on the other hand, was not.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, practically vibrating in the driver's seat, flipping open the glove compartment like it might cough up a miracle. “Why do you do this? Why do you let them get that close? They go for the hands, I told you—they always go for the hands.”

His voice was sharp, rising and falling behind the low hum of tires on blacktop. Lion sat half-draped in the passenger seat, hoodie pulled low over his brow, staring out the window like he could make the bleeding stop by ignoring it. "It was his tooth that got caught, not the hits." He muttered quietly.

“Moneymakers,” Stan barked, like the word itself would summon divine intervention. “Those are your goddamn moneymakers, Kaminski.”

Lion just shifted, resting his head back against the seat. The pain throbbed up his arm like a second heartbeat, hot and pulsing, but he didn’t move.

Stan would’ve patched it himself—doused it in dollar store soap, wrapped it in paper towels, and called it a night like always. That was the usual rhythm.

What Lion’s busted-up hand didn’t call for was being yanked out of the car, hoodie collar clutched in Stan’s jittery grip, and dragged toward the crackling neon shriek of a dive bar that looked like it hadn’t passed a health inspection since ‘98.

“Jesus, Stan,” Lion muttered, slouching forward with both hands jammed into his pockets to slow the bleeding. “I need fresh gauze. Not some shit beer.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan grumbled, already halfway down the sidewalk, fumbling a dead lighter between his fingers. “Well, we’re shit outta luck on cash till that check clears tomorrow, so I gotta talk to a friend—real quick. Swear to God.”

“Friend?” Lion deadpanned, stepping after him, quiet footsteps heavy on the grimy stairwell down into the bar. “You don’t got friends, Stan. And if you do, they’re horseshit.”

“Oh, bite me.” Stan waved him off. “I got friends. I’m fuckin’ likable. Besides, this guy owes me change and—” he clicked the lighter again, flame barely sputtering, “—apparently a new goddamn lighter.”

He hurled the dead thing into a garbage bag that was half-tied to a rusted pole and pushed open the bar door with his shoulder like it personally offended him.

Inside, the place hit them like a wall.

It smelled like spilled beer, old wood, dollar bills soaked in sweat, and aftershave that hadn’t been manufactured in a decade. The lighting was too low on purpose—just enough to hide the cracks in the walls and the stains on the floor. Jukebox in the corner wheezed out something gritty and sad. Maybe angry. Maybe both.

Cash only. No receipts. No questions.

Lion blinked against the thick air, his busted hand pulsing in time with the low bass of the music, and thought: whatever Stan was chasing, it wasn’t worth bleeding for.

The place was drowning in blue LED haze—cheap strips stapled under shelves and taped behind the bar, casting everything in a sickly glow. A handful of regulars stayed slouched on their exhausted stools, faces weathered, eyes half-lidded, beers sweating in their hands.

Stan beelined for the bar with the confidence of someone who owed everyone money but still thought he’d get a warm welcome. He leaned over the counter, nodding to the guy behind it. “Hey, is Jerry in? I’m lookin’ for him.”

The bartender barely looked up from restocking plastic cups. Gave the two of them a once-over, unimpressed. “Yeah. Hold up—I’ll take you.” Stan turned to Lion, jabbing a finger at his chest like a mother scolding a child. “You. Sit your ass down and don’t move. Keep that hand up or at least don’t bleed on anything. Got it?”

Lion didn’t even look at him. Just waved him off with a flick of his wrist and drifted toward the farthest barstool tucked into the corner.

“I mean it, Lion! Just a sec. Don’t touch shit!” Stan hollered over his shoulder, already vanishing into the back hallway.

Lion scoffed, dropping onto the stool and slouching into the cracked leather like he was settling in for the end of the world. He kept his busted hand tucked against his stomach, hoodie sleeve pulled low to keep the blood from spotting. His other hand braced against the bar, fingers tapping in slow rhythm to the scratchy track warbling out of the jukebox—something with static, longing, and too much reverb.

He sat like stone for twenty minutes. Didn’t twitch. Didn’t sigh. Just kept his back stiff against the torn vinyl, blood still leaking slow from his knuckles. His hand rested limp on the bar now, irritated that it stained his pocket, cradled in a wadded-up napkin someone had left behind—already soaked through.

The TV above played some grainy rerun he couldn’t follow, all static and laugh tracks and neon that hurt his eyes. He was about five seconds from dragging himself into the back to find Stan when movement in his periphery made him pause.

A figure slid in behind the bar—smooth, like they'd always been there and was just waiting for him to notice.

“You’re bleeding all over my bar, tough guy.”

The voice floated over to him—soft as silk, teasing like they weren’t commenting on blood and bruises, like they weren’t speaking directly to someone trying not to be seen.

Lion turned his head slow, like it cost him. Like every part of him was trying to keep the moment from slipping too fast.

You stood across from him, elbows resting lightly on the bar, that lazy smile curled at your lips like you knew too much. Lip gloss. Gold earrings. Tank top clung to your curves like it had been made for you and a gold necklace that glinted under blue LED light. There was something dangerous in how calm you were—like you could take apart his whole life without raising your voice.

Lion’s throat bobbed. “That’s my bad,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Waitin’ on my brother.”

You looked at him for a long moment—long enough to make him feel seen in a way he wasn’t used to. Then you smiled. Not sweet. Not soft.

Feline. Lethal in its own way.

“Well, while you wait…” you said, reaching for the little pink makeup bag tucked behind the bar. “I’ll see about stopping the leak. Can’t have you bleeding out on me, I don't get paid enough for that. ”

He blinked at you. Then stood.

Didn’t argue. Didn’t ask. Just followed, not entirely sure why he was but went anyway.

You flicked on the lamp in the back storage room, the overhead bulb long dead. The glow came in soft and orange from the little desk lamp by the mini fridge, casting long shadows against the peeling paint and crates of liquor.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Just pointed to the ratty little chair in the corner, the one with half a cushion and rusted arms. He sat. Watched you.

He had that look some strays get—like they’re ready to bolt, even while you’re feeding them.

But he didn’t move.

Not when you knelt in front of him and unzipped your bag. Not when you took his hand, bleeding and stiff, and laid it in your lap like it belonged there.

“I’m just a bartender,” you said simply, popping open the alcohol wipes. “But I know how to keep you from losing a finger.”

“Do your worst,” he murmured. Then after a beat: “You do this for all the assholes who bleed on your bar?”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking up to his. “You gonna let me patch you up or are you gonna sit here and question me?”

Something in his face twitched. Not a flinch. Not quite. But something passed behind his eyes like a shadow.

You started cleaning the cut in silence. His hand twitched, but he didn’t pull away. He just watched you—quiet, observant, like you were something rare.

“You always this mouthy?” he asked eventually, voice barely above a whisper.

You looked up at him through your lashes, teasing. “You always this quiet?”

That almost-smile touched the edge of his lips.

You poured antiseptic into a cloth and started wrapping. He hissed—more breath than sound—and you felt it down to your ribs.

“I’d say sorry,” you said, tugging it gently, “but I don’t lie to fighters.”

He raised a brow at you, slow and skeptical. “That what you think I am?”

You shrugged, still focused on cleaning the dried blood around his hand. Your fingers were steady, practiced. You’d done this before, too many times. On too many men who bled for too little.

“I don’t think,” you said, voice low and sure. “I see. And your kind? You come in bloody. You leave bloody. Always keep one eye on the exit, like the world’s about to pull the floor out from under you.”

You looked up, locking eyes with him as you tugged the now pinkish cloth snug. His jaw flexed.

“But you,” you added, cocking your head just slightly, “you’re different.”

He blinked, like the words confused him. Like no one had told him he was anything but the damage he walked in with.

You smoothed the wrap gently, holding his hand like it was something delicate. Sacred, even.

“They never sit still like you do,” you went on. “Never let anyone this close without flinching. You’re sitting here bleeding on my floor, letting me clean you up like it’s nothing.”

His throat worked around the words he didn’t say.

Then you smiled, slower this time—less teasing. “You might be a fighter, sweetheart… but you’ve got the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen on one.”

That stopped him.

Not like a hit, but like something deeper—something that landed inside him. His breath stilled. His gaze searched yours like he was waiting for the catch, the punchline, the moment you’d laugh and walk off like it was nothing.

But you didn’t.

You just sat there, thumb brushing the edge of the wrap, hand still cradling his.

“I don’t really get called kind,” he muttered finally, voice hoarse. “Not a lot of people look me in the face long enough to say anything like that.”

“Well,” you said softly, your tone wrapping around the word like velvet, “I’ve got a habit of staring trouble in the eye.”

That made his mouth twitch—almost a smile. Almost. His gaze dropped to your lips, lingered.

“Gotta ask again but…you got a habit of patchin’ up every mess that walks in off the street, too?”

“Only the ones who look like they’re used to bleeding alone.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

You felt it in the way he looked at you. Like you’d cracked something open. Like your hands had done more than clean wounds, they’d reached straight inside him, right to the part no one was ever supposed to see.

You didn’t let go of his hand. And he didn’t pull it away.

“Hate to tell you, tough guy,” you murmur, tilting his hand into the lamplight, “but I’m gonna need to stitch this thing up.”

The cut is deeper than you hoped. Ragged. Still weeping. A sloppy mess of torn skin just beneath his thumb—right where he’ll split it again if he so much as thinks about throwing a punch tomorrow.

You glance up, brows raised. “You gonna sit this good when I do that too?”

Lion meets your eyes, slow, unreadable.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak.

Just looks at you—long, like he’s memorizing something. Then his lips part just enough for the words to slip through, “Yeah. If it’s you.”

You blink.

There’s nothing flirtatious in his voice. Nothing cheeky. Just that low, sandpaper-soft tone, soaked in something reverent.

If it’s you.

Like the pain doesn’t matter if it’s coming from your hands. Like the blood means less than the warmth of your fingers holding him still. Something stirs in your chest. Dangerous. Anchoring.

You reach for the needle and thread tucked into your little kit—this isn’t your first barstool medical miracle. And you don’t say anything as you thread it, hands steady, the little curl of black thread tight between your fingers.

“You ever had stitches before?” you ask lightly, mostly to fill the air.

He nods once.

“Then you know it’s gonna suck.”

Another nod.

You pause. “You want a shot before I start?”

He shakes his head, jaw flexing. “You’ll keep me still.”

You exhale, not expecting the way that hits. It isn’t a compliment. It’s something else. Something heavier.

“Alright then,” you whisper.

You press a cloth into his other hand. “Squeeze that if you need to. But don’t pull away from me, okay?”

His eyes flick up, something warm flickering behind them. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And you begin.

The first puncture earns a deep, shuddered breath. He doesn’t cry out—of course he doesn’t—but you feel his shoulders go rigid beneath his hoodie. His hand trembles once in yours, then goes still again. Blood wells, but less this time. You wipe it clean, keep going.

“You know,” you murmur, threading the second loop, “most men I’ve patched up won’t shut the hell up through this part.”

He doesn’t laugh. But the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I ain’t like most men.”

“No,” you agree softly. “You’re not.”

The needle dips again, and you see the sweat bead along his hairline now, just under the edge of his hood. His breath is slower, deeper. Measured.

“You’re not scared of the pain, are you?” you ask, eyes flicking up to his.

His gaze finds yours immediately. “I’m used to pain.”

You nod, wiping gently at the stitch. “That’s what I figured, but you’re not used to kindness, huh?”

He stills.

It’s in the way his hand goes completely still beneath yours. In the way he looks at you—blinking slow, like the words themselves are unreal. Unfamiliar.

You tighten the final knot, clip the thread. “Well,” you say, leaning back just slightly, “first time for everything.”

And you press a soft kiss—brief, feather-light—to the back of his stitched hand.

Lion stares at you like you just lit a match in a room full of gasoline.

His voice, when it comes, is barely there. “You don’t gotta be sweet to me, y’know.”

You smile. “I know. But I want to be.”

You both sit there for a long, quiet beat. Letting the stillness settle between you. Letting it wrap around the hum of pain and the sting of stitches. Letting it soak into your lungs like something sacred. Something neither of you get enough of.

Lion doesn’t move. Just watches you, eyes flickering over your features like he’s trying to memorize the shape of this moment. The quiet. The warmth. The way your hands didn’t tremble when you touched him.

Then—quietly, reluctantly, like it bruises him to say it:

"What do I owe you?"

You look up at him through your lashes, and there’s something knowing behind your smirk. Like you can hear the hope hidden under the question. Like you know he doesn’t want this—you—to vanish the second the pain stops.

"Well, for starters," you murmur, brushing your hands off on a rag and starting to gather your supplies, "your name."

He hesitates. Just for a second. Like giving it means giving something else too.

"Lion," he says at last, voice a little lower than before. "Lion Kaminski."

You pause. That earns him a real smile. A wide one. Kind and clean and far too soft for the dim back room of a dive bar.

"That right?" you say, grinning now. "Lion."

You repeat it like a secret. Like it means something. And the way his shoulders drop just slightly tells you it does.

You offer your name in return, and his lips part as he echoes it back—softer, like he’s savoring it. He says it like it might be the first thing he’s ever owned that didn’t hurt to hold.

Then, with a curious tilt of his head:

"You a nurse or somethin’?"

You chuckle—light, sweet, unbothered.

"God, no," you say with a shake of your head. "I’ve just patched up enough busted noses and busted knuckles to get decent at it. No infections. No complaints."

You shrug, that same sly smile tugging at your mouth.

"Guess I’m just lucky."

His eyes linger on you then. Not just your hands, not just the name. You. All of you.

And you feel it, too—the pull of something low and magnetic humming between you both, strong enough to bend steel. Strong enough to make the whole world go quiet.

For a second.

Because then—

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Footsteps thunder down the hallway.

Lion stiffens, head turning just as the door creaks open and Stan barrels in like a damn wrecking ball.

"Lion! Jesus—I told you to stay put, man. My bad, got carried away back there—" Stan’s waving his arms like he’s had three drinks and one half-assed plan—"Let’s go. I found you some gauze, and I may’ve nicked a lighter off some poor bastard."

Lion doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even look at him.

He’s still staring at you.

And for the first time in a long time, he feels furious that someone else said his name. Like Stan broke something. Like the air between you snapped taut and cold again, the second that door swung open.

Lion grits his teeth, jaw tight.

"I had gauze," he mutters, not looking away from you.

"Yeah?" Stan squints. "Where’d you—oh."

He spots you then. Still sitting close, still cleaning your hands. That same sly little smile curving your lips.

Stan’s expression flickers between confusion, realization, and the beginnings of something smug. Lion rolls his eyes before it can settle.

"We’re goin’, alright?"

He stands slow, shoulders stiff like he’s leaving something important behind. He looks at you once more—something unreadable in his eyes.

You watch him rise. Watch the way his fingers flex like he almost wants to reach for you. Almost.

You let him get to the doorway.

Then, voice honey-slick and sweet as sin:

"Take care of those hands, Lion. Can’t have you bleeding all over my bar again."

He pauses. Turns.

And for the first time, now that he’s walked into your life, he smiles.

Not wide. Not practiced.

Just a small, crooked thing that doesn��t quite reach his eyes but still makes your chest ache.

"Guess I’ll have to come back, then."

[lizzy06]

Takami Keigo(Hawks) x Reader Fic Recs!! (Tumblr/Ao3/Wattpad)

My Hero Academia Fic Rec Masterlist

lay low (take it slow) ✨by @andypantsx3/andypantsx3(college student! reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut) What even was the right google search for this situation? How do I sew someone back together without passing out? How do I not barf on the pro hero I’m stitching up? Or, Hawks’ game of double agent lands him in the shaky hands of one (1) very unequipped English major.[COMPLETED]

Falling for You ✨by @flannel-cladpika (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff)Every year, on your birthdays, you two will switch quirks.[COMPLETED]

Golden ✨by @meganshinsou-tm (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) When you touch yoursoulmate for the first time a thin gold line with be etched around your wrists.

Soul Chicken by @hitsuackerman (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) Soulmate AU where the first words your soulmate says to you are written on your wrist and while Hawks has an absolutely unhelpful phrase written on them, y/n has something….unique.

Bird Hunting | Pt.2:Bird's Nest✨ by @a-n-conrad (oneshot, soulmate au)In a world where your soulmate was found through a symbol appearing on your left forearm, hinting at the quirk of your soulmate, you had to admit that you were lucky. You already knew who your soulmate was. The only issue was that there was really no way for you, an ordinary person, to get anywhere near the number 2 hero.

Petals and Feather✨ by @a-n-conrad(oneshot, hanahaki au, angst with happy ending) You’ve finally gotten a job as a sidekick after graduating from UA about a year before. But after working with Hawks for a few months it starts to get a bit hard to breathe. How are you supposed to fix a case of Hanahaki disease when you happened to fall in love with the most emotionally unavailable hero alive? [COMPLETED]

BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 4: Save Your Soul by @writing-freak (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff)part of soulmate au week; everyone has colorful marks on their skin where their soulmate touches them for the first time. you’re determined to hide your soulmarks: a pair of hands on your waist.[COMPLETED]

“you really have got nothing to do on a friday night”  by @bakugohoex (oneshot, fluff)in which your friend keigo invites you to a pro hero event as his plus one, the event leads to a lot more than you expected.[COMPLETED]

Little Moments by @bnhascribbles (oneshot, fluff)Just Hawk's early morning visit.[COMPLETED]

lavender latte✨ by luxdeoro (coffee shop au, fluff, mutual pinning)You serve Hawks a lavender, oat milk latte. Not only is he hooked on your drinks, but he's hooked on you as well.[ONGOING]

a spoonful of sugar✨✨ by Mossful (fluff, angst) In which the Reader bakes and Hawks eats.[COMPLETED]

Pocket Full of Feathers✨ by forthesanityof1 (fluff, humor) You are an investigative journalist starting at a new agency. A chance meeting brings you and Hawks together and starts some odd behaviors on his part. You dismiss it, but end up meeting the hero again and again over time. Slowly, you start to realize things are occurring both within and outside of your control.[COMPLETED]

(Quirk)y Days✨✨ by wotefokizbrunch(fluff, angst, hurt/comfort) In a world where 80% of the population has some wacky power, it is expected for strange shit to happen on accident, or even on purpose, like that one time a villain hit Hawks with a deaging quirk; he left that morning for work his grown ass self and then you had to pick his 5-year-old-self up from the agency.[COMPLETED]

and i've gotta crow ✨by dashielldeveron(enemies to lovers, ) “We’re engaged to be married.” No, you are not. After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?[COMPLETED]

Color Blind✨ by HeroAssociation(soulmate au, fluff, angst with happy ending) Takami Keigo, otherwise known as the Winged Hero Hawks, had one such mark. He never expected, nor looked for, the person that would change it. Then he found you by accident.[COMPLETED]

The Harpy by romanceisdeadbutimnot(enemies to lovers, fantasy au, fluff) Desperate for adventure you volunteer to check the monster traps protecting your small village. To your surprise you catch a wounded half bird half man, and decide to nurse him back to health.[COMPLETED]

What's Got Your Feathers In A Bunch? by darkenedniqhts(oneshot, fluff, humor)When Hawks saves you from a villain attack, you hit it off surprisingly well, considering the circumstances. Everything is going great, until he meets your roommate.[COMPLETED]

Compelling/tumblr by @bnhascribbles/ ScatteredScribbles(oneshot, hurt/comfort) Hey listen, I’ve got a lot of baggage when it comes to my quirk. Could you repeat the word “yes” if you’re here of your own free will? Oh, and since you’ll probably say that either way and since I’m an emotionally compromised freak, just know that I’ll never actually feel secure in our relationship. This’ll definitely be a recurring thing, and it’s probably gonna be the reason why we end terribly.[COMPLETED]

 Blush by @flannel-cladpika (oneshot, fluff)[COMPLETED]

Headlines✨ by @bnhascribbles(oneshot, fluff) Holding up the newspaper in plain view, you take steady, ominous steps towards his desk. “Any last words, birdbrain?”[COMPLETED]

Stuck In An Elavator With You by @yeahimaloser (oneshot, fluff)he hadn’t really dated anyone before (not seriously anyway), so when he began to develop feelings for a certain someone, he was surprised, to say the least.[COMPLETED]

The Sky is Everywhere by @dira333/Fogfire(oneshot, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending)Post-Break up is before the Break up…[COMPLETED]

Sometime Around Midnight✨ by 0weCrew(friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending) All you wanted to do was enjoy a quiet night looking up at the stars. But fate decided to mess with you instead, and Japan's favorite birdbrain crashed your pity party of one by scaring you shitless.[COMPLETED]

Preening✨ by royalwilds(oneshot, fluff)Hawks loves your hair, playing with it, brushing it, washing it. you realize that it comes from another instinctual nature of his. You try to figure out how to return the gesture.[COMPLETED]

Babybird by Pomenocti(oneshot, fluff)Just Hawks being a dad.[COMPLETED]

Crash✨ by ivan_glee(oneshot, fluff)In which Reader is sunbathing and gets an unexpected visit from the No. 2 hero.[COMPLETED]

A Lungful of Smoke✨ by UnluckyAmulet(oneshot, fluff) As if nearly dying today wasn't bad enough…now you have a crush, too. Damn it.[COMPLETED]

Little Bird by alaskasmonsters(oneshot, fluff) Hawks wasn’t just the charming number two pro-hero the world knew him as. No, he had other sides to him, sides only you, his roommate, had the privilege to uncover. Especially his more birdlike quirks. Like how much he relaxed when people took care of his wings…[COMPLETED]

crawl home to me✨ by Hawnks (supermintfluff)(oneshot, strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort) What is a hero besides determination and hunger? What is a lover if not a resting place?[COMPLETED]

Shiny Things by royalwilds(oneshot, fluff) Hawks has more bird-like tendencies than you initially thought. He likes to present you with odd items as gifts and finally you figure out why.[COMPLETED]

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery by galatiq(oneshot, fluff, humor. coffee shop au) When you put a coffee shop and a nasty storm together, apparently you get Big Bird from Sesame Street crashing into your window. [COMPLETED]

Flowers, Wings, Smirks and Quirks (Ingredients for Love) by ENDisI (oneshot, angst with happy ending, hanahaki disease au) Why was it when you joked about Hanahaki not being real, fate just slaps you awake and tells you "Oh, it's true. You didn't know?" [COMPLETED]

i am your salvation✨ by luxdeoro(oneshot, angst, hurt/comfort) Keigo loses his wings and most of himself, and you're around to try and pick up the pieces.[COMPLETED]

Balcony by RyeTarts(friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, smut<18+>) After saving you from an office building fire, Hawks thinks that your paths were no longer intertwined. Oh how wrong he would be.[COMPLETED]

Birds Of A Feather by CheerieCherrie(fluff, explicit skippable chp.6) You move to Japan for a change of pace in your hectic life. It doesn't happen, thanks to one chaotic bird man.[COMPLETED]

[womanofwords]

Silver Swan (Part 2)

Neglected!fem!reader x yandere!batfam

First step of your revenge was pretending that you were just as clueless as you had been before your revelation. So, you organised your now useless invitations into neat pile by date (oldest invitations at the bottom) and decided to begin pottering about the house seeing what else you could find.

As it turned out, guns. Lots of guns. You lost count after fifty. Although you admittedly didn't spend much time with your father, you knew he disapproved of guns about as much as Damian disapproved of your existence. That meant that the multitude of guns around the house hidden inside the most improbable of places were definitely not his. (You had kicked the wall without thinking and a gun popped out, for crying out loud.)

Bruce's hatred of guns were so great that he ordered Jason to never bring a gun into his house. But if they weren't Bruce's or any of your siblings, then whose were they?

"Miss Y/N!" Alfred ran over out of nowhere, grabbing the gun out of your hands. "Do not touch that gun!"

"It came out of nowhere, Alfred! I just nudged a wall and it popped out!" you stammered.

"Y/N, that gun is for my own personal use," Alfred said, growing pale as he looked at all the other guns you had unearthed. "Along with all of these other guns."

"I got really bored," you lied. Alfred bought it.

"Well, how about you make sure not to touch the triggers, and this can stay between us," Alfred said. He seemed scared.

"Alfred, is something bothering you?" you ask.

"I'll be straight with you, Miss Y/N. Bruce doesn't know I have these guns. If he finds out, he'll get rid of them."

"I see. Was that all of them?"

"Shockingly enough, yes. I never thought one person could find them all, but you did. You genuinely did."

"I guess that's what happens to you when you're bored and get a house to explore," you joke. "Alfred, I'm bored. I think I'll make some headway on that sewing project I've been meaning to work on."

"I think that would be best, Y/N," Alfred said. "I'll escort you to your room."

"Thank you, Alfred," you said, as he escorted you to your workroom/bedroom. Once you were alone, you plotted and schemed, all while staring at your cloak. They kept you out of sight because they were embarrassed of you. Damian even called you an ugly duckling. You were no duckling, you were a swan.

A beautiful silver swan.

Part 1

Part 2 <- You are here

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @simpingfor-wakasa, @kittzu, @simpingpandas, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @galaxypurplerose.

[whore4gwen]

Re8 Women dating HCs

Contains: Lady Dimitrescu, Donna Benevento, & Mother Miranda

WLW

———————————————————————

Tags: Light talks of manipulation, narcissism, and sadism, mental health issues, fluff, angst if you squint hard enough, possessiveness, slightly unhinged behavior, MY personal head cannons, very slight suggestiveness, Mirandas fucking God complex, isolation, religious elements, cuddling, poor perception of love, & tax evasion.

A/N: Im working on sm things rn it’s not even funny. Despite that, I desperately wanted to post something, so here’s some of my hc. No these are not all my hcs, these are just some of the REALISTIC ones I have. These are based on my own personal perception of these fictional characters. You are welcome to disagree with anything I write, but you’re not welcome to harass me about it. Please keep negativity to yourselfs. Anyways, please enjoy!

———————————————————————

Alcina:

-It’s not that Lady Dimitrescu is incapable of loving another, I just think it’s the way she would love.

-Carnal, possessive, dangerous, a little crazed even. Nothing about the lady’s love is sensual or soft. She’s powerful, domineering, and boy does she relish in it. Of course she’s aware of all the things she could do, all the things you’d let her do. So willing, so compliant, so easy to control.

-Alcina is a narcissist through and through. You will bend to her will, to her every need. You’re hers, after all. (We still love you thou)

-I feel like her love is very incessant, very smothering for lack of better words. She’s not exactly clingy, but she needs you around, she needs to feel your presence.

-Always, and I mean always watching you. Nothing you do will go past her. She needs to know exactly where you are and what you’re doing at all times.

-A bit emotionally manipulative. Of course she doesn’t see it that way, she just wants everything to go her way. What’s so wrong with that?

-I think for the most part she’s a little self aware about her flaws and what not, but I wouldn’t say this with 100% certainty. A big part of her doesn’t really see a problem with the way she is. It’s absolutely normal.

-But to be fair, it’s not like anyone would call her out.. so🤷🏻‍♀️

-Pet names pet names pet names. Alcina absolutely adores them. She only really uses your names unless she’s really pissed. In that case, run.

Donna:

-Shy. So incredibly so that you don’t hear her voice till weeks after working for her. And the way your jaw fell to the ground when you heard it had Angie belly laughing on the ground. If it wasn’t for her, you thought maybe you were hearing things.

-Forgets to eat often. She gets so preoccupied with her dolls, she doesn’t always take the best care of herself. So make sure you remind her to eat:(

-It’ll take AGES to get Donna there, but when you do, she is nothing short of the wait. Very passionate, and a little unhinged.

-Like Alcina, she’s a bit possessive.

-She finally found someone she was comfortable with showing her scare, you’re not going anywhere. You belong to her and that’s final. You’re literally stuck, so get comfortable.

-Values your opinion over everything. Her cooking, her sewing skills, her Garden. Donna swoons at praise. A light pink dusting her cheeks any time you compliment her, no matter how minor.

-Poor Donna has been alone for quite some time now. Touch starved as well as touch repulsed. Have fun with that :)

- Canonically, Donna has really bad mental health issues, which causes her to lash out and make rash decisions. She’s not abusive by any means, just a lot to handle.

-She gets into her own head a lot. Constantly convincing herself none of this is real. That one day she’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.

-I know she has manic episodes. Cannot convince me otherwise. Before you, they were almost unmanageable. Your first experience dealing with Donna during one terrified you. You were so worried about Donna, you had no idea what was happening.

-You tried desperately to comfort her. Unfortunately the voices were stronger than your weak attempts.

-After a while, she finally calmed down and explained that catastrophe as best as she could without scaring you off.

-At first Donna didn’t really understand the purpose of cuddling. It’s not that she didn’t want to, she was just truly confused. After having the significance of cuddling explained to her, she fell in love with it.

-Unironically, she’s the big spoon. She loves holding you, making sure you’re safe in her arms. Now, it’s the only way she can fall asleep.

Miranda:

-This bitch is so crazy.

-All shits and giggles aside, this woman is absolutely sadistic.

-Mind games are inevitable. Especially if she’s truly in love with you, in her dark and twisted way.

-Possessive asf.

-Did I already say possessive?

-Miranda is definitely stingy and will isolate you from your friends/family. Why do you need them when you have her? She’s your Goddess, she’s all you need. Never mind everyone else.

-Definitely the type to tell you to take a nap if you ever say you’re tired of her shit.

-You’re not going anywhere. Nice try, but no.

-I know this is obvious, but her God complex is really top tier. I mean seriously.

-Absolutely loves being worshipped, and not just in the bedroom, if you know what I mean. She wants to be put first, she wants to be your number one priority, your Goddess, your everything.

-She will find a way to incorporate her status & power in everything she does.

-She loves you, but you must always remember your place, under her. Figuratively and literally.

-Despite her cut off personality, she’s definitely a cuddlier. Especially after a long day of failed experiments and aggravating meetings.

-Like Donna, Miranda has been alone for almost a century. She’s so damn touch starved yet also incredibly touch repulsed at the same time. Have fun coping.

-Of course she threatened you if you ever told anyone thou. I mean can you imagine THE Mother Miranda being spooned? Imagine what the public would say.

-Fucking tax evader.

-After she gets Eva back, successfully, she lessens up, but only a bit. Like Alcina, she is the way she is and she doesn’t really see the problem with it.

I want all three of them so badly.

[raikan624]

Relationship HCs<3

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Tony Stark x Reader

Summary: dating headcannons w/ them<3

Warnings / contains: Pure fluff, maybe ooc, written in 2nd PoV (you/your) (!!), Reader is called 'sweetheart' (Steve) and 'doll' (Bucky),Reader is implied to be shorter than Bucky in one little imagine, but it isn't explicitly stated- he js rests his chin on your head.

A/n: First time writing for my fav sillies! Also this isn't proofread and they may be ooc I also haven't seen TFATWS, so idk anything about Bucky's development in that movie!!!!! (CW!era Bucky mostly) Not as good as I hoped it would be, but I hope you still enjoy it!!

Steve Rogers

Def wakes you up after his morning run (if you sleep in a little) with a sweet kiss to your cheek or temple and your drink of choice in hand.

"Good morning, sweetheart," the familiar voice roused you from your slumber, a lingering, sweet kiss pressed to your temple. You crack your eyes open to see Steve at your side, your favorite cup in his hand. His other hand caressed your cheek, "You sleep good?"

Slow-dancing to old 40's songs on his gramophone(!!)

Reassuring touches like a hand on your waist or his fingers brushing againsg yours

Loves cooking with you! Especially if you cook with music playing cuz it just sets a vibe

Likes to reminisce about the 40's with you :)

If you like to create stuff (write, draw(any mediums of art), sew, etc. (Anything creative)) he would love to see what you made (he treasures just about everything you make)

When he's on missions, he'll text you when he can either before or after the mission/fight(s)

"Hey, sweetheart"

"Hope you have a good sleep. I'll be home to you soon"

smthn like that

Tony Stark

will buy you anything you want; doesn't matter the price nor if you feel bad. He will do it either way :)

makes stuff for you - anything.

Your computer keeps crashing when you try to play a game or wokr on something? He's making you a new one, no questions asked

He's the definition of the situation of you walking into the kitchen in the morning to see him shirtless and in sweatpants.

Rubbing your eyes sleepily, you dragged your feet downstairs and into the kitchen. There was a soft humming and some music playing as you saw Tony. He was shirtless and wore a pair of sweatpants, leaning against the counter and making a coffee. He turned his head at the sound of your footsteps after a moment, and gave a smile at the sight of you. "Good morning,"

King of drama (obviously)

Loves to present you to the world - sassy comments and loud displays of affection

loves to wrap his arms around your waist from behind when you're alone

definitely protective of you (sometimes a bit too much)

Bucky Barnes

He's scared he'll hurt you on accident

not as much as when you first started dating, but still has a little fear of it in the back of his mind

tends to be quieter with his affections

doesn't do anything grand in public

maybe a hand hold or his hand on the small of your back

definitely protective

he doesn't want to lose you

he'll catalogue everything; every exit, every suspicious looking person, every drunk person, every possible danger, etc.

he stays close to you in public

he whispers soft affirmations to you at night

sleeps on the side closest to the bedroom door so he can protect you if anything happened

he reverently runs his hands along his sides

(he's amazed that he can call you his<3)

Because of his nightmares and stuff, he'd wake up early and just look at you as you sleep

Not in a creepy way, though

he just wants to imprint every detail of yorh face into his memory

Loves to admire the glow of the sun on your face as the sun rises

"Good morning, doll," Bucky murmurs as you slowly wake up, shifting closer to him in your bed. His hand went to your waist and he simply held you, his chin resting on top of your head. You let out a lazy hum as you snuggle into his body heat, content to stay like this with him for a while longer.

[strawberrypoundtown]

Orc x Halforc!Fem!Reader: Part 2

After returning to your tent, you attempt to sneak off to let off some steam. However, you get caught quickly and things escalate from there...

Contains: pregnancy risk, breeding kink, chasing, wrestling, pinning, physical restraining, degradation, spanking, biting

'Fuck, shit, god I can't do this. I have to think of something.'

You were more than a little embarrassed and flustered as you laid in your bed, pretending to be asleep. After finding out Gan was going to be the one watching over you, you had no idea what to think. You tried to play off your short circuit brain and after some small talk excusedyourself to go lay down, saying you had a headache. How were you supposed to find a mate when Gan is the one watching over you? Whenever he was around, you were a puddle. You couldn't think of any person you wanted as your mate other than him. He was the best option, surely. Your brother may not be keen on the idea, but the rest of your family would think he would be the best option for you.

The only issue was that you didn't know if he would even hope to feel the same way about you. He always treated you with nothing but respect and kindness, but something about it felt much more withdrawn compared to when he would act similarly with other females in the clan. He would seem to be more playful, flirty even. He was already almost 26, just a couple years older than you. He never seemed to want anything serious from what you had heard. Oh no. Maybe he only saw you as a sister? Maybe he just wasn't the type to want a mate?

You rolled onto your back and let out a sigh. You needed to let off some steam. You had to get out of here. You rubbed your eyes before carefully sitting up. Gan was right outside your tent. He at least let you have that much privacy, but it was almost worse that he was right there. You wanted him to walk in and take you already. You wanted his strong hands to hold you down and give you his big, hard cock. You wanted him to fill you with his cum. To make you all his. That would definitely help you relax.

A gruff cough outside your tent broke you out of your horny daze, bringing you back to reality. You had to think of a way to get out of here. You needed to get away from Gan without him knowing. You can't think straight with him right there.

You could sneak out from behind your tent easily. You had a flap on your tent behind a chest, but someone might see you run off. You had to peak and see if anyone was there first, but Gan might hear you moving things and wonder what's going on. You sat on the edge of your bed as you pondered your options. You got up and snatched a smaller letter opener from your desk. You walk over to the chest and carefully using the sharp end to cut a small slit in the tent, just big enough to peak through.

You mentally pat yourself on the back for your creativity. You could sew it up if anyone noticed it anyways. At least that was one issue solved. You take a quick look out the small hole and didn't see anyone. Perfect. Time to try and move the chest in front of the escape spot as quietly as possible.

"(Y/n)?" You heard from outside your tent just ss you were about to stsrt moving the chest. The from entrance, thankfully. It was Gan. You loved it when he said your name. You sighed and figured it would be better to walk over the entrance. Maybe you could get him distracted with something else.

"Yes Gan?" You say as you opened the flaps of your tent, closing them behind you as you stepped out and stared up at Gan. He stared down at you and rolled his eyes.

"I was just going to ask how you were feeling. Were you thinking of going on a walk?" He said with a bit more sass in his voice than you were comfortable with. However, you face remained unfazed as you rolled your eyes yourself.

"No. I was actually going to ask if you could get me an apple. I'm a bit hungry and forgot to grab anything earlier." You asked him, genuinely a bit hungry, but you could easily find food outside of camp. You knew where the apple trees were. "Please?" You said, with a small pout. How could he say no to that face?

"Fine. Just don't go anywhere." He grumbled after a long pause. He avoided your gaze as he walked off towards the food tent. Now with Gan out of the way, you could slip out the back without anyone noticing. I mean, Gan would notice when he got back, but what was he gonna do? Tell your parents?

You quickly went back inside your tent, moving the chest out of the way before quickly peaking through the hole again. After making sure the path was clear, you lifted the flap and started to move through it. However, fate was not on your side.

"Hey (Y/n), I'm back with your app-" Gan freezes as he walks through the entrance of your tent, thrown off at first when he sees you halfway through a random hole in your tent. "What the-" you don't give him enough time to react, diving through the hole and bolting to the forrest. The advantage of being a bit smaller is that you were quick on your feet. "Ah fuck!" He yells in frustration, needing to go the long way around the tent.

You were already just a blurr in the distance by the time he got around the tent, but he could still see you. He chuckles to himself and takes off his armor and weapons, leaving them against your tent before running after you. He might not have been fast, but he was more known for his endurance... in more ways than one. He'd catch up to you eventually.

You were running as fast as you could, dodging and weaving between the trees. You were hoping you were losing him, but everytime you looked back, you kept seeing him in the distance. Why was he chasing you? He was always able to keep a pretty good pace with you, but in that moment you kinda hated him for it. Or did you love it? He could catch you so easily. Maybe he would claim you as his once he catches you. Or maybe he'd punish you? You couldn't tell which idea excited you more, but you couldn't focus on that right now!

You nearly trip on a tree root, jumping out of the way so you miss it, but not realizing the hill drop next to you. You yelp and stumble a bit, nearly falling, but you manage to catch yourself on a tree and pull yourself back. You use the second to catch your breath and stabilize yourself. You're about to start running again when you don't hear anyone behind you anymore... or see anyone for that matter. There was no way you lost hik that easily

For such a large man, he had managed to hide himself easily in the dense trees, his dark green skin helping him blend into the scenery as he moved between the foliage. He didn't understand why his heart was racing so much. Or why he felt himself getting excited as he got closer to catching you. He wanted to catch you and claim you. He wanted to make sure no other man would dare look at his mate. He wanted you as his mate. His one and only. He just had no clue how to do that. Maybe chasing you and getting you alone would help...

His footsteps quickened as he had heard you yelp, so he was fairly close to you, but he didn't see the edge of the hill. As your back was turned, he decided that tackling you would be the best way to capture you.

"Found you." He growled ominously before jumping out from around a tree. You screamed out and tried to dodge, but the attempt was futile. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to him as he waited for you guys to hit solid ground. But he quickly realized that he had made a mistake as you both started to tumble down the large hill. He had managed to keep you mostly protected throughout the fall, but had hit a tree and lost his grip on you, sending you tumbling your own way down the hill. You both landed at the bottom with a soft thud

He groaned in pain as he sat up, rubbing his head. He checked his body quickly, and other than a few scratches, he was fine. He looked around for you a bit panicked. He didn't know how far away you could have gotten. Thankfully, he spotted you only a few feet away, but noticed you were laying motionless on the ground. His blood ran cold as he rushed to your side, fearing the worst.

"Oh my god, (Y/n)!" He shouts as he turns you onto your back, only to be met by a swift, solid punch to his jaw from below. He groans in pain and turns away from you. After delivering the punch, you quickly get up and jump on his shoulders. You clamp your legs around his neck in a firm hold, causing him to fall backwards as he grabs at your thighs. It was like you were trying to kill him, but not because of lack of oxygen. If he didn't get out from between your thighs soon, he wouldn't be able to get away.

"Why were you following me?!" You yelled, not letting up on your grip. He could still breathe, but barely. He kept struggling, trying to get away from you before he got an erection. He had never had you do this to him like this before and he was enjoying it way more than he should. However, his struggling was causing his head to rub against your pussy through your clothes. You tighten your grip with your legs to try and get him to stop moving. "S-stop making this difficult and tell me why you followed me!" You yelled at him, letting out a soft sigh under your breath as he finally stopped struggling. You lightened your grip slightly to let him answer.

"I-I... don't... know... I... wanted... to.." He still struggled to speak because of her thighs, but she heard him. She let go of him, leaving him laying on the ground as he struggled to catch his breath. "I... didn't want you... to be alone out here..." He added between breaths, finally able to breathe normally for a few moments. However, he quickly couldn't breathe again as you jumped on his neck, your legs wrapping around his head once again, but from the front this time.

"I can take care of myself!" You yelled in frustration, your legs tight around his head, his face buried against your clothed pussy. He didn't dare move or breathe this time, hyper aware of every muscle in his body. You didn't think about what you did until after it was already done. You felt your core getting hot as you felt his tusks against your inner thighs, your face heating up. This felt like some sort of weird dream. Why did you do that?

He had to think of a way out of this before he passed out. His heart raced as he struggled to breathe once again, trying to get away from the sweet smell you just smothered him with. His erection grew and he was thankful you were facing away from it at least. Your pussy right in front of his face was all he could think about. He wanted to just rip your clothes off and make you ride his face, but it took all his willpower not to.

Instead, he wraps his arms around your thighs, keeping you in place with an iron like grip before swiftly turning, rolling the two of you so he was on his stomach. You had thought about this position too, but you were broken out of your thoughts as he quickly hoisted you up. He jumped up himself, your legs still around his head as he smacked you on a large smooth boulder. He was finally able to use his leverage to get out of your hold, gasping for air as he stood and braced himself on the boulder.

As he stood you finally saw it. His massive hard on was visible through his pants. He was huge. You knew he was big, but you weren't even sure if he was fully hard yet. He got that hard from all of that? You felt yourself getting even hotter and you were unable to close your legs yet. He had his hands firmly planted between your legs, keeping them spread open. He had to have known how you were feeling right now, right? He had to smell it when he was down there...

"What was that for?!" He shouts before groaning, reaching up with one hand to rub his jaw after the beating gave it. He looked down at your spread legs and stepped between them fully. He could see the wet spot between your legs and sighed deeply. He didn't think he'ddo this so quickly after being put in charge of taking care of you...

"Are you trying to kill me? Fucking brat..." He growls as he stares down at you, his arms pinning you under him as he leans over you. The sun shines through the trees and gives you both a beautiful glow. It really did feel like a dream, and both of you would agree. He just stared into your beautiful (e/c) eyes, only looking away to look down at your lips. Your faces were only a few inches away from each other's as you stared back at him. It looked like he was conflicted. Maybe you needed to encourage him a little?

You couldn't help yourself. You slowly reached your hands up and touched his chest gently. He was so warm and sweaty, and after the fall, dirty. You ran your hands up the sides of his neck and gently held his face. You felt him lean into your hands as he closed his eyes and sighed. You used your thumbs to gently caress his large tusks as he melted into your touch even further. You couldn't help but smile and giggle to yourself a little.

"I'd never thought the might Gan would be such a helpless little baby when it comes to being held." You snickered a little, his eyes shooting open before glaring at you. You gave him an evil smile before hooking your fingers on his tusks and tugging them towards you. He let out a groan in response before the look in his eyes turns into something more evil. He suddenly grabs both your wrists with one hand and pins them above your head

"You think that's funny? You fucking tease..." He growls at you. You haven't seen him like this before. You kinda like it. Without a word, he takes one of his hands and cups it under your head, lifting your head to meet his in a rough and passionate kiss. Your bodies rubbed together as he held you down and made out with you, not wanting to let you go Your tusks rubbed together as he loosened his grip on your wrists, pulling away slightly. Seizing the opportunity, you wrap your arms around his neck and brought your lips back to his. You'd been waiting too long for a chance like this. Your legs wrap around his waist as you press your body into his, scratching his back as you let out soft breathy moans whenever your lips manage to part for a moment.

He stumbles backwards a bit in surprise, his hands immediately grabbing your ass as he keeps you held close to him. He may not have expected this reaction, but he won't complain. He moans with you as he continues to kiss you, but slowly moves his hands up your body towards your shoulders.

As you start to grind your hips against him, he pushes you back onto the rock, your arms releasing, but your legs still locked firmly in place around his waist. Your back was arched as he pinned your shoulders. Both of you were panting from the kiss, both your lips puffy and almost raw. He has a moment of clarity and wants to make sure this isn't to try and trick him into not telling anyone about this.

"What's going on with you? You've been off since I was assigned to you. You've never given a guard this much trouble when you get caught outside camp. Why me?" He asked, determined for answers. Did you hate him that much that you wanted to run away? He was so confused as to why you were kissing him then.

"Because I want you..." You mumbled, bashful as you turned your head away from him. You let go of your grip around his waist with your

"What?" He asked, a bit thrown off by your answer.

"I want you! I have no interest in anyone else in the clan. I know you may not exactly feel the same way, but I needed to get away from you to even have a chance of finding someone else. I can't think of anyone but you when you're around..." You admit, sheepishly. Your face flushes and you avoid looking him in the eyes. "I just want you as my mate... if you'll have me."

He was staring at you dumbstruck as he tried to replay what he just heard in his head. Did you just confess? His head spun as he tried to find the words to speak, to reciprocate how you feel, but decided that actions would speak louder than words. His hands moved down to your hips and pulled you to the edge of the boulder. You were about to ask what he was doing, but he interrupted you by pulling your shorts up and exposing your ass for him. You didn't have time to react before he delivered a swift smack to your ass, earning a squeal from you.

"You had to take the moment didn't you? Spoilt brat. I wanted to ask you properly after showing you I can protect you. Couldn't even let me try and be a gentleman for you..." He said lowly, making your heart race as you froze and starred up at him. You didn't think you'd actually get this for, so you weren't sure how to react to any of this. All you knew was that you wanted him to keep going.

Another slap sounded on your other asscheek as he pushed your knees back against your chest. He directed your arms to wrap around your knees as he crouched down in front of your exposed pussy. His hot breath against your sensitive clit gave you goosebumps. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you before he finally dove in, giving your pussy long, slow licks from your entrance to your clit. You moan out and squeeze your legs closer to you as you let him do what he wants. He toys with you like that for a while before using his mouth to focus on your clit.

One of his hands migrate to your pussy, one of his large fingers sliding into you and curling against your g-spot gently. You arch your back as you let out another moan, but cut it off by biting your lip. His free hand slaps your ass again as he continues to lap at your clit with his tongue and finger your pussy. His hand stays on your ass and gropes the soft flesh as his tusks rub and scratch against the back of your thighs.

You pussy trembled as you tried your best not to squirm. As much as his hand was nice, you wanted to cum on his dick. You wanted him to fill you up and give you his little orcling. Now that you knew he felt the same, your whole body felt hot. His hands in and on your body felt like fire.

"Fuck..." He stopped suddenly and pulled away, taking off your shorts completely and quickly taking his own clothes off as you slowly let go of your legs and spread them. "You're so fucking sexy. I can't believe you're so willing to be my cum slut already..." He held his cock and rubbed it against your pussy. He was worried about hurting you, but after your pussy juices coated his cock after only ruling against you for a few moments, he decided to just go ahead.

You were eager for him to finally thrust into you. Even just his warm cock rubbing along your pussy lips and clit was making you feral. You'd jump on him soon if he didn't get a move on.

He lines up his cock carefully with your slick hole before easing his cock into you. You both moan loudly as your pussy strains slightly to take him in the best way. Your arousal only increased, making it easier for him to get more of his cock into you by the second. When he's about halfway into your pussy, you're already nearly completely full and he pauses.

"W-why are you stopping?" You whimper, not wanting him to hold back. He gives you a wicked grin before grabbing your hips and lifting you. He flips you over onto your stomach while you're still half on his dick. The sensation made your body quiver in pleasure before you turn your head to look back at him. He leans over your body and braces himself on his elbows over you, one of his forearms positioned under your head for you to rest on.

"I wanna fuck you like the bitch you keep acting like. Maybe then my dirty slut will calm down and be a good girl for me." Gan groans in your ear before thrusting the last of his cock into you without warning. You screamed out a moan out of shock, biting down on his arm as your eyes rolled back for a moment. Your tight pussy quivered around his cock as he shuddered from the sensation of having your warm, wet pussy around him. He could live like that, minus your teeth, but his hips start to move on their own as he moans in your ear.

"F-fuck, you're so tight... you're gonna milk my cock and give me a kid... everyone is gonna know you're all mine soon." He said breathlessly. As much as he was trying to act tough, his heart was melting as he fucked your brain out. His thrusts got faster and rougher as he listened to you moan through your bite on his arm with every thrust.

You tried to thrust your hips back against his with each thrust, but there wasn't much you could do when your whole body was pinned down. You felt your climax building quickly as Gan finds his pace, rubbing perfectly against your g-spot and hitting your cervix in a way that made you feel dizzy. His large, full balls kept slapping your clit with each thrust. Your jaw slacked as you released your bite, moaning even louder.

"There we go. Good girl. You're gonna behave for me, right? You gonna cum for me? I want my slut to cum on my cock and milk me..." He grumts, you only able to weakly nod your head as he just kept fucking your pussy until you exploded. Your pussy squeezed his cock so hard he couldn't move for a moment and you screamed. Your orgasm felt like you got hit by lightning, but he just keeps fucking you. Your pussy shuddered around his cock as you keep cumming, each thrust making you more overstimulated than the last.

"Fuck yes. I'm gonna cum too, princess. Take it all, please." Thankfully, he doesn't last much longer than you. His thrusts get faster but more sloppy as he chases his orgasm. He moans and groans as you whimper and lick the bite mark you left on his arm. The sight makes him groan as he thrusts inside you one last time, burying his cock deep in your pussy as he cums. You finally stsrt to come down from your orgasm with a loud sigh. You feel his warm cum fill you, but whine as you feel some of it start to drip down your legs.

He was still so hard. He rocks his hips gently against yours as you moan. Your poor sensitive pussy kept being bullied and you loved it. He kisses your shoulder gently and sighs.

"I love you, (Y/n)... I'd love to be your mate..." He whispers in your ear as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tenderly.

"I can tell..." You giggled breathlessly. Although you were exhausted, you didn't loose your sense of humor. "I love you too..." You whispered before turning your head and kissing him on the cheek. Due to how hard he was, and how he seemed to already be ready to go again, you two were going to be there for a long time...