#in a way. he probably planned all of this

[dixonsbugaboo]

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩���𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1 - 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶

Fem!Reader x Saja Boys

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, Jinu being an asshole, ooc (probably), kinda self-disdain too, no proofread (oops)

Word count: 3300+

A/N: Hey there! First of all, please remember that English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes (sorry about that), and this is the first time I've written for this fandom, but the hype is very real and I wanted to join in on the Saja fanfic craze. I hope you like it :)

Ch. 0

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

From your perspective, being the producer of the Saja Boys was a wonderful idea. But in reality, it was a disaster and a task that would drain your will to live... if you were alive.

The Saja Boys were demons, in the most literal sense of the word, and they drove you crazy. They tested your patience, trampled on your pride, and were incapable of listening to your advice. You should have realised how difficult it would be to carry out your plan from the moment you first met Jinu... and you almost pulled each other's hair out, literally.

In the movie, Jinu was handsome, but in reality... he was simply breathtaking. Even in his demonic form, he was the most attractive man you had ever seen, with patterns crossing his sharp face like tattoos and radiant eyes that seemed to see right through you. Your demonic form, on the other hand, was a far cry from what a normal human would look like: with horns sticking out of your forehead, sharp teeth and eyes that were too big and outstanding. You were sure that if you could look at yourself in a mirror, your own reflection would be depressed.

Jinu walked confidently, heading in an unknown direction, not caring in the slightest that another creature from the underworld was literally drooling and staring at him. Or so you thought...

"Is this a staring contest?"

You tensed immediately when he stopped walking and spoke, his back still facing you, clearly addressing you.

"... Excuse me?"

"I asked you if this is a staring contest. Can you stop gawking at me? You're going to wear out my face...."

Damn conceited demon. There's nothing worse in the world than an attractive man who is aware of his good looks. Lesson learned.

You decided to continue on your way because you had a feeling that if the conversation continued, you would end up trying to scratch his eyes out with your claws.

"... he's not THAT handsome," you muttered as you walked away.

Silly you, Jinu heard you and teleported right in front of you, so you ended up bumping into his chest. Which, by the way, was pretty hard... considering you hit your nose bad, and now it hurted like hell.

"Pardon me?" he asked, hands on his hips and an arrogant look on his face. "I think you just lied to yourself." That smirk was driving you crazy.

"Lie? HA! All I see in front of me is a smug demon tortured by his past who tries to improve his days by bothering others because he has nothing better to do." You replied, rubbing your sore nose. You would never admit that, before you died, you were sure that if he were real, you would give him your soul without hesitating.

Apparently, your comment bothered him much more than you expected, and when he grabbed you by the shoulders, digging his claws into your skin, you were about to scream. The only thing that stopped you was your pride and the sheer terror that gripped your throat.

"You don't know anything about me. You don't know me."

Oops. That's right. You weren't supposed to have seen him before and didn't know anything about him. First mistake. But... what if you took advantage of the situation to speed things up? All you had to do was try to get along with him... and plant the seed of an idea...

"You know what?" you managed to say as you pulled his hands away from your shoulders, which were sore from his strong grip.

You had just dodged a possible death (if that was even possible, giving you were already dead) at the hands of your number one platonic crush. "You're right." You pretended to brush dust off your shoulders. "I don't know you. But I've heard of a demon who sounds a lot like you... and who was supposedly a musician in his human life."

Jinu raised his eyebrows, surprised and apparently calmer, letting his arms fall to his sides. Damn, he was tall. Next to him, you looked like a mushroom. A mushroom with horns and popping eyes.

"You know, before I died, I used to write music," you said, trying to plant the seed of the idea.

It wasn't entirely a lie... you did write music, although the demon whose body you occupied, through his memories, you learned that he had absolutely no knowledge of it, since they were a painter.

Jinu's gaze made it clear, however, that he had no idea what you were talking about. In fact, he thought you were crazy and waited respectfully for you to finish your ramblings so he could walk away and never come back.

"The thing is..." you continued. The poor guy wasn't very bright. "In the end, isn't it music that keeps us down here? Besides Gwi-ma, of course." You paused, looking for some response in his eyes. "Because of the hunters... because they sing... because their music keeps the Honmoon alive..." You continued, speaking slowly, trying to make him think it was his idea... but he didn't seem very interested. In fact, he looked at you as if he wanted to leave as soon as possible to get back to his miserable life in the underworld.

You snorted, bit your lower lip and decided to give up. What was the point of trying to get a demon with a brain the size of a peanut to understand the plan that, according to the script, would (temporarily) destroy the Honmoon? Because Jinu was clearly incapable of coming to that conclusion on his own.

You took a deep breath and decided to plant the seed deep in his mind, by force, to see if he would water it. As a gift.

"... Sometimes I think, oh, how awful it must be to live down here, hungry for souls, because of those tacky singers! And I realise that the problem has always been the same: the source of their power, which turns out to be the people who listen to their music... you know, right? their fans?"

Jinu nodded slowly, finally understanding where you were going with this.

"Guess we manage to steal their fans and... Ta-da! We're free!" You finish with a dramatic pose, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. At no point do you mention that this plan, if executed well, could be a feast for Gwi-ma, because that's not part of your scheme... although you'll figure out a way to deal with that in the future, when necessary.

Jinu remained silent, scrutinizing you.

Playing dumb didn't work for him, because even though his plan was to play bonkers so you would leave him alone, your intentions were apparently far from stopping talking anytime soon. Furthermore, he had been mulling over that idea long before you mentioned it... but he found it striking that you had thought of it. Did you say you wrote music?

You could even be useful for his plan...

Was that a sign to get started?

"You know what? I think it's a good idea," he finally said, after seriously considering disappearing so he would never have to see you again. "It might even work."

"Of course it would work, you idiot!" you shouted in exasperation, tired of the back and forth of the conversation.

Clearly, Jinu didn't like being called an idiot very much, and he stared at you with one eyebrow raised, weighing up whether it was worth slapping one of your eyebrows off. After all, even though you were a little rude and extremely irritating, with that brain of yours, you could be useful to him. And Jinu never let potential tools get away.

You cleared your throat, looking semi-serious again, before continuing: "The thing is... who knows? If someone who could sing found... I don't know... four other people who could sing... and a successful producer in her previous life... they could negotiate with Gwi-ma to form a band... and, you know, succeed?

You were tired of Jinu.

Jinu was tired of you.

But you needed Jinu to find the rest of the Saja Boys, and Jinu didn't mind a producer (not as successful as she claimed to be) with similar ideals to his... even though you were both sure that the other was the stupidest person in the underworld.

In the end, you decided that the best thing for both of you was to work together... even if that meant exchanging ideas again.

But if you thought that encounter had been disastrous, it was because you couldn't even imagine what it would be like to meet the others. Or to have them all together in one room. Or to explain to them how the roles and ‘personalities’ of a modern boy band work... or to get them to stop flirting with you just for fun. Or, quite simply, to get them to pay you the slightest bit of attention.

"I refuse to play the baby, even if Jinu asks me to. Nuh-huh. Not happening."

You put your hands over your face in frustration. Everything was more difficult because you already knew the roles played by each of Jinu's friends. And the hardest part was that they listened to Jinu and Jinu only, not to you, a grumpy, bossy stranger.

"But to satisfy the fans' absurd need to infantilise idols, there has to be one member of the group who behaves a little more like a youngster, Byeol." you said through your hands, tired of arguing.

It was a surprise (though it made sense) to discover that Jinu's friends had real names and not literal descriptions of their roles in the group. It was also a surprise to discover that Sang, whom you knew as Abby by his stage name, was the only one who really liked his role in the band: the himbo, muscular gym rat.

Byeol flatly refused to play the adorable maknae. Even though he was the youngest... and whose physique was more like that of a young boy.

Dasom wanted to be the leader, not the flirtatious Don Juan. Even though it had already been made clear that Jinu would be the leader.

And Minjun wanted to be the team mascot. Even though you had explained to him hundreds of times that boy bands didn't have mascots.

Jinu, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy your frustration. He knew your idea was good, especially after studying current music trends and fan preferences himself, but he would rather die (again) than confess that you were right.

You just wanted to pull your eyelashes out from the stress they were causing you. Because when they weren't complaining about your ideas, they were playing games to make you agitated and blush. Which was difficult when your lack of self-esteem and patience couldn't properly process the flirting and romantic jokes that Dasom, in particular, tried on you.

In the end, at the expense of your mental health, you reached an agreement: you would be strictly partners, and you would work as a team for the common good (making Gwi-ma happy so he would give you some space) and at the same time, for personal reasons: Jinu wanted Gwi-ma to erase his memories, Dasom and Minjun wanted to leave the underworld, even if only temporarily, Sang wanted to improve his quality of life in hell once they had destroyed the Honmoon... and no one knew exactly what Byeol wanted.

Thanks to Jinu, they accepted their roles and decided on their stage names (which, thank goodness, you didn't have to argue with them about, because they were able to come up with them on their own) and ended up accepting you as their producer and something like a secretary or manager or something in between... a helping hand to make their plan succeed.

In return, you only asked for three things: no flirting with you, even as a joke (or seriously), no asking what exactly you would get in return, and never, ever, telling Gwi-ma about yourself, since he didn't know you existed... and if he found out that a demon from his kingdom had a soul and wasn't under his control... you'd be dead.

You would think of something to prevent the death of the humans, Rumi's very avoidable misunderstanding with the others, Jinu's death and all that...in time.

For now, all your attention would have to go into producing their debut and making it a resounding success... and also convincing the boys that pastel pink was sexy.

They clearly had talent. Without using their powers, they were good singers, and you were surprised by Dasom's, now known as Romance, skills as a dancer and choreographer. Baby rapped effortlessly and was able to help you write, Abby had an incredible memory and physical resistance, Mystery had a heavenly voice, and then there was Jinu... who had all of the above, bathed in sarcasm. From that first encounter, your friendship never quite clicked. But you didn't care, because he would clearly end up with Rumi and they would live happily ever after, right?

Before you pitched the idea to Gwi-ma, you wanted them to be ready. You wanted their debut to be perfect. At first, simply because it was your plan, and because it was necessary for the story to move forward. But as time went by, it was also for their sake. Because even though they constantly drove you crazy and tested your patience, you learned to care for them. After all, part of your plan was to give them back their souls, and to do that, you had to understand them as best you could.

You learned that Baby was the most mature of them all despite being the youngest, even though he never talked about his past as a human beyond admitting that he had been a writer. You had the best conversations with him. He knew how to listen, he knew how to debate, and he was intelligent. Attractive, if you were asked for your honest opinion. One day, after rehearsal, you found him deep in thought, writing notes in a notebook. Although he found it difficult to open up to you, he finally admitted that even in the underworld he still liked to write, especially fantasy, and you convinced him to let you read something. After giving him your honest opinion in the form of constructive criticism and silly jokes, you two became closer. You found Baby to be a very interesting, attractive person with a great talent for storytelling. And to Baby, you were a reliable critic, smart (even if Jinu said otherwise), and although a bit grumpy, very funny. He learned to enjoy his time with you and to miss you when you weren't around. You were the one who could offer him the best conversation... and the best company.

Abby was much sweeter, and sometimes a bit childish. He was competitive and affectionate, hungry for physical contact. Apparently, he had been the eldest son in a military family, and from a very young age he had been raised to be the head of the family. That meant he was the only one of his siblings who couldn't have time for his mother's affection, because he had to be the strongest, and feelings only weakened men. Behind his confident gaze was a child who had never received a hug from his mother. The day you dyed his hair, he discovered how much he liked having his hair stroked, and since then, every now and then he asks you to do it, pretending it's good for his muscles, ignoring the fact that you both know it's the worst lie ever told. But after learning his story, you decided not to say a word about it and let him rest his head on your lap so you could run your fingers through his soft hair. What you didn't know was that, over time, it became Abby's favourite place, and that sometimes, when you hummed without realising while caressing him, he felt like he had finally left the underworld and came home. Because that's what you were starting to be to him.

At first, Mystery was the hardest to deal with, as he was the least vocal of the five. And not being able to see his expression made it even harder to understand his emotions. Was he happy? Sad? Angry? Maybe it was because he had gotten too into his role, but he was a complete mystery. Little by little, you learned to read between the lines, to interpret his silences. When he tilted his head to one side because he was curious, when he lowered his chin because he was angry... He was a bit like a kitten. And you understood why he insisted in been a mascot... without the need to talk, but kinda expressive. You learned that he was an orphan and had lived most of his life alone. As time went by and you learned to understand him, he opened up to you, little by little. He talked to you more, trusted you more. Until he explained that he had once been in love, that his heart had been broken, and that since then he had found it difficult to express himself with words and to open up to people. But for some reason, with you it was different. You never judged him, even though he went along with the others to tease and joke with you, and you were always patient with him. You wanted to understand him... and now he wanted to learn from you and try again to open up to people.

Romance hid a genuinely cheerful and funny boy behind a facade of smiles and empty flirting. Apparently, he had been a dancer in his human life, hence his talent, and he had had four older sisters, which made him the most patient with you. At first he was cold towards you, apparently because you reminded him of a life he couldn't return to, but little by little he came to understand that you had nothing to do with his sisters, hius past and his decisions, and that being distant towards you didn't benefit him at all. Gradually you talked more and more, understanding each other's tastes, and coming to enjoy each other's company. When Romance wasn't trying to embarrass you just for fun, his company could even be enjoyable. And although he didn't want to admit it, he liked spending time with you more and more, and he was beginning to enjoy getting on your nerves in a different way.

Jinu, on the other hand, was the one who had remained the most distant from you. You couldn't say why, but that's how it was. Maybe he was disgusted by your appearance, or maybe he was bothered by the smell of your breath, but he always stayed several steps away from you. He tried to look unbothered, calm, and composed, as long as he wasn't picking on you. How considerate. In fact, he practically only spoke to you directly to annoy you. It was frustrating because you knew he was sweet and kind to Rumi, but for some reason, with you, he was... like that. You wanted to strangle him every time he contradicted you or when he clearly pretended to be fine when his memories were torturing him. You couldn't see that he always turned to look at you when you turned away, that he was the one who cared most about you getting some rest, and that he was actually cold to you to try to prove to himself that you weren't important. That you were expendable. That you were stupid, no fun, not attractive at all, and in no way interesting. Because if he got closer to you, it could mean moving away from his goal.

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Ch. 2

A/N: Well! Finally, a real chapter. I hope it was interesting enough to make you want to keep reading… My intention is to let the relationships develop slowly, and as the story progresses, and finally let you choose who will win your heart (wink). For now, everyone deserves a chance, right? Even Jinu, who acts all tough. Or should Jinu end up with Rumi, because they didn't give us that satisfaction in the movie?

Anyway, I hope you liked it and that you want to keep reading :)

See you soon,

Nun🐇​

[cressidagrey]

Mastermind 1/2

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Tessa Hamilton (Original Female Character)

Summary: Lewis Hamilton moves to Ferrari. Tessa Hamilton decides that Charles Leclerc is her future husband. Charles Leclerc is the willing victim of Lewis Hamilton’s scheming little sister. 

Warnings and Notes: 

This has been in the works since January. But I finally managed to finish it. Also, don't take it too seriously. This is not the way, one should probably go around to find a significant other.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

January 2024: 

Text Messages - Lewis Hamilton and Tessa Hamilton

Lewis: Before you see it on the news, I’m telling you first. I’m moving to Ferrari next year.

Tessa: OH. MY. GOD.

Lewis: I know, I know, it’s big—

Tessa: GREAT. That means I’m going to marry Charles Leclerc.

Lewis: …Excuse me?

Tessa: No, think about it. You being at Ferrari means I’ll be around him more than ever. Maximum exposure. Prime hunting grounds.

Lewis: Tessa, he is not a gazelle on the Serengeti.

Tessa: No, he’s a terrified little deer, and I am a strategic apex predator.

Lewis: You are actually insane.

Tessa: No, I am a woman with a PLAN.

Lewis: Oh my God.

Lewis: You cannot seriously be planning a multi-phase operation to marry Charles Leclerc just because I signed with Ferrari.

Tessa: I can and I am.

Lewis: You need therapy.

Tessa: No, I need a Ferrari WAG pass and a Monegasque husband.

Lewis: You are an actual menace.

Tessa: And you, my dear brother, have just given me the greatest gift of all—ACCESS.

Lewis: I have made a mistake.

Tessa: No, Charles has. He just doesn’t know it yet.

***

Instagram Post:  @/gridgossip

 @/gridgossip: 🚨 BREAKING: Lewis Hamilton is officially moving to Ferrari in 2025! The seven-time world champion will be donning the red suit next season, shaking up the grid in one of the biggest transfers in F1 history. But let’s be real… the REAL question is: Does this mean Ferrari will finally let Tessa Hamilton design the team merch?! 👀🔥

Top Comments:

@/paddockfashionfiles: TESSA HAMILTON ERA AT FERRARI?? RED NEVER LOOKED HOTTER.

@/gridgirlsunite: If we don’t get a Ferrari collection that actually SLAPS, what is even the POINT.

@/mercedesmerchflop: So you’re telling me Mercedes NEVER let Tessa design a collab but Ferrari might??? I’m in mourning.

@/fastlanefits: Ferrari x Tessa Hamilton x Louboutin WHEN?? Give us stylish pit crew boots. I’m BEGGING.

@/scuderiaferrari: We’re listening... 🤭

@/fashionablyinF1: Ferrari, if you mess this up, you will never know peace.

@/wherestessanow: Tessa in custom Ferrari fits every weekend??? Oh, the SERVE is coming.

@/takeallmymoney: Ferrari Store employees watching this unfold knowing they’re about to sell out for the first time ever: 😰😰😰

@/theredrevival: Ferrari's biggest win in years isn't Lewis—it’s Tessa finally fixing the damn merch.

***

Instagram Post:  @/lewishamilton

@/lewishamilton:  Excited for this next chapter. Forza Ferrari. ❤️🔥 #LH44 #ScuderiaFerrari

Top Comments:

@/tessahamilton: Guess I better start practicing my Italian 🇮🇹👠

@/f1fanatic99: THE REAL QUESTION IS… does this mean @/tessahamilton is finally going to design Ferrari merch??? Because we need it IMMEDIATELY.

@/fastandfashionable: Mercedes fumbled by never letting Tessa cook, but Ferrari can right this historical wrong.

@/gridgossip: FERRARI X TESSA HAMILTON COLLAB WHEN? DROP THE LOUIS VUITTON FIRE SUITS WHILE WE’RE AT IT.

@/paddockstyle: If we don’t get a Ferrari jacket that actually slaps, what is even the point???

@/highheelsandhighoctane: If I don’t see Louboutin-stamped pit crew boots next season, I’m gonna be disappointed.

@/charles_leclerc: This is gonna be fun.

@/mercedesamgf1fan: I’m not even sad about Lewis leaving anymore, I’m just devastated we never got a Tessa-designed Mercedes collection.

***

Tessa Hamilton: The Most Influential Woman in the Paddock Isn’t a Driver or a WAG—She’s a Stylist

By Jessica Hepburn

If there’s one thing Tessa Hamilton understands, it’s presence.

She has built a career around it—curating, refining, and amplifying the presence of one of Formula 1’s most iconic figures: her brother, Lewis Hamilton. For nearly a decade, she has shaped the visual identity of a seven-time world champion, making the paddock as much of a runway as it is a racetrack. Yet, while Lewis’ style evolution is one of the most analyzed in modern sport, Tessa herself has quietly become just as influential.

Not that she does anything quietly.

The moment she steps into the café for our interview—black Balenciaga sunglasses perched on her nose, a perfectly oversized coat cinched at the waist, and, of course, a pair of red-bottomed heels—it’s evident that she is every bit the style powerhouse people claim her to be.

“I don’t do anything halfway,” she says with a smirk, slipping off her sunglasses. “If I’m going to do something, it’s going to be done properly.”

That philosophy has extended far beyond her own wardrobe. In many ways, Tessa has been the architect behind the current era of Formula 1 fashion. When Lewis arrived in the paddock in the 2000s, driver fashion was an afterthought—polo shirts, team-issued merch, and, at best, a well-tailored suit for FIA Gala night. Now, the paddock is a global fashion spectacle, and Lewis is its undisputed king.

But make no mistake: Tessa is the kingmaker.

She shrugs when I bring up her influence, but she doesn’t deny it. “I give him the options. He wears them well. That’s teamwork.”

But it isn’t just Lewis anymore. Other drivers have started paying attention, dipping their toes into high fashion, collaborating with designers, and using their personal style as an extension of their brand. When I suggest that she’s responsible for this shift, she simply smiles.

“I think people are realizing they can bring their full selves into this sport,” she says. “It’s not just about what happens on track. You walk into a room, and before you’ve even said a word, your presence has told a story. Why wouldn’t you want to control that narrative?”

Tessa controls hers better than anyone. Despite not being a driver, not being a WAG,  she has become one of the most closely watched figures in the paddock. Her outfits are dissected in the same way the drivers' on-track performances are—fan accounts track her every look, fashion blogs break down her choices, and luxury brands have taken notice.

“I don’t think about it that much,” she claims. “I just wear what I like.”

That may be true, but what she likes—sharp tailoring, bold prints, architectural outerwear, and an ever-present pair of Louboutins—has shaped an entire aesthetic. One that is somehow both untouchable and deeply aspirational.

With Lewis’ impending move to Ferrari, I ask if her approach to styling him will change. After all, Ferrari has its own legacy, its own aesthetic history.

She tilts her head, as if considering it. Then she grins.

“Ferrari is historic,” she acknowledges. “But Lewis is Lewis.”

And Tessa Hamilton? She’s the one making sure we never forget it.

***

Twitter Thread: Lewis Hamilton to Ferrari… and Charles Leclerc’s Crush?? 

@/F1Tea:Lewis Hamilton to Ferrari is HUGE, but let’s talk about the real headline here: Charles Leclerc has been painfully down bad for Lewis’ sister for YEARS. How is this man supposed to SURVIVE?? A thread 🧵⬇️

@/F1Tea:📍2019 Pre-Race Grid Walk Tessa: smiles at CharlesCharles: panics so hard he walks into a wall

[Attached: GIF of Charles physically recoiling and falling over]

@/F1Tea: 📍2020 Paddock Footage Tessa walks past. Charles turns his head so fast I’m surprised he didn’t get whiplash. Bro was SUMMONED.

[Attached: GIF of Charles doing a full double take while pretending he wasn’t staring]

@/F1Tea:📍2021 Monaco GP Tessa puts a hand on his arm while talking. Charles FORGETS HOW TO FUNCTION. He just stares at it. Brain blue-screened.

[Attached: Screenshot of Charles blinking rapidly at his own arm like it’s a foreign object]

@/F1Tea:📍2021 Interview: Reporter: “Would you ever date someone from the paddock?” Tessa: smirks “I like a man in red.” Charles in the background: chokes on his water

@/F1Tea:📍2022 Some Party in Monaco: She sits next to him during dinner. Charles, the most naturally confident man alive, FORGETS HOW TO USE A FORK.

[Attached: Video of Charles dropping his utensil and staring at it like it betrayed him]

@/F1Tea:📍2020 Post-Quali Interviews Reporter: “How do you feel about the race?” Her: walks into frameCharles: completely loses his train of thought mid-sentence

[Attached: Video of Charles staring blankly at the camera before shaking his head and mumbling something incoherent]

@/F1Tea:📍2023 Team Photo Day She: walks by and casually calls him “mon chéri”Charles: visibly short-circuitsLewis Hamilton in the background: crying laughing

[Attached: GIF of Charles visibly malfunctioning and Lewis barely holding it together]

@/F1Tea:The way this man has been fighting for his LIFE for YEARS and she KNOWS IT.

[Attached: GIF of her smirking directly at the camera like she’s aware of her power]

@/F1Tea:Final thoughts:

Lewis to Ferrari is HUGE.

Charles and his years-long crush are about to be front and center.

Tifosi, prepare for chaos.

@/F1Tea:Pray for Charles. But also? Don’t. This is going to be HILARIOUS.

@/LewisH44: Charles Leclerc vs. Flirting: 0-1000.

↳@/F1Memes: He is not winning this battle.

@/F1Chaos: This man is going to MARRY her and still be flustered every time she calls him “mon chéri.”

↳@/FerrariFan98: He’s already cooked. It’s just a matter of time.

@/LewisH44: For the love of god, someone put him out of his misery.

↳@/F1Chaos: Pray for him. But also? Don’t. This is hilarious.

@/TifosiTears:It’s honestly incredible that he’s still functioning as a professional athlete with this level of psychological warfare happening.

↳@/FerrariFan98: Give it six months. She’s winning this battle.

↳@/TifosiTears: She already won. He just doesn’t realize it yet.

@/FerrariFan98: Anyway, Charles Leclerc: F1’s fastest driver, but the slowest man alive when it comes to romance.

↳@/PitLaneDrama: One day, he’ll realize. And on that day, we’ll all celebrate.

***

Twitter Thread: Does Tessa Hamilton Own Any Shoes That Aren’t Louboutins?

@/F1GossipQueen: I need someone to do a full investigation because I swear this woman wears nothing but Louboutins.

↳@/F1GossipQueen: Paddock fit? Immaculate. Ankles? Probably reinforced with titanium.

[Attached: Pic of Tessa at a race weekend, effortlessly stepping out of the Mercedes garage in sky-high red-soled stilettos.]

@/F1GossipQueen: Tessa Hamilton walking on literal rocks in 6-inch Louboutins like it’s smooth pavement. Meanwhile, I almost sprained my ankle in sneakers.

[Attached: Clip of her walking across gravel at a circuit without a single misstep.]

@/F1GossipQueen: You can see the moment Charles starts calculating the probability of her breaking an ankle.

[Attached: Zoomed-in screenshot of Charles looking down at her heels mid-conversation, visibly concerned.]

@/FerrariFan98:: She probably sleeps in them. ↳@/tessahamilton: That’s classified information.

@/pitlanedrama: We need a full Louboutin sponsorship at this point. ↳@/TifosiTears: I fully support this.

@/F1Chaos: I still don’t understand how she doesn’t fall. ↳@/tessahamilton: Balance. Elegance. Superior genetics. (Mostly practice.)

***

Group Chat: Les Trois Frères

(Members: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo)

Lorenzo: So, Lewis to Ferrari… big news.

Arthur: Yeah, yeah, history being made, blah blah blah—let’s talk about what REALLY matters.

Lorenzo: Charles, how does it feel knowing you’re about to spend an entire season making a fool of yourself in front of Tessa Hamilton?

Charles: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Arthur: Oh, REALLY?

Lorenzo: Let’s rewind to 2019, shall we? The first time you saw her in the paddock.

Arthur: A day that will live in infamy.

Charles: Drop it.

Lorenzo: You made eye contact with her for three seconds and immediately walked into a wall.

Arthur: A solid concrete wall.

Lorenzo: Man hit that thing like it owed him money.

Arthur: She said, “Nice to meet you,” and you said, “Oui, you too,” and then—BANG.

Lorenzo: Flat on your ass.

Charles: IT WAS A BADLY PLACED WALL.

Arthur: It’s been there since 2008.

Lorenzo: It did not move, Charles.

Arthur: No, but YOU did. Straight into it.

Charles: I am ignoring this.

Arthur: You’re ignoring physics too, apparently.

Lorenzo: Can’t wait for 2025. If you walked into a wall in 2019, what’s next? Accidentally setting yourself on fire? Falling into the Ferrari garage?

Arthur: Man’s gonna crash a simulator if she so much as breathes in his direction.

Charles: I HATE YOU BOTH.

Arthur: Not as much as that wall hated you.

Lorenzo: RIP Charles’ dignity. 1997-2019.

Lorenzo: So just to recap—

You’ve been in love with her since forever.

You can barely function when she flirts with you.

Lewis has definitely noticed.

Now Lewis is your teammate.

Arthur: THIS IS A NIGHTMARE FOR YOU BUT COMEDY GOLD FOR ME.

Charles: I hate you both.

Lorenzo: No, but seriously. What’s your game plan?

Arthur: His what? Charles has had one strategy for years: PANIC.

Charles: I DO NOT PANIC.

***

Group Chat: Les Leclercs

(Members: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo, Pascale)

Pascale: Oh, I saw the news! Congratulations, Charles! Ferrari and Lewis together!

Pascale: What an exciting time for you. ❤️

Arthur: I think Charles is experiencing a different kind of excitement.

Pascale: ?

Charles: ARTHUR I SWEAR TO GOD.

Arthur: Maman, did you know that Charles has been in love with—

Charles: STOP.

Pascale: Oh, mon chéri, we all know.

Charles: …

Arthur: [Attached: GIF of a man screaming into a pillow]

January 2025

Text Messages - Lewis Hamilton and Tessa Hamilton

Lewis: Tessa.

Tessa: Big bro!

Lewis: I need you to do me a favor.

Tessa: Of course, anything!

Lewis: Do NOT terrorize my new teammate.

Tessa: Oh, Lewis.

Tessa: It’s far, far too late for that.

Lewis: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

Tessa: I just finished writing my 27-step plan to make Charles Leclerc marry me.

Tessa: THE TRAP IS SET.

Lewis: Jesus Christ.

Lewis: I don’t even want to ask… but what’s step 1?

Tessa: Step 1: You signing with Ferrari.

Lewis: YOU WERE PLANNING THIS BEFORE I EVEN ANNOUNCED IT???

Tessa: I was manifesting.

Lewis: Tessa. Be honest. Did you astral project into Fred Vasseur’s dreams to make this happen?

Tessa: I will neither confirm nor deny.

Lewis: I have been used. I have been played. I have been set up. I THOUGHT YOU WERE SUPPORTIVE.

Tessa: I am! But also, I am winning.

Lewis: This is unhinged. What’s step 2?

Tessa: Win over Leo.

Lewis: THE DOG?????

Tessa: If I have Leo’s loyalty, Charles will crumble in weeks.

Lewis: He’s had a crush on you for years, he was gonna crumble anyway.

Tessa: Exactly. But this way it’s strategic.

Lewis: This is the most terrifying thing I have ever witnessed.

Tessa: Oh, big bro. This is just the beginning.

***

Arthur had been smirking at him all morning.

It was starting to get on Charles’s nerves.

They were standing near the pit lane in Fiorano, watching the final preparations for Lewis’s first run in Ferrari red. The atmosphere was electric, the excitement tangible, but Arthur? Arthur was too busy side-eyeing Charles like he was in on some kind of joke.

“What?” Charles finally snapped.

Arthur’s smirk deepened. “Nothing.”

“That is not a ‘nothing’ face,” Charles said suspiciously.

Arthur shrugged, but the knowing look in his eyes didn’t waver. “I just think today will be… interesting for you.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. “Arthur—”

And then, a car pulled up.

It wasn’t one of Ferrari’s, nor was it particularly flashy, but somehow it felt like everyone turned toward it.

Arthur leaned in slightly. “Ah, et voilà.”

Charles frowned at him. Then, the door opened.

Red-bottomed stilettos hit the pavement first. Of course, Louboutins. Because of course she wore designer stilettos to Fiorano. Then, long legs wrapped in an effortlessly chic black coat. Then, dark sunglasses pushed up into perfectly styled hair.

Charles’s brain stalled.

Oh no.

Tessa Hamilton stepped out like she was arriving at Paris Fashion Week, not Ferrari’s test track.

She turned, gaze sweeping over the paddock, and Charles could feel the exact moment she noticed him.

A slow smile curled at her lips.

Arthur made a quiet sound of amusement. “And so it begins.”

Charles turned to glare at him. “You knew.”

Arthur barely held back his laughter. “I had a feeling you were about to have a very bad day.”

Charles groaned.

Arthur clapped a hand on his shoulder, voice dripping with false sympathy. “Try not to walk into a wall this time.”

It happened in mere seconds.

One moment, Leo was loyally sitting at Charles’s feet, surveying the scene with his usual sharp focus. The next, his ears perked up, tail started wagging, and before Charles could react, his dog had bolted across the paddock.

Straight to her.

“Leo,” she called in that smooth, honeyed voice of hers, and that was it. Game over.

Leo launched himself at her, paws on her coat, face nuzzling into her neck like they’d known each other for years.

“Oh, aren’t you just perfect?” Tessa cooed, crouching effortlessly despite the heels, her manicured fingers scratching behind his ears. “You’re such a handsome boy.”

Charles blinked. His brain had fully short-circuited.

“I—he—he doesn’t usually—”

Tessa looked up at him, one perfectly arched brow lifting. “Doesn’t usually what?”

“Like people,” Charles finished weakly.

Tessa laughed. A soft, melodic sound that sent something warm and terrifying down his spine.

“Well, that’s clearly not true,” she said, as Leo let out a dramatic sigh and melted further into her touch. “He’s got excellent instincts.”

Charles opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“Mon dieu,” Arthur whispered under his breath, but Charles heard the amusement.

Lewis walked past, giving Tessa a knowing glance before sighing dramatically at Charles. “The trap has been set.”

Charles frowned. “What trap?”

Lewis just patted his shoulder like he was already mourning him. “You’ll see.”

Meanwhile, Tessa stood, and flashed Charles a slow, wicked smile.

Leo, traitorous and lovesick, sat at her feet, staring at her with full, adoring devotion.

Charles swallowed.

Oh, he was in so much trouble.

***

Text Messages - Lewis Hamilton and Tessa Hamilton

Tessa: LEWIS. HE LOVES ME. 

Tessa: STEP 2 IS DONE.

Tessa: LEO SAT IN MY LAP.

Tessa: HE SNUGGLED INTO ME.

Tessa: HE GAVE CHARLES A LOOK LIKE “yeah, she’s mine now.”

Tessa: LEO CHOSE ME.

Lewis: …Okay but like.

Lewis: Did you not expect Leo to love you???

Tessa: NO???

Tessa: I THOUGHT HE’D BE LOYAL TO CHARLES.

Tessa: LIKE A NORMAL DOG.

Lewis: Girl.

Lewis: You wear Louboutins every day.

Lewis: You have the vibe of someone who would carry a tiny expensive dog in a designer bag.

Lewis: Leo took one look at you and went “yes. That one.”

***

Group Chat: Leclerc Boys

(Members: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo)

Lorenzo: How’s Fiorano?

Charles: I am never recovering from this.

Lorenzo: …From what.

Charles: Leo has abandoned me.

Lorenzo: Okay, what.

Charles: Tessa arrived, and Leo IMMEDIATELY sprinted to her like she was the love of his life.

Arthur: HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA

Charles: This is not funny.

Arthur: No, actually, it was the funniest thing that has ever happened.

Lorenzo: You’re upset that your dog likes her?

Charles: No. I’m upset that my dog took one look at her and decided that I no longer exist.

Charles: He rolled onto his back. Exposed his belly. Let her rub it.

Arthur: He doesn’t even do that for you.

Charles: I KNOW.

Arthur: Your dog has better game than you.

Charles: That is NOT the point.

Lorenzo: It kind of is.

Charles: She called him the most handsome boy in the world.

Arthur: And?

Charles: SHE WAS LOOKING AT LEO WHEN SHE SAID IT.

Arthur: I can’t breathe.

Lorenzo: Charles. Please tell me you were normal about this.

Charles: I was composed.

Arthur: Okay, so when do we get the footage of you walking into another wall?

Charles: I DID NOT.

Arthur: I don’t believe you.

Lorenzo: I don’t believe you either.

Charles: I hate both of you.

Arthur: Leo wins. Tessa wins. You, unfortunately, are in P3.

Charles: I AM BLOCKING YOU.

***

Twitter Thread: Lewis Hamilton at Fiorano

@/F1TeaUpdatesLewis Hamilton’s first day in red at Fiorano. Historic moment. The GOAT in a Ferrari.

📸: Lewis getting into the car 📸: Lewis on track 📸: Tessa Hamilton looking completely unbothered in ridiculous high-heeled boots

@/FerrariFangirl16I respect Lewis, I do. But can we talk about how his sister just showed up in 6-inch Louboutins to an actual test day???

@/GridGossipHer entire brand is looking better than the drivers at all times, and I, for one, support this agenda.

@/TifosiTearsTessa Hamilton is casually standing in Fiorano in a coat that probably costs more than my rent, looking like she is the one about to debut for Ferrari.

@/PaddockPrincessForget Ferrari’s on-track performance. The real question is: will they finally let Tessa design the merch?

@/LeoLeclercFanNot to be dramatic, but Charles' dog has officially switched teams.

📸: Tessa sitting on a pit wall, cuddling Leo like he’s her dog now

@/ArthurLeclercUpdatesLeo, blink twice if you need help.

@/Charles16ForeverCharles is so doomed. His own dog has sided with the enemy.

@/WagsAndWealthTessa watching her brother drive a Ferrari while wrapped in an expensive coat, cuddling a dog, standing in impossibly high heels… she’s so unserious and yet so powerful.

@/F1MemesPOV: You’re Charles Leclerc watching your dog betray you in real time.

📸: Charles looking completely defeated in the background while Leo cuddles Tessa

@/OversteerAndDramaLeo to Charles: Sorry, I only take belly rubs from real winners.

***

Twitter Thread: #AskTessa

@/TessaHamilton: Killing time before my next fitting. Let’s do this—fashion, styling, life dilemmas? Fire away. #AskTessa

—

@/FashionF1Fan: Full name?? 👀

↳ @/TessaHamilton: Mary Theresa Hamilton. But if you call me Mary, I will block you.

—

@/GridGossip: Birthday?

↳ @/TessaHamilton: November 2, 1997. Scorpio supremacy.

—

@/McLarenChaosRandom fact about yourself?

↳ @/TessaHamilton: I studied in Florence for a few months and considered running away to become a full-time Italian.

↳ @/FerrariNation: Ferrari was your destiny.

↳ @/TessaHamilton: No, espresso was my destiny.

—

@/F1MemesDaily: How tall are you?

↳ @/TessaHamilton: 5’8” but spiritually 6’2” when wearing my best heels.

—

@/ScuderiaStyle: Favorite thing in your wardrobe?

↳ @/TessaHamilton: Right now? A ridiculous red dress I will wear to an F1 event. But also a vintage leather jacket I borrowed indefinitely from Lewis.

↳ @/LewisHamilton: Stole.

↳ @/TessaHamilton: Borrowed indefinitely.

—

@/F1Romantics: Would you ever date a Ferrari driver?

↳ @/TessaHamilton: That’s a very specific question.

—

@/TifosiStyle: What’s a fashion trend you hate?

↳ @/TessaHamilton: Men wearing sneakers with suits.

—

@/weddingmeltdown: Summer wedding. No dress code. I need to look effortlessly stunning. Help.

↳@/TessaHamilton: The key is controlled elegance. A flowy dress that moves, statement earrings, and shoes that won’t sink into the grass. If it’s a beach wedding, no stilettos unless you enjoy suffering.

—

@/heels4life: Are high heels really worth the pain?

↳@/TessaHamilton: Always. The power of a good pair of stilettos outweighs minor suffering.

↳ @/lewishamilton: You’re already tall.

↳ @/TessaHamilton: And you are not.

↳ @/lewishamilton: I’m blocking you.

—

@/WAGsAndWealth: You’ve worked with so many designers—if you could style ANY driver, who would it be?

↳@/TessaHamilton: Charles. No hesitation. He has so much potential. Let me elevate him.

—

@/CharlesStan16: MA’AM. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN.

↳@/TessaHamilton: It means he owns too many plain white t-shirts. I’m simply trying to help.

—

@/ScuderiaUpdates: We saw you at Fiorano with Leo!! Does he like you??

↳@/TessaHamilton: Leo is my favorite Leclerc. He likes me so much that Charles is starting to get jealous.

—

@/gridfashionwatch: Do you plan your race weekend outfits in advance?

↳@/TessaHamilton: Roughly. I aim for a balance of power dressing and controlled chaos. Also, if I think Lewis would sigh at me for wearing it, I definitely wear it.

↳ @/lewishamilton: I knew it.

—

@/gridfashion: Best-dressed driver on the grid?

↳@/TessaHamilton: I’ll be diplomatic and say… they all try. Some more successfully than others.

↳ @/lewishamilton: Just say me.

↳ @/TessaHamilton: Obviously. But we already knew that.

—

@/prancinghorses: How was your first Ferrari experience at Fiorano?

↳@/TessaHamilton: The cars? Stunning. The espresso? Life-changing. Watching my brother drive for Ferrari? Emotional.

—

@/fashioninsider: One piece of fashion advice you swear by?

↳@/TessaHamilton: Wear what makes you feel powerful. Clothes are confidence.

—

@/redteam: Does Ferrari have better team kit than Mercedes?

@/TessaHamilton: Look, I’m officially neutral, but let’s just say red is more wearable than silver.

—

@/speedandstyle: Will we finally get good Ferrari merch now?

↳@/TessaHamilton: I can neither confirm nor deny that I am working on it.

↳ @/charles_leclerc: Yes, please.

—

@/paddockstyle: How do you always look so effortlessly put together in the paddock?

↳@/TessaHamilton: Strategic outfit planning. Also, sheer stubbornness.

—

@/paddockcouture: What are your top three wardrobe essentials?

@/TessaHamilton: 1) A perfectly tailored blazer, 2) Statement shoes that could double as self-defense weapons, 3) Sunglasses big enough to hide from bad decisions.

—

@/scuderiafashion: What’s your biggest styling tip for guys?

@/TessaHamilton: Fit is EVERYTHING. A well-fitted €50 jacket looks better than a badly fitted €5000 one. Also, don’t be afraid of color. Life’s too short for boring clothes.

—

@/turnoneglam: What’s a fashion trend you wish would die?

@/TessaHamilton: Tiny pockets on women’s clothing. What are we supposed to fit in there? A single almond?

—

@/runwaytorace: What’s your ultimate styling rule?

↳@/TessaHamilton: If you love it, wear it. Confidence makes anything look good. Except crocs. Some things can’t be saved.

—

@/chicanechic: Thoughts on men in jewelry?

↳@/TessaHamilton: Absolutely yes. More rings, more chains, more effort in general. Jewelry is for everyone, gentlemen.

—

@/apexaesthetic: Dream F1-themed fashion collaboration?

↳@/TessaHamilton: Something that doesn’t involve slapping a logo on a basic hoodie and calling it a day.

—

@/turnonechic: What’s your biggest fashion ick?

↳@/TessaHamilton: Clothes that don’t fit. Tailoring exists. Use it.

—

@/paddockchic: If you could only wear one designer for the rest of your life, who would it be?

↳@/TessaHamilton: I refuse to live in a world with only one designer. That’s dystopian.

—

@/gridglam: What’s your most controversial fashion opinion?

↳@/TessaHamilton: Just because it’s designer doesn’t mean it looks good.

—

@/softlaunchspeed: Any truth to the rumor that you’re secretly styling a certain Ferrari driver that’s not your brother?

↳@/TessaHamilton: If I were, you’d know. Because he’d look better.

↳ @/arthur_leclerc: Devastating.

—

@/gridstyle: Best shoe investment?

↳@/TessaHamilton: A classic black pump. Timeless. Versatile. Makes you feel unstoppable.

***

Charles had been in plenty of awkward situations before.

Spinning out in front of the entire grid? Done that.

Getting caught on a hot mic complaining about Ferrari’s strategy? A yearly tradition.

Ripping the seams of his racing suit in the middle of a photoshoot?

That was a new one.

The worst part wasn’t the actual tear—it was her.

Lewis Hamilton’s younger sister. His stylist. The woman he had been secretly, stupidly infatuated with for years.

Tessa stood a few feet away, arms crossed, head tilted, a slow, amused smile spreading across her face as she took in the damage.

“Charles,” she drawled, “why is there a gaping hole in your suit?”

Charles swallowed. His brain scrambled for an excuse. “I, uh—”

Her smirk widened. “You flexed, didn’t you?”

“No!”

She arched a brow.

“…Maybe a little.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she grabbed her emergency sewing kit. “Alright, Hercules, let’s fix you up before someone from Ferrari has a heart attack.”

She knelt on the couch, threading a needle with effortless precision. Charles, meanwhile, stood awkwardly, hyper-aware of everything—the way she bit her lip in concentration, the way her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, the way she made even something as mundane as sewing look hot.

Then she patted the spot next to her. “Sit.”

He hesitated. “Do I have to?”

She gave him a look. “Unless you want me to accidentally stab you, yes.”

He sat.

She tugged at the torn fabric, assessing the damage. Her fingers brushed his side, and Charles nearly flinched. He was suddenly very aware of how close they were, of how her perfume smelled faintly of vanilla and something floral, of how her knee pressed lightly against his.

If she noticed his internal struggle, she didn’t let on. Instead, she clicked her tongue. “Honestly, I don’t know how you managed this. It’s like your muscles decided to revolt all at once.”

Charles let out a weak chuckle. “Maybe I should stop training so much.”

She grinned, sharp and teasing. “Or maybe you just like having me stitch you back together.”

His brain short-circuited.

She kept sewing, utterly unfazed, while Charles sat there, desperately trying not to combust. His heart hammered as she leaned in, her breath ghosting against his collarbone as she focused on her stitches.

“So…” she mused, tone light and mischievous, “if I sew you into this suit, does that mean I get to keep you?”

Charles made an undignified noise. “W-What?”

She glanced up, all faux innocence. “What? Seems like a fair trade. I fix your suit, and in return, I get a Charles Leclerc of my very own.”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “I—I don’t think that’s how it works.”

She smirked. “Shame.”

He swore his face had never been hotter.

A few more stitches and a playful pat to his newly mended suit later, she sat back, admiring her handiwork. “All done.”

Charles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Merci.”

She grinned, tapping his chest lightly. “Try not to rip it again, hmm? Unless, of course, you want an excuse for me to put my hands on you.”

Charles, very predictably, short-circuited again.

***

Instagram Post:  @/ScuderiaFerrari

@/ScuderiaFerrari: Some things never change… @/Charles_Leclerc still finding new ways to stress us out. Luckily, we have @/TessaHamilton to save the day. 🧵✨

📹: Video of Tessa expertly sewing it back together while Charles sits, looking awkward.

Comments: 

@/charles_leclerc: …I swear this wasn’t my fault.

↳ @/tessahamilton: It was literally your muscles and your bad decisions. Own it.

↳ @/arthur_leclerc: Bro really Hulked out mid-photoshoot.

↳ @/charles_leclerc: IT WAS AN ACCIDENT.

@/lewishamilton: Ferrari better be paying her extra for this.

↳ @/tessahamilton: Oh, I’m invoicing them, don’t worry.

↳ @/scuderiaferrari: This was not in the budget.

@/wagsandwealth: Tessa Hamilton mending Charles' suit like she’s the lead in a regency romance novel. We are witnessing history.

@/oversteeranddrama: "Get you a girl who can do both" but it’s Charles finding out Tessa can style a grid AND sew his race suit back together like a pro.

@/f1gossip: Charles went from "I have to be professional, she’s my teammate’s sister" to "what if I rip another seam?" real quick.

@/gridtea: Charles has been in love with her since at least 2019, and we’re just watching him spiral deeper. It’s beautiful.

@/f1fansunited: Tessa is really out here fixing his suit while wearing five-inch Louboutins. This woman is undefeated.

@/ferrarination: I need Ferrari to put her on payroll properly because if Charles breaks another suit mid-season, we all know she’ll be the one handling it.

***

Text Messages - Arthur Leclerc and Tessa Hamilton

Arthur: Look, I’m only going to say this once.

Tessa: Oh, this feels serious. Should I sit down?

Arthur: I am begging you—DO NOT play with Charles.

Tessa: Excuse me?

Arthur: I know you like to mess with him. I know you enjoy watching him turn into a nervous wreck every time you breathe in his direction.

Arthur: But please. I’m telling you as his brother.

Arthur: Do. Not. Play. With. Him.

Tessa: Arthur, what are you talking about?

Arthur: He is actually in love with you.

Tessa: …

Tessa: Bold claim.

Arthur: It is not a claim. It is a FACT.

Arthur: The man has been down BAD for you for YEARS.

Arthur: I have witnessed him have full-on existential crises because you touched his arm for 0.3 seconds.

Arthur: Do you know how PAINFUL it is to watch my fully grown brother malfunction because you walked into a room in Louboutins?

Arthur: I have suffered.

Tessa: Okay, but like, in my defense… it’s funny.

Arthur: TESSA.

Tessa: Alright, alright, I hear you.

Tessa: …So theoretically, if I were to also be in love with him, what would you recommend as my next move?

Arthur: First of all, I need a moment to recover from that sentence.

Arthur: Second—PLEASE JUST DATE HIM ALREADY. HE IS AT HIS LIMIT. HE CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.

Tessa: I don’t know, I think I should let him sweat a little longer…

Arthur: YOU ARE A MENACE TO THIS FAMILY.

Tessa: And yet, you still text me first. 🥰

Arthur: I hate you.

Tessa: No, you love me. Almost as much as your brother does.

***

February 2025

Charles Leclerc on Ferrari an Lewis Hamilton

Motorsport Weekly – February 2024

Interviewer: Charles, this is a huge year for you. New season, new regulations, and, of course, a new teammate. What’s it been like working with Lewis so far?

Charles Leclerc: It’s been great. Lewis brings so much experience to the team, and his way of working is very methodical. He’s incredibly focused, and I think that’s going to push all of us to another level.

Interviewer: Have there been any surprises about working with him so far?

Charles: Not really. I mean, we all know who Lewis is, how he works, how successful he’s been. I knew it was going to be intense. But at the same time, he’s very open—he shares a lot, and he’s been great to work with.

Interviewer: It’s been a big change for him, moving to Ferrari. But it’s also a change for you, adjusting to a new teammate after so many years with Carlos. How’s the dynamic?

Charles: It’s very different, but in a good way. Lewis has a lot of experience, and I think that helps me grow as a driver. And, well… he’s been through a lot in his career, so he knows how to handle every situation. It’s been really interesting to learn from that.

Interviewer: Has he given you any unexpected advice?

Charles: [laughs] Not yet, but I’m sure he will at some point.

Interviewer: Okay, I have to ask… How’s it been having Tessa Hamilton around Ferrari now?

Charles: [chokes on his water bottle, coughs] Sorry—what?

Interviewer: [laughing] You heard me.

Charles: [sighs] Okay, fine. Yes, she’s been around more because of Lewis. Yes, I have seen her. No, I don’t have anything else to say.

Interviewer: That sounded very rehearsed.

Charles: I have learned that when it comes to Tessa, no matter what I say, people will talk.

Interviewer: Because you walked into a wall the first time you met her?

Charles: [immediately defensive] That was years ago!

Interviewer: 2019, right?

Charles: [mutters] …Yes.

Interviewer: You saw her, got distracted, and walked straight into a wall. So, when she showed up at Fiorano, you must have been nervous.

Charles: [quickly] No.

Interviewer: No?

Charles: No.

Interviewer: Not even a little?

Charles: [hesitates] …I was fine.

Interviewer: Witnesses say you were only fine after she picked up your dog and he instantly fell in love with her.

Charles: [grumbling] Leo is a traitor.

Interviewer: You’ve had Leo for years, and yet he spent the entire day curled up with Tessa while you drove.

Charles: I know. I saw the pictures. Everyone showed me the pictures.Can we move on, please?

Interviewer: Of course. But just know the internet is very invested.

Charles: Unfortunately, I am aware.

***

Twitter Thread: Charles Leclerc’s Motorsport Weekly Interview & the Tessa Discourse

@/F1GossipQueenCharles Leclerc did a new GQ interview and somehow managed to say a lot while saying nothing at all. Let’s discuss. 🧵

@/FerrariForLife: The man was totally normal until they brought up Tessa. Then suddenly he forgot how to form complete answers.

@/TifosiTears: The way he was trying so hard to be casual when they brought up her boots and Leo. Like sir, you’re not fooling anyone.

@/GridGossip: “We had met before.” Sir. We all know. You walked into a wall in 2019.

@/PolePositionBabe:  Notice how he didn’t deny the betrayal when the interviewer said Leo picked Tessa over him. He’s still hurt.

@/ScuderiaSimp:  Ferrari needs to put out another media training session for this man because he is NOT built for deflecting romance questions.

@/FastLapFrenzy: Charles trying to act normal when they mention Tessa but you know he’s sweating internally.

@/LightsOutAndAway: The man has won multiple races under pressure but put him in a room and ask him about Tessa Hamilton and suddenly he’s buffering.

@/LeclercNation: “That’s all I need to say.” Why does this sound like he’s hiding classified information??

@/FerrariFanatic: CONSPIRACY THEORY: Charles is already in love and fighting for his life.

@/SoftTifosi: Imagine being Leo, just vibing, and suddenly you’re part of the biggest F1 romance discourse of the year.

@/HamiltonHive: Tessa watching this interview knowing damn well she’s winning

@/PaddockPrincess: If they aren’t dating yet, we are in for a wild season. If they are, Charles is about to break under questioning by summer break.

@/WAGWatch2024: Someone check on Charles. His life is about to get so much worse once Lewis starts getting asked about this.

***

Twitter Thread: "#AskTessa"

@/TessaHamilton: Back for another Q&A. Be nice. Or don’t. I can take it.

—

@/merc44fan: Has Lewis ever tried to teach you how to drive?

@/TessaHamilton: Oh, he tried. Key word: tried.

—

@/F1chaos: WAIT WHAT HAPPENED???

@/TessaHamilton: Long story short, he had one driving lesson with me when I was a teenager and then refused to ever get in a car with me again.

@/TessaHamilton: This was 10 years ago.

@/TessaHamilton: He still won’t let me drive when we go anywhere together.

—

@/lewisfan44: Be honest, were you actually bad, or was he just overreacting?

@/TessaHamilton: I’ll have you know I’m an excellent driver. He just lacks the vision to appreciate my talent. The first (and only) time he tried to teach me, I may have… misunderstood the difference between the gas and the brake.

@/TessaHamilton: And nearly reversed into our neighbor’s mailbox.

@/TessaHamilton: But I didn’t hit it. That’s the important part.

—

@/lewisfan44: I’m starting to think Lewis is valid in his reaction.

@/TessaHamilton: He wasn’t even in the car at the time! He was watching from the driveway like a nervous parent.

@/TessaHamilton: And when I didn’t crash, he still confiscated the keys and called it quits.

—

@/speedy44: Has he ever let you drive since?

@/TessaHamilton: He would rather walk.

@/TessaHamilton: I once offered to drive us to the airport, and he literally called a car service instead.

—

@/gridgossip: Be honest, if you and Lewis were in a parallel parking competition, who’s winning?

@/TessaHamilton: Me. Not even close.

@/LewisHamilton: LIES.

@/TessaHamilton: Oh, so you finally show up. Did your PR team approve this?

—

@/F1chaos: No but Tessa please explain why you think you’re a better driver than the literal greatest driver of all time.

@/TessaHamilton: Because I have zero speeding tickets.

@/TessaHamilton: Meanwhile, Lewis has too many.

@/LewisHamilton: Okay, first of all—

@/TessaHamilton: “First of all,” nothing. I have a clean record. You? Not so much.

—

@/mercfan4life: If you’re so confident, would you let Lewis sit in the passenger seat while you drive?

@/TessaHamilton: I would, but he won’t.

@/LewisHamilton: I value my life.

@/TessaHamilton: You drove with Nico Rosberg for years but I’M the one you don’t trust???

—

@/F1Fanatic: Who was your first F1 crush?

↳@/TessaHamilton: …Do I have to answer this?

↳@/MercMadness: YES.

↳@/PaddockGossip: You absolutely do.

↳@/TessaHamilton: Sigh.

↳@/TessaHamilton: Nico Rosberg.

↳@/FormulaFrenzy: WAIT WHAT.

↳@/F1TeaSpiller: OH THIS IS JUICY.

↳@/LewisHamilton: I’m sorry. WHAT.

—

@/TessaHamilton: Oh no.

↳@/TessaHamilton: I forgot he follows me.

↳@/LewisHamilton: YOU HAD A CRUSH ON NICO ROSBERG AND NEVER TOLD ME??

↳@/TessaHamilton: In my defense, you never asked.

—

@/PitLaneDrama: Lewis is malfunctioning, I can feel it.

↳@/LewisHamilton: HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS??

↳@/TessaHamilton: It was my deepest darkest teenage secret.

—

@/PitLaneDrama: This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

↳@/LewisHamilton: Tessa. I need details. Now.

↳@/TessaHamilton: …I might have had a wall collage.

↳@/LewisHamilton: OH MY GOD.

—

@/F1Chaos: So how bad was this crush?

↳@/TessaHamilton: I may have run a Nico Rosberg fan account on Twitter.

—

@/RedMistLeclerc: TESSA YOU WERE A NICO STAN ACCOUNT??

↳@/LewisHamilton: I AM LOSING MY MIND.

↳@/TessaHamilton: LEWIS PLEASE RELAX.

↳@/LewisHamilton: MY OWN SISTER. A ROSBERG FAN. UNDER MY OWN ROOF.

—

@/NicoRosberg: This made my day.

—

@/GeorgeRussell63: Lewis, are you okay?

↳@/LewisHamilton: No. I’m in crisis.

***

Charles had prepared himself. He swore he had. He knew Tessa would be there. He knew she would look beautiful because she always did. He knew she would tease him because that was her favorite pastime.

What he didn't prepare for was the sheer force of Tessa Hamilton in a red dress.

The F1 75 Live gala was already unbearable—too many speeches and entirely too much media attention. But then she walked in, draped in scarlet, and Charles forgot how to breathe.

Lewis, standing beside him, sighed. "Oh no. Here we go."

Tessa Hamilton had arrived.

And suddenly, the entire night became a game of survival.

She found them within minutes, sweeping over with that knowing smile, glass of champagne in hand. "You boys look so serious," she said, eyes flickering between them before landing on Charles. "Charles, why do you look like you're about to spontaneously combust?"

"I do not," he said immediately, but his voice came out an octave higher than usual.

Lewis hummed. "You kinda do."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Before Charles could dig himself into a deeper hole, Tessa leaned in, her fingers barely brushing his wrist as she peered at the phone in his hand. "Oh my god, are you two playing chess at a gala?"

"Yes," Lewis said flatly. "Because this event is a nightmare, and we need entertainment."

"And I was winning," Charles added.

Tessa raised a perfectly arched brow. "Oh? Give me that."

Before he could react, she plucked the phone from his hand and settled in next to him, too close, smelling too good, her warmth pressing against his side as she studied the game board.

"Charles, darling, I hate to break it to you, but you were not winning. This is awful strategy."

"Excuse me?!"

"Shh," she patted his shoulder condescendingly. "Let the genius work."

Lewis, watching this unfold, crossed his arms and smirked. "You do realize this is a tournament game, right? If you mess up, Charles is stuck with the loss."

Tessa looked up at Charles, eyes sparkling. "You trust me, don’t you?"

He absolutely did not, but his mouth betrayed him. "Of course."

And that was how he ended up watching, horrified, as Tessa—who he wasn’t even sure knew how to play chess—moved pieces with the confidence of a grandmaster.

Lewis let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, she’s ruthless. I should’ve known."

Tessa grinned, entirely too pleased with herself. "Checkmate, Hamilton."

Charles, still recovering from the way she had looked at him, almost missed it.

"Wait… did we just win?"

"We just won," she confirmed smugly.

Charles turned to Lewis, barely suppressing his smile. "Suck it."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "You didn’t win. She did."

Tessa beamed, tilting her head just slightly as she tapped Charles’s chest. "We make a good team, don’t we?"

Charles swallowed. He needed to leave. Or sit down. Or do literally anything to stop himself from saying something stupid.

But before he could, Tessa leaned in, voice dropping just for him. "You look good in black, by the way."

And just like that, he was done for.

***

Twitter Thread: “F1 75 Live”

@/F1TeaUpdates: Tessa Hamilton walked into the F1 75 Live in a red dress, stole Charles Leclerc’s phone, beat Lewis Hamilton at chess, and made Charles forget how to breathe. A queen.

↳@/FerrariFanatic: Charles is literally a F1 driver and yet he got outmaneuvered in under five minutes.

@/DTSStan: Netflix better have every camera angle of this because I need to see Charles buffering in real-time.

@/leclercbroupdates: Arthur and Lorenzo are 1000% bullying him in the group chat as we speak.

@/lessthanleclerc: I need Lewis to start live-tweeting these events. Like, sir, tell us what Charles’ face looked like when she called him “darling.”

@/paddockdrama: I’m crying someone zoomed in and Charles is literally just staring at her like she hung the moon. HELP.

@/gridgossip: Charles Leclerc is dressed like a prince, Lewis Hamilton is serving pure elegance, and Tessa Hamilton is out here looking like she’s about to steal a kingdom and its heir.

@/paddockdrama: Can we discuss how Charles and Tessa spent half the night in their own little world while Lewis just looked tired? My guy didn’t invite her to be his plus one for this madness. She forced her way in.

@/leclercnation: Charles, talking to someone else.Tessa, touching his arm for two seconds.Charles, immediately turning back to her like a magnet.Sir. Get a grip.

@/FerrariFanatic: F1 75 Live highlight reel:

Charles and Tessa playing aggressively flirty chess on his phone

Charles spilling champagne because she touched his hand

Arthur filming the whole thing for the family group chat

Lewis, looking straight into the camera like he’s on The Office

@/redcarprincess: Tessa, in a deep red dress, walking up to Charles with that look while Lewis sighs like he’s seen it all before… oh, she knew exactly what she was doing.

@/lessthanleclerc: I just know Charles went home and stared at his ceiling like an idiot, replaying every moment in his head. That man is down BAD.

@/f1chaos: Petition for Ferrari to host more events just to see Charles struggle to function around Tessa. It’s entertainment.

@/gridlockedd: Charles Leclerc: Ferrari’s golden boy, calm under pressure, master of controlled aggression. Also Charles Leclerc: Nearly drops a champagne flute because Tessa Hamilton tucked her hair behind her ear.

@/ferraristillhurts: Charles is so unserious. Like, Tessa just has to exist near him and suddenly he’s malfunctioning like a Ferrari strategy call.

 @/lewishamstan: Lewis really sat there watching his sister and his teammate flirt all night like he was questioning every life choice that led him here. That man is TIRED.

@/thepaddockfiles: Someone please check on Fred Vasseur. At this point, he’s managing a telenovela instead of a Formula 1 team.

@/plssomeonehelp: Charles is literally in the honeymoon phase and they’re not even dating.

@/wagsandgrid: At this point, it’s not “will they, won’t they?” It’s “when will Charles stop being a coward?”

@/fastestlapinlove: Every single shot of Charles and Tessa together looks like a still from a very expensive rom-com. Ferrari PR knows what they’re doing.

@/redflagromance: I need Ferrari to release unedited footage of Charles when Tessa took his phone to play chess. I know he was losing his mind.

@/tessafashioned: Tessa in Ferrari red with those heels? Mother was MOTHERING.

@/gridchaos: Fred Vasseur at this point: “I signed Lewis Hamilton, not a romance subplot.”

***

Group Chat: Leclerc Boys

(Members: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo)

Lorenzo: How’s everyone doing tonight?

Arthur: Oh, just THRIVING.

Charles: I don’t like your tone.

Lorenzo: I like how you almost dropped your champagne when Tessa put her hand on your arm.

Arthur: “Almost” is generous. That flute was wobbling like it was about to throw itself to the floor just to end your suffering.

Charles: Shut up.

Lorenzo: Oh, come on, Charles. She was just being polite.

Arthur: Yeah, because she had to make a move in your chess game since you just sat there blinking at her like a malfunctioning robot.

Charles: I was caught off guard.

Arthur: You’ve been caught off guard for FIVE YEARS.

Lorenzo: At this point, I’m impressed. You’re a Ferrari driver, but when it comes to Tessa, your reaction time is worse than a pay driver in his rookie season.

Charles: I actually hate you both.

Arthur: Be real, were you even playing chess or just watching her take over and pretending to understand the game?

Charles: I was strategizing.

Lorenzo: Strategizing how to survive the evening without combusting?

Arthur: Failed that mission, didn’t he?

Charles: You know what? I’m done. Goodnight.

Lorenzo: Sweet dreams of Tessa in that red dress.

Arthur: Or, you know, of being able to speak in full sentences around her one day.

Charles: I am BLOCKING both of you.

***

Text Messages - Charles Leclerc and Tessa Hamilton

Tessa: Charles. We need to talk.

Charles: …About what?

Tessa: Your wardrobe.

Charles: What’s wrong with my wardrobe?

Tessa: Everything.

Charles: That seems dramatic.

Tessa: I just scrolled through your tagged photos. I have evidence.

Charles: What kind of evidence?

Tessa: Beige. So much beige. Questionable denim choices. Some truly tragic shoes.

Charles: My shoes are fine!

Tessa: Charles. You wore those white sneakers until they turned grey. That’s a crime.

Charles: They were comfortable.

Tessa: I’m sure prison jumpsuits are comfortable too, but you don’t see me wearing one.

Charles: …

Tessa: Anyway, I have decided to fix this.

Charles: Fix what?

Tessa: Your wardrobe. Your entire fashion sense. Your existence, if necessary.

Charles: My existence?!

Tessa: I have a reputation to uphold. I cannot be seen around a man whose entire aesthetic is sad Monaco yacht kid who got lost in a Uniqlo.

Charles: You are being very unfair.

Tessa: Am I? Look me in the eye and tell me you actually like half the things in your closet.

Charles: …I don’t like confrontation.

Tessa: That’s what I thought. Now, do you trust me?

Charles: Unfortunately, yes.

Tessa: Good. I’m sending you links. We are starting with outerwear. Then we will move on to tailoring.

Charles: I don’t like where this is going.

Tessa: You’ll thank me when GQ calls.

***

Twitter Thread – Spotted: Charles Leclerc & Tessa Hamilton Shopping in Monaco

@/MonacoInsider: ALERT: Charles Leclerc and Tessa Hamilton are currently bickering in the middle of a luxury boutique.

↳@/FerrariTifosi: Define bickering.

↳@/MonacoInsider: She held up a jacket for him, he made a face, and she said, "Charles, please, you have the style instincts of a bread roll."

↳@/SoftTifosi: HELP.

↳@/F1Fashionista: And what did he say???

↳@/MonacoInsider: He crossed his arms and said, "Says the woman who wore a sequined pantsuit to a karting event."

@/MercedesMafia: He has a point.

@/W14Who: I feel like Tessa is personally offended by his clothing choices.

@/MonacoInsider: She literally sighed, muttered "I knew this would be hard," and shoved another jacket into his hands.

@/McLarenShenanigans: Did he listen???

@/MonacoInsider: No, he smirked and said, "Only if you try on this dress." AND THEN HELD UP A TINY RED ONE.

@/TifosiDreams: THE AUDACITY???

@/MonacoInsider: She looked him dead in the eye, took it from his hands, and said, "Fine. But if I do, you’re buying the jacket AND the shoes I pick."

↳@/FerrariFaithful: NOT THE SHOES TOO.

@/RedArmy: Charles Leclerc, playing with fire.

@/SoftTifosi: And did she try on the dress???

@/MonacoInsider: Yes. She walked out of the dressing room, posed like she was on a red carpet, and Charles just stared. Like, literally forgot how to speak. Then he went, "Tessa, what do you need from me to never wear that in public?"

@/SoftTifosi: Bro is STRUGGLING.

@/MercedesElite: Why is this funnier knowing that he’s probably running through every possible escape plan in his head?

@/McLarenShenanigans: What did she say??

@/F1GossipMonaco: She just smiled sweetly and went, "A whole new wardrobe."

@/TifosiNation: She came to Monaco with a mission.

@/W14Who: This is a long con. She’s been planning this for months.

@/F1GossipMonaco: He stared at her for a solid five seconds, sighed like a man defeated, and muttered, "Fine. But if Lewis says anything, I’m blaming you."

@/FerrariFaithful: AND THAT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IS HOW YOU WIN A WAR.

@/SoftTifosi: Charles, sweetheart, you were doomed from the start.

***

Group Chat: Les Trois Frères

(Members: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo)

Lorenzo: So, I see you've officially given up and let Tessa dress you.

Arthur: RIP to your independence.

Charles: I did NOT let her dress me.

Lorenzo: And yet, you were spotted trailing after her like a very obedient golden retriever while she held up shirts against you.

Arthur: Monaco’s Prince of Fashion reduced to Tessa Hamilton’s personal mannequin. Tragic.

Charles: I don’t see the problem.

Arthur: The problem is that you walked into the store in a hoodie and left looking like you own a yacht.

Lorenzo: He does own a yacht.

Arthur: Yeah, but now he dresses like it.

Charles: I dress fine.

Arthur: Not according to Tessa.

Charles: She called me a “tragic case of wasted potential” and then confiscated my wallet.

Lorenzo: How did she even manage that?

Charles: She’s fast. And terrifying.

Arthur: Ferrari should hire her for pit stops.

Charles: I don’t like you.

Lorenzo: Did you even pick anything, or did she just tell you what to buy?

Charles: I had opinions.

Arthur: And did she listen to them?

Charles: …Not really.

Lorenzo: Mon dieu. You’re done for.

Arthur: What did she get you?

Charles: Some button-downs, jackets, nice trousers. Shoes.

Arthur: Loafers.

Charles: …Yes.

Lorenzo: I need a moment.

Arthur: Tessa has won. She’s unstoppable.

Charles: I dress like an adult now.

Arthur: No, you dress like a man who got dragged through a shopping spree by a woman he’s hopelessly in love with.

Lorenzo: Have you at least thanked her?

Charles: I paid for everything.

Arthur: That’s not the same and you know it.

Lorenzo: Tell me you at least got your wallet back.

Charles: …She still has it.

Arthur: No words.

Lorenzo: Thoughts and prayers.

***

Text Messages - Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton

Lewis: Mate, if she gets too much, just tell her to back off. Tessa will listen. Probably.

Charles: You say that like she didn’t steamroll me into an entirely new wardrobe today.

Lewis: She means well.

Charles: She called me a disaster in human form because I wanted to buy another white t-shirt.

Lewis: Okay, yeah, that sounds like Tessa.

Charles: She still has my wallet.

Lewis: …I can’t help you there.

Charles: She threatened to burn my ripped jeans.

Lewis: Honestly, she might be doing you a favor.

Charles: You’re supposed to be on my side.

Lewis: I am on your side. That’s why I’m telling you—if she pushes too hard, set some boundaries.

Charles: She’s a force of nature, Lewis. She doesn’t listen.

Lewis: She listens to me.

Charles: Yes, because you’re her brother. Not some poor man trapped in a boutique while she waves scarves at him like an art director losing her mind.

Lewis: …Do you want me to talk to her?

Charles: No.

Lewis: Are you sure?

Charles: …Maybe wait until after she brings me my wallet back.

***

[faramirsonofgondor]

Something something time travel shenanigans where Dick is de-aged to nine years old. He’s a little murder gremlin who wants nothing more than his family, and he can’t get that so settles for bloodlust and revenge. Except now he’s in the future where he does a family, even if he doesn’t them yet. He gets to know them over time, he grows particularly close with Alfred, though he loves Bruce and Tim as well. Then he hears someone mention Jason, a boy Dick has never met. Bruce won’t tell him anything and the others are frustratingly quiet, so Dick does some digging. He finds out he had another brother. The boy in the photos he finds is small and thin, but his smile is one of the brightest things Dick has ever seen. Dick doesn’t understand why Bruce would have kept this from him. Then he finds out more. He learns that Joker killed him, that another person tore his family away from him, that another person he loved was left unavenged.

And Dick gets angry. Not his usual screaming, biting tantrums kind of angry. No, this anger is much colder. He knows from experience that Batman won’t let him kill, and he knows that for whatever reason the others are probably on board with that, seeing as they haven’t killed Joker either. Dick knows he only has one shot at this, and he has to plan this carefully so he doesn’t give himself away or implicate himself more than he means to. He waits for Joker to break out Arkham, watches him as he takes sanctuary in some old decrepit warehouse, and then executes his grand plan; the last joke that Joker will ever live to see, his last laugh. Nobody really knows how he does it. They all know he did it, but there’s no way to prove it, despite the real story being hysterically implausible. There’s no way that Joker died slipping on a banana peel, right? It had to be some sort of set up, some sort of foul play or something. After all, several goons mentioned the unnerving cackles coming from all around the building even after they’d found the corpse, the laugh being identical to one they’d heard so many years ago.

Meanwhile, Red Hood is crashing out in distance, upset over the fact that a fucking banana peel managed to spoil all of his carefully laid plans. When he’s done with his fit of rage, he catches wind of the fact that people are suspecting that fucking ghost of Robin or some other magical shit is what really killed Joker. Jason has a brief moment where he wonders if there’s actually a 15 year old ghost version of himself that just murked Joker. Then he hears people talking about how the murderer’s distinctly creepy cackle, and he’s thrown back to the time he was watching footage of Dick’s time as Robin and saw him drop 20 feet onto some guys arm while cackling the whole time. He’s so fucking confused by everything that he just decides to stop with the drama and confront Bruce directly. Instead of the reaction he was expecting (tears, shock, fear, denial?) Bruce just sighs and mutters something along the lines of “Of course” (Bruce is now convinced that tiny Dick raised Jason from the dead somehow so his family can be complete again) before telling Jason that Dick is upstairs and to talk to him. Jason is more than a little annoyed at being brushed off but decides he’ll deal with it later because he wants his answers first. His answer comes in the shape of a 9 year old bloodthirsty child sprinting at him full force and latching onto him like a koala bear. After ten minutes, Jason gives up on dislodging him and resigns himself to having to live in the manor for the rest of his life or until they fix Dick’s situation (though he’s doubtful that adult Dick would be willing to let him go either).

Eventually Dick gets re-aged and does not, in fact, let go of Jason. Bruce tries to confront him multiple times about how he killed Joker but Dick just feigns amnesia. The only bad thing to come out of the situation is the amount of banana-themed items that are gifted to Dick every anniversary of Joker’s death.

[sparrow-and-seed-scrawls]

“How many agents have you trained?” The former student asked from the opposite side of the office, hand curved around the hilt of a rather large knife. It shone in the flickering fluorescents, too real-looking to be a stage prop.

Dr. Thatcher had taught acting for decades. He’d bought this building on this side of New York twenty-something-odd years ago after leaving his position at a university several hundred miles away. He needed something fresh, something new. It was the curse of being driven, he liked to think. When things slowed down, it was time to try something new.

He’d used the little left in his bank account to buy books and tools, then advertising. Affordable acting classes from a professional (he’d acted in a few off-broadway shows before his teaching days). He’d grown popular quickly, so quickly it surprised him.

Things hadn’t slowed down for years. Twenty-something-odd years. Years filled with monologues and studies and new batches of students bright-eyed and eager to make a mark in the world of show business.

He’d moved frequently, different cities with different people. He grew bored of the same place, and everywhere he went seemed to demand his services. He never had a small class, never had less than forty students a year.

Students that, once graduated, he was never able to find again. Not on social media, the news, the internet (which he did know how to use, thank you very much). Strange, but New York was huge. He came up with thousands of excuses to ease his wonderings.

Right now, though, with his former student in front of him with a knife, those excuses were growing increasingly difficult to justify.

“Graham, I’m—”

The student stepped closer, knife still raised. His blond hair was pulled into a neat knot at his neck, his clothes pressed. Strange for what seemed to be a robbery.

“Answer my question, Dr. Thatcher. Or are you even a doctor? Maybe your whole identity is a front, too.”

Dr. Thatcher raised his eyebrows, but kept his hands raised. It was off-putting, but not yet scary. He cleared his throat. “Graham, truly, I have no idea what you’re asking. Perhaps we can sit down and discuss…?”

“No. You can tell me, right here. How many agents have you trained?”

“I don’t train acting agents.” He said it carefully, watching the young man’s face.

“Secret agents,” he grit out.

A moment passed. The young man must have seen the confusion on Dr. Thatcher’s face, because he continued:

“Secret agents for the CIA. Hundreds of your students are employed with them. Don’t think you can pretend your way out of this one.”

Dr. Thatcher laughed, then. Out loud. Which was probably the wrong thing to do, but it was absolutely ridiculous! He, a sixty-one-year-old man who lived in a plain flat with only his cat, training—he couldn’t even finish the thought!

Graham lowered the knife, but didn’t put it away. “Why are you laughing? What scheme do you have planned, because whatever it is, put an end to it.”

“I—” Dr. Thatcher struggled to form words around his laughter, “—agents?! for the CIA? I can only imagine!”

“You… you’re not serious, are you?”

Dr. Thatcher wiped the tears from his eyes. “I have absolutely no inkling of what you’re talking about.”

“The agents of 26104. The ones you trained in espionage?”

He shook his head.

Graham cursed and ran a hand down his face. “I have the records. I have photo evidence of it all!” He sheathed his knife in an impressive twist of the wrist and tossed a file on the desk. Several photos slid from the manilla.

“Yes! Oh, I remember Elsie. And Patrick! A wonderful comedian.” The warmth of nostalgia spread through his chest. These were his students, ones he hadn’t seen in years, ones he’d sent off with so much enthusiasm! How he’d longed to know where they’d ended up, how they were doing.

“They’ve done well?” He looked back to Graham finally.

“If you count ‘well’ as brainwashed into working for a dangerous operation with the CIA, then yes. They’ve done ‘well’.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, and his face matched. “You’ve tried to run from it—oh, it took years for me to track you down after I escaped the CIA. But we’re past that. Tell me who your contact is.”

“I have no contacts. I’m an acting professor!”

This was not what Dr. Thatcher had expected or hoped for when he’d found Graham waiting in his office. A catch-up, perhaps, or help with a last-minute monologue.

——

Yeah so uhhhh I didn’t finish this one ☝️ but ☝️ perhaps I will later

You teach several highly recommended acting classes, however, to your dismay, you never seem to see any of your students again. Until today, when you find one of your best pupils in your office. With weapon in hand, they coldly ask you "How many agents have you trained?"

[maskedbyghost]

In Sickness, In Health, In Surveillance (1)

Synopsis: To spy on a dangerous neighbor, you and Simon have to pretend you’re married, even though you’re constantly at each other’s throats. The longer you fake it, the harder it gets to keep your distance.

Tags/CW: slow burn, fake marriage, undercover mission, forced proximity, invasion of privacy, mild violence, explicit sexual content

Masterlist

“Absolutely not.”

You didn’t even wait a second before turning your head sharply, scoffing loud enough for it to be counted as an official protest, and throwing yourself back into the chair like you were already exhausted by the conversation, even though it had barely started.

Your arms crossed hard over your chest and you didn’t bother hiding the way you glared across the table, the annoyance already creeping under your skin and settling in for what was clearly going to be a long, miserable briefing.

“Oh, perfect,” you muttered, voice louder than necessary. “We’re not even on the damn mission yet and I already wanna throw something at your face.”

Across from you, Simon didn’t react much, but the twitch in his jaw was a good enough sign that he was also seconds away from losing his patience, which really wasn’t anything new considering the two of you had never actually worked together without ending up in some shouting match or standoff that someone else had to awkwardly step into and separate before you either killed each other or ended up breaking government property.

“Both of you, shut it,” Price said, already pinching the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh that told you he probably knew exactly how this would go and still signed off on it anyway.

You were halfway to standing up, already planning to walk right out and tell whoever assigned this shit that they could pair Simon up with a brick wall for all you cared, when Price slid a folder across the table and tapped it once, hard enough to make you stop.

You didn’t sit back down, but you paused long enough to glance down at the name printed on the top of the first page and the blurry surveillance photo clipped to the corner, a photo that really didn’t look like much until you noticed the faint smirk on the guy’s face and the fact that Price didn’t seem even a little amused by it.

“Mark Delaney,” he started. “On paper he’s clean. Got a solid job in international logistics, runs a ‘green’ import-export company, donates to animal shelters, married to some yoga instructor. He’s charming, polite, and doesn’t raise alarms.”

You finally sat back down, still tense, but listening now. Simon glanced at the photo and stayed quiet.

“The thing is,” Price went on, flipping the page to a second sheet filled with red flags and classified notes, “Delaney isn’t as squeaky clean as he wants us to believe. His company’s been flagged three times in the last year for inconsistencies in shipping records, and not just minor ones. Entire containers marked as farm equipment went off-grid for days at a time, only to reappear somewhere completely different, usually near facilities we’ve flagged for biochemical research.”

You frowned, reading over the brief line about a missing cargo load in Romania and another one that disappeared overland in France. It was vague, but not vague enough to ignore.

“You think he’s smuggling weapons,” Simon said flatly, already sounding done with it all.

“We know he is,” Price corrected. “We just can’t prove it. Every lead we’ve chased has either vanished or doubled back and led us nowhere. He’s careful, too careful. We’ve got reason to believe he’s got someone on the inside feeding him intel on our moves. So every time we get close, he goes quiet.”

You stared at the pages, slowly putting the pieces together. “So you need someone on the inside.”

Price nodded. “Exactly. And not just anyone. Neighbors. Friends. People he’ll invite over for drinks and barbecues. Someone close enough to keep eyes on the house without raising suspicion. And the only thing this guy seems to trust is what appears to be stability. Family. He’s not letting anyone in unless they tick those boxes.”

“And that’s where we come in,” Simon said, sounding more annoyed by the second.

“Right,” Price confirmed, flipping the final page and sliding over a rough sketch of a cute little two-bedroom house on a quiet street lined with trees and white fences and all the usual cozy, innocent crap people with secrets seem to flock to. “New neighborhood just outside the city. House next door to Delaney’s is conveniently up for rent. Your covers are clean. Married couple, moved in for a change of pace, looking to settle down. You’ll be posing as the Rileys. Cute, normal, boring as hell. You’ll shop at the local market, wave at the mailman, say good morning to Mrs. Jenkins three doors down. The whole thing.”

You blinked at him. “You’re insane.”

Simon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “No way I’m pretending to be married to her.”

“Oh shut up, like I’m thrilled about this either,” you snapped, already feeling your voice climbing. “We can’t even get through five minutes without arguing and you think we’re going to pull off playing house in front of a damn target?”

Simon didn’t back down. “You’re the one who almost blew that job in Berlin because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

“And you’re the one who got shot last year because you don’t listen to anyone who isn’t you!”

“Enough,” Price cut in, voice sharp now. “You two are professionals. Or at least you’re supposed to be. So start acting like it.”

You opened your mouth again but stopped when you saw the way he was looking at you, not in the mood to entertain the two of you going back and forth all day.

“This is the job,” he said. “It’s not optional. We’ve burned every other angle, and this is our last clean shot at getting close to Delaney without tipping him off. You’re both good at what you do. You’re just shit at working together. So guess what? You’re gonna have to figure that out.”

You leaned back again, crossing your arms and staring at the ceiling, trying to keep yourself from saying something that’d get you pulled from the task force entirely.

Simon didn’t say anything for a minute. Just shifted in his seat and exhaled hard through his nose before muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “this is bullshit.”

Price ignored that.

“You’ll get the rest of the files tomorrow,” he said, standing up and already halfway done with this conversation. “Get your heads on straight. Because next week, you’re moving in.”

A few hours later, you were on your way to make tea. One cup of tea before bed to maybe convince your brain to calm down for more than five minutes so you could sleep without dreaming about living in some fake little suburb next to a guy who probably murdered people on his lunch breaks.

But no, the universe hated you. Because as soon as you pushed open the heavy kitchen door and stepped into the room, the first thing you saw was Simon standing by the counter, facing the kettle.

It hadn’t even started boiling yet, but the switch was already down and steam was starting to curl out of the top. His back was to you, he hadn’t turned around, but you knew he knew you were there.

You sighed, not even bothering to be quiet about it, and stepped inside anyway. The door clicked shut behind you, louder than it needed to be. You crossed the room without a word, opened the cabinet with way too much force, and grabbed the chipped mug you always used when you stayed overnight on base. The one with the handle that was just slightly cracked but hadn’t fallen off yet. You didn’t even know why you still bothered using it.

“Gonna be long week,” you muttered to yourself as you grabbed a teabag from the box and dropped it into the mug.

Simon didn’t say anything. Just reached for the kettle and poured hot water into his own cup before setting it back on the base.

You turned your head. “Are you planning on sharing, or is the water yours too?”

He finally looked at you, completely unimpressed. “It’s a kettle. Fill it again.”

You blinked at him slowly. “You boiled half a cup.”

“I only needed half.”

You stared at him for a full second before turning to the sink and refilling the kettle yourself, slamming it back into place with a little more force than necessary and flipping the switch.

You stood there in silence, the hum of the kettle building again, both of you pretending to be too focused on your mugs to acknowledge the absolute nightmare this week was going to be.

“I still don’t get why it has to be us,” you said after a minute, without looking at him. “Out of everyone. There are other people who don’t actively want to kill each other.”

Simon stirred his tea slowly and didn’t answer. Which was already annoying. But then he said, “Because we’re both good at pretending.”

You laughed once, no humor. “You think you’re charming enough to sell the happy husband act?”

“I think I’m quiet enough not to blow our cover in the first five minutes.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you snapped, turning fully to face him now. “You’re the reason our last mission went to shit. Don’t pretend like that was on me.”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t see you volunteering to fix it.”

“I was fixing it until you decided to go all lone-wolf and ignore every part of the plan.”

“You were panicking.”

“I was adapting,” you said, stepping forward now, hands still wrapped around your empty mug, your voice getting louder. “You know, the thing you’re supposed to do when the situation changes? Not just wander off and make things worse?”

He looked down at you like you were a headache. “You talk too much.”

“You don’t talk enough,” you shot back. “Which would be fine if we weren’t supposed to be living together, pretending to be married, pretending we actually like each other. You think that’s gonna work if you just grunt at me every time I open my mouth?”

“If you open your mouth less,” he said, taking a slow sip of his tea, “I might not have to.”

You stared at him for a long moment, every muscle in your face twitching with the effort of not throwing your mug across the room.

You turned back to the counter instead, fingers gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles ached, because you knew if you said one more thing, it wouldn’t end in words. And Price had already made it very clear this assignment was happening whether you liked it or not, so the last thing you needed was to start it with a disciplinary report for slapping your fake husband in a government-owned kitchen.

The kettle clicked off.

You poured the water, dropped the bag in, and stood there in complete silence, the steam rising up in front of your face while your entire body burned with the need to scream. Behind you, Simon didn’t move. He finished his tea, already done with the conversation and nothing else to add, which somehow pissed you off even more than if he’d stayed and kept going.

You didn’t turn around when he left.

The door creaked open, then shut again, and suddenly the room felt twice as empty and twice as suffocating.

You picked up your mug, sipped, burned your tongue immediately, and muttered under your breath, “Fucking idiot.”

It was unclear if you meant him or yourself.

Maybe both....

The morning after, as you walked into the briefing room, you immediately regretted it.

Price was already waiting by the projector, arms crossed, folder in hand, expression unreadable. Soap and Gaz were parked on the other side of the table with matching shit-eating grins, and Simon was slouched in a chair with his arms folded and that same constant air of annoyance radiating off him.

The only empty seat was across from him.

You sat down slowly, dragging the chair out with a screech that was just annoying enough to make your point. Simon didn’t even blink.

Price cleared his throat. “Right. Good, you’re both here. Let’s get this over with.”

He opened the folder and pulled out a few forms, sliding them onto the table. The top sheet had both your names printed in bold at the top, and before you could say anything, he held out a pen and added, far too casually, “You’ll need to sign this.”

You squinted at the page, then at him. “What is it.”

“Marriage license,” he said.

Simon actually made a sound. You didn’t know what kind, a scoff, a groan, a sigh, maybe all three crushed together.

“Come again?” you said, blinking like maybe the words just didn’t land right.

“Standard part of your cover,” Price went on, like this was just another Tuesday briefing. “If you're going to be married next door to the guy, you need something official. Records, registration, all of it. Delaney's cautious. He looks into people. If he pulls up your names and doesn’t find legal proof, the whole cover falls apart.”

“So we’re... legally married now?” you asked, staring at the paper like it might bite you.

“Temporarily,” Price clarified. “The paperwork will get dissolved after the op ends. Until then, it’s real enough to pass inspection.”

Soap leaned forward, grinning. “D’you want us to leave? Give you a moment? Say some vows?”

“Don’t,” you muttered, already grabbing the pen. “I swear to god, I will choke you.”

Gaz snorted. “Romance really is alive and well.”

You signed the paper quickly, digging the pen in harder than necessary, and slid it across the table toward Simon without even looking at him.

He took the pen without a word and stared at the paper for a beat longer than needed.

You could feel him thinking about it. About walking out, maybe, or writing something petty on the line instead. But in the end, he just signed it, dropped the pen, and leaned back again.

Price picked the papers up and slid them back into the folder. “That’s done, then. You’ll be leaving tomorrow. You’ll get your cover packet with your new IDs, address, car registration, and a few minor personal details to memorize. Keep it simple. The house is already furnished, fridge is stocked, and we’ve got a few cameras of our own set up for monitoring, but those’ll be on the outside.”

“Just curious,” you said, crossing your arms, “whose idea was it to marry us instead of just making us roommates or cousins or literally anything less humiliating?”

“Intelligence team’s,” Price said. “Delaney and his wife are tight-knit. They don’t invite people in unless they see themselves in them. You’re not gonna get close by being two strangers with no story. You need to look like a safe, boring, happy couple.”

Simon let out a short breath that might have been a laugh or might have been rage. “We’re fucked, then.”

Soap smirked. “Already? Didn’t even get to the wedding night.”

“Johnny,” Price warned without looking up.

Gaz grinned. “At least fake-married means fake arguments. Or are those gonna be real too?”

You stood up. “They’re already real.”

Simon stood, too. “They’ve always been real.”

Price didn’t even sigh this time. Just shut the folder and gave you both a look like he couldn’t believe this was his life.

“Go prep. Go memorize your covers. And for the love of god,” he added as you both walked out, “at least try to act like you don’t want to strangle each other in front of the neighbors.”

Behind you, you could hear Soap whisper, “Too late.”

The next day, the car rolled to a stop in front of the house that, apparently, you were supposed to call home for the foreseeable future, and you didn’t even bother unbuckling your seatbelt right away because the sight of it, the carefully painted fence, the trimmed little patch of lawn, the stupid flower box under the front window, made your entire body tense up with dread that came from knowing you were about to walk into something you couldn’t get out of.

The neighborhood was quiet in a way that felt fake, like everyone was trying too hard to act normal, and the only sound you could hear was the faint whir of some lawnmower in the distance and the soft creak of Simon’s door opening as he stepped out of the car without a single word.

You followed a few seconds later, grabbing one of the heavier duffel bags even though you knew he probably expected you to leave it for him, just to prove a point you weren’t even sure you believed in anymore, and the two of you walked up the short path toward the house without speaking, your boots thudding against the pavement in that awkward rhythm that made it painfully obvious neither of you knew what to say.

Simon fished the key out of his jacket pocket and unlocked the door without hesitation, and when he pushed it open and stepped inside, the sound of the hinges creaking made your stomach twist, because the house was too quiet, too clean, too ready for the two of you to start pretending that this was real life instead of a mission you both already hated.

The living room had a couch that looked barely used, two throw pillows that definitely didn’t match, a coffee table with a fake plant on it, and a stack of fresh mail on the kitchen counter, waiting to reinforce the lie that Mr. and Mrs. Riley had just moved in from some forgettable suburb to start their boring, lovely new life.

You stood just inside the doorway, bag still hanging from your shoulder, eyes moving slowly over the layout like maybe something would jump out and make this all make sense, but there was nothing, just a painfully neat little trap dressed up as domestic bliss.

Simon didn’t look at you as he dropped his bag on the floor near the stairs, didn’t say anything right away, just stood there for a second trying to figure out which part of this he hated the most, and then, after what felt like a full minute of pure silence, he glanced your way, and said in that flat, low voice that somehow made your blood pressure spike every time you heard it:

“Welcome to hell, Mrs. Riley.”

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973 @jajouska @fruitymoonbeams-blog @cece2608 @starryylies @silmarilniky

[chaoticbardlady99]

LADs Fantasy Arranged Marriage AU

I was doing a writing warm up and it grew a life of it's own. This has probably been done a thousand times before but oh well.

Pairings: King! Sylus x Least Favored Princess! Reader, Underdog King! Caleb x Plebeian! Reader, King! Zayne x Beloved Princess! Reader, King! Rafayel x Princess! Reader, Prince! Xavier x High Priestess! Reader

CW: Violence, some families that really suck, uhhhh I don't think there is anything else

All KIND likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Sylus:

You’re actually the one who wasn’t supposed to be marrying Sylus.

You are well known for being the castle's little Heathen with your riding skirts and sword fighting, and metalworking, more of a blacksmith’s wife than a Queen- in the least tasteful way.

It was your baby sister’s duty to marry the very rich Dragon King, but she’s the beloved baby. Your parent’s dearest- they couldn’t marry her off to a monster!

Hence why you are being sent to the literal serpent’s lair and quite likely your death

When you arrive, you’re surprised by how accommodating everyone already is and you fear the worst for when they realize you aren’t actually the bride to be

Sylus is gone to battle when you first arrive- something about the border being attacked- so you end up being pampered and treated like a queen

You learn very quickly that the people living under the Dragon King’s rule are very happy, quirky, and kind people.

You feel like you’re gonna cry on the final night before he comes home because you truly have come to adore “your” ladies in waiting and have felt very welcome by the entire culture around you

Your Knights specifically have grown very fond of you and you of them- Luke and Kieran are like the little brother’s you never had.

When you were brought before your future husband in his private chambers, you were preparing for your death.

 You look entirely different from your sister- different hair and eye color, slightly different bone and body structure. Surely this will be your last night alive.

However, you’re surprised to find that his once irritated expression upon your arrival disappears and turns into something entirely soft and victorious.

“Good, they did exactly what I wanted them to do.”

You find out that it was entirely on purpose- Sylus knew they wouldn’t send your sister willingly, but they knew they would be a pain in the ass if he asked for your hand in marriage.

“Why don’t you want to marry our youngest,” he mocks, “she’s so ladylike and proper.”

You spend the next several weeks together and you fall in love with each other easily- it’s hard to watch him go defend the Kingdom border again, worrying if he’ll come back or not.

He comes back, but he’s injured. You’re the first person waiting to greet him before the drawbridge is even brought down again. 

You help him get cleaned up and tend to his wounds- chastising him for his recklessness- and he smiles through the winces and pain. 

“Will you marry me?” he asks that night as you lay together, entirely unconventional but you had to know he was real and he you, “please be my Queen. Stand by my side.”

“I thought that was the plan, silly,” you teased.

“You will always have a home here, but marrying me and being by my side is a hard choice.”

You shook your head and kissed him sweetly, “no it’s not- it’s the easiest decision I have ever had to make.”

It’s a grand wedding and your whole family is invited- as followers of your Kingdom because Sylus conquered them as your wedding gift.

Your sister is thrilled though- she meets a nice man and it ends up being okay. She isn’t forced into royal duty like she was afraid to be and you both get to spend lots of quality time together.

Your parents, however, ended up in the Gallows after they tried to object to your Union.

Needless to say, you live a long life together- extremely happy and admired by all- and have a headstrong, stoic little girl (Luke and Kieran are great babysitters btw)

Caleb:

You and Caleb grew up in a poor village

Orphans together, you grew up on the streets and became petty thieves together to try to get by

You were the brains, he was the brawn

Eventually he was drafted into the military- they were just dragging people off the streets and he hid you in an abandoned building.

A year or two passed and the war ended, but Caleb hadn’t come back and you accepted that he may be gone

You struggled to live- having to turn tricks in brothels and take questionable jobs that probably should have taken your life a thousand times over

Another year passes and there is suddenly a massive war horn and an army from an unfamiliar flag charging the Kingdom. 

You were running through the Alleyway when you were cut off by a man on a white horse (yes, I had to, okay?)

You back against the wall and try to make yourself as small as possible as the man makes his way over to you.

When he takes off his helmet, you can’t help but burst into tears as you look at the man you thought disappeared from your life forever

He looks healthier, stronger, and still like his old goofy self, but a bit more steely.

“You are as beautiful as I remember you being,” he whispered before kissing you, “now I feel whole again.”

Caleb immediately makes you his Queen and anyone who dares speak of your past is pretty much executed on the spot (in spite of your protests).

Turns out Caleb had been taken Prisoner by another kingdom, bided his time for a year or so, took over the whole damn place, and then came to get you.

He isn’t upset with you for how you survived, he’s more upset with himself for leaving you to fend for yourself and wishes he had acted sooner.

You spend a lot of nights holding him after a nightmare of him being gone and vice versa- you two ached for each other every day and not knowing the other’s fate had been terrifying.

The wedding is gorgeous, everyone attends, and you make Caleb 100 times more likeable in the eyes of the people he took over.

There are whispers of the King being sweet on his Queen- something that hadn’t been heard of in centuries. 

“Caleb! You need to wait until I’m done gardening or I’ll never lie with you again!”

You’re the only one who gives the King a hard time or lip- the castle staff is pretty much gaping with shock everytime you command him around.

It’s even more jarring that the King listens like an obedient puppy.

There is the occasional uprising and nonsense, but overall, you both live a happy life and run an even happier kingdom- your love for each other is felt by and seen by all.

And if anyone forgets, they have your twin boys causing mischief in the townsquare to remind them.

Rafayel:

You and Rafayel had been betrothed since you were both in diapers.

You both hated it.

You never met one another, but it’s all anyone could ever seem to talk about.

“Do this for your husband that” and “your queen won’t like that” this

Both of you were so fed up that you were both considering having the other one assassinated so you didn’t have to go through with it. 

You accidentally meet each other at a party and talk for a whole hour before realizing who the other person is

It’s a fun conversation- you enjoy his company immensely and he yours

Then you find out who each other are and it’s like watching two Betta fish in the same tank

The wedding is stunning, but rigid and even the warm ocean air couldn’t bring any joy to this union.

But it wasn’t because you were unhappy to be marrying him, in fact, it’s the opposite.

You thought about your conversations that night religiously- the way he smiled, the sound of his laughter- how he made you laugh.

You didn’t realize that he felt the same way, but both of you are being dumb as hell and pretending to be unhappy with the marriage rather than the gaping loneliness. 

It’s about a month into your marriage that Rafayel finally breaks.

He storms into your chambers one day and is ready to give you a piece of his mind when he finds you crying.

“I-I’m sorry yo-you don’t want me, your Highness.”

Oh it could not have been further from the truth.

You hadn’t consummated your marriage yet, but that night you did

Rafayel showed you over and over again how much you mean to him- how much he desires you.

Sometimes you do get heated and fight with one another- Rafayel has a tendency to put his needs below others and it leaves you to prioritize him.

Rafayel often takes you to the expensive, private beach home he owns along the far end of your kingdom together

You eventually have two headstrong twin girls and a spoiled mini-Rafayel

Rafayel is a very attentive father to his “little guppies” and you are all often seen together- the entire kingdom is close with the Royal family.

You live a long, beautiful life together with the occasional argument, but Rafayel always brings a bouquet of flowers to apologize (even if he isn’t necessarily in the wrong).

Zayne:

You come from a weaker, smaller Kingdom that celebrates spring and you love where you live. You never wanted to leave.

You are their only daughter- the youngest of 9 boys. 

The King in the Arctic has requested your hand in marriage

You’ve only met him a handful of times at Galas in other kingdoms, you have never had any desire to visit the Arctic.

You spend your last day in your Greenhouse and enjoying the warm sun

Your mother sobs as she bids you farewell and your father won’t look you in the eye

The trip is borderline freezing, but a carriage and horses more fit for the snow intercept your caravan.

It’s your betrothed- Zayne- he was worried about your journey and wanted to ensure your safety and comfort.

The carriage is warm and donned with warm furs but you’re still extremely homesick.

You try to make the most of it and you try to be enthusiastic about planning the wedding

He says you can invite your family and already has designated guest rooms in the house for all of them to visit whenever they want.

You and Zayne don’t spend much time together- it always seems like he has an excuse to leave the room when you enter.

It’s extremely lonely- you miss your brothers, your parents, your greenhouse.

The week before your wedding, Zayne finally speaks to you for more than thirty minutes, in fact he takes your entire afternoon.

He takes you to a gift he’s been working on and cultivating for weeks- a Greenhouse with all of the plants you adore from home and a garden outside with plants that thrive in the cold.

“I am… not the best with expressing my emotions,” he says softly, “I hope this conveys how much you being here at my side means to me.” 

Your wedding is like a winter wonderland- your entire Kingdom comes and Zayne promises to protect your hometown and you with his life during your vows. 

You learn to love the snow and Winter holidays like Yule and New Years

You become an ice skating expert, you often take long evening strolls through the garden with Zayne, you spend your evenings curled up together next to a fireplace with a book or him with his reports.

He blossoms with marriage- the once shy man who was afraid to be around you is ravenous for your company, both physically and mentally.

You spend everyday being treated like a Queen and you treat him like a King in every sense of the way.

Your opinions are valued and you have made lots of changes for the Arctic kingdom- including creating more trade routes and ensuring safe spaces for the Hunters incase they get snowed in.

Zayne could not be more proud of the Queen you have become and the man you have encouraged him to be- he is often seen smiling now which was bizarre to the Kingdom’s people for the first year and a half (especially when he was passing out spring flower baskets with you).

The Arctic begins to host a spring festival, but never on the same day as your hometown. 

Zayne takes you back home every year for the spring festival and eventually your three young daughters come along with you.

Xavier: 

You are a High Priestess in your Kingdom- a seer and Prophetess of sorts.

Xavier is the Crowned Prince who is supposed to be looking for a bride.

He is introduced to the cherished Princess of your Kingdom, but he only asks about you.

You try to explain that you are a High Priestess- you aren’t to marry- but that only seems to encourage his need to sweep you off your feet.

Xavier leaves your Kingdom as an enemy to the Kingdom (you don’t just reject the Princess), but he continues to send extravagant gifts to you and Holy objects. 

You start exchanging letters and against your common sense, you fall in love with him and you desire to be with him.

You spend months feeling a sick guilt and a rush of adrenaline- your secret love affair with the Prince of an enemy kingdom created an inner turmoil in you that you had never felt before.

The Princess, however, was still very upset about being rejected and noticed that the High Priestess was recently wearing very beautiful jewelry- not the humble bullshit of the church.

Your room was ransacked by the King’s men and they found your correspondences.

Your trial isn’t very long- the evidence is damning.

You’re doomed to hang following your treason.

You dream of Xavier saving you at the last moment, but you chalk it up to wishful thinking.

You are being walked to the Gallows when the canon fire begins.

The Kingdom is under attack!

The guards rush you to the Gallows- the King demands your death and maybe this kingdom will leave them alone when they realize their prized High Priestess is dead.

The rope necklace is heavy- as heavy as your chest as tears rain down your face.

You think of Xavier- your light, your Prince. You wish you could have seen him one final time.

Your dream comes true- Xavier saves you just in time- sending a flash of light through the rope right as they dropped you.

You hit the ground, but he’s by your side in an instance while his soldiers arrest the King, the Princess, and the rest of the Soldiers.

“I got here as quickly as I could,” he touches your face, unsure if you are real at all, scared he didn’t actually make it in time, “I will never let anyone harm you again.”

And he didn’t

You went from being a High Priestess to a crowned Princess, but you were still sought out by the Kingdom folks for fortune telling and religious counsel.

Your wedding is gorgeous (for the obvious reasons), but because Xavier’s brother is ahead of him for King, you become Duke and Duchess in a smaller town within the Kingdom boundaries and live in a rustic, cozy cottage together in a beautiful neighboring Kingdom.

You are beloved by your subjects- you and Xavier both- and are very close with them.

The day your baby boy is born, the entire kingdom celebrates- from the tiniest village to the biggest castle.

The light of your union shines in every corner of your shared Kingdom. You live a long life together and people far and wide believe you were divinely brought together.

The economy of the small town you live in is booming- you and Xavier ensure that everyone is well fed and taken care of.

Oh and people learn not to flirt with you pretty quickly- the first and last guy lost his pinkie.

[legalandnotease]

This. I've seen so many people dismiss what Yelena said or even claim she's outright wrong. They think Val is still in charge, but why would that be the case?

Its likely that we're so used to typical "hero" characters dealing with situations in a typically "heroic" way that it doesn't leave room for characters dealing with situations in a manner that might be seen as unethical or unorthodox.

We tend to look down on lies, deception, manipulation and blackmail as the tools of villians, but forget that heroes can do it too.

Nick Fury for example kept secrets. He hid Clint's family and also Natasha's record. Natasha was extremely good at playing people.

She did it in Iron Man 2 when she posed as a secretary and pretended to be interested in Tony Stark, but the most notable example is Avengers 1. She pretended to cry and get upset when Loki was throwing her past misdeeds in her face, but it was actually just a ploy to make him give away his plans. It worked too.

So what exactly is there to stop Yelena and the crew blackmailing Val? Literally... nothing. They have Sentry. He's the living evidence of her misdeeds. They could destroy her with a single word or just by revealing Bob's powers. I mean they probably won't do that because the negative publicity might harm Bob and lead to him going Void again... but the mere threat of exposure would be enough to keep someone like Val in line.

What's more, now they're all official and legit Val can't make them run black ops anymore. It would be incredibly bad for her image. They have the upper hand in basically every way. So yes they do "own her now".

I can’t believe this has to be said but… you know Sam is upset at the thunderbolts* because he doesn’t want the avengers to be controlled by the government, right? That’s why he was on team cap in civil war. Do you know that? It’s important to me that you know that.

[pope-codys]

Charlie Reid x secretary!reader are so deep in my brain rn 😵‍💫 like imagine you’re all proper and innocent and Charlie keeps it professional at work except for those lingering touches on your lower back when he has to get past you in the office or how he’ll catch you by the wrist to stop you from leaving his office whenever he “forgets” about that one last thing he needed to tell you or how his eyes track you throughout the day through his office window. He’s attentive and asks you about your weekend and actually listens and always tells you to grab a coffee for yourself too when he sends you out to get one for him. He steps in when the cops who visit him linger too long at your desk, getting them to leave with a low “don’t you have somewhere to be officer?” and he always checks in with you with a hand on your shoulder and a “you alright sweetheart?”

So when your apartment floods unexpectedly and you have to vacate asap, of course he offers for you to stay with him at his house, it’ll be easier to carpool to work and he has a whole spare room for you rather than a couch to sleep on at your friends apartment. (“It just makes sense sweetheart, you don’t know what your friends roommates are like and you’d be on a couch out in the open. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you”)

So you move in (temporarily you think, Charlie on the other hand is planning to make it permanent) you fall into a routine of coffee and breakfast in the morning, rides to work, dinners made together, and a movie afterwards. You don’t mind that Charlie has a habit of physically moving you out of the way rather than asking, his large hands encompassing your hips as he moves you out of his path, or that the only shower in the house is in his ensuite bathroom attached to his bedroom which means you have to pass by him in a towel more than once, even though you’re positive you brought a robe into the bathroom with you (you did, Charlie removed it on purpose). You don’t mind that he always spoon feeds you a taste of dinner before it’s done cooking, he wants your input, asking “how’s it taste sweetheart?” while his eyes linger on your lips for an extra moment.

You don’t mind that he tends to pick horror movies after dinner even thought they scare you. He’s letting you stay with him, the least you could do is let him pick the movie. Thankfully Charlie doesn’t seem to mind you clutching his arm during the suspenseful moments, turning to press your face into his shoulder during the scary bits. He doesn’t seem to mind when you get so scared you practically end up in his lap with how close you’re pressed against him and you apologize with a soft “sorry Sir”, same as you address him at work, and he tells you to call him Charlie as his hand rubs affectionately (possessively) over your knee.

When one movie is so scary you have trouble sleeping and he finds your bedroom light on past midnight, he graciously offers for you to sleep in his room with him. You’re hesitant but Charlie is sincere and insistent “you’re no use to me at work if you don’t get your beauty sleep sweetheart”. You sleep in his bed and wake up to him spooning you from behind, his large strong arm wrapped around your torso, his face pressed against your neck. You manage to sneak out of his grasp and head downstairs to make coffee. When he joins you in the kitchen he sees you blush the prettiest shade of pink when you hand him his coffee.

Getting you in his bed was easier than he thought, getting you under him will probably be even easier.

[movrningstxrs]

MR. (AND MRS.) TODD

e-e-english teacher jason. that is all. REBLOGS and COMMENTS are greatly appreciated

gotham academy, an esteemed and prestigious institution responsible for teaching and fostering the bright young minds of the city’s wealthy elites.

but when your future was a given, predetermined and handed over on a silver platter as a result of your parents’ money and influence, not much thought was given to the mundane school assignments and exams that most children worried about.

instead, study periods and group discussions were centered around the latest school gossip and drama, with one popular, recurring topic being that of yours and jason’s love life—or more specifically, lack thereof.

as the two youngest teachers and faculty members at the academy, with pretty faces to match, was it really a surprise that most of the student population was keen to see the two of you together?

the art and english teachers, two peas in a pod, destined to be together like the female and male leads of a cheesy rom-com movie.

there were signs, too, according to your students. like the small, subtle smiles exchanged in passing in-between classes, or the way your bodies seemed to be drawn to one another like magnets, always ending up next to each other at every school function and event.

and to youngsters who’d yet to fully understand the concept of boundaries, there was no clearer indication!

the only problem was that you were both married, and not to each other, much to everyone’s disappointment. but all of that would come to change one fateful day.

it was the second to last period on a wednesday afternoon. jason was at the chalkboard, going over his notes on the latest act of ‘romeo and juliet’ with the class, when a sudden knock rang from the door.

there you were, a meek and apologetic smile on your face as you walked in and handed back to him a set of keys, completely oblivious to the way your fingers ever so fleetingly touched, along with the multiple pairs of eyes that had caught sight of the ‘scandalous’ interaction.

“oh my god, did you see that?!”

“just kiss already!”

“mr. todd, are you sure that you guys are ‘just friends?’”

“enough, you little menaces,” jason demanded in halfhearted annoyance. “get back to writing. all of this information will be on your exam.”

“boo! you’re no fun!”

a call of your name. “miss, would you ever consider dating mr. todd?”

“…i don’t think that’s an appropriate question for school,” you expertly redirected.

“we’re not hearing a ‘no!’”

a fond chuckle escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you found yourself ever increasingly more amused by the children’s non-stop antics, much to jason’s apparent disapproval and displeasure.

preparing to take your leave, you rhetorically asked in good humour, “any other questions?”

a single hand immediately shot up—its owner, stoic and dignified, yet his eyes gleamed with a dangerous spark of exasperation and chaos.

oh no.

“…yes, damian?”

“when will you and todd be next available to join the rest of us for family dinner night?” damian casually inquired, purposefully blind to the intensity of his brother’s scalding glare. “father says that he ‘misses seeing his favourite daughter-in-law.’ ridiculous, considering the fact that you’re his only daughter-in-law.”

the class fell silent as the implications of damian’s words lingered in the air.

you blinked once, slowly, mind still processing as you turned to glance at your husband. jason only sighed in response, tired and defeated, his lesson plans evidently tossed out of the window for the day, as the class quickly erupted into complete hysteria.

“excuse me, what?!”

“i knew it!”

“we’ve been bamboozled!”

with your long-held secret now out in the open, you resisted the urge to smirk as you pretended to ponder damian’s question for a moment, letting out a contemplative hum before you coolly answered, “we can probably make some time next week. right, honey?”

“sure, love,” jason replied, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a sudden, oncoming headache. he pointedly chose to ignore the squeals of excitement coming from the back of the room at his term of endearment for you.

“good,” damian nodded in approval.

with an amused wave goodbye, you almost felt sorry for your poor husband when you noticed the look of pure anguish on his face as you hastily made your escape and left him to fend for himself.

once in the hall, you could faintly hear a voice asking, “wait, does that mean damian’s related to mr. todd?”

“not by blood, but yes, unfortunately,” came your brother-in-law’s irritated response. “now, never bring my familial relationships up in my presence ever again.”

[cowboylikemac]

TROUBLE || J.P

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

summary: you and James find yourselves in an empty nook near the Gryffindor tower

warnings: explicit content, oral-receiving, praise

word count: 1k+

The castle is quiet, except for the distant echo of Filch’s footsteps and Mrs. Norris’s soft yowls somewhere down the corridor. You should be in bed. You should be studying for Transfiguration, but James Potter has a way of derailing plans. He’s got you pinned against the wall in a hidden nook near the Gryffindor tower, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath tickling your ear.

“Merlin, you’re trouble,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-scolding, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his Quidditch jersey. He’s fresh from practice, still a little sweaty, his hair a beautiful mess of dark curls.

“Me? Trouble?” James grins, all teeth and mischief, his hazel eyes glinting behind his glasses. “You’re the one who followed me out here, love.” His voice is low, teasing, the kind of tone that makes your stomach flip. His hand slides down your side, fingers grazing the hem of your skirt, and you suck in a breath.

“Shut up,” you mutter, but it’s weak, and he knows it. His lips brush your jaw, soft at first, then firmer, trailing down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your head tilts back instinctively, giving him more access, and you feel his smirk against your skin.

“Make me,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his mouth is on yours, searing, hot and hungry, kissing you like he’s been starving for it. You know your lipsstick has probably coated his mouth. Not that you cared. Your hands find his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans into your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

James Potter is a lot of things—cocky, loyal, infuriatingly charming—but right now, he’s a storm, all heat and urgency. His hands slip under your skirt, fingers brushing the tops of your thighs, and you gasp, breaking the kiss.

“James,” you breathe, half-warning, half-plea. The alcove is dark, but not dark enough. Anyone could walk by.

“Shh,” he soothes, dropping to his knees in front of you, and your brain short-circuits. His hands are steady, pushing your skirt up just enough, his eyes locked on yours, asking for permission without saying a word. You nod, barely, and his grin turns wicked.

“Good girl,” he says, and the words alone make your knees weak. He leans in, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, higher, his hands holding you steady as you lean back against the wall. Your heart is pounding, loud enough you’re sure he can hear it, but he’s too focused, too intent on unraveling you.

His mouth finds you, and it’s like the world explodes into stars. He’s not gentle—James doesn’t do gentle when he’s like this, all passion and purpose. His tongue moves with devastating precision, teasing, tasting, devouring, and you’re gripping his hair tighter, biting your lip to keep from making too much noise. The stone wall is cold against your back, a stark contrast to the heat pooling in your core, and you’re trembling, thighs shaking as he works you over like it’s his only mission in life.

“James—fuck,” you gasp, voice barely a whisper, and he hums against you, the vibration making you whimper. He’s relentless, a man possessed, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place as he licks and sucks, every movement deliberate, every sound he makes driving you closer to the edge. You’re unraveling, fast, too fast, and he knows it, the bastard. You can feel his smirk, feel the way he’s savoring every hitch of your breath, every muffled moan.

“Love the way you taste,” he murmurs against you, voice rough, and it’s too much. Your head tips back, eyes squeezing shut as the tension snaps, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your legs buckle, but he’s there, holding you up, guiding you through it with slow, deliberate licks until you’re gasping, oversensitive and boneless.

He pulls back, lips glistening, eyes dark and smug behind his glasses. “Told you I’m trouble,” he says, voice low and satisfied, and you want to smack him, but you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

“Arse,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it, and he laughs, standing and pulling you into him. His lips find yours again, softer this time, and you can taste yourself on him, which shouldn’t be as hot as it is. His hands slide up your back, warm and grounding, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, the world outside forgotten.

“Worth it, though,” he whispers against your mouth, and you can’t help but smile, because yeah, it absolutely was.

leave recommendations in my inbox and check out my masterlist .ᐟ

a/n: hello gorgeous people!! how is everybody doingggg

tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine

[lucygraysboy]

billy laughs and finally turns around, figuring lucy gray is fully submerged by this point and he won’t be invading her privacy. “you really need to have your own netflix show at this point. these puns are getting better and better.” it’s just his kind of humor, too. he’s enjoying this thoroughly. “i might become a regular at lucy gray’s spa. it’s easily the best one in the whole state.” he threads through calm waters, pulling his floatie along, to be closer to her. “want me to wash your back?” he offers, no underlying motive, just trying to be kind. “that would probably be the best thing that could ever happen to any man, not just me,” he laughs, getting his own washcloth and squirting some soap onto it. he rubs his shoulders and neck, feeling a lot more fresh now. “are you planning on attacking me?” he playfully inquiries, trying not to think about how beautiful she is. and naked. completely naked. god. he watches her involuntarily, bathing in the soft silver glow of the moonlight, and feels a mixture of awe and vulnerability swell inside him. the way the water clings to her skin, the way her eyes catch the starlight… it all feels unreal, like a dream he’s never dared to have out loud. his chest tightens with a kind of quiet ache, the kind that comes when you’re so close to something beautiful and really shouldn’t touch it and it almost hurts. he’s captivated, and not just by her body, though it stirs something deep and undeniable in him, but by the way she moves so gracefully, unguarded and luminous in the night. “will you wash my back, too?” in the stillness, with nothing but the moon and the water around them, it feels like the world has momentarily shrunk to just the two of them.

“oh, even without your surprises, you’d never be just another ordinary gal,” the cowboy insists, propping himself up on his elbows just to watch as she piles up dirt on his legs. “you’re just like my ma when it comes to that. she always had everything we needed in case of an emergency.” which has his smile faltering a bit, thinking about those harsh times that made them who they are. “i’ll just tell him i’ll make him my home screen,” he laughs, taunting right back, growing amused when she begins to get all riled up. “mhm, sure, you don’t.” it seems to him that lucy gray and jesse have been in some sort of competition for years now, which is hilarious because these two relationships can coexist peacefully. he can spend time with both his best friend and his girlfriend who isn’t really officially his girlfriend. “that’s ‘cause i’m pretty sure you’re puttin’ ants and bugs on my sunburned legs. does this work better than aloe gel?” laughing, he thinks it’s a good thing he isn’t too squeamish. “it’s a known fact. out of the two of us, you sure are the better actor.” it’s a genuine sentiment. she would play dead until he got seriously confused and started to dial 911. “lucy gray! lucy gray, can’t leave me like that! what if these ants eat me or get in my cutie crack?” he calls out after her, moving his legs to dust off this combination of dirt and grass and bugs, and picks himself up, ready to chase after her.

[aninipanin1]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐃

Synopsis: In which, everyone thinks you and Itoshi Sae are dating. Or are you two really?

Notes: Kinda considering doing this with other players, specifically the NG11 players. hehehe. Anyways, enjoy this because Sae has been rotting in my mind lately. P.S. This fic is supposed to be longer, but I couldn't stretch it anymore cause my phone started lagging due to how much the word count was lol

"Hello, Madrid!"

A whispery greeting left your lips the moment you left the confines of the aeroplane. The airport was packed with people from foreigners like yourself to citizens of the country, awaiting family members or friends coming.

It was definitely chaotic, but the sense of adventure at coming to a different country and learning something new about the sports you were in love with.

It had been a week since the end of the Neo Egoist League, and Ego decided that the best way for you to spend your vacation time whilst learning is to head to Spain where you would be spending time with a supposed someone who will help you better.

Now, who that someone was is a mystery to you. All Anri said in the letter was that the person will 'meet you there.' Whatever there meant.

Sitting in the waiting area of the airport, you looked around in hopes of finding somewhere you could eat due to your stomach grumbling loudly. Stacking all of your bags on top of your luggage, you were about to head out when you hear a familiar voice call your name.

"Y/n."

"Sae-san? What are you doing here?!"

You turned around in shock seeing the redhead midfielder standing there, wearing a simple button-up shirt, slacks, and a mask.

Relieved and excited to see a familiar face, you ran up to him and bowed politely, giving him a cheerful smile.

"It's been a while since we last saw each other! Again, why are you here? Are you going for a flight too?"

"No. Did Ego not tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I'll be the one helping you."

You blinked once and then twice, trying to take in the information. Your blank expression is also turning Sae confused. Wait, he meant that the supposed mentor you would be learning from is THE Itoshi Sae?!

"I...oh...I didn't expect...that."

Unbeknownst to you, the look on your face made Sae a little worried. Wait, were you disappointed that it was him? You sound like it. What if you were? Surely, you weren't. If you were, that would hurt him he won't lie.

After all, he may or may not have celebrated when Ego called him to tell him about the Blue Lock Director's plan for you.

Yeah, no, he definitely did not jump up like a weirdo from his couch when the phone call ended. Nope, no one saw that, so it means it never happened.

In your eyes, though, Sae still looked the same. Straight and poker face as if nothing changed, though if you only tried to look deeper in his emerald eyes, then maybe you would have seen the complicated doubts he had.

"Anyways though, thank you for accepting me, Sae-san. I know you are really busy, but I'm really excited about our time together!"

He nods his head before picking up all your bags in his hold, to which you were about to protest, but he only gave you a look. One that is not his usual glare, a little softer than that, but hard enough to tell you that any arguments would not be taken into consideration.

"Let's go. Have you eaten yet?"

"Uh no...I was just about to."

"Then let's eat somewhere. Not here, though. There are better food outside the airport."

Holding your luggage in one arm while gripping your wrist on the other, he guided you through the crowd of people like a professional as if he was used to doing it.

Well, he probably was considering he is very popular and crowds are something you have to learn how to interact with as someone famous.

Outside the airport awaited black car that someone rented for you and Sae. He said that it was to avoid the discomfort of changing vehicles.

"Go in. I'll take care of your luggages."

"Huh? Oh no no! I can help-"

"You look tired from the jet lag, just let me."

The redhead opened the door to the car for you, nudging his head, signalling you to enter the car. Feeling the pressure of Sae's teal eyes looking at you, you just obeyed and entered the car before watching him put your luggage on the back as if it didn't weight anything.

"Let's go. We'll just eat somewhere close to your hotel. Its a bit far from here, so you can rest in the meantime."

He sat beside you, giving a small nod to the driver who started the car. You nodded at his suggestion.

Though, throughout the ride, you never did sleep too busy looking out the window like a child. The streets looked alien in your eyes, from the architecture to the people. Everything made you even more excited to stay in the city.

Meanwhile, Sae could only watch from beside you with a softer than normal look. The way your head moved from right to left every once in a while due to something catching your attention made him feel some type of giddiness in his stomach.

God, you were just adorable.

"There are better places for sightseeing, we can always visit if you want."

"Really?! Eh...but aren't you busy?"

"I can always find a day where I'm free. I'll be fine."

He pat your head once before retracting it the moment he realized what he just did, turning his head on the window beside him with pink cheeks.

You were not fairing any better as you feel your cheeks heat up at the sudden and unexpected gesture from the redhead, copying his move and trying to focus your mind on the sights outside instead.

Meanwhile, the driver found himself chuckling softly, shaking his head at the display he saw when he decided to peek at the rearview mirror.

Young love really is just as awkward and bright as he remembered it.

"The bed is so soft... I'll definitely miss it once I come back to Japan."

A soft frown escaped your lips as you stood up from the messy bed of the hotel to prepare for the day. It had been two days ever since you arrived in Spain, and it had been good so far.

The place was very beautiful, and you were in awe about how drastically different it was than Japan. It was a bit hot during this time. You won't lie, but it was not something you could not handle.

However, you were more focused on today's agenda. Sae told you he will be free today, and so, the training you were supposed to be undergoing will commence today.

For the past few days, you wondered what type of training it was. Was it something related to the fact you were once a midfielder and Sae is one currently? Because that was the only thing you have in common with Sae that you could think of.

"Whatever, I trust Sae-san! He won't let me down!"

After an hour or so of preparing for the day, you hear your phone ping signalling that someone messaged you.

Sae:

I'm at the lobby of your hotel.

'Wha...He didn't even tell me when he was about to head out. Classic Sae-san...'

You sweatdropped at his message. Thankfully, you dressed up early, or else you might have made him wait for a long time.

Heading down on the elevator, you headed to the large and luxurious lobby where you saw a familiar mop of redhead. For someone who is going to a football field and possibly going to be running around, he was dressed up pretty nicely.

Hair tidy, shirt crisp as if an iron just ran through them a few minutes ago, face weirdly calm as he typed away something on his phone.

He looked awfully handsome, and well, it should not be a surprise, but it was to someone like you who never paid much attention to people's looks.

"Sae-san, good morning! I'm ready to go..."

"Good. Let's get going, we have a tight schedule today."

The day was eventful, to say the least.

For your first stop, Sae took you to a nearby park where he made you watch, analyze, and predict how a group of kids' play will go.

It was surprisingly interesting, seeing as kids were blank slates. No coaching, no rules, just their creativity and basic knowledge of the sport. It was adorable and albeit difficult on your part.

After that, he brought you to a part of the park where he made you play with the ball alongside him. He did the trickiest types of lobs and dribbling before making you catch it with your foot.

For someone who has not played a while, you definitely lacked the stamina and skills to play like you used to.

"As a manager, you should be in tune with what your players may be feeling or experiencing in the pitch. If you can't do that, then you'd ruin the flow of the game. That's why we're playing."

By the end of the first two hours or so, you were already out of breath from all the movements, while the midfielder was not even close to sweating waterfalls like you were.

"C'mon. I'll walk you to your hotel so you can clean up. It's time to eat lunch anyway."

"S-sure...thank you."

With one final deep breath, you picked up your bag and started to follow him back to the hotel. You won't lie, Madrid was a beautiful city, the architecture of the houses is certainly a little different from the ones in Japan.

It did not come to your mind that you might look like a newborn child with how you ogled at everything. Panning your head from left to right, and sometimes even double taking at something that caught your attention.

"Don't get too distracted."

You felt a hand grab your hand, larger fingers gripping your smaller palms as Sae led you through the streets, pulling you away from bumping into people.

Heat rushed through your face at the sudden touch. From how you knew the man, he was not the type to be touchy with anyone no matter who they are and how close they were to him (you would know from Rin's rants).

So where did the sudden hand holding come from? Putting your other hand on your face was enough of a reaction to tell anyone paying attention to you that you did not want anyone seeing your flustered face.

Sae was not safe from this as well. He was as cool and suave as he always was, but inside, he was still a teen that don't have much of a grasp on his hormones and feelings.

With his back turned to you, he felt a little safer from anyone seeing the pink on his cheeks-

Ah, no. He definitely was not blushing. He isn't weak like that.

'I'm just holding her hand. It's not a big deal. Yeah, it isn't a big deal.'

With the crowded city and the maelstorm of feelings, even someone as cautious as Itoshi Sae missed the few sounds of a camera clicking.

"Thank you for taking me here, Sae-san! The food was delicious."

"You don't have to keep thanking me. It's just right to do these things."

He shrugged, taking a sip off his drink. Looking down at the finished plates in front of you two, your mind wandered to try and make everything less awkward.

What starter conversation should you go for? Hmm...

"Did Ego-san approach you to help me with the training?"

"Yes. Though I didn't see the downside of not doing it. I'd benefit from it, too, anyway."

"Benefit you? Why is that...?"

"It's not confirmed yet, so I can't tell you."

You nodded, confused at the mystery he left you with. What did he mean it would benefit him, too? It's not like he will be playing for Japan in the U20 World Cup-

Oh.

Oh, now you felt stupid for not thinking about it immediately. Though, you decided not to tell him about your thoughts to avoid serious conversations on something that has a possibility of not happening.

"But anyways... I enjoyed today! It was really refreshing to play again after so long. I realized how much I missed playing and to even play alongside someone who is a genius like you!"

Sae nodded at that, though you saw the very small twitch that left his eye when you said the word genius.

Wait, did he not like it when someone called him a genius? Did you indirectly insult him? Oh no.

"Uh...sorry if I...offended you."

"No, no. It's my fault for being rude. I know you were complimenting me, and I feel happy with it."

Aww, now the conversation was ruined because of you. Well, at least that was what ran in both your and Sae's minds. Blaming each other for something so trivial.

"No, I understand that some people may not like it when people call them a genius. I can't begin to imagine how the press, especially from Japan spinning this narrative of you being this talented, like you were some type of sports hero, may make the pressure on you heavier."

An unnoticeable twitch in the corner of his lips went past you as he just sighed. He rests his head on his palm, he looked out the window beside you both at the busy afternoon streets.

"Like I said, it's fine. Besides, the reason why I distaste the word genius in context to me is that it's just not factual. I'm not a genius. I make plays not out of luck, talent, or whatever those born with advantages have. I play smarter than that, and idiots like the media would disregard hard work in order to spin whatever narrative they want just to get more clicks."

Jade eyes wavered under the sunlight that poured from the glass window. Sae may look calm and collected, but you know that there must be some sort of tension brewing from his heart.

"You're the farthest away from someone who does not work hard, Sae-san! You have been playing since you were a kid, and the years you developed playing is a huge contribution as to why you are where you are today."

The conversation came back after that, saved by both of your willingness (mostly yours) to get over awkward moments. As you were both busy with talking, you didn't notice the few people that recognized not just Sae, but also you.

"Oh, is that Itoshi Sae? What is he doing here?"

"Yeah, but what about her? Isn't she the Blue Lock manager? Why is she here in Spain?"

"Are they on a date? They look way too close to just be hanging out."

"You don't know. They might be just friends. But, if they are on a date, then they might actually be a real power couple."

Those who recognized you both kept to themselves, though, whispering to their friends about what they thought your relationship was, yet thankfully knowing their boundaries.

If only those things can be said to a certain few hiding behind the facade of just a passerby, yet was already writing on their heads about possible headlines and tabloid articles about this.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Um...this was posted last night, Ego-san." Anri said nervously as she showed the man the posts. Yes, she was a little surprised about it, and that was it, but she knew this misunderstanding could lead to best case scenario, a little scolding from the JFU or worse, being fired.

Ego, on the other hand, shook his head. He knew he should not have trusted that kid. Does he not care about your future in the football scene? This scandal can blow your damn career, seeing as you were the less popular one in this situation hence you were open for not just criticism but control from some unwanted people.

"Ego-san...you don't think that the JFU will fire her-"

"No, they won't, you idiot. Knowing them, they are probably foaming at the mouth with this news, especially that fat dumbass."

Now, Anri was confused. Why would the executives want a scandal like this? Now, for her, if you and Sae were indeed dating, it wasn't much of a problem. But to some fans, especially some rabid fangirls? Yes, it definitely will be.

And that would spell less sales for Blue Lock, or just having some people review bomb the project with negative comments just for this.

"Why would they want this, Ego-san?"

"Don't you see? Itoshi Sae is a talent the JFU has wanted in their hands for some time now, seeing as he's the young face of Japanese football in the world. So to see him be interested and close to a worker of theirs like Y/n, they can turn around and use her for their own greed. Even worse, they'd make a big deal out of this scandal and profit out of it. Just from the reaction in this one post alone, its telling that people are turning heads at this drama."

"Oh... you're right. Adding to that, we have less of a say to her career compared to the players. This is a disaster waiting to happen."

Ego just rolled his eyes at the news before turning back to what he was doing. Whatever, he trusted you enough to know what to say or do when the time comes and what he predicted will turn out to be true.

Though kids these days really do go around romancing early. This is why he doesn't have any kids.

Meanwhile, all across Japan, the news just started trending, and a few eyes saw the post and needless to say, they weren't happy at all.

"Itoshi Sae?! What the fuck?!"

Isagi screamed from the hotel he was in, even accidentally hitting the back on his head on the bed post which made him yelp in pain.

"Wait, that means Y/n-chan is here?! In Spain, too? Maybe I should visit her...but still! She can't be dating him! No!"

In denial, he was as he scrolled obsessively through the comment section of the post.

"No way! No! This is a nightmare!"

Then the pings on his messaging app started. It was from the Blue Locker's groupchat.

As seen by the reaction from the other Itoshi brother in the messages, Rin felt like all of the progress he had from the meditation that Ego made him do has now vanished into thin air the moment he opened his phone.

Maybe the elders were right, it is that damn phone as he nearly crushed the poor gadget in his hand as he read more and more news about ut from different social media platforms.

It did not help that Otoya's comment made him shudder in disgust. Hell no, if someone was going to be your brother in law, that would be Sae, not him.

He was the better brother anyway! If you're going to take the Itoshi last name, then you'll have it because of him, not and NEVER because of Sae.

"Stupid brother, can't even keep his hands to himself. I was with her first."

In another part of Japan, Bachira had the largest frown ever present on his face as he saw the positive comments about you and Sae, saying that if it were ever true, you two will be one, if not the greatest couple that ever touched the sports which made him feel moee insecure than jealous.

Of course you'll like Sae. He was successful at such a young age, with so many accolades and fans adoring him because of who he is.

That was something Bachira could only wish to achieve. He was just starting to get recognition for his talents after all, and it felt like because of this, you were even farther away from him than before.

"Bachira-san! Let's play again!"

He felt the tugs on his shirt, as the kids from the kindergarten jumped up and down, a ball in one's hand as they pointed back to the grassy part of the school.

Putting the best smile on his face, he jumped along with them in excitement.

"Yeah! Let's do it! Last one not on the field has a rotten egg!"

In the Mikage estate, Reo found himself obsessively scrolling on his socials instead of the plays of his fellow Blue Lockers to study.

Its not that he was obsessed over his phone or anything, no he prided in himself on having total control over himself.

Well, except for a few things.

He just could not help but scroll and reload his page, hoping and praying that there is a confirmation from any reliable source about the speculated relationship between you and Sae.

A confirmation that you two, indeed, were just friends and nothing more.

He was nervous. He already lost a friend, he can't lose someone again. And he knows its not comparable at all, Nagi is a friend and you were someone he admired from afar.

But, the nights where you'd find him rolled up in himself due to anxiety, times where even if everyone turned their backs on him, you didn't, it made him hope.

Hope that he can build something between you two. That he wasn't the only one who felt safe and sound around you.

He just did not expect that his time would run out just like that, oh so fast.

On the other side of the world, Michael Kaiser found himself still adjusting to the jetlag of travelling. It had only been 3 days ago since he arrived back in Germany, and well, his sleeping schedule was a little torn apart due to being used to the timezone of Japan.

So he just jumped on the couch nearby and grabbed his phone, and started scrolling in hopes that he's find something worth entertaining him.

There wasn't much that caught his attention until he scrolled to a video with a title that made him stand up from his place.

'Real Madrid's Itoshi Sae and Blue Lock Manager, Y/, L/n, caught dating?'

"What in the actual fuck..."

He wasn't one to watch gossip videos. No, he hates and dont care about them. He doesn't give a shit about what is going on in other people's lives.

But this? Oh, you know he's paying attention.

The first half of the video was boring as hell. It just talked about who you and Sae were. Only halfway through the video did the reporter finally start to talk about the pictures caught of you and Sae around Madrid.

From sitting on benches next to each other, walking hand to hand around the city, to even eating lunch together, the proximity between you two was suspiciously less on the platonic side but leaning towards something more.

By the time the video ended, he did not even notice that he was clenching his fist so tight, moon-like marks already appeared on his palms.

A bitter chuckle left his mouth as he ran his hand through his hair, eyebrows furrowed in a mix of emotions.

"You're ruining me here, häschen."

ADDITIONAL TIME:

"What?! Eh, please calm down-"

"NO! PLEASE! PLEASE TELL US YOU ARENT DATING THAT GUY!"

You don't know what the hell happened for you to be welcomed in the Blue Lock facility once more with most of the boys begging you to confirm that you were still single.

Bachira was clinging to one arm while Shidou clung to the other, as the rest of the boys crowded you, also wanting to hear your side.

"Did he threaten you?! Did he bribe you?! Please tell us you didnt sell our secrets."

"Why would I do that?! And I wasn't dating Sae-san! He was just kind enough to help me train and get through Madrid since it is a foreign country, after all."

A collective sigh of relief was let out from the boys as they all finally calmed down on the interrogation. A smile lit up on your face, thinking that all the commotion was finally solved when Anri revealed herself with a tight smile.

"The PR team wanted to have a talk with you, Y/n-chan..."

She looked nervous, like she didn't want to tell you about it. You paled though, you knew how strict the PR team were when it came to scandals and this misunderstanding (that you found out about just now) was all over the internet!

Oh, dear you are about to get the scolding of a lifetime.

And just as if your luck did not smite you enough, you looked at your phone to see that there were hundreds of missed calls from many different players. Some from your friends from your old school, to some players in the NEL before like Charles, Loki, Lorenzo and Ness.

But most of all, the one with the most calls and text with a whopping 25 missed calls and 32 messages was the Emperor himself: Michael Kaiser.

"Oh dear...what did I get myself into."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet, a small smirk can only appear at the corners of Sae's lips when he sees the tabloids.

He felt bad, bad that he was actually enjoying this while you are probably scrambling around trying to explain to everyone that it was just a misunderstanding.

Looking out the view from his apartment, he sighed at the night sky, feeling like a stupid kid wishing for a fairytale love story of some sort as if he didn't know what the reality was.

"I promise, Y/n...in the near future, we'll have to explain to those stupid paparazzi's that it is not just a misunderstanding anymore."

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[sh4nksslvt]

A Place in a Giant’s World

After a grueling journey, you find solace in the curve of Loki's massive horn, discovering a softer side to the enigmatic giant.

yall when i tell u ds man is sooo damnn fineee~

loki x gn!reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, size difference, loki being a little shit, wholesome, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe, and akward © dollywons for divider word count: 2.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden haze over the jagged cliffs of Elbaf. The island’s terrain was as unforgiving as its reputation, with rocky paths winding through towering forests and steep inclines that seemed to mock your stamina. At just over five feet tall, you felt like an ant trudging through a world built for giants. Your legs ached, your boots were caked in mud, and every step sent a dull throb through your calves. Hours of walking had left you teetering on the edge of collapse, and the weight of your pack seemed to grow heavier with every passing minute.

Ahead of you loomed Loki, the infamous giant prince of Elbaf, his colossal frame dominating the landscape. At sixty-seven meters tall, he was a walking mountain, his presence both awe-inspiring and intimidating. His long, magenta hair swayed in the breeze, the twin braids framing his face neatly while the rest spilled messily down his back. Bandages wrapped tightly over his eyes, giving him an air of mystery, though you’d learned by now that he didn’t need sight to navigate the world with unnerving precision. His massive steps shook the ground, yet he moved with a grace that belied his size, each stride deliberate, almost performative.

Loki’s personality was as towering as his stature. Arrogance dripped from his every word, his sharp tongue weaving taunts and clever quips with ease. He reveled in trickery, delighting in outsmarting anyone who dared cross his path. There was a cruelty to him, too—a penchant for toying with others, pushing their limits just to see how far they’d bend before breaking. Yet, in the weeks you’d traveled with him, you’d glimpsed something else beneath the surface: a flicker of compassion, rare and fleeting, like a star obscured by storm clouds.

“Keep up, little mouse,” Loki called, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. He didn’t turn to look at you, but you could hear the smirk in his tone. “Or do you plan to collapse and make me carry you like some fragile trinket?”

You gritted your teeth, forcing your legs to keep moving. “I’m fine,” you huffed, though your voice betrayed your exhaustion. “And I’m not that small.”

Loki chuckled, a low, resonant sound that vibrated through the air. “Oh, but you are. A speck, really. I could flick you into the next island with a twitch of my finger.”

You rolled your eyes, too tired to muster a proper retort. The banter was familiar by now, a strange rhythm you’d fallen into during your journey. You weren’t entirely sure why Loki had agreed to let you tag along—or why you’d chosen to follow a giant with a reputation for chaos. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the way his rare moments of kindness caught you off guard, like finding a warm ember in a pile of ash.

The path steepened, and you stumbled over a loose rock, catching yourself just before you faceplanted. A frustrated groan escaped your lips. Loki’s steps slowed, and for a moment, you thought he might turn back, but he only tilted his head slightly, as if listening to your struggle.

“Pathetic,” he drawled, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Do humans tire so easily? Or is it just you?”

You glared at the back of his massive head. “I’ve been walking for hours, Loki. Not all of us have legs the size of trees.”

He snorted, a sound that sent a flock of birds scattering from a nearby tree. “Excuses, excuses. Perhaps I should leave you here to become bird food. They’d probably find you tastier than you look.”

Despite your exhaustion, you managed a weak laugh. “You’d miss me too much.”

Loki’s steps faltered, just for a fraction of a second, and you wondered if you’d imagined it. He didn’t respond, which was unusual. Normally, he’d fire back with some biting remark, but this time, he just kept walking, his massive hands swinging casually at his sides.

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The air grew cooler, and your energy was fading fast. You’d been traveling since dawn, searching for a rumored artifact said to be hidden deep in Elbaf’s mountains. Loki had his own reasons for seeking it—something about proving his cunning to the other giants—but you suspected he was also chasing the thrill of the hunt. For you, it was a chance to see more of the world, to step out of your small life and into something grander.

But right now, grandeur was the last thing on your mind. All you wanted was to stop moving.

“Loki...” you called, your voice weaker than you’d intended. “Can we… rest? Just for a bit?”

He stopped abruptly, and you nearly collided with the back of his massive boot. He turned his head slightly, the bandages over his eyes making it impossible to read his expression. “Rest?” he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. “You’ve barely made it halfway up this pathetic hill.”

You gestured at the steep incline ahead. “That’s not a hill. It’s a mountain, and I’m not built for this.”

Loki’s lips twitched, and you could tell he was fighting a smile. “Weak,” he muttered, but there was no real venom in it. He crouched down, the ground shaking as his knees hit the earth. Even crouched, he towered over you, his face level with the treetops. “Fine. Five minutes. Don’t expect me to coddle you.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue. Dropping your pack, you sank to the ground, leaning against a boulder. The cool stone felt like heaven against your aching back. You closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh. The sound of Loki shifting nearby was like the creaking of a ship, his massive form settling onto the ground with a low rumble.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant cry of some unknown creature. You peeked one eye open, watching Loki as he sat cross-legged, his hands resting on his knees. His head was tilted slightly, as if he were listening to the world around him. The bandages over his eyes gave him an almost serene appearance, though you knew better than to trust that illusion.

“You’re staring,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.

You flushed, quickly looking away. “I’m not.”

“Liar.” He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “What’s so fascinating, hmm? My stunning good looks? My overwhelming charm?”

You snorted, despite yourself. “More like your overwhelming ego.”

He laughed, a genuine sound that made your chest feel oddly warm. “You wound me, little mouse. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Friends?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve threatened to flick me into the sea at least three times today.”

“Details,” he said, waving a massive hand dismissively. “I threaten everyone. It’s part of my charm.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. Despite his arrogance, there was something about Loki that made it hard to stay mad at him. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know when you were struggling, even if he hid his concern behind a barrage of insults.

Your eyelids grew heavy, and you stifled a yawn. The boulder was comfortable enough, but the thought of lying down somewhere softer was tempting. Your gaze drifted to Loki’s massive form, specifically to the curved horns protruding from his head. They were enormous, each one thicker than your entire body, curling gracefully like the branches of an ancient tree. An idea sparked in your mind, born of exhaustion and a touch of delirium.

“Loki,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… try something?”

He tilted his head, the movement sending his braids swaying. “Try what? Don’t tell me you’re planning to climb me like some ambitious squirrel.”

You laughed weakly. “Not exactly. Just… trust me?”

He raised an eyebrow—or at least, you assumed he did beneath the bandages. “Trust you? That’s a bold request, coming from someone who can barely walk straight.”

“Please?” you pressed, giving him your best pleading look.

He sighed dramatically, the sound like a gust of wind. “Fine. But if you fall and break something, don’t expect me to play nursemaid.”

You stood, wobbling slightly, and approached his massive form. Up close, he was even more intimidating, his presence overwhelming in a way that made your heart race. You reached out, placing a hand on the smooth surface of his horn. It was cool to the touch, polished by years of wind and weather. The curve was gentle, almost inviting, like a natural hammock.

With a deep breath, you began to climb. It wasn’t easy—your arms trembled with fatigue, and the horn’s surface was slicker than you’d expected—but determination kept you going. Loki remained still, though you could feel his curiosity radiating like heat. After a few precarious moments, you reached the curve of his horn and settled into it, your body fitting snugly against the smooth, cool surface. It was surprisingly comfortable, the gentle slope cradling you like a bed.

“Well,” Loki said, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You grinned, letting your head rest against the horn. “It’s perfect. Like a giant hammock.”

He huffed, but there was no malice in it. “A hammock. You’ve reduced the mighty Loki, prince of Elbaf, to furniture.”

“Comfy furniture,” you corrected, closing your eyes. The exhaustion was catching up to you, and the gentle sway of Loki’s horn as he adjusted his position was oddly soothing.

For a moment, he was silent. Then, you felt a subtle change in his breathing. It slowed, becoming deep and measured, the rise and fall of his chest like the tide. You realized he was doing it on purpose, keeping his movements steady to avoid jostling you. The thought made your heart skip a beat.

“Loki?” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks”

He didn’t respond right away, and you thought he might ignore you. But then, softly, he said, “...Don’t get used to it.”

You smiled, letting the warmth of his words wrap around you like a blanket. The world faded, and you drifted into a peaceful sleep, cradled in the curve of a giant’s horn.

When you woke, the sky was dark, speckled with stars. The air was crisp, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of pine and earth. You blinked, disoriented, until you remembered where you were. Loki’s horn was still beneath you, steady and unmoving. You shifted slightly, peering over the edge to see his face.

He was awake, his head tilted slightly as if listening to the night. The bandages over his eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, giving him an ethereal quality. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softness to it, a quiet contemplation you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low. “I was beginning to think you’d sleep through the entire journey.”

You yawned, stretching carefully to avoid slipping. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You drool, by the way.”

“I do not!” you protested, though you wiped your mouth just to be sure.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through his horn and sending a pleasant vibration through you. “Whatever you say, little mouse.”

You sat up, hugging your knees as you looked out at the starlit landscape. The mountains of Elbaf stretched endlessly before you, their peaks shrouded in mist. It was beautiful, in a wild, untamed way, and for a moment, you felt small but not insignificant. Loki’s presence grounded you, his massive form a reminder that even the smallest things could find a place in a world of giants.

“...Why do you let me stick around?” you asked suddenly, the question slipping out before you could stop it. “I’m just… me. I’m not a warrior or a genius. I slow you down.”

Loki was quiet for a long time, long enough that you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, he spoke, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’re… persistent. Annoyingly so. And you see things others don’t.”

You frowned, unsure what he meant. “Like what?”

He tilted his head, as if choosing his words carefully. “You see me...Not the prince, not the trickster. Just… me.”

The admission caught you off guard, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. For all his arrogance and cruelty, Loki was letting you glimpse something real, something vulnerable. It was a gift, one you didn’t take lightly.

“I think you’re more than just a trickster,” you said quietly. “You’re… complicated. And maybe a little kind, when you want to be.”

He snorted, but there was no edge to it. “Careful, little mouse. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. For a moment, the world felt perfect—just you, Loki, and the stars. You leaned back against his horn, content to stay there a little longer, and he didn’t protest. His breathing slowed again, steady and calm, lulling you into a sense of peace.

The artifact could wait until morning. For now, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

[writingwisterias]

Sandy Toes

Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Fem!Reader Warnings: Pregnancy, tooth rotting fluff, Dilf!Leon, Domestic, My day late entry for Week 1 of @shymoob Summer event! Come join in on the fun, see you next week for fireworks!! See the prompt list here to join in on the fun!

The idea of a beach day was not on Leon’s top list of things to do on his rare vacation. He would much rather watch the two most important people in the world run around the yard his hard work with the government paid for, well watch an attempt of you running around with your daughter. However, today he couldn’t do that because as he decided to leave the comfort of his bed and find out why the house was seemingly so quite he found you standing there in the front room looking like an angel. The sundress you had decide to wear today fell around your body in way that highlighted every curve that he had grown to love and all the new features you were gaining as you blossomed once more with his child.

How could he say no to this imagery? It was definitely part of your plan to convince him, to dress up in such a way you know he had no other option but to agree so he could stare at you all day long. At least him being there you would get the chance to relax, to able to thrive in the sun whilst your daughter entertains herself amongst the sand. He knew that she was excited for it with the way she ran into their room to wake up her dad carrying a spade and spewing some toddler jumble about the beach, sand and the sea.

He lifted the small girl in his arms, smiling at her wriggles and excited giggles before the wrestle to get in the car seat would begin. She smelled lightly of your perfume and sun cream from where you had clearly been getting her ready. The pretty sundress she also wore he knew had to be your doing, along with the cute space buns that would keep her hair off her face.

“I wasn’t aware that my days off meant I had to be cooking myself in the sun as a relaxing activity.” Leon teased as he approached you, a kiss finding its place on your forehead. His free hand smoothed over the curve of your bump, the temptation to touch it was always high just as it was with the first. “You wouldn’t get cooked if you wore sun cream like a normal person.” You teased, smiling up at him as your hand fell on top of his. Leon chuckled before adjusting the little girl in his arms. “Do you want help with the bags?” He asked, leaning down to pick one up.

“It’s okay, I’m pregnant, not fragile.” You teased, swatting his hand away from the handles of the large tote bags. “Besides it’s probably better if you suffer with the car seat battle, she always behaves better with her daddy.”

The drive to the beach was fine, the car filled with the soft summer tunes as the wind whipped at your hair. The joy that radiated throughout the car was something he would always be grateful of. Bring able to witness the work that you had put in to make sure he made it to this point was worth it in the end. Leon carried the bags down the ramp onto the sand before he then started making it his mission to find the perfect spot for his family to set up the blankets. You watched as he analysed the surroundings, clearly mapping out escape routes and places where you would be somewhat alone. It was easier to let him deal with this than argue about how far the bathroom is to where you are sat or the fact that the old couple a few sections down are suspicious for wanting to talk to excited toddler that had ran over to them in a last minute act of defiance. You doubt anyone would judge a pregnant woman peeing in the sea anyway if you were too far away from the toilets.

Everyone’s comfort was Leon’s next priority as he strolled around the beach with his little girl in his arms. Once he found a spot, he ensured that the blanket was securely pinned down and the small beach tent, you had insisted on buying despite beach days being far and few between, wasn’t going to fly away. You laughed as he gave a poor attempt to wipe his hands on his swim shorts now they were covered in sand, his grumbles of how irritating sand was only fuelling the amusement of the situation. “This is why you apply sun cream after we finish setting up.” Leon grumbled as he observed the mess on his fingers. “Don’t be surprised if next time I’ve doodled something on your back. Besides you’ve done a wonderful job thank you.” You retorted a playful smile on your features before you leaned towards him for a kiss. Instead of complaining more you watch him stand up, a soft groan and clicking releasing from him as he did so, the abuse of his body now catching up to him. You watched the retreating form of your husband as he walked hand in hand to the sea with a bucket and your daughter, the sun shining on them brightly as they reached the shoreline.

The sun bore on your skin was nothing again the upright position you were sat in that was doing nothing to ease the increasing back pain you were developing as you got further along in your pregnancy. It was either perfect timing or like he had sensed your discomfort when you heard the sound of their laughter as they clearly raced back to you. The laughter was paired to the muted thuds of tiny feet going as fast as she could with slow louder thuds following her in Leon’s poor attempt to slow himself down so she could win.

With her Immediate pestering for a snack once she had reached the blanket it was only fair to assumed that Leon had bribed her to leave the rock pools they were watching with the promise of a snack. Or maybe he was just hungry himself. “Have you drunk anything yet? Sitting in the sun probably isn’t doing you any good, love” He asked, a soft grunt leaving his lips as he sat next to you. His hand instantly going for your stomach and smiling slightly at the small kicks the baby responded to him with . “I’ve drank a lot, but my back is killing me from sitting like this all day. It’s alright though she's happy” you said, gesturing to the little girl that was currently digging the biggest hole she could. Leon’s features lightened in their concern as he gazed upon her, the sight giving him an idea. He crawled along the sand to whisper in her ear, the small giggles to each other were cute as he began to work in sync with her.

His recently washed hands a mess again, not that it mattered to him in this current moment, your comfort was more important than a sandy sandwich he would indulge in later. With their combined efforts they made a hole for you to lay on your stomach equipped with one of the seaside themed towels you pulled out every summer. He eased you over, helping your gentle settle in a comfortable position the same way he does every single night he is home with you. It was the least he could do after all. “We’re the boob holes necessary?” you laughed as you sank down. Finally enjoying the freedom from the backache that had been troubling you. “Very, can have them bring squished either.” he chuckled, giving you a wink.

Despite the complaints this morning and every other time you dragged him to do things in the little free time he got. Leon never meant it, not when he could watch his family thrive and laugh. Creating memories that he would always treasure when the missions got rough, it reminded him of why he did all of it. Why he kept the world safe by enduring what he did so that you could enjoy the somewhat annoying feeling of sandy toes and spend quality time with him.

Of course, you had to humour him with a photo of his amazing craftsmanship. The sun highlighting your body making you look like a goddess to him as he snapped photos of the sight as if he was a tourist looking at one of the Greek statues. With the pressure off your back you soon fell asleep into a small nap. The peaceful sound of the waves lingering in the background and the quiet chatter of the ongoing people that surrounded you was the perfect backing track you needed for the best sleep you had in a while.

When you soon awoke it was your turn to take photos of you had the energy and ability to get up and reach the phone that was. Your eyes fell upon the sight of the of them creating a village of sandcastles. The height of the hill was impressive, Leon’s doing no doubt whilst you assumed that the seagull feather for a flag was clearly your daughters. Leon caught you looking, you face resting on your arms as you quietly watched the interaction between the two of them. He smiled back at you before approaching again. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face being careful not to drop any sand on your features or scratch you with the roughness the sand added to them. “Everything okay?” He asked softly, smiling down at you. In this lighting he was relaxed, the wrinkles he had gained over the years smoothing out into a softer look. Watching him age and grow into the mind-set he was in today will always be one of your big achievements in life. No one worked harder than Leon.

The evidence was there in your comfort and daughters smile as she attempted to make a moat around the castle they had made, not quiet understanding that the sand will soak up the water as soon as she places it. “Perfect, thank you.” You responded. Leon’s hand worked through the soft strands of your hair once more before his gaze fell back on his little girl. Her cheerful concentration was amusing as he stared up at her dad when he approached, his hand outstretched holding another bucket of his own. You watched as Leon dragged her back down to the shoreline once more and knelt in the refreshing water as they began to work again building yet another sandcastle only this time with a fancy moat that bought water in with the waves that chased them up the beach. There laughter adding to the soundscape that once again bought you into peace.

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you feat. TF 141

You call him cute

The safehouse is unusually quiet.

The kind of quiet that only comes after days of adrenaline and bloodshed.

The team’s scattered - Soap passed out on the couch with one boot off, Gaz humming to himself at the kitchen counter, Price somewhere on a call, probably reporting in.

Ghost? He’s in his corner.

That damn quiet corner he always claims - back to the wall, knee up, weapons sprawled out like a ritual. His mask’s still on, of course. He always keeps it on after missions, like he hasn’t quite put Ghost back in the box yet. The skull stares at nothing while his hands move with clean, mechanical precision.

You sit nearby, pretending to read something - maybe you're even holding a tablet - but your eyes are locked on him.

His gloves are off. That’s rare. You can see the way his fingers move over the metal, slow, careful, almost reverent. There’s so much focus in his silence, so much tension held in check.

And then it just... slips out.

A whisper. Barely audible. More breath than words, just for yourself.

“God, he’s so cute like this…”

It wasn’t meant to be heard.

It was meant to live and die in your chest.

But fate, as always, has other plans.

Soap moves on the couch - without even opening his eyes - “I’m sorry, what the hell did I just hear?”

Your heart stops.

You glance up in horror. Simon’s hands freeze mid-motion, a cloth paused on the slide of his rifle. He doesn’t move his head. Doesn’t say a word. But every inch of his body suddenly radiates death.

Gaz shouts from the kitchen, halfway through a bite - “No. Nooooo. Did she just call Ghost cute?” He turns, wide-eyed. “Like - adorable cute?”

Soap, already sitting up, absolutely delighted. “Oh this is gold. This is better than the time I caught him petting that stray cat in Belgrade.”

You whisper - desperate: “I - I didn’t mean it like that, I was just watching and he looked - ”

Gaz, grinning like the bastard he is. “Cute? Like a little focused murder goblin polishing his toys?”

Soap already mock-crying. “She broke him. Broke the killer. Ghost.exe has stopped responding.”

Ghost finally moves. Slowly. He finishes wiping the rifle, sets it down beside him with meticulous care, and then looks at you.

Not at them.

Just at you.

And his voice is dead calm.

“Cute, huh?”

You open your mouth. Close it again.

Soap's nearly hyperventilating in the background.

Gaz is egging him on. “Say it again. I want to see if his eye twitches.”

You hear Price’s voice from down the hall: “What in God’s name is going on out here?”

Soap is still cackling: “She called Ghost cute, Captain. While he was cleaning his weapon. Cute.”

Price takes a deep sigh. “Brilliant. Now he’s gonna kill one of you.”

Ghost’s voice cuts through it all. “You’ve got ten seconds to shut up.”

“BLOODY RUN, GAZ, HE’S COUNTING - ”

Soap grins. Gaz bolts.

Footsteps. Laughter. Chairs knocked over.

But Ghost still hasn’t looked away from you.

And under all that quiet fury - under the shame, the chaos, the mockery - there’s that tiny flicker in his eye. That glint that means something different. A quiet warmth.

He didn’t mind you saying it.

Just didn’t want anyone else to hear it.

You bite your lip.

He sighs, deep, low, resigned.

Mutters - only loud enough for you: “…Cute, fuckin’ hell…”

Then picks up the cloth and starts cleaning again, as if the entire building isn’t falling apart in the background.

[cosycryptid]

Eddie has always enjoyed giving people nicknames, it’s just something creative he does that makes people stick in his brain. He’s never forgotten a face and it’s mostly because he has names to go with them.

Typically, he refers to acquaintances by their last name, friends by something jokey and embarrassing, and foes by nicknames that are a little mean and cutting.

Then there's Steve Harrington, who falls into his own category entirely.

Before, when he claimed to dislike Steve it would be:

“Perfect Harrington.”

“Steve Harrington the gorgeous with his flowing locks.”

“Guess what Mr. Hot Sports Man did now.”

“Can you believe Beautiful Steve Harrington and his merry band of assholes?”

“God, look at Mr. Distracting showing off his amazing chest again. He’s such a poser.”

“I was trying to order my usual, but then Steve ‘Dreamboat’ Harrington was behind the counter and he used his evil sorcery to make me say ‘1 scoop of vanilla’ by mistake. Now he probably thinks I'm boring.”

He said the names in a mocking tone, but it always ended with just a hint of something longing. His friends would shoot each other knowing looks across the room whenever he came up with a new one for one of his Steve related tirades.

Then they started to become friends and the names took on a more teasing, flirty nature, which then slowly gave way to softer and more tender names like 'Stevie' and 'sweetheart' and 'honey'. The knowing looks from friends became looks that said 'here we go again' and Steve's reactions went from intense, puzzled stares to warm smiles.

One day, when Eddie's running late for their fortnightly movie night, the rest of the party decide to say something about it.

"So, I have to ask," Mike says. "What kind of magic spell have you cast on Eddie?"

Steve looks up and sees that everyone is staring at him. "Huh?" he blinks. "Were you talking to me?"

"Yes Steve, he was talking to you!" Dustin exclaims. "Who else here in this room does Eddie regularly shower with mushy pet names?"

"Okay, they're not 'mushy pet names'," Steve argues, rolling his eyes. "They're just nicknames, he gives everyone nicknames. I don't see why it's a big deal."

"Steve, he gives everyone else nicknames. Yours are something else." Max points out.

"How?"

"How?" Lucas asks. "Steve, last week he walked into me by accident, said 'Sorry Sinclair’ and then turned to you and went 'Hey, angel. How are you today?'." He puts on a sickeningly sweet voice for the second one and Max laughs.

"Yeah and what about that time he threw a sunscreen bottle at Mike and said 'Stay safe, pasty', then saw you putting yours on and said 'Need help getting your back, darling?'" Max adds. Her and Lucas are snickering to each other by the end of it.

Mike frowns. "Don't know why he called me that. He's just as pale as I am."

Will pats him on the back. "Don't worry about it, he called me Bowlcut Junior two days ago when he was asking me to make a perception check."

"Oh so that's what the Bowlcut Senior thing was about," Jonathan mumbles.

"Steve, he likes you," Robin says, clearly spelling it out. "Or at the very least it's obvious you're one of his favourites."

"He does call you an awful lot of things even me and Jonathan wouldn't call each other," Nancy adds carefully.

"Eddie's just a sweet guy," Steve says.

"Eddie Munson is not a 'sweet guy'," Mike retorts, bewildered. "He killed off all of our characters in last week's session because we were ten minutes late."

"I mean if he went to all of that effort planning and preparing everything then you could have at least turned up on time."

"Thanks, mom."

"I did warn you guys he wouldn't be happy with us," Will points out with a grim expression.

Before anything else can be said, Eddie walks in with Gareth and Jeff trailing behind him. Everyone tries their best to look casual. Most fail. Luckily, Eddie's attention is zoned in on two people.

"Hey Sweet Prince, and Henderson and others," Eddie greets them. "I'll be right back, just gotta run to the bathroom because I was checking something under the van just now and it looks like I got into a fight with an octopus."

He lifts his arms, which are covered in oil.

"Oh shit," Steve says. "Yeah, no problem. Feel free to take a shower and borrow some clothes if you want, we'll wait."

"Thanks, sugar." He calls behind him.

The party's eyes are locked on Steve when he turns back to face them, causing him to flinch a little.

"What's up guys?" Gareth says as he and Jeff make themselves at home, finding a spot on the carpet.

"Yeah, you all looked super awkward when we walked in just now," Jeff adds. "What's that about?"

"We were just trying to get it through Steve's head that Eddie is basically in love with him," Robin fills them in. "Also, I don't know if I should be a little offended that we're 'and others'."

"Oh that," Jeff says, way too casual. "Yeah that's been a thing for years. Even back when he was pretending not to like Steve."

"Wait what?" Mike asks.

"Oh yeah, he used to call him things like 'Handsome Harrington' or 'Beautiful Steve Harrington' every time he talked about him," Gareth shrugged.

"Oh shit," Dustin says. "One time I tried to get him to hang out with us and he said no but he called you 'Pretty Boy Steve'."

"Can you guys just let this go?" Steve sighs, clearly getting annoyed. "It's just a thing he does, it doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, sure," Jeff scoffs. "Keep telling yourself that. What are you trying not to get your hopes up?"

Steve is too quiet for too long, and he hates the way his friends expressions turn sympathetic toward him.

"All I'm saying is, do it back to him and see how he reacts," Gareth says with a knowing smile. "I dare you."

The opportunity doesn't arise until later, when Eddie gets up to go to the kitchen half way through the movie. He comes back with two drinks, one of which he hands to Steve while lifting the other to his lips.

Robin gives him a look that says 'what are you waiting for?' and Steve takes a deep breath before accepting the drink with a casual, "Thanks, babe."

And that’s all it takes.

Eddie’s hand jerks, his brain short-circuits, and the drink completely misses his mouth. A splash of soda hits his chin, and the rest pours out on the Harrington's expensive carpet. Then he just stands there blinking like he’s been hit with a stun spell.

His brain seems to come back online when he sees Steve's shocked gaze switch between him and the liquid soaking into the carpet.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" Eddie shouts, no longer in control of his volume. He sprints to the kitchen and returns just as fast with paper towels, dropping to his knees to try and soak up the spilled beverage. His face is bright red in a way Steve's never seen on him before.

Steve is still frozen, half-standing, watching Eddie frantically blot the carpet like it personally insulted him. The rest of the group is silent for a beat—stunned into stillness by the sheer velocity of Eddie’s reaction.

Then Robin breaks the silence with a quiet, “Oh my god.”

Max snorts. “I think you broke him.”

“Like, for real,” Dustin adds, eyes wide. “That was a full system crash.”

Eddie doesn’t look up. “Don’t mind me, just ruining your house and my dignity in one fell swoop.”

Steve finally moves, crouching down beside him. “Eds, it’s fine. Seriously. It’s just soda.”

Eddie glances up at him, eyes wide and still a little dazed. “You called me babe.”

Steve smiles, soft and a little shy. “Yeah. I did.”

Eddie stares at him for a second longer, then groans and drops his forehead to the carpet. “I’m never gonna recover from this.”

Steve laughs, nudging him gently with his shoulder. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

Eddie lets out a muffled noise that might be a whimper or a laugh, it’s hard to tell. But when he lifts his head again, his face is still red, and his smile is blinding. And Steve forgets they have an audience.

"I think I know a way you can make it up to me," he grins.

"How's that, babydoll?" Eddie asks, confused, but hopeful.

Steve pulls Eddie in for a quick kiss and says, "Take me out tomorrow night, when I finish work?"

"Absolutely," Eddie beams.

Their moment is ruined by fake gagging noises from the kids. "This is worse than Dustin and Suzie serenading each other with Never Ending Story," Lucas comments, receiving a middle finger in response from Dustin.

"I'm assuming band practice is off tomorrow then?" Jeff smirks.

"Sorry guys," Eddie says still looking at Steve with a tender smile. "Something incredibly important just came up."