#coming from every electronic device

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

So, the Inspector and Mona are off to 1925 to discover the source of the tune that seems to be coming from every electronic device known to man.

Whom do they encounter, but the odd man from the street, who happens to operate a tinker's shop? Which leads the Inspector recognise him for who he really is.

[snoopyracing]

somebody else — ln4

pairing: lando norris x reader word count: 12k warnings: swearing, smut (18+) (p in v, no protection, oral, multiple orgasms, and a little praise kink if you squint) includes: toxic!lando, prior relationship issues, cheating, angst, drama, and an arthurtv cameo summary: when you finally decide to stop waiting around for lando and find someone new he doesn't take it very well. relationships are tested, hearts are broken, tears are shed, and it seems like things will never work out like you want. a/n: this is messy af and lando is such an asshole in this. anyways this is loosely based off of 'somebody else' by the 1975. enjoy!!

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Canadian Grand Prix 2025

Only Lando Norris could be miserable in a five star hotel. The Egyptian cotton four hundred count thread sheets were too scratchy. The air vents were too noisy. The bed was too hard. He could hear every noise from outside. If there was something to complain about or be dissatisfied with– Lando could name it.

The alarm clock on the nightstand kept taunting him– the minutes constantly passing while he tossed and turned. Which– who even really uses a physical alarm clock anymore? He blamed the ‘shitty’ hotel and nerves for the race tomorrow on his restlessness, but the real culprit was a combination of his undiagnosed insomnia and the electronic device that laid on the bed beside him.

The TV, which had horrible channels, played quietly in the background. The screen illuminated the room, yet he couldn’t even tell you what was playing. There’s the option of watching Netflix on his phone, but he was avoiding that thing like the plague. His eyes flickered over to it every minute, or at least that’s what it seemed. Every time the screen lit up or he felt a vibration his heart skipped a beat. Hell, he’d even considered locking it up in the hotel room safe for the night just to be able to try and get some shut eye, but the slight possibility of your name popping back up on his screen again deterred him.

In all honesty Lando knew he was being dramatic, but god the power you held over him just by sending him a single text had him sick to his stomach. 

The text in question had been sent right before qualifying earlier today. Lando was getting ready to leave his driver’s room when a ding echoing through the tiny room stopped him in his tracks. A smile stretched across his face when he saw your name pop up on the screen. He figured it was your usual good luck text so he quickly tapped the notification, but when the message opened his smile faltered and the feeling of giddiness was immediately replaced with dread. 

y/n: hey lan. i know silverstone is coming up and i was wondering if there was any way you could get two extra passes for arthur and me? he’s a big fan and i’d love to give him the full experience!! 

Lando locked his phone and tossed it on the little sofa against the wall, not even caring if it bounced off and shattered. A little part of him hopes it does so then maybe he wouldn’t have to see that guy's name in his phone and in a conversation with you again. His stomach hurts and his mind is in every mode but qualifying mode. God did you just send that to him to fuck with him? To rub your happy and loving relationship in his face? 

He’s not sure why you’re making it seem like you don’t already have a pass for Silverstone. You were in the garage every year and if there was one thing Lando knew was certain it was that there would always be a pass with your name on it and he thought he’d made that clear to you years ago. Not even just for Silverstone though, any race you wanted to go to all you had to do was tell him and there’d be a shiny pass with your name on it.

For your boyfriend though, now that would be a different story. Lando could say the garage would be too full, which in all honesty it will be pretty full. But then he knows if he says that then you’ll just sit in the grandstands with Arthur and not in the garage where you belong. His family will ask where you’re at and then he’ll get that look from his Mother that makes him want to crawl inside his own body. If Lando had it his way your boyfriend wouldn’t even be allowed at the race, let alone in his side of the garage.

Lando truthfully had no reason to hate your boyfriend and Lando wouldn’t say he actually hates him. It’s just that he can’t stand him. Arthur has never been anything but friendly the couple of times Lando has been around him, but Lando can’t stomach thinking of the two of you together, let alone see you with his own two eyes.

It didn’t help that Lando had technically been the one to introduce you guys and if he could do it all over again he would have never invited you to that Quadrant shoot last year. At that point in time it was nothing out of the ordinary for you to tag along with Lando to things and that even included the occasional Quadrant shoot. When you guys pulled up to Buckmore Park that day Lando had no idea he’d at least from his perspective, be losing you. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

August 2024

It was a karting race video with a handful of some popular UK Youtubers, some of whom had already worked with Quadrant in the past. It seemed like it would be a fun filled day and you were excited to ultimately see the chaos that was about to ensue on the track shortly. While everything was being set up you chatted with some of the guys you already knew from previous shoots or events. Invites were thrown around for you to do some videos with them, claiming that you’d fit in well with their group of friends. You replied with a i’ll think about it, fully knowing how rowdy they get in their videos.

As the guys got suited up you made your way outside to find Lando– who wasn’t hard to find at all, with his fluro helmet sticking out like a sore thumb near the pits. “Do you need a good luck before this race?” You teased him as you approached. 

His race suit, which had been swapped out from papaya orange to LN blue and fluro, hung loosely around his hips, the arms flapping in the wind as he turned around at the sound of your voice. “God I hope not. If I don’t win this think I might retire from racing.” He jokes as he does up his race suit. 

“A couple of these guys have their own racing suits. You might have some competition here Lan.” He playfully rolls his eyes at you and you try to keep up the act by simply shrugging your shoulders at him, but the smile on your face cancels out any possibility of you being serious. 

You notice him fidgeting with the collar of his race suit, constantly doing an undoing the velcro. He’d never ask you, but it was an unspoken thing between you two for you to do it for him. He claims he can never get it situated like you do, you beg to differ. Either way you do it when you’re able to and it’s also in your own weird way a comfort thing for you, for you to be able to do one of the last things he does before getting into his car. It’s almost like a little send off and when you smooth your hand over that collar every time, you put every ounce of hope prayers and love– anything you can think of to get him safe and sound back to you. 

Though this time when you go to fix his collar you notice it’s quite tight. “Jeez Lan, been training your neck a little hard recently?” You had perhaps maybe noticed that he had beefed up over the course of the season.

“What can I say, I'm a beast.” He states with a big ole grin on his face. 

Your hands movement halts and you internally cringe over hearing him call himself that. Grabbing one side of the collar you forcefully pull it over and slap it down on the velcro, earning an exaggerated choking sound from Lando. 

“Alrighty then you beast. Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

As the qualifying laps start you watch from the viewing deck with the other guys who are waiting their turn. Cameras seem to be everywhere you turn, the crew not wanting to miss any possible content, some of the guys have go pros and you’re thankful someone hasn’t handed you one yet.

Lando had decided to do his qualifying laps first, to quote on quote show everyone how it’s done. You leaned against the wooden railing, watching intently as he flies by on each lap. The sound of kart engines and the smell of the exhaust bringing you back to simpler times, back to when things weren’t so complicated. 

Before your mind dives any deeper into the topic you’d rather keep locked away, a guy with fluffy brown hair and big brown eyes settles in next to you. Your brain rattles off a list of names, but none of them ring a bell. You’d met a handful of new people today and you’re not afraid to admit your memory can be dodgy at times, but you know you’d remember him. 

“I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Y/N.” You turn your body towards him, and when he turns to look at you the sun hits his eyes just right and their like pools of honey staring back at you. 

“I’m Arthur. It’s nice to meet you.” He extends his hand like a gentleman and you gladly take it in yours. “I do have to admit I knew who you were before you introduced yourself. I hope that doesn’t sound stalkerish.” 

Your head tilts in question. “Not stalkerish, but I am curious how you know me.” 

He kind of laughs like he thinks you’re joking, but when you stare blankly at him he clears his throat and straightens his posture. “Oh well, you know because Lando and you are together.” 

Now it’s your turn to laugh– an awkward forced laugh that you pray Arthur doesn’t catch on to. Many moons ago there was such a thing as Lando and you, but there wasn’t time to dwell on that at the moment. “Oh– we aren’t together.” 

“I’m sorry I assumed since you guys are always seen together.” 

You wave him off, simply wanting to put this part of the conversation in the past as quickly as possible. “It’s fine. It happens all the time. We’ve just been friends for a really long time.” Friends to very brief lovers then back to friends, but Arthur didn’t need to know that. “Anyways, have you ever karted before?” 

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that talking to Arthur is easy and that he actually can hold a conversation, unlike the various guys you’ve talked to before. He’s easy going and smart and you two get so lost in the conversation that you forget that you’re on a video shoot. It’s not until someone forcibly tears Arthur away do you realize just how long you two have been talking. 

The rest of the shoot seems to go by in a whirlwind, yet you made sure to find Arthur before everyone packed up and left. “Hey, I was hoping to see you again before I left.” Arthur states as he sees you approaching him. 

Even though you wanted to see him again, it makes you somewhat giddy to know he felt the same. “Oh is that so?” 

A shy smile stretches across Arthur’s face as he nods at you. “It is and I was hoping to get your number or at least your Instagram?” 

That simple question is what changes your life and inherently changes your relationship with Lando over the course of the year. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The hour or so drive back to your apartment in London is quiet. You’re too absorbed in your phone to notice how tightly Lando’s gripping the steering wheel or how the only sound that does fill the car is that of the radio. You get annoyed by the constant commercials and it’s an unspoken rule that you play the music in the car, yet the UK’s Top 100 plays softly through the speakers. 

Lando acts like you smiling at your phone and hearing you giggle ever so often at it doesn’t bother him, but it totally does. It bothers him to no end and he’s not stupid, he knows exactly what or he guesses he should say who has you acting like this, yet he still does the one thing that he knows will make how he’s feeling worse. 

“Who’s got you so hypnotized by your phone?” 

You barely pay Lando any mind, not even bothering to look up from your phone as you mumble out a huh. You being so nonchalant only makes Lando’s jealousy (he won’t admit that he’s jealous or even internally admit that he is) that much worse. He grips the leather steering wheel of his Lamborghini Urus till his knuckles turn white and ponders if he should even try to continue the conversation, you clearly weren’t in this car with him at the moment.

“You’ve not said a word since we left Buckmore, you’ve been too engrossed in your phone.” He knows he’s probably coming across as a dick right now, but it must have worked because for the first time the whole car ride your eyes leave your phone and now gaze upon him. 

“Sorry, I was texting Arthur. What’s up?” You lock your phone and focus on the Brit next to you, who seemed to be bothered by something, probably the fact that Fewtrell beat him in the race. 

“You guys just met today didn’t you?” Lando pries for information, fully knowing the answers are going to hurt him. 

You feel your phone vibrate in your lap and it takes every ounce of willpower you have to ignore it and keep your attention on Lando. “Yeah, he’s super nice and funny. We’re gonna go out for drinks tomorrow night.” 

Lando feels like his stomach is about ready to fall out of his ass and all he can seem to do is force a smile towards you. “That’s nice.” Is all he can choke out before you’re picking up that damn phone again. He knows he has no right to be like this, to be so bent out of shape over you texting some guy. You’ve dated other guys in the past and technically he was the one to break things off before, but something was different now and god was this driving him insane. 

It’s no use in trying to continue the conversation and so Lando tries to distract himself with other things, but he’s heard the same ad for some injury lawyer five times during this car ride and when it comes up the sixth time he angrily swipes the volume dial to zero.

So now all that he’s left with is his thoughts and you, which just so happen to coincide. The constant buzzing of your phone will surely haunt his dreams tonight and when he drops you off at your apartment and you don’t ask him to hang out he knows things are going to change, if they haven’t already. 

It doesn’t take long for Lando to realize that he’s quickly being replaced in your life. Perhaps it was always destined to happen, it was rare for two young people to remain so close after a breakup, so maybe this was the universe restoring its natural order? But Lando always claimed that you two were different, you had a special bond that not many understood.

Childhood best friends, karting kids, two teenagers who had feelings bigger than themselves that eventually made things messy. Self preservation and self doubt ultimately made those feelings be pushed aside and the love you had for one another was put on the back burner. You both had relationships after whatever you two wanted to call what you had, none of them lasting long enough to actually be considered anything, but hell you weren’t even official with Arthur yet and he felt like he was on the edge of spiraling every time you mentioned him or were seen with him. 

It also didn’t take long for you to be integrated into Arthur’s friend group and for you to start appearing in videos. There were many nights, especially when he was thousands of miles away from home in some foreign country that he would go on a hate watch spree. It would be late at night, his insomnia kicking in, tucked away in his luxurious hotel room with his phone being the only source of light as the Youtube videos play.

He remembers the first time he saw you in a video (thanks to Twitter) and it was like a sucker punch to the gut. He hadn’t seen you in weeks or even really talked to you and when he saw you practically glued to Arthur’s side and with all these random people it was like he didn’t even know you. It hurt because Lando could tell you fit into their world– like you belonged. You always claimed to not like the theatrics and somewhat fakeness or materialistic sides of his life– the things that came with his job. You loved racing and it was the thing that brought Lando and you together, but you hated just about every other aspect of it. 

Lando couldn’t help but feel jealous as he watched more videos. He was living his dream, traveling the globe, living a lavish lifestyle, being known as one of the best racers in the world, and he was jealous of you. Jealous over you going out for drinks and having fun. For being in your twenties and finding a new group of friends to go out with freely. To be able to post some dumb video of you having a good time or being drunk, not caring about the public fallout or what people on the internet had to say about you. There was no public image for you to uphold or a clause in a contract that you had to abide by. 

As time passed Lando tried to focus all his time and energy into racing, trying to ignore the fact that he hadn’t seen you in months or that hadn’t had a proper conversation with you in weeks. It’s pitiful to him that the only way he can seem to get an update from you is through Youtube videos or your social media, which you seem to be using way more frequently now. Guess you can freely post about what you’re up to or where you’re at now since you’re not with Lando all the time. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

February 2025 

When Arthur and you finally decided to make it official to the world, Lando just so happened to be back in London. He was at dinner with Max and his girlfriend and to no one’s surprise the topic quickly gravitated towards you. 

“Have you talked to Y/N lately?” Lando asks as nonchalantly as he can while skimming over the menu. 

Max eyes him from across the table, trying to gauge just how much his answer would affect his best friend. He could lie and say he hasn’t talked to you and that you guys didn’t go out on a double date last week or he could tell the truth. If he knows his best friend, which he thinks he does pretty well– he knows what decision to make.

So he decides to lie. 

“Uh I think she texted me a couple weeks ago, but it was just her asking if I had any extra hoodies from the latest Quadrant drop. I haven’t really spoken to her in some time.” Max hopes Lando doesn’t realize he just pulled that straight out of his ass and the topic of conversation can move to something else. 

Thankfully the waiter comes over to take their orders before Lando can respond, but as soon as they leave Lando’s sitting there with the most pathetic look on his face– just waiting for someone to ask him if he’s talked to you. 

“Have you talked to her?” Max finally asks after having enough of Lando’s melancholy state. 

Lando sighs a big long sigh and Max can’t help but give a little side eye over to his girlfriend. “Actually no I haven’t. I’ve barely talked to her or seen her since she became friends with Arthur.” 

Max internally cringes hearing him refer to Arthur and you as friends. The poor guy didn’t even know you two were together, but he wasn’t going to be the one to drop that bomb. In fact he was instructed to not tell Lando that you were in a relationship– it was a secret he’d been harboring for a couple months now.

Unfortunately for Max he had found himself in the middle of whatever the hell was going on with Lando and you. You claimed he never reached out anymore and Lando claimed that you never did. It didn’t help matters that he was the only one who knew about what happened with you guys years ago. 

“You do know the phone works both ways right? You could reach out to her.” Max loves Lando like a brother and so it didn’t bother him any to give him a little tough love. 

Lando just kind of stares at Max, not having expected him to take your side. “Well, I’ve been busy. The season is getting ready to start up.” 

“You didn’t think to try and make plans with her over winter break?” 

No. Lando didn’t think to make plans over winter break because it meant he’d have to undoubtedly hear you talk about Arthur and the thought of it already put him into a bad mood. “She’s got a new group of friends and seems to be doing well. It’s whatever.” Lando says with a shrug. 

Max wanted to reach across the table and strangle Lando. Yes you had made new friends, but you still hung out with Max and your other old friends. He knew your past with Lando always made things complicated and that you never let on just how much the breakup affected you, but he also knew how Lando could be.

“You’re really gonna let your oldest friendship fizzle out because she’s got some new friends? Because she’s entered a new chapter in her life? She’s known you longer than me and I know there’s other things going on in that big head of yours that I surely could guess, but if you continue on with this petty nonsense you’ll lose her entirely.” 

When Lando accepted Max’s invitation for dinner tonight he didn’t think he’d be getting a talking to, yet here he was, and he couldn’t even deny that what Max was saying wasn’t true. Technically you weren’t with Arthur, so perhaps Lando could get some time to talk to you before the season started.

Lando doesn’t bother to respond to Max’s rant, his silence is a sufficient enough answer for everyone at the moment. 

The food had just arrived at the table and Lando had barely gotten two bites in before his whole night came crashing down. His phone that was face down on the table vibrated, but he chose to ignore it, trying to practice better table manners.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Max’s girlfriend pick up her phone around the same time his went off and he wasn’t trying to be nosy, but he couldn’t help but notice how big her eyes got at whatever she was looking at and how she quickly elbowed Max to get his attention. His attention was really piqued when Max mumbled oh fuck under his breath with a distressed look on his face. 

“What? Is Verstappen going to Mercedes or something?” Lando jokes. Max and Pietra’s eyes snap towards their friend, but before they can try and stop him he’s already picking up his phone. 

y/ninstagram just made a post 

Is the only notification on his lock screen when Lando looks at his phone and of course he’s going to click on it, but as soon as it loads he wishes he hadn’t. It’s the one thing he didn’t want to be true staring back at him. A whole photo dump of pictures of Arthur and you publicly announcing your relationship. 

Lando feels like he’s going to be sick, the couple bites of food he took moments ago already trying to come back up. An incessant ringing starts in his ears and his peripheral vision blurs as he seems to laser focus on the photos. You look happy and in love and it makes him fucking sick. It should be him that you’re posting, yet he’s sat here in some Italian restaurant with his best mate and his girlfriend looking at him like he’s some injured puppy.

Deep down Lando knows this is all his own fault, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He knows you two would probably be engaged by now if he hadn’t been the worlds biggest fuck up and dumbass years ago. Instead you’re with some other guy who shows you off like you should be and unapologetically loves you. Who doesn’t put his career before the woman he loves. 

“Mate.” Max finally snaps Lando out of his trance and when he locks eyes with him he can’t help but feel sorry for him. Sure he was tough on him earlier and yes he was keeping your relationship a secret from him, but the look of absolute heartbreak on his friends face was horrible.

Max had been there through every fling or other relationship the both of you had after your breakup and Lando didn’t seem to be that bothered back then, but if Max had any inkling as to why Arthur bothered him so much it was because he realized just how happy he makes you and how much Lando himself actually needs you. “Lando mate, I still think you should talk to her.” 

This stuffy restaurant was the last place Lando wanted to be right now, he felt like every pair of eyes were on him and he didn’t need another Max lecture at the moment. He grabs his wallet from his back pocket and throws a couple hundred on the table. “Yeah I don’t think so anymore. I’ll see you guys later.” 

He rushes out of the restaurant and the cool air hits him like a ton of bricks, the bustling sounds of London overstimulating his senses and all he wants at the moment is you, but he can’t have you and it’s driving him crazy. London reminds him too much of you and instead of spending the rest of the week here like he planned he books a red eye back to Monaco that night. 

When he’s finally back in his apartment that overlooks the sea he realizes that it’s not just London that reminds him of you, it’s Monaco too. Pictures of you guys in his apartment, your hoodie you left from the last time you visited, the wine you like a little too much in his cabinets. There’s pieces of you in his life everywhere he seems to go. He doesn’t think there’s a part of him that you haven’t infiltrated and it makes him want to scream. He’d never been more ready for the season to start, praying that he could distract himself with racing, yet racing was the reason he was in the mental state he was in now.

 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

That was four months ago and now Lando sat in his hotel room in Montreal, stomach in knots over a simple text message from you. 

You two hadn’t physically seen each other in a long time, but you had started texting more and to Lando that was fine because through text he could pretend that Arthur didn’t exist. You had stupidly sent him a congratulations text after he won the first race of the season and when he drunkenly texted you that he missed you so much that it hurt that night you knew you’d made the wrong decision.

Yet, Lando had his ways of sucking you back in so you began texting regularly again. You guys began to reconnect, good luck texts became a regular thing and you’d fill each other in on your days. It somewhat felt like things were back to normal or how things were pre-Arthur. Lando couldn’t actually remember the last time he actually saw you, ever since you came into Arthur’s life your roots had seemed to be firmly planted in London. Your trips to see Lando in Monaco no longer happened, he didn’t come and see you in London either, and you coming to random races when you had a free weekend had come to a halt. He missed you more than imaginable, your laugh and the way you sang way too loudly in the car.

This time apart had been rough and he knows it’s majorly his fault, but god his heart feels like it’s being ripped right out of his chest every time he sees Arthur and you together and he hates to think what he’d feel like if he actually saw you two in person. Yet, against his better judgement he grabs his phone from the the fluffy white bedding, your text message still pulled up when he unlocks his phone. He needed to see you, needed to talk to you, and if that meant he had to see Arthur, then he guess that’s how it had to be. 

With shaky hands and a heart rate of 130– he sends a reply. 

lando: they’ll be mailed out first thing tomorrow. 

He immediately turns off his phone, messes with the old alarm clock on the nightstand to hopefully be waking him up in four short hours, and then quickly climbs under the covers. He prays sleep comes quickly and that maybe when he wakes up these past six months will have been a nightmare.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

British Grand Prix 2025 

The sun seemed to beat down on Lando as he briskly walked through the paddock towards McLaren’s hospitality. The slight sweat on his brow was a rare occurrence, considering he always ran cold, often seen sporting a hoodie and jeans at even the hottest races on the calendar.

It wasn’t even that warm out, yet Lando felt like it was sweltering, his stomach starting to hurt from how overheated he was getting. His heart was racing faster than he would be on Sunday and he started to wonder if something was actually wrong with him. Heart attack? Food poisoning? None of the above. The real culprit was anxiety. It seemed to be getting worse the closer he got to hospitality, and he knew the reason why, but he’d just use the excuse of being nervous about this weekend. 

As soon as he passed through the doors of the hospitality unit his anxiety heightened. The place was bustling, as per usual during Silverstone, people everywhere and anywhere. His eyes scan the room, the excessive amount of papaya makes the people blend into one big orange blob, but then he hears the one thing that he swears he could hear in a crowd full of a million people. 

Your laugh. 

He feels his heart tighten and a small smile start to spread across his face as his eyes lock onto you. Tucked away into a corner you’re sat there with his family, laughing about something with his sisters and for the first time in almost a year it feels like how things were before. This is how it always should be, you here with him– with his family.

Then suddenly his daydream is immediately ruined when his eyes glance slightly to the right and he sees the one person he wasn’t looking forward to seeing. Lando had secretly hoped that Arthur would get sick or something would come up and he wouldn’t be able to make it, but of course Lando’s luck has never been that great. 

His anxiety was still there, afraid that when he eventually makes his way over to you that things are going to be awkward, that Arthur and you are engaged, or that you’re pregnant. Worst case scenario was overtaking his brain and the longer he stood there the worse it got. He didn’t want to see you two together and he’s regretting sending that text message weeks ago. He’s snapped out his anxiety induced pity party by his Mother spotting him and hollering for him to come join them. 

He pretends to not notice how your eyes seem to practically burn holes through him as you watch him walk over and when the only seat open is one directly across from you and Arthur, Lando knows the universe is out to get him. 

“We were just catching up with Y/N. It’s been ages since we’ve seen her!” Cisca says to her son, with an emphasis on the fact that they haven’t seen you in over a year. You were like a bonus daughter to her, an unofficial member of the family. She’d always thought Lando and you would end up together, hell his whole family thought it, yet here you were with a new guy on your arm and a very obvious tension between her son and you. Arthur was a darling and you were clearly happy with him, but she couldn’t help but silently root for Lando and you. 

“Yeah we were telling Arthur about when we were kids and you cried when Y/N beat you for the first time in karting.” Lando’s sister laughs again as she retells the story, like it hadn’t been told a hundred times before. 

“You always were a sore loser.” The first words out of your mouth towards Lando and it’s a dig towards him? Sad part was that it was kind of the truth, he never seemed to take it well when you did better than him when you guys raced together and even now he struggles with being a poor loser, especially after getting a real taste of what winning is like. 

Lando doesn’t bother responding, just a simple nod as the conversation quickly moves on to something else. It’s all background noise now to him anyways, he’s too focused on watching how Arthur and you interact. It’s probably obvious that he’s staring down Arthur or that he looked away as soon as Arthur reached for your hand and you intertwined your fingers like a natural reflex. Or that as soon as you lean into Arthur’s side Lando’s immediately standing up, loudly announcing that practice starts soon and that he better get going. 

“Isn’t practice in like another two hours?” Flo asks as she watches her brother make a mad dash out of hospitality. You glance down at your phone to check the time, confirming what Flo said was true. “He’s been acting so weird for a while now. Did you know in February he was supposed to come visit everyone before the season started. Was in London for like two days and then calls us and says he got sick and that he was back in Monaco. He’s just been acting so strange.” 

You get one last quick look at Lando before he’s through the doors and back out into the paddock. A deep sigh escapes past your lips as the realization of what you’d been avoiding finally washes over you. You grip Arthur’s hand tighter as you face Lando’s family, a tight lipped smile adorning your face. “Probably just stressed about the season, championship fight and all that stuff.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that night your hotel room is eerily quiet. No TV, no music, just the sound of the AC and the hustle and bustle still going on outside. You’re in the bathroom doing your night-time routine when Arthur waltzes in, grabbing his toothbrush from his side of the double vanity. He’s been quiet for a big part of the day and you’re not sure if it’s because today’s been busy and overwhelming at times, causing his social battery to be dead or if something else is going on. 

You watch him as he brushes his teeth and consider asking him if everything’s alright, but he beats you to it before you can open your mouth. “I don’t think Lando likes me.” He states as he puts his toothbrush back in its spot. 

Your actions halt for a moment, your face half moisturized. You’d had your inklings that Lando didn’t care for Arthur, it was actually a big reason that you figured Lando stopped reaching out for some time. His behavior today somewhat confirmed what you had been thinking, but you weren’t going to tell Arthur that. You guys were here for a good weekend and you weren’t going to let Lando ruin that. 

“What makes you say that?” You ask as you continue to rub in your moisturizer. 

Arthur sighs as he leans against the vanity, his back to the mirror. “You didn’t notice the glares he was sending my way the whole time he was sitting there in hospitality? It was ridiculous. I’ve only been around him like three times and each time he’s not been very welcoming.” 

“He’s just stressed about the season and sometimes he can just be a little off putting with new people. He just needs to be around you more.” 

Arthur scoffs, not believing a word you’ve said. “I know when I’m not liked or wanted around Y/N.” 

You’re trying your best to reassure him, but you’ve never been a great liar. “Baby I promise he doesn’t hate you.” You make your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you stare into his big brown eyes. “I like you– like a lot. So I think that matters more than someone who doesn't even know you.” 

Arthur messes with the strings on your hoodie as he contemplates his next words. “But– he’s one of your closest friends and a huge part of your life. I mean hell meeting Lando’s family today was more like meeting your biological family. I just want to be accepted by your people. You fit in so well with my friends and family so I only feel like I should with yours.” 

“Lando’s family loved you, so did my family and my other friends. Hell, even Fewtrell likes you and really that says a lot.” Arthur’s face is still showing no signs of being convinced. “Listen, Lando can be moody and difficult sometimes. It really has nothing to do with you and really even if he doesn’t like you I don’t care. Who he likes and doesn’t like doesn’t dictate my life any. I like you and that’s all that matters to me.” 

Your hands move up to cup the face of the man in front of you and when he leans into your touch and pulls you closer into him you know you’ve at least reassured him a little. “You’re my person you know that?” His voice is low and he’s looking at you like you’re the love of his life and it’s all consuming yet terrifying at the same time, mainly because of the other brown haired Brit in your life.

So you distract yourself by pressing your lips against his, they’re soft and plump and you find yourself easily getting lost in him. The both of you are quickly tangled up in the white hotel sheets and when you wake up the next morning, bare limbs twisted together, you know you have to actually talk to Lando today. 

y/n: can we talk today? like actually have a conversation? 

Is the text you quickly send while getting ready and in what seems like record time Lando replies. 

lando: yeah, but it will have to be after qualifying. i’ll text you when i’m back at my room its number 251 

You just send a thumbs up and prepare yourself for what you know is going to be the world’s longest day ever. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The sun is just starting to set when your phone dings, the text notification from Lando lighting up your screen. Arthur had gone off to hang out with some of his friends who were here courtesy of big brands or companies, so you didn’t have to worry about what to tell him. As you walk down the long hallway you realize Lando’s room is on the same floor as you, because why wouldn’t it be? The big 251 on the door stares back at you, taunting you almost, and it takes every ounce of courage in you to knock on that door. 

The door swings open and there stands a freshly showered Lando, hair still dripping wet as he motions for you to come in. “Sorry, didn’t think you’d be here so fast.” 

At least he’s dressed you think as you awkwardly stand in the middle of his hotel room. It’s weird that nothing had even really happened between you two, there was no fight or anything like that, yet going almost half a year without seeing each other is a big adjustment. Add in past feelings and codependency and that’s what you’ve got going on in this hotel room right now. “Congrats on pole.” You’re hoping maybe starting off with something good won’t make this conversation turn south, but it’s highly unlikely. 

“Thanks.” He says as he stands there with his hands in his pockets, teetering back and forth on his feet. There’s a long stretch of silence of you two just standing there staring at each other before Lando breaks the ice once again. “I’ve missed you. I know I haven’t been the best friend when it comes to communication, but I have missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too.” You weren’t lying, but you weren’t necessarily telling the truth either. 

Then again there’s a long stretch of awkward silence and it’s like you two aren’t yourselves, like two people who look like you guys have just been placed in this room, like you’re strangers that know everything about one another. 

Finally you decide to address the elephant in the room. “Alright, I’m just gonna ask it. What’s up with you? Do you not like Arthur or something? Because you’ve made this weekend so awkward and I’m tired of having to lie to my boyfriend.” 

Lando thinks about lying, but what’s the point? You’ll just leave here and go back to your own little bubble again so he might as well tell the truth. “Actually I can’t stand him.” His answer doesn’t surprise you and you don’t even want to ask why because deep down you know the reason why. But Lando doesn’t even give you the chance to, something’s ignited in him and he’s ready to lay everything out there on the table. “I can’t stand him because he took you from me. Do you know how lonely I was? It was like you just fucked off and made a new life for yourself and it killed me. It killed me to see you with him and see this version of you that I didn’t even know existed.” 

And there it was. Lando was never the sharing type, especially when it came to you, yet when it came to actually laying claim to you, he could barely do it for three months. 

“I’m not your property Lando. Arthur didn’t take anything from you. You made it clear six years ago that we weren’t together anymore. Also the phone goes both ways, you could have reached out if you were that lonely.” 

Lando sat down on the bed, his hands gripping the white duvet in frustration. “I didn’t want to hear you talk about Arthur, see him, or see you two together. It drove me absolutely crazy and still does. So no, I didn't reach out. What’s your excuse?” 

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth at his counter. Your excuse was a little less forward than his. See, the thing about Lando Norris was that the more you were around him the deeper your connection. 

You two were twin flames. 

Childhood friends who raced together, inseparable on and off the track. Then still conjoined at the hip as you grew up and eventually you both realized you had feelings for one another, so you decided to test the waters and get into a relationship. It was going great and then he got a seat in Formula 1– his dream since a young boy and you were ecstatic for him.

You were ready to support him through this new chapter in his life as his girlfriend, but a week before he was due to fly out for the first race of the season he decided to break up with you. Lando claimed that he really needed to focus on his career and that it wouldn’t be fair to you that he was gone all the time. That he couldn’t be a good boyfriend and racer at the same time. So you broke up, but he was adamant that you two would still be friends. That nothing would change other than the fact that you aren’t together.

Looking back now, that somehow made things worse. You two became so codependent on each other that it was a little concerning. You both were still clearly in love and you were going to races and still spending an excessive amount of time with him, yet there was no label. He never showed any interest in getting back together, but you stayed around just in case. There would be periods where you’d be separated for a while and your heart would ache, but then after some time you’d feel free. Like your soul and heart wasn’t so intertwined with Lando’s, but the second you two would reunite it was like you were back under his spell. 

Then when you met Arthur, it felt different than the other little flings you’d had. He was everything you wanted in a guy and you knew if you wanted to actually try and make this work with him, then you’d have to separate yourself from Lando. And at first it hurt and you missed him, but then the ache surpassed and you felt free and this new life you’d made was one you could see yourself living. But then your dumbass goes and texts Lando and when the texting started to become more frequent you started to feel that twinge in your heart again. And as you stand here in front of that man your stomach is in knots because you don’t think you’ll ever be able to escape this toxic cycle. 

“I didn’t reach out to you because I knew if I did then you’d suck me right back in. I’m happy with Arthur and it’s not fair what you do to me.” 

Lando pushes himself up off the bed and moves to stand directly in front of you. “What I do to you? More like what you do to me? God, you’ve ruined every other girl for me Y/N.” 

Your anger starts to bubble over, he always wants to play the victim. “I’ve done nothing but stand by your side and be still so utterly in love with you for the past six years even after you chose your career over me. But I guess it was worth it in the end wasn’t it? Winning all these races now. I just hope this argument doesn’t do your head in and your teammate takes the championship lead back from you again tomorrow.” 

Lando grabs your arm, his grip tight and his jaw clenched. “Don’t play these fucking games with me right now.” 

“I’m not playing any games. I’m telling you the truth. You can’t handle both me and racing, remember?” His eyes are dark as they bore into yours, he’s intimidating, but you’re not backing down. “You’re just jealous that a different man was finally able to make me happy and treat me right. He’s not afraid of what the media might say or afraid to show me off.” 

He can feel himself getting ready to snap, his self control thinning by the second. “Stop being such a brat.” 

“I’m not-” You don’t even get to finish your sentence before Lando’s pushing you up against the wall, your faces inches apart. Your stomach flips and you feel one of his hands on your waist, the other coming up to cup your face.

“Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don’t want this as much as I do and I’ll leave you alone.” His voice is barely above a whisper, yet it feels like he’s yelling. Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest, yet the feeling of him is so exhilarating that you can’t stop him.

When you don’t answer Lando wastes no time in crashing his lips against yours and it’s intoxicating. The way you two move so perfectly in sync, you know every part of one another and he still knows how to kiss you in the way that makes you weak in the knees. He starts to get handsy and part of you wants to continue, but then the small part of you that isn’t infected by Lando flashes an image of Arthur in your mind and guilt immediately washes over you. 

“No no no. Lando, I can't do this.” You push him away, tears already starting to form in your eyes. “Fuck you always do this to me. Why can’t I quit you? It’s not fair. It’s not fair to Arthur, it’s not fair to me. All I wanted was to be loved and Arthur gave that to me and what am I doing right now? Betraying that because you’ve made yourself a permanent part of me.” You snatch your phone off Lando’s bed and head towards the door. “Don’t text me, don’t call me, this is it Lando. I love you, but we can’t do this.” 

The door slams shut behind you and Lando’s left standing there wondering what the hell just happened. 

The next morning both Lando and you clearly aren’t at your peak performance as humans. You’re riddled with guilt for kissing Lando and cheating on Arthur. While Lando’s trying to figure out what the hell he actually feels and if this is really the end of you and him. 

Lando knows you won’t want to talk to him today, but that doesn’t stop him from looking for you in the garage. He keeps checking the viewing area every little bit, but you’re not there, and he wonders if you’ll even show up today.

Just when he’d lost all hope he spots you sneaking in with Arthur right before he’s set to get into the car. You two make eye contact briefly and he may be a little delusional, but he can still feel that connection between you two. Especially when he sees that you’ve got on his merch, the number four big and bold on your shirt. A smug smirk can’t help but stretch across his face as he shoves his helmet over his head. You clearly didn’t feel that guilty about last night, who else would be standing there with their current boyfriend on their arm, and the guy you kissed last night racing numbers on them? 

Lando does end up fucking up his race and it does make you feel a little better about last night, but you know you’ll carry this guilt with you forever. It’s just how you’ll continue on with things is what you’re uncertain about. The opposite side of the McLaren garage is roaring with cheers while Lando’s side claps for a modest P5. When he returns to the garage and sees the majority of the team out there celebrating Oscar’s win he knows that maybe it is karma for what happened last night. He can’t even confide in you right now about the shit race, he’d kill to feel your arms wrap around him and hear your sweet voice in his ear, but instead you’re staring at him like you hate him, which you probably do. But he knows deep down you’ll never actually get rid of him– your souls are intertwined. 

There’s no getting rid of that. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The week after Silverstone Lando decides to stay in London for a multitude of reasons. He’d carved out some time to make the trek back to his childhood home to visit with his family for a couple days and he also had duties to fulfill over in Woking at headquarters. But the main reason he was staying instead of flying back to Monaco was because he’d hoped to get to talk to you again, try and smooth things over.

It’s a rainy summer night in London when things escalate even further between Lando and you. He’s in his old apartment that he’s not even sure why he still pays for when it sits empty for the majority of the year. Rain drops slide down the floor to ceiling windows and thunder rumbles in the far distance as he sits on the couch, phone in hand. He’d been in the same spot for a good hour now contemplating if he should try and reach out so soon, but he was leaving for Monaco in a couple days and he felt like it was now or never. 

He’s just about ready to hit send on the text to you that he’d been retyping for what seems like forever when a very loud knock at his door makes him jump. He wasn’t expecting any company and not to mention the rain that seemed to be coming down in buckets at the moment, so he wasn’t sure who was on the other side of that door. The one knock quickly turns into pounding when he doesn’t immediately answer the door and then he hears your voice from the hallway. 

“Lando open the door! I know you’re in there!” 

His eyes widen and he swiftly unlocks the door only to find you standing there sopping wet, eyes bloodshot, and a look of hatred plastered on your face. He can already tell it's going to be a long night. 

“I fucking hate you Lando Norris.” You state as you push your way past him and into the apartment you used to call home for a while. 

“Well hello to you too.” He sasses back as he shuts the door. 

You turn on your heel to face him and when he actually gets a good look at you he realizes it’s not raindrops on your face– instead it’s teardrops. Yes you’re still sopping wet from the rain, but your quivering bottom lip and bloodshot eyes tell him those are tears. “What’s wrong love?” His voice is soft as he shuffles over towards you. 

You immediately put your hands up to stop him from coming any closer, the way he was acting was making you sick, like he didn’t just ruin the best thing that had ever happened to you last week. “I hope you’re happy with yourself. I really do because after tonight I’m never talking to you again.” 

Lando’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, he’s not sure what’s really going on at the moment. “What are you even talking about?” 

You give a look that surely makes you look insane, but that’s how you were feeling at the moment. “The guilt was eating me alive, consuming me. I couldn’t even sleep in the same bed as Arthur that night, I slept on the couch. I felt so guilty after kissing you and this whole week I’d been trying to figure out how to live with it, but I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t. Arthur deserves someone much better than me, someone who isn’t in some fucked up thing with their best friend. So tonight I made the decision to break up with him and it killed me to see the look of hurt and betrayal on his face. God he was everything I ever wanted and I ruined it– you ruined it.”

You take a deep breath, the tears streaming down your face like the rain on the windows.

“And the worst part of all of this is that I can’t get the stupid kiss out of my head. Ever since it happened I’ve been craving the feeling of your lips and it makes me hate you even more.” 

Lando stands there, not even sure of what he should say. When you showed up he wasn’t expecting to be hearing that you and Arthur broke up, let alone that you'd been thinking about the kiss you two shared. Because honestly it had been consuming Lando’s brain too. 

“Y/N I nev–” 

You quickly shake your head at the curly haired Brit. “No, I’m not done yet. You know I shouldn’t even be here right now. I really thought I had finally gotten rid of that part of you in me that never seemed to go away over the course of this past year, but god Lando you just dig your claws in don’t you? I made a good life with Arthur and I really liked him. I think if we stayed together long enough I might have found room in my heart to love him. But the way I felt about Arthur doesn’t compare to what I feel for you and it drives me nuts. When I come back around you it’s like you make it impossible to ignore the way you’re just ingrained in me. You’ve planted yourself in my heart and taken root and they’ve intertwined through every part of me. I think the only way I could get rid of you is if I ripped my own heart out. It’s not fair Lando– how am I supposed to go on with my life when you just keep pulling me back in?” 

“I don’t want you to go on with your life.” It’s selfish and Lando knows it, but he can’t help but be selfish when it comes to you. 

A bitter laugh emits from you as you shake your head in annoyance, of course he would say that. “Yeah you don’t want me to go on, but you don’t want to actually be with me. I know how this works Lando. I’m not a toy that you only want to play with when someone else has me.”

Lando just stares at you and the fact that he isn’t trying to butt in allows you to just open the floodgates, a chance to get everything off your chest.

“I should have never agreed to stay friends with you after we broke up. I should have moved on and made a name for myself. Found out who I was outside of you, outside of this fucked up world of Formula 1. Instead I latched on to anything I could get from you, hoping and praying that once you found your footing that we’d get back together, but I was dumb and naive, and god it's been six years Lando and nothing has changed. I guess even now at twenty-five you’re still that same nineteen year old boy.”

Lando doesn’t know what to say, his heart wants to say one thing while his brain is telling him to say another. The wind howls outside and the rain beats against the windows while another storm is brewing inside his barren apartment. 

“You don’t think I didn’t want us to get back together these past six years? When I broke up with you I immediately regretted it, but then you stuck around I thought ok this could work. I still had you and my doubts about being able to be a good boyfriend and a good driver at the same time suddenly didn’t matter. But then after a while when you started to explore the idea of seeing other guys I hated it every time I saw you with them or you brought them around. Yet somehow I always knew you’d come back to me, so I was able to conceal how I felt better back then. When Arthur came into your life I knew something was different with him and it scared me to death that he was going to be the reason I lost you forever.” 

Lando was so fucking oblivious it made your head spin. “The only reason I came back to you was because you weren’t as great at hiding how you felt back then as you thought. You’d show me a little interest in maybe getting back together and I’d drop those guys in a heartbeat. Arthur was different because I was able to isolate myself from you, but I guess maybe it wasn’t because look where I’m at right now. It always ends the same doesn’t it?” 

There’s a beat of silence for the first time tonight and you can feel the adrenaline wearing off and exhaustion starting to settle in as you lean against the back of the leather couch. “Do you really love me Lando? Do you really want me or do you just hate to think about me with somebody else? If I asked you to be my boyfriend– to get back together right now. What would you say?” 

Lando’s heart wants to say yes so badly, it’s screaming out for him to allow him to love with his whole being, but his brain can’t seem to allow it. “I–um-I’m not sure.”

An almost sinister smile stretches across your face as you stare back at him, so fucking predictable.

“It’s just that it’s always been you and me. We know each other inside and out and there’s never been another person who I could imagine myself with. I do love you Y/N. I’ve loved you since we were kids, and there’s been countless times where I’d thought about giving us another try and then my self doubt creeps in and I’m still so afraid that I can’t be the man you need me to be–” 

“I don’t need for you to be some picture perfect unbelievable fairy tale boyfriend or something. I just need you to be you Lando. I felt that way six years ago and you didn’t get it back then. I would have hoped that you would have gotten it by now, but you clearly don’t.” 

The tears continue to stream down your face in frustration more than sadness.

Lando starts to talk with his hands, his voice raising slightly. “Everyone expects more of me now. My racing career is going so well at the moment and I don’t want you to be an afterthought in my life.” 

“I understand your job Lando. I get the demands and the stress and you being away sometimes. I’ve still been a part of your world for these past six years in case you forgot.” 

“I’m scared that if we give it a try again and I fuck things up then I’ll loose you forever.” He wishes he wasn’t like this, yet he can’t seem to get his brain and heart to work together.

“Am I meant to just stick around until you retire or something?” 

Lando shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “No, that’s not what I meant.” 

“There’s drivers out there with wives and families, clearly they learned how to manage their job and personal life. Why can’t you?” You’re pleading with him at this point and he still continues to give you the same bullshit answers.

“I don’t know. I know I love you though.” 

The ache in your chest only seems to worsen, his words seem to mean nothing to you anymore. “Well, I hate that I love you.” 

“You don’t mean that.” His eyes soften as he stands directly in front of you and you think that maybe you’ve hurt him a little, but that doesn’t stop you from unloading the assault you throw at him next.

“Yes I do. I hate it. You’ve made me look like a fool all these years. A girl desperate enough to wait on you until you’re ready and just when I thought I’d actually made it out of your chains you pull me right back in. I wasted six years of my life waiting for you and I’m not gonna waste another six.”

His arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest and you want to resist him, push him away, but you can’t and you hate yourself that much more. You hate that after saying everything you did, your actions make those words useless. You hate that it feels nice to be in his arms and that his soft kisses to your head feel even nicer.

“I think it would be wise if we continued this conversation in the morning. You’re exhausted and I think we can really discuss this better when you have a clearer head.”

He pulls back, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears as his blue eyes stare back at you. How they have that sparkle in them even in this dimly lit apartment you’ll never know, but that sparkle is what inevitably gets you in even more trouble. His eyes were always one of your biggest weaknesses, he knew that and you knew he was using them to his advantage. 

“I do love you, and maybe I’m not the best with words or explaining how I feel, but let me show you how I feel.” You see him leaning in and you know you shouldn’t, you know how this is going to end, yet you meet him in the middle anyways.

Kissing Lando is an intoxicating experience, one you’ll never get used to or get enough of and then when his hands start to roam you just let it happen and you know in this moment that you’ve fully surrendered yourself to him, like always. 

The old bed creaks as your back falls flat against it, the sheets are cold against your back, your shirt and pants discarded somewhere along the journey from the living room to his bedroom. His kisses are sloppy as they travel down your body and when they get to your thighs you’re embarrassingly already bucking your hips up towards him, yet he doesn’t say anything, just flashes you a smirk and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. 

His hands are planted firmly on your knees as he spreads you open, the cool air directly hitting your core, yet your whole body already felt like it was on fire. You were desperate for him, so sensitive to his touch, and when he swipes a single digit through your folds to find you absolutely drenched he feels his cock twitch in his sweatpants.

He feels conflicted because he really wants to take his time with you, but on the other hand he wants to make you come so many times that you’re seeing stars. From the little whines emitting from you he knows him trying to tease you will only make you more mad at him and he was only about pleasing you tonight. The decision no longer a hard one.

“What do you want, baby? My fingers or my mouth.” He asks, his voice low, heart pounding. 

You’re so unbelievably desperate and you waste no time in telling him what you want. “Both.” 

The grin on his face makes you roll your eyes at him and that somehow makes his cock even harder. You always were a greedy girl. 

He uses his mouth first, his tongue making work to have you breathless. His nose brushes against your clit as his tongue fucks your hole, your hands finding their way into his curls and tugging as the pleasure begins to build. He moves his mouth to focus solely on your clit while he slides two of his thick fingers into your soaking cunt. Your moans are like music to his ears as he brings you close and closer to the edge. 

Curse words echo through the room when he curls his fingers just right to hit that spot that has your toes curling in pleasure. He knows you’re close, he can feel it, the way your walls clench down around his fingers and how your chest heaves. He detaches his mouth from you long enough to give you some encouragement, his face glistening in your wetness. “Come on baby, let go, be a good girl for me.” 

His mouth is barely back to work before that tight coil in you snaps and your hips are rising up off the bed, pleasure surging through every nerve in your body. Lando’s free hand comes up to force your hips back down, pinning you onto the bed as his mouth continues it’s assault on your cunt, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm. 

He doesn’t seem to let up, a man deranged it seems. You’re trying to catch your breath as you come down from your first mind blowing orgasm, but the pleasure is already starting to build for a second one. “Fucking hell Lan.” You manage to choke out as he continues to give you everything he can. He’s determined to make you feel good. 

Your second orgasm sneaks up on you fast and hard. The pleasure is overwhelming and you think you start speaking in tongues as it hits its peak. Lando’s name is said like a prayer, echoing through the room, bouncing off the walls, and it goes straight to his head. 

He’s pussy drunk, face glistening, and eyes wide as he finally comes up for air. The sight of you below him has his dick twitching and his mind clouded. You have an ethereal glow to you even after he’s just absolutely exhausted you with back to back orgasms. “Can my girl take another one?” 

For the first time since his lips touched yours tonight does your mind finally uncloud for a brief second, the use of my girl making your heart ache, because you know this won’t change anything. You two sharing a bed, sharing this intimate moment won’t change how he feels about actually committing to you. You’ll never actually be his girl. 

You’d been too in your head, still trying to come down from your orgasms and then facing the reality of the situation Lando and you find yourselves in to notice that he’d stripped himself of his sweatpants. His dick was painfully hard– the tip bright red and throbbing. It’s embarrassing how your body instantly reacts to him, your pussy clenching around nothing at the sight of his cock. 

He grabs it at the base slowly dragging it through your folds a few times before slowly pushing the tip in. Gasps come from both of you at the sensation of his thick cock stretching you out, the feeling of your velvety walls around him makes him shudder.

Once he’d completely bottomed out he stills for a moment, one hand coming up to caress your face, his eyes piercing into yours as you lay beneath him. “Let me show you how much you mean to me, yeah?” His voice is soft and meaningful and once you gently nod at him he slowly starts to move.

He wanted to be slow and passionate this round, but the sight of your pussy engulfing his dick each time makes his head spin and he starts to pick up the pace. He wastes no time in grabbing your legs and hiking them up over his shoulders, the new position allowing him to be even deeper, hitting the spot that makes you see stars. 

His thrusts were relentless and the sound of him fucking you was downright sinful. You close your eyes feeling the pleasure build for the third time tonight, but a gentle tap to your cheek has you opening them. “Eyes open pretty girl, I want you looking at me when you fall apart.” His free hand that isn’t holding himself up travels down and his thumb starts to rub tight little circles on your clit.

The feeling of Lando staring at you makes this whole experience even more intense, it’s like you’re in a pleasure induced trance. You can feel your orgasm building and with one last thrust from Lando you’re toppling over the edge. Your whole body feels like it’s vibrating and for a second you feel like you’re out of your own body, the pleasure so intense.

Lando nearly comes at the sight of you coming undone beneath him, the way your eyes pierced into his, your jaw slack, tits bouncing in his face as he still pounds into you. Then he does something unexpected– his hand comes back up and intertwines with one of yours and it makes your heart flutter, an act so simple, yet so meaningful in the moment. 

You feel him squeeze your hand tighter and his thrusts start to get a little sloppy. “You gonna come for me? Come on baby let go.” 

Your words are the only thing he needs to hear before profanities are slipping past his lips, your name being chanted like you’re his savior. His hips stutter as ropes of his hot sticky cum paint your velvet walls, his chest heaves as he milks every last ounce of his orgasm. “Fuck I love you so much.” He doesn’t think he’s ever came this hard in his life, his hand still gripping yours like his life depended on it. 

You’re still blissed out from getting properly fucked and the words tumble right out of your mouth back at him. “I love you too.” 

He leans down and kisses you like he never has before, it’s deep and passionate and you think he’s trying to convey his feelings through that kiss, but this isn’t the action you really needed from him right now. Once he catches his breath he slowly pulls out of you, a groan emitting from him at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and a whimper from you at the feeling of emptiness that washes over you. 

He gets you cleaned up and climbs back into bed with you, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he presses chaste kisses to your bare shoulder. And as you watch the lightning flash across the night sky through the rain streaked windows you pray that maybe this time would be different. 

As morning arrives the sun shines in the sky, a bright new day compared to the stormy night, yet there’s nothing bright and sunny about how you feel. You knew when you showed up at Lando’s door last night that this is how it would end, it’s how it always ends. You love him with every fiber of your being and deep down you think he feels as deeply about you as you do him, but only time will tell.

There’s still a storm between Lando and you and for the moment it’s calmed, but it’s still unstable. You know you two won’t talk about last night, you'll act like it didn’t happen and you’ll be back in the endless toxic cycle that is Lando and you. 

[nightshade962]

Another dcxdp prompt any ship really, but I'm going to go with tim/danny because that is a hyper fixation for me for the for seeble future.

Danny has lasting nerve damage from being electrocuted. So he needs some help with his day to day and he has periodical seizures. His friends and family can only do so much besides Danny hates being a burden, not that he is. So what does he do get cujo trained as a service dog, or it could be any other dog, but I thought with how close he is with danny. Cujo takes his job very seriously. Think of one of those dogs that when on the job stand at attention. He helps Danny by picking up, caring, and standing up, and because he is a ghost and a dog, he can sense Danny's seizures well in advance. He also helps with ptsd. I'm one the vivisection bandwagon for Danny, which is quite traumatizing. Danny makes him a collar that make him solid while they are in the human world. Cujo is a registered meta dog thats how they get around the fact he is a never fading green and can get bigger. I headcanon that cujo for this prompt after he is trained grows to naturally bigger like the size of a large dog like a Rottweiler or an Anatolian Shepherd.

One day, the batfamily are at the park with Ace and Titus. Ace is Bruce's service dog for ptsd. They went to the park for a family day and for both dogs to be just that dogs. While they are there, they run into Danny and cujo. The duo stopped at the park for cujo to have a break. So, cujo is not wearing his vest. Danny has it. They are playing fetch. Damian spotted cujo and got upset that someone dyed a dog green. I think he doesn't know that some people will dye their service dog to be better spotted or to deter theft. He is still learning. Damian goes up to Danny and starts to lecture him about it. Cujo does not like this person acting like that to Danny. So he going up to them and getting larger. The batfam gets freaked out and runs over to Damian. Danny puts his hand on cujos' side to calm him. Bruce starts in on Danny on why does he has a meta dog. Danny just calmly puts on cujos' service vest. It stops the batfamily in the rant. They see the shift in the dog to i am on duty they see in Ace when he is working. The batfam see cujo circle Danny, causing them to back up away from him.( i can't remember what this is called). They see Danny relax a bit after cujo pushes them away. Damian asked why is the he green Danny explained a bit to him. Danny was holding something from his left hand, and he dropped it. cujo just picked it up for him and just held it when he saw Danny cant grasp it yet. Steph, with no filter, asks why does the dog just holds it. Danny says he is trained pickup, hold, push buttons, to help him get up, to alert him that he is having a seizure, and for ptsd. Danny then turns and leaves. The batfamily is left feeling terrible for how they acted.

Danny runs an electronic and hobby store. It has everything that you could need to build anything. He doesn't need to work with the riches from being ghost king. One day, tim is on the look for something he needs for a device. He has checked many stores when he gets to Danny’s store (I can't think of a name). Tim walks into see the guy from the park. Danny helps tim find what he needs. It becomes Tim's go-to place for what he needs. He starts to come pretty much every day. Danny asks him out. The rest is history.

That all I can think of at the moment. And I know I don't have everything accurate for service animals so if you know more put more in the comments and feel free to add

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #18 死

† procurement †

"Waking up in his bed should feel like victory, but all you can think about are those pill bottles on his nightstand."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9,5k

content: morning vulnerability and insomnia revelations, elevator sexual tension that goes nowhere, council meeting drama with heated arguments, mission prep with jessi's weapons expertise, undercover outfits that make jeon stare, AD's suspicious surveillance knowledge, and the calm before infiltrating mdf territory

☠ author's note ☠

As a European, I have absolutely no clue about guns so let's hope my research was decent and their weapons actually make sense ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) If any gun enthusiasts are reading this and I've somehow made a sniper rifle that shoots rainbows, just... pretend it's for the plot.

ANYWAY THE BIG DAY IS FINALLY HERE!!! Next chapter is THE MISSION and are we excited??? Because I AMMMMM!!! I've been building up to this for literal months and my chaotic little writer brain is VIBRATING with anticipation!

Jeon + motorbike = HOT AS HELL 🥵 Like sir, you're already dangerous enough, did you really need to add vehicular competence to your list of attractive qualities? RUDE.

Also Jessi is so mother mommy mama I love her! I mean, I say that about every single one of my characters, don't I? But what can I do—they're all so complex in my opinion! I have to really put myself in their position in every single scene and think genuinely about how they would react. Because one thing is how I WANT them to react, and another is how they would REALISTICALLY react, you know? Keeping those two aligned is harder than it looks, trust me!

Anyway ramble ramble ramble shut up Kiki we don't care—I KNOW BUT I'M THE AUTHOR so you're gonna read my rambling because I said so! I don't write 8k words per chapter to have my feelings dismissed! Y'all gonna put up with me whether you like it or not (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻

Thanks for reading as always, love y'all! Now buckle up because things are about to get SPICY!

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎.

The obnoxious blaring of Jeon's alarm tears through the quiet morning.

It's 6 AM—that weird time when everything feels kind of hazy and unreal, like the world hasn't quite decided if it's night or day yet.

His phone keeps buzzing against the nightstand, screen lighting up like a strobe light.

You're barely awake, caught in that fuzzy space between sleep and consciousness. Jeon's sprawled half on top of you, which should probably be uncomfortable but... isn't. His arm's thrown over your waist in this weirdly soft way that doesn't match his usual don't-touch-me vibe. You can feel his chest rising and falling against your back, his breath warm on your neck.

For a second, you think about waking him up. But he looks so p̶e̶a̶c̶e̶f̶u̶l̶ different when he's sleeping—none of that cold, distant Chief of Tactical stuff.

Just a guy who really needs some rest.

"Jeon," you try anyway, voice coming out all scratchy from sleep. "Your alarm."

He makes this grunt that might be words but definitely isn't, face pressed against your skin. Instead of getting up, he actually pulls you closer, burying his face in the pillow like if he ignores the alarm hard enough, it'll give up and go away.

"Jeon, come on. Get it." You nudge him with your elbow because that fucking alarm is driving you insane. It just keeps going and going, like some kind of electronic torture device.

He lets out this long-suffering groan that perfectly captures the eternal struggle between wanting to sleep and having actual responsibilities.

His hand flops around looking for his phone, movements all clumsy in that way people only get when they're not really awake yet. When he finally finds it, he misses the screen completely on his first try.

"Fuck off," he mumbles—definitely talking to the phone, not you. The woodsy scent of his skin mixed with mint from his breath fills your lungs.

After what feels like forever (but is probably like, ten seconds), blessed silence falls over the room.

Jeon just tosses his phone somewhere (hopefully not off the bed) and immediately curls back around you like some kind of clingy octopus. His body's radiating heat like a furnace, and he's definitely not planning on letting you go anytime soon.

His aura wraps around you like summer rain, all soft and warm, making your head spin in the best way.

(You're starting to think maybe he's not a morning person.)

"Five more minutes," he mumbles, voice all rough and sleepy like some kid who doesn't want to go to school.

You can't help but smirk.

Who would've thought the terrifying Chief of Tactical was such a baby in the morning?

"Five more minutes, and you'll be the one explaining to the Council why you're late." You poke his side. "Good luck with that."

"What council?" He sounds like he's halfway to dreamland already.

"Council of 9, dumbass. You know, that super important reunion about tonight's mission?"

His only response is this little grunt before his breathing starts evening out again.

Oh no. Not happening.

You kick him under the sheets—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to be annoying. He flinches and makes this annoyed clicking sound with his tongue.

Finally, with this dramatic sigh that you can feel rumble through his chest, he gives in. His body peels away from yours like it's physically painful for him to move.

"Fine, fine," he grumbles, surrendering to reality.

When he sits up, cold air rushes in where his body heat used to be. You both kind of... linger there on the edge of his bed.

You watch him rub his face, trying to wake up properly. It's kind of fascinating, seeing him switch from s̶o̶f̶t̶ sleepy Jungkook back to Jeon, the cold and distant Chief of Tactical.

Another yawn catches you as you sit up, letting the sheets pool around your waist. You blink, trying to clear the sleep from your eyes, when something on Jeon's bedside table catches your attention.

Oh.

There's a whole fucking pharmacy there.

Your eyes scan over the labels—hypnotics, sedatives, tranquilizers, sleeping pills. The kind of cocktail someone needs when sleep doesn't come naturally anymore.

It hits different now, remembering all those times you've seen him in the cafeteria at ass o'clock in the morning. Always with that black coffee, those dark circles under his eyes that you thought were just part of his whole intimidating Chief of Tactical thing.

(Turns out even the great Jeon Jungkook has trouble sleeping.)

You can't help but wonder what keeps him up at night. What kind of memories play on repeat in his head when everything goes quiet.

Sure, being a gang leader comes with its own baggage—the violence, the paranoia, always having to watch your back.

But something tells you there's more to it. Things that left marks deeper than the little scar on his cheek. The kind of stuff that makes someone stock up on enough sedatives to knock out a horse.

Your eyes fix on this one bottle of hypnotics that's already half empty. Something in your chest tightens at the sight, but you quickly squash that feeling down.

The last thing Jeon needs is your p̶i̶t̶y̶ concern.

You know how this works. Show any weakness in Kkangpae, and you might as well paint a target on your back. The gang's full of sharks, always circling, always waiting for someone to bleed in the water.

So you bite back all the questions building up in your throat. Push down that weird urge to reach out, to try and make it better somehow.

Whatever demons Jeon's fighting, they're his to deal with.

You've got your own role to play here, and playing therapist isn't it. Some things just stay broken, and some nights just stay sleepless.

And some things are not yours to fix, even if some part of you wants to.

"You ready?" Jeon asks, already heading for the door without waiting to hear if you actually are.

You follow him out with a quiet sigh, but your mind's still stuck on all those pill bottles.

On what they might mean.

On all the nights he probably spends staring at his ceiling, fighting whatever demons keep him up.

The common areas in his wing of the Assassination Division are empty this early.

Your footsteps echo through the halls as you make your way to the elevator, where Jeon leans against the wall like he's got all day. He crosses his arms over his chest, getting lost in whatever thoughts are running through that complicated head of his.

When he doesn't move to actually do anything, you have to remind him that not everyone has his fancy Chief clearance level.

"You gonna scan your card or what?" You wave vaguely at the scanner. "You know mine won't work up here."

The corner of his mouth twitches up—just barely—like he's annoyed at himself for forgetting.

He pulls out his access card without a word and taps it against the scanner. The light blinks green, and the elevator starts moving.

While you're waiting, your brain decides to dig up this random memory from weeks ago.

That night Jeon showed up at your door out of nowhere, demanding his jacket back. You hadn't thought about it then, but now...

"Hey," you turn to look at him, "how did you get on my floor that night? To get your jacket back?" The question hits you out of nowhere. "Our cards don't work on each other's floors."

His eyes go wide for a split second—clearly not expecting that question. He just stares at you for a moment, lips parted like he's trying to figure out what to say. Then his gaze darts away and he rubs the back of his neck, which is basically a flashing neon sign that says busted.

(This should be interesting.)

"I, uh..." Jeon starts, looking at you then quickly away. He's actually struggling for words, which is new.

His fingers tap against his thigh in this nervous rhythm you've never seen before. Just when you think he's going to leave you hanging, he lets out this tiny sigh, shoulders dropping just a bit.

"I asked AD for temporary access."

Wait. What?

"And he... just gave it to you? Just like that?"

You narrow your eyes because something's not adding up here.

You've seen how these two interact—or don't interact, more like it. The way Jeon basically disappears whenever AD shows up, and how AD looks at him like he's personally offended his entire bloodline.

Sure, AD glares at everyone (especially J-Hope), but with Jeon? That's a whole different level of hate.

(Not that it's any of your business what's going on there.)

"Told him I needed my jacket back."

The elevator keeps moving down, and the silence between you gets kind of heavy. Something about how weirdly hesitant Jeon's being makes your curiosity spike. Part of you knows you should probably drop it, but...

"So, your card worked the whole night?" You try to sound casual about it, but there's definitely some skepticism bleeding through.

"Yeah." He finally meets your eyes again. "Clearance passes usually last for 24 hours."

You nod slowly, filing that information away.

"But didn't AD find it weird? The time stamp would show you came in at 3 AM and didn't leave until..." You trail off, remembering exactly why he stayed so long.

Jeon's eyes snap to yours, and something flashes across his face too quick to read before he looks away. The crease between his brows gets deeper as the silence stretches out.

"I don't think he actually checks the access logs that closely," he says finally. "At least he hasn't mentioned anything about the, uh, timeframe."

You think about that for a second. It seems weird that AD, of all people, wouldn't keep tabs on security access. But maybe Jeon's right—maybe AD doesn't actually monitor that stuff.

Then you remember something.

That day after the pool training, you saw AD in the elevator with Kazuha. He'd told you both to "be careful."

Was that his cryptic way of saying he knew exactly what went down that night?

The elevator dings, cutting through your thoughts.

Jeon pushes off the wall, giving you this little nod to go in first. You step inside, and the last thing you see is his back and this lazy wave goodbye before the doors slide shut.

Anyway, something tells you AD knows way more than he lets on.

You’d never been in The Council room until now.

And it’s… Well, it’s weird. Tense today.

Everyone's taking their usual spots around this stupidly long table, and RM's at the head of it like always, looking every bit the Supreme Commander he is.

"Thanks for coming, everyone." His voice carries that authority that makes even the most stubborn chiefs shut up and listen.

Well, almost everyone.

"I don't even see why I have to be here when you're all so set on leaving me out of it." V's practically radiating annoyance.

Moon gives him that patient look he reserves for when someone's being difficult. "This mission affects the entire gang. That's why we need the whole Council present."

"But I'm not even part of it." V throws his feet up on the table like the dramatic bitch he is, crossing his arms. "So why do I have to sit through all this bullshit?"

"You listen because shared knowledge makes us stronger." RM's eyes sweep around the table, meeting everyone's gaze—even yours. "Unity isn't just about standing together. It's about thinking as one."

V rolls his eyes so hard you're surprised they don't get stuck. "Yeah, yeah, I get the whole 'one gang' thing. But do I really need every fucking detail?"

"Details matter." Jeon's voice cuts through the tension. "MDF isn't some amateur operation. One tiny blind spot and we're fucked."

"It's a goddamn snake pit we're walking into." J-Hope waves his hands around like he's trying to grab invisible dangers out of the air. "We all need to know what kind of poison we might be dealing with."

JM leans forward, all serious despite his usually gentle demeanor. "That hideout's a maze. You two need more than just a way in—you need a solid plan to get the fuck out of there."

"Exactly." RM's sighs. "This intel could change everything. We do this right, we take out one of their major operations."

Flower, who's been watching everything with that calculating look of hers, finally speaks up. "And V, whether you like it or not, this meeting is what keeps your men at the docks from getting caught with their pants down while we're focused on this mission."

V scoffs, but you can see him actually considering her words.

Jessi stops lounging in her chair like this is some kind of casual meetup.

"Alright, cut the bullshit. What's the actual plan here, RM?" She leans forward, all business now. "And it better be good."

The room goes quiet—that heavy kind of quiet that makes your skin prickle.

RM stands up, and you can feel the weight of what's coming.

This isn't just another mission briefing. This is you and Jeon walking straight into MDF territory.

No pressure.

RM clears his throat, looking down at the stack of papers in front of him.

"Here's how it's going to work," he starts, voice authoritative. "Jeon and Y/N are going undercover. We've got IDs that'll get them through MDF's front door."

The word 'undercover' makes your stomach do this weird flip thing. Jeon shifts slightly beside you, his presence weirdly reassuring for someone who's usually about as comforting as a loaded gun.

"They'll play it as traders," RM continues, spreading out this map that looks like someone went crazy with a red marker. "Fresh faces trying to make it big enough to catch MDF's attention."

Jeon nods, watching AD's finger trace some path on the map. "What about their security? Cameras?"

"System loops every three hours," AD says, sounding bored but you know that's just his thing. "We're setting up a distraction. At 23:00, when the loop starts, they'll get a power surge. Six minutes of blind spots."

"Six minutes?" Jessi raises an eyebrow. "That's cutting it real fucking close."

"We can handle it." Jeon sounds so sure it actually makes you believe him. "Had worse timeframes before."

"That's your window to find the server room and plant the bug." RM points to some spot deep in what looks like a maze. "AD will be in your ear the whole time."

"And when shit inevitably goes sideways?" V asks, and despite how pissy he's been about being left out, you can hear actual braincells there.

"You'll be armed," RM says simply. "But this is about getting in and out quiet. No firefights."

"Right, because stealth missions should totally go to Mr. Shoot-Everything-From-A-Mile-Away instead of, oh, I don't know, the actual Chief of Stealth?" V's voice drips sarcasm.

"V." JM's cuts in. "Enough."

V grunts but actually shuts up, which is kind of impressive. You've never seen anyone else get him to back down that easily.

Flower leans forward, and the room suddenly feels a bit colder. The map spread out on the table looks like some kind of twisted treasure map, except instead of X marking the spot, there's about fifty different ways this whole thing could go wrong.

"Alright, here's the deal," she says, getting straight to the point like always. "You need to be interesting enough to catch their attention, but not so interesting they get suspicious. Think you can handle that?"

She looks right at you, and you can feel the weight of what she's asking.

"Y/N, you're our front person here. While everyone's busy watching you sweet-talk them about money and deals, Jeon's gonna be doing the actual work." Her lips curve into this knowing smile. "Keep them focused on the profit. Rich assholes love talking about money."

Great. No pressure or anything. Just gotta be charming enough to distract an entire criminal organization while your... whatever Jeon is sneaks around their base. Easy peasy.

Flower turns to Jeon next, and her expression goes all business.

"You're playing backup dancer on this one. Stay in the background, watch everything, and when AD hits them with that power surge? That's your window. Get the bug planted without anyone noticing."

The room goes quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Everyone's thinking the same thing—one tiny mistake and this whole plan goes up in smoke.

"Remember," Flower says, voice serious, "this isn't about showing off. It's about getting in, getting it done, and getting out without anyone realizing what happened."

"And more importantly," RM cuts in, giving you and Jeon a look, "don't fucking die. The intel's not worth either of you."

"What about communication?" you ask, because there's one pretty big hole in this plan. "We can't exactly text each other in there."

"Subvocals," AD doesn't look up from his laptop, but his voice carries that bored confidence that means he knows exactly what he's talking about. "Basically fancy mics that pick up whispers. We'll hear everything, but you two can talk without anyone else noticing. Plus, we'll feed you intel as we get it. Just keep it quiet and you'll be fine."

V lets out this little laugh, eyes twinkling like he knows something no one else does. "Sure putting a lot of faith in luck here, aren't we?"

"Luck's got nothing to do with it." RM's interjects. "This is about being prepared, being skilled, and getting shit done. Don't forget who we are. What Kkangpae stands for."

The room goes quiet again. Then, he continues speaking:

"Once you get that bug planted and grab whatever intel you can, you get out. We're not starting a war. Not yet."

Then Jeon turns to look at you, all Chief-of-Tactical mode.

Stormy.

"We split up as soon as we're inside," he says, voice gone all hard and professional. "Cover more ground, draw less attention."

"Yeah, no." You don't even hesitate to shut that down. The plan's crystal clear in your head. "We stick together, follow the script. Only split when the power goes out. That's the signal."

He scoffs—actually scoffs—and crosses his arms. "You really think playing follow-the-leader's gonna work that long? We're wasting time the second we walk in. Better to improvise early."

"We're not there to improvise," you snap back, getting annoyed now. The air's starting to feel like a brewing thunderstorm. "We have a plan for a fucking reason, Jeon. The power surge is our cover. Until then, you're stuck with me."

His jaw does that tightening thing it does when someone challenges him.

Chief or not, you're not backing down on this.

"A package deal that screams 'we're obviously here to fuck shit up'." He's practically radiating frustration. "Splitting up makes more sense. It's tactical."

"It's reckless," you cut in, meeting his intensity head-on. "Since when do we pick 'making sense' over actually being smart about this? We split up before the power cut, and we're basically painting targets on our backs."

You can feel everyone in the room watching this verbal sparring match in slight disbelief.

"You're not fucking listening—" Jeon leans into your space.

"Because what you're saying is bullshit," you snap back, refusing to be intimidated even though he's practically looming over you. "We go in toge—"

"Too risky. We split up, maximize our—"

"—chances of getting our asses caught!" You talk right over him, blood rushing hot in your veins. "We stick to the fucking pla—"

"Which is basically asking to get pinched if we're joined at the hip," he fires back, and god, his voice shouldn't sound that hot when he's being this infuriating.

"Oh, and you think going rogue is the ans—"

"It's called thinking on your feet, sunshine. Maybe try it some—"

"Save the condescending shit," you cut in, sharp enough to draw blood. "We're not there to show—"

"—that we're fucking amateurs!" He's almost growling now, and the sound does things to you that you really don't want to examine.

Your voices keep rising, cutting each other off in this heated back-and-forth that's starting to feel less like an argument and more like foreplay.

"Enough." RM's voice drops like a bucket of cold water.

You and Jeon both shut up instantly, turning to face him like scolded kids.

The whole room goes dead quiet, everyone waiting to see how the Supreme Commander's going to handle this.

"Y/N's right," RM cuts in, voice carrying that don't-fuck-with-me tone whilst his eyes bounce between you and Jeon as he speaks. "We made this plan accounting for every possible fuck-up. You go in together, no improvising. The power surge is your cue. Until then, you're just a couple of traders looking to make a deal. We can't afford any slip-ups."

The way he says it leaves no room for argument. You can see Jeon's shoulders drop just a tiny bit, like he's accepting defeat but doesn't want to show it.

"Got it," you nod, trying to look all professional and shit.

Like you didn't just get into a verbal sparring match with your Chief in front of the whole Council.

Jeon takes a second, then gives this little nod that looks like it physically pains him.

"Understood," he echoes, finally looking at you.

And so there’s this weird moment where you're both just... staring at each other; as if calling a truce without actually saying anything.

As RM dismisses everyone, you feel that rush of adrenaline from arguing start to fade. Your shoulders relax, and you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

Right. This whole mission is riding on you and Jeon not fucking it up by going off-script.

You can feel Jeon next to you, his whole vibe changing. He's still got that unreadable expression, but he doesn't look ready to fight anymore.

Before you can make your grand exit, Jessi's voice cuts through the room, making both of you plant your feet on the ground.

"Don't worry, you two. All that sexual tension will make for some hot angry fucking after the mission." She winks at you both like she just said something clever instead of mortifying.

"That's not—we're not—" You start sputtering like an idiot, feeling your face go red.

"Ridiculous," Jeon snaps at the same time, scowling like Jessi just insulted his sniper skills or something.

Jessi just smirks, looking way too pleased with herself. "Whatever you say, lovebirds. Just come by my division after lunch. Gotta get you kitted out for this little adventure."

You open your mouth to tell her exactly where she can shove her assumptions, but she keeps talking.

"AD's gonna set up your access, so don't be late!" And with that, she struts out of the room like she owns the place.

You take a deep breath, trying to get your shit together.

Without a word, you and Jeon turn to leave.

There's still a ton of prep to do for this mission, and you'd rather face MDF unarmed than spend another second in this room with everyone's eyes on you.

The elevator feels way too empty when it’s only you and Jeon in it.

Trapped in a metal box after whatever that disaster of a Council meeting was.

The silence feels heavy, like all that heated arguing is still buzzing in the air.

You stand there trying to look casual, watching the floor numbers tick down like they're the most interesting thing you've ever seen.

But you can't help noticing how Jeon's jaw is doing that clenching thing again, his lips pressed together so tight they're practically disappearing. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and his whole body's radiating tension like a coiled spring.

The silence is driving you insane.

So of course, before your brain can stop your mouth, you blurt out: "Just so we're clear, we are not having hot angry sex after this mission."

Great going girl. 10/10.

Jeon's head snaps toward you so fast you're worried he might get whiplash. One eyebrow shoots up in surprise, but then—oh—his expression shifts into that infuriating smirk.

"Aw, you sound disappointed," he says, voice dropping into that low, teasing register that definitely doesn't make your stomach flip.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as dramatically as possible. "Yeah, like I was last night."

"Excuse me?" The look of pure indignation on his face is actually priceless. "Pretty sure I had you begging."

"Begging?" You let out a laugh. "More like pointing out how fucking slow you were being."

You're going for casual disinterest, but the memories from last night keep trying to make your face heat up.

He actually laughs at that—this sharp, sudden sound that bounces off the elevator walls.

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now? Because I remember it more like... payback. For all that teasing." His eyes drop to your ass for a second. "Bending over until I couldn't take it anymore..."

You cross your arms, leaning back against the wall like this conversation isn't affecting you at all.

"That wasn't teasing. That was strategic mission preparation." You can't help the sly smile that creeps onto your face. "Besides, you're the one who changed the sleeping arrangement to fucking."

"A strategic move, huh?" His mouth does that little twitch that means he's trying not to smile. "Well, it fucking worked."

"Yeah, you broke so easily." You roll your eyes, but you can feel yourself starting to smile too. "Just for sex"

"Pretty damn good sex, if I might add." He says it like he's stating the weather, but that smirk is getting bigger.

Before you can even process what's happening, his hand shoots out to the elevator panel. The emergency stop button makes this loud clicking sound, and the whole thing jerks to a halt with this deep rumble that you feel in your bones.

Suddenly the space feels way too small, and all you can hear is your own breathing getting heavier.

Yeah. Yeah, he’s stopped the fucking elevator.

"What the actual fuck, Jeon?" You try to sound annoyed, but the words get stuck in your throat because he's moving into your space like he owns it, like he has every right to be this close.

Then you're trapped between his arms and the cold elevator wall, and fuck—the way he's looking at you makes you feel naked already.

Your heart's going crazy in your chest, completely betraying how irritated you're pretending to be. Heat starts pooling between your legs, and it's honestly embarrassing how quickly your body responds to him.

"We can't—" Your voice comes out all breathy and pathetic. "We can't do this here."

The smile he gives you is pure sin as he leans in closer, close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin, static wrapping around you, making it hard to think straight.

"Why not?"

"Because we're in a fucking elevator—"

"No cameras." He cuts you off like he's been waiting for this excuse.

You try to swallow but your throat's gone dry. Your sling feels itchy against your skin, probably because your whole body's remembering what happened last night.

"People are gonna notice if the elevator's stuck—"

"Maintenance issue." He says it so fast you know he's thought about this before.

"Jeon—" You start to argue, but then his eyes drop to your mouth and your brain just... stops working.

You know you should push him away. That's what any sane person would do. But there's something about Jeon that makes your brain stop working right—like a magnet pulling you in no matter how hard you try to resist. Every cell in your body is screaming at you to just grab him and kiss him already.

Right when you're about to say fuck it and give in, he pulls back.

And the look in his eyes? Pure evil, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"Sunshine," he practically purrs, voice gone all low and rough in a way that makes heat pool in your stomach, "you're too eager."

The elevator dings, saving you from doing something stupid.

He steps out onto his floor without another word, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face like he just won something.

You slump against the wall the second the doors close, letting out this huge breath you didn't even realize you were holding

As the elevator keeps moving, the whole thing feels kind of surreal—like maybe you imagined him pressing you up against the wall and looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

But the way your skin's still tingling tells you it definitely happened.

When the doors open on your floor, it's like stepping back into the real world.

One where you need to figure out what the hell to tell Yunjin about where you've been all night. She's way too perceptive for her own good, and she definitely noticed you didn't come to your room to sleep.

You walk to your room trying to come up with something believable.

Maybe you were up all night studying mission plans? Or got restless and went wandering around the common areas?

Your brain's still kind of fuzzy from having Jeon all up in your space, which isn't helping with the whole creative lying thing.

But when you push open your door, Yunjin spins around like she's been caught doing something wrong. Her eyes are all wide and guilty, and before you can even open your mouth to make up some excuse about where you've been, she starts talking.

"Okay, before you give me shit for not sleeping here last night—" The words come tumbling out of her like she can't get them out fast enough. "You won't believe what happened. I was just gonna have a few drinks with V, you know, just to chill..."

Well. You surely didn't expect that.

You stand there trying to process the flood of information Yunjin's dumping on you. She's so caught up in her story she doesn't even notice your brain short-circuiting.

"And I know we said to stay away from V's whole... thing, but fuck—" She's practically vibrating with excitement. "We've been dancing around each other for weeks, and last night was just—"

"Yunjin, hold up." You raise a hand to stop her word-vomit. "Are you telling me you spent the night with V? Like, you and V actually—"

You don't finish the sentence because honestly, you don't need to. The implication is heavy enough to sink a ship.

She bites her lip and nods, looking somewhere between guilty and smug.

"Yeah, we fucked..." Her voice trails off before picking right back up. "And let me tell you, it was good. Like, he's not even into all that scary shit everyone thinks he is? But his chaotic energy definitely carries over to bed, god, if you only knew—"

You can't help the snort spreading across your face.

Here you were worrying about how to explain your own night away, and Yunjin's gone and done the exact same thing.

There's something kind of poetic about both of you getting tangled up with people you definitely shouldn't be touching.

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. "Okay, spare me the details. But I'm glad you had fun with your psychopath."

"It was actually really nice?" She's got this dreamy look that would be cute if she wasn't talking about the gang's resident knife enthusiast. "I know we said getting involved with him was a bad idea, but..."

She shrugs, looking almost shy.

"Sometimes you can't help who you want to climb like a tree."

You nod because fuck—isn't that the truth? Your body's still kind of sore from climbing your own dangerous tree last night.

Quick thinking has you saying, "I had an early Council meeting about the mission."

It's not exactly a lie. You did have a meeting. The fact that you came straight from Jeon's bed to it is just... details.

Yunjin seems to buy it, but then her eyes narrow and this little smirk appears on her face.

"Speaking of details... that shirt looks a bit big on you." She eyes the obviously oversized fabric. "Almost like it belongs to someone else. Someone tall, maybe? Tattooed?"

Heat creeps up your neck as you tug at the shirt that definitely belongs to Jeon.

"It's just comfortable," you mutter, but even you don't believe that weak excuse.

"Sure it is." Yunjin's laugh is rather a sneer. "Tell Jeon I said hi."

She throws you a wink and you roll your eyes, but you can't quite fight the smile tugging at your lips.

At least you're not the only one fucking a chief.

The scanner actually flashes green when you swipe your card, which is weird.

Usually you only get access to the Seduction floor and common areas, but apparently Jessi wasn't kidding about AD setting up clearance to her realm for you.

You hit the button for the 9th floor and watch the numbers tick up.

The doors slide open to a completely different vibe from what you're used to.

Gone is all that minimalist tech stuff from AD's floor or the sterile efficiency of Assassination.

The Weapons Division looks exactly like what it is—a place that deals in death. The lights are dim, pipes running everywhere like exposed veins, and the floor's just straight-up concrete. No fancy finishes here.

You've maybe been here like, three times? And every visit feels like stepping into some alternate universe inside Kkangpae's castle. The contrast between this and your division's sleek aesthetic is wild.

"Well, well, look who we have here!"

The voice booms through the hallway, making you jump.

You turn to find this huge guy with a green mullet heading your way, covered in neck tattoos that probably tell some interesting stories. You're pretty sure his name is Jae? He's Jessi's second-in-command, but you've barely exchanged two words with him before.

Not that you'd know it from how he grins at you like you're old friends.

"Jessi's waiting on you," he says, slapping your back hard enough to make you stumble forward. (What is it with these Weapons Division people and casual violence?) "Come on, can't keep the boss lady hanging."

You follow Mullet Man through these massive double doors and holy shit—the weapons depot is huge. The ceiling's so high it's got actual walkways crisscrossing it, leading to what looks like storage units. Every table is packed with enough firepower to start a small war: rifles, handguns, knives, stuff you don't even have names for.

Jessi's off to one side, checking out this fancy-looking automatic rifle like she's shopping for groceries. Her fiery aura fills the space with heating energy.

When she spots you, those red lips curl into this knowing smirk that makes you kind of nervous.

"Right on time," she says, putting down the gun like it's no big deal. "Now we just gotta wait for lover boy to complete the set."

Jae throws up this exaggerated salute and swaggers off, leaving you perched on a nearby stool while Jessi's aura dances around like actual flames.

Jessi leans back against one of the weapon-covered tables, arms crossed and this knowing look in her eyes that makes you kind of nervous.

"That was quite the show this morning. Never seen Jeon actually engage like that before."

"What do you mean?" You frown, thinking about how often Jeon and V are at each other's throats. "He fights with V all the time."

"Nah, that's different." She shakes her head, red hair swaying. "When he fights with V, it's all explosions and death threats. Pure chaos."

Her hands make this exaggerated boom motion.

"But this morning? That was like... verbal foreplay. He was actually in there with you, giving as good as he got."

You think about that for a second.

Now that she mentions it, Jeon does usually just... shut down when other people try to argue with him. Goes all cold and distant, like he can't be bothered to even engage.

But this morning he was right there with you, matching your energy blow for blow.

"Huh." The realization hits you harder than it probably should. "He's not usually much for back-and-forth, is he?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Jessi looks way too pleased with herself. "That emotionally constipated asshole usually keeps everyone at a distance. But you?" She wiggles her eyebrows in this ridiculous way. "Something's different..."

Your face heats up because fuck—she's not wrong. But you are absolutely not having this conversation right now.

"So anyway," you say quickly, probably not as smooth as you think, "what kind of gear are we talking about here?"

Jessi's smirk says she knows exactly what you're doing, but she lets it slide.

Instead, she turns to this impressive spread of weapons and gadgets laid out on the table. Some of them look deadly enough to make you nervous just looking at them.

"Only the best for our star infiltration team," she says, sounding like a proud mom showing off her kid's artwork. "Let's talk comm units first..."

Then, you catch it.

That woodsy, pine scent that clings to him like his leather jacket.

You don’t even need to turn around to know it’s him.

Jeon appears in the doorway looking unfairly good in his all-black everything, like some kind of high-fashion assassin.

When his eyes find you and Jessi, one eyebrow goes up.

"Starting without me?" His voice is dry as desert.

"Look who finally decided to show up." Jessi's teasing, but then her expression turns into something more devious. "I was just telling your partner here how I've never seen you get so fired up before. Something about her really pushes your buttons, huh?"

You kind of want to melt into the concrete floor. Leave it to Jessi to stir shit up just because she can.

But Jeon just shrugs, cool as ever.

"Just discussing strategy." His voice gives absolutely nothing away, which is honestly impressive considering how heated he got earlier.

Jessi looks kind of disappointed that she couldn't get a reaction out of him. Classic Jeon, refusing to take the bait. She lets out this dramatic sigh and turns back to all the gear spread out on the table.

"Well, now that his highness has graced us with his presence," she says, standing up with that natural grace she has, "let's get you both looking the part. Can't have you walking into MDF territory looking like gang members, can we?"

You follow her through the rows of weapons and equipment. It's kind of amazing how she knows exactly where everything is in this massive space. Her energy is contagious—she's clearly in her element here, surrounded by all these tools of destruction.

The weapons depot starts feeling less like an armory and more like some underground fashion studio as you walk deeper in.

Because of course, procurement doesn’t only mean weapons and human resource.

Apparently, it also means Jessi has a pass to turn a room full of deadly weapons into her personal styling space.

There's this sectioned-off area that looks like a makeshift dressing room, complete with different fabrics hanging everywhere.

"Over here, Jeon." Jessi's voice has that tone that means she's already planning something. She looks him up and down like she's mentally redesigning his whole outfit.

Jeon follows her, trying to look like he's not into it, but you can see the interest in his eyes. You hang back a bit, kind of enjoying watching him get the Jessi treatment.

Jessi starts pulling stuff from these racks that look like someone couldn't decide if they were making tactical gear or runway fashion. Every piece somehow manages to be both bulletproof and stupidly stylish.

First up for Jeon: this black suit that catches the light in a way that's definitely not standard issue.

"Put this on," she tells him, shoving the suit in his hands. "It's reinforced—won't stop a bullet, but a knife won't get through."

He disappears behind this makeshift changing screen, and you're definitely not counting the seconds until he comes back out.

When he does, though... fuck.

The suit fits him like it was painted on, showing off all those muscles you're way too familiar with now. The jacket makes his shoulders look even broader, and the pants are doing criminal things to his legs. He looks like he walked straight out of some high-end assassin movie.

"You could probably kill someone just by walking into a room looking like that," you say before you can stop yourself. Your voice definitely doesn't sound as casual as you meant it to.

The smug bastard actually smirks at that. "Wouldn't be the first time."

But Jessi's not having it. She shakes her head, looking at him like an artist who's not quite happy with their work.

"Too polished. We need dangerous, not James Bond. Try this instead."

She pulls out this whole new look: leather jacket that probably costs more than anything you own (which is not much), deep maroon shirt that's somehow both simple and expensive-looking, and black jeans that you just know are going to be trouble.

When he steps out this time, his whole aura shifts.

The leather sits on his shoulders like it belongs there, and that hint of maroon under all the black just... works.

He looks like someone who could sweet-talk his way into a deal and then burn the whole place down if it goes wrong.

"Now that's more like it," Jessi says, looking satisfied. "Says 'I do business, but I also do crime' in all the right ways."

You find yourself nodding along because damn.

He looks exactly like what a high-level arms dealer should look—dangerous enough to take seriously, stylish enough to have clearly made money doing it.

Jeon catches you staring and raises an eyebrow, like he's asking what you think. You give him a small nod because what else can you do? He looks f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ good.

Really good.

Jessi rummages through another rack and pulls out this long-sleeved black shirt.

"Here, put this under the jacket. The fabric's breathable but bulletproof-adjacent. Won't stop a direct hit, but it'll give you a fighting chance."

Jeon shrugs off the leather jacket and slips the shirt on. It's thin but looks sturdy—perfect for someone who might need to move fast or fight their way out of trouble.

Jessi finally steps back, eyeing him like she's inspecting a weapon.

"Not bad. Looks casual enough that no one'll think twice, but you can actually move in it." She hands him back the leather jacket. "Try it all together."

You try to look professional while he puts the jacket back on over the maroon shirt and black base layer, but fuck—the whole ensemble is perfect.

The layers somehow make him look even more dangerous, like he could either charm you or kill you and you wouldn't know which until it was too late.

While Jeon and Jessi get into some deep discussion about fabric weights and mobility ranges, you're kind of amazed at how much thought goes into this.

It's not just picking out nice clothes—every piece has to tell the right story without saying a word.

One wrong detail and the whole cover's blown.

The attention to detail is actually impressive. Jessi knows exactly how to make someone look dangerous but approachable, wealthy but not flashy.

In this world, the wrong outfit can get you killed as quick as the wrong word.

You watch them fine-tune every detail, fascinated by how each adjustment shapes the character Jeon's going to play. And then… The final touch.This plain black watch that probably has fifteen different ways to kill someone. Jeon checks it over with that focused look he gets when he's handling weapons.

"Nice," is all he says, strapping it on.

Standing there in his perfectly crafted outfit, Jeon looks like he was born to play this role. Then Jessi turns to you with this wicked gleam in her eyes that makes your stomach drop.

"Your turn, beautiful," she says, gesturing at another rack of clothes. "Let's make you look expensive but deadly."

Something tells you this is going to be way more complicated than just picking out a nice dress.

You step forward to check out what Jessi's picked out, and damn—she really knows what she's doing. Every piece looks like it was chosen to tell a specific story about who you're supposed to be for this mission.

First up is this skin-tight dress that practically screams ‘honey trap.’ Jessi takes one look and tosses it aside with a muttered "too fucking obvious."

Then there's this whole secretary fantasy thing with a high-necked blouse and pencil skirt, but that gets vetoed too. ("Can't fight for shit in that.")

Then she hands you this black button-up that feels expensive as hell, paired with these tailored pants that feel way too nice to the touch. The fabric's got that perfect balance—soft enough to feel good but sturdy enough to take a beating if things go south.

When you slip into it, something shifts. The shirt fits in all the right places, making you feel d̶a̶n̶g̶e̶r̶o̶u̶s̶ powerful. And the pants? They let you move like you might need to throw down at any second, which, considering it's MDF territory you're heading into, isn't exactly unlikely.

You step out to get Jessi's opinion.

And catch Jeon straight-up staring at your ass.

You’re not surprised.

When you meet his eyes, he looks away so fast it's actually kind of funny, pressing his lips together like he's trying not to smile. He looks like a kid who just got caught stealing cookies, and something about that expression makes you bite back a smile of your own.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Jessi says, looking you over with that critical eye of hers. "You look like someone who could either make a deal or break some kneecaps. Perfect."

The outfit's actually making you feel kind of invincible. (The fact that it got Mr. Perfect Sniper all flustered doesn't hurt either.) You do a little turn, testing how it moves. Everything feels right—professional enough to be taken seriously, but with enough edge to remind people you're not someone to fuck with.

"Hold up," Jessi says suddenly, her eyes getting that dangerous glint that usually means trouble. "Got one more thing. Don't move."

She strides off into her weapons paradise, leaving you standing there wondering what else she could possibly have planned.

You definitely don't check if Jeon's still watching.

(Okay, that's a lie. You totally do.)

The button-up fits you like it was made for you—professional enough to command respect but with just enough something to make heads turn. You're fiddling with the collar when you notice it's buttoned kind of low. Like, maybe too low for a serious arms deal. But before you can decide whether to fix it, Jeon's suddenly right there in your space.

"Let me," he says, voice gone all low and rough (molten lava in your stomach)

His fingers brush against your skin as he does up that one button over your chest, and fuck—that tiny touch has your brain stuttering a bit.

Probably because your body remembers what those fingers can do.

When you look up at him (because of course he's using his height to loom over you like the smug bastard he is), his eyes are dark enough to drown in.

The little gleam swimming in them tells you he knows exactly what he's doing.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you say, trying to sound annoyed even though you can feel yourself starting to smile.

"Immensely." He says; and his voice is pure sin wrapped in amusement.

He just keeps staring at you with this intensity that makes it hard to breathe, like he's thinking about all the ways he could mess up your perfectly put-together outfit.

Then Jessi bursts back in, completely ruining the moment.

"Found it!" She's waving around this black blazer like she just discovered buried treasure.

Jeon steps back, but not before giving you one last look that promises later. That little smirk is still playing on his lips as Jessi throws the blazer over your shoulders like she's putting the final touch on a masterpiece.

While Jessi goes over the tech specs of your gear, you sneak another look at Jeon. That heated playfulness from earlier is gone, replaced by that laser-focused look he gets when he's in Chief mode.

But there's still this... tension hanging in the air between you, like neither of you has quite forgotten what almost happened in that elevator.

Jessi then looks you both up and down with this satisfied smirk, like an artist admiring her masterpiece.

You have to admit, she knows what she's doing—the outfits are perfect for your cover, walking that line between dangerous and professional.

"Now for the fun part," she says, suddenly all business. "Let's get you two properly armed."

She leads you deeper into her weapons paradise, stopping at what looks like a plain wall. But when she presses her hand against this hidden scanner, the whole thing comes alive with soft beeps and whirs. A keypad appears, and Jessi punches in some code faster than you can follow.

The wall basically transforms, splitting open to reveal these massive hidden cabinets that look straight out of a spy movie.

Inside is enough firepower to start (or end) a small war, all arranged with the kind of precision that would make Jeon proud.

You've seen weapons before—kind of comes with the whole gang thing—but this is different.

Every gun, knife, and thing-you-don't-even-have-a-name-for gleams under the lights like they're on display in some very deadly museum.

"For when things get up close and personal," Jessi says, picking up this compact black handgun, "you'll want this beauty."

She hands you a Glock 26, and fuck—it's heavier than it looks.

"Small enough to hide, big enough to make someone regret their life choices."

Then she turns to Jeon with a different gun. "You get the Sig P226. More range, more punch. You can hang back and give her cover while she works her magic up close."

Jeon takes the gun and with a flick of his wrist, he expertly checks the chamber and magazine. You can't understand why your brain thinks that's hot, but the little nod he gives tells you Jessi picked right.

She keeps pulling out more gear—silencers that look way too professional, extra magazines, these holsters that probably cost more than your monthly pay. Then come the knives, small enough to hide pretty much anywhere but sharp enough to make you nervous just looking at them.

Jessi's whole vibe changes as she finishes arming you up. "These aren't just fancy accessories. Every time you pull one of these, you're making a choice that could end someone—maybe even yourself."

The weight of what she's saying hits different when you're actually holding deadly weapons. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you can tell she's trusting you not to fuck this up.

"One more thing," she says, pulling this fancy-looking gadget from a drawer. "Multi-tool kit. Has everything from basic lock picks to a mini torch. Trust me, you'll want options when shit hits the fan."

She hands it to Jeon, who clips it to his belt with practiced ease. (Of course he knows exactly what to do with it—guy probably has a whole collection of spy gear at home.)

Jessi takes a step back, giving you both this final once-over that feels kind of like a proud mom sending her kids off to prom.

(If prom involved infiltrating a rival gang's hideout.)

"You're good to go. Just remember—get in, do the job, get out. Don't try to be heroes."

Her words stick with you as you follow her out of the weapons room.

You walk through another set of doors to find a…

Holy shit. The garage is massive.

It's like walking into some billionaire's private car collection, except every vehicle probably has hidden gun compartments or something.

So Jessi's definitely got a thing for cars. There's everything from flashy Lamborghinis to those huge Bentleys that scream ‘I’m rich and probably dangerous.’ Motorcycles, sports cars, even some vehicles that look straight-up bulletproof—all lined up like some very deadly candy shop.

You're starting to think maybe the weapons aren't even Jessi's favorite toys.

Jessi leads you through her collection of cars like a proud mom showing off her kids' trophies. She stops at this black Lamborghini that looks expensive enough to make your eyes water. The lights bounce off its surface like it's made of pure money.

"This baby right here?" She runs her hand over the hood like she's petting a cat. "Zero to sixty in 2.8 seconds. Makes people's heads turn so fast they get whiplash."

Then she drags you over to this Bentley that screams old money.

"And this beauty? When you need people to think you've got more dollars than sense." The inside looks like someone skinned a whole herd of very expensive cows and covered it in fancy wood.

"We're taking my bike."

Jeon's voice cuts through Jessi's car tour sharply.

He says it like it's already decided, which—knowing him—it probably is.

Jessi whips around to look at him, and fuck—her fiery aura actually flares up like she's about to burst into flames.

"Are you kidding me? Look at these beauties!" She waves at her collection. "They're begging for some action!"

But Jeon just shakes his head. "Bike's more maneuverable. Better control. Makes more sense for what we need."

"Ugh, fine." Jessi throws one last longing look at the Lamborghini like she's saying goodbye to a child. "But I swear to god, one of these days I'm getting your ass in one of these cars."

The little smirk Jeon gives her actually looks kind of fond. "Keep dreaming."

So you follow him to another part of the garage where his bike's parked.

It's this sleek, black monster of a machine that somehow manages to look both subtle and dangerous—kind of like its owner. The thing practically radiates power, but in that quiet way that says it doesn't need to show off.

Jessi watches Jeon check over the bike with this resigned look.

He runs his hands over the handlebars, checking everything with the kind of attention to detail you'd expect from someone who regularly makes impossible shots from a mile away.

"At least you take care of my presents," she mutters, but there's no real heat in it.

Jeon just nods, swinging his leg over the bike like he was born to ride it. When he turns to look at you, his face has gone all serious again.

"You good?"

You nod, feeling your heart start picking up speed.

This is really happening.

Jessi steps back, smiles, and then just waves you two off, not before adding something else.

"Watch your asses out there. And remember—you need backup, we're just a call away."

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[fourmoony]

𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

remus lupin x f!reader

smut. p in v. creampie. unprotected sex. fingering. sex with a friend. language. 18+ content minors DNI.

3.2k - masterlist

summary - reader can't sleep. remus helps out. not with warm milk, though.

i'm supposed to be working on an assignment for college. but remus lupin is taking up space in my brain. so, enjoy :)

-

The air feels stuffy, too hot against your slick skin.

You blow a breath out in frustration, a piece of hair stuck to your forehead refusing to budge and you groan. The house is silent apart from the droning on of the electronic device between your legs that does little to abate the feeling clawing at your insides and it only makes you more frustrated. The lights in your bedroom are turned off, the world outside asleep. Everyone apart from you. You’ve spent two hours tossing and turning, and a further half hour trying to cure the ache between your legs.

It’s futile. You’ve tried everything. Every speed your overly expensive vibrator has to offer, every position, you even got out the glittery pink dildo Marlene got you for Secret Santa the previous year, leaving it out to the side after coming to the heart-breaking decision that it simply wasn’t big enough.

You feel like nothing will be big enough. Nothing feels right, nothing feels good enough, nothing is even close to tipping you over the edge. You shift, further to the left, and whine again, pressing the vibrator to a higher speed. It moves as you press the button, and the feeling of closeness is gone just like that. You growl, pushing the blankets off in a fit of rage and choose to stare at the ceiling in defeat. It’s not going to happen. You should just accept that. But you’re worked up, horny, and too fucking clammy.

The flat is quiet. Remus is asleep – the only reason you’re so nonchalant about the noise of your vibrator still buzzing against the mattress next to you, taunting you. You reach to turn it off, sitting up and putting your hair into a makeshift bun. You stare with narrowed eyes at the shadowed outline of the sparkly pink atrocity of a Secret Santa gift. It was given as a joke to make you blush. Your friends like to tease you for your innocence. It’s not something you ever would have bought for yourself. You’d blushed furiously and everyone laughed. It was addictive for the first few weeks, being able to explore your own pleasure. But now. Now, it doesn’t feel enough. Doesn’t feel as good. As big. As filling.

It’s a quick thought, a fleeting thought. A memory that makes your cheeks flush and your eyes close in embarrassment. Remus, fresh out of the shower, two seconds away from closing the towel around his waist. He hadn’t locked the door. It was an accident. You hadn’t meant to walk in on him. You’d been half asleep, bursting for a pee, and he hadn’t locked the door. Even worse, you hadn’t meant to look. But he was wide eyed and frozen, and your fight or flight had you trying to assess every part of the situation. And his nakedness was a large part of the situation.

You’re not proud of it. But you’d looked. And you liked what you saw.

And now.

Well, now, you can’t stop thinking about it. About Remus. Kind Remus who makes you tea on cold mornings, puts your pyjamas in the dryer for you when you get out of the shower, who cooks you dinner and leaves it in the oven when you work the late shift at the café down the road. He’s kind and attentive and always there to lend a helping hand. You feel silly as you clamber off your bed, knowing there’s a high likelihood that Remus will tell you you’ve taken his kindness to its boundaries.

Your feet pad quietly down the hallway of your shared flat. The under counter lights in the open plan kitchen at the end of the hall illuminate the space enough to see. Remus’ door is closed, but you twist the handle and push, wincing when it lets out an annoying squeal. Remus rouses at the sound, squinting sleepily at you as he turns. He lets out a breath, sits up on his elbow and pulls back his blanket to offer you the space beside him.

It’s not the first time you’ve climbed into bed with Remus, but you still shift nervously on your feet, biting at your lip.

“You okay, love?” Remus asks, voice deep and croaky.

It makes you flustered in your reply. Voice quiet, unsure, “Can’t sleep.”

Remus nods, reiterates pulling back the blanket to make room for you. You cross one leg over the other in front of you, fiddling with the metal daisy chain ring on your middle finger. Remus got you it when you got into university last year. It’s your favourite piece of jewellery you own, overpriced tennis bracelet from your overcompensating parents be damned. He catches your nervous tic and his eyes narrow, his head tilts, messy hair flopping sideways with the movement. There’s a slight stubble on his chin from running late this morning and skipping his daily shave and he’s sans pyjama top, having clearly also felt the heat.

He sits up fully and the blanket pools around his waist. His skin glows in the low light of the moon through the window beside his bed. He’s beautiful. This you’ve always known. Now, it’s tenfold because you’ve seen all of him. And all of him is what you want, in this moment. Your face is flames as you edge closer until you’re hovering beside his bed.

“Have you tried warm milk?” Remus asks, his voice almost teasing.

“Don’t want warm milk.” You pout.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, trying to sus you out. He knows. He must know something. You’re hardly being subtle. Remus’ lips twitch in a smile when you squeeze your legs together in front of you, again, lip between your teeth, eyes watery.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice breathy.

He wants you to say it. But you can’t. You won’t.

“Rem, please,” You whine, “I’ve tried everything.”

His hand reaches for yours, pulls you until you’re straddling him. His lips are a centimetre from yours, hot breath fanning out over your mouth. You press down hard against him, lips pouted. He doesn’t let up, just raises his eyebrows. A question. What have you tried?

“I couldn’t get the angle right with my vibrator,” You whisper, cheeks bright red and warm to the touch, where Remus’ thumb is gently rubbing back and forth, fingers cupping your wobbling jaw, “Then the thingy Marlene got me wasn’t-“ You huff.

Remus chuckles softly, endearingly.

“It wasn’t enough.”

Remus smiles, “You want my help?”

You nod eagerly, “Please, Rem.”

He’s on you in a second. Lips and tongue and teeth, so hot and heavy it knocks the breath from you. His hands fist the thin material of your shorts, at your waist and you bend into him, hands running up his sides, over his shoulders, into the hair at the nape of his neck. He’s hard beneath the flannel of his pyjama bottoms. You can feel it against the crease of your thigh. It makes you whine into his mouth, shifting until you’re perfectly aligned over him. His grip focusses on your arse cheeks when you grind down, a bruising grip that you relish in.

His hands push you forward, you pull yourself back. His lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw, down your neck. Your head tilts back, panting for breath, lost in the pleasure. Your stomach tightens the harder his grip gets, the harder you press down, the faster you move. You feel like a seedy teenager, dry humping yourself against him. Remus’ teeth nip at your collarbone, only to soothe over it with his tongue. You whine again, making your impatience known, but Remus doesn’t speed up.

He looks up, lips mouthing at the underside of your chin until you tilt your head back up to look at him. His pupils are blown, eyes hooded, lips curved into a sinful smirk.

“So needy.” He mumbles into your lips.

You push down harder in response. Remus grabs your hips, stills you. You pout, doe eyes watery. Remus tuts, shakes his head, “You want my help, we do it my way.”

He shifts until you’re lying beneath him, legs hiked up around his waist. He doesn’t waste time in stripping you. Your shirt, then your shorts, your panties following. He throws them across the room, and they fall into the shadows of his darkened room. You’re glad they’re gone. Your body feels like it’s burning up under his touch, featherlight as he traces the goosebumps across your skin. He presses kisses in the wake of his fingertips, to your collarbones, your chest, the tops of your breasts, your stomach, navel.

His lips are warm, wet, pressing kisses to the insides of your thighs. You’re high strung, keening, and needy. He comes back to face level, and you grumble, deep in your throat. So close. He was so close to where you need him. He’s smug. You’re about to protest when he slides a finger into you. Your mouth opens, head pushing back into the pillow. His fingers are long, but slender, and it’s not long before he adds another. Your back arches, eyes closing. The minute you close your eyes, Remus stops. You look up, furious, to find him smirking something evil down at you.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” He whispers, nose bumping yours.

You comply. Remus resumes, fingers pumping steadily in and out. When he’s knuckle deep, he curls them and your body jerks in response. It’s too much and not enough, a dizzying euphoria of Remus’ casual confidence and his skilful fingers. His thumb brushes your clit gently, the bundle of nerves swollen and begging for attention. You moan his name, thighs squeezing against his hips where they’re splayed open. It urges him on, he whispers quiet encouragements – good girl, that’s it sweetheart, you’re so wet for me – and you continue to writhe beneath him.

“Rem,” You gasp, hand encircling the wrist that’s pumping in and out of you, “Need you.”

“Soon,” He promises softly, lips pressing to the swell of your breast, teeth lightly nipping at the skin there, “Want you to come on my fingers first.”

His thumb moves in tighter circles, his fingers curl deeper, move faster. He adds a third, the stretch burns but in the best way. Your jaw opens on its own accord, a string of moans emitting from your throat, and you arch into Remus. His eyes meet yours, blazing with lust.

“C’mon, baby,” He urges, voice sinfully deep, demanding. “Come for me.”

You clench around his fingers, and he groans as you gush around his hand, voice high pitched, your grip on his shoulders vice like. He’s surprised you don’t snap in two with how high your back arches. His fingers pump you through the rush in your veins, his quiet reassurances blacked out by the sound of blood rushing to your ears. Your head spins and you see white as the orgasm you’ve been chasing for what must be hours by now crashes over you. You babble nonsense, buck against Remus’ fingers, mouth open, eyes wide, back arched and head pushed violently into the pillow beneath you.

Remus hovers over you when your breathing evens, eye’s a little less clouded, and his usual concerned look on his face. You smile dopily up at him, eyes bright.

“Good?” He asks.

It’s a double ended question – you good? Was that good?

You nod.

“More.” You whine, attempting to pull him closer with your legs around his waist.

“You’re insatiable.” He laughs lightly, head bending down to peck your smiling lips gently.

You nod in agreement, head tilted as you look up at him, “I’m blaming you.”

“Of course.” Remus nods, placating you.

He shimmies his pyjamas off, kicks them off the end of the bed, and comes back to crowd your space, again. Hard, he’s much bigger than you saw from Shower-Gate. Your mouth waters as his hand wraps around his dick, pumping a few times before looking back to you. His face softens when he notices your lip trapped between your teeth.

“Baby?” He questions and you soften.

“That’s,” You sigh, embarrassed, “That’s not going to fit, Rem.”

Remus laughs, the apples of his cheeks rounding out, his teeth appearing from behind his lips. His head hangs over your shoulder and you hide in his hair, mortified. The hand that isn’t supporting his weight runs softly up and down your thigh. You groan to show your mortification, heels digging into Remus’ tail bone to try kill his laughter.

“Rem,” You protest, letting a chuckle of your own slip.

Remus looks up, eyes soft, lips pressed together to stop his laughter, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, pretty girl. I’m not laughing at you. No one’s ever said that before, you just caught me by surprise.”

You giggle, squeezing his waist with your thighs, “They’ve definitely thought it.”

Remus shakes his head, “We don’t have to.”

It’s your turn to shake your head, “I want to. I really want to.”

He smiles, leans in to kiss you. When he pulls away to pump himself again, you let out a low breath. He brushes the tip against your folds, wet and puffy, a couple times before he pushes in slowly. He groans, you moan. You’re tight, fitting around him like perfection. He goes slow until he’s buried to the hilt. You allow yourself to get used to the feeling, whimpering softly when his thumb comes to circle your clit again, working you up.

“That’s it, baby,” He speaks softly, so softly, and you moan.

He pulls back, pushes back in. Takes it slow. Allows you to adjust.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need the raw pent-up aggression you’ve seen Remus show pervs at bars when they touch you inappropriately. You need angry Remus, who threw a book at the mantle place when your parents missed another birthday. You need the Remus who tries so hard to hide the aggressive side of him but can never fully rid himself of his primal urges, of that white hot fury and determination.

“More,” You breathe, “Faster. Harder. I need more, Rem. Please.”

You’re babbling, begging. But Remus complies. He snaps his hips forward and you all but scream. He groans, breath hot and heavy against your neck. He’s attentive, hips attacking your pelvis. His wooden headboard slams against the wall, your hand reaching up to hold on and stop you from sliding further up the bed. An arm wraps around your waist, pulling you up, closer to him. He feels deeper at the new angle, hips battering into yours. He’s relentless, hitting every spot you need.

You’re babbling nonsense, but so is Remus. Words of encouragement, words that tell you how good you’re taking all of him, how tight you are, how perfect you are. You’re meeting his every thrust, hips grinding against him, the stubble creating friction that tightens the coil in your stomach.

Remus attaches his lips to your shoulder, biting down as he pounds harder against you. You say his name like a mantra, unable to think of anything other than the feeling of him, all over, everywhere, filling, stretching, pounding.

“Rem,” You whine – so close. So, so close – “Come in me.”

Remus’ head snaps up, pupils blown, mouth hung open. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t falter, “What?”

“Pill. Just,” You gasp when he hits that spot, “Come in me. Please. Wanna feel it.”

Remus moans. Dirty and deep. He fucking moans.

He’s relentless, sweat dripping from his forehead, he releases your waist, hikes your thigh up over his shoulder, you scream. He urges you, tells you sweet things, details how he’s going to fill you up, bites the skin of your calf. His other hand reaches down, draws tight circles that have you seeing stars. You scream his name, loud enough for the entire street to hear, using the leverage on his shoulder to lift your lower back off the bed.

The feeling is dizzying, all consuming. It’s feverish, frantic, a wild chase to the end.

You clench, he hits the right spot, the sting of his teeth on your calf emulates up your leg, the stomach muscles holding you up clench, and he calls you baby, all at the right time. You see white. It feels like your entire body explodes, lights on fire, crashes and burns. You convulse, twitching and screaming, broken words and moans of his names, clenched vice-like around him.

You’re begging. Begging him to follow, to finish in you, even in your pleasure.

You’re still floating, but coherent enough, when Remus grows sloppy, uncoordinated, drops your leg from his shoulder, falls forward, hands at your sides to hold himself up. He jerks, groans, his head falls into your shoulder, and you whine, happily, dopily, when you feel the white-hot spurts of his come against your walls.

He’s breathing heavily, both your bodies slicked with sweat. He drops his weight onto you, and you welcome him happily. Your legs wrap around his lower back, you both wince with the movement. You can feel the slickness between you both, the way he’s dripping out of you. But you’re comfortable, lips pressed to his damp hair. You trace shapes on his back until he comes to, pushing up to press his lips to yours.

The clock on his nightstand reads four in the morning.

He gets up to leave and you whine, “Don’t go.”

Remus chuckles, “Just going to get a warm cloth. Be back.”

You allow him that, grateful he had the idea. You hear him running the tap in the bathroom and he returns with a warm cloth. He’s gentle when he wipes you clear. You wince and flinch, blushing when Remus presses gentle kisses to your thighs as he works. He whispers softly between kisses how pretty you are, how well you did.

He discards the cloth in the wash basket by his door and returns to the bed.

He groans as he settles, holding his arm out for you to fall into him. You do so, swinging a leg over his thighs. It’s then that you realise you’re both still very naked, and your shyness returns. Remus traces shapes on your arm, tucking his head over yours, lips to the crown of your head.

“I can hear your cute little brain running laps, you know.” Remus teases.

You roll your eyes, push your face further into his neck.

“I just came to you in the middle of the night for sex,” the post coital dread sets in tenfold, despite feeling the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks, “I’m so sorry, Remus.”

You feel Remus shrug, “Don’t fret, sweetheart. I was more than happy to oblige.”

“But-“

“Get some rest, honey. We can talk more tomorrow.” He assures you, pulling the blanket further up your naked bodies.

You concede, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the stubble tickling your lips, “Okay.”

He pulls you closer, settles in. You allow sleep to wash over you, let the relaxation in your bones pull you under. It’s a dreamless sleep, a comfortable sleep, wrapped in Remus’ arms.

[wanders-in-wonderland]

The Popular Vote

The livestream always happens on midnight of Saturday. There’s a hefty buy-in to be able to tune in but that never stops the audience from growing in number every stream. Every viewer has one ballot per round, each round is different. Cast your ballot before the vote ends and the majority option gets played out in real-time.

This Saturday night, I made the mistake of staying overtime at work, and I missed the last train home. Which meant walking alone on a dark path that, in the daylight, would be a breezy twenty minute stroll. But at night, it’s a different story. And clearly, since that dark trek put me in the perfect position to be taken away in a van by men who were interested in seeing me crying and screaming in pain and pleasure, at the whim of a merciless audience.

When I wake up, I’m naked and tied up, arms and legs spread out, suspended from the ceiling, with each foot on a small platform that offered enough support to take the strain off my arms and shoulders but not enough to offer any true leverage.

It takes me a few minutes to shake off the grogginess of whatever sedative they’d drugged me with, but when I do, I feel my blood run cold.

I’m surrounded by massive screens, several of which show live footage of my predicament from different angles. The screen that scares me the most is the one showing a live chat feed, with a constant barrage of messages coming in from viewers. The set-up is terrifyingly sophisticated and fear curdles my stomach in a way that makes tears well up in my eyes.

“Please! Please let me go!” I cry into the cold, unfeeling room of machinery and screens. My body struggles against the bindings but there’s no give. There’s no audible reply but I watch the chat light up with comments that make me shudder.

“I fucking love when the whores beg before we’ve even started.”

“She’s hot when she’s squirming, can’t wait to see how much she struggles tonight.”

“I wanna see her beg for mercy. Not that there will be any.”

I sob harder, tears making the chat box blurry in my vision. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out that there’s no one and nothing saving me from whatever is going to happen here.

Suddenly, a robotic voice fills the room. “Welcome to The Popular Vote. For those of you who are new to the show, please remember that each of you have a single vote to cast during every round. Vote in the allotted time and our team will implement the majority vote’s decision. Please enjoy the show.”

I gasp when the door to the room opens and four men walk in, dressed in identical black uniforms with masks covering their faces.

“Please! Please, let me go, this is a mistake!” My desperate voice fills the room but has no impact on the men, they didn’t even look in my direction, instead walking past me towards a storage cabinet behind me.

I watch through the camera’s footage as they open the cabinets and start to pull out item after item. Each one makes me more and more scared as they pull out various toys, vibrators, and other devices and machines I don’t even recognize.

There’s an electronic ding that fills the room and the same robotic voice is back. “Our first poll is beginning. Please vote now. Option 1 is subjecting our victim to clitoral stimulation by vibrator. Option 2 is vaginal penetrative stimulation by fucking machine.”

I cry out, “Wait, no, please! I don’t want this, please stop!” I watch in vain as the votes start to roll in on the screen, a feeling of helplessness overwhelming me as I watch two competing bars increase in percentage on the screen as viewers place their ballots.

There’s a robotic series of dings that sound, signaling the final few seconds of voting and through my panic, I see that the second option has pulled ahead of the first.

I choke out another sob as I watch the four men in the room start moving towards me. Two of them are rolling a machine over, a motorized piston with a massive dildo attached to the end of it. Clearly it’s meant for me.

“Please, please, no, I don’t want this, please stop!” I know it’s useless to beg but I can’t help it. My voice is shaky and thin with apprehension and I can tell it has no effect on any of the men. I glance to the chat box and the messages there make me feel even more helpless.

“That whore is going to love that machine, these little sluts always do.”

“I hope she squirts and cries when she realizes she likes this, stupid whore is going to get fucking ruined.”

In the few moments I spent reading comments, the men have rolled the fucking machine right under me and started to raise it to reach my core.

With my legs tied down and spread, there is nothing protecting me from the toy and it’s violation of me. I feel the tip of the fake cock brush my core and I thrash pointlessly, barely able to move to make a difference.

As the machine continues to rise, I feel my stomach clench when I realize that my pussy is wet. I gasp when I feel the tip of the dildo breach my core, the thickness of the toy filling me so well that I can’t help but groan. The machine continues, pushing the toy slowly and steadily filling my cunt. My back arches as I feel it rub against every part of my now-dripping cunt and I whine when it finally comes to a stop, fully seated inside of me.

I’m panting, the massive dildo splitting me open in a way that feels so fucking good. I clench around it and whimper when pleasure shoots up my spine. I glance at the livestream and see my own image, my eyes wild and body heaving from the pleasure of just having the toy inside of me. The chat box is flooded with comments about me, the way I look, the sounds I make, and the anticipation of what is to come.

Suddenly, one of the men in the room toggles a switch on the machine, and it begins.

My scream is drawn-out and wanton in response to the indescribable pleasure that floods my every sense. The men set the machine at a relentless pace, the huge cock driving into my cunt ruthlessly at a pace that is virtually inhuman.

I’m lost in the sensation of every single thrust sliding against my g-spot and slamming into my cervix, the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. I can feel my body trembling at the onslaught of raw, unadulterated pleasure and the sounds that the machine is pulling from my lips could make a pornstar blush. I can feel the creeping warmth of an orgasm fast approaching as the machine fucks me into submission.

Suddenly, an electronic ding sounds. The robotic voice comes on again, with an announcement that barely registers in my pleasure-scrambled brain. “Please vote to determine the next step. Option 1 subjects our victim to forced orgasms, option 2 is edging and orgasm denial, and option 3 is ruined orgasms.”

I whine and plead but I don’t even know what I’m begging for. My eyes are too unfocused to see the progression of the vote, and of the options, I can’t even begin to fathom which would be the best. I hear the three dings that signal the vote has ended and I force my eyes to focus on the screen, my stomach clenching when I see the result: ruined orgasms.

The machine hasn’t relented on its motions, each thrust driving into my wet cunt in a way that is so perfectly and achingly torturous. My clit is throbbing and part of me wishes I could grind it against something, anything to give me a little more stimulation to push me over the edge. But there’s nothing beyond the machine forcing its cock deep inside of me, making me ride the wave of pleasure that pushes me towards to precipice of a massive orgasm. I feel my entire body tense in response to the impending onslaught of pleasure and my pussy clenches around the dildo splitting me open.

Two more hard thrusts pushes me over the edge and I let out a moaning scream as I feel the tension snap and my body clenches in burning pleasure. A seemingly endless wave of overwhelming and uncontrollable pleasure slams into me as my orgasm erupts. At that exact moment, the toy inside of me a delivers a horrible jolt of electricity, one that slams through my cunt and cruelly and abruptly yanks my body away from pleasure.

The pain takes my breath away but my body reacts more to my ruined orgasm than it does the shock. My moan turns into a wail as useless pleas pour out of my mouth, tears running down my cheeks as I feel the toy continue to fuck me through the disappointment of an orgasm it forced upon me. There’s a cruel emptiness inside of me despite the unrelenting fake cock that fills me with every thrust and a gut-wrenching, unfulfilling hunger that overtakes the pleasure that was horribly ripped away from me.

“Ah, fuck, please, please make it stop!” My voice is ragged and desperate as I plead for mercy from an uncaring audience. The men in the room are maintaining their cold indifference towards my suffering as the machine under their control continues to batter my body.

I feel my body shudder in overstimulation as the merciless machine pushes me closer to another orgasm. There’s no break or respite and my pleas fall onto deaf ears.

And as before, just as I feel my orgasm approaching, the feverish pleasure barely rises within me before it’s ripped away, ruined by the delivery of a shocking pain through my pussy that makes me scream in anguish.

The next time it happens, I hear myself wail out desperate cries and pleas that are met with silence. The time after that, my body jerks pitifully in the bindings as every muscle tenses in grief. The one following is the strongest one yet, the constant buildup and denial pushing my body to the brink of tortured pleasure. As the achingly sweet orgasm barrels through me, my pussy clenches down and gushes with my release. I can feel my own juices flowing down my legs, but my squirting orgasm isn’t any different than the previous cruelly ruined ones. The impeccably-timed electric shock yanks my body back from what would have been a mind-shattering, toe-curling sensation and leaves me feeling hollow and helpless.

After that, I stop keeping track of the ruined orgasms. My body should have been shuddering from the overstimulation of countless orgasms but instead, it aches with a voracious, unfulfillable ache that creates an unbearable cycle of horrible, desperate need barely satisfied with every orgasm until it’s torn away. The predictability of it does nothing to assuage the torment, it only makes it worse, to have every beautiful moment of pleasure marred by the inevitable loss that I can do nothing about.

An electronic ding breaks through the haze, another round. The machine beneath me pauses and I choke back a sob at the temporary relief, desperately try to focus on the words that are being announced.

“Our next round will be introducing pharmacological enhancements and orgasm denial. Please select to determine which of the following will be administered to our victim. Option 1 is administration of our proprietary aphrodisiac with no excess stimulation. Option 2 is administration of our proprietary numbing treatment with clitoral stimulation by vibrator.”

My mind wraps around the meaning behind the announcement and I feel myself tremble with desperation. I want nothing more than to cum, just to feel the full, body-shaking, mind-numbing torrent of pleasure that will flood me when a full, uninterrupted orgasm washes over me. But it’s clear that they have other plans.

I watch as the votes roll in, my heart pounding as the two options are very evenly matched in popularity. I brave a glance at the chat box and whimper when I see the comments.

“I fucking love driving a whore insane with denial. I wonder what kind of promises she’ll make to try and convince us to let her cum.”

“If she were mine, I’d never let her cum again. Sluts don’t deserve orgasms.”

Three dings break my concentration and I swing my gaze over to see the results. Option 2 has won out, but barely. I whimper softly as the four men immediately begin to set up. I watch as they wheel the fucking machine out from under me. A blush stains my cheeks when I see the dildo dripping in slick, evidence of my countless ruined orgasms.

I watch through heavy lidded eyes as one of the men reached for a small container. He deftly opens it and dips a gloved finger in, his finger coming out coated in a creamy ointment.

I watch as he comes towards me, his ointment-covered fingers coming to meet my clit in a soft motion that makes me cry out. He is thorough as he rubs the ointment onto my clit, his fingers gently moving against me, offering a delicious friction that pushes me closer towards another orgasm.

The curling warmth of an oncoming rush builds in my core but before I could fully embrace the pleasure, he pulls away and I choke out a whine. “No please, please I’m so close,” my voice is so broken to my own ears but not enough to sway the man.

They wheel out a different machine, this one shaped like a saddle, lined with ridges that line up perfectly to vibrate against and wreak havoc on my sensitive clit. It doesn’t take long for the men to position the machine underneath me. I feel the cold material of the machine against my burning hot pussy and without even thinking about it, I start to grind myself against it. A broken moan leaves my lips at the pleasure that fills me and I whine softly, trying harder to move myself to rub my throbbing clit against the machine that was very quickly starting to dampen from my dripping cunt.

I know without looking at my own image on the livestream that I made for a shameful display of wanton lust and desperation but I couldn’t bring myself to care. My hips move desperately, the bindings making it so that my movements were limited but not impossible. My eyes drift shut as I chase the pleasure, continuing to grind against the machine.

I can feel myself approaching my orgasm, a few more moments and I could almost taste the sweet pleasure. But something was wrong. Even as I rolled my hips against the machine, I could feel sensation fading in between my legs. My clit throbs and aches but the feeling of the ridges against me has become muted, and no matter how hard I grind myself against the machine, the result was the same and I’m faced with the reality that the orgasm I was chasing so closely is too far out of reach now.

I cry out, begging into the void, “Please, no, please! Make it come back, please! I need to cum, I need it!”

My begs are met with silence and I glance towards the chat box, hoping to see something, anything, that would bring me relief. But there’s nothing but cruel, taunting comments.

“Dumb fucking whore doesn’t even understand what’s happening to her stupid body.”

“They haven’t even turned on the machine yet and she’s crying. I love when sluts realize that there’s nothing they can do against the numbing cream.”

“Her clit is so fucking swollen, I hope she doesn’t get a good orgasm at all tonight.”

Suddenly, the machine beneath me roars to life. I gasp when I feel the vibrations course through my body, the harsh motion batters my clit, but instead of being overwhelmed with pleasure, all I can feel is a vague sensation. I sob when the real understanding of what is happening sinks in. The numbing cream they used on me has left me completely unable to feel the machine. I can feel my pussy clenching in need, dripping over the machine uselessly, unable to enjoy any of it. There are wordless whines and begs erupting from my lips as I chase an unreachable end. I beg because there’s nothing else I can do, and because I know that’s what the audience wants to see.

As my mind wraps around this knowledge, I feel broken. My pussy clenches at the understanding that I’m here purely for other people’s entertainment. My suffering is for their enjoyment, and every orgasm ruined, denied, or forced out of my helpless body is done so without any regard to me or my pleasure. I stare into the camera as the machine underneath me batters my clit in a way that should be making me scream. Despite that realization, or maybe because of that realization, my cunt is leaking and clenching and throbbing. My entire being has narrowed to my clit and my cunt, the ghost sensations of pleasure brushing against my psyche.

My mind is fracturing under the torment of nothing. It tries to rationalize, to make feeling where there is none, and if I really focus, I can fool myself into believing that my clit isn’t numb, isn’t blind to the torturous machine that should be pulling orgasm after orgasm out of me. I don’t know how long I’m suspended in nothingness, how long I��m held in this punishing situation of unreachable pleasure.

Three dings pull me out of my mindless misery. My eyes jump to the screen, seeing the chat light up with excited comments about what’s the come. The robotic voice fills the room.

“We reach the end of our night together and our final poll, please vote now. Option 1 allows our victim to be subjected to forced orgasms after we administer the antidote to the numbing cream in combination with targeted electrostimulation while option 2 involves continued denial with impact play and flogging.”

I can’t stop myself from screaming into the room. “Please! Please, fuck, please let me cum! Please!”

I writhe and renew my struggling, starting to futilely grind myself against the vibrator, hoping that the vote will go in my favor. My eyes glance towards to chat box, my heart pounding in anticipation as I read the flood of messages, hoping desperately for mercy.

“I don’t think this fucking whore deserves to cum tonight, I’d rather see her get her tits whipped.”

“I want to see her pass out from being forced to cum over and over again. Plus I wanna see her tight little body shake with electricity.”

My eyes flit to the results of the poll and my heart leaps when I realize option 1 is pulling ahead. Three dings confirm the results of the vote and immediately, I see one of the men approach me with the antidote.

I sob when his fingers brush this new ointment over my swollen clit and all I can do is babble out whines of gratitude. It doesn’t take long for the antidote to take effect as the vibration of the toy begins to wreck me.

There’s no slow, soft build of pleasure. There’s only pure, bone-shattering sensation that slams into me. It tears my breath away and my body erupts in orgasm. The countless denied and ruined orgasms from the beginning of the night seem to have compounded into one horrible explosion of pleasure that rips through me.

I have no sense of the world around me, my entire being has narrowed to the overwhelming wave of sensation. My cunt pulses, spraying my release over the machine that offers me no respite as it forces my body to unimaginable heights.

Suddenly, a sharp jolt of pain along my side breaks into my haze. My eyes dart over and I see the four men crowded around me, each holding an electric wand that pulses a harsh zap through me at every touch.

“No! Please! Stop!” I scream, my voice pitching higher as the men start their torment. Quick jabs around the soft skin of my stomach, hips, thighs, and arms make me scream and thrash but none of that dulls any of the feeling from the vibrator between my legs.

The pain and pleasure rocks through my body and mind, both blending together in a cruel medley that draws wordless screams from my throat. Another orgasm slams through me right as I feel a terrible zap on my nipple. The scream that bursts out of me makes my own ears ache. My psyche is cracking under the onslaught of torment and there’s not a single part of my body that isn’t screaming in overstimulation. I’m nothing more than a collection of raw nerves and throbbing muscles.

The next zap hits the exposed part of my clit and my ears ring as my vision fades to black. That’s the last thing I remember from that night.

When I wake up the next morning, I’m home, in my own bed, my body achingly sore and exhausted. I glance to my bedside table and I see an envelope. In it is a USB and a note with a phone number.

“Enjoy the footage, we certainly did. Call us if you want a repeat.”

I crawl out of bed to grab my laptop and phone, and I save the number to my contacts.

------

Author's Note: I think this is my longest story yet and hope y'all enjoy! Also, I like to imagine this happens in the same universe as Pay to Play, and I'm jealous because I want to live in that universe ;)

[cherry-leclerc]

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: angst, yearning, humor, fluff, journalist!reader, established relationship

word count: 13.2k

There’s a lot of things you’d like to do differently in life. And the weeks leading up to that night is one of them.

inspired by doomsday, lizzy mcalpine , true blue, boygenius , cool about it, boygenius !

cherry here!… hello there. sooo this was supposed to go up a few days ago, but silly me scheduled the wrong date, haha, so this is me formally apologizing for that. on a more lighter note: i’m so excited for you guys to read this one considering this is the re-written version of ‘method acting’ if you guys even remember the original version. love u all very much, and enjoyyy :)

From his boyish smile, to his dominant smirk—you knew it all. 

The way it would slowly start to spread, but always ended with a dimple. You loved many things in life—many, many things—but nothing comes close to him. From the very start, he’s been gentle. A gentle giant, you’d sometimes joke with a teasing voice, to which he’d roll his eyes yet never deny. 

The way he’d start every sentence with—honey—and end with—I love you. The way he’d cradle your face between his hands, kissing the corner of your mouth first before pressing down completely. The way he’d translate for you with all the patience in the world. Everything about him had been so easy to learn, so easy to love.

But here, in a room, staring at each other, you begin to wonder if you ever knew him at all. Because suddenly you don’t know what the frown on his face means. What the furrowed brows with the pinched expression interpret to. You don’t know any of it. 

Why are you so surprised, though?

You caused this, anyways.

-

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you don’t know how to use a USB, Lis. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know—tech savvy?” 

Lissie aims a harsh glare before tapping her nail against the computer screen as if that might make the process a whole lot quicker. “So what? I lied on my resume. Everybody does it.”

You chuckle. “Who even uses USB’s nowadays?”

“Apparently Grandpa Will. Oh, yay, it's done!” She shimmies. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” With that, she zips down the paddock without a second glance. You sigh, gathering your stuff and making your way down the busy crowd, heading straight towards Ferrari Hospitality. 

He’s on his computer when you first walk in, keys clicking. He nibbles on his bottom lip, knits his dark brows like he’s in pain. As soon as you tap your finger against the wall, he perks up, all his interest suddenly gone. He grins. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Lis,” you respond, claiming a seat next to him. 

The Monegasque hums, leaning in to kiss your lips swiftly. “Thank you, Elisabella.” You giggle, sneaking a quick peek at his open screen. “Whatcha’ workin’ on? Wait—let me guess. You’re getting your marriage license annulled?”

“To be with you, yes,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “How do you think Joris is going to take it?”

A playful shrug. “He’s just going to have to accept it, no?”

“I suppose.” Snapping the computer shut, he fixes himself, head pressed softly against your lap, closing his eyes. The sight of his even breaths and curved nose makes you smile as you start threading your fingers through his hair. He sighs, tense shoulders instantly rolling back. “Journling, and whatnot. It’s a habit that has a near expiration date, for sure, but is quite nice as of now.”

And though he can’t see you, your neat brows raise up in surprise. “Journaling on an electronic device? Why not an actual journal? You know—something authentic. I actually know of a place back in Portland where they sell some cute ones, ver—”

“I’m not looking for cute. I’m looking for security.” A beat. “I’d lose it in a week, and we don’t want that happening, now do we? My laptop works just fine. Plus, I feel more at peace knowing it’s not something I will just leave behind.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you declare, enjoying the way his lips twist with a childlike snarl. “Anyways, I’m glad you’ve picked up on a new hobby. It’s good for you, Charlie.”

“Learned from the best.” You blush. “By the way, media shouldn’t last longer than an hour? Wanna go out?”

“Aren’t you tired?” you question, forcing his eyelids open as he squirms, pushing your hand away.

“A little. But I still want to do something with you.”

A tired sigh. “Cute, but I can’t. Lissie and William are out for today, so it’s just me, which means I have to conduct all the interviews by myself.”

The brunette bats an eye. “Why?”

“She forgot she had a deadline—hence why I was busy helping her—and Will still has to look it over. They have to send it in by midnight and it’s—it’s a lot.”

“Why couldn’t she just email it?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you screech, causing him to flinch and squeeze his eyes. Sheepishly, you pat his head. “He insisted on a USB. Says he wants all work done like the olden days.”

“That sucks,” he mumbles. “And who even uses USB’s nowadays? They’re so outdated.”

“That’s what I’m—” You stop, mid-sentence, lowering your voice when he sits up and scoots away. “Saying,” you finish, whispering. You purse your lips, sending a slight grimace. “You get it.”

Charles nods, standing up and placing his laptop into his duffel bag. “I’ll come back and pick you up, yeah? Meanwhile, I can maybe cook something for us.”

“Honey,” you coo. “I love you, but please don’t.” His face drops. What the fuck? You giggle. “How about take-out?”

“How about,” he mutters, stiff as a statue when you press your lips down onto his jaw, but quickly melts. “Chinese?”

“Sounds good.” Another peck. “I’ll call you!”

-

If you remember—and you do remember—you fell in love with writing ever since you watched The Devil Wears Prada. It was a reset for you because before that you had seriously considered going to law. At first, you started with column writing in your school's newspaper. No one ever read it, you’d always find it on the floor after being trampled on, but you never cared. 

Soon after, you started publishing smaller pieces here and there on your fashion blog that has since been taken down, but that was the moment you knew. Thing was, you wanted to nurture this into a career, you really did, but nothing to do with fashion, rather sports. 

Maybe it had to do with the fact that every Sunday your Grandpa would beg for you to come over to his house and watch the races with him. They were extremely boring at first. Who willingly drives for roughly two hours in loops? Then, it clicked. Everything changed and you were enthralled. 

After that, all you knew was that you wanted it bad. It was hard, studying over time in order to get done quickly and just start working, but it was well worth it. You met Lis the same year she started working with Formula One, so you both figured a lot of things out together, and for two years, it was just you and her, interviewing and writing about the drivers on the grid.

But he noticed you both years ago.

He first noticed the burn on the back of your left leg. He initially thought it was a band-aid by the way it healed, but later found out you had burned yourself with a curling iron back in highschool when you were rushing to get your senior pictures taken. Then he noticed your eyes and the way they always had a glimmer to them, even if something wasn't going your way. He respected the hell out of you after that.

 How do you do that? 

You freeze. Do what?

Stay so…so—optimistic. Happy, I suppose.

You laughed then, and he saw the way your hair fell over your shoulder like a silk curtain. He would have smiled if he wasn’t so stuck up on that. It’s all a facade. They way you see me—it’s not real.

Believe me, I don’t think you’re real.

You blush, looking back down at your journal where you’ve been too busy scribbling prior to his question. You just have to ignore them sometimes, you know? Remind yourself that they don’t know you and you don’t know them. Trust me, it helps.

And after that, you two never stopped talking. 

Whether it was about work, or perhaps even the weather, you two always had something going on. Something everyone noticed, but never brought up. And at one point, you confessed your next dream.

Journalist of the Year, he repeated, a goofy smile slowly itching his skin. Yeah, I can see that.

It’s not that easy, though, you retort, exhaling heavily. I mean, I’ve been doing this for quite a while now and I haven’t even been considered once, which is fine, maybe I’m not good enough, but maybe it’s also time to…I don’t know—give up?

He kept quiet, kept his eyes focused on you, and frowned. If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have. 

Pft, you scoff. Nah. Not this. It’s nearly unattainable for someone like me. Even Lissie has won, and we’ve been here for the same amount of years. Now I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it, but that just comes to show that there’s always someone better. And I’m just here. You look up. It’s okay, you can laugh.

A beat. I could be a hypocrite to tell you that it’s not good to measure how talented you are or how talented you can be based on some award, but Jesus Chrsit, I do the same thing. I understand. And it’s because I understand that I’m telling you to keep working hard and prove yourself to them. You have it in you—I’ve known ever since we met. You smile. Your time will come, yeah?

And for the first time: you believed it. 

A nod. Thanks, Charles. Yours will too.

About a month later, you two started officially dating. It almost seemed too good to be true at times, but wherever he looked for you in the crowd, you knew it just had to be. 

But the start of your relationship was also the end of something else.

Interviews and articles? 

He nods. Right. None of that.

You follow his actions, nodding numbly as you blink. So, no more working together? Because you want me to have a fair shot?

Yes, he confirmed. I just don’t want you to be nominated—because it’s only a matter of time, I have a feeling—and feel as if they picked you simply because of your dating status. 

Who’s going to do all of that, then? 

There’s plenty of other reporters. Lissie? Will? Maybe even Natalie. He took a step closer, grabbing your hands gently. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to feel accomplished. That what you did was simply because of your work, and not having to do with your connections because trust me, that doesn’t feel good.

But I love working with you. You give his hand a squeeze, tilting your head and smiling sadly. You’re my favorite person to write about and talk to…

And he genuinely seemed to be pained by your words, wincing.

But you suck it up because you know he’s right. I’ll always be your favorite?

Only the best.

A hum. Alright then. You take a step back, extending your hand for a professional handshake. He smiles, taking it and giving it a good tug.

 It was nice working with you, Mr. Leclerc.

-

“I’ll never understand,” Lissie starts, pressing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and chewing on a licorice. “Why you two ever create such a stupid rule like that?” A hard chew. “All I’m saying is that it could have definitely helped you out a whole lot. You probably would have won by now.”

You roll your eyes, but not without thinking how she might be right. You’ve definitely wondered about a world in which you two hadn’t taken this approach, and while it would have been nice, you also know that it would have felt a little less special knowing that being a nepo to Charles had something to do with it. Which is most likely what would have happened, let’s be completely honest here. 

“You came to this arrangement, what? Twenty years ago, maybe fourty? And it’s not to be rude, but you haven't been nominated, so was this really worth it if it hasn’t made much of a difference?”

“Okay,” you grunt, ripping the red candy away from her and throwing it into the nearby trash as soon as you step out of the elevator. She pouts, following along. “I think we get it, I fucked up, very funny.”

“No,” she hums. “I never said you did, I was simply thinking, that's all.” You scoff. “But whatever. I have a feeling this is it. You definitely have it in the bag. They’d be crazy not to add you for a fourth time!”

Spinning, you smile bitterly at the Brit girl. She gulps. “Thank you, Lis, your mild support is very much appreciated.”

You turn back around, walking faster.

“Sheesh, sorry,” she hisses, entering the familiar office with a lost expression.

Carly, your manager runs over, practically jumping onto you and hugging you tight. “Lis, close the door!” You groan at the loud sound against your ear, but she's none the wiser, already embracing you harder. “You did it!”

“I told you!” Lissie shoots smugly.

You freeze, heart racing. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying—”

“Why would she be lying?”

Letting go, Carly lets out a delirious laugh. “Everything—all of it—has finally paid off. You did it, you’re on the list!”

“Holy shit,” you whisper in disbelief, playing with your necklace as you pace the spacious office. Lissie and Carly both grin at each other from ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically. You come to a halt. “Are you making this up because I said I would kill myself if I didn’t make it this year because, for your information, I was totally kidding!”

“It’s not a joke,” the redhead squeals, jumping again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I am too!” Lissie shrieks, running and kissing you face as you try your best to swat her away even though you’re laughing. “Even after what I said in the elevator, I knew this shit was the real deal this time! Didn’t I tell you? Carly, I told her.” She twirls you, making you grin harder.  “You won!”

“Okay, let's touch some grass, ladies,” Carly cuts in. “We can’t forget that this is just a nomination and that there’s still work that needs to be done in order to secure our best chances.”

“Right,” you respond, elegantly fixing yourself and nodding up and down. You freeze. “Wait, what work? I thought this was it?”

Carly shakes her head. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started.” A pause. “You have to write an article.”

“I am—confused. What do you mean by article?”

The Brit takes a seat in a nearby chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s their one and only requirement. Show them why they should pick you.”

Carly nods, red hair bouncing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re as talented as they come. Just do what you do, but…better!”

Color drains your face as you go back to pacing. “What do you mean better? This is all I got! There’s nothing left to show, oh God—”

“What are you talking about?” your manager yelps. “There’s always more!”

“Exactly,” Lissie hums, somehow munching on another piece of candy. “There’s always—that, yeah. More.”

Your eye twitches. “Okay, you already went through this and won. How did you do it?”

She pouts, tapping the licorice against her lips before clicking her fingers. “I wrote my piece on fashion and how it’s made its way into Formula One. Wasn’t even that hard. Well. Shouldn't be. Write what you know and it’ll come to ya, they say. Or maybe they don’t, but definitely still do that.”

Your shoulders drop, plopping down next to her and placing a pillow over your face. “Fuck. That’s genius.” It is, isn’t it? she mumbles, slowly chewing in deep thought. Screaming into the pillow, you feel the frustration you didn’t have a second ago finally erupt. “What am I going to do?”

“Sweetheart,” Carly starts, forearms pressed against her glass desk, and stern eyes trained onto you. “You have got to be one of the most raw writers I have ever worked with.” A beat. “Sorry, Lis.” 

“Screw you,” she snarls, focusing on her phone now. 

Your manager sighs, rubbing her temples. “And please take that as a compliment because it is. You don’t hold back, and you tell it how it is. That’s what makes you one of the best! And if it weren’t for you wanting this, I would have definitely sent an angry email on your behalf because you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Wow,” the Brit muttered, raising her dark brows. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, cringing. “But you’ve won already, Lis, and we supported you, and now…” She faces you again with soft eyes. “We’re doing this for you. You got it, m’kay?”

“But—” your voice cuts off as you blink rapidly, losing focus with the thought of failing, imprinting itself into the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know what to write about, which is weird because I always have an idea, at least. That’s simply a bad sign, that much I know.”

“It’s only bad if you think it is,” Lissie says, clicking her phone off and smiling gently. “But in all honesty, I think it’s actually quite good. That means you know what's at stake, and you know you have to make this the best goddamn article in your entire life.” A beat. “Write what you know, I’m telling you.”

“What she said,” Carly squeaks cheerfully, eyes crinkling as she starts pouring champagne and handing them one by one. “But just so you know, we have to get this in by October thirteenth because they make their decision by the sixteenth.”

“But that’s Charles’ birthday week,” you wail, rubbing your eyes harshly. “Fucking hell—”

“He’ll understand,” Lissie cuts you off, clicking her glass against Carly’s who shrugs, sipping neatly. “All of us know he will.”

“Okay then,” you whisper slowly. You curl your hand tighter against the glass. “Cheers?”

“Cheers, mate!”

-

Entering his Monaco flat, Charles lets out a tired sigh, taking his shoes off and flinging his keys to the nearby coffee table. The loud thud makes him flinch before running over hurriedly. A large scratch lays across the rich wood as he panics, kneeling down to inspect it carefully.

“Are you serious, Charlie?” he hears over his shoulder, jumping to find you with a frown on your lips and hands on your hips. “That was a gift!”

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “From your Grandpa, I know, I’m sorry!”

You let out a breath, shrugging. “It’s fine. How was your day?”

He eyes you suspiciously once before getting closer to you and kissing you hello. “Eh. Decent. Yours?”

Plump lips twist before flattening back out. “Decent.”

He squints, noticing the way you play with your necklace. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you answer quickly. Defensively.

His brows furrow deeper. “Blow me.”

“Blow you?”

“Yes. Right here, right now—blow me.” He demonstrates, letting out a breath as if taking a breathalyzer test. 

You let out a sore laugh, rolling your heels as you stumble back. What? Your laughing stops, though tears run down your face as you try to get your words out. “You mean breathe out, not blow you.” Your giggles pick up once again, making him blush deep red. “God, you need to learn a bit more proper english.”

He looks away, cringing at the sound of his voice replaying, and then turning with a stoic face. “Don’t change the subject.” A pause. “Breathe out.”

You freeze. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions, just do it.” “I’m not going to do it.”

“Just do it,” he presses harder.

You glare. “No. I’m not.”

Taking one last glance, he leaps forward with zero warning and starts tickling you, making your squeal. Stop! “Breathe!” I am breathing, you twat! “Blow me—God damn it! Whatever! Blow! Breathe! Blow!” 

“Fine, fine, just stop!” you screech, giggles coming to an end as he nods and stares down at you, which by now, you’re laid down on the couch with him towering over. You blush, breathing out lightly, nearly nothing. He rolls his eyes. Blow me harder. “Blow me harder,” you mimic, copying his accent. 

He groans. “You get what I’m saying—”

“I don’t, though,” you joke, laughing harder. As soon as your eyes shut, he smiles down at you affectionately, but when they open again, he reverts his lips back into a straight line. Your lips wobble playfully. Letting out a big breath, he whiffs strongly. “Gross, Cha!”

“You smell like strawberry sorbet, relax.” A beat. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.”

“Okay, this is getting really kinky.”

He aims for a deadpan expression. 

Rolling your eyes, you do as you're told and he lets out a scream. “What the fuck!”

“It’s red!”

“No duh, Charles!”

“Strawberry sorbet. The last pint. You ate it all, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So that's a yes.”

You frown.

“And we always share, but when we don’t it’s because you’re going through something and you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Okay, Sherlock Holmes, we get it,” you grunt, pushing him off as you sit up. He does the same, staring at you, concerned. “By the way, does that upset you?”

“The ice cream? Nah.”

You nod, then yawn. “Why do you have to be so attentive?”

“Because I love you.”

You smile. “I made it onto the list.”

“The list?”

“The list.”

A wide grin dances across his pink lips as he jumps onto the coach, up and down, making you bounce and stare up with a soft look. “The list! Thee list. Holy crap, congratulations, honey!” Landing on the ground, he hugs you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and kissing it over and over. “You smell nice—congrats—is that citrus—wait, this smells really nice—”

“It is citrus,” you giggle as he separates from you. “And thanks. It means the most coming from you.”

Silence takes over for a second or two before his brows knit neatly. “What’s wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” They raise up higher. “I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared.”

Tugging you closer to his chest, he drags so you two are laying back down. You close your eyes at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you like some blanket. “About what? You totally got this.”

“Hmph. It’s just that, I, uh. I have to write an article on a topic of my choice, and—I. Don’t know? I have no clue what to write about.”

Listening attentively, he doesn’t interrupt as your words begin to pour out like a prayer. He doesn’t even interrupt when you say something along the lines of being “at best—mediocre”, even though he really wanted to. You scoff. “It’s a silly problem to have, I’m well aware, but…it’s the truth.”

The Monegasque picks your breathing patterns, mindlessly copying as you cuddle him. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swiftly look up, cheek pressed against his heart beat. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

What do you want him to say? Your lips open aimlessly, then close forcefully. 

He grabs a nearby blacket, covering you both and hugging you the same he’s seen you hug your teddy bear. “I think you need to have a little bit more faith. In yourself, that is. Because your mind…” Green eyes connect with yours as your breath comes to a strong halt. He tends to make your body react that way, quite often. He sends a simple grin. Dimples and all.

“It's the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

-

Abu Dhabi 2021.

It’s been talked about too much already.

Spain 2016.

You’re kidding, right?

Fine. Azerbaijan 2018—

You let out a muffled scream. “Pierre, no! I need something better.”

“Better than all that drama?” he dead pans, genuinely confused as to why his ideas are being shut down.

You exhale, hair flying outward. “I love it too, but I need something new. Unheard of.”

The Frenchman pauses, curling a brow. “I’ve gone blank.”

You bite down on your tongue, shrugging it off. “It’s okay. I should probably come up with my own topic, anyways.”

Getting up, you wave goodbye and make your way to the ice cream truck that’s been rented out for the weekend. Smartest investment, you think to yourself as you twirl your tongue around the lavender spoon. 

“This time I really do mean it—blow me.”

Squinting up at the sun—which so happens to be behind Charles like a halo—you chuckle, feeding him a spoonful. “Good, no?”

“Delicious,” he hums, going in for another. “Have you tried the funnel cakes?” They have funnel cakes? you squeal, eyes shining. He nods. “Want one?”

You deflate. “Later.”

Watching the crowd walk by, you two sit there, switching turns and enjoying each other's company. It’s amazing how no one comes up to Charles, either. Not that he would mind, but it’s definitely a nice surprise. Glancing over, he hands the spoon back to you. “Come up with something?”

“I have a few ideas, but nothing solid yet.”

Pistachio ice cream melts away faster. “I told Pierre to leave you alone, I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“He’s actually the reason why I have these ideas. Don’t let him know, though, I would never live it down.”

Watercolor eyes go wide. “Really? Pierre actually helped?”

“Weird, huh?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Don’t stress out too much, honey. You still have time.”

You purse your lips. “But the sooner I figure it, the sooner I can start and just focus, and do the proper research and try and—”

“You have time,” he reaffirms with a knowing look. You cock your head and he sends a sly grin. “Plenty.”

“Plenty,” you copy as he nods along. Extending his arm, he signals to the spoon. You shake your head. “You can have the rest.”

“You’re the gift that keeps on giving.”

-

Write what you know. Write. What. You. Know.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Biting down on your pen, you’re spaced out, staring at the picture frame. In it, Charles and Carlos smile, you can tell, behind their helmets. While the Monegasque’s eyes crinkle sweetly, the Spaniards are dilated and wide. Both nice, but nothing beats those green eyes. 

You can slowly feel your sanity slipping away, day by day. There’d be times where you thought you had it figured out, but then you’d bring it up and Lissie would smile and say—

“Yes! Stick to that one! Start it. Right now.”

It wouldn’t seem genuine because you know she just wanted you to get it done given it’s due in less than two weeks. And even though it was good, it wasn’t good enough. 

“I’m just going to brainstorm a few more ideas.”

She’d given up, mumbling beneath her breath and grabbing her keynotes and headed to her meeting. Well, technically it was your meeting too, but again. Time crunch.

Hence, why you’re admiring the picture and thinking harder than you were a minute ago. The door slides open then, the two Ferrari drivers back from their media duties. You rip your gaze away as soon as they make their way closer. “How does one fake their own disappearance?”

“Oi,” the brown eyed boy warns, toothy grin expanding. “Good question, though.”

“Oi, you,” your boyfriend warns back, glaring at his teammate. “At this point, I’m sure she’d go through with it.” He turns to you. “Honey, you’ve got to decide already, it can’t be that hard.”

“I know that!” you burst out, ears burning as you avoid their eyes. “But there’s just so much! I don’t want to jump the gun and make a mistake, is all.”

Carlos juts his lip, then rolls his jaw. “If only you took someone’s very good proposition.”

A scoff. “I wasn’t going to write about Papaya Rules, Chili.”

“It would’ve been so good, though!” A beat. “What about—”

“Nor multi-21.”

His expression drops, along with his shoulders, and strolls away, flipping you off. I hope you figure it out, then! A low chuckle makes its way as you exhale loudly. “C’mon, what’s the problem this time?”

You bite your lip, brows drawn in together as you gaze back at Charles. “I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Honey…”

“A-and I know I’m running out of time, but I just want it to be perfect!”

He smiles, throwing his arm on your shoulder. “And it will be, but you need a topic.”

“Yeah…” You raise a brow.  “What happened to having ‘plenty’ of time?”

The Monegasque wiggles his brows. “You can’t take up too much advantage.”

-

I’ve decided. 

That’s the lie you settle with because quite frankly, you’re done with the constant questions. If you were going to come up with the best matter to write about, then you need to have a clear head. Carly is over the moon, Lissie is ecstatic, and Charles is proud. 

Great! What’s it going to be about?

It’s a surprise. 

At first, they were all as curious as can be, but later when you insisted that it’d be better that way, they nodded, though the interest was still there. 

Now—with only a week and a half before your due date—you lay, plopped on your stomach, fingers teasing the keyboard as you watch Charles jump into his race suit. You sigh, sitting up. “I think I’m going to stay in here today.”

He fixes the zipper. “Yeah?”

You nod. “That way I can work and watch you.” You point to the T.V. hung up on his room wall. “Is that okay with you?”

“Whatever you need to do in order to focus, baby.” A wink. “It’s fine by me.”

They’re in lap sixty out of seventy-five, the last time you check, and your page remains as white as a ghost and as bare as a newborn baby. It’s both amusing and mind-boggling. Groaning, you hit your head with the back of your hand before running it down your face. Then, to make matters worse, your laptop dies.

Shit, you grit as you look around and spot Charles’ placed neatly on top of a nearby chair. Strolling over, you grab and open it, typing in his passcode and signing into your account. A few seconds later, the blank page resurfaces. Blinking slowly, you spot it. 

Notes. 

You take a look around, but really don’t know why since you’re the only one in his motorhome, and then click onto the App, furrowing your brows with concentration. 

Turns out, you really like to read because one after another, you skim through his journal entries without a second thought. Eagerly, might you add. Some things you know, others you don’t, but nevertheless, you’re caught off guard. How sensitive he is and how it portrays in every word. Not only are you amazed, but you’re completely engrossed. 

And it sparks something in you.

With a large grin, the brunette makes his way back to his room, trophy in hand and handshakes and pats on the back all around. Grazie mille, he beams as he makes his way closer, sending a final wave before opening his door. Finding you with his spare helmet over your head, he laughs. You giggle, opening the visor. “That’s one good looking winner!”

He laughs, placing the gold trophy down and enjoying you the way you struggle to take it off. You let out a loud gasp as soon as he assists you, tugging it off. “Shit.” Another gasp. “How do you wear that thing for two hours?” Fixing your hair, you pat it down as you send him a sheepish smile. “Give me a kiss!”

“No thanks. Too sweaty.”

Pouting, you pinch his ear tenderly before he gives in, pressing his lips against yours. “You were amazing out there, Charlie. You really were, I want you to know.”

Green eyes soften as he tries his best to savor this moment. “Only cause you say so.” You giggle, hugging his waist and he drapes his hands over your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head. “How far along were you able to get?”

A hum. “Quite far, actually.”

He lets out a whistle, making your cheeks glow. “Looks like we’re both having a good day.”

“Looks like,” you swoon. “Looks like.”

Tilting your head back, you match with his eyes as he sends a dimpled smile. 

Write what you know, you think to yourself as he leans back down to kiss you. His lips greedily crash against your own as you let out a soft moan, playing with his hair, large hands making their way down to your ass. And you, my dear Charlie…

He groans, shuddering as soon as you grind back against his thigh. You smile, admiring his open mouth.

I know you very well.

-

You feel guilty when you start on your first page, but by the time you make it to your third, you’ve talked yourself out of it. You would explain. As soon as you’re done, before you turn it in, you would explain it all to him. Tell him that this is simply because you love him. How he’s your biggest inspiration, and how this wasn’t you using him, but rather you showing others how amazing he truly is.

He notices it right away—the determination. And he admires you for it because he hasn’t seen you like that ever since your writer’s block. So, he tries not to intrude in moments where you’re on a roll, and instead makes sure to have a bath ready for you. He joins you sometimes, too.

Cracking your fingers, you yawn, exhausted, and stretch like a cat. He chuckles, closing his book like a light thud. “Update?”

“Six pages.”

“Wow. You really got it going on.” You blush. “You deserve something sweet. What do you want?”

“But it’s so late, and you have to be up early tomorrow…”

He rolls his eyes, already grabbing your trench coat. “It’s a bit cold out right now.”

You smile.

It’s not that far of a walk, three miles. After buying you a hot chocolate—with extra whip—he takes your mitten covered hand and leads you out the small coffee shop. By now, not many people are out, so it makes for a calm stroll.

“Shhh—ah,” you hiss, tongue sticking out as your face twists with subtle pain. He laughs, eyes crinkling. Drink slowly, he says, voice laced with humor. “The cool air helps,” you murmur, blowing on the hot drink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

He shakes his head. “I just wanted you to unwind.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, enjoying the way his ears turn pink. You giggle. “Why do I feel like you’re thinking about something, though?”

“I am. You.” A gust of wind dances. “Always.”

You purse your lips, taking a slow sip, lipstick painting the white lid. “I’m serious, Cha. You’ve been quiet ever since you got off that phone call two hours ago.” Neat brows knit together with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he answers, but it’s too quick for it to be the truth.

Giving his large hand a squeeze, you send a knowing look. His breath hitches. “You can talk to me—”

“Are you almost done with your article?” he asks, obviously changing the topic as he stares up ahead, and if not, down at his shoes. Pink nose twitches. “I miss you, and call me greedy, but I was hoping you’d be done before my birthday, at least, that way we could…I don’t know—” He shrugs. “You’ve just been really busy—which I get why, and I understand—but I miss y-you.”

Wincing, you chew your bottom lip a couple times before letting go. “Almost, but.” His shoulders drop, making your stomach twist. You panic. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like the final bang in order for it to be…” A beat. “I’ll be done before your birthday, you can count on that.”

Round eyes finally flicker up as he nods, a more relaxed look evident. “This makes me sound so needy,” he says. “Which I guess I am, bu—”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off with a reassuring smile. “But please, tell me what’s going on…”

The Monegasque stiffens. Despite walking, you can tell. You can feel it. Also, it doesn’t take a genius to notice. “They’re not renewing Carlos’ contract for next year.”

You stop walking, making him stop too. He’s still holding onto you, rubbing small circles against cashmere. “W-why?”

“Guess.”

Your mind races. The rumors have definitely been swirling—everyone’s heard—but really? “They’re actually doing it?”

He nods.

“Lewis,” you whisper like it the first time you pronounce his name. “This is, uh…wow. I mean, wow.” 

“Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Wow, for sure.” Letting go, he takes a small step back, but still faces you with an uneasy look. “They brought it up as a possibility, but I don’t know why I never thought they’d be capable of…” He grimaces. “I can’t even begin to imagine how Carlos must be feeling.”

“Weren’t they just praising him last time during your guys’ team meeting?” You curl the cup towards your chest. “That’s fucked up.” Charles sighs, pinching the tip of his nose swiftly. Your eyes fill up with concern. “What about you?”

“I got an extension.”

You let out a breath of relief, nodding. “O-okay, okay. That’s good, Charlie, that’s really good.” When he keeps quiet, you pause all movement and blink feverishly. “Why are you upset, then?”

“I’m not,” he answers. “Only worried.” Listening closely, you silently wait for him to continue. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, suddenly tired. “It’s just that…he. He’s Lewis,” he finishes like that’s enough explanation.

You curl a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A weak chuckle. “It means he’s better, and the team is going to favor him over me.” A timid shrug. “I get it, though. If anyone can bring a Championship home for the team, it’s going to be him.”

“It’s going to be you.”

“No.” The light in his eyes gave out, slowly and painfully so. “It’s not.”

Berry lips open, then close lamely, analyzing him like the world's biggest mystery. Sternly, you narrow your eyes down like knives. “World Champion?”

He flinches.

You click your tongue. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?”

“What?” he says, puzzled.

You nod. “Why are you giving up so easily, huh?”

Sharp jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s a former World Champion, and I’m not.” He chuckles sourly. “It’s really not that difficult to figure out. I mean, I’ve been working for it for so long now, and look at me! I’m nowhere close to being there!”

Silence. Chest heaves. You never let go of your gaze, and he has no other choice than to do the same. He’s not mad at you—not mad at anyone, really—but he’s frustrated. And yeah. Maybe he is giving up the fight, but anyone else who was in his position would too. No one wants to be the laughing stock, no one wants to be compared. 

“Listen to me Charles Leclerc, and listen to me closely because I’m only going to say this once.”

He waits.

“If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.”

Pink lips turn upward as he tilts his head in the slightest of tilts.

Holding his face between your delicate hands, you raise your brows, shivering at the icy air. He can feel your hand vibrate against his skin as he grabs them, brings them up to his mouth, and blows hot air onto them. “I believe in you. Everybody does. Do you believe in that?”

And it takes a moment for him to answer. It takes a moment for it to register. He nods. Sure of himself.

“Only because you do.”

-

“A USB?” He frowns. “I thought you hated those?”

“I do,” you say, combing through your hair, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror. “But I feel like this makes it real. Physically turning it in, I mean. It’s dumb, but…” You check the time, shrieking and grabbing your things. “Carly is going to kill me! Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, and then we can go with your family for dinner, or I’ll meet you there, yeah?” You huff. “Red or white wine?”

“Sparkling water,” he ponders. “Maman is trying to get to ‘quit.’ Which is probably not the right way to put it because it’s not like Lorenzo, Arthur, and I are alcoholics.”

“Oh. Alright then, I’ll just get that instead.” Tippy toeing, you peck his cheek briskly, sweet perfume hitting him. “I love you.”

Adoration fills his watercolor eyes. “I love you, too.”

Who knew?

Who knew that’d be the last time you’d hear those words coming from him?

-

Entering the familiar office, you wheeze, crouching down to catch your breath before sending over a coy smile. Carly laughs, clearly amused, before signaling to the chair that sits right in front of her. “We could have done this any other day as long as it was before the deadline, you know?”

“No,” you pant, heart beat barely switching back to its regular pace. Well. Sort of. “I need to get this out of the way, I promised Charles I’d be free before his birthday. He said it was his one and only wish, could you believe that, he’s so cute, isn’t he?” She blinks. Pink dusts your cheekbones. “Anyways, here it is.”

Looking down at your extended hand, she almost lets out a snicker. “I get I’m older than you, but really? You emailing it to me would have been just as effective.”

“I didn’t want to risk it going straight into your spam folder.” That, and I don’t want to see when you actually read it because I have a funny feeling you’re going to disapprove, which is okay, fair. “Here.”

“Very well, then,” she mumbles, retrieving it. “Why don’t we proofread it together one more time before send—”

Horrified at the innocent suggestion, you leap up from your chair, pushing back. “There’s no need, I checked it about a thousand times.” She raises a sharp brow at your outburst, the defensiveness in it. You laugh nervously. “And I should get going, anyways. Pascale is cooking Cha an early birthday dinner, can’t be late.”

Placing her forearms against the table, she nods slowly, but still unsure. “I won’t hold you back any longer, then. Tell him I said happy birthday.”

Tight lips form a forced smile, uneven breaths expanding. “Of course.”

You’re expected in an hour, so when you should be up forty-five minutes early, Pascale is pleased, but a bit surprised. Hugging you hello, she opens the door wider, letting you in. “They’re out in the back. Dinner should be ready in a bit.”

“No worries. Do you need any assistance?”

She shakes her head, thin blond hair swaying. “I’ve got it all under control, chérie.”

Nodding, you put your things down and start making your way towards the sound, beers clinking. You let out a snicker. “And here you are claiming not to be an alcoholic,” you joke. Flustered, Charles turns to face your soft voice. 

“It’s my first,” he squeaks.

“Third,” both Lorenzo and Arthur shoot, greeting you with a gentle nod. 

“It barely even has any alcohol,” your boyfriend tries defending, but the crack in his voice makes everyone burst out with laughter. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Carly?”

“I was, but we got done pretty quickly.”

“What’d she think?” he asks, tugging you onto his lap. You giggle, meanwhile Arthur gags and Lorenzo blinks unbothered. “Bet she loved it.”

“I wouldn’t know. I left before she read it.”

He cocks his head. “Seriously?”

You nod. “You said you wanted my full attention.”

“I didn’t say it like that—”

“Well, now you have it.” You kiss his nose gingerly. “Happy early birthday, Charlie.”

The Monegasque smiles deeply. “Thank you.”

“Arthur! Lorenzo! Come help and set the table!”

Arthur groans. “Why just us? What about Charles?”

Poking her head out the window, Pascale aims a stern look, making him dash up. You laugh, ideally going to stand up, but gets tugged back down onto his thigh. You roll your eyes. “I should help, too. But you stay here and relax.”

“I will, but only if you stay with me.”

“Pascale needs my help—”

“Right, but she has both of them already.” He gives your hair a gentle tug. “Stay.”

Sighing, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder as he holds you. From here, you can see the breathtaking view of Monaco’s sunset. The ocean, the trees. Filled with satisfaction in life, you kiss the side of his neck, making him squirm slightly. “Carly says happy birthday. Early. Early birthday.”

A hum. “Make sure to tell her that I said thank you, the next time you see her.”

The sound of waves crashing sings softly. He traces shapes down your leg. “When will I be able to read it?”

You’re sure you stop breathing. “S-soon. After Carly gives me the green light, at least.”

A beat. “I’m excited.”

Your stomach churns. “You are?”

“Mhm. Very. Didn’t you know I was your biggest fan?”

Fixing yourself to look at him, you open your lips, feeling how dry they’ve become. “Charles—”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A sore laugh. “They’re calling you.”

You reach towards your back pocket, pulling it out. Carly Freeman. Clicking it off, you shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He wiggles his brows. “Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing. Answer her, it’s fine.”

“She’s going to have to wait until tomorrow,” you announce, standing up and dusting your hands off. “I’m here with you, and she's going to have to wait. Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than this.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

He sends a worried look. “Are you sure? What if it has something to do with your article? You should pick up—”

“I said I’m here with you,” you affirm. “Tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Standing to his full height, he sends a gesture towards the house. “Let's go?”

His hand reaches out, waiting for you. You smile, taking it. “Let’s go.”

-

Your phone keeps buzzing and it doesn’t let him sleep.

That, and Carly is a terrible liar.

Shifting in the bed as quietly as possible, Charles reaches for your phone, trying his best not to wake you. “Hello?” he croaks. The line stays quiet, static rolling. “I know it's you, Carly.”

“Charles! How’s my favorite driver?” 

You twist, unwrapping your leg that was draped over him. He freezes, soothing you a bit before you settle down. Climbing off the bed, he walks out, gently closing the door and heading towards the living room. “I know your favorite is Fernando, what’s up?”

She laughs nervously, cursing underneath her breath. “Is my little journalist with you?”

“She is.”

“Great! May I speak with her very quick—”

“But she’s asleep.” She groans. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well…”

Sitting down on the couch, he leans back, placing his feet onto the coffee table. Normally, he wouldn’t, but you weren’t here right now, and lucky for him, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He clicks his tongue. “Does this have something to do with your guys’ meeting today?”

“Yes. And no.” More static. “Do you mind waking her up for me?”

“Um…well I do. Sorry, Carly, but she needs to get some rest, she’s been working non-stop, and—”

“No, no, I get it!” she squeals. “I totally understand. Can you let her know that I need to talk to her as soon as possible? Like—urgent. Please and thank you and have a good night!”

“Wait,” he says, furrowing his brows and pushing the phone closer to his ear. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about. Too much,” she adds. “It’s just that I need a bit of clarification, that’s all.”

“Clarification?”

“Yup. On a tiny mistake of hers. But we can fix it together, she still has time, and if she hurries then we can still meet the dea—”

“She doesn’t make mistakes, though. Ever.”

A hiss. “It’s a tiny one, Charles—”

“Okay, tell me and I’ll tell her.”

“What? I can’t. I need to speak directly with her first.”

“Carly…”

“What now?” she grits. 

“What’s the issue?” he presses harder. “I’ll let her know right now.”

The line goes quiet. For a moment, he begins to wonder if she’s hung up already, but when she clears her throat, he listens carefully, but can’t decipher her mumbles.

“She gave me the wrong USB.” That’s it? She groans. “Listen to me Charles—the USB she brought to be today only has her title written on it along with a few notes about what it’s supposed to be about. It’s the wrong one and I need the other one now.”

“Okay,” he mutters slowly, nodding. “I’m sure she’ll bring it to you once I let her know, but that’s going to have to be until tomorrow.”

She gasps. “You said you’d let her know right now!”

He winces. “I know I did, but it’s late! Trust me, though. I’ll tell her you called and I’ll even drive her myself tomorrow to drop it off. It must be around here somewhere right…” And it sure is. Sitting nicely on the coffee table, inches away from his feet. He sits up straight away, picking it up as if it were some sort of new discovery. Which in a way, it was. “Carly, why is this so important to you?”

“She’s my favorite client,” she answers without missing a beat. “I only want what’s best for her, and right now we need to fix this little mishap and get this article in as soon as possible.” A beat. “Also, maybe don’t mention the first part to Lissie, she’d totally kill me.”

Analyzing the black USB, he remains stoic, blinking only because he needs to. “Goodnight, Carly…”

“Yeah. I, um—goodnight, Charles.”

Once he hangs up, he’s quick on his feet, retrieving his laptop from the counter and sticking the drive in without a second to process what he’s doing. He shouldn’t. Probably. Definitely not. But the interest Carly clearly has was enough to poke his mind and for him to start wondering what on earth is so significant? 

And it’s so obvious now why.

Charles Lecelrc: The Man Behind the Helmet

His eyes skim fast, narrowing sharply.

Like any other human being, he struggles with depression, though fails to admit. Many sleepless nights, many fights, many canceled therapy appointments, I begin to question: does every praise his fans give him make him think he’s above all these things? The truth hurts, but it's only because it's real. And Charles Lecelrc, you are nowhere close to being as perfect as everyone makes you out to be.

His heart stops, re-reading the last sentence. He wishes for it to say anything but that, but it never changes, and it only mocks him like a school bully. 

Many assume that the death of his late-father, Hervé, and his late-godfather, Jules Bianchi, have made him stronger in a sense. That it has fed the drive in him to succeed. To be the best of the best, but what if that wasn’t true at all? Would any of you be surprised? Probably, but again, no one truly knows him the way I do. So, what feeds his determination? 

The thought of failing the same way they did. 

Anger bubbles up inside of him, grinding his molar until they crunch loudly against his temples. 

But who can blame him for having that fear inherited down onto him? Tabloids also have a part in this, and so do unwanted changes. One way or another, we can relate with the latter, but never in the way he does. Reading and hearing rumors takes a toll on Charles, that much is true, but what can we expect when his next new teammate is a seven-time World Champion. 

I guess the only question that stands in not only our minds, but also his… 

Is he strong enough to come head to head with someone as talented as Lewis Hamil—

“Wake up.”

Groggily, you rub your eyes. “Charlie, it’s dark out, come on. Come back to bed.”

“Stop calling me that, and get up.” In a single movement, he rips the blanket away and yanks you from your wrist, forcing you to sit. You gasp, his change of heart sobering you up from your sleepy daze. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

He laughs. “Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you serious right now or are you stupid?”

You flinch, taken aback. “Don’t talk to me like that, what did I do?”

“I won’t waste my breath explaining.” He drops his laptop on the bed, making you freeze as soon as you spot the familiar USB. “I'll let you re-read it.” 

“Where did you get this from?”

“Really? That’s what’s important to you?” He rolls his jaw, rubbing it until his skin turns a light shade of red. “If you don’t want me finding it, then next time don’t leave it out.”

Your lips go dry, crawling to the edge of the bed, but as soon as you’re about to reach out for him, he grimaces, shaking his head and taking three steps back. “Charlie—”

“No,” he hisses, glaring at you with utter hatred. The sight alone makes your eyes well up. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me that ever again.” A cry rings through the air as you cover your hands over your face. “A-am I supposed to be impressed by what I read or what?”

“It’s no—”

“Did I do something to upset you or w-why were you talking about me like that?” he questions, genuine confusion taking over as he furrows his brows until they cause his eyes to pinch up too. 

Sniffling, you get up quickly, shaking your head adamantly until you get dizzy. “It wasn’t supposed to come off across that way! Are you kidding me?” Grabbing your heart, you soften your eyes. “I’m your biggest supporter.”

“Yeah? Well, that,” he snarls, pointing at the open screen like it's the most disturbing thing. “That doesn’t make sense with what you’re saying…” A beat. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Do what, though?” you whimper. “Everything I wrote about you is based on what you told me!”

“Exactly!” he shouts back, making the distance between you smaller, making you shrink. “I told you! Just you! I never once asked you to air out my business, and quite frankly, I thought that was common sense.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “You called me crazy and troublesome among other things. Are you my girlfriend or wolves in sheep's clothing? I’m trying to understand your logic here.”

You push your hair back, breathing hard. “You can’t just say that, there’s context behind that, come on…”

“Oh. Okay. My bad. I’m crazy because I talk to my father’s tombstone and Jules’. It's troublesome because I used to do cocaine in order to de-stress. I’m in over my head because I actually think I stand a chance against Lewis—a chance you convinced me I had!”

“That’s not what I meant!” you squeak. “You’re taking it all wrong, Charles, I would never say that about you!”

“But you did,” he states firmly. “And you know? If I’m so unready to face a friendly competition against my future teammate, then maybe I’m unready to face a lot of other things, too.” You freeze, dreading his next words as you plead him silently not to say them. “Maybe I’m not as ready to settle down with you as much as I thought I was…”

That does it. That seems to cut the little oxygen you had, off. Stumbling back, you feel the tears start to form again. “You don’t mean that…” You smile weakly. “You’re just a tiny bit upset right now, okay, fine. That’s fine. But you don’t mean any of that.”

Glaring until it hurts, he maintains eye contact. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling, you don’t get to do that!”

You flinch. “I’m sorry.” A droplet slides down. “I’m sorry, okay?” More follows. “For all of it. For all of this. If I could take it all back, I would, you have to believe me, Charles, you know I would.”

His gaze lingers for a while longer, taking in your rosy nose. Your swollen eyes. Your wet cheeks. Everything that's supposed to make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “I really did trust you…” You breath hitches. “And I really did want you to win…” Pause. “And I still do.”

Strolling over, he disconnects the USB, making the screen go completely black, and hands it to you. Blinking down, you shake your head, too embarrassed to even look at it. “I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want it either…” Forcing your palm open, he places it down, instantly making your skin burn. “Journalist of the Year.”

You let out a wet sob, shoulders shaking. You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but what you do know is that this doesn’t feel good and that your heart breaks with every passing second.

Never in a million years did you think you would experience any of this, especially with Charles. The Monegasque cocks his head, curls following. “I’m glad you’re about to get everything you’ve ever wanted, I really am.” He chuckles softly, eyeing you intently. “I just can’t help but wonder what that must feel like.”

“I was going to tell you,” you whisper meekly. “And you were supposed to understand where I was coming from.”

And if any anger was gone, well fuck that, it all came right back.

“Understand where you were coming from?” he spits out, shocked by your choice of words. “You really thought I would understand? I planned my entire future around you, and this is how you repay me? You went behind my back to write an article I didn’t even know about! We made a choice years ago!”

“No, you did!” you retort, despair rising hard and fast. “You came up with that decision all by yourself, Charles, I never agreed!” You look down. “Not entirely.”

“Huh,” he scoffs, squinting his eyes. “I was simply looking out for the girl that I love given that the internet is a scary place and she probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it, for God sakes, I guess this is my fault now, isn’t it?”

“I would have been able to handle it, but you never gave me the chance!”

“Yeah, because reporting on a driver and driver who's your boyfriend are two completely different things that you can’t seem to comprehend!”

Trembling, you blink carefully, gulping. “I would have done just fine.”

“You think so?” he challenges, a sour smile forming. You nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” Closing the final distance between you two, your breath gets stuck as he sends a dirty glare, one that's meant to sting. “You’re not talented. You only have your position because of your dating status, when in reality, your work is utter shit. Everything is handed to you.”

There’s a mix of a whimper and a plea that comes out of you as you screw your eyes shut. “You’re being mean, Charles…”

He laughs, clapping his hands once with amusement. “That’s what the internet is! Maybe I was right, then—you can’t handle it.”

“I could…” you murmur, but it's no use. 

The brunette catches himself wanting to comfort you. To apologize for everything. But then he figures—why? It’s not like he truly did something wrong. 

“You’re the greatest disappointment of my life.”

Something ended the moment those words left his mouth—you both knew it. Sobbing hard, your shoulders vibrate violently as you seemingly gasp for air. He looks away. 

“You know, our life could have been so good. So fucking good. But you went and ruined it.” Green eyes flicker back. “Why would you do this to us?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” you declare with wet lashes. 

“You did a bit more than that,” he replies, wincing, blinking rapidly. He smiles. “If you wanted to write your article on me, you should’ve asked me. You should have talked to me. But no. And the thing is, I would have let you! God. I would have let you write whatever you wanted—but not like this. You stole an interview from me with no right, honey…”

Quickly, you flicker your gaze up at him, hoping to see any trace of  love in that one word, but you’re not surprised when you don’t find any, deflating furthermore. He shrugs. Like what you did to him was no big deal. 

“You took it from me. But I would have given it to you.”

-

“Are you sure you want to do this? You can always change your mind, babe, it’s totally fine!”

“No.” You fix your hair, posture straight. You smile. “I need to.”

Lissie shares a slow nod, nibbling on her bottom lip before handing you her keynotes. “Alright. Good luck.”

The idea first sparked when the Brit girl mentioned how she was the only one granted permission to interview Charles at this year's FIA prize giving ceremony. You had debated back and forth with what seemed like forever, both Carly and Lissie trying to talk you out of it, but you pleaded until they reluctantly agreed. 

You haven’t seen him ever since that day.

It’s insane to think about, sometimes. You knew each other for two years, dated for three, and haven’t crossed paths for another two. And now, you’re here. He’d been upfront that day, didn’t even flinch with his one and only birthday wish, meanwhile you felt the last stab hurt more than anything.

I wish to never see you again. 

Not long after, he grabbed his things and left. But not before turning around, sending you one last glance, dull, empty, and nothing like him anymore. You still recall.

Turn it in, he said, smiling warmly despite his better judgment. Despite not meaning it. Don’t let this all be for nothing.

Shaking your hands, you grin, fixing your silk dress. The Brit girl stares worriedly, but as soon as you wink, she hides it. Not that well, but enough. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” she jokes, but it’s probably true. He has a soft spot for her, and he only gave permission to her. No one else. 

You wince, grabbing her hands delicately. “I really appreciate this, Lissie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Waving goodbye, you make your way to the private conference hall. It’s daunting, actually, the sight of the large table where he’ll be sitting and the small chair where you will. Quite the narrative. His picture is hung in almost every corner, from the beginning of his career to now. The latest one makes you smile as he lifts the trophy high up with a beaming grin, dimples poking out and eyes crinkled just the way you remember. 

You thought about apologizing again. Better this time. Once things simmered down. You really wanted to, but as soon as Carly informed you that the article would need to be published in order for fans to engage with your content and for them to decide on a winner, you knew the gist of him accepting your apology was most likely never going to happen. 

And you contemplated not posting it. Carly did too. Lissie did too. No one thought it was a good idea, but you still did it. Like he said—you couldn’t let all that be for nothing.

The hate came immediately, you expected nothing less. In their minds, you were a loyal girlfriend, but after reading your work, the comments came rolling in. You were honestly quite grateful because you know you deserved every last bit of it. 

But somehow—somehow—you won Journalist of the Year. 

You were shocked to say the least—bewildered. And you could see it in Lissie and Carly’s eyes too. So, while accepting the award with a forced smile, it hit you like a truck.

Did you truly earn this or was it all thanks to him?

Either way, does it matter anymore?

The door gently opens as he steps in, a loopy smile stretched onto his lips before coming to a complete stop. With your heart in your throat, you cough awkwardly, standing up and waving. You cringe, putting your hand down as soon as he furrows his brows, looking around. 

“S-she’s not here,” you say, voice cracking. You blush. “You’re looking for Lissie, right?” Utter silence. He blinks, unresponsive and as stiff as a tree. You lick your lips. “I-I-I can leave if you want.” But you really hope he doesn’t want you to.

The Monegasque’s features strike with something familiar—something you knew not long ago. Then…

He smiles at you. 

“It’s alright.” Carefully, he makes his way closer, scooting his chair right next to yours as you blink, sitting back down and staring with your plump lips slightly open. He cocks his head. “Y-you look the same.”

You giggle. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” When he fails to answer, you bite down on your lip hesitantly. “You haven’t changed much, either.” 

He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but why are you here and where is Lissie?”

You flinch. Okay. This was expected. You practiced hours for this very moment. “Don’t be mad at her, okay, I asked her to let me do this. I wanted to…see you, Charles.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his heart stop because it's been so long since he’s heard it. Too long. A subtle blush. “I’m here to apologize.”

“Ah,” he winces, scrunching his nose. “Don’t. We’re cool.”

“Are we, though?”

He stiffens. 

Exhaling, you place your things down, pursing your lips. He watches the way your knee bounces up and down. How you play with your ring before covering it neatly with the opposite hand. That catches him completely off guard as he blinks rapidly, thinking he must be mistaken. 

“I know I don’t deserve any of this,” you say nervously. “By all means, I should have been kicked out five minutes ago, but you…” Round eyes soften, lashes batting slowly. “You’ve always been a kind and generous human being, Charles.”

“Stop,” he whispers. You frown. “Saying my name, I mean. You can talk—we can talk, but please, just. Don’t say it.”

“O-okay,” you mumble, stomach churning. “I won’t.”

He lets out a tight smile, tilting his head. Years ago, his hair was a tad bit longer, fluffier even. Now, it’s still the same, but somehow more mature. His eyes are still young and naive, but with a hint of wisdom. He usually would wear mismatching suits, but now it matches. A lot of him has changed, and you weren’t there to witness it.

“Congrats, by the way,” you add happily. “World Champion, eh?”

Pink spreads across his cheeks, slowly but surely. “Thanks. I was close to losing my mind.”

You laugh. “Seven years later, but it’s well deserved. I’m so proud of you.”

And for a moment, he goes completely numb. He’s heard plenty of kudos ever since winning his first title—and they were nice, they made him feel nice—but this. You? It’s the first time it makes him feel accomplished. And that feels more than nice.

Playing with his bracelet, he nods sheepishly. “How have you—how, um…God. I, um, how have you been?”

“Oh.” You let out a genuine smile. Soft. Angelic. And everything he wishes to find in any other girl that isn’t you. It’s not something he should notice. “I’ve been well.” You raise your hand. “Engaged.”

“You sure are,” he mumbles, finally acknowledging the silver band before flashing an easy smile of his own. And maybe it was real, or maybe it wasn’t, but he wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. Just a tiny bit bothered, is all. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You lick your lips awkwardly. “You remember Carly’s son?”

A tide hits him as he internally screams. “Grayson, right?”

You nod. “She, uh, set us up a while ago and we hit it off.” You wince. “I’m sorry, is that weird?”

“No. Of course not,” he replies, shrugging. “You’re allowed to build your life with whomever you want. What happened between us was…” He chuckles. “So long ago. I’m happy for you both, I really am.”

And he means it this time.

Admiring the oval-shaped ring, you swoon as if you’re thinking of the exact moment he proposed to you, and that’s the prettiest sight Charles thinks he might ever see. Even if it didn’t end up being him. Once you look back up, he looks away, feigning interest in anything else stupidly.

“Yourself?”

“Myself?”

A playful eye roll. “Are you seeing anyone?”

A retch. “Ha ha, no! No, that’s not—that’s not for me.” You frown. He winces. “Please don’t be offended, but after you, I sort of lost interest in meeting other people. Pierre calls it trauma, I call it precaution.” A sore laugh. “B-but maybe one day. Never say never, am I right?”

The lights reflect directly towards you, so that lets him see the rosy blotches beginning to hug your cheekbones as your lips wobble. He panics. “N-no! Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“I ruined your life,” you wail, throwing your hands over your face. “Oh my God, I wrecked it!”

“You didn’t!” he tries. “I’ve gone on a couple of dates, here and there!”

You’re tiny cries take a quick pause. Sniffling, you shoot him a look, shiny eyes beaming back at him. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, slowly relaxing against his seat. “Sort of. Kind of.” A horrified expression maps out against your face. He grimaces. “I-It’s just not my thing!”

“I’m sorry, Ch—” You pause, rethinking your words. “I’m sorry.”

The Monegasque shrugs, hoping that’d be enough for you to drop the topic. “It’s okay, really. It’s a decision I made long ago, and I’d like to keep it like that for a while, at least.” You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding halfheartedly. “But please, um, tell me, how far along are you? Heard from Lissie that it’s a boy.”

You let out a wet giggle, wiping your tears away to the best of your ability. “Nineteen weeks. I’m in my second trimester.” Gingerly, you rub your tiny belly before your eyes light up. “Give me your hand!”

“What?”

Leaning in, you grab his large hand and place it down on your stomach, looking up at him to watch his reaction. At first, he’s weirded out, you can tell. He makes a silly face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, but seconds later his features soften. His green eyes go round, no tension behind them. His brows lay flat, then knit together in amazement. He laughs, rubbing his thumb gently.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers. “When he kicks?”

You hum. “Sometimes it can. But I suppose it’s more discomfort than anything.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Cool?”

He nods rapidly. “Super cool.”

Pulling away, he can feel his adrenaline as high as a kite, and as fast as his car. He feels different, he notes, as if something has finally shifted inside of him. With this, he takes time to admire you in a way he hasn’t been able to ever since.

Your hair is cut into layers now, glossy and shorter than he remembers. Your lips, round, plump and berry tinted. Your eyes, doe, innocent, and pure in a way he can’t seem to wrap his head around. Smile, even, wobbly, and everything in between.

Your gaze flickers. “Question…”

“Answer,” he replies, studying your body language. 

It’s harder than you had initially thought it would be, asking him what you’d been wondering for these past two years. Was it all that bad? The answer might be yes. Yes, it was. To him, perhaps. But it tugs your tongue, and it burns a bit, but you push through, focusing on him and his watercolor eyes.

“Do you—”

But he still knows you. He can still read you. Before you, it’s always him who understands your train of thought. 

He shakes his head, dimples imprinting like a finger in sand. “No regrets.” 

A peach seed forms as you let out a sheepish laugh. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in life,” you admit, cringing slightly. “Just yesterday, I bought the wrong plane ticket. Got stuck in the airport for three extra hours.” He chuckles. “Totally unnecessary.”

“It happens,” he comforts you, clicking his tongue. 

“I guess so,” you say, sighing. “But betraying someone you love? Yeah. That’s got to be the worst mistake of my life.”

He flinches, an old wound suddenly opening. “Hey, you—”

You raise your hand, pleading with him. “Let me just…” So, he forces himself to sit there quietly, to not intrude no matter how much he really wants to. It’s fine, he wants to say, I’m fine now, we’re fine now, seriously.

A wince. “Do you know how guilty I feel whenever Grayson polishes my award?” A scoff. “He means no harm with his actions, but it makes me feel like shit everytime I walk past it. I’ve begged him to put it away somewhere in the attic, but he’s as proud as can be. Say’s an accomplishment like that deserves to be shown off. That it’s proof of all my hard work.” You smile. “Much like you and your trophy.”

You exhale. “You were right, though.” A hum. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I never said that.”

“Sure,” you give in quietly. “But you did say that if I won, I’d always wonder if I was truly respected for my work or if I was respected because of you.”

He bites his tongue. 

You shrug lamely. “And that’s just something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life…” Steadily, you ease your eyes back towards him as you find him already staring at you, listening close and curious. “And I want you to know that I’m fine with that.” A beat. “What I’m not fine with is you being mad at me for the rest of your life.”

Charles opens his mouth, feeling his tongue as dry as the desert and his throat as dusty as the highest mountain. “I’m not mad at you…anymore.” He sits up straighter. “I said a lot of things to you that night that I shouldn’t have said, but you have to understand that you hurt me a thousand times worse.” 

Tears well up your eyes as you nod shamefully. He continues despite feeling the need to reach out for you. “I just wanted you to feel what I was feeling, even if that meant—well. You know. And, um…I tried to forget all of that, but I, too, felt guilty, so—I’m glad you’re here. That way I can say…I’m sorry.”

“No!” you wail, raising your arms up. “No, I’m sorry! I broke your trust, and I was a God awful girlfriend.”

“You did,” he chuckles before scrunching his nose in deep thought. “But you were also the best I’ll ever have.”

A wet sob escapes.

“I forgive you.”

“S-shit,” you let out. “You don’t know how g-good it feels to finally hear you say that.”

A gentle smile. “You?”

You giggle, standing up. “I have nothing to forgive you for, but yeah. Okay. I forgive you, as well.” You open your arms for a hug. He blinks. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Tsk. “You used to do this all the time wherever we fought,” he says, a hint of sadness wavering in his eyes before disappearing into thin air. Extending to his full height, he towers over you before going in to close the distance. He halts, coughing awkwardly.

You snicker, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right. You're hugging two of us now.”

A wave of jealousy pangs his chest for a second. You’ve moved on, and he’s stuck in the year you were still in his life. Still his. He envies Grayson in every sense there exists, but he swallows down that pill because he’d always been a nice bloke the very few times he interacted with him. He needs to move on, too. 

Even if it takes him his whole life to figure out how. 

“The more the merrier.”

Your face has gone completely numb by now from how hard you're grinning from ear to ear. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he goes over your shoulders, you sigh contently as you catch the whiff of his cologne. His heartbeat quickened at the smell of your perfume. 

“Question,” he whispered. You chuckle against his chest. Answer. He gulps, nose twitching. “Would it make me a bad person to say that you’re probably the only girl I’ll ever love?” Silence. He screws his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Why the fuck would he ever say that—

“I’d only say that I don’t deserve to be her,” you respond. “Anyone but me.”

A flinch. “O-of course. You’re getting married, you’re having a baby, what was I th—”

“Honey…”

He freezes. 

You lean back, holding his face between your hands and smiling. “It’s not your name…”

His voice catches. “It’s not…”

A deeper smile. Nostalgic. “A piece of me will always love you.” A pause. “You know me so well. Better than anyone. You’ve seen me naked. You’ve dressed me. You’ve seen me with makeup. You’ve seen me without. And…well—you’ve seen my good side. But you’re also the only one who's seen my bad.”

His palms quickly get sweaty as he tries his best to not do anything he might regret. And not because he’ll wish to take it back, but because you would. Neat brows draw in together as you graze his stubble with your thumb. As nurturing as a mother, which he supposes you already are. 

“I’d say that makes us pretty close, no?”

“Not as close as I’d like to be.” 

“You’ll find someone.” A beat. “Someone who’ll love you right.”

“You didn’t?” he questions before he can stop himself. “Sorry—”

“My love for you was honest. But I blew it.”

I’m still here, he wants to yell out. If you still want me like I want you, then I’m still here.

But he refrains from doing so.

“You’ve never done me wrong,” he attempts, kissing your palm gingerly before softening his gaze. You send a playful glare. “Except for that one time.” You snort. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore because—because it doesn’t matter anymore…”

Maybe it's the hormones, you sort of wish it was, but you know it’s due to his gentleness. You don’t deserve his sympathy, you don’t deserve even a fraction of it. Crying, you kiss his cheek, hoping everything you feel transfers itself into the warmth of his skin. And you don’t know, but it does just that.

Closing his eyes, he prays to dream about this kiss forever. Have nightmares, who even cares. As long as he doesn’t forget. 

You step away carefully, taking him in as his eyes flutter. 

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…”

He smiles. You smile. 

His dimples pop out. Your eyes crinkle.

He loves you. You love him.

And maybe it didn’t work out in this life.

But maybe in the next.

“May I have an interview with you?”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @emmaxdelicate

[melshifting]

― EXTRAS FOR YOUR DR ⭑.ᐟ

for any/all DRs <3

Cooking/eating extras

↳ #01 ～ Vegan, gluten-free or keto? You can effortlessly modify traditional recipes to suit any lifestyle while maintaining their original taste.

↳ #02 ～ As a master chef, you can instantly tell if a dish needs salt, a touch of lemon or more spices to make it stand out.

↳ #03 ～ Whatever the dish (meat, pasta, cakes, etc.), you instinctively know when it is perfectly done, preventing over or undercooking.

↳ #04 ～ Whether it's a cookbook, a video or a family heritage, you never forget a single step or ingredient of any recipe you've read or seen.

↳ #05 ～ It seems like you always have enough eggs, milk or spices for whatever you're cooking - you always have all the ingredients you need.

↳ #06 ～ Whether you're cooking for two or twenty, you intuitively measure the perfect amount of ingredients.

↳ #07 ～ Any ingredient you touch lasts twice as long - the food you buy doesn't spoil quickly.

↳ #08 ～ You can taste every detail and flavor of the food, turning even the simplest dishes into an unforgettable experience.

↳ #09 ～ Every bite automatically adjusts to the perfect temp for maximum enjoyment: ice cream that doesn't freeze your teeth, soup that never burns your tongue.

↳ #10 ～ Spiciness adapts to your taste and provides just the right level for you to enjoy without overwhelming your taste buds.

↳ #11 ～ Every meal you eat is efficiently digested, ensuring that you feel light and energized rather than sluggish or bloated afterwards.

↳ #12 ～ When you crave something, your mind searches for the perfect place / recipe to get it, so you're never unsatisfied.

↳ #13 ～ You can eat any amount of your favorite foods and never feel too full or tired, enjoying the taste without the disadvantages.

Technology/gadget extras

↳ #01 ～ Every time you take a photo or record a video, the quality is impeccable, as if you were using a high-end camera regardless of the device.

↳ #02 ～ Your digital devices automatically organize all your data, documents, and files in perfectly categorized systems without you having to lift a finger.

↳ #03 ～ No matter if you need to fix a device, solve bugs or recover lost data, you can solve technical problems instantly thanks to your knowledge.

↳ #04 ～ All your devices are updated with the latest technology to suit you and your needs.

↳ #05 ～ Your phone, laptop, and other electronic devices can be recharged in seconds just by being in the same room as the charger.

↳ #06 ～ Your voice is your ultimate password, unlocking all the devices and systems you interact with.

↳ #07 ～ You can instantly transfer data between any device, regardless of platform/type, with a simple hand gesture or a voice command.

↳ #08 ～ Your headphones automatically adjust the sound to your environment: they block out noise when you're in a crowded space or amplify sounds in a quiet environment.

Beauty extras

↳ #01 ～ You can easily change the texture/style of your hair without heat or chemical treatments. With a simple cream, your hair can go from straight to curly and voluminous, while remaining healthy.

↳ #02 ～ You never have to worry about your make-up smudging or smearing - it lasts all day, with no need for touch-ups.

↳ #03 ～ You know color theory inside out when it comes to wardrobe and makeup. You know what colors flatter your skin tone and enhance your features.

↳ #04 ～ Your nails grow long, strong and beautiful with minimal effort - you have a good system that helps stimulate the growth of your nails while keeping them strong.

↳ #05 ～ You always smell wonderful, not because of perfume, but because your skin naturally gives off a subtle and personalized fragrance.

↳ #06 ～ Your wardrobe has clothes that are made to adapt to your body as it changes over time - you'll never have to worry about clothes that don't fit anymore.

↳ #07 ～ You can pull any hair color with ease, whether it's natural or artificial. The texture stays soft, shiny, and healthy, regardless of color.

Health/hygiene extras

↳ #01 ～ Your immune system is optimized, so you rarely get sick and, if you do, recovery is quick and problem-free.

↳ #02 ～ Your skin naturally heals spots, small cuts or scars overnight, maintaining a smooth complexion without skincare.

↳ #03 ～ You never suffer from bad breath or a dry mouth, thanks to the unique ability of your saliva to neutralize bacteria, keeping your oral hygiene in good condition.

↳ #04 ～ You sweat only minimally, and when you do, it's never uncomfortable: your body naturally regulates odor and moisture, so you stay comfortable and fresh throughout the day.

↳ #05 ～ You can fight headaches or pains without medication - your body's ability to relax and heal itself makes you feel your best with minimal effort.

↳ #06 ～ Your body temperature stays perfectly regulated, meaning you never feel too hot or cold in most environments.

↳ #07 ～ You rarely feel muscle tension or pain. Even if you have spent hours sitting or training, your muscles feel loose and relaxed without a massage or stimulation.

↳ #08 ～ Your vision stays sharp and your eyes never get tired, even after hours in front of a screen. You don't need glasses or eye drops because your eyes stay moist and sharp naturally.

Security/safety extras

↳ #01 ～ You have learned simple but effective self-defense techniques that rely on impulse and precision rather than brutal force, making them effective in any situation.

↳ #02 ～ Your reflexes are finely trained, allowing you to react instantly at critical moments.

↳ #03 ～ You instinctively remember the faces / details of strangers who may seem suspicious, which gives you an advantage when for remembering a key factor if it is ever necessary for your safety.

↳ #04 ～ You never get lost because your sense of direction is strong; you can always find your way back to familiar places safely.

↳ #05 ～ You always know the quickest escape routes in any building. It's as if your mind automatically traces the exits as soon as you enter.

↳ #06 ～ You never lose your keys or wallet/wallet because your belongings emit a subtle signal you can easily track.

↳ #06 ～ Your cell phone has an unhackable emergency mode that sends out your location, emergency signal, and even live audio to a list of trusted contacts with just one tap.

[yueichihara]

"Shut up!" - LaDS reactions.

LaDS boys reacting to you screaming at them to shut up.

Summary: How hard can it be to ask for a little peace and quiet when you're finally having a little bit of time for yourself? But they dismiss your request and have the audacity to pester you even further.

These are short stories, about a tired MC who keeps being called out to work, and whenever they're free they go out with the boys and spend no time to chill at home to recharge. So they snap.

cw: snapping at sylus, fluff, special appearance by our favourite twins

the word count just kept growing omg, I need to make justice for xavier

Tags: @sxremmie

Xavier - pt. 1 - 637 words

Rafayel - pt. 2 - 944 words

Caleb - pt. 3 - 952 words

Zayne - pt. 4 - 1,090 words

Sylus - pt. 5 - 1,080 words

It’d been half an hour since Sylus turned up at your apartment, making himself comfortable next to you at the dining room table as you browse through the internet. It was a special sales weekend, focused on electronic devices and you were looking for a new games console. Your birthday last month was fully funded by the hunter’s association and now you were left with some cash you were able to save.

Sylus had his elbow on the table, his chin resting on his hand as he focused on what you were doing. His other arm lounged over the back of your seat, his fingers brushing against your spine every now and then, making you jolt. He had yet to tell you the reason for his visit, ignoring your curious looks and questioning. 

As you kept browsing, you opened new tabs with the different consoles you found fitting, taking into account both the specifications you were looking for and your budget. Every now and then you opened one ad you liked, only to find out it’s way out of your league. Still, you went through the description so that you made sure what you were looking for. 

This is how you came across the new SX 3000, the newest console from the same company that launched the one you were trying to replace. It was slim and elegant, in an obsidian colour. Its specifications matched your requirements, and the price… way out of your budget. 

You let out a sigh as you moved the cursor over the x to close the tab. Sylus’ fingers brush your spine again and stay there. “That one looks good.” You look over at him and scoff.

“Sure, in another life.” This time, instead of closing the tab, you liked the publication and moved over to keep browsing. You hear Sylus sigh this time, but he says nothing. This repeats a few times as you come across different consoles that are way too pricey. Sylus’ remarks only frustrate you further. Of course it would be easy for him to get one, even for you if you just let your pride aside and asked him to buy you one. But life wasn’t that easy and you weren’t that kind of person. You wanted something good that would let you relieve stress, but also something that you worked hard for. You’d talked to Sylus about this before, and he understood your point of view, but sometimes his need to please you just washed over everything else. 

The SX 3000 appears again in another page, and you skim over the different choices without paying it any mind. “That one would look really good next to your gaming set-up. It even matches the style.”

Feeling frustrated, you close your notebook with force, slightly flinching hoping you don’t have to redirect your budget to a new device now. “Sylus, shut up!” You stand up and look over at him, completely unbothered at your outburst, almost as if he was waiting for it. 

His only reaction is a lift of his brow. “You’re being fussy.”

“And you are being a pain in the ass. If you came over just to bother me, you can go back now.” You grab the notebook and take it over to the charging station when the doorbell rings. “Ugh, what now?”

As you move to the door, Sylus talks. “You might want to get your temper in check before you open the door.” You look back and stick out your tongue at him before hastily opening the door. 

Standing next to each other, holding something at their backs as if they were planning something mischievous, were Luke and Kieran. With a frown, you move away to let them come in, only to have them shove something in your hands on their way in. Your confusion intensifies as you close the door but it soon turns into a furious frown as it scans the box with a bow on top. You storm over to Sylus, ignoring the twins. “I told you I didn’t want it.” Shoving the box into Sylus’ lap, you step away to go calm yourself in your room, but he catches your hand and pulls you over. “Hey!” He grabs your other hand and puts the box with the SX 3000 back in your arms, holding them to keep you from letting it go. 

“This isn’t from me.” He stands, looking over at the twins who look puzzled at your reaction. 

“Uhm,” Luke starts, rubbing his mask as if he were rubbing his temple. “this is a gift from us.”

“Yeah,” Continues Kieran, tilting his head. “since we couldn’t get you something for your birthday, we thought to get you something you really wanted.”

“You mentioned you were planning on replacing your console the last time you were over at the base.” Luke adds on.

“And we thought this would be a great opportunity to thank you for everything you’ve done for us.” Kieran says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking smug.

Luke puts one arm around his brother’s shoulder, looking just as smug as he continues. “And for being our friend.” Every fiber of your being ached for these two, warming your heart and making you hold the box tighter to you. “We asked Boss to keep you busy as we retrieved the console from the store, it only arrived today!”

Putting the box on the table, you go over to them and give them a big hug. “Thank you so much, it means so much to me. Both of you mean a lot to me.” They move away and shyly clear their throats as they mumble things like “same” and “you, too”. “How about you help me set this up over there?” They light up and take the console over to the gaming set-up as you turn over to Sylus.

Crossing your arms, you see him leaning on the table doing the same, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I thought you didn’t need it.”

“I don’t.” You say moving closer, but as soon as you reach him you let out a deep sigh and lean your head on his shoulder. “But I can’t say no to them when they look so happy, can I?” 

You feel his head rest over yours. “Who could?”

“I’m sorry for getting mad at you and telling you to shut up.”

“Apology accepted. Now go over there before they unplug something they shouldn’t.”

[psshaw]

Close reading is untimely. It bristles against today’s universities, which treat students as customers to please and as future workers to train rather than as people in pursuit of human flourishing. Jeff Bezos’ empire—Amazon; Goodreads; Kindle Direct Publishing, which dominates the perfervid world of self-publishing—encourages readers to “talk about a book as if it were just another thing, like a dish, or a product like an electronic device.” Social media compels us to attend to what we’re seeing for as long as it takes to scroll by. Every day, AI produces more of the words we come across, making it hard—maybe impossible—to care about reading them. I’m sure there were college courses this semester where students completed their work with AI and professors graded it with AI, cutting humans from the loop. It’s easy to see why close reading, which demands patience, openness to others, and slow, careful thought, is having a moment among academics. (...)

How would you begin if you’ve never taken a literature course—or if it’s been a decade or three? You must acknowledge that its words are how they are for a reason, their placement is purposeful, thus meaningful. Every word is a clue. No skimming. You must (metaphorically) listen to the text: what is it trying to do—to you. You might start with a poem or a novel you’ve read before, one you’d like to understand better. You might already have hunches about what it’s about. These might be confirmed upon rereading, or pleasingly foiled. As you read, a line might hit you. You feel struck. You pause. Here’s where close reading happens. Hold up. Linger with that line. Read it again, a few more times. What gives it its force here in its immediate moment? Work out its power. Does it reveal something about the text’s project?

[weeb-simp-11]

🃟☏➢NEED THAT SHAPEABLE VEINY DIH!!

NOTE: You should also give some love for my guy Shapesmith/Rus Livingston, I wanna eat this stretchy man. Also might not be accurate, semi-proof read.

Pairing: Shapesmith!Rus Livingston x Fiancée!Reader — Female Anatomy and She/They + You Pronound, Engaged and to be Married

Sypnosis: Calling your ‘husband’ after his flight to Mars and you notice he seems to be acting strangely sooo it ends up with fucking because you miss him, teehee.

Warning: Eventual Smut

RING RING!! RING RING!!

“Rus? Baby?”

He almost dropped the unknown electronic device as it rang, accidentally accepting the call, fumbling with the screen as he heard a woman speak.

“Russell?”

“H-hello?”

“Oh god Rus, I thought you weren’t gonna answer my calls.. I’ve missed you so much.. Christ.” You softly spoke through the phone, holding it near your ear as you smiled gently to yourself.

“Yes— yes hello fellow human. Uhh..” Shapesmith trailed off, looking at the caller’s ID. “Honey..”

As far as Shapesmith is aware, Rex taught him various lessons about relationships during their time with the Guardians of the Globe. He instructed the struggling Martian not just about mating, but about sex and how to make women feel appreciated every day, whether through intimacy or other means. He also helped him improve his grammar.

“I’m at your apartment, I just finished cleaning here. Will you be coming home?” Her small chuckle masked the longing she’d felt for her fiancé, all those days without him.

“Uh, Y-yes Ok I will end this cellular device. Goodbye. Uh— baby.” Shapesmith replied, feeling a bit sheepish as he ended the call, making his way out of the Moon Base

_

“Welcome home Rus, you were right. I really did miss you a lot.” You spoke, his name dripping off her tongue like honey. She hovered in front of him, holding him close, their first hug after what? Two weeks? Months? Man Shapesmith didn't even know that the guy’s identity he’d stolen from had a wife, he wondered, a bit unsure of things.

“Sweetheart..” Rus would call her, trying to figure out things, especially with him engaging with a human in physical contact as what she’d doing right now — hugging the Martian.

“Yes?” You’d look up in anticipation. You did notice his weird differences from before, he was a bit timid and shy right now. Not that she didn't mind. It was just unusual for her fiancé.

“You’re acting weird, as if you aren't my boyfriend.” Shapesmith’s eyes slightly widened. Did she find out he was a Martian? Will you stab his three-chambered hearts? Skin his skin off? Grind his body?!

“Hey no— I’m just tired, y’know. Mars and going to space.. And other human stuff..” Shapesmith replied, gently scratching his cheek, swallowing his saliva. Her arms that held him trailed up to the back of his neck; nape.

“Don’t you miss me too?” She mumbled, staring deeply into her lover’s pupils. Eyes trailing down from his irises to his lips, and back. “Aren’t you gonna kiss me?” You frown, puckering your lips up for him as you sigh.

“Oh- uh yes- sorry.” Shapesmith apologizes, immediately pressing his lips against hers. The kiss was reasonably messy and unnaturally sloppy. Rus knew how to kiss, he kisses as if she was his last meal, he kisses as if he's eating her face out. But right now, it felt too different, was this really her Rus? She was a bit skeptical. Shapesmith tried to pull out from their kiss as you lead him on instead, your tongue darting between his lips, trying to slip between them.

You pulled him close. Clutching him using the collars of his uniform, leading him further into the house as they reached the kitchen. You sat on the edge of the counter, with him against you of course. His Martian senses heightened at the feeling of her warmth that emanated from her body. He rutted against her thigh, you halted his desperate movements, helping him out of his uniform, discarding it somewhere in the living space. She was too much into the sensations that she did not bother to notice whatever he hid beneath his pants, it was similar to a dick, although not technically one? God who knows?

You shimmied off your clothing, throwing it somewhere in the room, you’ll have to worry much more about different things tomorrow, for now. They should focus on each other. Both of you were bare naked under the dimly lit kitchen, soft breathing could be heard and gentle thrusting can be seen happening between the two.

Rus’ hips stuttered against yours, his dick slipping in and out into her warm hole. He gripped your calves, rutting against your leaking pussy that ached for your Fiancé.

“Ugh.. You feel so different. Does space do this?” You moaned and whimpered, clutching onto his body, feeling air gets sucked out of your own lungs whenever you’d help him thrust.

He is learning gradually. He is trying to understand how the human he is fucking also felt good.

Female Human’s pussies felt too good. It was making him light headed already he his pounded his cock into her velvety warmth. He could almost—

“Oh— chums—!” He spilled his Martian seed inside her, his body shuddering along with hers as they both climaxed. You swore when you shut your eyes, you were having sex with a green alien Martian, maybe that was just your eyes playing tricks at you. He slowly pulled his member out of your gaping hole, watching as his essence mixed with hers and dribbled onto the countertop. You clenched onto nothing, softly whining as cool air hit your body. You fell into his arms, both of you now resting and relishing each other’s embrace after being separated.

Maybe stealing Rus Livingston’s body wasn't bad after all. (Stealing is bad kids)

NOTE: Probably making a sequel where you found out it wasn't the real Rus Livingston and admitting it to him hat you thought it was him that you fucked but it was actually a Martian and it ends with also them fucking. I don't know.

[houseofanticipation]

Session 1:

Her hands tremble as she plugs the device into her TV's HDMI port. Per the instructions on the card, she sits so that her face is as close to the screen as she can get it, and she turns the volume as high as it will go. Then she presses the HDMI-1 button on her remote.

As the input switches over, the sudden sensory overload is startling. Colors flash on the screen, shapes and patterns move and reform, never lingering long enough for her eyes to linger on. A chorus of electronic tones drifts in and out of harmony. She lets her eyes go out of focus, allows the sounds to overwhelm her, and counts slowly back from ten, as instructed.

She gropes for the remote, unable to wrench her eyes away from the screen. When she finds it, she presses the power button by feel, and the TV clicks off. She blinks, afterimages flashing on her retinas. She feels like she's coming out of a dream.

She notices the light coming through the kitchen window. When did it get so dark? She glances at her phone clock.

She's been staring at the screen for almost four hours.

Session 2:

The screen is different this time. The sounds too. Not that she can point to any one shape or pattern or sound that's different this time; it's just looks different. She wonders if it will look different every time.

She waits longer this time. The card said that after the initial calibration, she could stay as long as she pleased. And it does please her. The feeling that staring at the screen gives her is like static in her brain, a heavy-duty pipe brush scrubbing out the cobwebs between her ears. When she stops, it's only because she's beginning to get hungry.

As reality fades back in around her, she checks the stopwatch she started on her phone right before turning the TV on. Six hours and forty-seven minutes. No wonder she's hungry. She's just wondering what she's going to order for dinner when she notice an icon on her home screen that wasn't there before: an app for a file-hosting service, some alternative to dropbox. She taps the icon, which takes her to a shared folder with a single video in it. In the video she's naked on her bed, pounding away at herself with her favorite dildo. Sometimes she changes position. Sometimes she takes a break to shove it down her throat. Her eyes are vacant. A steady stream of drool trickles down her chin.

according to the app, there is 1 other person viewing this video.

Session 3:

She's vaguely aware this time, because she's paying attention, of odd sensations in her body as she stares at the screen. A brief impression of a hand on the back of her neck. A tightness in her scalp, like her hair being pulled. A warm soreness in her thighs, like she's been working out. More than anything, she turns off the TV this time because she can't wait any longer to see what's happened.

The most obvious difference is that unlike before she turned the TV on, she's now almost completely naked. Her skirt is bunched up around her waist. Her panties around one ankle. Her shirt and bra nowhere to be found. She notices a warmth on her thigh, and realizes there's cum dripping out of her. Her body aches all over, but it's a good, sleepy kind of ache, like she's just finished running a marathon. She checks her phone. Almost 12 hours.

She gets a notification that someone has liked her instagram story. She hasn't touched instagram in months. She opens the app, and begins to tap through her own story, watching a just-the-highlights rundown of the night she's just had. In this one she's sucking a strangers cock on the subway. In that one she's staring up at the camera, begging whoever's holding her phone to fuck her in the ass (he obliges). There are several memorable clips of her being used by no less than five men at once, apparently on the counter of some bar somewhere.

In the most recent one, she's in her own apartment, taking a selfie as someone out-of-frame ejaculates on her face. As she watches this, she reaches up and touches her own face.

The cum is still warm.

[zpendragon]

DC X DP inspired by @thebubblesareevil post: Retired Hero Danny - March 1st

ring ring

The sound of a phone could be heard over the low music and sound of tinkering. The man looked up at the clock, seeing that it was 5 minutes to close he sighed as he reached for the phone.

"Danny’s dead device depot: you kill it I fix it, how can I help you today."

“My name is Diana of Themyscira. I was told you could help….we have run out of options.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“A new god by the name of Darkseid intend to bring our world to ruin. His army is without end and we cannot hold them back much longer”

“Hmmmm sounds like a tough job” tinkering is heard in the background “ tell you what, get me some of those cookies like yer mom makes. The nutty ones and we’ve got a deal”

“Kourabiedes? That’s it? But-“

“No buts, you just get those started while I take care of this creep. I should be done by the time they cool down.”

Danny hung up the phone and stood into a stretch. His gaze landed on three items hanging on the wall. Three clubs with glowing green letters were mounted in a row. 'Fenton Anti-Creep Stick - Small, Fenton Anti-Creep Stick - Medium' and 'Fenton Anti-Creep Stick - Large'.

"Hmm, I think medium should do… I mean it's just a god. No use going overboard." He grabbed the medium sized club, roughly 6 feet long and a foot across at the head. Taking a few practice swing to loosen up he nodded to himself. "Perfect." He raised his free hand and before him appeared a glowing green portal. Danny leaned the club over his shoulder, he walked though whistling a jaunty toon to himself."

Danny arrived on Apokolips, the home of Darkseid. Looking around he could see the army Diana had mentioned. He'd seen better, but if he wanted to get back for the cookies, he needed to get started. Danny infused his creep stick with a bit of his ectoplasm and swung in a lazy arc in front of him. A massive wave of green swept out before him swallowing everything in sight leaving huge swathes of land bare. No enemies remained in front of him. Lifting into the air, Danny flew towards the "strongest" energy on the planet. He made his way to a large fortress surrounded by large pools of lava the put off smoke that choked the air with an acrid scent. The fortress looked like it was bought straight out of villain's quarterly.

Sigh "No imagination." Danny strode towards the large doors on the front of the fortress. Each step saw ice spreading in every direction, freezing the lava and providing a path to the door.

BOOOM Danny's foot struck the door throwing it forward, ripping it from the door frame and embedding it in the wall to the left of the large figure on the throne. Danny stood in the doorway eyeing the dark figure.

"I hear you're the creep giving my niece problems." Hefting the club off his shoulder he continued " I have just the thing for creeps like you… although looking at you now, maybe the medium is a bit much for this."

Darkseid stood from his throne shaking with rage. "You shouldn't have come here. Your death with not be gentle." he said with a glower.

snicker "Oh man, not only are you too late for that threat, but how unoriginal can you get? 'YoUr DeAtH WiLl NoT bE gEnTlE'. Let's get this over with, I have cookies waiting for me."

Dark red beams flashed from Darkseid's eyes towards Danny, who knocked them to the side with a swing from his club. "That it? Boxy hits harder than that." Danny leapt forward swinging the anti-creep stick to strike him on the left side of his head. Darkseid's head separated from his shoulders slamming into the wall of the throne room. His body crumpled to the floor.

"Well that was disappointing…" Danny made a grasping motion and Darkseid's soul appeared before him held in place. His eyes wide in fear he asked "Who are you?"

"Oh, I run an electronic repair store." Danny replied with his best customer service smile. "You were my last house call of the day. Well, it was nice to meet you Mr. Dick-seid." With a squeeze of his hand, Danny crushed Darkseid's soul, ending him for good.

"I hope Diana bakes as good as her mother!" he said as he opened another portal leaving the entire planet a barren, frozen ball of ice.

[candycandy00]

I Got a Goth Santa Boy for Christmas! - A Dabi x Reader Fanfic

You ask Santa for a hot goth guy to fuck you stupid. Dabi shows up at your door. 

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Dabi as Santa’s Helper. Spanking. Degradation. Humiliation. Squirting. Faint Praise. 

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Part of CandyCandy’s Kinkmas 2024!

It’s Christmas Eve, a little before midnight, when you hear a knock at your door. You’d just settled in with a mug of hot cocoa and a blanket on the couch, ready to watch looping classic Christmas cartoons as you fall asleep. But before Santa can even begin bullying poor Rudolph, you get interrupted. 

Sighing as you peel the blanket off and sit down your mug, you wonder who could be knocking on your door at this hour. You went to a small Christmas party at a friend’s house earlier today, but if you’d left something there they would have just texted you, right?

The knocking is getting insistent as you reach the door. “Alright already!” you yell as you unfasten the lock and swing the door open. “Stop knocking so loud on Chris-“

Your voice dies in your throat, because what you find on the other side of the door is a very strange sight indeed.

It’s a man in a bizarre Santa suit. The parts that should be red are jet black, and the edges of the coat are frayed and stitched at odd angles. He’s wearing black gloves and boots, both a little too stylized and a little too shiny leather to fit the Santa look. His hair, what you can see of it beneath the black Santa hat, is snowy white and his eyes are bright blue. He has piercings dotting his face and ears, but what strikes you most of all are his scars. 

Rich purple burn scars cover the lower half of his face and form half circles under his eyes. They contrast beautifully with the blue, making his eyes seem to glow. 

He’s gorgeous. And he’s so very much your type that if a friend saw him out in public, they’d snap a photo of him and send it to you. 

You finally find your voice again. “Uh, can I help you?”

He looks at you with an almost bored expression. “Yeah, I heard a naughty little slut lives here. That you?”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Excuse me?!”

“Oh? Did I get the wrong place again?” he asks, pulling an electronic tablet from his coat and tapping the screen to turn it on. He looks from the screen to your face, then holds the tablet out for you to see. “This is you, right?”

On the screen is a picture of you with your name and address beneath it. “That’s me,” you say, “but I’m not a slut!”

He pulls back the tablet and taps the screen a few times. “Really? We got this letter from you. ‘Dear Santa, send me a hot goth guy to fuck me stupid for Christmas!’ Didn’t you write that?”

Your face immediately burns with embarrassment. You did write that. As a joke. And you never showed it to anyone, much less mailed it. How the hell did this stranger get ahold of it?!

You cross your arms defensively. “Even if I did write that, as a joke, it doesn’t mean I’m a slut!”

He taps more on the tablet. “Maybe not, but Santa’s surveillance network is pretty good. We’ve got these videos of you playing with yourself every night.”

“WHAT?!”

Suddenly you hear sounds coming from the tablet, your own voice moaning and crying out in pleasure. The stranger grins, and you can see him using his fingers on the screen to zoom in on something. 

“Wow, look at you go! If this ain’t a horny little slut, I don’t know what is!”

You lunge forward, trying to grab the tablet, but he jerks it out of your reach, holding it up high. On the screen, you can see your own fingers rubbing your clit. “Turn it off!” you scream, absolutely mortified that this hot guy is seeing something so private. How did he get these videos?!

“Oh? Gettin’ worked up?” he asks, laughing as you continue trying to grab the device. 

“I’m not a slut,” you yell out, “I’m still a virgin!”

Both of you freeze. Did you just yell that out to a complete stranger? He’s staring at you, the video still playing, your cries reaching a crescendo as you cum on screen. His eyes flick back to the tablet. “Holy fuck. Never seen a virgin squirt like that!”

You feel tears stinging your eyes. You glare at him in silence for a moment, then step back into your apartment and slam the door in his face. 

“Hey, don’t be like that!” you hear him shout through the door. “I’m your present! You asked for me, right?”

“I didn’t ask to be humiliated!” you yell back. 

You hear him sigh. “Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? You’ve been good enough to get your wish granted, but Santa thinks you’re spending’ too much time flickin’ the bean. I’m supposed to punish you, but in a fun way, yeah?”

“What do you mean, in a fun way?”

His voice is sultry as it glides into your ear. “Let me in, and you’ll find out.”

You stand there facing the door, having a full on mental debate. Should you let him in? He’s an asshole, but he’s fucking gorgeous. You’ve been wanting to lose your virginity for a while now, and you have the hottest guy you’ve ever seen at your door, ready to do the deed. But how did he get your letter, and those videos? 

Oh shit. Santa Clause is real. And this guy works for him. 

Once you accept that, everything else starts to make sense. The guy seeming to be tailor made to fit your taste, him knowing all about you, the way he’s dressed. 

So he’s your present from Santa? 

You take a deep breath, then open the door. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back against the opposite wall in the hallway. He looks up at the sound of the door opening and gets to his feet. 

“I have a question,” you say, a little uneasily. You’re still grappling with the fact that this guy has watched you masturbate. 

He dusts off his black Santa suit. “Yeah? What is it?”

“Did they make you do this?”

He tilts his head and frowns. “They?”

“Whoever you work for. Santa or the elves or whatever.”

He bursts out laughing then. “No, doll, the elves ain’t whorin’ me out. I volunteered after they showed me those videos!”

You look up at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Got me all riled up. And besides, those little fuckers can’t make me do anything,” he says, a smirk on his handsome face. 

That’s a relief to hear. You don’t want to do this with someone who’s here against their will. 

“So?” he asks, blue eyes gleaming. “You want your present or not?”

You step back inside your doorway and to the side, gesturing for him to come in. You can barely look at him as he walks into your apartment. You’ve fantasized about something like this for years, and you’re certainly horny enough, but now it’s actually happening. Just thinking about it makes you nervous. 

He doesn’t say anything as he follows you to your bedroom, but once there he glances at the bed and grins. “There’s a familiar spot!”

You grimace. “Please stop reminding me of that!”

“Why?” he asks, his eyes not so subtly sliding up and down your form. “You were hot as fuck in those videos.”

The comment makes you blush. Did he really like watching you? Still, you’d rather forget all about that. “Let’s just pretend that never happened, okay?”

He shrugs, standing near your bed. “Okay, so do you wanna unwrap your present now?”

Before you even answer, he’s opening up his furry black Santa coat, revealing no shirt underneath. Oh god, the scars are all over his body, making such a lurid patchwork. You can’t take your eyes off them. 

He sits down on your bed and pats his thigh. “Come sit on Santa’s lap,” he says. 

You cross over to him, your candy cane striped socks making no noise at all on the carpeted floor. You’re wearing a red tank top and green pajama shorts. Nothing fancy or sexy but it’s not like you expected any of this to happen. 

When you get close enough, he suddenly grabs your hand and pulls you over, so that you’re laying across his lap, face down. Your ass is slightly raised in the air, and you squirm a bit in surprise. 

“H-hey!” you shout, trying to wiggle off him, but one of his hands is gripping your thighs while the other is holding your back down. 

“I gotta punish this naughty little slut before we have fun,” he says as the hand on your thighs slides up, over your ass, and then hooks a thumb into the waistband of your shorts and panties. In one smooth motion he pulls them both down, exposing your ass and leaving the fabric around your knees. 

You squirm around in his lap, making a show of struggling, but the truth is that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. He raises one hand in the air, then brings it back down in a harsh slap to your ass that makes you yelp. 

“How many do you think you deserve?” he asks, then brings down his hand again. 

You’re trying to keep from moaning, clamping one hand over your mouth, hoping he doesn’t notice how wet you are. 

Another slap. “Come on, answer the question!”

You move your hand from your mouth. “Ahh, I don’t… know!”

He laughs. “Well, tell me how naughty you’ve been and we’ll figure it out.”

Another slap. “I’ve been… very naughty!” you squeak out. 

“I can see that,” he says as his fingers slide down, between your legs. “What naughty things have you been doing?”

“Y-you already know!” you cry out, your voice shuddering as his fingers probe your wet folds. 

“Yeah, but you gotta say it, doll.”

His hand withdraws from your pussy, and you feel another slap, this time to the backs of your thighs. 

“I… I masturbate too much!” you blurt out, feeling your face burn. 

Another slap. Is it your imagination, or does his hand feel unusually warm? 

“Such a dirty little slut,” he says, giving your ass another slap. “So how many whacks does that deserve?”

“Uh… ten?”

You’re too embarrassed to look at his face, but you can practically hear the grin when he says, “Ten? Goin’ a little easy on yourself, huh doll?”

He gives your ass a firm squeeze, and you bite back another moan. Why is his hand so hot? And why is this making you so wet? 

“Well, whatever,” he says. “Ten it is. One…”

Another whack, and you twist in his lap to look back at him now. “One? You’ve already given me a bunch!”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t countin’ those.”

You groan and bury your face in the nearby pillow on your bed. If this keeps up, you’re gonna cum right here, while being spanked. 

The next nine whacks go by with you biting your knuckles, whimpering from the strain of holding back. You refuse to cum in this position, even when he pauses halfway through to rub your sore ass and dip his fingers into your quivering pussy again. 

When all ten whacks are given, he suddenly flips you onto your back on the bed, making you wince when your raw bottom collided with the mattress. Before you can complain, he jerks your shorts and panties off your ankles, pulls your legs apart, and moves between them. “Ready for the fun part?” he asks, leaning down, licking his lips. 

Oh god. You’re so ready. But you’re afraid you’ll make some embarrassing sound if you speak now, so you nod emphatically. 

Then, all at once, his face is in your pussy, his tongue parting your folds and circling your clit. Your body arches off the bed, your legs spreading wider automatically. Your breaths come quicker, shaky and hitching. 

His tongue feels so much better than your fingers! You’ve never felt anything like this, so warm and wet and moving expertly over the little nub. When his thumb takes over for a moment, rubbing your clit in a slightly rougher way, your legs begin to tremble. 

He’s looking up at you from between your thighs. “Gonna squirt for me like you did in the videos?” 

“N-no!” you say, trying desperately to contain yourself.

His thumb rubs upward on your clit, pushing back the hood, making you almost buck off the bed. “Show me how dirty you can be, naughty girl,” he says, then lets his tongue go back to work. 

You can’t stand it any longer. It just feels too good. You let out a cry as you cum, squirting all over him in the process. You squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back against the pillow, your body spasming with pleasure. Once fully spent and panting, you gather your nerve and look down. 

His face is glistening, your juices dripping from his chin. He’s licking his lips and grinning back at you. 

Face burning, you grab your own pillow and pull it over to hide your humiliated expression. But the man gently tugs it out of your grasp. “Don’t hide,” he says. “You look real cute right now.”

You slowly open your eyes. “I do?”

“Yeah. Now how about I give you the rest of your present?” he asks, drawing back on his knees and unbuckling his black leather belt. 

Oh god. It’s happening. You’re equal parts scared and excited as he opens his pants. You’ve never seen a dick in person before, though you’ve seen plenty in porn. This one is, surprisingly, very pretty. The piercings dotting it catch the light in such a lovely way, and the small patches of scar tissue contrast with his pale skin. 

He leaves on the open Santa coat as he pushes his black pants down his hips and pulls your lower half into his lap. He lines himself up, then slowly pushes in. 

You feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, and there’s a bit of a sting, but not as bad as you’ve imagined while pleasuring yourself. When he starts thrusting lightly, the friction feels good. You can feel the cool metal of the piercings and the warm heat of his hard cock as it slides in and out of you, going deeper each time. 

When he finally gets all the way in, his tip pressing against your cervix, you gasp at the fullness, at feeling him so deeply within you. 

You’re losing your virginity to a guy who works for Santa, whose name you don’t even know. But it feels so amazing, you don’t care. You clamp onto him, throwing your arms around his neck as he pounds into you. 

You hear his voice at your ear. “This what you wanted for Christmas, doll?” 

“Yes!” you cry out, gripping him harder, not wanting to ever let him go. 

He’s practically slamming into you now, your whole body jerking with his thrusts. You’re holding yourself up off the bed by clinging to his neck, and he’s got one hand on the back of your head, cradling it as he fucks you. His other hand, which had been holding your hip steady, slides down between your bodies and finds your clit. He gives it a pinch, and you moan, your mouth pressed against his collarbone. 

Now he’s rubbing small circles into it with his fingertips, and you know you can’t last much longer. Your body is already quivering again, on the edge of release. 

He gives a few more especially deep thrusts while his fingers continue stroking your clit, and you come undone. The orgasm smashes into you, making you scream out as the pleasure washes over you. 

Almost immediately after, as if he were waiting for you, the man cums inside you, clenching his teeth as he shoots his load into your waiting pussy. 

Your arms slide from his neck, and he lowers you to the bed. It takes you a long moment to catch your breath, during which he pulls out of you and buttons his pants. 

“Your name,” you mumble, still dazed. 

He looks at you. “Huh?”

“What’s your name?”

He hesitates, looks away, then mutters, “Touya.”

You laugh weakly. “I thought all Santa’s helpers were elves.”

He sits down on the edge of your bed. “Most of ‘em are. I’m a special case.”

You raise up, pulling a sheet over yourself. “Special how?”

He grins. “This is my community service, to make up for all my fuckups when I was alive.”

Your eyes widen. “Are you… dead?”

He laughs at your reaction. “Nah, dead isn’t the right term for it. ‘Between lives’ works better.”

“What does that mean?” 

“It means I was on the naughty list in my previous life. Did a whole lot of bad shit,” he replies, looking a little nostalgic. “So I got an offer. Do some good deeds for a while and start my next life with a clean slate.”

“How long is a while?” you ask. 

“Sixty-five years,” he says. 

You shoot straight up in bed. “That long?!”

He laughs again. “It’s not so bad! I help out at the workshop a few months a year and spend the off season ice skating with elves.”

You stare at him for a moment. “Are you, uh, allowed to leave the workshop?”

His eyes slide over to your face. “Why? You want me to come visit you?”

You’re immediately flustered. “No! I mean… maybe. If you want to.”

He stands up and leans over you, kissing you on the cheek. “You’re really cute right now,” he says, then straightens up and heads for your door. Before he leaves, he looks back at you. “We’re pretty bored up there around Valentine’s Day. Maybe I’ll come see you.”

You find yourself smiling. “I’d like that.”

He raises his hand in a casual wave as he walks out, saying, “Merry Christmas!”

Tag List:

@coldluminarykoala @atomicweaselpaperapricot @chocoyanchan @calculust-prime

[d8tl55c]

im seeing... tied cho

and orange dragged into the Box

⠀

tearing off the memory scraper that fast hurts, a lot, but ofc inversely that fires tco up a little.

as the pain wears off and they see the scraper being turned on orange, they hang their head to obscure themself biting into rope.

a few snaps of teeth later, they burst out of the chair,

gathering just enough strength to strong-arm the device away from orange's face,

and make a stand, wobbily, to protect him.

⠀

⠀

rebounding always fills them with a sort of pins and needles sensation, and as their power wanes and waxes and builds back on itself, they shudder from core to extremities, shaking off loose sparks like embers from a flame.

so builds their rage.

their posture straightens with every tick.

victim hasn't seen all of their tricks yet.

but

victim surprises them by turning right around, abandoning the fight as fast as it started.

the workers drop orange and scurry along behind it.

the door opens.

cho steps towards it.

vic turns and stares at them.

cho flinches back.

⠀

the door closes.

an opportunity has gone.

⠀

...

chosen begins to listen.

now the danger could come from any point in the room.

was another victim clone in here somewhere? invisible? waiting to strike?

would the Box summon another weapon?

would they somehow detonate orange like a bomb right next to them? (chosen tries not to think like that from here on: there would be nothing they could do)

⠀

in the midst of their pacing, circling, feather-fluffed patrol, orange sits half-collapsed on the floor.

he's pulled his legs under his chin, and hasn't budged since.

⠀

...

chosen sits abruptly next to him.

their head is still twitching, swiveling.

they don't make a very comforting presence.

...

chosen taps a complicated beat on the concrete.

...

chosen resumes pacing.

⠀

...

evening falls with the crash-crackle-chunk of industrial electronics powering down.

not this one though. chosen tried the wall.

the lights dim a little in the Box, a lighter grey instead of white, but still hold fast.

chosen can't seem to relax.

orange can't seem to move.

⠀

...

the next time chosen turns, orange is waiting for them.

orange gestures wide. at the Box. at the building. at the clearing where chosen forced him to fight. at the IP-address sky they came from. at EVERYTHING. "why? why are we here?"

...

chosen points. "well, you-"

"because of THAT???" orange stabs his hand toward the wall where once hung a projection of chosen's memory, that impossible thing that couldn't have happened... but did.

and neither of them know how.

his shoulders slump.

he returns his chin to his knees, hugging himself tight, before chosen can respond.

hah. as if they'd even know what to say.

⠀

...

chosen's stomach doesn't growl—because it doesn't work like that—but they certainly can.

and do.

their pacing doubles in speed, paradoxically wasting more energy, but they can't help it.

orange inadvertently interrupted the one part of the day when their captors actually fed them a decent meal, and now exactly one of them is feeling the consequences.

their mind is a battleground of intrusive thoughts:

should they have abandoned orange? no, dumbass.

what did they do wrong today? nothing, all the employees out there are just assholes.

will They ever feed them again? yes. shut up.

that's a nice hue. what does orange StickFigure taste like? do you think it'd be like Arial or Comic Sa-? OOOO-KAY SHUT UP shut up shut up shut up

they sit, then flop over on their side, and try to forget that orange exists.

⠀

...

the air and the walls of the Box don't give back any energy. that was one of the first discoveries that gave chosen the thought, "i might die in here."

most of their time in captivity has been spent trying to bury that thought as deeply as it can go. and like breathing, they just keep digging.

⠀

then something warm seems to snug up behind them.

holy shit! did someone turn on Host Battery Sharing? or did one of those bastards outside take pity on them and summon a blanket? or, or maybe a hot water bottle? oooooh

but they turn to investigate,

and come face to face with orange.

...

"wow, you're cold."

"yeah"

...

"sorry,

"it's just"

"no, i-"

"it's just-" orange gestures vaguely around the entire room.

chosen understands the feeling.

orange gives up trying to explain it. "i can leave if you-"

"no!" cho shakes their head vigorously. "it's. it's nice.

"...

"aren't you cold?"

"no," orange shifts a little so his head is leaning on part of them, "i'm fine*. it's kinda like you're a. cooled pillow."

chosen makes a face. they never understood the appeal.

orange doesn't see it, because his eyes are drifting closed.

...

he must be so tired.

finally, a little bit of understanding squirms through chosen's thick skull /fond.

he's not trained for this like they are.

and that's a damn good thing, but

right now, they're both here

and they have to deal with it.

⠀

...

he's asleep.

chosen twitches once in a while—they can't help it—but it seems that orange is a deep sleeper, so that works out.

for the first time in hours and hours, he's got a safe place to rest.

⠀

...

⠀

chosen yawns.

maybe if they nap, too, they'll dream of dark.

⠀

⠀

⠀

______

*orange's latent powers are probably protecting him from the worst of the cold.

ANYone else would say, "holy shit! my bones are freezing! i cannot endure this!" from being this close to chosen for too long,

and he's just here like, "o°°ooo freezy pillow i likey"

truly the napper of all time

[cam3lli1a]

﹑  ̨✿ What they'll be like when they're a yandere? ✿﹐

PICK A PILE

Choose a pile that you feel most attracted/drawn to.

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

﹫. Order's up!! ʰᵉʳᵉ ᵘ ᵍᵒ ꜝꜝ

This is a general reading, take that resonates.

┆ ┆ ✽ ┆

┆ ✽ ┆

┆ ✿

┆ ✿

✿

PILE 1 (ONE) ‧₊˚ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

The song: Therefore I Am by Billie Eilish pops up in my head for this pile. Perhaps they'll be in ultimate despair as it seems they had someone whom they cherished nor love that they perserved one of their past lover body part to keep. They're in anguish. They're in miseries. Nothing works for their experiments to revive them. Not until you come along as they see you similar as their past beloved. They have lot of judgements and are REALLY wise. It reminds me of a mad scientist but they're the villain wanting ressurect the person they loved. As they mostly be seen as 'withdrawal' due to them busy with their inventions. Unsure why it reminds me of that one villain Evelyn Deavor from incredibles 2 of the vibe they gave yk. Especially as they can brainwash people, a genius mastermind, etc. Yet they have a lot of insights and introspect themselve if they done it right or not. Furthermore they will have lack of morality to revive their beloved. And if you've caught their interest and subconsciously make them forgot or make them move on from their past beloved, their heart will eternally yours, forever. Gradually they feel sudden obsession will increase bit by bit as they feel a sense of anxiety or panick attack if you leave them. Which made them isolate and will go NUTS. Which made them goes throygh great lengths to capture you and not letting you leave the place. They WANT you to be by your sides FOREVER. You're like the drug of nicotine for them. Relieving, addictive, wanting your sides with them even going to great lengths just to capture you. Similar as Evelyn Deavor that they can use their intellect to manipulate people. They can hijack, even hack every systems. If they a skilled hacker, that they had already have their eyes on you settled while looking through your electronic devices camera. They had seen your search histories especially what you had watched before. They are also a technological Genius. If you're in a relationship with them, they easily can hack through your accounts and use them which you thought one of your devices seems 'funny' or odd. Especially as they instinctively might spam texts you because they might be REALLY clingy only towards you. Or, they might have anxious or disorganized attachment style. Additionally the way they texts seems very lovesick as they can't handle themselves on wanting YOU for themselves. Plus, they can be pretty random when they texts. They can be sarcastic as it depends on the situations they're in especially with you around. This person will possibly cross boundaries at someone who had hurt you just to 🔪 .

𓂃 ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ 𓂃

PILE 2 (TWO) ‧₊˚ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

They want your approval and if you still have parents or family that they might going to prove themselve that they're legimimate the one for your fam approve if they accept and akniwledge them. So your fam approves them to be in a relationship with you. I thought if they gave golden retriever energy. They can be compassion of a person for having both empathy and sympathy only for you. They highkey think 24/7 about you that they become a lovesick clingy puppy around you. They might rush or plan ahead as they have HIGH desires on wanting marriage with you so no one will take you away from them. They thought of wanting to have a family with you. They have a lot of access connections that they instantly knew where or what you're up to from people's gaze. If you have no friends then dw as they might send other people to watch over you for your safety. They can be reckless and indecisive with their actions. Hm, it gives off psycopath vibes yk. They actually posessed a lot of wealth without your aknowledgement as they WILL spoil you a lot. They're over-protective and HIGHKEY posessive of you as they might not let you leave the house. They will be authoriative as their prescence commands attention without them trying too hard. Regardless, they're loyal, logical, self-discipline and very structurized even with their planning. They'll stagnant you and have complete control over you until you'll be at your mercy despite their stubborness and persistence. You'll have hard time to reject them. Wherever you go or escape from them, they know where you are. They'll instantly know your every locations. There's NO escaping from them as they usualky showed up outta nowhere, even in random times. Unsure why Stalker Tango song popped up inside my head for this pile 2. If you're in a relationship with them, you'll often not see them around as they're usually busy with their own responsibilities and usually or iften detached when they're feeling drained from work as they have their own business. Or they have high-payments of job(s) which made them burnt-out. But they still worship the ground you walk on regardless of them being nonchalant to others, but not towards you <3.

𓂃 ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ 𓂃

PILE 3 (THREE) ‧₊˚ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

Idk why Two Faced song popped up inside my head for this pile. Saur. This might be a reunion you have with someone as the atmosphere feels very shoujo like pink with cherry-blossom vibes. Furthermore their concealation of their outer personlity cracks up as they showed you their other personality they have as it can be 'something.' You might get subtle clues from their body language nor action(s). You might see them as they done nothing wrong as you see them as a person with naivety or innoccence they had. At the same time which they have their own charisma and inner playfulness they often don't showed it. They seem like a peaceful and not picking anyone sides despite them watched over you. Unaware that they actually have 'something' underneath their sleeves. They have determinations to retrieve anything they WANTS and desires. Especially to retrieve you into their own embrace for not letting go off you. They had been obsessive + posessive of you since the beginning they laid eyes on you. Love at first sight. They have anything it takes to win as they love a challenge despite them being two-faced. They quickly act on that decisions according to their plans. Overall, they do have back-up plans. They'll be in denual that they kept thinking constantly that you love them, only them. They're jyst delusional like that. As they thought on wanting to worship you. If you run away from them, they'll chase you down non-stop. Every simple acts one of you guys done will still make them happy, regardless. They're HIGHKEY strong-willed. They're a good conversationalist even linguistic that they can manipulate others + the surroundings + the situations. They can be pretty dependable and also strong-willed, akwas stand on their ground. They're actually determined to win you over even when they have to harm situations or people with that kind of manipulations they had. A sheep in wolf's clothing they are. If you're in a relationship with them, you'll notice that they're actrually 🤓☝🏻 a really deep person as they love philosophy and literature as they might yap about it at random times. They can be playful at times. Since they're REALLY communicative and good in linguistic, they let you communicate how you feel without it turning into argument(s). They're pretty chill but two-faced towards people especially to those whom harmed you in any types of shapes or forms. They easily can be REALLY jealous, so it's scary when they get angry ngl.