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rafeandonlyrafe · 7 months ago

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in his corner

words: 2.7k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, boxer!rafe, established relationship, p in v sex, semi public sex, violence but not in great detail, unprotected sex, mentions of rafes anger issues

rafes head is down as you step into the locker room. it's dark and gloomy, no need for bright lights that just illuminate the blood and grime more.

the fleeting sunlight peeking in through the windows only casts light upon the dust floating in the room as you close the door behind you, causing rafe to finally look up.

his eyes shift from pure focus to something softer. “hey.” his voice is still low, slightly hoarse from not speaking most of the day.

“hey.” you move the rest of the way into the room, your footsteps sounding thunderous in the silence that always cloaks the gym before a fight, especially one like this.

“ill be safe.” you see a hint of humor in his eyes now as you roll yours. you always tell rafe to stay safe before a fight, it's become such an expectation that he beats you to it.

“do you have your gloves?” you ask, looking towards his gym bag, wanting to rifle through it to make sure rafe has everything he needs, even though you packed it for him.

“of course.” rafe smiles, wrapping his hands around the back of your thighs and pulling you closer into him, his forehead pressing against your stomach.

“you're nervous for this one.” rafe states. he doesn't need to ask, he can tell just by your energy, the way your breathing is more frantic, your eyes opened ever so slightly wider than normal.

“im not the one in the ring.” you hum, hand coming to the back of his neck, stroking over his hairline, taming it despite knowing it's only a few minutes before it's going to get messed up again, either by rafe rubbing at it or the opponent.

“i know.” rafe looks up at you, a soft smile on his face. “but ya love me.”

“mmm, unfortunately.” you joke, a smile flashing across your lips before you drop your head to press your mouths against rafe, the kiss hungry and desperate, knowing it may be your last for a while if rafe gets his lip busted open.

“okay-” rafe sighs, pulling away, restraint in his voice as his insides call to continue kissing you. “it's almost time. love you.”

“love you too.” you back away but keep your eyes locked with rafe until your back is pressed up against the door. “win for me.”

you step out, eyes flickering around his team, waiting in the hallway for you, knowing better than to interrupt your moment with rafe.

“he's ready.” you nod to rafes coach before ducking out of the way as they file into the locker room.

you can hear the noise of the crowd grow as you walk into the arena, rows of seats all facing towards the central octagon. none of the security stops you to ask for a ticket as you walk to the front, rafe has become a headliner at the boxing gym, and you a vip along with it.

you take your seat, a coveted one, right in rafes corner. you know he has supporters, and while you appreciate most of them, the female ones who fawn over him anger you every time they shout his name or try to give him their number, but his quick shut down of advances always washes away the brief resentment.

“hey y/n.” rafes coaches brother, lewis, sits next to you, your de facto personal bodyguard. you insisted you didn't need someone looking over you, but rafe was always worried about a fight starting in the crowd. it certainly wouldn't be the first one that has broken out at a boxing gym.

“hi lewis.” you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and lean back in your seat as the prematch comes out, beginner fighters to keep all the early attendees from getting impatient while the crowd grows and seats fill.

overall, it's a professional arena. not on a pro level by any standards, but the best you can get in the area without making boxing full time. it certainly puts the smaller gyms rafe started out in to shame.

you were the one who originally suggested it. any sort of contact sport to work through some of his anger. you saw it bubbling under the surface, and you knew rafe would never do anything in your presence, even if he wanted to scream and punch a wall, he'd bottle it all in just to not scare you.

you clap as the first round comes to an end, ever the good supporter and attendee. it's part of the reason the gym likes rafe so much, he's no fuss, no personal drama, just pure fighting.

there's more rounds as you wait to see rafe, the rest of the seats being filled along with standing room in the back for anyone getting in late.

a new referee steps into the ring, a professional with years of experience who doesn't bother with the lower level fights, saving himself for the main event.

you sit up a little straighter in your seat as your eyes move to the door, a smile stretching over your cheeks as rafe steps out to applause and the thumbing base of a rap song. you applaud as well, keeping your eyes on rafe despite knowing he won't look at you, not until he gets in the ring, some sort of superstition that he's developed as he keeps his head down.

the other fighter comes out to the booming announcement of their name, a silly nickname you immediately disregard. clearly someone trying to rise the ranks and become a well known name, but you can tell just by his stature that rafe will take him down.

you breathe a little sigh of relief as rafe climbs into the ring and looks over to you, a slight smirk you're sure only you can see. he knows just as well as you do that this will be an easy day.

the official facilitates the handshake between the opponents before they're back to their corners to tape wrists and put on gloves, getting everything prepared. you keep your eyes on rafe, of course, taking in his every movement.

you feel a stirring in your stomach as he stands, tank top stretched tight across his body while his shorts are looser, allowing him to move easily around the ring.

you hear a woop coming from the back but know better than to divert your attention, rafe surging forward right when the official starts the round. he wastes no time throwing quick punches before defending, stepping to the side to miss the opponents swipes.

rafe lands a few more blows, but you don't cheer yet. you've made the mistake before of thinking he's in the clear too early.

the movement of rafes body is almost a dance, one driven by passion. his biceps bulge with every punch, swear gathering on his chest, making your mouth water as you watch.

the officials whistle to end the round makes you jump, too wrapped up in rafes looks to pay attention to the fight like you know you should.

you really do try to shift your attention back, but as the next round starts, you're quickly drawn back to watching rafes body and smooth movements.

every punch he throws makes your legs tighten further, hoping the pressing of your thighs offers you some sort of relief, but any comfort is fleeting.

your body responds for you when the fight comes to end, rising to your feet and clapping as you snap back to attention. rafe of course wins, the opponent not even getting a punch to his face other than a brief touch on his jaw that didn't even knock his mouthguard.

“i knew you'd win.” you smile and step forward as rafe comes to the ropes, leaning over to press his lips against yours.

“let me talk to the team and shower then we'll get out of here, yeah?” rafe kisses you again before leaning in to whisper into your ear. “i can tell you're turned on.”

“how'd you know?” you question as rafe shifts the car into drive, his free hand immediately coming to your thigh as he pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road.

“that you were- are turned on?” rafe smirks, keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead. “you get a look in your eyes, baby. and i can tell you want me.”

“and i have that look right now?” you hum out, turning the volume up on the radio slightly as the kid cudi song comes on.

“mhm. and it'll only intensify when i do this-” rafes hand slides upwards between your thighs. you quickly part them for him, letting out a soft moan as his fingers rub right where he knows you like it best.

“shit.” you lean back into the seat, trying to keep yourself from jumping over the center console and pouncing on rafe instantly. you pray you don't hit traffic as he presses harder on the gas pedal, ready to get home as well.

“you looked so pretty tonight cheering me on baby.” rafe pushes his fingers harder against your pants, creating tight circles. “even if you were spaced out the entire time.”

“mhm.” you hum, not even truly listening to what rafe is saying, just enjoying the tambor of his voice and the feeling growing in your stomach.

you know when rafe laughs that it's at you and your current state, but you've done far too much and been with him far too long to be embarrassed or ashamed by your lust as you let out another moan.

your eyes are glossy as you turn to look at rafe, hand gripping the wheel tightly with a clear tent in his sweatpants. you blink a few times to clear your vision as you take in his hard set jaw, tension building as he is forced to wait to get inside you.

you reach over to place your hand on rafes crotch, hoping the pressure of your hand sustains him a little longer.

“it's taking everything in me not to pull over and fuck you here in the car.” rafe says through gritted teeth.

you look out the windshield as rafe moves his hand to grip the steering wheel with both hands, needing it now that you're touching him to keep the vehicle steady. “we're almost home.” you hum out, petting your fingertips over his length, contemplating pushing his pants down and bending over the center console, but your clenching pussy needs him.

rafe pulls into the driveway at speeds he shouldn't be going inside a residential neighborhood, the car calming to a halting stop, and not even a second passes before you're out of your seats and out of the car.

rafe beats you to the front door, throwing it open for you to rush inside, locking it tight after you've entered.

you know you won't make it to the bed. you never do on nights like this. both on a high from rafe winning his fight, an easy opponent with not even a scratch to his knuckles.

rafe presses you against the wall of the hallway, his body molding against yours as his lips smash forward into a passionate kiss. you reach between your bodies immediately, knowing you're already soaking wet and ready from rafe playing with you in the car.

you push down on the hem of rafes sweatpants until rafe moves his hips and allows you to shove them down along with his underwear.

rafe lets out a sigh as your hand wraps around his length, holding his cock in your grasp as you quickly begin to stroke.

“fuck, baby.” rafe places his fist around your hand. “as much as i love you touching me like this i need to be inside you now.”

there's a desperation in his voice that makes something in your chest tighten.

you nod and release him, undoing your button and zipper to shove your pants to the ground and kick them away. rafe grabs the hem of your tshirt before you can take it off yourself, pulling it up over your head before it also joins the clothes scattered around the foyer.

rafe connects your lips back together, his hands sneaking behind your back to undo your bra before pulling the cups off, large palms quickly replacing them as he holds your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze that has your mouth falling open in a satisfied sigh.

“bedroom, counter or right here?” rafe asks, pulling on your lip before you can answer and giving it a tug.

“right here.” you reach down and take rafes cock in your hand, giving it a stroke. “right here, right now.”

“mmm, don't have to tell me again.” rafes arms circle around you and pull you up, pinning you against the wall. your body moves so naturally like it's done a hundred times before, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

rafe lines up his cock with your entrance and sinks forward. your arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him in tight, mouth dropping open and eyes squeezing closed as he slowly enters you.

“oh god.” rafe groans, mouth opening as well, but to press his teeth against your skin, biting down gently so as to not actually hurt you, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

“fuck me rafe.” your fingertips are digging into his shoulders, trying not to pierce him with your nails as you grip onto his muscles, muscles he just used to pummel his opponent.

“fuck me hard.” you don't often ask for it hard or really give him any direction. rafe knows how to please you, but it's different today. you need his full force, everything he has left in him.

and he doesn't make you wait.

rafe pulls his cock out slowly before slamming in, forcing your ass back into the wall with a thud, your whole body shuddering as he thrusts.

you tighten your arms even more, needing your bodies to become one as he pumps his hips forward, the sound of skin meeting together spreading through the empty house.

tomorrow, you'll clean up the clothes off the floor. tomorrow, you'll make a large breakfast to replenish rafe from his fight and open every window in the house to let in light and air, but tonight, you're going to remain in the dark hallway with your legs wrapped around rafes waist.

“harder.” you beg again, even though you're not sure you can take it.

rafe complies, swinging faster as one of his hands manages to find a way between your bodies, tips of his fingers pressing against your clit. he knows he should fuck you longer, but he can build you up again for the second time in the bedroom, you've teased each other too much and he needs to feel you fall apart in his arms.

“you're so tight and warm.” rafe mumbles, burying his face in your neck as he huffs, absorbing your heart after being apart physically for too long, the cold air of the gym and locker room now being replaced with you.

“i love you.” rafe mumbles, lips against your neck as he presses a few kisses to your throat. “thank you.”

he doesn't need to say what for. you understand. for being with him, for encouraging him to try boxing, for standing by his side and knowing what's best for him even when he didn't know himself.

“i love you.” you moan out, pussy clenching around rafes cock as your high suddenly hits, back arching off the wall in pleasure only to be slammed back against it as rafe pushes as deep as he can go inside of you, the squeezing of your cunt triggering his own high as his cum spurts inside of you.

“f-fuck.” you whine, nails fully leaving marks now as you breathe deeply, chest rising and falling, pressing against rafes with every breath.

“let's go take a bath.” rafe says, his voice suddenly softer, almost like the sex was the last bit of excursion he needed to calm himself after the fight.

“okay.” you can't help but giggle.

despite your agreement, rafe doesn't pull out, his softening cock still inside of you and bodies connected.

“okay.” you repeat, pressing your lips against rafes cheek before resting your head against his, realizing what he needs in that moment. “i love you.”

you stay there, still, for minutes that stretch into what feels like hours, but you wouldn't trade it for the world.

“okay.” rafe finally responds, eyes blinking with a new clarity, any sort of anger or frustration he had before the fight now freed from inside him. “bath time, yeah?”

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esote-rika · 5 months ago

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the memory of your lips | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Flangst. Summary: At the end of a great date, you have to deal with the realities of dating a BAU agent. Content: Mentions of alcohol, reader is tipsy and flirty and LOVESICK, Spencer is a gentleman, kisses, no use of y/n, reader is called angel. I had s3 or 4 Spencer in mind when I was writing, but it works for any season. Word count: 1.4k A/N: Here’s the fic for the Lovesick by Laufey (listen to it right here, PLEASE I BEG!!!) poll I did a while back. I know I originally planned for it to have smut, but I opted out because it didn’t feel right with the tone??? Anyways, this was just really fun to write, and I hope you enjoy!

Three dates are an embarrassingly short amount of time to have fallen in love with someone, but in your defense, you have not encountered anyone quite like Spencer Reid in all your years of dating.

Never have you met a man so intensely focused and attentive, so intelligent without any hint of pretense. His arrogance is founded, but he never used his genius to make you feel less; instead, he’s committed everything you’ve told him to memory, from your favorite book to the throwaway comment you made about liking a specific shade of lipstick. Two dates and he’s already memorized you like a poem. It’s exhilarating.

This third date had been the one to seal the deal.

Sure, the anxiety is still there, and it might have caused you to have one too many glasses of wine over dinner, but still. Everything had gone so beautifully. A stroll around the art gallery where Spencer had eagerly shared the history behind the paintings. When you’d paused at a particular hallway, he stood right by a window and was hit just so by the golden afternoon sun that his eyes turned to the color of moss, you could have sworn you’ve forgotten the ability to breathe. You’re convinced you were the walking equivalent to the heart eyes emoji at that point, staring up at him with a starry gaze, all throughout the following dinner at an intimate restaurant, where you allowed yourself to indulge in some wine.

Not that you needed it. At that point, you felt so relaxed and at ease with him that you were afraid you might float away. The alcohol only served to heighten the giddiness, casting the world in soft hues of sparkling gold. Like Spencer’s eyes. Which reminds you—

“You’ve the prettiest eyes,” You’re giggling as he walks you to your door, a lean arm firmly wrapped around your waist to steady you. Head angled up, all of your attention is on him while you walk up the stairs, which isn’t helping your stumbling gait in the slightest.

Despite his attempts to fight it, a small smile pulls at his lips. He’s obviously trying to seem stern, but his eyes look upon you with fondness. “I should have cut you off sooner.”

“Mhm, no, I wouldn’t have let you.”

“You’re gonna feel this tomorrow,” he warns as he stops at your doorstep, “Keys.”

You fumble through your purse, quickly locating them and pressing the keys into his palm. He slots it easily into the lock, and turns.

He hesitates. Your hands shake as you wait.

“Can I trust you to make it to your bed in one piece?” he murmurs, fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Probably not. You might need to help me out,” you whisper, even though you’re not really that drunk. It’s a (very thinly veiled) attempt to get him inside your apartment, in your bed. You’re not sure where you got the confidence.

But it’s Spencer, the sweet man who frequents the same bookshop in which you also spend a lot of time. The same man who’d been so shy about making a move that he decided to buy you a book and slip his number into the pages.

So there’s no pressure, he had scrawled in messy, rushed letters. Embarrassingly, the note is in your wallet, kept as a memento.

It’s him, and the entire date has been a series of signs that simply validated the small (massive) crush you’ve had on him. You don’t want it to end yet. Or ever, really. If he’d let you keep him forever.

Ever the gentleman, he nods and guides you inside. You stumble onto your couch with a low groan, an arm flung over your eyes as the harsh overhead light flickers open. Quick, shuffling footsteps, and then the couch dips beside you.

“Here, have some water.”

You accept the glass with a lopsided smile. The way his eyes linger on you would be enough to make you melt when you’re sober, but right now, with alcohol coursing through your veins, it’s downright cruel. “Your eyes are so pretty.”

“You’ve mentioned that already,” he says, urging you to drink, “Thank you. You have very beautiful eyes too.”

Once the glass is empty, he sets it on your coffee table and kneels down. With gentle hands, he eases the heels off of your feet, fingers pressing into the ankles carefully.

“Come on,” he helps you to your feet, and you all but become deadweight in his arms as he walks with you to your bedroom.

Spurned mainly by alcohol, you lift yourself to your tiptoes for a kiss. His surprise makes him pause, but he kisses you back gently, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. It makes you sigh, this tender way he likes to kiss, cradling your face as though it’s the most important thing he’s ever held. When your tongue sweeps across his lower lip, he pulls back.

“What—”

“You’re drunk,” his lips move to your forehead, “You need to sleep.”

“But Spence…” it’s childish to whine when he denies you, but it’s the only thing your dejected, alcohol-addled brain is capable of doing.

He chuckles, slowly walking you backwards onto your bed. “No, angel, it wouldn’t sit right with me.”

“I’m giving you all my consent right now.” you pout as he hands you a disposable towel from your bedside table. With a huff, you set on wiping away your makeup as he rummages through your drawers for pajamas. He finds some shorts and an old tshirt, and helps you out of your dress, shaking his head as you try (and fail) to seduce him into sleeping with you.

“Shouldn’t have had that last glass if this was how you wanted the night to end.” he says, a teasing smile on his lips.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

He kisses your temple as a response, and gently pushes you to lay down. Chuckling, he sits on the edge of your bed, a hand on your knee. “I just don’t want you to be inebriated if we’re going to be physically intimate. Especially not the first time.”

You pout, “Boo, you’re too sweet for your own good.” It earns you a laugh from him, and it’s enough to wipe the pout off your lips, “Will you at least sleep over?”

He seems to consider it, running his hand up and down your thigh. However, it is as though the universe is conspiring against you, and his phone rings. You watch as his brows furrowed in concern as he checks whatever message he’s received. “I have to go in, we have a case.”

Your heart drops. The pout returns, “It’s Friday night.”

“I know, angel.” he leans forward and kisses your forehead again, almost in apology, “I’m sorry, I did tell you I don’t work traditional hours.”

Your hands close around his shirt and you pull him down. He surrenders to your eagerness this time, kissing you deeply, hands tangled in your hair, before he stops, breathing ragged. “I’ll make it up to you when I return, I promise.” he kisses you again, languidly, savoring the last few moments before he has to leave.

You don’t have his eidetic memory, but you memorize the feeling of his lips all the same. “Stay safe,” you whisper when he finally pulls back, feeling oddly sobered up now that the reality of him leaving you is more present, “Text me when you can.”

“I will, angel.” he gives you one last kiss on your forehead before he stands up, “Drink lots of water tomorrow, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

You nod, and stare at his retreating back with a sad smile, blinking away the tears when you hear your apartment door click into place, signaling his departure. You try to tell yourself you’re being silly. It’s been three dates and you’re already acting so clingy. You chalk it up to the alcohol, twisting your feelings. Earlier, it had made the world seem effervescent, but now that he’s left, it only exacerbates your loneliness.

Is this how it’s going to be when you date him? He’d laid it out quite clearly during your conversations, that sometimes they get pressing cases that require them to drop everything else. You aren’t sure you’re prepared to have dates be interrupted with one phone call. Morning afters without him beside you. With a sigh, you sink into bed, eyes closed, and only the memory of his lips to tide you through the night.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #mgg #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fic

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cressidagrey · 3 months ago

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White Horse - Chapter 9: November 2023 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes:

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, Jos Verstappen for once not being the bad guys.

Part 2 of November.

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

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Isabelle: Hey Vic! Hope you are doing well!

Isabelle: I have a question: Do you happen to remember the breeder Max got Sassy and Jimmy from?

Victoria: Hi!! 🐱 I do! Why? Thinking about getting one?

Isabelle: Maybe… I was thinking about surprising Max for Christmas.

Victoria: 🥹🥹🥹

Victoria: That is the cutest thing I’ve heard all day.

Victoria: He’s going to melt.

Isabelle: Please don't tell him 🥺

Victoria: My lips are sealed!

Victoria: Also yes, I have the breeder’s number, she’s lovely

Victoria: She always has litters around winter!

Isabelle: perfect 🥹

Victoria: Max is going to lose his mind. I hope you're ready for him to cry about it and pretend he’s not crying.

Isabelle: I am emotionally prepared 😂

Victoria: Speaking of surprises

Victoria: I heard you quit your job???

Isabelle: Yeah.

Isabelle: A couple days ago. I just… couldn’t do it anymore.

Isabelle: I was miserable. They didn’t take me seriously.

Victoria: I had no idea, Belle.

Victoria: I’m proud of you.

Isabelle: Thank you. I’m kind of… floating now. Max calls it my “trophy wife sabbatical”.

Victoria: Well, if anybody deserves a Trophy Wife Sabbatical, it’s you 😂 And I bet my brother is thriving in your trophy wife era, don’t let him lie.

Isabelle: I love him so much it’s disgusting.

Victoria: You should

Victoria: He’s a better version of himself with you (Still dramatic, but better)

Isabelle: He’s been so patient

Isabelle: Like he never doubts I’ll figure it out

Isabelle: Even when I do

Victoria: You’ll figure it out, Belle. I don’t doubt that at all.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Isabelle: Hey

Isabelle: Just letting you know I’m coming to Abu Dhabi.

Isabelle: Got my flight booked and hotel sorted.

Charles: nice!

Charles: see you there

Arthur: cool

Lorenzo: Safe flight!

***

The hum of the engines was steady, the cabin was dim, and Max was… well, Max.

Lando shifted restlessly in his seat across the aisle, flipping a bottle cap between his fingers., trying not to go completely insane with boredom.

Max, for his part, sat slouched across from him, hoodie pulled low over his face, legs stretched out like he owned the plane. Which he technically did.

They had been flying forever.

Vegas was a chaotic blur.

Abu Dhabi felt years away.

“Still alive?” Lando asked.

Max made a noncommittal grunt under his hoodie.

The jet bumped onto the runway in Nice for refueling, smooth as ever, and Max finally sat up, stretching.

"We're not getting off, are we?" Lando asked, yawning.

"Nope," Max said, pocketing his phone. "Just refueling."

Lando nodded, already thinking about maybe finding a Red Bull in the mini-fridge when the jet rolled to a stop.

Then the cabin door clicked.

And she stepped in.

Isabelle.

Dressed casually—jeans, sneakers, a soft pink sweater that somehow looked expensive without trying.

Her hair was loose. She carried a small overnight bag in one hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the other.

Lando’s brain broke.

"You’re joking," he blurted, sitting bolt upright.

Isabelle smiled, calm and bright. "Hi, Lando."

Max didn't even react. He stood up casually, took her bag, and tucked it into the overhead like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re—what—you’re coming to Abu Dhabi?” Lando stammered.

Isabelle raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m watching my brother race. Isn’t that what family does?”

Lando opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Because sure, technically that was a logical answer, except for the very large fact that she was coming to watch her brother race while secretly dating his biggest rival.

And Charles didn’t know.

Max dropped into the seat next to Isabelle like nothing was wrong, slinging his arm along the back of her seat, brushing her shoulder without thinking.

Lando stared.

This—

This was the first time he had really seen them.

Max and Isabelle.

Now that he knew, it was obvious.

The way Max’s entire body shifted when she was near — looser, softer, grounded.

The way Isabelle leaned subtly toward him without realizing it — like orbiting Max was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t flashy.

It wasn’t the kind of relationship you noticed if you weren’t looking closely.

But now Lando could see it everywhere.

Max’s hand brushed her knuckles lightly, and Isabelle tilted her head toward him in that soft, familiar way, smiling just for him.

Lando felt like he’d been let in on the world’s most terrifying and beautiful secret.

He groaned loudly, dropping his head back against the seat.

"Charles is going to kill me when he finds out I knew," he said to no one in particular.

Max smirked, absolutely unbothered. "We’ll all be dead eventually. Might as well enjoy the flight."

Isabelle covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

Lando glared at them both. "You’re so chill about this!"

Isabelle leaned back in her seat, folding her arms. "Because there’s nothing to be not chill about."

"You say that now," Lando muttered. "Wait until your brother explodes."

Isabelle shrugged, a little more steel underneath her calm. "He’ll get over it."

Max smiled lazily beside her. "He’ll have to."

And for a moment, watching them — Isabelle with her quiet resolve, Max with his immovable certainty — Lando realized:

Maybe they weren’t reckless.

Maybe they weren’t hiding out of fear.

Maybe they were just... keeping something for themselves.

Private. Fierce. Unshakable.

Lando sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"If I end up collateral damage in your little love story," he said darkly, "I'm haunting you both."

Max just chuckled, settling back with Isabelle tucked under his arm like it was second nature.

"Deal," Max said. "And thanks for flying Air Max."

Lando groaned into his hands. "I'm going to have an ulcer before we even land."

Max laughed.

Isabelle just smiled and leaned into Max's side without thinking, his hand slipping instinctively to her knee.

And Lando, sitting across from them, realized grimly:

He was not surviving this weekend.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, and Daniel Ricciardo)

Lando: she’s on the plane

Lando: she’s. on. the. plane.

Oscar: who

Daniel: oh god

Daniel: which “she” are we talking about

Daniel: please not the vegas bartender again

Lando: NO

Lando: Isabelle

Oscar: WHAT

Daniel: OH MY GOD

Oscar: LIKE

Oscar: THE Isabelle

Oscar: Charles’ sister Isabelle

Oscar: Max’s secret girlfriend Isabelle

Oscar: The one we’re all pretending not to know about Isabelle???

Lando: YES

Lando: she just got on the jet in NICE

Lando: she’s flying with us to ABU DHABI

Lando: I AM GOING TO DIE

Daniel: did max know she was coming??

Lando: he helped her with her bag and everything

Lando: like it was a normal day

Lando: like he didn’t just invite a LECLERC onto his PRIVATE JET

Lando: while secretly DATING HER

Oscar: we are all going to die

Daniel: please tell me you said something

Lando: she told me she’s just “watching her brother race”

Lando: like that’s not the most emotionally loaded thing anyone has ever said on a private jet

Oscar: I’m sweating

Oscar: Are you sweating?

Oscar: I feel like we should all be sweating

Daniel: what’s the plan??

Daniel: are we pretending we don’t know??

Daniel: are we spies now???

Lando: there is no plan

Lando: there’s only vibes

Lando: and the vibes are “Charles is going to murder us in cold blood”

Oscar: Max seems chill about it?

Lando: He’s so chill it’s terrifying

Lando: She sat down next to him and he just put his arm around her

Lando: Like she’s not the nuclear secret of the entire paddock

Daniel: He’s going to soft launch her in the paddock isn’t he

Daniel: you’re going to be THERE when it happens

Daniel: you’re IN the launch window

Lando: I didn’t sign up for this

Lando: I signed up for sim races and chaos memes

Lando: Not for hiding the Verstappen-Leclerc love story from a ticking Charles-shaped time bomb

Oscar: They’re so subtle though

Oscar: Like you wouldn’t even notice unless you KNOW

Daniel: And now you know

Daniel: And now you’re cursed

Lando: i literally said if i become collateral damage i’m haunting them both

Oscar: haunting Max would be so easy

Oscar: he already thinks every weird noise in his apartment is one of the cats

Daniel: tell Isabelle i want to be invited to the wedding if we survive this

Lando: i hate you both

Lando: they just shared a look across the cabin

Lando: i think they’re telepathic

Oscar: you’re already too deep

Oscar: we can’t help you now

Daniel: thoughts and prayers, mate

Daniel: and maybe wear orange so Charles hesitates when he comes for you

Lando: i’m gonna need more than orange

Lando: i’m gonna need a will

***

Oscar liked to think of himself as a calm guy.

Level-headed.

Mature.

Good under pressure.

But apparently, all that went out the window the second he spotted Isabelle Leclerc wandering through the paddock.

Because he knew.

He knew.

And she knew that he knew.

And he knew that she knew that he knew.

And now every single step he took felt like it was being broadcast on national television.

Oscar straightened his posture unnecessarily, like standing up straighter would make him less suspicious.

Isabelle was across the walkway, wearing a sundress, her paddock pass and a small, polite smile for every mechanic and engineer who said hello.

Completely casual.

Completely effortless.

Completely dating Max Verstappen and somehow nobody else knew.

Oscar stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual.

He would not be the one to blow their cover.

He would not be the guy who accidentally made eye contact and triggered a Red Bull-Charles Leclerc paddock war.

He focused on walking normally.

Breathing normally.

Existing normally.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

He passed within a few meters of her, gave a small, casual nod.

The kind of nod that said "hey, I know you" without saying "hey, I know your secret relationship with Max Verstappen."

Isabelle caught his eye for a second — and her mouth twitched into the smallest, most knowing smile.

Oscar almost tripped over his own feet.

He coughed, pretended to check his watch even though he wasn’t wearing one, and kept moving like nothing happened.

Be normal, he told himself.

You’re a Formula 1 driver.

You drive at 300 kph for a living.

You can survive seeing Max’s secret girlfriend without spontaneously combusting.

Behind him, he swore he heard a soft laugh — hers, light and amused — and he decided he was never speaking of this again.

Not until it was safe.

Not until he was 5,000 miles away and absolutely certain Charles wouldn’t shank him with a champagne bottle.

Oscar made a sharp left turn toward the McLaren hospitality, muttering under his breath:

"Stay in your lane, Piastri. Stay alive."

***

The sun was sinking low, throwing long shadows across the paddock. Carlos leaned back against a concrete wall near the Ferrari motorhome, helmet balanced beside him, sipping slowly from a bottle of water as Charles scrolled aimlessly through his phone.

It was rare to get these moments—quiet, easy, just them.

But something had been itching at the back of Carlos’ mind lately.

A conversation with Lando.

Observations that were getting harder to ignore.

Something had been gnawing at Carlos for weeks now.

So Carlos spoke.

“Your sister’s been doing some pretty cool work lately,” he said casually.

Charles didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“Architectural stuff. Monaco interiors. Heard she’s doing well.”

Charles gave a vague shrug. “I guess.”

Carlos waited for more. It didn’t come.

“She designed Max’s penthouse, right?” he pushed.

Charles made a noncommittal noise. “She helped with it or something. Picked out the furniture.”

Carlos blinked. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—she didn’t just decorate. She designed it. Layouts. Custom interiors. Lighting plans. All of it.”

Charles frowned like he genuinely didn’t understand. “Okay…? So?”

Carlos stared at him. “So… that’s a big deal, mate.”

Charles tilted his head. “She’s always been good at decorating.”

Carlos was quiet for a second too long.

Decorating.

“Dios mio,” he muttered, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “You really don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Charles asked, clearly confused now. “She’s got a job, she likes it, I’m happy for her. What’s your point?”

“My point,” Carlos said, carefully measured, “is that you’re acting like she spent an afternoon picking paint colors. She designed that place. From scratch. Layouts. Architecture. Interior. Everything.”

Charles looked nonplussed. “She’s good at that stuff. ”

Carlos stared at him for a second.

Waiting for the punchline.

It didn’t come.

“You’re kidding,” Carlos said flatly.

Charles glanced over, frowning. “What?”

Carlos shook his head slowly. “That’s your sister, mate. Show a little respect. You talk about Isabelle like she’s some bored little sister playing pretend. Like her work isn’t real.”

Charles blinked. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said,” Carlos snapped. “You talk about what she does like it’s picking curtains. Like she’s not out there building a career people actually respect. You know how many people would kill to design a place like Max’s penthouse?”

Charles looked blank. “It’s just a flat.”

Carlos let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “No. It’s not. It’s a statement. A place Max trusted someone to shape. And your sister did that.”

Charles shrugged, still defensive. “Okay, well, good for her.”

Carlos gave him a look. “Good for her?”

“Yeah, I mean—I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Carlos exhaled, eyes narrowing slightly. “I want you to realize that she’s more than ‘my sister who’s good at decorating.’ I want you to see her. Because everyone else seems to.”

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Carlos Sainz Jr.

Carlos: What the hell.

Lando: oh no

Lando: what did I do.

Carlos: I talked to Charles.

Carlos: Charles talks about his sister like she’s some intern playing with paint samples

Carlos: She’s out here designing penthouses and he’s like “yeah she’s good at decorating”

Lando: oh my god 💀

Carlos: I wanted to shake him

Carlos: how do you not SEE your own sister

Carlos: She’s killing it

Carlos: She’s literally a better architect than half the guys building million dollar places in Monaco.

Lando: yeah

Lando: max definitely sees it lol

Carlos: Yeah, well, at least Max appreciates good work

Lando: not just her work, mate 😬

Carlos: What does that mean?

Lando: uh

Lando: nvm

Lando: forget i said anything

Carlos: LANDO.

Lando: max and isabelle are a thing okay!!!

Lando: they’ve been a thing for months!!

Carlos: Are you saying

Carlos: Max Verstappen

Carlos: Is dating Isabelle Leclerc?!

Lando: 😬😬😬😬😬

Carlos: dios mio

Carlos: does CHARLES know

Lando: oh absolutely not

Lando: zero clue

Lando: brain empty

Lando: we’re all going to die when he finds out

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo and Carlos Sainz Jr.)

Carlos: What is this?

Oscar: Oh no

Carlos: Lando, why am I here?

Carlos: Why do you keep dragging me deeper into this

Daniel: WELCOME CARLOS!!

Daniel: You’ve joined an elite group of people who are 😬 aware 😬

Oscar: This is a safe space for those who are emotionally compromised by Max dating Isabelle

Carlos: Are you people insane?

Lando: yes

Carlos: I just found out like 7 minutes ago.

Carlos: I’m still processing the fact that Max is dating Charles’ SISTER

Carlos: and that apparently EVERYONE BUT CHARLES KNOWS

Oscar: that’s the part that really gets you huh

Carlos: YES, OSCAR

Carlos: how has CHARLES not noticed his own sister is dating his rival

Daniel: Love is the greatest camouflage

Lando: bro what

Daniel: idk it sounded poetic

Carlos: I can’t believe you all kept this to yourselves

Oscar: I found out in the cheese aisle of a supermarket. He knew her jam preferences. And then he smiled at her. like softly

Lando: Max in love is terrifying

Lando: he’s… emotionally functional

Daniel: I personally love this era for him

Daniel: boyfriend max is my favorite max

Daniel: max 2.0: will fight you and then bring you tea

Carlos: I can’t be part of this

Carlos: i’m not stable enough

Carlos: i just yelled at charles for not respecting her work and NOW I KNOW SHE’S DESIGNING MAX’S APARTMENT BECAUSE THEY’RE TOGETHER

Carlos: I AM HIS TEAMMATE.

Oscar: oh no

Lando: oh my god

Daniel: this is my favorite plot twist

Carlos: I’m going to lie down in the garage and never get up

Lando: welcome to the group

Lando: you’ll get used to the emotional whiplash

Oscar: We’re all just waiting for the day Charles finds out and the world ends

Daniel: we should get matching t-shirts

Daniel: i survived the verstappen-leclerc revelation and all i got was anxiety

***

The paddock was a flurry of noise—engine whines, media chatter— and Isabelle Leclerc was sipping iced water and trying not to sweat through her linen dress. One of Max’s linen shirts—stolen and knotted over her waist—was shielding her from the worst of the heat, and her sunglasses were perched high in her hair.

She smiled politely when people passed, waved when engineers greeted her, and genuinely lit up when Gianpiero Lambiase came to say hello.

“Hey,” GP said, clearly mid-break between meetings. “I heard you have opinions.”

Isabelle tilted her head. “About?”

“Backsplash tiles,” he said, completely serious. “Kitchen remodel. My wife thinks I’m hopeless.”

Isabelle laughed, genuinely delighted. “I do have opinions. And Pinterest boards, if you’re interested.”

GP looked genuinely relieved. “Bless you. She keeps saying she wants something that feels 'European farmhouse meets modern desert' and I have no idea what that means.”

“It means she wants matte finish tiles, not glossy,” Isabelle said immediately. “And don’t pick anything with faux distressing. It always looks cheap.”

GP raised both eyebrows, intrigued. “Okay. I’ll tell her I consulted an expert.”

They chatted for a few more minutes—about grout colors, countertop edges, the horrors of open shelving—before GP was called away to a strategy meeting.

Isabelle turned back to her water and tried to will the heat away.

And then—

“Can I talk to you?”

She looked up.

Charles. Sunglasses on, jaw tight, expression unreadable.

“Sure,” she said cautiously, standing. “Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer. Just jerked his chin in the direction of the quieter walkway near the back of the paddock. She followed, unease creeping up her spine.

When they reached the shaded area, Charles turned on her sharply.

“Seriously, Isabelle?”

She blinked. “I—what?”

“GP?” he snapped.

Her eyebrows flew up. “What about him?”

“You’re flirting with Max’s engineer now?”

Isabelle just… stared.

“Are you serious right now?” she asked.

Charles crossed his arms. “He’s married, Isa.”

“Oh my god,” she said, incredulous. “You think I’m flirting with him?”

Charles didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

Isabelle took a step back. “You think I’m—what, exactly? A homewrecker? Some desperate little paddock groupie trying to sleep her way around Red Bull?”

“I didn’t say that,” he bit out, but his tone said otherwise.

“You didn’t have to!” she snapped. “You said it with your face. And your judgmental little ‘big brother’ voice.”

Charles looked uncomfortable for the first time, but didn’t back down. “It’s not about judging you. It’s about how it looks.”

“Oh, how it looks?” Isabelle laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You’re really going to lecture me on appearances? You—whose own dating history has been very well documented—are suddenly the morality police?”

“That’s different,” he muttered.

“No, it’s not.” She stepped in close, her voice lower now. “I wasn’t flirting. GP and I were talking about backsplash tiles. For his kitchen remodel. With his wife. Because, surprise, I have a degree and actual taste and people ask for my opinion.”

Charles blinked.

“I cannot believe you think so little of me,” she said, voice shaking. “Do you really think I’d put myself in that position? That I’d disrespect someone’s marriage like that?”

His jaw clenched, guilt flickering behind his eyes. “I just—saw you. Laughing. And I assumed—”

“Well maybe stop assuming, Charles.” Her voice broke, and she quickly looked away. “You assume the worst. You assume I’m… what? Naive? Reckless? Looking for attention? You never give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Charles swallowed. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“By calling me a homewrecker?”

He winced.

Isabelle stepped back, the chill in the air suddenly sharper. “I don’t need your protection, Charles. I need your respect.”

They stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of her words settling between them like dust.

“I came to support you,” she said softly. “ And now I wish I’d stayed home.”

“And for the record,” Isabelle said, stepping past him, “if I was flirting with someone, I wouldn’t be flirting with a guy, who is holding a ‘World’s Best Dad’ travel mug and has a wedding band on his finger.”

***

The door clicked softly behind him as Max stepped into the suite, pulling his cap off and running a hand through his hair.

It had been a long, sticky day at the track — race prep, debriefs, heat clinging to everything — and all he wanted was to see her.

"Belle?" he called gently.

No answer.

He frowned, dropping his keys and phone onto the entry table, kicking off his shoes. The suite was mostly dark, save for the dim bedside lamp glowing through the half-closed bedroom door.

Max pushed it open carefully.

And there she was.

Isabelle sat curled up on the edge of the bed, still wearing her soft linen dress, her head bowed low.

Her shoulders were shaking.

Max’s heart dropped.

"Belle," he said immediately, voice low and sharp with concern, crossing the room in three quick strides. "Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?"

She shook her head, wiping at her face furiously with the sleeve of his shirt, like she was trying to erase the evidence.

It didn’t work.

Her cheeks were flushed, eyes red-rimmed, mouth trembling in that way that always gutted him.

Max sat down beside her, close but not crowding her, careful.

He knew her well enough to know she needed a second before he touched her.

Isabelle dragged in a shaky breath. "It’s stupid."

"Nothing that makes you cry is stupid," Max said firmly.

She let out a broken laugh. "Tell that to your future brother-in-law."

Max’s jaw clenched instantly. "Charles?"

Isabelle nodded miserably.

Max didn’t even try to temper the fury that flared in his chest.

"What did he say?" His voice was low, dangerous.

She shook her head again, sniffling. "He—he saw me talking to GP and he thought I was flirting with him."

Max blinked.

And then, against every better instinct, he let out a short, incredulous laugh.

Because seriously?

"Gianpiero Lambiase? My Race Engineer?!" Max said, completely baffled. "He thought you were flirting with GP?"

Isabelle let out a choked noise — somewhere between a sob and a laugh — and Max immediately reached out, pulling her carefully into his chest.

She came willingly, curling into him like she always did, her fists bunching into his shirt.

Max rested his chin on top of her head, his arms wrapped tight around her.

"You were talking about tile grout and kitchen backsplash colors," he muttered into her hair, still half-laughing, half-furious, because GP had told him all about that. And how Isabelle had apparently solved the tile dilemma in the Lambiase Household. "And Charles thought you were seducing a man who literally carries a ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug everywhere?"

Isabelle gave a miserable little laugh through her tears, burying her face in her hands. "I feel horrible. Like I besmirched GP’s honor."

Max full-on laughed this time, wrapping an arm gently around her shoulders and tugging her into his chest.

"Belle," he said, shaking his head against her hair, "you didn’t besmirch anything. You didn’t do anything wrong."

She gave a tiny groan of despair. "His poor wife. I owe her an apology email. And a free kitchen consultation."

Max kissed the top of her head. "His wife’s will probably be crying laughing when she hears this story. She knows what she married — a man who brings spreadsheet printouts to pick out a dishwasher."

That finally coaxed a watery chuckle from her.

"Charles said it looked bad," Isabelle whispered miserably. "Like I was being careless."

Max closed his eyes for a second, breathing through the anger pulsing hot under his skin.

Careless.

Isabelle — who second-guessed every step she took, every word she said.

Isabelle — who bent over backwards to never make anyone uncomfortable.

Isabelle — who had spent years shrinking herself so no one could accuse her of taking up too much space.

Careless.

It made him want to throw something.

"You," Max said, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye, "are the least careless person I have ever met."

She gave him a watery little smile.

"And for the record," Max added, thumb brushing under her damp cheekbone, "if you were actually trying to flirt with someone, it wouldn’t be a married engineer who spends his lunch break arguing about countertop materials and backsplash tiles."

Isabelle laughed properly then, the sound soft and real against his chest.

"There’s my girl," Max murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair.

He rocked them gently for a second, grounding her, feeling the last of the tension bleed out of her body.

"You know what?" he said after a beat, voice lighter. "Next time Charles wants to accuse you of something, make it worth it."

She sniffed, laughing again. "Like what?"

Max shrugged, grinning. "Next time? Flirt with me in the garage. Right in front of him. Really traumatize him."

Isabelle snorted against his chest. "You’re evil."

"Only for you," Max said, kissing the side of her head again. "And besides, you’re much better at flirting than you think."

She lifted her head slightly, giving him a skeptical look.

Max smirked, leaning in until their noses brushed. "You got me, didn’t you?"

And Isabelle, finally smiling for real, kissed him — slow, lingering — like she was remembering exactly how.

Max kissed her back just as fiercely, every slow sweep of his mouth saying what he couldn’t put into words:

I see you. I trust you. I love you.

And he swore, next time anyone made her cry — even Charles — they’d have to go through him first.

And Max Verstappen didn’t lose.

****

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Remind me again why I came to this race

Emilie: oh no. What happened? Do i need bail money?

Isabelle: I had a fight with Charles. He thought I was flirting with GP. Because we were talking about backsplash tiles for his KITCHEN with his WIFE.

Emilie: I’m going to set something on fire

Isabelle: Please don’t. Max already looks like he wants to fight him.

Emilie: Good.

Emilie: honestly give me 20 minutes and a sharp object

Isabelle: Em

Emilie: No because it’s insane

Emilie: He sees you laughing once and thinks you’re a scandal

Emilie: But when Arthur was publicly dating 13 supermodels a year it’s “boys will be boys”.

Isabelle: I know. It’s just exhausting

Emilie: He’s exhausting. You’re a ray of sunshine. He’s lucky to breathe the same air as you.

Isabelle: You’re very dramatic

Emilie: And you love me for it

Isabelle: I do

Isabelle: Max was perfect about it

Emilie: Of course he was. He worships the ground you walk on

Emilie: Stay strong, stay hydrated and if Charles says anything else dumb, just smile and picture me flipping him off from 5000 miles away

Isabelle: That actually helps

Emilie: Good. Love you.

Isabelle: love you too.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase.

Max: You homewrecker

GP: What???

Max: Charles thinks you’re trying to steal my girlfriend 😂

GP: WHAT

GP: MAX WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

Max: He thought Belle was flirting with you in the paddock

GP: WE WERE TALKING ABOUT BACKSPLASH TILES

GP: AND GROUT COLORS

Max: I know

Max: Belle told me

Max: I’m still laughing

Max: apparently "matte finish" is code for seduction now

GP: MAX

GP: SHE CRITIQUED MY TILE SAMPLE CHOICES

GP: I TOOK NOTES

GP: I SAID THE WORD “NEUTRAL GROUT”

Max: Dangerous game you’re playing, mate

Max: Luring innocent women with your opinions on subway tile.

GP: I’m MARRIED

GP: HAPPILY

GP: FOR FIFTEEN YEARS

GP: I WAS ASKING FOR DESIGN HELP BECAUSE MY WIFE SAID I HAVE “DAD BRAIN” AND NO TASTE

Max: Well now you’ve been accused of seducing my girlfriend with your “dad brain”

Max: big scandal, very dramatic

GP: I just wanted help choosing tile

Max: It gets better

Max: Belle is mortified

Max: She keeps saying she “besmirched your honour” and brought shame upon your grout consultation

GP: ...oh my god

GP: please tell her she did no such thing

GP: she saved me

GP: her recommendation singlehandedly ended a three-week argument with my wife

Max: She will be delighted to hear that

Max: She was preparing to write a formal apology email. And offer to design your whole kitchen free of charge.

GP: Tell her I am in awe

GP: and also a little afraid

GP: She is frighteningly good at backsplash logic

Max: She is.

Max: That’s one of the many, many reasons why I love her.

GP: Next time can we please avoid dragging me into romantic drama over interior finishes

Max: No promises

Max: You’re too charming when you talk grout

Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Eloisa Lambiase

GP: You are not going to believe what happened today

Eloisa: Did Max accidentally make another engineer cry?

GP: No, worse

GP: I have been accused of seducing Max’s girlfriend

Eloisa: I— what

GP: CHARLES LECLERC

GP: thought i was FLIRTING

GP: with HIS SISTER

GP: BECAUSE I ASKED FOR BACKSPLASH TILE ADVICE

Eloisa: I’M SORRY WHAT

Eloisa: YOU SEDUCED ISABELLE LECLERC???

GP: I DIDN’T SEDUCE ANYONE

GP: I was just asking for backsplash advice!

Eloisa: YOU GOT ACCUSED OF FLIRTING DURING A BACKSPLASH CHAT???

GP: It was in the paddock

GP: Charles saw us talking

GP: Apparently Isabelle laughed at something I said

GP: Now she’s a homewrecker and I tried to seduce her.

Eloisa: OH MY GOD I’M CRYING

GP: Max thinks it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened

GP: He called me "dangerous" and said I was “seducing her by talking about matte finish tiles”

GP: I want to resign

Eloisa: NO

Eloisa: YOU’RE FAMOUS NOW

Eloisa: YOU’RE THE F1 PADDOCK’S MOST DESIRED MAN

GP: Please stop

GP: I was holding my “World’s Best Dad” mug

GP: She was giving professional recommendations

Eloisa: You WERE

Eloisa: and apparently it was HOT

GP: I’m blocking you

Eloisa: No you’re not

Eloisa: You’re my husband, you sexy kitchen-reno Casanova

GP: Max said Isabelle feels terrible and thinks she “besmirched my honour”

Eloisa: please tell her she SAVED us

Eloisa: your choices were horrifying before she stepped in

Eloisa: She’s invited to all future home improvement debates

Eloisa: I trust her judgement more than yours

GP: Apparently she offered to redesign our entire kitchen as an apology.

Eloisa: DO NOT LET HER TAKE THAT BACK

Eloisa: TAKE THE FREE DESIGN WORK

Eloisa: SHE HAS TASTE AND I AM TIRED OF ARGUING ABOUT SUBWAY TILE

GP: I feel like I’ve lost control of my life

Eloisa: You did the moment you started saying “grout lines” like it was sexy

GP: …you used to find that sexy

Eloisa: I still do

Eloisa: Now let the nice woman redesign our kitchen and stop making Max cry with your effortless charm

Eloisa: We’ll have STUNNING countertops.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Jos Verstappen

Max: Can you do me a favor tomorrow?

Jos: Depends what it is.

Max: Keep an eye on Belle in the paddock for me

Max: I’ll be busy with Race prep and I don't want her stuck alone with the circus.

Jos: Something happen?

Max: Charles was an idiot. Made her cry. Thought she was flirting with GP.

Jos: ...what?

Max: They were talking about backsplash tiles. Tiles, dad

Max: And Charles thought she was seducing him

Max: GP has a wife and a mug that says "world’s best dad".

Max: Belle is mortified and doesn’t want to make a scene but I’d feel better if someone was around.

Jos: Charles is lucky she’s your girlfriend and not mine or i’d have knocked him into next week.

Max: Thanks, dad.

Max: So, you’ll be around?

Jos: Yeah.

Jos: I like her

Max: you do?

Jos: Yes.

Jos: She’s calm

Jos: Doesn’t care about the attention.

Jos: Treats you like a person, not a trophy.

Jos: And she’s polite to everyone.

Jos: You need that, especially with this life

Jos: and she reminds me of your mother.

Jos: The good parts.

Max: Thanks.

Jos: Don’t thank me

Jos: If her brother opens his mouth again, I won’t be as diplomatic as you

Max: Copy that

Jos: Go to sleep. You have a race tomorrow.

***

The sun was barely high enough to cast proper shadows across the paddock yet, but already the place was humming — engines firing up in garages, cameras being unpacked, people moving with that sharp, coiled energy that only came on race days.

Isabelle kept her head down as she crossed toward the Ferrari motorhome, clutching her coffee cup like a lifeline.

She had barely slept.

It wasn’t Charles’ words from yesterday that lingered — it was the old, familiar sting they brought back.

The feeling of being out of place.

Not enough.

Too much.

She was rounding a corner when a voice cut across her path.

"Belle."

She froze.

Turned slowly.

Jos Verstappen stood there.

Arms crossed.

Expression like granite.

For a wild second, Isabelle panicked.

Had she done something wrong?

Was this about... something?

Everything?

Jos jerked his chin toward the side of the hospitality tent.

"Come."

Not a request.

Heart thudding, she followed him.

They walked in silence along the quieter edge of the paddock, boots scuffing against the concrete, the buzz of early morning preparations filling the air around them.

Finally, Jos stopped near a low concrete wall, leaned one elbow on it, and looked at her.

Not soft.

Not kind.

Just... assessing.

"You’re not weak," he said, voice blunt.

Isabelle blinked. "I—thank you?"

Jos grunted. "Don’t let them treat you like you are."

Isabelle opened her mouth, but he held up a hand to cut her off.

"Doesn’t matter what your brother says. Doesn’t matter what anyone sees. You know who you are. You know who you stand next to."

She swallowed hard.

Jos squinted at her, like checking if she understood.

"You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone," he said. "Not even family."

He straightened then, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve like the conversation wasn’t weighing the air between them.

"And if anyone gives you trouble today," Jos added, voice low and deliberate, "tell them they can answer to me."

Isabelle stared at him.

Jos Verstappen — who scared half the paddock with a look — had just offered to fight her battles.

Or at least stand behind her, silent and immovable, like a wall no one could knock down.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

Jos shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the lingering emotions.

"You’re good for him," he said roughly. "Better than he deserves, maybe."

Isabelle pressed her lips together hard.

Jos glanced away toward the garages, then back at her.

"Head up," he said. "Eyes forward. You’re a Verstappen now."

And with a short nod — like it was settled, permanent, not up for discussion — he turned and walked off, leaving her standing there, stunned, the weight of his words hitting harder than any podium speech or paddock rumor ever could.

A Verstappen.

She let out a shaky breath, squaring her shoulders.

Head up. Eyes forward.

She could do that.

***

Post Race Press Conference -Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2023

Moderator: Congratulations, gentlemen. Max, let’s start with you — your 19th win of the season, an incredible dominant performance. How does it feel wrapping up the year on such a high?

Max Verstappen: It feels good. The team did an amazing job, as always. Car was strong all weekend. I’m happy to end the season this way.

Moderator: Charles, a strong second place today. How would you summarize your season?

Charles: (smiling, relaxed) It’s been a challenging year, but I think we made good progress toward the end. P2 today was the maximum. Happy to finish like this, and looking forward to building next season.

Moderator: George, third place for you today — and second for Mercedes in the Constructors'. Happy with that result?

George: (nods) Yeah, definitely. We knew coming into this weekend it would be tight, so I’m proud of the whole team. Good momentum heading into the winter break.

Moderator: For all three — with it being the last race of the season, a lot of families and friends are here this weekend. How much does it mean to have that kind of support?

Charles: (nodding) It’s always special. Seeing familiar faces after the race, sharing the moment — it makes all the difference.

George: (agreeing quickly) Yeah, it’s important. The season’s so long — having people show up and stick by you is massive.

Max: (voice sharp, no smile) It’s nice. Really nice when the people you care about show up. And I think that is something we need appreciate more and shouldn’t take for granted. It makes you realize who's paying attention — and who’s not.

(Charles stiffens slightly, casting a sidelong glance at Max, visibly confused. George starts tapping his fingers quietly against his knee like he’s trying to physically distract himself.)

Moderator: Moving on—Charles, you mentioned building for next season. Where do you think Ferrari needs to improve to challenge Red Bull more consistently?

Charles: I think we’ve made steps forward with race pace. But qualifying is still critical. We have to start stronger next year.

(Max’s mouth twitches — not quite a smile.)

Moderator: George, same question for you regarding Mercedes?

George: (relieved to be asked something normal) Yeah, similar. We’re closing the gap, but there’s still work to do. Everyone’s going to push hard over the winter.

Moderator: Charles, what was the most challenging part of your race today?

Charles: Uh, tire management, probably. We tried a different strategy and it wasn’t perfect. But we’ll learn from it and come back stronger next year.

Max: (flatly, without looking at him) Learning is important. Assuming you recognize the problem.

(George visibly bites his cheek to keep from reacting.)

Moderator: (to George, desperate for a less icy subject) George, what does the off-season look like for you?

George: (relieved) Um—sleep. Lots of sleep. Definitely time with family and friends. Just recharge and come back ready.

Moderator: And Charles?

Charles: (smiling automatically) Spending time with family and friends. Relaxing. Recharging.

Max: (calm, but brutal) Spending time with people who actually care about you. (pause) Quality over quantity.

(Dead silence in the room.)

(George stares at the floor like it might swallow him.)

(Charles looks genuinely confused.)

Moderator: (quickly) Alright, thank you, gentlemen. That’s all for today.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/f1oversteer: Why was Max looking at charles like he wanted to fistfight him during the press conference???

@/paddocktea: not to be dramatic but Max verstappen’s post-race energy was "say one more word and i'll launch you into the sun" and it was entirely directed at charles leclerc. what is going ON

@/racingincircles: ok but the way Max said "the people who actually show up" while STARING at charles... 😭😭😭 what did he mean by that

@/gp2engine: did charles and Max have a secret fistfight behind the garages or something why is the vibe so violent

@/monaco_mafia: george sitting in the middle of Max and charles looking like a victorian child watching his parents argue at dinner

@/f1clownery: i know charles is confused but the rest of us are confused too king WHO UPSET MAX

@/wheelsextension: i’m sorry but charles leclerc’s energy today was so "what did i do" and Max’s was "you know exactly what you did"... except i don't think he does and neither do we… i need answers

@pitlanepettiness: sources (vibes) are saying something WILD is going down behind the scenes and i for one am ready for the netflix edit

@fastlanefreaks: you could feel the beef through the screen. i am eating it up but also terrified.

@motorsportmess: Max smiling tightly while charles is visibly sweating and george is trying to disappear into the floorboards... academy award winning drama

@/griddyforgp: Max throwing shade like it's personal and charles sitting there looking like he just got accused of murder

@/ferrarifangirl: charles: 😐 Max: 🙂🔪 george: 👀👟💨

@/f1sillyseason: petition for someone to tell us the FULL tea immediately i am not surviving the offseason otherwise

@/maxstappen44: someone check the abu dhabi paddock for the body bc Max BURIED charles during that conference and no one even noticed at first

@/charlesupportgroup: me watching Max roast my boy alive while he looks increasingly confused 👁️👄👁️

@/f1updates: sources in the paddock say “everyone’s being normal” but the vibes are off like someone’s about to get unfollowed on instagram levels of off

@/abudhabidrama: you are telling me Max verstappen and charles leclerc are beefing and i don't even get a backstory??? this is abuse

@/f1wagsleaks: what the actual hell is going on between Max and charles?? Max had BEEF ENERGY in that press conference and charles looked like he had no idea why i’m obsessed

@/formulachaos: MAX: “It’s nice when the people in your life actually show up to support you :)” stares directly at Charles CHARLES: 🧍‍♂️ GEORGE: 👀🚪

@/postracegossip: this is officially the most tense podium press conference i’ve ever seen someone bring popcorn and possibly a referee

@/notdutchjustfast: someone explain to me like I’m five: Why is Max acting like Charles ran over his cat and why is Charles acting like he doesn’t remember what a cat is

@/f1girliesunite: this has nothing to do with racing and everything to do with a woman, I feel it

@/danriccsmilez:George Russell is the human equivalent of the “I do not see it” meme rn He saw whatever drama that was and said “not my circus, not my millionaires”

@/mclarenshadowstalker: Lando. speak now. We know you know TELL US

@/chaosandcheckered: Next year’s Drive to Survive is going to need a trigger warning

***

Text Messages: George Russell & Alex Albon

George: Mate, do you know what’s going on between max and charles

Alex: what Alex: no Alex: why

George: Press conference was WEIRD George: Max basically roasted him alive George: Charles looked like he didn’t even know why

Alex: lol Alex: no idea Alex: i wasn’t even paying attentio

George: alex George: seriously George: it was tense

Alex: how tense are we talking Alex: like Alex: mild paddock gossip tense Alex: or Alex: security might need to intervene tense

George: somewhere in the middle George: like "passive aggressive christmas dinner" levels of tense

Alex: oof Alex: hate that

George: i swear max was this close to throwing a chair

Alex: charles wouldn’t survive that Alex: he’d just start apologizing and not know why

George: that’s the problem George: he looked genuinely confused

Alex: 😂😂 Alex: classic

George: seriously George: if you hear anything George: tell me George: i don’t want to get blindsided if they start swinging in parc fermé

Alex: lmao Alex: will keep ears open Alex: but rn all i know is Alex: max is mad Alex: charles is confused Alex: george is stressed

George: useless

Alex: you knew that when you texted me 🫶

***

Text Messages: George Russell & Lando Norris

George: Mate George: What’s going on with max and charles

Lando: Uh Lando: what do you mean

George: don’t play dumb George: press conference was insane George: max basically called him fake to his face

Lando: 👀 Lando: i mean Lando: uh Lando: i didn’t really notice anything

George: lando

Lando: maybe max’s just tired?? Lando: long season Lando: lots of emotions you know 😅

George: he looked ready to rip someone’s head off

Lando: 😬 Lando: well Lando: maybe he just really cares about honesty and support and…stuff

George: what do you know

Lando: nothing

George: lando.

Lando: i don’t know anything i can legally say

George: what does that even mean

Lando: listen mate Lando: for your own safety Lando: stay out of it

George: out of what??

Lando: THE VORTEX

George: what vortex

Lando: the verstappen-leclerc vortex Lando: you don’t want to get sucked in

George: lando. George: what did max do George: what did charles do

Lando: max didn’t do anything Lando: charles didn’t do anything Lando: everyone’s innocent Lando: and i’m especially innocent

George: you’re being very suspicious

Lando: i’m being ALIVE Lando: which is what you should focus on

George: so i should be worried

Lando: VERY worried Lando: but not about you Lando: about your proximity to the drama

George: brilliant George: great George: fantastic

Lando: good chat 😌

George: remind me to never trust you again

Lando: you never should’ve started

***

Fernando Alonso liked to think he was good at reading people.

Came with the territory — two decades in Formula 1, countless teammates, politics thicker than engine oil. You survived by knowing who was lying, who was hiding something, who was seconds from setting fire to their own garage.

And today? Today, something was off.

He was leaning casually against the Aston Martin hospitality wall, sipping a tiny, bitter espresso, when he saw it.

Max Verstappen. Walking through the paddock. Not alone.

Isabelle Leclerc, right beside him.

Nothing scandalous. No hand-holding, no grand gestures. Just two people walking.

But Max — Max, who barely let people breathe the same air as him — was walking close. Protective. Easy. Like it wasn’t new. Like it wasn’t a secret.

Fernando narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses.

Interesting.

He watched them — Max steering her casually through the chaos with a light touch at the small of her back, Isabelle laughing at something he said, bright and unbothered.

Fernando turned slightly, caught a glimpse of Charles Leclerc a few garages down — not noticing any of this.

More interesting.

Later, during media rounds, he saw Lando Norris visibly flinch when someone mentioned Isabelle's name near a microphone.

And Fernando — two-time world champion, professional paddock gossip connoisseur — put it all together.

After all, he hadn’t survived in this sport for nothing.

He caught Max alone for a moment near the Red Bull hospitality, standing with that casual, lazy posture that fooled no one.

Fernando strolled up, espresso in hand.

"Congratulations," Fernando said smoothly. "On the race. And... other things."

Max raised an eyebrow, cool as ever. "Thanks."

Fernando sipped his coffee, studying him over the rim of the cup. "You think Charles is going to kill you when he finds out?"

Max’s mouth twitched. "Eventually."

Fernando chuckled, low and pleased. "Good. It was getting boring around here."

Max just smirked, entirely unbothered.

Fernando shook his head, amused beyond measure. "You know," he said, stepping back, "I always knew you were a reckless bastard. Just didn’t think you'd go for family drama reckless."

Max tipped his head slightly, as if accepting the compliment.

"And her?" Fernando asked, almost curiously. "Isabelle?"

Max’s smirk faded, just a little, replaced by something quieter. Steadier.

Fernando recognized it immediately — the rare thing that made even champions stupid.

Real.

Not for show. Not for the cameras. Not for PR.

Max shrugged one shoulder, casual but firm. "She’s worth it."

Fernando barked a short laugh, clapped Max on the shoulder once. "Good," he said. "Make it worth it."

Then he tossed back the rest of his espresso, tossed the cup into a bin without looking, and strolled away — whistling under his breath.

Because finally, finally, the paddock was interesting again.

***

The roar of celebration had faded behind them. No club lights, no champagne-soaked chaos, no loud music or podium flashbacks playing on screens.

Just altitude, quiet, and the steady hum of the jet engines as they cut through the darkness above the Gulf.

Isabelle curled into the wide leather seat, legs tucked beneath her, Max’s hoodie swallowed around her frame. Across from her, Max sat slouched with one arm thrown over the back of the seat, utterly at ease. The cap was gone, curls slightly messy. His race suit was half-unzipped and swapped for a black t-shirt. He looked tired. Soft around the edges.

He’d insisted they skip the party. Said he’d had enough noise. Said he just wanted to go home. Said she was home.

She hadn’t argued.

Now, with the cabin lights dimmed and the stars beyond the windows flickering against the black, Isabelle found herself staring at him — at his calm, unreadable profile — and feeling something enormous pressing against her chest.

"Your dad found me this morning," she said, voice quiet, almost lost in the hum.

Max turned to her immediately, alert in that subtle way he always was when it came to her. "Yeah?"

She nodded, gaze dropping to the thin gold ring around her thumb — one he’d bought her in Tokyo because she’d paused in front of a shop window for half a second.

"He pulled me aside. Said some things."

Max’s brows lifted. "Bad things?"

She shook her head. "No. Just... direct."

Max’s mouth twitched. "So, my father."

Isabelle smiled faintly. "He told me I wasn’t weak. That I didn’t have to explain myself to anyone. That I was a Verstappen now."

That made Max still. Not alarmed. Not tense. Just still. Like the words had rooted somewhere deep.

"He said if anyone gave me trouble, they’d have to answer to him," she added, voice softer now. "Then just walked off like he hadn’t made me want to cry in the middle of the paddock."

Max leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, elbows propped. Watching her.

"I didn’t ask him to say that," he said, measured. "I only asked him to look out for you."

"I know," she murmured.

"And?" he asked, eyes searching hers. "Did it help?"

She let out a slow breath. "Yeah. It helped. It was... grounding. A little terrifying. But grounding."

Max smiled, small and real. "He likes you."

"Scary way of showing it," she said wryly.

Max shrugged. "He doesn’t know how to be soft. But loyalty? That’s his version of love."

She nodded slowly. Let the words sink in.

After a moment, she added, quieter still: "It meant something. Hearing that. Being told I belonged."

Max reached across the space between them and took her hand, threading their fingers together.

"In every way that matters," he said, voice low, steady, fierce, "you already are."

Her eyes flicked up to his.

"You’re mine," Max added, thumb brushing along the curve of her knuckle. "My partner. My person. My home."

She swallowed thickly. His hand was warm, steady. Unmoving.

"And if you want your passport to match someday..."

He smiled, just a little — not teasing, not even hinting.

Promise.

"We’ll make that happen too."

Isabelle’s breath hitched.

There was no rush.

No pressure.

But it was there — quiet and solid and waiting.

The life they were building.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, leaning across the aisle until her forehead rested against his.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I know," Max murmured. "I love you more."

And the hum of the engines, the silence of the sky, the softness of this stolen moment — it all folded in around them like a secret the world hadn’t figured out yet.

But soon.

Soon, they wouldn’t be hiding anymore.

And Isabelle — steady and ready — would meet it all head-on. Head up. Eyes forward.

Like a Verstappen.

***

Instagram Story: @/isabelleleclerc

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/gridgossip: Isabelle ending her q&a by thanking people for asking about HER and not her brothers... I'm crying in the club actually

@/monacoprincess: no bc imagine living your whole life in the shadow of your brothers and finally being like "thank you for seeing me". this girl deserves the world

@/paddocktalk: her just wanting to exist as HERSELF not "charles' sister" not "leclerc family member #3" just isabelle i’m going to start swinging

@/f1girlie: the worst part is you can TELL she didn’t expect people to care about her and she still answered so kindly and openly… protect her at all costs

@/undercutqueen: me watching isabelle leclerc quietly exist without demanding attention and somehow being the most interesting person in the paddock [insert emotional damage meme]

@/rbrsunshine: no bc the amount of grace and patience isabelle must have to live in the leclerc orbit and STILL be this soft and sweet… i would have gone feral YEARS ago

@/paddocktea: the fact that this was her first Q&A ever and she was genuinely shocked people asked about her and not charles/arthur??? we failed her as a society

@/tifosimama: you know what? isabelle leclerc appreciation post. talented. stylish. kind. strong. soft-spoken but powerful. this is an isabelle stan account now.

@/f1girlies: when isabelle said "everyone should have an emilie" about emilie…i just. i need to go lie down.

@/mclarenmischief: also her talking about victoria verstappen??? saying "not a lot of people can understand what it’s like” like no wonder they’re close. It’s a whole different kind of fear

@/ferrarifangirl: THE WAY ISABELLE AND VICTORIA UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER WITHOUT EVEN HAVING TO EXPLAIN IT… that hit way harder than i expected

@/gridgossip: isabelle casually saying "everyone deserves one friend like emilie" has me SOBBING at 3pm on a Monday

@/gridgossip: new theory: what if she’s been cat-sitting Max’s cats this whole time and we’ve just been clowns not seeing it

@/p1princess: what if the cats always knew…what if sassy and jimmy were the REAL first ones to approve of belle

@/redbullracingwives: charles not letting isabelle borrow his cars is both hilarious and the most big brother energy imaginable

@/honeybadgerenergy: ISABELLE LECLERC DRIVES A VOLVO

not a ferrari

not a lamborghini

a VOLVO

she's actually mothering the entire paddock i fear

@/gridgossip: isabelle leclerc posting a literal MOODBOARD during a casual q&a and it’s everything i want my future house to be

she’s unreal

@/mclarenmischief: her caption was literally "be nice" and then she dropped the most perfect moodboard like it was NOTHING

1K notes · View notes

kitysugar · 6 months ago

Text

tired baby ~ lee heeseung x reader

inspired by this request ! ౨ৎ

in which your loving boyfriend takes care of you, even in your dazed out, sleepy state when you’re still so needy for him

word count ; 1.6k

somnophilia, fingering, pet names, sub/dom themes, nicknames (daddy, baby, angel, more). daddy kink. not proof read, spelling mistakes, wah wah.

it was around one in the morning when heeseung finally tore his gaze away from the switch that he has in his hands, his attention focused on you sound asleep on his chest instead.

you had giving him your switch around an hour ago, asking him to help you with something in Minecraft. being the man he his, heeseung got sucked into the game and began building houses for you, completely forgetting the original meaning behind you giving him your switch to begin with.

the only reason his focus had been completely torn was the small, quiet little moan that left your sleepy, parted lips. suddenly, the small device in his hands was completely out of mind as he heard another soft whimper leave your throat and right into his perked up ears.

without a second thought, heeseung gently leaned over to the side and set the switch down on the bed side table before shifting his body slightly so he can get onto his side, spooning you gently in order to not wake you up.

one of his cold hands makes its way to the base of the big shirt you're wearing; its one of his. the article of clothing swallowing your smaller figure whole as you stir in your sleep, pressing your back up flush against his chest. your ass pushes up against heeseungs lap, making him groan out into the chilly air of the dim shared room.

"h-hee..." you whimper in your sleepy daze, the wet dream your having makes your thighs clamp down against each other slightly - looking for any sign of friction. heeseungs hands snake up inside the shirt, his cool fingertips coming into contact with the warm skin of your waist.

heeseungs ears perk up at the sound of quiet, small huffs your tired mouth makes, way your body completely mets into his even as you find yourself fast asleep.

heeseung smirks to himself after his fingers trail down passed your waist line, realizing there was lack of underwear you were wearing, his face coming to bury itself in your hair - your strawberry vanilla scented shampoo completely clouding his senses as his hand snakes below your abdomen, stopping right before he comes in contact with your needy heat.

your lover kisses the back of your head sweetly, wrapping your body in his arms as his fingers finally come in contact with your already-wet pussy. his digits slip through your folds with ease, a hiss leaving heeseungs lips at the feeling of your needy cunt in the palm of his hands.

heeseungs other hand moves up to move your hair away from your neck so he can have full access to your skin, sucking light purple marks that have you grinding your hips back into his growing erection.

the plush feeling of your ass grinding on his clothed dick makes him groan into your ear quietly, his fingers finally coming up to where you need him most.

as heeseung massages gently circles on your clit, a hushed call of his name makes him feel as if he were being driven insane - lust completely clouding his field of judgement and the only thought that bounces off the hollow corners of his mind was you.

"that's it baby" his deep, husky voice whispers into your ear, his breath fanning your soft skin. your quiet, sleepy whimpers turn into breathless moans and pants , your hips sloppily grinding down onto heeseungs fingers.

"s-seungie.." your mind begins to float back into your body ever so slightly, just as heeseung decides to push a single finger into your tight cunt. your body shudders in his hold, your lips falling into a pout as his digit begins to pump inside your pussy, curling up in order to instantly graze the sweet spot deep inside you that he has grown to know as if it were the back of his own hand.

"i got you sweetheart, 'm right here" your lover huskily whispers into your ear, your eyes fluttering open in order to look to the side and make eye contact with your boyfriend.

"hi angel, what were you dreamin' about hmm?" he taunts sweetly, knowing exactly what the answer is going to be. you pout again as you shake your head from side to side with a whimper. one of his eyebrows cocks up before he plunges another finger deep inside your pussy, making your body shake and curl into him.

"answer me." he bites down softly on your neck, forcing you to speak.

"d-dreaming 'bout you.. always you.. please.." you respond, your eyes swiftly closing at the feeling of his fingers working their magic inside your velvety walls. heeseung hums, his chest vibrating. everything feels hot, and wet. you can feel your slick pooling down your thighs and onto the bedding below, making your cheeks warm up in a pretty shade of pinks and reds.

"yeah? and what was i doing, love?" heeseung asks, making you whine. his fingers dance faster inside you, your hands coming up to grip on his bicep that flexes under your fingertips.

"you... you were fingering me,, kissing me everywhere.. feel- feels s' good" your eyes squeeze shut, your lips parted so that cherry-sweet moans drip off your tongue like honey.

"good girl... so pretty for me, you like it when I finger you baby? yeah?" you frantically nod your head yes, making a deep chuckle errupt from the depths of your boyfriends chest. it was the truth; his fingers are fucking amazing. you jokingly say that they're your 'best friends' from time to time. it really makes his ego swell.

you can feel your consciousness slip away from your body, and you try your best to grasp onto it for as long as you could; and heeseung could tell just how close you were to falling apart in his arms just by the look on your face. he adjusts his position so he's still laying on your side, but he sits up ever so slightly - holding himself above your shaking frame on his forearm above your head.

heeseung looks down at you, watching all the cute faces you make as he splits you in half with just his fingers. he can tell by the way your face contorts and the change of vocal volume that you're slipping - and he is happily there to catch you when that happens.

"i got you sweetheart, let daddy take care of you angel" you mewl at his words, your doe eyes opening slightly in order to look up into his deep brown irises. heeseung kisses the tip of your nose, followed by your cheeks and forehead.

your back arches off the mattress, your body curling straight into your lover.

"love you... i- i love you seungie.." you purr, making his heart swell in his chest with love and admiration. heeseung coo's at you, his lips forming into a pout as he observes you as if you were the most beautiful piece of art he's ever laid eyes on.

"i love you too my beautiful baby..." his air fans your face as he speaks to you, his nose gently pressing up against yours

"so fucking much" he finishes, his fingers picking up the pace. you squeal into the chilly air, your hands squeezing his biceps so roughly, your nails dig into his skin.

"d..daddy s' much... s' too much" you speak, your hips grinding frantically into the palm of his hand, searching for any sort of release. the tips of his fingers caress your sweet spot repeatedly, making tears well up in your big eyes that now fall freely as you squeeze them shut.

heeseung tongues his cheek, a smirk forming on his face once more.

"look at me." you dont listen, your eyes remaining closed as you chase the feeling of your orgasm that begins to form in the pit of your stomach. heeseung raises his eyebrows, taking in the disobedience from you.

"did you not hear me? I said look at me." your eyes fly open at the sound of his sharp tone, obeying his words. he kisses your nose before pressing his forehead up against yours, your eyes connecting in a deep, meaningful and intimate moment.

"you listen to daddy when he tells you to do something, understand?" you nod your head yes, not looking away from him.

"such a good girl, you close baby doll?" you hum at his question, feeling the coil beginning to form in your lower tummy.

"f-feel's hot.. s' hot please.." your hands slide from his bisceps to his shoulder, gripping onto him like he was your last ounce of sanity that threatens to slip through your fingers. tiredness begins to wash over your body, your head feeling light in the process.

"d-daddy please" you beg, your legs threatening to close around his arm as he plays with you.

"shh baby, daddy's got you. im right here sweet thing." you bite down on your bottom lip harshly - enough to draw blood. everything inside you snaps as you begin to cream around his his fingers, your whines and mewls loudly bouncing off the walls of the dimly lit apartment.

"thats it sweetheart, fall apart on me love, daddys here" you feel sleep come and cover your mind like a warm blanket, but before you do - you faintly hear heeseung speak faintly.

"such a good, good girl for me. my perfect little angel... all mine. my pretty girl. did such a good job for me.. i love you so, so much." a deep blush forms on your cheeks, your body going limp in his hold.

the proud feeling lingers in heeseungs chest, even as he cleans you up as you lay there fast asleep. the way you look makes him feel indescribably emotions , ones mainly consisting of love.

the way he would do just anything for you makes him feel insane, but thats okay because he would gladly drive himself insane over you, and he'd do it happily.

2K notes · View notes

donutdrawsthings · 4 months ago

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Here are my entries for the #SUMMERSPLASHDOWN2025 contest :o] (character belongs to @/fourleafisland)

I figured a lot of people would go for a more clear sailor look, so i wanted to come in with something a bit different. design explanations under the cut!

The first design was inspired by pirates. I always associate the red and white stripes on a scarf to shipmates, so I decided to give critter a hint of that too! The capelet (which i forgot to draw on the back of the design, whoops), is supposed to resemble ocean waves. The sea foam at the bottom of the capelet has a subtle clover pattern on it to return to the general clover theme! Tying the 2 sections of the design together is a golden ship and anchor clip that are tied together by a little chain. I figured a pirate theme wouldn't be complete without wood from ships, and originally wanted to go for a driftwood look for the tail cuffs (unfortunately, i felt it didn't suit the palette...). Instead I took inspiration of wooden tables that use resin to tie 2 pieces of wood together, since these also give a water vibe.

For design 2 I took inspiration of what sailors actually set out to do, catching fish! Critter wears a tiny knitted shawl/scarf, which rests underneath a collar that exists out of vintage Japanese glass floats, which were these glass orbs woven into fishing nets to keep them afloat.

Sticking with the theme of fishing ropes, I decided to let the rope of the collar to tie back to a bigger rope in the back, which has been woven and tied into a cute bow! Critter has Kelp around their tails, which fishing nets sometimes get caught up in. Then the Cuffs are also made from the same material as the glass of the floats! It is a very thick glass, so when the light shines through it, it comes out looking green on the other end of it. This little light i also decided to stylise into a 4 leaf clover. Lastly, the fish on Critter's head is the chat mascot of 4leaf's chat. it wears a little captain cap and proudly takes its spot on top of Critters head!

That's it! Hope you like looking at the designs I came up with :oD If you're still reading this, you're a champ!

#SUMMERSPLASHDOWN2025 #summersplashdown2025 #donutdrawsthings #character design #art #digital art #fanart #i think you could consider this fanart #art contest #contest #fourleafisland

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nanenna · 7 months ago

Text

Jeez Louise This is a Mess

Sleepy King (Nenna edition) Master Post

Apologies in advance, I'm not very familiar with John Constantine, trying to do anything from his perspective is definitely an unwise decision. I have chosen it anyway. He's almost definitely OOC.

---

John watched the Fentons and the mayor just saunter through the brand new hole in the mayor’s wall like this was just a normal Friday for them. Considering how weird the town was as a whole, it probably was. And he meant that by the old meaning of the word and as literal as one could possibly interpret it. He’d never been anywhere where the veil was so thin over such a large area, with æther so thick in the air of course it was affecting the locals. Probably had something to do with whoever or whatever had cloaked the whole town.

John turned to Tall Dark and Broody, “So, what happened to all the bugs and trackers you put on them originally?”

Batsy frowned, “Danny’s are still in the Fenton residence, expected since he clearly changed his clothes. His parents’ trackers and bugs all went offline not long after arriving home, the ones I placed inside the residence are malfunctioning.”

“And that’s not the least bit suspicious?” John asked.

“It’s incredibly suspicious,” Batsy said with a completely straight face before turning and also walking right out the brand new hole. “I suggest you actually use the comm I gave you earlier, they’re explaining the situation to Masters.”

Unfortunately Mr. Gargles Gravel for Breakfast had a point, John sighed and did put in the comm, though he knew it would be spotty with the use of magic to follow the group. Batsy and Wonder Woman could follow however they liked, John did not have the energy for that.

The comms were staticky, cutting in and out even without John’s abuse of the thin veil to quick step around town. Not surprising, the amount of pure death magic radiating off the two dead-alive people in that tank would be enough to mess with most electronics even if the veil weren’t practically non-existent.

“Somehow this place feels cozy,” Boston commented as he followed John.

“You would think so.”

The conversation on the comm was getting worse, the bugs were clearly slowly giving up the ghost. John only caught a few words here and there, and those were only because they were Ghost Speak, something that shouldn’t be possible for flesh and blood mouths to speak. It’s just bits and pieces, names and titles mostly, but if he’s understanding this right…

“Huh, that may change the situation a bit.”

“What are you going on about?” Boston asked.

“It sounds like Pariah isn’t the Ghost King anymore. But Batsy’s bugs are losing the war against æther, so when we get there you’re gonna need to go spy on them.”

“Will that work?”

“Try to keep out of sight, but even if you get caught the worst they’ll do is kick you out. Undead solidarity.”

Boston grumbled, but when John met back up with Batsy and Wonder Woman staring through a window right to where the group was talking, Boston did as he was asked and slipped right through the wall and inside. John cast a quick spell to spy through Boston.

Boston floated slowly into the room, seemingly becoming braver as the Fentons looked right past him without reacting. Unfortunately, he got a little too close to the one person in the room that could definitely see him. The kid jumped out of his seat in surprise.

“Don't sneak up on me like that!” The kid whined as he picked himself up off the floor. Then he froze, eyes glaring at Boston. “How did you sneak up on me? You didn't activate my ghost sense at all.”

“Oh, you can see me? And ghost sense?”

“You don't know who I am?”

“Uh… Daniel Fenton?”

“Well yes, but ghosts don't usually call me that.”

“Then what do they call you?”

“How about you tell me your name first?”

“I’m Deadman.”

The kid burst into laughter. “Are you for real?”

“Danny, is it Youngblood?” The sister asked.

“Huh?” The kid looked to his older sister, then back to Boston. He gestured, “You can't see him?”

The Fentons all shook their heads.

The creepy mayor came back into the room holding a cardboard box, knocking a thin layer of dust from the top. “Here it is!” He looked up and frowned. “Who are you, and why are you in my home?”

“I’m Deadman and I’m uh… lost?”

“He didn't set off my ghost sense,” the kid added. He turned back to Boston, “Are you even a ghost?”

Batman, who’d spent the last few minutes getting into the perfect position while he waited for the most dramatic moment chose then to crash through the window. John started cursing as he rushed to climb in after the loon, already prepping a spell. The moment he had a clear line of sight he shot off the revelation spell at the kid.

It did… well not much.

Really about all it did was give the kid a couple extra accessories. He expected them, but he also expected it to somehow reveal the kid’s undead status too. Make him look all glowy and ghostly like he had when he’d first arrived last night, because John was pretty sure the kid hadn’t been kidnapped after all. Or at least not how they originally assumed, he was pretty sure some spirits considered an unwilling summons a kidnapping.

Still, there the crown was. Just floating over the kid’s head, toxic green æther flames around it like a death energy aurora. And like any teenager the kid seemed completely oblivious, having to be told the crown was even there. Once he got a hand on it though he said something odd, “Okay, crown retrieved.”

John just tucked his hands in his pockets, waiting to see what they were doing. Why did they think they needed to find the crown?

“We may have a problem,” The creepy mayor said as he pulled an identical crown from his cardboard box.

“What.” The kid looked back and forth between the crown in his hand and the one in the creeper’s. “Why are there two?”

And, well, John agreed. Why the fuck were there two? He already started muttering an identification spell as the kid turned to him.

“What did you do?!”

“I didn't do anything,” John protested, “that was purely an identification spell, it can't duplicate things!”

“Well clearly you did something wrong,” The kid’s mom said while glaring at the him.

Of course things got dicey after that, the kid and the creepy mayor got into a fight over the second crown, things turned into a right mess, and John was quite content to let them squabble among themselves. He moved to go stand next to Batsy and Wonder Woman, Boston with him, waiting to see how this went.

Of course the tussle then turned into fighting over the ring on the kid’s finger, still blaming John for just revealing the crown and ring the kid had apparently had this whole time.

“Alright, that’s enough. Shut up!” John may have put a bit of intent into that, and it worked beautifully. The whole group stopped and stared at him, finally shutting up. The parents managed to get between the kid and the creeper, each one still with one of the crowns.

The crowns he now knew were both, somehow, legitimate.

John pointed at the kid, “Just call the crown, it’ll listen.”

The kid gave him a disbelieving look. “Oh sure, I’ll just,” he hunched forward a little bit, clapped his hands, and whistled like he was calling a dog, “here Crowny, Crowny, Crowny.”

For a brief moment nothing happened, then the creeper mayor jerked forward as the crown yanked itself from his hand. It went to go join the other crown floating over the kid’s head, one of them grew wider so the other could nestle inside it, both spinning in place but in opposite directions.

Everyone was staring at the display.

“What uh… what are they doing?” The kid asked nervously.

“They… like each other?” The sister asked skeptically.

“Great, wonderful, fabulous, just what I need in my life.” The kid sighed and turned to glare at John. “What. Did. You. DO?!”

“I didn’t do shit,” John replied, much to the parents’ combined horror. “Looks like somehow they’re both legit, my best guess is one of them isn’t from this timeline.”

“Oh,” the sister said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “The Nasty Burger explosion happened after the fight with the king, right?”

“The what?” the kid’s parents asked.

“Oh,” the kid responded, “I’m starting to see why the council of eyeballs hates my guts.”

And wasn’t that a concerning sentence. John desperately needed a drink, thankfully he had a flask on him and chose that moment to take a swig. “Alright, so there should be a second ring too, no point leaving that on Dark’s finger in case he gets out again.”

“Vlad did it,” the kid said while pointing at the creeper.

“Excuse me!” Creeper actually put a hand to his neck, like some fainting Victorian lady.

“Vlad tried to steal the ring and crown, so he let Dark out of the sarcophagus and I had to go clean up his mess, like always.” The kid glared at the creeper, it was starting to paint a really concerning picture.

“I’m sure Vladdie was just trying to keep these powerful artifacts safe,” the kid’s dad said loudly and happily. Yeah, there was the concerning picture again.

“I’d believe it if all he took was the ring, but the crown was safely sealed away with Pariah and he let the guy out to steal it.”

“Just call the ring,” John said gruffly.

“Here Ragey, Ragey, Ragey.” The kid whistled and clapped his hands again. The ring showing up on the kid’s other hand was expected, the glowing green hell hound that came sprinting through the wall and practically tackled the kid wasn’t. “Cujo! Hi! Who’s a good puppy?!”

Keeriest, John needed a stiffer drink.

#nenna writes #sleepy king #dpxdc #danny phantom #fanfic #fanfiction #dc comics #dc stands for disregard canon #justice league

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

Yandere lucky egg Welt Yang?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Welt Yang x Reader

[Lucky Egg Dispenser]

Just a silly game, a gimmick at best. You thought.

But when you received the egg, something told you this was different. The vendor said it would hatch in three days, but by the second night, something strange happened.

As you lay in bed, a strange pull dragged you toward the egg. It was unlike anything you had felt before—like gravity itself was bending around you, sucking you in. Before you could scream, your vision blurred, and for a moment, you were inside.

A vast void stretched infinitely in all directions. Stars blinked in and out of existence. The weight of the universe crushed against you, yet at its center, a figure stood. His silhouette was imposing, his glasses reflecting an unreadable light. His voice echoed through the space.

"So you’re the chosen one."

You barely had time to comprehend before reality snapped back. You gasped, now back in your room, the egg still resting on your desk—silent, unchanged. Had that been… a dream?

By the third night, cracks raced along the shell. Light spilled from within, painting the dark room in a golden glow.

He stepped out.

As the egg cracked open and the light faded, you expected something to be fragile, small, and needing care. Instead, a person stood before you, composed, and radiating an aura of wisdom. He adjusted his glasses, his expression calm, his deep voice broke the silence.

"I must apologize. This is likely unexpected for you."

His tone was gentle, polite, so carefully measured, like he had already accepted this new reality without hesitation. He examined his surroundings before looking back at you with the weight of someone who had lived countless lifetimes.

"I am Welt Yang. And it seems I was meant to come to you."

Your mind raced with questions.

"Why are you fully grown? How did you come from an egg? What happens now?"

The next few days were surreal. Welt adapted seamlessly to your home. He moved through your space with quiet grace—reading books you had long since abandoned, and speaking only when necessary.

When you tried to ask him about his origins, he would smile.

"I have existed before, in many ways, in many places. But here, now—this is where I am meant to be."

You noticed the small things first.

He always positioned himself between you and the door, as if instinctively protective.

His gaze followed you—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was memorizing every detail.

When you spoke, he listened too well, as if dissecting every word, every emotion behind it.

----

You weren’t sure if shopping was something Welt would enjoy, but you figured it was necessary—he had come from an egg, fully grown, with nothing but the clothes on his back.

The city was a blend of modern technology and old fantasy, towering skyscrapers laced with enchanted neon signs, trains that floated along invisible tracks, and adventurers in sleek, reinforced gear heading toward dungeons to farm points for their next upgrade.

As you walked through the bustling shopping district, Welt remained calm as always. His gaze lingered on technological displays, arcane artifacts, and the strange blend of magic-infused machinery.

"This world is fascinating" he murmured, adjusting his glasses.

You led him into a high-end boutique, a mix of modern fashion infused with enchanted materials. Welt didn’t resist, but he also didn’t seem particularly excited—his approach to shopping was practical, efficient, yet undeniably elegant.

He ran his fingers over the fabric of a long coat, analyzing the enchantments woven into it. "Durability enhancement… a fine choice."

You encouraged him to pick what he liked, but he only sighed softly. "If I must, I will choose what is necessary. But if it pleases you, then… I shall wear what you prefer."

You didn’t enter dungeons often, but you figured Welt might want something useful—perhaps a weapon, a device, or something enchanted for protection. To your surprise, he was far more interested in books. He browsed an ancient tome filled with combat theories, occasionally nodding as if confirming information he already knew.

"You have dungeons here… fascinating. Are you well-versed in combat?" he asked, glancing at you.

You shrugged. "I can manage. But I’m no expert."

"Then perhaps I should accompany you next time. I’d hate for you to get hurt."

The store was packed with enchanted trinkets, weapons, and gear for dungeon explorers. You reached out to grab something—a sleek, rune-etched device—but in your distraction, you misstepped. The uneven flooring caught your foot, and in an instant, gravity betrayed you.

But before you could even hit the ground, a soft yet firm force caught you mid-air.

A low, familiar tap echoed through the store—Welt's cane against the floor. A subtle distortion rippled around you, as if space itself had bent to his will.

You were weightless, suspended just inches above the ground before gravity gently readjusted, setting you back on your feet as if nothing had happened.

"I would suggest being more careful. But… I suppose I shall always be here to catch you."

---

One evening, you returned from a dungeon, exhausted. You barely managed to set your gear down before sinking onto the couch.

You didn’t expect him to say anything—Welt wasn’t one for unnecessary words.

Instead, he simply walked to the kitchen. The soft clink of porcelain, the quiet hum of a kettle. And then, moments later, he set down a cup of tea beside you. You blinked up at him.

"Drink"

You hesitated, then took a sip. The warmth spread through you, soothing, grounding.

And then, rather than returning to his own space, he stayed.

Not speaking, not hovering—just there, reading, sipping his own tea.

---

The marketplace was full of people—merchants shouting their wares, adventurers bargaining for supplies, enchanted displays flashing prices in shifting runes. You had been here countless times before, yet today, the crowd felt denser. You were focused on a shop window, eyeing a sleek new dungeon scanner, when the sudden shove of a passerby knocked you off balance.

A pressure settled against your lower back, keeping you upright.

"Careful" Welt's voice came, steady as always. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from you.

You turned to him, half-expecting a comment, a lecture on paying attention. But he only adjusted his glasses, nothing more.

"Didn’t expect the market to be this crowded today."

Welt hummed in agreement but didn’t step away. If anything, he shifted slightly—positioning himself between you and the chaotic stream of people passing by.

Another person brushed too close, and this time, Welt moved again, subtly steering you toward the safer edge of the walkway.

You glanced at him, a question forming on your tongue, but he spoke first.

"Shall we keep moving?" His tone was neutral, polite—as if he hadn’t just repositioned himself to guard your every step.

You nodded, falling into step beside him.

He was always paying attention. Always watching out for you.

And for the first time, you wondered—just how long had he been doing this?

----

The dungeon loomed before you—an ancient structure half-swallowed by time, its entrance pulsing with an eerie glow. You had been inside dungeons before, but never without a solid reason. This time, Welt was with you. And this time, you didn’t know what was waiting ahead.

The party of twenty adventurers stood at the entrance, murmuring strategies, double-checking equipment. A mix of veterans and newcomers, all here for the same reason—to farm, to survive. You adjusted your gear, your grip tightening around your weapon.

A hand lightly tapped your shoulder.

"Are you ready?"

You turned to him. He was dressed in sleek, reinforced attire, different from his usual formal wear but still undeniably his style.

"As ready as I’ll ever be." you replied.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded.

The moment the dungeon gates sealed behind you, chaos erupted.

A tremor shook the ground, and before anyone could react, a force split the party apart—an unseen magic carving an impassable wall between you and the others. The stone beneath your feet shifted, rearranging the dungeon itself.

You barely had time to process what was happening before a deep, guttural growl echoed from the dark.

Your Battle: The Abyssal Maw

The chamber you had been forced into was massive, its walls lined with dripping black stone, pulsing like a living thing. In the center, a hulking creature uncurled itself from the shadows—a beast with jagged obsidian scales, eyes like molten gold, and a mouth lined with spiraling rows of fangs.

Your instincts screamed at you to move. The moment its claws lashed out, you barely dodged, feeling the wind of its attack slice past you.

"Tch—this is bad."

You had fought before. You could hold your own. But this thing was different. It moved with terrifying speed despite its massive frame, and the magic-infused air weighed you down, making every movement sluggish.

You launched a strike, a well-placed slash aimed for its exposed side—but the moment your blade connected, a pulse of energy repelled the attack, sending you skidding back.

"It’s reflecting damage?!"

No. Not reflecting. Absorbing. The wounds you had managed to land were already closing, as if the dungeon itself was sustaining it.

Then, the floor quivered beneath you—black tendrils shooting up, aiming to ensnare you.

You dodged too late.

A sharp pull yanked you downward, the abyss-like tendrils tightening around your limbs. The beast's maw opened wide, its next attack coming straight for you—

Welt’s Battle: The Chrono Tyrant

Elsewhere in the dungeon, Welt stood alone.

His battlefield was different—a massive, circular chamber lined with golden clockwork mechanisms, gears the size of buildings shifting with ominous precision. The air thrummed with magic, time itself feeling… distorted.

And standing in the center, a creature of regal terror.

Its form was humanoid but grotesquely elongated, draped in flowing robes made of shifting sands. A golden mask, cracked and ancient, covered its face, and in its skeletal hands, it held a massive staff with an hourglass embedded within.

With a mere flick of its wrist, the entire world slowed.

Welt’s body reacted before his mind fully processed it—his movements suddenly delayed, weighted. The Tyrant had activated its Temporal Field, distorting the flow of time in its favor.

Welt exhaled, adjusting his grip on his cane. "Hmph. A manipulation of time? I see… then I shall correct it."

The Tyrant struck first, golden chains of pure energy snapping toward him. Welt tapped his cane against the ground, and gravity warped.

The chains veered off course, thrown aside by an invisible force—but not entirely. A second chain materialized mid-air, twisting against the very rules of space and catching Welt's coat.

Time bent.

A vision flashed before him—a glimpse into a possible future. A strike to his left. A trap forming beneath his feet. The slowing of his pulse.

He adjusted.

His footwork shifted, moving not just in reaction, but in expectation. His power countered the Tyrant’s own—where it sought to manipulate time, Welt adjusted space.

The battle was not one of brute force.

It was a war of who could rewrite reality first.

As you struggled against the Abyssal Maw, as Welt confronted the Chrono Tyrant, one thought echoed between you both.

"Where are you?"

Because if you had already fallen—

Then neither of them had any reason to hold back.

Welt did not rush.

Even as the Chrono Tyrant screeched in defiance, the golden hourglass embedded in its staff fracturing, even as the dungeon trembled beneath his calculated strikes—he remained measured.

The moment he had seen through its abilities, the battle had already ended. With one final tap of his cane against the air, the very gravity of the chamber shifted.

The Tyrant lurched, its elongated form crushed under its own weight, ancient mechanisms groaning as time itself unraveled. Gears halted, sand reversed, and in one final, distorted wail—it shattered.

He had no time to linger.

His cane tapped against nothingness, and as if the air itself had become solid ground, he walked.

Not forward—up.

The laws of physics bent to his command as he ascended through the dungeon’s fractured space, his coat billowing in the unnatural wind. The dungeon itself was warping, sections of its structure breaking apart from his influence.

And then, he saw you. You were still struggling.

The Abyssal Maw was relentless, its black tendrils tightening, its body regenerating faster than you could wound it. Your breaths were labored, your body aching from the sheer force of resisting its pull.

It was only then that you felt it.

Your head snapped upward, and there, standing above you, as if gravity itself had ceased to matter, was Welt.

His cane tapped once against the empty space beneath his feet.

"KNEEL."

The very air shuddered as an unseen force crashed downward.

The Abyssal Maw collapsed. Its massive body slammed into the ground, the weight of existence itself crushing it into the dungeon floor.

And you, despite your resistance, were forced down as well. Your knees hit the stone, your breath stolen by the sheer magnitude of the gravitational pull.

Everything was on their knees before him.

The Abyssal Maw let out a strangled, guttural roar, but it could no longer move. The force holding it was absolute.

Welt descended then, slow, deliberate, his polished shoes touching the dungeon floor with elegance befitting a king. His shadow loomed over the beast as he approached, and then—one final tap of his cane.

The weight increased.

The beast’s body cracked.

Its form imploded into itself, crushed under its own mass until nothing remained but a whisper of the abyss.

"Are you hurt?"

What had once been a party of twenty was now reduced to a handful of survivors. The rest—gone. Some torn apart by unseen forces, others crushed beneath collapsing structures.

The dungeon had never been this brutal before.

You and Welt stood among the wreckage, taking in the eerie stillness that followed the battle. It wasn’t victory—it was survival, and barely at that.

Then—a new presence.

You turned.

At the far end of the ruined battlefield, half-shrouded in shadows, stood her. A girl. Purple hair cascading like silk, eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow. No expression. No hostility. Just… watching.

Yet—the sheer pressure of her presence sent a chill down your spine.

You gripped your weapon instinctively.

Welt, however, stiffened in a way you had never seen before.

And then—a flood of something.

Memories. Not yours. His.

You saw it in the way his hand trembled against his cane, his usually composed expression shifting into something unreadable.

A whisper of a name—long buried, long forgotten.

But this was not the time.

"Retreat," Welt ordered, voice steady despite everything. "Now."

You ran.

And for the first time in your life, you saw Welt Yang retreat—not out of weakness, but out of understanding.

Because whatever she was—

Even he wasn’t certain he could win.

Welt led the retreat with calculated precision. Not a single wasted motion, not a glance back—just forward. His grip on his cane was tighter than usual, his breaths controlled but heavier.

The survivors—those few who remained—followed, their footsteps unsteady, half-limping, half-running through the shifting corridors of the dungeon. The walls trembled, reality distorting in ways it shouldn’t.

Behind you, there was no pursuit.

No sound.

But the presence of her remained, like something watching from beyond a veil.

Welt felt it more than anyone.

Memories that did not belong to the present flooded him. Visions of battles fought in another time, another place. The cold sensation of déjà vu, of knowing something yet not remembering why.

"Welt!" Your voice snapped him back.

The exit was so close. The dungeon’s magic was shifting—trying to keep you in. Welt’s mind worked fast. He saw the exit crumbling before it even happened, understood the physics of collapse before the first stone fell.

"Keep moving!" He ordered.

A single tap of his cane against the air. The dungeon’s gravity twisted, shifting against itself. For a brief moment, space folded—a shortcut carved into reality. The survivors didn’t hesitate. They dived through the opening, one by one, escaping just before the structure sealed again.

You followed, but just as you passed the threshold, you turned—Welt was still inside.

The weight of memories, the presence of her, the strain of controlling the very dungeon itself—it slowed him, just for a second.

And in that second, the dungeon walls collapsed toward him.

"WELT!"

Another tap. A shift in space.

And then—he was beside you. The dungeon sealed shut behind him.

You barely had time to breathe before the survivors started counting their numbers, checking wounds, assessing what was lost.

Welt, however, was silent.

"Welt?" You asked, cautious.

For a moment, he did not respond.

Then—he exhaled. "It seems we have more to investigate."

----

Welt had always carried a calm vibe, so steady that it makes you depend on him. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, he remained unshaken.

But now, he was burning up. His body, usually so composed, lay fevered beneath the dim glow of your room.

You had done everything you could. Cooling cloths, potions, even magic-infused remedies. Nothing worked.

The nightmares never stopped.

Then—the system board appeared.

It flickered into existence before your eyes, its interface an unnatural light against the darkened room. A choice.

[Welt Yang is unresponsive. External interference detected. Do you wish to enter his consciousness?]

Your fingers hesitated.

Then—you pressed [Yes].

The world blurred.

And then, you fell.

Inside Welt’s Dream

You landed on solid ground—yet it felt… wrong. Like the weight of existence was shifting beneath your feet.

The sky above was fractured, shards of light and shadow twisting unnaturally. The air carried a heavy, suffocating stillness.

And ahead—Welt.

But he wasn’t himself.

He stood at the center of the dreamscape, frozen. His form was both him and not him, flickering between past and present. His eyes—haunted.

And then—a whisper.

"You should not be here."

Not from Welt.

From the dream itself.

A shadow shifted at the edges of your vision. Something watching. Something waiting.

But you had no time to hesitate.

You stepped forward. Toward him. Toward whatever had him trapped in this nightmare.

You approached carefully, the unstable ground beneath you shifting with every step. Welt remained frozen, caught in a battle you couldn’t see—a war within his own mind.

But then—a red-haired girl appeared.

She stood not far from Welt, her expression unreadable. As if she had expected you.

"You came for him."

Her voice was soft, almost gentle. Not a threat, not an enemy—something else entirely.

The dreamscape shuddered. Reality here was breaking.

Welt let out a sharp breath—a flicker of consciousness, a struggle to return.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped between them.

"Let him go."

The girl tilted her head.

"You think I am keeping him here?"

The dream pulsed. Your heartbeat quickened.

You could fight. You could force her out. But something told you she wasn’t here to destroy.

She was a presence of the past.

"He doesn’t belong here anymore."

For a moment, she just watched you. Then, she smiled.

"Perhaps he doesn’t."

The dream began to crumble. The world around you brightened, the suffocating weight lifting.

And as she faded, dissolving into the cracks of memory, her final words echoed—

"Take care of him."

A final whisper. A final glance at Welt.

Then—she was gone.

The moment she disappeared, Welt gasped, collapsing forward.

You caught him.

The dream shattered—

And the two of you woke up.

You stretched as you got up, ready to cook something—your body needed food after everything that had happened. But just as you turned toward the kitchen, you felt a gentle pull on your sleeve.

He wasn’t looking directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere past you, his grip light yet unwilling to let go.

"Stay."

You hesitated.

But then—your stomach betrayed you. A low, unmistakable growl broke the silence.

Welt finally let go. "Go on, then," he murmured. "Take care of yourself first."

Even as he let you go, you could feel his gaze follow you until you disappeared into the kitchen.

As you sat down with your freshly made meal, you let out a satisfied sigh. Finally, food. You scooped up a spoonful, about to take your first bite—

And then, in a blink, it was gone.

You stared at your now-empty spoon in confusion before following its trajectory—right to Welt, who had the audacity to be calmly chewing after swiping your food.

"Welt!" you exclaimed.

He barely looked fazed. With a small, deliberate motion, he tapped his cane against the floor and adjusted his glasses.

"To think of it," he mused, completely ignoring your glare, "I shouldn’t waste food, should I?"

Oh. Oh, he did not just say that.

"That was my food!" you huffed, scooting away protectively with your plate. "You literally said you weren’t hungry!"

Welt simply tilted his head slightly, watching you with a faint, unreadable smile. He looked way too satisfied with himself.

"Thank you for the food." he said.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Fine. Next time, I’ll just have someone else cook for me."

The moment you said that, you felt it.

Welt didn’t outwardly react, but something changed in the air. His fingers tightened slightly against his cane, his shoulders going just a bit too still.

"Someone else?"

You shrugged, missing the way his gaze darkened ever so slightly. "Yeah, maybe a friend or—"

The sharp clink of a spoon being set down cut you off.

You turned to see Welt calmly placing the stolen utensil beside your plate. His expression was still polite, still composed—but something in his eyes told you that he was absolutely not amused.

"I see." He leaned back slightly, "Perhaps I should make sure you have no need for… others."

Before you could question that slightly ominous statement, you sighed instead, choosing to ignore the weird tension he just created.

Looking at him now—this grumpy, elegant, thief of food—you couldn’t help but think about everything you had been through together. The dungeon, the sickness, the nightmares… and somehow, here you were.

You softened a little.

"From now on," you said, nudging his shoulder lightly, "I’ll be in your care."

The tension that had wrapped around Welt instantly unraveled.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, his entire demeanor shifted.

Gone was the faint edge in his voice, the almost possessive glint in his eye. Instead, something gentler took its place.

He sighed, a small, nearly invisible smile tugging at his lips.

"Very well," he murmured, voice softer now. "From now on, I’ll be in your care as well."

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #welt yang #hsr welt #welt yang x reader #welt x reader #welt x you #heliosluckyegg

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flamingpudding · 2 months ago

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Oh yes new crack au the Nightingales I think that's spelled right.

Are a big family with a lot of people in it we're all related by chance they all have a family reunion though in the infinite realms imagine Batman Surprise when you get the invitation in the mail to invite him in the Justice League to the Nightingale family reunion

Turns out that Klarion and Martha Night (what her name used to be before she married Thomas Wayne) share the same deadbeat mother the same one he slept with Klarion's Mom and the same one who had Martha Night with Martha's dad

Just a dumb crack idea of Morpher and Clarion being half siblings and Bruce having to deal with that and many other cookies are like half cousins removed are like aunties and uncles that don't visit a lot because of family drama

Just imagine a big old family reunion hosted by Danny but family games everyone bringing something to eat weirdly planning plans to murder their enemies sometimes but help from younger relatives that understand things more

Teaching your family how to use is technology that they had no idea existed cuz they were born no technology zone

Goofy thing Martha and Klarion Bleak literally being comparative half siblings who win every minigame during the family reunion over here styling out children and jump rope just because they can

Love this idea. I modified the Half siblings origin in for my bit a little to something that felt would make it a little funnier. Also Thanks so much. Your ask came at the right time with my vacation and rekindled my passion for writing. I got a lot of stuff to catch up this vacation!

I was playing with the thought of adding this to my ghost king is my uncle AU but decided against it. This family constellation created for this Family Reunion AU feels better suited for it and funnier in a way.

Either way, i think I drifted of a bit into the crackish space and maybe also went a little ooc at some points... but please enjoy.

[Also an edited and probably a bit more flashed out version might get uploaded to AO3 at some point...]

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

A Nightingale Family Reunion

Bruce blinked and stared at the glowing floating eyeball before him. That thing had appeared in the middle of a meeting with the Justice League, directly in front of him. A waspy green tail curled around a envelop, decorated with a small ghost and addressed to his a name. His actual name. Not "Batman" but "Bruce Wayne".

Now it was lucky that identity reveals had already happened with all the core members that were in this meeting. Yet it was still unnerving that someone sent him this creature, directly to him while he was with the Justice League as Batman.

It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't the only one that had a floating eyeball before him. It took only one glance to the side to see that Wonder Woman, aka Diana also had one floating before her. Though compared to him she appeared to have expected it. Thanking that creature for the delivery of an 'Invitation'.

Bruce's eyes flitted back to the eyeball before him. It stared back at him, unblinking, of course not something it could do without eyelids. Unlike Diana he had not yet reached out to grasp that envelope from the creatio. Rather contemplating what could happen if he took it and what all could result from that action.

Deep in his thoughts he did not notice how Diana approached head shaking with a smile. "I didn't realize you were part of the Family. You shouldn't keep it waiting, The messengers have jobs to do."

She didn't hesitate taking the envelope from the eyeball for him, thanking the creation before pressing the envelope into his hand. He reluctantly accepted it, determined to question her later more about this as she appeared to know more than he did about this… phenomenon.

And he wasn't disappointed.

'Later' as he found out Diana explained to him how 'the family' had a get-together every 100 years. A family Reunion of sorts of the entire family in a place called the 'Infinite Realms'. Bruce had wanted to question her more on this but she only patted his shoulder, explaining that not all 'mortal' family members got to take part of this event during their 'live-time'. That some would even either be too young to even remember ever taking part in one until they died.

An unsettling statement. Especially when she implied that one could still take part even after death. It was very unsettling but for now Bruce accepted that explanation. He would still try to press on more questions. His children, who all apparently also got invitations delivered by that eyeball creature (including, even Alfred), weren't much better. While some took it in stride, others went into full on investigation mode. (He stopped counting how many days Tim forwent sleep to deep dive into information about the Infinite Realms.)

And then the day of the 'Family Reunion' came.

Diana had decided to accompany them into the Infinite Realms. Helping by being their guide, his stomach sunk as a green vortex opened before them, an eyeball with a bow tie floating before it, moving like it bowed to them. He worriedly had glanced at his second oldest son, hoping this was not going to be some kind of PTSD trigger, but Jason had appeared surprisingly fine.

So despite not feeling alright with it but encouraged by Diana, that this was harmless, they stepped through the portal.

On the other side they came face to face with a giant foyer, even bigger than the one his children knew from Wayne Manor. Bruce blinked as he stared, schooling his expression into his usual stoic one as he surveyed his surroundings. Several blue skinned or greenish…. people mingled with each other. Some having two legs, others something Bruce could help but describe as a ghost tail.

Then his usual stoic expression dropped as his eyes visible widened and he saw the Ghost of his mother arguing with the Witch Boy Klarion in the middle of the foyer, surrounded by others cheering them on as they apparently were holding some sort of competition and not arguing as he first thought. His children weren't fairing much better considering they knew what Martha Wayne looked like from Portrays.

Alfred appeared to be the least one faced as the older man shock his head fondly as if that wasn't an unfamiliar sight to him.

"DIANA!" A cheery voice shouted that ripped Bruce, as well as his children out of their shock as they saw a blur of black and white approach. Bruce hand instantly went to the hidden batarang in his pockets. But they could only blink as they watched the Amazonian Woman get engulfed in a bear hug that would put Dick's octopus-like hugs to shame.

"My Little Niece! So happy you made it! Oh and I see you decided to help Martha's little one to get here safely!" The white haired man grinned brightly. "I hope you're ready Dan really wants a rematch with you, you know?"

"Uncle Danny. Of course I would come, I would never miss this." Diana smiled, and Bruce decided then that this man likely wasn't hostile and let go of the batarang. Though he only relaxed slightly. "Besides I definitely didn't want to miss this one considering this is their first time."

Danny, as Bruce had noted the name, nodded sagely as he let go of Diana. "I know but it is so hard to organise a get-together with everyone. Every 100 years is the easiest to do this."

Bruce took note of that information also. His eyes darting back to his children that were now curiously watching the crowd, more interested as they judged the situation as not dangerous for the moment. But before Bruce could decided what to do, the white haired man Danny hugged him.

"So glad you could join! I was so eager to finally get to meet my grandbaby! I remember when Martha first showed you off to me! You were such a sweet little thing!" To say Bruce was shocked was an understatement. Dick and the rest of his kids started snickering when they saw how Bruce's face morphed from stoic to something akin to shell shocked for the bat.

As if on que a voice he hadn't heard in years called out "BRUCIE!" And a moment later the man was in a group hug, sandwiched between the man with white hair, claiming to be his maternal grandfather and the ghost of his mother.

"MARTHA! I WASN'T DONE WITH YOU YET!" Another familiar voice shouted. Less considered family but still shocking as Klarion marched over arms crossed as he the witch boy glared at Martha. "We are not done yet sister!"

"SISTER?!" The batkids shouted in chorus. Bruce was pretty sure this was the moment his brain blue screened.

Alfred on the other hand seemed rather amused. Though before Bruce could even give a semblance of a reaction to… just everything another very familiar but also strict voice shouted across the entire foyer.

"BRUCE THOMAS WAYNE!" The reaction was instant, as if it hadn't been years Bruce stood straighter, eyes darting to who shouted his full name. Wide eyed he saw the ghost of his father Thomas Wayne approaching…. with a Sandale in hand.

And while his brain was currently too overwhelmed to recognise the shock of first seeing his parents (even as ghosts), and also the chaos of whatever kind of family reunion this was. A in -trained reaction was the first thing that got his body in motion, as memories of his childhood flashed across his mind. Not even his own training could have prevented this kind of reaction.

The Bat-kids on the other hand watched stunned as there was only a second of Bruce seeing the Ghost of Thomas Wayne with a stern expression and a sandal in hand before the man they knew as Batman. Stoic, unmoving and unphased, emotionally constipated Batman. Hightailed it and ran, the expression of a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar plastered across the running man's face.

Klarion bursted out laughing, Martha chuckled amused, the smile of a caring mother hidden behind her hand and Alfred he looked even fonder, openly chuckling. All the while the ghost of Thomas Wayne chased after his son shouting of "WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE ANCIENTS WERE YOU THINKING DROPPING OUT OF MEDICAL SCHOOL! WHAT KIND OF EXAMPLE ARE YOU FOR YOUR OWN CHILDREN! ONE OF THEM IS EVEN A HIGHSCHOOL DROPOUT! EVEN HARVEY AND HARLEY HAVE A DEGREE!"

The other guests of this reunion didn't seemed bothered at all and even Diana shook her head as she excused herself in search for her Uncle Dan that apparently wanted a rematch. It took a moment for the Batkids but once the shock settled their attention instantly got drawn to their grandmother starting arguing with Klarion about some game they had to finish.

"Uh…. how are you two siblings?" Jason, the brave soul asked, while his sibling seemed to still try to catch up with things. Maybe Jason was just better in these pack that thought for later moments, to recover the fastest.

"Oh this is your Great Uncle Klarion my dears. My halfbrother." Martha smiled at them as she warped her arms around Klarions shoulder, pinching the Witch Boys cheek. Which looked comical in a way as Martha appeared as a full grown adult while Klarion… was well Klarion.

"Stop that." Klarion hissed swatting at Martha and Danny laughed at his two children.

"Yea but… how?" Tim finally stammered out finding his voice once he logged a lot of his thoughts away for later. There was just too much to unpack at once.

"So well…" Martha starts before pausing. "This here is my mom. Danny. Yes Mom, the entire family calls him mom because of his tendency to mother hen over us all."

Danny had the gall to look offended and was about to interrupt his daughter before a hand clapped over his mouth a woman that looked a lot like him leaning over his shoulder grinning mischievously. "Oh, are we explaining family relations? I am Danielle by the way, your great grand aunt. You kids can call me Ellie."

Dick's mind was starting to spin but he nodded, sharing a look with his siblings.

"So Marha is the daughter of Danny's wife. The one he fell in love with and married when he chose to give a mortal life another chance. And Klarion? Is also Danny's son but well..." Ellie smiles mischievous like she knew a conspiracy they didn't. "...some things appear to be very much in the family."

"What does that imply…?" Damian ask eyes sharp as he noticed the glance towards him.

"Well Klarions birthmom is a deadbeat, somehow got Danny to sleep with her and then dropped Klarion off with him years later when he had just married again and had Martha." Ellie grind and suddenly the entire Batkids started with a strange feel of Deja vu, while Danielle grinned widely. Martha chuckled amused too and Klarion just shook his head.

Damian coughed awkwardly. The parallels to his own mother and Bruce were not lost on him. Then Jason suddenly broke out laughing, "You telling me Demon Brat isn't the only kid in the family that has a background like that!"

To their shock Martha broke out laughing now while Klarion glared at her. "Oh my! My grandchild and brother are even sharing a nickname!"

"Wait what?!" Tim spluttered, as he stared openly at Klarion. The witch boy. Someone he had fought several times by now. Who apparently was in his family also known as Demon Brat.

"Excuse me! My birth mother was at least an actual demoness! My grand nephew's mother doesn't compare to that at all!" Klarion protested, apparently offended for some reasons as Martha only laughed harder.

The bat kids could only watch in shock as Klarion and Martha started to argue like siblings while Danny ended up wrestling with Danielle to get the hand of his mouth. Meanwhile Bruce was still getting chased around by Thomas Wayne for dropping out of medical school and Alfred watched Klarion and Martha with a nostalgic fondness none of them could explain as of right now.

But one thing was clear, this family reunion, that apparently happens every 100 years would hold a whole lot more shocking reveals for them….

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rinnstars · 8 months ago

Note

imagineee, aquarium dates with rin. LIKE, SEEING JELLYFISHES AND SHARKS AND CUTE TURTLES WITH OUR RINNIE?? perfecto *chefs kiss*. until you encounter a boy who strayed away from his teacher during their fieldtrip, and starts to tag along with you both. he likes rin but nags you so much?? wow, unfair! anyway, that's all, thank you @rinnstars !! mwa mwa !!

( i got this idea from the C-drama "When I Fly Towards You". the aquarium scene in episode 9 where they happened to be babysitters until the boy was brought back to his teacher and classmates. + please make this in the original timeline. highschool sweethearts with rinrin ( 16 or 17 ) >3< )

sea you with me!

aquarium dates with you

itoshi rin x reader: mainly from rin’s pov, fluff, a little bit of crack, not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated

notes: HIIII anon!!!! YES OFCCCC<333 fun fact is that i have never been to one but i hope it’s still sort of accurate TT spent my lesson break for this I JUST GOT A LITTLE EXCITED… just a little!!!! <3 dwww i read ur other part of req tooo although its in the bonus section ish !! <333

holding your hand in the midst of the crowd that forms around different section of glasses featuring different sea creature - from translucent-like jellyfish that practically shines underneath the blue shimmering light above it hovering around, from green turtles that floats around slowly serenely right next and in contrast to the shark that seem to bare its teeth to show its glory to the people looking in awe. he thinks hes lovesick when he sees that and glance at the reflection of you and him, so reminiscent of those sea creatures - with you being as ethereal and breath-taking as the jellyfish as you smile and him being the sharks being placed on display in a separate tank right beside yours in contrast the same way he frowns and grimaces and glares at others.

really, he thinks he doesn’t quite fit the atmosphere - filled with other students with their friends cheerily taking pictures of one another in front of each glass panel with their digicam (that’s inside his pocket if you ever ask for it), filled with noisy kids that yelp and tug at their parents shirt as they attempt to navigate the already-crowded area, filled with people that dress picture-perfect and light to match the atmosphere in contrast to his black jacket hiding his school uniform. and again, he is reminded of his own lovesickness - forgoing a lazy after school hang out with you right in his bedroom playing yours and his favourite song whilst eating food from that cafe he knows youre practically addicted to simply because you asked him to, without any pleadings or begging. yet, don’t get him wrong, hes having fun here although not in the traditional sense - he enjoys seeing you point and brighten up when you see a fish that just catches your attention as you skip right to it, he enjoys feeling your hands against his as though made for each other as you tug against it to move to the next section, and most importantly he really does enjoy seeing you enjoy yourself. after all, he knows you deserve especially after exam season - he’s seen you all drained out lying your head on your desk just days ago clearly exhusasted a few hours after insisting you’ll be fine, he’s seen your piles of notes and assignments and even more printed exam papers to redo for your exam that he thinks your table has already become the equivalent of an library, and hes seen you fallen asleep at your desk way later than you should be after his football club with tears stains that he wished to have been there to wipe away, to kiss away, anything to have prevented you from having cried.

and its this point as you two are chatting about life, leaning in closer to you, where that colourful fish that has been staying still seems to have woken up and in its hurry seem to swim desperately to another side that startles the both of you (he wishes to curse that fish for it would have been a scene out of a manga that you always read if he had mustered the courage to kiss you right there and then), leading you to stumble and almost hit someone - and by someone, its apparently a little kid who looks confused and dazed, not even moving as you almost crash right into him.

you look at that little kid and he looks right back at you with his wide eyes - and hes pretty sure it lasts a while more before you apparently decide to play “adopt me” (just like when you and him were both kids on roblox.. but he digress…) and he’s pretty sure he might just have accidentally glared at the kid with the way he tugs at your jacket as he walks behind you as though hiding from him. and of course, hes used to that sight, hes never been great with kids - having scared his little cousin with just his looks at some point that led him to be reprimanded by said cousin’s parents, having been bitten by said little cousin as soon as his parents left almost letting out a ear-shattering scream that would have completely shattered whatever ego was left from that bite mark that lasted weeks, having being thrown a drink at by said cousin another time whilst he was minding his business playing games beside him whilst having to save his switch and end up soaking wet in his home clothes for another hour or so (and he’s sworn off babysitting for his cousin ever since then) (he had to go to blue lock)

but in front of you, he wants a little pride, to impress you, he digresses - tugging at his pocket to offer the little kid in front of you a candy (out of the many he brings to give to you and to snack on himself). and he knows hes successful, letting himself smile slightly in victory as the kid face appears from behind you, cautiously accepting the candy that rin helps to tear away the packet of for him to enjoy. and perhaps he associates that sugary sweet strawberry flavour that bursts in his mouth with the two of you, suddenly turning from the quiet and confused kid you randomly found to a kid who suddenly was open and talkative, all smiles and laughter, holding the both of your hands in his and skipping, pulling you and rin with him.

and now, he finds himself no longer pulled by you, but this random kid - but when he looks at you who’s attention is clearly on the kid, smiling and nodding to whatever things he’s saying, you practically you look like an angel especially with the way the aquarium white and blue lights were illuminating you. and midway of course, he slowly lets go of rin’s hand, leaving him behind almost comically as he holds yours and his bag. and he can practically feel eyes glared at him, and all he wants to do is to run away as he walks behind you and that little kid that he now suddenly feels was against him all along - with the way he tugs and your arm and..!

“.. mhm! ah! wait those are my parents! bye bye!” he says, turning back at you and rin with a bright smile that practically filled your heart with warmth as though he was the sun, waving excitedly at the both of you before he cheerily skips towards his parents who looked confused at where he was, pulling him by the hand worriedly.

and with that, your hands are back to merging with his, and that tint of red on his face from embarrassment changes into a blush across his face that is only highlighted by the lights from having his hands on you, walking about in the sea exhibition. he wonders a little what that kid told you, for you to hold his hands seemingly a little tighter, leaning your head on his shoulder that isn’t completely uncharacteristic but still a little strange as you glance at another exhibition of fishes swimming passionately around the tank as though dancing, brushing his hair aside before leaning in and merging your lips with his that practically makes his heart flutters and pump even faster than it does on the field - and he swears he understands all those mangas you rave about teenage romance and whatnot when youre practically made for him.

bonus:

“… seriously bachira… i don’t think that’s rin…”

“it seriously is! i followed him from that cafe! i’m serious isagi!!”

“with that kind of personality…?”

“hey! keep it down a little he’s about to turn around..?!”

and rin thinks hes going to lose his mind when he turns around after that kiss only to see his isagi and bachira huddled together whispering clearly about him in their respective school uniform, tugging you by your hand to somewhere else as he sees them through the reflective glass of the exhibitions following him and you a little too obviously. but he guesses if its with you, he doesn’t mind it at all.

#itoshi rin fluff #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin.<3 #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk fluff #req.<3 #FIRST REQ EVER YAYYY

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hollowdeath · 1 year ago

Text

professor potter

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader AU (18+)

summary: 2 years after the war, harry accepted a position as a substitute professor at hogwarts and recognized you from his years as a student. old feelings come to the surface as you both try to remain professional to keep his position safe.

content warning: slight teacher/student dynamic (they used to be classmates, reader is 18+), mostly slow burn & angst. smut mostly doesn't happen til the end (masturbation, penetration)

word count: 12.5k

a/n: wrote this for fun between working on requests! thank you to everyone who sends them in, they're so good and i'm excited to post more soon! just another fluffy, angsty harry fic taking place in school w a hint of smut...kinda similar to my last one but thats ok ! as always not exactly book/movie/canon accurate i apologize !

it's your first day of your last year at hogwarts, and you're probably the only student here that's not completely thrilled to be back. young witches and wizards running around you in the halls with their robes dragging on the ground, completely in awe with each other at the architecture and moving portraits.

you have to admit, if hogwarts does anything right, it's the ambience. probably the only thing you'll miss after leaving this year is the magic castle itself, particularly the library and your dorm room, which have been your sanctuaries for the past 7 years. there's just no place in the world, even the wizarding world, you've found, that quite compares to hogwarts.

but no, unfortunately, not even the grandiose castle of every young wizard's dream was enough to make you want to stay here even a day longer than you had to. and trust, you were counting down the days.

there was a lot that went into your disdain for the school. after the war in your 5th year, nothing had been the same. sure, the building was restored to its original form and even had some upgrades installed, but the energy within the walls felt so…unsettling.

it had been more than 2 and half years since then, and most students who remember the war well had either graduated or moved on from it. you, however, continued to feel the effects of it every day.

you've had a lot of personal struggles since then mentally, which affects your social life. you've overheard your friends talking about how they don't feel like you're the same person and you inevitably bring them down. it wasn't long after that they stopped talking to you completely. you didn't bother to rekindle the connection; you were ready to leave this place behind anyways, what was the point in faking a friendship for another year?

even without all that, you truly just hated your classes. you actually used to be a scholar student in your day, consistently making the top of the headmaster's list every year until the war. and you still loved headmaster mcgonagall, of course, you don't think that'd ever change, it was mainly the other professors that gave you a hard time. once you showed signs of struggling and burn out, it was like they just completely gave up on you and moved on to the next eager, bright-eyed bushy-tailed 1st year to dote on.

no matter, because again, you were ready to leave for a variety of reasons. even if you had loved your professors and graduated at the top of the class, you still had no friends to celebrate with. and even if you had those so-called "friends" back in your life, you still felt completely alone with them.

and so you laid in bed, the same bed you've had for 7 years now, retracting the ornate trim on the ceiling like you have a million nights before.

you decided to look back at your schedule once more, floating the paper out of its folder in your bag and towards your open hand. you read through it slowly, but nothing had changed. pretty much the worst line up of classes you've had so far. particularly your least anticipated course, defense against the dark arts.

at this point, you'd had more than enough when it came to the dark arts. those death eaters nearly killed you in that war, and actually did manage to kill too many of your classmates and teachers in the process. you saw your second home crumble in front of you, classrooms you grew up in completely leveled and the bridge burned to the ground, so much death and destruction over nothing but power. you resented the dark magic in this world.

sighing, you set the paper down on your bedside table and roll over, attempting to fall asleep. you have plenty of early classes this year and don't look forward to having to wake up with the sun to make it to them on time.

you're wasting time in the bathroom just before your defense against the dark arts, your last class of the day, when your peace is interrupted by a group of girls who come in giggling and talking rapidly amongst each other. from inside your stall you can't help but tune into their gossip. it's the only thing you could hear and, who cares, you could use some good drama.

you tried to dissect their conversation but they were constantly talking over each other, squealing, giggling, and you couldn't understand a thing. after a few moments of craning your neck towards the door to get a better listen, one girl's voice stood out amongst the rest as she asked, "okay, but, who's going to try and flirt with potter first?" her question was followed by many desperate "me!" "me!" "me!"s, a wave of giggling following.

potter. there's no way…

the bells begin ringing, signaling your next class is starting soon, and the girls go rushing out of the bathroom together. you slowly open the stall door and walk to the closest mirror. pale, like you've seen a ghost.

they couldn't possibly be talking about harry potter, right?

just his name had become plenty famous in its own right. the boy who lived; the boy who lived twice. you hadn't heard his name mentioned in a long time, though that's not hard when you've hardly interacted with anyone here in a long time.

you remembered harry from your years before the war that you had shared with him. he was 2 years ahead of you, so it wasn't often you had the chance to speak with him, but he was pretty much as legendary as one student could be at hogwarts. however, whenever you did manage to have a conversation with him, you always thought he was cute. really cute.

okay, so maybe you had a ginormous crush on him your entire time at hogwarts. but so did pretty much every other girl. but you didn't just think he was cute, you admired his gentle nature and timid personality. despite his heroic and outright dangerous adventures, he was always so kind, so humble…

the bells begin ringing again, meaning you're now late to class. "shit." you mutter, grabbing your bag and stumbling through the bathroom door.

you're jogging to your dark arts class with a racing mind, still wondering why those girls would mention potter's name so randomly.

you turn the corner and see the classroom door is already closed. "shit." you mutter again, stomping your foot. now you have to open the heavy doors and draw everyone's attention towards you, quite literally the last thing in the world you want right now.

sighing, you push open one of the doors, making the loudest noises you've ever heard echo throughout the silent classroom. you walk in and, as expected, all eyes are on you.

you grit your teeth and close the door behind you, making your way towards an empty seat in the middle of the room. the silence lingers as your footsteps hit the ground, trying your best not to make eye contact with anyone. you hear a few snickers and whispers coming from behind, and you can already tell it's your old friend group. you roll your eyes, sighing as you drop your weight into the creaky wooden seat.

you hadn't realized, but headmaster mcgonagall was at the front of the room. you noticed once she continued talking, looking up to see her smiling at you. you returned it. you love how she's always liked you despite your grades slipping lately.

you quickly look back down at your hands as people begin to turn away from you, drawing their attention back to mcgonagall as she continues to introduce the class.

"like i was saying, class, we apologize for the change this semester and hope you'll be understanding of us as we navigate this situation carefully. i suspect you'll all be respectful and courteous to our guest as he donates his time to hogwarts and to you, our students."

you look back up, a confused look on your face. what change? what situation? what guest?

it didn't take you long to connect the dots. it's like everything was in slow motion. the girls talking in the bathroom, the guest, the reason all the front rows of seats in class were completely filled with girls…

"please, class, welcome hogwarts' very own, mr. harry james potter."

all at once, your eyes landed on harry, who had been sitting to the side, obscured from your vision by several girls and a pillar. as he walks towards mcgonagall, eager applause erupt from the girls and the boys offer mediocre claps. you're too stunned to react, watching harry intently as he shakes mcgonagall's hand with that same timid smile.

you can hardly believe your eyes. what is going on? why is he here? and how the hell does he look even better now than he did 2 years ago?

"thank you, headmaster mcgonagall," harry says shyly, turning to the students. his eyes immediately fall on you. you try to convince yourself he's looking just in front of you or even past you, but you can feel his stare into your eyes. its the only thing that breaks you out of your shock.

you blink a few times and slump into your seat, feeling your blood run cold at harry's eye contact. he looks down at the desk he's standing at and shuffles a few papers. you sink even lower into your chair. this can't be good.

"uh, well, hello…everyone," harry says awkwardly, earning some flirtatious giggles from the girls just ahead of you. "it's a pleasure to be here, really, despite the circumstances. uh, i'm sure as some of you know…i've been very close with the weasley family for years and feel devastated for bill– uh, professor weasley, that is," harry corrects himself nervously, clearing his throat and glancing at his papers again.

"and when he reached out to me personally, specifically me out of anyone, to teach in his place for this semester, i couldn't say no to him. so, while it's a real honor to be here with you all, please know it's just for this semester and then professor weasley will be back to continue with the lesson plan in the spring," harry explains, looking around the room yet always letting his eyes land on you specifically with a lingering gaze.

harry goes into the schedule for the semester, the skills you'll be learning, and, well, you can't really focus on what else because you're just completely lost in your own head.

harry potter, the harry potter, is your professor for an entire semester.

you were completely dumbfounded. he couldn't hardly be older than 20 years old at this point. he had only left hogwarts just 2 years prior, yet he looked so different. though the glasses and hair stayed relatively the same, he had matured in the face. a slight beard, defined smile lines, and he'd definitely spent some time in the gym…

seeing him in a button up with his old gryffindor tie on drove you mad. is he really getting you worked up in the middle of class by just standing there? you feel like you're 14 again, staring him down in the courtyard from behind a tree.

it doesn't help that you swear he keeps looking at you. specifically you. his gaze is unmistakable at this point, it can't be a coincidence.

you try to stop yourself from having these thoughts and physical reactions. if he's going to be your professor for an entire semester you have to get over this silly crush that was never going to work out anyway. though you're soon turning 19, it makes no difference if he's working with the school, it would never be allowed…

what are you even saying? as if anything would ever happen except in your dreams. all you're going to do is lust for him until christmas and then he'll be gone again, his name nothing but a spoken legend again.

before you can process all he's said, harry announces that everyone's free to leave once you grab a textbook from him. girls are immediately standing up and running to get in line, and the boys are rolling their eyes as they sluggishly follow behind.

you're inevitably the last one, getting a headache as you listen to girls try to ask harry all kinds of questions for a bit of his attention. he mostly just gives simple answers or laughs them off, referring back to the class or the textbook he was handing them in some way to change the subject.

mcgonagall eventually shoos the girls away, which harry thanks her for in a low tone. he hands a book to each of the boys in front of you before it comes down to you. as the boy in front of you is being escorted away by mcgonagall, you briefly catch harry putting the library card of your book inside the front cover before he closes it.

your eyes connect as he hands the book to you, but he doesn't let go. your heart instantly flutters.

"it's nice to see you again, [y/n]," he says softly, letting the weight of the book fall in your hands.

the way he says your name has you frozen in place. his pretty blue eyes have stayed just as mesmerizing. it takes a moment before you're able to wrap the book in your arms, offering him a friendly smile as you softly reply, "you too, harry…"

you're quickly making your way back to your room with the biggest, cheesiest smile plastered on your face. he remembered you. you had barely ever interacted with harry, only a handful of times as far as you could remember, and you were sure he had completely forgotten about you, or at least forgotten your name. you tried to chalk it up to him having access to the attendance records of the class and reading over your name, but you still felt like a giddy school girl skipping along day dreaming about her crush.

when you got back to your dorm, you set the class textbook down on your desk and went to turn around before looking back at it longingly. harry had just put the library card back in the book before handing it off to you. you were most likely crazy, but something inside you was insanely curious to see if he had done something to the card.

you slowly opened the book and took the card out, a blank piece of cardstock except for a fresh label printed at the top. you sigh, almost putting it back before seeing something on the card catch the shimmer of the light.

you give the card a curious look. you turn it in your hands towards the light, trying to see what's on it. before giving up in frustration, a thought comes into your brain.

no…

you dig into your luggage, still unpacked from the day prior, looking for your old ink and quill. once you find them you come back to the card, setting it on your desk as you open the ink pot. you dip your quill in the ink and touch it to the spot you noticed earlier.

as you watched, the ink collected into letters and numbers, forming a message across the dotted lines of the check out columns. you were stunned. harry actually wrote to you in disappearing ink? you thought you were delusional thinking it was a possibility, but here was the proof plain as day:

[y/n],

hagrid's, 8:30pm

harry

you kept rereading the lines over and over before they slowly disappeared, fading away into the paper. you stood back in pure disbelief. what does this mean? obviously it means he wants to meet with you, but for the life of you you just can't figure out why. you two barely knew one another personally, it had been two years since you'd seen or heard of each other again, and now he's secretly inviting you to hagrid's after hours using disappearing ink? as your substitute professor, too…

from 5-8 pm you mainly paced around your room in both lingering disbelief and unbridled excitement. though you had no idea why harry had invited you out in secret, you were anxious just to be in his presence at his request.

you spent forever deciding on your outfit, feeling a bit silly for putting so much effort into this suspicious rendezvous that you were still clueless about.

sneaking out had become somewhat natural to you over the years. you knew all the blind spots of the castle and could hear a prefect coming from a mile away. you were out of your room and walking down to hagrid's completely unnoticed in less than 10 minutes.

on your way down the hill, your mind is racing with possibilities of what this meeting could entail.

arriving at hagrid's hut, you admire the warm glow of the windows and intoxicating smell coming from the smoking chimney – a mix of wood and garlic. hagrid's pumpkins are just beginning to plump up, his yard scattered with overgrown vines.

as you walk up to the door, a wave of anxiety hits you. knocking seems like the most impossible task in the world all of a sudden.

you steady your breathing, let your heart rate slow, and knock before you have the chance to stop yourself.

a few seconds of some rustling can be heard behind the door before it swings open. harry greets you with a warm smile. no longer dressed for class, harry looks quite adorable in a comfy sweater and baggy jeans standing before you in the hut.

"[y/n], you got my message," he says, clearly impressed. you couldn't believe this was real. he really did leave you that note on purpose. just hearing him acknowledge it made your heart race all over again.

"i-i did," you say in shock, searching his expression for an answer to all your questions. why are you here?

harry gestures for you to come in. "well, join me, please," he insists. you politely smile and enter the hut, the smell of food making your mouth water immediately. "smells amazing in here," you comment under your breath.

harry closes the door, looking back at you with a shy smile. "oh, thank you. it's for us, actually." he tells you, nodding his head towards the dining table.

completely set up with a tablecloth, harry has food plated for the two of you on the tiny table, along with tea still steaming on the stove.

"if you don't mind, of course," he checks with you, his voice soft and unsure. you look back at harry, barely able to grasp what's happening before you reply, "of course,"

he suppresses a grin as he gestures to the table once more. "please," he prompts you. you hand him your bag and jacket before taking your seat at the table, admiring the food he prepared for you. you're still lost in thought when harry asks, "tea?" holding the kettle from the stove.

"please, thank you," you reply. he pours you both cups of tea before bringing them to the table with a smile on his face.

as you're eating you notice a record playing in the corner you hadn't heard earlier. it fills the space nicely as you both take your first bites of dinner. "hope you like it, i wasn't sure what to make," he says nervously.

wiping your lips with a napkin, you simply tell him, "it's lovely,"

after another moment or so, harry sits back in his chair. "so…[y/n]..." he sighs. hearing him say your name like that makes your brain fuzzy for just a second before he speaks again. "you're probably, um, wondering why…"

you stifle a laugh at his stalling, getting a hint of confidence as you interrupt him. "wondering why professor potter secretly invited me to have a home cooked dinner with him?"

harry goes still, his eyes searching your expression as a blush grows over his cheeks. he swallows nervously, blinking and shaking his head before attempting to respond. "u-um, yeah, that,"

smirking, enjoying his nerves, you wait for his explanation with your arms crossed and a raised brow. he clears his throat and diverts his eyes from your gaze. he takes a sip of tea before smacking his lips and looking back at you.

"i just, i haven't seen you…" he starts, eyes softening at you. "i-i know we didn't talk much, but…i always cared for you." the last part was hard for harry to get out, a weight lifting off his shoulders in the process.

you were blushing, but more than that you were sweating. this is like something you would dream about as a kid. hell, even just earlier today…

"when i saw you today…in class…" he seemed uncomfortable referencing that. "i just…a lot of memories came back to me," his hands move with him nervously as he speaks.

he sighs and stands up, his body language clearly stressed. you haven't said a word, you simply can't. what could you possibly say?

harry's facing the fireplace, his head in his hands. "look, i just, now that i'm your professor this semester i just think…" he takes a moment to find the words before turning to you. "i had a crush on you. okay? there. god damn it," harry huffs angrily, rolling his head back as he throws his hands down.

"i had a crush on you for like 3 years, it was stupid, and i don't want it to affect my teaching with you. so…i guess i practically set up a fucking date to tell you this, sent hagrid away for the evening for nothing…" he gestures to the table, sighing in defeat.

you're stunned into silence, to say the least. there aren't words to describe what's going on in your head at this moment.

after a moment harry looks back at you, his gaze softening once again. "[y/n]...please understand i wouldn't be telling you any of this unless i thought there was another way i could deal with it. when i saw you today…it was like i was 16 again," a small smile creeps onto his face before he wipes it away.

"and if i didn't tell you now, it's all i would've thought about when i saw you, so…yeah. there." harry says with a huff, avoiding eye contact with you.

before you can even process what's going on, your body reacts for you. you stand up, walking over to harry, getting his attention off the floor. he looks at you almost with fear in his eyes at how close you are. you sigh shakily before speaking.

"harry…u-um, professor potter…" you correct yourself. "please, just, harry…for now at least," harry insisted, his eyes apologetic.

"harry…" you say, suppressing a grin. "you don't have to worry. really…um, it was definitely mutual, to put it lightly…"

harry gives you a surprised look. "really?"

you roll your eyes, taking a step away from him and towards the fire, enjoying the warmth. "harry, you forget who you are sometimes. essentially every girl i knew had a crush on you at one point."

harry's a little flustered at this statement, also taking a step closer to the fire, and towards you. "i-i wouldn't say that, i was definitely not that lucky back in the day," he jokes.

"so those girls that were practically all over you during class today…?" you tease him. "'oh, professor potter, what can i do to get a good grade?'" you mock their voices, giving him puppy dog eyes as you lean towards him before laughing and turning towards the fire. "is that not luck?" you ask with your arms crossed, a smirk hiding your slight jealousy.

harry's silent for a few moments before you look over at him. you see his eyes dark and fixated on you for just a second before he blinks and shakes his head at you, also turning to the fire. "please. they're children. they crush on any slightly older guy they see."

you roll your eyes again at his denial. "some of them were my age, well on their way to being 19. but, whatever you say."

the fire crackles in front of you two, filling the space and creating a warm glow. "besides…none of them are you." harry says. you look over at him, and he's lost staring at the fire. he feels you looking at him and quickly corrects himself. "i mean, nobody was like you, at least to me, back then…" he trails off awkwardly, wincing at his own choice of words.

you adore his nervous antics. he's just the same sweet, timid boy you remember, except he's a bit taller with a 5 o'clock shadow and looks gorgeous in the glow of a fireplace right now.

"i've really mucked this night up, haven't i? i was supposed to tell you about the crush calmly and professionally, with no inappropriate comments, and send you on your way into the night with your first reading in the textbook…" harry sighs, giving you a pathetic look.

"well…" you start. "your first mistake was probably leaving me a secret note, and cooking me a wonderful dinner," you gesture towards the table. harry lets out a pathetic laugh, shaking his head. "yeah, probably."

you don't know why you feel the need to, but you instinctively grab for harry's hand. he gives you a surprised, scared look.

you try to reassure him with a soft smile. "harry, i appreciate you telling me. i hope it can make this semester easier for you."

harry smiles in return, but it's not genuine. he looks like he's holding back from letting you know how he really feels.

regardless, he invited you two to finish up your food, laughing as you both attempted to resume casual conversation without the awkward air.

surprisingly, the two of you naturally begin to talk up a storm, reminiscing on memories and catching up on what's happened since then. harry tells you about his career as an auror and his experiences that lead him to being able to teach defense against the dark arts. when professor weasley's wife had died of sudden illness, the only person he wanted to take his place was harry.

you're hesitant to tell him about your lack of eventful news, practically hiding your face in embarrassment as you admit that your grades have been suffering since the war.

harry put a reassuring hand on your knee, his chair pushed closer to you. you had both long since finished dinner and just talked, enjoying the fire as harry continued to feed it wood every so often.

you looked up at him, melting at how adorable his tired eyes looked through his glasses. "i get it. trust me." he tells you. his voice puts you at ease, and you don't feel quite as embarrassed as before.

"maybe this semester i could help you. if you'd like, of course," harry offers. you smile. "of course."

as you're slowly making your way towards the door to leave, harry watches you search through your bag to find chapstick. as you're putting it on, he continues to watch you. you sneak a glance at him, his face soft and full of admiration.

"you know, if i may say, in the least inappropriate manner possible…" he says with a laugh, causing you to laugh with him. "you have truly only gotten more beautiful after all this time, [y/n]."

looking over at him, you can feel your face form a cheesy grin with blushing cheeks. "well, thank you, that's very kind," you say, putting your chapstick away and taking another step towards the door. "but, really, i should be saying the same about you."

harry waves you away, but you notice the smile planted on his cheeks. "please," he says sarcastically.

he reaches for the door to open it for you, and finds himself rather close to you by accident. you smile up at him, and he nervously steps back.

"u-uh, thank you for coming tonight, really, even if it was a bit weird…" harry says, an embarrassed laugh following. giggling with him, you take a step outside. "it was nice. but, no more invisible ink. just ask me from now on, okay?" you ask, still giggling at him.

harry shakes his head at himself. "will do."

you give him a warm smile before reaching in for a one-arm hug, resting your head on harry's shoulder for just a second before pulling back. "i'll see you tomorrow, professor potter."

enjoying the shocked and flustered look on his face, you walk away still laughing, making your way up the hill and towards the castle. you heard the door shut behind you quickly after you left, but could feel harry's lingering eyes following you through the window the entire way back.

that night you're laying in bed trying to convince yourself everything that just happened wasn't a dream. if it weren't for your full stomach and muddy shoes sitting by your door you might've convinced yourself it really was all an illusion. rather than dreading the next day of classes, you're actually excited to wake up as it only means you'll see harry sooner.

though you're not sure exactly why. yes you'd had a friendly conversation with him tonight after he admitted his feelings towards you, which still hasn't quite settled in yet…but what happens now? he's still your professor for the next 5 months minimum, and you both know you used to like each other. harry might feel better getting it off his chest, but you were perfectly fine keeping that secret to yourself like you always had. if anything, now it's the only thing you're going to think about every day.

rolling over, you try to fall asleep without thinking about harry too much.

it had been a few weeks since you met with harry that night in hagrid's hut, and things were going…okay, so far.

well, to be completely honest, you had utterly fallen back into your crush on harry harder than you ever had before.

and you tried to stop yourself this time. really, you did. working with harry in class and then stopping by his office at least 3 times a week for his help in other classes was a lot of time to be spending with a professor, and you rather despised just how fast harry made your heart beat or how easily his eyes could distract you.

so you tried your best to convince yourself it was lingering feelings from your past self, even trying to have a crush on other boys in your year to distract your brain. that failed miserably. none of those boys were attractive or interesting on their own, especially in comparison to professor potter…

but you couldn't fool yourself. you still felt the same butterflies seeing harry now like you did in 5th year. when he's talking to you in the quiet of his office, reading your textbook to you, you feel like the only two people in the world. when he fixes your hands to hold the wand properly, or moves your arm for you in the correct pattern to cast a spell, you can't focus for the rest of class. if his eyes linger on you just a bit too long during one of his lectures, a knowing smile growing on his face, you melt in your seat.

there was no denying it. you liked him more now than you ever had before. maybe it's just the sheer amount of time you've spent with him this past month or so, but your feelings for him had never been this strong in the past. there were days where he was quite literally the only thing you thought about, or at least wanted to think about. though you were doing better in your other classes, it was only because of him. you spent barely any outside time putting effort into these classes because, ultimately, you were completely distracted by harry.

and not just the idea of him, but particularly the growing tension you had noticed between you two recently.

you also tried to convince yourself that this was going on in your head. but there were just too many instances of prolonged eye contact, harry sitting a bit too close to you during your tutoring sessions, and lingering hands on your skin that made you question if harry maybe wasn't entirely over his crush either…

not that you tried to make it easy for him. since the semester started, you've been taking some extra time each morning to perfect your hair/makeup, put on your favorite perfumes on days you knew you'd be close to harry, and would even change your outfit completely when going to study with him outside of your school robes to give you a boost of confidence.

not that you needed the boost. lately you could only feel confident in yourself and nothing less. something about learning your life long crush who seemed so unattainable also had feelings for you, and could possibly still, made you feel untouchable. not to mention that any girl you heard talk about him or swoon over him in class just made you laugh to yourself; they had no idea you were with him alone for hours every week goofing off together as he attempted to help you study.

this confidence made its way into other parts of your day outside of harry as well. you were talking more in class, making a few new friends, even going to parties and outings just for the fun of it. you were actually enjoying your time at hogwarts instead of dreading every day. not all because of harry, but it definitely didn't hurt to consider him a friend.

a friend. a professor. an old classmate. a crush. a temporary fixation. your relationship to harry, in your mind, seemed so complicated and sometimes incredibly frustrating. especially when he seemed to flirt with you so subtly. you couldn't stand the, 'is he, isn't he' thoughts. but, at the same time, it just made you more motivated to push the limits to see how he responded.

of course it started with looking good, enjoying his reaction seeing you each day with a small smile and blushing cheeks. then it was making flirtatious jokes and purposefully giving him innocent looks while he rambled about whatever subject to get him flustered and distracted. and, lately, you've stepped it up by wearing shorter and shorter skirts whenever you stop by his office, and have even caught him looking at your legs a number of times when he thinks you're not paying attention.

all this to say, there was definitely tension.

you had to admit you felt a bit guilty, you knew harry valued his position as a substitute professor and was enjoying his time there, and you would feel awful if anything ever happened to cost him this position. he told you about his crush specifically to alleviate it, and your only goal this semester has been to do the opposite.

but, at the same time, you wouldn't act this way if harry didn't also create tension between you two. he also made overtly flirty jokes and comments, even seeming a tad bit jealous whenever you mentioned another boy during your time together. and you weren't stupid, you could tell when he wore the cologne you complimented one time when you were around or had even changed from his school clothes before you came to see him. there was definitely something unspoken going on between the two of you, but you were both afraid of crossing that line and making things complicated. besides, if anything, you both seemed to enjoy this game you were playing of teasing each other in private and then acting normally during class as student and teacher.

honestly, you found it to be insanely erotic, and were more turned on in class than any other time you were with harry due to the secretive nature of everything. his longing gaze as you walk in, his nervous glances towards specifically you, the shift in his voice from talking to one student to talking to you, it was all so subtle yet in plain view. something about wanting what you can't have only made you want it more.

on this particular day, you had been with harry for over two hours studying for an exam for a class you had been struggling with all semester, even with harry's help. you were frustrated, laying your head in your arms with your textbook in front of you, groaning as harry chuckled at you.

"c'mon, [y/n], you've got this. i mean, you did just fine on this last practice test, better than you have all semester really," harry comments, pulling the paper out of your folder. you lift your head up, giving him a mean look. "i got a 75. barely." you deadpan.

"yes, and that's better than what you have been getting." harry stated, trying to hide a smirk. you throw a crumpled up paper at him. "stop, that's not funny," you whine, also trying to hide your laugh.

chuckling, harry stands up and walks towards the bookshelf in his office. "look, i'm just trying to be encouraging here," he says over his shoulder as he scans the rows of books.

you try to get back to your work, but you're just so utterly confused and upset that you close the book with a huff and lean back in your seat with an exasperated expression. harry hears this and turns to you, giving you a sympathetic smile.

he walks back over, picking up the book in front of you and setting it in your bag. "here, we can be done for today. it's not good to push yourself past your limit."

you sigh as you push back the urge to tear up. "sometimes i just feel so stupid," you say in a soft, despondent voice, staring off into the window across from harry's desk.

harry's watching you intently, and nearly drops to his knees as he crouches beside your chair and catches your eyes in his. "hey, you're not stupid. quite the opposite, actually." he says with a genuine voice. you look away, still not believing him.

"really, [y/n], and i'm not saying this as your professor. back in school i was constantly listening to hermione go on and on about your intelligence and class rank. she was incredibly impressed and slightly envious that someone 2 years below her was actually providing some competition at this school." harry says with a laugh.

you can't help but blush like crazy at this confession. hermione had been your academic inspiration for all of your time at hogwarts, and even still now despite your declining lack of effort. you'd had quite a few conversations with her in the past about classes and certain books or authors you both enjoyed, but had no idea she thought that highly of you.

mulling over this information in your head, harry continued to grab your attention with a soft smile and loving eyes. "you're not stupid. different things are harder for different people. you'll get there, and i'll help you. okay?" he asks.

you smile back at him. "okay."

slowly packing up to leave, you and harry both take your time to gather your supplies as you chat about your respective plans for the weekend. you casually mention a party you were thinking of going to. harry perks up at this. "a party?" he asks, a twinge of concern laced in his voice.

you give him a look. "yeah, ever heard of it?" you ask sarcastically, laughing to yourself. "i guess it's one of the slytherin boys' birthdays, or something like that," you wave off, throwing your bag over your shoulder. "apparently it's going to be massive,"

harry continues looking at you with a hint of concern. "well, just…be safe, yeah?" harry comments, his voice uneasy. you laugh at him again, looking at him incredulously. "yes, professor potter, i'll be careful," you tease him. you know harry gets a little squirmy when you call him that outside of class, and it never fails to make you feel powerful.

"besides, i heard the theme is dress to impress, so you already know i'm gonna look so good," you joke, flipping your hair dramatically. harry's tenseness breaks, letting out a chuckle. "well, still. just…be safe." is all he manages to say as you walk with him to the door.

saying your goodbyes as you separate down the hall, you can still feel harry's eyes on you until you disappear around the corner.

the night of the party, you were still unsure if you wanted to go. when a couple girls from class saw you and asked if you were going, they ended up convincing you to come with them. so, you got changed into a flashy dress that fit you well, fixed up your hair and makeup a bit, and met them in the courtyard to walk to the slytherin common room together. they obsessively commented on your outfit, telling you just how good you looked and letting you know you'd have no problem finding a guy to snog tonight.

but, you don't want any guy tonight. if anything, you were walking slowly through the hallways hoping by some chance that harry would cross your path and see just how good you looked. but you knew you weren't that lucky.

upon arriving at the party, drinks are immediately pushed into your and your friends' hands. they were right about the party being massive, as every square foot of the slytherin common room was packed with slightly tipsy students of all ages dancing to the loud music. you had barely finished your first drink before your friends dragged you over to do shots with them, wincing at the burn it left in your throat afterwards.

as the night goes on, you're eventually separated from all the girls you came with. not on purpose, some of them were playing drinking games, some were dancing, and one had even left the party with a guy she was completely into. no hard feelings, everyone was just doing their own thing. you had a few shouting-over-the-music conversations with a couple classmates and drank another cup of the mysterious alcoholic punch being served before deciding to head back to your room. you informed one of your friends, who asked if you wanted her to come with you, but you insisted she stay.

entering the hallway is extremely sobering. the loud music and colorful lights made it easy to ignore the growing drunken sensation, but you were now nervously navigating the halls of hogwarts, slightly intoxicated, attempting to warm yourself up with your hands over your arms. you hadn't even thought to bring a jacket, of course, so you were shivering as you made your way back to your room.

not long after leaving the party, you turn the corner and come face to face with another person. a boy a year under you, though you couldn't remember his name or anything else about him. you're a bit startled, not expecting to see anyone else, but politely apologize and attempt to walk around him.

"hey. you were at the party, right?" he asks, stepping in front of you to prevent you from leaving. you're slightly annoyed by him already, but your intoxicated state makes you bite your tongue. "yeah, just on my way back to my room," you try to end the conversation there, taking another step to get around him.

but he gets in your way again, stepping even closer to you this time. "what's the rush? y'know you had every guy talkin' in there tonight? sure would be nice to take home the prize," he slurs into your face, your nose scrunching at his alcoholic breath. god, this kid's way more wasted than you.

"excuse me?" you scoff, turning your face away from him. he tries to put his hand on your waist but you slap it away as hard as you can, causing him to wince and give you an angry look. "i suggest you leave me the fuck alone," you announce firmly, stancing your feet apart as you get ready to defend yourself further.

just as this guy's about to try again, this time his hands going for your neck, a voice from down the hall echoes loudly, scaring you both. "hey!"

you both turn, and it's harry.

"i would further suggest you leave her alone, mr. williams," he announces as he swiftly walks towards you. the kid laughs him off. "mind your business, huh, potter? this doesn't involve you," he continues to slur, looking like he wants to fight as harry walks up to him, chest to chest.

"it does now. leave and you'll be lucky i don't have you expelled or rather arrested for sexually assaulting a fellow student on campus grounds after hours, while intoxicated might i add," harry spits at him, his eyes full of disgust and rage.

the kid falters a bit, but the alcohol still has him acting cocky, getting in harry's face. "yeah? or what," he asks daringly.

you get between them and put your wand, hidden in your dress, against the kid's throat, making him stiff with wide eyes. "touch him and i will gladly get expelled for hurting you in ways you couldn't even conceive of in your fucking nightmares. do you understand? get the fuck out of here!" you nearly shout at the kid, causing him to turn and run.

you sigh a breath of relief, but quickly begin to feel the anxiety return as you bring your wand down and look at harry.

you can feel your body shaking with anger and fear, and also shivering from how cold you hadn't realized you'd gotten. your cheeks were flushed, your breathing uneven, and nearly on the verge of tears. harry's eyes were still angry, but he gave you a sympathetic look. he promptly took off his jacket and wrapped it around your shivering frame, enveloping you in a hug in the process. it's hard not to let the tears flow just a bit as you rest your head in his chest. you felt so vulnerable with him in that moment.

"here, let's get you back to your room, yeah?" harry says softly, turning your shoulders and guiding you down the hall. you realize you had sobered up during the ordeal, your eyes focusing and walking straightening out as you follow the corridors. once harry begins guiding you down your hallway, you slow to look up at him with a curious expression.

"how do you know where my room is?"

harry's a bit stunned by your question, searching for an answer before you began to think more. "and, wait," you stop walking and turn to him. "how did you even find me?" you ask breathlessly. harry continues to look guilty as he searches for an answer. smirking, you pull his jacket on you closer.

"professor potter, if i didn't know better, i'd say you were watching me tonight," you tease him in a flirty voice. "surely that's not the case, is it?"

harry looks around you two nervously, clearly starting to feel anxious for his actions. all you could do was smirk. you knew he still liked you.

harry sighs, avoiding your eye contact with a completely red face. "look, i just had a bad feeling about that party, okay?" he says simply. you continue to stare at him with a knowing look. "i couldn't sleep tonight knowing something could've happened to you. something like that fucking kid…" harry gets worked up just thinking about it again before stopping himself and calming down. "i'm sorry. it was wrong of me, and completely inappropriate."

your smirk drops into a soft smile. you can't help but feel your stomach erupt into butterflies hearing him admit he was watching you tonight specifically to make sure you were safe.

you softly put your hand to his cheek, causing him to look at you. he looks apologetic, concerned, and sad, his eyes searching yours as he slightly leans into your touch.

"thank you, harry." you say just above a whisper, your voice genuine and loving.

he sighs again, a bit relieved, a bit sad. his hand goes for yours, holding it for just a moment before he gives it back to you, letting go as he looks towards your door.

"well," he starts off, his voice cracking. "i'll leave you here for the night,"

smiling, you nod and take a step towards your door. you slip his jacket off of you and hand it back to him with a grateful, warm smile. he returns the smile as you're opening your door and waving goodbye at him.

as you're getting ready for bed, you replay the events of tonight over and over. you imagine harry watching you leave your room without you having any clue, meeting up with your friends, leaving the party in a daze, attempting to escape that guy before harry decided he had to step in and protect you.

you felt a bit silly for ever thinking harry's crush on you had stopped. even his subtle clues weren't very subtle thinking back now. maybe back in year 5 you assumed you were crazy for thinking he was looking at you funny, but now, nearing 3 years later, and learning he's liked you the whole time, you couldn't deny his longing gaze.

laying in bed, you decided you had to properly thank harry in some way for tonight, and you knew exactly how.

the next day, you paid a special visit to diagon alley with a friend to buy something special for harry. when she asked why you would ever possibly buy something like that for yourself, you make up some story about needing it for a class. she doesn't believe you, but goes along with it anyway and continues to have fun with you on your sunday out shopping.

you head towards his office in the afternoon when he usually spends his time grading assignments and working on the following week's lesson plan. you practically had his schedule memorized after coming to study with him so often.

softly knocking on the door, harry lets out a, "come in,"

you enter the office and he smiles at you immediately before it falters, his eyes then landing on the wrapped box in your hands. "surprise," you say with a shy voice.

he lets out a huff, looking back at you with a disbelieving expression. "[y/n]..." he carries off.

"it's just a little something," you say as you walk towards his desk, setting it down carefully in front of him. "a thank you, for last night," you tell him.

his eyes move back and forth from the box to your eyes, not knowing what to say. a few moments pass before he stands. "[y/n], i can't accept this…" he sighs. "what i did last night, i mean…it shouldn't have happened that way," he says curtly.

you tilt your head to catch his gaze, giving him a warm smile. "you did nothing wrong," you reassure him. you gesture to the gift. "please," you insist.

harry's shoulders relax, giving you an embarrassed smile as he slides the box closer to him, admiring the wrapping. "this is gorgeous, did you do this?" he asks, pointing at the sparkly ribbon and personalized name card. you proudly smile and nod your head.

harry admires it for another moment before carefully untying the ribbon and lifting the lid off the box. he gasps at what he sees.

a signed, hardcover, gold leaf detailed first edition defense against the dark arts textbook from his favorite auror. he had talked to you about seeing it at the bookshop but not wanting to spend the money or not having the place to display it or whatever his excuse was. you had taken note of this comment and when you saw it wasn't as expensive as harry had made it seem you knew it was perfect.

"[y/n]...you didn't…" he utters, practically falling back in his chair as he continues to stare at the cover. you giggle fondly at his reaction. "go ahead, open it up," you tell him excitedly. he can hardly move, but he eventually takes the book out of the box and admires it in his hands. he flips the cover open, sees the signature, and smiles. then, he looks at the inside of the cover and his expression drops.

"i had it personalized, if that's okay with you," you ask anxiously. on the inside of the leather bound cover you had a pressing engraved that said 'harry james potter'.

harry's in shock, his fingers running across the pressing softly. "[y/n], this is…" he trails off, continuing to admire the book as he flips through it, landing back on the inside cover, admiring his name once more.

"thank you." harry says, looking at you with so much love in his eyes it makes your heart burst. it was worth every penny seeing him in awe in front of you like this.

"well, thank you," you respond, smiling, holding your arms behind your back.

harry abruptly stands up, stepping around his desk and pulling you in for a desperate hug. you're a bit surprised, your arms wrapping around his waist as he continues to pull you closer and closer.

after a minute or so of the most comforting hug you've experienced outside of last night in that hallway, harry separates from you only slightly to look down at you. your faces are close enough to feel the breath of the other person.

you just want to tell him, 'fuck it, who cares, nobody's here, just kiss me, please, release this tension', but before you can even consider it, harry breaks the silence.

"i still love you," he says so softly, his face wincing as the words fall from his lips. your breath hitches. love?

"fuck," harry mutters, almost stepping away from you until you pull him closer to you, putting your lips close enough to his they're nearly touching. "please. kiss me. just kiss me. please." you practically beg, your hand finding its way to harry's neck.

"[y/n], we can't, i can't–" "just once, please, maybe it'll stop if we just, please…" you interrupt him, hoping he understands what you're implying, your noses rubbing together.

harry takes a few moments before practically whimpering as he connects your lips to his, wrapping you in his arms tightly. you immediately melt into him, letting the kiss consume you as your hands pull harry closer to you.

it only takes a few seconds before harry has you up on his desk, his hands gripping your ass under your skirt. the cold of the wood on your exposed skin makes you gasp, and harry's tongue quickly slips past your lips.

it's everything you imagined, and the fact that this is happening in his office is just making you even more turned on. you had played this scenario in your head so many times, and it hardly felt real once it was actually happening. and on the desk you spent so many hours at, pining over him and fantasizing him taking you like he is right now.

after a few minutes of making out and needy groping through your clothes, harry pulls away breathlessly. opening your eyes you see he's completely flushed, his hair slightly messy as he nervously takes his hands off you.

you awkwardly clear your throat, your hands falling to your sides and resting back on the desk. harry takes a step away, straightening his tie and fixing his hair. you hop off his desk and adjust your skirt.

the silence between you is awkward, but there's just nothing to say. the kiss only left you wanting more, of course, it was pointless to ever hope it would quell your feelings in some way.

"well," harry begins, his voice shaky and quiet. "that didn't work."

you let out a nervous laugh, coughing to cover it up. "yeah…sorry." you mumble.

harry sighs. "no, i'm sorry. i'm technically your superior, i shouldn't be doing this to you. leading you on, flirting with you, for fuck's sake, following you around after hours…"

you shake your head. "look, i'm not kissing professor potter, okay? i like you, harry. i've liked you since i was 13. i don't want to ruin your position here either, and i'll stop if that's what you truly want…" you choke up just a bit before swallowing it back. "but, just, please, stop blaming yourself. i want this, too."

the silence returns, harry clearly thinking over what you said as his eyes stare off beside you. you're anxiously shifting your weight, watching his face get lost in his own thoughts.

"i can't risk this job," harry says finally. "i don't give a shit about the money, pay me everything in the world i would still want you…" he mumbles. you feel your stomach drop at this sentiment. you want him so, so badly. but…

"but…" harry says.

you smile at him sadly, knowing what's coming. "i can't let down bill, or mcgonagall, or any professors or students here who may actually still like me," he says with a dry laugh. "if we ever got caught, and i just know we would, and what would happen to you…i just–" "i know, harry," you interrupt him, taking a small step towards him.

he smiles at you sadly as well. "and i agree. it's not worth it. well, you're worth it, of course…" you say shyly, diverting your gaze before continuing. "but, it's too risky. you deserve to finish out this semester without that hanging over your head, y'know?"

harry stares at you lovingly, no attempt to hide his adoration for you in this moment. "you're truly incredible. you know that?" harry comments softly.

you respond by blushing and crossing your arms. he hums softly, his smile taking over his cheeks. "thank you, really, for everything, if things were any different, i wish…" harry stumbles. you smile at him again. "i know."

harry returns to his gift, admiring the book in his hands over and over before putting it on the bookshelf next to his desk. he admires it there for a while as well before thanking you again.

as you're getting ready to leave, harry stops you for a moment. "if you don't mind, i'd still love to help you in your other classes. and, just, remain friendly in general still, if possible…"

you melt again at his soft demeanor. harry's such a sweetheart it's heartbreaking. all you want is to kiss him again. it's all you've wanted since he stopped.

"of course."

it's the end of the semester, and you have mixed feelings about it. on one hand you're dying for a break from classes. you've done the best you have in years this semester, and it's exhausted you. but you're incredibly grateful, for a lot of things. your new friends, your rediscovered love for hogwarts and magic in general, your overall improved attitude and mentality.

with special thanks to a certain substitute professor…

harry. this semester was definitely a rollercoaster for you when it came to harry. though, towards the end, things fell into place a bit more as you both accepted and embraced your odd, yet effective routine. professional student-professor relationship in public; smitten, teasingly love-sick old classmates in the comfort of his office walls. nothing further than lingering hands, loving stares, and the occasional compliment towing the line of what's inappropriate and what isn't.

though the dynamic wasn't ideal, you grew to love it for what it was. a simple, longing love that wasn't exactly unspoken anymore, but sure felt like it each passing day as you both pretended that kiss never happened.

that kiss. you swear you think about it every day. you long for harry to grab you like that again, to slip his tongue past your lips again…sometimes, late at night, it's all you can think about. sometimes just the thought of it makes you need to touch yourself, remembering how desperate he was for you, the feeling of his lips on yours, sitting on his desk in his office, just the image of it from outside of your own perspective could bring you to your orgasm alone in your room.

to say you were anxiously counting down the days until classes were over and harry technically wasn't employed with hogwarts anymore was an understatement. though you hadn't spoken about it with him, you felt it was okay to maybe consider that he would want to continue things further with you once his substitution was over. you kept your guard up as you knew he could still be uncomfortable with it while you were a student in general. but a large portion of you was practically praying that wasn't the case. you physically couldn't resist him much longer.

you were staying on campus for christmas this year, mostly just to savor your last holiday here, but also to continue seeing harry if possible.

it was the last day of classes, and you learned you passed all your exams with flying colors. you showed up to dark arts class early to inform harry excitedly, and he congratulated you with the same level of excitement.

"i knew you could do it! i told you you were smart." he beams. "i am so, so proud of you, [y/n]."

you want to hug him so badly, he's helped you so much this semester, you wouldn't have cared enough to try and get these kinds of grades without his guidance. but it's too public, and the risk is too high, so you just settle on an awkward high five and laugh emptily.

as other students walk in, you both pretend the moment never happened, and you sit in your seat without looking up from the floor.

the class is simple and rather uneventful as it's mostly everyone's last class of the semester. harry actually hands out christmas cookies hagrid made for everyone, and they're mediocre in taste, but the designs are so adorable you can't resist finishing it.

harry gives you all a speech thanking the class for trusting him to teach this semester, and for being respectful of him and professor weasley's lessons. he talks about how he's always thought about being a professor, but actually ended up despising the paperwork, and just missed his old job, which caused the class to chuckle with him.

he dismissed everyone with a happy christmas, specifically towards you, of course.

your heart aches a little as you leave the classroom and head to your room. you're going to miss harry as a professor, even if it caused complications in other aspects, it was inspiring to see him be so intelligent, helpful, and supportive in class. of course you were biased, you always found him to be amazing, but something about watching him teach a young wizard how to do a spell correctly for the first time just made you admire him so deeply.

you decided to rest for the night, knowing harry would be here for at least another day to collect all his items and clean the classroom up for professor weasley. you could talk to him then, what exactly about you weren't sure just yet, but you knew you had to tie up these loose ends before they drove you mad.

the next afternoon, you're practically one of the only students roaming the halls. most everyone leaves the first day of break to go home, and by christmas there's only a handful of students left.

arriving at harry's office door, you admire it one last time. your little sanctuary away from the world.

you knock, but to your dismay, there's no answer.

you knock again, a bit louder, but still, nothing. you decide to peak in, and notice how barren the desk looks from afar.

fuck. there's no way harry's left without speaking to you first.

you quickly walk to the dark arts classroom just down the hall, hoping he's cleaning and organizing it, but find it empty and dark. your heart sinks. he's gone.

you slowly walk back to your room, deciding you'll grab your coat and visit hagrid to see if harry's with him there. you try not to let your disappointment overcome you, there's still a chance you could talk to him…

entering your room, you immediately head for your coat rack by the window. you start to slip it on when you hear your door close, knowing you left it open on purpose to quickly leave.

you turn around, and it's harry.

you gasp, immediately dropping the coat and running to him, jumping into a hug. he laughs at your reaction, but embraces you nonetheless.

"hi, love," he says softly, resting his head on top of yours. you could hardly contain yourself at the pet name. it communicated so much to you with so little effort.

you look up at him, barely able to believe what's happening. harry looks at you knowingly. this unspoken tension. it was going to be the death of you.

as harry begins leaning in, you crash your lips together with his, immediately engulfing him into a heated, wanting, needing kiss.

harry's more than happy to give in to you. it's clear he's thought about this just as much as you have. he finished all his professor duties as soon as he could so he could officially, finally, be yours.

you guide harry to your bed, pushing him onto it as he gives you an impressed look, clearly intrigued by your repressed desperation.

you crawl onto his lap, immediately pulling him back into the kiss. harry's hands are all over you, finally, after fantasizing about it every night in this very same bed for months.

the kiss is desperate, full of moaning and getting sloppier by the minute. harry's squeezing and slapping your ass so hard you whimper in his arms, your hands gripping his button up tightly.

"fuck, [y/n], need you so bad, please," harry moans into your kiss, his hands sliding up your back. you reach to take your shirt off, left in just a bra and tiny skirt, as you start untying his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

harry's staring at you with hunger in his eyes. "do you even understand how badly i've wanted you? you and these fucking skirts, you must think i'm stupid." he growls, pulling at the hem of your skirt. you blush and stifle a giggle, overwhelmed with how insanely hot you found this to be.

"think that's funny? you think it was funny when i had to stand in class all day and not stare at your perfect legs through your robe? anytime i gave a lecture and just looking at you turned you into a needy slut," harry grabs your hair, turning your attention to him as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt with his other hand. "was that fun for you, hm? did you enjoy teasing me all semester?"

you can't say anything. all you can do is nod. you were so turned on you could hardly think straight.

"i bet it was," he says, examining your desperate expression, his words dripping with desire.

he pulls you in for another kiss, and you help him take off his shirt. his skin was warm, soft, and his shoulders were broad. you moved your lips to his neck, leaving an obvious bite just below his collar to finally mark what was yours.

harry groans, his hands reaching behind your back to swiftly undo your bra. he helps pull it off of you, marveling at your chest. "beautiful," he tells you before attaching his lips to your skin. you hold his head against you, savoring the feeling and sight of harry leaving hickeys along the soft skin of your boobs.

his hand cups one softly as his tongue circles your nipple, watching you through his glasses as you melt into his hands. "harry…" you moan, your hand running through his soft hair.

he continues, starting to suck on your nipple softly with closed eyes, his other hand pulling up your skirt to feel your wetness through your panties.

you immediately whimper and lean into harry's touch, desperate for this for so long. "f-fuck," you stutter breathlessly.

harry smiles, taking his lips off of you to look up at your blushing face. "so wet already," he smirks.

you cover his face with your hands, embarrassed, giggling, continuing to further lean into his hand for pleasure.

he laughs and removes your hands, his eyes full of lust just looking at you in his lap.

"i need you, now," he insists, pushing you further onto his growing erection through his slacks. you let out a breathy moan feeling just how hard he is already. he's just as desperate as you've been for him.

"is that okay?" he asks carefully, watching for your reaction. you laugh a bit. "please. i've waited long enough." you joke.

you help harry take his pants and boxers off, as well as your skirt and panties, leaving you both naked in your room.

he sat back down on the bed, and invited you into his lap again. "just like this is perfect," he says, guiding your hips and admiring your body as you sit with his cock between you two, your eyes barely able to look away from it.

harry pulls you in for a kiss, his hands traveling over your body and stopping at your pussy again, his hand feeling just how wet you are. he moans into your kiss along with you and begins to slip his fingers inside of you, slowly, letting you react to him.

harry pushes further and further into you until you're practically riding his hand, your kiss barely kept together with you bouncing, desperate for more. "please," you insist, your hand gently grasping for his precum soaked cock.

harry smiles, gently pulling his fingers away before letting you guide yourself onto him. slowly at first, you enjoy the feeling of harry's cock stretching you open, whimpering as he watches you intently, his hands supporting your hips. eventually you feel yourself take him completely, your hips flush with his as you start to slowly grind your hips up and down.

harry's a mess, barely able to hold himself together just watching you adjust to his cock. your face twisting in pleasure, your soft whimpers, the tight feeling of your pussy squeezing around him, it was almost too much already.

"fuck, baby," harry's moaning, his hands gripping your hips for sanity. you can't help but giggle, you just love seeing him like this for you after dreaming about it for so long. he's so lost in pleasure already, his jaw slack and eyes dropping.

"i-i'm already, fuck [y/n], you're just so," harry can barely get the words out. hearing him moan your name so filthily motivated you to move your hips quicker, letting your tits bounce in his face as you continued to pick up speed.

"fuck, fuck, fuck," harry's panicking, you can tell he's already trying to hold back his orgasm. you find it extremely hot just how quickly you can bring him to this point. so hot it brings you closer to your orgasm with him, putting your hands on his face to look up at you.

"you feel so fucking good, harry," you tell him, your head rolling back in pleasure. he's in awe of you, his eyes memorizing every single inch of you as you continue to ride him.

"please, please, can you, um…" he takes a second between his words to moan. "please, can you call me professor potter…" he asks, clearly embarrassed by the request.

you rub his blushing cheeks between your hands, his question only making you more turned on. you loved knowing he was just as into the teacher/student dynamic as you had been.

"your cock feels so…so fucking good inside of me, professor potter," you moan, resting your forehead against harry's as you slow your pace, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of him.

harry's eyes roll back, sinful moans escaping his lips as his head falls forward, watching you ride him slowly as he begins slightly thrusting up into you. he looks back up at your eyes, exasperated. "i'm gonna cum if you don't stop," he quietly warns you, clearly feeling a bit guilty at his eagerness.

you smile. "please, please cum for me professor. i've been such a good girl for you this semester, haven't i?" you tease him.

harry groans pathetically. "so, so good," his eyes are closed, his face twisting with each thrust. "then cum for me, please, give it to me," you beg him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you feel your stomach tensing from your own orgasm.

harry's eyes pop open, his gaze on you softening as his hands find your waist, gripping onto you desperately. "[y/n]..." he moans your name again, and you can feel yourself tipping over the edge. your pace becomes a bit slower as your legs start shaking.

harry moans as he starts to spill inside of you, the warm sensation fueling your orgasm as you both hold onto each other tightly, riding out your highs together.

after a few moments of slow grinding and weak kissing, you carefully stand up from your position on harry's lap. you guide him to your bathroom, where you help each other clean up, with a few more inevitable kisses and longing hugs along the way.

you get dressed into different clothes, and offer harry some as well. he declines, instead putting his clothes back on as he tells you he has to bring all his supplies back to his house.

you help him button his shirt back up and tie his tie before pushing yourself to ask the dreaded question you didn't want to know the answer to.

"so," you say softly. "what now?"

harry looks down at you lovingly, but he isn't quite smiling. "well, i'm no longer employed here," he states. you nod your head slowly, allowing him to continue.

"so, while it's not technically wrong, i'd still like to try and take this off campus, if possible," harry chuckles.

you give him a surprised look. "you want to see me again?" you ask quietly. harry can't help but laugh at you, kissing your forehead as he holds your cheek.

"you have no idea," is all he says before he leans in for another kiss, holding you close, knowing you're finally his.

1K notes · View notes

lacedwithmsg · 2 months ago

Text

molded | nakakita yuma | smut

tags: soft dom!yuma, afab reader, use of pronouns "she/her" when referring to reader, creampie, a bit of mirror fucking, some overstimulation, yuma is also the neediest puppy alive warning tags: sleep sex/somnophilia (yuma fucks reader while they are initially asleep) length: 1.6k words note from author: have had this idea floating around in my head for a bit now. originally part of a larger scenario but decided short and concise was probably better. proofread once or twice, not sure if it's completely error-free but we do what we can.

“I told you,” Yuma mumbled into your neck as he snaked his arms around you, pulling you against his warm body. The cold night air washed over your exposed skin while the blanket you and Yuma shared held the both of you closer together. He had been inside you since a couple hours ago after you insisted that keeping it inside would ensure neither your or his juices would escape. You hadn't woken up yet, both body and mind tired after the long session you already had with Yuma.

filth begins after the break

Without realizing it himself, his body was already moving against yours. Contradicting his own expectations, he was actually able to fall asleep earlier. But of course, there was no way he could maintain that for the entire night. Your slightly sweaty yet sweet scent filled his nose and he wanted nothing more than to breathe it in for as long as he could. Your warm skin under his fingertips felt soft and comforting, and the way your chest slowly rose and fell was mesmerizing to him. Growing ever more daring, Yuma started to snap his hips into you, the blanket the covered your bare bodies shifting along with him.

“I told you this would've happened, but pretty little baby didn’t let me pull out,” Yuma mumbled, now leaving small nips and pecks along the back of your neck. Despite stirring a little in your sleep, he was shocked to find you still well asleep. Being the little shit he is, he was now determined to find out just how far he could go before you finally woke up.

Looking over your shoulder and in the mirror on wall, his eyes drifted from the soft furrow in your eyebrows to the way your lips lay delicately open, from the slight angle of your neck as your head sunk into the pillow to the red marks he had left littered all over your chest and collar. He brought one of his hands up, following the soft, natural curves of your body before reaching the cusp right where your stomach stopped and your boobs began.

“You’re so pretty like this, y’know?” His hips were now picking up pace, a quiet sound of skin against skin escaping from under the blanket. His fingers dug into your skin but he was still careful not to wake you. His breaths, now much shallower than they were a couple moments ago, felt warm against your neck.

Yuma had the world in his arms and he couldn’t help but indulge in all that it had to offer. He traced his lips along your neck, stopping to nibble at your earlobe. His eyes were glued onto the reflection of your face in the mirror, thinking about how you would react when you finally opened those pretty eyes of yours.

His other hand wrapped around your stomach ever tighter, molding your body into his. Every inch of your back was pressed up against Yuma’s chest as he grinded and pushed into you. He savored each and every thrust as he started losing his grasp on his own mind.

“You drive me fucking insane, baby.”

Yuma decided it was time to begin for real and started thrusting up into you with such force that surely would’ve woken you up. As if he were a dog in heat, deep growls came from the back of his throat, laced with raspy pants that escaped every time he pushed back inside. The dark strands of his hair obstructed his vision as droplets of sweat formed and crawled down his temple. The blanket began to crease and reveal more of your bodies to the cold air.

His teeth landed decisively into the skin on your shoulder as he tried to gag himself from getting too loud. The way you smelled, the way you felt, the way you tasted all blended together in his head into a form of ecstasy he could never get tired of. His hips rammed against your ass with a goal, a goal to make you his once more.

Over and over again his cock brushed and bruised against your walls, throbbing and pulsating at the same pace his heart beat in his chest. Noises dripping in sin seemed to bounce from one wall to another as both of your and his thighs gathered sweat and other bodily fluids. There was no stopping what Yuma wanted to achieve.

When he felt his body clench even tighter, he knew there wasn't much left in him. He looked up into the mirror again, expecting you to still be sound asleep but little to his knowledge, you were already far gone. Gone were your softly lidded eyes and gone were the slow and controlled breaths that once left your mouth. To Yuma’s surprise, his precious baby looked ever so sinful as her tongue hung out her mouth and her eyes threatened to roll back.

“Yuma,” you barely made out as your entire body burned against the night air. The blanket was now barely covering your legs but the warmth of Yuma against you was enough to send your body into overdrive. Every thrust, every pump, every pulse of his cock in you sent shivers down your spine. Your every breath sounded more like whimpers and pleas as you clawed and scratched at Yuma’s firm embrace around you. Every time his thumb brushed your taut nipple, your body screamed and warned you of your close release. When the reflection of Yuma’s gaze met yours in the mirror, there was nothing left to say.

He pounded and rammed his cock into you more times than you were capable of counting. His teeth dug into your shoulder, neck, and anywhere else within his reach as he searched for an opening, a chance to finally release all of himself into you. The bed you lay in shook violently against the wall as Yuma drove into you at an animalistic pace. Each breath he took now was hoarser than the last, his lungs failing to keep up with the sheer force and energy he expended in devouring you.

The back of your throat ran dry and your voice remained only as whimpers and gasps as Yuma’s efforts to completely and utterly wreck you were close to finding success. Slow and deliberate were now nowhere to be found as his movements started to blur into the next, no start and no end to his unending thrusts.

“More.” Your own voice sounded unfamiliar to you. All you heard was someone begging with every last ounce of energy in her body for release, a release that only the man behind her could give her.

The man behind her was now crazed and in a delirium so heavy there was no way out but through. He ate and swallowed each and every sound that left your agape lips. Deeper and deeper, he fell into his want and desire to take you in totality, to savor and relish in your body, and to hold you closer and tighter to the point where you’d never even think about leaving.

“I love you so much, baby,” Yuma managed to whisper into your ear as he breathed in your scent. His body now acting of its own accord, the finish line within sight. “You’re so perfect.”

The gears in your body wound faster and tighter as your body pressed further into Yuma. “I love you, too.” Your body rose and fell not with your breaths but with every thrust Yuma gave you.

He felt your climax approaching, your walls tightening and squeezing sporadically. His pace quickened and his thrusts rapid and irregular. His disjointed breathing only accompanied by the growls, whimpers, and inaudible pleas he muttered into your skin. The blanket that once shielded you now rested helplessly off the edge of the mattress, no longer serving its purpose.

“I’m all yours,” you gasped before the barrier your body tried so hard to maintain finally collapsed. You felt this immense surge of heat travel all throughout your being. Your muscles relaxed, your eyelids fluttered close, your lungs refused to take another shallow breath. Your release coated Yuma’s cock in another wet layer of bodily fluids, his thrusts not stopping even after you had conceited defeat.

Yuma seized this opportunity to chase his own limit. Your cum made each thrust sound even wetter and sloppier, the vein on the underside of his cock so defined you could feel it throb every time you clenched from overstimulation. His toes curled as he prepared to meet his end only to be delightfully surprised when you, amidst the haze of post-orgasm ecstasy, let out the most sinful words he had ever been blessed with hearing.

“Cum in me, Yuma,” your vision was a blur, all you could think about was Yuma and his cock stretching you out from behind. “Please.”

And with that information, Yuma crumbled. He hips stuttered and pressed into you. Electricity shot to every inch of his body and he swore he could feel his blood boiling at every spot that made contact with your skin. Strands of warm, thick fluid covered your walls as he used you to milk out every last drop. He made sure his thrusts would not yield until he was completely emptied out. The sounds of him grinding his cum deeper into you felt like music to your ears.

It took a while for both of you to catch your breaths. Yuma kissed and soothed all the fresh bruises that adorned your skin and you carefully caressed his arms that still held you so tight against his now damp chest.

You couldn't help but giggle, “Yuma, y’know it’s 4 a.m. right now?”

“I’m aware." His lips curved into a slight smile as he settled into your nape. "Are you complaining?”

“Nope, not at all.”

And no, he didn’t pull out. The cleanup next morning was a sight to behold.

note from author: hope you enjoyed it! likely won't be posting often in the future unless i'm drowning in hard hours again, we'll see... anyway thanks for reading! don't have a taglist atm but lmk if u want to be tagged for any future works. <3

#nakakita yuma #nakakita yuma smut #&team yuma smut #nakakita yuma hard hours #&team #&team smut #&team hard hours #by yours truly #&team yuma #yuma smut

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hai7ani · 6 months ago

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Please I need your Bonten Rindou to have a comeback PLEASE.

It has ruined me. (In a very good way btw)

And possibly some lil drabble about Bonten Sanzu....I fear you might have cooked with your bonten's perception 🙏🙏🙏

Main masterlist | cw dark content, bonten timeline, death/grief, reader and sanzu are both a bit twisted (they're both not very right in the head lol...), no romance (but ig it depends on how you view it?)

Moth to a Flame / Sanzu Haruchiyo

Sanzu has never thought you pretty growing up.

You were originally a friend of his sister 一 or her best friend, as you both liked to call it. Never a friend of his, despite the fact that in your early days you have always joined him and his older friends (with Senju dragging you along with her) at the park playing football and getting rough with each other like boys.

He has never once considered you a friend. Not an acquaintance, or even a mutual. Simply... no one.

You're nothing to him.

Every evening after school, you'd show up at their house in sweaty uniform without fail. There would always be excuses floating around you and his sister whenever Takeomi would question your presence, even on the nights they'd sit and have dinner together as a family. Sanzu has always hated sitting across you on the dining table, having to watch with a face of disgust whenever your ugly, heavy glasses would slide down the bridge of your oily nose 一 a result of the entire evening spent playing tag on the playground 一 and having meat stuck between your chunky, purple braces.

He also hated the fact that Mikey had liked you, a lot. It was obvious to everyone in the circle that whatever Mikey had felt for you was a lot different than simply being a friend. He's never treated Senju the way he liked treating you. He liked bringing you to his house 一 hand in hand 一 and inviting you to play with his own sister who harbours a shy nature in comparison to you, who was bubbly and sweet to everyone you meet, especially the elders.

He didn't think you were all those times. He hated you so much.

Sanzu was almost happy that you started packing your things to leave the day you turned 13.

Keyword: almost.

You dropped your equally ugly Elmo keychain in his room the night before you left.

ii.

You're 26 when you return to Japan.

Things have changed a lot since you left so long ago, including yourself.

Amsterdam has been nice to you all these years.

You put on coloured contacts that make you look like a vampire, your teeth are straight and white. You wear red-bottom heels proudly to wherever you go, skinny dress tight and your hair always done nicely, in a bun. Your hips sway with every step you take. You speak English well 一 it's a lot better than before, after the years of European influence, when all that you had to learn from back then was broken phrases of nonsense from Mikey and Baji during judo lessons in the former's home gym, with his grandfather guiding you sternly.

Come to think of it, you haven't heard of Grandpa Sano's voice in ages. You kind of miss it, honestly, when he'd yell at you to straighten up your spine and not slouch so pathetically like a dead shrimp. The last you have heard of his rasp from the cigar he liked smoking was when you were 12. He died when you were all 13 and 14 and 15 from chronic lung cancer.

Like autumn, leaves dry, and they die.

They all die.

You bow once, to the Heavens. You feel a scratch at your elbow, but you ignore it.

You bow the second time, to the Earth. Fingers start pinching at your wrinkly skin, and yet you ignore it, still. The gong is loud and your ears hurt. You start to grow annoyed.

You bow the third time, to all lives on the soil we share 一 humans and animals both. We are all animals on Earth.

Nails cut into your flesh and you bite at your lip, but your face remains stoic.

You straighten up, and you stare at her photo on the altar.

It hurts, but not enough to shed tears.

He finally speaks up when you finish. His voice is still as curt as before. It always is with you 一 never with the other girls who liked flocking to him when young.

"I'll kill you if you don't turn around."

He wouldn't. Not with the fine-lined tattoo running down your spine, the power now in your veins as you stand tall and remain silent.

You don't spin on your heels to look at him like he expects.

Like leaves, they all die.

Your best friend, too, it seems. "Rest in peace, Senju."

iii.

Sanzu finds himself smoking a lot more packs lately.

The multi-coloured pills in his cabinets has also been increasing significantly, much to Kakucho's dismay. The man has never liked when he was high on drugs, even more so when he'd show up late at the warehouse for meetings and ceremonies, high out of his mind, and slurring his words. Mikey lets it slide, Kakucho does not, while the others don't even care.

But this is him, he thinks. The more you nag and restrict, the more he wants to do.

Though lately he hasn't been doing it for pleasure. Something seems awfully missing, and he hasn't been able to figure out why exactly this feeling remains in his chest and keeps him wide awake at night.

It seems to grow stronger 一 always increasing in its intensity and never faltering even the slightest to at least show some mercy 一 when he'd see girls on the streets with blonde hair and bright smiles.

He thinks it's better to not care than to care. He inhales sharply, eyes lingering at the stray cat circling around his feet.

He puffs out the smoke between his cracking lips and throws the cigarette on the ground to step on it. Clicks his tongue when the flame does not dissipate at the first, and steps on it a second time. He shoves a hand into his pocket and feels for his keys, knuckles growing white while he holds the familiar piece of plastic in his hands.

"Young man," a voice breaks him out of his bubble. Today is one of the very few nights he isn't high on anything, and the sudden interaction with another human being who isn't Mikey catches him off-guard a little. Just a little.

"We're closing soon." She says. Her bandana is loose at the corners and her apron is untied. "Are you waiting for someone?" The old cloth slips off her hair and she catches it with a hand swiftly. But her eyes remain on him. They're still the same after all these years.

For some reason her question agitates him.

She does not pull away despite the deepening crease between his brows.

"You've been standing here for days. Can I get you something to eat tonight?" Her smile is warm this time 一 way too warm. She smiles just like his dead mother.

It makes him see red.

"Mind your own goddamn business, hag." He spits, and he leaves. Fast.

She watches his retreating back as he stalks off into the night 一 efforts drained, heart empty.

"That's all for the day, son. You can go home. I'll finish up." She turns to the part-timer busying himself behind the counter. He's about 19, freshly graduated from senior high 一 just like him back then.

While leaning a palm against the wall to fix on her left shoe, she looks at the memory board of her store hanging off of it 一 reaches a frail hand up to pull a piece of polaroid closer to her eyes full of cataracts.

The picture is old with time, but she remembers the story behind it just like yesterday.

A young girl with pristine white hair that she claims to be natural 一 just like the young boy next to her 一 full of smiles and holding a dessert proudly for the camera.

Akashi Senju was here!!!

Everyone, this is the best crepe in town!!! Haru-nii agrees ^_^

21/4/2016

iv. cw: dark content, choking, nudity, suggestive, twisted minds speaking, 18+

You like to think you've changed for the better.

You're a lot better at speaking now. Before Amsterdam, you were a bubbly kid, sure 一 but that does not mean you had been good with words. You have a bad habit of not thinking and filtering words through your head before you talk. It's one of the things that makes you feel genuine to people, but something that can gradually leave a trail of annoyance in people's hearts if not managed well.

You've always thought it was your poor management skills with words that had driven Sanzu away. He's always hated when you'd open your mouth to speak to him. Never liked it even when you'd mumble innocent compliments to his lego buildings or to his amazing seeking skills when playing hide and seek at the park.

But that's alright. You can change.

You never liked doing presentations or public speaking, but you would always swallow down the bile in your throat whenever someone laid eyes on you, if it means you'd be able to speak up more.

You can always change for him.

You heard from Senju once that his brother hated your glasses to death. She thought it might hurt your feelings if you knew, so she'd kept it a secret for years. It comes out to your ears anyway during a challenging round of truth or truth, and it shocked her to see you reacting so positively even to his feelings of distaste for you. "That's alright! We'll go to the optometrist after school. I've heard contact lenses aren't very expensive to afford, right?"

Contact lenses were, in fact, pretty expensive to afford. Even more so for a young student like you back then, who knew little to nothing when it came to managing money and her savings. You still spent a fortune on them, though. You were willing to do it, if it meant getting rid of the glasses he'd hated on you so much.

For him, you were willing to change.

The only thing you had been patient about yourself back then were really just your braces. You needed time for your teeth to be straight again, so you can finally start smiling even brighter for him.

Perhaps it might make him like you a little bit more.

You followed your father to the other side of the world when you overheard the boys speaking in his room one scorching afternoon 一 about how he'd just wished you were gone. You never wanted to leave Japan, but if it meant he would be happy that you weren't around him so much, you were willing to go. You can cry at home, but you can't cry in front of him. It will only disgust him even further.

For him, you were willing to disappear.

But Mikey calls you back to Japan after years of no-contact and recruits you as an advisor in replacement for Takeomi. The man hasn't been doing well since the death of his sister, and Mikey hasn't been able to trust anyone enough to take on his position in the organisation.

Kakucho has had enough to deal with in his own role, and Kokonoi Hajime only wants to be in charge of money and figures. Haitani Ran, the older brother of a duo, wants nothing more to do with the power that has earned him nothing but betrayal, and Haitani Rindou is way too focused on a slut to take on any major responsibilities on his own. Mochizuki Kanji hates Mikey, who he should not be letting so close, and Sanzu is... not well 一 Mikey can't tell if it's grief or something else that has been bothering him.

And you're beautiful, to say the least. You're no longer the ugly girl from childhood that he always says you are.

"美しい," is what Mikey says, when he sits before you in a quiet room on a huge oval table, as he bore holes deep into your soul. He's no longer the boy you knew from childhood who'd drag on your hand and play dress up with your dolls even though he knows nothing about Barbie and makeup.

He is simply an empty shell of a man 一 no soul, no heart. But he still smiles when you reach a hand over to caress his palm and trace along the lines of his skin with your fingers. Your gaze is seductive that it almost works, but he does not give in. Mikey has no heart or soul to truly feel any lust, but you can still see the hints of a small flame growing behind his eyes.

And even then, Sanzu still thinks you're ugly.

He gives you the same look of disgust while you stand naked before his eyes in a hotel room, right in the heart of the city, with police sirens ringing through the night.

Under his angry gaze and hateful eyes you feel just like a little girl again. The girl inside you that you've spent so many years suppressing, begs to be let out from her cage. She yells, screams, bites on the metal bars to be released.

But you're eager to please him tonight. You shut her away again.

Anything to make him happy.

"What can I do for you today?" You ask. His dick is still soft behind his silky, black slacks and he scoffs.

"You talk like a fucking slut. Quit it."

"You don't like sluts?" You question, brow raised high as you step closer to him on the bed, who has his legs spread far apart as he sits on the edge. You welcome yourself between them and cock your head to the side while you watch his face contort into somewhat confusion.

"Hah?"

The disgust still remains, however.

"Saw you looking at Haitani Rindou's lady earlier. She is indeed very pretty." You point out, nodding in agreement. He visibly shifts in his seat and makes a noise to cover up his fluster.

"Do you like her? I can be her."

Silence.

"Or do you prefer the cop who betrayed his brother? I can't be her, sorry, since she's dead, but we can do role play if you like."

I can try. For you.

"Fuck no. I know better than to mess with the Haitanis." He defends. Your lips curl, watching the slip in his demeanour with so much fun, as you inch closer, closer.

And closer.

"So? What else can make you feel better if not those?" You trace your lips along his collar and gently push it flat against him when he doesn't move away. Dark red lipstick stains his shirt as you pull back to admire your work. "Purely sex? I can make it work."

He tries pushing you away at that, but you grab onto his wrists with your ice cold hands before he can even touch you.

"Something extreme, maybe?" You wrap his hands around your throat. It bobs with every drop of saliva that you swallow. You kind of hope he feels the blunt edges of the many words you've pushed down along your throat, too.

"This?" His fingers shake against your skin, you feel.

"Choke me if it makes you feel better. You know you want to. You hate me, don't you? Choke me like you mean it."

His breath grows shaky as they fan against your cupid's bow. You're so close to him 一 way too close.

For the first time in probably forever, Akashi Haruchiyo is scared.

And you're no longer looking at Sanzu, unfortunately.

"Fuck一" you don't let his hands go despite his resistance, "fucking let me go."

Despite his words, you can feel it slowly, as his hands start tightening around your throat. "You're fucking insane一" he spews, pupils dilated behind his irises, "you're not right in the head, bitch."

He presses his hold tighter around you. Sanzu forces out a laugh, while your vision starts growing foggy. He's shaking all around as you grip onto his wrists tight, as a way to ground yourself before he can actually kill you with his bare hands. You try clearing your eyes to look at him one last time.

"Die. Fucking die." He says. "I fucking hate you."

Sanzu lights a cigarette as he stands in the cold.

Though it's not very cold tonight, no 一 the weather's moderate this time. He's felt colder before.

It's still empty in his heart, but he can make do from today onwards.

Your arms are warm as they wrap around his waist gently, wobbly lips kissing along his spine and the meat of his shoulder blades as he inhales the tobacco, before turning around to take a good look at you.

He grabs at your jaw with the other hand to pull you close to his lips and exhaling the cloudy smoke into your mouth.

You take it just like a good girl when he pulls back to watch in amusement as you resist the cough bubbling up in your chest.

He repeats it a few times, and when he finally deems your actions satisfactory, he only kisses you then. Messy, wet, full of saliva 一 he licks at your lips disgustingly, sucks on your tongue like a horny teen, rubs himself up against your thigh.

His hold is steady and you almost melt into his arms when he accidentally burns your chest with the tip of his cigarette. Almost.

Sanzu does not let you touch him just yet.

"You're fucking mine." He whispers, voice low when he pulls away. His grip is still tight and painful around your jaw, but you think his eyes are full of love when they bore into your own.

"Remember that."

Mikey does not appear in your thoughts ever again.

You sigh dreamily and fall to his chest gently. He's there to welcome you as you melt, head low while he gazes into your eyes.

For the first time in your pathetic life, you touch skin with the boy you love the most. He's finally looking into your eyes this time, without the hateful gaze that you have always hated since young but still let him look at you that way simply because you liked him so much back then to even stop him.

You still like him so much today.

Sanzu hugs you close as you say your words.

"I'm all yours, Haru."

#writing #asks #helheim #knocks #ummm do people like this #i wrote this in one go... the ask came in yesterday morning... what am i even doing #sanzu x reader #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #bonten x reader #bonten #tokrev x reader #tokrev #tr x reader #tr

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