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plutoslastwords · 4 months ago

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lost and found!

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: baby norris goes missing in a crowded paddock, her father? not happy.

warnings: none!

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: first post here.. eek! i hope you guys like my little character of baby norris, i'm hoping to write more for her, so if you have any requests, please send them in!!

~~~

A Formula 1 paddock was a busy place. Mechanics were working hard to get the cars in tip-top shape for the day, reporters were rushing around to the latest ‘big story’ with dozens of cameras following and fans were scrambling around to get a glimpse of their idols. All in all, the paddock was chaotic for even the most oriented of us.

The paddock was not the place for a three year old.

However, in the Melbourne paddock, tiny baby Norris was giggling like mad, toddling around the zoo of the paddock, elated to be back at daddy’s work after a long, boring winter break.

Though he hates to admit it, Lando had not planned your appearance in his life. You were the result of a drunken one night stand, and nine months later you appeared to him after your mother signed away any parental rights. Despite that, you were the light of his life, he couldn’t imagine a world without his gorgeous baby daughter who managed to bring so much joy into any situation, you were his everything.

Unfortunately, at present he was preoccupied with some media duties before the upcoming free practice session, so the responsibility of you had been placed on some Mclaren assistant, Henry, who had looked away for a second too long and the little girl had been lost in the crowd. The assistant was shitting himself, how had he managed to screw up this bad, it was his first day on the job and he had already lost the boss’ kid!! He was so gonna be fired.

Therefore, he felt it wise to not mention to Lando that his three year old was currently waddling around the crazy busy paddock, filled with heavy machinery and people 5 times her size. Instead, Henry grabbed some other intern and began frantically searching.

It was not an easy task, looking for a pocket sized three year old in a rampacked motorsports paddock. Henry and intern no.2 checked the obvious places first: Lando’s drivers room? No. Oscar’s side of the garage? No. The Williams garage? (You were very fond of Carlos) No.

You were nowhere, somehow Lando Norris’ three year old daughter had been gifted the power of invisibility and disappeared off of the face of the Earth. Henry was stressing. To make matters worse, he then got a text he had been dreading.

Lando Norris

hey man, just finished the interview, thank you for watching the baby, you think you could drop her back to me?

Henry cursed aloud, kissing goodbye to his job as he knew that he’d have to show up to Lando empty handed. Him and the other intern he’d coerced into coming trudged slowly back to the Mclaren garage, preparing to face the wrath of a very angry dad.

As soon as Lando saw Henry enter, his face lit up, finally getting to see his precious girl after a few grueling hours of media commitments. However, his smile dropped immediately when he saw Henry’s guilty look, and the lack of a toddler in his tow. He marched forward.

“Where the fuck is she?” He demanded, no kindness in his voice.

“I- uhm- she- I’m sorry! She’s so small, and so quick! And one minute she was right next to me and the next she was gone!” Henry cried, accepting that this was the last time he’d be working in an F1 paddock.

“You lost my daughter?!?” Lando seethed, completely outraged, his darling girl was missing! “You had one job and you lost my daughter?? How immensely careless can one person be!” He shouted, the only thing holding him back from suckerpunching Henry being the fact that he was the last person to see you, and therefore would be most helpful in finding you.

The commotion, however, alerted the attention of some other people including Zak Brown, Mclaren’s CEO, who was making his rounds of the garage, greeting some high profile guests. He walked over, patting Lando on the shoulder in a very Zak-Brown-manner.

“Ah, Lando! Been looking for you! What’s going on here?”

“The dickhead lost my kid!” Lando exclaimed, more than furiously, whilst Harry just stood there silently, having gone deathly pale. Zak’s normally upbeat mood dropped, seeing the distress his driver was in, he couldn’t be having this! Free practice was only a couple hours away!

“Oh goodness, that’s not… optimal… Have you searched for her at all, boy?” he questioned Henry, who nodded and let out a noise that could’ve been interpreted as a whimper of fear.

“W-we went to look for her, we searched everywhere! B-but she wasn’t there…” he stammered, this was just great now both of his bosses were here to fire him. Not even his bosses! They were like his boss’ boss’ boss’ bosses!

“Of course you couldn’t find her! She’s like 2 feet tall, no one would be able to find her in a crowd like that!” Lando scoffed, he didn’t want to let his worry show in front of the whole garage, so instead his emotions were being projected as anger towards a very scared looking Henry.

“Well, why don’t we all calm down..” Zak intervened, he did not need one of his drivers having a meltdown at T-Minus 2 hours before the first free practice session of the season. “I’m sure she’ll turn up, the kid can barely go 30 minutes without her daddy, she’ll be running back soon enough.”

“Oh god, she’s probably so scared…” moaned Lando, Zak’s words doing nothing to soothe him, only heightening the growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Noticing Lando’s growing anguish, Zak knew he had to act, quickly sending orders to whoever was in shouting distance to go and search the paddock from the bottom up, and not to return until they had a little curly haired girl in their grasp.

As well as this, he told Henry to go somewhere else and help the search party, he did not think it smart to have Henry and Lando in close proximity, worried about the British driver’s anger getting the best of him. He did not need a fight breaking out only 2 hours before FP1

The next 45 minutes were possibly the worst of Lando’s life, Sochi 2021 was nothing compared to this. His precious, angel, darling girl was missing and there was nothing he could do about as Zak had forbidden him from leaving the garage, claiming he’d draw too much attention if he went out to join the search. What, like 50 Mclaren staff all searching the paddock wasn’t going to draw enough attention itself?

He sat in his driver's room with his face in his hands, distraught at the idea that his baby girl might be hurt, or worse… He couldn’t let himself think about it, his trainer, Jon, was in the room as well trying to soothe his nerves, but nothing was working, all he wanted was his little girl back in his arms.

Suddenly, the door to his driver’s room swung open, revealing Henry, looking extremely tired out, holding a tiny girl who was looking way too proud of herself.

“Daddy!!” You screeched, grinning widely, thrashing around in Henry’s arms to get to him.

“Oh my baby..” About 50 tonnes of weight lifted from Lando’s shoulders as he rushed over to take you from Henry. “My baby, my baby, my baby..” He chanted, rocking you in his arms, holding you close to his chest, never wanting to let go. “You gave daddy such a fright, angel!” He reprimanded, but there was no malice to his tone whatsoever, he was just glad his baby was back. “Where did you run off to, hm?”

“Lollipop, daddy!” You squealed, and then it clicked for Lando, of course that’s where she went. When the two of you arrived in the paddock this morning there was a man selling large lollipops, almost the size of you, near the entrance. You had immediately been struck by this, begging your daddy to pretty please! buy one for you, but Lando had media duties he had to get to, but promised to get one later (he could never say no to you), but of course that wasn’t acceptable to your little head, so you’d had to run away to go get one.

Surprisingly, you had managed to get her hands on one, though Lando wasn’t sure how, it wasn’t like you had your own money. It was probably because you were just too cute to resist, with your beaming smile, little curly hair and green eyes just like him, you could woo just about anybody. Even the ever serious Oscar Piastri manages to crack some grins whenever you’re around.

“You can’t be running away though my angel… what if you got hurt, hm? And daddy wasn’t there to kiss it better. That was very naughty of you baby.” He tried to be strict with you, he really did, but one look at your little pouting face was enough to make him melt all over again.

“‘M sorry daddy…” You mumbled, you didn’t like it when your daddy tells you off, your daddy never tells you off! “Just wan’ed lollipop…”

“Oh baby, I know… don’t worry, Daddy isn’t angry anymore, he was just scared, okay? And you gotta promise you’re never gonna do that again, otherwise no more lollipops..”

“I pwomise daddy!!” you were fully capable of speaking normally, but even at age 3, you knew exactly the type of voice to use to get your daddy to forgive you.

“Good girl, angel..” he cooed, still rocking you in his arms. His moment with his daughter was broken, however, when he realised that Henry was still in the room, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“You found her?” He questions Henry, his tone slightly guarded.

“Y-yeah, she was by the entrance.. Didn’t seem very fazed about the chaos she caused…” Henry tries to joke, to lighten the tension, but Lando’s expression was unreadable.

After a moment, Lando spoke up. “I’m not going to fire you.” an audible sigh of relief could be heard coming from Henry. “But you’re never looking after her again, you hear me?” Henry just nods quickly, too thankful that he hasn’t lost his job to care. “Good. you can go now.” The intern scrambles out the room.

“Daddy loves you so much, darling. Always remember that, okay? So so much..” He whispers to the small girl in his arms, who was now starting to doze off, after the excitement of the lollipop saga.

He just smiled, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head, before he laid you down on the sofa in his driver’s room, covering you with a blanket so you could sleep peacefully.

~~~

a/n: hope you enjoyed, send in any requests you have!

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris daughter #f1 daughter #formula 1

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stormberry-12 · 6 months ago

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sunshine and sarcasm // P1: oh god, it talks? ~ lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x fem!introvert!piastri!reader

warnings: slight language, creepy guy.

notes: Let me know if I should make another part, wasn't really sure if I wanted it to end here. Also, ignore that the timeline doesn't line up... xxx

You walked through the bustling paddock in search of the bright orange garage-

Sorry, papaya.

Your older brother, Oscar, had his face and race number plastered above the overhead door. It was the Australian Grand Prix and your entire family had been invited to experience it in person. You actually didn't even live in Australia anymore. You had been working out of the country for many years, perfecting your craft and experiencing great opportunities outside your hometown. So this early pop-up to free practice was surely a surprise for Oscar.

"Y/n/n?"

"Osco!!" he crushed you in a hug.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had work, mum wasn't even sure you'd make it for the race Sunday-"

"I wanted to surprise you," you grinned back at him, "If I can only make it for one race a year I want to experience the whole shebang! Even the practice sessions,"

"Oh mate, I'm so excited!" Oscar exclaimed, with the most enthusiasm his personality offered. To some, his tone may have sounded sarcastic but you knew, by the glint in his eyes, that he was genuinely happy you were here. "Shit- I have media, but then I could totally show you around, the second round of free practice doesn't start for another few hours,"

"Sounds good!" you smiled, Oscar's gaze trailed over to his teammate standing on the other side of the garage. You knew who Lando Norris was, from interviews with Osc, but you had never actually met him.

"I can introduce you to Lando too, he's great,"

"I'm good," you mumbled and your brother chuckled. There were definitely similarities, personality-wise, between you and your brother. You didn't need to meet Lando and you didn't want to meet him. From certain clips online you were sure his loud persona would be way too much for you-

"OSCAH!" The Brit yelled making both of your heads turn back to him. Proving your previous thought. "GET OVAH HERE YOU'RE SLOW!"

"Oh god, it talks?" you hissed.

"He is a person, and yes he talks." Oscar scolded, "He's very nice, don't be rude."

He gently elbowed you in the side, before walking towards the other racing driver and a set of cameras. You went and sat upstairs at some tables, putting your headphones in and waiting for your brother.

Once you were out of earshot, Lando turned to his teammate, "Who's the lady?"

"Oh, my sister. Well one of them, I have three." Oscar replied.

"Huh..." Lando hummed, hesitating, "Think you could introduce me?"

"Mateee," Oscar grumbled, already knowing where this was going. It wasn't the first time he had to tell one of his friends that you weren't interested.

"Pleaseee Osc?" Lando pleaded, Oscar side-eyed him hard.

"You know, I offered to introduce her first and she said 'I'm good.'"

"Ouch,"

"I'm sure it's nothing personal, she's just a bit introverted and grumpy-"

"Runs in the family I see..."

"-and then you proceeded to yell very Britishly across the entire room," Oscar finished, ignoring his teammate's jab.

"What do you mean 'Britishly'?" Lando chuckled.

"What do you mean 'runs in the family'?"

"Touche,"

"Oh my god," a loud giggle interrupted your peace, you lifted your head to see the two Mclaren boys on the floor playing Twister. You hadn't meant to catch them in the filming process but you couldn't deny it was quite entertaining.

You removed an earbud to hear Lando mumble, "What a sight that is..."

You chuckled to yourself, Osc was squatted with his butt right in Lando's face, both giggling uncontrollably.

"I'm in... such a bad place right now." Oscar sighed.

"I'm like in the splits," they giggled once more.

"Left foot yellow," one of the Mclaren media team instructed, after spinning the wheel for them. You stood up and walked over to the crew, exchanging smiles and waves with some of them.

"Oscahhh,"

"We can't be on the same sticker can we?" Oscar shook with laughter.

They mumbled something incoherent, Lando's voice cracked slightly, "Ahhhh, my voice is gone. Oscah call it quits. YOUR LEFT FOOT IS NOT GOING BETWEEN MY LEGS!"

Everyone laughed, both drivers looked up noticing your presence.

"Y/n/n help me!" Oscar pleaded.

"Y/n/n tell your brother he's lost!" Lando countered, smirking over at his teammate. You houghed, wondering who this guy thought he was, using Oscar's nickname for you. To be fair though you hadn't properly introduced yourself.

"Sorry Osco," you smiled at him, "It's not looking too good for you..."

Oscar tried to maneuver his body once more, before standing up and accepting defeat, "That's it, I'm done-"

"Yeh, he's called it. I win!" Lando cheered.

They cut the cameras and you waved at your brother, "Alright, I'm going to find lunch Osc, I'll find you later,"

The bustling paddock was a lot to take in, you had asked around the garage to see if anyone knew of a nice outdoor spot to eat. But after noticing that the few picnic benches close by were all occupied, you sighed in defeat. Holding your food bag close to your chest, you retreated to the McLaren garage.

However, a hard hit to your back made you stumble and drop your food, content spilling all over the ground.

"Whoops, sorry gorgeous," A man snarled, chuckling. His eyes were narrowed at you as a sickly grin spread across his face. "Hey, what's a pretty lady like you doin' all alone around here,"

"Just getting lunch," you replied curtly, avoiding eye contact. "And I'm not alone-"

"Well, that hasn't gone too great so far has it," He put an arm around your shoulders and you froze. "My apologies, come with me let me buy you something to eat,"

"No. Thank you. I'm headed to—uhm—find my boyfriend anyway, " you lied, scrambling out of his grasp and towards the garage.

"Oh come on gorgeous," his large strides met yours as you walked away.

"Please leave me alone, I'm not interested."

He grabbed your wrist pulling you to face him, hot breath hitting your face. You shook slightly, preparing to kick him with all your might, and start screaming-

"Y/N/N!" a voice yelled.

British.

The accent gave away who it was, but honestly, at this moment you didn't care, as Lando Norris' arms wrapped firmly around you from behind. You pulled your arm out of the other man's grip and he took a step back.

"Do we got a problem here mate?" Lando spoke, his sharp tone catching you by surprise. You clung to the top of one of his arms that draped around your shoulders and the man eyed the both of you in annoyance.

"No. Just trying to help the lady out," he houghed, you felt Lando's chest heave against your back.

"Well, I believe as she probably told you before, she's quite all right on her own," Lando responded cooly. By this point crowds of people, which often formed when Lando Norris was around, watched and whispered at the scene unfolding in front of them.

"Okay-" The man turned to leave.

"Hey, asshole." Lando spoke again, the anger you felt radiating off his body now leaving his mouth. Wishing you could see his face at that moment, you squeezed his bicep in a silent plea to let it go. Not wanting to cause more of a scene than you already had. "Don't just walk away, apologise to her."

You hesitantly made eye contact with the man across from you. And after spoiling your lunch, pestering you, and invading your space he mumbled one simple half-hearted word.

"Sorry," and walked away.

Lando gently released you and you slowly angled your body to face him. Not making eye contact, you scanned the people around that had clearly watched but were now avoiding your gaze.

"Oh god, I've caused a scene," you whispered.

Lando chuckled, making your face heat, "You're so much like your brother," You met his blue gaze, "It's okay. Are you okay?"

"Oh um- yes thank you for..."

"No worries, that guy was pissing me off," he mumbled, something flashing in his eyes, suddenly shy he added, "Sorry if I uh- crossed the line there-"

"It's alright..." you said softly, "I should get going, thanks again-"

"Wait! Let me walk you?" he offered with a small smile, "We need to get you more lunch right?"

You nodded and started towards the McLaren garage for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Lando followed by your side in silence, glancing over at you multiple times, seeming to ponder a conversation starter.

Hating small talk you quickly offered something else, "Want to see some embarrassing photos of Oscar?"

His face split into a grin, shaking his head excitedly. You pulled out your phone and started scrolling through some of the most horrendous photos that you had taken of your brother over the years. Including baby photos of course, and 'Vines' that you had made in your teenage years that made Lando squeal with laughter.

Your chest fluttered slightly at his warm laugh, so engrossed in your memories that you hadn't even noticed how casually he held your elbow and pulled you to the side. Only a few steps away from the garage and not wanting to end the moment.

"Wait, go back!" he giggled. You had landed on a horribly angled photo of your brother at the ripe age of 13, glaring at you angrily through the camera.

"His hair is so bad!" You wheezed.

"Can I just-" he held out his hand and you offered your phone. He took it and quickly typed in a phone number to send himself quality Oscar photos. "Thank you so much. My life is complete," he joked, handing the phone back to you.

"No problem," you laughed, smiling up at him.

His cheeks turned pink, and he spoke softly, "So are you-"

"LANDO!" he was suddenly called by one of the McLaren mechanics.

"Oh shit," he cursed checking his watch, slowly stepping away from you, "Sorry, I gotta go- shit -um I'll see ya around okay?!"

He gave you a wave, turning before you could answer, and jogging over to his team. You waved back hesitantly, but just like that he was gone. You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and began walking in the other direction, wondering if he had turned back over his shoulder.

Why did you want to look back?

You continued your adventures around the paddock, getting food and the tour that Oscar had promised. You had missed him truly, he was one of your best friends as a kid and still was. It still felt strange adjusting to your lives as adults.

Eventually, it was time for him to head back and get in the car for another practice session. A group of fans surrounded Oscar for autographs, and he shot you a sympathetic look which you waved off with a smile. Standing off to the side, you pulled out your phone in an attempt not to look awkward, surprised by the many texts you had missed.

Oscar looked over your shoulder, catching you by surprise, "Who are you texting?"

You jumped, "No one-"

He gave you a confused face and then smirked at your screen, "Heh, is mum mad?"

Your face snapped back down to your phone, one of the other people to text you was your mother. You noticed her last message was in all caps and quickly opened it, color draining from your face.

Turned out Lando didn't need to tattle on you anyway.

And good god indeed.

#formula 1 #storms library #mctwinks #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #lando norris x y/n #oscar piastri #f1 fanfic #text au #Nicole piastri our queen

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ari-ana-bel-la · 3 months ago

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Could you write a Charles Leclerc x child daughter reader (10 years old), where he's at the racetrack, and Charles brings her to the Ferrari garage after school? While in the garage, Charles helps her with her homework and maybe reactions of others on father-daughter moment. I love your fanfics!

Homework in the Paddock

The hum of engines roared through the paddock, a familiar melody to Charles as he walked hand-in-hand with his daughter, Yn. The warmth of the Monaco sun bathed the racetrack in a golden glow, and despite the bustle of team members rushing around, mechanics fine-tuning the cars, and media personnel lingering for interviews, Charles was focused on one thing—Yn.

She was ten years old now, and every bit the light of his life. From the moment she was born, Charles knew his world had changed. It had grown brighter, more meaningful. Every race, every win, every setback—it all mattered more because of her. And he had made sure she could be with him as often as possible, even working out an agreement with her school so she could attend her classes online while traveling with him.

Yn adjusted the straps of her small backpack, shifting it over her shoulders as they walked toward the Ferrari garage. “Papa, what’s on the schedule today?” she asked, glancing up at him with her bright, inquisitive eyes.

Charles squeezed her hand. “I have meetings, media, and then practice, but we have some time before that. I thought we could do your homework together in the garage.”

Yn groaned dramatically, making Charles chuckle. “Papa, I thought I was getting a break from school,” she pouted.

“You promised, ma chérie,” Charles reminded her with a knowing smile. “And I promised your maman I would make sure you did your lessons.”

They stepped into the garage, the smell of fuel and rubber filling the air. The Ferrari team was already busy preparing the car for the next session, but the moment Charles and Yn walked in, heads turned. The entire team had come to adore Yn over the years. She was like a little Ferrari mascot, always there with her father, always bringing an infectious energy that even the most stressful race weekends couldn’t dampen.

“Yn!” Lewis greeted her first, crouching down and holding out his fist for a bump. She grinned and knocked her tiny fist against his. “You keeping your dad in check?”

“I try,” she said dramatically. “But you know how he is.”

Lewis laughed as Charles shook his head. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

Bruno, one of the engineers, came over with a smile. “Doing schoolwork in the garage today, Yn?”

Yn nodded, already pulling out her tablet and notebook. “Papa said we have to,” she said with a sigh, shooting her father a playful look.

Charles pulled up a chair next to the workbench and patted the seat beside him. “Alright, let’s see what we have today.”

Yn sat down, flipping open her notebook. “Math,” she groaned. “Fractions.”

Charles leaned over, scanning the page. “Ah, fractions. The bane of every child’s existence.”

“Did you like math when you were little, Papa?” she asked, pencil poised over the paper.

Charles chuckled. “Not really, but I had to be good at it.”

Yn sighed dramatically, picking up her pencil and staring at the problems. “Okay, if I have three-fourths of a pizza and I eat one-fourth, how much do I have left?” she read aloud.

“Hmm,” Charles said, pretending to think hard. “I don’t know, that’s a tough one.”

Yn rolled her eyes. “Papa.”

He grinned. “Alright, alright. You tell me.”

She tapped her chin before scribbling the answer down. “Two-fourths!”

“Or,” Charles prompted.

“One-half?” she said hesitantly.

He ruffled her hair. “Exactement.”

As they worked through the homework, the Ferrari team continued their preparations, but many couldn’t help but glance over at the duo. It was rare to see such a tender moment in the midst of the high-pressure world of Formula 1, and yet, it felt natural in Charles’ case. He had always been a family man, and everyone knew that Yn was the most important person in his life.

At one point, Lando walked into the garage, talking animatedly to one of his mechanics, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the scene unfolding. He smirked, walking over and leaning against the workbench. “Charles, mate, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this serious before.”

Charles looked up, raising a brow. “I am always serious.”

Lando shook his head. “Not like this. This is next-level focus.”

Yn giggled, looking up at Lando. “He’s just helping me with math.”

“Fractions?” Lando asked, peeking at her notebook. “Oh man, I was terrible at those.”

Yn gasped dramatically. “Even race car drivers are bad at fractions?”

Lando nodded solemnly. “Absolutely. That’s why we have engineers to do all the hard stuff for us.”

Yn turned to Charles. “Papa, can I just get an engineer to do my homework too?”

Lewis, who had been listening, burst into laughter. “Brilliant idea.”

Charles groaned, shaking his head. “Non, non, you do your own work.”

Just then, Fred walked by, taking in the sight of Charles hunched over a notebook with his daughter. He paused, then shook his head with a chuckle. “Maybe we should put you on the strategy team, Charles.”

Yn perked up. “Can I be on the strategy team too?”

Fred smirked. “If you’re better at fractions than your Papa, I’ll consider it.”

Everyone laughed as Charles sighed dramatically. “Why does everyone bully me?”

Yn leaned her head against his arm. “Because we love you, Papa.”

Charles softened immediately, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And I love you, ma chérie.”

As the day went on, Charles balanced being both a driver and a father seamlessly. He would answer engineering questions, discuss race strategy, then turn back to Yn’s homework to explain another problem. It was a side of him that many in the paddock admired—a father who made sure his daughter always knew she was his priority.

By the time the schoolwork was done, Yn stretched her arms above her head. “That was exhausting,” she declared.

Charles smirked. “Now you know how I feel after a race.”

“But you love racing,” she pointed out.

“And you love learning,” he countered.

She gave him a look. “Let’s not go that far.”

Lewis walked over, tossing Yn a Ferrari cap. “Since you worked so hard, I think you deserve a reward.”

Yn grinned, putting it on her head. “Merci, Lewlew!”

Charles smiled as he watched her interact with the team, knowing that no matter how many trophies or podiums he earned, nothing would ever mean more to him than the little girl who made his world brighter every single day.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

#f1 drivers as fathers #🩷🎀#formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x daughter!reader #leclerc!reader #dad!charles leclerc #lewis hamilton x reader #lando norris x reader #f1 x daughter!reader #carlos sainz x reader #max verstappen x reader #george russell x reader #oscar piastri x reader

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amirasainz · 7 months ago

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So I read a lot of stories similar to my requests. But I just think you are the best author on tumblr, so I wanna ask you😅☺️

Secret marriage with Oscar. They married really young and the drivers reaction. She is always at the races, but just in the shadows. The only one that knows is Charles, because he is Oscars "dad" 😭😍

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Secret marriage

The F1 paddock buzzed with the usual energy and tension. The race weekend was in full swing, and every driver, mechanic, and team member was focused on the task ahead. It was Friday afternoon, and most of the drivers had just finished media sessions and were now lounging around in the driver's hospitality suite, swapping stories and strategies. Oscar was among them, scrolling through his phone with a relaxed expression.

Nearby, Lando noticed a familiar face in the crowd. A woman, sleek and stylish, with a British Vogue ID around her neck, had been lingering around Oscar’s side of the paddock all day, chatting with him occasionally before darting off to interview other drivers. Lando squinted, intrigued.

“Oi, Oscar,” Lando called out, leaning back in his seat. “Who's that Vogue chick? She’s been following you around like a shadow.”

Oscar glanced up from his phone, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Who, Y/N? She’s just here for work. We know each other pretty well.”

George, who overheard the conversation, raised an eyebrow. “Pretty well? Mate, you guys looked like you were practically whispering sweet nothings before she left the garage.”

Oscar shrugged, but his eyes glinted with mischief. “Maybe we were.”

Lando sat up, fully interested now. “Wait… what? Are you and Miss Vogue dating?”

Oscar chuckled, keeping his cool. “Not exactly.”

Pierre, catching onto the conversation, leaned forward. “Come on, spill the beans! There’s definitely something going on.”

Oscar finally sighed, looking up at his friends with an amused smirk. “Well… actually, Y/N and I… we’re married.”

The room fell silent.

George blinked. “You’re what?”

“Married,” Oscar repeated, his tone casual as ever. “Been married since we turned eighteen, actually.”

The explosion was immediate. Lando gasped, practically jumping out of his seat, while Pierre clapped a hand over his mouth in shock.

“No way!” Lando exclaimed. “You’ve been married this whole time?”

Oscar nodded, barely reacting to the chaos unfolding around him. “Yep. Just never made a big deal out of it.”

“You’re telling me,” George said, his voice high-pitched with disbelief, “that you’ve been secretly married for… what? Three years now?”

“Three and a half, actually,” Oscar replied calmly, clearly enjoying their reactions. “We wanted to keep it private. Just worked out that way.”

Pierre looked like he was about to faint. “Mate, do you realize we never even knew you had a girlfriend, let alone a wife?”

Oscar gave a little shrug. “Guess I’m good at keeping secrets.”

George put his hands on his head. “I thought I was the reserved one around here! But this? Oscar, this is next level. How did we never catch on?”

Oscar chuckled, glancing over at Y/N, who was currently chatting with a journalist a few feet away. “She’s at most of the races. Just… behind the scenes.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Pierre muttered, shaking his head in amazement.

Just then, Charles strolled into the room, looking curious as he caught the tail end of the conversation. “What’s everyone freaking out about?”

Lando grinned, looking ready to explode with excitement. “Charles, you’re not gonna believe this. Oscar’s married! Secretly married, since he was eighteen.”

Charles’s reaction was far more subdued. He simply nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “Ah, yes. I know about Y/N.”

The room went silent again as every driver turned to gape at Charles.

“You knew?” George demanded, wide-eyed.

Charles gave them a smug shrug. “Of course. I’ve known for ages. I’m Oscar’s ‘dad,’ remember?” He winked, referencing the Monaco joke that had become a running gag between them. “It’s my job to know these things.”

Oscar snorted, smirking over at Charles. “Guess you can’t keep secrets from your ‘Monaco dad.’”

Lando threw his hands up in the air. “You’re all insane! Charles knows, Oscar’s been married for years, and we’ve all been left out!”

Pierre shook his head, still processing. “Wait, how did you find out, Charles?”

Charles leaned back, crossing his arms with a grin. “Oscar told me after our Monaco podium. Said he needed someone to know in case he ever needed advice. Before we went partying, I met Y/N and let me tell you, she is a lovely girl. And, you know, as his ‘father’ in the paddock, it was only a matter of time.” He gestured grandly, making everyone laugh.

George narrowed his eyes playfully. “So all this time, we could’ve been calling him ‘married man Oscar’ instead of ‘little Oscar’?”

Oscar rolled his eyes, amused. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t exactly a talking point. We wanted to keep things between us. Y/N’s work with Vogue keeps her busy and traveling too, so it worked out.”

Oscar turned his head towards Y/N, calling out softly with his arm outstretched. " Love, came here for a second, please."

Y/N approached just then, noticing the group staring at her with a mix of shock and admiration. “Is everything okay?”

Pierre looked at her, still in awe. “So… you two are really married?”

She glanced at Oscar with a smile, nodding. “Surprise?”

Lando leaned in, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “How have you kept this a secret all this time? You must have some insane spy-level skills.”

Y/N laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. We just wanted to enjoy it without all the attention.”

“Respect,” George said, tipping an imaginary hat to her. “You two might be the most low-key power couple I’ve ever seen.”

Charles looked proud, wrapping an arm around Oscar’s shoulder. “That’s my boy.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, shoving Charles off. “Alright, alright, let’s not make a big thing out of it.”

Lando looked at Oscar, eyes still gleaming. “Mate, this is a big thing! You’ve been living like some kind of undercover superhero. ‘Married Piastri’ is a whole new level of cool.”

Pierre nodded eagerly. “Right? It’s like finding out Clark Kent was Superman all along.”

Oscar chuckled, clearly enjoying his friends’ reactions. “Well, maybe now that you guys know, I’ll bring her around a bit more.”

Lando lit up. “Please! And maybe you can finally get that double date with George and Carmen going!”

George chuckled. “Right, because that’s exactly what we need. A bunch of drivers swapping marriage advice.”

Pierre smirked, nudging Oscar. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, you know. Now everyone’s gonna ask why we’re not secretly married.”

Oscar smirked back. “Hey, don’t blame me. You all had just as much chance to find out as Charles.”

As the group laughed, Y/N leaned into Oscar’s side, whispering, “Well, I guess the secret’s out.”

Oscar grinned, wrapping an arm around her. “Guess so. But I don’t mind. Not if it means we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

Charles rolled his eyes playfully. “Alright, alright. Now, can we get back to racing, or are you going to give us a honeymoon slideshow too?”

The group burst into laughter, and Oscar looked around, more comfortable than ever. His secret was out, but he couldn’t be happier to finally share it with his friends.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris x reader #george russell x reader #pierre gasly x reader #charles leclerc x reader #secret marriage #oscar piastri

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goquokka00 · 7 days ago

Text

Little Kitten

Summary: With a busy schedule and a comeback just around the corner, Minho had been getting more and more stressed by the minute. Thankfully, he had you. And you were more than happy to give him just what he needed.

Pairing: Minho X Reader (F!)

Genre: Smut (18+)

Warnings: use of lingerie, reader dresses like a cat, praise kink, dirty talk, Dom! Minho, oral sex (M! recieving), throat fucking, penetrative doggy style sex (wrap it before you tap it please!), Minho cums down reader's mouth, sweetie Minho afterwards, 100% 18+ (seriously like if you're a minor don't read pls and thank you <3)

Word Count: 2.3K

It had been a long, long week. Minho had gone through photoshoots, recording sessions, dance practice, vocal studies, promotions, interviews, signings...all he wanted was to just lay down and sleep some. But even that was too much to ask. Each time he had a second to breathe, he had to give it up to do something else for his job. And it was seriously getting on his nerves.

You could easily tell. He'd grunt and grumble instead of talking with you. He didn't kiss you as much, instead opting for the bed. If you didn't know any better, he loved the bed more than he loved you, his own girlfriend.

No offense taken.

You understood that Minho had a lot on his mind. But you also understood that Minho needed a distraction. Something to take his mind off of everything that was stressing him out. And thankfully, as his girlfriend and someone who knew him well, you had just the plan. All you had to do was set it into motion.

And so, while laying in bed one night after Minho had passed out (a now common occurrence), you sent a few texts to Bangchan to find out when Minho's next day off would occur. And after getting the date, you headed over to amazon to get some items that would be necessary for said plan. The most important was cat ears and a cat tail anal plug.

The lingerie came next; you decided on a black lace two piece. You also bought a collar with a small silver bell, some fluffy black handcuffs, and a little leash to go along with your outfit.

You still remember when it arrived, and Minho was there to receive the package. You rushed home, ripping it out of his grasp in a panic, not wanting to spoil the surprise. It was a close call, and a lot of lying and persuading, but...you eventually dodged that bullet.

And finally, after waiting for what felt like an eternity, the day arrived. It was a slow morning, Minho sleeping in until late morning before coming to eat the late breakfast you had made him. And after visiting and such for a bit, Minho went off to spend some time with Jisung, since you swore the two were secretly married.

Not that you minded, of course.

He kissed you goodbye, saying that he'd be back at 7 with dinner so the two of you could have some quality time together. And the second that door closed, you hopped onto a call with Hyunjin and Changbin, setting your phone up so they could see you and the outfit you were going to surprise Minho with later.

Why did you show them? Because they were dating. And only you and Stray Kids knew.

"Okay, okay. So, we're gonna start with these." With that, you held up the cat ears, sliding it onto your head before showing the two.

"Oh, he's gonna die." Changbin instantly commented, Hyunjin laughing at his response. "What? He is! He loves cats, he loves Y/n...I think he might actually implode!"

"Well, duh. But I don't think he'd implode." Hyunjin said, smiling as he looked closer at you. "He's definitely gonna fuck you, though."

"Good, that's what I want." You said with a laugh. And then, you pulled out the lingerie. "I also got this and a tail to go with."

"Oh my god..." Hyunjin said, looking at the set you had bought.

"Well, if he wasn't gonna implode, he's definitely gonna implode now." Changbin spoke.

"Yeah, no, I agree." Hyunjin nodded, making you laugh.

"I thought you said he wouldn't implode before!" You commented.

"That was before I knew about the lingerie, Y/n!"

"Well, I also got a cat tail butt plug too, so--"

"YOU GOT A WHAT?!" Hyunjin and Changbin both interrupted you, their jaws to the floor as you laughed and showed them the tail and the plug.

Well, if his other members thought that he was gonna be happy, then you guessed he'd be happy.

After that call, you finally started to get ready. You slid on the lingerie, lubed up the butt plug and slid it in, got the cat ears on and styled your hair and makeup, and put the final touches on your look. And once you finished up, you heard the door open.

He was here.

You quickly got onto the bed, sitting with your knees spread and hands between your legs, sitting up with a good posture as you waited patiently. And then, Minho called out.

"Y/n, I'm back!" And as he walked closer, you could hear him set the bags of food down. Oh, you were going to enjoy this.

"I'm just in the bedroom, Min!" You knew that he'd come to you. He always came to you when you weren't in the same room. And sure enough, the door opened. And in walked Minho, his eyes instantly locking onto you. Instantly, he froze, taking you in.

You were perfect. The lingerie perfectly showed off your curves, highlighting your breasts and hips beautifully. And that tail and those ears...it was absolutely stunning.

"Fuck..." Minho couldn't help but mutter it as he walked closer to you, taking you in and placing his hand onto your cheek, watching as you nuzzled into his hand. "What's all this?"

"Do you like it, baby?" You smiled up at him, an innocent look on your face. God, Minho couldn't wait to ruin you. "I figured you'd like a small surprise after working so hard..."

"Oh, I love this small surprise..." Minho smiled, looking at you before placing his hands on your shoulders, watching as you continued to look up at him. "You gonna be a good girl for me tonight?"

And you nodded. "Mhm...gonna be good."

Minho liked that answer. He hummed, smirking as he lifted your chin, seeing you close your eyes and smile softly. Yeah...he was gonna enjoy this. "Good..."

And from there, he took his hands off of you, going to undo his belt. You watched, only to hear him click his tongue.

"Ah ah, eyes up here, kitten." Minho then used one of his hands to guide your gaze back up to his eyes, his other hand pulling his belt off before slipping his button off of his pants. "Already so eager...I love that, but you gotta be patient..."

You just hummed, keeping your eyes on his, ignoring the sound of Minho's zipper slide. And then, his hand left your chin so he could pull his pants and boxers down. And your eyes stayed on him.

"Good girl..." Minho smirked as he praised you, his cock now out and ready to go. "Such a good girl for wanting to help me relax...even dressed all pretty for me. You wouldn't do that for anyone else, would you?"

"Mm-mm..." You hummed, shaking your head. That only got Minho's smile wider.

"That's right..." From there, Minho stroked his cock, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before forcing your head to gently (but firmly) look at him. "You're gonna continue to be good and suck my cock, isn't that right?" And as you nodded, Minho hummed, smiling. "Yeah, you are..."

And with that, he stood back up, letting you finally look down at his dick. And it didn't take you long to go and kiss and lick along his length, sliding his tip into your mouth before swirling your tongue around him. All the while, Minho groaned, sliding his shirt off before gathering your hair and holding it up for you, guiding you down his dick.

"That's a good girl...bet that cock tastes good, huh? You're drooling all over that dick, kitten..." All the while, you moaned, continuing to suck him off. Eventually, he pushed you down, his dick pressing against your throat, causing you to gag and be let up. "Good girl...breathe...that's it."

You just hummed, seeing the drool dripping off of his cock. But before you could take a bit longer to catch your breath, Minho was putting his cock against your lips once more, prodding into your warm mouth.

"Open..." And you did. You opened your mouth, letting Minho put his length back inside, guiding you once more. "That's it...god, can I fuck your mouth? You'll make me feel so good, beautiful...blink three times if you'll let me."

And blink three times you did.

It was less than a second when Minho smirked, gripping your head before forcing you down his cock, using your mouth as a fleshlight. Saliva was dripping from your chin and stringing onto Minho's cock, tears flooding down your eyes as Minho abused your mouth. But god, it was so good...you were living in that moment.

It wasn't long before Minho pulled out of your mouth, making you gasp for air and cough, leaning down to try and take a second. And all the while, Minho watched, petting your hair.

"Easy... breathe..." Minho eventually guided you to look back up at him, his eyes now soft as they met yours. "You okay? Wanna stop for a minute?"

You shook your head, swallowing before looking up at him. "No, I'm okay..."

Oh, Minho couldn't be prouder. He placed a kiss to your forehead once more, smiling down at you as he spoke. "Alright...on the bed, all fours. We'll give that pretty mouth a bit of a break, yeah?"

You didn't have to be told twice. You instantly moved back onto the bed, turning before propping your ass up, keeping your torso close to the bed. Your back arched beautifully, just as it always did for Minho. And you could hear him groan as he saw your cunt's outline in your panties.

"Fuck, look at you..." Minho stepped closer, his hands sliding into your panties before sliding them down, his thumb pressing against your clit. That made you moan, pushing your pussy into his touch, silently begging for more. "So wet already...sucking my dick got you so excited, didn't it kitten?"

You responded by nodding, keeping your eyes back on him. Anything that Minho did got you turned on. There wasn't any getting around it. And Minho knew it, too.

"Damn straight...don't worry, I'll be sure to treat this pussy well, beautiful..." And with that, Minho lined up, prodding against your entrance before sliding the tip in. And instantly, the both of you moaned, your thighs trembling as Minho continued to sink into you. "God, I missed this cunt so much...it's just as tight as it always is..."

It was so good, that Minho couldn't keep still. He instantly began to thrust, keeping a nice tempo while hitting all of those good spots inside of you, giving him every noise he wanted from you. He knew your body well...he knew exactly what to do to get you to whine, to moan, to whimper.

"That's a good girl...keep making all of those delicious sounds while I give you my dick...such a good girl for me, aren't you...?" Minho growled, his hand going to your neck to keep your torso to the bed. You simply moaned, the pathetic sound ringing out as Minho started to thrust harder. Faster.

"M-Min....fuck, so good...your dick is so good, Min!" You could barely contain your moans, not that Minho cared. He simply let out a low groan himself, a smirk leaving him as he snaked his hand under your waist, his thumb finding your clit before pressing. He knew he wouldn't have to rub it...his thrusts were moving your body enough that it was causing friction, which made you cry out.

"You gonna cum for me, kitten? Milk my cock with that pussy?"

"M-Mhm--"

"Ah ah, words."

"Ye-Yes!"

"Yeah?" Minho just continued, hitting your spots inside of you harder. Pressing and prodding, making your body tremble. "Go ahead, gorgeous...cum."

And that's exactly what you did. You cried out, your body officially squirming as your pussy clenched. You gripped the sheets, feeling Minho slow down enough to ease you down from your high before pulling out and flipping you over to climb up your body. And as you calmed down, you were met with his dick in your face. The same dick that you didn't hesitate to suck on once more, looking up at Minho with desperate eyes.

"That's it, good girl...fuck, cleaning me off after making you cum so good...!" Minho groaned loudly, holding your head up as you let him fuck your throat once more. Thankfully, Minho had already been close from fucking you, and so it didn't take long for him to reach his climax. "Fuck fuck fuck...cumming!"

And like that, you whimpered as you felt his cum go down your throat, swallowing what you could. Your hands went to Minho's thighs, grasping onto him to keep him close before feeling him calm down. And once he was done, you fell back, panting softly.

Minho watched, smiling softly as he went to lean down and kiss your forehead, straightening your cat ears and wiping your lips before kissing them, happy with your performance.

"That's my good girl...let's get you cleaned up now, yeah?" As Minho helped you sit up, you nodded, smiling weakly to him. "Alright...I'll go and get you some water. And after that, I'll get you a bath and we can just sit and soak, alright pretty?"

You nodded again, feeling nothing but love and satisfaction. There was no doubt about it...you definitely got Minho to relieve that stress he had.

And you couldn't be happier to see him so happy.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d @skzlover24

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champstorymedia · 3 days ago

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Q&A Mastery: How to Handle Challenging Questions with Confidence

In today’s fast-paced world, possessing the ability to handle challenging questions is vital for success in various settings, from professional meetings to public speaking engagements. Welcome to Q&A Mastery: How to Handle Challenging Questions with Confidence, where we will explore techniques that enable you to tackle difficult queries with poise and assurance. Mastering this skill not only…

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barnesonly · 19 days ago

Text

˗ˏˋ ★ Little Dove ★ ˎˊ˗

winter soldier x empath!reader

summary: Hydra sends you — a broken empath — into the Winter Soldier’s cell to keep him calm. You’re supposed to soften him. Control him. But instead, something starts to unravel. In both of you.

word count: 6643

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! angst, slowburn, captivity, tortures, hydra, violence, brainwashing, non-consensual experimentation, hurt/comfort, trauma, possible smut in future chapters? we’ll see.

Chapter Three | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Kern sits across the table, he doesn’t smile this time. No clipboard. No pleasantries. Just the click of the door locking behind you and his stare — unblinking, unreadable.

It makes your skin crawl.

“I’ve watched the tape from the recent session,” he says calmly. Almost bored.

You say nothing and Kern leans forward, folding his hands on the table. “You were making such good progress,” he continues. “You were calm, cooperative. Focused on the mission.” His head shakes in half amusement, half mockery.

“I still am,” you say, voice even.

He hums. “Funny. Doesn’t look like it.”

Your throat tightens.

“You flinch when he does,” Kern adds. “You speak softly. You… pause. Let him speak first. Let him lead.”

He leans in farther, and the tension coils tighter.

“You’ve forgotten your place.”

Your nails dig into your palms.

Kern tilts his head, voice colder now. “You still think because he looks at you differently, he’s yours? You think a weapon like that can be tamed?”

You don’t answer.

“You’re becoming a problem,” he says flatly. “And you know what we do with problems.”

Your stomach turns, but you hold your ground. “Then why am I here?”

“Because you’ve made bigger progress than others who tried. Because I want to give you a chance to fix it,” he says. “To remind you what this is. You’re not a savior. You’re bait.”

He lets that word hang.

“You think he wants you?” Kern says, his voice quieter, meaner. “He wants the comfort you offer. The peace. But that’s not real. You’re not real to him. You’re just the calm before the trigger pulls.”

Your breath comes shallow.

“You think I don’t see what’s happening?” Kern’s voice sharpens. “The way he looks at you. The way you look at him. Like he’s something more.”

He sits back, smiling now — but it’s nothing kind.

“Let me be clear,” he says. “If I sense one more lapse in control, one more slip of judgment, I’ll have him reprogrammed until there’s nothing left to look at. And you? You’ll go back to solitary. No more sessions. No more connection. No more him.”

Silence chokes the room.

Kern stands. “Get your head on straight. Because the next time I call you in, I expect results. Not feelings.”

He walks toward the door. But before he leaves, he glances back — and this time, his voice is almost gentle.

“I warned you not to get attached.”

The door slams shut.

Interview over.

———

You step in. Your body moves with that same soldier-smooth precision they trained into you — quiet, efficient, unremarkable.

Your boots don’t echo. Your breathing doesn’t falter. You keep your gaze straight ahead, like you practiced all night behind the cold hum of your cell door.

Like Kern told you to.

So you do what he said.

You don’t pause at the threshold like you usually do. You don’t wait for the Winter Soldier’s eyes to find yours. You don’t feel for the invisible pull that always seems to stretch between you — taut and charged, like a wire strung between two live bodies.

You pretend it isn’t there.

You sit down.

Straight-backed. Hands in your lap. Composed.

You fold yourself into the kind of calm they like to see — the one that makes you forget your name. The one that makes you forget his.

But he notices.

The second you stepped in, his head lifted. Not sharply — slowly, almost cautiously, like he thought it might hurt. And now he’s watching you — not with suspicion. Not with coldness.

With something worse.

Worry.

You haven’t seen that in him before. Not like this.

“What’s wrong?” he ask after a moment. His voice is low, gravel-edged. A sound that used to make you feel safe.

You don’t answer, then — flatly, “We should begin.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. The silence stretches long enough that you almost look up — almost.

“You don’t sound like you,” he murmurs finally.

You ignore the way your stomach twists. “I’m fine.”

His eyes sharpen. “Did they hurt you again?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Your spine stiffens. You force your tone steady. “I’m not.”

But you flinched. He saw it. He shifts in the chair. The metal cuffs bite faintly against his wrists. His metal fingers twitch.

“You won’t look at me,” he says.

Your throat constricts. “That’s not relevant.”

His head tilts slightly. “Is that what they told you to say?”

A beat of stillness. Then you nod.

Barely. Just once.

And his expression crumples — not all at once, but piece by piece. Like he’s trying to hold something fragile together and watching it fall apart in his hands.

“What did they do to you?” he asks again. Softer, now. Like the question hurts him.

“Nothing.”

“Then what did they do to us?”

You suck in a breath. It catches.

“I’m following orders,” you whisper.

“Whose?”

You hesitate. And that’s the answer.

The silence that follows is cold. Hollow.

“I thought I lost you,” he says, and his voice is hoarse. “After what I did. I thought I wouldn’t see you again. That I’d… ruined it… And you assured me I won’t lose you.”

You look down at your hands — white-knuckled in your lap. You’ve been gripping your own fingers so hard they’ve gone numb.

“I am here,” you murmur.

“Then look at me.”

Your chest aches.

You want to. God, you want to.

But you know what Kern said. What he threatened. That if they think you’ve grown too close — if they sense attachment — they’ll remove you. Or worse, remove him.

You speak slowly. Carefully. Like each word is a fragile thing. “I have to protect you.”

A pause. The chains rattle as he shifts again.

“From what?”

You lift your gaze — only for a heartbeat — and it’s enough. The pain in his expression cuts deep.

“From them,” you breathe. “If they think I’m too close — if they know how much I care — they’ll take you from me.”

He shakes his head. A faint, disbelieving sound escapes his throat. “I don’t care what they think.”

“You should,” you snap, more desperate than angry. “Because if I slip up again, they’ll lock you away, or worse — wipe you clean.” You can barely keep your voice steady. “And then you won’t remember anything. Not this. Not me.”

His hands flex in the cuffs.

“You can’t—… You can’t say that. You can’t walk through the door and pretend nothing ever happened. You can’t pretend you’re not mine.”

Your breath breaks in your throat. That word — mine — shouldn’t hit like that. But it does. Because it’s not possession, not control.

It’s longing.

It’s grief again.

It’s him, wishing he still had a right to you.

You look up — fully this time. Your mask slips.

“It’s not like that,” you whisper. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“By pretending I don’t matter?” His voice cracks. “By shutting me out?”

“I thought if I acted normal — if I followed their rules — they wouldn’t see how much I—”

You cut off.

His jaw clenches. His shoulders tense, and for a moment, you think he might pull back.

But he doesn’t.

He leans forward instead — slow, careful, like he’s afraid he might break you.

You don’t move.

“You’re the only thing I remember,” he says. “The only thing that feels real. And if you go away, if you start pretending like it didn’t mean anything — then I’ll forget it meant something too.”

His words hang in the air like smoke — choking, impossible to ignore.

You sit frozen, heart hammering in your chest, your hands still folded in your lap even as everything inside you screams to reach for him. To break the space between you. To tell him he’s not imagining this.

That it’s real.

That you are.

“Please,” he says. Soft. Cracked.

Your breath stills.

“Please, little dove. Don’t do this to me.”

Your heart lurches. That name — it’s not just a comfort anymore. It’s an anchor. A reminder of every time he watched you walk through that door and remembered something human inside himself.

His eyes — steel blue, full of ache — don’t leave yours now. They’re pleading. Raw. He looks like he’s on the edge of something, like the chains on his wrists are the only things keeping him from falling apart.

He slowly moves. His fingers shift in their cuffs. The chains rattle softly as he lifts his flesh hand from where it rests in his lap. You don’t breathe. You can’t.

He hesitates, halfway there.

And then he touches you.

His fingers brush the back of your hand. Light. Careful. As if he’s not sure he’s allowed. As if he’s afraid you’ll flinch again.

But you don’t.

Because it’s him.

His thumb traces the edge of your knuckles — gentle, reverent. He looks down at the contact like it’s hurting him, or healing him. Maybe both.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he says, voice rough. “But I know what it feels like when you’re near. And I know what it feels like when you’re not.”

You blink hard, tears burning behind your eyes. You try to speak, but the words don’t come.

So instead — you turn your hand over.

You give it to him.

You let your palm meet his, your fingers curling just slightly to hold the shape of his grip. And he exhales — like he’s been underwater this whole time, and just now broke the surface.

“When you walked in here today like this… I thought I broke you,” he whispers. “That I’d lost you.”

“You didn’t,” you say, voice hoarse. “You never could.”

His eyes close for a second, as if the weight of that truth is too much to carry.

But he keeps holding your hand.

Like he finally believes it’s his to hold.

His hand is wrapped around yours. Not tightly — no. Carefully. Like you’re fragile. Like he’s terrified you might break again, and this time, he won’t know how to fix you.

The silence stretches, but not the kind that hurts. This one feels… suspended. Like a held breath. A waiting.

And maybe it’s time to stop waiting.

Your other hand trembles in your lap. You try to keep it still, try to keep yourself still, but everything inside you is starting to shake — and this time, you don’t swallow it down. You don’t push it away.

You let it rise.

Your voice, when it comes, is thin and trembling. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

His gaze snaps to yours. Alarmed. Hurt.

“Did I—?”

“No,” you breathe, squeezing his hand before he can pull away. “Not of you. Never of you.” You give him a weak, sad smile.

His lips part like he wants to speak, but no words come out.

Your throat tightens.

His thumb brushes over the back of your hand again. A tiny gesture. But it cuts through everything.

You blink rapidly, jaw clenching as the sting builds behind your eyes. You’ve held it in for so long — held yourself in for so long — but now, his touch, his eyes, the way he says please like you’re the one who could ruin him.

It undoes you.

Your breath shudders. And then the first tear falls. Not violently. Just… quietly. Like it’s been waiting for permission.

His gaze sharpens instantly.

“Little dove…” he breathes. His voice is low, frayed.

But you shake your head. Not to stop him. To stop yourself — from falling too fast, from reaching too far. Your shoulders tremble.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper. “I can’t pretend it’s not real.”

He goes still. Like he’s afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

You lift your eyes to meet his.

“I’ve been trying to stay… controlled. Safe. Distant. Like it’s just a mission. Just a job. Just survival.” Your voice breaks. “But I come in here, and you look at me like I matter. You see me — and I don’t know how to live without that anymore.”

His fingers curl slightly against your skin.

“I don’t even know what I’m saying,” you laugh, bitter and wet, wiping at your face. “I’m not sure what I feel, I just—when I see you—” You press your lips together, shaking your head. “I feel like I have a name. Like I exist again.”

You’re sobbing now — quietly, not messy. Just open. Raw. Finally letting it out.

He watches you like it hurts him. Like every tear slices across his chest.

And then he moves.

His hand leaves yours — and for a second, you think maybe he’s pulling away. Maybe you said too much—

But he reaches for your face with his other hand. The metal is cool against your skin, but steady. Tender. His thumb brushes along your jaw. He cups you like he’s holding something sacred.

You still. The world stills.

Then he leans forward.

His forehead touches yours — slow, careful, reverent.

“I don’t know what this is either,” he says, voice almost a breath. “But I want this.”

You close your eyes.

And in that space between silence and surrender, he kisses you.

Softly.

Once.

And again.

Not rushed. Not hungry. Just… real.

Like he’s asking a question.

Like you’re the answer.

And for the first time in so long, the ache in your chest doesn’t hurt. It belongs.

You kiss him back with so much passion and so much hunger. The world outside doesn’t exist, not in this moment. You had no idea how much you wanted this, how much you needed this.

He cups your face with both of his hands now, as If you were about to disappear the moment the kiss breaks.

And the kiss lingers on your skin long after he pulls away. His forehead stays pressed to yours, breath warm between you, the metal of his hand still cradling your jaw like you’re something delicate. Something sacred. You don’t move. You barely breathe.

His touch is slow, reverent. The way his thumb brushes under your eye — wiping away the tear he didn’t cause — feels more intimate than anything that’s come before it.

“Little dove,” he murmurs, like it’s a prayer. A lifeline.

You close your eyes. Just for a second. Let yourself feel it.

The warmth of his flesh hand and the coldness of his metal send a shiver through your spine — the contrast is so stark yet so comforting. The ache in your chest is finally quieting.

And for a heartbeat — just one — it’s like you’re not in that room.

Like you’re not a prisoner.

He leans closer, brushing his lips against your temple — a touch so soft it barely registers.

And then—

BZZZT.

The intercom crackles overhead.

“Sit back.” The voice is calm. Not Kern’s.

Voss.

Every inch of your body goes still.

The Soldier stiffens instantly, like a string just snapped tight down his spine. His hand freezes against your cheek.

You don’t move. Can’t. Not yet.

“Now.” It’s still calm. That’s worse than if he’d shouted.

You pull back slowly. Controlled. Not rushed. Like it means nothing.

Like you weren’t just kissing him.

You lower your gaze, hands returning to your lap with practiced stillness. Your posture straightens. Your mask re-forms.

The Soldier doesn’t move.

“Compliance failure will result in removal.” Still even. Still quiet. But the message is clear.

Your heart stutters.

They saw.

They saw everything.

They always see.

They always watch.

And now — you’re not sure who they’ll punish.

The Soldier’s jaw clenches. His eyes don’t leave yours. But slowly — like it costs him something — he moves back. Just a bit.

“That’s better,” Voss says. Then silence. The line goes dead.

It blooms, sharp and ugly in its aftermath.

The Soldier’s breathing is heavier now. You don’t know if it’s anger. Or fear. Or both.

You don’t speak. Neither does he.

The damage has been done.

———

You come back the next day. Your body remembers what it’s supposed to do — smooth, composed, controlled — but your blood doesn’t. Your blood knows. Something’s wrong. You feel it before your eyes even lift.

And then you see him.

And it rips the air from your lungs. Your eyes wide up in horror.

He’s on the floor — still restrained — but he’s slumped low, jaw bruised, lip split. There’s blood dried across one temple, matting his hair, and more smeared dark down the edge of his jaw. His ribs blooming with mottled bruises — some old, most fresh. There are wounds on his chest. Ones you haven’t seen there before.

You stop breathing.

He looks up. Slowly. Like it hurts.

But the second he sees you — the second your eyes meet — he tries to sit straighter.

He fails.

The chains rattle weakly as he sags back against the wall. His metal fingers twitch, reaching — instinctive.

Still reaching for you.

“I’m fine,” he croaks, before you can say anything.

He isn’t.

You know he isn’t.

“What did they do?” you whisper, your voice trembles, cracks.

But you already know.

Because this wasn’t about him. Not really.

It was about you.

And they knew exactly what would break you.

“They said I needed a reminder,” he says hoarsely. “About boundaries.”

Your throat tightens. You try to speak — to say something — but it catches like barbed wire.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” he says quickly. Like that’s what you’re worried about. “Not about us. Not about how I feel. I just kept thinking—” He winces. Breath hitches. “—if I stayed quiet, they wouldn’t hurt you.”

You move before you can stop yourself. You’re at his side in two steps, hands outstretched — hovering, shaking. You don’t touch him. You don’t know where to touch. He’s bleeding in too many places.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, already sobbing.

He closes his eyes. His head tips back, resting against the wall. His voice is barely a breath.

“You came back.”

Your jaw clenches hard enough to ache. You blink fast — you will not cry. Not again. Not here. “I always come back,” you whisper.

His eyes open again. Clouded, pained. But soft. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t blame yourself.”

You want to scream. You want to grab him, hold him, undo every inch of what they did — but you can’t even brush your fingers against his skin without hurting him.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” you murmur. “I knew they were watching. I knew what they’d do if—”

He shakes his head. “I kissed you.”

“They punished you.”

“They always do,” he says, quietly and casually, like it’s nothing. “It’s not your fault, dove.”

You freeze and his gaze holds yours.

“I’d take it again,” he says. “The bruises. The pain. All of it. If it means I get one more second with you.”

Your heart stumbles so hard it feels like it might tear itself in half.

He’s looking at you — with one good eye and a face full of bruises — and he means it. Every word. Like it’s nothing. Like he’d suffer again just to feel your warmth for a moment longer.

And it kills you.

Because he shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t have to bleed for crumbs of comfort. He shouldn’t be sitting here, broken, because you let yourself feel human for once — because you let your guard slip and you fell in love with someone who understood your pain in a way no one else could.

And he thinks it was worth it.

Your throat clenches around the sob that threatens to escape. “Don’t say that,” you whisper.

He blinks slowly. “Why not?”

“Because I shouldn’t matter that much to you. Because they used it. Because they knew it would hurt both of us. And they were right.” Your hands are shaking now. “I never wanted this. Not like this.”

He watches you — the way you hover, helpless, like you’re about to shatter. “But you do,” he says softly. “You do matter to me.”

Something in you buckles. Not your spine — not your posture — but something deeper. Something hollowed out long ago that suddenly fills with ache.

“I can’t protect you,” you say, barely audible.

He almost smiles. But it’s too tired, too pained to reach his mouth.

“You already are.”

You take a slow, shaking breath, then finally reach for him — gentle, trembling — and press your fingertips to the edge of his jaw, just where the bruising ends.

It’s not much. But it’s something.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize again, and this time your voice cracks.

He leans into your hand, eyes fluttering shut and something in you gives way.

The thing you’ve been holding back — for days, for weeks, maybe even since the moment they first locked you in with him — it slips its leash.

You move closer to him, carefully — like you’re afraid even the sound of it might hurt him. Your hands move to his sides, hovering for a second too long before you finally gather the courage to touch. Just barely. Just enough to guide yourself closer.

And then — slowly, gently — you lean forward and bury your face in his chest.

He goes completely still.

You’re careful. You don’t press against the bruises. You shift slightly when he flinches — adjusting, protecting, cradling him as if he were made of glass. But you don’t pull away. You can’t.

Because the second your head rests against him — the second you feel his warmth — you break.

The sob that leaves you is soundless, but it rips through your whole body.

Your fingers tremble as they curl against his bare sides, careful to avoid the worst of the bruises. His skin is warm beneath your touch — too warm — and you feel every shallow breath he takes, every small flinch he tries to hide. Your chest shakes as tears fall hot and fast, dripping onto his skin and smearing through the blood and sweat already there. You try to stop, but you can’t. You’re not built for this. You were never trained for this kind of pain.

You didn’t mean to fall in love with him.

But you did.

And now you’re holding his broken body like it’s the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“I love you,” you whisper, so quietly you’re not even sure you meant to say it aloud. “God, I love you.”

His breath hitches above you.

His fingers — still trembling — move with slow effort. You feel the faint brush of his metal hand as it curls weakly around your wrist. He doesn’t pull you closer. He doesn’t need to. You’re already wrapped around him like you’ll never let go again.

And maybe you won’t.

For a moment, the room disappears. The walls, the cameras, the chains — none of it exists. Just the two of you. Clinging to something that was never supposed to be yours.

———

Another day passes.

They bring you in.

The lights are too bright, humming loud in your ears. The walls look the same as always, but your powers flicker the moment you walk in. You feel it — his pain, much stronger than yesterday.

And then you see him.

Kneeling.

His arms are bound behind his back, He’s bruised. Fresh cuts trail down his ribs. He’s slumped but upright, panting like it hurts to breathe, blood dried in the corner of his mouth.

And he looks up the second you enter.

The moment your eyes meet, he knows.

You know.

Your breath stumbles.

No, you think. No.

But the speaker crackles to life, overhead. Cold. Detached.

“You want to prove you’re not compromised?” Voss’s voice. Smooth. Deadly. “Then hurt him.”

You don’t move.

“What?” you whisper.

Kern is there with Voss. He must be, you think. It’s always his ideas, his commands. His sick, twisted, fucking game he loves playing so much. He’s watching. Always watching.

“Strike him,” Voss says again, with practiced ease. “Inflict pain. Make it convincing. Or we’ll send someone else in who won’t stop at convincing. Let’s see if you can break him yourself. Since you’re the one who got him into this mess.”

Your gaze locks onto the camera.

Then slowly, to him.

And he’s already nodding.

“It’s okay,” he croaks, voice rough. “Do it. I can take it.”

That’s what undoes you.

Not the order.

Not the setup.

Not even the threat.

It’s him.

The way he offers himself up like it’s normal. Like it’s nothing. Like he’s done this before.

You step forward. Slowly. Your limbs feel like they aren’t yours. Heavy. Shaking. Your hands curl into fists at your sides as you lower yourself to your knees in front of him.

He blinks at you. There’s blood on his teeth. Confusion flickers across his face.

“It’s okay,” he says again. “I’d rather it be you.”

“No,” you whisper.

“You have to.”

“No.”

You turn toward the camera, jaw tight. Your voice doesn’t shake.

“I won’t hurt him.”

Silence.

Then a breath of static. And a slow, amused hum from Voss.

“Disappointing.”

You barely have time to turn around.

The doors behind you slam open. Heavy boots. Two guards enter — bigger, armored, not here to play pretend.

“Stop!” you shout, scrambling to your feet. “I said stop—!”

They don’t listen.

They grab your arms. Yank you back. You thrash, wild, desperate, screaming his name as they drag you across the floor.

“Don’t touch him—please, don’t—!”

He lifts his head as they pull you away. You see it — just for a moment — his face, broken, bloodied, and still trying to find you through the blur.

“Little Dove—”

Then the door slams.

They don’t take you far. Just down a corridor, through a door you’ve never seen before. The walls here are darker, the air colder. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sickly hue on the metal surfaces.

You’re thrown into a chair, wrists and ankles bound with cold, unyielding restraints. The room smells of antiseptic and something more sinister — blood, sweat, fear.

Kern stands before you, clipboard in hand, eyes devoid of emotion. Voss watches from behind a glass pane, his gaze sharp and calculating.

“You disappoint me,” Kern says, his voice devoid of inflection.

You glare at him, defiance burning in your chest despite the fear coiling in your stomach.

“You had a chance to prove your loyalty,” he continues. “Instead, you chose weakness.”

He nods to someone behind you. A figure steps forward, face obscured, holding a tray of instruments that gleam ominously under the harsh lights.

The first cut is shallow, a mere scratch across your forearm. But it’s enough to make you flinch, to draw blood. The pain is sharp, immediate.

“This is just the beginning,” Kern says, watching you closely.

The next cut is deeper, slicing through muscle. You bite back a scream, refusing to give them the satisfaction. Blood drips onto the floor, pooling beneath your chair.

They continue, methodically inflicting pain, each wound calculated to cause maximum agony without causing death. Your vision blurs, sweat mingling with tears as your body trembles.

“Still silent?” Kern asks, raising an eyebrow. “Impressive.” He leans in close, his breath cold against your ear. “But everyone breaks eventually.”

The torment continues, each moment stretching into eternity. Your mind begins to fracture, pain overwhelming every thought. But through it all, you hold onto one thing — him. His face, his voice, his unwavering belief in you.

You won’t give them the satisfaction. You won’t let them win.

———

You don’t know how long it’s been.

Time blurs when you bleed this much.

The room is still — quiet now. The torturer’s gone. The instruments have been cleaned. You’re left hanging, slumped from your restraints, blood drying sticky down your sides. Your shoulders scream. Your legs are shaking. But you don’t make a sound. You won’t give them that.

Then the door opens again with the familiar sound of boots.

You don’t lift your head, but you already know it’s him.

Kern.

He doesn’t speak right away. You hear the slow flip of a folder. The click of a pen. Like he’s reading over notes before a meeting.

You force yourself to breathe.

To stay awake.

“I have to admit,” he says after a moment, his voice calm and even. “I expected more from you.”

Your jaw clenches.

“You had so much potential,” he continues, stepping closer. “All that power. All that pain. You could have been unstoppable.”

You finally lift your head. Slowly. Your vision doubles. One of your eyes is nearly swollen shut.

He smiles faintly.

“And then you got soft. Love makes you weak.”

You say nothing.

“You started caring,” he says. “You let him in. You started feeling things. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

Your voice comes out broken. Dry.

“You mean for you?”

“For everyone,” Kern replies smoothly. “But mostly for you.”

He leans in, just enough for you to see the glint in his eye. “He’s going to die because of you.”

Your breath catches. Kern sees it.

“That’s the part that kills you, isn’t it? Not the pain. Not the beatings. Not even what we just did to you.” His voice lowers. “It’s knowing that he’s the one who’s going to suffer next. Because of what you feel.”

Your body tenses, but you’re too weak to move.

“Every second you let yourself get attached,” he murmurs, “you carved the knife deeper into him. He’s broken because you didn’t do your job. He’s bleeding because you couldn’t follow orders.”

Tears sting behind your eyes.

But you won’t let them fall.

You won’t.

“Say it,” he says softly. “Say you understand what you’ve done.”

You look at him.

And somehow, through the haze, you still find it in yourself to spit. The blood hits his shoe.

Kern stills.

Then laughs, cold and quiet.

“I’ll give you credit,” he says, stepping back. “You’ve got fire.”

He walks to the door.

“But fire only lasts so long when there’s nothing left to burn.”

He glances back one more time.

“Rest up. You’ll need it. Next time, he’ll be watching.”

Then the door shuts.

And you’re left in silence.

Hanging by your wrists. Blood drying down your legs. Muscles trembling with pain.

But you don’t break.

Not yet.

Because even now — even ruined — you’re still his Little Dove.

And you won’t let them clip your wings.

———

They throw you back into your cell like you’re trash.

Your body hits the concrete hard, a sick thud followed by the rasp of the metal door slamming shut behind you. The sound echoes, then disappears into silence.

You don’t move.

Blood pools slowly beneath your cheek. Your body is a raw, pulsing thing — ribs cracked, wrists torn open where the restraints dug deep, skin burning where they cut, peeled, pressed. Your mouth tastes like rust and ash. Every breath is a jagged edge.

You couldn’t scream by the end. There wasn’t enough left.

And now — now there’s just the cold, the blood, and Kern’s voice still whispering inside your skull.

“He’s the one who’s going to suffer next. Because of what you feel.”

You try to push it away.

You try.

But it plays again, anyway.

“He’s going to die because of you.”

You want to scream — not from pain, not even from fear — but from fury. From shame. Because you know what he meant. Because you saw the way they looked at you when he bled for you. Because you saw him kneel and still offer himself just to keep you safe.

You curl into yourself.

You don’t cry. You can’t. There’s nothing left to give. Just the quiet drip of blood from your nose, the sting of your own heartbeat against split skin, and the knowledge that this — all of this — started the moment you let yourself feel something.

“Love makes you weak.”

No. No, it doesn’t.

But here, in this silence, on this cold floor… it’s so hard to remember that.

———

They left him on the floor. Just cold concrete beneath his ribs and the weight of dried blood caked in every seam of his skin. He hasn’t moved in hours. Can’t. His body doesn’t listen, not really. Everything aches. His shoulder’s out of socket again. Jaw split at the hinge.

But worse than the pain is the silence.

You’re not here. And he doesn’t know what they’re doing to you.

The door creaks open. No alarms. No guards this time. Just footsteps.

“Soldier,” Kern says, voice like ice poured down the spine.

A chill creeps under his skin. He flinches before he can stop it — barely a twitch, but Kern catches it. He always does.

“Still in one piece, I see,” Kern murmurs. “How resilient.”

The Soldier’s breathing tightens. Shallow and fast. His pulse scrapes in his ears.

Kern’s boots stop just beside his face. Close enough to step on him if he wanted to.

And for a second, it feels like he might.

The Soldier shifts — slow, broken — trying to push himself up onto one elbow, but his arm gives out. He crashes back down with a low grunt, breath shuddering. His eyes stay on the floor. He doesn’t even try to use his metal arm.

Kern crouches beside him. “Funny,” he says. “I thought you’d be relieved she wasn’t here. After all, you’ve done quite enough damage to her already.”

Silence.

Blood drips from the Soldier’s split lip.

“I saw her,” Kern continues, softly now. “After we pulled her out. Do you know what she said before she blacked out? She asked if you were still breathing. Not for herself. Not for freedom. Not even for mercy. Just you.”

He doesn’t respond.

He can’t.

Fear crawls up his throat, dry and clinging. He tries to swallow, but it sticks.

Kern leans closer. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he whispers. “You care.”

The Soldier’s eyes flick up — just for a second — and Kern smiles.

“There it is,” Kern says. “That look. That flicker of something trying so hard to be human. Tell me, do you know what we do with broken weapons around here?”

A beat.

Then he says it. Quiet. Deliberate. “We reset them.”

The Soldier’s stomach turns. His breath catches.

No.

“I think it’s time we reminded you what you are,” Kern murmurs, voice low and velvet-smooth. “No more distractions. No more softness. We scrub the slate clean.”

He leans in even closer — like a lover, like a ghost — and breathes the next words right against his ear: “Would you like to forget her?”

The Soldier recoils. He actually tries to move — muscles spasming, panic jolting through his limbs like an electric shock. The restraints on his wrists bite in harder.

Kern stands. “You won’t remember her name. Her voice. The way she looked at you. All of it… gone. Just another crack sealed shut.”

He turns to leave.

“But don’t worry,” he adds, stepping over him like he’s nothing, “we’ll keep her alive. So you can hurt her again. Just like the first time.”

The door hisses open.

The Soldier lurches forward, gasping.

“Please—”

But Kern is already gone.

And the light flickers overhead. His face is still pressed to the floor, breath torn ragged from his chest, shaking with a fear deeper than pain.

Because death would be mercy.

Forgetting you?

That would be worse.

That would be the end.

———

The surveillance room hums low with static and fluorescent buzz. The screen in front of them flickers slightly — just enough to suggest interference, though neither man seems to mind.

Kern stands with arms crossed, posture crisp, almost elegant in his stiffness. Voss sits, as always, legs spread in a relaxed sprawl, suit jacket open, a finger tapping absently against the console.

Soldier is barely visible in the monitor’s grainy grayscale. Curled on the concrete, motionless. The bruises on his side have started to bloom purple-black.

“You saw her reaction,” Kern says calmly. “She cracked.”

“She didn’t hit him,” Voss points out.

“No,” Kern agrees. “But she disobeyed. That’s more valuable.”

Voss turns his head, slow and amused. “You enjoy this too much.”

“And you don’t enjoy it enough,” Kern replies, barely a smile. “We’re past the phase of brute compliance. If we want them to turn on each other, we need her to break where it matters. Not with screaming. With silence.”

Voss’s fingers stop tapping.

“You think she’ll still protect him after this?”

“She thinks she’s protecting him now,” Kern answers. “Guilt is a powerful motivator. And he—” His eyes flick to the screen. “—he’d rather die than let her suffer. We use that.”

“Until?”

“Until she begs us to erase him.”

Voss lets out a low whistle. “Cold.”

“She won’t mean it,” Kern says, unfazed. “But she’ll say it. That’s all we need.”

He pauses, tilting his head toward the monitor.

“You take something precious. Twist it. Make her believe he’s better off gone. That she’s the one keeping him in pain. Eventually, she’ll beg us to wipe him clean. To put him out of his misery.”

Voss hums. “And when she does?”

“Then she’ll never forgive herself,” Kern says quietly.

They both look at the screen again.

The Soldier hasn’t moved.

“Should I schedule another wipe?” Voss asks.

Kern’s lips twitch, not quite a smile. “No. Not yet. Let him remember. Let him rot in the fear of it.”

He leans forward slightly, eyes sharp as blades.

“Fear is the thread we pull.”

———

You’re back in the chair again. No restraints this time, but you know better than to think you’re free. The walls are smooth. Clinical. There’s no sound except the quiet hum of the overhead lights. Across from you, Kern sits with his fingers laced, calm as ever. No clipboard. No notes. Just watching.

He waits a moment before he speaks. Just long enough to let the silence crawl under your skin.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says finally.

You don’t answer.

His head tilts. “Not like last time. Not like the screaming.”

Your jaw tightens.

“I thought we made progress,” he muses. “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe you need another reminder of what’s at stake.”

Still, you say nothing.

Kern leans back slightly in his chair. “You know what I think?” He smiles — just a faint tug at the corner of his mouth. “I think you still believe there’s a version of this where you both survive. Where you get to keep him.”

Your hands curl into fists in your lap.

“But there isn’t,” he continues. “Not really. You were never meant to get attached. And he… he was never meant to feel anything.”

He pauses.

“But he does. And you do. And that… complicates things.”

You look up, finally. Meet his eyes.

“You did this,” you say quietly. “You made us like this.”

Kern smiles wider. “And now I get to unmake you.”

He stands. Walks slowly to your side — not touching, not even looming. Just circling.

“You’ll let him go eventually. I know you will. You’re too smart to die for someone so broken. You’ll fold. You’ll cry. And then you’ll beg us to end it.”

He stops behind you. His voice lowers.

“I hope you are aware that you are in control now. I’ll let you do the honors.”

Silence.

Then he leans in, just enough for you to feel his breath on your neck.

“We can wipe him. Make him forget you… or… He can suffer, of course. You both can. We’ll continue the tortures, the pain,” he whispers. “Maybe he’ll die in the process.”

He lets that hang in the air.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

And then, like nothing happened at all, he straightens and turns to leave the room.

“Until next time, 009.”

Interview over.

fuck kern we all say in unison!

Chapter Four! 🕊️

tags (tysm for love and support): @tfamidoingwithmylife @stell404 @shakysif @unicornqueen05 @carolinianmermaid @zoroforlife @beforemdnight @nicksolemnlyswears

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