#(FINALLY IVE GOTTEN AROUND TO ANSWERING THIS ASK)

[seaouidbabyx]

SUCKER || Dealer! Chris x Maneater! Reader

chapter three.

notes: sorry guys, I got carried away. I might split this into two parts. Also, sorry for not updating regularly, ive been swamped at work :(

warnings: swearing, smoking weed, mentions of drugs (no use, just dealing),

Jayden was... nice. I was currently sitting across from the boy with neatly styled hair, a pressed, clean shirt, and a suave smile. He had the balls to come up to me while I was out at the cafe near my apartment, he told me I was gorgeous, and that he would love to show me a restaurant for dinner if I liked this place. He was too nice, and the more that the conversation went between us, the more I felt like I was sitting in a lecture. A lecture purely on him. He spoke about all the houses his family owned, how he graduated with honors in Finance and Law. I don't think I've gotten a single word out this whole date besides the greeting when we first walked in.

The restaurant was great; it was a neat little Italian place a few blocks away from where I lived. He also offered to pick me up, but I politely declined. Sure, why don't I just let you see where I live, random man I've never actually had more than a single convo with? I sat with my little red dress, the long sleeves covering my arms as they crossed each other. My hair was in a classy, mid-bun with curls falling out, and my fingertips were tapping against the stem of my wine glass. My knee-high boots tapped against my folded leg as my foot played along to the song in the background. I don't think I've heard this man say anything even remotely interesting. My thoughts wondered to a certain brunette boy who would've given anything to see me smile.

I nodded with a tight lipped, polite smile as Jayden had started another story about how his grandfather took him for polo lessons as a kid. I looked around the resturant, looking at the people who were having actual engaging conversations. There were red and white plaid table clothes on some of the wooden tables, some wicker basket chairs after some of the booths. I actually really like this place, but god was Jayden making it feel like it was claustrophobic. His big head was taking up about half the room with his ego. "It was rather lovely, the fields were always green when we went in summer-" I zoned him out, when my phone lit up next to me. It was an unknown number, so curiously, I picked it up and opened it.

"you're enjoying your date over there, princess?" My heart raced, I instantly started looking around. How the fuck, did this drug dealer fiend get into a place like this. Then it dawned on me, what if it's some random? I looked around, trying to spot a certain brunette triplet, even going as far to lean out of my seat a little bit, but I couldn't see anyone. I was about to text back and ask who this was, when no other than Chris walked up to our table, one hand in his pocket and one hand holding a takeaway bag. His loose curls were free of the backwards cap, but he looked good. He swaggered up and had a smug smile on his face, looking like he just spawned out of nowhere. I sent him a sharp, what the fuck glare, which he just winked at. I was almost, almost about to get angry, but I knew that deep down I was breathing a huge sigh of relief. He stuck out like a sore thumb; his casual attire really did not match the vibe of this place. He casually just dragged a chair from the table next to us, placed it next to me and spread himself leisurely across it.

I think this was the first time that Jayden had actually just stopped talking. I looked at Chris, Jayden looked at Chris, and Chris just lazily smiled back up at me. "What are you doing here?" I finally asked, looking at him expectantly. Jayden looked pissed, "Yeah man, what the fuck? Who are you?" I rolled my eyes at that answer, my god. I know this wasn't convenient for him, but no need to be a dick about it. I sent a sharp gaze over in Jayden's direction, not impressed, but he didn't seem to care as his focus was all on the boy sitting next to me.

Chris leaned over, picking up a piece of bread from the basket in between us and started peeling off pieces and shoving them in his mouth. "'M here to save her from this god-awful date." Chris muffled through a mouth full of bread, and I was so shocked at his answer that I actually let out a laugh. I put my hand in front of my mouth embarrassingly so, which Chris just cheekily smiled at. Jayden then looked at me, back at Chris, then zoned in on me once again. "Did you set me up?" He seethed, his face turning flush with anger and I looked at him with an 'excuse me?' look. "You're just a fucking stuck up bitch, why couldn't you just tell me you weren't interested?" He shouted, slamming his hands on the table, acting like a toddler. I placed my hand on the table, leaning in to not cause any more of a scene then he was. "Look, I had no idea this man was even here, but you've done absolutely nothing but speak about yourself, I mean do you even know a single thing about me? If he can see that this is a terrible date, then I have nothing more I really need to say, now do I?" I smiled sweetly at him, reaching for my purse and throwing a 50 on the table, standing up and pushing the chair back with an awful screech.

"Here's for my wine, and next time you think about taking a girl on a date, give her a chance to fucking speak." I spat, grabbing my purse and tapping Chris on the back before making my way over to the entrance of the restaurant. Chris grabbed two more pieces of bread out the basket, before saluting Jayden and followed close behind me. He walked out next to me, "Hey! Slow down woman! Are you okay?" He asked, following in my footsteps.

As soon as we were a few walking steps down the sidewalk, I stopped, turned to him and let out a belly laugh. God, I can't believe this is happening to me. I placed my hands on my hips, breathing in big deep breaths in between laughs. I heard Chris nervously laugh along too, probably looking at me like I was crazy. I wiped the tears from my eyes, "Did you see the look on his face! God, what a stuck up, asshat. How did you know I was there?" I shouted and questioned, placing a hand on his shoulder, softening my giggles. He shrugged at me, "Oh you know, I just saw this pretty girl who looked bored out of her mind when I came to get see what they have for takeout. Thought she needed saving." He smirked down playfully at me.

Chris stood next to me with a big smile on his face, still shoving peeled off pieces of bread, I smiled up at him. "Oh, so that's why you're out. Totally not stalking me or anything." I teased, falling back into step with him. He rolled his eyes, passing his extra bread roll over to me without even looking at me. I gently took it, peeling pieces off as he did and started nibling. "Where's your car?" He asked, seeing as were almost about a block and a half away from the restaurant. I shrugged, "I took an uber, but its not far from my place, I don't mind walking." I ripped another piece, placing the soft bread in my mouth. He stopped, dead in his tracks and looked at me with a wild and absurd expression. He then rolled his eyes, shaking his head, before grabbing my forearm. "Not a fuck am I letting you walk. I mean, have you seen the type of dudes out here? You were just on a date with one!" He lectured, pulling me across the street and a little further down. I rolled my eyes, "I can handle myself, thank you very much. It looks like youre fucking kidnapping me right now!" We continued walking and I really was not complaining, before Chris stopped in front of a BMW 5 Series. I looked up at him and back at the car, and he huffed, rolling his eyes once again. He opened the door for me, holding my hand as he helped me into the car.

"Wow, a thug and a gentleman, who would've guessed?" I teased, sarcastic, as he made his way into the driver's side. He rolled his eyes as he got him, pushing the 'push-to-start' button, and putting the car into drive. "How do I know you're not one of those weirdo's out here to kidnap me?" I sassed, turning to look at him. He looked at me with a blank, 'really?' look. "Listen, I've got shit to loose, if anything, I'm scared you're going to kidnap me." He chirped back, shaking his head and looking forward, pulling out of the parking space and creeping up the street.

"Kidnap you! You're lucky I don't have my hands around your neck. I'm flattered you're scared of me, that's what I was aiming for." I said, crossing my arms, looking outside. He smirked, a ghost of a smile behind it, shaking his head at my reaction once again. "Alright, you prissy princess, where are we going?" I looked at him, with a skew look. "Um, my house?" I argued. He stopped at a red light, "C'mon, you got all dressed up and pretty and had a shitty date. How about this, I've got some to do some runs, but after that, I can show you what it's like to go on a real date." He rambled, talking animatedly with his hands as he drove. The way he acted, really didn't show that he was a drug dealer.

"Are you fucking joking? You want me to come on runs with you? I am not some thug accomplice Chris!" I said, turning my body to face him fully. He rolled his eyes at me, "I'm not hearing a no?" He huffed, smirking slightly at my reaction. I crossed my arms, looking out the window. "I did dress up really nice," I murmured, softly. I heard Chris let out a laugh, tapping my thigh gently with his big hand. "Atta girl, lets go have some fun." I smacked away his hand once again, missing it already. I heard him whisper to himself, "God, you're so dramatic." I gasped and pushed his shoulder. He put his hands up in surrender, "What? It's true!"

We eventually started driving through some random neighbour hoods, some with large, high houses, others with simple flats. He was nice enough to let me play some music, so I started shuffling through and decided to settle on some Pouya songs, which I could see he appreciated. Conversation flowed between us, naturally, and the more I got to know Chris, the more I started to realise that he was different. A good different, one that made me want to learn more about him. We had just talked about the basic things, where we grew up, our favourite shows, but he gave me chances to speak about myself, like he was actually interested. The last house we pulled up too, was a small, single-story flat. Its fence was not up to par and the streetlights were not all working, but the garden was neatly kept and the patio didn't look half bad. It had peeling green paint on the outside, and the rusted golden number showed '7'. Chris pulled out his phone, silently parking outside the house, phoning someone.

A man, in a black hoodie and some sweats, quickly opened the door to his house and made his way to Chris's window, with a huge smile on his face. He leaned down; Chris rolled the window so he could meet him. "What's up Chris? Thanks for coming dawg." He spoke, and as he leaned down, I locked eye contact with him. He had some face-tattoos, his hair in dreads. He smiled at me, gold grills on some of his teeth. I smiled politely, before looking at Chris, not knowing what the fuck to do in this situation. "Huh, Chris has got a girl with him, I ain't never seen that before. And she's hot as fuck. This your girlfriend Chris?" He teased, placing a thick wad of cash into Chris's hand. He kept looking between me and Chris, but continued to speak like I wasn't even there? What the fuck is going on? I was gobsmacked, most of the people just came and took their shit, this man doesn't seem to care.

Chris reached over to me, pulling open the cubbyhole, and pulling out a couple baggies, some had green leaves, and one had white powder. One bag even had some small, multi-coloured capsules. I blushed when I felt his arm press against my legs. "Something like that," He replied, clearly not interested in conversation with this man. He closed the cubbyhole, handed him his stash and sent a wink flying my way. I looked at him confused, but my heart beat increased, and I felt my face flush. We bid this man goodbye, Chris rolled up his window and drove off down the street.

He looked at me, clearly irked. "Sorry about him, he just doesn't know when to shut up." I shook my head, "It's no problem, I just didn't know what the fuck was even going on." I chuckled softly. He smiled in return, "Alright, that was my last run, no more scary people." He cheesed, looking at me with lazy eyes. "You hungry, Princess?" I smiled, a small one, trying to refuse how hot he looked. I nodded, "What do you feel like getting? Anything you want," He said, leaning back leisurely in his chair, his gaze flicking to me and the road.

I thought about it, looking at him with a teasing look. "If I'm being totally honest with you, I'm really craving some greasy fast food." I said, a little unsure. He smirked back at me, "Some chicken nuggets, for the finest lady?" Teasing, patting a hand on my thigh once again. "You have to choose where we go, though." I stated, cheekily smiling at the brunette. He nodded, pursed his lips. "I got it," he said, driving away from the suburbs.

He had pulled us into a Burger King, and my eyes lit up. I grabbed his shoulder and shook it excitedly, "Yes! This is my favourite! We have to get matching crowns too Chris." I said and turned to look at him. He had a grin on his face, parking the car. "Let's go get those crowns." He came to my side of the car, opened the door for me like the gentleman he was. I smirked, "Aren't you scared it's going to ruin your whole criminal look you've got going on?" I said, placing my hand in his and getting out of the car. He tutted, "I can still look swag as fuck." He gloated, pulling out a flex of his muscles, which made me fake gag in return. I followed him into the restaurant, walking besides him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, smirking down at me. "You know, I was not expecting to come to Burger King for our first date."

I shoved him off, placing a hand on my hip as we walked inside, "Who said anything about this being a date." I quipped, returning his smirk. He placed a hand on the base of my spine and walked us to the counter. He ordered for us but leaned down to me again. "We both know it's a date, sweetheart. Get off your high-horse and just enjoy it." He snipped, making me want to swipe that stupid smirk off his face.

"Fuck sakes," I mumbled, feeling a heat run through my chest. I blushed, looking away as he continued with the cashier. Chris grabbed the takeout, before asking the cashier for two of the paper king crowns, grabbing them and stopping me before we made it to the door. He placed the food on a table nearby, grabbing my waist and making me stand straight in front of him. He maneuvered the paper crown, folding it together, before he gently grabbed the underside of my jaw, and placed the crown on top of my head. I smiled up at him, scrunching my nose, as he gently took my hair behind my ear for the crown to sit properly.

He placed his own crown on his head, looking down at me with that, upside down smile, the one that looks like he's trying not to smile, but he just can't help it. He placed a hand on the base of my spine again, grabbing the food and walking us back out the car. He opened the door for me again, helping me into the car, placing the takeout bag on my lap, before heading to the driver's side. I handed him his burger and fries, taking out my own, and placing the chicken nuggets in between both of us on the centre console, so we could share. He sent me a charming smile, taking one of the nuggets and placing it in his mouth. "You know what would make this even better?" He spoke with a mouth-full of food, which I grimaced at before looking at him curiously. He reached into the side of his door, pulling out a freshly rolled joint. I cheered, "Okay, maybe this is like my dream date or something." I mumbled, quickly shoving some fries in my mouth. He looked over at me, placing the joint between his lips. He moved to fix the crown that had gone slightly askew on my head with a gentle touch. "Princess, this is the bare minimum. I thought you out of all people would know that." I shrugged, "I don't need expensive things to like you." I uttered out. He looked a little shocked, but smirked, nonetheless. He lit the joint, taking a drag.

Once he had puffed it a few times, he gave it over to me. We were both facing each other, the night lights and the interior Led's giving us a soft glow. I looked at him, big, aspiring eyes, before taking the joint from his hand. I took a few drags, blowing out away from his face, before handing it back. There wasn't much said, just two people enjoying each other's company. The lowered music in the background, my heart thundering in my chest. I looked at him again, but Chris's blue eyes were already on mine. I moved to hand him back the joint, but he grabs my wrist, pulls my hand over his shoulder and closer towards him, his left hand slithering towards my waist. We were inches away, so close I could smell the weed off his breath. He placed a soft hand on my neck with his right hand, his thumb just below my jaw, looking at me with hooded eyes. "Such a pretty girl," he said, almost a purr. I looked up at him once again, through my eyelashes. I could not show that he was making me blush, but I'm sure he could feel the heat from my neck. "You gonna do something about it?" I teased, to which smirked at, rolled his eyes, before speaking almost against my lips, "Do you want me to?" His eyes were now fully lowered to my mouth. I started to grow frustrated at this game, so I pulled my head to the side, "Don't waste my time, Chris." I said, more meaning than what I had intended.

Frustrated too, Chris's other hand reached up, pulling my face into his again. "Stop being so fucking dramatic," He whispered, eyes fire-y. And with that, he pulled me in for a kiss. It was full of emotions; his lips were softer than I expected to be. I gasped into the kiss, gripping his sweatshirt like my life depended on it. He asked for entry with his tongue, to which I allowed. We kissed each other, ferociously, our tongues exploring each other's mouths. The weed, him, the kiss, his hands, it was all making me dizzy. So dizzy in fact, that I had dropped the joint somewhere between. He pulled away first, but almost chased my mouth for another kiss, making me smile. "Mm, I think you could use a little more kissing lessons," I grabbed his chin, teasing him, looking at his soft, pink lips, now swollen slightly. Fully joking, knowing this was one of the best kisses I've had to date. His hooded eyes followed mine, before lazily smiling back up at me. "Only if you're gonna teach them." He muttered, placing a hand on my thigh. I let out a small laugh, leaning in to kiss him once more.

Who is the sucker now?

A/N: YAAAYYYY THEY FINALLY KISSED WHOOOO

tags -> @chrispycremedonut @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @iluvchr1s @passionfruitchris

[formosusiniquis]

something green

inspired by @stevieweek day 2 prompt: cryptid | hospital, but this might not be enough stevie to qualify wc: 1.4k | T | cw: minor character death | tags: stobin hivemind

Their Robin part answers the phone when it rings.

They’re home, have been all week scouring the classifieds for a job that they think won’t be completely miserable. It’s been boring, but boring is a lot better than monsters and as the late-July humidity persists outside it’s at least a little bit better than anything else too.

“This is a call for Steve Harrington.”

They’ve not been that for a while.

“Speaking,” their Robin answers.

The voice on the other end of the line pauses, like it’s not sure it believes their Robin, but continues, “Your mother has asked we inform you that she’s currently receiving care at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Indianapolis. She’s been in an accident, I’m sorry to say I’m not sure how much time she has left.”

“Is my father there?”

“He has been informed.”

“But he wasn’t with my mother,” their Robin finishes.

“I have a note that says he told the staff member who called, ‘he would be down from Chicago when he was finished with work.’”

“Thank you,” they say, and their Stevie means it. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

If the employee on the phone finds that strange they don’t have time to say it. Their Robin hangs up the phone with a finality that smacks of disagreement.

“Do we really need to go up to see Mother? Mom is making lasagna tonight and she never got drunk and told us that she thought about going to a special doctor when she learned she was pregnant with Richard’s baby.”

Mom’s lasagna is their favorite, but they’re more prone to regret now. “Call her and tell her we’ll be late. I’m sure she’ll save it for us.”

Mom always said that special occasions meant a dress, father said you don’t go to a business deal unless you’ve shined your shoes.

A hospital visit to see their dying mother, it’s hard to decide if any of those rules apply. But both parts of them are still in the boxers and the white undershirts they’d gone to bed in, so they make due with what they know and the pieces they’ve scrounged from the thrift store since the government check cleared.

They’re used to getting dirty looks when they go places. The perk of their Stevie part still looking beaten half-to-death is most people don’t bother with trying to finish the job. Their Robin finds a nurse who points to the private room Mother is being kept in.

It would be funny that even when she’s dying, Mother still demanded luxury, but then they’d have to admit their sense of humor has gotten a little fucked.

Their Stevie enters the room first, goes to the bed while their Robin stays closer to the door. They don’t need privacy from each other, but they know to others they’re something strange and off putting.

The hospital is one of the worst places they can imagine spending their final moments. The smell of antiseptic and bleach unable to bury the scent of death and bile, even in this room that only privilege can buy. Mother looks smaller than they can ever remember seeing her. Her face and chest a mottle of bruising, a strip of her blonde hair shaved away to make way for a wound the doctors have bandaged. Blood and something tinged yellow are already seeping through it. The machine beside her bed beeps, each one weaker than the last like even it is giving up.

One of their Steve hands brushes hers, gentle. Mindful of the IV going into the back of it. One of her french tips is missing, another broken in a jagged line. The hand reaching for hers is missing a nail too. She’d hate that.

“Mother,” they start. Her eyes are shut, not swollen shut like one of theirs, just closed. The spiderweb of veins is visible through the thin skin, and that’s worse. “Mother, I-”

Mother not Mom or Ma or Momma or Mommy.

It’s always been Mother for as long as they can remember. Mother and Father. It’s hard for them to wrap their mouth around now that they’ve got Mom at home with her lasagna. They’re crying, just a little. The salty sting of tears prick at their Robin eyes.

She’s not going to get better and she’s always going to be Mother. She won’t get to become something different to them, like them.

“Mother,” they try again. Maybe this time the right words will come out. In English or one of the others.

Her spiderweb eyes flutter. They open just a crack. Bloodshot and hazy. “Is that my baby?” Her words are slowed, slurred together.

“Mo-”

Even open all the way her eyes are glassy and unfocused. Her hand tilts up to catch theirs. “My baby.” 

“Morphine,” they remind themself from the other side of the room.

Mother’s eyes track to where the sound came from, and back to the part of them that’s holding her hand. “I always thought there would be two of you,” she says. “The way you’d kick.”

The machine beeps tick higher. Intracranial bleeding, traumatic internal injuries, thrown from the car, intoxicated. Those were the things the nurse had told one half while the other was headed into the room.

She probably isn’t even lucid.

“When they said it was just one, I was sure you’d be a girl.”

“I’m sorry,” they say. They look over at their other half, not for answers but for the comforting reminder that they’re there.

Mother’s hand shakes as she lifts it off the bed, even with theirs beneath it, supporting the weight. The beeps get faster, louder, crying at the effort she’s putting forward. Her fingers are even colder than normal as they brush their face.

“Don’t be sorry, both of you, just as beautiful as I knew you’d be. My twins, my babies.” Her breathing is too fast, too shallow, too much of everything.

But the smile on her face is peaceful.

“I wish I’d been more for you,” she says.

“No,” they choke out from beside the door, tears running faster.

“I couldn’t see it at first, you looked so much like your father; and I missed it. I missed it.” Each word sounds more like an exhale. Each one is harder to hear.

They surround her now, a half on either side of the bed. Their mother is dying.

“Green was always my favorite, you look so nice in it.” Green dress, green button down, emerald and forest.

“I love you.” They manage to say it, gasp it out through the hurt lodged in their throat. She needs to hear it.

The beeps are fast, then slow, she says. “Love you two.”

The beeps stop, the machine whines. A long, loud sound that demands all of the attention in the room. The commotion starts, nurses and doctors flooding in.

But they know death by this point. They slip from the room, walking until there’s a seating area just to the side of a desk of busy nurses. They sit side by side, trying to find the state of whole they only ever feel when sleeping. Thigh to thigh, hand in hand, it’s close enough.

Their mother is dead.

They sit. Mom is at home, lasagna in the warmer; but Mother is cooling on a bed down the hall.

An elevator chimes, a clipped conversation at the nurses stand too quiet to hear, then. “Steven, what in god’s name are you wearing?”

Their shoes are shined, they twitch left and then right on their Robin feet. The white Chuck Taylors had looked better with the dress, they had decided while getting ready.

“What are you hoping to accomplish,” Father continues, his question after all had never really been a question. Much like this one.

“You were too late, I’m sorry,” they say, hoping they manage to sound consoling.

“The only thing to be sorry about is that whoever hit you didn’t do as well as the fucking car did. Christ, I just hope no one important has seen you looking like this.”

Dad said their attempts at makeup were avant garde.

Two separate instincts war within them. The one that’s snarky and snappish and fights demodogs and soldiers versus the one that knows the danger of the wrong idea being shared by the wrong person.

Love you two. Her last words.

They stand, hand in hand, united physically as they are in every other way. They walk past him, sputtering and spitting with a rage no father should have for their child. It will take all four of their hands but they can move their things out of their room to the other in the house where Mom and Dad love everything they have become.

And they’ll grab something green from Mother.

[asktheprincess]

Dear Shifting Mound,

How do You feel about the nickname 'Shifty'? Are we allowed to address You that way?

[spookythesillyfella]

The sisters say hi! I mean.. Lana does, LaLa just wants to eat you guys-

"Hm ? Did you say something ?"

"Huh !? Oh ... Nah ...."

"Oh . it must've been my imagination there . haha !! ........ Are you okay . though ? You look like you're sweating bullets ...."

"YEAH !! Yeah .... Of course I am ..... haahh ...."

[hongluboobs]

book reader i have a copy of dream of the red chamber (volume 1) that ive been trying to get through for over a year how do i motivate myself to finish it

I'm recently coming out of a half a year ish period of not reading very much so trust me when I say the lack of motivation comes for us all. I think I have some tips for how to motivate reading in general+ some for DOTRC specifically :)

(Real quick, I assume because you mentioned a volume 1 you're talking about the Hawkes-David translation published by Penguin in five volumes under the name 'The Story of The Stone'. This is the translation I read through, and it's the one I see recommended most to english speakers looking for an enjoyable reading experience, so to any other prospective readers of this novel I HIGHLY recommend reading this translation as opposed to any other ones. I don't know if I need to say this or if it's well-known to seek out that version, but because Hong Lu's canto is coming up I want to make sure anyone interested in reading through the source material can have the best experience possible with it👍)

It's important to remember that reading is a hobby, and the best way to keep going with it is to make it a habit. Unfortunately, this means forcing yourself to read sometimes, but it comes easier the more you do it. The trick is: it doesn't have to be a lot of reading.

The hard part for me is really just picking up the book and starting to read. Normally with books I like to set a goal of a chapter or so per day, but because this book has longer chapters that wasn't always feasible for me, especially if I had stuff to do. But once I had the book in my hands and started reading I would usually go above my goal I had set :)

Last year a lot of my DOTRC reading was done while I was waiting in line for things, getting/eating food, waiting on the bus, or killing time between classes/during boring lectures (I don't know if I'd advise that last one). This is moreso once you get in the rhythm of things, though.

Another tip is sometimes the format is the thing to stop me. I don't know if you're reading from a physical book or an ipad/kindle/etc or a computer or what, but sometimes I read better on my laptop than other things because it's Always Around. Sometimes I don't feel like grabbing a book or I don't have it with me, but my laptop's already open and I'm bored so maybe I'll do a little bit of reading instead of scrolling social medias. Lately, i've been jumping between my laptop and kindle for reading (laptop for convenience, kindle for portability and reading before bed at night) but I've gone between physical books and digital devices before. (If you want the epub versions of dotrc, I'd be willing to share them as well. The only difficulty is page numbers change between reading formats so I can only really switch at the start of chapters or if I skim to where I last was.

Something that saved me while reading DOTRC specifically (as well as other sinner books) was having a place I could discuss/"liveblog" the book. These books can get LONG and the reading experience varies from "really interesting and compelling" to "oh my godddd I do not need 20 pages of Outdated Whale Facts right now". (no offense to Moby Dick. I'm only slandering that one because I read the whole thing and in spite of enjoying it I understand why there are SO many abridged versions around.) It's kind of just the classic lit experience to deal with these types of things, but it's a lot more tolerable to me if you can talk to other people about it.

When I read DOTRC I didn't have anyone else reading with me, but just having a place to tell people about all the things that happen in this book helped me to keep track of events and characters. It also motivated me to keep reading so I could tell The People what happened next. Having someone else read with me would probably have helped as well, but it's hard to sell people on reading a 5-volume behemoth of a novel with so much stuff in it it has it's own field of study dedicated to it.

You can really yap anywhere. I have a channel in my Limbus Discord dedicated to the books so I don't drive everyone insane with my rambling and it seems to have helped some of my friends get through some of the other books as well so I think this method is a pretty solid success? You could also pretty easily do it just in someone's DMs if they're already familiar with the book (this has the bonus of them potentially being able to clarify things for you and help you get a deeper understanding of the book) or even yapping on a tumblr sideblog or empty notes doc or something.

So TL;DR:

Picking up the book is the hardest part. Reading a little is better than not reading at all.

Subjecting your friends to this book will make it easier to keep going :)

Also: for Dream of the Red Chamber specifically: the book starts slow. I don't know how far in you are, but so many people drop it early. I started reading it during a 12-ish hour car ride and that might've been the play because i can see people getting bored during the first few chapters. It definitely picks up though, so trust me when I say it gets a lot easier to read as you keep going. Chapter 5 is an incredibly interesting chapter, and from there I find things pick up and start going faster. (It helps that chapter 5 is pretty relevant for the direction I think Limbus is going to take canto 8 in!) The later volumes were able to go by a lot faster for me than the earlier ones as well.

This is a long ass book, but it's gonna be a while before Hong Lu's canto drops and we get to Witness that Surrender. Or Surrender that Witness. I'm not actually sure. But regardless, you've got plenty of time to get through it, even if you're a slower reader or don't have much time to dedicate to reading. Steady progress is the name of the game for stuff like this.

Worst case, you've killed a bunch of time during the wait for Hong Lu's canto (because oh boy, I have a feeling this one's gonna be a wait) and you are able to gain a better appreciation for canto 8 by understanding some of the nicher bits of how it adapts stuff from the source.

Best case, you really enjoy reading it and end up like a bunch of the Hong Lu fans I know who were permanently changed by reading this book and started reading scholarly analysis of it for fun (or start seeking out every adaptation of it you can find, or read the book 5 times over... I am coming to realize this book does something to people.)

This book is legitimately incredibly good, even outside the context of me reading it because I was very invested in that beautiful cyan freak from a game I like. I might not have been able to get through it without Limbus providing me the push to keep going on days where I really didn't want to read, but it's a legitimate interest of mine now I will seek out information on regardless of its connection to Limbus! Trust me when I say it's worth getting through even if it feels hard or tedious.

(and if it helps- a solid amount of the stuff I feel is most likely to be Limbus relevant happens near the end of the book. There's so much in this book so things that could be relevant are scattered throughout almost all of it, but I've been picking up so many end of the book vibes from stuff we've seen lately. so you've got to get there!!)

[piningpercussionist]

(ooc) if whoever stole my writer's brain and drive from me could return those it would be most appreciated, thanks

(this post is just a casual reminder for people that I'm Still struggling and that's why I haven't gotten back to asks or threads yet. Eventually, I promise... hhh)

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Bleeding Secrets

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Dr. Robby has spent months keeping your relationship a secret. He’s careful, meticulous—because The Pitt is a hospital full of sharp minds and even sharper gossip, and he refuses to be the center of it. But when you’re rushed into the ER, bloodied, barely conscious, and the only thing you manage to say is his name before passing out, there’s nowhere left to hide.

The first thing the ER heard was the rush of paramedics wheeling in a trauma patient.

“Severe abrasions, possible internal bleeding,” one of them called. “BP’s dropping, barely responsive—only thing she’s said is Dr. Robby.”

The ER moved like a well-oiled machine, doctors and nurses springing into action. The charge nurse, Dana, furrowed her brows, snapping on gloves as she took over. “She asked for Robby? Why?”

“No idea,” a nurse replied, adjusting the IV drip. “Think he knows her?”

“Find him.”

Dr. Robby had just gotten out of trauma room 2 when Dr. McKay found him.

“Dr. Robby, we have a trauma patient asking for you,” she said. “She came in bad. Barely conscious.”

His heart skipped—just for a second. “Who?”

“We don’t know yet. But she was losing a lot of blood and the only thing she managed to say was your name before she passed out.”

Something cold wrapped around his ribs.

The walk to the trauma bay felt longer than it should have. And then he saw you.

You looked small on the hospital bed, IV lines snaking around you, skin too pale against the sheets. There was blood—too much blood—coating your scraped arms, staining your clothes, smudged along your temple. A nurse was pressing gauze to your side, already soaked through.

The room buzzed with movement, voices sharp with efficiency, but Robby barely heard them. His feet moved before his brain could process it, taking him straight to your bedside.

It was the first time in months he didn’t care who was watching.

One of the nurses glanced at him, pausing. “…Doctor?”

His jaw clenched. His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. If he could.

You let out a weak breath, eyelids fluttering. Even barely conscious, your lips parted just enough for one word:

“…Robby.”

Silence.

A heavy, loaded silence.

Dr. Garcia raised an eyebrow. “So, uh… you do know her?”

Robby didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached out—finally—brushing damp hair back from your face, fingers lingering along your cheek with the kind of tenderness no one had ever seen from him before.

And that? That was the answer.

No confirmation. No declaration.

Just the way his normally controlled expression fractured at the sight of you hurt. The way his fingers ghosted over your pulse like he needed to feel it. The way his lips pressed into a tight, thin line, something raw flashing through his eyes before he exhaled sharply and snapped, “What’s the status?”

As if everyone in the room hadn’t already figured it out.

[silvzo]

Your skin felt like it was on fire. But if you even dared taking the blanket off you were immediately freezing cold. You’ve been sick for a couple days now. Not exactly a fever and not exactly allergies. That one uncomfortable place in the middle.

You were bed ridden most of the time. Too nauseous to get up or your body ached too much, only in your boyfriend’s oversized t-shirt and his boxers.

Toji had been keeping a close eye on you. Its not exactly abnormal for you to get sick but whenever you do its never the greatest. Today you had seemed a bit more exhausted, like you had barely gotten sleep last night.

He walked in the bedroom with a cap full of medicine and a drink to wash it down. You groaned at the sight already knowing the gross taste of whats to come. “Oh don’t be like that, it’s gonna make y’feel better.” He said as he sat beside you on the edge of the bed.

“That stuff tastes like you try to poison me.” You took the medicine and drink in your hands, quickly downing the medicine and handing the cap back to him as you tried to make the taste go away.

Toji chuckled at your expression, setting the cap on the nightstand beside the bed. You finally got the taste out good enough and put your drink down on the table as well. Sighing deeply, you laid back down, a headache deciding to pay you a visit this morning.

You felt the weight on the bed shift beside you as Toji laid beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. “How you feeling today doll.” He asked in a soft tone. He probably already knew the answer but he liked to ask anyway.

“Like a victorian child that just got the plague.” He chuckled at your words, bringing a hand up to brush the hair out of your face. “Poor thing.” You turned your head to look at him, eye bags almost prominent. “Looks like you didn’t get great sleep last night, what’s up?” A storm had happened last night, you weren’t exactly afraid of thunder, its just how heavy it was last night that was really loud and had you a bit worrier.

“Body wouldn’t let me sleep till late and then I woke up to heavy rain. Could barely sleep afterwards.” He hummed at your words before getting up and turning on the fan he had bought just for you.

“What are you doing?” You asked curiously. “Getting ready to take a nap with you, duh.” He said like it was the most obvious thing on the planet. He was getting changed into more breathable clothes and when he turned around he wasn’t met with a quite happy face.

“What?” He asked as he hopped in bed with you. “Toji you’re gonna get sick you can’t do that.” He laughed at your words before pulling you into his arms, suddenly your nausea was gone. “As if you could get me sick doll, I’m not the one with the immune system of a ‘victorian child.’”

You couldn’t fight him on it, his grasp comforting and your body too exhausted and weak to push him away. Sooner than you expected, you fell right asleep. Toji was awake for while after you fell asleep, making sure nothing was wrong. Finally he kissed your temple and drifted to sleep himself, with you safely in his arms.

And then a few days later he gets sick as soon as you stop being sick. Told you soooo

(Ive been sick since monday so I made this out of comfort, release me </3)

[ccupcakeyss]

just wanna let u know how ur toji fics comfort me sm :(

i had a bad day but u helped and ilysm for that! i hope u get the revognition u deserve 🖤

it makes my day to hear my writing comforts you, and i want that for all of my readers more than anything. im sorry to hear youre having a tough day, and so i hope that the toji fic ive just written helps you even more. iloveyou and im so proud of you!! please enjoy!

𓍢   ଓ    ׅ   ⬞   EVEN ON HARD DAYS

SUMMARY: after a long, heavy day leaves you feeling quiet and worn down, Toji comes home and immediately senses something’s off. without pushing for answers, he offers the kind of steady, quiet comfort only he can — holding you close, distracting you with small talk and your favorite drama, and just being there. then when little Megumi wakes from his nap and sees you still feeling low, he joins in, offering his own quiet, childlike comfort.

WC: 1.8K including bonus scene!

NOTES: this is for all my readers going through a tough day, and could use some wholesome husband toji to cure them<3

The front door shut with a muted click, the dull sound of keys landing in the catch dish following a beat later.

Toji had just gotten back from the gym, the usual ease in his muscles from a good workout still lingering, though the second he stepped into the quiet apartment, he felt it — that shift in the air. The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful. The kind that clung heavy to the walls.

His eyes flicked toward the couch, where you were lying, half curled up with your back to the room. You weren’t scrolling on your phone, not flipping through some show you barely paid attention to, not even pretending to read like you sometimes did. You were just… there. Still.

And that alone told him enough.

Toji stood in place for a second, running a hand through his still-damp hair, the last bit of gym sweat cooling on his skin. His usual sharpness faded into something quieter as he toed off his boots, stretching his neck with a soft crack before wandering over.

He didn’t say anything at first — just leaned against the back of the couch, gaze soft but unreadable. His voice finally broke the silence, low and calm.

“Bad day?”

You shrugged, the motion small, barely there, and didn’t lift your head. That was more answer than he needed. Toji exhaled quietly, moving around the couch and settling down onto the other end. His body sank into the cushions, one arm stretched along the back, not crowding you but close enough that you could feel the steady comfort of his presence.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, voice easy and even. “I’ve had those.”

The two of you sat in that soft stretch of quiet for a few moments, no pressure to fill it with small talk. Toji wasn’t the kind of man who forced conversation, and you’d always appreciated that. After a minute or two, you shifted slightly — enough to lean your shoulder against his thigh, head resting where the fabric of his sweatpants met skin. He didn’t flinch, didn’t stiffen; just lowered his hand to rest against your shoulder, fingers tracing absent, lazy patterns across the fabric of your shirt.

“Long one, huh?” he murmured, not asking for details — just giving you room to breathe.

You nodded, the weight in your chest easing just a little, and Toji tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling like he was thinking about the right thing to say. But in the end, it wasn’t words that did it.

It was the way his hand moved, slow and steady, along your arm. The way he shifted slightly so you could tuck yourself closer without needing to ask. The way he sat there — the way he always did — like he wasn’t going anywhere.

“C’mere,” he said softly, after a while, moving just enough to make room. You slid closer, settling into the space at his side, your head resting against his chest. His arm came around you, comfortable and warm, palm resting against your hip, anchoring you there. Not tight, not clingy. Just steady.

You could hear the faint rhythm of his heart, solid and even, and for the first time all day, your shoulders lost their tension.

“Don’t gotta talk about it,” he muttered into your hair. “But if you do, I’m here.”

You stayed quiet, but he didn’t mind. He wasn’t the type to fill the air with meaningless noise. After a few minutes, he shifted slightly, glancing toward the TV remote on the coffee table.

“Wanna watch somethin’? Could throw on that dumb show you like,” he offered, lips quirking just slightly, voice lighter. “The one with all the drama and the bad acting. You know the one.”

You let out a soft laugh, the first one of the day, and his arm tightened around you for a second — just enough for you to feel it.

“That’s better,” he said quietly, leaning his head back again, content to just hold you there against him while the world moved on outside your walls.

And when you finally relaxed enough to close your eyes, his hand kept that same slow, unhurried rhythm along your arm, like a silent promise that no matter how heavy the day had been, you weren’t carrying it alone.

Not while he was here.

The low murmur of the TV filled the living room, some over-the-top drama playing in the background — the kind of show Toji usually made fun of but never shut off when you wanted it on. You were tucked under his arm, your head resting against his chest, fingers loosely curled against the fabric of his shirt. The weight of the day hadn’t disappeared, not fully, but it wasn’t crushing anymore. Not with him there.

Neither of you said much, the silence broken only by the occasional snort from Toji when the acting on screen got too ridiculous.

Then, soft footsteps echoed from down the hall — small and unhurried, the kind of shuffling sound only one person in the house made. Toji’s head tilted slightly, eyes flicking toward the hallway before you both saw a sleepy little figure step into view.

Megumi.

His hair was mussed, sticking up even messier than usual from his nap, and his oversized t-shirt hung a little crooked on his small frame as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. The room was dim, but even in the soft light, the kid’s sharp little eyes caught onto something right away.

He blinked at the two of you on the couch. His gaze flicked between his father’s arm around you and the faint traces of sadness still lingering on your face, even though you’d tried to smooth it over.

Toji felt the small shift in your body as Megumi approached, and he didn’t move or let go — just gave your side the slightest squeeze, wordlessly letting you know he’d noticed too.

Megumi padded over on quiet feet, stopping right in front of the couch, looking up at you with a frown that was a little too perceptive for someone his age. His small voice came out soft and unsure.

“…Mama, you okay?”

The question was so simple, so honest, that it tugged at your chest all over again. You managed a small smile, brushing a hand through his messy hair, fingers lingering there for a moment.

“Just a rough day, sweetheart. I’m alright.”

But Megumi didn’t look convinced. He climbed up onto the couch, carefully settling himself in the open space on your other side, not saying much — just pressing his small shoulder into yours, his little hand resting gently against your arm in the same quiet, thoughtful way his father did.

Toji watched the whole thing, lips quirking slightly at the sight of his son trying to comfort you the same way he would, even without being told. His hand came to rest along your shoulder again, his other reaching across to give Megumi a light tap on the back.

“Good instincts, kid,” he muttered, a quiet smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “She needed that.”

Megumi didn’t say anything, just leaned against you a little more, his small weight warm and comforting. Toji gave your side another gentle squeeze, and the three of you sat there like that — tangled up in quiet comfort, the world outside forgotten for a little while.

The show kept playing in the background, the drama on screen ridiculous enough that Toji finally huffed out a dry chuckle.

“See? Told you it was dumb,” he muttered, glancing down at you, his voice low but steady. “But if it keeps your mind off the rest of the day, I’ll sit through the whole damn season.”

Megumi tilted his head up, wide-eyed. “Even the boring parts?”

Toji snorted. “Yeah. Even the boring parts.”

And just like that, the heaviness started to ease again. Not all at once, but enough. Between Toji’s steady presence and Megumi’s small, quiet warmth, you weren’t alone. Not now. Not ever.

BONUS SCENE!

The drama played on, the volume low, the room dim and calm. Somewhere along the way, the weight of the day finally caught up with you. Curled between Toji and Megumi, your body had relaxed more than you realized — the exhaustion slipping past the point of resistance.

Megumi had dozed off first, his small head tipped onto your shoulder, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing matching the quiet rhythm of the room. You weren’t far behind, lulled by the warmth of both of them, your hand still lightly resting on your son’s back even as sleep pulled you under.

Toji glanced down at the two of you when the room fell completely silent, save for the sound of soft, even breaths.

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. No sharpness, no teasing — just that quiet, rare softness he kept locked away from the world. He reached over and muted the TV, then sat there for a moment, just looking at the two of you.

The weight on your face was gone now, replaced by the peaceful kind of exhaustion that only came from finally letting go.

He shifted carefully, standing up slow so he wouldn’t jostle either of you too much. First, he leaned down and scooped Megumi up, the kid’s small body curling instinctively into his chest, head flopping against his shoulder without waking.

“Light as ever, kid,” Toji muttered under his breath, carrying him down the hall with practiced ease. He laid Megumi in bed, pulling the blanket up around him and smoothing a hand once over his wild hair before heading back to the living room.

You hadn’t moved much, still half-asleep on the couch, your head now tilted slightly against the pillow where Megumi had been. Toji crouched down in front of you, brushing his knuckles lightly against your cheek, watching your face stir just slightly — not fully waking, but enough to know you were safe, settled.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Let’s get you to bed.”

With the same care he’d shown his son, Toji slipped one arm under your legs and the other around your back, lifting you up against his chest. You shifted instinctively, head resting against his shoulder as he carried you through the quiet apartment toward the bedroom.

He laid you down gently, pulling the blanket over you, tucking it around your shoulders the same way you’d done for Megumi countless times.

For a moment, he just stood there in the low light, staring down at you. The kind of woman who held the whole house together, the kind of woman who always put everyone else first. And even on a rough day like today, even when you’d barely spoken, you still made space for him and for Megumi.

Toji leaned down, pressing one soft, unhurried kiss to your temple.

“Got you,” he whispered. “Always.”

He switched off the light, slid in beside you, and settled close enough for you to shift toward him even in your sleep, the two of you breathing in sync as the weight of the day finally slipped away for good.

And for once, the world could wait.

[urinarythreatinfection]

Wider View

Shanks x Woman!reader. Very suggestive. 589 words. Bottom Shanks. Outside POV.

a/n: can be read as transfem probably. posting early bc impatient

It’s a slow day for an adult store, the shop owner, bored, looks around. They already don’t have a lot of people that shop in person, but there is the occasional person or delivery person. Today though, nothing, and the sun has almost set. They perk up when the little bell rings as someone walks inside, finally something to do. “Welcome!” They say happily, which falters when they see a sudden 6’6 man walk in. Scar over his eye, muscular, even missing an arm. He looks like bad news. His blood red hair moves as he does, making them nervous. ‘He wouldn’t try to rob an adult store right? Maybe the register? Should I call someone?’ Their mind runs through options as he peruses around. He seems to sense their unease because he turns to them and gives a friendly smile.

“Hello! Do you have this in a bigger size?” He asks, holding up sexy red lingerie. So he is here to shop, and that smile didn’t look fake.

‘Is he getting something for his girlfriend? That’s bold.’ They think to themselves before answering. “Yes! It should be in the back, how big would you like?”

“An extra large, and if you have the stockings longer that would be good too.” He explains and the shop owner goes to the back.

‘He’s got a big lady, I guess he could handle something like that.’ They grab the larger size and go back, handing it to him. He looks it over, then goes to a mirror and puts it to his body. ‘He’s gay!?’ Their eyes widen in shock, the man unknowing as he smiles looking at himself. ‘I would’ve never guessed..’

Ring ring

“O-Oh, welcome!” They snap out of it and spot a woman.

“Yes, is my husband here?” She asks and then spots the redhead, who quickly hides the lingerie behind him. The shop owner’s heart tightens, is he hiding his sexuality from her? A secret gay lover? “Shanks, there you are!”

“Sorry, love, just buying some condoms.” He lies and she hums.

“Well okay, hurry up because I already made a reservation for the restaurant.” The shop owner looks away, they can’t watch this. Telling her feels out of the question too, he looks like he could kill them in seconds. Their eyes go back when she continues. “Oh, and buy more lube. I don’t think even a slut like you could handle getting fucked rough without it.” Their eyes widen when she gets closer to him, her hand trailing to his ass and giving a small squeeze. “And I’m not slowing down even if you cry~” He shivers with a shaky breath.

“Yes, love.” He says submissively and she smiles.

“Good boy, I’ll see you at the restaurant.” With that, she leaves and the man takes a moment to catch his breath before grabbing lube and condoms. He places the items on the register while the owner is frozen. They manage to tear themselves from their mind and ring the items up. While the man is giving the berries they make eye contact, and he suddenly gives a mischievous smile.

“I hope it surprises her as much as it did you.” His eyes go dark, and the owner is suddenly reminded of those demons in legend that feed off of sexual energy. “See you later~” He winks and leaves the store, leaving the store owner with a dropped jaw and flushed cheeks.

‘Well. I’m glad they’re happy.’ They think, but their world has definitely gotten larger.

I got too excited. Anyway, this can be read as transfem reader, but i didn't really know how exactly to tag that since ive never read about transfem reader stories. Anyway either fem with a strap or transfem no bottom surg. Taking everything in my body not to just post the rest. im a little nervous.. what if i hyped this and its trash.. its just a drabble.. gotta remember to keep my head on straight.

[callme-holly]

PLIS PLIS PLIS DALLY X DAUGHTER OF A COP AND MY SOUL IS YOURS 😭🙏

𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 [𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚/𝐧: this has been requested a whole bunch and im so glad bc ive had this idea running round my head for so long. also ty to the person who answered my last a/n about the images!

part 2: that damn hoodlum

The station buzzed with its usual chaos as you walked in, weaving your way past the bustling cops who were attempting to wrangle a group of boys who thought picking a fight was going to somehow work in their favour and get them out of whatever trouble they’d gotten themselves into. It was a familiar sight—your father was the chief of police after all, and handling greasers and punks alike took up almost every spare inch of his time. 

You didn't need to ask the flustered woman on the front desk if you could go through; she knew you well enough by now to just wave you on without question. Besides, she looked like she had her hands full, and you weren’t sure you had it in you to add any more stress to her plate.

Instead, you focused on making your way to the main office at the back of the building, the paper bag containing your dad's lunch secured safely in one hand, the other holding tightly onto the strap of your purse. The hall was lined with posters, most of them portraying bold slogans and cartoony images about theft, violence, drug use, and the like, all of which  were so over the top that you couldn't help but scoff, shaking your head fondly as you rounded the corner and headed straight for the door marked ‘Chief’s Office.’  

Shouting from inside the room interrupted your thought process immediately, and you froze in place, staring at the closed door with wide eyes as your heart rate spiked slightly. A thick new york accent cut through the quiet, and you let out a long breath, knowing all to well who it was inside there with your dad. 

“What’ve you done now…” you mumble quietly, rolling back your shoulders in an attempt to steel yourself. Gripping the door handle, you twisted it and stepped inside quietly, lingering awkwardly in the entrance until someone took notice of your presence. 

In the middle of the room, standing in front of his desk with his arms crossed, was your father, wearing an expression that could only be described as exasperated. He was glaring down at the boy sitting on the opposite side, whom you could recognise without even looking at his face, his blonde hair tousled, and his arms crossed against his chest. He looked every bit bored, and it didn't seem like he was paying an ounce of attention to the words leaving your dad's mouth, his eyes darting lazily around the room before landing on you.

He raised a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips when you finally met his gaze, and you felt your face heat up as you cleared your throat quickly.

“Winston, eyes on me.” Your dad snaps, and Dallas turns back around with a huff, shrugging lightly as your dad steps towards you. 

 You swallow hard, meeting his gaze as he places one hand on your shoulder.

“Hi,” he greets quietly, and you give him a soft smile, handing over the bag and brushing your hair back from your face. 

“Hey,” you mutter, trying to ignore the way Dallas is watching you once more, his smirk widening slightly. 

“Nice of you to join us, doll.” He calls out, and your dad whirls around to shoot him a glare, silencing him immediately but not wiping the stupidly smug smile off his face. 

“You be quiet,” he snaps, and you want nothing more than for the ground to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Nobody is supposed to know about you two, certainly not your family—they'd kill you if they found out you were dating someone like him—a hoodlum. And yet here he was, smirking up at you, almost as if he's daring you to say something, challenging you to act like you don't know who he is. 

You tightened your grip on your purse strap and looked away, trying to steady your breathing and control the way your face grows hot once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Dallas watching you intently, his expression unreadable beneath that ever-present smirk. 

Your dad’s gaze flickered between the two of you, eyebrows raised slightly. When he speaks again, it's directed back at Dallas, his tone firm and commanding. “Get out of here, kid. And don't let me catch you stirring up trouble again.”

Dallas nods shortly, shooting you another brief glance before slipping around the desk and towards the door, his hand brushing yours as he passes. You barely suppress the jolt of surprise and the butterflies erupting in your stomach, instead forcing a polite smile and a nod of your own as you follow him to the doorway, your dad watching closely.

“Thanks for lunch,” he calls after you, and you can only shoot him a quick, polite smile before closing the door behind you.

You let out a shaky breath, rubbing absently at the back of your neck before rushing down the hall to catch up with Dallas, who is standing outside, waiting for you by the stairs.

“Close call, huh?” He looks far too smug for your liking, and you can only swat him lightly on the shoulder, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards your car. 

“Yeah, close alright,” you mutter dryly, stopping just short of the driver’s side door. “What were you thinking? Do you know how much trouble you could’ve gotten us into?” 

His grin widens in response, and he leans casually back against the vehicle. “Cool it, doll. Your old man, don’t suspect a thing.” 

“Oh, sure.” You scoff, throwing open the door and getting in, tossing your purse onto the backseat, and starting the engine. Dallas scrambles in after you, and you don’t even wait for him to buckle his seat belt before pulling out of the parking lot. 

“Hey, listen,” he says suddenly, his tone a little softer than usual. “You think if he knew, he'd just let it slide? No offence, sweetheart, but your dad isn't exactly the understanding type. If he knew about this,” he gestures awkwardly between you both. “I'd be dead. He'd make my life hell, and you know it.”

You sigh heavily, knowing he's right. As much as you hate to admit it, he does have a point, although it doesn’t stop your annoyance from bubbling just below the surface.

“Whatever…” You huff, keeping your eyes focused solely on the road, and you hear your boyfriend chuckle quietly, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. The heat of the touch makes you shudder, and you shoot him a warning glance,  ignoring the way your heart jumps when he smiles at you.

“Let me make it up to you,” he mumbles, his voice low. “Just leave your window unlocked tonight, and I'll show ya how sorry I am.”

That gets you to turn your head sharply toward him, your eyebrow arching high, and you find you suppress the laugh that errupts from your chest. “Don't push your luck, Winston.”

[ellesthots]

code of ethics

iv. “rumination”

read on AO3 🤎

parts: previous / next

plot: you devise a plan to get your professor to fess up.

pairing: professor!bruce wayne x student!reader

cw: 18+

words: 4k

a/n: sooo happy to be back with another chapter!! we're sooo close to the end 🤭 per usual, loveee to hear all of your thoughts if you'd like to share!

“No fucking way.” You and your roommate stared at her laptop, the word REGISTERED screaming at you in two hundred decibels. 

“Exactly what I said: he’s an asshole. Gets off on manipulating students so he can feel high and mighty, and feed whatever bullshit…” 

Unable to hear her over the blood pulsing against your eardrums with such force you thought it might rupture, you grabbed your phone and shoved it to her with shaking hands. She signed in, and you scrolled to her courses: ETHICS 511, TA, REGISTERED. 

Fuck. 

“It’s real, dude.” She held out her phone to an email from the registrar: ATTN: Required Materials for ETHICS 511 (TA): 

Dear ADRIANA,

Prior to your first day of class, your professor has requested you review these materials: COURSE SYLLABUS and TEACHING ASSISTANT EXPECTATIONS.

Please direct any questions to the professor of the course. This is an automated email that is not monitored. Be sure to mind Add/Drop deadlines for SPRING TERM to ensure proper disbursement of aid. 

Attached were the two documents, and you snatched the phone from her without question. She scoffed, mumbling something degrading about Professor Wayne as you zoomed through the documents, heart pounding. 

Arrive ten minutes prior to start time… communicate office hours on first day… be prepared to introduce yourself to the class… includes answering student questions and passing out materials… must have working knowledge of all elements of the Google Suite… attend all class sessions… 

When you looked up, the room was empty and your eyes bleary; you let the phone slip through your fingers and fall atop the comforter as shame and embarrassment flooded the space. So he had been avoiding you. In fact, he’d gone to considerable lengths to ensure you two would never interact again. It was like a bullet to the chest.

You plopped back on your bed, the ceiling swirling. Had you been so awfully unpleasant? You shut your eyes and thought back to the session prior to the final, before the switch, the last time things felt fine. Had you said something terrible you’d entirely overlooked? 

You and him had just finished going over your last-needed edits. You’d tucked the paper into your folder, then the folder into your backpack. Normal. 

You’d been wearing jeans and a sweater, your hair as it normally was, and he’d been wearing his usual button-up with slacks. His pen sat in his hand, not yet shelved. Normal. 

He’d taken off his glasses, as he usually did after revising. He’d cracked a joke about needing to get a lanyard thing to keep them around his neck, but you couldn’t place which word he’d used. Everything was… as it was. 

By this time of the meeting all of your anticipatory nerves had settled, and you’d gotten braver. “How old are you?” you’d asked, and you wanted to shove your head under a pillow at the memory. That must’ve been where you fucked up. 

But it wasn’t. You recalled his smile at that comment like the back of your hand. It crinkled the corners of his eyes and made the blue of them hazy, more tolerable to soak up without catching a chill. “How old do you think I am?” 

The question had been said as he sat back in his chair, eyeing you playfully. Even now while simply analyzing, you felt your cheeks heat. Angles, angles, and more angles; the slope of his chest to his hips when he relaxed, the hard cut of his jaw, and his hands that looked oh so capable. 

His hair had gone a bit limp and strayed over his brow, making you grip the edge of the seat. You remembered taking the opportunity to let your gaze fall upon all of him from the waist up. Selfishly roaming from the top of his abdomen up to his shoulders, down his biceps and the forearms that were delightfully exposed after another erotic sleeve roll-up when you came in, then all the way back to his eyes. Not normal to soak him up so transparently, but given the question, this couldn’t have ruined things. Right? 

“Could be twenty-eight, could be forty.” You’d mirrored his body language, easing back until your head hit the seat. His brow twitched, and you bit your cheek to hold his eye contact. 

“Forty?” He could’ve been offended, but the light dancing off his eyes said something else entirely.  

“You’ve got a PhD, Professor.” The instant it rolled off your tongue it had taken on a different meaning, at least to you; the word slipped out with texture, novelty. 

“Thirty-one.” 

“When’d you get your degree?” Your interest had piqued at him only being a few years your senior, concocting dirty fantasies you feared might escape in a Freudian slip; but besides that, it was pleasant, normal conversation. Normal, normal, normal, for two humans that had been privately talking to each other for an hour or two each week for three months. You couldn’t decipher a single thing that could have set him off, anything that would justify him disliking you so much. 

“Twenty-four.” He stood, likely—and thankfully—missing the way your jaw slacked. 

“How is that possible?”

“Had a lively social life in high school. No time for college credit.” He’d stood then, keeping to his predictable schedule. Push chair in, grab jacket, left arm, then the right, then a glance to see if you were getting ready to leave. 

“So you’re a genius.” 

His face had flushed at that—you wondered if that was the moment; you’d surely embarrassed him, and for a man of his status, that was a surefire way to get on bad terms. But, again, again, his response gave away none of that. “Kind way to describe a nerd.”

Nerd had sounded so foreign out of his beautiful, cut-from-marble form. On the walks there, you’d compared him to poison, taking a little bit each week to build a tolerance to his charms. Enough to act like a human with him, and pretend like you weren’t on the verge of sinking to your knees. “Trying to make sure I stay on that ‘pass’ side of things so close to the end of the term.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” His voice was strong and reassuring, booming off your bedroom walls like it was the cramped office. He’d shaken his head while grabbing his bag from the desk. “You’re spectacular.” 

“Kind way to describe a paper about the politics of psychiatric facilities.” 

THERE!

You sat up in bed as you pinpointed the moment his demeanor shifted. His attention had moved from your face to his shoes, his blinking got faster, and he didn’t look up again. He’d hung behind and locked the door after you pranced out, and you’d managed to walk half the hallway before realizing he hadn’t followed. 

The evening ended with a wave for him to hurry, followed by a shred of hesitance you hadn’t caught in the whirlwind of being around him; you’d held the door open this time, and he slipped through with a quiet thanks. So over the moon with how his jacket brushed your arm as he hurried through it, you hadn’t caught that he didn’t wave back as you walked to the stairs and parted. 

“I don’t get it. We were getting along so well.” The kitchen was bright after the depressive abyss of your room, and you lamented on how fun it had been to be around him. Getting a peek behind the curtain at the man who was actually funny, a bit shy, even hearing the occasional stutter from the well-spoken Greek god. 

Your roommate pushed a plate of food toward you. “Probably how he gets ya.” 

A taco balanced between your thumb and pointer finger, fragrant and warm. “How so?”

“Act nice while he’s on the hook, then dip after the course evals roll in.” She rolled her eyes like he’d told her his ploy herself. You frowned, letting the taco rest against the plate. He had followed up with an email emphasizing completing the evaluations in a timely manner; no other professor sent reminders about them, and he hadn’t done that at the end of Fall term. 

Huh. The taco was a bit burnt, but nothing you could complain about as someone who neither cooked nor bought the groceries; but as the resident utilities-payer, if she’d left the heating on while the apartment was empty, you could’ve offloaded some of this tension. Lord knows she wouldn’t deserve it, but this stress took on a mind of its own and begged for release.

Why would she plate you so much food when you were so upset? Why could she take the class, and not you? Why’d you have to get ready for another term when the rug had just been pulled from under you? With his glare steady and ready whenever your eyes closed, you wanted to rot in bed on your phone, sulk in this sting, this sinking in your stomach, this clenching of your chest, jaw, shoulders, ugh! Thinking of walking through the humanities building now was horrifying; rushing past his classroom, praying with equal fervor that you would and wouldn’t catch a glimpse of him. The thought made a chill run down your spine, and you got up from the barstool. 

“So can I drop the class?” She put the remainders of the meal into a pop-top in the fridge. “Now that we know the frog is in fact not a prince?”

Mid-step, you paused. The chill morphed into something spikier, more resentful. ‘Maybe he gets what he wants because he intimidates people’ came to you in a thought bubble, echoing around the hollow cave of your chest. A loose plan was forming. “No.”

“I can’t just keep it, you know. I am not going to be around that loser, let alone pay to. He gets his dick sucked enough from everyone else.”

You shied away from saying you’d spent the past six months dreaming about that precise thing. “The drop deadline isn’t for two weeks.” You told her to forward the email to you, signing off as you entered your room with a firm and slightly giddy, “Trust me.” 

Thin black fabric skirted the middle of your thighs against the Gotham wind, your backpack pulling hard on your shoulders, symbolic in its want for you to go home and quit this ridiculous plan; a plan that was more likely to get you prioritized on his shit list than erased from it. You kept your head on a swivel, paranoid that Professor Wayne would see you at any moment, weaponizing his x-ray vision to see down to your bitter core and snuff you out. 

You yanked down your skirt you'd obsessed over for days before you climbed the stairs, heaving a deep breath as you strode down the main hall. Fussing with your hair and making sure your mascara hadn’t smudged in the rain was difficult whilst juggling printouts of the syllabus, and didn’t help with regulating your breathing. Fabulous. Each step made you less sure this was a good decision, and you nearly turned back.

“Excuse me, where’s room 142?”

A man—no, boy; he looked fresh out of middle school—stopped you, shoving a schedule in your face. You didn’t think anyone had seemed this young when you took ethics before. You motioned for him to settle in beside you, and winced at the memory of the professor rejecting you. “You can follow me, I’m headed there.”

“Thank god.” The stranger sighed with disproportionate relief, like you were a crisis responder and he had an active house fire. “I was wandering around for the last half hour. Campus is so big. Have you taken classes with him before?”

“Professor Wayne?” You kept your tone light and curious; he looked like the type to tattle. Did they let high schoolers take a free grad class in the spring or something?

The guy stepped on the back of your heel, and he yelped. “Sorry—yeah, yes. I looked at his Rate My Professor and it’s…” 

You grinned, feeling transported back to August the year before, terrified to meet the infamous Bruce Wayne. “It’s quite controversial.” 

“He was the only professor whose class wasn’t full. Which was weird, because isn’t he supposed to be ultra-famous here? Or his family is?”

“Maybe people caught that he’s a harsh grader, and it’s not worth the eye candy.” It was, and you prayed the boy wouldn’t pry. You wanted to curl into a ball at how you’d do the mentorship all over again, with the same result, just to be in his orbit. 

“Class is probably gonna be full of girls drooling over him.” 

You laughed to yourself; it was never just the women who fell over themselves. Some of the biggest kissasses had been men, who stared too long at Professor Wayne’s sculpted biceps before looking nervously down at their laptops. 

A heavy metal door zoomed into view, and your breath hitched, the waterproof folio digging into your arm. This was a terrible idea at baseline, and you’d tried to make yourself look as teasing as possible on top of it. Anything to frustrate him, including tempting an unwritten dress code just so he might snap and admit that he hated you, that he hated all students, but you especially so. 

Kid Who Was Definitely Not Going to Swoon Over His Professor opened the door, and you noticed a handful of students chattering amongst themselves as you strolled in. Their attention snapped to the door when it shut, disappointment coloring their expressions at the man of the hour yet to arrive. 

His desk seemed larger when you were standing behind it, the monitors dwarfing the folio you slid by the keyboard. What the fuck am I doing? “I have printouts of the syllabus to hand you all.” Your voice shook a tad, fumbling with the zipper catching on an unruly piece of paper. “He’ll—Professor Wayne will be here in a few minutes.”

Someone from the front row told you to speak up, and another asked what your name was. You cleared your throat and finally got the zipper unstuck, pulling out the stack to begin passing things out. “I’m Y/n, the TA. I took this class in the fall.”

You tried not to get a papercut while counting heads and ensuing syllabi to give to each row, but students kept peppering questions; when had anyone paid this much attention to a TA? 

“Is he as bad as the reviews say?”

“He’s—”

“Professor Wayne is not bad, he has high expectations. Some of us are here to learn.”

A brunette with a perfectly-laid spread of paper, pen, and MacBook sat with her hands in her lap. Her deep brown eyes struck you. Isabel. Her wide grin deepened the knot in your stomach. He hadn’t blocked her from registering for another course of his, so it wasn’t a mentor/mentee thing. 

“Make sure papers are formatted correctly, and that none of your questions are in the syllabus or lecture material. He’s very detail-oriented.” Standing in front of a sea of students made you hyper-aware of how short the skirt was. You were such a joke. This was such a joke. What were you thinking? What the hell would this even do? 

“As any professor should be. We’re paying to be here, aren’t we?”

“What’s up your ass?”

Jesus… Was this a goddamn high school class, truly? 

Isabel turned sharply to see who spoke. “Sorry I don’t care to gossip about someone here to teach us.”

You struggled with the last row of handouts, cursing yourself for this miserable plan. 

“Trying to be his sugar baby?”

Isabel slammed out of her seat. “Excuse me?”

“Hey, hey!” As much as you wanted her to go beat the guy smirking in the back corner, you didn’t want to know what Professor Wayne might say if a bloodbath broke out under your care on day one. “Everyone’s here to learn, alright? Let’s not make it hostile.”

You shot a glare at the guy snickering, and held in a scream when he stared at your exposed thighs. You got ahead of what was sure to be another sexist remark, and clenched your free hand into a fist. “If I hear another comment like that, I’ll have you booted from the course.” As for if you had that power, you didn’t think so, but it quieted the creep enough.

“Good evening, everyone.” 

The door creaked open, revealing Professor Wayne striding in donning his usual attire, satchel slung on his hip, coffee in-hand. “Staff meeting ran a bit long, but the syllabus is fairly straightforward. I assume everyone has already read it.” 

As if on cue, papers rustled around the room as everyone flipped it, scouring the detailed instructions like their lives depended on it; the temperature dropped considerably. In just a few month’s time, you’d forgotten how commanding he was in front of a crowd. 

“Adriana, thank you for getting the syllabus passed out. I—” He stopped mid-sentence, then recovered with a thunk of his books onto the desk. 

Oh, god. You could hear her voice in your head taunting you before you left: horrific idea, what if it comes back on me, he’ll kick you out, are you sure?

“Yes, Professor?” Fuck. 

He stared at you blankly. Should you walk to him? Stay put? His eye contact was scalding, like he threw boiling water over your head. 

“Excuse me, class. I need to consult with our TA for a few minutes.” He dropped your gaze, shoulders lowering with what seemed like an exasperated sigh; you couldn’t tell from across the lecture hall. “Want to make sure we’re on the same page.” 

You might pass out; you’d hit your head on the edge of a desk and never recover. Now that you knew he hated you specifically, that it wasn’t just a mix-up, all courage melted from your veins. You didn’t even have enough to deny him like you wanted, hightailing it to the front of the class as he walked toward the side door. 

We are on the same page, you thought between glances at his fucking shoulder blades. You won’t tell me why you despise me, so of course I pretended to be my friend and signed up using her information and stole the materials from her email to spite you. The door clicked shut behind you, and you blinked back to the moment.

Professor Wayne brought his hands to his hips. You couldn’t bear to look him in the face, but the movement of the air anointed you with his cologne and you could hardly breathe. Familiar, bright… “What are you doing here?”

“Assisting.” God, I’m such a smartass. But he makes me one! It’s his fucking fault! 

A disgruntled sound fell from him, and it speared right through you. You probably looked like a guilty dog, head down, all too still. 

“Tell Adriana to attend next week’s lecture, or I’m filing a report.” 

“A report?” His dark brows were scrunched tight, mouth turned down. A few fingers on his hips tapped against his belt, signaling his impatience. The hallway was barren and wide, but you couldn’t feel more claustrophobic if you tried. Looking at him now struck all oxygen from the building.

“Enrolling in classes with another student’s information is illegal.” 

“It’s not that serious,”

“Oh, it isn’t?” He shifted his weight to his back leg, his mouth falling open with a scoff. You wanted to slap him. You wanted to kiss it. “Then they shouldn’t care when I send it in.” 

“You said you didn’t need a TA.” 

“Plans changed.” 

“So I can sign up with my information, then?”

His lips formed a tight line, and you knew you’d found grip. “No.” 

Maybe it was because he looked tense, but you were brought right to October, standing awkwardly by his desk waiting for him to grill you; he didn’t need a red pen to prove his disdain, his distaste was evident in how he looked. Like you were a fly buzzing in his ear, or a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. Your voice softened, defeat and defiance lapping at you in equal measure. “Why not?”

Professor Wayne’s lashes fluttered, and his hands dropped from his hips. You wished they’d lift up your skirt already. “We should set up a meeting with the administration.”

“The administration?!” What happened to being a spectacular student? Having a perfect essay? Being the prime candidate for a TA? All the warmth you’d felt in his office vaporized. Gone like it never existed. 

“This conversation requires a mediator.”

You leveled with his glare for a second, sizing him up. Would pleading, demanding, or being a squeaky wheel get you to the truth faster? “Just tell me.”

“If you must know, we will go through the proper channels.” He pushed past to reach for the door, but you stepped in front of it on instinct. Pathetic, and desperate, to know why the first person who made you believe you were worth your acceptance letter was effectively throwing you in the trash. 

“Not happening.”

His jaw ticked, spiking your adrenaline. “Then unfortunately I can’t help you.”

“Why does anyone else need to be involved?”

“If you’d like me to set up a meeting,”

“Screw the meeting.” Whiny. I sound too whiny.

“Y/n.”

Impossible, but you did everything in your power to hurtle through the sound of him saying your name. Time was ticking, he was slipping, and you knew he’d beat you to the other door if it was a matter of racing. His eyes were so mean now, frigid; little resemblance to the refreshing, foamy waves of before. 

“I fucked up in ethics to the point you said it was impossible to pass, then said I wrote a perfect essay for 505, but suddenly you won’t talk to me? Won’t tell me why I can’t TA, when my friend can sign up without even taking the course herself?”

“Your work holds no concern.” Running on autopilot, responding like you weren’t even speaking, but you went with it.

“Then what is it?”

It was almost physical how tangibly you felt a wall go up. Something was right fucking there. You wanted to take a step closer. You couldn’t. 

“Is my work good, or do you want to get rid of me?”

His eyes flicked to yours and struck the air from your lungs. “Your work is good.” 

You could sense by the way he said it that he wouldn’t budge; that he held all the power here, and you could pound your fists against the brick all you wanted, but it would only break your own skin. Defeat won out, slamming your spirit into the dirt. You wished he hadn’t been so nice, so affirming. That his voice didn’t make you tremble, that his focused attention didn’t feel like ecstasy. Tears sprung, but you wished they wouldn’t. “You used to actually talk to me.”

“And it was inappropriate.” 

“What?”

“I’ll set up a meeting with the department.” 

“No,” he turned to head to the other door, and in a rush of panic, you grabbed him by the wrist. Your palm burned at the contact, but you didn’t let go.

He didn’t move, singing his same refrain. “You do good work. Leave it at that.”

“I can’t.” Tears carved wet stripes into your cheeks as easily as balsa wood. “I know it’s something. It’s nagging at me. I can’t—it runs circles in my mind all fucking day. Every day.” You needed to sob, release the boa constrictor around your throat, but you couldn’t. Not until you knew.

Professor Wayne looked back, and his shoulders dropped. Something unplaceable flickered across his features. “Then see me after class.” 

You dropped his wrist and watched him walk away, thrumming from the sliver of sympathy in his voice and the heat that lingered on your palm. 

taglist: @noisylime @serynstorylover @crayzmarvelfan800 @dreamer7black @sad-ghouls @smellingbats @eddiew-k @kha0sblossom @omithemonki @badbishsblog

[kkuzushi]

Haii! Ive read your sub Heizou fic and omg... I kept thinking about scaramouche while reading it. I've also taken a liking to your page! Your writing is soo goodnendksjdnxw sub scaramouche fic when? 🥰🥰🎀🎀

(I feel like in going to interact with your page alot so can I be 🎸 anon? >_<)

“ 𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗮 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 ”

✦ 𝗰haracters: sub!scaramouche x dom!reader

✦ 𝗰w: mirror sex (at the end), implied orgasm denial, implied overstimulation, slight choking, cock can be interpreted as strap

✦ 𝘄ord count: 1.02k

✦ 𝗻otes: You’re always welcome to my page, lovely 🎸. This is written especially for you. <3

It became a routine for Scaramouche to send pictures of himself when wearing different outfits. It was just a time to time update, like you had asked, but he had gotten unexpectedly used to it.

For a man who has impeccable fashion taste, you would always shower him with compliments with every picture he sent—because of that, he saw it as a way to get your attention.

As usual, you received a notification from Scaramouche and it was a mirror shot. The picture was enough to make you smile but what took your attention was the message he sent after it.

"It's been a week, when are you coming over?"

Scaramouche had gotten clingy as well after establishing a relationship.. or maybe there's something he's after.

"My schedule's packed for this week, maybe by the end of the month we get to spend time again."

You replied, which he immediately read. It took a while for him to respond as it turns out, he was preparing another picture for you. Only this time, his shirt was lifted up, his teeth biting on the fabric to expose his stomach.

"How about right now?" He sent with the picture.

You could almost read where he's going along with this but you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

After a few back and forth bickering, his pictures and messages had only gotten more and more explicit.

"My bed's missing you."

"Wanna show me what 34+35 is equal to?"

"Something wants to be filled and it's not my expectations."

If only he knew how much you actually wanted to rail him right now. If your schedule wasn't so packed, you'd be having your way with him.

Though who said you can't? It didn't take long for you to arrive at his place, a sight you could never get tired of unfolding right before you.

Scaramouche's nails clawed your back, almost holding for dear life as you mindlessly pounded him to oblivion.

"Wait..! Too full~!!" His grip around you tightened as he squealed with every thrust you give him.

"For someone so teasing, you sure can't take a lot," You commented, grabbing his thighs to push back, spreading it out even more.

Scaramouche's eyes narrowed down at you, biting his lips gently before speaking, "I didn't expect that simple words would provoke you."

His statement made you chuckle before closing the distance between the two of you. His legs spread apart as you pushed your cock all the way inside, resting close to his prostate, making him squirm from the sensation.

"It didn't provoke me, Scara," you cooed to his ear, "It only motivated me."

Before he could respond, you bucked your hips, finally hitting his prostate. Scaramouche's eyes widened as he lets out what could only be described as a scream.

"ngAHh~!! ♡ ♡" His back arched from the sudden thrust to his prostate, a hoarse moan was forced out of him, eyes rolling back from the pleasure.

Your back has been marked to the core by his nails, it was painful yet you enjoyed the feeling—after all, it was the result of having your way with him.

Scaramouche's thighs starts to tremble, his head rolling back as moans after moans stream out of his throat.

Just the way his body reacts to his prostate getting abused turned you on, how could you ever get tired of fucking this man?

"Do I fuck you good, Scaramouche?" You grunted, hands on his waist to keep yourself moving on the same pace. The only answer given to you were mewls, poor Scaramouche can't even think properly as he seems to be seeing stars now.

"aH~ aH!~ goofmgnh~ sho goodddh~!! ♡" A few minutes after your question, Scaramouche starts to ramble, his tongue lolling out of his mouth with every word he says.

His cock was leaking precum, spilling all the way to his thighs. If he wasn't so focused on having your permission, he would've finished since then—but only good boys get that, right?

The sound of skin hitting skin was loud as you fucked Scaramouche harshly yet his moans were still louder than anything else. His pretty body was filled with fresh bitemarks and hickeys, even on places that's exposed easily. Not to worry, he won't be complaining anytime soon.

"fuck..! fuck! mnghah..!" He squealed as he watched your cock disappearing with every thrust you give, almost like his hole was sucking it in. His inner walls tightened, receiving a moan from you, "hagh- g-gonna cum!~ ♡"

His words served as a signal as you swiftly changed his position, turning him around to make him face his bedroom mirror. Scaramouche's eyes widened after realising your intentions.

"N-not like thisfhAHH~♡♡!!" Words were cut once his felt your cock fucking him in a rougher pace. You pinned his hands on his back, your free hand crawling up and wrapping around his neck so tenderly.

"Look at yourself as you cum," You whispered to his ear, your eyes staring at his in the mirror. The way you talked to him didn't help, everything was deliberately turning him on, his back arching further as he felt his body grow weak.

He was close, so close to finishing. Scaramouche knew that if he disobeyed this one last command from you, it's back to square one. His eyes never left the mirror, scanning the way his body gets pounded by you. The sight alone was making him scream in pleasure.

"mngha- cummi— i'm cummingghhaHH~!! ♡♡♡" Scaramouche's eyes rolled back, a long moan flowing out his mouth as his cock squirted cum all over the place, even reaching the mirror.

Once the white fluid stops spilling out of him, his volume decreased. What could only be heard now are heavy pants from him, his chest heaving with every breath he took.

"We're not yet done," his eyes widened once more as he hears you speak down to his nape, "You still have to make me cum, remember?"

Exhaustion has never felt this pleasing, Scaramouche knew he was in for a long night, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

[myloveobbsessed]

Ｗｅｅｐ

•••

Genre: angst

Warnings: mentions of reader dying

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo x terminally ill femreader

Notes: - thought I needed to write a little angst.

- Bakugo is a pro hero in this.

•••

Katsuki checks the time on his phone, before putting more pressure on the gas pedal. Your favorite flowers and sweets lying in the passenger seat.

He had just gotten off his shift and a little later than usual he immidently makes his way to the hospital not bothering to go home and change. Being held back irritated him as he now has lost some time with you.

Soon he reaches the hospital, parking he grabs your items and speed walks in passing the front counter. Already memorizing your room number quickly reaching the door he stands there for a moment before walking in.

Spotting you looking out the window, though when hearing the door open you turn you head a smile appearing on your face. The corners of his lips turn up as he walks to the side of your bed taking a seat in a chair.

The blonde slips his hand into yours “sorry im late. Got held up at the office” you just shake your head in response. “Its fine Kats. I don't mind if you're a little late.”

Your eyes trail to the flowers and box of take out on his lap. “Those for me?” you ask despite already knowing the answer. Your boyfirend grins handing you your gifts. “You know they are Sweets.”

You bring the take out closer and open the box the aroma of it invading your nostrils. “Ah thank you I'm so tired of hospital food.”

Katsuki scoffs lightly, leaning back in the chair but never letting go of your hand. “Yeah, figured you would be. Told ‘em a hundred times their food tastes like cardboard.” He watches as you dig into the takeout, clearly relieved, and the sight of you finally smiling a little brighter softens the usual edge in his eyes.

He brushes a thumb over your knuckles, gaze lingering on your face. “You eat that whole box, yeah? I’ll bring you more tomorrow.”

You pause mid-bite, swallowing before giving him a teasing look. “So demanding.”

“Damn right,” he mutters, but his voice is low and warm. “I’m not lettin’ you lose any more weight ‘cause of those dry-ass meatloafs they serve here.”

You lightly chuckle popping some chicken in your mouth “the meatloaf isn't the worst thing here”. Katsuki silently watches you eat, lightly squeezing your hand every now and then.

His eyes trailing to the iv connected to you and the soft beeping of the heart monitor. His mind thinking back to the conversation him and your doctor had. How he only gives six months tops maybe less.

You've been terminally ill for some time now and the thought of soon being without you mentally breaks him. Though he tries not to let you see that.

You glance up between bites, catching the faraway look in his eyes. The slight tension in his jaw. You know him too well not to notice it.

“Kats,” you murmur, swallowing, “I’m okay… right now, I’m okay.”

His gaze snaps back to you, and he offers a quick nod, though his hand tightens around yours like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go for even a second.

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “I know. Just… hate seein’ you in this place.”

You smile, reaching over with your free hand to brush your fingers through his messy blonde hair. “It’s not so bad when you’re here. Makes this place feel like home.”

Bakugo averts his gaze again his brows furrowing “I don't want it to be. You should be at our home, where you belong.”

His words cause a small pain in your heart “I know..I want to be there too…” you move your food and flowers to your beside table to let the blonde burry his head in your lap his arms wrapping around your waist one of your hands finding its place in his hair while the other softly rubs his back.

Tears threaten to escape Katsuki’s eyes and wet the hospital sheets. Every night you're not lying beside him in your shared bed, in the kitchen finishing up dinner when he gets off a tiring day of hero work, or keeping yourself awake till late hours of the night to wait for him to finally get arrive home so you two could go to sleep tighter wrapped in each others embrace.

He refused to let the thought of loosing you cloud up his mind drowning out every other thought. But he couldn't help it. He knew that you would succumb to your terrible fate. Scared that he would not be there in your final moments. He didn't know if he wanted to be.

Katsuki lets out a shaky breath against the sheets the sensation of your fingers combing through his hair bringing some comfort. He parts his lips muttering low you almost don't hear him “please don't leave me…”.

Another pang in your chest, your hand halting in place a short silence taking over the two of you before you speak. “Lie down with me” visitors aren't supposed to lie down with the patients but you didn't care.

Katsuki lifts his head to look at you for a moment before getting up and swiftly taking off anything on his hero costume that would get in the way or be uncomfortable and carefully getting beside you on the bed definitely not meant for two but you made it work. Your husband pulls you close agsint him holding you tightly though not enough to hurt. He would rather die than he even think about inflicting pain on you.

He buries his face in your hair taking in your scent as you lie your head on his chest.

The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek slowly eases the ache that had settled in your own. His heart beats strong and steady, grounding you in a moment that you both know can’t last forever but right now, neither of you are thinking about then. Only this.

Katsuki’s hand runs up and down your back in slow, careful strokes, like if he stops, you’ll vanish. His voice is soft gentler than anyone else ever gets to hear it as he speaks near your ear.

“I hate this place,” he says, lips brushing your temple. “Hate the smell, the sounds… the way they look at you like you’re already gone.”

You nuzzle into him, closing your eyes. “But I’m not. I’m still here.”

He exhales shakily, clutching you tighter. “Yeah. You are. And I’m gonna make sure every second you are, you’re not alone.”

A silence falls again, thick with unspoken feelings. The kind that fill the cracks where words fall short. You hear the muffled sound of nurses walking past your room, carts rolling along the hall, pages over the intercom but none of it matters. You’re wrapped in his warmth, his scent, the sound of his breath, and it’s enough.

“Katsuki?” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“If this were the last night… if it ended tomorrow… would you be okay?”

He stills. Then, quietly, firmly, “No.”

You lift your head, eyes meeting his. He looks tired. Not from work but from the constant battle of trying to be strong for both of you. You cradle his face, thumb brushing along his cheek.

“But I’ll never stop loving you,” he continues. “Even if you’re not here, that doesn’t change.”

Tears slip from the corners of your eyes, and he catches them with his lips pressing a soft kiss to each one. “I’d rather have this pain… than never have had you at all.”

•••

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit - pt.iv

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi

summary: You and Jenna each reflect on your own choices and the growing tensions between you both. Torn between loyalty, responsibility, and personal longing, what does this growing conflict mean for the future of your alliance?

word count: 12.8k

————

"So, victory sex?" Hunter teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Victory sex?" You echoed, genuinely confused. "With who?"

"Who else? Your little Viper girl," he replied, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

After dropping Jenna off at home, you'd shot Hunter a quick text, asking if he wanted to come over. After the whirlwind of the race, and the intense feelings stirred up by Jenna, you needed someone to debrief with—someone who knew about the tangled situation you'd gotten yourself into. Fortunately, your mom didn't know Hunter was part of the Sinners, so he was in the clear to hang out without raising any suspicions.

"Come on, Hunter, I barely know the girl."

"Doesn't seem that way to me," he shrugs, taking a seat on your couch and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. "You let her wear your jacket, didn't you?"

Did everyone see that?

You roll your eyes and flop down beside him, letting out a tired sigh. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say." Hunter smirks, but his teasing tone amplifies after a beat. "But there's no way you didn't feel Racer's High after winning."

You didn't need him to define Racer's High. You knew he was referring to that primal, raunchy, adrenaline rush of a feeling that overtook you once you won the race a few hours ago. You shudder remembering how much you yearned for Jenna in that moment.

"So, how are you feeling about it all? The race, the attention... her?"

You hesitate, considering how much to say. You trust Hunter—he's the only one in the crew you can really open up to, but you're also not ready to dive into the whole Jenna situation. Not with everything going on, especially since you're not sure how deep things go with Percy and this "Ghost Smoke" deal.

"I don't know," you finally say, running a hand through your hair. "The race was wild. Winning felt... intense. I get why people get hooked on that feeling."

Hunter raises an eyebrow. "And?"

"And... I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this. Like, there's this whole side to racing I'm not seeing."

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, watching you carefully. "What do you mean?"

You glance at him, trying to gauge how much you can say without tipping too much of your hand. "I don't know, man. I've been hearing things—whispers about this new stuff called Ghost Smoke floating around Brimstone. You heard anything about that?"

Hunter's eyes narrow, and for a second, you think maybe you've pushed too far. But then he exhales slowly. "I've heard the name. It's bad news, Y/n. Real bad. That shit's spreading fast, and people are already getting hooked. Some of the younger guys are sniffing around for it. Why are you asking?"

You shrug, trying to play it cool. "Just heard it mentioned. Thought it might be connected to some of the things I've been noticing. You don't think the Vipers are involved, do you?"

Hunter goes quiet, his face unreadable. Then he leans back, crossing his arms. "I don't know, and I'm not looking to find out. You shouldn't either. Percy's been getting into things outside of racing, and if Ghost Smoke's part of that, it's not something you or anyone else in the crew wants to be tangled up in."

You nod, though his answer doesn't satisfy you. Not because you don't believe him—but because you have this sinking feeling that the situation is bigger than either of you realize.

The conversation shifts after that, and the rest of the night passes with more casual banter. But the unease never fully leaves your mind.

"Looks like Madison's got a thing for you."

You raise an eyebrow, laughing lightly. "Mikey? That girl's never even cracked a smile at me. Pretty sure she barely tolerates me."

Hunter shrugs, smirking. "Nah, trust me. She was asking about you the other day in the garage."

Your brow furrows slightly. Was it because of what I asked about Percy? A small part of you wonders if Madison's caught onto your suspicions.

"And even during the Viper and Raven races, she was giving you these weird looks."

"What does that even mean, Hunter?" You roll your eyes, half-amused, half-worried.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this too much. "Hell if I know, but winning that race definitely got you on some people's radar."

Maybe at one point, being on the radar of a few girls would've mattered to you, but not anymore.

————

While Hunter crashed on the couch, you spent the entire night tossing and turning in bed. If someone had told you a month ago that you'd be neck-deep in street races and shady dealings—all for the sake of a girl—you would have called them insane.

When dawn finally broke, you shuffled out of bed and headed into the kitchen, finding Hunter gone and your mom brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

"Morning, Mom," you yawn, stretching your arms out. "Did Hunter leave already?"

"You just missed him. He said he'd be back later," she replies with a gentle smile.

You hum in response, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, savoring the warmth. It was in these quiet, mundane moments that you hated the path you were on more than anything. Between the mess with Jenna, the unpredictability with Percy, and the weight of secrets and family legacies, you sometimes wished you could just be normal—not tangled up in rivalries or trying to make sense of feelings you didn't dare admit.

"You've changed," your mother's voice broke you out of your thoughts, catching you mid-sip.

"Changed?" You raise a brow, joining her at the dining table. "What do you mean?"

She sighs, studying you with a mix of curiosity and concern. "You seem... happier in some ways but also more stressed. Something's weighing on you."

You stare down at your coffee, catching your own reflection in its dark surface, letting your mother's words sink in. Of course she'd notice something different—you're her child. But she's right; you have changed. And now, in this rare quiet moment in the chaos your life has become over the past month, you're finally realizing just how much. You've changed so damn much—and the thought terrifies you, especially because you can't even pinpoint when it happened.

Or you do. And that was the scary part.

A month ago Anton told you to find what's your purpose, your drive. What makes your heart race. What's worth risking everything for.

But you'd been so careful, you tell yourself. You abandoned her the first night you met, didn't even share your name—but now, she's got far more than just a name. She's got you feeding her intel, leading her through Brimstone like her own personal guide, pulling you deeper into a world you swore you'd keep at arm's length.

When did it happen? When did you start dropping her home, buying each other jackets, eating ice cream together—and, hell, when did you start racing? Racing, something you'd vowed never to do. And now here you are, about to walk into a private meeting that likely involves drug lords fueling Brimstone's biggest epidemic—all because she needs leverage on Percy. Leverage to protect herself from some mystery he's holding over her, something she still won't tell you.

You try to rationalize. She's got leverage on you, too. She's got footage of you stealing her dad's car. But deep down, you know she'd only pulled that card to hook you in. She wouldn't actually use it. You knew that. You knew her.

Except—you didn't. You didn't really know a damn thing about this girl, yet here you are, throwing caution to the wind for her. Risking everything for her. Breaking your own rules, doing things you'd avoided for the past twenty years...all because of her. And all way too fast.

Maybe it's because you're finally sitting in front of your mom, and to her, you'll always be her little girl. And facing her now, all you can see is the woman who once opened the door to find cops there, telling her that her husband, the father of her nine-year-old kid, was dead. You remember watching her piece together her shattered heart, all while carrying the weight of resentment for the racing that took him. And now, somehow, you're part of it too. How could you put her through this?

"Y/n?"

Your mom's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you lift your gaze from your coffee to her face.

"I've been calling your name for a while now. What the hell is going on with you kid?" she asks concerned.

Everything you wished you could tell her was everything you couldn't. Everything she warned you to stay away from.

"Look I know I haven't been the best mom," she sighs. "But I did it because I care. I'm strict because I know how quickly things can go south in this shithole of a town."

"You're not a bad mom, stop—"

"I can tell there's something on your mind, I don't know if it's good or bad. But I want to know Y/n/n."

Just as you were about to respond your phone pinged and of course it was Jenna.

Hey Oil spillage, just got news that the meeting moved. It's on Friday at 10p.m. now.

Wonderful news. After the realizations you just had, you were not ready to face Jenna again. In fact you would rather anything but see her. And now you can avoid her for six more days. Without replying to her message, you turn off your phone and turn your attention to your mom.

"I guess I've just been thinking about my future and what that looks like." You decide to open up a little, seeing no apparent harm.

Your mom nods slowly, her brow furrowing slightly as she absorbs your words. "And I also have to consider the fact that we're in Brimstone," you add, your voice dropping a notch.

She looks at you intently, searching your face for clues. "I get that this place can feel limiting, Y/n. But remember, it doesn't have to define you. You have the power to change your path."

You take a sip of your coffee, contemplating her words. "It's just...sometimes it feels like I'm caught between what I want and what I should be doing."

"And what do you want?"

"I don't know! I don't know what I want," you finish, softer now.

She squints, registering the tension in your voice. "Then, what do you think you should be doing?"

Racing. The Club. The Sinners.

But you can't say that. Not to your anti-racing mom, but clearly your face says it for you.

"Y/n," she sighs. "There's no place for you in that life."

"You don't understand, Mom! It's easy on paper to say 'stay away.' But people talk. I'm the daughter of a founding member; they expect me to be part of this."

"And how exactly are you hearing all this talk?" she asks, voice tinged with sass. "I thought I told you to stay away from Anton and that whole club."

"I am!" you lie. "But people at the warehouse still talk," you lie again. "Is working in a warehouse really what you want for me? For the rest of my life?"

"If it keeps you out of that club, then yes, a thousand times over. That club killed your father. I don't get your fascination with it!"

"Maybe I like cars! Maybe I want to feel close to him by doing something that mattered to him. You never even talk about him," you say heatedly, pushing yourself back from the table.

"Sit back down," she says, rubbing her temples.

You sit, your frustration simmering.

Your mom's eyes, usually a fortress, softened with a sigh. "You're right, I don't talk about him much. Not because he wasn't worth it, but because it's painful. But let me tell you something about your dad, something I should've told you sooner."

A shadow of confusion crossed your face.

"He was a founder, sure," she admitted, a bitter smile playing at her lips. "One of the Y/l/n brothers who started this whole thing. But that's not the part of the story that matters. Not the part that should define how you see racing."

Your heart stilled, anticipation prickling at your skin. "What do you mean, then? What's the part I'm missing?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, focusing on a memory only she could see. "Your dad wanted out."

The weight of her words hung between you, more jarring than the rumble of any engine. The idea of your father—the man who had seemingly built his entire world around speed, thrill, and the camaraderie of the club—wanting to leave felt impossible.

"What do you mean, 'out'?" you asked, the question barely a whisper.

She sighed, running a hand over her tired face. "He didn't start the club for the glory, Y/n. Not for the rush or to become some legend everyone would talk about. He did it because he felt trapped, and for a while, racing felt like freedom. But when things got bigger, more dangerous... he saw where it was heading. He knew it wasn't sustainable. He wanted out before it swallowed him whole."

You stared at her, trying to process this new version of the man you thought you knew. The stories you'd grown up on were all about victory, triumph, the unmatched skills of your father and the empire he helped build. But no one talked about the nights he lay awake, second-guessing the choices that led him there.

"Why didn't he leave, then?"

Her eyes glistened with a pain that seemed older than time, a sorrow she'd carried long. "He did, or... he was supposed to. That last race—the one that took him from us—it was meant to be his farewell. He promised me it would be the last time, that after that night, we would start over, somewhere far away from all of this."

You felt like the ground beneath you had shifted. The race that defined so much of your past, the race whispered about in awe and grief—it had been an ending, but not the kind you ever imagined.

"He was going to walk away?" you asked, your own voice thick with disbelief.

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the weight of old promises and lost dreams shining in their depths. "Yes," she whispered, a tear finally breaking free and rolling down her cheek. "He was tired of what it had become—the danger, the violence, the way it devoured everything good. He wanted out for you, for us. But fate had other plans."

You looked at her, seeing not just your mother but a woman who had lost everything for the sake of someone else's ambition. The image of your father—legendary racer, fearless leader—began to fracture, replaced by the vision of a man who was trapped, fighting for freedom that never came.

"And now," she said, drawing a shaky breath, "you have to decide if you're going to chase his ghost, or choose a different path."

Suddenly, the image of racing, of the thrill that had always called to you, shifted. It wasn't just the adrenaline, the wind whipping past and the engine's roar. It was what lay beneath—the fear, the drive to outrun something that couldn't be escaped.

"So, what does that mean for me?" you asked quietly.

Her fingers tightened around her cup, eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. "It means you decide if racing is freedom or a cage. For your dad, it became both. You don't owe this club anything."

You sat back, absorbing the truth. Racing had always felt like destiny, an inheritance carved into the fabric of who you were. But now, for the first time, it seemed less like a birthright and more like a choice—a choice you'd have to make on your own terms.

"Do you ever... want to get out of here?" you ask, almost too quietly, afraid of the answer. "Out of Brimstone?"

A question you should've asked your mother years ago, but is only leaving you now.

She raises her eyebrows, surprised by the question. It lingers in the air between you for a moment before she sighs, looking out the window to the tired streets beyond. "Sometimes," she says finally. "Sometimes I think about it, yeah. The way this place drags people in, holds them down... It scares me for you, Y/n. I don't want you trapped here. I want you to have options, a life that's bigger than this town."

"Then why do you stay?" you press, voice softer now.

A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face. "It's complicated," she says, her voice tinged with a weariness you hadn't noticed before. "Your father was here. This was where we met, built our lives, and after he... after everything, I felt like leaving would be... giving up on him. Like walking away from the one thing he was part of."

"But you don't owe this place anything," you say, echoing her earlier words back to her. "If it's just a memory keeping you here, then... maybe we both deserve better."

She nods slowly, her gaze returning to you, eyes softer, more vulnerable than you've seen in a while. "Maybe we do," she admits, voice barely a whisper. She makes a gesture with her hand of tapping a cigarette into an ash tray—a habit you noticed since you were a child. Something she does out of nervousness.

For the first time, it feels like you're seeing eye-to-eye, both carrying parts of the same burden—one that isn't really yours to carry. You've both been holding on, afraid of what letting go might mean.

You never thought you had a bad relationship with your mom. You both just worked and worked, trying to make a life for each other. Survival mode felt like autopilot—there was no time for bonding or deep conversations. Showing care meant keeping each other going, making sure you both were okay. Talking like this felt foreign, almost like a new skill you were both trying to learn. You wonder what prompted it, this sudden need to speak the things you both usually left unsaid

"So Hunter told me you had a girlfriend—"

You face palm, "for fuck sakes."

————

"Dude you told my mom I have a girlfriend?"

"She asked me if there was anyone special in your life!" He puts his hands up defensively.

You groan, feeling a wave of annoyance wash over you. What the hell are you supposed to tell your mom if she asks about this again? The image of her face pops into your mind. "Hey Mom, here's my supposed girlfriend I met at a race I snuck off to behind your back. Don't worry, she's not a Sinner—she's a Viper, though."

Luckily, Hunter had walked in earlier from whatever he'd been up to that morning, sparing you from answering your mom's question on the spot. Now, all you have to do is figure out what to say when she inevitably brings it up again.

It's still morning as you both settle into your room, falling into the familiar rhythm of your routine. You sprawl on your bed while he spins around in your chair, his energy infectious. Hunter dives into the latest gossip, animatedly sharing every detail, and you find yourself drifting in and out of his words, letting the sound of his voice wash over you.

You phone then starts ringing, and his voice suddenly stops. You glance at the screen, and let out a heavy sigh. You've really got to change her contact name.

"Who is it?" Hunter asks, hopping off the chair and leaning closer to your phone.

"Is she not your fave Viper anymore?" He jokes, sitting at the foot of your bed. "Come on, pick it up!"

You hesitate, staring at the screen as the name blinks back at you. The tension in the room shifts, Hunter's playful smirk fading as he senses your reluctance.

"Seriously? You're just going to let it ring?"

You shake your head, biting your lip. "I—I can't, Hunter. What do I even say?"

He leans forward, a look of mock seriousness on his face. "How about, 'Hey, Jenna, what's up? Oh me? I'm just living my perfectly normal life—definitely not spiraling into an identity crisis because of you?"

You roll your eyes but can't help the smile that threatens to break through. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you know I'm right," he insists, nudging your foot with his. "Just answer it! What's the worst that could happen?"

A million thoughts race through your mind, each one heavier than the last. You're scared of what her voice will bring up—the memories, the feelings, the undeniable shift in your life since you met her. "What if she wants to see me again?"

"Uh, hello?" he raises a brow, giving you a look. "Isn't that the best-case scenario? Getting cozy with your fine, rich Summer Valley girl?"

You hesitate again, and the ringing seems to grow louder. Hunter's eyes are wide, filled with mischief and encouragement. "Come on! Just answer it already!"

"Huh, looks like I can't anymore, the ringing stopped," you smile, relieved that the ringing was cut short.

Hunter's expression shifts from playful to incredulous. "What the fuck, man? Why didn't you answer?"

You shrug, but inside, a storm of emotions brews, each thought heavier than the last. Jenna represents everything you're trying to escape, and yet everything you're drawn toward. She's the pull of a world that's dangerous, one you've seen tear lives apart—your life apart. And every second you spend with her, it feels like you're slipping further down a path you might not come back from.

You can't let that happen.

"Because I can't keep doing this," you say, the words coming out softer than you'd intended. Each moment with her feels like a step away from the life you once knew, from the version of yourself that kept your family safe. You're drawn to Jenna, but she's also a stark reminder of how much you've changed, of how close you're getting to undoing everything your mom worked so hard to protect, everything your father was trying to leave.

She makes you feel alive in ways you haven't felt in years. But that feeling comes with a vulnerability you're not sure you can handle. If you keep this up, you'll lose more than just yourself—you'll risk letting down the family that depended on you to be the strong one. The thought sends a cold chill through you.

"I don't think I'm doing the right thing, Hunter."

Hunter lets out a quiet sigh, watching you closely. "You were doing alright last night. What's got you all worked up now?"

You hesitate, the weight of it clawing at you. Saying it out loud feels like crossing a line you can't come back from. "Things just... feel different," you say, voice barely audible. "I've been doing things I never thought I would, getting in deeper than I should. I don't even recognize myself anymore."

Hunter frowns, studying you. "You're not a completely different person just because you're out there racing. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"It's not just about racing." You rub your face, trying to calm the frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Jenna's got this... hold over me. She's made me cross lines I thought I'd never touch. She's tied up in a world I swore I'd stay away from."

Hunter's gaze softens, like he's trying to understand. "Maybe she's just got you seeing things differently. Doesn't mean you're losing yourself."

But that's the problem—you can feel yourself losing your grip, and the need to push her away rises, desperate, like an instinct. You know that the closer you get to Jenna, the deeper you risk sinking into something that could destroy you both. "Maybe it's better if I keep my distance," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. "I can't let this go any further. She's in the Vipers, and that's not a world I can afford to be part of."

Hunter shakes his head, not fully understanding. "So you're just going to shut her out? Because of some fear? Even if she hasn't been around long, what you two have—it's something real—"

"No." You cut him off, a hint of desperation in your tone. "What I have with her isn't real. Not really. We just thought... we could help each other. But that's all it is."

Even as you say it, though, you can feel the lie settle in your chest, heavier than you expected.

Hunter doesn't know the whole story with Jenna and Percy, or how you got roped into digging up dirt on him. You bite your tongue, stopping yourself from saying too much. A part of you wishes you could tell him, though—because if he knew you were supposedly getting mixed up in things like Ghost Smoke, he'd be the first one pushing you to cut Jenna out of your life for good.

"Alright, let me ask you this," he says, leaning forward. "You've had your first race, you were technically a Sinner. But from what you're saying, it sounds like you've made up your mind. So, what—you're sticking to your car hijacking ways, no racing, right?"

You hesitate—even after everything your mom has told you today, and he catches it.

"There's still a part of you that wants it, Y/n. You're not sure, and that's okay. This isn't about you changing; it's about something else. Unless you can look me in the eye and say you're completely done with this racing stuff, I don't see why you have to push her away."

You don't know why either. Maybe this wasn't about racing entirely and how much you've changed. But it feels foolish now to drag yourself deeper into this world after learning your dad died trying to leave it. Point is, you need to step back before you lose yourself completely.

And as much as it hurts to admit, that might mean losing the girl who makes your heart race. Looks like you found what makes your heart race, but not what's worth risking everything for.

————

"So, should I throw the microwave at your head now or later?"

Jenna tears her gaze away from her phone, frowning at her sister. "What are you even talking about, Aliyah?"

Aliyah grins, enjoying the confusion on her sister's face. "You don't remember? You told me ages ago that if you ever fell for someone again—or got caught waiting on a text—I should throw a microwave at your head."

Jenna sighs, the memory of that ridiculous pact making her groan. "Yeah, well... Wait—hold on. I am not falling for anybody!"

Aliyah raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh. Says the girl who's been glued to her phone all day waiting on a text. Sounds exactly like someone not falling for anybody."

Jenna scoffs, rolling her eyes, but she can't hide the faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm just... checking my messages. It's not that deep."

Aliyah chuckles. "Right. Not that deep. Just let me know when to start unplugging the microwave."

The older of the two shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "You're so dramatic."

"I just know you too well. Face it, sis—you're hooked."

Jenna scoffs, though her expression softens. "It's... complicated," she admits quietly, her fingers grazing the edge of her phone. "She's—" She stops, catching herself. She's. But she's not about to explain all that to Aliyah.

"Complicated?" Aliyah finishes, feigning shock. "You? In something complicated? Never."

"Okay, fine, enough!" Jenna laughs, trying to brush off her nerves. But her sister's words stick with her. She can't ignore the fact that she's thinking about her way more than she should be. And she knows all too well that if Percy found out, it would be a whole new problem.

Aliyah flops onto the bed, scrolling through her phone with a satisfied grin, fully aware that she's already planted the seed.

The Viper tries to focus on something else, anything else, but her mind keeps drifting back. "You're hooked."

Aliyah tilts her head, watching Jenna with a knowing look. "You don't even deny it. Whoever this person is, they've got you in knots."

Jenna rolls her eyes, trying to dismiss it, but the truth settles heavily in her chest. "It's not like that," she says, almost to herself. "It can't be."

Aliyah raises an eyebrow. "Why not? Because of Dad? Or because of that sleaze Percy?"

Jenna's jaw tightens at the mention of the men, and she looks away, fighting the urge to share too much about her mystery Brimstone girl. "Let's just say... it's not as simple as having someone in your life and calling it a day," she says finally.

Aliyah's playful demeanor fades a bit, sensing the weight in Jenna's voice. "Jenna... are you in some kind of trouble?"

For a moment, Jenna considers coming clean, but she shakes her head, forcing a smile. "When am I not in trouble?"

Aliyah's smile falters slightly, guilt seeping through her playful demeanor. She shifts in her seat, Jenna wouldn't even know this kind of trouble if it weren't for her.

Jenna catches the look in her sister's eyes and instantly regrets her words.

"Aliyah, don't," she says softly, the tension in the room shifting. "You know I don't blame you."

"I know, but I can't help feeling responsible," Aliyah whispers, looking down at her hands. The unspoken reality—that Jenna's entanglement with the Vipers was to shield Aliyah—lingered between them, heavier than any words.

"Dad shouldn't have made you—"

Jenna reaches out, squeezing her sister's hand. "We're in this together, remember? Whatever happens, I'm the one who chose to stay."

Aliyah looks up, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But it's not fair. You shouldn't have to carry this for me."

Jenna offers a small, sad smile. "Family isn't about fair. It's about being there, no matter what."

Aliyah's shoulders slump as she bites her lower lip, a familiar crease forming on her brow. The guilt that's been gnawing at her shows clearly in her eyes, and Jenna's heart clenches at the sight.

"I hate this," Aliyah whispers, her voice wavering. "Every time you walk out that door, I keep wondering if you're coming back. And it's because of me."

Jenna's tough facade cracks, and she leans forward, wrapping an arm around Aliyah's shoulders. "Hey, don't go there," she murmurs. The words are steady, meant to reassure, but the tightness in her chest betrays her. For a moment, she lets herself imagine a life free of this cycle—a life where neither of them has to look over their shoulder.

"I won't be stuck for long," Jenna finally admits, a determined edge creeping into her voice. She pulls back just enough to look Aliyah in the eyes, hoping to pass on some of that conviction. "I'm working on something, alright? This isn't forever."

Aliyah searches Jenna's face, her eyes widening with hope and hints of disbelief. "You mean it?"

Jenna nods, "I mean it. I promise."

Suddenly the sadness in Aliyah's expression is replaced with a smirk, "Does she have anything to do with it?" she asks glancing at her sister's phone.

"Don't change the subject," Jenna says, trying to sound stern but unable to keep the corner of her mouth from quirking up.

Aliyah's smirk grows, the earlier heaviness giving way to something warmer, more familiar. "I knew it. Your mystery girl isn't just another risk, is she?"

Jenna rolls her eyes but can't fully suppress a small, reluctant smile. "It's complicated, Ali. She's... well, she's a lot more than I expected."

Probably the biggest risk of all, Jenna thought

Aliyah's smirk softens into a genuine smile. "Good. You deserve more than this mess, Jen."

Jenna's heart tightens at her sister's words. "Yeah," she whispers, more to herself than to Aliyah. "Maybe I do."

Suddenly an idea stirs into the younger Ortega's mind. In a swift motion, her hand darts out and snatches Jenna's phone from the bed. Before Jenna can fully process what's happening, Aliyah is already on her feet, eyes dancing with mischief as she clutches the phone to her chest like a prize.

"Aliyah!" Jenna's voice sharpens "Seriously? Hand it over."

Aliyah tilts her head playfully, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Relax, big sister. Just checking if your mystery girl left a love note or two."

Jenna takes a step forward, trying to maintain her composure as she reaches out for the phone. "I mean it, Ali. Give. It. Back."

Aliyah shifts her weight, effortlessly dodging Jenna's reach as she chuckles. Taking advantage of the height, she holds the phone above her head, reading the chat messages. "Greaser? Pet names already?"

"Aliyah."

"Left on read for almost three hours? And here I thought you had game."

"I don't like her."

"Sure you don't," Aliyah teases, tapping the screen. "Let's see if your non-existent feelings show up when I—"

Before she can finish, the familiar ringing tone starts, and Jenna's heart drops. Aliyah's eyes widen with mock surprise. "Oops. Guess we'll see soon enough."

"Aliyah!" Jenna lunges, grabbing the phone from her sister's hand after the phone rang for a while. Without hesitation, she swiftly hits the end call button. The silence that follows crackles with tension as Jenna clutches the phone, her face flushed.

Aliyah bursts out laughing. "Wow, if that's not feelings, I don't know what is."

Jenna takes a steadying breath, unable to mask the way her pulse races. "It's not like that," she insists, more to herself than to her sister.

She couldn't help but wonder why you didn't answer your phone. You had more than enough time to answer the phone while it was ringing.

————

Two days have passed since you left Jenna's call unanswered. The rhythmic clinking of tools filled the garage as you worked tirelessly on your latest project—the stolen Aston Martin. For the past two days, the garage had been your refuge, the metallic smell of oil offering a sense of your old routine amidst the chaos. In that span, you had buried yourself in work, starting early in the morning and ending late into the night, determined to keep your mind from straying.

You stepped back to study the Aston Martin, now wrapped in a deep green that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. The change from the initial black colour was supposed to help, to make the car feel less like a painful reminder of her. But as you ran your hand over the freshly smoothed surface, sighing at the ghost of memories it evoked, you realized that nothing had changed. No matter how much you worked, every inch of that car still spoke her name.

Your phone buzzed on the workbench, a sharp intrusion that pulled your attention. A name lit up the screen—Jenna's. A message providing you the address of the meeting, nothing else. Seeing her message made your chest ache with a guilt you tried to ignore. You glanced at the glowing screen, your resolve wavering for a moment before you shoved the phone into a drawer, the metallic clang echoing in the small space.

Out of sight, out of mind.

As you smoothed out the last stubborn air pockets on the Aston Martin's fresh wrap, the sound of footsteps echoed in the garage. It was nearly 1 a.m. and no one should be around at this hour.

"Y/n?"

You turned at the familiar voice, eyes narrowing slightly before recognition softened your expression. "Mikey?"

She walked toward you, eyes curious as they swept over the car. "What are you doing here so late?" she asked, curiosity lacing her voice.

You shrugged, forcing a nonchalant tone. "Just working on a car. Needed the distraction. And you?"

Mikey tilted her head, not satisfied with the answer. "I felt like going for a drive. Thought I'd stop by first."

Her gaze shifted between you and the green Aston Martin, catching the tension in the air.

"This is the car you rolled up in with your girl right? What was on the surveillance?"

Ahh yes my girl. Now you need to come up with a believable break up story for the crew.

You clenched your jaw at her question, the mention of Jenna sending a pang through your chest. "Uh, yeah," you muttered, hoping to keep the conversation brief. Mikey's sharp intuition wasn't something to underestimate.

"Trouble in paradise?"

You sigh, "something like that, I don't really want to talk about it."

Mikey nods carefully, and deliberates her next words before speaking, "Did you want to join me on my driv—

"Okay I brought Chinese!" Hunter's voice booms through the garage.

Hunter set the bags down on a nearby workbench, the crinkling of paper and the scent of takeout breaking the heavy silence. He glanced between you and Mikey, sensing the charged atmosphere and shooting you a raised brow.

"Am I interrupting something?" Hunter asked, his usual playful tone laced with curiosity as he tossed a napkin your way.

You caught it mid-air, forcing a smirk to hide the knot in your chest. "Just working late," you replied, shrugging as if that explained everything.

Mikey's expression softened, the slight edge from moments ago replaced with a grin. "Nope, you're just in time. I was about to drag Y/n out for a drive," she said, her voice lighter now, as if trying to pull you into an easier conversation.

Hunter's brows lifted. "Oh? That's a miracle. She's been glued to that car for the last 48 hours" he teased, nudging your arm.

The mention of the past few days made your stomach tighten. You hadn't told Hunter or anyone else why you'd been so buried in work. The truth was, it kept you from thinking about Jenna. The guilt, the confusion—it all seemed simpler when muffled under the sound of engines and the smell of oil.

Mikey leaned against the Aston Martin, folding her arms. "Come on, you've been cooped up in here long enough. What's a quick drive gonna hurt?"

Before you could answer, Hunter grabbed a takeout container and tossed another to you. "Food first, you too Mikey. And then drive second," he said with a grin. "Don't think we'll let you skip out on both."

You took the container, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. Maybe stepping away from the garage—and everything it represented—would be good for you. Even if just for a moment.

You could tell a lot about a person from how they drove, and never in a million years did you think Mikey would be a careful driver. She would teeter on surpassing street limits, but was a relatively relaxed and smooth driver.

The car rolled through the night, the city gradually giving way to quieter roads framed by dark silhouettes of trees. A comfortable silence settled among the three of you, broken only by Hunter's occasional commentary and Mikey's bursts of laughter when he cracked a particularly absurd joke.

"Remember that time you tried to drive with only three wheels?" Hunter leaned forward from the back seat, his eyes dancing with mischief. "You swore it would work."

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head at the memory. "And you were the one who dared me to, you idiot."

Mikey laughed, the sound deep and genuine. "And you actually tried it? That's commitment."

"Or stupidity," Hunter added, and the three of you erupted into laughter that carried through the night, momentarily easing the tension that had wrapped itself around your chest for days.

The conversation meandered through old stories and lighthearted teasing as the car hummed smoothly down the open road. But then, in a pause between topics, Mikey glanced sideways at you, her gaze more serious. "So, do you plan on racing again anytime soon?"

The question hung in the air, a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Before you could respond, Hunter's smirk dropped. He leaned back in his seat, his voice more subdued. "Don't bother, Mads. She doesn't know."

Your eyes flicked to Mikey, watching her reaction. She didn't miss the slight hesitation in your expression, the way your hands clenched. Her brow furrowed, a mixture of concern and curiosity flashing across her face.

"Still figuring it out, huh?" she said softly. "If you haven't made up your mind yet and you're not already back on the track, it's probably a no."

You kept your gaze on the road, the rhythmic whoosh of the wind outside acting as a buffer for your thoughts. Mikey's insight stung more than you'd admit; she was right. Your lack of being back on the track had to mean something.

"Maybe," you said finally, offering no real answer. Hunter glanced between you and Mikey.

Mikey settled back in her seat, a subtle understanding flickering in her eyes as her expression softened. "Trust me," she said, her voice calm yet pointed. "Most racers, when they're trying to get something off their mind, they hit the streets and push their limits. But you? You're here, spending your nights working on a car. That says a lot about where you really want to be."

She was the first person to openly discourage you from racing, and you couldn't help but appreciate it. It felt different, almost liberating—a break from the endless pressure to prove yourself. For once, someone saw the side of you that wasn't caught up in the thrill, and it was a relief.

But there was also that suspicious part of you. Mikey was close to Anton, and she knew how much Anton wanted you in the crew. Does she fear that you'll replace her spot in the club if you join? You brush off your intrusive thoughts and try to enjoy the rest of your drive.

————

Two more days had passed since Jenna had sent the text with the updated meeting address, and the silence on the other end gnawed at her. She leaned against the balcony railing outside her room, eyes skimming the darkened city skyline in the distance each blinking light a reminder of how life pulsed and moved without pause.

The air was crisp, biting against her skin as she shivered, but it did nothing to numb the restless ache in her chest. She scrolled back through the last messages, the words on the screen staring back at her like a mockery of the certainty she'd once felt. It wasn't like you to go this long without responding, but then again what did she know about you? You were the definition of uncertainty, you couldn't figure your own shit out how could you help with hers. She should've seen the red flags for your ghosting tendencies from the first time you met. You had no reason to help her, there was no personal gain.

Aliyah's voice broke through her thoughts, calling from inside. "Jenna, you're doing it again."

Jenna blinked, tearing her gaze from the phone as Aliyah stepped out onto the balcony, eyes filled with concern.

"You're still thinking about her, aren't you?" Aliyah's tone was soft, not judgmental, but knowing.

Jenna sighed, slipping her phone into her pocket as if hiding it would erase the gnawing uncertainty. "I can't help it. Something's off. She's... pulling away, I can feel it."

Aliyah's expression shifted, guilt briefly clouding her features before she masked it with a small, encouraging smile. "Maybe she just needs time. You know how it is—this life, this... chaos we're in. It's not easy."

Jenna met her sister's eyes, searching for reassurance that felt out of reach. "Yeah, maybe." But it wasn't enough. Aliyah didn't know the extent of your relationship. How you were going to help her get dirt on Percy. How you were her best bet.

Jenna had noticed for a while now that Percy was spending a lot more time in Brimstone, and that anything she could find would be found in that shady town.

"I saw the messages with her... something about a meeting? If she won't go with you, maybe I could?" Aliyah ventured, her tone eager but tentative.

Jenna's reaction was immediate, sharp. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."

Aliyah crossed her arms, a defiant glint in her eyes. "Come on, Jenna. It could be good to do something together for once."

"I'm serious, Aliyah. This isn't up for discussion. It's not safe," Jenna said, her voice firm, eyes blazing with protectiveness.

Aliyah lifted her chin, stubbornness radiating from her. "Too late. I don't care," she declared, turning on her heel and striding out before Jenna could argue.

"Aliyah, wait—"

Jenna's phone pinged, jolting her from the tense silence that followed Aliyah's departure. For a split second, hope fluttered in her chest—a foolish, fragile thing—as she thought it might be you, breaking the days of silence that gnawed at her. But that hope quickly crumbled as she glanced at the screen.

It was from Percy.

Get yourself dolled up. Race tomorrow night. Be there. And you're on my arm. Look the part, don't embarrass me.

Jenna stared at the messages, her fingers itching to throw the phone across the room. He knew exactly how much he got under her skin and used it at every opportunity. And tonight was no different; he needed her there, not just as a racer, but as his accessory, some trophy to drape over his arm. Like she was at the Sinner race almost a month ago. It was a power move, one he'd pulled too many times, trying to keep her bound to him and his schemes.

Another ping. Don't even think about bailing. You know what happens when I'm not happy.

Jenna scoffed, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She could imagine Percy already preening in the mirror, smugly counting on her to show up, loyal and subservient as always. She could almost hear his oily tone, the mock concern he would flash when she hesitated, only to follow it with another thinly veiled threat. Percy loved to remind her how "lucky" she was that he'd given her a place in the Vipers—and what a shame it would be to lose it.

Jenna pushed away from the railing, the metallic chill of it seeping through her skin as she stood upright. The city lights looked dull now, swallowed by the storm brewing in her mind. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a part of her tempted to tell Percy to shove it. But she knew better. Defying him could mean losing her only leverage, the tiny foothold she had in this game of shadows and lies.

With a sharp sigh, she typed out a reply, each keystroke feeling like a betrayal to herself.

Swallowing her disgust, she replied. Fine. I'll be there.

It was almost too easy to imagine the smirk that would be stretching across his face as he read her reply. She could feel her muscles tense, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface, made worse by the fact that she'd lost any sign of you as a reprieve.

The phone slipped back into her pocket, but the weight of it pressed heavier than ever. The ache in her chest turned sharper, a reminder that even though she needed you, even though you were the one who was supposed to stand beside her, the silence between you spoke volumes. She just wished it wasn't so deafening.

Her eyes drifted to the hallway where Aliyah had disappeared moments before. She couldn't let her sister get pulled deeper into this mess, not when it felt like she was barely holding her own head above water. Yet, with every passing moment, the line between protecting the people she loved and keeping them at a distance grew blurrier. And Percy's summons felt like another shove towards the edge she was already teetering on.

Tomorrow night, she'd play the role. But Jenna swore, as she stared out at the city, that she would find a way out of this tangled mess.

Aliyah popped back into the room, her eyes bright but cautious as she took in Jenna's guarded stance. "Hey, so, the family's heading out to catch a movie right now. Are you coming?" Her tone was light, hopeful even, as if she already anticipated the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

Jenna's gaze shifted to her sister, the corners of her mouth pulling into a tight line. The unspoken question lingered between them, though Aliyah's expression faltered as she awaited an answer.

"Is Dad going?" Jenna's voice came out sharper than she intended, and Aliyah's smile dimmed slightly.

"Yeah, he is," Aliyah admitted, her eyes darting down for a moment before meeting Jenna's again, trying to read her sister's mood.

Jenna's jaw tensed as she looked past Aliyah, the weight of years of resentment and disappointment pressing down like a vice. "Then no," she said flatly, the finality in her voice leaving no room for argument.

Aliyah's face fell, but she nodded, understanding etched into her features. She didn't push, didn't try to convince Jenna otherwise. The silence between them grew heavy, filled with all the things they weren't saying.

"Okay," Aliyah said softly, turning to leave. But before she stepped out, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, eyes shadowed with a mix of concern and quiet resignation. "Just... don't stay up all night, okay?"

Jenna forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. I won't."

But as Aliyah's footsteps faded down the hall, Jenna knew she was lying. The night was already hers to wrestle with, haunted by the things she couldn't change and the person she wished she didn't need.

————

Before you knew it, Friday had arrived—the day of the meeting. The meeting you weren't planning to attend. You started your day the same way you had over the past few days—in the garage.

You had been avoiding your phone all morning, afraid of what new messages might appear. Each buzz was a test of your resolve, a reminder that giving in would undo everything you had decided. You needed to stay strong, keep your distance, and not let the past pull you back in.

The project car in front of you demanded all your attention. You poured every ounce of focus into it, the sleek curves of the Aston Martin glistening under the dim garage lights. Tonight, you were determined to take it out for a spin, using it as an excuse to push out the stress gnawing at your mind.

The garage was unusually quiet, lacking its usual bustle. The regulars, including Anton and Mikey, were conspicuously absent, skipping their usual stops at the garage. You welcomed the peace; the last thing you needed was their relentless teasing about the car's dubious origins.

The sound of footsteps broke the monotony, and you didn't need to look up to know it was Hunter.

"Got a minute?" His voice came from the doorway, casual but laced with concern.

You nodded, wiping your hands on a rag before tossing it aside and standing up. "Yeah, what's up?"

"So you're really done with Jenna?" he asks wasting no time.

You couldn't even bring yourself to say the words.

"I'm hoping the drive with Madison the other day doesn't mean yes," he frowns. "I don't think she's right for you."

"Neither do I dude. I never said I wanted anything with Mikey. We literally all went on a friendly drive, nothing more."

"Good, she kind of gives me an off vibe," he shares. "I mean, she's cool and all, but there's just something... I don't know. 

Hunter leans against the workbench, studying you. "But that still leaves Jenna," he says, quieter now. "Are you sure cutting her off is what you really want?"

Your chest tightens, and you look away, focusing on the glint of metal on the project car. "I don't know," you admit. "But staying away feels like the only way to keep things from going up in flames."

Hunter's eyes narrow with concern, but then he smirks, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Just don't forget—sometimes running from the fire only makes it burn hotter when it catches up," he finishes with a wink.

You roll your eyes, but a small chuckle escapes despite the tension in your chest. "Trust you to turn everything into a dramatic line."

————

Hunter left around the 6 p.m. mark and time slipped through your fingers, and before you knew it, the clock had struck 8 p.m. The Aston Martin stood before you, polished and ready. It looked solid, steady—exactly what you needed. Without a second thought, you grabbed the keys, took a breath to steady your nerves, and slid into the driver's seat. Tonight, it would be just you, the car, and the open road.

You eased the car through the streets of Brimstone, your hands gripping the wheel, your mind drifting as you weaved through the winding roads. The town looked different at night—darker, quieter, with the occasional flicker of neon signs casting long shadows on the empty streets. You passed by abandoned buildings, alleyways where the stray figures of drug addicts huddled together, their glazed eyes staring into the nothingness that had consumed them. They barely registered your presence, too lost in their own world.

You drove without a clear destination, allowing the car to take you wherever it wanted to go. The sound of tires on asphalt was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. The rush of the road beneath you, the flicker of streetlights, the occasional blur of other cars passing by—it was all you needed. Just you and the road.

And then your mind went to her. Of course it did. How could it not when you were sitting in this car. You were fooling yourself by thinking a single car wrap can get the job done.

You remembered the day you took this car, how you spilled your guts to her in the midst of your chaos. The way she'd listened—really listened—and kissed your cheek when you dropped her off. The memory was so vivid, you could almost feel her lips on your skin again.

She should be heading to the meeting now. The one you weren't going to attend. The one she was walking into, blind. No idea what it was really about, no clue what she was getting herself into. Alone.

For all you knew, she thought Ghost Smoke was some sort of cereal. But no. You knew better than that. She wasn't stupid. She was smart, and she could handle herself. You tried to tell yourself that, tried to calm your racing thoughts. She could handle herself. She would be fine. Nothing bad would happen.

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the doubt crept back in. The image of her walking into that meeting—unprepared, vulnerable—made your stomach churn. You couldn't help but picture the worst. What if they used her? What if she got caught up in something deeper than either of you realized?

But then, as you took a sharp turn, you found yourself on the road you hadn't meant to be on. The track.

The place where it all went down.

You didn't intend to end up here. Not tonight. But there it was, the race track standing still under the muted glow of the moon, the outline of the old fence barely visible against the darkness. The stories rushed back like a wave—your father, Anton's dad, both gone in an instant after the crash that took their lives. The race had been their last, the night that changed everything.

You slowed as you approached the entrance, the cars long gone. There was no movement, no sign of life, just the emptiness that had followed the tragedy. The track had been abandoned ever since. The Sinners stopped racing there out of respect, unwilling to return to the place that had claimed so much.

You parked the car on the side of the road. For a long moment, you just sat there, the hum of the engine ticking down as the silence of the night pressed in. The weight of the past, of your father's legacy, of everything you thought you knew about this town and the racing world, settled on your shoulders.

You couldn't help but feel the ghosts of the past watching, waiting, taunting you—what are you going to do Y/n?

You shifted the car into drive, the road ahead a blur.

————

"Can you not be mad at me anymore please?"

Jenna rolls her eyes, frustration evident in her posture. "I told you not to come. I seriously can't believe you followed me here."

Aliyah huffs, crossing her arms. "You're in this mess because of me, and god forbid I want to help! It's not like your girlfriend was dying to come with you, so you should at least be grateful I'm here."

Jenna's stomach clenches at the mention of girlfriend, but she holds her tongue. She's too tired for this. She could've corrected Aliyah for the thousandth time, but it wasn't worth the fight now. Better to focus on getting this over with. At least until this little mission was done, she needed to push all thoughts of you to the back of her mind.

You're not here anyway. You're not helping her anymore.

Aliyah continues, clearly trying to lighten the tension, but there's a note of sarcasm in her voice. "Seriously, there's no way you're not happy I'm here. Look at this place!" She gestures toward the imposing, dark warehouse ahead, a shudder running through her as she takes it in. "It's straight out of a horror movie."

Jenna doesn't disagree. The place does feel like something out of a nightmare. She can feel the resentment bubbling inside her, a sharp, unwanted feeling that she tries to push away but can't. How dare you ghost her, leave her to face this alone? If you were here, Aliyah wouldn't be, and maybe she wouldn't feel so exposed, so vulnerable. But you aren't, and her little sister is. The sting of abandonment hangs in the air, heavier than the looming shadow of the warehouse ahead.

Jenna sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing in from all sides. With one final glance at the door to the meeting place, her shoulders slumped in resignation. "Fine," she muttered, voice tinged with exhaustion. "But stay close, stay quiet. Don't do anything stupid."

Aliyah gave a small, relieved nod. "You've got my word."

Jenna leads the way into the dark warehouse, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cold, concrete floor. The place is completely abandoned, with broken windows casting faint, eerie light into the room. There's nothing in sight but dust and the lingering smell of stale air.

Aliyah looks around nervously, her eyes darting from corner to corner, but all she can see are the dim shadows creeping along the walls. The place feels like a ghost town, unsettlingly empty.

"Is this really the right place?" Aliyah's voice is low, the uncertainty clear in her tone.

Jenna pauses, squinting into the darkness, trying to make sense of the scene. She's not sure why the meeting is set up like this, or why it feels like they're walking into the unknown, but she can't let herself doubt now. "Yeah," she answers, her voice steady but with a hint of something unspoken. "This is it."

They keep walking, the air growing colder as they venture deeper into the warehouse. Aliyah keeps glancing at her sister, confusion written across her face. "What exactly is this meeting about?" she asks, her voice tinged with concern. "I mean, what's going on here? Is this about the club or—?"

Jenna cuts her off, shaking her head slightly, her gaze focused ahead. "Don't worry about it," she says, her tone sharp and final. "Just stay close."

And then, they saw him.

He was standing in the far corner of the warehouse, facing away from them, his silhouette sharp against the dim light filtering in through the broken windows. Dressed all in black, his figure was imposing in a way that sent a chill down Jenna's spine. He hadn't noticed them yet.

Instinctively, both sisters ducked behind a stack of old, dusty boxes, their breath held as they exchanged a look. The quiet tension between them thickened, and in that moment, everything felt so much more real—so much more dangerous.

On the phone, the man spoke with a low, almost mechanical tone. "Yes, boss. I'm the first one here, waiting on the other two."

Jenna made a mental note on the words. So this was a meeting between three people. Percy would be one of them.

Aliyah's voice was barely a whisper. "Do you know who that is?"

Jenna didn't answer at first. Her eyes stayed fixed on the man, analyzing his every movement, trying to make sense of the situation. Finally, she shook her head. No, she didn't know him. But something about this felt wrong—like they were in deeper than they had anticipated.

She reached out, squeezing Aliyah's hand tightly to calm her nerves. "Stay quiet," she murmured. There was no turning back now.

Jenna's heart skipped a beat when the door creaked open, and two figures stepped into the dim light. Percy walked in first, his usual calm confidence unmistakable, but it was the figure beside him that made Jenna's breath catch in her throat.

She remembered seeing him at the Raven race. The night you were racing. What the hell was he doing here? Her mind raced, the weight of the situation crashing down harder than before. Why was he with Percy?  Was he the club leader? This meeting was about something far worse than she could have imagined.

Aliyah's grip on her hand tightened, her eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. But Jenna couldn't look away. She barely registered the tension in her sister's hand, too focused on the strange alliance before her.

Without a word, Percy and the Raven exchanged brief glances before walking further into the warehouse with the mysterious person in all black. The air around them seemed to thicken, the sound of their voices indistinguishable.

Jenna's pulse quickened as her instincts screamed that she needed to get closer, to hear more.

She crouched low, glancing over at Aliyah with an intense, silent plea. "Stay here," she whispered sharply, her voice low but firm, knowing the weight of the situation.

Aliyah nodded, her face pale with fear.

Jenna barely gave her sister another glance before she began moving, silent as a shadow, staying low to the ground as she crept closer to the three men. 

But the floor of the warehouse wasn't as kind as she hoped. Her foot caught on a jagged edge, and in an instant, her body lurched forward, her heart skipping a beat.

Time slowed, the rush of panic surged through her, and in that split second, her heart seized with terror. She was going to fall—she was going to make a noise and blow their cover. Aliyah was going to be in danger.

She braced for the inevitable crash, for the sound of her body hitting the ground and the betrayal of her hiding place.

But just as the world tilted beneath her, strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back from the brink. Her heart raced, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked, disoriented, but when she looked up, her world seemed to freeze.

There you were, standing in front of her, holding her steady. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. You were here. You had come for her.

In the six days you had ghosted her, Jenna had planned what she was going to do if she ever saw you again. First was a slap, possibly the silent treatment—a taste of your own medicine. She even toyed with the idea of keying one of your cars. But falling into your embrace, wrapping her arms around your neck and letting out a sigh of relief was certainly not part of the plan.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You could feel her breath against your chest, soft and steady, and despite everything, her warmth was exactly what you needed.

Jenna pulled back slightly, her hands lingering on your arms as she looked up at you, her eyes searching for something—answers, maybe, or just reassurance. She was still upset with your disappearing act. "You really are something," she muttered, her voice softer than usual, almost vulnerable.

You couldn't find the right words, not when your heart was racing from the sudden rush of emotions. Instead, you simply nodded, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a quiet acknowledgment of everything unspoken between you. "We'll talk afterwards," you whispered.

She nodded, knowing you both have a bigger issue to deal with at the present moment.  You notice Jenna worriedly glance behind you and you follow her gaze to see another girl you've never seen before.

Jenna noticed the fear that was once on her sister's face melted into a mischievous grin as she looked at her, raising an eyebrow and pointing a finger at you while mouthing, Greaser?

You'll have to figure out who that is later, but for now you take your attention away from the girl who is very close to you, and look up at the scene in front of you. Pissy, the Raven crew leader, and an unfamiliar man.

“Who thought holding the meeting here was a good idea?” Percy muttered, annoyance dripping from his tone as he glanced at the dust clinging to his shoes.

“We can’t afford any slip-ups,” the unknown man replied curtly. “Let’s keep this brief.”

The Raven crew leader smirked, eyes glinting in the dim warehouse light. “We’ve already pushed about fifty keys of Ghost Smoke into Brimstone over the past two weeks,” he said, voice smooth but full of intent. “No hiccups, no heat—just a steady stream. And trust me, the streets are starting to bite. By the time the next batch hits, they’ll be begging for more.”

"Okay, and you Percy? How's the Vipers' distribution going?"

You clenched your jaw as the conversation confirmed your worst suspicions. These guys were flooding Brimstone with product, exploiting the town's vulnerable, turning the Brimstoners into their playthings. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Jenna stealthily recording the exchange between the three men, every tense word.

Percy shifted uneasily, a flash of frustration in his eyes. "We've moved about eight keys so far," he said tightly, the disappointment in his voice evident. The number wasn't enough compared to the Raven's progress. "It’s not easy for a Viper to operate on Sinner territory without drawing attention."

"Maybe if you'd stop cozying up to your girl at races and focus on your job, things would be different," the unknown man snapped, his tone biting.

His girl?

"Relax," Percy retorted, his voice strained but defiant. "No one wants Brimstone to become a zombieland more than I do. Some of those Sinners have been getting way too fucking cocky."

Jacob, the Raven leader, let out a low chuckle and placed a hand on Percy's shoulder. "Easy there," he said, smirking at the unknown man. "I can’t blame the guy. It’s hard to stay focused when your girl’s a knockout like that." He finishes with a whistle.

A whispered "ew" sounded behind you, and you felt Jenna tense, a silent fury radiating from her. Anger roared in your chest. Not only were these men scheming to drown Brimstone in Ghost Smoke, but now they were talking about Jenna like she was just another trophy. The rage that simmered inside you sharpened into a razor's edge.

But now was not the time to get angry. You had to remain calm, get all the info you can and get the fuck out of there.

Jacob, the Raven leader, crossed his arms, his gaze sharp as he looked between Percy and the unknown man. “And what if this operation doesn’t go as planned? What happens if someone decides to interfere? I know you tried this once and failed.”

The tension in the room crackled like static. The unknown man’s expression darkened, a slow, menacing smile creeping across his face. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, voice low and chilling. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of Bullet and Apex.”

You freeze.

But before you could fully process the implication, a sudden noise shattered the silence about 15 meters to your left.

“Hey! Who’s there?” one of the men barked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Heart thundering, you whipped your head in the direction of the sound and spotted the familiar mop of curls.

Hunter.

He was crouched low, eyes wide with a reckless determination that sent a jolt of both dread and relief through you. Before you could even react, Jenna’s urgent voice sliced through the fog of panic clouding your mind.

“We have to go,” she hissed, fingers locking around your arm like a lifeline and yanking you into motion. The edge in her voice snapped you back to the present, and your body jolted into action. The girl—clearly someone Jenna trusted—was already sprinting ahead, weaving between crates like shadows. You cast a quick look back, your gaze catching Hunter’s for a split second as he, too, bolted to follow.

This was a fight against time, and survival was the only thing that mattered.

Jenna’s grip on your hand anchored you as you both tore out of the warehouse, feet pounding the ground as adrenaline roared through your veins. The cold air bit at your skin as you charged towards the first car in sight—yours.

“Stop right there!” A shout from behind sent a surge of terror down your spine.

“Hey!” you yelled to the girl ahead. She glanced back, eyes sharp, just in time to catch the keys you tossed her. She was closer to the car, and with no time to spare, she slipped into the driver’s seat.

The three of you scrambled in—a blur of limbs and frenzied breaths. Jenna flung herself into the passenger seat, while you and Hunter dove into the back, your heart hammering in your chest like it might explode.

“Go, go, go! Step on it, Aliyah,” Jenna commanded.

Aliyah didn’t hesitate. The engine roared to life, and the Aston Martin peeled away from the warehouse, tires screeching against the asphalt. The last thing you saw in the rearview was the shadowy figure of the man pursuing you, growing smaller as you sped into the dark night, leaving danger and revelations in your wake.

No one dared to speak. The air in the car was thick with tension, the adrenaline still simmering just beneath the surface. Once Aliyah had put enough distance between them and the warehouse, she eased off the gas, slowing to a steady, legal pace. They were in Summer Valley now, the bright lights of the town casting fleeting shadows across their faces.

Ten minutes ticked by in silence before the red glow of a traffic light gave them a momentary pause. It was then that everything unraveled at once.

“Hunter, what the hell are you doing here?” you demanded, voice tight.

“How the fuck did you go from boosting cars to this?” Hunter fired back, eyes wide with disbelief.

Aliyah leaned back, throwing a teasing look Jenna’s way. “You didn’t tell me Greaser was cute!”

"Since when did you know how to drive?” Jenna shot back at Aliyah.

The car was filled with a low hum of murmured conversations, each person settling into their own thoughts as the road stretched on.

“Did you follow me here?” you asked Hunter, still in disbelief.

“Yeah, I did. And I’m glad I did.” His voice was filled with concern. “What the hell are you mixed up in, Y/n?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m just finding out about all this today, too.”

Hunter let out a frustrated sigh. “We need to tell Anton. They’re trying to destroy Brimstone.”

You exhaled, mirroring his sigh. “Yeah, this is bad. Real bad.”

As soon as Anton’s name left his lips, your mind raced back to the meeting. What the men had said.

Hunter could see it in your eyes—he knew exactly what you were thinking, and the tension in the air between you both grew thicker.

Up front, Jenna’s voice broke the silence. “Okay, yes, I get it! She’s cute. Can you just… shush? She’s right there,” she muttered in exasperation, turning back to her sister, who was practically grinning.

Jenna slouched back in her seat, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. This was not what she expected when she set out to gather dirt on Percy. She couldn’t wrap her head around it—Percy, the same person she thought she knew, was tangled up in a plot to destroy Brimstone. Yeah, he was a jerk, but this... this was murder, drawn out and deliberate.

The crew she had once considered family was directly linked to the distribution of Ghost Smoke, targeting people from the town over.  She knew there was always a rivalry between Brimstone and Summer Valley, but she didn't think it would resort to elimination techniques. The shock of it all left her breathless, the pieces clicking together with an unsettling finality. 

She got her dirt. But this feels far from over.

Despite everything, Jenna couldn’t ignore the pull to check on you. She knew you had to be feeling the weight of it all—learning that your town was the target of such destruction. But there was also the anger. The unresolved frustration from you walking away earlier. She couldn’t just let you back in without confronting it, could she?

But as the drive wore on, the pull to turn back softened, and she glanced at you instead. You were lost in your own world, staring out the window, looking like you’d retreated into yourself. Nothing could touch you right now. And she didn’t blame you. Tonight had been a mess.

She turned her gaze to Hunter, raising an eyebrow, silently asking if he knew how to handle this. He met her eyes, shaking his head in that subtle way that said, Not tonight.

Jenna nodded in acknowledgment, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. She gave a quiet command to Aliyah, who turned the car toward their place. The drive was silent, the weight of everything hanging thick in the air. When the car finally stopped, both girls exited, but Jenna couldn’t help but glance back at you one last time. Her gaze softened, seeing how much this was affecting you. You didn’t look at her once as you stayed seated in the back, your face unreadable.

Somehow, without even realizing it, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Hunter’s car. The shift had happened so subtly that you hadn’t even registered the transition. You assumed once the girls had left, Hunter must've taken over the drive. But the ride felt endless, every minute dragging in uncomfortable silence, like you were trying to outrun the truth without really knowing how.

When Hunter finally pulled into his driveway, the car came to a stop, and the air between you two felt suffocating. No words were spoken for a long moment.

Finally, Hunter broke the stillness. His voice was low, sincere, and filled with an understanding that made your stomach churn. “I’m sorry, Y/n,” he said, his tone full of empathy. “That must’ve been a hell of a lot to take in.”

It wasn’t easy, not by a long shot. You could feel the weight of the words pressing down on you like a heavy stone.

Bullet and Apex. Your dad and Anton’s dad, their racing names. You had tried to convince yourself that you had misheard at the meeting, that it was some twisted misunderstanding. But as you turned to look at Hunter, his pitiful eyes told you everything you needed to know. You weren’t wrong.

Your father and uncle’s deaths wasn't an accident. They’d been taken from you on purpose. And now, the truth of that hit you harder than anything else.

next chapter

[planetesastraea]

I'm absolutely baffled by the reception my silly lil "Abby & Tommy as friendly exes" fic got over on AO3 so here it is! BuckTommy shipper's are adorable, thank you for the warm welcome 🥰

Tommy has been lucky enough not to end up in the hospital for more than a scratch in something like ten years so really, it's not his fault that updating his emergency contact slipped his mind.

Or: Tommy is an idiot and Abby has fun verbally tormenting him.

Read on AO3 or

Tommy blinks his eyes open, not for the first time–but this time at least, he feels like he's actually awake and not drowning under a cocktail of pain meds. He takes a breath of overly sanitised hospital air and looks around slowly, well aware that every single alarm in his body is warning him to stay put.

"Hey," a female voice says and he blinks a few times before she appears in his line of sight.

"H-hey," he says to Abby.

To Abby?!

"Wait," he frowns, and it hurts. "What year is this?"

She laughs and the crystal clear sound echoes in the hospital room.

"I think it's the year you update your emergency contact."

He groans and every vibration that goes through his skull makes him regret the decision.

"What happened?"

"You crashed your car."

He pauses as his heart jumps into his throat.

“I what?”

“Well, a delivery truck crashed into you, more precisely. The driver had a heart attack.”

He vaguely remembers driving home from Harbor, a green light, an intersection, and then-

"Casualties?" he asks, and Abby answers quickly.

"No," she says kindly, and Tommy allows himself to briefly close his eyes in relief. "EMS were on scene fast enough to revive the driver. From what I’ve heard he earned himself a lifetime prescription for beta-blockes.”

“Okay,” he whispers, still wrapping his head (and his headache) around the whole idea.

“I mean, really, the only casualty is the night of sleep that never was while I spent 8 hours driving from Napa,” Abby said teasingly, bringing him back to Earth. “That was right after telling my husband that movie night was cancelled since my ex fiancé might be dying."

"Uh,” he nods carefully. “Sorry about that."

"He's very understanding.”

"Well," he starts, voice filled with fake confidence and a whole lot of painkillers. "Thanks for stopping by, Abby-"

"You really think I'm going to let you off this easy?" She raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, I can try-"

"It's been nine years, Tommy."

"It slipped my mind-" he says, but she talks over him.

"--And I have it on pretty good authority that someone else deserved that call–I mean if he hadn't cut you out of that damn car himself, who knows when he would have heard about this–"

Tommy breathes in. The world stops.

"Oh, god-"

"God hasn't been worried sick about you for the last 16 hours, Tommy. Evan Buckley has."

He sees it, in his mind's eye, Abby and Evan sitting next to each other in an emergency waiting room, truly wishing for his survival only in hopes of tearing him a new one.

"Wha- what did you t- what did he tell you?"

"That I'm not the only one into himbos, for starters," she quips.

"God," he mumbles, his hand reaching up, IV and all, in an attempt to massage his eyelids. He stops just short of rubbing his swollen excuse for a face as he realises that’s probably the worst idea. "I can't believe he told you that."

"It's Buck. Of course he told me that. He also told me about every single detail of the things I've missed in the last five years since we've talked."

"Of course he did."

"The dead brother was a surprise."

"Wasn't it for everyone?" he asks, finally making eye contact.

"And you thought your family was weird."

"Gosh, you said it."

She smiles at him and he wonders if maybe she missed this a little. The banter. The friendship. The everything he'd ruined.

"So, what happened?" she finally asks, the kindness in her voice back again. As if Tommy deserved any of it.

"I don't know," he mumbles, and instantly knows it's the wrong answer.

"Well, I mean, I get it. He's sweet, he's kind, he’s-he’s gotten so bulked up and well, we both know he’s pretty good at what he does-"

"Please, don't-"

"Well don't sleep with my ex and break his heart, Tommy."

"You broke it first-"

"My mother passed."

"I'm-" Fuck. His train of thought crashes entirely. "I'm sorry. That I wasn't–I should have been there for you." The apology is way past due.

"It's fine,” she says, without spite. “Buck was."

It's not a barb, just a fact. He doesn't look away.

"It's fine," she says again. "She loved you and most of the time she forgot you'd left. You're forgiven."

"Alright," he says, doubtfully.

"So," she starts again, raising his eyebrows at him. "Buck."

He sighs. There's no way out of this and he knows it. He's tied up to too many machines to make a run for it and he’s fairly sure he’s at least busted a knee.

"He asked me to move in with him."

"I see. So it didn't even take a wedding for you to walk out on this one?" she smirks and he accepts his penance.

"Have you always been this mean?"

"Always, when I'm sleep deprived."

He laughs. His ribs hurt. He takes it. He eyes the wedding ring on her finger and thinks about all that could have been.

"I freaked out," he says, in a breath.

She sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for his hand.

"Okay."

Christ, it's even worse when she's kind to him.

"I said shitty things."

She hums. "And so did he, right?"

His eyes meet hers. "He really has told you everything, hasn’t he?"

"We don't have many secrets left from each other, Buck and I."

He makes a face. "I'd like to delete that from my memory, please.”

She laughs. "So. Question is, are you in love with him?"

He sighs again and tries to shrug but has to fight the bruised feeling of his everything.

"What do you think?" he asks painfully.

She smiles.

“I think you never committed domestic terrorism for me-”

“God, just unplug me now, Abby, it’s my time to go-”

Abby laughs again.

“Nice try. As if I’d let you break our engagement and then still let you end up miserable.”

“You’re like the hospital ghost of Christmas past-”

“It’s June, how concussed are you?”

“My head hurts, Abby.”

“Worse than the total agony of being in love?”

There’s a beat and he squints because he just can’t believe she just quoted his favourite movie at him.

“You’re the worst.”

“Update your emergency contact, Kinard,” she says as she squeezes his hand, stands and walks out of the room, a satisfied smile on her lips.

Tommy blinks, and when he opens his eyes again, Evan’s right there, watching him, his fingers threaded through Tommy’s--but only the tips. As if Evan had been scared it was asking for too much.

Tommy realizes right then that he never wants Evan to think he’s too much ever again.

“Hey,” he whispers, mostly because his throat is parched.

Evan startles and looks at him eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights–probably like Tommy in that truck’s headlights–before Evan reaches out for a glass of water and offers Tommy the straw. Tommy tries to convey his appreciation in a blink as he slowly drinks.

When Evan has carefully set the glass down again, Tommy opens his mouth before he has the chance to chicken out.

“So, how’d you like to be my emergency contact?”