#How To Pray To Save A Relationship

[quietwingsinthesky]

i don’t know man, if i remade my entire self in a shape that my god could love and then i lost her, i’d be a lot worse. ten could have been far more batshit and i would have forgiven him completely.

[zestys-world]

i am so horrifically bad at understanding fighting mechanics I will struggle for 5 months then go "OHHH THATS HOW YOU DO IT". I legitimately didn't use artifacts for months in genshin and wondered why I kept dying. My little farmer in stardew kept eating mushrooms and praying while swinging around a stick. Its not that I'm a "lover not a fighter" it's just that I do not understand tutorials no matter how easy. So, you can see how i was not prepared to try baldurs gate 3

[muqingslover]

[ This is different than what I usually post but I had to get this out of my system. The new DMC show brought back so many memories and idc what the haters say it's PEAK.

Anyway, to the DMC lovers out there, please accept this humble offering ]

Being in a relationship with Dante. | some NSFW included.

⊹— He may be the best demon hunter but in a relationship? He's the BIGGEST loser. Dante is always throwing some lame pick-up line your way and believe me when I say he will not give up until one sticks. (Spoiler warning: The fact that it actually works only makes him want to do it again)

—⊹ Dating Dante is not for the faint hearted. You have to be ready for all kinds of beyond ridiculous situations and have a godly amount of adaptability.

⊹— He will ALWAYS answer the phone for you. Literally. It doesn't matter what he's doing or where he is he will pick up the second he sees your name on the screen.

"Babe? Oh yeah! I'm totally still up for dinner! By the way, can you add those pieces of chocolate again to— *Approaching yelling in the background* Just a sec! *Crashing sounds and gunshots* Whew, okay, anyway like I was saying—"

—⊹ Oh yeah, he loooooves using pet names and silly nicknames. His personal favorites are "Babe" and "My little luck charm".

⊹— He likes to give you "traditional" dating gifts because that's what he always saw others do so when he shows up with a big ass teddy bear and a box of chocolates (which by the way he definitely ate some before giving it to you) please tell him you love it.

—⊹ Bro is so competitive. Dante is NOT letting you win in card games or any other board games because he wants to show off his skills to you. Though, if you get genuinely upset he would feel bad and invite you to play video games with him because he fails miserably at them every time.

⊹— His hands grab your ass every time you hug him. Not even in a sexual way he just can't help it and he never fails to throw a "nice ass" right after.

—⊹ Missing jewelry, hat or belt from your closet? He's the culprit. This guy will wear anything as long as he believes he looks good in it. I pray for you if you guys are a similar size because then you will have full clothing pieces missing.

⊹— He is THE hype man. Dante kisses the ground you walk on and he supports your rights and rights (because you could never do any wrong ;)).

—⊹ Dante's favorite thing is to show you off in every opportunity he gets. And if he doesn't have the opportunity then he'll just do it anyway. He is constantly yapping about how incredibly hot his partner is, how good your cooking is, how cute you look when you're focused and the way you smell so damn good all the time like, man! You're a freaking gift from the gods! (someone save poor Lady she can't bear to listen to him any more)

⊹— Please also hype him back in return! He has the worst praise kink case I've ever seen. Each time he's praised he just doesn't know what to do with himself and despite the initial cocky attitude he is easy to overwhelm if you don't stop. The first time you praised him while patting his head or scratching his chin he got a hard-on and had to rush out with a poor excuse before you noticed it.

—⊹ There is nothing romantic about sharing a bed with him. It's an absolute nightmare. First of all, this guy is physically incapable of sleeping with his clothes on. He just can't do it. Dante used to sleep butt ass naked but then you convinced him to at least wear boxers. Next on the list of problems is the snoring— Like, it's so loud you thought there was a truck engine next to you instead of your boyfriend. Not to mention the fact he takes up all space on the bed and moves around SO MUCH while he's asleep.

Please invest in separate beds before you kill him.

⊹— Absolutely hates morning. Getting him out of bed is the hardest thing to do and that's saying a lot with the life you two lead. He will keep you trapped in bed with him by wrapping his strong arms around your waist only to when you get up he sloooowly slides off the mattress and onto floor like a worm hanging to you.

—⊹ Surprisingly, or not, very insecure. This man is not controlling in any way though, he is just very worried that he won't be able to protect you if something was to happen or that you will realize you made a mistake by being with him.

⊹— His favorite thing is to make you smile. I know a lot of people paint him as stupid but I genuinely think he just acts silly as a defense mechanism. It's a mask. With you, though? He will purposely act like a dork because he knows it makes you smile.

—⊹ To add to that, Dante does everything he can to keep your spirits up; Someone hurt your feelings? No need to fret, he’s already planning their downfall. Feeling under the weather? tickle monster time! Migraine? He is closing the curtains and cuddling you until it gets better!

⊹— The filter between his brain and mouth is naturally bad but with you, who he is truly comfortable with, it's just INEXISTENT. This may range from random, useless bullshit to out of pocket comments that should definitely not be said out loud.

—⊹ Physical contact is his thing. I mean, he NEEDS it and can be very high maintenance about it. Having his hands on you is not enough for Dante he has to be as close as physically possible and you need to be giving him some kind of attention in return.

⊹— Hugging you from behind when you're cooking, snuggling while on the couch together, keeping a firm arm hooked around your waist while outside, constantly nuzzling his nose on your hair, kissing your neck at every chance he gets, pulling you into his lap as if it's his second nature ECT.

—⊹ Did I mention he adores your hair? In particular long hair because then he can fidget with it by twirling it around his finger or by being a dork and putting it between his lips and nose to make a mustache.

⊹— Your lips are like a drug to him. He will be saying "okay, okay I REALLY gotta bail now" and then stare at you for a solid two seconds then steal another kiss and another and another....oops, he's 30 minutes late already.

—⊹ Dante is a biter. God help you when you give him cuteness aggression (which is basically always) because he will chew on you like candy. Your skin is often red from teeth marks and he doesn't feel sorry about it at all.

⊹— Cannot cook to save his life but absolutely loves your food. Especially if you're good at baking! Man's scarfing down those sweet treats like it's his last meal on earth.

—⊹ He sings while he's showering and holds the bottle of shampoo to you like a microphone so you'll join him. Oh and yes, he is VERY tone-deaf.

⊹— No matter how many times he sees you naked he never gets tired of that blessed sight. He flirts with you like it's the first time he's seeing you and those naughty eyes speak for themselves.

—⊹ He has a high libido, especially in the beginning of the relationship where he's even more excitable than usual. Sex can be very clumsy and messy with him, but that's just what makes it so him.

⊹— If you're a breasty lady, he is reaaaaaally into you using your boobs to get him off. Dante also enjoys having your lips around his cock more than words could describe and a quickie in dark, tight spaces is part of the package with him.

—⊹ Bondage is a guilty pleasure of his. Dante prefers to be the one restrained and left at your mercy instead of the other way around because it's just very hot to him when you take control. You're also the only one he would trust to be this vulnerable with.

⊹— This guy is always late for EVERYTHING, but he shows up without a fail in the end. No matter how battered or tired he might be, not even if he was run over by a truck, he will definitely be there.

[ernest-rimmingway]

⭐a Helping Hand⭐

tags: [mdni][mlw][handjob][male orgasm][tip teasing][brief ass play (on him)][established relationship][msub][petnames][overstimulation]

Mark loves the way you give handjobs.

He can't do anything other than adore the way your delicate hand grabs the chubby base of him, fingers brushing along pulsing veins that throb and he feels the way his muscles tense beneath his suit.

He knows he's just supposed to show up, tell you he's okay but you're always looking at him with those soft, adoring eyes. Hands cradling his face and when you press your lips against his, the taste of your lipbalm seems to turn his brain into mush and he nods weakly.

Murmuring the sweetest "uh-huh" when you carefully pry his goggles from his face, discarding his mask and ushering him to sit down on the edge of your bed.

Mark feels the way your chest presses against his back, the fabric of your clothing does nothing to hide your pebbled nipples, and he hyperfixates on you.

He looks down at your hand as you stroke his cock, translucent beads of precum rolling onto your hand but you're too preoccupied whispering.

"I saw how you saved those people." You whisper softly. "You're such a good hero, baby."

You coo and you pander. Your sweet words a gentle balm to his bruised body, and even more bruised spirit.

You press kisses along the side of his neck, listening as he talks about his day, stuttering through meaningless details like he's not fucking up into your hand.

Mark's hands move to grasp at your thighs, pulling them around him and he shifts, cock throbbing in your grasp and he leans back against you.

You're always so warm.

Always so attentive that you know just when to slide your finger over his tip, tracing that leaky divot until Mark's eyes go cross and his blunt nails dig into your skin.

"Oh... God.." Mark whines, shifting and he presses his face into your neck.

You smell like you just showered. Fresh, clean and so, so warm. You smell sweet. A mixture that he can't quite place, but he loves it enough to breathe it in.

He's trying not to cum too quickly. His climax rapidly approaching because while you're stroking his aching cock, your other hand has spit-slicked fingers, pressing against that sensitive spot just behind his full balls. And he whines.

"Fuck, you're gon—gonna make me c-cum..."

He breathes out your name, panting each syllable like he's praying to you and in a way, he is.

He's praying for you to take away the stress, to ease his mind, and to make him feel so good that he's seeing stars when he goes back out to patrol.

But Mark always forgets you take things just a bit too far.

And he forgets the walls are thin.

So when he eventually starts hiccuping, puppy dog eyes getting blearier and he's whining, rutting into your hand... He gets loud.

Overstimulated, with cum strewn across your hands, his belly and his thighs, Mark's sounds become unhinged whimpers. Choked moans and mewls, whimpering 'please baby's that fall from his lips with the ease that Mozart wrote symphonies...

And you're covering his mouth, pressing your lips against his temple.

And you coo.

"The walls are thin, baby." You remind softly.

"You don't want everyone to hear you, do you?"

Mark doesn't know his left from his right, right now, but he knows one thing:

He definitely doesn't wanna be heard. Not by your neighbours, not by heroes not by anyone, except you.

So Mark shakes his head, mumbling the cutest 'no' before shifting.

He braces his sock-covered feet on the edges of your bed, muscular thighs spread and he uses the change in position to keep fucking up into your hand.

All while the hand that covers his mouth moves south so slowly, nails dragging along his tensing abs, scratching at that dark patch of hair and his back arches so sluttily when you cup his balls.

"...s-s-s'too much, baby." Mark sputters, biting down on his bottom lip. His eyes are teary, his lips are raw bitten and he's drooling. Copious amounts of precum drip from him and he's not even sure if he's cumming.

But his body tenses when he feels one of your dainty, manicured fingers slowly trace that furled entrance. And he gasps, letting out a whimper.

"N—not...s'there..." He whines, but he's not pushing your hand away.

Not in the slightest.

"I'm not going inside, baby." You reassure softly. "We're just gonna see how it feels, okay?"

And Mark nods.

You could ask him anything right now and he'd nod his head. So in love and so, so, so desperate for you that he might actually give you a lung if you asked for it.

And Mark feels the way his cock throbs.

One finger repeatedly rubbing at his swollen and reddish tip, while another teases his virgin hole.

And he swallows.

You always take it too far. But that's what Mark likes.

You challenge him. You guide him. And God, does that not make his cock leak onto your hands, his thighs covered in fluids. And he pants.

"M'almost there..." He whimpers. "..again.."

And he hides his face in your neck.

Raven strands are tousled, his body prickles with goosebumps and droplets of sweat trail in the carvings created by heavily toned muscle.

"I— I... I can t—take it..."

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Can I request a scenario with Malleus encouraging f!reader touching his horns now that one of them is broken after seeing she's sad/hesitant about it but she used to do it a lot before? ♡♡♡Thank you love your blog♡♡♡

Malleus Draconia:

You had never hated Malleus.

You had never been afraid of him.

You were scared for him, scared that he would never see past his anguish, that the concept of losing someone dear to him would blind him to the reality of what he’s done. You felt like an intruder in this battle, watching those who grew up alongside him, who served him dutifully and who were fueled by the desperation to save him from himself, stand their ground best they could until a victor could be announced.

The partial loss of his horn was a sacrifice that had to be made, if it was either that or his life, your preference was clear. But the loss of his magic was a heavy hit, as was the emotional fallout from all the very upset students who had fallen under his sleeping spell. You can’t say you were mad, just exhausted, and endlessly relieved that in the end his family could stay together, no matter how each individual had changed over the course of this journey.

Malleus was hesitant to approach you, perhaps remembering that your dream consisted of a yearning to be by his side, yet he couldn’t give you the full attention he wanted while monitoring everyone else’s dreams. He had left you with just a copy of himself, which was why he was determined to seek you out in the waking world. You had greeted him with a smile, as strained as it might be, and he found himself wondering how you felt about him now. Worrying was a more accurate descriptor, but if he allowed himself to think on it too long, he would never find it in him to approach you.

He does notice when the conversation begins that your eyes drift to his horns, specifically the broken one that had brought an end to this unfortunate situation. You had always had a fondness for his horns, admiring them quietly in class when you could, and Malleus could never forget the look of awe (and mild embarrassment) when he had asked if you wanted to touch them. He knew humans were generally curious about such things and since you had been polite enough to not just grab at them like they were decorations, he figured you’d take him up on his offer.

“Would you like to touch them?” His tone is mildly playful and you’re brought back to several long months ago when he had first asked, the question making your face warm the same way it had before.

“I… It won’t hurt, would it?” You didn’t know the biology of his horns, or if there were nerve endings or something else that might cause discomfort.

Malleus just shook his head in response, leaning down to allow you access, praying that you would do it. Did you see him differently now? Was the broken horn a signifier that something else inside him was broken? He was afraid of the permanent damage he had done to your relationship, to you, and there would never be enough apologies to offer to truly make up for it. He just hoped you understood him, what it meant to touch a dragon’s horns, and that you were willing to see a future that involved you intertwined.

 Your hands are as gentle as they were the first time, and the many times after where he allowed you to touch him, fingers slowly tracing along the hardened surface of his horns. You don’t avoid the jagged areas where it’s broken off, familiarizing yourself with each bump and point until you finally pulled your hands away. You had felt his intense gaze on you the entire time, finally allowing your eyes to meet.

You gave him a smile, a genuine one, and while the path of forgiveness might be long, Malleus knew you’d walk alongside him until the very end.  

[rosemarie333]

Astrology Observations

Tropical Version (not a fully detailed exploration of certain placements)

⚠️⚠️Do not take these seriously; this is based on my observations of certain placements. This is for fun!

Sag, Leo mercuries are so both super funny, but they express it very differently. Sag are the type of say something without thinking about it fully, but Leo mercuries once they get to know you will know what makes you laugh because they know what will. Leo mercuries are hilarious when telling stories, Sag mercuries are hilarious at commentary! (E.g berlezzy and coryxkenshin have sag mercuries and they have so many memes of saying funny things impulsively)

9th house placements in benefics 🤝🏾 doing well at college even when they don't try/ 9th house placements in malefics 🤝🏾 getting a bad grade for a assignment you studied 10 hours for

For those who do have Venus in the 9th (potentially Venus in Sag), look where yout Venus/DSC line is in astrocartography and lmk if you seem to attract foreigners from there or not. I have my Venus in the 9th and my Venus/DSC is in the heart of Paris/Madrid/ and Morroco and I find a lot of my lovers are from one of those places or at least 300 miles from those cities. Maybe look with your Jupiter/DSC line to see as well as Jupiter does represent yur husband 🤭

Saturn in the 1st house being born with model features. They literally have bone structure made from heaven as well. But they might have large teeth as Saturn does rule the teeth. Some may have big jaws as well

I know many people say Libra risings are sculpted from heaven earth, which I will not deny😋, but I find that Libra risings especially born 2004-2006 grow into their looks with time. Even if they have Venus-ASC aspects.

Saturn in the 3rd 🤝🏾 will ask a lot of questions just wanting to know more about the subject of conversation and unintentionally due to that Saturn influence it can seems that they are being critcal in some form or fashion.

Venus-Neptune/ Neptune in the 7th/ Neptune in the 5th: Have a whole crafted image of their partner that is completely opposite from reality at times. They can project their fantasies onto people but when they dont meet them 🤮 goes through their mind LOL. Gotta start seeing what people are for who they are it will save heartbreak in the future💀

6th house dominants love being englufed with perfume. If you see someone with a big ass perfume collection, they probably have 6th house promience. They loveeeee smelling good!

Gemini Mercuries are so underrated when it comes to how funny they are. I swear they are so good at reading the room and saying the funniest thing at the right time.

Pisces placements (especially Pisces rising, Moon, and Mars) have to deal with so much projection on a constant basis. People will look at a Pisces and just make up a story about them and push that projection whether its for good or not onto the Pisces person and being the Neptune they are they will take it as their own. People be seeing Pisces as weak and I hate it. But onto my second point:

People naturally underestimate Pisces and Libra placements due to their easygoing, non confrontational nature, but let it be known about their opposite house (Aries for Libra and Virgo for Pisces) and what they have to deal with when they step out of that nature. I know Tyla is a Aquarius rising, but she to me is a great example of what happens when a Pisces or Libra stick up for themselves😭 People were quick to call her uppity but when she stood up for herself on Twitter, people were gagged for some odd reason??

Those with Mercury-Chiron aspects, how is your relationship with your siblings?

Leo placements (Sun, Rising, Moon) can stifle themselves due to their need of validation and praise. When they dont get the praise they were expecting (even for bomb ass ideas and such) they will forget about it and toss it to the side because they didn't get validated for it. Most Leo's do well once they stop craving validation and praise from others and start learning to trust themselves with their ideas. They unfortunately lack self trust as much as they appear to have it.

This was my detailed not detailed observations of the placements, I hope you liked it!

[thefemigirl]

★ The Secret to Everyday Luck

Luck isn’t just about random chance or coincidence. It’s about alignment, effort, and faith. Being “lucky” is the reward for consistent actions, intention, and an openness to opportunities. True luck is a result of hard work, spiritual connection (for my spiritual/religious girls), and an awareness of the blessings that unfold along the way.

Here are actionable steps you can take to cultivate luck in your life:

⋆ Show Up Consistently Take small, consistent steps toward your goals every day. It can be learning a skill, completing a task, or building habits, consistency creates momentum and invites opportunities.

⋆ Set Daily Intentions Begin each day with a clear focus. Write down or mentally affirm what you want to achieve, what kind of person you want to be, or what goals you’re striving toward. Intention creates alignment.

⋆ Pray About Your Goals: As a Christian girl myself, I believe that connecting spiritually with your goals by praying daily is important. Share your desires with God, seek guidance, and express gratitude. This creates clarity and helps you trust in the divine plan for your life.

This can be applied to any religion/spirituality.

⋆ Be Open to Opportunities: Position yourself where opportunities are likely to arise. Engage in activities like starting a new project, showcasing your work, building connections, or simply being present in spaces where new relationships and possibilities can unfold. Online or in person, actively seek environments that align with your current interests or the future goals you aspire to achieve.

⋆ Cultivate Awareness of the Small Wins: Pay attention to the little victories and patterns that emerge in your life. Celebrate small successes, as they often lead to bigger breakthroughs.

⋆ Create a Vision Board: Visualise your ideal life and goals by creating a vision board. Place it somewhere visible and use it as a reminder of where you’re headed, keeping your focus sharp and intentional.

⋆ Express Gratitude Daily: Make it a habit to acknowledge and thank God (or who/what you believe in) for the blessings in your life. Gratitude shifts your perspective and keeps you aware of the abundance already surrounding you.

Remember, there's always someone who wants the live you have already.

⋆ Align Your Actions with Your Goals: Take practical steps that align with your vision. Learning, saving, planning, or improving yourself, make sure your daily actions are contributing to the life you desire.

⋆ Be Patient and Trust the Process: Luck doesn’t appear overnight. Trust that your effort and intentions are paving the way for your goals, even when progress seems slow.

Faith in the journey will keep you motivated.

Trust the journey, and watch how things align in your favour. Best of luck in your growth!

[2-dsimp]

POV: You’re the sidekick of a crash-out alien hero.

Tw: yandere alien! hero x gn! sidekick reader, toxic relationship, trauma, angst, gaslighting, manipulation, coercion, narcissism, bullying, corruption, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of gore, holding hostage, torture, jealousy, possessive tendencies, controlling behavior,

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

“Aha! Ha! Ha! Don’t make me laugh!” The hero cackled, even bending over with a hand pressed to his chest. He found you utterly adorably stupid.

“Oh gods you’re a riot! Now cmon tell me, where are the cameras you set up to make me look bad?” Adonis, your assigned hero partner, looked around exaggeratedly.

A gloved hand over his brow to scope the area for the cameras which were nonexistent. Meanwhile, you stood your ground protecting a feeble villian from his brutality.

“This is no joke, I’m done paying a blind eye to your blatant insanity!” You snapped, the laughing man in front of you was none other than Adonis Apollo.

He was an alien parading in human skin, he adorned his superhero attire. Wearing a spartan inspired helmet, his liquid golden irises vibrantly glowering down at you.

Adonis was a two-faced glorified prick. Often seen as the face of the Hero Association. The famed Sunset Knight known for his valiant efforts. The generosity to care for the wellbeing of the citizens.

The iconic slogan in his campaigns; ‘If the sun begins to set and you find yourself in trouble. Like a ray of light, Adonis will appear!’ To save the day time after time again.

The women swooned for him, all the men aspired to be him, and worst of all you used to admire him. What a mistake that was.

If only you hadn’t seen his true nature, if only you hadn’t have acknowledged it! Played pretend and continued life as if everything was normal…

Then maybe he wouldn’t have targeted you.

Once upon a time back when you were just a newbie. Staring out to train to be a prospect sidekick for one of the hero’s signed to the association.

During your nightly jogs through the tight alleyways. You stumbled across a graphic scene, recognizing the signature spartan helmet.

Adonis didn’t even have any sign of emotion on his face, he looked to be bored. Even after he squashed the head of a burglar like a grape.

“Ugh great, I’ve stepped on some shit.” A small sneer on his lips as he used the thief’s chest as a damn foot rug. To wipe off the brain matter from underneath his heels.

Being one imbued with a sense of justice you saw him unfit to be a hero. He was nothing but a crook, a damned fraud.

You took photos of the crime with an aim to condemn him. You meticulously filed numerous anonymous serious charges against him through the Hero’s association. Stalking him on his endeavors, journaling his every transgression.

Yet it was as if everything ounce of pure evidence fell on deaf ears. The submitted reports were labeled ineligible, they marked you off as one of the malicious antifans of heros. So they dismissed you without a second thought.

The notion made you seethe, wondering how could they allow an unstable psychopath to play hero when he was seeing folks as lesser than dogshit?

When it came time for your training to pay off and be assigned to a hero. You had prayed to be assigned to anyone but him.

But alas your prayers were never answered, you suspected that he knew that you were the one behind the anonymous reports.

So he pressured the board into making you his sidekick. And you surmised that he only did so to make your life miserable. Which he did to an annoying extent.

He’d condescendingly flirt with you, make you clean up after all his messy accidents in handling the criminal suspects. He even made you shake the detached tentacle hand he ripped out from a poor squidman as a joke.

It’s as if he lived for getting a reaction out of you no matter how negative it was you gave him high endorphins.

He’d ask sometimes if you hated him, to which you replied with a knowing glare. Nonetheless he’d have an elated expression on his face a faint blush and a sharp callous grin. Pitching a huge tent in his spandex.

But now he wasn’t grinning after looking at you and your defensive stance. He scoffed rolling his eyes, flexing his fingers. “Alright, this is getting old, be a good lil sidekick and move aside so I can deal with the whelp.”

“No, I won’t move.” You had your arms spread guarding the villian collapsed from behind you. He was shaken up, coughing blood after his body was lethally thrown against the concrete walls.

“Look, stop acting brand new, all I’m doing is what’s asked of me by the people of this city. Removing garbage from the census” He said flippantly, the sunset hitting his face making him look as if he was some angelic savior sent to purge the earth from impurities.

“The people didn’t ask for glorified acts manslaughter! Nor did I ask to be apart of it!” You stepped up to him chest to chest, you hoped to give enough time for the criminal to escape.

You weren’t confident in your abilities to properly go toe to toe with the biggest presence in the hero industry. “All this needless bloodshed and for what? To make your day less boring?” You hopped to provide an ample distraction.

Adonis simply smiled, his narrowed eyes trailing to the villain who caught onto your intentions. And was currently trying to gather the strength to make a break for it.

“Oh I’m so touched!” He sighed, cupping his face acting like a swooning fan. “You really do know me all too well honey dearest~ in fact you’re the only one I can really be myself with...” He’d coo in that overly cutesy honeyed voice he’d use to piss you off stepping forward to obnoxiously pinch your cheeks.

Before he simply phased past you via his powers which enabled him to pass through any solid form of matter. “Which is the only reason why I keep you alive.” You flinched, hearing his low disembodied voice rasp into your ear.

You shivered, a tingling sensation which made your goosebumps rise. There was no time for you to be struck with fear, a life was being threatened!

“Wait Adonis! This it’s beneath you! You’re the top hero for crying aloud! Just let me handle this!” You desperately tried to grab at him, but all you managed to do was grasp at air.

You started to panic you couldn’t stomach yet another death on your conscious. “Oh you’re singing me praises now? How charming.” He’d jest, briefly glancing over his shoulder at you to give a smirk.

Once he rematerialized, the hero crouched down to grab at the neck of the villain. Hoisting them up in the air. “Say if you truly want this pest to stay alive, how far would you go to make it happen hmm?”

You gritted your teeth, hands balled up as you glared at him with a bubbling rage in your eyes at the unfairness of it all. To be at the mercy of a damned devil such as he.

“Name your price.” You spat, surely you’d regret it but you couldn’t squander an opportunity to finally have a chance at saving someone from death by his hands.

Contrary to what you thought, you figured the hero would show satisfaction at you giving in. Yet all you saw was a blank expression.

“Oh you’re being serious? Are you being fucking for real right now babe?”A dry laugh came from his lips which was soon covered up by his free hand to hide the scowl setting upon it.

”You actually care about this—this pathetic wriggling thing here?” His voice genuinely sounded perturbed, as he shook the criminal by the throat. Like they were some minor decoration.

He was pissed.

Adonis had surprisingly found himself bothered. Only you could invoke such fleeting moments of jealousy within him.

He despised how you’d pay more attention to someone other than himself. But he’d never admit to it, it was considered weak after all.

“Name your price ey? Who’re you a mere sidekick, To be making demands of me like that?” He’d snap, carelessly dropping the criminal, so they’d grovel before him.

“And to think your standards would be so low as to pay mind to this vermin. I thought our precious time together would’ve taught you better.” His voice carried a heavy weight with thin lines of venom tracing it. You could sense things weren’t going to end well being the manchild he is when things didn’t go his way.

“Adonis… I— look I apologize, just please hear me out.” You started slowly, approaching him carefully like he was a cornered feral animal. Adonis was unstable, you had to be careful not to set him off.

“That villian is already incapacitated so we can leave him to the law enforcement and go on our merry way yeah?” Adonis was radio silent. Which wasn’t a good sign at all. The alien was never taught how to properly expressing himself.

He made you decline every mandatory psych evaluation therapy session on his behalf. Making it evident that he didn’t see the purpose in having a therapist.

The hero was confident nothing was wrong with him. After all he was born to be perfect, it was in evident in his superior alien genetics. So why would he let himself be labeled as anything other than that, with silly mental diagnosis? He couldn’t begin to comprehend the concept.

Even if his striking inability to control himself, whenever he got too stressed. In coping with certain feelings that was unfamiliar to him. Was something he denied all accountability for.

“Ah fuck this is really bumming me out.” He finally spoke, His fingers were messaging at his temples to soothe the veins from popping out even further.”I just haha, cannot fucking believe it. You’d actually prioritize a villain over me?—”

You barely registered a sound crack, before you saw that the hero had delivered a sharp kick at a man already down. His heel digging into their ribcage effectively breaking one rib.

“The motherfucking sunset that presides over this whole city to keep the people safe?” At this point you were grappling around his waist to haul him off. “You think this lowlife is better than me!? Worth more of your time?” But he’d frequently phase in and out of like a flickering tv channel. He was untouchable.

“No! No I don’t think that at all! Just relax please! Adonis they’ll die at this rate, they’re choking on their own blood!” You’d pleaded, desperate to do something, anything. You had even laid yourself over the curled up body of the villain. Whose breaths were getting shallower by the minute.

“Awe that’s the point sweetie, now move—” He paused, ear twitching hearing sirens coming. frowning he bends down to take your jaw into his hands. “Why must you be such a buzzkill.” Taking advantage of you being distracted, he sneaked another petty kick to the ribs of the offender. Making that broken rib no.2

“Fine… wrap this mess up as usual, I’ll see you in my office later to discuss about your insubordination.” Adonis clicked his tongue, already phasing through the wall of the alleyways. leaving you in a compromising position with a villain hanging onto his last breath.

And the law enforcement arrived at the scene had varying expressions of ‘what the fuck happened’ and at this point you were well over regretting your career decisions.

—-/———-

A/n: just wanted to flush out Adonis’s character more lol. Let me know if you want pt2 to his main story line.

[saintobio]

₊˚⊹♡ daddy doctor saves the day!

pairings. zayne/li shen, fem!reader

tags. 1.6k wc, dad!zayne, mom!mc, domestic fluff, slice of life, established relationship, brief mentions of pregnancy, zayne in scrubs *phew* bc need i say more. divider by anitalenia.

if zayne were ever to have kids, he’d have liked two.  

a girl and a boy. not because he believed in symmetry or balance, but because he imagined them leaning on each other the way siblings in picture books did—arms slung over shoulders, shared secrets in the dark, always knowing they weren’t alone. that’s what he’d wanted for them. companionship and safety.

and that day, in the quiet lull following a ten-hour triple bypass surgery, he was reminded of that wish.

you sat on the little couch tucked into the corner of his office, the one he’d insisted on keeping even when they offered to replace it with something more suitable for the chief cardiac surgeon. but that couch had warmth stitched into its seams, and it reminded him of home. the kids were curled up beside you, both fresh from school, still in their matching navy sweaters and slightly crooked socks. your daughter, older by two years, had her head resting in your lap, while your son perched at the edge of the cushion, his feet swinging above the floor.

“mommy,” he asked, his voice sticky with curiosity, “how does daddy fix hearts?”

you smiled, smoothing your daughter’s hair back from her forehead. “well,” you began, your tone soft and thoughtful, “he does surgery. that means he opens the chest to get to the heart.”

they both stiffened with the delighted kind of horror only young children could summon. “he cuts people open?” your daughter gasped, her eyes going round.

you solemnly nodded. “yes. he makes a careful cut. then he opens the chest so he can see the heart. it’s very delicate work.”

your son’s face crumpled in awe and fascination. “like a... like a treasure chest?”

“kind of,” you said, chuckling, “only instead of gold, there’s a heart inside.”

your daughter shuddered dramatically. “ew! that’s so creepy.”

zayne stood in the doorway then, unnoticed. still in his navy scrubs, cap tucked into his waistband, his hair a little messy from hours spent in the OR. he looked tired, shadows carved beneath his eyes, but his mouth tugged into a quiet smile. you didn’t see him yet, but he saw you—all three of you—and it filled something deep in his chest he hadn’t realized had gone hollow during the hours of cutting and stitching and praying beneath the surgical lights.

“do people die?” your son asked suddenly, looking up at you with wide, serious eyes.

“sometimes,” was your honest answer. “but daddy works really hard to make sure they don’t. he’s the best there is.”

“so he’s like a superhero,” your daughter concluded. “but for hearts.”

before you could respond, you heard the subtle shift of shoes on linoleum, and turned your head to see the man of the hour. leaning against the frame of the office door, arms crossed, tired but watching the three of you with a soft, fatherly smile. you just couldn’t ever get used to the way your heart raced at the sight of your husband. 

“you guys talking about me?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse from hours of breathing through a mask.

“daddy!” and of course, his kids squealed in unison, springing from the couch and bolting toward him. he caught them both easily, pulling them against his sides like puzzle pieces falling into place. his hands were still cool from scrubbing out, but they didn’t seem to notice. or maybe they didn’t care. they were too busy clambering over one another to tell him everything you’d just said.

“daddy! you cut people open!”

“you open their treasure chest!”

zayne laugh came out raspy, and you knew that meant exhaustion. but the joy in his eyes concealed the tiredness he carried. “is that what mom told you?”

“uh-huh! and then you look at their heart and fix it like legos!”

you raised your brows at him. “legos? that didn’t come from me.”

your husband shrugged, adjusting your daughter on his hip. “not technically wrong.”

“do you use glue?” your son asked seriously, squinting up at him.

“sometimes.” zayne knew it was best to play along. “we have special glue for blood vessels.”

your daughter gasped. “that’s so gross.”

“no, it’s awesome,” your son countered.

zayne set them down gently before walking toward you, his steps a little heavy from the long shift. he leaned down, kissed your cheek, and murmured, “thanks for covering the debrief.”

you smiled up at him. “they had questions.”

he sat beside you with a quiet groan, his leg pressing against yours. the kids climbed right back into the space between you, curling close like this was just another part of their daily routine. maybe it was.

“can we be heart doctors, too?” your son asked, tucking himself into zayne’s side.

“if you want to,” zayne replied, brushing a hand through his son’s hair. “but i think you’d be an amazing engineer.”

“what about me?” your daughter demanded equal attention.

he leaned in and tapped her nose. “you? i think you’d be a writer. or a lawyer. or maybe an astronaut.”

“what if i want to be a bunny farmer?”

zayne thought for a moment. “then i’ll build you a bunny hospital.”

you laughed, covering your mouth as the kids began to plan their future bunny farm, arguing over weather conditions and carrot rations. zayne didn’t say anything more. he just leaned back slightly, one hand resting on your knee, the other curled protectively behind your daughter’s back. he listened to their chatter, his eyes finding humor in their animated conversations. he was probably thinking, ‘they definitely got that from their mom’.

in retrospect, he had fixed countless hearts in his life, stitched vessels, replaced valves, saved lives. but this… this quiet, chaotic, precious moment? this was the one thing he’d gotten perfectly right.

although, you did want to admit that it was difficult to have a decent conversation with your husband while in the presence of your hyperactive kids. thankfully, it didn’t take long until you heard the soft tap of shoes on the hospital floor. the door creaked open, and in walked yvonne, the hospital’s nurse and receptionist, smiling fondly at your little family. 

“hey, kids,” yvonne said brightly, “how about you come with me? i’ve got something special for you.” she paused, then with a wink, added, “dr. greyson’s got some treats in the breakroom.”

the kids’ eyes lit up, and without another word, they scrambled off the couch, practically tripping over their own feet in their hurry to follow yvonne. they were already chattering excitedly as they followed her down the hall.

as soon as the door closed behind them, you relaxed back into the couch and exhaled deeply. zayne, still in his scrubs from his long surgery, scooted closer and pulled you by the waist. he looked tired, but there was a softness in his gaze that was just for his wife.

“well,” you said with a light chuckle, “it’s nice to finally get some privacy.”

zayne’s smile was tender. “don’t get used to it.”

you laughed. “honestly, though, i’m surprised i don’t get jealous of yvonne. she practically has the kids wrapped around her finger. and she takes good care of you here.”

only then did your husband’s smile falter for a second, a brief moment of amusement flashing across his features. “jealous?” he repeated. “you’re jealous of her?”

“i just said i’m not,” you clarified. “but… well, she’s charming. sweet. she always knows exactly what to say.”

“you,” zayne cut you off, “are everything to me. i don’t need anyone else.”

you knew you’d always been his number one, but you always felt reassured when he said the exact words you wanted to hear. it was enough. and it always worked this way through your years of marriage—a little hint of jealousy could easily be fixed by reassuring words.

whatever zayne said, you believed. there was a sense of solemnity in his words that you’d be a fool to doubt him. perhaps, it was why your kids get scared when their dad gives them a little scolding.

“speaking of work,” you said, shifting slightly, “how did the surgery go? i heard it was a long one.”

zayne sighed at the remembrance. “it went well,” he started, “the patient is stable, but her family... they couldn’t pay the full fees. they just didn’t have the money.”

you frowned, your heart aching at the thought. “but you’re not charging them?”

“i waived my professional fees. i asked the husband to reach out to the government for financial assistance. they’re eligible for some kind of medical relief.”

you blinked in surprise, touched by your husband’s gesture. “you did that?”

he shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “it’s what i would want if i were in their shoes. i was never after the money when i practiced my degree.”

“if it were me,” you thought out loud, “what would you have done? if i needed that kind of help... would you have helped me?”

zayne turned to you fully, his eyes softening with sincerity. “i’d do whatever it took,” he firmly answered. “even if you needed a transplant, i’d give you my heart without hesitation.”

it might sound like a silly thing, but his quiet declaration tugged gently at your heart. there was a kind of love in his eyes you couldn’t quite put into words. and somehow, you were the one lucky enough to receive it. 

he’d fixed countless hearts in the OR, but you knew, in this moment, that the heart he valued most was the one beating inside you.

maybe that’s why now felt like the perfect time to bring up what had been weighing on your mind all day. the very reason you’d driven straight to the hospital after work.

“well, as it turns out,” you brought up, shifting slightly, “i’m not pregnant. i got my period today.”

zayne let out a soft chuckle. “well, two kids are enough for now, don’t you think?”

you pouted, feigning disappointment. “but i want one more.”

he grinned and kissed your forehead. “you can try again next month. i’m sure we’ll make a whole team of little heart doctors.”

[ebodebo]

Hot For Teacher!

—professor!simon riley teaching anatomy… MDNI

(DISCLAIMER: in this fic, the reader is getting their master's, so reader is an adult! that said, this is still a student-professor relationship, so beware!)

"I heard he was from Germany….or somewhere."

"He's probably sooo old."

"I can't find his rate my professor anywhere!"

"I heard he only has one leg!"

Murmurs can be heard spread around the room; your fellow graduates flooded the lecture hall seats, not an empty seat out of fifty in site. They were itching with anticipation and anxiously awaiting the arrival of your new gross anatomy professor, including yourself.

You were even more nervous than when you had to present your senior thesis for your bachelor's to four of the most knowledgeable, bright minds you had ever come into contact with.

That was intimidating, but this somehow feels worse. You find yourself sinking into the squeaky plastic chair, praying that whoever walks through that door is as gracious and kind as your last professor.

Heavy steps echoed down the hallway, slowly and steadily etching closer and closer to the room you sat in. Your eyes nervously shifted up to look at the wide open front door, and you tapped your foot, restlessly, to a non-existent beat in your head.

The footsteps became louder and louder until the man finally stood in the doorway, sparing the class not even a singular glance. He steadily turned to the right and walked up to the chalkboard, back towards the class, carefully etching something onto the board with a small piece of chalk.

The murmurs around the room seized as the screeching noise of the chalk against the board bounced off the walls and went straight into everyone's eardrums.

It was a quick, illegible scribble.

He set the piece of chalk down and turned to face the class, eyes roaming around the room, allowing you to get a better look at him.

He wore a black surgical mask just below his nose, covering his lips and jaw. And, God, was he tall. He had to be at least six-two, maybe even six-four. He wore a charcoal gray button-up tight enough to display his broad shoulders and buff biceps, with kaki cargo pants that did nothing to hide his thick thighs. 

Fuck, he was hot.

"Your last professor was quite lenient," his gravelly voice echoes around the room as he begins, leaning his hip on the table before him. "Don't expect that from me."

His eyes roamed some more, and the murmurs you heard about how hot he was seized as he spoke again. "If you think this class will be easy, you're sorely mistaken. Excellence is the bare minimum I expect from each of you," he sternly says. "I don't tolerate excuses. You're in the wrong place if you can't meet the deadlines."

You didn't know the first time meeting your professor would just end up with him lecturing you about his obscure conditions and rules like this was a damn military base.

You try to remember if this course was even required for your degree: it is.

"If you miss class, don't bother returning," he continues. The mood in the room had shifted entirely. There was no excitement left; it had been completely sucked out and replaced by regret and anguish. You swore you even saw some people with their computers quickly going to your university's directory, hoping they could still withdraw from a course.

"Lastly, mediocrity has no place in here. Push yourselves or find another course," he gruffed, pushing himself off the desk he leaned on and maneuvering back over to the chalkboard.

"What are the instructions on the board?" Your eyes snapped to a random girl raising her hand adjacent to you, and you were surprised by her bravery in speaking.

The professor glanced at the girl.

“Ah, yes. These are instructions on how to withdraw from this course if you so choose," he said. "Save me the headache and you, your dignity, and withdraw now if you cannot abide by my terms," he almost seemed disinterested. "Also, you will call me Dr. Riley."

He picked up the chalk, quickly etching a strand of words onto it. "These are my office hours," he says, setting the chalk back down. "Any questions?" He asked, turning to face the class.

Not a single peep can be heard. There was only a tiny squeak from one of the chairs. He crosses his arms. "Alright. Quiz tomorrow. Class dismissed," he concludes. You freeze up in your chair as everyone around you starts moving as quickly as possible to get out of there.

You're wondering what you learned today that could be material for a quiz. Instead of waiting behind to ask, you shuffle your things in a bag and speed walk out of there.

This was going to be a long semester.

It was three months in, and this class was kicking your ass. 

No, that's not right. The class was outwardly blistering your entire existence. You pulled countless all-nighters to try and keep up with the material, but it was too much. There weren't enough hours in the day to study the copious amount of material.

It didn't help that Dr. Riley was a bit of a dick. He gave no leniency. Can't make the exam? Too bad. F. Didn't make class? Yikes. Get ready to recite the last lecture in front of the class when you return! Can't answer a question he asks? Well, well, it looks like we have a slacker on our hands. Have a lovely time writing an entire essay on the topic question you failed to answer!

"Can anyone explain the process of bone repair following a fracture?" Dr. Riley questions, taking his eyes off the chalkboard and turning towards the now half-full class. You snap out of your daydream, carefully looking back to your computer to continue typing what he writes.

Everyone averts their eyes from him to avoid getting called on. "No takers?" He asks once more, eyes narrowing slightly. You look over the top of your computer, eyes wondering over the messy array of notes he wrote to try and decipher them. "You," he says, flicking a finger towards you. "Give it a go."

Your eyes flick to his before widening in horror. Shit. You hadn't even gone over this week's slides because you were still working on the hundreds of slides from last week. 

"Preferably today," he raises a brow, impatience written all over his face, crossing his arm over his chest. You take a deep breath, quickly scan your notes, and sublimely thank God you found what you needed.

"Well, first the bone goes through clot formation, then callus formation, then new bone tissue forms, then finally the bone remodels," you explain, issuing a polite smile after you finish, breathing out a sigh of relief as he nods.

"Uh-huh. It's a very interesting process. And do you know which of those processes has the longest duration?" He says blandly. You tilt your head a little, surprised to see he has another question.

"Well, I think that would be the bone remodeling," you affirm, shifting in your seat a little.

"And the shortest?" He quickly supplements. 

"Clot formation?" You say unsurely. 

"You seem unsure of your answer. Do you truly think it is clot formation?" He crosses his arms over his chest. 

You were sure of it, but then again, why would he ask you if you thought it was wrong if it was right? You open your eyes wider, almost like you have just had an epiphany. "I—no. It's callus formation," you say matter-of-factly.

"Incorrect," he says, uncrossing his arms and turning his back to you. "I suggest trusting your instincts next time." You sink deeper into your chair, hoping that somehow it will shield you from his scrutiny. 

"On that note, class dismissed." You quickly gather your belongings, but not before Dr. Riley pulls you aside to assign you a three-page, single-spaced essay about the formation of a bone after having a fracture due in two days.

"Also, be sure to discuss clot formation heavily," his voice carries a condescending tone. "So that when you present to the class, they understand the concept better than you did." 

Your brows furrow a little. "Wait, I do understand—" You begin, though he interrupts.

"That's all," he cooly says, turning to grab his things from the desk in the front before switching the light switch off and stepping around you to leave the room. "See you and your paper Wednesday." You scowled as he turned away from you to go to his office.

This was such bullshit. You answered all his question, but God forbid you answer one incorrectly—well, not even incorrectly; he just made you feel it was wrong.

This was far from over.

"Dr. Riley. I, um, I don't understand why I have to write an essay," you found yourself saying later that day in his office, around six p.m. or so, when most of the faculty had already called it a night and left. His eyes stayed laser-focused on some papers he was going over.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, scribbling something on the paper. 

You find yourself coming in, shutting the door behind you, and sitting on the chair before his desk. "Yes, I did. I answered all one hundred of them," you say matter-of-factly. The corners of his eyes crinkle as they finally flick to yours, clearly amused by your exaggeration. 

"One hundred, huh?" He sets the pen down, leaning back in his chair, threading his fingers together. Your eyes wander to his arms. He had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his veiny forearms covered in tattoos. 

You flick your eyes back to eyes in a panic, praying he didn't notice you essentially checking him out. "Yes, sir," you tried to keep your voice even.

"So, you want out of an essay I assigned to you? 

"I—well. I was hoping…" You trail off, eyes averting his.

"No," his tone is authoritative, final. You release a small breath, sagging into the chair, feeling defeated. However, you caught your eyes wandering back to his forearms before moving up to his biceps. Fuck. They would have busted out of his button-down if they were any bigger.

He was a massive asshole. But, so fucking hot nonetheless. Had the most enormous thighs and arms you'd ever seen. Taller than anyone you'd ever met. Had a gruff, thick English accent you drooled over. Not to mention his raging ego, which did something for you.

"What is it?" Your eyes snap to his. Oh, God. Not again. 

"Nothing," you said quickly. He looked puzzled. You sat back in the chair, smiling awkwardly. He followed, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs wider to get more comfortable.

You find your eyes drifting down, observing his clothed cock in his pants. "Nothing? Huh?" The corner of his lip quirks. You stare back at him; your face is hot, and your hands are clammy.

This time, there was no denying what it was you were ogling so intently. 

"Listen," he sits up a bit, placing his elbows on his desk and threading his fingers together. "I sympathize with your situation." You raise a brow because there is no way in hell he was sympathetic. His lip quips at your expression. "So, I believe I have a solution to your dilemma." That has you perking up in your seat, feeling a sense of hope.

"It's a bit...unorthodox," he mumbles, eyes boring into yours.

You squint your eyes in confusion. "Okay..." You trail off uneasily, sitting up a little straighter. "What did you have in mind?" He tilts his head up a little, carefully observing your face, before standing up and gripping the knot of the tie and carefully pulling it down so it rests lazily on his sternum. 

"Tell me," he prompts, easing his way around his desk to lean against the side you sit in front of. "What is it that caught your attention earlier?" You raise a brow, not only at his new position but also at his question.

"Pardon?" You prod. He lets out a small, scruffy, breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and showcasing his huge biceps again. You release a slight breath as your eyes wander back to his arms. He tilts his head back as he examines your facial expression, dragging his eyes down your line of sight. He gives a breathy laugh as he realizes you are shamelessly checking him out. 

"Mhm," he hums. You snap your eyes to him in an instant, though this time you aren't embarrassed at the notion of him catching you. No. You wanted him to notice. Maybe, just maybe, then he'd finally find the courage to fuck you over his desk like you'd wanted since the first day he had arrived. "Your mind seems elsewhere," he observes.

"No, I'm—I'm just thinking," you whir, sitting in your chair.

He tilts his head back slightly. "What about?" His tone dripped with condescendence. He most definitely knew. He could read you like one of those fancy anatomy books he frequented. You lean back in your chair, legs spreading ever so slightly. His eyes glided to leer at your slightly agape legs. 

God, you had on that little fucking skirt you wore every so often. The damned thing was a couple of pieces of denim fabric. Not too short, but, ya, if you opened your legs at just the right angle, you could get a nice shot of your panties underneath. How lucky for your professor, who was at the receiving end of that.

"Oh, I don't know. Just things, you know?" You spread your legs just a little wider, and you swear you hear him release a breath. "It's the first day of fall tomorrow. Did you know that?" You casually say, spreading your legs that much further so he could get a better view of the wet spot already growing in your panties at him watching you. 

"I did." His voice was dry; he was surprised to get a damn word out. 

"Crazy, huh? Also, I'm thinking about our lecture tomorrow. What's it going to be on anyway?" You find yourself dragging your hand up your leg to the buttons of your shirt, carefully unclasping each of them gently. He could feel his cock straining against his jeans seeing you, legs spread, fingers fiddling with your cute little button-up top with frilly sleeves.

"Sexual reproduction," he gruffs, fingers moving to undo the buttons on his shirt. You get the final button of your shirt unclasped, carefully sliding it off and onto the floor, revealing a lacy bra that matches your panties. You honestly thought you'd be more nervous, but with a guy that hot and educated staring at you like you were the sexiest thing alive, how could you be?

"Maybe I should get a head-start, no?" You proposed as he unclasped his final button, slipping his shirt entirely off. Good-God. The man was chiseled and hairy. The scars etched into his skin only made him that much sexier. He reached for his tie next. "No, no. Leave it on," you voice, getting up from your chair to stand before him. 

His greedy hands instantly sought refuge on your waist, dragging his fingertips along the waistband of your panties, giving them a little pull. You release a slight whine as the elastic slaps back onto your skin.

"Like fuckin' music to my ears," he groans, pulling you flush to his body, ripping his mask off to encapsulate your lips with his hungry ones. 

You yelp into his mouth at the sudden sensation, though you find yourself getting into a rough rhythm. His hand's paw at your ass as yours covetously grips his shoulders. Although you were flush against him, you sought more contact. "I need—I need," you whined in his mouth. 

"Need me to what? Say it," he urged, hands slipping to thread through your hair, pulling it gently. Your mouth falls agape at the action, allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth. You moan into his mouth once more.

"I need you to—to," you stutter, unable to speak from how out of breathe you were.

"Say it," he hissed, pulling your hair harder.

"Fuck me. Please," you finally managed to say. He wasted no time picking you up by the back of the thighs and hastily placing you on his desk, flinging the loose papers and books that dawned it on the floor.

You reached between you to undo his belt and pant button as he slipped your panties down so they dangled loosely around your ankles. 

Your lips never disconnecting once. 

Once you got his pants undown and he your panties, he gripped your waist, hoisting you so he could pound his cock into you. You both moan at the contact, gripping each other tighter.

"Fuck," he groans, "Feel so good." You press your lips back to his as he makes work pummeling into you, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips to get as much friction as he can.

You were sure you'd have purple and blue bruises tomorrow.

He brings his mouth to nip and kiss at the side of your neck, his teeth gently grazing against the sensitive skin. "Drivin' me fuckin' insane," he grits, teeth nipping your skin again. You whined, bringing your hands to thread through his hair.

"I drive you insane?" You breathe out, dumbfounded, his cock still sliding in and out of you at a hurried pace. His tongue brushes your neck until it reaches your lips, quickly bullying itself into the sanctity of your mouth.

"Such a good student. Aren't you?" He gruffs into your lips; your mouth hangs agape at the feeling of him in you. "Always do such good work. Don't you, sweetheart?" You moan at his words; he presses a thumb to stimulate your clit. "Fuck—you, you drive me mad," he grits, moving his thumb faster.

You let a string of incoherent words, too caught up with his cock in you and thumb on you to form any real words.

"Huh? Ya, ya. But you must know that already. Or else you wouldn't have worn this—" he signals to the matching bra and panty set you had worn, "to meet with me," he finishes. You respond with another pathetic whimper, feeling your impending climax.

The moment he whispers into the shell of your ear, "Better come quick, or I may change my mind about that paper," you're a goner. You clamp around him at record speed, gripping his shoulders impossibly tighter, as you loudly moan in his mouth. His fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips as his orgasm chases yours.

It takes both of you a second to catch your breaths, both heaving and chests rising with much pace. After you have caught your breath, he helps ease you off his desk, deftly reaching for your panties that slipped off your ankles in a frenzy and softly putting them back on you, followed by your skirt resting on the floor nearby.

You slipped your shirt back on, buttoning it as he focused on dressing himself. It didn't feel awkward like you had thought it was going to. Sure, it was quiet, but it was comforting.

You grabbed your bookbag, giving him a slight smile as you walked over to the closed door. "I appreciate you meeting with me. See you tomorrow, Dr. Riley," you kindly say.

He nodded, pulling his tie to rest neatly on his neck. "Don't forget about the paper," he plainly said, moving to pick up some of the loose papers on the floor.

A confused expression overtook your face. "I thought—" you began.

"I don't play favorites, sweetheart," he interrupted. "Write the paper."

Okay, he was still a dick, but oh well, sure, you'd write the damn paper, maybe even put a couple of errors in it so that he could deduct some points off, and you could request to meet with him again.

Ya, that sounded like a fine plan indeed.

a/n: inspired by a lovely who commented on my poll about professor!simon <33 @aiqsa (this took me so long omg)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 39: November 2024 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

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

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Belle Verstappen

Lando:Be honest. How bad is my streaming room?

Belle: Like, on a scale from “man cave” to “tech bro disaster”?

Lando: Rude. Also fair.

Belle:It’s not awful. But it does give strong “I decorated this room using a Twitch sponsorship and vibes” energy.

Lando:Okay but the vibes were good. At the time. I was going through my neon phase.

Belle:You had a neon lava lamp, Lando.

Lando: It was a gift!! From Max!!

Belle: That explains so much. I’m redoing it. You’re letting me redo it.

Lando: Am I?

Belle: Yes. You want it to look mature but still fun. Functional, stylish, and with proper acoustic panels so your mic doesn’t make you sound like you’re yelling from a cave.

Lando: …That’s freakishly accurate.

Belle: I’ve already made a mood board. Color scheme: charcoal, navy, brass accents. Textured wall behind your desk, floating shelves for your absurd helmet collection, and better lighting. Actual lighting. Not RGB strips from 2017.

Lando: Are you… secretly a wizard?

Belle: No. Just a designer with a vendetta against gamer chairs and collapsing shelving.

Lando: Okay. Sold.

Belle: And the lava lamp is going in storage.

Lando: RIP. You better replace it with something cool.

Belle: I’m replacing it with style. Try not to cry.

Lando:…can I at least keep some helmets in that room?

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Belle Verstappen

Belle: Guess who just agreed to let me redo his streaming room?

Emilie: Please tell me it’s Lando. I’ve been praying someone would rescue that room from LED purgatory.

Belle: It’s Lando. I’ve never seen so many clashing racing helmets in my life. It was giving “teenage YouTuber in 2014 with a Mountain Dew addiction.”

Emilie: Was there a gamer chair?

Belle: Of course there was a gamer chair. And it creaks. Loudly. Like it’s haunted by bad posture.

Emilie: Send pics. I need to mourn it before you fix it.

Belle: Already made a mood board. We’re doing navy and brass, texture walls, hidden cable management. The lava lamp is being retired.

Emilie: Oh thank GOD. Tell it I said thank you for its service and then banish it to the storage closet.

Belle: It was a gift from Max.

Emilie: That explains everything and I refuse to unpack it. Will there be plants?

Belle: Of course. He needs oxygen. And emotional support greenery.

Emilie: You’re doing the lord’s work. If you find any weird gamer relics in there, I want photos.

Belle: Deal.

***

The project began on a Friday afternoon, with Belle wielding a measuring tape like a weapon and Emilie showing up with iced coffee, a clipboard, and zero patience for cable clutter.

Lando had opened the door to his flat, taken one look at the two of them—Belle in a linen jumpsuit with swatches tucked into her pocket, Emilie already pulling furniture covers from a tote bag—and said nothing. He just stepped aside with a long-suffering sigh and muttered, “I’ll be in the kitchen, if you need me.”

Max, Belle’s husband and current reigning three time world champion, had trailed in behind them, carrying a linen tote bag filled with pregnancy approved snacks and immediately followed Lando into the kitchen. Because he, too, had learned: when Belle and Emilie joined forces on a redesign, your only job was to stay out of the way and not touch anything.

“They are scary when they are in the zone,” Max had whispered to Lando over a piece of toast.

“I know,” Lando muttered. “They brought a label maker, Max. And Emilie just said ‘RGB is a disease.’”

By Saturday, the chaos was in full swing.

The old desk had been dismantled and banished to the hallway. The gamer chair had been silently wheeled into the corner like a shamed toddler. Belle was on her knees laying out a wool area rug, mumbling about sound dampening and grounding visual anchors. Emilie stood on a ladder, removing a neon sign like she was defusing a bomb.

They’d patched the wall behind Lando’s desk and painted it a deep, moody navy that made the brass light fixtures pop. Floating walnut shelves went up next, showcasing a curated selection of Lando’s trophies and helmets, signed McLaren memorabilia, and—because Belle insisted—two potted trailing plants named Steve and Mike.

“There’s symmetry and then there’s emotional balance,” Belle had said firmly when Emilie raised an eyebrow.

“I’m agreeing with that,” Emilie replied, adjusting Steve’s leaves.

Meanwhile, Max and Lando had spent most of the weekend in the living room and occasionally sneaking glances around the corner like two frightened raccoons trying to assess whether it was safe to return to their natural habitat.

“They’re putting velvet curtains in,” Lando whispered at one point.

Max shrugged. “Be grateful.”

Lando muttered something unrepeatable into his tea.

By Sunday night, the transformation was complete.

The room was warm and modern, layered in navy and walnut with soft lighting, acoustic panels hidden in the design, and a desk setup that Emilie described as “visually soothing and emotionally stable.” The custom cable channeling meant no wires in sight. The old gamer chair had been replaced with a sleek ergonomic one Belle swore was Max-tested and spine-approved.

They turned off the lights, leaving only the soft golden glow of the wall sconces and the ambient light under the floating desk. The whole room felt like someone finally believed Lando deserved a space that looked like he took himself seriously—and had fun doing it.

Max poked his head in first. “Wow,” he said, a little stunned.

Lando followed. He didn’t speak for a moment.

“...I think I just leveled up,” he whispered finally.

Belle grinned and leaned against the doorframe, rubbing her bump. “You’re welcome. And now,” Belle added, “you can stream without looking like you are committing war crime against aesthetics.””

Lando grinned. “I owe you both.”

“You owe us cookies,” Emilie corrected. “And an annual deep clean.”

Lando held up both hands in surrender. “Deal.”

And with that, the room was done.

 Stream-ready. 

Belle-certified. 

Emilie-approved. ***

Text Messages: Sophie Kumpen & Belle Verstappen

Sophie Max will be in Las Vegas for the Grand Prix. Which means you’ll be eight months pregnant and unsupervised.

So. Victoria and I are going to the Provence for a spa weekend. You’re coming with us. I’ve already booked a suite. There are prenatal massages, croissants, and mineral pools. Say yes.

Belle: Yes. Absolutely yes. Tell Victoria I’m packing floaty dresses. Also, thank you. 🩷

Sophie: I’ll bring the mocktails. Victoria is already threatening to bring five books and not talk to anyone.

Belle: Perfect. I’ll bring snacks for when she caves and starts talking again after 45 minutes.

Sophie: You’re my favorite daughter-in-law.

***

Belle was curled up on the sofa, one of Max’s hoodies stretched over her bump, her bare feet propped on the coffee table as she scrolled through her phone. Max was on the floor in front of her, cross-legged and half-focused on some sim racing footage on the TV, Lilly the cat asleep against his thigh.

"Your mum texted me," Belle said, smiling faintly.

Max looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“She and Victoria are kidnapping me for a spa weekend in Provence while you're in Vegas.” She tilted her phone toward him. “It’s already booked. There are croissants involved. I said yes before she even finished explaining.”

Max grinned and turned back around. “Good. I was hoping she’d offer. You’ll be eight months by then. I hate leaving.”

“I’ll be fine,” Belle said softly. “And she’s right. I’ll be unsupervised and swollen and probably dramatic about towel textures by that point.”

“You’re always dramatic about towel textures.”

She narrowed her eyes, but she was smiling. “I like what I like.”

“I know,” Max murmured. Then, “Thank you for going. I feel better knowing you won’t be alone.”

Belle’s expression softened. She reached out and gently ran her fingers through his hair. “You know,” she said, “sometimes I look at my phone after your family texts me and just… sit there for a second. Because they talk to me. Like I matter. Like they want me around.”

Max’s shoulders dropped. He didn’t say anything yet, just leaned into her touch.

She took a breath. “I love your side of our family. Your mum, Victoria… Even Jos. It all feels like—like they just love me. No caveats.”

Max turned and rested his chin on her knee, looking up at her. “Because they do,” he said. “You’re not just mine, Belle. You’re ours. And they’re just as protective of you as I am.”

Belle blinked, warmth settling behind her eyes. “Don’t say that unless you’re prepared for me to cry.”

“Then cry,” Max said simply, and kissed her knee. “You deserve to have people who love you like that.”

She brushed his cheek with her thumb. “I really do love your family.”

Max smiled. “They love you back.”

There was a pause, quiet and golden.

Then Belle sniffed and said, “Also, I’m bringing snacks for when Victoria caves and starts talking forty-five minutes into her self-imposed reading silence.”

Max huffed a laugh. “You know her too well.”

***

Text Messages: Sophie Kumpen & Max Verstappen

Max: Thanks for inviting Belle to Provence. She’s really happy. And I feel better knowing she’ll be with you and Victoria while I’m gone.

Sophie: Don’t be ridiculous.

Sophie: We’re not inviting her. We’re stealing her. For croissants, gossip, and making fun of spa playlist music.

Sophie: She’s ours now. You just married her first.

Max: Fair enough. Still—thank you. I mean it.

Sophie: Max. She’s family. That’s what we do.

***

It started with a text.

From Pascale.

Would you like to have lunch this weekend? Just the two of us. I thought maybe Rue Bonaparte, and then we could look at baby things?

Belle stared at her phone for a solid minute before she even blinked. Then she reread it three times, checked that it hadn’t been sent by one of her brothers using her mother’s phone as some elaborate peace offering, and eventually typed back: Okay. Sure. That sounds nice.

And somehow—miraculously—it was.

Lunch was at a sun-drenched corner café near Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the kind of place Pascale liked because the napkins were linen and the wine list was longer than the menu. But she didn’t comment when Belle asked for sparkling water instead of the house elderflower spritz. She didn’t look unimpressed when Belle ordered the croque monsieur and the side of fries. In fact, she smiled faintly and said, “I craved steak frites the entire time I was pregnant with Arthur. And he came out screaming.”

Belle blinked. “That actually explains a lot.”

Pascale laughed—laughed, not just politely smiled—and that’s when Belle began to suspect something was up.

And it didn’t stop there.

They walked along the street after lunch, window shopping at first. But Pascale slowed in front of a baby boutique with hand-stitched blankets in the window and said, “Let’s go in. I want to spoil him a little.”

Belle didn’t argue.

Inside, they wandered between tiny cardigans and impossibly small socks. Belle hesitated over a onesie shaped like a bunny, then reached for a muslin swaddle patterned with lemons.

“He’s not even here yet,” Pascale murmured, touching the edge of a pale yellow blanket, “and I already feel like I’m behind. Like I missed so much already.”

Belle didn’t know what to say to that. So she didn’t say anything.

They bought the lemon swaddle and a stuffed sheep that Pascale insisted felt “exactly right.” Then they stopped for gelato, and when Pascale asked if Belle wanted to sit or keep walking, she didn’t sound impatient. She just sounded… considerate.

Too considerate.

By the time they reached the little square near the river, Belle was eating pistachio gelato and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

This is going too well, she thought. Something’s wrong.

Where was the casual dismissal of her job? The passive-aggressive commentary about her outfit or her weight or how much bigger the baby bump looked this week? Where was the unsolicited advice about parenting from the woman who forgot her birthday this year?

“Is Max nervous?” Pascale asked, adjusting her sunglasses. “About becoming a father, I mean.”

Belle smiled faintly. “More than he admits. But he’s also ready. He  researched car seat safety like he’s prepping for a race.”

Pascale chuckled. “That sounds about right.” And then, after a beat, “You’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

Belle stopped walking. She turned to look at her mother, the world narrowing for a moment to that single sentence.

“Thank you,” she said, quietly. “That means a lot.”

Pascale reached for her hand and gave it a soft squeeze. “I’m sorry I don’t always say the things I should. But I do see you, Belle.”

Belle didn’t know what to say to that—so she didn’t. She just nodded and held on to her mother’s hand a moment longer.

Belle still half expected something to crack, for the warm surface of the afternoon to split open. But it didn’t.

Maybe it wouldn’t.

Maybe, for once, they were just two women in the sunshine, buying little green onesies and lemon tarts, and talking like they hadn’t spent years dancing around each other.

Maybe this could be real.

***

The room was quiet, soft-edged with late afternoon light. A lemon balm candle flickered on the windowsill. Simone’s notebook was closed on her lap—always a good sign. No frantic scribbles, no tight-lipped hums of concern. Just presence.

Belle sat cross-legged on the couch, one hand absentmindedly curled over her belly. She looked, for once, not defensive. Just… perplexed.

“So,” Simone said gently, “how was your weekend?”

Belle exhaled. “It started with a text from my mother.”

Simone lifted her eyebrows with just the right amount of encouragement. Not pushing. Just curious.

“She invited me to lunch. Just the two of us. Rue Bonaparte. Baby shopping.” Belle’s voice lilted upward like a question, like she still didn’t quite believe it herself. “And I said yes.”

Simone nodded. “And how did that feel?”

“That’s the thing,” Belle said. “It felt… nice.” She blinked. “It actually was nice. No backhanded compliments. No ‘You know, I never needed maternity jeans until the eighth month.’ She didn’t make a single dig at my water order or my bump or even my outfit, which I thought for sure would be the first to go.”

Simone smiled. “That’s surprising.”

“Exactly!” Belle pointed at her. “That’s what I’m saying. It went too well. I kept waiting for her to slip. For the real Pascale to emerge. But she never did. She told me I’d be a wonderful mother, and—” Her voice cracked a little. “She said she sees me.”

Simone tilted her head. “And how did that feel?”

Belle was quiet for a beat. “Like someone pulled the floor out from under me, but in a good way? Like, I don’t know—maybe she’s… evolving?”

She made a face.

“I mean, is that even allowed? Can a mother just decide to be better now, when you’re eight months pregnant?”

Simone smiled softly. “People can surprise us. Especially when they’ve been watching us grow, even if they haven’t said it out loud.”

Belle frowned. “But what if it doesn’t last? What if this was just some temporary glitch in the Pascale Matrix and next time she’s back to critiquing my throw pillow choices and pretending my job is expensive Pinterest?”

“Then you’ll know how to protect yourself,” Simone said calmly. “You’ve done it before. And if she is evolving, you’ll have the chance to build something new—with boundaries you get to set.”

Belle considered that. “I didn’t expect to feel this… hopeful. Or suspicious about feeling hopeful.”

“That makes sense,” Simone said. “You’ve had to build a lot of your life around preparing for the worst. Hope can feel dangerous when you’ve been taught not to expect anything.”

Belle looked down at her belly and smoothed a hand over it. “She picked out a swaddle. Yellow, with lemons. And a sheep. I don’t know what it means, but it felt… real.”

Simone leaned forward slightly. “It was real. Even if it’s new. Even if it doesn’t erase the past. Real doesn’t always mean permanent. But it still matters.”

Belle nodded slowly. “Okay. So… we’re cautiously accepting that my mother might be evolving?”

Simone smiled. “We’re cautiously allowing space for that possibility. And giving yourself permission to hope, just a little.”

Belle exhaled. “Okay. Cautious hope. I can do that.”

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Belle: Serious question. Is our mother evolving?

Arthur: Wait what???

Charles: Define evolving. Like a Pokémon?

Belle:She invited me to lunch. Just me. No subtle digs. No backhanded comments. She laughed at one of my jokes. Then she took me baby shopping. It went too well. She didn’t even comment on my croque monsieur order. She just told me she craved steak frites with Arthur and I said, “That explains a lot,” and she laughed. Not fake laughed. Real laughed.

Arthur: I actually am kind of offended now

Charles: So she was… nice? Like, actively nice?

Belle: Yes. Like. Gentle. She held my hand in a park and said she sees me.

Lorenzo: …maybe she’s trying.

Belle: I know. That’s the weirdest part.

Charles: Do you want us to prepare a family intervention in case she reboots to factory settings?

Arthur: I can bring snacks. And sage.

Belle: No. Just. I don’t know. If she is changing, I kind of want to believe it.

Lorenzo: Then believe it. You’ve survived the older version. You can handle the beta test.

Charles: Wow. That was almost wise.

Arthur: Who are you and what have you done with Lorenzo?

Belle: Thanks, idiots. I’ll let you know if she glitches.

***

Text Messages: Charles Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Charles: I think your mother’s intervention worked. Pascale invited Belle to lunch. No insults. No weird tension. They went baby shopping. She told Belle she’d be a wonderful mother.

Max: Yeah. I know.

Charles: You… knew this would happen??  It’s like Maman got a firmware update.

Max: Your mum needed a mirror. Mine just held it up.

Charles: Remind me to never underestimate your mother again.

***

Max found his wife on the living room floor, surrounded by wrapping paper, twine, and an open laptop filled with bookmarked gift guides, while the cats were fighting over snowflake encrusted ribbon. 

It was November.

Not even late November. Just a cool breeze and some falling leaves—not a single jingle bell in sight. And yet, Belle was halfway through wrapping something suspiciously soft and sweater-shaped, a small stack of gifts already growing beside her like she was Santa Claus with an interior design degree.

Max leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her tie a perfect ribbon.

"Do I even want to ask?"

Belle didn’t look up. “You’ll thank me in December when you’re not panicking at 11 p.m. on the 23rd because your dad is impossible to shop for.”

Max snorted. “You say that like that has ever happened”

“It won’t this year,” she said triumphantly, then paused, her fingers resting on the ribbon. “Well. Maybe not. Depending on when Emilian decides to show up.”

Max walked over and sat beside her, careful not to crush any of the packages. She leaned slightly against his shoulder without even thinking about it.

“I was thinking about Christmas,” she said quietly. “If he’s on time, we’ll have a newborn. If he’s late, I’ll be nine months pregnant and shaped like a festive blimp.”

“You’re never shaped like a blimp,” he muttered automatically.

Belle poked him with the end of a gift tag. “Anyway. I was thinking… if you want to go celebrate with your family, that’s fine. I just don’t think I want to travel. I think I want to be here. In our home. Just us. Or whoever wants to come to us.”

Max blinked. “You think I’m going to go to Belgium without you?”

She gave him a soft look. “Max, it’s your family. And it’s Christmas. I wouldn’t be upset—”

“I would,” he cut in gently. “You’re my family. Emilian is our family. Of course we’re celebrating together. What, do you think I’m going to leave you here while I eat kerstkransjes with Victoria and send you pictures of them out of guilt?”

Belle blinked once. “I mean. I wouldn’t put it that way…”

He shook his head, smiling. “You’re ridiculous. We’re staying here. Anyone who wants to be part of it can come to us. I’ll cook. We’ll keep the baby monitor on the table between the mashed potatoes and the candles. And we’ll put a tiny christmas onesie under the tree just in case he arrives on time.”

Belle exhaled. Not in that anxious way she sometimes did when she was trying to be reasonable about disappointment—but with relief. Quiet, glowing, tear-pricking relief.

“Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll keep shopping. And I’m getting Emilian a stocking. Even if he sleeps through the whole thing.”

“He’s going to be the most spoiled newborn on the planet,” Max said fondly.

“He’ll be loved,” Belle corrected, and Max looked at her like she’d just wrapped that sentence around his heart.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “He already is.”

***

Group Chat: Santa’s Elves

(Members: Max, Victoria, Tom and Sophie) 

Max: Hey. Belle and I talked—if the baby’s not here yet, or even if he is—we’re staying in Monaco for Christmas. So if you want to come celebrate with us, you’re more than welcome.

Sophie: Of course we’re coming. Don’t be silly.

Victoria: Already blocked the dates. I’ll bring the good wine and the slightly evil board games.

Tom: We’ll sort our travel and be there.

Sophie: But Max—listen to me carefully. You are not making a fuss.

Victoria: Yeah, don’t you dare start stress-cooking for twelve.

Tom: And no overdecorating. You’re not turning your house into a Christmas market.

Sophie: Belle is too pregnant to be managing any chaos. We’re coming to help. Not to be hosted.

Victoria: We’ll take care of the food. You focus on keeping Belle fed and calm and off her feet.

Sophie: And if you so much as look like you’re about to mop the floors on Christmas morning, I will personally confiscate your Dyson.

Max: … I feel very attacked right now.

Victoria: Good.

Tom: We love you. Sit down.

Sophie: This year, you two get to just be together. That’s the gift. We’ll take care of the rest.

Max: …Okay fine. But I’m still putting the star on the tree.

Victoria: You’re going to cry doing it, aren’t you?

Max: No. Shut up.

Tom: I’ll bring tissues.

Sophie: We’ll bring champagne. You bring the baby cuddles. See you in Monaco, Papa Noël.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: Belle, want to get lunch today? Just us. I swear I won’t bring emotional damage as a side dish.

Belle: Tempting. But I’m at the stables. Fleur’s farrier is coming this afternoon and she’s already threatening to kick the fence again.

Arthur: That’s my niece 😌

Lorenzo: We’ve officially reached the stage where your horse has more personality than most people I know.

Belle:She’s overdue for a trim. I promised I’d be there.

Charles: Can I… come too?

Arthur: You? Around hooves?

Lorenzo: Remember when a pigeon landed near you and you nearly dislocated your shoulder?

Charles: It swooped. There’s a difference.

Belle: You can come if you want. Bring snacks. And maybe don’t wear white.

Charles: Done. See you in an hour.

***

Charles had expected the stables to be… bigger, somehow. Louder, maybe. He wasn’t sure. His experience with horses was limited to the occasional sponsor event or the memory of Blanche—distant, blurred at the edges, like something from a former life Belle never spoke about.

Charles hadn’t been to a stable since he was a child.

Back when Belle used to spend every spare minute brushing down Blanche, her beloved white mare, whispering secrets into a soft gray mane. Before the selling of the horse. Before the silence that followed. Before racing became everything and Belle… didn’t.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, really.

A field, maybe. Some fences. Mud. A wary welcome.

What he didn’t expect was this.

The stable was nestled just past the edge of a forest, tucked behind low stone walls and a lavender-lined path. Not silent, but peaceful. The kind of quiet that settled into your chest. Birds in the rafters. The soft rustle of hay. The muffled thud-thud of hooves from a nearby stall.

He followed the directions Belle had sent him—“turn left at the blue wheelbarrow and come find me in the second barn”—carrying two coffees and attempting not to look too out of place in his designer trainers.

When he reached the second barn, she was already there. Hair tied back, sleeves pushed up, leaning over the partition of one of the stalls, murmuring something too soft for him to hear.

The horse inside—a dapple-grey mare with alert ears and a sweeping tail—turned her head slightly when Charles approached, eyeing him with the cool appraisal of a queen meeting a commoner.

Belle glanced over her shoulder. “You made it.”

“I brought coffee,” he offered, holding out the cup.

“Fleur,” she said, still focused on the mare, “this is Charles. He’s family. Be nice.”

Fleur blinked slowly and then—shockingly—took two deliberate steps forward. She dipped her head just enough to sniff his extended hand.

“She’s usually very suspicious,” Belle said, amused. “She doesn’t like new people.”

“Great,” Charles muttered. “A horse with judgment. Just what I needed.”

Belle chuckled and stroked Fleur’s neck. “She won’t bite. She just likes to make you work for it.”

Charles reached out cautiously, palm open. Fleur sniffed him, then snorted and turned her head, as if dismissing him entirely. Belle burst out laughing.

“She is you,” Charles said, deadpan. “This is just you in horse form.”

“No,” Belle corrected. “She liked Max immediately. She’s just got taste.”

Charles looked between Belle and the mare. “She’s… beautiful.”

“She’s Blanche’s daughter,” Belle said, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. “Max found her for me. Gave her to me for his birthday this year.”

He swallowed. He had known that. Of course he had known that. 

Charles didn’t know how to respond. Instead, he followed Belle toward the paddock, where another, much smaller horse pranced under the loose eye of the stable staff.

“Is that…?”

“Galahad,” Belle said, beaming. “Fleur’s foal. He’s six months old and believes the world revolves around him. He’s not wrong.”

The foal was all legs and mischief, a lanky blur of black. He trotted over when Belle clicked her tongue, nosing at her stomach like he knew something important was growing there.

Galahad stretched out his neck, sniffing toward Charles, then let out a small, squeaky huff that made Belle laugh.

“He’s trying to be intimidating,” she said. “He is very bad at it.”

Charles smiled. “He’s cute.”

Belle raised a brow. “Don’t let Fleur hear you call her son cute.”

“I stand corrected.” Charles raised his hands in mock surrender. “He’s fierce and majestic.”

“Better.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I forgot how much you loved this,” Charles said quietly.

“I didn’t,” Belle replied. She glanced back at Fleur, who was now peeking over her stall door like she didn’t trust them out of her sight. “I just stopped letting myself want it. For a while.”

Charles nodded slowly. “I’m sorry we sold Blanche.”

Belle looked at him—really looked…there wasn’t coldness behind her eyes. Just history. Just ache, and growth, and maybe something like peace.

“I know,” she said. “And I forgave you a long time ago. I just needed something of mine back.”

Belle handed him a carrot.

“For Fleur?” he asked.

“For you,” she deadpanned. Then, with a faint smile, “Yes, for Fleur. Win her over. She might let you pat her mane if you’re lucky.”

***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: I would like it formally stated that horses are terrifying. That is all.

Arthur: HAHAHAHA What did Fleur do??

Charles: Looked into my soul. Then headbutted me when I tried to scratch her nose.

Lorenzo: You went to the stables today? Alone??

Charles: Belle invited me. I thought it would be nice. Peaceful. Instead I was judged by a horse and chased by her demon child.

Arthur: NOT GALAHAD 💀💀💀

Charles: He was galloping, Arthur. At full speed. Toward me. I didn’t know what to do so I just stood still like it was a Jurassic Park scene.

Lorenzo: You’re not supposed to run. That triggers them.

Charles: Belle laughed so hard she cried. Said he just wanted to play. He bit my shirt sleeve.

Arthur: Bro he’s literally six months old.

Charles: He’s six months old and already preparing for war. He kicked a bucket into the air and then looked proud about it.

Lorenzo: Honestly, sounds like Belle found her spirit animals.

Arthur: Did Fleur warm up to you at least?

Charles: She let me pat her for exactly three seconds. Then turned her back to me like I was boring. And refused my carrot.

Arthur: Omg not the carrot rejection 💀💀💀 You’ve been publicly humiliated.

Charles: Max just texted me “She doesn’t do that to me,” with a picture of Fleur nuzzling him like he is a fucking Disney princess.

Arthur: Wow. You got outshone by your brother-in-law and a foal. Tough day.

Lorenzo: I’m proud of you though. You showed up. And didn’t die. We call that progress.

Charles: Galahad tried to eat my watch.

Arthur:Seems like he prefers Richard Mille over Carrots.

***

Stream Transcript: Lando Norris & Max Fewtrell

Lando: (grinning) Alright. Okay. Before you say anything—yes. This is the same room. (Spreads arms wide dramatically.) But like… emotionally, spiritually, architecturally… it's not.

Chat:

OMG IT LOOKS SO GOOD NO MORE RGB LED LIGHTS?!? THIS IS GIVING “I PAY TAXES” did belle do this. be honest.

Lando: Yes. Belle did this. Belle and my girlfriend basically invaded my house for 48 hours and rebuilt my personality via interior design. I am not exaggerating. There was a mood board.

[Max Fewtrell joins via voice]

Max F: HELLO? What do you mean Belle redid your streaming room?! Since when? Where was I?

Lando: Mate.  This was stealth warfare. They came in with tools, color swatches, and judgment. I didn’t stand a chance.

Max F: I am furious. I want a navy feature wall. I want brass lighting. I want a chair that doesn’t squeak like a haunted Victorian stroller. Why do you get the domestic fantasy makeover?

Lando: Because I accepted Belle’s critique with grace and zero resistance. Also because I had LED lights that made me look like a radioactive jellyfish.

Chat: LMAOOOO MAX “haunted Victorian stroller” 💀💀 Lando’s old setup was giving gamer cryptid Belle SAVED him

Max F: I wasn’t even consulted. I would’ve live-blogged the whole thing. Did she let you keep the lava lamp?

Lando: She bubble-wrapped it, labeled it “Relic. Do Not Resurrect,” and hid it in a storage bin.

Max F: I want to marry her just for that sentence. No wait. Tell Belle I said that with respect.

Lando: She’s married, mate. And pregnant. Also, she threatened to curse my OBS settings if I touched anything mid-install. I believe her.

Chat:

OBS CURSE 💀 Belle is an icon max: living vicariously and bitterly someone start a GoFundMe to get Max a mood board

Max F: I am living vicariously through you, thanks. I’m currently sitting in a chair with a cracked armrest and I’m 92% sure my wall art is a printout from IKEA on printer paper.

Lando: Then say it with me: “Belle, please save me.”

Max F: Belle, please save me. I have no taste. I’m willing to accept your judgment. I offer snacks and compliance.

Lando: That’s how she got me. Snacks and fear.

Chat:ICONIC max and lando: interior design edition this is the redemption arc we never knew we needed Belle and Emilie: queens of aesthetics

Lando: Anyway, I’ll do a proper room tour video soon, once I figure out how to not mess up the camera angles. But for now… enjoy the new vibes. We’re streaming from a functional room, people. This is character development.

Max F: Next up: I’m buying a coaster set. Watch me evolve.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/streamingwitch: Lando Norris casually debuting a streaming room that looks like it belongs in Architectural Digest and saying “Belle did it” like that’s a normal sentence. I’d sell my soul for a Belle Verstappen mood board.

@/f1hotmess: Lando’s old streaming setup: RGB gamer cave powered by Monster Energy Lando’s new streaming setup: espresso, emotional stability, and brass accents Belle Verstappen, we owe you.

@/gamerwifeenergy: Max Fewtrell being outraged on stream that no one invited him to the makeover is peak “wait why didn’t I get a glow-up too??” energy He wants Belle to fix his room so bad and honestly? Relatable.

@/sistersofthegrid: What gets me is that Lando is dating Belle’s best friend and Max Verstappen is married to Belle. So now we have two F1 drivers entangled in a domestic empire run by two terrifyingly competent women. And I love that for them.

@/styledbybellefan: Things Belle Verstappen has redesigned: – Lando’s streaming room – Max’s Monaco penthouse – My standards

@/bellering:  Belle Verstappen and Emilie need a YouTube channel called Redesign the Grid. Episode 1: Max’s sim rig gets lighting that doesn’t make him look like a vampire. Episode 2: Lando’s stream cave becomes a grown-up room. Episode 3: Fixing Max Fewtrell’s tragic bachelor decor.

@/purplesectorwife: This is such a girl group power move. Belle married Max. Emilie is dating Lando. And now they’ve aesthetically conquered both the Verstappen household and the Norris cave. World domination is next.

@/theformulaicfem: Lando Norris going from “RGB gamer cave” to “sophisticated brass-accented adult setup” because his friend’s wife said no more crimes against aesthetics… I’m sorry but that’s character growth.

@/mclolaren: Belle: “You have too many LED lights and no cable management.” Lando: “Yes ma’am.” Max: doesn’t even look up from his sim rig “Told you.” Iconic behavior.

@/gridwivesupreme: Max and Lando are just two world-class drivers who fell in love with best friends that slowly restructured their lives into cozy, minimalist, emotionally intelligent Pinterest boards. God bless.

@/itsgivinginteriordesign:   Lando and Max being friends AND dating/beingmarried to Belle and Emilie WHO are best friends is so deeply fanfic-coded it’s almost offensive.

@/formula1feels: Lando’s new room says “I’ve seen the light.” The light was warm brass. And Belle chose it.

[acid-ixx]

Sigh.. We all should've have chosen both wally and conner...i can't imagine the faces of batfam

how to be a heartbreaker! (again &. again concept)

ft. yandere! wally west, starfire, roy harper, artemis, conner kent, bart allen x gn! neglected! reader w/ platonic yandere! batfam.

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

tw: age gaps but there isn't nsfw (except for conner) and the reader is described to be older than 20 in this concept and was far ignored longer than in the og story.

a/n: happy (late) halloween! 🎃 i'm praying to the gods, please don't let this post flop, i'm in my flop era fr! because i am not writing allat for it to get ignored 💔 (just kidding i love u guys, especially to all those who comment! i read all your comments even if i'm unable to reply at times). if you guys are wondering why i didn't include all the characters, it's because this is just a drabble and if anyone likes more concepts about this, please send in asks! anyways, enjoy this sweet harem au hehe.

anon, you are so right. but let me raise you this: getting together with all your siblings' teammates. i'm not just saying wally and conner, no! i'm saying the young justice, the teen titans, all their friends and old pals— the moment you come of age, hide under the radar for a few years and eventually meet them at random. you'd be giving dick, hell, even bruce, your father, mind you, a run for his money when it comes to a player reputation amongst the siblings, and the best part (or worst part for you once it's too late...) of it all is the fact that you don't even have to keep all your little relationships with them a secret when they never once bat an eye on you until recently.

the funny thing is: you didn't even have to try to attract them. it was all them approaching you at random days and getting to know you better, with you, at your lowest point, accepting any medium of attention. at first it was them feeling pity, perceptive to how your siblings chose to focus on them rather than you, but now it's them chasing after you because you're so interesting in every aspect; even if you find yourself average at best compared to your talented siblings.

maybe it's because you bring the normal out in them, or because you display such raw emotions and are an entirely separate being from vigilantism. either way, they find themselves thinking about you more often than their missions and that's harrowing.

and because you're such a pathetic, wet cat, so desperate for love; all the people you hit on develop a savior complex because of you. i don't just mean them finding you cute, or interesting, absolutely not. i mean you're constantly being thrown around like a prince or princess who needs a knight in shining armor to catch them when they fall, except you're constantly being carried in some other's arms even when you can stand on your own two feet.

you just have that special quality in you that makes everyone fall head over heels. it makes them fantasize scenarios of a home life with you; they could provide better than your current ones do, for sure. you'd be spoiled to death with kisses to your face, hands wrapped around your body, and a guarantee that you'll never feel alone or unsafe in a world full of danger that lurks around the corner.

that same quality may have also been your downfall.

wally west doesn't mind training all day to become stronger and faster to save you from every danger that lingers near your presence. hell, he doesn't complain anymore whenever dick assigns him some missions if that means he can pass by your room by the manor as an after-mission reward, loving it when you smile at him with the gentlest quip of your mouth as he hastily wraps you in his arms with the same amount of speed it took to run to your house. wally cherishes watching you in slow-time because he could worship every little part of his darling's expression, quelling the boredom he had for the entire day. he wants to be fast enough for his babe, not only just to impress them but because he wants them to see him as the only reliable individual capable enough of protecting and flirting with you. not everyone can measure up to his speed, no? nobody could keep up with this man's speed and he's known for taking you away whenever you're with someone else just to get a sliver of your time.

starfire's emotions become ablaze and so does her powers every time she notices one of your other sweethearts becoming too touchy with you, unable to comprehend why you're not even in a relationship with her yet. but you're too sweet and you bury yourself in her curly tresses to calm her down. at first that's enough! she doesn't understand the concept of physical affection and the boundaries that come with it as much as others but boy does she crave it when it comes to you. it doesn't help the fact that you're incapable of sometimes denying her affections and letting yourself be constantly kissed by the girl in every part of your face. she's very warm, though, and her curiosity about things foreign to her, paired with you teaching her more about your world, makes starfire adore her sweetheart's willingness and patience; it simply warrants another passionate kiss in the mouth from the pink-haired alien.

roy harper brings out a more rebellious side of you that you never imagine yourself sporting. his experiences in life and his rebellious relationship towards oliver queen, his adoptive father shapes him to who he is now; and he'd be damned if you drown yourself in endless misery like he did. yeah, it doesn't help that lian loves you as much as he does and he thinks you're the perfect match for him, watching you play with his little girl and care for him whenever he's injured does wonders for the fantasies that plays itself in his head, all scenarios of coming home to you after a hard day of work, just to see you and lian greet him the moment he enters your shared house with him, kissing him in the lips, telling him about the wonderfully prepared dinner you and lian whipped up for him, and watching your eyes widen at another bouquet of your favorite flowers he bought home for you. you're not in a relationship with him at all but can't a man just dream?

why dick wonders every damn time one of his friends ditch another one of their hangouts is a question never to be answered. but it's been noticeable these days that he's starting to suspect something wrong at play, especially since he's noticed tension within his comrades, and as a leader he couldn't just simply ignore the tense glares, insults to their being, and the hushed whispers; all pet names, a mantra they're used to calling you.

but dick doesn't take it seriously until it's too late.

that his baby bird long fell off the nest years ago, taken into the arms of whom he thought to be his most trusted comrades, thoroughly loved more than he could've given you. and it's not just one person smitten with you; it's an entire harem of people unwilling to share you just as much as dick who'd soon realize that he shares far more similarities with you; a heartbreaker, yet a caretaker at heart.

it's no wonder why everybody wants you for themselves. it's not only your family who loves to hear your precious laughs and gentle hands; that sets the jealousy ablaze in his heart.

jason never thought that artemis carried a softer version of her. but he's been picking up telltale signs of her donning dangling keychains, all cute doodles of her no doubt, and necklaces he's sure he's seen around the manor at times. it's not her typical style, and she never really found the appeal with cute things like crochet plushies of her; yet the designs are oddly reminiscent to someone he always called his angel. but whenever he tries to bring the topic up, he only receives a snarky reply, a protective hold on her things, and a familiar phrase telling him to mind his business. he isn't aware of how she met you one time after you've nearly been crushed to death by a car accelerating at you, if not for her taking the blunt end of the hit. ever since that day you've been seeing her regularly by alleyways watching over you as your guardian and giving her tokens of appreciation, albeit small, that she keeps as her prized properties; ones nobody has special access to touch. she's not much of a heckler for physical touch, but she occasionally gives you a head scratches and the rare peck to your lips.

jason doesn't like how jealous he is towards her, because of how the would-be stranger treats her and why he can't seem to pinpoint the primal urge to rip those little trinkets from her. sometimes he feels like a man possessed, eyeing the keychains and the random pastel bracelets longer, all warranting the same angered glare artemis reciprocates.

he swore he's seen them before, splayed across the random rooms in the manor, some even being in the library; things he loved to fiddle with whenever he was bored out of his mind. so seeing them being proudly displayed by artemis triggers visceral reactions within him.

but could jason do anything about it when he's part of the reason why your roster consists of your family's comrades? no.

if you couldn't get attention from your family, you'll just have to get it through their affiliations. yeah, some are older than you, but god are you treated like divinity with just how willing they are to kneel upon your feet just to gain a crumb of your attention. even the strongest lay weak whenever you look at them with disappointment or sadness with your wide, captivating eyes.

all the times tim drake would be with teammates, he'd notice how their eyes look at him expectantly, as if waiting for another one to accompany them. at first he ignores it, but the longer their strange behavior persists, he begins opening a case about his close friends.

he soon realizes that conner has a record of mentioning "his cute little darling," and how he'd brag to his other friends about how left his jacket and all his favorite t-shirts in your room and how you're always drowning in his scent— always quiping about just how much it smells like you and how he enjoys wearing all his clothes right after you wear them just to get a whiff of your presence in his life; you being his motivation to fight against crime just so he could see your pretty face and tell him you're proud of him. undeniably, he's the one who spends the longest time with you and he's prideful about it, being the only man with the privilege to touch every part of your skin, wishing to melt against you just so he'd be branded in your body like how your name is the only sweet thing he can taste in his mouth.

it's not only conner, but bart allen would bounce around more often demanding that it's unfair how conner gets everything and how he gets little time with you, with just how often you get thrown around by all your love interests! he'd admit just how cute he finds you whenever you coo about him and play with his messy locks of hair whenever it's his time of the week to visit you right after missions. spending time with him is arguably the most casual part of your life, because he loves to help you with your daily errands despite him complaining about the same tasks to his other teammates... he says it's because you stimulate every part of his brain to find satisfaction in every small action that you do, but it's not only that, rather, he wishes to gain all your praises that you sing for him, never finding boredom in your presence at all.

tim's the first one who pieces the jigsaw puzzle together, but he's thoroughly astounded either way at just how smitten they are with you. it makes him open an entirely different case that's just about you; where he discovers how you're connected with nearly everyone close to him and his siblings.

it makes him wonder what makes you all the more interesting. it's how exactly he spirals into a periodic cluster of events investigating your entire life and drowning himself in work, terabytes of files each analyzed carefully— all about you, your past, and present situation. tim drake never saw a person this admired that much, so much so that online stalking lead to physical stalking.

all your dm's are spammed by countless people, and you don't even take the initiative to reply because you'd be too busy being tossed around by the time the vigilante tracks your location. it's honestly amusing at first but the longer tim become a third perspective to your life, the more he craves your physical presence, just to get a taste of dissecting all the thoughts in your brain. but with just how often their friends fight over you, it'd be hard to rip you away from the clawing hands of all your admirers.

that's why he sets a plan into motion. if he couldn't have you to himself, then he could at least share you with the closest people he had in his life— not with all the strangers who think they know his younger sibling better than he does.

a simple document, many actually, so documents, were all he needed, with printed stacks of a4 paper compiling each and every known fact about you.

all in the name of love, he'd give it out to every member of the family in quick succession.

a hefty reminder to take back what once was theirs.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hii🩷 If your requests are still open could you do one where the saja boys find out their manager is in a relationship and they get overprotective when they found out that the readers s/o is a demon trying to take their soul?

jinu is pretty certain he had made it abundently aware that you were very much off limits, that you were not to be targeted, knowing that a majority of the demons did resoect him to some degree but one had to push that boundary and see why Jinu was seemingly intruged with an human all of a sudden.

So they decided to become your partner but Jinu knew without trying of what their ultimate goal was, and he was quick to usher the demon into the hallway and away from you, and have a conversation of questioning each other and this random demon spouting vauge threats to Jinu about how you wouldn't be much of an issue any longer.

Jinu wouldn't allow your so called prtner to be alone with you, always insisting that he had something to tell you, but that was a lie as it was only so he could keep an eye on the demon that was threatning to claim your soul, glaring daggers at them when you weren't looking while also acting like your secondary shadow on most occasions. Your soul will not be claimed today, he's already dealing with enough guilt as it was, he doesn't want being inable to save you to be one of them.

Baby is quick to realise that your partner isn't who the've tricked you into thinking they are. He would be weary of them at first before recagnising the familiar scent of another demon and immedietly his mind went to you, screaming at him that you were in danger. He would always be nearby when you bring your patner anywhere, making sure that the other demon could smell him and know that you weren't so defenceless as they originally thought.

Baby would act as though he wasn't aware that you and your partner were also within the same area, looking at spicy stuff like he was, but the demon would always see flashes of Baby's true form glaring at him through golden eyes that have narrowed into slits, sharp teeth flashing as the markings upon his face couldn't have been more distinct then they were right now. He would make it blatantly clear that the demon was tredding on claimed terratory, finding it ironic that you were the one they were targeting.

Baby found this tatic pathetic and intentional as his posessivness over your soul came out, he was willing to fight for your soul if he must for he wouldn't allow it to be in the grubby hands of any other demon but his own. He wasn't about to loose you to a desperate demon like them, he would always throw his arm over your shoulder, push you behind him when he saw the other demon coming in closer and looking at they couldn't have been more of a dull creature to gaze upon. Insults can easily fly from his mouth as quickly as he could rap, tearing this demon apart piece by piece verbally as you were worth more then this mongrel of a demon, your soul was calling to him and he was going to make sure it stays that way if it meant having to fight against other demons in order to keep you.

Mystery is quick to make sure that the demon knew that you weren't easy pray, not with him keeping vigil and watching over you so protectively as he did. He didn't care that this person was your supposed partner, he was a demon and knew how other demons operated, especially demons who were desperate for a soul or two and were willing to go to drastic lengths to get them, and he knew that this was that kind of demon without a doudt within his mind.

He would be heard growling at your partner, baring his teeth or muttering threats under his breath as he stared the demon down from across the room, making them feel the most uncomfortable they've eber felt in their long life. Mystery didn't play with you and he was hellbent on making sure to let other demons know that if he found one thing out of place with you, he's going to wreack his own form of hell upon them, make them pay for ever dare thinking of harming you.

He would be found within your room when you least exopect him, watching the door of your room like he could see something you couldn't or sense something that was coming, it's strange but it was oddly endearing to know he was willing to go out of his way to forgo sleep for you; even if demons could go without most things but Mystery knew he couldn't go without you and he wasn't going to, the pain would be too much for him to bear. So he remains your protector from any and all harm, seen or unseen.

romance is not so kind and charming like you knew he was whenever he saw your partner, smelling the scent of demon clining onto him like a bad stench. He is quick to take your attention away from the demon, smiling at you and making sure that you were always close to him instead of your partner, caressing your shoulder and saying sweet words as the demon seethed from the corner of his eye.

He didn't need to do much in order to creat a distance between you and this supossed partner of yours, wishing he could tell you who they were but in doing so he would be exposing himself and he didn't want you to think that he and the demon were simialr. They were but Romance wanted to be viewed differently compared to them, to be seen as someone who would keep you safe and keep you smiling unto forever and never bring you any harm whatsoever.

Romance would act as though he's ahppy for you, but he's glaring at your patner as though his rage was a mere reflection of how truly despicable Hell itself is, false smiles were shared and pats on the shoulder that were far harder then necessary but he wasn't done yet as he leaned towards your partner to inbued some wisdow to them in a gravelly growl; 'hurt them and Gwi-ma is the least of your problems, i will be and if i see an ounce of hurt on my human, you will have me to speak to about that, i will not tolerate my dearest to bear your desperation.' Romance tightens his grip on the demon, digging in his nails to the point it hurts,' for out of all the humans you target for a meal you were stupid enough to focus on mine. So tread carefully.'

abby is the kind to put himself in between anything he thinks might harm you, even if it was just knocking your hip into the counter corner, he will always act as a protector and caretaker combination of sorts when with you. He was a wall of muscle, nothing could hurt him as much as it would hurt you as he's so often told you, and so when he heard about your suspicous partner the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he was quick to prevent them from taking your soul.

'Piss off.' He'd mutter under his breath as he stared the other demon down, fists clenched and his jaw tight with anger, more then ready for a fight should it ever come to physically blows and knowing he would do just about anything to keep any desperate demon from claiming what's his. Your soul was his to claim when the day comes, he wasn't about to give it up for anyone or anything, for you were his and his alone and he didn't care if this demon claimed to be your partner becuase Abby knows it was full of shit.

Abby would show that demon that he wasn't much of a challange and that they should back down, stay away from you preferably but would do so when you weren't able to see the war waging between these two demons over you. He knows this demon was as desperate as they come, knows that they know that this fight was more then one sided, they knew Abby had all but staked you as his and he was possessive and protective of what's his. You'd be adorned in his clothes, tucked closely into his side, confused as to the abundance of affection, unaware that this was all in hopes that his scent was enough to keep you safe, keep you alive for him.

[dreammfyre]

too sweet ⊹ ࣪ ˖ frank langdon

SUMMARY. You knew Langdon from the time you started your internship at The Pittsburgh. You knew that a working relationship with him was not going to be easy, he was self-centered and had a fixation with pointing out your mistakes until understood that’s his way of teaching. Frank wanted you be the best and let everyone know that he was responsible for making you the star. You didn't know what you were thinking when thought it was a love relationship, it had been years before the connection went beyond work. But it wasn't easy to deal with his unpredictable personality, until you got to see his vulnerable side.

WARNINGS. fluff and soft!langdon. frank x f!resident.

There were days and days in ER. None like the previous one, that was the reason why you chose that specialty, how unpredictable it was, to wake up and have no idea what the fuck could happen. A constant adrenaline rush that wouldn't let rest for a single minute and made you feel alive, in no other specialty were you going to experience living minute by minute not knowing what was about to walk through that door. You loved this place, more than once it ended you and your peace of mind, but for some reason you ended up coming back every day because knew your place was there, and couldn't visualize yourself anywhere else.

ER was something beautiful, unpredictable and destructive.

If you could relate one person to that site, without a doubt the only name that would come to mind is Frank Langdon. Every word you use to describe your work fits him. Unpredictable, amazing, even exhausting.

Your relationship had ups and downs, you both knew it was going to be that way because your personalities clashed even before the first kiss. They both wanted to be right, that was a big problem, however, sex is amazing, it made feel unique among all the people around you. You could say a lot of good things about your boyfriend, he was attentive, intelligent, come on, a fucking genius, he loved you and every day reminded you of that. He has the best memory, remembered every detail about you even when yourself forgot the things you said without thinking.

"You look beautiful in that scrub. Hey, guys have you seen how hot she’s?"

"Frank, what the hell we're working." You replied as pulled on your gloves. An unconscious patient with weak vitals had arrived, but he always had the pep to blurt out comments like that.

"Just telling the truth." He raised his arms, adjusting his gown.

"Right now?" You put on glasses.

"Oh, please, don't fight now." Cassie McKay thought aloud praying to heaven not to deal with the two of you.

"We're not fighting, Doctor McKay." You said injecting an antibiotic.

"I'm not going to apologize." Langdon excused himself.

"I don't need your apology." You said as checked the patient's mouth finding dry mucous and cyanosis around his lips. With your flashlight illuminated his throat, it was closed and that explained the low saturation. "I'm going to intubate."

"I'll assist you."

You nodded immediately, trusted no one but Frank. He passed the instruments following your orders, correcting if necessary even though you had mastered the technique. Langdon was a third year resident about to finish his specialty while this was your second year of residency. However, he looked at you with admiration and attention, your movements seemed fluid although in your head everything was calculated not to make a mistake, Frank really loved that about you, you were the most studious person he knew because were willing to give everything to save a stranger.

"Perfect." He complimented.

"Thank you." You smiled contentedly. Your locks stuck to your face from sweat and your skin glistened under the white lights. "See how efficient you are when you shut up for a while, Dr. Langdon?" took off your gloves and threw them in the trash can.

The door to the room opened, it was Doctor Robby who poked his body out without entering so as not to contaminate the space.

"Road accident in three minutes. I need one of you." He said analyzing their faces, until he pointed his finger at you. "You, come on."

You couldn't refuse or question the boss's order so you took off your implements to get out of there. The patient was stable so there wasn't much else to do but administer medications, test results and wait for a progress. McKay and Langdon were left in charge.

"She's a genius, isn't she?" He smiled as proudly boyfriend.

"I'd tell you that you're too much in love and not thinking with your head, but you're right." Cassie replied sighing as she stitched up the wound on her arm.

"Oh, come on. You know I always have." That mocking, self-centered tone everyone was used to hearing from her. It came so naturally to him that no one knew if he meant it or if it was sarcasm.

"I still don't understand why he noticed you in the first place."

The shift flew by. Hours and hours attending patients, administering medications, receiving results, routine consultations, rounds, evolutions, more medications. The occasional accident. But that had been your perspective, it was a quiet shift that you knew how to handle. There were only a couple of hours left to go home to rest, eat a hamburger that you wanted to buy so badly, you wanted to ask Langdon if he wanted to go to your apartment to spend the night with you or if he preferred to stay at home, but for some reason you couldn't find him anywhere.

You watched the screen above the nurse's station in search of your next case. You put your hands in your pockets and perused the inpatients without finding anything but vomiting and stomach pains. Kind of boring really.

"Come on, Dana. Tell me you have something exciting to me." You leaned against the counter pouting.

The charge nurse looked at you with a smile, she loved seeing you with such enthusiasm, she had never told you but she was glad to work with you.

"Don't you think that's enough variety we have to offer?" she joked with you, you snorted. "Headache, stomach ache and vomiting. Specialty of the house."

"I have energy for something else." You jumped a couple of times in place making her laugh.

Dana leaned on the table imitating your posture, you approached her excitedly, she seemed to be about to tell you a secret by the way she looked around before talking to you so that only you could hear. She lowered her voice to tell you.

"He's not a patient, but I'm sure you can help him."

Frank Langdon's day had been a complete crapshoot. There was no other way to put it, and the worst part was that it wasn't over yet.

He was leaning against one of the ambulances playing with a bracelet you had given him a few days ago, one of your recent hobbies was making bracelets by hand, that was the second attempt which in your own words was complete crap, but Frank insisted it was good work. You told him that if he thought it was pretty he could use it, you never imagined he would.

"Do you still have it?" your voice was a big bucket of cold water. I didn't want you to see him that way, so dull from what you were used to seeing from him.

He lifted his shoulders trying to smile.

"It’s pretty."

"Of course not." You stood in front of him looking at your creation with disgust and disdain. "I can do you one better."

Langdon denied.

"I prefer this one." He pocketed it. "What are you doing here?"

"I haven't seen you for hours, they told me they saw you leave."

"You should go back inside. It's cold and I don't want you to get sick, you become unbearable."

A weak laugh came out of you, the worst part was that it was true, only Frank had enough patience for you to attend to you. Though deep down you felt Frank wasn't being himself, he wouldn't hold your gaze and his voice was serious, straining to hold a conversation with you. He would sigh in moments of silence and play with his hands as he said vague things to you.

"Dana told me what happened." You confessed gaining Frank’s attention completely. His yes widened in surprise not knowing what to tell you about it, his head still processing it. "It's not your fault. You know that."

Langdon looked at the sky that was gradually darkening, ending the day shift, the noise of cars passing by on the street could be heard in the background. He hated this kind of situation, when you came to comfort him by repeating cliché phrases that he also told you when you had a hard day. You knew you meant well, he was just… tired.

"Don't worry."

"Of course I'm going to worry about you." You took his hands between yours. "You can talk to me, I want to listen to you. Frank, things get to you and you don't ignore them, it's not good."

You were right, shit, of course you were. It was his way, keeping everything to himself because it wasn't impossible for him to open up that part of him. It wasn't the first time he had to take a breath before the shift was over, he hated doing that because it meant he couldn't take the pressure anymore. There are just times when he wished he knew the key to never see any person die again, surely all the doctors wished the same thing, a spell that would save every life, cure every disease, something that would take the pain away from the families.

He sighed deeply.

"It sucks sometimes." It was the only thing he could bring himself to say.

"I know."

"He was a kid." He confessed finally getting a weight off his chest, it felt strange to externalize it, but your soft gaze gave him the confidence he needed to converse. "I did everything I could, I know, but I wonder if I should have tried a little harder. I don't know." He ran a hand through his messy wet hair. "Insist."

You swallowed saliva but it felt like a ball of fire burning your throat as it passed. Yes, you loved your job, you wouldn't trade it for the tranquility of dermatology or the constant uncertainty of cardiology, you respected all the specialties, but you were in love with the ER. One thing Robby had told you on the first day of your internship at Pittsburgh was that sooner or later this job would end up breaking your heart, and that you were going to see suffering even in those you loved. He was right, what he didn't warn you about was how bad it felt to see frustration in the eyes of the one you love.

"Do you think you didn't try everything?" your question was direct, almost an interrogation. "Did you do everything you could?"

Langdon looked at you for a few seconds, nodded yes. You stretched the silence as the wind chilled your face. Unexpectedly Frank took a step towards you without saying anything, he rested his cheek on your shoulder wrapping his arms around your waist, you felt him pulling your body closer and you didn't put up any resistance. You took one of your hands to his back and the other to his messy hair, leaving small caresses while he closed his eyes, he was really taking refuge in you, you had become his safe place and where he wanted to return every day, you had not left him alone when everyone turned their back on him and from there he knew he was in love with you. You transmitted to him the peace he was constantly looking for, but you also gave him joy, headaches, a bit of anger when they argued. You were all the intensity he was looking for in perfect balance with the silence, you were that look he was looking for on the other side of the room, you became that person he seeks to make uncomfortable with his jokes because he liked it when you got mad at him. He loved knowing you were going to be there at the end of the day and into the night.

"I love you, you know that, don't you?" He babbled like a little boy. Squeezing you a little tighter against his chest hoping you would never part from him. You just didn't think about what he was saying and let it out.

You smiled, for real this time. Hearing those words from him knowing how hard it was for him to express himself was a gesture you appreciated, more than that, it made your heart beat fast.

"I love you." You repeated with sincerity in your voice, a phrase you had been holding back from long ago that you dared not say for fear of not being reciprocated. Damn, you were in love with him ever since he stole your first kiss and passed it off as an accident, but you couldn't deny that a relationship with him was the closest thing to walking on a tightrope where the risk of falling was imminent.

You couldn't see it, but you were sure Frank was grinning like a fool too.

"I have to go back inside." You said taking his face in your hands, standing on the tip of your toes to reach his lips and leave a short kiss with little taste for both of you. Your rosy cheeks was a detail he didn't overlook, he loved making you blush because it wasn't a simple thing to do. "It's time to make rounds."

With all the regret in the world he had to let you go, feeling your absence from the moment you parted and the cold hit his body. He didn't know what you had done to him but you had him walking behind you much more animated.

"Hey, doctor, are you single?" He asked with his hands in his pockets following in your footsteps. You rolled your eyes and bit your inner cheek to keep from laughing.

"Sorry, I have a boyfriend." You turned around with raised eyebrows walking backwards. "And he's the hottest doctor in the hospital."

He accepted the compliment pretending to be surprised, you turned your back to him and Frank immediately hurried to walk beside you, he put his arm around your shoulders keeping you close.

"I thought we didn't accept compliments at work." He frowned.

You escaped his grip with a cynical smile on your lips.

"We don't." You moved closer to his face being careful not to graze even a millimeter of his face. "Because you don't want to know everything I think when I see you."

You went straight to the nursing desk to look for a case to attend. It was the ER, it was never going to be empty, you walked around trying to hide the love-struck smile on your face.

"I hope it's nothing bad!" Langdon exclaimed letting you go.

"You'd love to know." You replied before disappearing from his field of vision.

Dr. Robby walked past you with a tablet in his hands reading a file on the screen. He was concentrating walking until he passed you.

"You two. No romance at work."

𐙚⋆°. MASTERLIST

[darknight3904]

not sure if your taking requests.. but I was thinking Tommy millerx fem reader Jackson era, maybe Tommy and reader are patrol partners and he gives her some shooting practice and they end up fucking against a tree and he’s super sweet with his words, talking her through it💗

All Mine Now

Jackson!Tommy x Fem!Reader

Summary: While on patrol, you and Tommy get a bit distracted...

Warnings: Language, Smut so 18+, An extreme amount of pet names.

Shout out to Gabriel Luna's Instagram for the hot forest pic.

Word Count: 2.1k

TLOU Masterlist

The sweet songs of birds fill your ears as the grass tickles your skin. Warm sunshine hung overhead, and the snorts of your tied-off horses came from behind you. It was the perfect spring day, ideal for a long walk and an even longer session of sitting on the old rocking chair that lived on your porch and creaked when you moved. Perhaps you could crack that book open, the one that’s been gathering dust on your nightstand for weeks now, a glass of lemonade in your hand, the picture-perfect day. 

The loud crack of a rifle has you jumping.

The birds you’d been enjoying scatter into the sky as a whoop of joy comes from the man beside you. Tommy Miller had just taken out another infected, probably his millionth one. 

“See any others?” He asks 

You huff and shake your head, not even bothering to lift the binoculars to your eyes. 

“You ain’t even lookin’.” Tommy points out, nodding to your hands

You groan and push them up to your eyes, scanning the valley below you, “There’s no more, you win, Tommy.” 

Tommy pushes himself up out of the dirt, offering his hand to you, which you gladly take. He hoists you up with ease, one hand still holding his rifle, the other locked tightly around your hand, a swarm of butterflies filling your belly at the demonstration of pure strength. 

“Think that’s enough for today, let's get back home and write out our reports. Outta make a note about keeping an eye on this valley, make sure there’s no hoards coming through here.” Tommy says as the two of you climb atop your horses. 

The steady clop clop clop of your horse's feet fills your ears as you and your patrol partner ride through the forest in silence. There’s so much you want to say to him, how long has he been shooting, how many infected has he killed, how many normal people has he killed, what’s it like to make the perfect headshot? Of course, his playful gaze has you practically shrinking away, too nervous to even ask one of your many questions. 

“What’s the matter? You’re always quiet, but today it’s like a funeral. Talk to me, girl! He nudges you with his foot as his horse strays closer to yours 

A smile works it’s way across your face at his voice, fuck he was perfect. You’d had a major crush on Tommy since you first ended up in Jackson. After he found you in the ski lodge and brought you back from the brink of starvation, you’d basically been in love with him, always looking for him at events, praying for a patrol shift with him, or even just going out of your way to bake him cookies and show up at his home with them. 

You’re pretty sure he sees you as a little sister or something. Sure, he’d been in a relationship with Maria, a pretty councilwoman, but that had ended nearly a year ago, Tommy had said to you that the two of them had just grown apart, Maria’s council duties making it hard to see each other except late at night when they were both exhausted from the day. Since then, you hadn’t taken note of any woman or man around Tommy in a romantic sense. Sure, there was that time he’d run across Jackson and into some old guy's arms, turns out that was his big brother, you’d felt pretty stupid after that presumption. All you knew was that Tommy definitely didn’t see you as a romantic partner, in his eyes you were probably some annoying girl who baked shitty cookies and couldn’t shoot to save her life. 

“Can you teach me to shoot?” The question tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think about it. 

Tommy’s brows shot up in surprise, apparently he hadn’t been expecting that either. 

“Uh, yeah, I can teach you to shoot, got some time tomorrow afternoon if y’wanna-” 

“No, like..right now.” You say 

Tommy gives you a pensive look, like he thinks you’re losing it. 

“C’mon, please….” You flash him a smile, practically batting your eyelashes at him. 

“Alright fine,” He laughs, “There ain’t no way to deny a face like that.”

A frustrated sigh leaves your lips. This was harder than it looked, or perhaps Tommy was just really damn good with a gun. You’d shot his rifle nearly 20 times now, each time missing the empty can of beans he’d propped up on a fallen tree stump. Your horse, Mattie, snorts loudly, you’re pretty sure she’s laughing at you, probably gonna take the gossip back to the other horses so they can laugh at you tonight over a bale of hay. 

“You’re flinching.” Tommy points out, standing beside you, “You nervous or something? It’s not gonna bite you.” 

No, no you weren’t nervous because the gun was in your hands, you were nervous because Tommy was watching your every move, and now he was standing so fucking close, readjusting your arms as he talks, his words going straight to your core. What the fuck was he even saying, something about elbows, all you knew was that he looked damn good doing it. 

“Are you listening? You could hurt yourself if you’re not careful.” Tommy says, looking down at you 

“Oh, uh yeah I’m listening.” You lie right to his pretty face. 

A mischievous glint flashes in your patrol partner’s eyes, a smirk working its way across his handsome features, the sunlight hitting him just right as it streams through the tall trees of whatever forest you’re standing in right now. 

“Oh, I know what’s going on, here.” He says, a teasing tone falling out of his mouth, “You don’t really wanna learn to shoot, do ya?” 

“What? Yes I do, it’s an important skill to have in the world we live in. What if someone-mmph” 

Tommy’s lips are pressed to yours in a perfect kiss. He pulls the gun from your hands, dropping it somewhere in the leaves and ferns that grow on the forest floor. Patchy facial hair tickles your upper lip as he deeps the kiss, his hand coming up to cup your face. 

“Fuck, been waiting so long to do that.” Tommy sighs when he pulls away 

“Wait, really?” You nearly fall over 

“Course. You’re fucking gorgeous, baby.” He compliments 

Your face heats up as you squirm under his gaze, mumbling with a soft voice, “I didn’t think you liked me like that.” 

“Are you kidding? How the hell could I not?” Tommy asks 

“I dunno..I um” 

Before you can formulate the rest of your sentence, Tommy’s pushing you, your back hitting a tree with a small umph leaving your lips upon impact. His hands fiddle with the waist of your jeans, fingers gently tugging at the zipper, “Let me show you, how much I like you like that.” 

“O-Okay.” You nervously hum, hands resting on his broad shoulders 

Your jeans are pulled down to your ankles, the air making you shiver. Tommy’s big hand, inches it’s way beneath the waistband of your panties. A hiss escapes your mouth when his finger runs through your slit, your body already soaked for him. 

“Shh, you’re alright.” Tommy coos, a kiss pressing into your hairline as he deftly begins to unravel you 

“T-Tommy…” You groan as he rubs circles around your clit with his thumb, his other two fingers pushing into your cunt 

“You’re soaked.” He grins above you, “Shooting a gun makes you wet?” 

“No, it’s, fuck, it’s you.” You admit breathily 

“Me shooting makes you wet?” Tommy teases 

“No, I meant…that you, you’re…” 

You can’t think of what to say, his fingers are stealing the words from your mouth. Fuck you’re desperate, it’d been so damn long since someone besides yourself had done this. 

“Don’t worry, sweet girl, I get it, not gonna tease ya anymore.” 

His deep southern drawl fills your ears as the world spins, he’s turned you to face the tree now, pressing his hardness up against your soaked panties, “This okay?” 

He’s asking so nicely, you know that if you deny him, he’ll back off, take you right back to Jackson, and give you space. Thank fuck that’s not what you want. 

“It’s okay, more than okay actually.” You admit embarrassed 

“I figured.” He chuckles, his hands gently pulling the last bit of clothes off your lower half, “Gonna go slow, don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You nod, your hands pressed against the rough wood of the tree, wiggling your hips in anticipation. There's a jingle of a belt buckle followed by the sound of rustling fabric, and then he’s pushing into you. A yelp leaves your throat, you sound like a kicked puppy but you can’t help it, he’s so fucking deep you’re sure’s rearranging your guts. 

A wet kiss is pressed to the nape of your neck, “You’re alright, sweetheart, I gotcha. Gonna make it feel good for ya.” 

You blindly nod, focused on the way he fills and stretches you out so perfectly. 

“M’ gonna start moving now, let me know if it’s too much.” 

It’s too much and not enough all at once. Slow deep thrusts in and out have your head spinning as you arch your back, his name falling from your lips like it’s the last thing left in your mind. 

“Please, please, please-” You wail, unsure of what you really want 

“It’s alright,” He coos, “I know what you need.” 

Tommy’s hips speed up just a bit, and his cock brushes something inside you that nearly has you screaming. You clench down on him, unsure of what to do now. 

“W-Wait, ‘s too much, somethings w-wrong.” You breathlessly mutter, pleasure is thumbing through every inch of your body, it’s never felt this good before. 

“It’s alright, baby, just hittin the right spots,” Tommy murmurs, “Christ, c’mere.” 

He turns you around again, kicking your pants off, he hoists you up so your legs are wrapped around his waist, your back to the tree. His heavy cock pushes back into you as you both groan loudly. 

“You’re fucking perfect, honey. Never felt a pussy like this before, perfect, fucking girl.” Tommy groans, his face tucked into the crook of your neck 

“T-Tommy, I feel funny, I’m gonna-” 

More rapid thrusts are pushing up against that secret spot in your body as you moan unabashedly, hands tangled in Tommy’s unruly hair. He works a hand between your bodies, a finger rubbing circles on your clit that creates pleasure that has your head spinning. 

“It’s alright,” He says, sucking at the delicate skin of your neck, “Go ahead sweet girl, I got ya. Cum, it’s alright.” 

You shudder and you’re pretty sure you’re about to rip his hair out of his head as you cum, your body buzzing with pleasure as you climax. 

“There it is,” He hums, “Good girl, cumming all over this dick…Fucking hell, I’m close” 

His hips speed up, roughly shoving themselves against you as you quake above him, riding out your orgasm as he coos in your ear, whispering what a good fucking girl you are. You mourn the loss of him as he pulls out, cum shooting onto your stomach and spent cunt. 

Tommy’s sweaty forehead rests against yours as he lets you down, his heaving chest matching your own as he rides his own orgasm out. Your legs tremble as your feet meet the forest floor, feeling more newborn deer than woman as you cling to him, hoping he won’t let you fall on your ass half naked and dripping in his spend. His belt clinks as he pulls his pants back up, his gaze fixed on you with concern. 

“Fuck, m’ sorry.” He says when he feels your hands fist his shirt, he drops to the ground before pulling you into his lap, “Was too rough.” 

“You were perfect,” You assure him, placing a soft kiss to his cheek, “I’ve never had sex like that.” 

“What, like out in the forest?” He asks 

“No, like…that good.” You admit

A smile works its way across his face, his hand pulling a bandana from his pocket, wiping his cum from your body, “Thanks for the good review, you should put it up on Yelp.” 

You toss your head back and laugh, fuck it was so stupid but you were giddy as he held you here on the forest floor. 

“We gotta get back home, it’s gonna get dark soon.” Tommy hums, a kiss pressing into your collarbone

He helps you stand back up, pulling your jeans back on your body and even buttoning them for you, his hands tickling as they brush your belly. 

“When we get back, things aren’t gonna go back to how they were, right?” You ask 

“Course not, you think I’m letting you out of my sight after all this?” Tommy smiles, “It’s gonna be you and me, sweetheart, you’re all mine now.”

Hope this is what you were thinking of, anon!

[leighsartworks216]

Not Hurt, Just Bleeding

Sylus x AFAB!Reader

It's that time again, I fear. Some word choice inspired by @comatosebunny09 I couldn't help myself ;p

Warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, menstruation, blood, panic, teasing, kissing, cuddling

Word Count: 1,532

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third LADS Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

You wake up slow. Warmth surrounds you, bringing with it security. Even as consciousness catches up with you, you feel no need to open your eyes to check your surroundings. You know exactly what you'll find there, and you know nothing could possibly hurt you here. And yet, perfectly safe behind dozens of security measures, you bleed.

That's what really wakes you up; the wet, slick feeling between your legs. Your heart drops into your stomach with a resounding thunk. Already, you know it's too late. You know Aunt Flo got the drop on you this time.

You open your eyes, bleary and anxious. Sylus is pressed right up behind you, hugging you close in his sleep like an oversized koala. You try not to panic at the thought of getting blood on him.

Prying him off of you is an uphill challenge. You hold his hands as you peel them off your body, sliding his arms back behind you until you're free enough to slip off the side of the bed in an unceremonious heap before he can try grabbing you again. Freeing your hands is another story altogether, but you eventually manage, that wet feeling running down your leg. You're half grateful the blanket covers the mess you've left, saving you the trouble of seeing how big the mess actually is. The other half is screaming about his expensive sheets, his custom-made mattress, and the blanket he bought just for you after you complained how cold you got sleeping over.

You tiptoe-run to the bathroom, desperate to keep Sylus as oblivious to your struggle for as long as possible. He'll find out eventually. There's no way you can slip the covers out from underneath him to clean them with his stupidly huge body in the way.

Your pants are ruined. You throw them in a heap on the floor as you preemptively run the water for a shower and sit on the toilet. It's all a mess of red. Aunt Flo must think she's hilarious when she twists your uterus tightly, like wringing out a wet rag. You try not to cry as you double over yourself, praying that this is all just a nightmare.

You try to be as quick in the shower as possible. Sylus's body wash permeates the steamy air as you scrub any remaining trace of blood from your skin. You're extremely careful when you hop out not to get blood on his pristine white towels.

You cringe as you grab underwear and pants from the hamper, unwilling to run out bare and risk dripping more blood where it doesn't belong. You toss your sleep shirt back on and settle for dealing with your bloody clothes later. You've left Sylus in the dark long enough.

You don't expect him to frantically rush toward you the moment you step out of the bathroom.

"Where are you hurt?" he barks. His eyes are wide and panicked. You've never seen him like this before. Even in the most dire of situations, he's always been calm and level-headed. Backed into a corner with a smile. His hair is frazzled, hands trembling as he grabs your wrists, turning your arms over in search of open wounds.

"Sylus, I'm fine!"

He frowns, lifting up the sleeves to see your shoulders. "There's blood all over the bed, don't lie to me," he bites, voice dark and dangerous. He pulls down your collar next, then grabs the hem of your shirt to lift it up.

You grab his hands, trying to shove them down. "No, I'm fine, really! I'm not hurt!"

He shakes his head. Your hands do nothing to stop him as he lifts up your shirt and feels along your waist, your back, your hips. For so much blood, there must be a wound. Someone must have snuck in past his defenses, stabbed you or something, and then-

You grab his face and pull his attention to you. "I'm on my period!"

Everything seems to still for a moment. His wide eyes stare into yours, burdened with the last vestiges of sleep that weren't chased away with the shot of adrenaline in his system. His heavy breaths pant between you both. His hands slowly release your shirt and rest on your sides, one under the fabric and one over. You look at him imploringly, waiting for it to sink in.

Then, he sighs with utter relief. His eyes close as he hunches down to press his forehead against yours, his weight sinking into you as he hugs your body to him. "You're okay," he breathes.

You nod lightly, pressing a peck to his lips. "I'm okay." You comb his hair back. He's worked himself into a sweat in his panic. You wonder just how long he's been awake for. "I forgot it was supposed to start soon. I was trying to clean up before you woke up."

He opens his eyes to shoot you a disapproving look. "Wake me up next time, sweetie. I don't enjoy waking up to a puddle of blood where my partner should be."

"Clearly." You offer him a sheepish smile. His lips crack into one of his own with a soft chuckle.

He begins to pull away. You expect him to turn around and start stripping the bed, but instead he just hugs you closer as he buries his face into your neck. You try to imagine what he must look like, back hunched as he nuzzles into you like a cat. He breathes in deeply. "You smell nice."

"It's your soap."

He hums. "You should use it more often."

You laugh and tug on his hair, push against his shoulder. "We need to clean up before the blood soaks in too much."

He sighs. You think he may just ignore it to keep holding you here, but he reluctantly lets you go and stands up to his full height. He presses a last kiss to your forehead. "Finish doing what you need to. I'll deal with it. There's product in the cabinet. I wasn't sure what kind you used, so I just got some of everything."

You raise a challenging eyebrow at him. "'Everything'? What if what I use isn't in there?"

He chuckles. "Then I'll go get some. Just say the word."

You linger in the bathroom doorway, just watching as he pulls the blankets off and examines them for blood. Thankfully, they were spared. The rest certainly were not, as he undoes the corners of the fitted sheet and tosses them into a pile. A reddish stain still lingers on the mattress, and for a moment you feel that sinking feeling again. He'd told you before that he had his mattresses custom ordered. Who knew how long it would be before he'd get another one in?

He's completely unfazed, however, as he pulls out his phone and types up a message to someone. By the time you get a proper change of clothes and come back out, Luke and Kieran are hauling the old mattress out the door and a new one rests in its place, already covered in a clean sheet. Sylus is tossing the pillows back at the head of the bed when you sneak up and hug him from behind.

"Where'd you get this bed from?"

"One of the guest rooms," he tells you. One of his hands rests on yours, while the other reaches out to direct tendrils of his Evol in carrying the blanket over. He could do it himself, of course, but he'd much rather stay within your arms.

You kiss his back between his shoulder blades. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

He hums. His fingers stroke the back of your hands. "Don't worry about it, kitten." Blanket in place, he turns around, his hands gravitating to your waist. You see the mischievous glint in his eye too late. "I already know how you can make it up to me."

He lifts you up with ease and tosses you playfully onto the bed. You bounce on the fresh mattress with a laughing squeal of his name. He chuckles as he crawls in after you, wrapping you up in his arms as he smothers you, nuzzling against you like a giant house cat. He rolls over to have you lay on top of him, where he can massage your lower back and feel your weight against him.

You're grinning from ear to ear when you push yourself up to look at his face. "And what's that?"

He drags the blanket up around you. "Stay in bed with me all day."

You roll your eyes, but you slump back down onto his broad chest, wrapping your arms around him as best you can and scooting up to bury your face in his neck. He smells just like his bodywash, mixed with something musky and rich. You press a kiss under his jaw. "Alright, I agree to your terms."

He kisses your head. You can feel his smile as he does. His hands are much more skilled this time around as he massages your lower back, soothing away the cramps Aunt Flo brings. "I'm glad we could come to an agreement."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @leiakitty @loliesaregreat