#that man would have so many questions for her

[danitcx]

More Human Than You Think

Clark Kent x female reader

Synopsis: She was just supposed to do the interview Clark couldn’t attend. That was all. Just questions, answers, and a photo with Superman. But something about the way he looked at her… the way he spoke about Clark… made everything shift. And maybe, without knowing it, she gave away more than she meant to.

Warnings: No explicit content. Lots of fluff, shyness, accidental confession, secret identity, romantic tension.

WC: 3,686 words

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You looked at your reflection in the elevator glass one last time before reaching the rooftop. You had chosen the most professional outfit your closet allowed: light beige dress pants, straight-cut, paired with a matching blazer and a short-sleeved white blouse with a high collar, perfectly ironed and fitted to your body without losing formality. Your heels, also beige, made barely any sound with each step. Your hair was tied in a low bun, with a few loose strands framing your face. And your handbag was elegant, small, cream-colored.

You sighed.

It was the most formal thing you had. The most professional. And even though your stomach twisted with nerves, you couldn’t wipe away that faint smile that kept appearing. You were about to interview Superman. No less than Superman. And you knew that if the interview went well, your name could end up on the front page… right where you’d seen your coworker Clark Kent’s name before.

Clark… Of course you owed this to him.

He was the one who always got direct interviews with Superman. No one knew how he did it. But this time, Perry White had requested that the Daily Planet at least be visible in the background. And Clark had managed it… until the night before, when he texted you saying he was very sick and wouldn’t be able to make it. He ended the message with a sentence that still made your heart flutter:

“I trust only you with this.”

You accepted, of course. Though your first reaction was to worry about him. More than anyone, you had watched him since you both started working there. Silently, you had fallen in love with Clark with almost absurd devotion. Lois had noticed, she even encouraged you to talk to him, but you always refused with a nervous smile. Because, come on… it was Clark. The kind guy, always smiling, bringing coffee for everyone and helping even when he didn’t have to. You were probably just confusing his kindness for something more.

So you settled for having him close. Even if it was just as a coworker.

But that night, standing in front of you, would also be Superman. And although you looked like a background fangirl at a K-pop concert, the truth was you admired him beyond the superficial. Yes, he was handsome. Impossibly handsome. But what captivated you was the other stuff: his way of saving humans and animals alike, his calmness, his humanity… More human than many humans. Though they called him a metahuman, some even considered him a threat. You didn’t.

You took a deep breath as you opened the rooftop door. Luckily, it wasn’t windy. The air was warm, steady. You closed the door gently. No one knew he would be there. That’s why, after your shift, you had snuck back to your apartment and returned just for this moment. The buildings at that hour were already empty. Just you… and him.

You checked your phone. Still no response to the message you had sent Clark during lunch: “The interview will be soon. How are you feeling? If you need anything, let me know.”

“Good evening.”

The voice behind you was soft, deep, with a warm tone you recognized instantly. You turned slowly… and there he was. Floating. Hovering effortlessly in front of you, his cape gently billowing behind him, lit by the golden lights of the city.

Superman.

“Good evening,” you managed to say with difficulty, trying to sound professional. You never imagined being so close to a man who literally defied gravity. “You must be waiting for Clark. He said that…”

“Yes,” he interrupted gently, landing, his boots touching the ground with a soft sound. “I got an email.”

“You have an email?” you asked, surprised, before you could stop yourself. He smiled, with that almost unreal warmth that made your chest tighten.

“Sorry. Please, have a seat,” you said quickly, pointing to the chairs you had set up earlier that morning. Two simple chairs, facing each other, with the golden globe of the Daily Planet in the background.

“Clark said he could trust you,” he said as he sat down. “He… really appreciates you.”

Your heart gave a little jolt.

Clark talked about you to Superman?

“Clark has always been kind to me. We're just coworkers,” you murmured, not knowing why you felt so exposed. “But I’m not here to be interviewed by you,” you added, which caused a soft, genuine laugh from him.

“You're right. Go ahead, please,” he replied.

You nodded, turned on your pocket recorder, and opened your notebook.

“Let’s begin,” you said, forcing yourself to keep a formal tone, though your fingers trembled slightly. “Thank you again for doing this,” you began. “I know you’re usually very private, so… I really appreciate it.”

“Clark insisted,” he said with a smile. “But I’m doing it because I believe in the importance of what is said… and how it’s said.”

“Then I’ll start there. How do you decide when to speak and when to stay silent in the face of international crises?”

“Every word can carry political, military, or emotional weight. Sometimes, silence is also a message. But when I speak, I try to do so with hope… not fear.”

“What has been the most difficult moment you’ve faced during a mission?” you asked.

Superman hesitated.

“Saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” he finally answered. “People who are so hurt by life that they believe they don’t deserve help. That… hurts more than any blow.”

You fell silent for a moment, touched by his honesty.

“How do you deal with loss? With… what you can’t save?”

The sadness that appeared in his eyes was so human that you almost forgot you were standing in front of a symbol.

“With memory. I remember their names, their faces. I pray for them. And I keep going… because stopping would mean failing them again.”

Your fingers stopped writing for a second.

“Lastly,” you said, looking up, “this is a slightly more personal question. Clark mentioned that you save lives equally, without distinctions, and that moved me. You give each life a deep value. Why do you do that?”

Superman remained silent, but not out of discomfort. It seemed he truly wanted to find the right words.

“You said it yourself. They’re lives. Each one has a universe inside, dreams, fears, laughter, people waiting for them at home. It doesn’t matter who they are or where they come from… everyone deserves to be saved. Because the simple fact of existing is reason enough.”

You put away the recorder and looked at him with a calm smile.

“And that makes you more human,” you said softly, but firmly.

The surprise on his face was clear. But also something deeper. Gratitude. As if no one had ever told him that before. As if, for a moment, you had touched something no one else could reach.

“Thank you for your time. Really. I hope I didn’t take too much of it. Maybe I’m not Clark but…”

“You did a good job.” His response was quick, and when you looked at him, he smiled at you. For a moment, the way he said it reminded you so much of Clark that you let yourself be carried away. “Clark mentioned you were a big admirer of mine,” he added, lowering his voice slightly.

“Oh, of course… but don’t think I’m going to throw myself at you right now,” you replied with an amused smile.

He let out a genuine laugh. Deep. Warm.

“Is that… what you want?” he teased, without losing that charming expression.

“No… no, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” you stammered nervously, searching your bag for your camera to distract yourself. “You’re Superman. But I… I’m in love with someone else.”

He didn’t answer. But if you had looked at him in that moment, you would’ve seen how his face changed subtly. His eyebrows lifted slightly, his lips parted. Surprised. Almost disappointed. As if he wasn’t expecting that answer.

When you finally looked up, he had already recomposed himself, as if nothing had happened. His expression was neutral again. Almost too much.

“May I?” you asked, raising the camera. “I need the Daily Planet world to be visible in the background of the photo. It’s to visually justify the interview.”

He nodded with a slight tilt of his head.

“And… that someone you’re in love with… do they work here?” he asked suddenly, taking a few steps but without taking his eyes off you.

You didn’t notice. You were focused on adjusting the lens, searching for the ideal light.

“They do,” you replied, without thinking too much. “But I can’t say who.”

“No?” he repeated, pretending to be offended. “Do you think Superman is a gossip?”

You laughed at the joke, not noticing that, even though he was still smiling, it hurt him a little more than he wanted to admit.

“Not at all,” you said playfully, still looking through the viewfinder. “There it is… give me a second.”

A few seconds passed in silence. Just the click of the settings.

And then, without thinking too much, you said:

“Just imagine if you went and told Clark that I’m in love with him…”

You took the photo.

The flash lit up his face just as his eyes opened wide. Disconcerted. Vulnerable. As if a ray of truth had been fired into his chest.

You lowered the camera and checked the image, unaware of everything.

“I need you to smile, for the photo,” you said, not noticing the storm of emotions you had just unleashed.

But you didn’t know what that phrase had caused.

Superman… no, Clark, smiled. He truly smiled. Not forced. Not out of protocol. He smiled as if his soul had lit up. As if his whole body was vibrating from within.

An absurd, warm, and sweet happiness flooded him completely. You. You were in love with him. With Clark. And you had just told him… without knowing it.

And you took four more photos of him, one after the other, not realizing you were capturing a moment he would treasure forever.

“All done,” you said when you finished, carefully lowering the camera. “Thank you very much. It was a pleasure meeting you… but I have to go.”

“Of course…” he said, taking a step back, still smiling. “It was also a pleasure meeting you… but, if you’d like… I can walk you home.”

You looked at him, surprised by the offer, but gently shook your head.

“Don’t worry. It’s still early, it hasn’t gotten dark. Besides… you have to protect the city, right?” you smiled, lowering your gaze with shyness. “And I’m not going to my apartment. I’m taking some dinner to… Clark.”

Your voice softened at the end, almost like a whisper, as if saying his name that way revealed more than you wanted to admit. Because no one —except Lois— knew you were in love with him.

“Oh…” he murmured, almost breathless. “You’re going to see him?”

You nodded, adjusting your bag.

“Well… say hi to Clark for me. I hope he gets better soon.”

“Well… send my regards to Clark. Hope he recovers soon,” he said with a voice that tried to sound casual.

You said goodbye with a smile and began to walk away. You didn’t see him stay there, motionless, watching you leave as if the world became more beautiful with every step you took.

As you walked through the city, you carefully put away your camera and the photos, making sure nothing got lost. You decided to stop by a pharmacy first: you bought cough medicine, a box of lemon tea, and a jar of honey. Then you went to a homemade food restaurant called Ma’s Kitchen, where you knew they made one of Clark’s favorite dishes: meatloaf with mashed potatoes and garlic bread. For yourself, you ordered a club sandwich you had been craving since the morning. Everything to go.

You were hungry, but the idea of not having dinner alone excited you more. It was the perfect excuse to see him. You had never been to his apartment before, but this time you couldn’t resist. You had missed him at work. You were afraid his cold might get worse. And you wanted to be close.

When you arrived, you stood in front of the door, hesitating to knock. You finally did. Once. Twice. You heard strange noises on the other side. What if he was so sick he didn’t want visitors?

And just when you were about to leave so you wouldn’t bother him, the door opened.

Clark appeared on the other side. His hair was messy, he was wearing an open robe that showed a simple white T-shirt and dark green plaid pajama pants. His glasses were slightly crooked, and a loosely wrapped scarf hung from his neck. He was smiling… but he immediately looked away, and his face fell as if he had forgotten something important.

“Hi. Cof,” he coughed strangely, very unconvincingly. You had no idea that Clark had flown at full speed to make sure he got there before you, changed clothes, and put on a sick expression… which he had clearly forgotten to rehearse.

“Hi, Clark,” you greeted with a soft smile, not noticing anything odd, just worried about him. You watched him closely, his cheeks were slightly flushed—was it from the effort? The heat? Or because of you?

“Sorry to interrupt. You must be really sick… but I brought some medicine and, well, I didn’t know if you had dinner yet. But if you’re tired, don’t worry. I can leave everything and let you rest. Maybe I should’ve warned you first…”

“No, no, come in,” he said quickly, stepping aside. “I’m feeling a bit better. Cof.”

He repeated the cough, as if he believed saying it at the end of the sentence made it more believable. You gave him a compassionate look, not questioning anything. He just watched you walk in with your bags, unable to stop smiling… because you were there. Because you hadn’t gone home. Because you had come to see him.

He let you in, pointing the way to the kitchen. The place was clean, too tidy for someone who was sick, but that didn’t surprise you. Clark had always been meticulous.

“I left everything here,” you said, placing the bags on the table. “These meds help me when I’m sick, and the ginger tea is awful, I know, but if you add honey, it’s tolerable. If you want, I can make it for you…”

Clark looked at you with a sincere smile, nodding gratefully.

“How did the Superman interview go?” he asked suddenly, with a natural tone that sounded almost rehearsed as he sat down.

“Good,” you replied while unpacking the dishes and serving the food. “He was kind. He answered everything I asked. You could tell that… it’s not just strength. He’s very human in some of his answers.”

Clark looked down, as if the compliment affected him, though a smile escaped him.

“Yeah… let’s say he likes to know things. Even if they’re not always his business.” He scratched his neck, pretending to be uncomfortable. “Did he say anything… about me?”

You simply shook your head, though your cheeks lit up. You couldn’t help but think about the moment when, in front of Superman, you confessed that you liked Clark Kent. It still embarrassed you.

“No, he didn’t say anything,” you lied quickly, looking away and pretending to check the bags. “I just talked to him… took some pictures. Nothing important.”

“Thanks for this… really.”

“Eat. It’ll make you feel better,” you said, changing the subject. “Perry said it’s okay if you don’t go in tomorrow. You should rest all weekend,” you added as you sat in front of him.

Clark silently cursed himself. That lie —being sick— now kept him away from you all Friday… and maybe the weekend. And that meant not being able to ask you out like he had been planning. But amid the guilt, a spark of happiness appeared when you looked at him, a little shy, a little hesitant.

“If you want, I can bring you dinner again tomorrow,” you said as you gathered the wrappers. “And I can tell you how my article turned out and what Perry said.”

Clark looked up immediately, with eyes so wide and bright they almost lit up.

He nodded softly. “I’d love that.”

There was a warm brief silence as you finished your meal.

“You know?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “My grandma used to swear that the best remedy for a cough was wrapping your feet in hot mustard and putting on thick socks.”

Clark looked at you, confused. “Mustard… on your feet?”

“I swear. And then she said you had to sleep with a slice of onion on your neck.” You laughed, remembering the scene.

Clark laughed too, though the image caused him a mix of horror and affection. “Please tell me you’re not bringing me onions tomorrow.”

“Jokes aside, Clark…” you murmured, lowering your voice a little. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He swallowed hard. He knew he wasn’t acting sick very well, but your sincere gaze disarmed him.

“I’m okay. Just… tired, I guess. But thank you for worrying.”

When you got up to say goodbye, you gave him a playful little punch on the shoulder. He blushed like a teenager, looking down, both delighted and nervous.

“Get some rest, okay?” you said, this time with a sweetness in your voice as if you’d cared for him your whole life. “And if you feel worse during the night, don’t hesitate to call me. Really, Clark. Anytime.”

He looked up slowly and nodded, grateful, with that tenderness in his eyes that almost made you stay a minute longer.

“See you tomorrow,” he replied.

You left the building not knowing that, from his window, Superman was still watching you. He flew at a safe distance, quietly keeping watch until he saw you enter your building. He was fascinated by how beautiful you looked in that coat.

And then he understood.

You had friend-zoned Superman. His most iconic version. Because to you, only Clark Kent existed. Only he lived in your mind. Only he was the one you liked.

The man who blushed when you smiled at him. The one who walked with you through the newsroom and offered you his coat if you felt cold. You had chosen him. His most real part. His clumsiest, most human, most vulnerable version.

Because while the whole world dreamed of flying among the clouds, you had stayed on the ground… to walk by his side.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. A thousand catastrophes could come, a thousand responsibilities, a thousand exhausting days. But if you kept looking at him the way you did today, if you kept bringing him tea and offering to have dinner together, if you kept wanting to take care of Clark Kent…

Then he was the luckiest man on the planet.

He couldn’t wait to ask you out. To tell you that he had chosen you too. Long before you even knew it.

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💌 I take requests occasionally! If you have an idea, feel free to send it my way. I’d love to bring it to life 🤍

[motorsportbarbie13]

Relationship Alphabet Soup

a-z head cannons for how lando acts when he's in a relationship with you.

(quick note. this was so fun to write. i want to do one for at least max too. maybe other drivers. like my voicemail series. master list is here)

Affection - how do they show their affection

Words and touch. He’s very vocal about how much he adores you and how he feels about you. Compliments come easy and he uses his words to reinforce the way he feels about you when he’s touching you. This man will bear hug you for five minutes, head buried in the crook of your neck, and hold you like you’re returning from war even when you’d only run out for eggs and milk ten minutes ago. Kisses are given freely and easily and he’s never shy with showing his affection in front of his parents or the media. 

Baby - do they want a family

Lando has famously spoken about his future children in many interviews. The most recent one, the one posted by McLaren where he talks about his legacy and how he wants his children to remember him? You were in the room with him for that interview. The way he looked past all the cameras and directly at you when he spoke of how he wanted his grandchildren to know him and how he wants to be remembered had your heart hammering against your ribcage. You’d always been iffy on kids but after dating Lando even the shortest time, you were sold. You knew it would be a few years but there was no doubt that when Lando was done racing, he’d be ready to settle down and have as many babies as you’d give him. 

Cuddles - do they like to cuddle? Do they prefer to be big spoon or little spoon? 

Does Lando Norris like cuddles? This man cannot get enough of them. If you’re sitting on the couch without him, you’re being pulled right into his lap the second he sits down. You don’t know what personal space is anymore and have trouble sleeping without your own personal weighted blanked boyfriend half draped over you. He prefers big spoon because he loves making you feel safe but every once in a while he needs to be taken car of too. He won’t ask for it though so you’ve learned his moods and when he needs a little extra attention. 

Dates - what was your first date with them? Their favorite date? 

Despite his bravado in that one McLaren interview (you know the one), Lando was actually really shy and sweet on your first date. You had met at a party in London through a friend of a friend and flirty texts turned into one very real first date in Hyde Park. He had hired a chef to pack a picnic and brought along one of his mother’s quilts. You sat on this little crest of of a hill overlooking a duck pond, talking about anything and laughing at the little girl and her dad feeding the ducks. But Lando’s favorite date was when he surprised you after one particular had week of work with a private jet to Paris for the evening where he’d dropped an ungodly amount of money to have one of the wings at the Musee d’Orsay opened after-hours just for you. There was a four course meal served in front of a Renoir and you’d never felt more loved or seen that entire night. Lando lives for planning over the top dates to show you how much he adores you but his favorites are the quiet nights in, cooking for each other on a random Tuesday night. 

Effort - how do they put effort into the relationship 

He’s matured a lot since you first started dating and shows up a lot more than he did. Relationships had always been pretty surface level for Lando until you came along and then it was like something clicked. He had never felt the need to prove to someone how much he cared for them until you and he’d never let you forget how much you mean to him. It had been hard in the beginning and he’d been scared. There had been fights and tears but as you settle into the comfortable season that comes with finding your soulmate, Lando learned what you needed from him to be a good partner and you rarely questioned his desire to be with you. 

Fights - how do they deal with conflict 

He’s a talker. His parents had a rule in their marriage that they never went to bed angry. Even if they didn’t resolve it, they never let the night end without at least an ‘I love you’. Lando carried that into his relationship with you. He sometimes over communicates and it can feel suffocating, especially for someone like you who’d never been treated quite right in past relationships. But he means well and even when you fight, you know that it’ll get resolved in the end. 

Gratitude - how do they show how grateful they are to have you?

Lando’s a very vocal guy. Like his affection, he’s quick with a ‘thank you’ or ‘you’re so good to me’ even in the smallest moments. He’s been on the receiving end of a thankless relationship before and knows how painful it can be so he always tried his hardest to show how much you mean to him and how thankful he is that you chose him. 

Honesty - is it a big thing for them? Are they honest with you too?

With the kind of work that he does, the amount of time you spend away from each other, the way the internet is, Lando is a stickler for honesty. He trusts you beyond belief but expect you to be honest with him. If you’re lonely or hurting, he wants you to say it. In the beginning, you kept a lot of the anxiety of what it meant to be dating him to yourself and it caused a lot of pain. It nearly cost you everything. So Lando instituted a rule: no secrets. You two are always honest with each other no matter what, no matter if it hurts or causes a fight. 

Insight - are they good at reading your moods?

That man knows your moods better than you do. He can be kind of ‘head in the clouds’ when he’s knee deep into the season but the moment he feels your mood shift, he’s like a dog with a bone. It’s always been almost spooky the way he can sense when something is bothering you, sometimes even before you even realize it yourself. 

Jealousy - are they a jealous person? 

If Lando has one giant issue, it’s his jealousy. Your barista spends a little too long chatting you up after taking your order? Lando is glued to you, hand on your hip, laughing a touch too aggressively. You spend an extra few moments talking to Lewis on afternoon between sessions and Lando’s pouting in the garage for the foreseeable future. It’s not because he thinks you’re going to cheat. It’s just that he hates when your attention is elsewhere and can’t stomach the thought of someone stealing you away, even if it would never happen. You’ve argued about it. It’s one of your biggest struggles in your relationship, but he’s trying to be better at it. 

Kisses - what was your first kiss like? Do they like kissing?

You usually had a strict rule of no kissing on the first date. But Lando was the first, and last, person to get you to break it. You had spent the afternoon in Hyde Park, talking and laughing about nothing special. When the sun dipped low, kissing the horizon in a tangerine glow, the air had chilled to the point where Lando had pulled a sweater out of seemingly nowhere and tugged it over your shoulders. When he didn’t pull back, suddenly you had the overwhelming urge to kiss him, despite your rule. Lando had sensed it too, didn’t want to push you too far but was desperate to touch you. He leaned in first, but you met him where he was and the moment your lips met? Instant electricity. Once he had it once, Lando never wanted to be without your kisses any longer. It was like breathing to him, having his mouth on you. Lips, neck, collarbone, hip, lower…anytime he was kissing you was time well spent in Lando’s opinion. 

Love language - what is theirs 

Touch, gifts, words of affirmation. You’d learned about Lando’s clingy tendencies pretty quickly but it was the other two that surprised you the most. Lando lives to spoil you and he is sentimental as fuck about it too. He will buy you a new piece of jewelry to commemorate even the most obscure milestone. The earrings he bought you for the anniversary of the first time you slept over the first time were some of your favorite. I’ve mentioned this before but this man also is vocal with his love as well. ‘I love you’s’ are as common as blinking in your apartment. Praise for your cooking or a sincere compliment on the new perfume you bought are the norm and come as easy as breathing for Lando. 

Marriage - do they want to get married?

Lando’s had your engagement ring picked out in his mind since your second date. He knew you were it for him so quickly it was scary. He managed to keep it to himself for quite a while though. He knew he’d scare you off but he was all in pretty quickly. He loved seeing the way your cheeks flushed when he called you wifey or his future bride. He smirked at the way you thought you were subtly dropping hints about diamond size and cut a year into your relationship. Lando knew you were going to be his wife and couldn’t wait for it to happen. 

Nicknames - what are their nicknames for you/what are theirs for you? 

Lando’s favorite is ‘baby’, ofc but honestly, he’ll call you just about anything except your actual name. Love, Darling, and Baby are all of his go-to’s but he’s been known to toss out a random one when he’s had a few drinks and is feeling goofy. He’ll never live down the night he (seriously) called you ‘Schnookems’. 

Open - how open are they with you? How long did it take for them to get that way with you? 

Lando can be a pretty guarded guy at first but once you have his trust, he’s an open book. He knew he wanted to get to know you before he even asked you out on a date so he was pretty open with who he is and how hectic his life is pretty quick. In a world that can twist even the smallest of misunderstandings and quick looks into something as big as a possible cheating scandal or potential breakup, it’s important to Lando that you two are always on the same page and that both of you are honest and open about everything. 

PDA - their feelings on PDA 

At first, he’s shy. He’s well versed in online hate and wanted to protect you from it for as long as he could. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed to be seen with you or anything, he just wanted to protect what was new. But once you were out in the open, it was game on. (the two of you hard launched on a random Friday morning in the paddock in Italy. No one from McLaren knew and showing up hand in hand with Lando with no warning gave every single comms staffer a heart attack) He’s very clingy and not afraid to show his affection for you in public. 

Quality time - how do they spend quality time with you? What do they do behind closed doors?

Sometimes quality time can be hard to come by with Lando, especially in the middle of the season. When you suggested that phones get put away and you focus on each other whenever you do get a rare stretch of time off, Lando was on board. Every once in a while, he’ll stream with Max while you’re around but if you are together, you keep it low key. He bought you your first Lego set and that sort of morphed into a shared hobby/activity you do together. Watching movies and playing video games (you always die first when you play Tarkov though) are popular choices too. Despite Lando not being a big reader himself, he will sit and listen for however long you’ll read to him for. Sometimes when he’s away for a race, you’ll get on FaceTime and read to him whatever book you’re reading until he falls asleep. 

Relationship - when did they realize they wanted to be in a relationship with you? How?

That man was smitten right away. He knew that he was all in pretty quick. Like, by the end of the first date quick. He knows dating him is a lot though and didn’t want to pressure you into anything so he let you set the pace for the progression of your relationship. He was the one to bring it up finally though, after a brutal triple header in the middle of the season. You’d been on a handful of dates and found yourself missing him fiercely during the third stretch. The first night back, he flew into London instead of back to Monaco and showed up at your door at 1am. His hair was messy and your eyes were sleepy but he said he didn’t want to go another second without being able to call you his girlfriend. You, of course, agreed. That was the first night Lando had slept over too. 

Spoiled - does he like to spoil you?

Lando Norris lives to spoil you. Despite your insistence that he doesn’t have to spend money on you or that you don’t need every Chanel bag he thinks looks cute, he does it anyway. Spend a few moments too long looking at a necklace while you’re walking down the street in Monaco? That same necklace will inevitably show up on your doorstep a week later.

Temper - do they have a temper? 

If he’s having a stretch of bad races, he gets in his head and can take it out on those around him. He knows it’s bad and is working on getting better at it. The last time his temper caused a fight between you two, he realized how poorly he was behaving and asked Jon to set him up with a sports psychologist so he could work on handling the pressure of his job better. 

Unwind - how do they unwind after a busy day/week 

He’s mentioned it in several interviews but he loves to spend time with his family and friends but also loves his alone time. His world is always so chaotic and loud, that whenever he has a moment to just breathe and exist, he does. Quiet vacations, movie nights, lazy Sunday mornings on off weekends spent in bed…That is how Lando recharges. And having you by his side through everything makes it all that much better. 

Value - what do they value in a relationship? 

He knows his life is fast and chaotic and hard to keep up with, so he values someone who is steady and has a good head on their shoulders. He knows how important communication is, especially when you’re apart for long stretches of time due to his schedule, so honesty is huge. He views you as his partner in life and wants to make sure you’re taken care of and happy, no matter what. 

Willingness - how willing are they to go the extra mile for you? 

Lando will move mountains for you. He knows how lonely life can be as his girlfriend, knows how hard the comments on your relationship can hit, so he will do anything and everything in his power to make sure you’re taken care of. Come down with a cold while he’s half a world away racing? You wake up to your mom and sister who live across the country knocking on your door to take care of you. Falling asleep after a late practice session while he’s still going to be at the track doing engineering debriefs for several more hours? He has Rich or Jon take you back to the hotel so you can go to bed at a decent hour. He will do whatever he can to make sure you’re safe and taken care of. 

Xtra - an extra fluff prompt of your choice 

Lando gets broody when he sees you with little kids. When you meet Max’s Lily for the first time shortly after Kelly gives birth, he just about melts into a puddle watching you cuddle the newborn. He’s always thought that he wanted to wait until later in life, maybe even after he retires, so have kids, but seeing you fuss and coo over Lily has Lando spinning out of control. He’s ready to get you off birth control and put a baby in you right that moment, but settles for ‘in a few years’ after you convince him that now is certainly not the right time. 

Yearning - how do they handle missing you

Not well. He is a clingy baby when you’re together so when he’s gone for a long time? It’s the worst. Quite often, you’ll both fall asleep on FaceTime when he’s off racing in another country. Lando has more than once begged you to quit your job and travel with him full time. You, of course, refuse but do go to as many races as your schedule will allow. He is the king of constant texts, picture messages, voice notes, gifts sent from far away. Anything to make sure you know how much he’s missing you. 

Zzzzz - what’s it like sleeping with them? 

Lando is perpetually cold. He sleeps with several thick blankets, even in the middle of summer. You will frequently (read: always) wake up with him wrapped around you, arm draped around your waist, legs tangled together. He’s a deep sleeper too. Once he’s out, he’s really hard to wake up so you frequently have to be his alarm clock. You don’t mind because that means you get to wake him up with cuddles and kisses. 

[millermouth]

𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤

Masterlist || Harry Castillo x Reader || Part VI: The Devil Wears Prada

Summary: Meeting Harry’s mother was as intimidating as expected, with her cool poise and targeted questions. But you hadn’t expected her to reveal something about him that lodged itself in your mind and refused to leave, a quiet revelation that’s been wriggling there ever since. || fake dating, tabloids, Gossip Girl AU, socialite!reader, richgirl!reader, NYC, reader is in her mid 20s, old money lifestyle, trust fund babies, age gap, rich people problems || a/n: I literally have like so many chapters lined up and ready to go for this and it's killing me keeping them from you </3 so yesss 2 in one week, baby!! enjoy!!

By the time Margot had finished all her poking and prodding, her tucking and smoothing and stepping back to assess, you were made entirely new, dressed like a diplomatic gesture. A polished little gift box tied up in celadon silk, stepping out of the grand building at half past the hour and headed for Fifth Avenue.

The dress moved like water when the breeze caught it, the hem brushing soft around your calves as you slid into the idling black car. The sheer green gloves were comforting in a strange way. Cool against your skin, whisper-light, embroidered in tiny loops that itched when you settled yourself inside the car. 

Harry’s driver, George, you’d come to learn, closed the door behind you, the soft shutting silencing the city around you. Inside, the car was quiet and dim, the leather cool against your back. You glanced down at your shoes—pale taupe slingbacks, the kitten heel just high enough to be formal. The leather still held a faint gloss from where Margot had wiped them down before you left.

And as the car drove away from the curb, you watched the city go by. Buildings blurred, people hustled and you watched, distantly, wondering what was going on in each of their little lives. You still weren’t entirely sure of the point of all this. Meeting someone’s mother when you weren’t even dating felt a little silly. Besides, family made things complicated, more permanent. This, for all intents and purposes, was only a temporary agreement with an end date already in sight. June twentieth would come and go and things would…go back to normal. You’d return from your home in the Hamptons single and hopefully off the headlines for a while, and Harry would go back to his life with his niece safely tucked away at home. 

Still, you thought, if Harry didn’t think it mattered, he wouldn’t have asked you. That had to mean something. 

And you wondered, briefly, how many girls had made this same trip. How many had stepped out of a car, taken a deep breath, and prayed they’d be the one to impress Evelyn Castillo. Maybe none of them had. Maybe that was the point. Maybe no one was ever good enough for her son.

But before you could spiral further, the car slowed in front of a gray stone building. George came around to open your door. 

“Good luck, Miss Montclair,” he said with a polite smile. You nodded in thanks, but your voice caught in your throat. 

Before you could lift your hand to the buzzer—engraved in discreet serif: Evelyn and Harold Castillo—the door opened on its own. A man in a black tuxedo stepped forward.

“Miss Montclair,” he greeted, tone smooth, practiced. “Please, come in.”

Your kitten heels clicked lightly over polished cream marble as you followed him inside. The entryway was quiet, cathedral-high and filled with soft light. Molding curled across the ceiling like ribbon, and an arched staircase swept upward in graceful stone curves. Everything smelled faintly of peonies and linen and wealth.

You were led into a sitting room just off the entry—smaller, but no less grand. Ivory and pale green walls, antique gold filigree on the mirrors, a vase of white tulips in bloom. A woman sat beneath the window, her legs crossed, a small brown dog curled like a mink laid in her lap.

“Ah, thank you Edward, you may leave us,” she called.

The man who had led you in bowed his head and slipped from the room with the same noiseless grace he'd arrived with, the door sighing closed behind him.

She stood, lifting the dog with one arm, and extended the other toward you, palm down. You stepped forward, sliding your gloved hand into hers. Her grip was dry and faintly cool, like porcelain before the fire.

“Mrs. Castillo,” you said. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Evelyn, please,” she replied, smiling without warmth. “And likewise. You look older than your photos.”

Your stomach dropped slightly, but returned the smile anyway, polite and practiced.

“Must’ve been good lighting,” you said. 

She blinked at that, the corner of her mouth twitching. 

“Tea?” she asked, already drifting toward the lacquered table set with bone china and silver spoons.

“Yes,” you replied, smoothing your dress beneath you as you sat in the opposite armchair. “That sounds nice.”

She poured with a practiced hand, not bothering to ask how you took it. A twist of lemon slipped into your cup without fanfare.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said after a pause. “Most girls would’ve declined. Or sent a polite excuse through my son.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, reaching for your teacup without looking away from her.

She studied you back: your face, the line of your shoulders, the arch of your brow, the way your fingers didn’t tremble as they lifted the cup. She liked puzzles, you could tell. And you were one she was eager to crack. 

“Oh, I suppose I can come off a bit… discerning,” she said, saccharine enough to sour the air as she sipped her tea.

You smiled again, sharper now. “All the times I’ve seen you at events, I wouldn’t say that’s such a bad thing.”

She chuckled a dry, elegant little laugh, like stones tapping against crystal, “You were the one in Givenchy at the Camford Gala last year. I seem to recall you correcting the ambassador’s French?”

Your fingers wrapped tighter around the delicate porcelain, though you kept your posture unchanged. “He misquoted Voltaire if I recall.”

“He did,” she agreed, her lips pursed. “Though most people wouldn’t have noticed. Or dared to mention it.”

You took a sip of your tea. “I suppose I’m not most people.”

Her smile lingered as she glanced out the tall window beside her, where afternoon light began to stretch across the floor in softened bands. The dog yawned in her lap.

“No, I don’t think so.” She set down her tea, her tongue licking the remnants before patting the side of her mouth with a linen napkin, “So tell me about this recent fiasco, this…late night debauchery.” 

Your throat went dry, “I…I, well–”

There was a split-second moment where your heart started hammering against your ribs as you tried to remember what face you were wearing. You did not let your hands tremble, though the tea had suddenly lost its flavor.

You could feel her gaze bearing down on you, not aggressive, but pointed and deliberate, the kind of look that peeled back the silk of your dress and reached straight through to the scaffolding underneath.

And maybe that was what did it.

Your spine straightened, your gaze found hers. Because no, you wouldn’t fall apart like some silly, shaken thing in pearls and heels. You weren’t a girl anymore, and you weren’t stupid, and you sure as hell weren’t going to let this woman see you shrink.

“I hardly think a little partying ever did a girl wrong,” you said finally, the words smooth and evenly paced, your tone pleasant but not pliant, poised but entirely unmoved.

That earned a reaction. She tilted her head with the curiosity of a hound catching a scent. She studied you more closely now, her expression unreadable.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said, her voice light, but careful.

You looked her directly in the eye, the corners of your mouth lifting into a smile that wasn’t quite pretty and wasn’t quite friendly, but steady and sharp enough to hold its own.

“I mean,” you said slowly, “that I don’t believe I’m the first woman to drink too much champagne on her best friend’s birthday. I don’t think I’m the first person to stay out too late. And I certainly don’t think I’m the first woman to be photographed in an outfit like that, caught in a whirlwind of pervy paparazzi who will do quite literally anything for a high paying photo.”

Evelyn didn’t answer right away. She simply stared, her tea cup still raised, held just before her lips with both hands, her fingers contrasted against the fine porcelain. The dog in her lap shifted, sighing softly, but she did not move. Her eyes narrowed slightly with the quiet consideration of someone who had not expected to be challenged so directly, and perhaps, not so skillfully.

Something passed between you in the quiet that followed. You weren’t sure if it was understanding or maybe just recognition.

“Well,” she said, and though she tried to keep her voice measured, there was the faintest curl of amusement beneath it, like steam rising from the china she set down, “at least I can say you’re not boring like that last girl, the–oh, what was it? The matchmaker.”

“Being called boring might be even worse than being photographed topless on a night out.”

“I worried you might cry,” she said after a pause she poured another cup of tea for herself, her voice quiet, but not quite gentle. “Most girls do, when they are asked hard questions.”

“I’ve cried plenty,” you answered, lifting your tea for a sip, trying to sound casual now, “But not because someone is trying to make me. I cry on my own terms.”

“Good,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “Good.”

She glanced toward the window again, where the light was beginning to move toward the west skyline, casting the mid afternoon light across the trim of the furniture, gilding the edge of her profile. For a moment, she said nothing at all.

A long breath followed, so faint it hardly moved her chest, and then, to your quiet surprise, Evelyn Castillo let out a soft, unmistakable laugh. It was not cruel or theatrical, but something close to genuine. She looked at you again, and this time, the edge had dulled ever so slightly. 

“My son told me not to ask about it,” she said, as if the thought had just drifted in on the breeze. “Which, of course, only made me want to.”

“Understandable.”

Her eyes met yours and held. The laughter faded from them as she took you in again, not just your face but the way you sat, the posture you kept, the stupid little outfit Margot put you in. Something unreadable passed through her gaze, something cooler than her smile, and you felt her studying you harder now, as if remembering herself.

“I want to know what you want from him.”

The words didn’t come out accusatory, but they held you like the edge of a knife to your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“Is it his money? His name?”

You straightened, your fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the teacup as you set it down.

“My family has more than enough of both. I’m not looking for any sort of—”

“Then what is it?” she asked, “Because forgive me, but I find it difficult to believe a woman your age is interested in my son for any reason other than what he can offer.”

“Harry is a good man, Evelyn. There’s more to him than—”

“Yes,” she interrupted, and for once, her voice softened. “I know.”

There was something brewing between the two of you as you stared at each other for a long, long moment. You could see it behind her eyes, something turning over in her thoughts, deciding whether or not to say whatever hovered at the tip of her tongue. Her gaze didn’t waver as she kept looking at you, still scrutinizing every inch of your face, every flicker of expression.

But eventually, her eyes dropped, breaking your stare. Her hands fell to the dog in her lap, manicured fingers grazing over its ears, absent and careful, like touching something familiar might help settle whatever had stirred in her chest.

“Forgive me,” she sighed, “my son is what we’d call a… a hopeless romantic. A mother can't help but want the best."

She returned to her tea, stirring it, and when she spoke, looking up at you again, the softness in her voice was so subtle it almost didn’t register.

“He’s always been, since he was a boy. The first time he ever had a crush, he was seven. He wrote the little girl poems, drew her pictures. She ignored him for days afterward, and he simply stopped eating. Wouldn’t come down for dinner, barely said a word, just sat in his room, thinking he'd done something wrong."

She glanced out the window, adjusting the sleeve of her blouse.

“He doesn’t know how to temper affection. When he falls for someone, it becomes his entire focus. And if it doesn’t work out, he assumes it’s a flaw in himself. That he miscalculated. That he failed.”

Your heart snagged on the image, held fast by it. Of Harry as a boy, tender and foolish and too full of hope.

Evelyn glanced up at you then, catching the way your expression had shifted, the way your fingers had stilled around the stem of your glass.

“You seem surprised.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. You were, of course you were. You had seen Harry be his usual charming, distant, calculating, flirtatious self, but never…. Never vulnerable. Never wide-eyed and giving. 

Well. Maybe just that one night. He’d given you a glimpse in as you shared cold Chinese food on his leather couch, when it was just the two of you. No gossip columns, no contract. Just the quiet warmth of his presence, the surprising softness in the curve of his smile. He had been real then. Earnest. Gentle in a way that had caught you off guard.

He’s always so quick to forgive. So endlessly patient, so disarmingly kind in ways you hadn’t expected from a man like him. And now…now this.

She gave a slow, careful nod as if watching your wheels turning in your head. “He’s never known how to do it halfway. That’s always been the problem. And when he gets hurt — which he always does — it ruins him.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, but it settled over your shoulders just the same. You looked down at your tea, the pale swirl of lemon tracing lazy circles near the rim.

It felt like something like a little seed was placed in the soil of your brain, digging deep and rooting itself there.

Harry is a hopeless romantic.

And you weren’t sure if it was supposed to be a comfort or a warning.

Evelyn gathered herself and stood in a clear dismissal, her movements precise, her elegance untarnished, though her expression had shifted. There was steel beneath the silk now, cool and commanding.

“And that is why, Miss Montclair,” she said, offering her hand once more, her voice smooth as crystal, “I ask that you only carry this on with my son if you’re serious about him. About all of this.”

The heat rose behind your collar as you reached for her hand and stood. Her grip was light but final, a gesture that felt like it was sealing something invisible between the two of you.

“I understand, Mrs. Castillo.”

And when she dropped your hand, you turned on your heel, and you didn’t just walk — you escaped, your heels echoing against the marble as you pushed out the doors and into the foyer.

“Miss Montclair?”

You turned back, pulse kicking, throat tight. The sunlight slanted through the windows behind her, catching the edge of her cheekbone, the glint in her eye.

“Tell Harry to fire that stylist of his,” she said, already turning away. “She should know by now how much I detest celadon green.”

“Hey, you.”

“Hi,” you breathed, letting him lean in to kiss your cheek, the warmth of his lips brushing against your skin with simple familiarity.

The restaurant shimmered behind you like something out of a dream, all soft amber lighting and the low hum of conversation, the scent of fresh basil and salt and butter drifting in from an open kitchen where chefs moved like dancers behind frosted glass. There were candlelit tables tucked beneath pale archways, orchids floating in slender vases, and the faintest glint of silver catching candlelight like stars twinkling underwater. It was beautiful, inviting and luxurious in the simplicity of it all.

Harry guided you through the door with an easy hand at your back, following the hostess in a silk blouse, past the gold-leaf menus and velvet banquettes, until the two of you were seated in a quiet corner where the lights were low and the linen napkins had been folded into perfect thirds. Everything felt warm, and almost like it was waiting for something.

“So,” Harry said, unfolding the wine list with one hand and exhaling like he already knew the answer would amuse him, “how was tea with my mother yesterday?”

You stared at your menu, though the words blurred slightly.

You thought about how she watched you, how she poked and prodded, waiting for you to show your cracks. How she nearly saw the very edge of you — the place where your poise began to falter and your shame began to bloom, right before your spine built itself back up from the base, vertebrae by vertebrae, until you were sitting upright again with a smile on your face. You thought about the things she said about him. More than he let on, more than you were ready for. And how, by the end of it, you’d come to some sort of quiet truce.

“Fine,” you said, glancing downward as you turned a page in the menu.

Harry tilted his head slightly, peeking up at you from his reading, the corner of his mouth twitching with quiet delight. “Fine?”

You shrugged, still scanning entrées. “Fine.”

He chuckled under his breath and closed the wine list. “Well, she didn’t call to have me disowned, so I’ll take that as a promising sign. For her, I’d say that’s dangerously close to approval. How do you feel about Sauvignon Blanc?”

You lifted the menu to cover your smile. “How’s the lobster here?”

“Perfect,” he said easily, “And before you accuse me of ulterior motives, I do have something for you.”

“Buttering me up after sending me into the lion’s den?” you asked, finally peering over the top edge of the menu to look at him.

“Something like that.”

“No complaints from me,” you replied, setting the menu aside.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small black box, the kind lined in velvet and weighted just enough to make your pulse flutter. Your eyes widened, and Harry laughed — a full, unguarded sound that lit up his whole face and made the candlelight flicker like it was in on the joke.

“Don’t make such a face,” he said, the grin still tugging at his mouth.

The waitress appeared, her voice soft and practiced. “Do we know what we’re having this evening?”

“Not yet,” he said, not taking his eyes off you, “but we’ll take the bottle of the 2017 Chateau, thank you.”

You reached for the box once she left with a nod, but hesitated.

“Harry Castillo, I swear, if Gossip Girl runs a headline about me being your child bride—”

“You’re in your twenties, Montclair.”

“Still.”

“Just open it.”

You took the box from him, your fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary. When you opened it, the breath caught in your throat. Nestled inside was a gold Van Cleef bracelet, five delicate motifs gleaming beneath the soft restaurant light, inlaid with small diamonds that shimmered like snow under a winter sun.

“Oh,” you gasped.

“It’s just a thank you,” he told you, his voice softer now. “For not walking away, even though you were well within your rights to do so. For meeting with my mother and.... for still being part of this.”

You looked up at him, searching for something in his face that might explain why the gesture felt heavier than it should. “Put it on for me?”

He smiled at you—not the charming, rehearsed kind, but the one that lifted the corners of his mouth and made his eyes twinkle, the one that felt like it belonged only to these little moments — and reached across the table, carefully taking your wrist and fastening the clasp. His fingers brushed your skin, making your flesh pebble.

You reached for your bag when he let go. “I actually have something for you, too.”

You slid a matching black box across the white tablecloth. His expression flickered with curiosity, and then, as he opened it, shifted into something unreadable.

He frowned, just slightly.

Your stomach dropped. “Too much?”

“How did you—” he began, before shaking his head, pulling the Rolex out of its velvet keep. “How did you even pay for this?”

“I sell my underwear on the black market," you said, and his expression made you bark with laughter, "I'm kidding! My Instagram followers have kinda blown up since this began, thanks to you,” you said, your smile softening as you watched him lay it on his wrist, “It’s just… a thank you. And maybe a small apology. Again.”

“You didn’t need to—”

“I wanted to,” you said quickly, your fingers brushing the base of the empty wine glass. “You’ve been… better than I’ve deserved. A great… business partner. In all of this. Even when I’ve made it difficult.”

Harry reached for your hand, releasing it from the wine glass and lifting it gently to his lips. The warmth of his mouth pressed against your knuckles, his breath soft against your skin, and for a moment the rest of the restaurant seemed to fall away.

“Not difficult,” he said quietly. “We all get our wires crossed sometimes.”

You flushed, not from embarrassment, but from the warmth he left behind when he pulled away. Just as he did, a camera flashed nearby, the sharp sting of light followed by a gasp, the stifling of voices like wind through leaves.

You turned your head instinctively, but Harry just smiled, letting his fingers trail over the back of your hand before releasing it, slow and unhurried.

In the dim light, the bracelet and watch on your wrists caught the glow like twin glimmers, mirror images of gratitude and something quieter, still unnamed.

“So,” he said, picking up the menu again like nothing had happened, “what looks good to you?”

taglist: @ovaryacted, @boscogirlsworld, @or-was-it-just-a-dream, @marisemonteiroo, @obsessedwithjustaboutanything, @umadirectioner, @yslgreen, @blogwagenzmom, @ch0c01atech1p, @vickie5446, @silksepia, @maiamore, @avengersfan25, @indiegirlunited, @tofics, @magicxmiller, @stevie75, @littlcdarlin, @primadonnasdream, @spacelatinos4life, @15christyxoxo,@shivispunk, @brinapedroswife, @evysian, @danzer8705

[thaylepo]

oh whooops 😬

I've never excavated a cemetary, let alone one still in use. I'm guessing the skeletons you were naming didn't have existing grave markers to go by obvs (not unusual for so many reasons! Even in a cemetary). Very awkward indeed.

I've handled far more animal bones than human, where I live burials are rare to find and an absolute legal, political, and ethical nightmare, so even academic projects usually opt to leave possible graves unexcavated, and commercial projects will happily move around to leave them undisturbed than risk being halted possibly for years. Which, honestly, I'm all for, since most of them we come across in this context would be First Nations and very likely within the last century. That's.... just too recent, man. Let 'em rest.

(The only way you'd need to disturb that even for salvage is if it were in immediate danger, like literally eroding out of a riverbank or something. And even then, after careful and respectful extraction, I would happily turn it all over to the Nation in question, like this is someone's family member, not part of a collection. It doesn't always work out that way, the tangle of politics between academic institutions' interests, government regulations, and the Nations and treaties involved is enough to make you want to climb back into a hole yourself. It's resulted in a default of Leave Them Be If You Can, which suits everyone just fine honestly.)

The skeletons I have handled were part of collections from international digs (2500yo at the latest in my case), or anatomical teaching models, or resin casts of hominid skulls. Alas I never got in good with the Human Osteology director at my university, who had the bulk teaching collection of Actual Human Bones, since that was never part of my dissertation. I taught the entry level labs in one university with resin casts, and actual skeletons at another.

But a lot of work I did as a tech and lab assistant involved re-cataloguing old disparate collections so they could be used for teaching again, and sometimes that meant restoring and relabeling old human bones next to old faunal bones, and when you start talking to one you just talk to all of them lolol. I've named bison and wolf skulls. When you have a whole animal skeleton, oh you know that's getting a name. The mounted cat skeleton in the faunal lab was dubbed "Mittens" by a student at one time, and sported a nametag of torn notebook paper ever since. If the tag disappeared, a new one would appear in its place.

My friend, the tech who named our fully-articulated and mounted teaching skeletons at a different university Anna and Yorick, liked having them out with her while she worked. She said they were good company XDD

When handling archaeological human remains gets weird

We’re all professionals, but sometimes you catch yourself realizing how weird things are looking when handling human remains

Trying to shake out clumped together dirt from someone skull

Brushing someone’s teeth with an actual toothbrush, something they have never done in their lives

Comparing someone’s bones to yours

Judging their dental hygiene

When the earworm of the day is Johnny Cash’ s “Ain’t No Grave”.

Scooping someone’s eye sockets clean with a spoon (or just their whole brain)

When some bones are just … off … you judge hard

Talking in your head to them as if they can hear you

[mythicalmyles]

Hi, I love your writings! I was wondering if you can do something with Masky and Hoodie again? Male reader ofc <3

Thank you so much, glad you enjoy! Hope you enjoy this one. Masky and hoodie are southern for no reason other than i want it

(Spitroasting / Noncon / Threeway / Video Recording / Choking / Degredation)

Working for your boss was tiring, he was a paranoid borderline moron. Yet every damn time he surprised you, he almost always found who he was looking for. He was an older man, constantly hunched due to the kink in his back that had developed due to his poor sitting. His beard was a mix of black and grey, old age taking over him. Despite your criticisms, you were extremely proud to work for him.

As long as you kept any conspiracy talk away from him. The man had tinfoil coated windows and an old ham radio that played twenty four seven. He burst through the door, looking somehow more tired than usual. Dark purple bags swelling around his eyes like a bruise. He looked terrified, you mentally prepared yourself to hear about some horror concoction he had read somewhere.

Instead he looked at you, eyes wide and paranoid. “Anyone been here? Guy with a mask? Another with like a balaclava?” You frowned at him. Mentally you reminded yourself to make another appointment with a different therapist, you heavily disagreed with her assessment of him. “No one has been here, sir. Been dead all day.” You sighed out, flopping back into your seat. “I-I think i found the guys that killed that Laney kid.” It took you a moment before you recognised the name.

You felt your features soften. “Si-.” He barely registered your words, interrupting you. “And i think it’s the same people who got Maxie.” It had been a while since you had considered running head first into a wall. “Jack.” You yelled over his ramblings, he huffed as he shot daggers at you. “Well? Make yourself useful! I have research to do. I found this.” He shoved a drawing upto your face. ‘Don’t look or it takes.’ “You’re stealing from children now?” You questioned, half serious.

He snorted at you. “I went back to that cabin and took a proper look, pigs never do anything right. All corrupt you know? They listen in on your phone calls.” You shot him a look. “Yeah? What the hell would they want with you?” He gave you a dumbfounded look. “I do their job, but better.” You blanked, you couldn’t fight him on that. He never cooperated with police, choosing instead to solve it himself. You had at least managed to talk him into hiring some help, a rather large Samoan man. He wasn’t in today and it had certainly been sore without him. He had many stories to keep you hooked, hours would pass. Half the time you ended up with over pay due to staying longer, lost in his words. He had three girls, you had no doubts he kept them thoroughly entertained.

Nahele made dealing with Jackson a lot easier too, somehow easily curving him away from his insane conspiracies. A day without him was definitely painful. “Well? I’m not paying you to sit around.” You rolled your eyes, jumping up and making your way over to the coffee machine. It was probably the fanciest thing in the room, it was delicious. Completely worth tanking most of the budget.

You gazed out at the moon as the coffee machine hummed to life. You hated how noisy it was but damn did it make a good brew. You pulled two cups from the cupboard, the noise of the coffee machine auto cleaning drowning out all sounds. You turned around frowning, shivering due to a sudden rush of cold. You saw nothing and shrugged it off, the building was old. Or Jackson was smoking while hanging out of the window again.

You grabbed some milk out of the fridge, throwing some into the cups before putting them back. You were a barista with extra steps at this point, you were an expert with the machine. You always got the milk all perfectly frothy, it was like a little snowfall upon your cups. You finally set the coffee on, machine grinding loudly. You grabbed up your cup and took a quick sip, smile pulling at your cheeks. You grabbed Jackson’s cup and made your way to his office.

His door was creaked open, confusion flooding you as you got closer. You kicked the door open, keeping an eye on the cups to make sure they didn’t spill. “Coffee, sir.” You froze when you looked up, your bosses terrified eyes staring at you. Blood dripped from a cut on his head, soaking into the collar of his shirt. A hand suddenly landed on your mouth, an arm shooting around your waist. You tried to scream and kick at the person grabbing you, instead they pulled you to their chest harshly, cutting off your ability to draw in a breath.

You stopped struggling and he released his grip a little, letting you gasp in a breath. He kept a tight hold on you though, letting you know he wasn’t going to let you go any time soon. A man in a white mask stepped infront of you. He looked you up and down before turning back to your boss. “He know anything?” He pointed at you. Your eyes bulged, he was right? He had found something? “No! He’s just an assistant.” Suddenly a crow bar was slammed onto the table, causing you to flinch.

“Where is everything you have?” Jackson glared at him, refusing to speak. Before you could really think, a knife was pressing into your throat. You whimpered into the hand covering your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes. You had no doubt he could feel you shaking in his grasp, you could hardly think. “In the cabinet! In the cabinet! The bottom!” Jackson shouted out, horror filling his face.

The man in the mask suddenly ran to the cabinets, ripping all of the files out until he found what he wanted. He stood up with a chuckle. “This is it? You know who we were?” Jackson nodded, face filled with bitterness. He threw it to the ground before pulling out a can and a lighter. He sprayed the can towards the files and lit the lighter, a borderline flamethrower was the result. The files burned up, quickly turning to ash. When he was satisfied he pocketed both, walking upto his crowbar. He suddenly slammed it into Jacksons head, repeatedly bashing him in. You screamed and sobbed, fighting the man who was holding you as hard as you could. You felt some victory when you managed to kick him between the legs, causing him to groan and let go of you, falling to the floor.

You sobbed harder when you saw Jackson, or what was left of him. You quickly turned and ran, feet pounding into the cheap laminate flooring. “You cunt!” Was growled after you, you ignored their angered shouts. You all but ripped the door off its hinges as you pulled it open, hearing it slam off of the wall didn’t stop you. The night was filled with a bitter cold, winter coming upon you. You ignored the cold air that bit into your bear arms, you had left your jacket in your haste.

You didn’t live too far, it was a 25 minute walk away. If you could just make it home, you would be safe. You had to believe that. You had stopped hearing them chase you a few minutes ago but that didn’t stop you. You kept running until your body forced you to stop, you fell to the pavement heaving. The asphalt was rough against your skin, all you could do was lay there as you sucked in oxygen.

It felt like forever before you felt confident enough to stand back up, entire body shaking. You almost fell twice getting up, you had to pause for a minute before you continued on your way home. Exhaustion clawed at your mind, half convinced you would pass out before you got home.

You threw yourself against your door, shakily unlocking it. You paused, coming face to mask with the same guy from earlier. At that moment your body gave up, falling to the floor as the last of your adrenaline flushed out of your system.

You woke up startled, eyes widening when you came face to mask with the same guy from earlier. Before you could scream he had a palm slammed over your mouth, preventing you from alerting your neighbours. You wriggled under him, trying your best to get him off of you.

His free hand grabbed up your wrists and pinned them above your head, dropping his weight on you. You whimpered underneath him, compression making it hard to breathe. “You gonna stop?” You nodded, finally giving up. “If you scream I will snap your jaw.” You gulped and nodded, bottom lip quivering. You looked up at him with fear, you had already seen the man beat another to death.

“You’re gonna be honest with me aren’t you?” You nodded again, the threat evident in his words. His fingers dragged against your skin as he removed his palm, black holes staring down at you. “What do you know?” Your breathing stuttered as you exhaled. “N-nothing, i swear he doesn’t tell me anything.” Despite the hidden face you had the gnawing feeling that he didn’t believe you, tensing up his body. You choked back a sob, praying he wouldn’t hurt you. Suddenly a hand was wrapping around your neck, fingers flexing against your skin. You whimpered as you scrunched your eyes shut.

He let out a deep breath. “You better be telling me the truth.” Your brain was running in survival mode, words spilling before you could really think. “H-he has a hiding place, he keeps copies of everything.” You spat out when his hand tightened. He chuckled, muffled by his mask. “See? Not so hard.” He shot up suddenly, dragging you up by your neck.

The cold air was quick to wrap around your body, drawing out goosebumps. He let go of your neck, yanking you out of your ivingroom. You saw another man in your hall, you assumed the one who had grabbed you back at the agency. He had a black mask covering his face, stitched red eyes and a frown. He had on a mustard yellow hoodie, various stains coating the fabric.

You briefly made eye contact before shooting your eyes to the ground. They kept a close eye on you as they dragged you out of your home, barely giving you time to lock your door. The one in the white mask shoved you into a rather beat up looking pick up truck, half of it was caked in rust. You wondered if it was even road legal. The one in the hood slid in next to you, you assumed he would keep watch over you. That made escaping a lot harder. “Where?” Was all he said, sparking up a cigarette. The smell of burning tobacco enveloped the car, he cracked the window open. “12 Aliso Ave.” Was all you said, voice monotone as everything that had happened finally caught up to you.

Suddenly the truck grumbled to life, as the two spoke you finally picked up on their southern accents. You wondered how the hell everything had ended up like this, wondering just how far they had came to ensure your silence.

“So Masky, what we gonna do with him?” You could feel yourself beginning to sweat, anxiety creeping over you. At least you finally had one name. “Fuck if i know.” That was far more chilling, the uncertainty of your future was terrifying. They held your life in their hands and all you could do was numbly sit there, staring off into space. Finally you pulled up to your bosses house, sadness filling you. The dude with the hoodie grabbed your bicep and pulled you towards him as he exited the car.

It was awkward shuffling over to him, but you managed to get out of the car with little incident. You fumbled behind Masky, your body beginning to sweat the closer you got to the door.

Masky looked at you. “I don’t have a key.” Was all you said, he groaned and suddenly threw himself against the door. After two slams it had caved in and you stared wide eyed at Masky, who walked through. You were shoved forwards and you followed behind him. “Go on then, darling.” You hated the fact his southern drawl left you flushing, ducking your head as you walked by him and up the stairs.

You lead them to the study, making your way over to the wall to wall bookcase. You triggered the secret passage and led them through it, revealing the true study of your boss. Masky wasted no time in quickly tearing through the study, ripping open drawers and checking every single file. “Don’t think i forgot that cheap little shot you took.” His voice wasn’t as deep as Masky’s but it left a shiver running down your spine. His words held a hidden promise behind them.

“Here we fuckin’ go.” Masky finally found the files, holding them up and shaking them as he looked back at you. He flicked through a few, chuckling. “I thought he had more. He knows more than he should have without anyone catching on. Even got XV’s name.” He sounded angry, making his way towards you. You stepped back only to feel fingers tightening on your bicep, your attention drawing to the man next to you. “Ple-please.” You whimpered. “Any other surprises?” You shook your head and shrugged. “I don’t know. He was paranoid.” Hands suddenly grabbed at you, turning you around before he kneed the back of your knee and buckled your legs.

You fell to the floor in a heap, trying desperately not to break down and cry. A hand was suddenly twisted into your hair and your head was yanked back, forcing you to look up at the two men currently caging you in. You looked at them through blurry eyes, tears almost dominating your vision. “I think you got you some apologising to do.” Your face scrunched up in confusion, eyes still sparkling with a certain innocence. “You kicked me in the cock, it’s only right you apologise properly.” You steadied yourself before you looked him in the eye as best as you could, when he wore a mask. “I’m r-really sorry, I shou-shouldn’t have kicked you there.” You trailed off, eyes breaking away from him.

“Cute, but not what I meant.” Masky kept you in place while he unbuckled his pants, pulling them down just enough to get his dick out. You stared wide eyed at the cock suddenly in front of you, he was thick, above average and had a large vein running down his shaft. His cock stood proudly, you hadn’t even noticed he was hard. “Go on then, pretty boy. Open that little mouth of yours nice ‘n wide for me.” He dragged the tip of his cock across your lips, smirking behind his mask when you opened your mouth and allowed him to slide in. He couldn’t help but groan as a tight, wet heat enveloped the tip of his cock.

Your inexperience ended up turning him on more, your tongue clumsily licking at his tip. He groaned when your tongue pressed against his slit, the texture of your tongue dragging across him was euphoric. Almost made getting kicked in the nuts worth it. Almost.

“How’s his mouth feel, Hoodie?” If you didn’t have a mouthful of his cock you would’ve laughed, of course their names matched them well. “Fuck it’s good, nice 'n tight on my cock." He sounded breathless, suddenly forcing himself deeper. "Th-that's it, be a good little whore.” You whimpered around his cock, tears freely dripping down your cheeks and meshing with the drool leaking from your lips. Suddenly you felt your sweats get yanked down, jumping at the sudden action.

The fact you couldn’t see what Masky was doing was unnerving, leaving you shaking in anticipation. It left you hyper aware of when he was touching you, all too aware of the fingers that suddenly dug into your ass cheeks and spread them. You whined against Hoodie’s navel, entire body jolting when Masky suddenly spat onto your hole. The cold of his saliva was weird against your hot hole, the sensation of it dripping down you had a wicked heat building inside of you.

It felt wrong, and so unbelievably hot. You desperately pushed back, you didn’t want to enjoy this. They killed the man who had taken care of you since you were 15, you hated them. A finger suddenly pressed against your rim, teasingly circling before sinking into you. You groaned, screwing your eyes shut when Masky found your prostate. Suddenly you were glad for your stuffed mouth, you didn’t want to know what kind of sounds you would be making otherwise.

Masky was quick to shove another two fingers into you, stretching you as quick as he could. You hated the way your cock throbbed with every slam to your prostate. You had known you were gay for a long time, and had experimented with your fingers and a smaller vibrator but this was unlike anything you had done to yourself. It was so much rougher, your entire body humming with overstimulation.

You couldn’t even deny the fact that you liked the taste of Hoodie’s precum, your body enjoying the abuse too much for your liking. Yet as your brain deprived of oxygen, lines began to blur and you found your morals slipping as pleasure began to overwhelm you. You felt Masky’s fingers slip out of you, a whine slipping before you could stop yourself. “Don’t worry, princess. I got something bigger for ya.” He made his point by pressing his cock into your hole, your tired and worn out body barely putting up a fight.

“Smile, pretty boy.” You looked up in confusion, frowning as a black shiny object obstructed your view of Hoodie’s mask. Finally you focused enough to recognise a camera, your eyes widened in horror once it hit you. You tried to protest, words coming out muffled around Hoodie’s cock. “Oh, fuck, that’s it.” He groaned out. Masky suddenly pulling out and slamming into you stole your attention, turning you into a whimpering moaning mess as you slobbered on Hoodies cock.

It wasn’t long before a salty taste began to fill your mouth, Hoodie practically growling as he finally spilled. He pulled out of your mouth, the rest of his cum shooting out over your face. Masky’s hand appeared as the bottom of your jaw, keeping it closed. “Swallow up, princess.” You whimpered before you swallowed, his cum dripping down into your stomach. He tucked himself away, Masky’s hand sliding down to the base of your throat with Hoodie’s hand taking his previous place. This time he forced your mouth to open, getting a good shot of your cum stained face.

Masky pulled your hands behind your back, locking them behind you with his. Your voice was rough, cracking as you moaned. Masky fucked you harder than before, wanting to make sure you remembered being fucked by a real man. Hoodie yanked up your shirt, sticking it under your armpits to stop it falling. “F-fuck." Masky groaned out, loving the way they had reduced you to a moaning, sticky mess.

Hoodie’s leather gloves were definitely not something you were use to touching your nipples, the rough material tugging against you. You somehow got louder, almost screaming. “S’too, Ah! Much! Nh!” You sobbed out, hole feeling raw as oversensitivity burned at your prostate. “Su-such a pretty little c-cumdump. Seems like y-your best use, if your oh-own boss didn’t even trust you.” You whined at Masky’s cold words, twisting when his hand wrapped around your neck. He choked you as he pounded into you, inhuman noises being pulled from you.

You could feel Hoodie’s cum drying on your face, starting to get itchy. A sudden deep thrust had you spilling your own seed, going hoarse when you screamed. You fell limp in Masky’s hold, giving him full control over you. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you tight against his chest as he pounded into you and with fever. You couldn’t help but tighten up around him, hole left spasming with overstimulation.

Finally you felt him choke, hips stuttering as his orgasm began tipping him. “N-no! Not inside.” You begged, Masky chuckling as he rested his head on your shoulder. He slammed deep into you, making sure to shove his cum as far into you as he possibly could. You whined, feeling like he had just branded you. You almost sobbed when he began pulling out, cock almost burning as it dragged against your oversensitive walls. “Think the boss’ll let us keep a little pet? Jeff gets a dog.” You could hear the smirk in Hoodie’s voice. “F-fuck you.” You choked out.

[ohtoseni]

sing, little bird

chapter one

bucky always gets what’s his, even if he has to break it first

mafia au; no y/n; third pov; nameless mc

tags/warnings: noncon, dead dove, abduction, stalking, sa, stockholm syndrome, whump, heavy bdsm, master/slave, abuse, pwp (full list on ao3)

read it on ao3

Bucky found himself at the bar more often than not these days. Easily he became a regular amongst the bartenders; the young girls knew by now to keep his whiskey topped, no questions asked. He stood out. Always alone at the end of the bar, silently people-watching beneath his heavy, unreadable stare. He listened intently, always on high alert. Faces blended together after a while, though he could probably name a few of the regulars by voice alone. 

A trio of women entered the bar, looking far too cheery and youthful for the recently divorced dad vibe of the room. The tall blond, obviously the leader of the group, walked straight to the bar to order a round of drinks for them. Her bright smile—far too bright—flashed as she ordered drinks, her veneers nearly blinding Bucky from across the room.

The other two girls stayed behind at an empty pool table. They were brunette and shorter than the smiley blonde and looked far less fake, too. Bucky preferred authentic women. The overdone types were lovely, sure, but they came with attitude. Bucky preferred someone quieter—easier to read and mold. 

He watched on as they tried their best to play billiards. Obviously they were not professionals based on their laughter over missed shots and constant calls for a redo. Two of them were much louder than the third, drawing Bucky’s attention further. 

The little one kept anxiously looking about the room, looking out of place and fearful. Her bare legs dragged every man’s gaze to the soft thighs peeking beneath her frilly black skirt. When she bent over the table, they watched, hungry for even a flash of skin beneath the hem. Bucky wasn’t entirely sure if she was aware of her captivating appearance or not. 

Occasionally the little one’s laugh carried its way across the bar to Bucky, making him wince in want. His eye twitched, knowing her giggles weren’t for him, jealous of whoever it was that made her feel so light and airy. When he glanced her way again, Bucky couldn’t help but stare a little longer. 

She’d look perfect in his lap, Bucky thought to himself. That’s where she really belonged—framed by his big, strong arms, safe under his hand, her pretty little face tilted up slightly just for him. Let the rest of the bar stare and salivate like wild animals. Let them crave what they could never have.

From the moment Bucky laid eyes on her, she was already his. The little one just didn’t know it yet. 

One of the girls handed her another seltzer after pocketing the 8-ball. She sheepishly took a drink before handing it back—obviously not one for alcohol. Bucky liked that: a woman who knew better than to let herself get sloppy, unlike her friends. Already piss-drunk, they stumbled out of the bar together, leaving the little one to pay off the tab.

What friends, Bucky thought.

She approached the empty seat near him, pulling her purse onto the bar and digging out a twenty-dollar bill. The bartender tried to make small talk with her, but the girl only responded with a polite smile and told her to keep the change. Not a big talker, another perk for Bucky. 

It had been so long since he’d been with a woman. Work often kept him from having proper relationships, but that’s what the line of business entailed. Very little personal time, a lot of time on the run. Of course the occasional fling would come about, but not many women wanted to be with such a dangerous man for too long. 

Bucky watched as she left, eyes following the way her skirt swished with each step. She was too good to not go after. Bucky sat still as long as he could bear—eyes tracking the girl like prey as she slipped through the crowd. After she left the building, he slammed a hundred down on the bar, not caring for change, and pushed off his stool.

The air was cool as midnight approached. Bucky watched as the girl hopped into the backseat of an orange SUV—not a hard car to keep track of, he thought. It stood out so easily; he wouldn’t have a hard time keeping track of it down the road. Once the car pulled around the block, Bucky took action. He made a slow, calculated walk to his motorcycle, timing each step so he wouldn’t look rushed. Swinging a leg over, Bucky revved the engine and followed. Not too close to be caught, but close enough to just get a glimpse of where the girls were headed. 

They went out into the countryside, tucked away from the city with a small cottage surrounded by trees and winding rivers. Fireflies danced in the night sky, their faint glow flickering like dying stars. 

Bucky let the wind whip through his hair as he sat on his bike, parked beneath the canopy of trees. The air felt cleaner and quieter out here. He could see why the little one chose this place; it said something about her and her need for solitude. 

Across the driveway, the abandoned house gave him the perfect perch to sit and watch. Her figure moved from room to room, illuminated by the soft amber glow of lamps. One light would flicker off, and another would turn on. Her silhouette danced behind the gauzy curtains until eventually she reached what Bucky assumed to be her bedroom. 

Utterly unaware, she changed into pajamas. The false sense of rural privacy—no neighbors, no traffic, no reason to look over her shoulder—comforted her. She trusted the silence, which made her vulnerable. If only she knew how shattered that illusion had become. 

As she slipped under the covers and turned her bedside light off, Bucky stayed planted where he was. 

He couldn’t make his move tonight, no matter how much he wanted to. He needed to learn her first: her habits, her rhythms, and the little cracks in routine that he could slip through. But, God, she tempted him. That glimpse of bare skin, the slow, sleepy drag of limbs as she moved… it lit a spark in him. 

Something in him whispered to go now and take what was already his. Instead, he pulled out his phone and saved the address under a new contact—Little Bird. There was no need to rush perfection. 

—

These days, she hardly ventured outside of her house. Life had become an endless cycle: wake up, work, dinner, sleep—rinse and repeat. 

So when a few old friends decided to start a tradition of chasing the cheapest drinks with the best bar food combination in the city, she surprised even herself by saying yes. What she didn’t account for was the most vital part of it all—being around people.

She was never much of a people person. That gnawing sense of being watched, judged, picked apart—it never really went away. Every room felt like it held an audience waiting for her to mess up. 

It was easier not to go out at all. Groceries could always be delivered. Conversations could be brief. Peace could be maintained. 

But oddly enough, those spiraling thoughts never came to her at work. The coffee shop was different; there, she was focused, comfortable, and safe. 

She loved her job, loved her customers, and genuinely liked her coworkers. They were the closest thing she had to a social life, and honestly, that was enough for her. 

Early morning light filtered through the blinds, letting her naturally wake up without an alarm. She stretched in bed, feeling her joints snapping and cracking as she coaxed her body into motion. The perks of working the afternoon shifts meant a very luxuriously slow morning for her. 

She padded into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she prepared a mug of hot chocolate—never coffee. Coffee belonged to work. She smelled it enough there to never want it at home. The machine whirred to life as it began working its magic, leaving her to make up a quick breakfast of egg whites and honey wheat toast. 

Every day was the same, her routine having been set in stone years ago now. The same breakfast every day, the same working shift—everything picture perfect by her design. Having an ironclad routine meant nothing unexpected could impinge on your comfort. 

The machine let out its last hiss of steam, filling her small kitchen with the calming smell of cocoa and caramel. The quiet was a peaceful comfort. She took a bite of her toast as she sat down at the dining table. 

A soft creak echoed through the cabin. She squirmed in her chair to test if the noise had come from her, but she couldn’t reenact it. Her head tilted slightly, listening in to hear what followed. No footsteps or shift in the air came afterwards. Something about the sound twisted unease into her stomach like a screw. 

The old house made noises all the time; she knew that. Wood settled, pipes groaned, and wind nudged the windowpanes. But that sound didn’t feel like the usual background hum of her little sanctuary. This creaking sounded wrong—too sharp and singular and out of the ordinary.

A small, bitter laugh slipped out as she shook her head. “Jesus, get a grip,” she muttered to no one, brushing a crumb from her pajama top. 

The anxiety dulled her appetite. Still, she took one more bite out of stubbornness, then pushed her plate aside and cradled the warm mug in her hands. 

The warmth of the mug helped a little, though her tense shoulders never eased up. Her eyes kept darting toward the hallway and the darkened edges of the house beyond her small bubble of light. 

Eventually, the feeling mostly passed. But even as she got ready for her shift, curling her hair and picking out a sweater that didn’t look too overthought, something in the back of her mind stayed on high alert. The creak was a one-off thing, but she couldn’t shake the idea she was being watched. 

Once she arrived at the café, her fears dissipated as she slipped on her black apron. They were in the middle of a rush when she arrived, and she quickly jumped on the line to start making backed-up drinks. 

In the rush of coffee and baked goods, she didn’t notice a new face pop into the café. Bucky sat at a nearby table, watching her work as he waited for his black coffee and scone. She looked like a natural, quick to follow orders, serving customers with a polite, meek smile. Absolutely, stunningly perfect. 

Bucky’s fingers twitched with want as her hair poked out messily from her low bun. Desperately wanting it to be pulled, the little slut. Did she do that on purpose, just for him? It felt like it, he thought. Everything about her screamed ‘take me,’ from her collarbones peeking out of her sweater’s neckline down to the way her skirt flowed as she walked. This skirt was much longer than the one last night, which left little to the imagination. 

Another woman brought him his coffee and dessert. He smiled tightly at her; she wasn’t the one he had his sights on. Taking a sip of the bitter drink, his eyes darted back to his girl. 

That sounded good—his girl. It sounded right in his head and would probably roll off his tongue perfectly as well. 

He hated the way she smiled at the customers as she took their orders, saying their names back as if they were old friends. The only name in her mouth should be Bucky’s. Everything about this was wrong. 

“When do you get off?” A coworker asked her. That piqued Bucky’s interest, visibly perking up and listening closer to the conversation. 

“I just got in!” She joked with an adorable, contagious laugh. It made Bucky smile. “But I’m only here until four today. Short shift.”

Four. That would work perfectly. Bucky mentally developed a plan as he tried to look preoccupied with his phone. He’d follow her home after work, waiting under the trees of the abandoned house across the street. Then, after sunset, he’d make his move. Hopefully she would know what was best for her and come willingly, but Bucky knew she would be a fighter. She had that girlish glow, that little fire inside her still. He wanted to break it down; pets didn’t have egos. 

After trashing his empty cup, Bucky left the café. While he still had time to kill, he couldn’t risk his girl leaving work early—then where would she go? She could be picked up by her friends like last night, or those idiots could convince her to take a detour. The thought of her routine broken made his jaw clench. 

No, he had to be smart about this. He circled around the back of the building into a narrow alley where he could hide out with his car, keeping a close eye on the rear exit. 

He’d already memorized the street layout, down to the stop signs and potholes. Now, he needed to learn her schedule, her rhythms, and her habits. There was still so much he didn’t know about her—how she liked her eggs in the morning, how often she washed her sheets, how many unread notifications sat on her phone. That last one was important. Young women like her get distracted easily, always thinking they have more time. 

Bucky noticed the door jingle open at quarter past four—she was late. She stepped out apronless in just her cozy sweater and pale skirt that danced delicately around her calves. She waved goodbye to someone still inside, then turned down the sidewalk alone. 

He waited until she was halfway down the block before driving out of the shadows, making sure to keep a calculated distance. Close enough to keep her in his sights, but far enough that she wouldn’t sense him. 

It thrilled him, this in-between state. She was right there, just a few strides away, blissfully unaware. He could close the gap in a second. Just reach out and touch her, drag her back into him where she belonged, where she was safe. 

She crossed into a parking lot by the river, walking past the sun-bleached lines and rusted signage. Her car sat near the far end overlooking the water, tucked under a leaning lamppost that hadn’t worked in years. 

Bucky’s car was already there, backed into a corner spot where the shadows hit just right. She didn’t notice; why would she? He was just another vehicle behind tinted glass. 

Her footsteps echoed softly against the broken pavement. She pulled out her keys, distracted by her buzzing phone in her hands. 

Just enough time, Bucky thought. He moved fast. 

One arm hooked around her waist, the other clamped over her mouth. Her scream barely made it past his palm before he hoisted her off the ground and into the back of his car. 

She fought and kicked, fearful for her life. The countless murder documentaries she’d watched flashed before her eyes. Nails found his cheek and raked down; Bucky didn’t even flinch. 

“Shh, sweetheart. Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he cooed in her ear, his breath hot against her neck. 

The backseat door slammed shut behind them. 

Blacked-out windows shielded them from the outside world. A folded blanket and restraints already awaited them, ready to be put to use. This wasn’t the first time Bucky had thought about this. 

“God, you’re warm,” he whispered as he pinned her down with one knee, wrapping a zip tie around her wrists in one swift motion. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting.”

Her chest heaved as she thrashed, muffled sobs sending electricity down his spine. That noise made him feel needed and essential, as if this were fate. 

“Shh,” he murmured again. Finally, he released her mouth just long enough to cup her jaw in his hands. “Look at me. Look at me, baby.”

She didn’t want to do it, desperately shaking her head back and forth with eyes tightly closed. The hand left her jaw, coming down quickly with a harsh blow to her cheek. The impact forced her eyes open, her mouth opening in stunned, horrified surprise. 

The way he smiled down at her when their eyes met made her want to vomit. 

“There she is. My girl.”

His hand worked its way down her body, feeling her up under her sweater. Soft, smooth skin met calloused hands as he worshipped her stomach with small kisses. Bucky looked back up at her face, still staring horrified at him with wide, wet eyes. 

Shaking breaths escaped her lips between strangled sobs. “Doing so good, doll. So quiet for me,” he murmured against her skin, lifting her silky skirt up and revealing her lavender panties. As his fingers brushed against her most sensitive part, she began to squirm and batter her knees against Bucky’s chest. 

His hand remained between her legs as she tried to close her legs shut. Bucky easily caught her calves, hoisting them onto his shoulders as he scooted closer, his rough denim dragging dangerously against her pussy. “No, no,” he purred, firmly grasping her chin and forcing her to stare up at him. “None of that now.”

A shuddering sob escaped her as she tried to curl in on herself. Every movement rubbed her core against him, sending a shiver down her spine with the stimulation. 

Bucky moaned as she squirmed beneath him, feeling his cock twitch in his pants until he could no longer take the dry humping. He reached down and unbuttoned his pants, fishing his cock out of his underwear and pumping himself a handful of times.

Her eyes squeezed shut as she turned her face into the seat of the car. Her zip-tied hands rested over her face now, shielding her from watching what was happening above her. Bucky thought about moving her hands back above her head so he could watch her facial features twitch in pleasure. But this time, he decided, he would let her have that little comfort. 

The tip of his cock rubbed into the growing wet spot on her underwear, smearing precome and adding to the wetness. He couldn’t hold back anymore, desperately needing to feel her heat wrap around him. His finger pulled the cloth to the side, exposing her bare, dripping lips. 

Rutting against her folds, his tip precariously teased her clit. She squirmed and let out choked whimpers, tears flowing freely down her face. The wetness on her cheeks only turned him on more. Her mascara ran down in black streaks, making him thrust harder against her pussy. 

“N-no,” she struggled to get out, her voice meek and hoarse. A hiccupping sob interrupted her protests. “Please, don’t…”

“Oh, baby,” Bucky cooed, leaning over her and whispering directly into her ear. “You’re in no position to tell me what to do.”

With that, he sat back and took himself in hand. He lined up his thick cock with her puffy hole, watching hungrily as his head teased her tight rim. She was impossibly tight—she had to be a virgin. His eyes lit up with desire at the thought of being her first time. He’d be her first and only lover. 

Bucky was torn between watching himself slide into her and watching her face contort as he did it. She looked so beautiful like that—light makeup running down her face, long, wet lashes batting up at him, lips bitten into a cherry cola red. It was a picture he could get used to seeing. 

He lightly thrust into her, watching her cry out with every additional inch. She swallowed him so perfectly. Her walls clenched tightly around him, almost like a second heartbeat. With every little movement, she mewled between panting breaths. Once his hips became flush with hers, he removed her hands from her face, forcing her to look at him. 

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groaned as he thrust roughly, testing the waters of how much his girl could take. “Good girl, takin’ me so well.”

His thumb inserted itself into her mouth, giving her something to suck and cry around. Not once did she bite him, only resting her top teeth on his knuckle as her tongue tried to fight its way out of the situation. Of course she wouldn’t fight, Bucky thought. She was a good girl, after all. 

While she squirmed and sniffled beneath him, Bucky panted as he chased his orgasm. They were still in a parking lot, and he didn’t want any unwanted visitors watching. So for now, he would just give her a little taste of what he could give her.

Her tits bounced beautifully as he rocked into her; Bucky felt hypnotized by them the more he watched. His free hand reached up and rubbed a nipple, watching it pebble and go red from the stimulation. The sudden pleasure made her tighten around him, pulsing more and more as she tried to squirm and back away from his touch. 

That little beat did him in. Bucky’s hips stilled at the hilt as he came deep inside his girl. Small thrusts rocked him through his orgasm, making sure to bury his seed and properly breed her. He removed his thumb from her mouth, watching her let it go with a wet ‘pop.’ She could only stare up at him, fresh out of tears with red-rimmed, puffy eyes. 

“So good,” he murmured against her collarbone as he pulled out. “Did so good singin’ for me, little bird.”

He sat up, watching his come lazily leak out of her perfect little pussy. It mixed with the blood, turning the combined liquids a light pink as it stained her lavender panties into a darker purple. His finger collected an escaped glob, gently pushing it back into her cunt. 

With her mouth now free, she cried harder with little retching sounds breaking up the sobs. Bucky looked around for the gag, finding it underneath the driver’s seat. He grabbed the ball gag, placing it firmly in her mouth before securing it around her head. 

“There we go, get you all ready for the ride,” Bucky said, more to himself than her. He set her legs aside and leaned over her to connect her tied hands to another zip tie on the car door, forcing them to rest above her head. For now, he’d leave her legs free. She was too short to hit the door, and maybe banging her feet against the seats would wear her out more. 

Bucky got out of the backseat, moving around to get into the driver’s side. He gave one last glimpse back at her before starting the car, allowing the engine to drown out her cries and screams.

[kalosinflames]

It takes Adam a few moments to realise Serena has zoned out. For a moment he is worried he bored her and finally lost her interest entirely, but he swiftly realises that she is simply staring at him - smiling, as though she has seen the most innocent and pure thing possible.

Him? Was it because of his laugh? Something he said? Did she truly just like him? The thought is enough to color his cheeks. When was the last time anyone looked at him like that? He could not in good faith remember, but it was nice. It was very nice.

Adam also knows better than to draw attention to it (no doubt she will scream internally - or externally - when she is home), so instead he simply waits politely until her brain clicks back into gear and she is done processing. Even Elina cracks open her eyes to curiously stare up at Serena's chin.

Finally she seems to click back into gear - and Adam does not miss the fleeting look of horror that passes her face for a moment. He passes it over with a faint smile and instead answer her stumbling, quickfire question.

"The very same." He nods. "The penthouse apartment was the perfect size for my Pokemon to have the freedom to move around freely - unfortunately they are not all as small as Elina is, and I did not wish to keep them cooped up for most of the day while I am working if they cannot come with me."

Which sometimes they simply could not. It was a shame - were it up to him he would bring them absolutely everywhere. Then again, that would likely mean more time spent in their Pokeballs, and Adam had already made clear that they already put up with that enough back in his own timeline.

"Gods, no. While I am comfortable in my finances I do not think I could afford the rent at Richissime. I would burn through my savings within a day or two no doubt." He laughs softly before he tilts his head. "You know, I struggle to imagine you in a normal line of work. Not because you could not do so - I have no doubt you performed wonderfully - but simply because I compare it to your position and what you do now. It must feel like a lifetime ago for you."

He had never gone on a journey himself, and the memories of his parents having to make ends meet as a child was an incredibly distant memory, but he sympathised immensely with those who had no other option but to work endless hours just to make ends meet. Adam, at least, worked a job of his own making that he was passionate about.

Another warm, genuine smile. "You truly are a fountain of endless generosity." He muses. Part of him was worried someone would take advantage of that eventually, but he had no right to say anything on it now. They were not so close that he could judge that.

"Hotel Z?" He muses. "Ah. Ran by AZ, no? I have not visited it but, as you can imagine, I am fully aware of the man himself. As I understand it, he was finally reunited with his Floette here, too. I am glad."

Adam had a lot of thoughts on AZ - not many of them positive at all - but he would never disparage a man for reuniting with a Pokemon he loved dearly.

     His laughter. As it rings out once again, Serena cannot help but take notice of the way it washes over her. It lacks the intensity of his disgust and self-righteous rage, and yet not that same fullness. It is warm and precious and undiluted. The kind to perhaps not always be heard, but never missed or unfelt. Capable of easing some heavy weight upon her chest. To infect the heart and radiate outwards, dragging up the deepest of wounds only to give them ease. Gorgeous. A panacea—almost. So involuntarily does her head tilt. Watching, listening. Smile ignorant of all that holds it. This is the man she saw. The image she clutches onto, hoping to still be real. And in some handful of moments following does a realisation dawn upon Serena—a horrifying thing that threatens to drain all colour from her glowing features.

     He stopped talking, and she does not know how long ago.

          "I think I know the building that you're talking about. The one that was built a few years after I became champion, yes?"

     The words are hurried, marred with stumbles and glances away from his own and self-corrections. As though if she were to usher them fast enough, that it might undo the time spent in silence—redirect him away from her own hopeless and foolish moment of distraction. She presses into the blanket a little further, a fight against a spine that wishes to slacken and shrink. And the woman tells herself to breathe. Get over herself. That she would only bring more attention to it all if composure continues to evade her. And so a sigh forces itself from deep within her lungs, tense and sharp, her gaze shifting away from him and back out into the ever-approaching darkness. She is silent once more. This time, for only a second or two.

          "For a moment, I was worried that you were going to say you live in one of the apartments in Hotel Richissime..." Laughter spills from her lips, muffled and shimmering. Serena buries a corner of the smile into her shoulder, head lulling the slightest bit backwards. "I used to work there when money was low. Room service, lost and found, making beds... I was always assigned to the penthouse suites."

     And how many hours she spent, timed and on a schedule far stricter than any she could conjure up now. Each step with her eyes upon the ground, as though the marble flooring might break beneath them should she have searched without doing so. The weight of new bedsheets heavy upon her arms.

          "...I still go back to help, when they need an extra pair of hands. And my schedule allows it. Hotel Z, too. But that's a favour for an old friend."

[leleiwritesbooks]

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 5

...

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At night, deep in the forest where the moonlight would reflect on the lake. There she stood in her beautiful yet simple traditional Korean dress with a man whose face was blurred out and also wore traditional clothing, unable to see his identity. The two danced like two shooting stars flying together above the lake, a magical aura surrounding them. (Y/N) and the unknown man started to float higher and higher where the moon can be seen closer.

The two looked at each other with love as the man put his hand on her cheek, she leaned into his warmth. The two slowly leaned in together for a kiss and...

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

(Y/N) woke up from the sudden sound of her alarm clock on her phone making her groan tirelessly and turned off her phone. She sat up and went deep into thinking about the dream she just had and this wasn't the first time. Lately, she has been getting dreams about this unknown man but they were always in generations of time. She shook her head and got up to get dressed since she and the others were going to fix her voice.

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The next day, the Huntrix girls are walking through the busy markets of the city as they wear disguises to hide from fans. Although it was a bit hard to blend in with the crowd since there were so many people around them. Zoey held her phone that had the map to the place they were going to, "He's got this special tonic. Apparently, it can heal anything from sore throats to relationship problems." Zoey told her friends as she looks at the map on her phone.

"Shh! Quietly, Zoey." Rumi scolded, hiding her face with her long braid tucked in her pink hoodie.

"We don't want to attract attention here, Zozo." (Y/N) said, wearing a similar hoodie but in (f/c) and black Y2k star sunglasses.

"Why are there so many people today?" Mira murmured in question as she looked around with her head tilted down, her black cap covering her face and her round glasses shining in gold. "That's a good question but it's probably nothing." (Y/N) said but shrugged it off.

"Oh! It's down that alleyway." Zoey skipped in excitement like she was a 5 year old.

They stopped in front of a small clinic shop called HAN as the girls inspected the poster that was on the door. "Yep, about as legit as I expected." Mira commented, sarcastically. Twins took their hoods off. Rumi letting her hair out and (Y/N) putting her sunglasses on her head. "Earthy and herby." Rumi read off the poster, her twin nodding in agreement. making Zoey cheer. "Yay! That's the spirit!" She then ushers her friends inside as she holds (Y/N)'s arm.

They were now in the doctor's office, waiting. (Y/N) sat on a stool in front of the desk as Rumi, Mira and Zoey sat on the other chairs on the side. The blue streaked haired girl looks around the room as her (e/c) eyes landed on the photos hung on the wall. a magazine. Rumi shrugged her shoulders in response as Zoey beamed up, giving a thumbs up making (Y/N) return a forced smile and thumbs up.

"(Y/N) Nim," Dr. Han walks in the room as the girls stand and bow in respect but the doctor kindly waves them off with a smile making them sit back down. "Sit, sit. You need no introduction. So, a problem with your voice?"

"Yes, so we need one of your awesome tonics." Zoey answered for (Y/N).

"Yeah, we need something that will work super fast." Rumi added.

"Okay, let me see." Dr. Han adjusted his glasses as (Y/N) opened her mouth but the doctor put his hand out to tell her 'no'. "In order to heal a part, we must understand the whole." He takes a deep breath before staring at her with huge eyes like an anime character as he gets closer to the poor girl who was awkwardly leaning away from him. "I see, I see..." He trailed off before he was back normal. "No. Actually, I don't see." He confirmed, leaning back up out of (Y/N)'s personal bubble. "Very strange. You seem to have a lot of pressure which makes you have a lot of walls up, forming secrets of your own." Zoey looks at him in amazement, Rumi turns to her twin with a raised brow as (Y/N) felt her whole body system stop but she quickly shook it off.

"So many walls."

"Walls? Pressure?" (Y/N) scoffed in disbelief. "Listen, buddy. I don't have walls or secrets and I don't feel pressured."

"Uh, yeah you do." Mira side eyed her friend through her magazine before turning to Zoey and Rumi. "He is kind of good." She whispered, Rumi slightly nodding in agreement.

"I'm just trying to stay focused, guys." (Y/N) said, defensively.

Dr. Han then appeared again, inspecting her some more making her jump at his sudden presence. "Hm, focus is good but focusing on one part can lead to ignoring other parts. Which makes you separated, isolated..." Zoey then puts her hand up like she was a student, answering a teacher's question.

"Oh! Emotionally closed off?" She chirped in, Dr. Han immediately smiled at her answer making (Y/N)'s jaw drop in disbelief. She looked towards her twin, "I'm not like that...am I?" Rumi looked everywhere but her, lips were flat as a line. (Y/N) stared at her younger twin with (e/c) eyes that read 'You're supposed to be on my side' as she pouted. "She's also a workaholic, doesn't know how to relax." Mira added, a blank expression on her face.

"She does train a lot." Rumi mumbled.

"I know how to relax!" The blue and (h/c) haired girl defended.

"I bet she refuses to go to the bathhouse." The doctor 'guessed'.

"Oh my gosh! Yes!" Zoey exclaimed, (Y/N) and Rumi looked at the Dr. Han is shocked that he somehow knew about that while Mira was a bit impressed. "Wait, how did you even-"

"Dude, we've been trying to take her to the bathhouse..."

"Forever!" The three said in unison before laughing together, (Y/N) glared at them and were starting to become impatient. "How is this even helpful?" Mira smirked slightly at her friend. "It's helping me a lot." Rumi nodded with the same smirk as Mira, "Same here." She admitted. "Wow! I can't believe you got all that wisdom just by looking at her." Dr. Han then adjusted his glasses and stared at Zoey with wide eyes. "Hm, I see..."

"Wait, why are you looking at me?"

"Eagerness to please. Maybe a little too eager." The doctor says as Zoey nervously laughed. "What? I'm not like that!" She then turns to her friends with a panicked face. "You guys would tell me if I was really like that, right?" Rumi and Mira just shared a look, not answering her question. "Of course. We would, Zozo." (Y/N) reassured making Zoey sigh in relief. Dr. Han turns to Rumi, "Hm, you have a great heart within you but afraid to lose the only family you have." His words made the purple braided girl avert her eyes down in slight sadness as (Y/N) frowned at her, feeling upset for her twin sister.

He then turned to Mira who gave him a deadpanned look as they had a small staring contest before she barked at him which made him whimper in fright. "Yeah, that's right." She said before (Y/N) budged in.

"Okay, how does this help me get my voice back?" She asked, annoyed.

"Yeah, this isn't really helping us with my sister's voice." Rumi agreed.

"As I said, to treat the part, we must understand the whole." Dr. Han repeated what he said before, (Y/N) groaned in frustration. "That's great and all, but I thought we were here just for your tonics." Rumi noticed her twin's blue streaks flashed into a different color, red before turning back to blue which made her confused but shook it off, thinking she was just seeing things. "Just give us the voice juice." The fiery red head commanded.

"Hm, I know just the tonics you need."

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(Y/N) was waiting near the reception while her twin and friends decided to wait outside. She glanced up at a photo of her and the others with the doctor but it wasn't a new photo. It was a photoshoot they did for a soda brand advertisement. "Is that...us?" She mumbled until the sticker of Dr. Han fell off making her groan, "How is he even a doctor?" (Y/N) thought before Dr. Han popped right in front of her with a box. "Your tonics are ready!"

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(Y/N) exits the clinic while holding the box of her tonics, "We got the tonics!" Mira and Zoey chanted, Rumi giggled at their goofiness. "Now, once your voice is fixed, we can go back to the important stuff." She said.

"Yeah, like the fans!" The space buns girl exclaimed.

But they all came to a halt when they heard chatter from a group of men that were coming their way which caused them to panic. "Fans!" Zoey pointed out, pulling her yellow sunhat down. "We can't let them see us here!" Rumi, Mira and Zoey quickly hid behind (Y/N) as they slid her (f/c) hood with a strand of blue peeking out and her Y2k star sunglasses back on, awkwardly waddled like penguins in a line.

They then stopped again when the group of four men turned to the alleyway, the other three peeked from behind (Y/N) to see who it was. The four men wore really bright colored clothes that would stand out on the night of day. The twins looked confused as they turned to their friends who were practically drooling over the unknown group. "Whoa..." They muttered, their eyes forming into red hearts when the boys did a quick hair flip. The guy with the yellow beanie and pink hair stretched his arms causing the buttons to come off and reveal his abs, Mira and Zoey blushed at the sight as Mira was eating the popcorn that came out of Zoey's eyes.

"Ugh, this is so embarrassing." Rumi cringed, rubbing her forehead like a disappointed mother.

"You guys are so weird...what?..." 

CUE K-DRAMA MUSIC

(Y/N)'s words trailed off when her (e/c) eyes caught sight of another male that was behind the group, her sunglasses slightly slipping off the bridge of her nose. Everything around her started to become slow as she continued to stare at the most attractive man she has ever seen and she met a lot of attractive guys. But this guy...for some reason, she felt like she knew this man from somewhere. She felt a hint of...nostalgia? Her heart was beating faster than a normal heartbeat and felt frozen in place.

(Y/N) didn't even realize that Rumi was waving her hand in front of her face. "Hello? Earth to unnie?" To no avail to snap out of her dreaming daze, the purple braided girl followed her sister's gaze to see who she was looking at. The man had jet black hair and wore silver jewelry that the sunlight reflected on. He even wore a pink shirt under his white button up shirt that had blue teal lines. The blue and (h/c) haired girl's sunglasses were slowly coming off but Rumi caught it before it could hit the floor but she noticed something about the strand of blue hair again. Instead of the blue streak turning into red, it flashed into the color of rosy pink. She rubbed her eyes and double checked to see nothing, "Am I going crazy?" She thought to herself.

The man looked up, creating a blowing atmosphere that made (Y/N)'s hood fly off her head. Their eyes caught each other as he walked past her and Rumi, the girl could see an building up. He bumped shoulders with Rumi which made her bump into (Y/N) who stumbled and fell back due to the strong impact, the box of tonics also falling off her hands. (Y/N) falling to the ground in a non-graceful way, not like a K-drama movie girl.

She landed roughly on the concrete ground, hissing in pain. Then she looked up to see the man reaching a hand out for her making (Y/N)'s eyes lit up, thinking this was some sort of dream. She brought her hand up to grab his until he took his hand back and dusted his shoulder, (Y/N) looking at him in confusion with furrowed (e/c) eyes as he turned back to her. "Watch yourself," He told her before walking off with his friends. twin helps her stand up, Rumi and the others glaring at the group of boys.

"Watch myself? You watch yourself! You, you..." She groaned in anger. "The audacity of that guy! I mean, who raised him?!" (Y/N), Rumi, Mira and Zoey went down to pick up the tonics she had dropped.

"I know, look at this mess!" Rumi yelled.

"Yeah, they're not even that cute." Zoey scoffed.

"They're so bleh!" The twins stick their tongues out in disgust.

"They're so..." Zoey then mimics a retching noise.

"No, they're..." Mira also does a retching sound.

"They're..." All four made a noise in revulsion in unison.

While the girls were too busy talking about how rude and disgusting the boys were, The black haired man who was Jinu in a human disguise was thinking about that small interaction with (Y/N). When he made eye contact with her, he felt a certain spark in his heart. A spark that he hasn't felt since the love of his life had suddenly disappeared but he ignored the feeling and kept walking.

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...

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

[serensama]

A Word with Friends: Of Houses, Hearts and Hidden things

Thank you lovely @hedwigoprah for this game and this word, I love you <3 And many thanks to @the-sparrohawk and @davrinsleftpectoral for the tags!!!

I actually used a portion of writing I hadn't published for a chunk of Lilya and Viago's relationship - waste not want not, right? But because of that.. this chapter in and of itself, prodigious (very big in size, gigantic, HUGE hehehe... does that give me extra credit? No? Damn it.)

Read on Ao3 (seriously, it's nearly 7k, don't be a hero TT__TT if you wanna read this)

This week's word is prodigious: - Very big in size or quantity; gigantic; colossal; huge. - extraordinarily exciting or amazing - ominous, portentous

---

9:40 - Lilya Lilya was nearing her twentieth nameday.

She had learned how to kill with a smile, a hairpin, a touch or a soft suggestion. Her knife work was impeccable from years of training, even as her peers slept so she could catch up with them, fortifying her discipline and technique. Her exhaustion paid off. But it was her natural aptitude for seduction that proved to be deadlier, something that no one had failed to notice and report to Viago. The trainers called her prodigious. He called her dangerous, and meant it as a compliment.

Now that she was nearing the end of her training, he made a point to be around more often, sometimes once or twice a month, rather than the occasional visit he had made in previous years. He had taken to staying in Treviso and even purchased a manor in the de Riva estate for his private use; it made travelling to Antiva City much more manageable. When she turned nineteen, his gift to her was to personally oversee her training. Unofficially… well, that was harder to define. He brought her books. Taught her about art, music, fashion and food. Viago taught her to speak and dance like an Antivan noblewoman. From him, she learned how to lie in three languages so seamlessly that he almost forgot which was her mother tongue.

The only thing he could not bring himself to teach her was seduction, even though it was encouraged for the trainer to do so with their fledgling.

The others didn’t question it. Viago was not a man known for his passions, and his charge had been born with innate talent; it was assumed that would suffice for a fledgling in de Riva House. They had seen firsthand how she could disarm with a look, unmake her target with the simple tilt of her chin or a doe-eyed stare. It wasn’t necessary for her to master every trick before her first contract, she would learn more in time... but she knew it would have helped to have them under her belt.

Lilya was no fool. She knew why Viago stalled when it came to engaging in such acts with her. She’d known for nearly two years that something had changed their dynamic, and though she didn’t know if it had started with her or with him, the air was always thick between them. Taut as a bowstring pulled back for too long, both straining with things unsaid. A tension neither wanted to name, because to do so would admit it existed. And there was a line, hard and finite, that neither wanted to cross or at least - not to be the first to do so.

His visits lasted longer each time, as did his touches on her arm or around her waist. Nothing suspicious, nothing nefarious. Just lingering. Just enough. And Maker, how it scorched through her clothes. It was almost unseemly how much she wanted him to burn right through. But she stayed quiet, for as long as he did, because if one of them stepped forward, there would be no stepping back for them, especially for him. 

Lilya didn’t want to break him, no, more than anything, she wanted to be chosen. Chosen for him and not for his House or for the Crows. Not just for her looks and not because she was lucky enough to have made it this far. She wanted to be seen and wanted and- 

It was Viago she looked to whenever she made progress, only him she wanted to impress; the other trainers were just background noise. And it was this need to find his eyes on her that did something to her, viscerally, and it was impossible to ignore. Whenever his eyes shone with such pride and then clouded with… something else. Something hotter. Hungrier. Something careful and dangerous and almost tender. But then he’d remember himself and he’d blink it all away, leaving her reeling, almost heady with the need to see it consume him completely.

They danced around each other, literally and metaphorically, in circles so tight they could barely breathe. The push and pull between them was so subtle that they didn’t even move. Just hovered - caught, suspended and still- until someone, one day, would have to fall. And it would not be graceful, theatrical or soft. Their fall would be painful but beautiful nonetheless.

She hadn’t lied when she said she wanted a full education. She wasn’t going to leave until she learned what she needed to learn, and if Viago couldn’t, or wouldn’t, teach her, someone else would. So she made a choice, the only one she had really. There were many trainers or even normal Crows who would graciously spend their time teaching her the finer art of charming one’s target.

Enter Chance Candide. 

A Crow who originally hailed from Orlais, recently assigned to Antiva City to consult on an important Orlesian job. He was young, handsome, loud and utterly full of himself. She saw him eyeing her from across the training yard more than once. He was perfect.

She decided to engage him, to flirt and draw him in with little effort and no shame. Lilya had no qualms in asking for help with the aid of a smirk here, a touch there, an airy titter that tinkled in the air like a dinner bell to a starving dog. Somehow, she had managed to let him think it was hisidea to offer guidance. Let him believe he was the one in control. Before she knew it, the back of his hand had skimmed her arm, his nose ran down her neck as he breathed in her scent and murmured something in Orlesian that was either ‘By the Maker’ or ‘Speak, Creature’. She simply shook her head which seemed to encourage him. His lips grazed her cheek, the day-old stubble scraping across her skin, making her giggle, delighting the Orlesian to no end as he laughed with her.

All of it in plain view of Viago. And he... he did not look delighted.

Viago knew what she was playing at. Of course he did. He’d have done the exact same thing in her position. The Master watched as she coyly pulled away from the other Crow, the man taking his last liberty and pressed a chaste kiss on the back of the hand he was still holding before letting her slip away. Lilya bounded up the stairs to the room she knew he was in and greeted him as if nothing had happened, as though they hadn’t held each other’s gazes so intensely for the last three minutes; he almost felt like it was his lips that pressed that kiss to her skin instead.

He didn’t say anything at first.

But during their private lesson on how to hold political conversation, he chided her as only he could. Twisted their topic to turn into a commentary on power, used it to illustrate his standpoint, to admit he could see she was goading him. She tried to deny it, tried to keep pace with him... until he said she should have known better than to engage an enemy without knowing more about them.

She merely shrugged and told him that if he could tell what she was doing, then clearly she wasn’t as good as everyone said, so maybe she needed more help after all.

Viago set his jaw to stop himself from smiling. For she was wicked. And good. And all things bad for a man like him. And he was slipping, fast, with nothing to stop him or slow him down. Reluctantly, he agreed to teach her. Entirely unwillingly. But if anyone was going to ensure she was taught well, it was going to be him.

The first lesson was to never underestimate him.

He mirrored Chance’s movements with uncanny precision: knuckles down the inside of her arm until the hairs over her entire body stood on end. Nose starting at the hollow of her neck and following the line of her jaw, deliberate and ruinous. Lips skimming over her cheek, his skin smooth and clean-shaven, eliciting a completely different feeling within her than the man before. Instead of just her body responding to him, there was a swell of something in her chest that she hadn’t expected. It was frightening, but what wasn’t, there in the compound? This was the only thing that felt like a good kind of fear, the kind that had her almost shaking with anticipation as to what would come next.

Then, finally, a whisper into her ear, hot and vulgar, so devastating it was as if her skin was lit on fire, her whole body blushing at his words. It wasn’t fair, how much he could undo her with a whisper. Lilya couldn’t meet his eyes for the next ten minutes. Maker, she could barely breathe. Her pulse was everywhere and nowhere all at once, so shocked she was sure her heart had stopped, but the beat was strong in places she didn’t know she could feel a heartbeat.

But when she finally did look up, it was his turn to pause.

Because she took it in stride, recovered and recomposed herself with such grace that he had certainly not taught her, he was almost offended.

She smiled at him and asked for a physical demonstration, her tone even, as her eyes locked onto his.

And then the line between them neatly snapped in half. --- 9:40 - Answers His eyes scanned the page for the fifteenth time, confident that he had committed the dossier to memory and would not fall victim to being unprepared. The target was not one that could be underestimated, and he did not want unnecessary complications that could have been simply avoided. 

With careful motions, he reached over to the nightstand and dropped the files, ensuring that none of the pages fell behind the drawers or down the side of the bed. The last thing he needed was for some nosy chambermaid to find them and try to sell him out. He’d heard that it happened to Chance on his last mission, and the idiot had to take her out and had felt something akin to remorse, wildly overtipping any waitstaff he came across for the last month. He was so soft-hearted. 

He tried to stretch out his legs but found resistance and a murmur of complaint when he moved, a twinge of annoyance pulling his mouth into a frown. When had he been demoted to cushion? 

Viago looked down and watched as she slept, curled happily over his lap, her perfectly straight locks swept over his legs like threads of the purest silk, revealing the creamy skin of her neck and shoulders, the vast difference in the tones of their skin something that had delighted her, but it made him nervous. Though Antiva drew people from all over Thedas, her looks were still considered exotic. In a sea of bronze and olive, she was a paler shade of gold, and he knew that she would be coveted for what she was instead of who she was. 

His lightly calloused fingers itched to skim over the pointed ear that peeked from her hair, but he denied the impulse, knowing that it would wake her, and then he’d never get any rest. His Little Bird was always too good at distracting him. A bare palm glided over her shoulder and down the length of her arm, ending with a firm squeeze to her bicep. Good, she had not lost any weight since his last visit. He always worried that she would be mistreated as soon as she was no longer under his watch, for being different, for being so obviously favoured by a Master. 

She shivered as a cool breeze came from the open window and Viago cursed he could not wrest free from her to close it. Instead, he pulled at the satin sheets and covered her bare form, his frown deepening. He was going to be Talon in a matter of years, that much was evident by the way the current Fifth Talon spoke to him and even deferred to him. Quiet moments like this would be rare once they both stepped up in the world, and the odds of her returning to him alive - let alone his bed - would shrink with every mission he sanctioned, every step she took further from him. And the more power he gained, the less right he’d have to ask her to stay.  A jagged lurch from her was all he needed to know that she had awoken from a nightmare. She felt a large hand on her head, and she stilled, forgetting for a moment she was not alone. Turning around so she could look up at him, she smiled and touched his hand, glad that he didn’t pull back. It was the one thing she lorded over almost everyone else in the Crows, the famously touch-averse Viago de Riva, never flinched under hers, even welcomed her. She would have never guessed that the man who didn’t care about her name six years ago, would be the same man she would fall for.   

“What did Antony say to you before we made it back to the House in Salle?” she asked him, a soft smirk playing on his lips as he realised what she was doing. 

“He said that I shouldn’t have kicked you so hard. And then what did you reply?” 

“I told him that if you hadn’t, you’d have been dead with the rest of the shem idiots who underestimated me.” 

Viago nodded with approval. “That was… well done. You remembered to never assume that the person you fell asleep with, is the same person you may wake up to.”

“It might surprise you to know that I do listen to the instructors once in a while, you know.”  “You’re right. That does surprise me.” 

Viago was graced with a large grin as she rolled on the bed until she manoeuvred herself over his leg, laughing when he swore with discomfort. She repositioned herself to lie on her stomach with her chin on her hands atop his chest, enjoying the man’s even breathing. He was always the calm in her storm, the anchor to her ship, a place to call home when home was torn away from her.

“Hey, Vi.”

“… I don’t like how you said that,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“Huh? What? Said what?” she asked, baffled. 

“My name. You said it in a way that conveyed that you needed help. Like with money. Or hiding a dead body. Or both.” 

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that I don’t need help with either.” He eyed her suspiciously but said nothing else, content in holding her against him. “I was just going to ask if I don’t pass the test-” 

“You will pass the test. It won’t be too long until you’re a full Crow, then you can come back-”

“But… what if I don’t?” she whispered, her warm breath tickling his skin. “What if I can’t complete the contract? Will you have to kill me?”

Viago sighed. It was not what he wanted to think about now; it was something he never wanted to think about if he could help it. “Do you think it’s possible for you to fail? You were trained by me and by the best tutors I could find. Were you not the one who convinced me that you would be helpful? What were the exact words you said? That you’d be anything I needed?” he retorted with one eyebrow raised. “Are you doubting yourself? Are you doubting me, when I say you’re ready?” 

She pouted at Viago, knowing what he said was the truth, try as she might to deny it. Resting her head against his stomach, she sighed and tightened her embrace, knowing that there was no use in arguing. And he was right. She had promised him that if he kept her secret about being a mage, that she would become his sword, ready and sharp at his side, always. Failure could not be a part of that plan. 

“You didn’t answer me. Would it have to be you?” she asked again. 

He did not reply, and that was answer enough for her. At least he didn’t lie to her. She swallowed, resigning herself to the truth. She had also once promised to be his shield, whatever he needed. So if it came to it, and if she failed them both - she would at least fulfil that much, and ensure that he wouldn’t have to raise his blade to her or lace her drink. She’d shield him from that, as a paltry thanks for all he had done for her. 

The Crow could see the dark thoughts circling behind those normally bright eyes and he sighed. They had so little time to spend with each other that didn’t revolve around him training her, or having to leave her in the care of others, he did not want to waste a moment where they could both relinquish their roles and expectations. With a jerk of his head, she obediently dragged herself further up his body and nestled her cheek on his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat. She had to stifle her giggle, when she heard him groan, shaking his head and asking the Maker what he did to deserve such an irritating Little Bird.  --- 9:41– Don’t

The yard hadn’t changed. Same scratched-up flagstones, the smell of oil, old leather, and iron still lingering in the air. All the cold-eyed fledglings, doing drills under trainers who cared more for results than their survival. He wanted to say it was just like the good old days, but those days were never good. 

Illario Dellamorte walked through the Antiva City compound like a man returning to a place that had once cut him open. He didn’t wear the garb of a trainer or hold the dagger of a Talon, but everyone knew who he was and either looked on in awe or skittered away in fear. They all recognised the bearing of a true Dellamorte; he may not have been as recognisable as his dear cousin, but he was by no means unknown. Caterina had made sure of it.

He remembered when he and Lucanis had stood in this very yard, separated from the other fledglings. Not favoured, not exactly, but they were deemed too valuable to be killed off early. Illario could still remember the looks on all the fledglings’ faces when Caterina herself had overseen their instruction personally whilst at the compound, just like she did back at the Villa. In their eyes, they must have seemed lucky, but in a school of two, there was only ever room to be the best and the worst.

Their grandmother had only shown them the compound to understand the ugly truth of their organisation. What they did to the fledglings, how they made them into Crows. It was similar in theory to his training, but he got to sleep with the knowledge that he’d wake in the morning- even if sometimes he wished he didn’t. Caterina wanted them to know the truth of how easy it would have been for her to send them here instead of training them directly. Did she do it to make them grateful? To scare them into obedience, lest she leave them there? Or perhaps she just meant to leave him. There would be no reason she would ever send his cousin here. 

Lucanis had always been the better of them technically. Cleaner. More precise. No questions asked. Illario, for all his charm and silver tongue, was never her favourite. Just efficient. Just acceptable. Never exceptional. Never worthy of a second glance, just in case. 

He heard the sounds of metal on metal, the fledglings were training with real weapons but he didn’t expect to see much that would impress him. It was just a passing visit before his next contract; it would score points with Caterina if he stopped by and feigned interest in ‘the future of their Houses’.

But then he saw her.

Across the yard, a young woman was adjusting the knife grip of a newer fledgling. She corrected the girl’s stance gently, then stepped back to let her try again. Her hair fell in long ebony strands that lay heavy against her back. He noticed there were no clips or ties to hold it back - impractical for an assassin. So either she openly flouted the expectations of the trainers- or it was her own simple act of rebellion to remain herself. 

Gianni had told him to mind himself, that she was Viago’s - but surely de Riva wouldn’t mind if he appreciated the beauty he managed to capture. He’d invited him and Caterina to view a newly acquired painting when they were in Salle last Satinalia, how was this any different? Even donned in dark clothes - finer than the other fledgelings, she was bright, she radiated. In a yard of shadows, she was sunlight. Green eyes. Calm, inscrutable even. A soft smile? Here, of all places?

He stared. Like she'd magically reached across the yard and hooked a finger under his jaw to set his eyes just on her.

“Careful,” someone muttered beside him. “That one’s taken.”

Illario turned lazily, halfway through admiring the view. The voice wasn’t Viago’s, not deep or serious enough. No, this one had teeth and a chip on its shoulder.

Of course.

“Ilene,” he greeted, deadpan, when she didn’t say anything else. She might have irked him something terrible, but she was still Viago’s charge. He wasn’t stupid enough to completely snub her. Viago wasn’t Talon yet, but he was almost guaranteed the position with the way half of his House talked. 

She stood there with her arms crossed and that permanent scowl etched across her face like it had been carved in by a master stonemason. Short and wiry, she exuded a barely leashed aggression of someone itching to break the rules - andhis bones - in equal measure.

“Dellamorte,” she replied, all bite and no warmth, like his name tasted foul in her mouth.

He gave her a slow, mocking once-over. “You’re looking particularly feral today. Growing up nice and strong on that diet of spite, cat piss and gravel?”

“I could say the same about you,” she snapped. “Surprising you’re still alive after that new poison I slipped into your drink the last time I saw you. A pity.”

“Touched you care.” He glanced back toward the yard where the woman was mid-spar, posture sharp, hair gleaming like polished onyx under the sun. “Didn’t know they let you out of your cage without your handler,” he said with a smirk, feeling the younger girl’s eyes narrow at him.

“I chewed through the bars,” she snapped back without missing a beat.

“Of course you did. How very on-brand.” Illario rolled his eyes at their traditional tete-a-tete. They’d gotten on the wrong foot a couple of years earlier when Viago had visited Treviso, and he thought he was wrestling a creature holding a knife and not a child. It was an easy mistake to make. She had bitten them both, after all. 

“Don’t.”

He looked back at Ilene, one brow raised. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at her like that.”

Now that caught his attention.

She took a deliberate step closer, voice dropping to a growl. “Leave her alone.”

He lowered his brow and grinned widely. “You gonna start naming names, or do I just pick one at random?”

Her glare narrowed further. “You know exactly who.” 

He chuckled, flicking his gaze toward the training yard again. She moved like she was dancing - fluid, dangerous, poised. Of course he’d noticed her. Who hadn’t? 

“Viago trains them well, I see, well apart from you,” he said, eyes still on the spar before him. “But you’re right, that one’s… something else.”

“That one,” Ilene repeated, “isn’t for you.”

He turned back to her, the amusement growing behind his eyes. “Tell me, do you snarl at everyone who looks at a de Riva, or is this a special performance just for me? Must I pay you admission? Will you take one banana or two?”

“She’s taken,” Ilene said again, slower this time, like he was thick. “So keep your leering to yourself. Or better yet, go fall off a balcony. Face first.”

He grinned. “Jealousy’s not a good color on you.”

“Neither is that stupid, smug, punchable face on you, but yet, here we are.”

“Funny,” he said. “I don’t see you foaming at the mouth over any of the others.” He gestured idly toward the yard. “So what makes her so different?”

Ilene smiled. It was not a kind smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He stared at her a moment longer, trying to put it together. But there was nothing obvious. No resemblance he could see, and he hadn’t heard of anyone else residing in Viago’s residence apart from the little goblin before him- they had nothing in common except their pointed ears and the shared adopted surname. Yet still, she held that glint in her eye like she'd gut him for breathing wrong in the woman’s direction.

Weird girl.

He shrugged it off. If she was Viago’s now, that didn’t mean she’d be Viago’s forever. Crows were fickle and tastes changed. Alliances shifted. People got bored. And whilst he wasn’t known for exactly playing by the rules, he knew better than to try and steal another Crow’s shiny new toy.

Still… there was something about her. An indomitable fire. The skill in her movements was clear and could shame so many of the newly minted Crows he’d seen in the last couple of years. She commanded the yard, like she already belonged in their world of blades and silk and poison, and was born to make it all look easy.

She would be something to tame… if one could tame her.

And the fact that Viago’s little demon was watching her back like a hawk?

It made her all the more interesting.

“Forget about her,” she said, stepping forward. “I’m warning you. You touch her, and I’ll see to it that they’re picking bits of you from all around Treviso for months.”

Illario almost liked the little shit; she had spunk. She was insane. But she had spunk. 

“Viago knows you talk like this to his friends?”

“Viago doesn’t have any friends.”

“Relax, Ilene,” he laughed, already turning away. “I’m just enjoying the sights. Pretty sure that’s not a crime.”

“Not yet,” she muttered.

He didn’t miss the very real threat in her voice. He just chose not to care. Bored with their interaction, Illario sidestepped around her and caught up to Gianni, who was talking to other fledglings in the yard, before dragging him away to get a drink. 

Ilene huffed out and crossed the drab stone courtyard and crossed her arms in irritation, rolling her eyes so hard she nearly tipped backwards. 

“Bug, I can feel that anger rolling off you. Relax,” Lilya smiled, pushing the little girl she was helping to move on to one of their trainers. 

“Watch out for that one, Princess,” Ilene snarked, breathing heavily as if she were tempted to charge at the focus of her ire. 

Lilya looked up from across the way, confused. “Who? What?”

“That one.” Ilene jerked her chin toward Illario’s retreating form. “He’s the worst.”

“Oh?” Lilya asked, amused, eyes flicking back to the broad-shouldered man disappearing with Gianni into the inner yard. “What makes him so bad?”

“He smiles too much. But also not at all. And he’s prettier than most of the girls I’ve seen in Treviso. And he knows it. And he called me a demon monkey once.”

“Well,” Lilya said solemnly. “Then we hate him. Unequivocally. No one calls my Love Bug a demon.”

“It’s Bug. Just Bug. You almost make ‘demon monkey’ sound nice in comparison.”

---

9:41 - Crow Lilya didn’t know how to feel about what she had just done, whether the unnamed emotion was closer to grief… or to shame. There was no reason to feel either as it had gone against her training. Hadn’t she chosen this for herself, in order to survive? 

But this didn’t feel like survival. It felt unnecessary, even if her target was lower than scum. Slavers didn’t deserve to live, and yet, being the one to take his life when she hadn’t been in any danger from him, it made her pause. Almost reconsider. And then she saw that one of his ‘cargo’ was a child in rags, barely five, bound wrists and ankles shuffling into a cramped cell with more children, some who looked like her and others who did not. But to her eyes… They all looked like her. Taken. Stolen. Afraid. 

Lilya did not know if it was pure rage and adrenaline that fuelled her, or if she had managed to shut down the part of her mind where her conscience could reach her and before she knew it, her knife was lodged clean into the side of his throat - the tip of it visible from the other side of his neck. She had swung with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. The slaves gasped but otherwise did not make a noise, watching with blank, vacant eyes as the man fell to his knees with a sickening crunch, as they stared with rapt attention to the last of his life leaving his disgusting body. She pulled out the contract one more time. It did not make any mention of whether the slaves could be freed or not. 

When in doubt… it is always right to free a slave. 

She could not push them out like she had done for the other children all those years ago, but she could pick the locks and leave the doors open for them to run into the night and wish them all the best. If she had misread and was not meant to release them, perhaps she could reason that without finite and accurate instruction, there was simply no way to tell. It was in the ambiguity she would hope to find refuge and salvation. Otherwise, she could go in a blaze of fire and pride, that she did what she had to, in the end. 

Pushing open the gates of the compound, she met Gianni’s eyes, who looked at her with a mixture of pride and sadness. The young girl he had seen pass through the gates a wary thing, had now grown into the killer they had all hoped for - still, she knew he was looking at her as if she was still fifteen and unaware of what it took to become a Crow. And he mourned her loss. And so would she… when she could, she supposed. 

Lilya did not bother going to her quarters but straight to his, following her feet where they naturally wanted to go. Her hand had barely touched the doorknob when the door opened, Viago pulling it open, eyes wide and rapidly searching her for any injuries. They landed on her right hand, glove covered in dried blood, flecks of the same across her torso and on her other arm. Not hers. Theirs. She came back, whole and safe. 

Neither said anything; Viago just helped to remove her gloves and set them aside- in case she wanted to keep them as a reminder. Many of them did. He had the first empty vial he kept the poison to complete his first contract. It was kept separate from all others, a date etched in the glass, to remind him the day he stopped being some unwanted royal bastard, and became what he chose to be instead. 

He led her to the bathroom, where a bath was drawn and waiting. No candles, or rose petals or anything one could construe as romantic, and she was grateful. It was not what she wanted. She wanted to be clean. Though she supposed she never would be again. It was so different from the simulations they had run. Even different from the group targets they had taken down together - perhaps because they all shared in the blame, the responsibility. But out there, that night? She was alone. She was not a victim, but a predator. She had not expected to feel anything about it, and it rattled her that it did. Lilya did not know if she should have been thankful for it or rueful. 

The too-new leathers were peeled away from her, Viago still carefully checking her for any little bruise or cut, for any signs he missed where she could have been compromised, but she was fine. As fine as to be expected. Carefully, he helped her into the bath and she immediately pulled her legs to her chest and let her forehead rest on the tops of her knees, a shuddering breath slipping from her mouth as she closed her eyes. She took in a deep breath and then another. Killing should not be easy. It should never be easy. But it would be one day… and she would have to be ready for that day to come sooner than she expected. 

A warm hand touched her back, urging her gently to sit forward. She complied, no longer caring what was happening around her, only that Viago was there. With him, nothing bad could reach her. She folded herself tighter, knowing she could stay safely ensconced within her own embrace, for as long as she needed. 

Then came the feeling of warm water cascading from the crown of her head and flowing down her spine. It was not what she had expected. Like absolution, one she did not deserve and could never truly earn. Hollow, but nonetheless, she was grateful. 

She turned. Viago was seated on the rim of the tub, sleeves rolled, pants bunched at his knees, a bath ladle in one hand and his face etched with focus, purpose and without a trace of judgement.  

Her lungs were trembling in her chest and her throat closed around a cry that refused to be heard. She quickly turned back around just as the sharp sting pricked at the corners of her eyes, and let him continue. As the next stream of water fell, both knew it wasn’t only water that ran down her cheeks. 

And when she remembered to breathe, he let out a breath too - quiet, steady - as if he was reminded she was still in there, and might just find a way to stay. 

---

Lilya awoke dressed in a simple silk nightgown, something Viago had undoubtedly commissioned for her once she passed the final test. She’d have never been allowed to keep something so fine whilst a fledgling, even with the favour she had. It would be suicide to be seen wearing something like that; it would have been carefully taken from her before they gutted her - they wouldn't want to ruin the fabric with her blood, after all. 

Viago was at his desk, responding to a letter or writing a report for his Talon; she wasn't sure, but from the slight pause in his quill, she knew he was aware she had awakened. Wordlessly, she pried herself off his rich sheets and made her way back to his bathroom, eager to rinse away the sleep from her face and not taste yesterday’s regrets still on her tongue. 

Swiping away at the drops of water that still lingered along her jaw and trailed down her neck, Lilya stared at herself at the gilded mirror that hung above the sink. Physically, she looked the same, nothing apart from slightly puffy eyes to tell that anything life-changing had happened to her. But she could tell there was another shift that had happened, in between returning to him, the bath and waking in his bed. For once, it didn’t feel like everything was outside of her control anymore. For six years, she had bent to the whims of those around her, but for the first time since that ratty little hellhole slaver den in Salle, she had some real agency. Not just what Viago afforded her, but a real say over her life, however small it was. It was hers. 

Her footsteps on the wooden floor were naturally light thanks to her years of practising stealth. Lilya put her hand on Viago’s shoulder, stroking at the sleep shirt he wore made of the same dark blue silk as hers, smooth and warm to her touch. He did not flinch, did not look up, the greatest reminder of the esteem he held her in, even as he groused about her to her face. It was just his way, his bark always worse than his bite. Especially when he knew just where and how to bite, to make her mind go blank. 

Pulling out the quill from his hand after he finished his sentence, Lilya ignored his half-hearted censuring and placed it back into its holder. One shapely leg was thrown over his, and she dropped down onto his lap, well aware that his eyes had noticed the way the nightgown had risen up her thighs. Large green eyes scanned his face as her fingertips traced the line of his cheekbones, so sharp, just like he was. All edges and harshness that concealed the kind of man who carefully bathed someone in distress, dressed them in finery they had no right to own, and then stood by within earshot to watch over them as they slept. 

A familiar smug smirk appeared on his mouth, once he realised the woman before him was not the same as the one he had opened the door to the night before. 

“My, my, look what has returned to me,” he said, voice low and quiet. “My Little Bird turned into a Crow.”

Leaning forward to allow him more than enough time to push her back should he have wanted to, Lilya pressed her lips against his, with barely a breath of pressure. Slowly, with small and measured movements, she settled herself firmly along his body to ensure no space remained between them, arms coiled around his neck. She hummed when his arms wrapped around her, his hands roaming over her body, enjoying the sensation of the silk that he had longed to feel her wear. The bitter taste of coffee lingered on his tongue, but she didn’t mind, because she was awake, alive and well aware of what this day meant for them. 

She pulled away from him, breathing a little harder as a feeling other than survival, something that scared her in only the best of ways - rushed through her veins. “Viago,” she whispered against his lips like another kiss, “you may call me Lilya now.” 

Understanding spread across his face and he nodded, tucking her hair behind one ear. 

“Yes,” he replied simply, his brilliant mind ticking away at everything that would change between them now. He didn’t have to pretend anymore that her name hadn’t always been there, right on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said. “Yes, I think I must.” 

She watched the way her name shaped his mouth, almost too tender for a man like him and it stirred at that feeling deep in her chest. “You say my name like it’s your own,” she murmured, fingertips at his collar, edging perilously close to caressing the skin underneath. “Careful, Viago.”

He tilted his head, expression unreadable but his eyes swam in amusement - the dangerous kind which often left her breathless. “Oh?”

“Say it like that again,” she breathed, “and I’ll start to believe you actually want to keep me.”

The man stilled beneath her as he observed her closely.  “Would that be so hard to believe?” he asked, voice low, almost a whisper.

She smiled, but it wasn’t playful this time. “No,” she replied. “Not at all.” Lilya dipped her hands under the opened collar to smooth her palms over his chest, her eyes locked on his as the strong thrum of his pulse beat against her hand. “But I want to hear you say it. Just once. With my name.”

He swallowed not from discomfort, but from forced restraint. He was always so careful with his words. “Lilya,” he said slowly and deliberately. “You already know.”

She gave him one nod, eyes refusing to let go of his. “I do. But I want to hear it from you. Please.”

A silence stretched between them, something that was rarely awkward for them but something they both found comfort in. Then his hand came to the back of her neck, his touch firm and grounding.

“Then listen closely,” he said. “Because I won’t say it twice.” He leaned in, close enough that only she would ever hear what came next… and whenhe said it, her name made the words sound like a promise. “You are mine, Lilya. That was your vow, not mine. I am just making sure your words hold true.” 

And as always, she believed him.

Viago looked at his Little Bir-... Lilya… and smiled. 

Somehow along the way, she had learned how to always make him smile. 

---

Soft tagging: @jenn2d2 @woundedsoul12 @rookamell @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @mythals-whore @serstolas @kabsey and anyone else who may want to play <3

[vintage-bentley]

that "do cis women secretly hate us" thing is real lol. I was hanging out with my TRA cousin at a women only spa recently (I love her despite our extremely different views on gender) and we ended up chatting with a group of older women there. it was such a lovely evening, all bonding over our shared experiences as women and talking about what tv we'd been watching, books we were reading. normal stuff. not a TIM in sight, though they are unfortunately welcome there. afterwards we had drinks outside on the balcony and after a few moments of silence my cousin turned to me and whispered, "can I be honest? I kind of enjoyed just being around cis women tonight" hahahaahaaaaaaaaa I had to restrain myself from punching the air. she was like, "I know it sounds really bad. I know this sounds so terfy but it almost feels like trans women are guys sometimes, like they have to make everything sexual and they don't really get it, especially when they talk about being women. idk I don't always feel comfortable when they're around. it just changes the vibe" like yeah no shit! they're MEN I gently nudged her in a questioning direction and she was tentatively in agreement with things I was saying but still went straight back into TRA mode afterwards. I think enough of a seed was planted that she'll keeping questioning things though. I think probab;y 90% of her friends are either trans or allies so she's probably afraid to have some kind of terfy awakening. I was the same way once.

It’s not even about “secretly hating” trans identified males. It’s almost always just about the fact that every woman knows how big of a difference there is between a group of all women, and a group of women plus even just one man. (But trans identified males think that qualifies as hatred lol, because just like any men they can’t stand when women don’t centre and coddle them lol.)

Every woman knows that there’s a certain freedom when in a group of all women. We all know that as soon as a man enters the room, that freedom is restricted because now there’s topics that are off limits, or topics that we have to mince our words about.

The best example that I always use to explain this is menstruation. Imagine that you’re in a group of women and you’re talking about periods. Maybe you’re giving advice, or complaining, or even making jokes. Now imagine that a man walks in. Because women have been socialised to believe that menstruation is a shameful dirty thing that men are too fragile to hear about, most women will shut up in this scenario. They’ll say “haha, he doesn’t want to hear about this!” And change the subject.

Same goes for any discussion that is female-specific. I’ve noticed this even in my own family—when I’m just with women, the conversations are so much different and so much less restricted than they are when even one man is around.

And as much as TIMs don’t want to hear this, that applies to them too. Sometimes women just need the chance to be with other women, and not have to worry about how our words sound falling on male ears. We don’t want to have to dance around your fragile male ego. And if TIMs had any respect for women, they would understand this.

Interestingly I’ve noticed that trans identified females tend to understand this. I’ve noticed that many are in friend groups of solely other TIFs, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because they understand the importance of female community even if they don’t want to admit it.

[jollmaster]

Going off your post about fem!Alastor, what do you think of transfem!Alastor? How would she realize this? What would her new name be? Would she even want to change her name? How would her transition go? These are the important questions.🩷🩵🤍🩵🩷

tbh I don't see Asileverse!Alastor in this situation for a very simple reason: he doesn't care about physical gender as long as he's healthy, for him body is just a body 🌿 so he wouldn't have any serious thoughts about fully becoming a woman

but since we're talking about fem!Alastor, why not? she would be as adorable as male ❤

her name is Alastrina, female form of Alistair

looks like her mom, almost like a younger sister, but inherited dad's height (6"2) and his charm

seriously, Alastrina is VERY tall for 1920-1930s woman, this fact scares many gentlemen away

suffragette supporter and petty racist at the same time

modern lady! ♀

works, smokes cigarettes, wears a hat and isn't going to get married, although she knows how to kiss a man: she's curious

however, spends much more time with women (men are too self-confident! NO, it's NOT the same when it comes to me!) and declares aloud that she considers Boston marriage to be the best form of cohabitation

the best charlestone dancer in New Orleans... anyway, that's what Alastrina says, and she looks very confident

can perform both female and male part, sometimes dances with friends when they come to dance without a partner

prefers long loose skirts, but from time to time wears pants (this isn't a political statement: she just likes to wear it)

it's hard to deny that Alastrina looks GREAT in pantsuits

hey, show me where in the Bible it says that a woman is worse than a man! I've read the Bible, and it says they're equal

[josnhoes]

Ow would Jason , Dick and Tim

After Damian, discovered that Bruce have a daughter who is adopted and a civilian? What would their reaction be?

Content warning its a little yandere-esk in Tim's part.

It would depend on if Bruce knew about her or not. I'm going to stick with Knak age (6-8) so younger than Damian. Also Tim is the one who found her.

It was a meeting in the batcave where this information is shared with Bruce right there. He explains to them all he had no idea she existed until about two years ago. You were in a loving supportive home and he couldn't bare to tear you from it. He also didn't want to make too many ripples in your life so he set up a small sweepstakes. Much like the 1000$ a week for life thing. He couldn't give as much as he wanted but this would have to do. A rigged sweepstakes.

Dick is very much torn up, he had more family and yet he couldn't talk to her. But he also understood where Bruce was coming from. Being a Wayne while an honor was dangerous even before the vigilante parts. Kidnappings, blackmail, and the swarms of people who would use and manipulate for their own fame. He couldn't justify forcing a normal girl into it either.

He joins Bruce in keeping an eye on her digitally. The good news was she lived in a much safer city, the bad news it meant they couldn't patrol near her. Though the local hero is keeping an eye on her too for Bruce. Not special treatment out of the way but enough to confirm her safety for the ever brooding bat.

Jason is actually *proud* of Bruce for staying away. He knew how hard that had to have been for the man. Does confirm with him though that if anything happened to your current family he wouldn't leave you in the system. Bruce said he'd take you in no questions. So he was pleased. He thinks about her now and then wondering what her life is like.

He doesn't know you but he cares, joining in on the digital 'stalking' on occasions but mostly just hopes your life is a peaceful one. If you ever were in reported danger he'd be on the front line. Even if you didn't know him he was your big brother and a kid, we all know how protective of kids Hood is.

Tim is the one who found out. Monitoring the batcomputer as he normally did, after Damian's arrival he'd installed a background program that tracked hospital DNA records for comparison to everyone in the family. As useful as it is, once Bruce found out about it he made Tim shut it down. He's upset about that but unlike Dick and Jason he was more concerned why you weren't with Bruce. He only agrees on letting this go after he did a deep dive into you parents and the adults around you.

The one who started the internet stalking. As a Drake he was possessive and protective of 'his' things and people. Bruce and the family were *his* and so were you. So while he couldn't logically argue about taking you back, he could and would see to your continued safety. Honestly is was a good brain break when he spent too long deep diving in cases.

[makingspiritualityreal]

Mleccha Nakshatras - Bad Reputation

I previously explored the Subject of Mleccha in the context of their propensity for gaining fame in the modern world due to their controversy being the "selling point" in the media, especially in the entertainment industry. That is not, however, the reality of their private life, which is full of battles even for those who actually have achieved public success.

We must remember, that people with Mleccha placements live everywhere in the world, and fame is something that is only promised in charts of select people, Mleccha or not. However, people whose public birth details and life stories are publicly available are useful tools to serve as a stereotype, of what people with these energies experience in general.

In traditional Vedic culture, "Mleccha" indicates people that stand outside the social order. Note, that this doesn't talk about the morality of their actions. It simply speaks of their status in social hierarchy. There is a certain hypocrisy in this, because it implies, that social adherence allows people even to commit crimes, as long as it is done within approval of appropriate systems. Mleccha, however, implies rejection from mainstream social systems, not due to moral reasons but because of these people's desire for non-conformism.

There is an irony in Mleccha, that is a sharp and accurate criticism of our society. Displaying open rebellion against social rules invites public criticism, when the needs of those who protest are not accepted...which in turn fuels the rebellion even more. This is why, outside of controversial art, you will see Mleccha natives involved in social causes and activism, often taking first steps in areas, where other people would be afraid to step forward.

The world's in trouble, there's no communication And everyone can say what they wanna say It never gets better, anyway, so why should I care about a bad reputation?

The sad reality of social systems, is that they often pin the flaws of their workings on the "Outcasts". Yet, looking from outside, the outcasts point out something interesting - they have been complained about for millennia, yet the same flaws within society still exist, as they are reflective of human nature, so you might as well be yourself, no matter what anyone else says. Still, Mleccha natives bear the burden of being scapegoated for openly displaying what others simply do in secret, for making a style and an art and a way of life even out of painful experiences.

Mleccha natives are simply uncomfortable to look at for many, because they question securely established, orderly ways that people use as a mental safe space for their preconceptions about life. Having that subverted scares those, who don't possess real freedom of mind, so they prefer to blame the "outcasts" rather than examine the validity of their claims. It also threatens the sense of superiority, that those with status might have. Nobody in a comfortable position likes to give up their power or even have it questioned, which further cements the Mleccha natives as those who "don't fit".

Examples:

Monica Lewinsky, Bharani Moon

Despite working in the official, governmental sector, Lewinsky is still known to this day for her illicit sexual relations with an ex US president. If we look at the subject realistically, a man in power having an affair is hardly that uncommon. Yet, Lewinsky was the one that faced the bulk of shame for her situation, and has moved on to activism fighting against cyber bullying and public shaming, producing her own content.

Lana del Rey, Ashlesha Moon

Lana is known for her controversial lyrics, that talk about the emotional reality of toxic relationships. Many people criticise Lana's lyrics for being harmful, but they are simply painfully honest from a psychological standpoint. I recommend this thread, that lists them in detail, with fun examples such as "Come on, you know you like little girls". Some of her songs don't even get released for this reason, the lyrics being too spicy, people may frown on the subject matter...but yet again, these are things that happen everywhere, but no one wants to talk about them.

Miley Cyrus, Vishakha Moon

Miley has gone a long way, subverting her image of a Disney star and facing a lot of criticism as a result. She moved on from starring in a Nicholas Sparks movie to flashing her crotch in a music video, playing on the vagina dentata theme. She continues to defy traditional expectations of feminine stereotypical roles, and has moved on to activism for minority representation. You can clearly see the difference in life paths between someone like her and Sabrina Carpenter, even though they both had a Disney background.

Joan Jett, Shravana Moon

Joan has earned her status as the Queen of Rock and Roll, but the road there hasn't been easy. She was initially rejected by all major record labels, and had to release her top single, which continues to be her biggest hit, independently, and ended up starting her own label. She was repeatedly told, that she can't sing and won't sell any records, despite her obvious creative ability, due to her hoarse vocals and an aggressive image, that was part of the 70s-80s feminist movement. She is now also an animal rights activist.

[hotchnersangel]

SMALL THING THAT HAPPENED

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

cw: protective hotch, possesive hotch, post breakup confusion, MEN!

A/n: hello, ive been a ghost recently but im getting back into writing. Heavily inspired by the song below!!!!

Having to see the face of the man you loved so deeply, so richly, so consumingly was a privilege you got to have. Yet, the warmth of being loved so far from your grasp. Day in, day out you are forced to obey the man that captures your dreams, your fantasies, your staring at the blank wall contemplating your future, spiral sequences.

Yet, you didn’t have him. Not anymore.

You dated, casually. You really had no reason to have such an attachment but you did. You blame it on your abandonment issues but deep down you know your heart is so full of love, so desperate to share the weight it bears that you found your ‘victim’ and dumped it at once. In reality, you barely showed the pain and vicious turmoil his words sent you through, though internally, it was a death penalty.

A constant reminder that you couldn’t get everything you ever wanted and that will never not hurt.

Aaron had told you a few dates in that he wasn’t ready for a relationship or anything serious on top of work, that he wasn’t ready figuring that out as you both dated. His words cut through like a knife, in a way you felt betrayed. Angry. Frustrated. Disappointed. Though, you understand his point of view which is why you could never be angry at him, just at the situation. If he did not want anything serious, why was he entertaining you? For so long?

Since he broke it off, you had been stepping back from all things him. Though, it was so difficult when he was all you could think about.

After finishing a case, the team decided they would leave early morning rather than late that night. It allowed them to get a good nights rest knowing they have saved many lives from danger. Many of the team went to their rooms but you decided to grab a drink, sat at the bar you nurse the whiskey in front of you as a man approaches you with a smile.

“Hello, you’re way too pretty to be sat here alone, sweetheart.” He smirks, taking a seat besides you. “Mind if I join you?”

You look up at him. Blonde, green eyes… not like Aaron. Fuck, just get over him girl.

“If you’d like to.” You state simply, no indication of desire what so ever.

“In that case, I will.” He orders a drink for himself. “So, pretty one- what brings you here?”

“My legs,” you say with distaste, sipping on your drink. You side eye the man.

“You’re funny, I like my women funny.” He smirks and turns his body to face you.

In the corner of your eye, you catch those all too familiar eyes watching the exchange go down and suddenly, you are interested in the blonde in front of you.

“Thank you,” you let a soft grin at him and place your hand on his arm. “I never caught your name?”

“Max.” He states, looking down to your lips as you talk. “You are?”

“Not interested.” You hear a deep voice interrupt the conversation from behind you, your heart beats a tiny bit faster than it was before at the sound. You take a sharp inhale of breath.

“Excuse me?” Max questions him, standing up to appear broader. Though, Aaron was easily double his size and triple his strength.

“You heard me.” He states, folding his arms across his chest.

“And who are you?” He questions, his gaze flicking between you and Aaron.

“Her man. So, I suggest you leave.” He states firmly to Max and he simply stares.

“No, we are in the middle of something. I think you should be the one leaving.” Max retorts squaring up to Aaron, to which Aaron laughs. Clearly that bruised Max’s ego as he scoffed and looked disgustingly at you. “You’re not that pretty anyway.”

“What was that?” Aaron stops him with a hand in front of him now, “Repeat what you just said.”

The look Aaron was sending Max in this moment was deathly, one eyebrow raised and eyes glossy and cold like they meant to maim. “I said she was not that pretty anyway.”

Aaron pushes his chest to move him away from you both and you panic. Your instinct was to place your hand on Aaron’s shoulder to calm him down. “Aaron, stop it.”

“Consider yourself lucky. If i hear you talk about a woman, or specifically my lady like that again.” He throws at Max, violence evident in his tone as he turns away and guides you out of the bar.

You were silent, rather you had been silenced. You had little idea of what to say about everything that had gone down. Specifically, when Aaron told Max you were his lady. That he was your man?

For a minute, you got everything you wanted.

Once you got outside, reality struck and you step away from him. “What the hell was that?”

“He was staring at you like he was undressing you with his eyes-“

“So what? Can’t handle the thought of someone finding me attractive?” You sigh frustratedly, all built up anger threatening to leave your body. “Just because you don’t doesn’t mean that no one will.”

Aaron’s face morphed from defensive to confused at your words. “Who said that I didn’t?”

“You had a chance with me and you blew it. Now, you can’t ruin every chance I get with other men. That is not fair.” You defend, looking at him with your arms crossed over your chest now.

“You are right, but us ending was a small thing that happened- it just wasn’t the right time for us.”

“See I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Sit here thinking it was a small thing that happened between us. I can’t do that, Aaron.”

“I- I don’t understand?”

“It was a small thing that happened to you, but to me… Aaron, the world ended when it happened to me.”

[thewritingfairy]

of course 🙄 jason’s terrorizing a civilian family once again, so not heroic 😒 ngl how is the rest of the JL not hearing about how the family is acting towards Reader? surely some of the public must’ve noticed the behavior of the family and said something about it, right? 😭 right??? 😖

(this is not meant to be hate towards your writing, it’s amazing and it’s giving me many thought worms about it. i’m just curious if any of the other leaguers besides Clark have noticed or heard anything about the batfam bc it seems like they’re trying to look normal about missing Reader but it looks like Jason is failing terribly 😓)

Phone format, chapter mentioned; 06. Reassurance

I absolutely understand your questions and I absolutely take it as a compliment that my writing brings up questions. Because if there are questions there is a story still to be told.

I have a small detail I keep in the background, in most comics I've read Batman is the reason the Justice League can exist without government interference. In my fanfics its that and worse.

The justice league is willing to overlook how Batman acts towards you because you are just a small life compared to all the lives they can save as the justice league. (In my fanfics the JL knows who batman is and his family because it creates great angst potential)

It's something Superman doesn't agree with, but he cannot deny how the JL and the younger JL has helped his children.

The JL only exist with Batman because without Bruce Wayne's money they cannot function. They cannot fund such activities on their own, and if the government were to take over their civilian lives would be in danger.

And you kept it all hidden until the end, you who is as strong as your mama. You deep down know who your family is, but you still don't want to admit it.

You're in denial, why wouldn't you be?

How could your father be so kind to others but not to you? A child from a woman he loved more than himself, from a woman he almost loved as much he loves Gotham.

When your grandma told you nothing but great stories about their love? Even when her eyes narrowed while thinking of Bruce, he's your biological father and her own grievances against him never became clear until you showed her the scars Jason left.

From that day forward your maternal family did everything they could to keep the Wayne's on their toes but you safe. At first they thought it was out of anger that Bruce cheated on your mama, but the second you disappeared it became clear. It's you, it's always been you.

Your grandma hates Bruce not just for cheating on her daughter, she hates him because she reminds her of everything that's wrong in this damn world. A man who's privilege keeps him from falling, someone who tries to do good yet cannot be good to those in his life.

Your maternal family's anger bled over to civilians, but Gotham has never been the most morally pure now have they? Civilians could empathise with the rumours of neglect surrounding you, that you have scars from the child that suddenly rose from the death. But it's the villains that empathise the most with you, for you in this story are one of the few that still looks at them with eyes that show humanity instead of just fear.

You are not afraid of Gotham's villains, nor are you afraid of Luthor (is it Luthor or Luther?) but that's a story for a different time, you embrace them with the same warmth your mama would have used. You condemn them, but you recognise their human. The side of society that pushed them towards this life, you still think that they should do better and be better. But compared to others you never fail to see their humanity.

Well except the Joker and Death stroke. You've only really interacted with the mild-mannered villains (besides Penguin) so are you truly that well versed in the world of Villains? No.

The you in this story is very similar to someone I know or rather knew, you are done fighting. Sure, you'll be petty by asking Penguin to leave clues behind for your family (and the bats). And those clues contain nothing but your pain ridden writings.

Where you write about how you wish life could have been different, how you wish you weren't so alone. How you wish you didn't feel like dying. How you wish that every breath felt like a relief instead of poison waiting to explode.

Jason is the one who takes these clues the hardest, it's also why he sucks at acting normal. These letters started to increase after he attacked you. Isn't that a clear indication that he fucked up your life to a point of no return? That he is just like the Joker?

But back to your question because I'm getting off track, due to you not really giving a shit anymore besides not wanting any contact, the JL doesn't really talk about you. They see it as a sign that you've moved on.

At least, besides both Conner and John (Superboy) and Superman. Those three talk shit about the batfamily without hesitation, mainly because Clark knows he isn't the best either. But at least he's never neglected a child to the point of them almost dying.

Diana is a bit of a weird story however, she wants to kill Batman but at the same time the world needs him so she can't. Yet, unlike the others she has found you.

Not because of a hospital visit, but because of your mama. Diana had a dream and the day after she found you. (I'm definitely making side chapters on the dreams because this is me coping with the fact that my intuition is a bitch and with the fact I still have nightmares almost daily)

The rest of the JL? They care, but they don't care enough to piss off Batman. Like, Aquaman doesn't even understand what the fuck is going on. So, he doesn't meddle.

I can't give a more in dept answer in case of spoilers because this is already spoiling it a bit ngl.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What would happen if Misa in Death Note woke up in Bella Swan's body? I'm assuming she gets eaten but you never know...

You know, that's an interesting question.

Is Edward Misa's Type

You know, I don't know.

On the one hand, he's extremely beautiful, even for a vampire he's noted as particularly good looking. He also had the period where he ate rapists and murderers, Misa would be all down for that much the way she greatly admired Light for his murders due to her getting canonically stalked and nearly murdered as well as watching her parent's killer go free after the burglary gone wrong.

However... Edward regrets that period in his life and gave up on it. More, even when he did it, it was to assuage his thirst in a way he thought he could live with, it wasn't solely to get rid of rapists and murderers. There was an act of personal pleasure involved (something Edward realized himself and in time couldn't stomach anymore).

I'm not so sure Misa would be into that.

Further, while he's beautiful, he suffers from vampire-face, and while Bella's a freak who enjoys marble men most of us find it terrifying looking and wrong.

Edward is hot, but from a woman who we know has dealt with sexual assault/stalking I think that unease would set off her alarm bells in a way Light, who at the time Misa meets him is kind of sexless acting/clearly couldn't want to fuck her less, doesn't.

And, for all Light and Edward have similar personalities, or more similar personality features... they also don't. Light isn't a sensitive soul, at all. He doesn't dabble in the arts, period, he has no appreciation for poetics, and he's incredibly goal oriented and driven. Light has no time nor interest in writing you sonatas or pretending he gives a flying fuck about you (unless it further serves his goals).

Edward, on the other hand, is all about feelings, passion, showing his passion, the arts, grand poetic speeches--

Yes, people aren't always attracted to the exact same type of person, but I just feel in my heart that Edward would bore and annoy Misa.

For all Light was also young when he and Misa met, he had only just entered university and I believe was 18, maybe 19, Edawrd is... seventeen forever. Light's 17 was still very very 17, it was diffferent, and he'd also stopped doing things like thinking high school was his personal ennui and no one has ever been as bored and miserable as him by the time Misa met him.

Misa didn't get to see that Light.

Edward, on the other hand, is right in the middle of that phase.

And if Misa wanted the type of guy who would wax poetry about how amazing she is... she and Light never would have lasted as long as they did.

But on the other other hand, Edward is rich, mysterious, good looking, 'dark' by being a vampire, but also trying to live the best life he can, and has this beautiful put together happy family where Misa has been an orphan since she was a child, appeared to live a very isolated life before she happened upon Light (it's telling how close she and Rem are and how we never, ever, see her with friends throughout the series).

So... I really don't know.

But it also depends on the Misa. If Misa's met Light, then Edward is less than dogfood.

But that didn't answer your question at all. This has been a ramble for my own benefit.

Misa Wakes Up in Bella's Body

I think Misa would take it in stride, as she does many things throughout the series. Misa takes Rem's appearance and the explanation of what happened with her stalker with ease. She also is very unflappable when she meets Light for the first time and realizes that Kira is this young man who is not at all what she expected, and that L is apparently far more dangerous than she thought.

Then of course she loses her memories, regains them and immediately sets the Higuchi plan in motion, then is told she has to lose them again which she does, and then lives with so much amnesia her daily life is very very confusing.

And she gets through all of this shit without being in any way emotional about it.

So, Misa wakes up in a strange body that definitely isn't her, Tuesday.

I imagine she calmly tries to figure out who she is, where 'Misa' is if she's anywhere, and then tries to figure out what to do.

So... if this is Bella in the beginning of the book, either she doesn't go to Forks at all because she wants to stay where she is/genuinely doesn't remember promising to go to wherever... Forks is.

In which case, Misa lives.

Or, she's already in Forks, but I imagine she stays home from school a few days to try to figure out what's happened using ze internetz. With that, she finds out that Misa Amane doesn't exist, or at least doesn't have any internet publicity whatsoever despite being an up and coming pop singer. And also, she's in some girl named Bella Swan in America??? and hooooo boy, everyone speaks only English.

It's unclear how good Misa's English is. We see Light remark upon his own abilities, but Misa we see even less/it's unclear if she speaks much or any English at all. We do see her going through mafia member names, so she's clearly able to read the letters and remember them well enough to write them down herself/relay them to Light, as well as pronounce them properly, but that doesn't necessarily mean she's conversationally speaking with natives who don't know her own language.

In which case...

...

I was about to say Misa makes it, and she would, if that was it.

In a combination of Norwegian and Paranoid Bella, being in a foreign country/dimension where she doesn't trust cops at all and doesn't trust running to anyone, Misa fakes it til she makes it and pretends to be so into this weird vampire weirdo WHO SHE WILL KILL AT THE FIRST OPPORTUNITY.

"Wow, Edward, Misa totally understands every word you say, totally, that five minute long rant you went on there about heroin--Misa understood every word and every word was amazing".

However, the problem is Misa's gothic lolita fashion sense and love of dramatic makeup.

See, you know what Misa's not doing?

Misa's not dressing in ratty jeans, khaki skirts, wearing 0 makeup whatsoever, and doing nothing with her hair on that first day of school in her new body.

Misa has a style, she loves that style, and she doesn't care that Bella's father (who is so sweet, such a sweet guy) looks at her like he's had a heart attack.

Misa is going to show these American hicks what real fashion is.

It's time for the black frilly skirts, thick eyeliner and masqara, dark red lipstick, crucifix earrings, frilly button up blouses, giant ribbons around her waist, several inch high black combat boots, and more.

You know what isn't Edward's type?

Sorry Misa, if she had a few more days to realize she was in terrible danger, just a few more days, she could have made it.

Misa's done in for her clothes.