#the different between book 1 and book 7 is so good

[anhniedraw]

Chasing after you

Was in the mood for some angst

[scorpiossslut]

pairing: lewis hamilton x Wolff!fem!reader

author’s note: GOD this might be awful but please keep in mind that it’s my first story and english is not my first language :) WILL most probably go through major adjustments.

summary: in which her father, Toto Wolff, has always told her to stay away from the young drivers. He never said anything about the older ones though…

warnings: 18+ smut/nsfw, masturbation(f), oral sex(f receiving), fingering, cursing, size kink, unprotected sex, squirting, creampie, age-gap, praise kink, bit of choking.

Being the daughter of a Formula 1 Team Principal never failed to be exciting.

Always VIP treatment, lots of traveling to beautiful countries, numerous job opportunities and getting to meet famous people. You were always grateful for your privileged life but never took advantage of it in a selfish way, although you enjoyed the things it had to offer from time to time. You always refused being treated differently just because of your status. You just weren’t that type of person. You liked working for the things you desired. Your adventurous side always loved a challenge, and that was also the thing your father admired and feared the most about you.

He always encouraged this side of you, ever since you were a kid. If you wanted to learn how to skate, he’d buy you a skateboard. If you spontaneously wanted to spend the next 3 months away from home in another country, he’d book your flight. One day you showed up at his office to show him your first tattoo. You always said you’d never get a tattoo, you didn’t think it would look good on you. But one day you randomly found yourself in front of a tattoo salon and couldn’t resist the curiosity. Your father was never a big fan of tattoos, but he laughed anyway, called you crazy and snapped a few pictures of the tattoo before sending them to your mom.

Toto didn’t have a lot of rules for you. He always told you “Just don’t get yourself in jail, maybe.”. But the most important and unwritten rule was “never involve yourself with the young drivers.”.

He thought they were immature boys and walking red flags, although he deeply respected them for performing in such a dangerous sport as Formula 1. You, on the other hand were never interested in any of them anyway. You befriended a few of the drivers, sometimes partied with them, but no one really caught your interest. No one besides Lewis Hamilton.

Lewis was your father’s most prized possession in the team. 7 times World Champion (or 8 if you ask me), a genuine person, an expert in what he was doing and the best he could get.

Lewis Hamilton emanated power everywhere he went. He always took his work and image very seriously, always told it as it was and his charming personality never failed to impress everyone in the room. Even the drivers looked up to him, hoping to one day be as great as him. Your first encounter with him was when you were only 15 years old, and to say that you were immediately intimidated by him was an understatement.

The nervousness you constantly felt when you were around him was originally a reaction to all the things you heard about the driver. But as time passed, you found yourself intimidated for others reasons. Maybe it was because you were a teenager and your hormones were going crazy, or because of all the books and fanfiction you used to read at that time, but you couldn’t take your eyes away from him anymore. Everything about him drew you in. His tall and muscular body, his numerous tattoos that gave him a dangerous and playboy vibe, his soothing but rough voice adorned with the most beautiful british accent, his braided hair and smooth skin… That man was basically sex on legs. One of God’s finest pieces.

He instantly took a very protective role in your life. To him, you were basically a child, especially due to the big age-gap between you. But you were also his boss’s daughter so he naturally felt the need to protect you.

Now, at 23, you managed to keep a close friendship with the driver. He was always there if you needed advice for something, always there to rant to about your crazy life and always there for a good time. You spent a lot of vacations with him and his friends. Went to a lot of road trips, skateboard dates, dinner or breakfast dates, countless movie nights, sometimes just the two of you. And although your crush on him never went away, in fact the adoration and attraction only deepened, he not once tried anything with you. He always kept things friendly between you two, decent.

And it frustrated the shit out of you. Sometimes you would catch him staring at you, or even touching you for a minute longer, but never more than that. And you slowly began losing hope that one day he’d see you as more than a friend and his boss’s daughter.

————————————————————————

It’s Friday night. Since you didn’t have any plans for today and were bored out of your mind, you decided to call Lewis to ask if he would go out with you tonight. He apologized and told you that he wasn’t really feeling like doing anything crazy tonight, but insisted that you could come over and spend time together, maybe watch a movie or something. You accepted immediately.

So here you were now, 1AM in his living room, with your head on his lap and eyes closed. You didn’t mean to fall asleep really, but your fucked up sleep schedule was beginning to take a toll on you, making you doze off at very random times. Plus, the way his hand was mindlessly running through your hair felt too good.

You slowly open your eyes when you feel Roscoe licking at your hand. With a groan, you try to sit up and take in everything that’s going on. How long have you been asleep for? “Suits” is still playing on the TV, the room is almost dark except for the light of the television, Roscoe is sitting by the couch, looking back at you with his tongue hanging out, and Lewis is on his phone, probably reading through his emails.

“Thought you’d never wake up.” He chuckled, locking his phone and throwing it on the couch.

“I’m so sorry, Lewis.” You sighed, rubbing your face with your hands in hope of getting rid of the sleepiness and the headache you just woke up with. “I didn’t mean to, lately I’ve been having trouble with sleep. Maybe it’s because of school, I don’t know. My schedule doesn’t really allow me a healthy bed time anymore.”

He looks worried as he reaches out to you, shaking your arm a little.

“You can sleep here if you want. It’s late, you’re obviously very tired. I don’t want you driving back home in this state.” He proposes.

“Yeah? I can?” You chuckle, placing your hand on his. Your stomach flutters when you feel his soft, warm skin.

He looks rather angelic in the low light. His eyes are shiny but tired, his lips look soft and juicy, and his body is comfortably spread on the sofa.

“You know you can, bunny.”

Bunny. He loves to call you that. Ever since you were a teenager, he’d always call you that. You found it cute.

“Okay, then. Can I borrow some clothes, though? These jeans aren’t the most comfortable thing in the world to be honest.” You say, getting up from the couch.

“Yeah, sure.”

You follow him to the guest room. The bed looks cozier than ever, and you quickly find yourself hopping into it, groaning at the feeling of the comfortable and soft mattress. Lewis laughs and leaves you for a moment, but comes back a few seconds later, throwing some clothes on the bed beside you.

“Got you a shirt and some pants. But I’m not sure the pants are gonna fit though. You’re… a lot smaller than me for sure.” He spoke, crossing his arms to his chest. “Sorry.”

“No, Lewis. It’s all good.” You giggle, waving your arm lazily. “Thank you.”

You take a moment to look at him again. He has a soft smile on his face and his body is leaning against the door frame, the dim light in the room accentuating the muscles in his arms. He looked huge. And delicious.

Jesus.

“Good night.” He gently whispered. You say it back and then he finally leaves the room, leaving you all alone. And frustrated.

With a deep sigh, you grab the clothes he gave you and inspect them a little. A simple tie dye t-shirt(he loves these), and a pair of shorts, probably the smalest he had in his wardrobe. And they still looked big. Making a decision, you throw the pants on a chair and only keep the t-shirt, then start to change out of your clothes.

Once that was done, you floop back on the bed and check your phone real quick, before turning off the lights and pulling the blanket over your body.

————————————————————————-

You woke up sweaty. With a groan, you quickly pull the covers off your hot body to try and get some air. Your hair is sticking to your forehead and the massive headache you just woke up with already makes you irritated.

Stretching your body a little, you reach for the phone sitting on the nightstand to check the time. 4AM.

“God dammit.” You curse under your breath, rubbing your face with your palm.

You could feel the faint smell of Lewis’s cologne on the t-shirt he gave you. Le Labo’s Rose 31, his favorite. Biting your lip, you bring the material to your nose and inhale the scent. A moan almost escaped you. You could basically feel him, it was like he was in the room with you again. And that definitely didn’t help your current state.

You start wondering what he might be doing right now. He’s probably sound asleep, spread on his king sized bed with nothing but his boxers on, quietly snoring, like he always does. You wish you were there to see him. Admire him. Touch his skin.

Subconsciously, you let your hand travel down your chest and under the shirt, touching at your hot skin. A shiver hits you, and you curiously start to feel around your stomach with your fingers. With eyes closed, you imagine Lewis touching you like that.

It wasn’t unusual for you to think about him like that. But in your defense, you just couldn’t help it. Everything about him felt masculine. His energy, his body, his voice, his gestures. He was basically the man you always dreamed of having, even for one night. You always wondered what he would be like in bed.

Maybe he’d whisper softly in your ear, call you “sweetheart”, take his time on making you feel good, praising you for how good you are for him. How good you take him. Or maybe, he’d manhandle you, make you do whatever he asks, put you in any position he wants while choking you with his big arms and mockingly slapping your face, degrading you for being such a whore, as his cock would slide in and out of you at an abusive pace, making your juices drip out of you with every deep, harsh thrust.

You don’t even remember the exact moment your fingers started rubbing your clit through your panties. You were definitely soaked, the wetness making a faint noise everytime your middle finger would flick at your pussy down to your enterance. A needy whimper escapes you. You needed more.

With the other hand, you quickly grab at your boobs, softly massaging them one by one and pulling on your sensitive nipples. It was all too much but still not enough. The material of your panties was drenched at this point, so you quickly moved them aside.

Circling your awaiting hole a few times, you insert a finger inside slowly.

“Mm, fuck.” You moan, hiding your face into the pillow so you could hopefully hide the sounds you were making.

You imagined Lewis doing this to you. Sitting between your thighs so he can have a clear image of your creamy pussy as he is pumping his fingers in and out of you. He’d have his mouth on you from time to time, sucking your clit harshly and moving his tongue from one hole to the other. His deep brown eyes would never leave your figure, trying to take in every single inch of you and memorize it, so he can always remember how desperate and ruined he makes you.

“Such a pretty pussy. U’re doing so good for me.” He’d praise.

The squelching sound of your cunt momentarily takes you off the trance. Your hand is wet and you’re working one more finger inside of you now, as your other hand desperately rubs at your sensitive button. You can’t believe you’re doing this in Lewis’s house, especially when his room is so close to yours, but you shamelessly don’t care enough about that right now, not when you’re so close to your orgasm.

“Mphh, Lewis…” You cry out, eyes shut.

As your back arches off the mattress, you start scissoring the fingers inside your pussy faster. You gasp for air as your legs begin to shake violently, your swollen clit throbbing uncontrollably. You moan louder than expected as you come all over your fingers, and the thought of Lewis hearing your needy sounds almost excites you more.

After a few moments, you remove the fingers from your pussy. You needed a shower so bad, maybe it would wash away the shame you were feeling at the pit of your stomach. Were you too loud? Did he hear how pathetic you’ve been, just from his scent and a few scenarios of him fucking you with his mouth and fingers?

Sitting up, you scrunch your face in disgust at the feeling of your drenched and cold underwear. You curse in your head for not taking them off early on. What the fuck were you supposed to wear now?

Deciding to swallow your shame, you finally get up from the bed to make your way to the bathroom that was connected to your room. After washing your hands twice with the expensive soap bar, you look into the mirror to see just how messy you really were. Your cheeks were flushed, your mascara was smudged, skin was glowy with sweat and your hair looked like a bird nest. Basically, it was as if you had just taken part in a gangbang.

With a sigh, you take off your panties and run them through the water, trying to wash away the sin you had just committed. Getting lost in thoughts, your stomach almost startles you as it begins to growl loudly. The little amount of energy you had left and now you felt hungry, and incredibly thirsty. Balancing your options, you wonder if you should leave the room to go get something to eat from the kitchen. Your panties were still wet and you couldn’t imagine wearing them now, but you knew you’d never be able to fall asleep again if your stomach constantly demanded food. Plus, drinking tap water was never an option.

“Fuck.”

Slipping your underwear back on, you inspect yourself in the mirror a little and pull on Lewis’s t-shirt, making sure that it covers enough, just in case.

The whole penthouse is silent as you walk to the kitchen. A few lights are still on, but that’s just how Lewis prefers it. You assume Roscoe is in his room fast asleep as well, because you don’t run into him on your way. Opening the fridge, you immediately grab a bottle of water and place it on the counter, before scanning for some food. The indian takeout boxes were really calling your name right now, so you grabbed two of them before closing the door with your foot.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You almost drop the boxes from your hands when you hear his voice. Turning around, you find him staring at you, with a little smirk on his face.

“You almost shit your pants, bunny. Did I scare you?” He laughs, approaching you.

“Jesus, Hamilton. Almost gave me a heart attack, could’ve died right here on your kitchen floor.” You exhaled, dropping the boxes on the table and placing a hand on your chest, trying to see if your heart was still beating.

“I’m sorry. Won’t do it again.” He chuckles and briefly massages your shoulders, before pushing past you to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. After he takes a few sips, he speaks again. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” You bite back, drinking from your own water, almost gulping down the whole thing.

The thought of what you just did a few moments ago creeps into your head again, and you suddenly wish the ground would swallow you. What if he heard? You get self conscious remembering that you’re only wearing his shirt and your destroyed pair of panties that were still wet and uncomfortable, so you pull on the hem to hopefully try and cover yourself as much as possible.

His top lip twitches for a second, then he smiles and shrugs. “Was thirsty.”

He looked absolutely delicious now, with nothing on but a pair of grey shorts and his braids down. His abs were shining underneath the dim lights, and all you wanted right now really was to drop down on your knees and lick them. You couldn’t look further down though, you feared you might pass out if you saw the imprint of his dick in his pants.

You had the opportunity to take a peek, though. Multiple times. Especially on race weekends, when he would just grab his dick in his hand and struggle to readjust himself through the racing suit before hopping in the car. You knew he was big. You fantasized about how he would feel on your tongue, heavy and large. About how he would fuck your throat rough, making you choke on his cock. About how he would hardly be able to slide into your tight, warm pussy, but when he would finally make it, he’d rip you apart with it until you were left a crying, overstimulated mess.

“Why are you so red, bunny? Are you ill?” He asks, furrowing his brows.

When you finally snap out of your filthy thoughts, he’s already in front of you, checking your temperature with the back of his hand, looking concerned.

“N-no.” You almost sound unsure, your voice cracking a little.

“No?” He shakes his head, cupping your flushed cheeks in his hands.

You couldn’t make eye contact with him, even though you knew he was intently watching you. He was so close that there was almost no space to breathe anymore, and you couldn’t take it, so you hesitantly backed off.

A cheeky smirk was plastered on his face though, and he quickly looked you up and down before grabbing a fork and digging into the food left on the table. You just stood there, petrified. No thoughts behind your eyes.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” He spoke again.

Well, the hunger disappeared, that’s for sure.

You shake your head then clear your throat. “Not hungry anymore. I think I’ll just go back to bed.”

“Hm.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, so you grab the bottle of water and make your way past him, whispering a “good night” softly. After a few seconds, he speaks again.

“Maybe this time you’ll be able to get some sleep instead of moaning my name while you’re touching yourself.”

Your stomach drops. Maybe you’re imagining things. Maybe you’ve gone crazy. But there’s no way this was happening right now. This can’t be real.

You’re stuck in your place for a few moments, calculating your possibilities of escape. Throwing yourself out the window sounds like a good idea now. But you feel cornered, and you can’t think of what to do or say. You were doomed, for sure. But you choose to play dumb instead, so you anxiously turn to him and speak.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been asleep the whole time.”

He says nothing, and that worries you even more.

Then he throws the fork in the sink and finally faces you. He lifts his eyebrows and leans on the counter, with his arms folded to his chest.

“No, you weren’t.” He spoke. “Come here.” He gestures with his hand.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you decide to listen to him and get closer.

“Please don’t tell dad.” You beg. There was no point in denying anymore. He knew.

He chuckles then, and furrows his brows, looking at you funny. God, you just wish all this would be over already. It felt humiliating.

“You think I’d tell Toto about how his daughter is pleasuring herself to the thought of me?”

His words come out as a whisper as he carefully moves a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t know…”

“What were you thinking about?”

You finally get the courage to look into his eyes then. You’re not sure you heard him right.

“What?”

“I think you heard me just right, princess. What were you thinking about when you had these pretty fingers deep inside your pussy?” He asks, lifting your hand and pressing a few kisses to your fingers.

A whine almost escapes your mouth while you’re watching it happen. You’ve never heard Lewis talk like that, especially towards you, and it both sexually frustrated you as well as made you impossibly shy. A deep shade of red is present on your face and you seriously don’t know if you should just risk it all and tell him about your little fantasies or act dumb about it.

“Y/n”

You snap out of it. “I-I don’t know what to say, Lewis. This is so humiliating.” You sigh deeply, covering your face with your hands.

“Hey, hey.” He shushed you, pulling you into his arms. He smelled so good, and his skin felt hot pressed against yours, even with the t-shirt you were wearing as a barrier. “No need for that, bunny. It’s just me.” His words come out as a whisper as he is moving his hand up and down your back. “…Just us.”

Lifting your head slowly, you look into his eyes and bite your lip. This was all you ever wanted. For him to want you back. And now that he finally hinted that he might be into you in that way, had you at a loss of words and action.

Fuck it, you thought. It’s been too long. Too much time spent on secretive glances, crushing, overthinking, masturbating to the thought of him. Maybe you could finally get something out if it.

“I was thinking of you… Touching me.”

“Good girl. How was I touching you, hm?” The praise goes straight to your core as his head falls to your neck to press a few wet kisses, and you swore you could die right there on the spot. His hands squeeze your waist a little before traveling down to your ass, massaging patiently, waiting for you to respond to his question.

You moan at the action, getting lost in the feeling of him touching you like that. In a second, he lifts you up by your thighs and you unconsciously wrap your legs around his waist. He sits you on the counter then positions himself between your bare legs. His warm hands touch the insides of your thighs, making your breath hitch. You still can’t believe this is happening.

“You look so good in my clothes…” He mumbles, lifting one of his hands to your shirt and squeezing your skin a little. When he reaches your breasts, he squeezes harder.

“Mm… Lewis…” You whine pathetically, waiting for more.

“That’s what you were moaning a few minutes ago, baby?”

You look up to find him staring at you intently with his teeth pulling at his lower lip. His eyes were darker, full of lust. You enjoy having him like this, you realized. A man, the man you dreamed about, about to pleasure you.

“Yes.” You confess sincerely, batting your eyelashes at him.

“You’re such a naughty girl…” He whispers, touching your soft cheek with his finger.

His other hand starts wondering further underneath your shirt, and you find yourself opening your legs wider, waiting desperately for his touch. You can feel one of his fingers pressing against your clit only a few seconds later, and you can’t help but moan already. He rubs tight, circular circles on your sensitive button and groans, pushing your body back. You lean back and let him lift your legs on the counter.

“Shit, bunny. You look so delicious right now."

He reaches the band of your underwear and pulls on it urgently, leaving you bare in front of him. Normally you'd get self conscious everytime a man saw you naked, but for some reason that wasn't the case now. The desire to have Lewis eat you out was much bigger than any insecurity you may have. You grow impatient already just thinking about it and you feel your pussy clenching around nothing. He notices.

“I’m going to eat this pretty pussy.”

“Please.” You say immediately, eager to feel his tongue on your most sensitive spot.

He pulls you closer to the edge of the counter and gets on his knees, holding onto your shaky legs. You played this scenario in your head over and over again so many times, and you craved to see it finally happen. You really need to see him.

Standing up a little, you think you might just pass out. There he was, propped between your legs, licking a fat stripe of your pussy. He makes eye contact then and moans, connecting his lips to your puffy clit and sucking, hard.

Your body twitches on instinct and you whimper, pushing your needy pussy into his face. He moans and starts licking up and down your cunt, pushing his tongue inside you from time to time.

“Yes… Just like that.” You manage to say.

He’s hungrily lapping at your cunt like he hadn’t eaten in days, collecting all your sweet essence with his eager mouth. You can’t help but yelp a little when you feel two of his thick, long fingers pushing inside your tight pussy. It stings a little, but he doesn’t let you adjust, instead he pushes them deeper and curls them, making your eyes roll and your jaw drop.

“Oh my god." You gasp, arching your back so hard that you think it might break in half. His mouth is still attached to your sensitive clit, pressing torturous licks on it.

He pulls away a little bit, looking at how his two fingers push in and out of you, all shiny with your juices. His darkened eyes were glued to your pussy, like he was hypnotized by the sight. And he was. Suddenly, his eyes snap to yours and you think you’d never seen something hotter in your entire life.

“Look at you, baby… Hear the sounds your pretty pussy is making for me? You’re so fucking wet.” He humms and gives your puffy clit a sharp slap, fucking his fingers faster inside you.

You scream his name, like you always dreamed of doing. You’re desperately trying to hump his hand to get more, already feeling the familiar tightness in your lower stomach building rapidly. He doesn’t like that, so he quickly pushes your hips down with his free hand, keeping you in place. You don’t get to protest, because then he curls his fingers right on your g-spot, having your body tense immediately. You’re almost breathless and trashing your tiny body on his counter, and when he gets his hand on you and starts to flick your clit with rapid movements, you know you’re done for.

“That’s it. Cum all over my fingers like a good girl.”

You don’t hear anything for a few seconds after that. Your ears are tingling, your toes are curling and your whole body is shaking violently. Your orgasm washes over you in an instant, your pussy clenching down on his two fingers.

While you’re busy trying to catch your breath, he doesn’t stop. He continues to fuck you with his fingers, a bit slower now, and he reattached his mouth to your pussy, licking it slowly.

Feeling overstimulated, you immediately jerk away from his touch, twitching uncontrollably.

“N-no… too much!” You whimper, pushing his head back.

“Mm.” He slowly removes his fingers, and you feel yourself clenching around nothing. He’s chasing a trail of cum that your pussy is pushing out with his tongue and moans. “Such a sweet pussy. Sweetest I’ve ever had.” He praises.

You don’t say anything. Mostly because you can’t. Your whole body feels like jelly, still shaky from the powerful orgasm you just had. But you knew he wasn’t done with you yet. No, he gets up and grabs your chin forcefully, smashing your lips together. You can taste yourself on his lips and it makes your head spin and your pussy leak. Again.

When he finally pulls away, he takes a moment to look at your fucked out expression and humms, licking his lip.

“Was it good, bunny?” A smirk creeps out on his face.

“Yes…” You reply, the shyness taking place in you again as you batt your eyelashes at him.

“Good…” He whispers softly, tugging slowly on your bottom lip. “God, I want to fuck you so bad right now.”

God, the things this man makes you feel. He just fucked you stupid with his mouth and fingers and now he wants to fuck your pussy? It had to be a dream.

You want to take advantage of this moment for as long as you can.

“Fuck me, Lewis. I want it.”

The way you just look up at him so innocently but so seductive at the same time, with lips swollen, slightly messy hair and smudged mascara, makes his dick twitch. It isn’t the first time he’s rock hard for you though. No. You never knew this, but he had his eyes on you too. For the past few months, at race weekend, everytime he’d see you, you’d have him losing his mind. Walking around in short skirts and crop tops, or those lovely sundresses you adore so much. It made his dick throb, and he had to make up some excuses a few times just to run back to his driver’s room and touch himself. But he wasn’t only attracted to you because of those things. Your energy captivated him completely, and he knew he wasn’t the only one dreaming about having you. He wasn’t blind, nor stupid. He saw the way the other younger drivers or random people in the pit crew looked at you. How they smiled at you or tried to make you laugh, subtly touching you. It made him feral.

Toto was his boss. They go way back. Lewis admired your father, in many ways, and the bond they formed through working together was tight, for sure. He knew about the stupid rule he had for you, about dating or messing around with the drivers, and he respected that. Up until recently, when he started looking at you in a different light, and the rule suddenly frustrated him deeply. He never had a problem staying away from you. The need to protect you was the only thing on his mind. Then he started to finally see you.

How smart you were, how much joy you bring when you walk into a room. How everyone stops to look or listen to you when you talk. How adventurous you are and openly emotional without a care about what other people might think of you. The way you’re always there for people, the warmth you possess. Your unintentional seductiveness. Your charm.

Now, he had you exactly where he wanted. He wasn’t sure at first if he should tell you that he heard your sweet sounds when you masturbated to the thought of him, but he became desperate. All he needed was confirmation that you felt the same way about him as he felt about you. And he got it. He wasn’t gonna let you slip away this time. And he was done thinking about how complicated the situation is with your father.

Grabbing at your hand, he helps you get off the counter. You look at him confused, scared that he might realize that everything was a mistake and he’d changed his mind. But the thought quickly vanishes when he starts kissing your neck and nipping at your skin, lifting your shirt with his hands.

“I’m not gonna fuck you in a kitchen. My sweet baby deserves a bed, no?” His raspy voice sends goosebumps on your skin and you nod, letting him walk you backwards to his room, as he finally manages to get rid of the only material left on your body.

When you get to his room, he carefully pushes you on the bed, with him on top. The cold air in the room hits your sensitive flesh and makes your nipples harden. Licking your lips, you raise your head from the soft pillow to look at him. His gaze is darkened and his bottom lip sits between his teeth, pulling at it desperately, like he was trying so hard to keep his control. You wanted him to lose it. All of it.

“Please, Lewis… Fuck me. Wanted this for so long.” A whine escapes your lips and you pout, caging his body between your legs as your legs wrap tightly around his torso.

Your confession made him groan. He wanted to keep this moment in his memory forever. How needy you are begging for him to fuck you, how pretty you looked all spread out on his bed, with your hair tousled on his pillow, your lips puffy from his kisses and your eyes glossy and dazed.

Finally, he gets rid of the shorts he was wearing, pulling them off along with his boxers. You're left speechless as you shamelessly stare at his very erect cock. It's thick and you can spot a few angry veins almost popping, running up towards the head. It's standing proud and tall glued to his pelvis, almost reaching his belly button, and it has your mouth water.

He notices how you stare at him with your cheeks flushed and your lip between your teeth and smirks, tapping your thigh a few times to get your attention.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"It's so big..."

"Yeah? Never had a real man before, princess?" He asks, raising your leg to his shoulder and pressing soft kisses on your soft skin while maintaining eye contact with you.

You shake your head timidly.

"Gonna make you feel so good. You trust me?"

"Yes." You respond immediately, squirming under him.

"Just hold on for a sec. I gotta have some condoms in here." He lets go of your leg and leans towards his nightstand to search for the condoms.

"W-wait." You stopped him, pressing a hand to his chest. You were anxious when your next words left your lips. "I... I'm clean, and on birth control, so if you want, there's no need for that."

He turned his head to look at you and stopped in his tracks.

"Want me to fuck you bare, bunny?" He reached a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and looked at you lovingly, with a grin on his face.

"Mhm." You mumbled, nodding your head. "If that's okay with you, of course!" You rushed the words out.

"I'm more than okay with that." He hummed, caressing your hip with his thumb. "Come 'ere."

He pulled you lower on the bed and leaned forward, gripping your cheeks and smashing his lips with yours. He kisses you slow at first, taking his time to taste you. Then, as his hands start to explore your naked body, it turns wild. You feel dizzy as you wrap your hands around his neck to bring him even closer and your hot bodies stick to each other. It feels so intimate, you've never experienced something like this with someone before. His erection is standing right between your legs and it makes you raise your hips eagerly. You want him inside already.

"So eager." He whispers and smirks, pulling away a bit.

You glance down and lick your lips as he lines himself up, watching him tap your clit a few times with his cock, then pushing his head through your sensitive folds to collect all your juices. It sends jolts of electricity through your body and you whimper, spreading yourself a bit more. When he finally slides in, it's so overwhelming that you let your mouth hang open with a loud moan. The stretch is stinging a lot, but there's another sensation that comes with it that makes it so pleasurable at the same time.

Lewis watches you carefully and stills his movements, to let you adjust to his size. Your eyebrows are slightly furrowed as you try to relax as much as you can to accomodate your thight walls around him. Once you feel the pain diminuate a bit you nod your head, letting him know that he can move further.

He slips in a little more then and lets himself moan at the heavenly feeling of your bare, tight pussy squeezing him tightly.

"Doing sooo good, baby. Taking me like a pro." He praises, moving your damp hair out of your face.

He bottoms out inside you and you whimper. He's so deep that you could swear you felt it in your stomach, but you want more.

As if he could read your mind, he slowly pulls out a bit then pushes himself inside again, making you let out tiny mewls and moans as you got to feel every ridge and vein of his cock. Lewis humms and buries his face in your neck, leaving wet, hot kisses all over it before going down to your breasts and taking one of them in his mouth and swirling his tongue around your hard, sensitive nipple. He starts to thrust his hips in a steady rhythm while taking your other breast in his mouth and all you can do is arch your back and whine, overwhelmed by the intense feeling.

"So fucking tight." He hissed, leaning back to grab your thighs and lift them on his shoulders, the new position allowing him to hit your spot better. You felt so full of him, and you were ready to cry from the pleasure.

"Lewis." You let out a loud moan and touch his abs, scratching them as he suddenly surprises you with a rougher pace that makes you roll your eyes back and let out a cry.

“Shit.” He curses, groaning when he feels your pussy clench around his fat cock. “Thought about fucking this pretty pussy every single day lately. And now look at you, all fucked out on my bed.”

His words make your head spin. You had no idea he thought about this just like you did, so many times.

“Y-you thought about me?” You manage to ask between moans, looking down for a second to catch a glimpse of his dick sliding in and out of you at a fast pace.

He went in for a messy kiss then pulled back a little, looking at you with half closed eyes. “You have no idea.” He mutters, grabbing your neck softly.

The sounds in the room are intoxicating. It’s filled with heavy breaths, moans, skin slapping repeatedly and the filthy sound of your impossibly wet pussy getting filled to the brim by Lewis. Your gaze is locked with his and it feels like there’s just the two of you left in this world. Nothing matters anymore. Not your dad, not your age gap, nothing. It’s so intense and intimate that it almost has your heart burst out of your chest.

Your thighs are trembling as he folds them to your chest, and your hands are frantically searching for something to grip onto, while incoherent sounds are dripping off your lips.

“You wanna cum, princess?” He asks, smirking down at you.

“Yes! Yes, please please don’t stop.” You beg, shaking your head as short screams leave your mouth.

He’s quick to drag a hand down to your pussy and starts rubbing your clit harshly with his thumb to force your release. The added pleasure makes you pulsate rapidly around his cock and you find yourself arching your back off the mattress again, struggling to breathe as your orgasm is nearing quickly.

“Come on, want you to make a mess on this cock, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You nod your head pathetically and yelp when he pinches your swollen clit, letting out a loud cry as your orgasm washes over you. It hits you so quickly and so violently that it makes your breath get stuck and your eyes squeeze shut while your legs are uncontrollably shaking. Your juices are dripping down Lewis’s cock and onto the mattress underneath you, and it’s a sight to die for as he watches it all happen.

“Good girl. Did so good f’ me.” He coos, but doesn’t stop the movements of his hips, although he slows down a bit to let you come down from your orgasm.

When you open your eyes to look at him, you find him already looking at you, with an enamored expression on his face. His hand is softly caressing your thigh while he is admiring the post-orgasmic glow of your skin.

Soon enough, he is picking up his pace again and you whine in discomfort and overstimulation, furrowing your brows.

“Can’t. Please. Can’t.” You squirm underneath him.

“You can, baby. Come on, just a little bit more.”

Using his arms, he spreads your legs wider so he can have more access to you. His thrusts quicken again and his fingers attaches themselves to your clit again, pressing into it in circular motions. You were squeezing him so tightly that he could barely move inside you but he pulled through, ramming his hips into yours with brutal force, trying to chase his own release.

“Oh.” You gasped and glued your eyes down to where your cunt was greedily sucking him in. Your milky essence is visible at the base of his cock and the sight is downright filthy.

“Fuck.” He grunts, also watching where you two are connected before he lunges towards you and grips your neck more tightly and yanks you forward a bit. You prop up on your elbows and look at him with wide, doe eyes, moaning uncontrollably. “Where do you want it, bunny?”

“Inside!” You respond immediately, placing one of your hands around his wrist. “Want you to come inside me. Please.”

Your eagerness to take his cum inside your tiny walls makes him shiver with enthusiasm. His tip hits your g-spot with every powerful snap of his hips and it made you part your lips in bliss. Lewis takes the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, kissing you messily. You suddenly start to feel a different kind of pressure at the pits of your stomach and you wince, pulling back from the kiss.

“Lewis… I think there’s something wrong. Feels different.” You slurred, your eyes widening in fear.

“It’s alright, baby. I’m here. Give me one more, yeah?” He grunted, flicking at your clit with his palm rapidly.

The bed is moving with the rhythm of his aggressive thrusts and you feel your muscles contract and twitch with every move. You’re fluttering around him desperately as you scratch down his back with your polished nails and he moans deeply.

“Fuck. Gonna stuff this cunt. Come on, come for me. again, baby.” You know he is close by how much you can feel him throb inside of you.

With a particularly sharp thrust your orgasm washes over you, and you scream, letting your back fall on the mattress as you squirted, your juices making a mess on both you and Lewis. The sight makes him burst instantly and he groans, throwing his head back while he stills inside of you, pumping you full of his cum.

You’ve never done this before. I mean, you definitely heard of squirting, but no one was ever able to get you to this stage. You quickly become self conscious. What if he didn’t like it? What if he found you disgusting now? Terrified, you look up to him only to find out how wrong you were. He is already looking your way, with a huge smirk on his face.

“Look at that. My girl squirted all over the place.”

You blush deeply at his words and cover your face with your hands, but he is quick to grab them and pin them to the bed around your head.

“Why are you hiding? What’s wrong?” He chuckled, amused by the childish action.

“I… I’ve never done that before.”

“Did it feel good though?” He asked with a smug grin.

“Mhm…” You bite your lip and writhe slightly, making him moan at the sudden movement.

He carefully pulls out of you and leans back on his heels, only to see both of your releases slowly drip out of your cunt. He humms and brings two fingers there to massage around your hole, and then he pushes them inside, fucking the cum back into you.

You whine and he stops, looking back at you.

“Wait here for a second, hm? I’m going to draw you a bath.”

You nod and thank him quietly, watching him lovestruck as he gets up from the bed, collects his boxers from the floor and pulls them on, then disappears to the bathroom.

Few minutes later you’re both in the tub, your back is pressed against his chest and your eyes are closed in relaxation while he is lazily running his hand through your hair.

Even though the silence is comfortable, you can’t help but start to overthink. What was he thinking about? You didn’t necessarily think he regretted what you did, but what did it mean? Was he going to ghost you after that? Act like nothing ever happened? You wouldn’t judge him, especially considering the situation with your father, but you hoped that it wouldn’t be the case. Part of you was convinced that he wouldn’t just leave you in the dark like that. That wasn’t Lewis. Could never be Lewis. But your insecurities are still eating you alive.

Then he takes you by surprise again by reading your mind. “What are you thinking about?”

“I was actually wondering what were you thinking about.” You chuckle, leaning your head back a bit to look at him. God, how can this man be so beautiful?

He smiles softly and nuzzles his nose along your cheek, pressing a sweet and tender kiss to it.

You let out a breath and sigh, closing your eyes at the sensation. “I was just asking myself… what now, I guess.” You shrugged, with a heavy heart.

He furrows his brows and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. “What do you want?”

You gulped and licked your lips, looking at him through your lashes. “I want you.”

“Then you have me. And you know I want you too. But it’s going to be a lot more complicated than that.” He whispers to you and you feel your heart drop on the spot, afraid of what he might be insinuating.

Noticing the broken look in your eyes, he quickly places his hands on both your cheeks and leans forward. “What I mean by that is, that we should be careful. I know keeping things a secret isn’t healthy, but giving the circumstances, I don’t think it would benefit either of us right now if someone found out about what we have going on. I promise that it won’t last forever, I would never keep you a secret, but for now that’s just the way things are.”

You take in his words. You know he is right. And you’ll take anything as long as it means that he’ll be finally yours. Even though the thought of keeping a secret like that, especially from your dad, makes you feel uneasy. But you’re so ready to give it a shot, just for him. What if everything turns out alright in the end?

“I know. And I understand.” You nodded, closing your eyes and pressing your lips against his in a tender kiss.

When you pull back, he gives you a quick wink and a smile, tapping the inside of your thigh lightly. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

[truthscrapper]

Devlog #1 📚 The Very First Devlog

We announced Truth Scrapper with a beautiful trailer this month!!! The response has been absolutely incredible, thank you so much for following me on another funky memory adventure. Throughout the development of ISAT, I have written monthly devlogs on Steam, talking about the making of the game. People liked them a bunch, so…

That’s right. It’s time. For the Very First Truth Scrapper devlog!

In case you just stumbled upon this, I am Adrienne, also known as insertdisc5! I am the creator of timeloop RPG In Stars and Time, and now am working on my next game, memory visual novel Truth Scrapper. It’s gonna be a good one.

Alright! Development talk time. Where’s the game at?!?!

So, right now, I have just finished writing the script for Day 4, so I "only" have the art, code, and implementation to do for that day. Truth Scrapper is divided in 7 days, with three different routes you can go through from Day 6 onwards. So really, I need to write and code 11 days. Which puts me at almost ⅓ through development! WOAHRGH!?? At this point, I know where the story is going, I know what each route will consist of, etc. I just don’t know the Details. The portraits are all done, backgrounds are done sequentially for every day, gameplay is all figured out… TLDR: It’s In Good Shape!!!

“That was a good short paragraph, but can I have the detailed timeline of the game. Please.” ok fine you asked for it.

The Big Timeline (and some images!) under the cut

📚 this image was made so early in development, it didn't even have Betz's shibari-like pink harness

TRUTH SCRAPPER TIMELINE

DEC 2022: I finish ISAT around NOV 2022. I get an idea. I write it down. It was going to be an RPG but nobody got time for that. Main themes and ending are here. I work on pre-production very slowly over the next couple months (because I am recovering from finishing ISAT and still gotta keep working on post-production stuff for ISAT)

JULY 2023: Ok fine let's make a renpy file and figure out if the most important gameplay thing can be done. AKA: can I make a book menu where the game remembers the choices you make, and how complicated is that gonna be for me to add to it down the line. It works and I am happy

📚 this image was made so early in development, it just looks very bad

AUGUST 2023: Character design. They look Not Great and character design takes me like nine months. Plot is getting somewhere though!

NOV 2023: In Stars and Time comes out. People like it I think.

MARCH 2024: I decide I need to work on something, and decide to work on that and apply for the Ontario Creates grant. This game is actually starting for realsies!!!!!!!

MAY 2024: I actually lock down character designs.

JUNE 2024: I hire Dora, who was the producer of In Stars and Time and who rules.

📚 dora and i signing our lives to one another on discord. the bond between a creator and their producer can never be broken

SEPT 2024: I work on da gaem

MAY 2025: Day 3 is implemented. We announce the game. Now we’re here!!!!

Alright, that’s it for today! This first devlog is more about telling you where the game is at, and every month you will have a whole new devlog where I can tell you about all the great things I did that month for the game. You can even comment with questions and I might answer them one day. Ok. Thank you. And as always, DON'T FORGET TO WISHLIST THE GAME ALSO IT REALLY HELPS BECAUSE STEAM’S ALGORITHM IS MORE LIKELY TO SHOW OFF GAMES WITH A HIGH AMOUNT OF WISHLISTS THATS THE REASON WHY GAME DEVS ALWAYS ASK TO WISHLIST!!! OKAY BYE!!!!

Links! 📚 Official Website 📚 Join the Discord 📚 Sign up for my mailing list 📚 Follow Truth Scrapper on Bluesky 📚 Follow ME on Bluesky

[womanofwords]

Silver Swan (Part 1)

Neglected!fem!reader x yandere!Batfam

Headless chickens. Bruce Wayne and his children were running around like headless chickens over the gala. So annoying.

"Steph, you'd better not have taken my good corsage!" Barbara yelled. You sighed and retreated to your workspace. Just a little more of this racket and you could work on your new cloak in peace. It was a wonderful silvery colour, and all it needed was the interior fabric for comfort and warmth and the matching exterior feathers for aesthetic. You felt so fun and so mysterious just looking at it.

What should the inner lining be, though? Velvet? Cotton? Silk? Absent-mindedly, you grabbed some silver thread and wandered around with it, weighing up your options.

"Watch where you're going, idiot!" Damian scolded, knocking into you. It hurt, but you couldn't tell whether or not it was on purpose or not. "Why are you even here? You aren't preparing for anything."

He was right; you weren't. No gala invitations came in the mail for you, after all. You were always left out, for some reason.

"I wanted to stretch my legs," you said, cheerily.

"Well, you'll have to wait until we're gone. You won't get in the way like that, and we see you less." His lip curled up into a smirk.

"OK. I'll just wait until you're all gone. I'll go back to my room until then." You rushed back to your bedroom, eyes burning with tears.

Why was it never you?

You'd never been invited to a charity dinner once since joining the Wayne family. Was it because of your parentage? You had been the result of a hookup between your mother, a high-end tailor, and the prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne himself. Maybe your origin was considered embarrassing for Gotham high society. You were nothing like Damian, who boasted of Al Ghul and Wayne ancestry, or Tim Drake, teenage CEO. You were ordinary.

And for a Wayne, ordinary was embarrassing.

You listened to Alfred drive off with them the same way you always did. Alfred would be back soon, but the rest of the family would be gone until morning.

All the better to work on your cloak.

You got out your sewing machine and worked away, opting to go with the velvet. Your dress would be a matching silver colour, and down to the ankles. Shoes would have to have thick soles so that the hems of your cloak and dress wouldn't touch the floor.

"There have to be some books about fashion around here," you mutter, as you pull books out of the shelves by the spine, dislodging them and putting them back when you had determined that this tome would be of no use to you. As you went for a book about a timeline of high fashion, sheafs of paper fell out and landed next to your feet.

You debated whether or not to look at them. Nobody was in the house, so nobody would know that you had done it so long as you put them back where you had found them. Curiously, you picked one up at random and read it.

It had your name on it. You picked up another. That one had your name on it, too. They all did, actually. What really differed were the events highlighted.

Winter Gala. Charity Ball. Annual Dinner.

Your innards twisted. You really had been invited to these events, same as everyone else. Someone in the house had repeatedly and systematically hidden your letter of invitation so you wouldn't accompany them. It was your family's doing that had left you weeping bitter tears in a home that hated you.

Those heartless bitches would pay.

Part 1 <- You are here

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie

[call-sign-shark]

Echo of Shadows || Masterlist

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!OCreader || Alina Starkov x Heartrender!OCreader || Malyen Oretsevx HeartRender!OCreader

Summary: "They called her the White Plague, a saint or a monster—but she was neither, only destruction wrapped in a pretty bow."

In Ravka's frosty heart, the legend of the White Plague spreads—a woman with snow-white hair, frozen-fire eyes, and powers that rival those of Jurda Parem. Once a slave in the Menagerie, the one who calls herself Heaven is now a myth, either leaving towns in ruins or former disease-ridden people crying with gratitude. A Sankta.

General Kirigan's interest soon turns dark and his desire obsessive. Never had he been so captivated and haunted by someone. Someone he could finally share his eternal life with. Caught in a cruel game of power and love, she's torn between Kirigan’s corrupting passion and Alina Starkov’s promise of freedom.

Amidst the chaos, one question arises: will she become a savior, a monster, or something far more dangerous?

TW: Explicit sexual content, slow burn, borderline consent, heavy pinning, toxic relationship [manipulation, obsession, extreme jealousy, controlling behavior], graphic sexual description, graphic depiction of murder and torture, blood!kink, size!kink, radioactive couple, codependency, reference to past SA and child SA, dark romance & mad romance trope, ambiguous relationship with Alina. This story is brutal, bloody and rated +18.

ACT I: A BURNING LIMERENCE

1. Keep Moving, Little Girl

2. Their Frozen Shackles

3. The Court of Shadows

4. The Fear Within

5. Beneath his Watchful Eyes 🔞

6. Until Nothing is Left

7. Dangerous

8. Blood and Honey

9. Gazed Into the Abyss, It Gazed Back Into Me 🔞

10. Raw

11. The Things I'd Do for You

12. Burn Your Village 🔞

13. Light of my Life.

14. My Night and Stars. 🔞

ACT II. RAPTURE OF THE DEEP

Queen of Spades

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Light

Like a Feeling of Déjà Vue

Blinding Light

I was Made for Loving You, Baby 🔞

It's in Our Veins

Your Darkness Flayed 🔞

After the Storm, the Sun

Safe in the Dark 🔞

Paint Me Black 🔞

Golden Cage for a Pretty Bird

Your Heart, My Chains

Good Ending? You Haven't Been Paying Attention

ACT III. THE CALL OF THE VOID

The Assasymphony

Never You

Barbwire Kiss🔞

It Has Always Been You 🔞

I'm Not Ruined. I'm Ruination.

Here Comes the Wolves

Your Love is an Open Wound 🔞

The Starless Saint of Broken Hearts

The Mask of the Red Death

Candy-Coated Suicide

Symphony of Our Ruins

Epilogue: Eternal Eclipse

ONE SHOTS

Much Ado About Jam Toasts- fun & fluff

A Dangerous White Tigress - action, Hurt/Comfort

Away From the Deep Shadow

Damaged

MODERN AU*

Mental Health Is Sexy Masterlist

*Amos is Aleksander's modern identity.

GAME OF THRONES AU

Damaged Masterlist

*Amos is Aleksander.

VISUALS

Light in the Dark

"Call me Aleksander" - trailer by the beloved @elizabethblood9

My Night and Stars

Heaven Lavey

ASK

Modern!Aleksander x Heaven for Christmas

Notes:

☾ I haven't read the books so this work is based on the TV show even though I know it's fairly different from the original Grisha verse. If you're an adorable lore psycho, you might not want to read that! :(

☾ Taglist: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader @mystic-mara @m-riaa @kallista-diune @meadows5 @kasagia @watersquirtpewpewboomm @the-sweet-psycho @sarahsobsession @elizabethblood9 @ritzzzzz @sophialeiros @noortsshift @sassyvilliantrope @sherwoodforesttales @a-smidges-stuff

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 3

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

A/N: Steve Rogers is older than Bucky here.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You arrived at the new apartment, feeling a small sense of relief for finally being under a different roof than Caroline’s. The thought of enduring the same torture as before made your skin crawl.

As you settled in, you broke the silence. “Your mom offered the attorney to us.” You remembered how you had insisted the divorce attorney make it as quick and painless as possible. “Why didn’t you finalize it?”

Bucky’s gaze remained steady. “Not once did I think you were actually going to leave me.”

“There’s no marriage between us,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “If you’d finalized it, you could’ve easily married a woman your mother approved of.”

Flashback Start

You recalled every time Caroline mentioned another woman’s name as if they were more suited for Bucky. “You know, Rachel just graduated summa cum laude from Harvard in social politics,” she had said at the rehearsal dinner.

Then, on your wedding day, as you and Bucky sat together, trying to enjoy the celebration, Caroline approached, holding hands with a stunning woman. “Bucky, look who’s here? Katherine just arrived from London.”

Caroline’s voice dripped with approval. “Both of them went to the same law school.”

You clenched the fork in your hand so hard you thought it might snap.

Why the hell was she introducing another woman to you on your wedding night?

Did she expect you and Bucky to have a threesome with Katherine?

From that moment, you knew your place—an outsider who didn’t come from the pedigree Caroline so desperately wanted for her son.

When you finally left the house, you remembered her raising her champagne glass with a smirk. “I always knew you weren’t the one.”

Flashback End

“They need someone with a spotless record,” Bucky said, breaking you from your thoughts.

You stood there, your emotions a mix of anger and disbelief.

“I’m not making excuses for you. I know the old me wasn’t good enough, that I couldn’t be the man you could rely on,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret.

He looked at you with a desperation that caught you off guard. “You could poison my drink, stab me in my sleep. I wouldn’t fight it. I’d let you.”

His eyes, usually so confident and composed, were now filled with a deep, pained sincerity. The weight of his guilt seemed to crush him, and the shadows of remorse darkened his features. His hands trembled slightly, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. How could he say that so casually? What kind of twisted love was this?

“That’s how much I need you,” he confessed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re using me,” you accused, your voice shaking with a mix of fury and sadness.

Bucky didn’t deny it. “Like I said, it’s a business relationship. But I’ve trusted you from the beginning. Put my faith in you.”

He reached out, taking your hands in his, holding them together like a prayer. “And I hope we can work together. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to work in the White House.””

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The following day, you met Steve, the future Presidential candidate. He greeted you warmly, his genuine smile easing some of the tension you felt. You’d met Steve and his wife, Peggy, a few times before—honest people who never treated you like you didn’t belong. Steve had even defended you whenever Caroline or others looked down on you for not being in the same league as them.

"I’m so glad you’re here," Steve said, clasping your hand. "When did you arrive?"

You chuckled softly. "Well, when three Secret Service agents showed up at my door, who was I to say no?"

Steve chuckled too, though there was a hint of awkwardness in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly. "Let’s talk."

You walked together, the air thick with unspoken words. "I know it’s difficult for you to be here. I owe you big time," Steve began sincerely. He had witnessed your marriage crumble, and despite his and Peggy’s best efforts to support you and Bucky, things had fallen apart.

You sighed. "What confuses me is, why me? He could’ve chosen another woman, someone way more qualified."

Steve leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "To be honest, I think you’re the best option. He probably won’t show it, but Bucky was happy when he heard you were coming."

You scoffed, glancing over at Bucky, who was watching the two of you from a distance. "Impossible."

As you scanned the room, you spotted someone familiar—your brother, Tim. Excusing yourself from Steve, you made your way over to him.

"I’m glad you’re here," Tim said, his voice filled with warmth, though his eyes carried a weight of their own.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I can’t believe you. You knew what I went through, and yet you’re working with him? You sucked up to him."

"Look at me," Tim said firmly.

You glanced down at him, seeing the determination in his gaze.

"Who’s going to hire a disabled person like me?" Tim who seated on his wheelchair, his voice wavered slightly as he spoke. He had been born with both legs, but when bone cancer struck his left leg, the doctors recommended amputation to stop it from spreading. That surgery had shattered his dreams of becoming a professional tennis player.

"It was James who offered me a job," he emphasized, "with a high salary."

Tim continued, "You can keep your anger, but face it, Y/N—they won’t pay the bills. For people like me, I need more money to survive in this world."

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Bucky appeared beside you.

"Hi, Tim."

"Hey," Tim replied.

"I'm going to steal your sister for a bit." Bucky turned to you. "Our next schedule is couple’s therapy," he said, his voice calm but authoritative, cutting the conversation short.

You hated this part. The thought of attending therapy with Bucky made your stomach twist with unease. You shot Tim one last look, a mixture of concern and frustration in your eyes, before following Bucky out of the room.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

As you and Bucky sat across from Aiden, the therapist, the atmosphere was thick with unresolved tension. The room was simple yet comfortable, with soft, neutral tones that were supposed to be calming but did little to ease the storm of emotions swirling within you. You could feel the weight of Bucky's presence beside you, a familiar heaviness that both comforted and suffocated you.

Aiden leaned forward, his expression neutral but attentive. "So, what are you feeling right now?"

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice laced with frustration and exhaustion. "I don’t think I have the courage to live another day in his family. His mother is the devil spawn. Even seeing her shadow triggers me." The words spilled out of you, raw and unfiltered, a reflection of the years of pain and resentment you'd kept bottled up.

Aiden nodded, his gaze shifting to Bucky. "And what about you, Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky's eyes remained fixed on a spot on the floor, his voice steady but lacking its usual conviction. "I didn’t think that way. As long as we stick together, we can get through everything." There was a hint of desperation in his tone, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You turned to look at him, disbelief and anger simmering beneath your calm facade. "From the beginning, we should’ve never gotten married. You only focus on yourself, never bothering to look behind you. Me, trying my best to fit into your circles."

Your voice wavered, the painful truth of your words cutting through the silence like a knife. You had always known you were out of his league—young and innocent, believing that love could conquer all.

But you had been wrong, and the reality of that mistake was too much to bear.

His mother’s voice echoed in your mind, the countless times she’d told you that you weren’t good enough, that you didn’t deserve him.

"Your mother was right. I don’t deserve you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s expression tightened, his guilt etched into every line of his face. "I’m sorry. I really am sorry." His voice cracked, the weight of his regret finally breaking through.

He had never wanted this—to see you hurt, to see you broken because of him and his family. But the damage was done, and the guilt gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving.

Aiden observed the exchange, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke. "I see that you’re the victim here, ma’am. And your former mother-in-law is the main reason why." He glanced at Bucky, his voice firm. "Mr. Barnes, your mother hurt her deeply, and now you must do everything in your power to make amends."

Bucky nodded, his voice thick with emotion. "I will. I'll do anything to erase the hurt you’ve received from her." The sincerity in his voice was palpable, but it was clear that the guilt weighed heavily on him. He had failed to protect you, to shield you from his mother’s venom, and that failure haunted him.

Aiden’s voice softened, but there was a steely resolve in his words. "Use this pain, both of you. Let it fuel you to confront Caroline, to reclaim your strength. Don’t let her win. Turn this pain into power."

As you sat there, the enormity of the situation began to sink in. You had been through so much, and the path ahead was uncertain. You had expected to loathe the couple’s therapy, but surprisingly, it turned out to be a beneficial experience.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

After the couple's therapy, the silence between you and Bucky was palpable, each of you grappling with the raw emotions that had surfaced.

The therapy had stripped away your filters, leaving you both exposed—your anger and frustration flowing freely. Bucky remained stoic, absorbing your harsh words with an almost resigned patience.

Returning to the Barnes household, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The room was filled with Bucky’s family: his parents, Julius and Caroline; his brother, Shawn, who struggled with cocaine and felt diminished by his inability to meet Caroline’s lofty expectations; and Hazel, Bucky’s sister and Nate’s mother.

Hazel, having felt overshadowed as the spare child, had chosen a career in fashion to escape the constant comparison to Bucky, who was seen as the golden child.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Shawn and Hazel, both of whom shared your misery under Caroline’s disdain. But that sympathy was tempered by their enjoyment of watching you suffer, thanks to their mother’s contempt.

Greg, a family friend, was the bearer of the news that the whole family would attend the upcoming convention event.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said firmly, your tone clipped.

“Why… why?” Greg asked, confused.

Caroline rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Here we go.”

Bucky tried to interject, “Don’t…”

You cut him off with a steely gaze. “After that consultation, you still want to continue this?”

Caroline's eyes narrowed. “I knew we couldn’t trust her.”

Shawn chuckled, and Hazel remained indifferent.

“Quiet,” Julius commanded, his voice brooking no argument. The room fell silent.

With a sense of finality, you approached Caroline. “You’re so jealous of me,” you said, your voice dripping with disdain.

Caroline’s eyes widened, a mixture of anger and shock. “What are you talking about?”

“Because you know I’m going to get what you can’t have,” you smirked, savoring the moment. “Being the wife of the Vice President.”

“You bitch,” Caroline spat, something snapped inside her. Deep down, you were right—she was jealous of you. You were younger, smarter, and luckier. It was her dream to be in your position, but now it seemed like she had paved the way for you instead. What’s worse, you didn’t fit her criteria at all. She felt you didn’t deserve this.

Without warning, Caroline lunged at you, grabbing your hair. The two of you were soon locked in a fierce struggle, yanking each other’s hair and grappling with a fury that left no room for remorse. The physical confrontation was liberating, an outlet for all the anger you had been holding back.

You felt no fear and no guilt towards the seventy-year-old woman. At last, you could release all the anger you had been holding in.

Waiting for karma takes too long, and you can’t expect God to do all the work. So you took this chance to give her a lesson she won’t forget.

“Stop! STOP!” Bucky and Julius’s voices cut through the chaos as they tried to separate you. Shawn and Hazel, their faces a mix of curiosity and apathy, slowly backed away from the scene.

It was a struggle to pry you apart; Caroline, in her rage, was more unruly and disheveled compared to your own controlled fury.

“Hufft,” you adjusted your disheveled dress and hair, glaring at Caroline with a fierce, triumphant look. “You know what? I hope your son wins, so I can rub my new position right in your face.”

Caroline’s expression was one of shock and fury, her face a portrait of someone who had been dealt a blow she wasn’t prepared for. Her eyes were wild with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“You’re absolutely right,” you looked at Bucky, your voice steady. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to live in the White House.”

Caroline’s gritted her teeth.

“If the world wants to see us as a happily married couple,” you said with a cold smile, “I’ll give them the most blissful marriage they’ve ever seen. It’ll be the kind of marriage everyone talks about when they mention a perfect union.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise at your cold declaration. For a moment, he was stunned, but as he processed your words, admiration and pride flickered across his face. He straightened, a hint of a smile forming, clearly impressed by your bold resolve and newfound strength.

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[hollow-writing-place]

The Ghost King and The Firecracker

Chapter 1: Meet... Cute?

Word Count: 3079

Masterlist for this work/info about the fic

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Summary:

Ectoplasm was a necessity for every ghost, as Danny had come to find out. He had just sat down for lunch, lifting the ectoplasm infused sandwich to his mouth for a bite.

That's when he noticed it.

Or rather, that's when he -felt- it.

Someone stepped into the cafe, and their presence…

Ancients, they were starving.

Or: Ghost King Danny stumbles on a man with a starving proto-core of sorts. With halfa's like him being so few and far between, it was his solemn duty to help this poor guy out, right?

Jason has no idea what's going on, but if this stranger can keep the pit away like he promises, then Jason's willing to do just about anything. Even if that 'anything' is dinner every other night.

Living in Gotham was… alright?

Danny will admit, he misses the familiarity of Amity. He knows it isn’t safe for him anymore, and getting out was the only way to keep himself from being dissected and all that, but still. 

Gotham wasn't awful, no matter what outsiders said. 

Jazz worked in Gotham, and she went to college there too, so at least he wasn't alone in fleeing the Fenton household. Jack and Maddie… Well, he doesn’t think they’ve even noticed his disappearance. Not with their single-minded focus on re-capturing Phantom. 

When he was last there, (moving out secretly), they raved on and on about how they almost had the ghost hero, how they’d gotten him into the lab, on and on. Danny was sick just thinking about what happened. 

He shakes his head like he could physically remove the thought from his brain. Now isn't the time. He's got a job to do, and he's slacking. 

Gotham U was a good college, and with his performance in some of their science classes, he'd landed a pretty good paid internship in WE’s aerospace sector. Of course, no matter how much he loved space, it didn't make the equations easier. 

As ghost king, he did have the collected knowledge of thousands of years and thousands of universes at his fingertips, but that felt like cheating. So here he sits, staring down the same equation he'd been struggling over for the better part of the day. 

His eye twitches. He rereads the letters and numbers for the hundredth time. 

He's shocked from his staring contest with the unmovable screen by a tap on his shoulder, and he physically jolts back at the sudden fright. Wow, some Ghost King!

“Whoa! Sorry Danny, it's just… You've been eyeing that string for…” Michael checks his watch, brow furrowed. He blinks and shakes his head. “...way too long. I think it's time you take a lunch break, huh?” 

Michael was one of the heads of his division, and he was probably the nicest boss Danny had. Super understanding. That's why Danny gives him a dazed nod and blink, standing sluggishly and stretching while his boss moves on. 

His legs are numb and full of pins and needles at the same time, causing him to hiss out a pained breath. Trudging through the department to the break room, he grabs his lunch box and debates eating at the small table provided to them in the drab break room.

It takes half a second to decide he needs some fresh air and head out of the building. There's a cute corner cafe he likes to frequent, and they don't mind him taking his lunch inside. 

Learning to cook was a challenge. He was so used to fighting back against food that he was wary of the kitchen. Jazz had to drop by often to help him work past that. Now, he wasn't the best chef, but he could cook a good dish with a recipe, and he'd even been going more and more off book lately. 

Today's lunch was a simple sandwich, the sauce of course infused with ectoplasm. 

He'd been worried that adding ectoplasm would bring the food to life, but was assured by Lunch Lady that it would be fine. 

Apparently, ectoplasm was a necessity for types like him. It was a necessity for every ghost, of course, but he had to go about absorbing it differently. Through some trial and error, they discovered it was easiest to just ingest ectoplasm to meet his needs. On top of that, when mixed with food, the odd taste seemed non-existent! A win-win all around.

Ancients, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he sat down and had his first bite. He felt the ectoplasm dissolve and radiate through him, making him feel almost lighter, more awake. 

It was a fulfilling feeling, and made him realize that maybe he'd gone a bit too long without topping up his internal stores of ectoplasm. Regardless, he went for another bite. 

That's when he noticed it. 

Or rather, that's when he felt it. 

Someone stepped into the cafe, and their presence. Not quite ghostly, not quite human. Almost like Vlad, but way less slimy, and hungry. Starving, even. 

His eyes lock onto the man entering, and unbidden, he watches the man step up to the counter. He’s tall, and built like a brick wall with a heavy leather jacket over his shoulders. His hair is jet black save for, curiously, a patch of pure white curls over his forehead. 

Danny unwittingly expands his aura, trying to comfort this clearly starving liminal unconsciously. 

Of course, the maybe halfa startles back and whirls to face Danny. 

His eyes meet the stranger's teal eyes, and Danny sees something almost like fear cross over the man's face before being replaced by anger. With the anger comes a change in his blue-ish eyes, shifting them more to a neon green, and the flaring of a shockingly weak aura. 

It feels fragile even as it tries to curl protectively around the man, hissing and crackling like flames eating through logs. 

Little firecrackers. 

Overwhelmingly, there’s a sick sort of feeling that comes over Danny when he inspects the man’s aura, like something is terribly wrong with it. Something twisted and unnatural about the rage that contorts the man’s features and races through his veins.

Danny faintly senses a small proto-core of sorts buried deep in the man, under all that green hate. It's as if the man was supposed to be a halfa too, but that crucial ghost part of himself hadn’t formed right. And Ancients, that achingly hungry sensation flooded his senses once more as Firecracker began walking his way, a scowl turning his lips. 

Danny was getting secondhand pangs of pain in his stomach from how strong the feeling was. 

The man was at his table now, and Danny realized he’d been creepily staring for far too long for it to be comfortable. The strange halfa, (because with their proximity, Danny was now sure he was a halfa) opened his mouth to speak. 

Before he could get a word out, Danny was pushing into his space, all but shoving part of the ectoplasm sandwich into the man’s mouth. The human part of Firecracker seems to want him to pull away, to recoil, but that tiny piece of ghost in him overpowered his body in that moment, and as soon as he had gotten that first bite down, he tugged the rest from Danny’s hands. 

Danny let him with a sigh, relieved his spur of the moment plan worked and the man no longer looked like he wanted Danny dead. 

Firecracker was wolfing the ectoplasm infused meal down so fast that Danny was worried he’d have to perform the Heimlich on the guy. Instead, he laid a hand on his shoulder and guided him to sit in the seat across from Danny. They were getting some odd looks from the other patrons of the cafe, but Danny was more focused on making sure Firecracker was eating something. 

He was done with the sandwich in no time and blinking confusedly at Danny. The green that had overtaken his eyes was gone, as was the anger. The new shade of icy blue was striking.

“What the fuck.” He managed to rasp, shaking his head. “What the fuck was that?” He repeats, voice a bit stronger now. The fire that had curled about him earlier had dropped to a quiet simmer, sounding almost content now. 

Danny gives him a smile, trying for easygoing. It probably comes off a bit strained. “Don’t get all angry on me again dude, but it was food.” 

The man across from him is not amused. 

“I know that, dumbass. What did you do to me?” There’s a growl to his voice again, but his eyes were still bright blue, so Danny remained relaxed. 

“I didn’t do anything. You, however…” Danny hesitates, trying to phrase his next question right. “Well, Firecracker, have you- there’s no easier way to ask this, I'm so sorry- have you… died… before?” Danny winces at his uneven stammering. 

Firecracker blinks. “Jason.” 

Danny blinks back. “What?” 

“Jason. My name is Jason, not Firecracker.” 

“I- okay? I’m Danny?” Firec- Jason nods decisively and stands. 

“Somehow you made the green shit go away, and you absolutely know something I don't, so get up. We’re going somewhere more private.” Jason stares Danny down unblinkingly, intensely.  “I have a feeling we need to talk.” 

Danny nods back and stands to follow Jason. Privately he thinks that he should not feel so flustered by the man who is quite literally underhandedly threatening him. 

Again, much like always, he shakes it off to get into gear. He clearly has some explaining to do.

---

Seated around a wobbly table in a ramshackle apartment, Danny tries not to feel intimidated by the man across from him. He’s the Ghost King for Ancient’s sake! Nevertheless, Jason’s got this glare that makes Danny want to look away. 

He scans the room for the fifth time and can’t help but feel a bit bad for the guy. He’s clearly not well off. The apartment is really just one room with a sad stove and minifridge in one corner and a mattress on the floor on the other side. 

The floor is cold tile on Danny’s legs as he sits in front of the only other furniture in the place, a coffee table with one leg shorter than the others, causing it to shift and move with the slightest amount of pressure. It is extremely awkward, to say the least. 

Danny clears his throat, figuring it was better to get this uncomfortable topic over with. “So. You died, yeah?” He winces at his own lack of tack, but Jason just silently nods. “Okay. And you came back, obviously.” 

Danny sighs and glances down. “That happened to me too. I- I’m gonna start this off by just asking you to believe me, and try to put some trust in me. It might be tough, but I’m going to tell you the truth.” 

Jason shrugs. “Give me your best shot. Can’t hurt.” 

“Ghosts are real.” Danny blurts. 

Jason opens his mouth, clearly ready to refute this, so Danny pushes on. 

“Ghosts are real, and me and you are half Ghost, or halfa’s. Except- except, something’s wrong with how you came back?” Danny flushes bright red at the taken aback expression Jason gives him. “Not- not wrong! Just… different?? Oh Ancients that came out wrong. Hold on.” 

Jason is surprisingly patient with him as he pauses to breath and reorder his thoughts. If Danny were Jason, he’d have punched himself by now. And he was supposed to be king?? Ancients, the observers had their work cut out for them. He takes another deep breath. 

“Alright, from the top. Ghosts are real, and Ghosts have something called a core. Halfa’s have cores too. It’s the ghost part of them, so it’s, like, super important.” Jason nods, still looking a bit lost. “Great. So for you- and please take no offense- your core didn’t form like it should’ve when you came back. In fact-” 

Danny stretches his senses out, not noticing the way Jason flinches back as his presence fills the room. 

“I don’t think your core even got to start forming. I have no idea how you’re here.” Danny says, well and truly confused. 

Jason sighs and puts his head into his hands. “The fucking Lazarus pits.” He curses. 

“The what?” Danny asks, cocking his head to the side. 

Jason begins to explain. 

–--

Danny makes a disgusted face. “Dude, that's so messed up.” 

Jason nods enthusiastically, gesturing broadly. “I know! I came back, got caught, and immediately tossed in! And- and now I've got all this anger and urge for violence I can't control but-” He faces Danny again, making direct eye contact. “Whatever was in that fucking sandwich made it go away. I- I mean completely.” 

He runs a hand through his wild hair, clearly frazzled. “It’s starting to come back slowly, I can feel it creeping,” His lip turns down, “but it was gone. What was in that sandwich!?” He looks about ready to grab Danny by the shoulders and shake him, and Danny feels for the guy. 

From the vague story of getting brought back alone, Danny knew that Firecracker had seen some pretty screwed up stuff. 

“It was ectoplasm. Essential for ghosts, and therefore, necessary for halfa’s. It comes from the Ghost Zone and I just put it in food since it’s way easier than, like, injecting it into my veins or sitting in pools of it. You clearly haven’t ever had any, and that might be a part of why you have such a small core. Though-" Danny pauses, and Jason leans in a bit. “Now that I think about it, those Lazarus pits you talked about… It sounds a lot like a pool of corrupted ectoplasm, which would be-” Danny whistles a breath out. 

“Pretty bad?” Jason fills in. 

“Understatement.” 

They sit in grim silence for a moment. Danny tries to lighten the mood. 

“But we can worry about that later. I think, if I'm right about you having corrupted ectoplasm blocking your core from growing, I may be able to help!”

–-–

“So you’re saying that to get rid of the pits I need to purge-”

“Purge your corrupted ectoplasm, yes.” Danny confirms. 

“And then I just replace it with the good stuff and, poof? All better?” Jason sounds like he can’t believe it. Danny’s sure it feels almost too easy for him after struggling to live with all that mess. 

“Poof. all better.” 

Jason gives him the tiniest head shake, like he’s trying to wrangle his thoughts together. “I don’t know why it feels so easy to trust you on this.” 

Danny perks up. “Oh, I can actually explain that, too! 

“That’s another thing about the ghost part of us! We are going to struggle to lie to each other because our cores expose that kind of stuff. You probably have trouble detecting it really now, but as soon as you’re in better shape, I’ll show you what I mean.” This explanation just seems to make Jason unsettled, which was not Danny’s goal. 

“So you can just kinda know what I'm feeling whenever?” 

Danny shakes his head immediately, realizing the problem.

“Oh no, not at all! It takes some focus and concentration, not to mention skill, if you're not projecting those feelings. Dishonesty just kind of-'' Danny makes a hand wavy motion in the air. “-doesn’t sit right.” He huffs a breath. “It’s hard to explain, but I promise, you’ll know.” 

How does he begin to explain ghostspeak and auras and core types to a halfa who hardly has a core?? Never mind, put that on the back burner, come back for it later.

Jason, clearly exhausted from all of this, just nods at his weak explanation and leans back, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. Danny averts his eyes from Jason's well defined muscles instantly, focusing on literally anything else. 

“So… what now?” Jason’s eyes are a more-blue-than-green teal now, and his gaze is intent.

Danny grins at Jason, jumping on the chance to change the subject. “Well, you give me your number, and we plan to have a meal together every other night. Just so you don’t get overloaded with pure ectoplasm too quickly.” 

Jason slides his phone, already open to contacts, over to Danny smoothly. “If it gets rid of the Lazarus madness, I’m down for anything.” He laughs, but it comes out flat and tired. 

Danny feels a pang of sympathy as he types his number in. They sit there for another moment before Danny finally stands. 

“...Well, I'll leave you be.” He finds he really doesn’t want to say that. 

He doesn't want to leave Jason alone in this barren apartment. But he also doesn’t want to overstep, and it’s clear Jason needs a break. “See you in a day?” 

Jason nods, straightening up. He pauses. “Thanks. I- yeah.” 

“It's nothing. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.” 

“Yeah. I hope so.” 

Danny turns to leave before he gets an idea and whirls back. Danny gives Jason his best, beaming smile. “Watch this. Going Ghost!” 

The transformation takes in it's usual flash of light, leaving Danny standing there in his hazmat suit, a cheeky grin on his face. Jason’s slack-jawed expression pulls a laugh from Danny. 

He winks before floating towards the window to the side and phasing into the alley before going invisible. He watches for just a moment longer to see Jason tear his curtains to the side to look upon the street and see… nothing. 

Yeah, having a friend in Gotham could be good for Danny. 

…

It’s when he’s on his way home that realization strikes him. He never went back to work!!! Oh Ancients, no!

—meanwhile—

Jason is not panicking. He’s not! 

He’s calm and cool and collected and all that stuff! Exactly what you’d expect after being told there was a simple cure to the sickness that plagued your every waking moment. 

Danny was, for genuine lack of words, a whirlwind . He sweeps in out of nowhere and makes Jason feel like everything he’s known since revival has been turned on its head. So much information he just didn’t know. So much he still had to find out. 

Patience is a virtue, but Jason’s never been the best at holding back. He had been a bat after all. 

He paces the length of his dingy, 6th best safe house and chews on a knuckle anxiously. 

Sure, Jason had inexplicably trusted Danny about the ‘Ghosts are real and you are one’ thing, but seeing it in action was a whole other ball game. He hates the twist of anxiety in his gut as he paces his sixteenth lap of the apartment. 

Finally, he shakes his head like a dog trying to rid its fur of water and decides to just head back to his real house. He’s got dinner plans in a day anyways. 

Besides, he was trying to be on better terms with some local bats, and going missing suddenly on a coffee trip with no word on what happened to him was not good policy. He could already feel the headache coming on. He rubs at the bridge of his nose with a groan.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Since you've discussed your favorite parts of ep. 7, I'd like to know your biggest criticisms of it & how you would've addressed them.

[Referencing this post!]

*raises finger* (my lawyer pulls me away)

Here’s how I would change the ending (while still staying within the Disney + mobile gacha game restraints and sticking with the themes + patterns established by other OBs):

Rework all the dreams. Every single last one. I can’t count the number of issues I have with them. Between the inconsistent pacing (4-35 parts per boy), the lack of urgency, extra fat (irrelevant convos), frequent contradictory explanations of the dreams, and the on-the-nose announcements of how each boy has changed, these are horribly inefficient vehicles for storytelling and need to be significantly tightened. Maybe even consider cutting out all of them except Adeuce and the OB boys; make the rest optional or side missions or something.

Between each dorm’s dreams, cut back to Malleus and Lilia so they at least STAY relevant for a book that is supposedly about Diasomnia. Let us know what Malleus’s current state of mind is, have Lilia reflect on what it’s like to see Malleus twisted into… this. Something, anything.

Make the explanation for the dreams consistent. Instead of changing the explanation or slapping on new details every other update, just claim right from the get-go that dreams tend to pull from a dreamer’s wishes/desires but it’s unknown how the dream worlds will actually be interpreted or how they’ll interact with Malleus’s magic since each person is so different. You can still have the dreams with deeper hidden meanings, but avoid overcomplicating the logic governing dreams in the first place.

Have Lilia join up with us in the dream world. Maybe a scene where Ortho or Idia connects the dots on his identity and contacts Lilia using his Muscle Red gaming ID tag in the dream world. Lilia receives his invite that way and joins us for the battle maps + help Silver and Sebek train with their new equipment. You can also potentially use this section to have Silver and Lilia reconcile over Lilia keeping secrets from him.

Like how Sebek had moments with the first years in their dreams, give Silver moments in which he can reflect on his relationship with + thoughts on the Dawn Knight. It feels a little strange to me that we went from emotional breakdown learning about his lineage to… thanking the Dawn Knight for allowing him to meet Likia at the end??? Like it feels like we missed the middle part of that development. We never got to hear his inner thoughts about the ordeal or how he comes to terms with it. For something so heavy, you’d think there would be more screen time dedicated to that??

The sword strikes Malleus, which brings him back to his senses but doesn’t break the horn. (This is just a personal dislike thing; it’s uncomfortable for me because it inevitably reminds me of poor injured animals and that’s not exactly… fun 💦)

Lilia still gets in the way of Malleus and Silver’s final stand-off, but rather than dying, he’s in critical condition and is in very real danger of dying.

Have Malleus willingly sacrifice a significant chunk of his magic (since he has all that excess from the senators blessing him + Malleus even canonically says he’ll give up his wings, his lifespan, etc.) to bring back Lilia from the brink. This would serve multiple purposes: 1) permanently power cap Malleus, 2) show him that his previous actions actually hurt Lilia but he also has the power to do good too (so he’s not filled with complete despair at the end), 3) rids him of the excess power he didn’t ask for, so now he’s more “approachable” to people, 4) doesn’t bring up potential issues with reviving the dead, since this could be categorized as ultra powerful healing magic, and 5) parallels the self-sacrifice Lilia had for him, that Silver had for Lilia, etc.

Honestly, I think Lilia should move away to the Land of Crimson Long to retire instead of regaining his magic and returning to NRC as a student. That way, Malleus isn’t the “special” OB boy that doesn’t have to still deal with the thing he OB’d over. Have it end on a hopeful note though, like have Idia or Lilia showing Malleus how to text (which is now more feasible due to Malleus’s reduced power) so he can always reach out to Lilia at a moment’s notice. This also fits in with the theme of keeping connected.

Alternative scenario to the previous point: have Lilia be taken away to urgent care and/or in a coma for a while. Let Malleus stew with the weight of what he did. Then maybe he + Diasomnia are called in when Lilia’s unstable and this might be good-bye 💦 Idk, at least then Lilia wouldn’t be dead for all of 5 seconds and Malleus would actually have a period where he’s forced to sit and reflect on what he did. Worrying and praying that Lilia will be saved, promising to the stars that he’ll never act out again if they just save Lilia. (You can still have your power of love saves him moment here!)

Following the OB, give a more balanced view of the repercussions of Malleus’s OB. Tell us how other nations are reacting, show us that some people are suspicious of him + need extra help recovering after the fact (in addition to people who love his UM and want to stay in there longer), etc. The current version works overtime to reassure us that there are zero negative (or even dubious) consequences when, logically, there would be at least some. This includes the main cast. Realistically speaking, they’d at least have some reservations or complicated feelings revolving around what happened in their dreams and how they feel seeing Malleus return. Ultimately, they’d welcome him back but some of them would still snark a bit while others are more forgiving (depends on the character; not all of them would react the same way).

We can still have the party + knighting ceremony at the end, but include some kind of magical broadcast or something where Malleus apologizes to all of Twisted Wonderland and lets them know what steps he intends to take to make amends moving forward. In the original, he only apologized to NRC, which I feel doesn’t cover the scope of the lives he could have affected. And if you’re going to have the other OB boys recite their flaws + how pathetic they were wallowing in darkness + how they’ve changed/are better than that now, grant Malleus that same opportunity here. It would also be great if he could go around and acknowledge the important people in his life, including classmates, to show us that he truly recognizes the value in these connections. I do, however, want to caution: the speech shouldn’t sound like Malleus speedran a character arc and is now without flaws. Malleus should also have some lines where he admits he’s imperfect and may falter, and if that’s the case, then he trusts us to admonish him and set him on the right path. This would show us that he’s willing to give up control to others and that he’s being more receptive to criticism.

Add a nod to Raverne at the end??? Like maybe Malleus wonders where his father is and we get some explanation as to why he didn’t show up in the Castle Wildrose memories but his mom did.

I don't think I actually made many changes here; most of the plot points remain, just change the execution and what the focus is on.

[songoftrillium]

Likes don’t increase visibility to others! Please reblog this to spread the word! 

I think Werewolf is an inherently queer medium

This is all a part of a larger long-term project.

I am trying to hold the World of Darkness to higher standards of inclusivity

Read our introductory comic here

Werewolf: the Essentials Project Update 04/02/2025

Hello, Kinfolks. Woof. What a time to be alive. This is a period that's been reflected many, many times in the past under many different names. It seems like every time I pick up my phone there is always some new awful thing awaiting us. The intentional composition of the writers on this team are diverse and come from cultures across the world, and what ties us together has been our queerness, our passion for Werewolf, and our commitment to let our passions fuel our writing. The result has been a product that shows the passion from one page to the next.

In short, the state of the world has impacted the pace at which we're working on the book. The priority right now is survival, and surviving is the task that has consumed most of the attentions of those helping with W:tE. It should come as no surprise that people who passionately care about Werewolf also care about the world around them at large, and that is exactly what many of us are doing.

All the same, what's agreed between everyone on the team is that we all feel the work we're doing matters, and in many ways it can be a good way to keep one busy when the other option is the good-old doomscroll. And so, work is still happening, and beyond that, its starting to pick up again.

So, what work remains?

Writing

Writing is more or less finished. Editing is ongoing and as small issues or missing mechanics come up we've been working them in. Chapters 1-7 are complete, and Chapter 8, our storytelling and chronicle section, is in its last few pages before calling it done. We have a small number of writers still working on this, and so far we're looking at 100 Rite of Passage Story Seeds, and 40-60 Cliath Story Seeds. All in all we're handing Storytellers enough game material to be able to keep their tables plenty busy for at least a year of weekly game sessions. Also as a spitball number, by the time this book hits shelves we are looking to be at around 450 pages.

Layout

We are at the 75% complete mark! Chapter 6 of 8 is underway. Due to an influx of support, we're able to have one of our editors pick up work on a more daily basis, so this process should similarly be speeding up in the immediate future. It always feels like the work is neverending, but slowly and surely we're making progress. I've promised myself once this book enters preflight I'm taking a long vacation.

Now, onto the fun stuff:

New W:tE Preview - Meet the Gaians!

With our full tribe writeups completed, we're happy to entice you with a new preview. For those ko-fi subscribers on the Fostern tier or above, you can now read not just our society and history dives, but can now see all the new tribes as written for Werewolf: the Essentials! This massive 80 page preview encompasses all twenty tribes of Gaians represented in Gulaka'i including background, territories, patron, and an all-new cultural outlook section!

All proceeds from ko-fi supporters help fund our commitment to using cultural consultants on our project!

To sign up and gain access to previews and our exclusive BTS discord to our project, subscribe to our ko-fi today! We've already raised $2,450 of our $3,500 goal!

I'd like to also extend a special thank you to my Adren and above supporters Durodragon, Tobias, Madame Badger, The Bohemian, and SmilingCoder for helping make this passion project a reality. THANK YOU!

[funpoire]

What I think is going to happen in book 8

this post is a side note for me. to see if my medium power is real. Also, I would love to know what you guys think

Sebek and yuu friendship. I think Sebek will be introduced in the first-year group by Yuu.

Mickey comes back. I think in this book we will see him even more. Understand why he is in the mirror.

Finally, understand the weird dream Yuu had. Why do they dream of the Great 7, why it’s happening before before/during overblot?

Crowley's true self (not him being Malleus's father). He is the reason Grim overblot I’m telling you. Look at this post for more info about why I think he is a bad guy

Yuu going home without telling anyone / not on purpose. 1) Trying to reach Mickey and traverse the mirror in their room like Alice. 2) Crowley tries the spell to go home and make a mistake.

Yuu is not going home I’m telling you. They are going to be in some different place with Mickey or related to the great Seven (omg yuu going back in time)

Yes this thing is only around yuu cause I need more content with the mc

Ace flirting with yuu (trying to at least have something right). Or at least Ace finally showing he does care about Yuu deeply.

First year sleepover before yuu go home. Very hurt/comfort scene. Where they all got their bed next to each other.

Lot of tears

Grim overblot after yuu go home because he is so sad and can’t absorb the blot anymore.

Yuu coming back and finding a way to travel between words

The ending being « and it was just a dream » (I’m burning aniplex if this is the ending)

The theory that yuu is dead being confirmed. I’m not really into this theory but there are so many references to death that I can a little bit understand why this theory exists in the first place. But maybe this theory could have a twist like everyone at home thinks yuu is dead. If you know what I mean

The theory of time loops. Imagine 2 seconds reading a chapter and then in it boom the game acts like it reset. That would be so cool. (Rip 4th wall)

Oh, you think Book 7 was giving you a heart attack? Get ready for book 8 with more lore drops, more « Omg is he dead » and ofc « Where is yuu? ». Book 7 was the calme before the storm

Even longer book

Yuu and grim relationship getting more developed with angst and trauma

The basic “let’s all remember the good times” and it’s a flashback of all the sweet moments in each book. This is the most basic thing media have ever done and i fear twisted wonderland will do the same. Not complaining ofc.

I smell the fan service for shipper in this book don’t know why. I know twisted wonderland is not a game to do that kind of thing (they are) but i can already imagine a chapter were you wondering if the character is truly talking about friendship or trying to have more. i’m watching you adeuce

They all using the power of friendship

At the end ramshackle dorm will be used by all the student to hangout or even maybe be a new dorm. Seems like bittersweet because that means Yuu’s home getting use for something else after they are gone.

Grim : 1) going back to his original habitat or even owner (i will hit my head against a wall) 2) getting adopted by adeuce or Idia (again hitting my head against the wall) after yuu is gone

Bittersweet ending. I don’t like bad ending but i feel like the ending would feel sad cause at the end of the day yuu have to go home and leave all the memories behind them.

Timeskip: First years being dorm leader or being third year now (tears and hitting the wall)

A possible RSA development

The more i think about this book the more i feel like going to therapy.

[claramelooo]

Hey, guys!

If you're reading this, congratulations! We've reached the end of this saga! I'm so happy I had the courage to start this project, and it's all thanks to the support of you guys who interacted with me so well that I felt comfortable writing with all my heart.

I still thinking in eventually to write one-shots for them, but I dunno, you tell me!! Lol

and I will definitely write more about the milfs we love, no worries!

Enjoy it!!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Happy Ending!!!

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem Reader

Summary: Wanda's courage makes her knock on your door after five years

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On your Knees | Part 4 - The Spider | Part 5 - The Lamb | Part 6 - Pure Crimson | Part 7 - Dependece | Part 8 - Passion | Part 9 - Revenge | Part 10 - Control | Part 11 - Consequences

VELVET CHAINS

Love

After five years, everything had changed. You had graduated in International Relations and were working in a mid-level position at the American embassy, handling negotiations, mediating conversations between diplomats, and diving into a routine that made you feel important. It wasn’t exactly what you had imagined when you first dreamed of your career, but you were on the right path.

Living in a quiet Manhattan neighborhood, your apartment reflected who you were: an organized person with a touch of calculated chaos. Stacks of books sat on the coffee table, an unfinished painting leaned against the wall, and Sparky, your Golden Retriever, bounded back and forth with endless energy.

Sparky had come into your life at a strange time, a gift from Yelena. "You need some decent company," she said, placing the puppy in your hands. "Because clearly, you can’t pick good company on your own." It was her way of showing she cared, and you knew that.

Yelena was one of the few ties you kept to your past. Despite your differences, you often met up, usually for quick lunches at tucked-away cafés in the city. She would talk about her work, about Natasha, and occasionally drop hints that you should go out more.

"You're young, smart, and beautiful," she’d say, almost like a mantra. "And you live like a nun."

What Yelena didn’t understand—or pretended not to—was that you didn’t just want to go out more. You wanted something that felt impossible to find: connection.

Even when you went out with your blonde fling (if you could even call her that), everything felt hollow. She was funny, gorgeous, and always willing to meet up, but she knew nothing about who you really were. She didn’t know about Sparky, your sleepless nights reading poetry, and definitely didn’t know about Wanda.

Ah, Wanda.

There were moments when thoughts of her crept in. Not intentionally, of course, but reflexively. Like when Sparky did something adorable, reminding you of how much Wanda loved dogs. Or when a particular song came on, one she used to hum while cooking.

But you’d learned to shove those memories into the back of your mind. There was too much to deal with in the present.

That day, for example, a stack of reports awaited your review, and you had a meeting at three. But first, you needed to take Sparky for a quick walk. Grabbing his leash, you left the apartment, greeting a few neighbors along the way.

"Good morning, Y/n!" called a cheerful older woman from the second floor.

"Good morning, Mrs. Harris!" you replied, your smile automatic but genuine.

Mornings were like that: simple, ordinary. A far cry from the life you once lived.

By the end of the day, Sparky lay curled up on the rug while you pored over a complicated email. The weight of routine settled over you. Everything seemed in place, yet something still felt out of tune.

You paused, staring out at the city through the window. The lights shimmered on the horizon, a promise of vibrant life out there.

But inside you, there was only silence.

After five years, everything had changed—except you.

Outwardly, you were the perfect image of an adult woman: successful, independent, living the life anyone would envy. But inside, the marks Wanda had left on you lingered like invisible scars, impossible to ignore.

You still felt like a little girl, torn between the desire to be cared for and the need for discipline. No matter how much you tried to bury it, there was a void in your routine that no job, company, or casual relationship could fill.

Wanda had shaped you. She taught you to surrender, to trust, to lose control in a safe way—and somehow, that had defined you. The nights with her still visited your dreams, a mix of longing and anguish. Her voice, firm yet full of care, still echoed in your mind when you felt overwhelmed.

"Good girl."

It was a simple phrase, but loaded with meanings no one else seemed to understand. It wasn’t just the compliment itself; it was what came with it: warmth, security, the feeling of being seen entirely.

A shiver ran down your spine at the memory. Sometimes, you hated it—hated how her memories still held power over you. But the truth was that part of you yearned for it again: a firm touch, a gaze that stripped away all your layers of protection, a kiss that said, "You’re mine."

You’d tried to recreate it with other people, of course. Foolishly, you thought you might find something similar with your blonde fling. But the woman lacked patience, or the understanding to handle your needs. She enjoyed herself, sure, but she had no idea that, for you, it went far beyond casual sex.

There were times when she rolled her eyes as you hesitated or became too submissive. It made you withdraw, reminding you that without Wanda, no one else seemed willing or capable of understanding.

"You’re complicated," the blonde had once said after you hesitated to take any initiative.

The woman straddling you moved rhythmically, trying to coax a reaction that just wouldn’t come. It wasn’t her fault; she was doing everything right. The problem was you. It was always you. Or rather, the emptiness left by the one who should never have gone.

Your vacant gaze fixed on the ceiling, your hands resting lazily on her hips, entirely unenthusiastic. Everything felt wrong, each touch a cruel reminder of what you truly wanted.

And it was only one person.

Not even five damn years had been enough to erase her name from your mind. It was etched somewhere between your ribs, buried deep but never far enough to ignore.

Wanda.

You closed your eyes, trying to push the thought away, but it was useless. All you could do was remember the feel of her mouth on yours, the sound of her raspy voice calling your name, the devastating look that made you feel like the only person in the world.

Now, she was on the other side of the country. Probably lying in bed next to her perfect husband. You almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Vision was everything any woman could want: stable, respectable, and, of course, approved by everyone that mattered. But he was never you.

You let out a deep, heavy sigh, so profound the blonde paused, propping herself up on her elbows to look at you with a mix of confusion and irritation.

"Are you going to fuck me or not?"

You shifted your gaze to the blonde straddling you... Jenna? Jemma? You couldn’t even remember her name. All you knew was that she worked in a different department.

Gripping the blonde’s hair, you yanked her head closer. "That’s not how you ask for what you want. But since you’re a dumb little slut, I’ll do all the work."

The woman, who had been about to protest your dirty language, fell silent as you buried three fingers inside her. You grabbed her waist and pulled her down until your fingers disappeared completely.

Her nails were already digging into your shoulders with the simple movement. You smiled to yourself before you began to destroy the poor woman's pussy. You thrust with maximum speed and force, making her scream in pleasure.

You curled your fingertips, hitting the woman's spongy, pulsing spot—bringing tremors in her legs, indicating the strong signs of an orgasm. When the woman came loudly, you pulled out of her.

At least she started to get dressed quickly afterward, "Maybe we can do this again sometime."

You gave her a weak smile. "Maybe."

You grabbed your phone, ordering an Uber for the blonde, the feeling of having brought her here haunting your mind like a mistake weighing on your heart.

As you waited for the blonde's Uber, guilt began to mix with boredom. It wasn't just her; it was the whole situation. The repetition of the same pattern: empty encounters, forgettable faces, names you didn't even bother to remember. You grabbed a robe to dress yourself and cover your nakedness—you threw yourself on the living room couch, while Sparky, your faithful companion, jumped beside you, offering an affection that seemed to be the only true constant in your life.

The apartment was a clear representation of who you had become over the past five years. Modern, well-decorated, yet with an air of transience, as though you had never truly committed to the space. A reflection of your own soul, perhaps.

And now, there was the job offer abroad. Paris. A dream for anyone in your field. The first thought you had when you received the news was excitement. Yet, there was something inside you that hesitated. It wasn’t just attachment to what you had built in Manhattan. It was what you still couldn’t let go of, even after all this time.

Wanda.

Her name still carried a different weight. A name that brought a flood of memories: her laughter, the way she looked at you, the way the world seemed to dissolve when you were together. You didn’t know how she was now. You knew she was in Texas. But beyond that?

Was she still with Vision? Did the boys remember you? Had she completely forgotten about you?

The emptiness returned, but this time with a twinge of curiosity. What was Wanda doing now? Was she sleeping beside Vision? Was she thinking about you?

The sound of a notification on your phone pulled you from your thoughts. The Uber had arrived. You got up, escorting the woman outside, ensuring she was safe—you’d never let anyone leave without making sure of that. The blonde waved at you from the car window, and you responded with an automatic gesture before walking toward your balcony.

You stopped in your tracks when you heard a familiar, yet more mature voice.

“You should put some clothes on if you’re planning to stay out here all night.”

Your blood ran cold at the sound of that voice. A strong wave of denial surged within you. Turning toward the voice took all the strength you had to stop yourself from retreating indoors.

The world seemed to tilt when you turned, and there she was. Wanda Maximoff. Five years. Five damn years since the last time you’d seen her, but nothing could have prepared you for this moment.

She stood at the base of your balcony, arms crossed over her chest, covered by a wool cardigan. Her hair was longer than you remembered, with strands that caught the faint streetlight, giving her an almost ethereal glow. But that wasn’t what captured your attention. It wasn’t her undeniable beauty. It was the restrained fury in her eyes, a deep, uncontrollable fire that pierced you like blades.

“Wanda…” you whispered, her name barely escaping your throat as your heart raced wildly.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression stern as she tilted her head slightly. “I asked if you’re staying out here all night or if you’re finally going to get dressed.”

You looked down at yourself, realizing you were still in just your robe, nothing else. But it wasn’t enough to distract you from the fact that she was there. After five years. After all the time and distance, she was standing on your balcony, looking at you as though she could dismantle your entire life with a single glance.

“I…” You tried to speak, but your voice failed. Your chest tightened, a storm of emotions you couldn’t name swirling inside you. Fear. Guilt. Longing. Anger. Love. All spinning within you like a tornado. “It’s been a while.” You finally settled on that response.

Wanda’s eyes narrowed at you. “Yes, and you’ve kept yourself very busy since the last time I saw you.”

Her sarcasm hit you like a slap. Her anger, once contained, began to spill over. How dare she? Five years of silence. Five years of emptiness, and now she was here, judging you?

“It’s none of your business,” you retorted, your voice harsher than you intended.

“It used to be,” Wanda replied with the same intensity. She took a step closer, her eyes burning as her voice dropped to something rougher, more intimate. “You used to be so good to Mommy.”

Her words cut like a knife. The heat you’d felt turned to a chill. You stepped back, raising your hands as if to keep a safe distance from her, from everything she represented.

“Goodnight, Wanda,” you said, your voice cold and controlled, trying to salvage the last shred of dignity you had. You turned to head inside, but before you could take more than two steps, you felt a tug on your wrist.

Her touch, even after everything, was familiar. Too familiar. Your eyes met hers again, and something in Wanda’s expression had shifted. There was anger, yes, but also... something else. Something that looked like desperation.

“Y/n,” she said, her voice now almost a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken conversations. “We need to talk.”

“Talk?” you repeated, almost mocking. “Five years, Wanda. Five years of silence. And now you show up at my door, after everything... to talk?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When she opened them again, tears were beginning to pool.

The tension in the air was almost suffocating. Your heart was still racing as you stepped back, swallowing hard and looking away from Wanda. It was too much—seeing her there, the weight of her presence after all this time. You tried to escape the emotional storm, turning toward your hallway, your hands trembling as you gripped the door to close it.

But before the wood could meet the frame, her foot stopped it.

The shock of her audacity quickly morphed into anger. You spun on your heels, ready to confront her, but before you could say a word, Wanda had already crossed the threshold of your home. Without permission.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” your voice came out firm, though the lump in your throat remained. You stepped forward, crossing your arms, trying to project an authority you didn’t feel.

Wanda didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. She shut the door behind her with a calm that was unsettling, her green eyes scanning the room before landing back on you. “I’m not standing out in the cold while you play house with every random whore who crosses your path. But when I need you—when Mommy needs you—you refuse to listen,” she said, her tone almost casual, but with an edge of something dangerous, like a sharp knife wrapped in velvet.

The word you hadn’t heard, hadn’t uttered in years, sent shivers down your spine. Hearing it from Wanda’s mouth reignited a fire in your lower belly—one you tried to ignore.

“Listen?” You laughed, but it was dry and full of disbelief. “You barge into my house after five years and think I owe you anything? Wanda?”

Wanda stepped closer, and you realized you were cornered between her and the wall. Despite the anger burning inside you, something else was growing—something that made your knees weak and the air hard to breathe.

“Five years,” she repeated, her voice heavy with meaning. “Five years without a single word. And now, when I finally see you, you think you can dismiss me with a ‘goodnight, Wanda’? No. We’re going to talk, Y/n.”

“Talk?” you repeated, almost derisively.

The tension in the room was almost electric as you held Wanda’s gaze. No matter how hard you tried to maintain your firm posture, your crossed arms, and your cold voice, something inside you was crumbling. She was so close now, and that familiar scent—a mix of something floral and woody—invaded your senses, dragging up memories you had spent five long years trying to bury.

“Yes, talk,” Wanda replied, her tone lower now, but with an intensity that rooted you in place. “And you’re going to listen, Y/n. Because I didn’t cross half the country to be ignored.”

You let out a bitter laugh, anger and confusion boiling inside you. “You don’t have the right to show up here and demand anything from me, Wanda. Nothing! You made your choice, remember? You chose your family. You chose Vision. So why are you here now? For what?”

Her eyes shimmered with a mix of pain and determination.

"Vision found out." Two words—only two words were enough for you to completely let your guard down with her.

You felt your arms drop to your sides, your posture crumbling. All the control you had desperately tried to maintain was ripped away. Wanda observed the change in you, her eyes watchful but devoid of any satisfaction. It seemed like she was crumbling inside too.

"Found out what, exactly?" you asked, but your voice came out softer than you intended. It was a loaded question, filled with everything you had tried to ignore for years.

"About us," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "About everything."

You let yourself fall back against the wall, trying to find stability as your head spun. "And then? What do you want from me now, Wanda? I can't be your safe place when everything falls apart. Not anymore."

The woman ignored your questions and continued her monologue, her eyes glistening with tears. “He threatened me. Threatened to expose this to the church, threatened to take the boys from me.” Wanda's voice was a fragile thread.

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry. Everything about her—the teary eyes, the voice heavy with pain, the proximity—was pulling you back into a whirlwind of emotions you didn’t want to face.

“I thought about killing him.” The confession made your heart stop for a second. You felt the weight of those words hit you like a punch. Wanda, your Wanda, talking about murdering her husband with an almost practical coldness.

She took another step, her palm now resting against your cheek, a touch so delicate it completely contrasted with the violence of her words.

“It would be simple to poison him, and I’d be free—I’d have my boys, my reputation intact, I’d have you.”

The closeness was suffocating. The intensity in her eyes, the tears slowly rolling down Wanda's face, mingling with your own tear-filled gaze, trapped you in a way you couldn’t escape.

“But then… Billy got sick, and I saw no other way out, Y/n. There was no other way to push you out of my life except for that…” Her voice trembled, an echo of a desperation so raw and real it made your chest tighten even more.

Your heart was torn between believing her and protecting yourself. Her words seemed genuine, but you knew Wanda had always had the power to manipulate your feelings. She always knew exactly how to reach the most vulnerable corners of your soul.

“Wanda, I...” You tried to find words but were lost. Lost in the whirlwind of emotions she provoked in you—anger, sadness, love, and a terrible longing for everything you used to be together.

"I never wanted to hurt you," she whispered, her fingers now softly tracing the line of your jaw. "I just wanted to protect you. Protect the boys. Protect... us."

"Protect?" Your voice finally found strength. "Wanda, you destroyed everything. Not just your life but mine too. I spent five years trying to piece together what you left behind. And now you come back, expecting me to believe it was all to protect us?"

Wanda stepped back slightly, but her eyes remained fixed on yours, pleading for something you didn’t know if you could give. "I don’t expect you to forgive me, Y/n. Not now. Maybe not ever. But I needed you to know. I needed you to understand what really happened."

Silence fell between you, heavy and oppressive. Her words still echoed in your mind. Vision. Threats. The boys. She had thought about killing for you. For them.

And despite everything, a part of you wanted to believe her. Wanted to go back in time, to before everything fell apart, to when her touch was the only thing that made sense in the world. But the past was there, as present as she was, and you didn’t know how to escape its shadow.

“Who was she?” Wanda's hoarse voice cut through the silence like a blade—low, but laden with an intensity that sent a shiver up your spine.

You blinked, confused, trying to understand the question. "Who...?"

"The blonde? Who was she?" Wanda interrupted, her eyes burning into yours, her tone a little firmer, almost possessive.

You hesitated, discomfort growing. "I... I don’t know what that matters now, Wanda."

"It matters," she shot back, stepping forward. "Because she left your house wearing the same cheap perfume I smelled on you when I arrived. So I’ll ask again: who was she?"

The sudden clarity in Wanda's words hit you like a shock. It wasn’t just curiosity or simple jealousy; there was something deeper in the way she was looking at you, as if she desperately needed this answer.

“She’s just...” You averted your gaze, trying to find an explanation that didn’t sound as frivolous as the truth. "She’s nobody. Someone from work. She means nothing."

“Means nothing,” Wanda repeated, almost to herself, but with a touch of sarcasm that hurt more than you wanted to admit. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as if trying to calm herself. When she opened them again, her green eyes were intense, locked on yours. "You think I believe that? Since when would you let just anyone touch you? She isn’t ‘nothing.’"

"You have no right to come here and ask me these kinds of questions, Wanda. Not after everything," you snapped back, your own anger finally starting to bubble.

She began, her voice deep but trembling, “Just the thought of someone else touching you, kissing you, seeing you the way I did…” She paused, her fists clenched at her sides. “It feels like the ground is disappearing beneath me.”

You felt the air leave your lungs. Her intensity was overwhelming. "Wanda..."

“You don’t get it, do you?” Her voice broke, and for a moment, she seemed so vulnerable that you didn’t know whether to stay or run. “I tried to move on. I tried to accept that I’d never have you again. But every day, every night that passed, I felt you with me. Here.” She pressed her hand to her chest, over her heart.

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to deal with the storm forming in front of you.

“I see myself in every woman who tries to touch you," she continued, her voice lowering but still loaded with dangerous intensity. “And it’s unbearable. Because no matter who they are, I know none of them will ever be good enough for you. Because none of them are me.”

Her words hit like a blow, mixing anger, sadness, and a pang of something you didn’t want to name. Love. Maybe obsession.

You whimpered, “That’s not fair! You chose him over me! You can’t just come here and say whatever you want.”

“I had to, Y/n! For the sake of my kids, for Billy’s health!” She snapped, clearly frustrated with your stubbornness.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “And what does that mean now, huh? What does it change in the present?”

She stood up from the couch, straightening her posture—and her pride. “It means I’m divorcing him.” She began walking toward you in slow steps. “It means I took the first flight and traveled 27 hours—even though I’m terrified of planes—just to see you.” Wanda smiled, emotional. More steps, closer to you. “It means, Y/n, that no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t forget you.”

You wanted to step back, but your body wouldn’t obey. You couldn’t control yourself and cursed inwardly at the thought that your body still belonged to her, and the promise Wanda made you before still lingered.

“You know what, Y/n?” Wanda said, staring at you intently.

You couldn’t have answered even if you wanted to, your voice stuck in your throat.

“All I’ve been able to think about for the last few fucking months is your beautiful face between my legs.” Her face was close to yours, her breath fresh and hauntingly familiar, tickling your skin. “Tell me, so many women coming and going from this place… but has any of them made you come like I did?”

The truth was that you hadn’t had an orgasm since your last time with Wanda. Every woman who had passed through your life didn’t understand how much you wanted to be broken during sex and then be held, pampered, loved…

“Oh, poor thing… Haven’t you cum since the last time Mommy made you?”

Usually, you hated it when people got in your head, but you were getting close to the limits of your intelligence. The only woman who could make you was right in front of you trying to do just that.

“It seems like you need Mommy as much as she needs you.” Wanda slowly knelt down, opening the robe you were wearing a little. She moaned when she saw that you weren’t wearing any panties.

“Fuck, I love how wet you get for me.” The woman’s mouth was watering as she remembered the taste of you on her tongue.

Your breathing quickened when one of Wanda’s fingers dragged through your folds. Quickly, you took a step back and closed the robe again.

“I can’t do this. You're going to fuck me and then leave me!” You shouted, stomping your feet like the little girl Wanda knew well and missed terribly.

“Y/n, I'm getting a divorce, seriously!” She uses that soothing tone, the tone she used to calm you down when you cried in her arms after a punishment.

Before you can deny her once more, Wanda crushes her lips to yours—and that was the end of the conversation. Your hands locked themselves in the older woman's blond locks, bringing her even closer to you.

“I hate you so much!” You growled, biting Wanda's lower lip, making her moan. “You owe me the best orgasm of my life.”

You rip the woman's blouse, wrapping Wanda's nipple between your teeth—mutilating them, making Wanda moan.

“Has he touched you since I left? Do you moan like that for him? Does your body react to his touch?” As much as you tried. Tried to forget her and put out the fire of your obsession for her, here you were, with your mouth mistreating every inch of her skin.

“No.” Wanda replied breathlessly, her hands tangling in your hair. “Only you.” The woman’s intense gaze as she said this made you shiver.

Wanda pulled your head away from her. Your neck was stretched back as she stared hungrily at your body, “Mommy understands that you’re mad at her, baby, but don’t forget who’s in charge. You want to make me happy, don’t you?”

You immediately flinched at the brightness of her black eyes of pure excitement, “Yes, Mommy.”

Her lips pressed against yours in a small peck, “Good girl, now take me upstairs.”

There was a hesitant tremor in your body as you picked up the older woman and carried her to your bedroom. You sat her down on the bed and stood in front of her, waiting for the next move. You were writhing around, your pussy was so wet.

"Did you enjoy fucking that blonde slut on this bed? This bed should only be used for pleasure if mommy allows it."

You shook your head, "No, mommy…"

"What about the other sluts you were fucking? Hmm, you had so many, didn't you? All blondes… I wonder why that was."

Your focus was divided between her questions and the hand she was using to tease you. Her hand found a path you desperately wanted to follow. From your chest to your pussy.

"No mommy, they couldn't satisfy me."

Wanda finally took a long step towards you, placing her hand on your chest. "And why is that, baby?"

Your breath hitched as she touched the band of your robe, threatening to take it off. Her delicate finger crept into your folds.

"Because only mommy can make me cum." She pinched your clit, making you whimper,

"Say it again."

"Only mommy can make me cum," Your voice rose an octave as Wanda thrust a finger into you.

There was a slightly sadistic look on her face at the sound of your cries. She bent down to her knees, pulling off your robe, leaving you completely naked to her. Her finger continued to attack your pussy.

"You're so tight, Detka, has no one put a finger inside you since mommy? Have you kept that pussy all pristine for me?" You were struggling to stand at this point.

The way she was talking to you along with her finger fucking was enough to make you fall apart. Wanda smacked your thigh firmly, making you jump in surprise,

"Mommy asked you a question." Your frantic eyes met hers,

"No, mommy, no one has touched me since you."

"Not even your pretty little finger has been in that pussy?" You shake your head,

"No, Mommy."

She takes this as a sign to shove 2 more fingers inside you, "Open that pussy for Mommy. When I'm done, that hole will be just right for Mommy."

You moaned at the way your pussy stretched for Wanda. You could feel the juices dripping out of you as Wanda worked her magic on you. You almost screamed when you felt a slap against your clittoris.

Although you couldn’t see her, you were sure the woman was smiling at your reaction. She continued to pound your clit hard to the point that your knees felt like they would give out at any moment.

“It’s like it’s the first time all over again. You can’t handle a simple caress and a slap on your pussy without your legs giving out. We’re going to have to retrain you after this,” the woman pushed you hard onto the bed.

Your hands were gripping the edge of the mattress as your legs dangled over the edge. Wanda settled herself between your knees.

Her hot breath teasing your pussy. She gave one last smack before closing her lips around your clit.

“Fuck, mommy!” Wanda giggled into your pussy, sending vibrations through your body.

Wanda used one hand to hold you down as she fingered and tongue fucked you. Your back was almost arched off the bed.

“Mmm, so sweet.” She murmured into your pussy. “Mommy missed that smell so much, that sticky little pussy of yours wetting my mouth.” Wanda ground her own pussy into the edge of the mattress, the friction sending tremors through her legs.

You wanted to close your legs because there was something building in the pit of your stomach.

You staggered up from your sitting position when Wanda removed all contact. It was like your eyes were going to pop out of your head.

There was a mischievous smile on her lips as she looked down at you.

“What’s wrong, Detka?”

Your body was shaking, yearning for your long-awaited release.

“Mommy, please.”

Wanda smiled even wider as she crawled on top of you, lining her pussy up with your fluid cunt. She was directly above you, her eyes looking playfully into yours,

“Please, what, huh? We’ve barely started, baby girl, you don’t want to cum now, do you?”

Wanda began to grind against you, making you both moan at the contact of your pussies together. The ease with which your clits met only showed that your bodies had met before—maybe in another life.

"I need to cum, Mommy. Please let me cum. Fuck, it's been too long…. I need my Mommy to make me cum, only Mommy can make me cum, please," you were desperate.

If you even tried to touch yourself without her permission right now, she would deny you. The best thing you could do was beg like the hungry slut you truly were.

She increased the friction against your pussy and a small cry escaped your lips. You demanded more, and Wanda knew it.

"Look at me," Wanda gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

She brushed your messy hair away from your face and placed a tender kiss on your forehead, "I've missed you so much, Y/N. I'm going to make you cum so hard. Do you know why?"

You shook your head, unable to speak. Tender moments during sex didn’t happen often between the two of you. So this was definitely new, and it was making your heart flutter.

She placed her forehead against yours, “Because I love you.” She moaned passionately, as if those words had been stuck in her throat for a long time. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed my perfect little slut? My little sneaky baby, huh?” Wanda continued to grind her hips against you, feeling her orgasm coming on herself.

“All I want to do is take care of you. I want to make you feel good because it makes me feel good.” She began to thrust harder against you.

You grab her face with both hands, crushing your lips against hers feverishly. She slumps against your body, so she’s no longer holding back.

You moan directly into her mouth as she begins to move more sporadically against you.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” the command was whispered in your ear, and that was all it took for you to cum.

Both of your bodies shook, and your arms flew around Wanda, pinning her in place. It felt like your entire body was spasming under the immense amount of pleasure.

Wanda placed soft kisses on the side of your neck as you began to regain your composure, “You’re my good girl. Cumming as soon as Mommy says you can.” You look so beautiful when you're under me like this, darling.

Wanda sighed, her fingers tracing small circles on your back, each gentle touch laden with a tenderness that felt almost reverent. Her breathing seemed calm, but you could feel the rapid pulse in her chest, as if her heart was struggling to break free from the walls her mind insisted on building. There was a raw vulnerability in the silence between you, a space where unspoken emotions seemed to take form.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you murmured, your voice thick as you buried your face in her shoulder. Every word felt like a battle against the tight knot in your throat, threatening to unravel into tears at any moment.

“I did too,” Wanda replied, her voice heavy with a weight only she could understand. Her lips brushed against the top of your head in a slow, almost hesitant kiss, as if she needed to confirm you were real. “And every day without you… felt like an eternity. A never-ending punishment.”

“I love you too, Wanda. That’s never changed.” The words came as a whisper but carried a devastating power. You didn’t need volume; the love pouring out of every syllable was enough to fill the void of the lost years.

Wanda froze for a moment, as if your confession had the power to split time in half. You hadn’t realized how tense she was until you felt her body relax against yours, a shaky breath escaping her lips. Slowly, she pulled away, rolling to her side until the two of you were face-to-face. Wanda’s face was an open book—hope, fear, and love colliding in a whirlwind of emotions.

“I have children,” she said finally, her voice low and raw, as if each word was a confession torn from her. Her gaze was piercing, searching yours as though bracing for judgment or hesitation.

“I know,” you said, your voice steady, a contrast to the delicate fragility of the moment. Your eyes held hers, offering the reassurance she seemed to desperately need.

“The divorce…” Wanda continued, her words almost a lament, “it might get messy. Ugly. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know.” You squeezed her fingers gently, as if to say no obstacle would be big enough to separate you again.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was as if both hearts were readjusting their rhythms to beat in unison once more after so long out of sync. You brought your free hand to her face, gently caressing her warm, delicate skin.

“I’m here by your side, Wanda, no matter what happens. As long as you’re honest with me, I’m yours.”

Wanda blinked, her eyes glistening with tears she didn’t try to hide. “All mine…” she echoed, her voice almost a whisper, as though she couldn’t believe the words. A single tear slid down her cheek, and you wiped it away with your thumb, a simple gesture heavy with unspoken promises.

“Yes,” you reaffirmed, your voice soft but resolute. “Always yours.”

Wanda closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, a determination shone in her gaze that hadn’t been there before. “I’m going to fight for this. For us. I’ll never let you go again.”

And so, in that room where time seemed to have stopped, you found each other once more. After five years of pain and distance, nothing felt more certain than the promise you now shared.

[...]

The irresistible aroma of roasted turkey wafted through the house, mingling with the scent of pumpkin pies and spices that promised a memorable dinner. Through the window, the golden light of an autumn evening softly spilled onto the dining room walls, painting everything with a warm, cozy glow. Sparky, ever vigilant for any sign of food, lay at the foot of the table, watching everyone’s movements like a little guardian.

“Tommy, if you put one more olive on that plate, I swear you won’t get dessert!” Wanda scolded, her voice filled with exasperation, though her eyes betrayed an amused glint.

“Mom, olives are the best part of dinner!” Tommy retorted, stacking a fourth olive in the corner of his plate as if building a tower. Billy, seated next to him, leaned in with a teasing grin.

“Let him be, Mom. At least that way he’s eating something, considering he always skips the vegetables.”

“I don’t skip them! I… selectively eat them,” Tommy corrected, raising an eyebrow.

Wanda ran a hand over her face, clearly resisting the urge to say more. She looked like the epitome of an exhausted mother: wrinkled apron, hair tied back in a hurried bun, and a furrow between her brows that revealed her struggle to keep everything under control. Watching from the kitchen as you sliced bread, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Relax, love. They’re just excited. It’s part of the holiday,” you said gently, crossing the space between the kitchen and the table with a plate of salad. Wanda turned toward you, her shoulders subtly relaxing at the sound of your voice.

“They’re going to drive me insane, that’s what’s going to happen,” she grumbled, though her words were tinged with affection.

Leaning in, you kissed her cheek, ignoring the muffled teasing coming from the boys.

“It’s only until dinner. I promise, after that, they’ll be calm and polite as angels.”

“Doubt it!” Billy called out loudly from across the table, laughing as Wanda narrowed her eyes at him.

Finally, everyone sat at the table, the golden turkey shining at the center, surrounded by colorful dishes: gratin potatoes, sautéed vegetables, pies, and sauces that completed the feast. Sparky, realizing it was mealtime, lay down again with an exaggerated sigh.

“Okay, kids, let’s give thanks for today,” you suggested, taking Wanda’s hand, who in turn took Tommy’s. The chain was formed. Billy glanced sideways at his brother before offering a small smile.

“I’m thankful for this new house and for Mom’s cooking,” Tommy said first, surprising everyone with his sincerity. Wanda blinked, clearly moved, but held herself together.

Billy, ever practical, smirked and said, “I’m thankful Sparky didn’t eat my snack this week. And for that pumpkin pie over there.”

Everyone laughed, breaking the momentary seriousness. Wanda squeezed your hand gently before speaking.

“I’m thankful for the family I chose and for the peace we have here. None of this would be possible without you.” She looked directly at you, her green eyes full of a tenderness that seemed to envelop her entirely.

You smiled, feeling your heart warm. “And I’m thankful for all of you. For being together, healthy, and happy. That’s all that matters.”

That night, as the boys slept in the room next door and Sparky snored at the foot of the couch, you and Wanda found each other in the small space of your new home, cups of tea in hand. The soft lights of the room illuminated only your faces, creating an intimate and cozy bubble.

“Do you realize we’re here now? Together. Like a family,” Wanda murmured, her voice tinged with a sweet incredulity. “I never imagined my life could be like this.”

“You deserve this, Wanda. You deserve love, you deserve peace.”

She smiled softly, her eyes glinting with some distant memory. “That trip to Paris… it was the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, fondly recalling the moment. Wanda thought you were taking her just to celebrate your vacation, but both of you had a secret plan. On the first night, under the illuminated Eiffel Tower, you took her to dinner, pulled a ring from your pocket, and knelt before her. Wanda’s smile and tears were enough to calm any nerves.

What you hadn’t expected, however, was that she also had a ring hidden in her bag.

“It’s funny how we proposed to each other at the same time,” you said, laughing softly.

“I knew we were meant to be; I just needed a ring to make it official,” Wanda joked, leaning into you.

The memories mingled with the present: family dinners, the twins’ laughter, Sparky’s innocent antics, and the love that overflowed in every touch and shared glance between you. Life went on, and that moment was just a snapshot of a story that would continue long after the readers’ eyes closed.

Destiny is a quiet and unpredictable force, weaving invisible threads between souls that, somehow, were meant to find each other. Sometimes, it acts as a whisper in the wind, a shared glance in a church that grows into a grand story, the kind so impactful they become unpublishable.

The best love stories are the ones eyes can’t read, the ones words aren’t enough to tell. They are the stories that are felt or dreamed.

Some loves are born as sparks: they shine brightly but end in the same breath that started them. Others, however, carry eternity in the eyes of those who live them. They are built over years, with patience, courage, and even silence. These loves withstand time, crossing generations, and when life ends, they find a way to continue. Perhaps in another era, perhaps in another skin, but never in another heart. Because there are loves that don’t belong to just one life. They belong to destiny, and destiny, however whimsical, always finds a way to perpetuate what was born to be eternal.

We are all like pieces of coins that children break in half as keepsakes—turning one into two, like flounders—and each of us is always searching for our corresponding half.

And so all this commotion is a relic of that original state of ours, from when we were whole, and now, when we long for and pursue that primordial wholeness, we say we are in love.

And that was it. You had found your other half. Wanda was your primordial wholeness, and you were hers. The world might change around you, but that—that silent and secure love between you—would remain, unbreakable as velvet chains.

~*~

Thankiuuu so much for you read Velvet Chains!!! YEYY

I hope the ending met your expectations!

I dunno if i'll write anything before Christimas, so... MERRY CHRISTMAS you gayyys!

Inspired by Love Thy Neighbor by @lowkeyerror ❤️

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @bees-for-brains @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000

[dazedantics]

TWST Stories

I had to go back through all my posts to make this, it took forever, I wanna cry. No idea if I got them all, but oh well. Hope all the links work

In Ruins (Malleus Draconia)

All you want is to keep your son safe from a prince whose obsessed with you. Running and hiding has gotten you this far, but how much longer will that help? Is using his fear of the Malleus Draconia a good idea? Or will Malleus unleash his wrath on you for using the bad rumors spread about him to your advantage?

Pt 1

Pt 2

Pt 3

Pt 4

Pt 5

Pt 6

Pt 7

Pt 8

Pt 9

Pt 10 ... pending

Accidents (Rollo Flamme)

The unexpected has happened, Rollo knows he has to make it right. He's obligated to. That's all there is to it. Yeah ... I mean, it's not like it's nice having you around, being responsible for you ... it's just his duty as a gentleman ....

Pt 1

Pt 2

Pt 3

Kiss Quiz (Multiple Boys)

Crowley isn't helping, you and Grim need money. What better way to scrounge up some cash than a kissing booth?

So this is Love (Neige LeBlanche)

You didn't mean to make him infatuated

Crush (Deuce Spade)

It's hard to focus around you

Serene (Rollo Flamme)

Spending the night together

Cooking by the Book (Trey Clover)

Getting help from a pro

Once a Year (Rollo Flamme)

It's opposite day, so this is okay

Dangerous Man (Malleus Draconia)

Scared to stop his yandere actions

Their Hands (Multiple Boys)

What I imagine their hands look/feel like

Hold (Multiple Boys)

How I imagine they'd hold your hand

Four Eyes (Trey, Azul)

The differences between our spec wearers

Ma Cherie (Rook Hunt)

You're not trapped if he loves you, right?

Never Him (Rollo Flamme)

He isn't disgusting like everyone else

Marriage? (Multiple Boys)

A secret got out

Mistletoe (Malleus Draconia)

He doesn't know what that is

Mama (Deuce Spade)

If Dilla got close to Yuu

Drowning (Octatrio)

You've been ensared by these sirens

Mortal Enemies (Riddle Rosehearts)

Fighting to be the first to finish wordsearches

Aghast (Rollo Flamme)

What a blasphemous discussion

Club Obsession (Multiple Boys)

Story idea for the boys in their groups of clubs

Sleepover (Neige, Kalim)

Cute, tame, and fun, the best pairing

Bunking (Ace, Deuce, Grim)

When you need to sleep in their dorm

The New Queen (Cater Diamond)

You need to get out of here

Holiday Spirit (Rollo Flamme)

Christmas with the president

Acceptance (Rook Hunt)

I have finally seen all his good traits

Kiss Kiss (Neige LeBlanche)

How Neige parts from you

Told Ya So (Rollo Flamme)

When Malleus Overblots

Ace of Diamonds (Ace, Cater)

They're one in the same

Dialogue (Rollo Flamme)

I want to hear his voice more

Bulletpoints (Rollo Flamme)

I want more Rollo things to read

A Friend Indeed (Rook Hunt)

He's good for a few things

Ace (Ace Trappola)

Something he'd say

Short Skit (Rook, Rollo, Malleus)

Short Skit (Crewel, Ace, Grim)

Short Skit (Riddle)

Short Skit (First years)

Short Skit (Leona, Ruggie)

Short Skit (Pomefiore Trio)

Short Skit (Diasomnia, Ace, Deuce)

Short Skit (Malleus)

Short Skit (Leona, Malleus, Grim)

Short Skit (Overblot boys)

Short Skit (Grim, Ace, Deuce)

Short Skit (Lilia, Malleus)

Short Skit (Diasomnia, Rollo)

Short Skit (Ace, Deuce, Grim, Ghosts)

Short Skit (Malleus)

Short Skit (Malleus)

Short Skit (Malleus)

Short Skit (Rollo)

Short Skit (Vil, Epel, Neige)

Short Skit (Ace)

Short Skit (Ace, Grim, Ghosts)

Short Skit (Rollo)

Short Skit (Ruggie, Ace, Deuce)

Short Skit (Vil, Neige)

Short Skit (Fellow, Gidel)

[i-am-minty-fresh]

Little details in fanfiction that I always appreciate when authors add (shout out to One Piece authors!)

Feel free to add more in the comments/reblog! Will be updating!

1. Usopp having a different hair texture/wearing protective styles.

2. Different languages. The different seas have all different languages with dialects from specific islands (bonus points for Zoro’s island teaching him a Wano language while he also knows Eastern).

3. The crews hands being calloused. Sanji, Zoro, Franky, Usopp, and Nami would naturally have callouses from doing their interests. Luffy, Robin, Jimbei would have them from the various hard lives that they’ve led.

4. The crew having scars. Zoro’s arms would have cuts from learning how to properly swing a sword, Sanji’s would similarly be from learning how to use different knives, Luffy’s never carried if he gets a little torn up and he lived in the woods…he’s gotta have a ton of little scratches here and there, etc.

5. Brook knowing about older things when he was alive OR

6. Giving him a backstory before he joined the Rumbar Pirates.

7. Robin knowing sign language. With her fruit it would be perfect.

8. Nami and Usopp sending letters to Vivi and Kaya. (Really just any of the crewmates keeping their loved ones consistently updated).

9. Usopp having depression or a diagnosed anxiety disorder.

10. Trauma or PTSD. Come on…they all would have their ‘little things’ (Zoro sleeping by the stairs ‘just in case’, Sanji having some kind of eating problem, Luffy having nightmares about Marineford, etc.)

11. Goth family.

12. Zoro and Luffy having a thing. Maybe it’s not them dating specifically, but everyone else in the stories just being like, “but it’s Zoro and Luffy…it’s different between Zoro and Luffy”

13. The crew talking about their dead loved ones (I especially love when Nami, Usopp, and Sanji talk about their moms).

14. Creating an interesting backstory behind Zoro’s missing parents AND

15. Creating a truly hilarious three stooges-esque situation for Zoro’s scared up eye during the time skip.

16. Robin runs a book club/tea time with Sanji and Brook.

17. Sanji knows how to walk/run/fight in heels.

18. Chopper wants to hold his crewmates hands while they walk (or full on get carried by them).

New Additions:

19. Sanji doing all the cleaning and laundry.

*20. Chopper and Sanji being nutritional powerhouses!

*21. Zoro taking naps because he does the night shift protecting his crew.

*22. Sanji having insomnia or some kind of sleep issue.

*23. Luffy being super physically affectionate with his crewmate (hanging off of them, cuddling at bedtime, zero personal space, etc.)

*24. Nami being good with kids.

25. Sanji having Steel-toed boots.

*Numbers 20-24 are brought to you by @c0ckonfettii thanks so much! Lovely suggestions!

[danieyells]

@2flowerz also asked for Lyca so

NOW WITH 100% MORE DOGGO LYCA. HE IS DEFINITELY A HUMAN AND NOT A WEREWOLF. He is trying very hard to be a human. I love him very much. . . .

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"...You again. Where're we going today?"

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"Hey, you got letters. Don't you have to read them? Oh, don't you know how?"

he understands if you can't read, man. neither can he.

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"You smell sweeter than usual today... Stop. Go away."

after learning that the pc is going to turn into the anomaly that cursed them any sort of 'you smell nicer than normal' feels like such a threat lmao

"You want to touch me? Fine. Ten seconds and that's it."

that is more than enough my good sir

"When I find Neros, I wanna prove I've been getting along with humans. Then he'll definitely let me live with him."

considering he related the term 'neglect play' to what Neros did to him. . .I'm not so sure. . .and if Neros was as old as he sounds like he was, I wonder if he's even still alive. . . .

"Hey! Moth-eaten Casanova! Where'd you go? I'm gonna show you my special move today."

"special move" in Japanese is 「必殺技」 or 'lethal move'/'killer technique', usually unique to a person or fighting style. Not sure if he wants to show Ed how cool he is or try and kill him lmao--

"This phone thingy they gave me keeps making noises and making me jump... Why do I gotta carry it everywhere? It's scary!"

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"Mnn... Let me sleep... Don't touch me... Zzz..."

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Laws, school regulations, anomalous law... Manners, morals, rules... How're you s'posed to remember all that?"

man i wish i could tell you. . .i've mostly got the morals in order, that's basically just 'don't do harm to others' when you get down to it. laws are about 50% 'don't do things that may endanger you or others' and 50% bullshit. the rest you're kinda on your own with.

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Urgh... My skin's crawling... Moon must be gettin' round soon..."

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"At first I was sad 'cause I got put in a different house to Suba, but all kinds of stuff happens here every day so it was fine."

awww he was sad because he doesn't get to see Subaru as often but he's not bored so it's alright! glad he's comfortable ;u;

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"H-Hey, don't come so close! Somethin' about your scent makes my stomach feel weird!"

WE'RE ONLY ON AFFINITY 5 DUDE YOU CAN'T BE CATCHING FEELINGS THIS EARLY it's probably because he's scared of girls or something lol

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"I didn't do anything wrong! Those guys were saying mean stuff about me 'cause they thought I couldn't hear. All I did was yell at them."

I hate how they won't even let Lyca defend himself verbally. . . .

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I don't mind classes. The teachers say cool stuff. Once I learn to read the textbooks and the notes and the blackboard it'll be perfect."

HE'S GONNA BE SUCH A GOOD STUDENT WHEN HE CAN READ???

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"There was this big noise in our practical class and my ears popped out. Everyone ran away screaming. Damn it..."

wow they're cowards if the ears alone scared them. . .how're they supposed to deal with anomalies if that scared them!?

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"This? It's a picture book, duh. How come you don't know that when you're a human? I study with it before bed, everyone does it."

I wonder who made him a picture book of all the things he'd be learning as a first year to study with. . . . . .or maybe it's just a generic picture book lol

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"This blanket's not trash, it's just dirty. I can't sleep without it, so hands off."

he really loves that blanket huh. it must be one of the only things he had from his childhood or from being looked after by neros. . . .

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"What's a "so-shul skill"?  That blond gigolo was talking about them. He said I don't have any. Is that a good thing?"

he's got social skills!! Just. . .not very human social skills!!!

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I'm starving... I wanna eat Sho's food, but I can't order it without Suba... Wait, you can read, right?"

Lyca slowly realizing how many people he knows can actually read and thus can help him with placing orders for delicious foods--

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"That moth-eaten Casanova's in his room all day so I tried to take him for a walk, but he locked his door and ignored me. The hell?!"

LYCA CONTINUES TO SCRATCH AT ED'S DOOR COME FOR WALKIES ED!!!!

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"That stupid blond gigolo ran off with my blanket. I'm not done sleeping yet..."

tbf your blanket is filthy. . .and I get it, it's what you've got and it smells familiar but. . . .

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"I can't get back to sleep... I'm gonna wake up that moth-eaten Casanova for a walk."

lyca is a dog scratching at your bedroom door with his leash in his mouth like 'yes it is time for walkies now rise human'

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"The teacher asked us to name an anomalous plant you can eat but when I did he said humans can't eat it. So what? I can, so I'm not wrong."

I AGREE WITH HIM HE SHOULD NOT GET THAT MARKED WRONG. if you only want a human applicable question say 'humans' not 'you.

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"In the last place I never knew what time it was and I pretty much just slept all day. Now I gotta get used to having a "roo-teen.""

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"I'm drawing. If I draw all the good stuff and bad stuff that happened every day I won't forget about it."

if he could write he'd keep a diary but since he can't write he's keeping a picture diary. . .and he's a really good artist according to his character story, so it's probably a pretty faithful recreation of whatever happened that day. i'd love to see his picture diary. . . .

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Huh? The blood on my bed? ...It's nothing. Don't touch my stuff, you're gonna get your smell all over it!"

WHY IS THERE BLOOD IN YOUR BED, BUDDY. ARE YOU OKAY??? IF YOU ATE SOMETHING IN BED THAT'S FINE I JUST DON'T WANT YOU TO BE INJURED. . . .

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"...Did you cry? Your scent is all squeezy. How come?"

smelling you sad makes him sad too so tell him why you're feeling sad and he can make the sad go away?

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I wanna go to the cafeteria, but the teachers won't give me my pocket money. They said I'll get "spoiled." The hell does that mean?!"

GIVE HIM SOME MONEY SO HE CAN BUY FOOD???? HE NEEDS TO EAT????? HE'S BUSY WITH CLASS SO HE CAN'T GO ON MISSIONS YOU CAN'T JUST STARVE THE BOY????

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"That moth-eaten Casanova told me humans like it if you ignore them sometimes. Something about playing hard to get? I'm gonna try it tomorrow."

I wonder if that has anything to do with Subaru's home screen chat where he wonders why Lyca hasn't messaged him back. . .he's trying to play hard to get because he thinks it'll make Subaru like him more. . . .

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"I'll stay here and be quiet at night, even when the moon's not round. 'Cause you're tired, aren't you? Go sleep."

even if he doesn't have to stay or even if he wants to make lots of noise, he'll stay and be quiet so it's easier for you to fall asleep. He won't be loud and you don't have to worry about him! so sleep tight!

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Sleep here. Huh? Is there a law that says we can't sleep together? There's not, is there? Hurry up and lie down."

it's pretty much innocent. . .he just wants you close by. . .being able to smell you while he sleeps would probably make it easier to fall asleep. . .feel safe and familiar and everything. . . .

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"I'm gonna work hard... I'll gonna work so hard, they're gonna say I can live with humans forever..."

Lyca, despite being a werewolf, is a lot like Kaito in that he just wants to be a normal human. Except he never started as a normal human, so he has a bit further of a distance to go to become one. . .he's not a dog, he doesn't wanna be a pet or an animal or anything like that. He wants to be a person like everyone else. But it's hard when others reject him, and when everyone says they think he's too dangerous even when he hasn't done anything wrong. Other ghouls--other humans--do way worse stuff than he does, and yet he's still held to a higher standard. It's not fair. But he's working as hard as he can to catch up. . . .

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"That blond gigolo tried to wash my blanket! He's never coming in my room again!"

he does not like spring cleaning--

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Lately there's flower smells everywhere, but sometimes there's one that kinda smells like you."

IT'S GONNA BE HILARIOUS IF THE ANOMALY THAT CURSED YOU HAPPENS TO LIVE IN OBSCUARY'S FOREST. . .LIKE YEAH IT'S JUST OUT THERE IT WAS ALWAYS ON CAMPUS IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU WE COULD'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS CURE BEFORE YOU GOT IT.

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Harurin kept nagging, so I went to the safari park. Not gonna lie...it was super fun."

I love that Lyca uses the nicknames Rui uses for some people lol and I bet he loved running around Jabberwock!!! All that fresh open air and the wildlife. . .he's a wolf at heart really and truly.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Cherry blossom petals are super fun. They're like, whoosh, then they fall everywhere. I wish our house had some."

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"Urgh... My head...it hurts... This? It's shaved ice. The blond gigolo told me to eat it so I don't get "heat eggs-aw-schun.""

oh buddy you're eating it too fast. . . . . .

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I was just in that moth-eaten Casanova's room and it was so cold I thought it was gonna snow! Is he secretly a yeti?"

okay it was only 63 degrees in there it wasn't THAT cold Lyca.

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"I'm gonna go practice swimming at Harurin's place. Can you do other stuff besides doggy paddle?"

I can't swim at all so. you are miles ahead of me my friend.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"I know I said I always wanted to do sparklers, but... you sure this's okay? I thought we're not s'posed to play with fire!"

canid instincts are kicking in--fire BAD and SCARY and DANGEROUS. ABORT MISSION.

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"I just tried to join in with some guys playing with a ball, but they said I don't know the rules and told me to go away."

THEN TEACH HIM THE RULES god they're such jerks around here.

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Blond Gigolo was makin' this massive fire near the garden just now. It smelled all burnt and sweet... Is that some kinda ritual?"

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Finished my picture. That Romi guy who comes to the bar all the time said he wanted one, so it's for him."

Romeo does like fine things. This just goes to show how good of an artist Lyca is! I bet Romeo's gonna frame it and put it somewhere people can see lol or maybe just keep it in his room. . .that or he wants to see if he can get him to make a forgery and profit off poor Lyca--

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Moth-eaten Casanova said humans like looking at the moon... D'you get sad if you can't see it?"

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"I'm gonna go play at that big ice castle after class! Huh? 'Cause playing in the snow's fun."

THE FROSTHEIMERS BETTER NOT GIVE HIM TROUBLE LET MY BOY RUN AND ROMP IN THE SNOW!!!!!!!

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Mm, I don't really feel the cold. Humans get warm when they run around too, don't they? Race you over there! "

he is having so much fun in the winter ;;;;; just running around and playing. . . .

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"My fingers have been gettin' all tingly and stiff and my hair's all crunchy! What's up with that? "

maybe playing in the snow a little too much lol--

(between 8pm and 5am)

"How d'you drink hot drinks so quick? They always burn my tongue... Huh? Dogs have sensitive tongues? I'm a wolf, not a dog..."

His birthday: (April 19th)

"Oh right, it's my birthday. Neros told me my mom wrote down the date."

Your birthday:

"It's your birthday, right? No, I only know 'cause that blond gigolo was yelling about it. ...Here's your present."

I bet he drew something really nice or found you something really cool ;3;

New Years: (January 1st)

"Hope you have a happy and prop...props... prosp...prospinous? new year... Damn it, I practiced that for ages..."

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"Oh, thanks. Professor Nicolas said I can't eat chocolate, so I'll give it to Casanova and Gigolo!"

why would you even risk giving him chocolate in the first place lmao. . .also in Japanese he says "I'll share with those two idiots" instead of "casanova and gigolo" lmao

White Day: (March 14th)

"This is for you. I dunno what kinda stuff human girls like, but Suba helped me pick it, so it's prob'ly fine."

Subaru knows girls' tastes is Lyca's logic I guess lmao Subaru is a lil on the femme side comparatively--

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"Why's everyone being so mean today?! Telling lies and laughing at me... They're all jerks...!"

please explain the day to him. . .people are mean enough to him as it is. . . .

Halloween: (October 31st)

"My ears and tail are out? I know, I'm doing it on purpose. The moth-eaten Casanova said it's okay today."

THE ONE DAY HE CAN BE HIMSELF IS HALLOWEEN BECAUSE NO ONE WILL THINK ANYTHING OF IT. . .they'll just think it's a cool costume or maybe a fox robe! And he'll get candy for it!!!

Christmas: (December 25th)

"Hey, look! When I got up this present was next to my pillow! Santa really came..."

WHO TAUGHT HIM ABOUT SANTA. . .AND WHY. . .then again Romeo said Santa's reindeer is real so. . .it probably isn't actually harmful to teach him about Santa since Santa's probably somewhat real here. . . .

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"...I'm going for a walk."

(13 affinity and above)

"Hey, you alive? Huh, you're breathing so I guess so."

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"How come you stopped coming? Do you hate me? It made my heart all squeezy, so don't do it again."

oh no sweetie. . .sometimes we just have to take care of things and disappear without wanting to. . .sometimes life gets in the way instead of finding away. . . . . . . .

JUST. . .SWEETEST OF SWEETHEARTS. HE'S SO CHILDISH AND ADORABLE AND SWEET AND GOOD. . .I WILL USE MY TEN SECONDS OF PETTING TIME WISELY. He really does try harder than anyone, he's so determined and I believe in him so much. I want my boy to be happy.

[gmasttin]

Really Good, Actually | Kylian Mbappé

| Summary: A Madrid-based creative unexpectedly finds herself leading the rebranding of Kylian Mbappé. Between cold coffees, impossible deadlines, and tense creative sessions, something more than just a campaign begins to take shape. An ironic, intimate, and emotionally sharp story about the chaos of feeling alive just when you thought you were only surviving.

| Chapter 2 is already out!!

| 3.6k words

| A/n: I read the book “Really Good, Actually” by Monica Heisey and after binging a bunch of romcoms, I decided to finally start and post one. A lighthearted story, with some romcom vibes, that I’d actually been thinking about writing for quite a while. I hope you enjoy it, and sorry for any mistakes, it's the first one I've ever written and as it's obvious, English is not my first language. Enjoy <3.

Chapter 1

Back when life was simpler, and all you had to worry about were Tupperware containers, briefs, and whether you’d make it to the 7 p.m. Pilates class.

Some mornings, you wake up with this strange sense of clarity, like everything’s aligned. The coffee’s just right, the subway arrives on time, no one crushes your toes with a pair of impossible stilettos in their rushed way to their fancy offices.

This is not one of those mornings. You’re not sure if it’s because of the weird dream (the one where you’re marrying Louis, your ex, except he’s the one wearing that wedding dress you kept eyeing, and of course, his mother steals your spot at the altar), or because you ended up arguing with your own mother again, over text, at 12:47 a.m.

But something’s off.

You feel it in the way your toothbrush slips out of your hand, at least three times. Or how your coat gets caught on the door handle right when you’re running late. Also in the fact that, for some reason, you’re wearing two completely different shoes and don’t notice until you’re already in the elevator.

You don’t go back to change them. After all, no one looks at your feet in a marketing agency. Unless you work in fashion. And you don’t work in fashion.

You work in “emotionally driven brand storytelling strategy.” Which is just a fancy way of saying you come up with excuses for people to buy things they don’t need.

At 9:08, you get to the office. You know this because the biometric check-in clock reminds you, like a threat. You throw on your jacket with the defeated air of someone who already knows there’s no hot coffee left for her.

There are two people in the office's kitchen: Lucía, who always looks like she’s either about to cry or fall in love, and Guillermo, who speaks with an exaggeratedly British accent that no one really understands.

“Morning,” he says without looking up from his phone.

“How are you?” you reply, not because you care, but because silence feels even more aggressive.

“Busy. So busy. We have that pitch with the Swiss skincare brand at eleven. And then there’s the meeting.”

Ah. The meeting.

Your boss had announced it yesterday on Teams with the gravity of someone introducing the new Messiah:

“Tomorrow, we have an important meeting. Very important. Like, potential long-term strategic client important. I need your best brains, team. Bring attitude.”

You head back to your desk, a white table that’s far too small, which you share with three other people and a dying plant everyone pretends not to be turning their backs on.

On your screen, thirty-seven tabs are open. Nine are unfinished briefs, three are online clothing stores, and one is a search for: “how to tell if you’re having an emotional breakdown or just sleep-deprived.”

You take a deep breath. Open your calendar. The event is there:

10:30 – Confidential meeting.Subject: Project Star.Attendees: Management, PR, you.

You. Lowercase. Like a typo someone forgot to fix.

You try to focus. Take a sip of your coffee (cold). Open the Excel file with your corporate smile, the one you once practiced in the kitchen mirror. But it doesn’t last.

Because at 10:28, you get a direct message from HR:

Marta (HR): | Head up to Room 5. They’re all here. Including him 👀

Including him.

Who is him? And why that emoji?

Room 5 is the good room. The one with the Scandinavian sofas and the fancy capsule coffee machine. It’s almost always empty, as if reserved for things that matter. Or for people who earn more in a year than you will in your entire career.

When you walk in, the first thing you see is your boss, wearing that smug “I closed this deal even though I didn’t do anything” smile. Then three people you don’t recognize. Suits. Serious. A woman holding a folder full of documents, and two men who look like they haven’t laughed since 2017.

And then you see him.

He’s sitting in the corner of the sofa, staring at his phone like it’s blowing up. White shirt, sleeves rolled up, expensive watch. The kind of person who doesn’t need an introduction because you’ve already seen his face twenty times—on bus stop billboards, Nike campaigns, and a live-through nightmare involving penalty kicks and your grandmother’s best friend, who is Argentine.

Kylian. The footballer. That one.

Your first thought was: He’s even better looking in real life. Your second was: Don’t look impressed.

Your boss catches your eye and motions for you to sit down.

“This is Y/N, our trusted creative director,” your boss says in that tone he uses when he’s trying to sound cool and young, despite he is entering his middle 50’s. 

You smile as best you can. Your heart’s pounding like it’s doing cardio on your behalf.

Kylian looks up. And for a fraction of a second, he looks at you.

Not in a “who are you?” kind of way, but more like “right, so you’re the one who’s supposed to fix this.”

You sit down on the opposite end of the sofa. Far enough not to seem intimidating. Close enough to pretend you’re not trying to seem anything at all.

Your boss clears his throat. That thing he always does right before saying something that sounds like a headline but means absolutely nothing.

“Well, as I was saying, this is a special project. A unique opportunity to… rewrite the narrative.”

“Rewrite the narrative” is his new favorite phrase. He’s been using it ever since someone said it at a networking event and he jotted it down on his iPhone, right next to gems like “pivot from authenticity” and “emotional capital.”

“Kylian is entering a new chapter,” he adds, as if talking about a divorce or a spiritual awakening. “His team wants to work on his personal brand from a more honest place. More connected. Something… human.”

Kylian says nothing. Still staring at his phone. Like none of this matters. Like he’d honestly rather be out training in the rain or under 600-watt studio lights.

One of the women across the table finally speaks. She looks like she handles PR. Her voice sounds like one of those self-help podcasts that tell you everything happens for a reason while selling you a course on productivity.

“We want people to meet the real Kylian. Not just the athlete. The boy who grew up in the suburbs, who loves art, who’s investing in cultural initiatives for young people.”

The boy who loves art. Right. Like every bored millionaire who collects neon sculptures and Warhol prints they don’t even understand.

“We’re thinking of a series of documentary-style content—something intimate but visually strong. Also, a small social media campaign where he speaks directly to the audience. No filter.”

Your boss nods, enthusiastically, as he adds.

“And that’s why we have Y/N. Our top creative. Brilliant. With a unique sensitivity. She knows how to connect with difficult audiences. She’s worked with NGOs, tech start-ups, an inclusive pottery workshop…”

Your name, your career, your work, it all sounds like it’s being read out loud at your professional funeral. You smile. Because that’s what’s expected.

You turn toward Kylian. He looks at you. Finally. As if he’s only just now mentally arrived in the room.

“You write the scripts?” he asks. His voice is deeper than you expected. Like someone who doesn’t rush his sentences.

“I write the ideas,” you reply. “The scripts too. But if everything goes well, no one will remember the words. Just how it made them feel.”

You’re not sure why you said that. Maybe because it sounds like something a brilliant creative would say. Maybe because you’re just a little tired of being treated like a walking PowerPoint.

He nods. Says nothing else.

Your boss clears his throat again. There are more details, of course: deadlines, photo shoots, potential trips, a budget no one dares to say out loud. Words like “engagement,” “authenticity,” and “rebranding” hover in the air like LinkedIn mosquitoes.

And you, meanwhile, are sitting there wondering how this even happened. How you went from creating ad campaigns for titanium frying pans to looking into the eyes of someone who’s probably going to be the next football legend.

At the end of the meeting, he stands and everyone follows.

You stay behind a little longer, unsure if you should head back to your desk or pretend you need to go over your notes.

He turns at the door. Gives you a quick glance. Like he’s not sure whether to say goodbye.

“So, I guess I’ll see you soon,” he says.

And without thinking too much, you reply: “Looks like it.”

Later, in the office kitchen and dining area, Lucía looks at you like you just had dinner with Brad Pitt, her eternal crush.

“So? What was he like? Was he nice? Did he talk to you?”

“He asked me one question.”

“And? How was it? Can you tell he’s French?”

“Not really. You can tell he didn’t want to be here.”

She laughs. “So basically, just like you. Soulmates.”

You pour yourself more coffee. Even though it’s already noon and you know you shouldn’t. But you need something to remind you you’re still awake. That this wasn’t just a celebrity reality show fever dream.

Your boss messages you on Teams:

“Great impression. He liked you. Work your magic.”

Work your magic. As if it were that easy. As if magic weren’t, almost always, just logistics and anxiety.

You spend the afternoon going through the briefing. They’ve sent you a 17-page document titled: “A New Era: Humanizing the Legend.”

The title alone makes you want to jump out the window.

The phrases are full of vague objectives: — Position an emotional identity. — Connect with non-sports audiences. — Turn notoriety into relatability.

There are black-and-white photos of him. One with a vintage bike. Another reading a book with no title. A third holding a little girl (his niece, according to the caption). You wonder which parts of all this are real. And which ones you’ll have to invent.

You start jotting down notes. On a post-it, you write:

What if instead of pretending he’s “the guy next door,” we show him as someone who also had to fight for what he truly wanted? Distance as truth. Fame as fracture.

You like that sentence. Fame as fracture.

You stick it to the edge of your monitor. Right next to another post-it that says: – Call the dentist. – Stop stalking Louis. – Buy tampons.

The next morning unfolds like the mornings of the past six months: fast, half-hearted, with a light drizzle of anxiety—which today, for obvious reasons, feels slightly more intense.

You’ve been summoned to a more intimate meeting. Proposed by his PR manager. Just you, the PR manager, and him.

It’s in a coworking space in Chamberí that looks like a Pinterest café with people-pleasing issues.

When you arrive, they’re already seated. He’s wearing a cap. And sunglasses. Indoors. As if he didn’t want anyone to recognize him.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he replies. Dry. Tired. Then silence.

The PR manager talks for eleven straight minutes. You know it because you count it mentally. He nods occasionally, as if he’s listening. But you watch him and know he’s not really there. So you go for it.

“Sorry. Can I ask something?”

They both turn to you. The PR manager, with a thin smile, the kind that expects you to compliment her long monologue where she’s said everything and absolutely nothing. The kind of monologue that’s made you consider requesting medical leave and handing this project off to someone else, if all future meetings are going to be like this.

“Do you actually want to do this?” you continue.

He blinks. “This?”

“Yeah. The campaign. The rebrand. Are you actually interested in it, or are you here because someone told you to be?”

The PR manager shoots you a look that could be categorized as brand sabotage.

Kylian, however, laughs. A short laugh. But a real one.

“Does it matter?”

“A lot. If you’re not into it, it’s going to show. And if it shows, everyone’s going to see it. And if they see it, they’ll call you fake. And, then we’ll have to redo the whole campaign, but this time using the drama as the hook.”

He looks at you. “All right. I’ll try.”

“Try what?”

“To care.”

You nod and make a mental note: Functional sarcasm. Potential sense of humor. Possibly shy (or just reserved, does he not like me? If so, bad start). Possibly just fed up.

They send you clips of him “for inspiration.” Interviews. Matches. Viral moments.

There’s one in particular. A phone-recorded video on a plane. He’s on his phone. Someone off-camera asks if he’s nervous about the final. He answers:

“No. I’m tired.”

Tired. Not in a physical sense. Existentially tired.

That’s the crack. That’s where you can slip in.

The next day, he shows up at the office. Unannounced. Wearing a watch that probably costs more than a year’s rent on your flat, and the look of someone who Googled “how to dress normal” this morning and gave up halfway.

It’s four in the afternoon. You’re working the late shift today, you swapped with Mireia so you could work in a quieter environment, with fewer people to distract you while you try to figure out how the hell you’re supposed to frame this project.

“I’m here to work with you,” he says, walking toward your desk. The desk you’ve been saying for over a month now that you’ll tidy up, because honestly, it’s starting to get embarrassing. And now the embarrassment is fully devouring you from the inside out.

“Did you bring ideas? Proposals? Do you want to change something in the project?” you ask, because you’re not entirely sure why he’s here.

He doesn’t trust me, does he?

To be fair, your boss didn’t exactly sell you very well. And you wouldn’t trust someone either if they looked like they hadn’t been laid properly in five months and seventeen days (which, if asked, wouldn’t be too far from the truth), to run the documentary that’s supposed to reinvent your public image.

“No.”

You raise an eyebrow. Definitely doesn’t trust me. You think. Or maybe his PR manager sent him to spy on you, because she also doesn’t trust how you do your job, especially after you, let’s be honest, gently shredded hers the other day.

He grabs a spare chair and sits next to you, stealing Pablo’s seat, who’s now watching the interaction from the water machine like it’s a live episode of something he didn’t know he needed.

“These ‘meetings’ usually happen with PR,” you tell him. “You don’t have to be here. They can send you the details.”

“I don’t care,” he shrugs. “It’s a project about my life, right? I should know what’s being said. And what’s not.”

Then, with just the right amount of cheek: “Got any coffee? Pour me one.”

You stare at him. Did he just tell me to make him coffee? Like I’m his assistant?

And you stare a little longer. He holds your gaze, half-smirking, half-testing. That kind of expression that doesn’t fully commit to being rude or polite. As if he hasn’t decided which version of himself is most useful in a Madrid office on a Tuesday afternoon.

You inhale. Slowly.

“We don’t have personal assistants here.”

You get up. Walk toward the coffee machine without looking back. Spine straight. Jaw set. Your version of saying don’t mess with me without saying it.

“Then make us both one,” he adds from your chair, like that somehow makes it better.

The laugh escapes before you can stop it. Dry. More of a stylish snort than a laugh, really.

“Sugar? Or do you want me to draw your logo in the foam?”

“No sugar. I'm in season, gotta watch the sweets.” He says it softer this time. Almost like an apology.

When you come back with the two mugs, he’s already leaned into your monitor. Arms crossed. Eyes fixed on the project timeline you’d left open.

“All this... you do it alone?” he asks, not looking at you.

“Did you think I had a team?”

Now he turns. Looks at you fully. Something’s shifted in his face, like irony was the password to get into his world.

“No. It’s just... a lot.”

You shrug.

“It is. But hey, at least no one makes me chase a ball for a living.”

He laughs. An unexpected one. Brief. Almost sweet. And that’s when it hits you: He’s not just looking at you. He’s watching you. Like he’s trying to figure something out about you that’s not in your resumé.

The next forty minutes, you work in silence. Or at least, what passes for “working” when two people are hyper-aware of each other and there's a quiet tension in the air that neither of you knows how to name yet.

Every now and then, he asks something. About the script tone. The order of the clips. Whether his accent is “too French” for a voiceover.

“Do you think I should speak Spanish in the videos?” he asks.

You consider it.

“If you want people to see you’re making an effort, yes. If you want to sound perfect, no.”

“I want to sound real.”

“Then leave it as it is. With mistakes. With pauses. With ‘ehh’ and ‘I don’t know.’”

He nods. And something opens there. Just a crack. A window slit. But it’s real.

He’s smarter than he looks. You realize that somewhere between the conversation on narratives, social media, and how to show vulnerability without sounding like a performance. He has opinions. He asks. He listens.

And you... You’re confused. Because you don’t know if this is still work. Or if you’re slowly being pulled into the gravity of it all. Of him. Of this moment.

At some point, he laughs at something you say and looks at you like you’re brilliant. Not beautiful. Brilliant. And for some reason, that disarms you more than any physical compliment.

The next day, at 10:36 a.m., the unofficial break time for Lucía, as if the universe had conspired for this conversation to happen, Lucía shows up at your desk with a cookie in hand.

“Was it real? He was here? Pablo told me.”

You raise your gaze to meet Lucía’s eyes, like she’s reached the juiciest part of a novel she can’t stop reading. You simply nod and turn your attention back to the monitor of your computer.

“So, how was it?”

You glance at your empty coffee cup resting next to the mountain of discarded post-its, all with ideas that still don’t quite fit this project. Ideas that seem to wander like echoes, failing to capture the essence.

“Strange.”

“Strange good or strange bad?” Lucía insists, now sitting on the edge of your desk, making it feel like an interrogation. 

You sigh, gathering your thoughts.

“Strange ‘I want him back.’” You admit, letting yourself be pulled into that mix of confusion and realization you’ve been keeping to yourself.

You told her about that strange back-and-forth, that feeling you couldn’t quite describe, but Lucía, after hearing it, defined it as “professional flirting in disguise.”

“We’re not flirting.”

“Of course you are. It’s just that instead of telling him you love his smile, you told him his current storytelling is weak and redundant.”

“Because it is.”

“And he looked at you like he wanted you to write his biography and emotional resume.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Girl, I’m telling you, as a friend and as someone who’s seen all the seasons of The Bold Type, that guy cares more about your feedback than winning the Ballon d'Or.”

Exaggerations aside, something was there. A subtle thread of mutual curiosity, something that was growing without you realizing. And now, here you were: immersed in a project that would last several weeks, working alongside him. Defining the tone of his communication, developing digital pieces, planning interviews… All while trying to maintain your composure and stay focused on your workday.

You’ve come to the conclusion that it all boils down to the fact that you were bored.

You could say it was the algorithm. You could blame a well-executed digital strategy. You could use any excuse, really, and not be lying. But deep down, you know it was that. Boredom. The deadliest of mental states.

And there you were, last night, a Wednesday, with your emergency bun and a lopsided dinner in front of you, watching a video of Kylian Mbappé talking about motivation in a square format with black-and-white subtitles. He wore a white shirt, the collar a little stretched, and several buttons undone. And you wore what was left of your self-esteem and a glass of supermarket red wine.

The worst part is, the video wasn’t bad. The worst part is, it actually seemed sincere. It was in English, with a strong accent and a hesitant intonation, like he was afraid of offending the language. He said things like, "you can’t be your best version if you don’t know who you are," and you nodded. YOU NODDED. After that, you turned off your phone as if it had slapped you and went to bed without washing your face. Because boredom doesn’t just make you vulnerable; it also makes you lazy.

You told Lucía the story as if it were some ridiculous anecdote. Something to laugh about during her unofficial coffee break. But Lucía, who is not just your coworker but your version with steroids, looked at you as if you’d said something important.

“Girl, what if this is a sign?”

“A sign of what?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That you need a change. Or a quickie. Or both.”

[curiouspupsicle]

Good Omens Fan Fiction Friday (2/7/25) - Read the Footnotes, part 1

Terry Pratchett spawned a bunch of Good Omens fan fic writers who adore clever footnotes as much as he did.

Sure, there are tons of fics who use footnotes to share musical inspiration, background information, or explanations of arcane knowledge. But some also use it to offer witty asides, a different writing rhythm, and even bickering between co-authors.

I adore clever footnotes. And I've collected quite a number of faves. So this will be a two-parter to do justice to the fabulous fics with footnotes.

Let's start with a few fics by @may--hawk, a writer known for fabulous footnotes. First up is ad vitam aeternam (T) in which Aziraphale and Crowley each turn up at a 16th century monastery near where a miracle has recently taken place. The footnotes bring a lightness where the "nature of miracles, love, and forgiveness" could feel quite serious.

For a light bit of fun, check out Operation Bookworm (T), one of @may--hawk's silliest and most recent works. After Armageddon't, Crowley decides to sneak his books into Aziraphale's bookshop for "safekeeping."

I'll just quickly mention like black and hungry birds (M)--Aziraphale falls and attends hell's carnival-- and some of these days (M)--Aziraphale has to figure out how to make amends to Crowley after averting the Second Coming.

Mayhawk has over 30 fics in the Good Omens universe so you can't go wrong if you love clever footnotes as much as I do. It's one of their key traits as a fic writer.

In The Big Lack of Chill (M) by @ashfae, The Bentley is fed up with Crowley not moving his relationship with Aziraphale to the next level so she takes things into her own hands, er wheels. The footnotes in this fic are quick, sassy quips. It feels like having a saucy friend whispering in your ear.

And, also by @ashfae is Feast (E). Set during the Covid lockdowns (a horrific thing to live through but a fabulous inspiration for fiction), Aziraphale gets lonely. When Crowley wakes, Aziraphale sets out to seduce him with food--yes, really. The writer calls it smut. But the meal is both silly and sexy. And the footnotes are delicious too.

Wow, a whole fan fic rec with only two writers?

Don't worry. I'll have more splendid picks with fun footnotes in part 2.

In the meantime, check out my other favorite fics on this pinned post of weekly Good Omens fan fiction recommendations.