#behind the cut: you will feel a flash of red

[ariestrxsh]

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, public teasing, public punishment, blowjob, degradation, humiliation, use of blindfold, use of restraints, spitting, light slapping, light choking, fingering, pussy slapping, dacryphilia, use of sex toys in public, exhibitionism/voyeurism, mean!roughdom!chris, mean!roughdom!matt, brattysub!reader

🖤 summary: 🖤 after capitalizing off of a chance to tease chris and matt, making them both cum on stream and nearly humiliate them in front of their fans, they retaliate against you and give you a taste of your own medicine.

🖤 this fic name/song was inspired/requested by this ask and the concept was inspired/requested by this ask 💖 this is only the first part, and there will be multiple parts to this story. just a heads up, it gets rougher.

peaches & eggplants part one 💖

You knew Chris and Matt were going to punish you for what you were about to do, but you just couldn't wait until they were done streaming. They were both perched at the edge of their seats in front of the monitor while Matt played fortnite and Chris watched, arguing amongst each other while a naughty idea crossed your mind.

The viewers weren't supposed to know you were in the room with them, so you hung back out of view of the camera. The nice thing about this was Matt and Chris couldn't stop you without drawing attention to you, and you knew they wouldn't do that, and with Nick still out of the country, you could practically get away with anything temporarily.

You stayed out of sight from the audience while you got on your hands and knees and stealthily crawled across the floor until you were under the desk between Matt's legs. He and Chris were both in grey sweatpants, and they knew how mad it drove you whenever they'd wear them.

You peered up at the two brothers above you, both sets of eyes fixed on the screen, blissfully unaware of what you had up your sleeve. Your red-painted fingernails gently brushed over the bulge in Matt's sweats, alerting him to your presence, and he looked down at you under the desk with a shocked expression on his face.

He quickly pulled his gaze back to Fortnite and tried to act like everything was normal, but he gently swatted away at your hand, a lazy attempt to get you to cut it out. You persisted, tugging at the waistband until Matt's member sprung out from behind the cotton fabric.

This sudden movement tipped off Chris to your mischevious plan to get one - or both - of them off while on stream with thousands of people. Chris stared down at you in disbelief as you wrapped your hand around Matt's already half-hard cock and started playing with it while you innocently looked into his eyes, nibbling on your lower lip.

He clenched his jaw, giving you a flash of contempt, and you batted your eyelashes at him as if to silently say, "Oh, what? You're mad at little old me?"

Chris couldn't take his eyes off of the way you skillfully stroked Matt's length, and the audience started to notice the shift in the energy.

"What do you guys think they're looking at?" One fan asked. "What's under the desk?" Someone else typed into the chat.

Matt thanked a few people who gifted while trying to remain composed, but you made that incredibly difficult when you wrapped your lips around him and started gently sucking on the tip, making him fully erect.

Chris stared down in awe at the way you teased his brother, secretly wishing he could feel your mouth. Matt started playing badly due to the distraction in the room, but other than that, he did a decent job at acting nonchalant.

That was until you made his entire rod disappear behind your lips, the head lightly tickling the back of your throat. He threw his head back and let out a sigh but tried to play it off as a reaction to his character dying in the game.

Matt peeked down every few seconds to steal a glance at the way you looked nearly swallowing him whole. He secretly loved having you do such an intimate thing while trying to keep it a secret from thousands of people.

You furiously pumped your hand back and forth while you bobbed up on and down on Matt's length, and he placed his hand over his mouth to suppress the sounds he so desperately wanted to make and to conceal the way he was gnawing through his bottom lip.

Before he could get too close, you took your attention away from Matt and made your way between Chris' legs. He intently watched you with his eager, blue eyes and even lifted his hips for you to help get his sweats off. He relished in the sensation of your soft, pink lips engulfing his member, your tongue swirling around on his mushroom-shaped tip, and your hand massaging his shaft.

Since he was just watching Matt play Fortnite, he was able to let his hands wander. He combed his fingers through your hair and placed his palm on the back of your head, encouraging you to take him deeper. You looked up at him with your big, hungry eyes while you quietly gagged on his cock.

You took him out of your mouth, kneeling down beneath the two of them while you stroked them both at the same time. The two brothers did their best to hold it together and keep their eyes on the screen, but you just looked so good teasing them that they couldn't properly focus.

A few more suspecting people spoke up in the chat. "What does Chris keep looking at?"

"Why is Chris smiling down at his lap?"

"Wonder why Matt is playing so badly. They should play DTI."

You continued pumping your hands back and forth, seeing which of them you could make cum first, like it was a game. Both of their swollen tips stared back at you, leaking a pretty, pearlescent substance. Simultaneously, both of their cocks began twitching against your palms, and they each erupted, blowing their loads into your hands while they each let out a satisfied sigh.

Thankfully, Matt's character died once more at the same time they both finished, so given the context, most of the audience misconstrued their sounds as disappointment. But a few chats came through, speculating.

"Why did that sound so...?"

"That's how I'm trying to make them sound."

As their thick, white fluids coated both of your hands, Matt and Chris said their goodbyes to the chat. "We have a persistent problem we need to go take care of," Chris stated, glancing down at you before ending the stream.

You knew you were in for it, and you didn't know in which way they would punish you, but a mixture of excitement and nervousness flooded your system once the camera was off.

"You like being a naughty little whore, huh? Making me and my brother cum on stream together?" Matt inquired, giving you a serious look. "Yeah, you like making a fool out of us? Couldn't wait til we were done, you desperate little slut?" Chris smirked down at you.

"You know, Chris. I think we should give her a taste of her own medicine," Matt declared, looking over at his brother. "I think that's the best idea you've ever had, Matt. Needy little whore should know how it feels to try to hold it together while having an audience," Chris replied, reaching under the desk and dragging you out from under it.

"Go be a good girl for once, go wash off your hands, and put on your prettiest dress for us, hmm?" Matt requested. You nodded and did as he said while Matt and Chris changed out of their cum soaked sweats and into nice outfits as well.

They both put on white tank top, jeans, and flannels, and when they emerged from their bedrooms, Matt was holding a pair of handcuffs, and Chris had a bandana in his hand. You were in a simple black dress and red heels that matched your shoes, and they both looked you up and down while they came up behind you.

"It's better if you don't fight back, princess," Matt whispered into your ear while he closed the handcuffs down around your wrists. "Yeah, we're just gonna take you somewhere real nice. That's all," Chris whispered into your other ear while he blindfolded you with the bandana.

Your mind explored the possibilities while the two brothers each grabbed one of your arms, yanking you around and leaving red marks on your flesh while they forced you out to the car and practically threw you into the back seat.

Matt got into the driver's seat, and you heard the familiar sound of the key turning in the ignition and the engine turning over while you felt Chris get into the back seat with you. The car started moving, and you had no idea where the three of you were going, but the unknown intrigued you, and you felt a warm, wet sensation forming between your legs.

This was made worse when Chris grabbed ahold of your face with his rough, veiny hands, forced open your jaw, and stuck his long fingers into your mouth. "You've been a bad little girl," Chris taunted you while you sucked on his fingers. He relished in how soft and wet your pretty little mouth felt.

Once he removed his digits from your throat, he delivered a few swift smacks across your face. "Can't wait to punish you, darling," Chris growled, his warm breath on your earlobe. Chris dug in between your legs and started poking and prodding around your pink folds.

"Oh, naughty girl. You're so wet," Chris gasped, slipping his fingers into your heat and curling them until he hit your gspot. You whimpered against Chris' chest while he pentetrated you hard and fast, telling you what a naughty girl you were for liking it so much.

Before he could draw an orgasm out of you, he withdrew his fingers, and you could hear him licking them clean, accompanied by a primal groaning sound while he savored your taste. He then shoved his digits back into your mouth, filling your tastebuds with your own flavor and his saliva.

"Like the way you taste, pretty girl?" Chris cooed. "Mhmmm," you whined while he finger-fucked your throat, making you gag some more before removing them.

"You make such pretty sounds when I use you," Chris whispered, wrapping his bony fingers around your throat and choking you while he shook you around, and when you opened your mouth to take a breath, he spit in it. He smiled at the way you swallowed it for him.

You couldn't get enough of the way Chris handled you, treating you like a little doll that was made solely for his pleasure. Tears started to roll down your cheeks while Chris cut off your air flow. "Aw, little baby's gonna cry? I'll give you something to cry about," Chris taunted you.

You felt the car stop, and you heard Matt say from the front seat, "I'll be right back. Make sure she doesn't misbehave any more than she already has."

Chris reached underneath your dress, taking off your panties and he shoved them into your mouth while he admired your sweet, wet pussy. He started exploring the delicate folds with his fingers, teasing your slit, and rubbing your sensitive clit.

"If you're gonna be a little slut, I'm gonna treat you just like one," Chris told you, and without warning, his hand came down hard as he slapped your pretty little cunt, making it even more swollen. You jumped and squealed as more tears ran down your cheeks, pleasure and pain creating a wonderful concoction in your system.

You weren't sure how public of a place Matt had parked in, but it excited you to think about your pussy on display for anyone who walked by the car to see while you were in such a compromised position. More tears streamed down your face, and Chris taunted you some more. "Gonna cry for me?" He asked teasingly, slapping your pussy some more.

Finally, Matt came back to the car. "Oh, good. You already got her panties off of her?" Matt smiled down at you, fiddling with the package he'd just bought while he admired your swollen, puffy lips between your legs from the way Chris played rough with you. Your mind swirled with excitement about what they were going to do to you.

"Put these on her," Matt demanded, handing Chris something. Suddenly, you felt Chris slipping something onto your bottom half that seemed to be a pair of underwear, but not the ones you came here with that were crammed into your mouth.

"You have to download an app to control them," Matt told Chris, looking at the directions on the package. What were they talking about? Before much longer, you felt a buzzing sensation against your clit, and you started to squirm and whine. Vibrating panties?

"It's working," Chris said, reaching between your legs to feel the vibration. "Alright, princess. Let's go," Matt called back to you from the front seat as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Chris continued to manhandle you while he teased you with the vibrating underwear, playing with the settings to see how you'd react to them. He took your supple breasts out of your dress and lightly pinched your nipples between his teeth, causing them to stiffen.

Your moans were distorted by the fact that the underwear were still stuffed in your mouth, and Chris graciously removed them for you once you felt the car slow. When it came to a full stop, Chris was unlocking the cuffs and untying the bandana you had wrapped around your head, and when you saw the two boys in front of you, they were smirking and chuckling at you.

Matt threw your purse at you and said, "Fix your hair and your makeup. You look like a cheap slut." You cleaned up your running mascara, touched up your eyeliner that had been rubbed away, and reapplied your smeared red lipstick. You had just finished smoothing out your stray hairs when you peered up from the little mirror in your hand and realized you were in the parking lot of a fancy Italian restaurant.

"Fuck," you whispered, realizing what this meant. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" Matt asked you in a fake sympathetic tone as it dawned on you. "Yeah, what's the matter, baby? You don't want us to make you cum with those little vibrating panties while we eat dinner in this crowded restaurant?" Chris chuckled at you. You looked at both of the boys wide-eyed and gulped. "What? You can dish it, but you can't take it?" Matt asked.

The three of you got out of the car. As you started walking toward the entrance, Chris turned the vibrating underwear back onto the first setting, and he watched you nearly stumble. They laughed at you, and Chris mimicked the way you almost tripped, making them laugh harder.

"Okay, princess. Now just tell them we need a table for three," Matt told you as you guys started to make your way through the door. They let you lead the way and approach the hostess stand, but right as you opened your mouth to speak, Chris turned the panties up a setting. Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyebrows furrowed, but you managed to get out the words, "Table for three, please." The hostess gave you a weird look but led you guys to a booth towards the back.

There were a few tables around where you guys sat, and you surveyed the people sitting at them, wondering if they had any idea they were getting dinner and a show. Chris and Matt sat next to each other across from you, and the hostess told you guys your server would be with you in just a moment.

Once you got into the booth, you crossed your legs to muffle the sound of the vibrating, but having your thighs squeezed together made the sensation feel more intense. Both Chris and Matt peered up at you from their menus, smirking. "Look at how pathetic she looks. She can barely keep it together," Chris said as you slouched down in your seat and bit your lip to keep a whimper from escaping.

There was a secret part of you that loved being teased in such a public place, but you still would have been mortified if anyone had found out what the three of you were up to. You sat up straight in your seat when the server came back to grab drink orders. Chris ordered a Pepsi, of course, Matt, a water, and you requested a peach bellini.

You figured if you were going to be humiliated and get your rocks off in a restaurant full of people, you might as well get drunk while doing it.

When the waiter asked to see your ID, you reached into your purse with a trembling hand, retrieved it, and slid it over towards him on the table. "Thank you, Miss," he said, studying the photo and your facial features to make sure they matched up. He slid it back over to you and walked away to go fetch your drinks.

Before you could pick it up at put it back in your purse, Chris reached over and snatched it away from you, looking at your driver's license photo that you hated of yourself. "I don't know, Matt. She had to show this horrible picture of herself to our waiter. That might be humiliation enough," Chris meanly joked. Matt chuckled along and rolled his eyes.

You stood up and went to grab it from Chris, but he pulled it back. "Hey. Don't bite the hand that feeds you. Or the hand that's controlling your vibrating panties right now," Chris said in a low, serious voice. Then he took your ID and flung it at you. It landed in your lap, and you scooped it up and tossed it back into your bag.

Matt and Chris stared at you lustfully and hungrily as you tried to hold it together while Chris played around with the different levels, alternating between the first three. Every time you looked like you were holding it together too well, he'd turn it up a notch, and any time your legs started to shake, and your eyes rolled back into your head while you gripped the fabric of the booth beneath you, he'd turn it down.

The server returned to take your food order, and the boys agreed upon bruschetta as an appetizer. Chris ordered himself chicken alfredo, and Matt ordered chicken parmigiano. When the server got to you, you cleared your throat, sat up taller, and tried to ignore the way you were being broken down slowly by the powerful sensation between your legs that was being controlled by the two gorgeous men across from you.

"I'll have the eggplant parmigiano, please," you managed to say, looking almost completely normal besides your flushed face and the bead of sweat that formed on your brow. The server took your menus and told you he'd return shortly with your drinks.

"Let me see it," Matt said to Chris, reaching for his phone. Chris handed it off to him, and Matt looked at you intently with a devilish grin as he kicked it up to level four. You slouched over onto the table and buried your head in your hands, completely unable to hide the pleasure written into your expression.

You peered back up at Matt with the neediest look in your eye, and your lips slightly parted while you started to tremble again. Matt shut off the vibration completely and watched the disappointed look come across your face as he ruined your orgasm. "You think I'd let you cum right away? After that shit you pulled earlier. Nah, you've been a naughty girl," Matt murmured, turning it back on to level one.

The waiter brought over your drinks, and you weakly smiled at him as he walked away. Matt turned the vibrator up a setting as an older lady made eye contact with you, and you sputtered on your alcoholic drink as you took a big sip. She shot you a dirty look as you rolled your eyes back into the back of your head and bit down on your lip.

You knew you weren't being sneaky, but you couldn't help the way you were being manipulated by two boys, a pair of vibrating underwear, and a remote control app.

The server made his way back again, bringing the bruschetta out on his way to greet another table that had just been sat in the section. You took another sip of your bellini, preparing for the night to be long and embarrassing.

Chris and Matt both indulged in the appetizer, obnoxiously licking the balsamic glaze from their fingers and making animalistic sounds while they made eye contact with you. They knew what they were doing, and it was working. Your mind wandered, imagining how they'd lick their digits clean after fingering you, much like Chris had earlier on during the ride to the restaurant.

"Naughty girl, keep your mind out of the gutter," Chris replied, sucking on his finger, smirking, and narrowing his eyes as if he was inside your head, and in a way, he was. You picked up your bellini glass with a shaky hand and took another big drink.

The waiter came back around to check out refills, and when he asked if you'd like another one, motioning towards your nearly empty glass, Matt turned the setting up another notch, and without thinking, you grabbed onto the waiter's arm, practically whimpering, "Yes please."

He gave you a confused look and gently tugged his arm away from you. "Sorry. She gets a little touchy when she's tipsy," Chris apologized for you, and the waiter brushed it off and walked away.

Matt and Chris both made fun of how you were unable to hold up any kind of facade, and they decided to cut you some slack for a bit, so you could enjoy your food when it came out. The waiter delivered your meals and another round of drinks for you all while you tried to catch your breath and dabbed the sweat from your face.

You were about half-way through your plate and halfway done with your second fruity, bubbly beverage before Chris took his phone back from his brother and started turning on the panties again. You looked at them both and all you could think about was how badly you wanted them to use all your holes when you guys got home, and a few needy whines passed through your pretty lips.

The waiter came back around to ask if you guys were enjoying your food, and all you could do in response was tell him, "It's sooo good," in a sultry voice while you peered up at him with desire in your eyes and bit down on your knuckles to suppress another moan. He gave you an inquisitive look and then looked toward the boys sitting across from you, asking if you guys wanted to order anything else after your meals.

"We'd love to all share the classic vanilla ice cream, please," Chris told the waiter, and then he smirked up at you, knowing how torturous it was going to be for you to hold it together through dessert, too. The server nodded and walked off to go update the bill.

You tried to finish your food and your drink while you tried to seem as put together as possible. Chris played with the settings again, bringing you as close to orgasm as he could before yanking it away from you and repeating this while you pathetically writhed in the booth across from him.

A few people who were sitting around you guys started to catch on. Some of them gave you disgusted looks and tried to ignore what you and the boys were doing. Some couldn't keep their eyes off you, hungrily looking you up and down as they silently prayed they'd get to watch you come undone in the restaurant.

The server returned with the ice cream and three spoons, and he bussed the dishes out of your way. Chris turned up the vibrating panties to the highest setting. "Have some ice cream, princess," Chris whispered, handing you a spoon.

Hell, you were already indulging in a form of public sex, indulging in good food and alcohol, and so you might as well complete the hedonist trifecta and indulge in sugar as well.

With a trembling hand, you grabbed the handle and got a small scoop of ice cream, and stuck it into your mouth. "Mmmm," you moaned, which was partially a response to the taste and partially a response to the frequencies buzzing against your sensitive cunt.

"I sure do love ice cream," Chris declared, getting a spoonful of it and making sure to suggestively lick his utensil clean while he looked in your eyes. "I love eating it and licking it up," Chris moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head, taunting you.

Matt followed, seductively lapping up the dessert. He looked directly at you while he dragged his tongue across the spoon in a long, slow lick.

As you imagined how their tongues would feel manipulating your pussy, your orgasm tore through you with incredible force. It took everything in you to conceal the reaction your body was having, and it was impossible to be completely subtle.

Your legs shook involuntarily as you held them crossed together tightly, and you grabbed onto the booth seat to anchor yourself while your climax crashed over you like a wave, eager to sweep you away in its current. You furrowed your brows, closed your eyes, and a few loud moans escaped your lips while your orgasm took its course.

When you opened your eyes, almost everyone around you was staring at you, including the waiter who had dropped off the check while you were in the midst of enjoying yourself.

"Let's go before someone calls the cops and reports us for public indecency," Chris smirked at you guys, tossing a few hundred dollar bills on the table, giving the server an extra big tip for having to put up with your guys' shenanigans, and the three of you fled the restaurant.

High on adrenaline, you guys piled into the car and peeled out of the parking lot.

"I hope you guys didn't like that restaurant too much, because I don't think we could ever go back. They'll probably put a picture up of our faces in the front like they do with dine and dashers," Matt chuckled from the driver's seat.

"More like dine and smash," Chris joked, and the three of you burst into hysterical laughter.

After the snickering died down, Chris let out a huge sigh and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling out his big, hard dick. Your jaw dropped, and your mouth widened as you watched it practically jump out of his pants.

He wrapped his arm around you and pushed your head down, lowering your mouth onto his cock and whispered in a demanding tone, "We're not done with you yet, whore. Don't just think that 'cause we're laughing, you're done receiving your punishment."

part two coming soon 💖

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[shadowdaddies]

Holiday Traditions

Lucien x fem!Reader fluff

Summary: Reader finds Lucien preparing for some of his childhood Autumn Equinox traditions, and decides to surprise him.

Wind whipped softly at your cheeks, late September air bringing a much needed reprieve from the exhausting heat August had brought this year. You smiled at the sight of a leaf, twirling in the breeze as it floated down from its branch to join the others scattered about the forest floor in a kaleidoscope of greens, oranges, and yellows. 

The sound of rustling foliage pulled your attention from the path to the Exiles’ Manor. A familiar head of long flaming hair brought a smile to your lips, his presence drawing you like a moth to the flame. 

Hearing the sound of your approach, Lucien looked over his shoulder from where he knelt on the ground, his returning smile sending heat pooling in your belly. You glanced beyond him to the small structure in front of him. A small structure had been built, its fine craftsmanship an indication of who had crafted the object. Lucien’s golden complexion flushed slightly at your curious gaze, your eyes roving eagerly over the small pyre he’d built, decorated beautifully with an assortment of berries, nuts, and what seized your attention most - two cornhusk dolls laid together at the front.

Kneeling in front of the arrangement, you reached a hand out and twined Lucien’s fingers through your own. “What is this?” you whispered, voice soft with awe.

Lucien squirmed slightly, a rare moment of self consciousness showing behind his charming facade. “It’s a Mabon Altar,” he nodded, reaching out to brush away a leaf that had fallen over the display. “It’s an Autumn Court tradition.”

His gaze flicked to yours, studying your reaction. “Each year, we - they - celebrate the Equinox with rituals, to honor the Mother, and to ask her for prosperity, protection, and balance.” He laughed dryly at his own words, mouth twisting into a wry smile as you carefully picked up one of the corn husk dolls. 

“My mother holds the traditions very sacred. The dolls are supposed to represent those we love, to pray for their good fortune.” Gaze swinging to the other doll which still sat on the earth, amber eye swam with emotion. “I hardly believe that,” he swallowed thickly, “but my mother always made dolls for each of my brothers and me. And one like this.” 

He held the doll, pulling it closer so you could see the intricate details Lucien had worked to cut and carve. The doll was darker than the one in your hand, the corn husk itself nearly as dark as the soil, while parts of it were painted gold as though to resemble the doll’s clothing. You looked to the doll in your own hand, studying the lighter hue of its husk, shades of red so much like Lucien’s. “This one is your mother?” you questioned softly.

Lucien nodded, a mournful smile playing on his lips. “It meant so much to her to create these each year. It makes me feel closer to her - even if I can’t be there in Autumn with her.”

Pulling your hand from his, you intertwined your arms and leaned against his warm frame. “And who is that?” you prodded, gently taking the other doll from him.

“I don’t know. I think it was just an idea of my mother’s - a symbol of hope for protection, or her future.” 

Setting the corn husk back in its place, you leaned to press a kiss to Lucien’s cheek. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I hope I can be here to celebrate the Equinox with you, if that is okay.”

His answering smile stole the air from your lungs, unbridled joy casting a ray of sunshine through him as Lucien stole your lips for another, deep kiss. “I can think of nothing that I would love more,” he purred, your insides melting at the suggestive tone. 

~~~

You were lounging on the pink sofa in Lucien’s lap days later when Twilight began to darken the sky. Flashing a conspiratorial grin to Vassa and Jurian, you excused yourself to your room, smiling at Lucien’s groan when the other two quickly did the same. 

In your room, you hurriedly grabbed the burgundy dress from your wardrobe, applying rouge to your lips before giving yourself an assessing look in the mirror. 

Yesterday during your visit to the Day Court on emissary business, you had asked Helion about the library’s books on Autumn Court’s Equinox traditions. The High Lord had shocked you by knowing plenty about their traditions himself, recalling the feast they had each year with different foods to represent the different Houses.

The way in which Helion spoke about the rituals held such a reverence, you couldn’t help but grow more excited to surprise Lucien with a party. You had thanked Helion - who bid you farewell with a mournful smile that oddly reminded you of Lucien’s - eager to race home and begin planning.

Exhaling a nervous breath, you swiped the final touches of makeup across your eyes before turning back to the living room.

“My vixen, you couldn’t stay away for-“

Whatever witty remark Lucien had planned died in his throat, mouth agape as he took you in. You were indeed the vixen, your dark red lips matching the tight fabric that donned your figure like a siren’s call to the male in front of you. Moving as though in a trance, Lucien swiftly stood from the couch, his hands finding purchase on your waist, shamelessly trailing up your body to feel the curves you’d put on display.

“What is this?” Lucien asked, his voice practically a growl with the self restraint he barely clung to. 

“This,” you purred, stepping back to offer him the full view of your body once more, “is what I wear to a party.” 

“A party?” he echoed, tongue flicking out over his bottom lip in intrigue. You simply hummed in response, lacing his fingers in your own as you led him towards the front door with a playful wink over your shoulder.

Opening the door of the manor, you smiled at how incredibly Vassa had pulled together the evening. Fae lights glowed like fireflies throughout the trees, illuminating the table that was set with an ornate dinner and fae wine. A symphonia played the gentle tune of a familiar orchestra, setting the mood for Jurian and Vassa as they swayed on the makeshift dance floor. 

“What is this?” Lucien breathed, hand still tight around your own. 

Smiling brightly at the wonder in his expression, you led him to the table where the others were now taking their seats. “I learned a bit more about Equinox traditions, and I wanted to surprise you with some new memories of a special holiday for you.”

Jurian coughed from across the table, earning an elbow to the ribs from Vassa and an eye roll from you. “Vassa helped a lot... And Jurian a little bit, as well,” you teased in response to the latter’s outraged expression.

“Thank you all, very much,” Lucien murmured, voice thick with emotion. You leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek before filling his plate with traditional Autumn celebration foods, laughing and drinking with your friends late into the night until the moon was high in the sky. 

“It’s time,” you whispered from where you leaned against Lucien’s warm chest. As midnight approached, you followed the path to Lucien’s altar, whispering your own silent prayers from behind as he lit the pyre with a flick of his wrist. 

Turning to face you, Lucien stood aglow in the firelight, his amber eyes and bright hair glowing like the sun. You smiled bashfully at his beauty, still in place as he walked up to you, and right past you. 

Stunned, you turned over your shoulder to find him standing on the dance floor, poised in a dramatic bow with his hand outstretched in askance. “My cunning vixen, will you do me the greatest honor of dancing with me?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics, earning a mischievous wink as Lucien spun you into his arms, your chest flush against his, hearts beating as one. The fire burned a soft crackle, illuminating the dark night as the symphonia began to play a slower sort of melody. “Thank you for sharing your holiday with me,” you murmured, cheek laid against Lucien’s chest as you swayed.

Lips pressed gently to the top of your head, lingering there for a long moment. Pulling away slightly, Lucien’s hand tucked under your chin as he guided your face to look at his. “Thank you for giving me new, sweet memories, every day,” he murmured, eyes glowing with emotion before they flicked downward, suddenly turning dark.

Wandering hands found their way back to you, Lucien pulling you impossibly close as his hands squeezed your ass appreciatively. “There is one part of you that will always be the sweetest, though,” he purred, leaning down to tug your earlobe between his teeth. “And I won’t be sleeping until I’ve had a taste.” Before you could react, Lucien tossed you over his shoulder, one hand holding you still as the other moved precariously further beneath your dress while he strode back towards the manor.

A Happy Equinox, indeed.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

hi hi! I’ve been reading your Fics sm lately and I’m obsessedddd!!! I’m not sure if you’re taking requests but just in case I got something I’d like to put out. What abt some remy taking care of sick us? I’m currently trying to fight a cold lol and just imagining him helping out 🥲 Anywayssss thank u sm!!!!

I APPRECIATE YOU! I hope you feel better soon my darling <3 Here's a small one-shot for you.

The rain outside was relentless, a steady downpour that drummed against the windows of the small room like a thousand tiny fingers tapping for attention. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast soft, golden hues onto the walls, the shadows shifting slightly with each flicker of flame, making the room feel smaller, warmer. You were wrapped in a cocoon of thick blankets, your body aching as though you had gone ten rounds with Juggernaut. Fever-induced chills wrestled with waves of heat, leaving you in a constant state of discomfort.

Sickness had a way of amplifying everything, and for a mutant like you, it was worse. Your mutation wasn’t particularly flashy—no optic blasts, no telekinesis—but it was still dangerous when it acted up. Your body absorbed and generated energy, usually in the form of heat or light. When you were sick, that energy became harder to control. You could feel it simmering beneath your skin now, a low hum of power that made your fingertips glow faintly, like embers waiting to catch flame.

A knock at the door barely registered through the feverish fog clouding your mind, but you managed to tilt your head toward the sound.

“Chérie,” the familiar voice came, smooth and warm as ever, like silk brushing against skin. “Y’ awake?”

Remy, appeared in the doorway, his silhouette cutting an effortlessly cool figure in the dim light. His red-on-black eyes, usually filled with mischief or danger, were soft with concern as they landed on you. He stepped into the room, the faint scent of spices and warmth following him—his presence as comforting as the heat from a fire on a cold night.

You tried to muster a greeting, but the only sound that came out was a weak groan. You could barely move, your body so heavy it felt like you were sinking into the bed beneath you.

“Ah, pauvre fille,” Remy murmured, his voice dripping with sympathy as he approached the bed. He set a bowl of something steaming on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the mattress, his weight barely noticeable. “Y’ look like y’ been through hell.”

“Feel like it,” you croaked, your voice scratchy and hoarse, your throat burning. “I’m fine, though. You didn’t need to—”

“Hush,” he interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. His hand reached out, brushing a lock of your damp, sweat-soaked hair away from your forehead. His touch was light, careful, as though he were afraid you might break under the slightest pressure. “Ain’t no way I’m leavin’ you alone when y’r like this.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you mumbled, closing your eyes, too tired to argue.

“Burden?” Remy scoffed, shaking his head. “Ain’t no such thing, chérie. You know I like fussin’ over you.”

You opened one eye, managing a weak, teasing smile. “Since when do you fuss?”

“I'm full of surprises, non?” he replied, flashing that trademark grin that usually left people flustered. But right now, it was just comforting. “Now, sit up a bit. I made you some soup.”

You obeyed as much as your aching body would allow, shifting slightly so you were propped up against the pillows. Remy slipped an arm behind your back, helping you sit up with ease. The warmth of his body against yours was soothing, and you found yourself leaning into him more than you’d intended.

He didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, he looked downright pleased as he grabbed the bowl and spoon, offering you a bite of the soup. It smelled rich and savory, the kind of comfort food that you hadn’t realized you craved until now. You hesitated for a moment, not used to being taken care of like this, but Remy’s easy smile made it seem perfectly natural. You opened your mouth, letting him feed you the first spoonful.

The broth was hot and spiced just right, its warmth spreading through your chest like a balm. It soothed your raw throat and chased away the chill that had settled deep in your bones. You sighed in relief, and Remy chuckled softly.

“Good, huh?” he asked, his voice low and smooth as he fed you another spoonful. “Told y’ I could take care of you.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your eyelids heavy as the warmth of the soup and his presence began to lull you into a more relaxed state. “It’s really good. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied, his grin widening. “I’m gonna fuss over you until y’r fully better. Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me.”

You let out a small laugh, though it quickly turned into a cough that made your chest ache. Remy’s expression shifted from playful to serious in an instant, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back until the coughing subsided.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, too exhausted to speak. The coughing had taken what little energy you had left. You could feel your mutation stirring again, the faint glow of your hands becoming more pronounced as your body struggled to regulate itself.

Remy noticed, of course. He always noticed. His gaze flicked down to your hands, where the light was pulsing faintly beneath your skin, and then back to your face. He didn’t say anything right away, but his hand moved to cover yours, his cool fingers pressing gently against your overheating skin. The glow dimmed slightly at his touch, as if his presence alone was enough to calm the storm inside you.

“I got y’, chérie,” he murmured. “Ain’t gonna let ya lose control. Just rest.”

You leaned back against the pillows again, Remy’s hand still covering yours, grounding you. The fever was still raging, but the panic that always accompanied your powers going haywire had lessened. You trusted him—trusted that he wouldn’t let things spiral out of control.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I hate when this happens. I can’t—”

“Hey, now,” Remy interrupted, his voice firm but kind. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. Y’ mutant powers act up when y’r sick, so what? Y’ think I ain’t had my share of accidents when I wasn’t feelin’ well?”

“Really?” you asked, raising a brow, though the effort made your head feel heavy.

Remy grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh yeah. Blew up a whole deck of cards once when I had a cold. Made a real mess.”

Despite your exhaustion, you laughed softly, imagining the chaos that must have caused. “Bet you still looked cool doing it.”

“Always,” he replied with a wink. “Now, seriously, rest. Y’ gonna need all the energy y’ can get to feel better.”

You nodded, your eyelids drooping. The warmth from the soup and Remy’s steady presence beside you were making it hard to stay awake. As your breathing began to slow, you felt Remy shift beside you, pulling the blankets up around your shoulders and tucking you in like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I’m not gonna burn the place down, am I?” you mumbled sleepily, only half-joking.

“Nah,” Remy whispered, his voice like a lullaby. “Not while I’m here.”

You smiled faintly, already drifting off into the welcoming darkness of sleep. The last thing you felt was Remy’s hand brushing gently over your hair, his fingers cool and comforting against your feverish skin.

When you woke up again, the room was quiet except for the patter of rain still falling outside. The fever had broken, leaving you feeling weak but no longer burning from the inside out. Your body felt lighter, your mind clearer, and your powers seemed to have settled back into their usual rhythm.

The first thing you noticed was that you weren’t alone. Remy was still there, sitting in the chair beside the bed, his head tilted back, eyes closed in sleep. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, and his coat had slipped down his shoulders, revealing the soft cotton of his shirt underneath. Even in sleep, he looked impossibly graceful, like nothing could ever truly ruffle him.

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection. He had stayed with you all night, fussing over you despite his usual devil-may-care attitude. You had always known there was more to Remy than the smooth-talking thief he pretended to be, but moments like this reminded you just how much heart he had beneath the charm.

Careful not to wake him, you reached out and took his hand in yours, threading your fingers through his. His skin was cool against yours, a soothing contrast to the heat that still lingered in your body.

Remy stirred slightly at the touch, his eyes slowly fluttering open. When he saw you looking at him, a slow, lazy grin spread across his face.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he drawled, his voice thick with sleep.

“It’s the middle of the night,” you whispered, but you didn’t let go of his hand.

“Still counts,” he replied with a wink, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Feelin’ better?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your voice soft. “Thanks to you.”

“Good,” he murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead, the gesture tender and lingering. “Now, get some more rest, chère. I’ll be right here if y’ need me.”

With your hand still in his, you closed your eyes again, the warmth of his care wrapping around you like a shield. And as sleep claimed you once more, you knew that with Remy by your side, you were safe.

[pseudowho]

Motherhood had altered your 'turn-ons'; not that you lusted after mankind as a whole-- Kento was enough.

His cologne, split with the smooth tang of sweat on work-ripened skin. His hands, alternately gentle and rough, peach-handling or blade-wielding. The authority only the world saw; the authority only you felt.

Dressed-up, dressed-down, undressed, dressing you down, undressing you. Breaking you only to reform you with gold, tied with red thread, whispering you to completion in the dark sacred night.

So (you corrected yourself, as you watched Kento jog after your daughter at the indoor play centre) motherhood had not altered your turn-ons; it had added to them. Stacking high now, you considered the tower of your adoration was just as likely to be stable, as unstable; its endurance or toppling entirely at Kento's mercy.

The arrival at soft-play was a sensory nightmare-- one of many you could tolerate as a mother when you wouldn't have, before.

Obnoxious children's music blared, cut by screams and shouts and cries and calls and whirls and swirls of kids darting and weaving, watched and unwatched, by helicopters or the disinterested. The cocktail was potent, spiked. Your headache started behind your left eye.

Kento saw you. He was unfairly loaded at his own insistence, with change-bag and snack-bag and car keys and your daughter, planking and chattering, a possessed surfboard beneath his arm.

"Sit down-- have a coffee." Kento rumbled, low and slow, unclipping his watch into your cupped hands as you began to argue. "You've had her all week. You need a break."

"You've been at work all week, Kento, you need a break--"

"Don't argue. You know it's not the same. Sit down. Have a coffee."

He lied to you for your benefit; you could feel the bone-deep weariness of him, surely needing a day of sofa-bound naps over a day of childrearing. Alas; parenthood. And he would continue to take bullets for you, even to his own detriment. You knew this. You had planned ahead for this.

As you peered down at your phone, smiling at an eagerly awaited reply, your daughter piped up, bouncing on little toes, her pigtails bouncing too.

"'lide, daddy. Let's go fast. Faster. Race you."

Kento hummed, smiling. "Slide, you mean?"

"I said it. 'lide." Your daughter moved to dart to the towering play area, a flash of lightning into a maelstrom, and you caught her. Kento was distracted, looking into the swarm of other peoples' children, oddly, as he looked at a swarm of Curses. You whispered into your daughters' ear as Kento slipped his boots off.

"Hey, missus, listen."

Your baby girl perked up, sweet and conspiratorial, goofy-teethed and dimple-cheeked, whispering back.

"What is it, mummy?"

"I've got a surprise for daddy. So don't tell him...come here, mummy needs to whisper."

Lips at an ear; tiny hands clasping over a mouth, fizzlepopping with excitement. A long finger against lips; a little finger against lips. A secret pact.

"Are you ready, young lady? I'll get you in three...two..."

Kento reached down for your daughter, his hands clawed, a wolfish grin on his lips. Your daughter knew what it meant; she shrieked with panicked laughter, bolting. The monster formerly known as 'Daddy' dashed after her.

The coffee was shit; you didn't mind, instead hyperfocused on how Kento and your daughter would dip out of sight into the rainbow maze, only to reappear minutes later, with Kento looking more ravaged each time.

On the first loop round, Kento looked unfazed, unruffled, still clipped in his t-shirt and jeans. You simply admired the sultry half-smile he offered you, and the cling of fabric to his thick biceps, before he swept after your daughter again.

On the fifth loop round, flicks of hair escaped over Kento's forehead, the veins on his arms prominent from throwing and tumbling and monstering. He panted, his muscle so much heavier to carry than your birdlike daughter's personal load. Kento's playful growl, running after your giggling daughter, was deeper; huskier. You squirmed, sipping your shit latte.

On the eleventh loop round, a fine sheen of sweat misted Kento's forehead, a flush dashed on high cheekbones. His broad chest heaved, and he stretched his arms back, cracking his neck from side-to-side, with a groan usually heard only when he exerted himself above you, for less wholesome pleasures.

With furrowed brows, Kento prowled the bottom of the slide, and your daughter shrieked, scrabbling to get away from him as he lunged. Your daughter was bicep-curled up to Kento's face, laughing uproariously at his ferocious tummy-raspberries, before being set free, once more, for the hunt. You could not cope, aching, desperately hoping you had the energy left to sweat for him at the end of the day.

By the twenty-first? twenty-third? twenty-fifth? loop round, Kento jogged to a heavy halt, his shoulder blades taut as he bent double, hands braced against his own knees. You heard him panting, cursing under his breath, one long rusty groan. It was all too much-- Kento needed a break. You were unhinged and unsupervised. Surely there had to be some relief--

"Yo, Mrs.Nanamin! Am I late?"

A vision in peach, Yuuji flopped into the chair opposite you, with hands in his pockets and man-spread with a square-jawed, boyish grin. He stood taller than Kento, now, a full-grown man...but still shrunk beneath Kento's chastisement and lectures.

"Right on time, Yuuji. Are you sure you don't mind? It's all a bit..." You looked into the raucous soft-play, searching for words, "...feral."

Yuuji beamed, ruffling his own hair and kicking his shoes off. "Nah. I was gonna go to the gym anyway, but this seems more fun as workouts go."

You called out to your daughter as she reached the bottom of the slide, and Kento looked up, sweating and exhausted. "Baby! Your big brother's here!"

A gasp of thrill from your daughter, and Kento was all but forgotten by her as she pelted towards Yuuji instead, leaping into his arms. She slapped his scrunched cheeks, aggressively overjoyed.

"Big brother-- big brother-- big brother--"

"Yeah yeah, little sister, little sister-- c'mon squirt, I'm gonna getcha! Hey-- Dad--- uh, Nanamin! Gotta go!"

Kento watched his children run away with dewy eyes, his body still thickened by exercise and heavy breaths. You bit your lip as Kento approached, eyes half-lidded as you drank him in. You watched his Adam's apple bob as he gulped back water and gasped, husky with relief.

"God, I love that boy." Kento rumbled.

You melted to see Yuuji reach the bottom of the slide with your daughter on his lap. "Yeah...me too."

"He's saved my life...three times, now."

You laughed, your eyes dipped, tugging Kento to you by the hem of his t-shirt and beckoning him down with one curled finger.

"Think you'll still have some energy later?" You whispered, your breaths mingling with promise.

Kento's eyes narrowed, glimmering, his nose kissing yours. "For that? Always."

[shrenvents]

Spellbound

Warnings: Minors dni, smut, oral, cunnilingus, unprotected, fluff, some violence, biting

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Witch reader

Summary: You're a witch with a specific skill set, one that has intrigued a certain hybrid.

Word count: 2.7k

...

Voodoo. Magic. Impulse. Obsession.

She was his newest fascination.

He heard her laughter cracking through the walls of the barren bar before it cut short. Klaus observed how the sunlight blazed across her, poorly parked, car. His lips slanted in mild amusement. He told himself, that’s all it was, all she was. Mild amusement for an immortal. Though, something felt different.

He strutted into the place, head hung high as he scanned the bare vicinity. His eyes halted on a man behind the bar, rinsing glass cups. The bartender's eyes adverted from Klaus, the second he caught his stare. The man's nerves were duly noted as Klaus approached him.

“I’ll have a glass of your finest red,” Klaus spoke artfully, with a fake smile plastered on his face. The worker shuddered. “Ug- we’re not serving right now.”

“No worries mate,” his mellifluous voice paused. “The red I fancy isn’t something I’d find on your menu.” The man's gaze shot up to Klaus’s. His lips trembled as Klaus continued his jest. “Unless you intend to provide me with a bite, I suggest you tell me where she’s hidden.” Klaus’s threat echoed through the building, till silence took its place.

Suddenly, the sound of a back door, opening and slamming shut jolted Klaus away from the bartender. He instantly raced to the door, ripping it open. He watched as her frame scattered into her rusted car. He growled. There was no way he'd let her escape once again...

Your body was convulsing with anxiety. Who were you to know a little magic truce with the “other side,” would have a certain hybrid on your front doorstep. It didn’t help when you levitated everything in your apartment at him, including your freshly made spaghetti with bolognese. It was to be expected, that would piss him off...

Yanking the car door shut, you forced the key in and started the engine.

“Where are we headed this time darling?”

“Ahhh!” You screamed, snapping your head to the uninvited passenger. Klaus sat leisurely beside you, and you swear your life flashed before your eyes. “I must say, I enjoyed our time in Chicago. Perhaps San Fran may be the next best thing, love.” His smug face adorned your features, absorbing the way your face contorted in both fear and frustration.

“Jesus,” you huff, and Klaus’s smirk grows. “As much as I love the idea, somehow becoming your personal chauffeur isn’t that appealing.” Klaus chuckles lowly, leaning in, more and more.

“Well, if you hadn’t decided to run off, you crafty little thing," he drawls sweetly, "We wouldn’t have the pleasure.”

“If you weren’t trying to kill me, maybe I’d stick around.” Klaus’s brows twist like he's appalled by your words. “Who said I was interested in killing you?”

“You- I- then, what do you want?” You stammer. Klaus went quiet. You watched as his expression goes blank, before he acts as though he was in deep thought. Then, his mouth gaped in 'awe,' as if the answer suddenly came to him. “Your talents of course.”

“My talents.” You repeat, baffled.

“Yes, do keep up, my dear.”

“Why? You could have any witch at your disposal, at a moment's notice.”

The corner of his lips elevate once more. “I’m flattered.”

He’s become so close now, you feel his breath, and you try not to shiver as it grazes your neck. He, on the other hand, basks in your scent.

“But, unlike my other witches, you have a gift,” he muses. “Your connection with the dead is something to behold, and something I crave.”

After a prolonged silence, you speak. “If I help you with whatever," you move further into your seat, "When it comes to an end, you’ll let me walk away, unscathed?” Your brow quirks, and with every fibre of your being, you manage to maintain eye contact. “Yes, you have my word.” Klaus’s expression went stoic, holding an unflinching seriousness that made your heart rate stutter. And strangely, you knew you could trust him.

That's how you ended up as his lackey. For the past 5 weeks, you were at his beck and call as he tormented humans, werewolves, and vampires alike.

Like any other day, your conscious is eating away at you, as you call upon another ancestor of those he plagues. Today though, you finally broke. He had been cruelly punishing a guy for hours, as you questioned his late brother through the veil.

“That’s enough!” Klaus’s eyes dart to yours, and his angry appearance softens. Instinctively, he grips your forearm and drags you out of the motel room.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

“What's wrong is that I’m tired, and his brother is telling me jack shit about those ‘hunters.’” You huff, closing your eyes.

Klaus firmly presses himself stock-still, resisting every urge that wishes to devour you, as you naively allow him to hold you so close, let your guard down, and close your eyes. Such an urge that has only worsened, and become insatiable since you started your venture together…

“Love, why don’t you grab a bite from the cafe across the street, while I fill up the car's tank?” He says heartfeltly, "That way we both can have a break."

Your eyes flutter open, and you nearly tremble at the gentle look that flickers in his gaze. However, his body language, which clutches you tightly, suggests he is anything but. “Okay.”

After five minutes alone in a booth, you gather up the last of the courage you were trying to dispel. Now, heading back to the rented room, to release the hostage. Stupid, very stupid, you think. But you can’t help it.

When you enter the room, the door slowly creaks shut, and shadows engulf you. It’s too quiet, and you can’t see the hostage. Unease fills your system, and you begin to regret this decision. That impending regret soon became alarms going off, when the captive grabs your torso, roughly caging your arms. His grip is inescapable, and when you try to scream, his free hand covers your mouth.

“You fucking bitch,” he murmurs with disgust, and you wince. “How about I leave you bleeding out here, all laid out for you bloodthirsty master.” The man crackles with humourless laughter. “I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

While his venomous words made you cower, you relentlessly struggle against him, fighting with all that you could muster. Unfortunately, your captor was a werewolf, and far too strong for you to at least break free, to cast a spell.

He muffles Klaus’s name with his palm, and tears prick your eyes. Even after the numerous times you’d bicker and argue, he was still the first person who came to mind, who you hopelessly called out to.

The man began lifting your body towards the door, urgently turning the knob. Just as the outside light cuts into your vision, you're wrenched from him, pulled into a powerful embrace. With ease, Klaus’s arms carry you away, swiftly placing you in the backseat of your car, locked safely inside.

His figure then disappears just as quickly, and you hear your aggressor's voice wail in pain. Shaking, you curl over yourself, covering both ears pathetically.

After what feels like an eternity, two large hands cup your tear-stained cheeks, bringing you out of your shell. He quiets you, as he slides inside the vehicle, smoothly pulling you onto his lap. One of his arms supports your back, while the other strokes your hair. Calming you down, he mutters things like: 'Everything’s fine now love,' 'I’m here,' 'I’ll take care of you...'

“I’ve never felt so helpless,” you mumble.

He shakes his head. “There’s nothing you could've done to stop a werewolf, especially when a full moon draws near,” he soothes. You press your cheek further into his broad chest. “Though, I wish you would’ve just listened to me for once, and stayed put.”

You shoot your head up, adjusting to face him, close enough that your noses nearly meet. “If I listened to you, I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Oh really?” He grins, eyes creasing, “How so?”

“Well, for one, that time you ordered me to question that vampire chick's dead boyfriend about his affair, right in front of her.” Klaus guffaws. “You're laughing, but she would've bit my head off.”

“She wouldn’t have,” he denies, still chuckling.

“Yes, she would have Klaus.” You start to laugh too.

“You know, I wouldn’t have let her.” His face deadpans, “Like I didn’t let our were-friend hurt you," he voices, airily. "I gave you my word.”

“Yes, of course, your word.” You giggle nervously, glancing at the hand currently bracing your thigh, gliding its thumb back and forth. “It’s not all that I’ve given you.”

You look up and are met with a mysterious look this time. Your brows furrow in confusion. He smiles dreamily, “Your skills as a witch truly know no bounds.”

“The hell are you talking about now?” You retort, making Klaus laugh loudly.

“I’m talking about your spell," he whispers. "The one that has bewitched me.”

You freeze, heart dropping.

“You don’t mean that...” Your sentence trails off as Klaus stares through you.

He’s so unpredictable, that a part of you believes he's most likely playing some sick game. But, there was also a possibility that he meant it, and all the hidden desires, for your unconventional boss, were about to bubble to the surface.

“I've meant every word, from the moment I met you, when you got the better of me.” He smirks, breath fanning your face. “Witchcraft.”

Then his lips take yours, slow at first, but the entanglement shortly turns desperate. Slightly hesitant, you grind on him, eager to pull him closer. He groans, and his hands enthusiastically roam your waist and back, beckoning you nearer.

Moving in a frenzy, as your fingers tangle in his locks, you swing your leg to straddle him. He moans your name in between kisses, and palms your ass.

Continuously rolling your body into him, makes you feel his arousal, causing a whine to escape. When your lips break apart, his mouth runs down your jaw, to your neck. You gasp, but you don’t stop him. He audibly tells you how much he’s enjoying himself, and you squeeze your thighs over his.

“I can only imagine how sinful you taste here darling.” He remarks as his hand slides over your core, and you whimper. “How about you let me try?” He hums politely. “You know you want me to.”

“No,” you huff.

“No?” His voice rises questioningly, and a hand gropes your chest, while the other grips your chin, tilting your head down to peer into his eyes. “Not here,” you finish, and he smirks wildly.

“Then, I’ll just have to get us a private room?” He purrs seductively into you ear, making you shiver. “One that is, unoccupied,” he rolls his tongue, and you shiver again at the double meaning behind his words. You don’t even want to think about what he did to your assailant…

“Please,” you sigh into a kiss, pecking his lips, which seems to surprise Klaus momentarily. His surprise briskly turns into a beaming smile. “To be continued,” he utters before shifting you off him, and rushing out the car.

Not long after, Klaus reappears with that same childlike cheer gracing his features. Jerking the door open, he outstretches his hand like a gentleman. You accept it, and his palm completely envelops yours. He tugs you to his hip, and nibbles on your earlobe while you walk to a random room.

As soon as the door locks behind you, he presses himself against your backside. “Now, how about that taste?” He mutters while lifting your hair to kiss your nape, and rubbing himself against you. You press closer, before spinning around to enclose your mouth on his again. He groans into your mouth approvingly, backing your body toward the queen-size bed.

His lips free yours when your back legs hit the edge, and you fall backwards with a yelp. His hands soon make work of your lower half, removing your clothes as he kneels infront of your cunt. You inhale deeply, as cool air hits your bare body.

He goes silent, so you raise your head to peek at him. Klaus ogles you heatedly, like the predator he is. “Lovely,” he sing-songs.

He abruptly grips your thighs and heaves your core to his mouth, so close, his breath warms your skin. “K-Klaus.”

“Hmmm,” he hums shortly, before delving into you. You sob a cry of shock. His tongue expertly runs over your folds, sucking the nub with such a slow deliberation, like he can’t decide how he wishes to take you at first, as if he’s imagined every which way he could.

You whine, motioning him to make his choice, bucking up, feeling his stubble scratch you. Then he grows aggressive, hungrily lapping your clit, over and over, until he ushers out your orgasm.

When your lengthy climax finishes, he moves to sigh pleasantly into the crook of your neck. “You’re incredible,” he emits with a chant of your name, thoroughly relaxing your shaking form.

“Fuck, take off your clothes,” you beg. He immediately abides by your command, tearing off his shirt and pants. You grab his necklaces to haul his lips to yours. You savour every inch of yourself on his tongue, and he relishes in how dirty the act is.

“There’s only so much I can do before dawn, and it won't nearly be enough to satisfy my hunger for you.” His poetic words erupt something within. You exhale, “It seems you’re going to break your promise then.”

He stills at your words, befuddled. You elaborate, “There’s no way I’m coming out of this unscathed.” A timid smile spreads across your face, and he almost nods in understanding, feeling a strange quiver in his chest.

Wordlessly, he pulls himself from his slacks, and you take off the last of your clothes. Suddenly feeling a little out of body, you decide to take back some control of the situation. So, you flip your positions, once again, surprising Klaus, though he allows it.

You straddle him, and lower yourself onto his thick cock. You whimper the second the tip enters, and he growls, pressing his fingertips into your hips, definitely leaving bruises.

“You’re too big,” you gasp.

“You can handle it, sweetheart,” he states mindlessly. He wraps his arms around your waist and arms, pulling you down onto him. His hips press completely into you, pushing himself inside to the hilt. A wheeze leaves your lungs as he grounds into you. “Klaus, it’s too-“

“It’s perfect,” he finishes for you. You barely have any time to adapt to his size before he begins pounding. Pleasure wracks through you, and he takes whatever control you had away. His pace is unnerving, and you utter incoherent words, while his fangs graze your neck.

“Tell me,” he groans through his panting. “Tell me you want me.” He demands, though it almost sounds like he’s begging for it. “I-I want you.” The words stumble out as his thrusts reach your center.

“More,” he just about whines.

“I want you Klaus,” you shout. “You feel so good- fuck I’ve always wanted this, you.” You ramble, egged on by him. He loves it, and you feel it in his strength. He holds you tighter, and the air abandons your body.

Feeling his leg tremble, you know he’s close. “Bite me.” His clamped-shut eyelids pop open, and his dark pupils bore into yours. You kiss him, and take his bottom lip between your teeth. “Bite me while you cum,” you command.

He gulps before taking his last few pumps into you. He moans into your neck as his teeth puncture your flesh. You cry out at the mixture of pain and pleasure that shatters you both.

After almost 10 minutes, he releases you from his firm caress and kisses the holes in your neck.

Still inside, he turns you both on your sides. You catch your breath. “How are you still hard?” You sigh in exasperation, and he chuckles breezily. “I told you, you’ve bewitched my very soul darling.” He smirks.

“This is only the beginning.”

[xoamiiren]

FORGIVE AND FORGET , ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 silly arguments

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, they try to ignore you after a petty dispute. PAIRING. sulky bf!enha x sorry gf!reader GENRE. fluff WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing, post argument, petnames

authors note ୨୧ they’re all whipped for (y/n) 🧸

─────────

HEESEUNG

The silence in the apartment was thick, almost suffocating. You had been tiptoeing around it for hours, trying to ignore the gnawing ache in your chest. But as time passed, the weight of Heeseung's absence, even though he was just a few rooms away, became unbearable.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. You took a deep breath and left your room, determined to make things right.

The soft glow of the gaming room greeted you as you stepped inside. Heeseung sat at his desk, headphones snug over his ears, fingers deftly moving across his controller. His eyes were glued to the screen, but you knew him well enough to see the tension in his posture—the slight furrow of his brows, the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tight.

You approached quietly, trying to gauge his mood as you stood behind him. The sounds of an in-game explosion filled the air, and you pretended to be interested, your gaze lingering on the screen. But it was no use—Heeseung didn't acknowledge you, his cold shoulder a sharp reminder of the earlier argument.

Enough was enough.

With a small sigh, you reached out and gently turned his chair toward you. His eyes flickered with surprise, but his expression remained stubbornly neutral, his gaze sliding away as if you weren't even there.

You didn't let it deter you. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, then another to the other side. When he continued to ignore you, you moved closer, placing tender kisses along his jawline, silently pleading for his attention. Heeseung turned his face away, his resistance wavering but still there.

A faint smirk played at the corners of your lips. You weren't giving up that easily.

You lowered your lips to his neck, brushing them against his skin, feeling the slight shiver that ran through him. He tensed, but you could sense the walls he'd built around himself starting to crumble. You pressed on, kissing the warm skin of his collarbone, peeking out from the edge of his hoodie.

Heeseung's breath hitched, and you felt his resolve begin to melt away, his shoulders relaxing as he subconsciously leaned into your touch. Still, he tried to hold onto his anger, his hands gripping the controller as if it were the last line of defense.

But you knew you'd won when his character faltered on the screen, losing the match in a flash of red. He let out a frustrated sigh, finally meeting your gaze. The anger in his eyes had softened, replaced by something warmer, something that spoke of surrender.

Without a word, Heeseung wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down onto his lap. The tension between you dissolved in an instant, replaced by a comforting sense of closeness.

"You’re impossible, you know that?" he murmured, his voice low and affectionate as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent.

You chuckled softly, your fingers threading through his hair as you settled into his embrace. "But you still love me."

Heeseung grip tightened around you, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I do."

JAY

Jay had been avoiding you all day. When you tried to cuddle him in bed that morning, he rolled right out, leaving you alone with the cold sheets. When you tried to sit and listen to him play his guitar, he sighed, put it away, and left the room without a word. Now, he was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his focused, hard eyes as he chopped vegetables for dinner.

You couldn’t stand the silence anymore. With a determined shuffle, you made your way into the kitchen, standing beside him. The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board filled the room, but all you could focus on was the distance between you two. You watched the way his jaw tensed, the way his hands moved with precision, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

Finally, you groaned softly and latched onto him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Jay," you whispered, but he didn’t respond. You squeezed tighter, hoping to break through the barrier he had put up.

"Jay…" you tried again, sliding your hands up under his shirt, resting them on his chest. You couldn’t see it, but his breath hitched, and a blush crept up his cheeks.

"I'm sorry…" you muttered, voice filled with genuine regret. The sound of chopping stopped, and the room fell silent. Slowly, Jay turned to face you, his expression softened, the hard edges of his irritation melting away.

“That’s all I wanted to hear, baby,” he murmured, pulling you into a warm embrace.

The tension dissolved as he held you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The argument felt like a distant memory as you found comfort in each other's arms, the quiet kitchen now filled with the warmth of forgiveness.

JAKE

You knock gently on Jake's door, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment. No answer. A pang of guilt twists in your chest as you slowly turn the handle and peek inside. Jake is curled up on his bed, his back to the door, the soft glow of the setting sun casting a warm hue across the room.

Taking a deep breath, you slip inside and quietly close the door behind you. The bed dips slightly as you crawl in beside him, but he shifts away, his silent rejection a small but painful sting. You try to wrap your arm around his waist, hoping for just a little closeness, but he pushes it off with a huff, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

You sigh softly, rolling over to face the opposite direction, feeling the heavy weight of the silence between you. The minutes tick by slowly, each one a reminder of the distance that shouldn’t be there.

Just when the silence starts to feel unbearable, you feel Jake’s arms snake around your waist, pulling you back toward him in a tight embrace.

His breath is warm against your neck as he whispers, voice tinged with frustration and affection, “I can’t! I can’t stay mad at you…”

A soft giggle escapes your lips, the tension in your chest easing as you lean back into him. “I’m sorry, Jake…”

He squeezes you a little tighter, his voice softening, “I know, love. I know.”

In that moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the petty argument fades into the background, leaving only the warmth of your connection, stronger than ever.

SUNGHOON

Sunghoon could outlast anyone in the silent treatment game, and right now, he was proving it. It was day three of his cold shoulder, and you were growing more frustrated by the hour. Unlike him, you couldn’t stand to let an argument linger for more than a few hours, but Sunghoon? He was the Ice Prince, and he wore that title with pride.

This morning, you decided to take matters into your own hands. If words wouldn’t thaw him out, maybe a more direct approach would. After he left for a bit, you took the time to get dolled up, wearing the dress you knew he adored, with your hair perfectly styled and a hint of his favorite perfume lingering in the air.

When Sunghoon returned, you greeted him with a soft smile, hoping to see some sign of forgiveness in his eyes and admiration for his pretty girlfriend. But instead of acknowledging you, he glanced your way, then walked straight past you and out to the balcony with a book in hand.

Your frustration peaked. You had tried everything—apologies, subtle hints, even this!—and yet he still acted like nothing had happened. As you watched him settle into a chair outside, calmly opening his book, you finally snapped.

You marched out onto the balcony, snatching the book from his hands with a huff.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression…expectant? Surprised. Then, to your utter confusion, he smirked and let out a quiet laugh.

“What’s so funny?” you demanded, feeling your anger and confusion mix.

He leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eyes. “I forgave you two days ago... I just wanted to see how long you could go like this. Impressive, love.”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. “You mean—”

Sunghoon shrugged, his smirk widening. “I knew you wouldn’t last as long as me.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Hoon… that’s so stupid.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone softening as he reached for your hand. “But it’s kind of fun, isn’t it?”

Rolling your eyes, you sat down beside him. “Next time, just tell me you forgive me, okay?”

“Alright,” he chuckled, pulling you close.

You handed him his book back, and together, you settled into a comfortable silence. As you leaned against him, the tension finally faded away, replaced by the warmth of his presence. Reading together, the world around you seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you on that peaceful balcony.

SUNOO

You hesitated outside the bathroom, listening to the faint sound of Sunoo humming softly as he went through his nightly skincare routine. You knew he was still upset, but you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked when he was focused, even if he was giving you the cold shoulder.

Gathering your courage, you pushed the door open and stepped inside, hoping to join him for the last part of his routine, a ritual you both cherished. However, the moment you entered, he pulled off his sheet mask with a swift motion.

“I’m finished,” he mumbled, his tone clipped, before he brushed past you, leaving the bathroom.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the silent treatment as you watched him walk away. Not willing to give up, you followed him into the living room where he was already curled up on the couch, surrounded by an array of snacks, ready to watch his favorite drama.

You crept closer, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, before softly asking, “Can I watch with you?”

Sunoo shrugged, rolling his eyes slightly, but you noticed how he scooted over to make room for you. It was a small gesture, but it gave you hope. You pouted softly as you settled beside him, the space between you feeling like a chasm.

The drama played on the screen, but the tension between you both was hard to ignore. The silence stretched on, making the atmosphere even more awkward.

Finally, Sunoo turned to you, his gaze serious and alittle sad. “I didn’t like what you did, baby… it wasn’t nice.”

His words were gentle, but you could hear the hurt behind them. You bit your lip, feeling a pang of guilt.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, apologetic kiss, “I know, Sun… I’m so sorry.”

He looked at you for a moment, searching your eyes, before finally softening. His arm slipped around you, pulling you closer as he let out a small sigh.

“Just don’t do that again, okay?“

You nodded, snuggling into his side, relief washing over you as he pressed play on the drama. The warmth of his embrace and the familiar sound of the TV made everything feel right again. The argument was forgotten as you both got lost in the show, the comfort of being together making the night feel perfect once more.

JUNGWON

Jungwon was upstairs in his bedroom, the soft sound of pencil on paper the only noise breaking the silence. He was hunched over his sketchbook, eyebrows furrowed as he worked on a drawing—something he often did when upset. And right now, you were the reason for his frustration.

You took a deep breath, hesitating outside his door before gently pushing it open. His gaze flicked toward you for the briefest moment before he returned to his sketch, pointedly ignoring your presence. The tension in the room was thick, making your heart ache with guilt.

Stepping fully inside, you spotted a stack of scrap paper on his desk. An idea sparked, and you grabbed a piece, quickly doodling a tiny strawberry with a smiley face and little arms, dancing cheerfully across the page. In a small speech bubble, you wrote, "Jungwon, I'm sorry, and I love you."

Gathering your courage, you crumpled the paper into a ball and, with a playful smirk, tossed it at his head. It bounced off lightly, causing him to pause. Jungwon glanced over at the crumpled paper before picking it up and smoothing it out. When he saw the doodle, the corners of his mouth twitched, fighting back a smile.

He scribbled something on the paper before tossing it back to you. Unfolding it, you found his response: a doodle of a sulking Jungwon with crossed arms and the words, "You better be."

You giggled, grabbing another piece of paper. This time, you drew a tiny version of yourself with big puppy dog eyes, holding a sign that read, "Forgive me?" You sent it flying toward him.

Jungwon caught it, his resolve cracking as a small laugh escaped him. He grabbed his pencil again, quickly sketching a doodle of the two of you, now with a heart between your cartoonish figures. He added a note: "Only because you’re cute."

You beamed, heart swelling with relief and affection. Without thinking, you rushed over to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. “I really am sorry, Jungwon,” you whispered, resting your cheek against his.

He finally turned to look at you, his expression softening. “I know,” he said, his voice gentle as he pulled you into his lap. “But next time, don’t make me wait so long to forgive you.”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Of course not.”

He smiled, pulling you close as the two of you settled into a comfortable cuddle, the earlier tension melting away as you both laughed about your silly doodles. The argument was forgotten, replaced by the warmth of being wrapped up in each other’s arms.

NI-KI

Ni-ki’s usually playful and laid-back demeanor was nowhere to be found as he sulked in his room, still miffed from your earlier argument. But you had a plan—you knew just how to get him to forgive you. When you found him playing music on his speaker, you flopped beside him on the bed, flashing a smile.

“I like this song,” you chirped, hoping to break the ice.

Ni-ki didn’t say a word. Instead, he quirked a brow and hit the next button on his phone, the song switching immediately. You suppressed a grin at his pettiness but refused to give up. It was later in the day when he moved on to practicing dance moves in front of his mirror, you tried to join in, matching his rhythm with exaggerated precision.

He stopped mid-dance, a sigh escaping his lips as he grabbed his water bottle and headed out of the room, leaving you standing there with an amused expression.

The final act of your mission came when you found him sprawled on the couch with headphones on, eyes closed. Without hesitation, you gently flipped onto his chest, resting your head there and closing your eyes. You felt his body tense beneath you, but he didn’t push you away.

After a moment, he grunted, pulling his headphones down around his neck as he wrapped his arms around you, unable to resist any longer.

“You’re annoying as hell…” he muttered, voice laced with defeat.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement, snuggling closer, knowing you’d won him over.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ LIKE THE WAY I FUCK ('CAUSE I GET ROUGH) — an undercover mission with your superiors leads to compromised positions (in more ways than one)

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + könig

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, canon-divergence, age difference, slight power imbalance, jealous/possessive behaviour, discussions of violence, tags to be added

// NSFW CONTENT BELOW THE CUT //

Turns out, undercover missions involve a lot more make-up, perfume and dresses than you'd anticipated.

Being a seasoned task force operator, it's been months, if not years since you've been to a party outside of your barracks. Let alone one of this calibre; CEOs, billionaires on Forbes Top 50, politicians.

It's off-putting. 

All of it; it's stressful, and it feels as though your skin's crawling, having so much skin on display, so many eyes on you at once. You feel as though you’re an animal at a zoo, being inspected by families with their snotty-nosed kids.

"Sit-rep, Diamond?"

Swallowing around a dry mouth, you reply to your lieutenant's request through your earpiece, tone low and careful. "All as planned, Lt."

Ghost hums a low sound in reply, and your shoulders loosen slightly from their tense position.

You knew that your superior was already inside, having arrived ten minutes earlier. A small, selfish part of you wished that you'd have arrived with him, if only to see how he cleaned up.

Ghost? In a suit? It's like one of your deepest, most dirty of desires come to life.

Such thoughts that you'd never let leave your lips -- thoughts too likely to wreck your entire career and any opportunity to keep your relationship with the man.

"König?" Is Ghost's next question, although it's just the other man's name alone.

Right.

König.

The other superior featured in your dreams. Thoughts. Wank-material?

Whatever they are, they're becoming all too common, all too realistic, and all too risky.

"Successful entry," König replies, heavily accented voice low and quiet -- he's amongst people.

Your limo comes to a stop outside of the decorated museum, and a suited man opens your door with gloved hands. His upper lip is covered in a well-groomed pencil moustache, and you have to stifle a chuckle. Soap would’ve appreciated it.

With a small smile, you incline your head towards him, lifting up the fabric of your skirt so it doesn't brush against the gravel. It’s so… impractical, and you really can’t help but respect those that dress up like this on a regular basis. Looking down at your outfit, you let out a low breath.

When Gaz and Soap had burst into your room with shit-eating grins and a garment bag, you had just known that your dress was going to be... extravagant at best, and downright sinful at worst.

You were correct, of course.

So, here you are, walking down the red carpet into the building, cameras flashing and paparazzi screaming, in this... dress.

Silky black, strapless, and with crossing lines of fabric across your bare back. Chiffon skirts fall behind you, with a slit rising all the way up to where your thigh meets your hip bone. A gun hides beneath, strapped around your inner thigh, paired with your right, adorning a delicate yet hefty knife.

You look... not at all like a Sergeant on Task Force 141.

You look like a celebrity, one just out of her fans' reach. It's a surreal experience, and the mere thought of your two superiors (crushes) seeing you like this... It's frightening. Maddening. And, maybe, a tad bit exhilarating.

Gaz had insisted on doing your make-up -- having so many sisters made him a fully-fledged artist, apparently. And an artist he was, talented with the brushes of eyeshadow and flicks of eyeliner against your skin.

Soap, for his part, had begged for you to let him do your hair -- but considering his only experience was his mohawk, you were less than lenient. With a huff, he’d let you go to Laswell’s wife with the request, as long as he picked out your jewellery.

And now, hours later, your heels click against the stone tile as you enter the museum.

Soft lighting cascades all of the guests in gentle hues of yellow, laughter and polite mingling surrounding you as you enter the main ballroom, skirts brushing against your legs.

Chandeliers above glisten, a live-band plays beautiful jazz, and servers walk around with trays of champagne and finger foods.

It's nothing like you've ever experienced.

This mission, somehow, terrifies you more than the weight of a sniper in your hand and an order to neutralise.

"Target, six o'clock," Ghost's voice carries through your comms as you take position near the corner of the room. There’s fewer people here, and it allows you a moment to breathe and recalibrate.

Your eyes dart to the direction your lieutenant has supplied, and you catch sight of your target immediately. "Got eyes," you murmur softly, smile on your face as you pretend to fix your hair.

"Affirmative," König answers then.

"I haven't seen you before."

Whipping around to the source of the words, you find yourself face to face with a man who you've seen the face of too many times to count.

"Apologies for startling you," he inclines his head respectfully. He's got a few inches on you -- although you find it hard to consider him tall when you're with your superiors more often than not. His skin is closely-shaved, his blonde hair gelled to the nines -- and a smarmy, trust-fund baby smirk to top it all off.

Extending his hand, he announces, "I'm Phillip. Phillip Graves."

...Graves.

The last name of your target -- the son of your target.

"I'm Louise," you say with a sweet smile, taking his hand and shaking it. Your undercover name was going to have to come into play sooner than you'd hoped. "It's a lovely atmosphere, isn't it?"

"Positive, Diamond?" Ghost's deep voice instantly responds to your subtle codeword.

"Not as lovely as you, I'm sure," Phillip flirts, and you pretend to bat your lashes and hide your face from him.

"Ah... thank you, Sir. You're quite dashing yourself," you meekly reply, giving him a soft smile. 

Men like this were so easily played, you found. Not at all like the military men you were surrounded with on such a constant basis. Not at all like…

You can hear both König and Ghost swear underneath their breaths. Releasing the hold on your bracelet -- the one with the built-in comms button -- you shyly bite at your lower lip.

Phillip’s eyes track the movement, and if not for the stakes of this mission, it'd be almost comical.

"May I have this dance?" He asks, offering his arm for you to take. He’s adorning an obviously wealthy suit, dark blue and silky – and it rubs you in all the wrong ways.

You can hear your heart pound in your ears -- this wasn't the way the mission was supposed to go. But, then again, you didn't get into Task Force 141 by expecting every mission to go as planned.

"I would love to, Sir," you smile, wrapping your hand around his arm, allowing him to escort you to the main dance floor.

Subtly folding your hands together around his arm, you're able to push down the button on your bracelet. "You want us to dance in the middle of everyone? I'm not the best of dance partners..."

Phillip chuckles, but through your inner ear piece, you can hear König report, "Got eyes, Diamant."

Chills run down your spine. Either from this situation or…

Or something else that you're not entirely supposed to -- or allowed to -- feel. Not for those two men, and certainly not for your superiors.

"I'll lead you, darlin’," Phillip leans down to whisper into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. They’re thin, and chapped against your own skin.

His hand moves to sit at your lower back, just above your ass, and the other moves down your arm to interlace your fingers with his. It's an intimate position, your front pressing against his as he starts to lead you with the beat.

Of course you knew how to dance; you wouldn't have been picked for this role if you couldn't. 

However, you deliberately misstep a few times, just to play into Phillip’s ego -- his desire for control and intelligence. 

"For such a beautiful girl, you sure aren't the smartest," he jests, and it takes everything within you not to just swing your fist and leave him twitching on the dance floor. You could, realistically speaking, but that would cost you all the mission. And you would not let yourself, nor König or Ghost, down.

Instead, you nervously flit your gaze from him, moving in closer to his chest. By his squeeze on your lower back, you know it's the right decision. "I... I'm doing my best, Sir."

You want to crawl out of your own skin at the way you’re feeding into his misogyny, how you’re downplaying your own strengths.

He huffs, a demeaning, cruel thing.

"I want to shoot 'im," you hear Ghost mutter, and you'd be a liar to say that those words in that tone don't make you clench your thighs together as you sway against Phillip.

"Make it a competition, ja?" König quips. There's... irritation -- anger, maybe -- behind his question. It's so unlike the gentle giant of a man, and that fact alone has your breath coming out in a short pant.

Phillip, of course, thinks it's him making you so flushed.

With a vindictive smirk, he spins you, completely throwing you off balance. Maybe a tad too dramatically, you find yourself falling into his arms, giggling a little bit.

...It's worth it to hear Ghost grumble under his breath through the comms.

This whole situation doesn't feel quite real, and you know that their attitudes are nearly definitely due to the stray in plans. That's fine. That's all it can possibly be. It’s all that you’ll allow it to be.

But your mind has never been kind, and your imagination has always had the habit of wandering.

"Let's go get some drinks, hm?" Phillip asks, his hand falling dangerously close to 'inappropriate hand placement' territory.

You shoot him a seductive smile, nodding as he pulls you to the open bar, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, leaving you glued to his side. It’s a possessive position, and you find yourself wishing it was either of your superiors holding you in such a way instead.

"Don't drink anything he offers you," Ghost warns. You almost have the mind to chew him out for not trusting you with something so obvious, but... There's something about such subtle 

protectiveness that only feeds your elementary style crush on the man.

"I would love to," you reply as Graves leads you to the bar, hand only moving lower with every step the two of you take. Fear trickles down your spine, your hands squeezing tightly together at your front.

"Say the word and we get you outta' there, Princess," Ghost quips, sharp and to the point.

With your hands already together, you manage to reply an agreement in Morse code -- quick, successive taps of the communications button.

"Good girl," König replies, just a touch breathy from the quietness of his words.

You manage not to trip on your feet, but it's a close thing.

a small snippet, because i feel really bad for my lack of posts!! life is so insane atm its like a satire.

[lifetimeoftired]

How to adopt a dead kid in three weeks or less

It's midnight and I'm hopped up on that ADHD juice. Been thinking on and off about this prompt and how things play out. Might clean this up for ao3 posting later but whatever.

Part 1 || Part 2

____

Danny can feel the weight of their stares like it’s physical. A last mournful glance at his pancakes- Actually no, fuck it. He grabs the last one from his plate, flashes the whole Wayne family a peace sign, and turns invisible. The pancake is eaten as he dashes out the door and away from the shouting and chaos he leaves the family in.

 -

“Where the FUCK did he go!?” Jason’s shout somehow made it above the din of the others- and got Bruce and Dick yelling ‘language’ back at him. The pricks.

“I say! Watch your tone Master Jason! As for the rest of you-” The whole family shut the immediate fuck up when Alfred speaks. His displeased expression more than enough to cow them into submission. “I expect you to clean up after yourselves today and a quiet trip to the batcave to find our new ward. Master Jason, you will be taking care of Master Danny’s plates, and I will hear of an apology from you for scaring that poor boy.”

There’s a chorus of ‘yes Alfred’ from the chastised bats, but Bruce- carefully mind you- presses.

“Alfred, how long has he been here? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“The young master has been staying for the past three weeks sir. And despite my best attempts, I have not yet been able to convince him to sleep in his own room.”

Bruce groans and rubs at his face before turning back to his other children, “Nobody thought to tell me!?”

The kids all look at each other, and then back at him with the most judgmental ‘are you serious’ looks they can muster. Except Cassandra, who very excitedly signs; New brother! All Bruce can do is sigh into his hands.

“We’ll discuss this later-”

“Why didn’t you notice then old man?” Jason grins, a little feral at Bruce’s dirty look but sue him.

“Okay okay, let’s hurry up and get this place cleaned up. There’s no telling how far Danny got- and the sooner we go after him the sooner we figure out what’s going on.” Dick said, quickly gathering his own plate. 

“And the sooner I can get all of you presents.” The entire family stops. Staring at Jason in shock. “Only the finest ‘World’s best detective’ mugs for all of you!” 

The groan he gets from all of them is perfect.

-

“I cannot believe you didn’t think to tell me either!” Batman scolds Oracle later. 

Everyone is out in force. Even Batwoman, Batwing, and Bluebird (after having a good laugh at Batman’s expense) had joined. They had all been searching for Danny the better part of the day. Batman had even agreed to let Red Robin and Robin join the search and skip school. That’s how seriously the kids knew he was taking this. And how important it was for one of them to get to Danny before Batman scared him off for good with his infamous paranoia.

“If you didn’t notice, that one’s on you Batman.” God Jason really loved Barbara sometimes. 

“Oracle would not have allowed a dangerous individual into our midst. She is thorough when it comes to such things.” Robin is moving fast, probably swinging right behind Batman. No doubt headed east where the nicer areas were and any sane person was bound to head.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, baby bat.”

“O, you wouldn’t happen to have a new update on Danny’s whereabouts would you? Or anything from his past?” Nightwing cuts in after Robin’s little ‘Tt’. He’s somewhere near the border to Bludhaven, in case Danny’s making it out that way.

“Nothing Nightwing.” They can hear her frustration, and concern, through the voice modulator. “The kid’s practically a ghost. All I can tell you is that he’s not from Gotham. What little I can find of his time here in Gotham is some security feeds of dumpster diving and sleeping on a bench.”

“He’s also definitely a meta.” Signal mutters, somewhere to the west and near the coast..

Jason remains quiet and lets them all talk. As funny as it is- and holy shit Jason will never let any of them live this down ever- it is a little strange this random kid would just... Show up out of nowhere. Meta or not. Alfred said he wouldn’t sleep in a bed of his own, but he also hadn’t left until after Jason questioned his existence. This ‘Danny’ had been around the manor, the bats coming and going, for weeks. He could’ve found out their secrets, and even if he hadn’t sold them out yet, there’s no telling who might pick him up and drag those secrets out of him. Or worse, if he was sent here by someone, then they needed to find out who. And fast…

….

Ugh. He sounded like Batman.

“Hey guys, how well do you even know Danny?” Jason pulls over near an abandoned apartment building. Cutting the engine to his bike to hear them all better. “He was there for a few weeks, pick up anything on him? Might help us figure out where he ran off to.” That last bit was added as an afterthought, not wanting to be too paranoid, but it was also true.

“I know how this is going to sound, but uh, well, he does seem really nice actually.” Signal helpfully offers. “Dick and I ran into Danny I think not long after he got there?”

“O’s camera feed tells us Danny arrived at the manor 28 days ago, Thursday night 11:38 PM. Looking at the records, he was picked up prior to that in front of Wayne Enterprises by one of our drivers- Archer Tenson. He’s reliable and honest, no record of any sort that would make him a suspect of subterfuge.” Nightwing rattles off the information pretty calmly, but they all know him well enough to hear the concern. “According to the records, he was going to pick up the caffeine addict after the cafe got an alert of his fourth Death Latte-” They all ignored Red Robin’s little ‘hey!’, “-and dropped him off safely at home.”

“Red Robin.” Batman’s parental disapproval was palpable through the comms. 

“There wasn’t a fourth Death Latte!” Red Robin protested from his place in the batcave. Aiding in the digital search and combing over the camera feeds over the past few weeks for any information about Danny. “The third Death Latte was the last one. An Alert at W.E. was the plan the whole night. Nobody made it back to the manor until sunrise and the cafe kept saying there wasn’t any more coffee and-!” He gasped, horrified! Outraged! And the rest were left to hold their snickers as Red Robin said, “He stole my last coffee!”

“That’s right, Danny said he was a caffeine addict too.” Batwing mused. Probably flying somewhere over the more open suburbia in case Danny was trying to make a break out of the city that way.

“Wait when did you meet Danny?” Spoiler asked- Jason knew she was patrolling nearby with Bluebird. Those two, Orphan and Signal were the only ones who were allowed to come close to Crime Alley. Mainly because they annoyed Jason the least, but also because they understood how bad the streets could get and looked the other way better than the others. Signal surprised him about that one.

“Start from the beginning.” Batman orders. “Nightwing, Signal, you met Danny when?”

“Looking back, it was actually the day after he got there it sounds like.” Signal sighs. “I was headed downstairs for breakfast, and saw Dick in one of the sitting rooms. I thought I saw our caffeine addict passed out on the couch and thought dick was going to wake him, so I went in to help…”

[pucksandpower]

Actually, It’s Doctor

Max Verstappen x doctor!Reader

Summary: you worked hard to earn your title and Max is determined to make sure everyone shows you proper respect by using it

Warnings: misogyny and Jos Verstappen

The soft glow of the TV casts flickering shadows across Max’s living room as he lounges on the couch, idly scrolling through Twitter. You’re tucked into his side, head resting on his shoulder as you watch the highlights from last week’s race play on a loop.

“Liefje, have you seen these?” Max’s brow furrows as he angles his phone toward you.

Onscreen, the camera pans across the Red Bull garage, finally settling on you perched on a stool in the far corner. “... And there’s Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N,” the commentator’s voice booms out.

You shrug, unfazed. “It’s not a big deal.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “Not a big deal? Y/N, you worked your ass off to become a doctor. You deserve to be addressed properly.”

Reaching out, you place a calming hand on his arm. “Really, it doesn’t bother me. I know who I am.”

Max’s jaw tenses mulishly. “Well it bothers me. They can’t just disrespect you like that on international television.” He jabs a finger accusingly at the screen as the video replays the offending line.

“Max ...” You try to interject, but he’s already dialing, phone pressed tight to his ear.

“Hey mate, it’s Max. I need you to do me a favor ...”

You settle back with a resigned sigh, listening as Max lays out his grievances in rapid-fire Dutch. He’s not going to let this go, you can already tell.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” Max ends the call with a satisfied nod before turning to you with those intense grey eyes. “There, all sorted.”

Arching one eyebrow, you regard him skeptically. “And what exactly did you sort out?”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “From now on, the F1 broadcast has been instructed to address you properly as Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.”

You blink at him in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that ...”

But Max just shakes his head. “Yes, I did. You’ve worked too hard and come too far to be disrespected like that.” His palm cups your cheek, calloused thumb stroking over your skin. “I’m so proud of you, schatje. And the world should know it too.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks at his words, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. Max has never been one for grandiose romantic gestures, but the fierce protectiveness in his voice, the conviction that you deserve to be recognized for your accomplishments ...

Leaning in, you capture his lips in a searing kiss, trying to convey all the love and gratitude and awe you feel for this incredible, complicated, passionate man. His fingers tangle in your hair as he deepens the kiss, bodies pressing closer together.

When you finally break apart, faces flushed and breathing ragged, Max rests his forehead against yours. “I love you, Doctor,” he murmurs teasingly.

You laugh, swatting at his arm. “Why Mr. Verstappen, are you trying to seduce me with fancy titles?”

“Is it working?” His eyes dance with unmistakable mirth.

“Maybe ...” You draw out the word coyly. “Although I do seem to recall a wise person once telling me that actions speak louder than words.”

Max grins wickedly. “Well, in that case ...”

He swoops you up into his arms in one smooth motion, your surprised squeal quickly morphing into breathless giggles. Carrying you bridal-style down the hallway, he kicks open the bedroom door with a wink.

“Let me show you just how much I respect and admire my incredibly brilliant, accomplished, sexy-as-hell doctor girlfriend.”

The door slams shut behind you with a decisive thud.

***

The bright flashes of cameras periodically illuminate the night as Max strolls down the red carpet, your hand tucked securely in the crook of his elbow. He cuts an impossibly dashing figure in his sleek tuxedo, but it’s the look of unabashed pride on his face as he glances sidelong at you that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

You smooth one hand over the deep emerald silk of your gown, trying to tamp down the nervous flutter in your stomach. This whole evening feels almost surreal — like something out of a fairy tale you couldn’t possibly belong in. Max Verstappen’s date at the illustrious FIA Prize Giving Gala ... who would have thought?

As if sensing your trepidation, Max leans in close, his warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave in that way that never fails to send a shiver down your spine.

You bite back a giddy smile, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Four-Time World Champion.”

Max’s answering grin is all cocky charm. “Don’t I know it.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you continue posing for the photographers lining the carpet, Max’s steady presence at your side anchoring you. He squeezes your hip lightly, a silent reminder that he’s right there with you.

Suddenly, a voice calls out from the crowd. “Max! Max Verstappen, over here!”

A sharply-dressed reporter waves you both over, camera crew hovering behind him with bright lights. Max tugs you closer as you make your way through the throngs of people.

“Max, congratulations on another incredible championship season,” the reporter gushes, angling his microphone toward your boyfriend. He turns to face the camera with a wide smile. “Here with me tonight I have reigning four-time world champion Max Verstappen and his lovely date, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N.”

You tense automatically at the mislabeling, a small cringe already forming on your face. But before you can open your mouth to correct the reporter politely, Max is speaking up, the hard line of his jaw set in familiar determination.

“Actually, I’d appreciate if you could refer to her properly as Dr. Y/N Y/L/N,” he interjects smoothly, not even giving the reporter a chance to respond. “My girlfriend worked incredibly hard to earn that title, and she deserves to be respected for her accomplishments.”

The tips of your ears burn hotly, a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude flooding through you. You lay a calming hand on Max’s arm, opening your mouth to try and defuse the situation. But he barrels on relentlessly.

“It’s important to show that level of professional courtesy, you know?” His eyes blaze with conviction. “Especially for women who have overcome systemic barriers and discrimination to achieve such academic prestige. Using the proper titles isn’t about inflating egos, it’s about acknowledging the years of dedication and sacrifice required to reach that level of expertise.”

The reporter blinks rapidly, clearly caught off guard by Max’s passionate monologue. He rallies quickly though, nodding along with his points. “You’re absolutely right, of course. Thank you for that, Max, and my sincerest apologies Dr. Y/L/N. We should always aim to address people with the titles they’ve rightfully earned.”

“Exactly.” Max nods curtly, wrapping one possessive arm around your waist and pulling you snugly against his side. “Now, I believe you had some questions for us?”

The reporter visibly shakes himself before continuing on with the standard red carpet patter about Max’s season, his hopes for the future, and so on. You can’t focus on the questions though, too distracted by the firm press of Max’s palm against your hip and the low thrum of adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Max never fails to take your breath away with moments like this — these fierce outpourings of protectiveness and respect that lay bare how much he values you and everything you’ve accomplished. The man has no qualms about wielding his global platform and considerable influence to ensure you get the recognition you deserve.

Finally, the interview wraps up and the reporter thanks you both profusely, his cheeks still tinged faintly pink from Max’s earlier dressing down. Your boyfriend just nods tersely before steering you further along the carpet, his large hand spread possessively across the exposed skin of your lower back.

You make it maybe twenty feet before whirling on him, tangling your fingers in the lapels of his immaculately-tailored jacket to tug him down to your level. His eyes widen momentarily in surprise before you’re crashing your lips against his in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

Max melts into you instantly, broad palms skimming over the curves of your waist and hips to pull you flush against his solid frame. You pour every ounce of adoration and devotion into the dizzying slide of your mouths, uncaring of the roar of the crowd and the bright flashes going off all around you.

When you finally break apart, his grey eyes are dark with undisguised want and his lips are curved in that trademark smirk that constantly sets your pulse racing.

“What was that for, Doctor?” He husks out, voice gratifyingly gravelly.

You shake your head slowly, still trying to catch your breath. “Just … reminding myself how lucky I am to have a man who loves and respects me so fiercely.”

A muscle ticks sharply in Max’s clenched jaw, the naked emotion simmering in his gaze rendering you breathless all over again. Then, a brilliant grin slowly breaks across his face, all boyish charm and devilish mischief.

“Well, in that case ...” He drops one last lingering kiss to your swollen lips. “Wait until you see what I have planned for later tonight.”

You can’t contain the giddy giggle that bubbles up from your chest as Max takes your hand once more, tugging you along the red carpet and into the venue with a wink. Whatever this man has in store, you have a feeling it’ll be a night neither of you will ever forget.

***

The sleek lines of Max’s private jet gleam under the harsh airport lights as you stroll across the tarmac, rolling suitcase in tow. A much-needed tropical vacation with you awaits at the other end of this flight — a chance to truly unwind away from the pressures and demands of the racing season.

Max can’t wait. Just a blissful week of sun, sand, and uninterrupted time with his favorite person in the whole world.

A blonde woman in a crisp uniform waits at the foot of the airstairs, offering Max a bright smile as you approach. “Good afternoon, Max!” She chirps in a saccharine tone. “I’m Kayla, and I’ll be your flight attendant today.”

You slow to a stop beside him, posture stiffening almost imperceptibly at the overly-familiar greeting. Max merely arches one brow, bristling at her use of his first name without any invitation to do so.

Before he can address it, Kayla seems to finally register your presence, gaze sliding over dismissively. She lets out a tinkling giggle. “Oh and you must be Max’s sister! It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Verstappen.”

There’s an audible record scratch in Max’s brain as he processes the absolute audacity of her assumption. His mouth drops open, ready to unleash the full force of his outrage at her egregious lack of professionalism and respect.

But you beat him to it, bristling visibly in the face of her blatant disregard.

“Excuse me?” Your voice is low and clipped, laced with icy disdain.

Your sharp tone finally seems to penetrate Kayla’s vapid haze. She blinks owlishly, looking between the two of you with dawning confusion. “I just thought, since you were traveling together ...”

“Well, you thought wrong.” Max finds his voice again, steel underpinning every syllable. “Y/N isn’t my sister, she’s my girlfriend. The woman I love. And you’ll address her with the proper respect she deserves.”

Kayla’s cheeks flush a mottled crimson, eyes widening in mortification as she finally seems to grasp the gravity of her blunder. “I … oh, I’m so ...”

“Doctor,” Max interjects coldly, cutting off her pathetic attempt at an apology before it can start. “Her name is Dr. Y/L/N. Show her the bare minimum of professional courtesy or ...”

The unspoken threat hangs in the air between them, loaded and menacing. You lay one hand on Max’s arm, both a calming gesture and a bit of moral support. But there’s a glint of gratitude and admiration in your eyes despite your sedate expression, letting him know you appreciate his fierceness in your defense.

Kayla gulps audibly, seemingly realizing she’s overstepped in about the worst way possible. “You’re absolutely right, sir,” she rushes out, backpedaling rapidly. “I should never have presumed or spoken so informally. My humblest apologies, Dr ...”

“That’s enough.” Max holds up one hand, nostrils flaring in barely contained disgust. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

His piercing stare drops meaningfully to the monogrammed name badge pinned to her blazer lapel. “Kayla, was it? Well, Kayla, I suggest you turn around and walk yourself off this plane before I have someone remove you physically.”

The blonde blinks in shock, mouth working silently. Scrambling to process his words, she finally casts one last beseeching look towards Max. “But … sir, I was sent here to ...”

“Did I stutter?” Max snaps, all hints of affability evaporating completely. He jerks his head sharply towards the hangar. “Get off my plane, now. I’d rather fly with one less flight attendant than subject myself or my girlfriend to any more of your pathetically disrespectful behavior.”

That seems to finally sink in, Kayla’s porcelain complexion draining of what little color remains. She dips her head in a jerky nod before turning away, hurrying back towards the hangar without another word.

Max watches her retreating form for a few moments, muscles still taut with simmering irritation. Only when she disappears into the distance does he draw a deep breath and turn back towards you.

The pride and adoration written across your beautiful features instantly soothes some of the lingering embers of his temper. You pull him down for a searing kiss, not caring about any potential onlookers on the tarmac around you.

When you finally break apart, Max rests his forehead against yours, reveling in your closeness. “Sorry about … that,” he murmurs gruffly. “I just can’t stand people showing you so little respect.”

You shake your head, not even trying to conceal your grin. “Don’t apologize. I’m just glad I didn’t have to call her out myself.” Your expression softens as you stroke one palm over the tense line of his jaw. “Thank you for always having my back, for defending me like that. It means everything.”

The utter conviction and sincerity in your voice washes over him in soothing waves. Max feels the last knots of tension bleed from his muscles as he pulls you flush against his chest, breathing in the comforting scent of your shampoo.

“Always,” he vows simply. There are no words grand enough to encapsulate the depth of his devotion, his intense desire to protect and cherish and uplift you in the face of anyone’s disrespect or scorn. You are his everything, the prime motivator driving him to be a better man each and every day.

So instead, Max simply loops one arm around your waist, tugging you towards the jet’s waiting airstairs without another look back. This vacation, an entire blissful week alone together away from the pressures and prying eyes of the world, is exactly what you both need.

As he settles into the plush leather seating, Max makes a silent vow to ensure you never feel anything less than worshiped during your time here.

No hateful outside influences, no ignorant people speaking over or degrading your incredible accomplishments. Just him and you, exactly as you’re meant to be — deliriously, perfectly happy together.

***

The low hum of conversation and clinking silverware fills the upscale restaurant as Max tries his best to bite his tongue. Across the table, Jos nurses a glass of scotch, regarding you with poorly veiled disdain.

Max had hoped tonight might be a step towards mending the long-fractured relationship with his father. He should have known better.

You don’t seem to notice the tension though, chatting amiably about your work at the hospital and asking Jos questions about his life and experiences in racing. Your polite interest only seems to antagonize the older man further.

When you finally excuse yourself to visit the restroom, Jos turns that signature Verstappen glare on his son. “She’s a real piece of work, isn’t she?” He sneers. “Got to hand it to you, Little Miss Golddigger over here has expensive taste.”

White-hot rage lances through Max’s chest so violently he sees stars. He knew his father was an asshole, but openly insulting you like that is a new low, even for Jos. His fists clench convulsively atop the crisp linen tablecloth.

“Don’t you dare talk about her like that,” Max bites out, every muscle in his body pulled taut. “You don’t know the first thing about Y/N.”

Jos just scoffs derisively. “I know enough. Doctors make good money, but her own bank account clearly isn’t enough. She’s clearly after the next big fish.” His gaze drops meaningfully to Max’s watch — an ultra-rare Patek Philippe. “She’s a user, son. You could do so much better.”

“Are you serious right now?” Max can scarcely believe what he’s hearing. “Y/N is the most kind, caring, and accomplished woman I’ve ever met. If anything, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve her!”

His father lets out a harsh bark of laughter. “Oh yeah, I can really see how much she cares with the way she keeps trotting you out like a trophy to boost her own reputation.”

That does it. Max slams his palms down on the table, entire frame vibrating with suppressed fury. “Enough! I won’t just sit here and listen to you degrade the woman I love with your bullshit cynicism.”

Jos opens his mouth — likely to unleash another torrent of vitriol — but Max cuts him off with a curt slash of his hand.

“No, you don’t get to say another damn word about her.” His voice is low and menacing, achingly familiar echoes of a younger, angrier version of himself. “Y/N is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. She makes me want to be a better man. And you’ll show her the respect she deserves or so help me god ...”

The unspoken threat hangs heavy in the air between them. Max doesn’t even know how he planned to finish that sentence. Part of him wants to throw the whole table aside and … and what? Deck his own father right here in the middle of this fancy restaurant? The fact that he can’t dismiss the thought outright is deeply unsettling.

The harsh smack of footsteps against tile breaks the tension as you reappear, looking concerned at the obvious storm cloud over their table. “Is everything alright?”

Max blows out a harsh breath, raking one hand raggedly through his hair as he glances between you and Jos. Stifling waves of rage still roll through him, transmuting into an almost desperate need to get you away from his toxic father.

Without a word, he pushes back from the table and rises to his feet. Taking your hand in his, Max tugs you toward the exit, movements jerky and abrupt.

You follow without protest, though your brow furrows in bewilderment. “Max? What’s going on, where are we ...”

He cuts you off as you spill out onto the street, the cool night air doing little to douse the fire burning in his chest. Unable to properly explain with coherent words, not when the image of his own flesh and blood spitting such venom is searing into his brain, Max simply shakes his head.

The only thing he knows is that he can’t subject you to any more of Jos’ cruelty, not tonight. Tomorrow he’ll try to find the words, to unpack whatever new trauma has been dredged up by his father’s verbal assault. But for now, he just needs to put as much distance between you and that devil as humanly possible.

Jos appears in the doorway behind you, and suddenly Max is whirling back to face him. He jabs one finger at the older man, a muscle ticking dangerously in his clenched jaw.

“And just so we’re crystal clear ...” His tone is biting, dripping with disdain and finality. “Her name is Dr. Y/L/N. You’ll address her properly or you won’t address her at all.”

With that parting shot, Max turns sharply on his heel, wrapping one arm around your slender waist as he all but drags you down the sidewalk. You stumble briefly to keep up before settling into pace beside him, head swiveling back and forth between his thunderous expression and the figure of his father staring after you both.

By the time the restaurant has faded from view, enveloped in the shadowy darkness, Max can finally feel the vise around his chest loosening somewhat. The chilly night air fills his lungs in great gulping breaths, methodically smothering the raging inferno of his temper.

Eventually, you slow to a stop beneath a streetlamp, cupping his cheek in one soft palm and angling his face down to meet your gaze. There’s so much tender concern and patience swimming in your deep eyes that it makes his heart stutter traitorously. After so many years of his father’s toxic influence, Max sometimes wonders if he’ll ever stop being bowled over by such simple compassion and care.

“Talk to me,” you murmur, thumb stroking soothingly over his flushed skin. “What did he say? What happened back there?”

His mouth works soundlessly for a moment before the words finally tumble out in a hoarse rush. “He … that bastard, he called you … he said ...”

You wait, saying nothing, just letting him gather his thoughts in the wake of such overwhelming emotion. How did he ever get so lucky as to have someone like you in his life?

Finally, the full truth comes spilling from his lips, every caustic barb and callous insult faithfully repeated until the weight of it all threatens to crush him. By the time he’s finished, Max feels hollowed out, wrung dry of the seething anger.

Studying your face carefully for any hint of hurt, any indication his father’s cruelty has sunk its hooks into you as it has him so many times before, Max finds only calm resolve. You shake your head sadly, fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape.

“Oh Max … I’m so sorry he treated you that way.” You blink up at him, the picture of steadfast compassion. “But you know I don’t care what he thinks, right? His opinion means nothing to me.”

Max exhales a shuddering sigh, watching the vapor cloud in the chilly air between you. “I know, but that doesn’t excuse it. You deserve so much better than to be subjected to that kind of disrespect.”

A small, fond smile plays at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe. But that’s not your burden to bear, my love.” You rise up on your tiptoes to press the softest whisper of a kiss to his lips. “All I need is you.”

And just like that, the lingering clouds of anger dissipate, clarity washing over Max like a cresting wave. You are his safe harbor, his beacon guiding him home through any storm life throws his way. With your unwavering support, maybe … just maybe he can begin to unhook himself from the toxicity that has weighed on him for far too long.

One thing is certain — Jos Verstappen has been granted more than his fair share of chances in this life. If he can’t appreciate the incredible woman standing before Max, if he can’t treat you with the respect and admiration you’ve earned a million times over ...

Then he doesn’t deserve a place in your lives. Not anymore.

So for now, Max simply pulls you close, tucking you against his chest as he places a tender kiss to the crown of your head. He’ll figure out the rest later. For tonight, having you here with him is enough.

***

The pulsing bassline thrums through Max’s veins like a secondary heartbeat as his sleek sports car glides to a stop outside the trendy Monaco hotspot. He takes a moment to simply watch you in the flickering neon lights spilling through the tinted windows — the sexy drape of your curve-hugging dress, the mussed tumble of your hair thanks to his wandering hands, the bashful smile tugging at your lips.

You’re gorgeous.

And all his.

“You about ready to actually join our friends?” He teases, voice deliciously raspy. “Or should I just take you straight back home?”

You swat at his arm playfully, cheeks flushing prettily. “Down boy. We’re already late as it is since someone couldn’t keep their hands off me earlier.”

The heated look you shoot him from beneath lidded lashes sends a fresh wave of want crashing through Max’s bloodstream. How you still make him feel like a horny, lovestruck teenager with just a simple glance ...

“Worth it.” He drops a lingering kiss to the slender column of your neck, nipping teasingly at the sensitive skin. You shiver against him, his name escaping on a breathy sigh. For a heady moment, Max legitimately considers calling the whole outing off as a lost cause.

But the muffled thump of far-too-energetic techno filtering in from the crowded club breaks the spell. With a resigned sigh, Max extracts himself from your intoxicating orbit, climbing out of the car to offer you his hand.

“Shall we get this over with then?”

Laughing lightly, you accept his proffered assistance, sliding out onto the sidewalk in a swirl of sumptuous fabric. Max can’t resist hauling you in for one last, scorchingly thorough kiss, propriety be damned.

The club’s VIP section is already hopping when you arrive, music pulsing through the dimly lit space. Charles spots you first, waving with his trademark sunny grin.

“About time! We were starting to think you got lost,” he calls out teasingly.

Lando chimes in with a smirk. “More like they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N are late again — what a surprise.”

Max’s jovial expression shutters instantly at the inaccurate title. “It’s Dr. Y/L/N,” he corrects, a hard edge in his voice. “Show some respect.”

You slip your hand into the crook of his elbow, squeezing gently in a silent gesture of reassurance. “We’re also not actually married yet,” you remind Lando with an easy smile, trying to diffuse the sudden tension.

The banter continues to flow as you join the group’s semi-circle of plush couches, ordering a round of drinks. Lando waves a dismissive hand, undeterred. “Eh, close enough. It’s only a few months until the wedding, you’re already basically married.”

He cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at Max. “Speaking of which, I love that you corrected me on her title right away, but you didn’t say anything about me implying you’d be the one taking her last name.”

Max’s jaw tightens infinitesimally. “That’s because while I have no intention of changing my name,” he states flatly, “I certainly don’t expect Y/N to give hers up either. It’s not a Verstappen who went to medical school.”

The words are steely, leaving no room for negotiation. You feel a surge of affection and pride well up within you. It still makes your heart swell to hear Max be so definitively uncompromising on the importance of your career and identity.

Unable to help yourself, you rise up on your tiptoes to press a lingering, reverent kiss to his lips, fingers tangling in his hair. Max instantly forgets your friends, the bumping music, the very room they’re standing in as he focuses solely on you — his everything, his heart made flesh.

When you finally break apart, breathless and grinning, raucous cheers and teasing whistles surround you both.

“Oh my god, get a room you two!” Charles yells over the din, brandishing his cocktail like a weapon.

“Yes,” Lando chimes in, “why don’t you lovebirds go shag in the coat check already?”

The lighthearted taunting washes over Max and you, unable to dampen the warmth and contentment radiating between you both. He presses one more soft, unhurried kiss to your smiling mouth, savoring the moment just a beat longer.

With you by his side, loved and respected and cherished exactly as you deserve, Max knows he will always have everything he could ever want or need.

And in a few short months, you’ll walk down the aisle towards him to begin your forever together. How could life possibly get any better?

***

Max takes a steadying breath as the two of you pause outside the grand double doors. The distant sounds of chatter and clinking glasses filter through the heavy wooden panels, signaling that your guests are assembled and awaiting your entrance into the ballroom.

Turning towards you, Max’s expression softens into one of pure adoration. His eyes roam hungrily over the stunning vision before him — the elegant white gown that billows becomingly around your curves, the fresh flowers woven into your perfectly coiffed hair, the soft makeup that makes you radiate ethereal beauty.

“You look … angelically gorgeous doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he murmurs reverentially. “I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet.”

You let out a delighted giggle, ducking your head slightly with a bemused smile. “You’re hardly so bad yourself, Mr. Verstappen.”

His grin stretches so wide it threatens to split his face in two as he leans down to capture your lips in a lingering, blissful kiss.

All too soon, the sound of a throat clearing behind you breaks you apart. The Master of Ceremonies offers you both an indulgent smile.

“Shall we get this show on the road, then? Everyone is waiting for the guests of honor.”

Max nods eagerly, slipping his arm through yours as the ornate double doors are pulled open. The MC’s voice rings out, amplified to fill the cavernous ballroom.

“It is my honor to introduce, for the first time … the new Mr. Verstappen and Dr. Y/L/N-Verstappen!”

The room erupts with raucous cheers and applause as you take your first steps forward. But Max abruptly grinds to a halt only a few paces in, his brow furrowing in consternation as he turns back to the MC in confusion.

“Actually, her title is just Dr. Y/L/N,” he begins to correct automatically. “She didn’t cha-”

“Max.” Your gentle reproval cuts him off as you place a hand on his forearm. When he meets your gaze, you’re surprised to see the corners of your eyes crinkling with unmistakable mirth. “My name is Dr. Y/L/N-Verstappen now.”

The dumbfounded look on Max’s face would be comical if you didn’t find it so utterly endearing. “But you said you didn’t want to change your name. Your career and identity ...”

You shake your head fondly. “I didn’t want to give up my maiden name, no. But I’m proud to add yours to it — to take on the name of the man I love more than anything in this world.” Your voice grows thick with emotion. “We’re a partnership, Max. Forever and always.”

The words seem to resonate deep within him. In an instant, Max’s eyes are blazing with a fierce adoration so potent it steals your breath away. Without warning, his arms sweep around your waist as he dips you backwards dramatically, heedless of your squeals and the audience watching raptly.

His lips crash over yours in a searing, all-consuming kiss that seems to pour every ounce of his devotion into the contact. You melt helplessly against him as raucous catcalls and whistles erupt from the crowd.

When you finally break apart, flushed and grinning giddily, Max offers you a lopsided grin. “For the record, I fully intend to spend our entire honeymoon admiring Dr. Y/L/N-Verstappen in all her glory.”

The way your eyes dance with love and happiness is brighter than any ballroom chandelier. “I’m counting on it, Mr. Verstappen.”

Dr. Y/L/N-Verstappen. It has a wonderful ring to it, Max muses contentedly. His eternal teammate in life and love.

Nothing could possibly make this day more perfect.

[hotchscoffeecup]

stuck

summary: stuck inside an elevator with your boss, aaron hotchner, isn’t what you had in mind when you left work late. perhaps, you can get your supervisor to relax just a little. SFW

tags: minor blood, stuck inside an elevator

pairing: hotch x reader

word count: 3k

a late birthday fic for muffin <3

“Alright, goodnight Hotch. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Hotch, it’s late. I’m tired. It’s hotter than hell outside. Trust me, when I tell you that all I need is some late night takeout, a shower, and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.” You let out a short laugh. “I’ll be fine.”

He nods in farewell; offering a tired, albeit, tight smile before parting ways and moving toward his SUV a few spots down from your sedan. It had been a long day, and an even longer evening. The rest of the team had gone home hours ago, but Hotch had volunteered to stay behind and help you on your case report. Your skin bristles at the thought of the last 72 hours and you feel the tension pulling each one of your muscles as you reach into your purse and feel for your keys. After a few seconds of rifling around, your brow knits together when you don’t come across the key fob.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, your shoulders slump. “Dammit.”

“Everything okay?” Hotch asks, pausing after opening his car door.

You incline your head and wave a hand through the air. “Yeah, I just left my keys on my desk.”

A car door slams and the sound of Hotch’s footsteps echo as he moves towards you. “I’ll walk with you.”

You blow out a breath and wave him off. “No, go home. It’s just going to be a few extra minutes. Go see Jack.”

“He’s with his aunt until tomorrow evening, then hopefully I’ll get to spend the entire weekend with him before duty calls.” He gestures towards the elevator. “It’s no trouble, really,” he insists.

You can’t help but feel like a nuisance, but you don’t argue any further. A humid breeze blows through the parking garage and thunder rumbles off in the distance. Hotch presses the button to summon the elevator and as the gears rumble to life both of your cells start pinging.

Hotch reaches into his pants pocket as you reach into your purse. You both check your cells where a severe thunderstorm warning flashes across the screen.

“Hotch, really, you can go.”

Hotch arches a brow, sparing you a look that says not-a-chance as the doors open. “Come on, if the weather kicks up before we get back down, I’ll drive you home.”

He stretches an arm out to hold the door and you reluctantly step inside, accepting that he’s not going to leave.

You push the button for the ninth floor and cross your arms over your chest. “My car can handle a little rain, Hotch.”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “With the weather they’re calling for, your car will become a boat.”

“Careful, Hotch. That was almost a joke.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t reply.

The elevator pings as you ascend higher and higher. By the time the elevator crawls past floor four the sound of rain pounding against the building echoes inside the elevator.

“Damn,” you curse quietly. “I can only imagine what 95 is going to look like with this going on.”

“I’m sure it’ll—” A loud clap of thunder explodes outside, cutting Aaron off.

You startle, gasping loudly and feeling yourself immediately flush red with embarrassment. Your eyes flicker over to Hotch and he looks calm and collected, unshaken by the burst of sound.

Suddenly, the lights go out and the elevator screeches to a halt, throwing you off balance. You stumble as the elevator rocks violently and in your heels, you’re unable to catch yourself before you fall forward and hit your head against the wall; dropping your purse and scattering its contents in the process.

Pain splits your brow and your hand flies to your forehead. Blood, sticky and wet, trickles into your eye and you wince. The emergency lights kick on as you and Hotch both collect yourselves and stand.

“Are you ok?” Hotch asks.

“I hit my head.”

“Here, let me take a look.”

His hand curls under your arm as he uses the other to tilt your chin up. His eyes are hard in the dim red light.

“I can’t tell how deep it is in this lighting.” He presses his lips together and reaches for his cell. “Dammit!”

“Let me guess,” you say. “No signal.”

He snaps his phone shut. “None, what about you?”

“My entire life is on the floor right now,” you quip, gesturing at the ground.

“Right, sorry.” His eyes scan the ground and quickly locate your phone. He scoops it up and after flipping it open, he shakes his head with an exasperated sigh.

“Well,” you reply. “Guess we better make ourselves comfortable until the generators kick in.”

You kneel down and begin sweeping your belongings toward you. Hotch crouches and helps you without asking.

“Let’s at least see what you might have that I can use to help clean it up and stop the bleeding.”

“Oh yeah, let me just reach into my Mary Poppins bag here and pull out an EMT’s jump bag.”

He aims a hard look at you that he usually reserves for whenever Penelope makes a comment that teeters the line with HR.

“I’m the one with my head split open, I think I’m allowed to be sarcastic right now.”

Hotch breathes out sharply. “Split open, that’s a tad dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Two zingers in a row, Hotch. I’m impressed.” He shakes his head but even in the dim lighting, you don’t miss the smile on his lips. He picks up a couple of items and hands them to you. “Here’s your,” he pauses to examine the items in his hand. “Lipstick and tampons.”

A furious heat races to your cheeks as you snatch them out of his hand and shove them in your purse.

“Wait, give me one of those. I can use it to stop the bleeding.”

“Hotch, I’m not giving you a tampon.”

He levels you with another hard stare and when he says your name, you can hear the amusement in his voice. “It’s either that or your sweater, and I know that was a gift from JJ on your birthday. Besides, I was married for a long time. I’m not embarrassed by tampons or pads. You know I keep a supply in my desk, right?”

Your brow pinches, but a smile plays about your face. “Ok, I’ll bite,” you say as you pass him one. “Why?”

He pauses before tearing open the packaging. “You wouldn’t happen to have any hand sanitizer in there, would you?”

It takes you seconds to find the mini Purell inside your handbag and pass it to him. He squeezes some into his hands and scrubs it over his skin. “One time, Penelope dropped a file off in my office. She was in a rush and not acting like herself. I could tell she was stressed.” He tears open the plastic and pushes the cotton portion of the tampon out of the applicator. “I asked her if she was okay and boy, was that the wrong question to ask.” Hotch turns his head, looking around. “Ah, thought I saw that.” He scoops your half finished water bottle off the ground and pours a small bit of water onto the cotton to break it up. After working it into a small square, he gently presses it against the split in your brow. You wince and he apologizes. “She burst into tears and told me that her cycle had snuck up out of nowhere and she was unprepared and needed to run to the drug store. I told her not to worry and that I’d go for her. I’d forgotten to ask what exactly she wanted me to get, so I bought a little of everything. She took what she needed and I told her that I’d keep the rest in the lower left drawer of my desk in case an emergency ever arose again.”

“Hotch, that’s actually really sweet.”

He feigns a pained look, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your use of the word actually cuts pretty deep, you know?” He lifts the makeshift bandage and inspects the injury. “It’s still bleeding. I’m afraid you might need stitches.”

You blow out a breath. “Great, and what do I tell them? Hey, I fell face first into an elevator panel. Patch me up!”

Hotch chuckles and applies more pressure to the wound. You hiss and again, he apologizes.

“It’s okay,” you say and realize this is probably the closest you’ve ever been to your supervisor. In fact, from this angle you notice just how long and thick his dark lashes are; the way his coffee colored eyes glimmer in the low lighting.

Holy shit, what are you thinking? That’s your boss you’re ogling.

“It’s hot.”

You blink out of your momentary stupor. “I’m sorry, what?”

“In here,” Aaron answers.

“Well yeah, the AC is out with the power. What do you think is taking the generators so long to kick in?”

Hotch’s brow furrows as his eyes flick about the space. “I’m not sure. It’s highly unusual though.”

You shrug out of your sweater and take over holding the makeshift bandage against your forehead, your fingers brushing against his hand as you do so. Bunching your sweater into a ball, you place it behind you and lie back.

Hotch laughs awkwardly. “What are you doing?”

“It seems like we’re going to be stuck here awhile, might as well make myself comfortable.”

He pushes himself to his feet and presses the emergency call button. You’re not shocked when the only response is static. You watch as he paces, pushing the button every few minutes.

“This is where Reid would say something like ‘the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.’”

Hotch tucks his hand against his belt and pushes his suit jacket back with his other fingers. It's a gesture you’re all too familiar with, the one he uses when he’s exasperated. He swipes at the perspiration beading on his forehead with his opposite sleeve.

“So, what, we just wait?”

A smirk pulls at your lips. This shouldn’t amuse you as much as it does, especially given the fact that you have a head injury and probably need to get checked out.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re so,” you hedge, searching for the word, “high strung.”

Hotch’s brow climbs toward his hairline. “Excuse me?”

Did you hit a nerve? It was a fairly bold statement to make. Situation be damned, he was still your boss. “I don’t know, Hotch.” You release a short laugh. “You can’t really be in control all the time, can you?”

“Doesn’t this team have an agreement to not profile each other?”

You roll your eyes and prop yourself up on an elbow, wincing as pain pulses behind your eye. Hotch’s lips part as he instinctively moves toward you and you wave him off. “It’s not about profiling, Hotch, look at you. Stop trying to solve everything all the time and just say ‘hey, this shit sucks!’”

He holds your eye for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“You’re right,” he says. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drops onto the floor beside you. “This shit sucks.”

You smile and he returns one. It looks good on him. It’s something he doesn’t do often enough.

“Let me check your head.” He leans forward and you let him inspect the gash in your forehead. “I think the bleeding stopped.” Placing his palm against your jaw, he tilts your head toward the red emergency lights. “Everything looks,” his eyes glimmer and drop to linger on yours. “Fine.”

Your lips part, but you don’t find words. Has Hotch ever looked at you like this? Well, that implies he's looking at you a certain type of way. You clear your throat and Hotch drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

The words are out of your mouth before you can think. “Are you?”

He says your name then, barely a whisper. He’s so close, close enough for you to smell his aftershave. You feel your heart rate begin to pick up, pulse pounding in your ears. Hotch’s chin dips and his lips are a hair's breadth away from yours. Before anything can happen, the elevator’s gears suddenly grind to life. The sudden jolt of movement causes your foreheads to bump together and you groan as pain splinters behind your eye.

Hotch immediately apologizes and holds your face in his hands, making sure the minor collision didn’t reopen the wound that had barely stopped bleeding as is.

Your hand reaches up to cup his against your cheek and you meet his concerned eyes. “I’m fine, Hotch.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before dipping his head. “Okay,” he says tightly. “Okay, let’s get you up. There’s a first aid kit in the break room.” He grabs hold of your forearm and loops an arm around your waist before helping you to your feet. You stumble as you rise to your full height, your blood not yet having the chance to properly circulate through your body.

Hotch’s grip tightens around your waist and you place a steadying head against his chest; fingers splayed against the muscular plane beneath the fabric of his dress shirt.

Only when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the 9th floor do you remember that it's your boss with his arm around you right now. You startle apart and laugh awkwardly.

“Here, let me—” His voice trails off as he drops to a crouching position and sweeps the remaining items of yours off the floor along with his jacket and your sweater.

You walk in semi-comfortable silence, letting Hotch lead the way to the break room. When you arrive, you let him pull out a chair for you and take a seat. He moves quickly, rummaging through cabinets until he locates the first aid kit. He sits opposite from you and opens the white box. After pulling on a pair of disposable gloves, he makes quick work of opening several gauze pads. He squeezes rubbing alcohol onto the gauze and apologizes in advance.

“It’s going to sting,” he cautions as he begins cleaning the area around the wound and the blood that had dripped down your cheek.

“I’m a big girl, Hotch. My dad cleaned my skinned knees when I was a kid.”

Hotch chuckles, and it rumbles low in his throat. “I certainly hope you don’t see me as your father.”

You nearly choke on your own spit and feel a furious heat blossom across your face. Hotch sees this and the smile stays plastered on his face. He presses the alcohol soaked cotton to the wound.

You hiss at the contact and dig your nails into your palms. “Fuck!” you curse, though it’s mixed with sharp laughter. “I don’t remember it stinging that much!”

Hotch laughs as he apologizes and works as quickly as he can to clean the affected area. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He finishes up and applies two butterfly bandages, which effectively close the gash. He discards the gloves and soiled gauze. After washing his hands, he uses a disinfectant wipe to sanitize the table and replaces the first aid kit in the cabinet.

“Efficient, as always.” You observe.

“I’ll have to fill out an incident report,” he says as he wipes his hands on his pants.

“Yeah, but that can wait until Monday.”

Hotch presses his lips together, not liking the sound of that.

“Oh, come on Aaron!”

His brow quirks. “Aaron? You never call me by my first name.”

You smile and gesture toward your forehead. “Head injury, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s nice,” he says, a dimple in his cheek on show as he smiles. His expression shifts immediately towards worry. “Though, you might actually have a mild concussion. We should probably get you to a doctor.”

You wave him off. “A doctor is just going to tell me to rest, take ibuprofen, don’t sleep the first night, et cetera, et cetera…Frankly, I’d rather avoid the bill.”

“There's a protocol for this…paper work, workers comp.”

You slap your hands against your thighs. “Fine!” you relent. “Let’s go!”

Hotch smiles, relief evident on his face. “I’ll grab the paperwork.” You scoop your sweater and purse into your arms as he dashes out of the break room.

As you make your way back toward the elevator, Hotch joins you. “Forgetting something?”

Your eyes widen and you feel like you could smack yourself. “My keys!”

Hotch tucks the manila envelope under his arm and fishes around in his pocket, withdrawing your key ring with a cheeky grin on his face. You quickly grab them out of his hand and shove them into your purse. “The whole reason I’m in this mess,” you grumble.

You slap the button to summon the elevator just as thunder crashes outside once more. You and Hotch exchange a look. “On second thought, why don’t we just take the stairs?”

“Good idea,” Hotch agrees.

As you descend the nine flights of stairs, you can’t help but think of the long night you’re about to be in for. When you reach the parking garage, you can smell the rain in the air. You press the button to unlock your car.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asks. “No way, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Hotch, I’m going to be there all night.”

“Okay, so I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning.”

You freeze and Hotch does too. For a minute you just stand there holding each other’s gaze and in that moment, you both know something has fundamentally changed between the two of you. What that change is, neither of you can tell; but something in your gut tells you it’s a change for the better and you can’t wait to find out more.

[landossnorriss]

i see you | ln x she.

Pairing: lando x she.

Summary: a new voice appears on the radio to get lando through the end of the hungary race. part 2 here.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning: we've taken some liberties on whose allowed on the team radio ok? i'm in mourning. this is also my first time writing for f1 or lando so >.>

-------------------------------

the small crackle in his ear was a sure sign that someone was about to patronise him again. for years, for years he had bled for mclaren. he'd turned down calls from horner and the men in red, he'd turned his nose to them every single time and now he finally had a chance to put a closer dent in his gap on the world championship and they just wanted him to give it up. it wasn't fair, oscar couldn't even keep up he was the fastes-

"lan?" the quiet voice that appeared in his ear shocked him, his frown forming in his helmet.

"love? now they're using you to get to me?" he scoffed at the thought, his foot on the throttle a little harder as he made his way around turn 11. fuck the team orders, they couldn't do this to him.

for her part, his girl could feel the guilt eating at her chest. "i think so." she'd wanted to smack will when he had looked at her pleadingly from the garage. "but you tell me right now, if you want this win and i'll fight will for the radio for the rest of the race, i'll be out of here so quick and i'll cut them off, give you the time you need." she offered and lando knew she meant it. his girl was quiet, preferred to stay out of the lime light and would always pick his jolly over the flash cars he had, but when it came down to it she was scrappy.

a small smile appeared on the racers face as he thought about the sight, honestly he hoped she managed to trip will and cause some momentary damage. noting he had gone quiet she let her head drop a little, eyes closing as she tried to imagine was going through his head. "my love...can you look at him in the morning if you don't let him past now?" she asked quietly, ignoring the glares that were surrounding her in the pit wall.

"it's a win baby, i need to prove that i can win on my own after miami and i need...i need those points for the championship."

"so drive, put your throttle down lan, drive and don't stop till the flag if you can live with being that man, but i know you and i love you and i'll love you regardless of what you chose right now but i also know you and this won't be winning on your own merit, this will haunt you my love and he'd do it for you, you know he'd do it for you."

lando paused again, swallowing as he rounded the corner. "you'd love me even if i took the win?"

"even then." and now she was pretty sure will was going to murder her if she ever surrendered this radio, at the very least, andreas was never letting her back in the garage.

"you'll love me more if i give osc the spot back?" he hated how unsure his voice sounded as he asked the question and her heart broke for him over how much she knew he would tare into himself later.

"no lando, my love for you isn't based on what you do in that car, not ever, its the man that comes home to me i care about." chewing on her lip she let her gaze flicker to the monitors. "the pit lane straight is coming up..." the comment hung in the air between them and she watched as it happened, 6 seconds, 5.3 seconds, 4 seconds - lando was letting him past.

"you're my winner lando." she whispered softly into the radio, silently wiping the tear that fell at his act. the look of relief around the pit wall was enough to make her guilt grow even more, at what they had cost lando today, what they had made her do. if they could just get their damn strategies right he wouldn't have been put in this position in the first place, he'd had been free to race as he came out behind oscar but instead she would piece together the pieces they threatened to break again as she took care of him tonight.

"i love you so much." lando urged as he watched oscar fly past him, his heart stopping for a moment before his foot found the throttle again. he didn't want to hear wills voice again, not right now and they could make it through two more laps without his help anyway. "will you stay with me for the rest of the race?" he asked because wins and races could come and go so long as he had her.

her eyes flickered to andreas on the wall from where she knew he was listening, watching as he nodded. "confirmed norris, i'm with you till the end." they didn't say much as he finished his race but she kept the line open with him. if the rest of the world would have something to say about the lovers simply existing together for the next two minutes then let them, she was the only one who saw him sometimes she was sure, the only one who knew what he had just done would be doing to him inside.

the chequered flag came and she checked the screens once more before making the call. "that's p2 baby, p2, you know what to do from here." sliding from her chair she didn't bother to take the head set off as she made her way through the garage and out through the pit lane to where she knew lando would soon be parking. she was easy to spot with the bright yellow merch she wore, forever a lando girl over mclaren and her eyes shiny as she watched her man move to congratulate oscar. it left a bitter taste in her mouth, that the win would be tainted by shitty team orders but she'd get to celebrating with oscar later once she knew her driver was ok.

she continued to chew at her lip as lando removed his helmet, the green eyes she knew so well looking around for her and she let her smile return at the way his shoulder visibly relaxed at the sight of her. lando was slow to move, not wanting to risk any more hate that he already knew he was going to get but there was only one thing he wanted right now. the hands he felt cupping his face, an instant sanctuary for the male. "i see you lan." the soft words that meant more to him than even love would.

leaning forward lando let the gap between them close, his lips find hers softly for a moment. normally she would pull away and scald him, knowing just how many cameras were in this pit lane to capture the moment but he needed her more now than she needed to shrink into the shadows. "i'm so damn proud of you." she whispered against his lips, fingers finding the damp curls at the back of his head and her chest settling now that she could hold him once more.

he'd never been as good with words as she had, always seemingly saying the same thing but he wanted to try, for her. "you mean more to me than all this you know?" he could already hear the people calling his name for media duties and as tempting as it was to just face the fines, grab his girl and vanish, lando knew that it would be better for the team if he saved them face. all the blood he'd lost for them still had to count for something right? taking a final second to lock in her face, lando lent forward for a final singular kiss. "i'll see you in my drivers room." he promised before he stepped away.

with a small nod she moved back, eyes filled with tears once more as he stepped up to take the mike from nico and he demonstrated once more why he was the man she adored. racing could continue to test him all it wanted, but she would be the anchor whilst he weathered any storm for as long as he needed her.

[justauthoring]

I really like your Tokyo revengers He’s Taken scenario. What if it happened in reverse where someone told the boys that they would be a better fit for reader <3

TOKYO REVENGERS - UM, SHE'S TAKEN?

includes: manjiro "mikey" sano, hanma shuji, baji keisuke and kazutora hanemiya all include xfem!reader!

a/n: this is so late but i felt i should actually do a request for once :) and i always love me some jealous boys!

MIKEY:

The audacity of this man.

That was all Mikey could think.

Did he not know who he was? Did he not know who you were dating? The Invisible Mikey, Toman's Leader and the most handsome boy you knew?

Clearly not.

Frowning, Mikey watches with barely concealed disdain as your classmate (the one you’ve been complaining to him about for weeks now) follows you outside of the school. He couldn’t always pick you up from school with Toman business and the like, but today he’d made sure he’d be able to after you’d texted him the day before that your annoying classmate had proceeded to take his infatuation with you a step further and follow you out of school. It had taken you great convincing to get him not to ‘walk you home’ as he so eloquently put it – stalking more like it – and though you’d tried to play it off, Mikey knew how scared you were.

The second your eyes fall on Mikey making his way over to you, he sees the instant relief that floods through them. Despite everything, Mikey can't help but feel slightly smug at that, hands shoved nonchalantly in his pockets as he crosses the distance over to you.

"Y/N-channn!" He calls out, arms stretched out towards you and with a single brief glance at the boy next to you, you all but race towards him, allowing yourself to fall into his arms. Mikey hates the way he feels you shake slightly beneath his fingertips, and he throws a not-so-subtle glare the classmates way, who – as he figured – is glaring right back at him.

"Y/N," the classmate calls, and Mikey's eyes narrow at his familiarity when regarding you. "Who's this?"

You lean back from his hug, and Mikey can see you look rather annoyed at the question – clearly, you've told him this before.

"Mikey," Mikey cuts in dryly, "her boyfriend."

And he must really not know who Mikey is because he has the gall to laugh.

"Boyfriend?" Haru laughs, mockingly and loudly, head thrown back as you cast a quick glance up at Mikey in uncertainy, trying to gauge he's reaction. Truthfully, Mikey looks unphased. "I thought you were joking about that, Y/N."

And then Haru steps forward, moving towards you; "I mean, you and me make a much better–"

It happens in a flash. Suddenly, you're no longer in Mikey's arms and rather set gently behind him, Mikey’s body blocking your view as Haru's hand that was outstretched towards you is now tightly grasped in Mikey's fist. A quick glance at Haru's face, and you can tell that Mikey's grip is tight, his face twisting with pain.

"Did I forget to mention?" Mikey smiles, "I'm also the leader of Toman."

Haru's eyes widen and he looks scared–well, shitless.

Mikey's grip tightens, finding the way all colour leaves Haru's face rather amusing and the way the panic wells with pain as Mikey bends his arm to the point of just being about to break.

"Now, what was that about you and Y/N-chan being a better match?"

"I was wrong!" Haru cries, voice pitching pathetically, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!"

"Don't apologize to me," Mikey shrugs, "apologize to Y/N-chan for making her so uncomfortable for the past few weeks."

Slowly, Mikey takes a step back, allowing you to fall in the view of Haru again, who, near crying, falls to his knees. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!"

Cheeks red slightly in embarrassment, you turn to Mikey.

He lets go with ease, Haru falling to the ground with one last cry, before Mikey makes his way to you, pulling you back into his arms with a wide grin.

"Let's go eat!" Mikey calls out with a cheer, snuggling into you. "I want you to feed me!"

HANMA:

"I mean, you're no good for her."

There's a beat. One long, single beat of silence before Hanma can't hold himself back anymore and he burst into laughter.

You, whose stood next to him, looks at him in disbelief, eyes widening as Hanma all but cackles in response to Asahi's words. Asahi, to be fair, looks just a stunned, and with a frown, you step towards your boyfriend, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Shuji!" You hiss, grip tightening on him.

He falls quiet at that, letting his eyes drift across you briefly, taking in the worried look in your eyes and the laughter stops at that. Hanma lets his eyes fall back on this boy, Asahi apparently, and the frown deepens – you were scared of this guy? He looked like wind might blow him over.

Besides, didn't you trust him to protect you?

A single glance back at you, and you're still throwing worried glances at Asahi, shuffled close to his side.

Guess he had something else to prove then.

"That's funny," Hanma finally speaks up, letting his eyes fall on Asahi with disinterest. "Hilarious actually." But all the humour has left his body, and Hanma simply stares back at the boy with a straight face.

Asahi falters, just slightly.

"I-I mean, you're a deliquent!" He calls out, gesturning in front of him at Hanma, before his eyes fall on you. "I mean, surely you can see that being with him will be nothing but a bad influence. If you were–"

Hanma steps in front of you, blocking you effectively from him.

"You don't get to talk to her," Hanma states rather bluntly.

Asahi turns to him, lips parting.

"You're not worthy enough to talk to her, pipsqueak. So let's keep this between you and me, huh?"

The air changes, thickens, and although you can't see it, you can practically sense as Asahi grows nervous, registering the glint in Hanma's gaze as he stares him down.

"I mean, surely, if you knew I was a... what did you say? Delinquent." Hanma snorts, "you think you'd have the brains to realize I'm not someone to mess with. And I don't take kindly to idiots like you trying to tell me who my girl should or shouldn't be with."

Hanma takes a step forward then, towering over the boy whose skin has grown pale, eyes flooding with fear as he stares up at Hanma.

"I especially don't take kindly to you scaring my girl either."

"I-I–"

Grabbing Asahi by the collar of his jacket, Asahi falls silent as Hanma pulls him up until he's standing on the tip of his toes, kicking his feet beneath him.

"But it seems I screwed up too, huh? My girl shouldn't have to be afraid because she should know I'd never let anyone touch her, let alone look at her if they made her uncomfortable."

There's a pause and Hanma's gaze grows wild as his fist slowly raises beside him, Asahi's cries of panic and pleads of mercy simply a background noise.

"So it looks like I gotta show her why."

BAJI:

"You're loud."

Well, Baji guessed he couldn't necessarily argue with that.

"You're rash."

That, too... maybe.

"You're not very smart."

Uh, ouch.

"You act without thinking. It could get Y/N hurt."

Okay, well that was just rude.

You were always Baji's top priority.

Well, that and fighting. But, still.

"I think I'd be a much better fit for her."

Baji should've figured this is where the conversation was going. Letting his eyes drift across the boy stood in front of him, he takes in the sight of his Toman uniform. He doesn't readily recognize the boy, so he's certainly not in his division.

Ballsy, he'd admit.

But stupid nonetheless.

He's probably in Mitsuya's division, Baji laughs to himself.

Well, not for much longer.

"I'll take your silence as a sign you agree with me–"

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions," Baji chuckles, grinning down widely at the boy. "What makes you think you're so great for Y/N? I know she's happy with me."

Lips parting, the boy pauses; "what?"

"You listed off all the reasons why you think I'm not a good fit for her, right?" He quirks a brow, and the boy nods. "So, tell me why you think you're a good match for her. You win, I'll break up with Y/N. And if you lose... well, needless to say." With a wide grin, Baji cracks his knuckles, baring his fists down at the boy.

The boys eyes widen, and he fumbles for a second, before he steels himself, inhaling deeply.

"Well, I'm smart, for one–"

"Wrong," Baji cuts in, "Y/N doesn't like smart guys. Why else would she have gone for me?"

Faltering, the boy shakes his head; "w-well, I'm a good cook–"

"Y/N prefers cooking herself," Baji shakes his head. "It's her passion."

Cheeks redenning, the boy rushes to add; "I-I'm! I'm strong!"

Baji just laughs; "not as strong as me. You're not even a vice captain of Toman!"

Thoroughly embarrassed, the boy hesitates, face bright red.

"Looks like you lose," Baji sings, stepping towards the boy. "I mean, if you really knew Y/N, you'd know the most important thing."

"W-What?"

"That none of that matters because she loves me!"

"You can't just–"

He never finishes what he's about to say before a fist makes contact with his cheek, knocking him off his feet and sending him straight to the ground.

Baji glances down at him with a blink.

"Strong my ass."

He makes a move toward him, before;

"Keisuke!"

Eyes lighting up, Baji spins, grinning at the sight of you. "Y/N!"

You fall in front of him, eyes flickering from the boy groaning on the ground back to him, "did you get in another fight again?"

Baji shrugs; "the guy deserved it. Not much of a fight either.”

And your eyes fall back on the boy on the ground and there's a flicker of hope where he thinks you might help but, but then after a moment you follow Baji's lead, shrugging, letting him take your hand in his before leading him off.

Guess Baji was right – you really did love him.

KAZUTORA:

"I mean, didn't you go to juvie?"

Frowning, Kazutora glares at the man, Daiki as he'd introduced himself as, in front of him. He was apparently a co-worker of yours, though Kazutora's never heard you talk about him before.

Stuck at this party your work was holding for you as a celebration for the promotion you'd received and your excellent work at the company, Kazutora had gotten a whole half hour of your time before you'd been whisked off by two woman, you offering an apologetic smile over your shoulder in response.

At the time, Kazutora hadn't minded – this night was for you after all and he wanted you to enjoy it.

Now, though? He desperately wanted to leave.

"How do you even know that?" Kazutora asks, his patience thin.

"I did some research when Y/N mentioned your name," Daiki shrugs. "Of course, when she mentioned you she hadn't mentioned that."

It's obviously meant as a jab. But Kazutora knew you weren't embarrassed of him – at least, he'd been pretty sure of that.

"Well, it's not really any of your business is it?" Kazutora cuts in, barely able to contain the snide in his tone. He barely liked socializing with people anyway, especially strangers, but he'd gone for you and because he wanted to be apart of your celebration. It was the least he could do after all you'd done for him.

But now he wishes he’d stayed home if he had to continue dealing with this guy.

"Still," Daiki insists, "aren't you embarrassed? I mean, such an upstanding woman... it's a wonder why she ever chose you."

"I chose him because I love him for him," you cut in and Kazutora’s eyes widen, glancing over his shoulder to see you making your way over to him. You look absolutely stunning, dressed in a floor length Y/F/C dress and when you notice his eyes on you, you smile at him, before it falters as you turn back to glance at your coworker. "But I hardly think that's any of your business anyways."

You fall next to Kazutora, wrapping your arm around his waist as you fall into his side, and the second you do, you squeeze Kazutora's side, and he realizes you're trying to reassure him.

"Y/N–!"

"Honestly, Daiki," you breathe out, voice coming out purposely exasperated as you roll your eyes. "I've had this conversation with you multiple times. I am happily in a relationship and your obsession with my personal affairs is strange and inappropriate. Given my promotion, I could easily have you fired."

Kazutora watches as the man's eyes widen, cheeks bleeding red as he shakes his head; "my-my apologies. Please, you don't have to go that far. I'll... I'll make sure I stop."

You raise a brow, holding the man with bated breath for a moment, before you nod. "Just don't let it happen again."

Daiki scurries off without another word, desperate to get away and Kazutora watches as you let out a sigh, shoulders falling as you shift, coming to stand in front of him, hands falling on his hips.

"I'm sorry about him. He's been... annoyingly persistant about asking me out for the past bit. I thought he'd have stopped when I reported him last week but when I saw him talking to you just now, I realized he hadn't."

Kazutora glances down at you, meeting your gaze.

You understand what he's trying to say before he even does; "nuh-uh," you shake your head, tugging him closer to you. "Don't let a word that idiot says get to you. He's just a pervert anyways. He spends half of his time looking down my shirt and I would never want to be with someone like him over you."

Biting his lips, Kazutora smiles softly; "I love you."

"I love you too," you grin, before slipping your hand into his. "Now, come on, I want to introduce you to my friends."

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Multiverse Police

I've seen the idea that GIW is actually SCP foundation somewhere, and lately, I've been thinking a lot about Fenton Happy Ending, so I bring you this. Behold, GIW/SCP, Team Phantom, and Fentons are working all together, and the whole wide multiverse fears them.

So, a giant green Lazarus Pit that looks more like a vortex than an actual Pit randomly opens in, say, Ohio. Because I heard a lot of weird shit happens in Ohio. The world is worried, JL gets sent there, but they are not exactly sure of what to do with it. Nothing comes out of it, and, well, no one is volunteering to just jump inside it - Batman made everyone read his files on Lazarus Waters, and they are reasonably wary.

But then a thing appears literally out of thin air on top of it. It looks like a spaceship, kind of, but more sci-fi than what real spaceships look like. And before anyone says anything, a large green - Lazarus green - dome appears, effectively covering both the ship and the Pit and cutting the heroes off.

The heroes are Confused (tm). And worried. And no one has an idea of what the fuck is going on, for all they know it could be some kind of yet another alien invasion.

Then, two figures on the hoverboards - one read and one teal - come out of the ship, flying over the Pit. They are followed by drones, and they all look like they are... scanning the Pit? A few more people, wearing black visors and shiny white suits that look like they are packed with all kinds of tech, slide down on the ropes straight inside the Pit. It sure looks like they are very familiar with it and have a good idea of what they are doing, working as a team.

One of the figures on the hoverboard, the one in a teal suit, notices the heroes on the other side of the green dome. She - because both of them look feminine enough - slows down and flies down to the ground, landing in front of Superman and taking off her helmet. It reveals a rather young, no older than twenty years old girl with fiery red hair tied in a bun, with eyes the same color as her suit. She smiles at them.

"Hi, you must be the Justice League?" She asks politely, and as Superman gives her a nod just out of surprise at her friendly attitude, she touches her ear, "Mom, this is DC sector universe. Pretty sure it's not a dimension we've been before, though." She turns back to Superman, "You don't recognize any of this, do you?"

Batman intervenes before Supes has the time to answer, "Who are you?"

The girl nods and taps her ear again, "Yeah, they definitely don't know us. So mark it as either an unfamiliar dimension or an unfamiliar timeline." Then she turns to Batman and smiles.

"You can call us interdimensional police. And since all the Batmans we ever encountered never believed us, I'm going to send you a copy of the files your other versions complied all together, so you can read and add more if you feel like it."

She touches her wrist computer, and, a few moments later, Batman's comm comes online with Oracle's voice:

"B, I'm getting a shit ton of files on... Multiverse Law Enforcement?.. out of nowhere. What's going on?"

Now, JL is baffled. Some of them - Flashes and Bats, for example - knew there was a whole wide multiverse going on, but to learn the multiverse has police? That's new.

Meanwhile, the redhead continues:

"The green thing behind me is a natural portal to the Infinite Realms, the dimension between dimensions. Which is really not what is supposed to be happening, so we are in the process of fixing it. It will take from ten minutes to a few hours, depending on what's on the other side, but the portal will be gone soon, and then I'll have to ask you some questions."

"Questions about what?" Asks Flash, and the girl waves her hand in the air.

"Oh, well, about the portals? If one so big is opening up, it means a few smaller ones had to exist in this dimension already. Our tech is not picking them up if they are smaller than a certain size, but you must have seen them before. I believe in the DC sector, you call them Lazarus Pits? We can take care of them later, too."

The second hoverboarder flies closer to them and revs her engine.

"Jazz, talk to them later, Tucker and Agents are done. Fentons are about to get Dannies down, so you need to either come up or leave the shield."

The girl - Jazz - looks surprised.

"Dan, too?"

"Yeah, it's the Toothy Jungle on the other side. They wanted to ask Ember, but, eh, what's her guitar gonna do to plants, even if they are sentient?" The red hoverboarder shrugs, and Jazz tilts her head, looking back to the heroes.

"I think I'll stay with them. You know it gets violent when Dan goes down, so people get antsy about us. I don't want to give the wrong impression."

The other girl huffs, but doesn't argue.

"Okay. Get out of the shield, then, and for Ancients sake, keep your comm open. Danny has an aneurysm every time you turn it off." With that, she flies away, back to the ship, and Jazz taps her hoverboard so it folds down into a hexagon shape no bigger than a backpack. Then, she steps through the shield, joining the JL on the other side of it.

"Are you not scared we might take you hostage?" Asks Wonder Woman just out of curiosity, and Jazz smiles pleasantly at her.

"Don't judge a girl by her looks. I don't want to brag, but I did fist fight Superman once and won."

----------

So basically, after Amity Park got sucked into Infinite Realms, the whole town just kind of collectively decided they like it there. And somehow they reached a happily ever after with both Danny's reveal to his parents and GIW, and then Clockwork showed up and was like, you guys want human food supply, running water and electricity, right? Well, I can do that, and so much more, you can be the ultimate perfect town. And for the price? You gonna go on adventures from time to time and fix the multiverse when shit hits the fan in various dimensions and universes. Doesn't that sound like fun?

And Amity Park, who's seen so much weird stuff over the years that it greatly affected their idea of common sense, goes yeah, that does sound fun! Let's go, people!

So here they are, appearing in different universes and doing damage control. They are, like, the superheroes for superheroes.

I'm probably going to write a part 2 to it, I want to show off Danny and Dan and Dani too. Halfas on the loose, JL is mildly concerned and kind of scared, and Jazz is just like yeah, that's just another regular Tuesday :)

I love Jazz being a badass, yes. Also, if you didn't get it, the other one on the hoverboard is Val, the drones are controlled by Tucker, and the people on the ropes are GIW agents.

| next -> |

[seafarersdream]

Heck yeah Freddie Fox!!!!what if reader plays Gwayne and Alicent sister, but their chemistry is sooooo good that the creators had to cut their scenes together because "they're Hightowers, not Targaryens"🤣🤣🤣and the cast are having the time of their lives with that

Me and the Devil (Freddie Fox x Y/N)

Y/N L/N, who stars as Lady Eleanor Hightower, has an absolutely electric chemistry with her on-screen brother, Freddie Fox, who plays Ser Gwayne Hightower, much to the amusement and exasperation of the HOTD cast and crew.

TW // Strong language and profanities, incestuous undertones, sexual tension and innuendos.

The sun was rising behind the walls of the Red Keep, casting long, creeping shadows over the Outer Courtyard. Lady Eleanor Hightower, clad in the deep, grieving olive of her house, stood with an air of weary grace beside her sister, Dowager Queen Alicent. Her face was a picture of calm, though her eyes were heavy with the sorrow of loss and the weight of recent weeks.

“Do you think he’ll bring that dreadful horse again?” Eleanor asked, her voice soft but dripping with that sharp edge she never quite lost, even in mourning.

Alicent’s lips twitched, but she held her composure. "If he does, I’ll have it stabled outside the walls. I’m not having that beast piss all over the courtyard again."

The rumble of hooves on cobblestones drew their attention. The gates opened, and a column of knights in shining armor, bearing the sigil of House Hightower, entered the courtyard. At their head was Ser Gwayne Hightower, his helm tucked under one arm, revealing the tousled auburn hair and devil-may-care grin that Eleanor had grown so used to seeing—when he wasn’t hiding it behind an arrogant smirk.

“Well, well, look who it is. The fairest blooms of Oldtown,” Gwayne drawled, striding over like he owned all Seven Kingdoms. “Alicent, you’re still holding up the realm with that iron fist of yours. And Eleanor…” His eyes trailed over her, lingering just a fraction too long, “Looking every bit the grieving widow. Tell me, how does it feel to be free of that hideous arsehole, late Lord Hastwyck? May the Seven forgive him.”

Eleanor shot him a withering look, but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. “About as good as it feels to watch you strut around like you haven’t been fucked in months.”

“Oh, fuck off, Ellie,” Freddie retorted, still in character, his grin widening. “Thought all that mourning might’ve taken the edge off your bite, but clearly, I was wrong.”

Eleanor arched an eyebrow, a smirk that could rival his playing on her lips. “And you, brother, seem as full of yourself as ever. Did the trip here inflate your ego even further?”

Gwayne grinned wider, flashing teeth. “Careful, little sister, or I’ll think you missed me.”

Alicent, tired of their verbal sparring, interjected. “Gwayne, you’ve arrived at an important time. Ser Criston Cole has replaced our father as Hand, and there is much work to be done.”

Gwayne’s grin faded into a sneer. “Ser Criston Cole? That jumped-up cunt of a knight? What, are we that desperate, we’re pulling nobodies out of the arse-end of the Kingsguard now?”

The crew, who had been trying to keep it together, finally lost it. Laughter rang out across the courtyard, cameramen shaking their heads as they tried to stay steady.

“Cut! Fucking hell, cut!” Geeta Patel called out, struggling to keep the exasperation out of her voice. She stepped forward, waving her hands as she approached the trio. “Alright, Freddie, Y/N, that was... Jesus Christ, that was incredible. But you’re not Jaime and Cersei Lannister, alright? You’re Hightowers. That kind of sibling chemistry doesn’t fly in this family. Tone down the ‘let’s fuck each other senseless’ vibes, okay?”

Freddie turned to Y/N, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Hear that, darling? We’re too bloody hot for Westeros.”

Geeta rolled her eyes, but she was smiling despite herself. “I swear, you two are going to give me aneurysm. Just... try to remember you’re siblings. No more of that smoldering shit. The Hightowers don’t do what the Targaryens do, alright?”

Freddie put on a mock-serious face, hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear to be the picture of brotherly love. No more dirty looks, no more—“

“Smoldering looks, you tosser,” Y/N corrected, elbowing him in the ribs. “And good luck with that.”

The crew was still giggling, a few members openly impressed. “Honestly, we haven’t seen chemistry like this since Game of Thrones,” one of the grips muttered, shaking his head. “It’s fucking unreal.”

As Geeta returned to her chair, giving notes to the crew, Freddie leaned in closer to Y/N. “Honestly, how are we supposed to act like siblings when you keep giving me those eyes?”

Y/N shot him a sidelong glance. “You mean the same eyes you’re giving me right now? Don’t think I don’t notice.”

Freddie chuckled, his voice low enough that only Y/N could hear. “Well then how about we really give them something to talk about?”

Y/N swatted at him playfully. “Behave yourself, Fox. Or I’ll tell Geeta.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Before Freddie could fire back, Geeta’s voice rang out again. “Alright, enough banter, you two. Places! And for fuck’s sake, remember—you’re Hightowers, not Targaryens or Lannisters!”

Freddie straightened up, slipping back into his role as Ser Gwayne, but not before giving Y/N one last, devilish wink. “For now,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

Y/N fought to keep her expression neutral, but the corners of her mouth twitched with suppressed laughter. She shot him a look that promised retribution later.

As the cameras rolled once more, they slipped effortlessly back into character, their banter sizzling with that same crackling chemistry that had the entire crew both laughing and marveling at just how damn good these two were together—siblings or not.

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On a different day, Geeta Patel was giving final instructions to Olivia Cooke and to Fabien Frankel. “Alright, Olivia, Fabien,” Geeta began, her tone calm. “This scene is all about the farewell. Criston, you’re asking for Alicent’s favor before you leave for war. This is a significant moment between you two. We need it to be subtle, yet powerful. Got it?”

Fabien nodded, his expression serious. “Got it, Geeta.”

Olivia smiled. “Ready when you are.”

Geeta gave them a satisfied nod and turned to the crew. “Okay, everyone, positions! Let’s make this one count.”

As the cameras rolled, Criston Cole approached Alicent with a grave expression, his armor gleaming in the dying light. He bowed low, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “Your Grace,” he began, his tone respectful, yet carrying an undercurrent of something deeper.

Alicent looked at him with those sharp, knowing eyes, giving him a slight nod. “May the Seven guide you, good knight,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “And lead you not to shadow and death.”

Criston bowed his head even lower, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I thank Your Grace for her prayers,” he replied, his voice filled with reverence.

Alicent turned as if to leave, her gown sweeping the stones with a soft rustle. But before she could take more than a step, Criston’s voice called her back. “And I would request,” he said, his words halting her in her tracks, “that Her Grace grant me her favor. That her Lord Commander may go into battle with her blessings… in his heart.”

The scene hung heavy in the air, the tension thick between them as Criston’s plea echoed through the courtyard. Alicent hesitated, her hand brushing against the delicate fabric of her sleeve as she turned back to him, her eyes locking onto his. There was a moment of silence, a breath suspended in time, as everyone waited to see what she would do.

She finally reached into her sleeve, pulling out the small, delicate handkerchief embroidered with her initials. The camera zoomed in, capturing the intricate details, the way her fingers trembled just slightly as she held it out to him. “Take this,” she murmured, her voice carrying a subtle tremor, “as a token of my favor. Return victorious, Ser Criston. And know that you carry my thoughts with you.”

Criston bowed his head, taking the handkerchief. “Your Grace,” he replied, his voice rough, “I shall return with your favor in my heart and the victory of your cause in my hands.”

The scene was supposed to be the focal point of the episode—an understated farewell between the Dowager Queen and her paramour.

Or at least, that was the plan.

In the background, Eleanor and Gwayne were supposed to be having a far simpler exchange—just a quick farewell between siblings, nothing more.

The moment the camera panned to them, what was meant to be a brief, subdued farewell exploded into something far more dramatic.

“Eleanor, my sweet sister,” Gwayne declared, sweeping her up in an exaggerated embrace, his voice loud enough to carry across the courtyard. “How will I ever endure the horrors of war without your smile to guide me through the darkness?”

Y/N played right into it. She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes shining with fake tears. “Gwayne, you reckless fool, you’d better come back to me—or I swear I’ll hunt you down myself.”

The crew exchanged glances, trying desperately to keep their laughter in check as the two continued to ad-lib their way through what was supposed to be a simple goodbye.

Gwayne placed a hand on Eleanor’s cheek, his expression one of melodramatic intensity. “If I do not return, tell the world I died with your name on my lips.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” someone from the crew muttered, barely audible over the sound of snickering.

Geeta Patel, perched in her director’s chair, pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “Cut! CUT!” she finally called out, though her voice was tinged with reluctant amusement. “Freddie, Y/N, what the bloody hell was that? You’re supposed to be siblings, not star-crossed lovers.”

Freddie turned to Y/N with a grin that could only be described as wicked. “Sorry, Geeta, got a bit carried away there. Can you blame me? Look at her—who wouldn’t fall madly in love?”

Y/N smirked, not missing a beat. “Don’t flatter yourself, Fox. It’s called acting.”

Geeta threw up her hands in defeat. “I swear, you two are the bane of my existence. How am I supposed to get a serious scene out of you when you keep turning everything into a bloody pantomime?”

The crew was struggling to keep it together. Even Olivia, standing nearby as Alicent, was biting her lip, trying to stay in character despite the ridiculousness happening behind her.

Freddie chuckled. “Geeta, darling, I think what we’re doing here is revolutionary.”

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically, though she was clearly enjoying herself. “What he’s trying to say, Geeta, is that we’re just too damn good together. Maybe it’s time to change the script.”

“Or maybe,” Geeta retorted, her tone playful despite her frustration, “you two could try actually sticking to the script for once. I’m pretty sure HBO isn’t paying you to improvise a Lannister-style farewell.”

Freddie turned to Y/N, pretending to consider it. “What do you think, Eleanor? Should we behave ourselves this time?”

Y/N gave a mock sigh, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off her costume. “I suppose we could try.”

Geeta couldn’t help but shake her head as she gestured for the crew to reset. “Alright, let’s take it from the top. And this time, keep it in your pants, Hightower freaks.”

Cameras rolled once more, the scene resumed, with Criston and Alicent taking center stage as intended from the start.

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The camera opens on a sleek, modern studio set, the familiar logo of Max glowing softly in the background. Y/N and Freddie are seated side by side, relaxed and comfortable, both dressed casually but stylishly—Y/N in a chic blouse and jeans, Freddie in his usual mix of sharp yet slightly rumpled attire.

The interviewer, a young woman with a cheerful demeanor, smiled warmly at them. “Thank you both for joining us today. Why don’t we start with some introductions?”

“Hello, everyone! I’m Y/N L/N, and I play Lady Eleanor Hightower on House of the Dragon,” Y/N says, her voice smooth and confident as she introduces herself.

Freddie chimes in right after. “And I’m Freddie Fox, and I play Ser Gwayne Hightower, Eleanor’s incredibly charming, dashingly handsome older brother.”

Y/N snorts, nudging him with her elbow. “You forgot modest, Freddie. Always so modest.”

The interviewer laughs, clearly enjoying their banter. “It’s great to have you both here. So, as you know, House of the Dragon has a massive fandom, and one of the things they love to do is theorize and create ships outside of the canon. They really get invested in the chemistry between characters—and, let’s be honest, between the actors as well.”

Freddie and Y/N exchange a look, both trying to suppress knowing smiles.

The interviewer continues with a mischievous glint in her eye. “So, naturally, people are starting to wonder—could we be seeing the next Kit Harington and Rose Leslie? You know, screen partners turning into real-life partners?”

Freddie, never one to miss an opportunity for a bit of fun, suddenly turned in his seat, getting down on one knee in front of Y/N. With an exaggeratedly serious expression, he took her hand. “Y/N, dearest Lady Eleanor, would you do me the immense honor of becoming my wife? I promise to annoy you, to steal your snacks, and to outshine you in every single scene we ever do together.”

Y/N bursts out laughing, placing a hand over her heart as if genuinely touched. “Oh, Freddie, how could I ever say no to such a heartfelt proposal? But I must warn you—I take up all the covers at night, and I’m not above hiding the remote if you try to switch to football during one of our movie nights.”

The interviewer is cracking up now, along with the crew behind the cameras. “I didn’t expect this, but I’m loving it! You two are absolutely priceless.”

Freddie stood up, still holding Y/N’s hand, and they both gave a bow to the camera. “Well, you know," he says, turning back to the interviewer, “it’s all about keeping the fans on their toes. Can’t make it too easy for them to figure out what’s going on, right?”

Y/N grins. “Exactly. We like to keep things... interesting.”

The interviewer, still grinning, leans in. “So, should we start planning the wedding, or...?”

Freddie looked thoughtfully at Y/N, tapping his chin. “Well, we’re thinking of something small. Just us, a couple of dragons, and maybe a White Walker to officiate. Keep it intimate, you know?”

Y/N nodded sagely. “Very exclusive. Only the crème de la crème of Westeros.”

The interviewer shakes her head, thoroughly entertained. “Okay, okay, I think we’ve just given the fandom even more fuel for their theories! On a serious note, though, it’s clear you two have incredible chemistry. What’s it like working together on set?”

Y/N smiled warmly at Freddie before answering. “Honestly, it’s a blast. Freddie and I just click, and I think that shows on screen. We’ve got a great rapport, and it’s always fun bringing these characters to life together.”

Freddie nodded, adding, “Yeah, we give each other a lot of shit, but that’s part of what makes it work. We trust each other, and that allows us to really push the boundaries in our scenes—sometimes a bit too much, according to Geeta,” he added with a wink.

The interviewer wraps it up, still chuckling. “Well, it’s been an absolute blast talking with you both. Can’t wait to see what chaos you bring to House of the Dragon next season.”

As the camera pulls back and the lights dim, Freddie and Y/N share a quick, conspiratorial glance, knowing they’d just given the fandom more than enough to talk about—and probably a few new fanfics to write as well.

When the interview dropped on the internet, the fandom absolutely exploded. Social media was flooded with clips of Freddie’s mock proposal, and the internet lost its collective mind.

Fans were dissecting every moment of the interview, from the playful banter to the way Freddie had gazed up at Y/N during his over-the-top proposal. The comments sections were filled with fans declaring that they were “shipping” the two even harder now, some even demanding that someone should cast them both in a romcom.

Amid the chaos, Y/N decided to fan the flames a bit more. She posted a cheeky selfie on Instagram, looking effortlessly stunning as always, with a caption that read, “The coolest of the Hightower siblings.”

It didn’t take long for Freddie to jump in on the fun. He reposted her selfie to his own Instagram story, adding the caption, “THE future Mrs. Fox.”

The internet went into overdrive. Fans were tagging each other, sharing screenshots, and even their House of the Dragon co-stars started chiming in with their own comments, playing along with the joke. The whole thing had taken on a life of its own, and it was clear that Y/N and Freddie had become the fandom’s favorite new obsession.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

During a press event, when Rhys Ifans, the man behind Otto Hightower, was asked about his thoughts on Freddie and Y/N’s antics, his face split into a wide, unabashed grin.

“Well, as Otto,” he began, dropping into character with a serious tone, “I have to say, it’s a major fucking ick. Completely inappropriate! Gwayne and Eleanor getting all... cozy? That would make Otto want to strangle someone. He’d be straight to the quill, penning some strongly worded letters to sort that shit out.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, knowing exactly how Otto Hightower would react to such scandal.

“But as Rhys?” he continued, his tone shifting to one of genuine enthusiasm, “I’m all in! I mean, have you seen those two together? The chemistry is off the bloody charts! If they don’t end up getting married after all this, I’ll be sorely disappointed. They’re perfect for each other—on and off the screen.”

His lighthearted comment sent the room into a ripple of laughter, with everyone loving the idea of Rhys being a secret shipper of Freddie and Y/N.

Within hours, his quote—“Ick as Otto, but fuck yes as Rhys!”—became the battle cry of the fandom, plastered across memes, gifs, and fan art that flooded every corner of the internet. It wasn't just spreading; it was detonating.

The whole situation exploded into a full-blown phenomenon, with fans practically canonizing Rhys as the unofficial president of the Freddie and Y/N ship. People started tagging him in everything, from wild fan theories to NSFW fanfiction, with captions like “Rhys would approve” or “Otto hates it, but Rhys lives for it.”

It was unhinged, chaotic, and utterly glorious. Rhys’s endorsement didn’t just add fuel to the fire; it threw in a grenade, making the whole thing go nuclear.

[lcvemiyuki]

“when they get jealous” | hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: haikyuu boys x reader, when they get jealous over someone else

warnings: disgustingly cute, kenma x reader + tsukishima x reader are established relationships, fem!reader, osamu x reader (y/n is perceived as shorter than osamu)

characters: kenma, tsukishima, osamu

a/n: more! bc these also have been stuck in my head... (not proofread sorry!)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Kozume Kenma

'he would get distracted to the point of jeopardizing a game'

It was a weekend afternoon, and Kenma had carved out some precious time to play solos in the gaming room. His specialty was first-person shooter games, and he stayed absolutely silent to focus; a pin drop could be heard from how quiet it was. Only the sounds of his game controller clicking resonated softly in the soundproof room.

You two shared the room, with back-to-back monitors and a personalized setup on each side. Occasionally, you would enter and play a game or two, leaving when you knew he had a stream scheduled.

Today was one of those quiet days, with Kenma fully immersed in his game. His noise-canceling headphones ensured nothing but the game’s audio reached his ears.

You entered the room, aware of his headphones, and left rabbit-cut apple slices next to his keyboard. The colors from his monitor illuminated the slices, casting a soft glow on them as his slender fingers worked like a well-oiled machine.

As you moved, your figure momentarily blocked his sight, and he glimpsed you holding a phone to your ear, a smile plastered on your face as you talked. Kenma's eyes lingered on you for a few seconds before his monitor demanded his attention again. Usually, you would make some sort of light contact to remind him you were there, a gentle touch or a pat on the shoulder.

But this time, you didn’t.

Instead, you turned to your side and plopped down on the plush chair, fully engrossed in your conversation. Kenma wasn't overly nosy, but he couldn’t help but peek out from the side of his monitor to observe you.

‘Who has your attention?’ he wondered.

Knowing he couldn't keep glancing your way without compromising his game, Kenma adjusted his headphones so that only one side covered his ear, leaving the other exposed to the outside world.

Kenma's focus split in half; he tried to concentrate on his game, yet every time he heard your wholehearted laugh, his eyes darted to you instantly. Your joy was infectious, and it pulled at his curiosity with an unfamiliar force.

“Tomorrow? Yeah, that sounds great!” Your voice rang out, clear and cheerful. Kenma's brows furrowed as he strained to make out more of your conversation. His concentration slowly dissipated, the multiple noises becoming a chaotic blend in his mind.

“I can’t wait to see you!” Your exclamation, followed by another giggle, broke his focus entirely. He turned his head fully for just two seconds, enough time for his character on screen to be targeted and shot.

The screen flashed red with ‘GAME OVER’ in bold letters.

Kenma's eyes did a double take as the realization hit—he had gotten distracted a bit too long.

He never lost a game—ever.

He yanked the headphones off, letting them hang around his neck as he leaned back in his chair. A long sigh heaved out, his worn-out hands finding their way behind his head as his legs spread apart for a more comfortable position.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later, bro. Tell Mom I can’t wait to see you guys!” Now free from his game’s immersive audio, Kenma heard you loud and clear. His eyes squeezed shut, feeling a twinge of annoyance at himself for getting so distracted.

That really cost him a game—yet he couldn't help but feel his heart rate slow down after realizing you were just talking to your brother.

Lost in his thoughts, Kenma didn’t hear you approach until he felt the soft, slightly wet touch of your lips pecking his. His eyes slowly fluttered open to find you staring down at him with a confused look.

“You lost, Kozu?” Your eyes now drifted to his monitor.

He could only softly scoff at himself, a mix of embarrassment and amusement in his tone. “Yeah, I guess I did.” His lips pursed together, noting the twinge of sweetness they tasted.

He would never tell you the real reason, though.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

Kei Tsukishima

'his smile looks indifferent, yet his eyes shot daggers'

The sound of someone’s cough echoed through the museum as you and Tsukishima passed through another grand exhibit. The exhibits grew slightly crowded at times, prompting you to lightly grasp the edge of his coat, careful not to fully grab him. His strides were slightly faster than yours granted his slight eagerness. Tsukishima turned his head, peering down at your hand clutching his clothes.

“Is this your way of trying to keep up?” His light eyebrows raised slightly in amusement before he reached back, taking hold of your hand to guide you instead.

“Excuse me!” a slightly loud voice echoed in the room, causing you to close your mouth before you could respond. You turned to face the source of the shout, only to find a young man staring right at you.

Tsukishima halted with you, turning his head around with a hint of annoyance at whoever was shouting.

“Do people not know when to lower their voices?” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation. As he was about to finish his sentence, he noticed the man making his way toward you specifically. Tsukishima didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes were solely focused on you.

Turning his attention to you, Tsukishima also noticed how your squinting eyes suddenly morphed into one of pure surprise.

“Y/N? Is that really you!?” the man exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement.

As the man launched into an animated recount of his recent adventures, Tsukishima stood by, feeling a pang of irritation.

Soon enough, a few others caught up to your classmate. Tsukishima couldn't miss the way it took them a few seconds to avert their eyes or the eager way they held out their hands to shake yours.

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, ‘How shameless.’

“This is my—” you began to introduce Tsukki, but he beat you to it, turning fully to face the group. “I’m the boyfriend.” His smile was anything but genuine.

His tone might have been friendly, but you could tell Tsukki was irritated.

Quickly realizing he might be upset about the abrupt interruption of your date, you hastily said your goodbyes to your old high school friend.

“Aw, c’mon Y/N, how about a reunion selfie before we let you go?” your old classmate nudged, pointing at the phone he was holding.

You awkwardly laughed, trying to think of a way to politely decline. But before you could say no, you felt a gentle but firm pressure on the small of your back, guiding you forward. You turned to see Tsukishima's long fingers splayed out against your back, his touch insistent. The action caused you to straighten up in response, feeling the solid reassurance of his hand.

You quickly took the selfie with your old classmate, offering a polite smile for the camera. Before you could say another brief goodbye, you noticed the three guys in the back all staring in your direction, only to quickly avert their gaze to some random object in the building.

Curious about what had caught their attention, you turned your head to follow their line of sight. Your heart began to race as you saw the reason for their sudden shift in focus.

Tsukishima, now several meters away, was turned slightly to the side, but his eyes were locked onto the guy next to you. His usual could-care-less demeanor was replaced with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Tsukishima's glare was menacing as if silently placing a bounty on his head. His hands were comfortably placed in his pockets; his black glasses failed to mask the daggers he shot their way.

There was no mistaking it—he was jealous, and not just mildly so.

You quickly excused yourself, murmuring a final goodbye to your old classmate. You made your way over to Tsukishima, your steps quickening with each passing second.

As you reached him, you hesitated for a moment before gently placing a hand on his arm. His eyes flicked to yours, then quickly shifted away, focusing on anything but you.

“Tsukki,” you said softly, “Sorry that took so long.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, his tone begrudgingly agreeing.

“Were their stares bothering you?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

Tsukishima’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“They were just...annoying,” he said, his voice clipped. “Like, read the room.”

A mischievous smirk played on your face as you interlocked your hand with his. “Is that why you were death-staring them like they were your sworn enemies?”

“Obviously. Anyone would with how noisy they were,” he replied, trying to sound indifferent.

He would never admit to it, but you could read him all too well.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

Miya Osamu

'wouldn't care if a purchase or two gets put on the line'

One day, Atsumu, his doting twin brother, waltzes into the semi-busy shop with open arms.

“Take a whiff, boys—the infamous Miya blood mixes with success,” he says smugly.

Osamu doesn't even welcome them once he sees who it is—he simply deadpans and shoves the curtains to go in the back.

With a bright smile that reaches your eyes, you quickly greet the customers. The two unfamiliar gentlemen behind Atsumu had a muscular and tall build—likely hungry athletes in need of rewarding food.

‘Time to sell the whole shop,’ you think with determination.

Although you weren’t an official employee at Onigiri Miya, you wanted to help Osamu as much as you could. That included selling his delicious food to hungry customers.

You devise a quick game plan and target the first tall guy, hastily approaching him. His eyebrows are furrowed slightly as he examines the menu, trying to decide what to eat.

“Hi there! If you’re looking for something delicious, you can’t go wrong with our classic tuna mayo onigiri,” you suggest cheerfully, your enthusiasm catching his attention.

The tall guy’s face lights up at your recommendation. “That sounds perfect, thanks!” he says, his serious expression softening.

Just as you’re about to show him another flavor, Osamu suddenly walks directly between you and the customer, almost bumping into you. “You should try the natto,” he says, grabbing a natto onigiri from the display, his tone a bit sharper than usual.

The customer looks a bit taken aback, clearly put off by the sudden change. “Uh, I’m not sure about natto…” he says hesitantly.

You frown slightly, trying to salvage the situation. “Well, we have plenty of other options too—how about the umeboshi?” you suggest, stepping around Osamu to point at another onigiri.

Osamu, however, doesn’t move, effectively blocking your view. “Natto’s a specialty here. You should give it a shot,” he insists, practically shoving the onigiri into the customer’s hand, his eyes darting briefly to you and then back to the customer.

The customer looks uncomfortable, but Atsumu, ever the opportunist, steps in with a grin. “Look at ya, ‘Samu. Can’t stand to see Y/N sellin’ your onigiri to my pal, huh?” he teases, clearly enjoying the situation.

Osamu’s scowl deepens as he grabs an onigiri from the counter. “Shut up, ‘Tsumu,” he mutters before stuffing the onigiri into his brother’s mouth, effectively muffling his cackle.

Atsumu’s eyes widen in surprise, slightly coughing from practically choking on a rice ball.

Trying to pretend the twins weren’t going at it, mouthing silent threats to each other on each side of you two, you try to make a pitch once again.

“I hope you try out all, but it’s up to you!” you quickly put all three into the man’s hands and in doing so, your hand encloses them and gives it a slight pat.

The shuffling stops as you feel two holes being burned into the back of your head.

You could hear a soft chuckle as Osamu's large hands suddenly and slightly encircled your neck from behind. His weight leaned lightly against you as he crouched down a bit to join the conversation.

"Y/N's putting in quite the effort to sell you these, man. I'd say take them and enjoy," he remarked, his face close enough to yours that you could almost feel his breath against your ear.

With a subtle maneuver, you sidestep out of his grasp and guide the customer towards the register; the mess the very owner put you through just to sell these damn onigiris. You mentally roll your eyes as Atsumu continues to tease Osamu in the background.

As soon as the trio of athletes bid the shop goodbye, the door chiming softly behind them, your attention soon fell on Osamu.

You could feel a slight tension in the atmosphere, the remnants of the earlier exchange still hanging in the air. Osamu stood behind the counter, his back turned to you as he methodically rearranged the onigiri displays. His movements were precise, almost mechanical as if he were trying to distract himself from the task at hand.

"Why the face, Y/N?" Osamu feigned confusion as he went around the stalls to continue his organizing.

You stood by the register with your arms crossed, eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. "Oh, really," you began, "I mean, I get Atsumu—you guys always go at it—but that guy was just like any other customer, 'Samu."

Osamu paused in his task, his expression shifting into a thoughtful gaze as if pondering something. His fingers tapped absentmindedly on the counter before he finally met your gaze. "Yeah, but there's always something more to it," he said cryptically, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You tilted your head, intrigued by his response. "More to what?"

He chuckled softly, a glint of something indescribable in his eyes. "More to everything," he replied enigmatically, leaving you with a curious smile as he continued to work around the shop. His words lingered in the air.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

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[lqveharrington]

Lucky King? | L.M.

summary: Lucifer takes pride in everything he has, especially his wife.

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x wife!reader

includes: fluff, lucifer being a sweet and attentive husband and father, suggestiveness, possessiveness, that’s pretty much it (let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: okay but like, i am on serious hazbin brain rot, i have written more for HH than any other fandom so far.

Being the embodiment of pride meant that Lucifer constantly flaunted everything to his fellow sins and his people. And being the King of Hell meant he had a lot to brag about. Especially his family. God, Lucifer loved his family and would do anything to talk about them in every conversation.

An overlord meeting about movie productions on VoxFlix? Add romantic comedies, they’re his wife and daughter’s favorite. Speaking with Beelzebub about her different alcoholic beverages? Make sure to make mojitos, they’re his wife and daughter’s favorite.

He took pride in who he married and who his daughter was. After all, they were the royal family of Hell.

“Mom, I think it’s as tight as it can go— MOM!” Charlie’s eyes flashed red as she squealed, grabbing your arm.

“Sorry!” You tilt your head back as you let a laugh fall from your lips. “I thought you said—“

“No no no no noooo!” She turned around, eyes wide. “I think I’m good.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” You kiss her cheek and adjust her crown.

Charlie beamed at you and traded places with you. “My turn!”

You hum as she tightens the corset around you, eyes flickering up toward the mirror when you hear the door creak open. “Hey, handsome.”

“Hi, my love.” He pressed a kiss to your hand and then one to Charlie’s forehead. “Hi, apple pie.” He watched his daughter tug on the strings attached to the corset, moving forward when it seemed like you were going to fall from the platform. “Charlie, what are you doing to your mother?”

“Pulling her corset tight—“ She grunted as she held the string in place, tying the back. “There.” You gave her a thumbs up as she finished, watching her glow at your silent praise.

“Gorgeous as always.” Lucifer stole you from your platform, the devil’s tail wrapping around your waist.

“You know? Vaggie is probably looking for me! I should leave…” Charlie let out an awkward laugh and fled for the door. “Text me when you need me for the entrance!”

Lucifer dipped you down, chuckling when you let out a noise of surprise. “You look breathtaking, my love. Maybe we should just skip the gala and do better activities right here—“

“Lucifer!” You lightly smack his chest, face flushed from his words. “You horny devil!”

“Says the queen of Hell.” He captured you in a quick kiss, red lipstick staining his lips. “Come on, Charlie can handle it on her own.” He squeezed your hips as you walked over to the vanity with his head resting on your bare shoulder.

You glance at your beloved with a soft look, “Luce, we didn’t coordinate a whole gala just to have our daughter host it herself.” You clip on a pair of earrings, the golden snake and apple shining through the light. “We also didn’t have these outfits made for us just for them to be wasted away on our bedroom floor.”

“I mean…” He nipped on your exposed shoulder, earning a gasp and glare. “They made you a maroon dress with a slit exposing your legs, my love.”

“Because it matches your maroon and black suit.” You turn in his arms and tug at his lapels. “Which I have to admit, kinda does it for me.”

He smirked as he slowly pushed you up against the vanity, “Yeah? Maybe we should ditch.”

“Nope.” Your hands clasped behind his neck, eyes widening when you feel one of his hands trail down to your exposed leg. “Luce…”

“You started this.” He slotted himself between your legs and continuously peppered kisses to your collarbone and neck, softly sucking. “You’re a tease.”

“Lucifer—“ Your protests were cut off with a quiet moan, but you quickly covered your mouth when hearing him chuckle. “Nope, we’re leaving now.”

Lucifer separated from you, a wide grin adorning his face as he scanned you. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “Let’s go then, my love.”

You raised a brow but didn’t protest, letting him wrap his arm around your waist to guide you toward the ballroom. You both were quickly accompanied by your daughter as you made your way to the landing of the grand stairway.

The lights flashed off and the spotlight projected on the Morningstar family, the crowd’s voice hushed when spotting the monarchy. Lucifer gave a welcoming speech to the sinners, overlords, and sins who attended, making sure to mention his family and how they helped make the gala entirely possible. Final rounds of applause echoed through the ballroom as Lucifer finished off, letting everyone go back to their socialization and dancing.

“Mom,” Charlie caught you before you could follow Lucifer to greet his fellow sins. “Did you… Do you know why… You have bruises on your neck.” She finally mumbled out, eyes not meeting yours.

You felt yourself warm from embarrassment. Not only did your daughter tell you that you have hickeys on your neck, but you stood in the blinding lights with an audience staring at the three of you. No doubt photographers caught this and snapped photos for the internet. “Thank you for telling me, baby. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to murder your father.”

“Mom—“

You scanned the room before your gaze zeroed on Lucifer. He was laughing with Asmodeus before meeting your gaze and gave you a wink. Oh, he was going to pay.

“Lucifer.” You appear by his side. You give his fellow sin a quick smile but turn back to the little devil with a scowl. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course.” He wrapped an arm around your waist. “It was nice catching up with you, Oz.”

You guided Lucifer back to a secluded hallway, eyes flashing bright red when you were alone. Within a blink of an eye, you had Lucifer pinned against the wall with your forearm.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to know that I went out there with bruises all over my neck? Or, better yet, that our daughter was the one who told me what was on my neck?” You seethed. You were beyond embarrassed and pissed, you’re surprised you haven’t become a full demon yet.

“To be fair, it was more than just your neck—“

“LUCIFER!” You use your free hand to reach up your collarbone. The room felt ten times warmer, and it didn’t help that you felt Lucifer’s devil tail decided to wrap around your calf.

He remained pinned on the wall, giving you a cheeky grin. “This is really hot.”

“Oh, my god!” You release him with a glare. “There’s going to be photos everywhere! What will the public think about—“

“Lucky king?” He shrugged as he let his fingers trail up your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Listen, we’ll get rid of the photos. But is it really a crime to show off what’s mine?”

You grumble a small response, propping your head on his shoulder. “You’re crazy, Luce.”

“I love you too, beautiful.” He chuckled.

The photos never made it outside of Pride Manor, but the teasing you received from the other sins made you flush every time. Lucifer listened to each jeer, a smirk present on his face from the constant reminder that you were in fact his.

Especially when the bruises scattered around you spelled out his initials.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms