#I felt like writing something that’s been itching my brain

[itscodpliated]

"Career changing"

Call me B | Part 3 of ??

Part 1 here | Series masterlist

Summary: It should have been simple; bring the omega to her new pack, fill out your mission report and get back on your merry way. But now you’re a member of the 141, have a few hard pills to swallow, a bunch of explaining to do and a lot more to care about…

Warning: None

Note: English is not my first language and I’m writing this in-between taking care of a young child, so I’m sorry if there is mistakes or it isn’t that good.

You're first morning as a member of the 141, and you just had to wake up at the crack ass of dawn... Not because that's what they expected it of you or because Price had some special training planned, it was just because you are used to it. Your ex CO hadn't been a demanding man per say, but he had had his quirks. And after a couple of years of waking up this early with your old team, it's not like you would suddenly stop waking up this early all on your own. Old habit die hard, and all that jazz.

What you hadn't expected was to hear your name being called while bringing your way outside to go for your morning run. Not your rank, not your callsign, but your actual name. You couldn't remember the last time someone called by it. You still hadn't fully woken up and hadn't fully register what was going on when you spoke next.

"Call me B."

"B?"

"B negative, my callsign." You mumble tiredly.

You tried turning around to look at however was talking to you, but a large hand was placed on your head before you could fully. You only caught a glimpse of dusty blonde hair and a strong, scared profile before the hand gently guided your head forward again. That when your tired brain finally caught on the fact that it was Ghost that had called for you.

"What are you doing out?" He asked, is voice much more soft then you had anticipated.

"Daily training."

"At four in the morning?"

"Yeah?"

"Go back to bed, B."

"But-"

"Not buts. This is an order, Sergeant. Go back to bed, or I'll tell the Captain." He said in a stern but still soft voice. A notice shiver ran through you, the low velvet of the Alpha's voice doing something to your instincts, earning yourself a soft chuckle from him.

You both knew he theoretically didn't currently have the authority to force you back to bed since you were still on your own time, your day having not started yet. Even if you knew you didn't actually have to listen to your Lieutenant right now, something in you still didn't want to ignore the Alpha's demand.

"Al-Alright..." you mumbled out.

"Good Beta." For all your judgment of Ophelia for having referred to Price as "Alpha", you currently couldn't stop the heat from rising to your cheeks at Ghost words. He gently released your head as you shuffled your way back to your barrack.

You never found sleep again that night, not with the strange intensity at which you beta was buzzing with excitement.

"B negative? What kind of callsign is that?"

"It's too long to be a good callsign."

"It's B. Just B. The only time anyone ever used the 'negative' part was while writing reports."

"Is it like the blood type or a bad joke about you being a beta?"

"Seriously, what ye did to get that callsign?"

You knew they were just being curious, trying to get to know you, but you really didn't feel like having to explain that one. "It's a long story..."

"I want to hear it."

"I'm sure B will tell you once she'll feel ready to." Ophelia's syrupy sweet voice cut through the discussion from where she was sitting beside you. You could almost ear the 'itch' you knew she had so clearly wanted to had after the B.

You had been quietly co-existing all morning until the boys had showed up so you could all walk to the mess hall together. She had constantly been weaving around you since the three of them had come to fetch you both, keeping herself between you and them while claiming she felt safer close to you.. Soap had commented that it was "quite adorable" to see she was sticking to you for protection, his voice playful, but there had been an edge of sourness tinting is scent that you hadn't missed. Even now, she had managed to push you at the edge of the table, sitting herself in the only spot next to you.

At least your first night with her in your shared barrack hadn't been anywhere near as eventful as she had made the last two weeks be. A small mercy, but you suspect it might not last.

"I'm sad, I was hoping Alpha Price would be here this morning." Here she went again with the seemingly genuine use of designation. You really hoped the second-hand embarrassment wasn't leaking into your scent as much as you thought it was, and you really had to try to convince yourself that this was different to what had happened with Ghost earlier than morning...

"The Captain was occupied."

"With something so important that he couldn't eat breakfast with us?" She asked, her smile suddenly looking much more strained.

"It happens sometimes. Military and all."

"It's just that it's already been two days, and we have yet to share a meal as a pa-"

"You're not pack." Ghost interrupted sternly before getting elbowed by Gaz.

"What the Lieutenant means is that we are happy to have you here, but, you know, we still have to make sure this is a good fit for everyone. Wouldn't want someone getting stuck in anything they didn't want." Gaz said, giving Ophelia a rather placating smile.

"You don't have worry, I'm more than happy to be with this pack."

"We know, we know. We just need to make sure it's a good fit for everyone."

The tension that followed the growing silence was undeniable. You couldn't help but feel you were being witness to a discussion you should have had nothing to do with, squad member or not. Your head had started to spin with how charged the air was getting, a mixture of sourness and a hint of shar coloring the scents around you.

"Anyway..." You started softly, testing the water.

"Are they doing artillery practice today?" You asked, trying to change the subject and ease the tension. You were meat with four pairs of eyes slowly snapping towards you, three clearly confused and on rather annoyed.

"How do ye know that? They haven't even started yet."

"By smell?..." You said hesitantly.

"By smell?"

"You know... Artillery shells have a specific scent..."

"Wait. Is that the weird scent that's been sticking at the back of my throat all morning??"

"Probably." You chuckle out watching Ophelia's confused face. That was probably the most genuine reaction you had seen from her since you meat her.

"You can smell the shells they took out of the armory from here?"

"Not from here. But, you know, I caught the scent while we were making our way to the mess."

"Ophelia, I could understand since she's an Omega, but you must have the best nose we've ever seen on a Beta if you can actually smell that..."

"What next? Ye're going to tell us you can tell C4 from Nitroglycerin by scent?" Soap asked as a joke.

"Well, no, but it's not like I ever took the time to sniff different explosives just to memorize their specific scents..."

You never thought answering Soap's joke genuinely would lead you here; sitting on the floor of their barrack, passing around vials of clear liquid to sniff. As they had said: if you truly had a nose good enough to tell explosives apart by scent, and the only reason you couldn't do it yet was because you had never had a good smell of most of them, they would solve that.

They had managed, you truly didn't know how, to convince one of the K9 handlers to lend them a training quit and were not trying to see if you could consistently identify the scent samples. It had even turn into a little competition. Soap claimed that, as a demolition expert, he would obviously win and Ophelia retorted that neither him or you could beat her obviously superior omega sense of smell. Turned out every samples smelled "vaguely explosive" to Soap and Ophelia, although it was true that her sense of smell was incredible, didn't know enough about explosive to remember all the names correctly. You, for your part, were starting to develop quite the headache, but you couldn't help but find this rater fun. Did you all look like a bunch of idiots? Probably. Put this was helping break that awkward tension you had been feeling and show you the 141 were also human and not just the "mythical" unit everyone had always been talking about.

It was all fun and game, trying to correctly identified the vials Gaz was handing the three of you, Ghost keeping track of everyone's accuracy. That is, until you studently froze, instincts warning of something off.

"Are ye two okay?..."

You had barely any time to look over and see that Ophelia had had the same reaction before it appended.

"When I heard that some moppets were going around bothering other officers and being up to no good, I was truly hoping it wouldn't be my moppets." Price said drily, appearing at the door.

There was a long pose were the three man stared at the Captain before trailing back towards Ophelia and you, eyes full of what you could only describe as wonder, even faced with the annoyed Alpha.

"What are you even doing?"

"Well... we discovered B as a really good sense of smell and we were trying to test it."

"B?"

"B would be referring to me." You say, trying not to laugh at the hole situation and how Soap was still looking at you in pure aw at the fact you had seemingly sense Price approached before any of them did, just like Ophelia.

"Nevermind. You can all explain yourself later, we have an urgent briefing to get to."

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[dick-meister]

One day after too many.

The Soul of the First Man was never supposed to be a fighter or a killer. His purpose in creation was to grow, first plants and animals, then humans. His family.

How far must one fall to reach the lows he has gotten himself into? Exterminations. Slaying Sinners, cleaving heads from shoulders and painting it all as a gift of final rest to those who didn’t deserve peace. The mask he wore would shield him from red blood yet he finds that with each year he could taste more and more of it. Such an iron, such a bitter and hopeless taste that rots his tongue. Maybe that’s why he opted to scream and yell, anything to project his voice, to get that poison out of his maw…

In the end, regardless of how much he participated in the fight, there was at least one thing to look forward to. The day after sporting a rather large party for him and the girls to indulge in. They too were infected with something far greater than judgment to be cast into Hell. A sickness that Heaven refuses to speak upon, such bloodthirsty warriors conditioned to feel nothing but rage as that was the greatest piety they could offer their lord above.

These parties, as hypocritical as they were, began to simmer down year after year. The music began to fade, the drinks piled up untouched and merely forgotten about and the mood for such a celebration dwindled to just embers as opposed to it being such a bright fire.

For the Exorcists, they had no one but themselves. Such radical war machines that prided their service to the Lord above in unconventional ways. However they weren’t immune to the snide eyes and standoffish tones of their peers. Being looked at as abominations created by a failed experiment. They weren’t seen as equals, merely barbarians that had no sense of self, no real moral authority and no place in Heaven.

For The First Man… the days after the exterminations, once the thrill of the highlife had finally began to mean nothing to him, thats when his conscious caught and spoke of reparations and deep wounding cuts.

Adam would always find himself alone those days after now, surrounded by broken furniture, glass and anything he could get his hands on. Of course in Heaven, nothing was truly broken, everything he was dead set on destroying would slowly put itself back together, to which he would break it again and again and again. Spite, anger, jealousy. How can Heaven put back together a simple chair but refuse to fix his own mind?

It was almost like a cruel joke. This place showing him that it can but it won’t.

Adam would repeat this as many times as his hands would allow, screaming, clutching items as hard as he could, throwing an item at the wall and when that neglected to show any signs of damage he would throw himself into it. A wave of fists doing their damndest to break this cage he was in.

Punch

Punch

Punch

Snap-

His chest heaved, slowly up and down, stopping his movements when looking at the minor crack of the wall he got. But that too would soon recover, an upward arch of a crack that seemed to smile at him until it disappeared completely leaving him with golden bloody knuckles that stained his robes.

That too would disappear as he’s seen many times before.

Even the sweat that dripped from his back and cooled his skin when pressed against the wall would eventually disappear and make the fabric perfect once more. Adam finds himself sliding down the wall until he ends up in a sitting position. When looking back to his home, all he saw was everything back to its rightful spot. Repaired, new, untouched.

There wasn’t any use, why even try. It was easier to give up, give in. Slowly his body would slump over, one of his large golden wings flopped loosely over his upper body and stayed there like a blanket.

Tomorrow will be the same day, get up, go to work, be reprimanded by Sera, piss off Lute, look through the files of new Sinners, look at atrocities committed by the very people he started, blame himself, be blamed for it all, be yelled at for killing and he would do it all with a lousy indifference as if nothing could hurt him.

But today, the one day after too many, Adam would let himself grieve. For himself, for his kin and for what could have been.

[lazy-ahh]

IM ALSO IN PHAINON BRAINROT ERA SO IM INFECTING YOU INSTEAD BZZTTT. ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

okay hear me out, reader hand makes phainon matching bracelets for him and them to wear. the bracelet is sun and moon themed with phainon being the sun and reader being the moon.

and phainon is over the moon (aha get it) when you gift it to him. he never takes it off and boasts to it to everyone like, "look at this gorgeous bracelet my (not yet) partner made for me!!"

basically insane mutual pining for both sides >_< 🤍 I LOVE UR WORK SO MUCH AUGHHHH

SUN AND MOON

pairing phainon x gender neutral reader

phainon has always been the sun—bright, untouchable, dazzling everyone in his orbit. but when you gift him a handmade bracelet (a moon to his sun, a silent confession woven in thread), he realizes for the first time what it’s like to burn. (they never teach you how to survive being loved by the moon.)

author's note hahahah thank you so much for requesting this, sugar!! you have no idea how happy it made me—for the past few days, i’ve been absolutely itching to write more for phainon, but you know how it goes. my brain goes flatline with ideas, i start five different drafts, then end up staring at them like "….no. this isn’t it." and boom! into the void they go. (why am i like this??)

but then your request came along, and suddenly, the words just flowed. something about phainon being ridiculously soft over matching bracelets? him showing it off to literally anyone who glances his way? the mutual pining?? ohhh, you get me. this was so fun to write, and i might’ve fallen even harder for him while working on it. (oops.)

seriously, thank you so much for showing love ever since my first phainon one-shot—it means the world to me that you enjoy my silly little words. i hope you enjoy this one-shot! <3

phainon isn’t used to gifts—real ones, the kind that settle heavy in his palms and heavier still in his chest. sure, he’s been given things before: finely crafted trinkets from fellow chrysos heirs (polished to perfection, yet sometimes feeling more like obligation than affection), or tokens from citizens (bright-eyed and hopeful, their admiration sweet but fleeting).

he treasures them all, of course—presses each one carefully into memory with a practiced smile and a graceful bow, makes sure to wear each offering like a badge of honor, even if just for a day. but they’ve never stuck. never settled under his ribs like a second heartbeat.

but this? this is different.

it had been an ordinary day—wake, bathe, dress, endure the endless cycle of duties that came with being a chrysos heir. not that he’d ever complain; he’d carved his purpose into his bones long ago, and no amount of monotony could dull that resolve. but sometimes, the weight of it all made the hours drag like lead.

lately, though, the fatigue had eased. ever since you and your companions fell from the sky (quite literally), amphoreus had felt… lighter. brighter. and you—oh, you were something else entirely. a whirlwind of kindness, slipping into his life like sunlight through cathedral glass.

you helped without being asked, whether it was hauling crates for merchants or standing back-to-back with him in battle, your laughter ringing sharp and bright over the clash of steel.

when the weight of his duty pressed too heavy on his shoulders, you'd bump against him with a grin, tossing out some ridiculous joke about "heirs and graces" or calling him "your deliverance" in that terribly formal voice you only used to mock greedy nobility. it should've been annoying. instead, phainon found himself playing along, flourishing a dramatic bow or clutching his chest like you'd wounded him, just to hear that startled chuckle of yours.

and that was the thing—you matched him. not just in battle (though the way you moved together made his pulse race), but in the quiet moments too. when he'd sigh over paperwork, you'd slide a cup of tea across the table, the exact way he liked it. when he muttered some sarcastic remark under his breath, you'd catch it and volley back something even sharper, your eyes sparkling with mischief. for the first time, phainon didn't have to be the chrysos heir or the flawless deliverer. he could just be... himself.

phainon doesn't know when it happened—doesn't remember the exact moment you slipped past all his carefully maintained boundaries and became as constant as his own heartbeat.

maybe it was when you first fell asleep on his couch, boots still caked with amphoreus dirt and one arm dangling off the edge like a knocked-over puppet, snoring softly with your mouth slightly open. phainon had meant to wake you—really, he had—but the way golden hour light caught in your lashes made something in his ribs squeeze too tight. he'd just... draped a blanket over you instead (and maybe lingered a second too long tucking it around your shoulders).

or maybe it was the notes. those ridiculous little scraps of paper you'd leave everywhere—stuck to his coffee cup with "DRINK ME :D" in your neat handwriting, the smiley face lopsided like it had been drawn in a hurry. phainon would sigh, rolling his eyes with all the theatrical flair of a stage actor, but his fingers would trace the edges of the paper anyway.

he'd keep it stuck to the cup for days, carefully peeling it off before washing and pressing it back on when dry, until the ink blurred from condensation and the corners curled beyond saving. the morning he woke to find it finally disintegrated, he stared at the blank ceramic with a pathetic pout for a full minute before making his coffee, and if it tasted more bitter than usual—well. that was between him and his pathetic heart.

somehow, you'd become part of his daily rhythm—greeting him with sleep-soft smiles in the morning, filling his too-quiet kitchen with off-key humming as you burned your eggs (every. single. time.), draping yourself dramatically across his desk when paperwork piled too high just to make him laugh. he'd hosted other chrysos heirs before, of course, but they never stayed long—too put off by his careless clutter or his habit of singing terrible ballads while bathing.

(aglaea stayed. but phainon will have to think twice before inviting her again. she had accidentally seen the insides of his closet and... phainon shudders when he thought of what happened after that.)

but you? you fit. like sunlight through his stained-glass windows, you colored everything brighter without trying. you didn't just share his space—you made it feel like home for the first time, with your terrible jokes echoing down the halls and your warm hands always finding ways to brush against his, casual as anything. phainon should've been unsettled by how easily you'd carved out a place beside him. instead, he found himself leaning into your gravity, helpless as a moth to flame.

and now here you were, scuffing your boot against the cobblestones, one hand nervously scratching the back of your neck—that telltale habit he’d memorized. your other hand clutched something small, held out like a secret. "i made you something," you murmured, voice feather-soft, as if the words might dissolve if spoken too loud.

his head tilts just a fraction too far to the right, the way it always does when he's trying (and failing) to play casual. "oh?" the word comes out airier than he intended, voice skipping up an octave on that single syllable. "for me?" there's that familiar teasing lilt, but his fingers have started drumming against his thigh—a nervous staccato rhythm that betrays how his chest has gone suspiciously tight.

he slings a hand onto his hip, the picture of effortless grace if you ignore how his other hand keeps flexing like he's physically stopping himself from reaching out. it takes every ounce of self-control not to sink to his knees right there in the dirt, not to cradle whatever you're offering like sacred relics.

when he says "partner, you shouldn't have," it comes out half-breathless, the end curling upward with barely-contained delight despite the way he's mentally kicking himself.

gods, he sounds like some starstruck recruit receiving their first medal, not a seasoned chrysos heir being handed—what, a trinket? a scrap of fabric? it doesn't matter. you touched it. that alone makes it priceless.

you nod, unfolding your palm to reveal two bracelets—one adorned with a golden sun charm, the other with a silver crescent moon. the beads are carefully strung, alternating between warm amber and cool blues, like the sky at dusk. "this one’s yours," you say, lifting the sun bracelet. "and this one’s mine."

phainon’s breath catches.

he’s not sure what to say. for once, the ever-eloquent, ever-charming man is speechless. his fingers tremble slightly as he takes the bracelet from you, turning it over in his hands like it’s something sacred. "you… made this?"

"yeah." your laugh flutters like a moth around candlelight, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. "i thought—well. you’re like the sun, y’know?" the words come out soft, almost apologetic, as you gesture vaguely toward the sky. "all… bright and warm. and i’m…" your thumb brushes the moon charm on your own wrist, a self-deprecating little smile tugging at your lips. "not. so. moon." you shrug, like it’s an afterthought, like you haven’t just pressed the universe—a piece of your heart—into his palms with trembling hands.

phainon’s breath stutters. the bracelet is cool against his skin, but it burns where it touches, branding him with the weight of your quiet confession. his fingers curl around it—around you—and when he looks up, his expression cracks open like dawn over a battlefield: devastating in its naked awe.

he wants to press a thousand promises into your palms in return, wants to carve open his ribs and show you how you’ve taken root between them. but nothing in his vaults could equal this.

nothing exists that could equal this. so he does the only thing he can—he gives you the shattered, gasping thing that used to be his heart, wholly and without condition.

because you’re wrong. so terribly, beautifully wrong. if you’re the moon, then you’re the kind that pulls tides, that guides lost travelers home, that spins the very world on its axis.

and phainon? he’s just a speck of stardust caught in your orbit, content to burn up in your glow if it means he can linger here, just a little longer, in the light of a love he’s done nothing to deserve.

phainon’s throat feels dry.

he doesn't even pretend to hesitate. the bracelet is on his wrist before you can blink, he holds it up to the light with wide, shining eyes, turning his wrist this way and that as if checking how the sun catches on the beads—if he had a tail then it might as well be wagging hard enough to knock over furniture. (it is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. after you, of course.)

"it's perfect," he breathes, voice gone all soft and wonder-filled. then his grin goes lopsided, the kind of giddy that makes his nose scrunch adorably—like he's trying and failing to play it cool. "i'm never taking it off. like, ever-ever. try and stop me."

"wow, never?" you tease, rocking back on your heels, hands flying up in mock surrender. "i don't think i quite believe you—" you reach out like you're going to snatch it back, laughing when he yanks his wrist to his chest with an overdramatic gasp. "what if i made you a better one? with, i don't know... actual craftsmanship next time?"

"nope!" he chirps, cradling the bracelet protectively. "this one's mine now. it's already imprinted on me. like a baby duck. or a uhh... really clingy barnacle." he's beaming so hard it looks like it hurts, all bright eyes and delighted crinkles at their corners.

"okay okay!" you yelp, laughter bubbling up as you shove at his shoulder, face burning. "dramatic much? fine, keep your tacky sun charm." but your eyes keep darting to his wrist, shining with something unbearably fond.

phainon had already made up his mind the moment those beads slid onto his wrist—this bracelet would become part of him, as permanent as his own pulse. but seeing you now, all flustered giggles and sparkling eyes, your fingers nervously brushing against your matching moon charm like you still can't believe he actually wears it? oh. oh no. now it's not just a promise, it's a sacred vow carved into his bones.

(he imagines archaeologists finding his skeleton centuries later, still clutching these sun-faded beads, and thinks: good.)

and he doesn't.

not when training leaves it smudged with dirt. not when bathwater turns the threads dark and heavy. not even when (as predicted) you knock an entire cup of hot chocolate onto it during dinner, your horrified apologies dissolving into laughs as he proudly declares the new stains "part of its charm."

the bracelet stays, as constant as his heartbeat—and just as irreplaceable. even when he's elbow-deep in his duties, the sun charm gleaming amidst all the gold and finery like a little declaration: i'm loved. see? someone chose me.

he catches himself staring at it often, thumb brushing over the sun charm absently, his chest swelling with something unbearably fond.

(and if he sometimes, in his most private moments, presses his nose to the beads just to see if they still smell like you—well. that's between him and the bracelet.)

૮ฅ・ﻌ・აฅ

"i wonder what's got our esteemed deliverer looking like he won the jackpot," dan heng murmurs, watching as phainon practically bounces between unimpressed merchants, shoving his wrist in their faces with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever presenting its favorite stick.

trailblazer leans against a nearby crate, squinting at the scene. "maybe he found a really good product to add to his skincare routine? dude's been glowing brighter than the amphoreus sun lately." they pause, then gasp dramatically. "or! or maybe he did win the lottery—"

"he owns three properties, perhaps even more," dan heng deadpans, not looking up from his scroll. "somehow i doubt earning a ton of money is the cause of... whatever this is." he gestures vaguely at phainon, who's now twirling in place to better showcase his wrist to a very confused fruit vendor.

trailblazer's boots scrape against cobblestones as they spring up with all the subtlety of a fireworks display. "well there's one way to find out!" they announce, already striding forward before dan heng can grab their collar. "hey phainon, what's got you all—mmph!"

an armoured hand clamps over their mouth mid-sentence, yanking them backward so abruptly their feet briefly leave the ground. mydei hauls them behind a market stall with the efficiency of someone used to containing disasters, his composure barely masking the slight panic and irritation in his eyes.

"must you always," he hisses through gritted teeth, "invite chaos directly into our lives? do you seriously want that fool to saunter over here and ramble about some stupid bracelet?"

dan heng materializes beside the struggling trailblazer like a particularly done-with-this-nonsense shadow. "bracelet?" he asks, one eyebrow climbing toward his hairline as his gaze flicks between mydei and the distant, still-gushing phainon.

mydei exhales like a man carrying the weight of the entire holy city, dragging a hand down his face in that particular way someone does when questioning all their life choices. he puts a full two steps between himself and trailblazer before crossing his arms with enough force to make his biceps bulge.

"that absolute fool," he mutters, watching phainon practically glow as he shoves his wrist under some poor spice merchant's nose. the sunlight catches on the beads—a sun charm dangling proudly amidst the threads. "has been showing off that damn bracelet that your companion made for him. even i've had enough of him rambling about it for hours, even during our training."

dan heng's lips quirk up just a fraction. "so that's what's been happening." his mind wandering back to you acting nervous and jittery as you tried to quietly hype yourself up and practicing what to say when you finally handed the gift to phainon. "i wondered why they'd been practicing knotwork at three in the morning last week."

"jealousy doesn't suit you, your highness," trailblazer sing-songs, wisely keeping dan heng between themselves and mydei's wrath. "we could put in a special order for you—maybe a little crown charm? though it might clash with your whole 'disapproving aura' thing you've got going—"

the temperature seems to raise several degrees as mydei's glare could melt steel. "i'd rather wear a live scorpion."

"hmm. as i thought," dan heng murmurs, watching phainon literally skip to the next stall. "though i suppose we should be grateful. this is marginally less disruptive than when he tried to serenade the entire market square last week in an attempt to calm the people protesting."

mydei huffs through his nose, the sound of a man who's given up on dignity entirely. "i suppose it could be worse," he concedes, watching phainon practically dance between market stalls like a puppy who's been given a new toy.

all three of them wear identical expressions—the particular mix of fondness and suffering reserved for people who are practically prone to disasters a little too much.

and oh, what a disaster he is.

"look at this," phainon declares to a very confused flower vendor, shoving his wrist forward with the reverence of someone displaying holy relics.

the sun charm catches the light as it spins, throwing little golden dots across his grinning face. "my partner—well, not yet, but—they made this! see how the beads catch the light just so? and the stitching here—" his finger traces the threads with absurd tenderness, "—they must've redone this part at least three times to get it perfect. for me. can you believe that?"

the word partner sits heavy on his tongue, sweet as stolen honey. it's ridiculous, really—he'd called you that for weeks as a joke, a placeholder, something to tease you with when you got flustered.

now it burns in his chest like a brand, too big and too true. he wants to say it properly, wants to press the word into your palms like an offering: partner not as comrades or companions, but as two celestial bodies caught in each other's orbit, inevitable as dawn.

phainon tucks the moment away like a pressed flower between parchment—precious, fragile, waiting. for now, he'll cradle this gift of yours against his pulse, let it warm him from the inside out. but soon. oh, soon.

he'll learn the exact way you take your coffee (two sugars, stirred clockwise). he'll memorize every nervous habit—how you chew your lip when concentrating, how your fingers flutter when lying.

he'll collect all the quiet, ordinary miracles of you until he can craft something worthy in return. not grand gestures or gold-lined promises, but something true. something that says i see you as clearly as you've always seen him.

one day, he'll work up the courage to slide a matching ring beside that moon bracelet. one day, he'll say "partner" and mean it in every sense that matters. one day, he'll kiss the calluses on your fingers from all that careful knot-tying and whisper "my turn" against your palms.

but for now? for now he lingers by the marble archway, content to watch you tumble through the garden with a pack of overexcited chimeras. your laughter rings clearer than a fountain's chime as a baby chimera pounces on your sleeve, its wings flapping wildly while you pretend to lose balance.

"oh nooo," you drawl, collapsing dramatically into the patch of grass as three more creatures come barreling into the pile, "i've been defeated by the mighty lord fluffkins!"

sunlight filters through the jasmine vines, painting dappled gold across your smile—the same gold that now lives permanently around his wrist. one of the smaller chimeras tries to nibble at your bracelet, and your resulting gasp of betrayal is so theatrical it sends phainon's heart into somersaults.

he leans against the pillar, content to memorize this: how your nose scrunches when a chimera licks your cheek, how your fingers move with such gentle certainty through tangled fur, how effortlessly you love things. the realization settles warm in his chest—he could wait forever if it meant seeing you this happy.

after all, the sun has all the patience in the world when it comes to the moon.

you, meanwhile, wear your bracelet like a secret victory, fingers constantly finding their way to the moon charm—not to hide it anymore, but just to feel the weight of it against your skin.

sure, you still get flustered when phainon catches you admiring it, but now there's a new boldness in how you let it catch the light during conversations, how you "accidentally" brush your wrist against his whenever you walk side by side.

sometimes you catch his gaze lingering on it during strategy sessions, and instead of looking away, you'll flick or turn your wrist just to make the beads shimmer. the way his breath hitches is worth every bit of embarrassment.

other times, when he's busy showing off his to some poor, trapped merchant for the fifteenth time that day, you'll lean against his shoulder and chime in with, "how'd you know it took me three tries to get the knotting right?" just to watch his entire face light up like you've hung the stars yourself.

it's silly, really. just woven thread and cheap metal. but when the sunlight hits them just right, turning both charms into mirror images of each other? well. phainon would battle a thousand enemies before letting anything happen to these silly little bracelets.

what absolutely wrecks phainon—what sends his pulse skittering like a startled rabbit—is catching those quiet moments when you think no one sees. the absentminded way your thumb rubs across the moon charm while you're lost in thought, wearing that soft little smile usually reserved for sunrise viewings and particularly fluffy chimeras. the way your gaze drifts from his face to his wrist during conversations, your lips quirking like you're sharing a secret with yourself.

it drives him insane.

he wants to kiss you. he wants to whisper against your temple all the words that clot in his throat—how you make ordinary moments feel sacred, how he treasures every scar and freckle like constellations only he gets to map.

but for now, he collects these fragments like prayer beads: the way you absentmindedly touch your bracelet when you hear his voice, how you lean into his space when explaining its design to curious townsfolk, your shoulder warm against his arm. how sometimes, when you think he's not looking, you press the moon charm to your lips like it's a secret promise.

for the way the sun and moon orbit each other, always close, never quite touching.

(not yet.)

this was such a joy to write—thank you so much for the lovely request, sugar! there’s something so tender about phainon, this larger-than-life figure, being completely undone by something as simple as a handmade gift. the idea of him treasuring it, showing it off to anyone who’ll listen (and even those who won’t), lives in my mind rent-free. i like to think he’s the type to hold onto little things like this, to press them close to his heart like they’re something sacred. and of course, reader matching his energy—quietly proud, just as smitten, but a little more subtle about it—was the perfect dynamic to play with. i lowkey would've been showing it off too. trailblazer and dan heng would NOT be able to catch a break LOLOL thank you for reading this, and as always, please feel free to reblog and share your thoughts!

[arrenjo]

Part one is here

Summary: Your apartment floods and you do your best to make it on your own, but when Robby finds out he takes matters into his own hands; part two

Back | Next

A/n: the only true part two so far but leaving all the unresolved tension without so much as a kiss seemed kinda rude. I’m an angsty gal at heart so of course it has to be dramatic. Also my first time writing almost-smut, be gentle ;D srry for lack of gif, I know it’s more aesthetically pleasing but I couldn’t find one that scratched the itch, yk?

Content/trigger warning: Panic attack portrayed, plot with a bit of almost-smut sprinkled in. 18+ only, minors DNI!!

The following morning, you woke up with your head on Robby’s chest. Your hair splayed in every direction across the burgundy fabric of his shirt, his chin resting on top of your head. His thumb made small circles on your shoulder blade over the fabric of your oversized t-shirt as he held you. Your legs were entangled with his, your bare legs against his thin sweatpants. You felt safe, secure. You didn’t move for a moment, almost afraid it was a dream. You opted to lie still for a moment to try to assess if he was awake yet.

“Good morning,” He murmured into your hair after a moment, lips brushing the top of your head. Your stomach did a flip as you tried to decide whether to look up at him or not.

“Mm,” You said softly, willing yourself to keep your breathing even, trying not to think about the fact that you were literally in Robby’s bed.

“How long have you been awake?” You asked.

“A while,” He responded simply, still rubbing small circles on top of the fabric of your tshirt. Neither of you felt particularly inclined to move, this was as close as you had ever been to him and it was comforting to know he at least wanted you close like you did him, but his silence unsettled you.

Last night, the silence had been comfortable. There was something different about this morning though, almost as if there was something hanging in the air. Your stomach started to turn at the thought of him regretting letting you be here. You could have easily just fucked up, arguably, the best and most important work relationship you had.

Had he not wanted to sleep in the same bed? Had you asked too much? Did he not feel the same way? The touches and the coffee and him running his fucking thumb over your lips in the supply closet like he was considering fucking you right there sure seemed like there was something between the two of you, but maybe you were wrong.

I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up, your brain said relentlessly on repeat.

Your breathing started to pick up speed and tears welled in your eyes.

I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up,

You were in your own head and you needed to get away. The panic was starting to set in and it was impossible to coordinate your movements, you needed to get away. You started to push him away and he tightened his arm around you.

Away, away, away, your brain said.

Don’t let him see you like this,

You tried to push him away again and choked back a sob.

“Hey, hey,” He said as soon as he realized what was happening. He quickly placed his hands on your waist, under the hem of your shirt and just above the waistband of your shorts, fingers making contact with your bare skin. He lifted you in one smooth motion to partially on top of him and to eye level. You looked away from him, desperately trying to blink the tears back. Your breathing turned ragged, desperate for air. He took your chin in his hand with one hand, the other arm still securely around your waist, and moved your chin so you were looking at him.

“Where is your head at?” He asked, his voice low.

“Michael-“ You choked out with a sob. Robby almost physically winced, hearing you desperately say his name like that was almost too much. Robby moved to completely under you and braced the back of your head with one hand, the other still around your waist tightly. He quickly sat up with you, your legs on either side of his torso. He held you close to him as your body racked with a full-on sob.

“Hey, I’m right here. I’ve got you,” He soothed. The hand attached to the arm around your waist started rubbing circles on the small of your back. He stroked your hair with his other hand and said your name in the same soothing, low tone as you sobbed again.

“I’m sorry,” you tried again, managing to get the words out between sobs.

“No, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. Everything is fine. Everything is perfect,” he soothed you. “I’ve got you, I’m right here.” He repeated. After a moment, he used one hand to gently tilt your chin up to him again, forcing you to make eye contact with him. His brown eyes searched yours for any sign of what might be wrong. He looked at you, pleading, desperate for an explanation.

“I shouldn’t have asked and now you regret it and I’m sorry,” You pushed the words out in one breath before you dropped your head and pressed your palms to your eyes, breath hitching on another sob that you were desperately trying to control. “Fuck, Robby, I’m so sorry,”

It took Robby a solid ten seconds to process what you had said before he reacted. He pulled your hands from your eyes and grabbed your chin again.

“You think I regret this?” He asked in a low, steady voice. “Do you know how long I’ve thought about waking up next to you? Thought about having you in my bed?” You were silent as you took another steadying breath, heat flushing your face and chest. You were suddenly very aware that you were fully in his lap. Your hands found the fabric of his t-shirt on either side of his body and you gripped it tightly.

“Long before Pittfest, long before that first time I acted like a jackass,” He continued.

“That was the best I’ve slept in a long time.” He said, eyes locked on yours. “I think I was still a little disoriented,” He admitted through a half hearted chuckle that vibrated your body. He let his smile fall, “I never want you to think that I regret this, not for even a second,” You nodded, processing what he was saying, breaking eye contact with him for the first time in several minutes.

“Hey,” He said softly after a beat of silence. You looked back at him again and he slowly pressed his forehead to yours, noses touching. You closed your eyes and one hand reached up to stroke his beard. He let out a small ‘hmm’ at the contact.

“I could never regret you,” He whispered. You took in a ragged breath at his words, it was all you could do to maintain what little composure you had regained.

Your mouth was centimeters from his, his breath hot and wet on your lips. His hands moved to under the hem of your shirt, on either side of your hips. He squeezed gently and you moaned softly, feeling his dick almost immediately harden beneath your weight. The sensation sent waves of heat up your neck and down your abdomen, and it lingered between your legs.

You tilted your head up just enough for your lips to ghost over his and that tiny bit of contact seemed to be all the permission he needed, his lips crashed into yours, hot and desperate. One hand found the hair at the base of his neck and you pulled him closer as his lips moved frantically against yours. His tongue darted into your mouth and you moaned against his lips. His hands squeezed your hips again and you shifted your weight into him, creating friction between you and his erection. He let out a low moan against your mouth and started trailing kisses down your jawline and your neck, stopping to lick and suck with each individual kiss.

“Robby,” You moaned, desperate for more. His lips found yours again after a moment and his hands moved upwards under your shirt as he claimed your mouth. Your breathing was ragged and so was his. In one smooth motion, he laid you back and was on top of you, your hands started to glide up his shirt when the shrill alarm on Robby’s phone went off, startling you both.

“Fuuuck,” Robby groaned, dropping his forehead against your collar bone. You both had completely forgotten about work and didn’t have time to finish what you had started. You laughed humorlessly.

“Figures,” You said, stroking his hair.

“We can be late?” He offered with a grin, looking back up at you. The proposition brought a real laugh out of you.

“Uh huh, and we would never ever hear the end of it. Can’t you imagine both of us walking in at the same time, both late? Jack Abbot would be insufferable.”

“It would get the rumor mill started for sure,” He tugged the neckline of your shirt down and pressed a kiss to your collar bone. His beard combined with your heightened senses had you clenching your jaw. You closed your eyes and took a steadying breath.

Maybe being late wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The shrill alarm interrupted your thought process again and you groaned. “No, we have to go,” You said, mostly to yourself. Robby laughed and pressed one more kiss to your lips before getting off of you and walking out of the room. You whined at the sudden loss of contact. You laid there for another minute, trying to compose yourself, when Robby reappeared with a set of folded scrubs in his hand that he offered to you. You immediately sat up, your brow furrowed.

“I did some laundry last night after you went to sleep, thought you might need some clean scrubs.” He explained. It was all you could do to keep your mouth from dropping open.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You started.

“I know, I wanted to.” He said, you took the scrubs out of his hands and smiled up at him.

“Thank you,” You whispered, standing up to press a kiss to his cheek. Robby wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead.

“Come on, let’s go. The more I think about it, the more I realize that you’re right and Jack is about to give us hell.”

[multicohn]

summary: fans don’t like lando’s new girlfriend because how scary and emotionless she looks, but he could care less.

warnings: mention of fans not liking the reader

pairing: fem! reader x lando norris

genre: fluff, short one shot, established relationship

face claim: none

author note: lowkey kinda sucks. i don’t have much motivation to write rn but i wanted to upload something 🥲

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

the couple had only been dating for only eight months before lando decided to reveal his girlfriend to the public. y/n had no problem with keeping it a secret since they were both unsure if their relationship would even work given the busy schedules they had, but through a lot of communication they managed to make it work. however, fans weren’t very happy since y/n always looked emotionless or angry on screen and in photos despite lando having a giant smile on his face that could rival all might’s ( my hero academia reference ) when he’s beside her. his fans were very vocal about how they felt about her, but neither of them cared.

the british grand prix was only a few days away and ever since they started dating, lando had dreamed of having her being by his side. however, y/n ( had exams that weekend / couldn’t get time off work ). he tried not to show that he was upset, brushing it off with a simple; "well, there's always next year", but y/n knew him too well and knew how much this race meant to him. any other race would have been understandable, but this was the british grand prix.

when lando arrived on thursday, he was immediately greeted by cameras, microphones, and merchandise being shoved at him from every direction.

"you look a little down, lando. not a fan of the weather?" it was quite cloudy that day and the rain was starting to pick up, but it was far from the reasoning behind his mood

"just didn't get a good sleep"

"oh?"

y/n had gone to bed much earlier than usual, saying she needed all the energy she possibly could for tomorrow. lando inquired about what was so important, but she refused to tell him. he had stayed up last night and wondered about what was happening; was her exam worth much more than he realised? / did her job have a special work thing going on that he doesn't remember?

lando sighed deeply as he made his way inside the hospitality area. his hand itching to grab his phone and text y/n despite knowing that she would be busy.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

y/n had lied.

she knew how much this race in particular meant to lando and she wasn’t going to miss it, but the thought of surprising him made her lie about school / work.

unfortunately, her plan slightly backfired as she was going to surprise lando when he finished his practice session, but the weather delayed everything.

shrugging it off, y/n entered the garage to find her boyfriend dressed in his race suit with a windbreak over top and looked to be dozing off in a chair.

“lando” y/n tapped his shoulder gently as she sat down beside him

“oh, hey baby” he commented while staring at her sleepily

. . .

he suddenly shot out of his chair making those around them jump in fright at the sudden movement.

“y/n?” lando rubbed his eyes. sure that his brain is still asleep and making him hallucinate

“yeah?”

“am i dreaming?” she rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the tv where they were showing fans who were in colourful ponchos or raincoats

she almost laughed at seeing someone’s poncho decorated with george russell’s face.

however, all emotion left y/n's eyes as her face popped up on the screen before it shifted towards lando who was just dazing at her lovingly.

if they were in a cartoon, his eyes would've been hearts.

she heard some people let out “awes” and they started cooing at the couple making the edges of y/n's lips twitch upwards. she turned to her boyfriend and placed a hand on his cheeks before caressing softly.

once they were no longer on screen, y/n leaned forward and kissed her boyfriend gently.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

[kisses4reid]

open up for once | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

synopsis - reader is used to doing things alone, working hard, never asking for help. the team gets worried when the behavior never changes, and few coincidences sets you off.

genre - angst w/ happy-ish ending, bau!reader x spencer,

warnings - crying, r hides emotions, works to hard, doesn’t ask for help. r has a tough childhood.

w/c - its short dw like barely 1k

a/n - sorry for my absence, graduating at the end of this year. i will write when i can!! thank u ❤️

Your eyes latched onto the man’s hands. Two files in his grip were angled towards Spencer.

“Here’s the basic case file. There’s boxes of evidence in interrogation room three, and more files can be found on our online system.” The man spoke to Spencer confidently and smiled, grabbing your attention. “If you need any help, give me a holler.” The peppered man grinned at Spencer like they had an inside joke, but Spencer didn’t react. He simply nodded, and started walking with you to the evidence filled room. A nerve ran down your spine.

“You okay?” Spencer glanced at you sideways and opened an oak door, revealing a room filled with boxes on boxes of labeled evidence. You shoulders sagged at the sight,

“Yeah, just tired.” You picked up the closest box and took it to the only free space on the table in the middle of the dim room. Spencer watched you from behind, eyes roaming your sage green blouse and the wrinkles that adjusted in your movements. He looked away.

You rolled your shoulders, thumbing through the files until you found one labeled with a victims surname. You leant on the desk and faced Spencer, ready to read out anything that stood out to you. But, something itched your brain.

“Do you want me to look at it?” He asked, moving towards you with one hand outstretched.

You clutched the file, the paper bending under your grasp. Seeing Spencer’s wider eyes, you cleared your throat and smiled, “No, it’s all good.”

You turned slightly, and ran a finger down the words in search for any connections. And for a minute you were focused, until Spencer took a file from the same box as you. You followed his hands with your sharp eyes and nearly rolled your eyes.

This was not like you, you did not roll your eyes. You don’t get angry, you didn’t get annoyed. Especially not at Spencer.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and plastered on a smile, “Sorry, Spencer. I need to go get some air.”

What was it? Was it Hotch sending Spencer to help you? Was it the officer assuming Spencer was in charge? Was it Spencer choosing to help you when there were plenty of other boxes that could be sorted?

You didn’t need help, you never did. All throughout school you hated group projects, you never asked teachers for clarification, never asked your parents for help with homework. Not that they would.

You walked through the halls, the very sound of your heels agitating you even more. You had never felt a wave of rage wash over you like you had then, you thought the saying was a lie.

Spencer watched you from the doorway, getting the hint that you needed space, but he couldn’t stop himself from speculating. The tension, the nerves, the fact that you had been on edge since last week. Well, come to think of it, when have you ever not been on edge? Spencer sighed, ran a hand down his face, and against his better judgement, followed you.

He found you 8 minutes later, slightly impressed by your distance travelled in such a short time, on a balcony looking down on the streets of New York City. Another murderer in the concrete jungle where dreams were made of. ‘Concrete jungle wet dream tomato’, as you liked to insist it was. You had your back to the door, arms wrapped around yourself in the chill, and your ponytail flew in the breeze. You looked ethereal to Spencer, like always. Something about your slightly red nose and the way you glanced back at him made you look even better.

You looked away nearly immediately, shutting your eyes closed and taking a deep breath. You didn’t expect to be out there alone for long, but 8 minutes?

“You okay?” Spencer asked, but you stayed silent. He met you on the edge of the balcony, his hands in his pockets and shoulder so close to yours it felt almost magnetic. You didn’t meet his gaze.

The fact that he had to ask, meant that you weren’t okay. It also meant that you had failed at concealing your emotions. He cleared his throat and followed your gaze down onto the busy streets.

“Did you know that over 800 languages are spoken in New York City? It’s the most linguistically diverse city in the world” He clenched his jaw, not exactly used to talking to someone he’s so used to hearing. You nodded.

He sighs.

And you both stand there for a bit.

Before the sun starts to set, and you finally speak up.

“Do you think I’m bad at my job?”

“What?”

“Do you think that, compared to the others in our team, I’m the least valuable. Or needed?” You finally looked up at him now, trying to read his reaction of you opening up - you barely have any conversations that could gain such a response.

“No not at all.”

“Then why do you, and the team, and everyone else, treat me like I’m less than?”

You faced him fully now, which he returned in extreme confusion. It seemed to come out of nowhere. His mouth was agape, but he had no answer.

“You were partnered with me because Hotch doesn’t trust me, the officer gave you the files because he thinks you’re more inclined to take charge, you started going through files I had already started going through.” Your voice raised slightly, arms flailing at your sides. You were so unfamiliar with this, opening up. So much so, that when you started, you couldn’t stop, “My parents never let me make decisions by myself, I was constantly ridiculed for asking for help, I’m constantly compared to others, and just when I thought I had found people that believed in me, everything switches!”

“I have never asked for help, I have never given the team my work, I’ve stayed behind every day to finish my work and I have never, ever, complained about working. So why?” Your voice started cracking, tears lining your lashes, “Why doesn’t anybody believe in me? Why am I so underestimated? I have proven to everyone, for my entire life, that I am capable. I don’t need help, I don’t need support. I- I- am fine- doing everything, everything!- by myself. So why now, does everyone seem to doubt me? What have I done, Spencer? Why don’t you trust me?” You took a deep breath and widened your eyes when you realise how close you had gotten to Spencer, how loud you had gotten, how many tears had fallen, and how much you had just revealed to a man you wanted to protect from your flaws the most.

Your chest rises and falls at a rapid pace as you take a few steps back, gripping one hand on the concrete railing. “Sorry, I… I haven’t been getting sleep lately. Sorry.”

Spencer’s quiet, lets you breathe, the fact that you haven’t run away is already a good sign. He searches your face for any more reason, and starts.

“We don’t underestimate you, especially not me.”

You raise your head.

“We aren’t… doubting you. Hotch has been worried about you.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “Me?” Spencer’s heart nearly crumbles at your surprise that someone would be thinking about you.

“Yes. Like you said, you leave work late, you never ask for help, you’re the most closed off in the team. At first, we thought you were just nervous about being in a new team but it’s been… nearly two years.” He looks you up and down, “You haven’t opened up one bit. At least not to him… only, me. That’s why he partnered me with you, not because he doubted your intelligence or capabilities. He doubted your stability.”

Spencer watched your hair drag behind you as you avoided his eyes once again, pinning your attention on the street below. Your cheeks shone slightly from the unwiped tears.

“I chose to go through the same box as you because I wanted to stay close to you.” He admitted.

You blink, a wave of sadness, anger, and somewhat relief rolling over you. You took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to… open up. Opening up is weak- was weak. Crying, complaining, asking for help… everything was weak.” You met his eyes again and you swore he sighed from relief, “I’m sorry for crying, and yelling. I’m sorry for wasting your time. But…”

You closed your eyes, fighting your instincts and learnt avoidance.

“I’m not sorry, for telling you. You’re probably the best person this could’ve happened with. Thank you.”

Spencer nodded, and smiled slightly. He reached out, pushed a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

“That’s what I’m here for. Always.”

perm taglist (open!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[hazbinhotei]

sense of style.

warnings: none

word count: 1106

summary: Alastor finally snaps after days of catching you staring at him, convinced you're smitten—only to find out you've just been admiring his sense of style.

alastor x gn!reader — can be read as platonic or romantic! thank you to the anon who requested this story! after writing four fics so far, i've come to the sudden realization at how often i use the same words. time to open a thesaurus i guess.

Of all the things Alastor expected in the wretched Pride Ring of Hell, being stared at so persistently was not one of them.

For days now—days!—you had been watching him. He'd feel it like an itch at the back of his head, a tingle up his spine that made his fur bristle and his grin quiver at the edges. Whenever he turned, there you were, eyes fixed on him, expression unreadable, so intense it made his stomach twist into knots.

At first, he thought—Well! Isn’t this fascinating! Perhaps you had fallen for his undeniable charm! Who wouldn’t after all? Alastor wasn’t foreign to the concept of others falling for his appeal, even if most of his admirers met him when he was more human-like. But Alastor was never one to judge, especially when the good graces favored him.

However, the more your glances continued, the more wrong it felt. You never swooned, never batted your lashes or fumbled over your words. No dreamy sighs, no pink in your cheeks. Just that look; the kind that made him feel exposed. He could never tell what you were thinking, his mind going into overdrive every time he saw your eyes land onto him with that indiscernible expression.

And now—oh, now, he was at his limit!

Bursting through the doors of the hotel lounge with a flair of dramatics, Alastor snapped his staff against the floor, a red flush creeping high on his cheekbones. His grin strained, stretched thin like a radio signal struggling to reach its audience.

“Alright! Spill it. What, pray tell, is so absolutely captivating about yours truly that you feel the need to stare at me like some lovesick fledgling?” His voice, usually laced with mocking amusement, had a sharp edge to it, and his ruby eyes burned as they pinned you in place.

He watched your head turn from your spot on the couch, those damn eyes of yours moving from your smartphone to his with confusion. But instead of looking caught or embarrassed, you just… laughed.

A bright, bubbling laugh that took him entirely off guard. His ears flicked back, his brows twitching as his mind reeled like someone scrambling to understand the punchline of a joke. What was so funny?!

“Oh my God—” you wheezed, trying to collect yourself, but the look on his face only made it worse. You waved a hand in front of your face, gulping down air before managing to explain, “I—I wasn’t staring at you because I like you like that! I was looking at your outfit!”

That seemed to take Alastor completely off guard. He blinked owlishly, his entire form twitching as if you had just rewritten reality. “…My outfit?” he repeated, stunned.

“Mhm. I was just admiring your style,” you hummed with a casual shrug, sitting up. “It’s… well, it’s classic! Old-fashioned, sure, but stylish. I like that you dress more on the modest side, too. Made me wonder where you found such clothes when most boutiques in Hell seem to prefer, uh… less clothing.” You finished with a little laugh, gesturing to his attire.

Alastor felt something short-circuit in his brain, continuing to blink repeatedly at you with wide eyes. He suddenly became hyperaware of himself; his high-collared waistcoat, the neatly buttoned shirt beneath, the long, tailored coat that hung off his shoulders. He had always prided himself on dressing with dignity, despising the scandalous displays so many demons indulged in these days. But the idea that you—a fresh soul, meaning you hailed from the generation he found far too provocative—also preferred a more refined sense of dress?

That, for Alastor, was certainly unexpected. And, dare he say it… utterly delightful!

“Well now,” Alastor’s grin stretched wide again, his previous frustration vanishing like smoke in the wind. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting such an appreciation for good taste! How refreshing.” He tilted his head, his flustered frustration melting into something far more amused. “And here I thought you were simply admiring me!”

You snorted. “I was, just not in the way you thought.”

“Hah! How intriguing,” Alastor leaned forward on his staff, eyes gleaming as he inspected you in a new light. “And what? Are you looking to refine your wardrobe as well? Perhaps replace those ghastly modern rags with something a bit more respectable?”

“That’s actually what I was hoping for,” you admitted, placing your phone down in your lap as you tilted your head at him. “I was gonna ask if you knew any good places to shop in Pentagram City, since you’re the only one I know around here who dresses like this.”

If Alastor could wag his tail, it would be practically wagging out of its socket.

“Do I?! My dear, you are in luck!” He hummed with theatrical flair, the excitement in his voice practically crackling through the air. “There are plenty of hidden gems scattered throughout the city. Places where true craftsmanship is still appreciated, where one doesn’t have to settle for the flimsy, tasteless garments of the masses.”

Your eyes brightened at his boisterous tone. “Oh, that sounds perfect! I’d love some recommendations.”

“Recommendations?” Alastor tapped his fingers against his chin, then snapped them together with a click. “Why settle for mere suggestions when I can show you firsthand!”

You blinked, realizing you had just accidentally signed yourself up for a one-on-one shopping trip with the Radio Demon of all people. “Wait, you mean—?”

“That’s right!” He beamed. “An outing! You and I, gallivanting about the city in search of proper finery. What fun!” He threw an arm around your shoulder as he sat down next to you, his grin positively glowing with excitement as the couch shook from his movement. “We’ll make a day of it. And you, my dear, shall be my most esteemed guest!”

It was hard not to be infected by his enthusiasm, and before you knew it, you were grinning right along with him. There was something surprisingly charming about him when he got like this—when the showmanship melted into genuine excitement, his sharp edges softened by an undercurrent of something almost… tender.

“Alright,” you said, nudging him playfully, ignoring the way the radio static around you buzzed in response to your gesture. “I’m down. But don’t think you can just dress me however you want. I won’t try on anything too ridiculous.”

Alastor’s grin widened, but there was something else in his gaze now—almost like he was starting to see you as more than just a wayward Sinner seeking a half-assed attempt at redemption. He simply shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “We’ll just see about that, cher!”

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Johnny Sneaking You Out For A Night On The Town and Dancing

Johnny Storm X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Suggestive themes, steam, fluff, sneaking around

Word Count: 3.1k

(A/N:) My family and I went to go see The Fantastic Four First Steps movie yesterday and I loved it! Joseph Quinn was born to play Johnny Storm so I just adored him I had to write something! I love leaving a movie and it gives me a writing itch it really gets the creativity flowing! So this is what happens when I go to the movies and it inspires me! I write a 3,000 word fic! XD So enjoy the insanity that happens to me cause I know I enjoyed it! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Johnny seemed antsy more than usual at the dinner table. Fiddling with the silverware had Ben watching him with a raised brow and Sue glaring at him knowing he was acting really suspicious. Johnny just ignored the stares as H.E.R.B.I.E set several dishes on the table. Once H.E.R.B.I.E finished everyone started reaching for the different dishes, except for Johnny. Sitting his silverware back down he scooted back his chair.

"I'm not hungry," he finally said causing everyone to jolt and stare at the jokester of the bunch. The stares they were giving made him even more jittery.

"Since when," Ben asked staring straight through his flame powered friend.

"Since now," Johnny replied backing away from the table.

Reed glanced at Sue who just shook her head. Waving off her brother Johnny quickly escaped before anymore questions could be asked. Rushing back into his room he snatched a handful of snacks out of his stash and launched himself from the balcony into the sky. With buildings passing by in a blur all Johnny could think about was his destination. Though not far from the Fantastic Four tower it felt like forever until he was hovering in front of a window three stories above the ground. With a gentle tap he focused on keeping his flames going on his bottom half and leaving his features normal from his waist up.

You had been waiting for Johnny for about an hour now and when you heard the tap on your glass, your heart couldn't help but leap at the thought of seeing him again. As quietly as you could you raced to the window and raised it, careful not to disturb your parents in the living room. They wouldn't approve of your relationship with Johnny, they thought he was a show boat with no brains but you saw differently. You watched Johnny closely as he moved in closer to your window with an awkward wave.

"Took you long enough," you whispered already sitting in your window.

"You try getting away from my nosey team/family members," he retorted before stroking your cheek. The heat radiating off of him warmed your cheeks as your heart continued to beat. Between the emotions just seeing Johnny Storm and the feeling of sneaking around your parents had your heart thundering. You were positive that your heartbeats were going to get you both caught. Johnny held out his hand, careful to keep his flames at bay so he wouldn't burn you. You took it and slipped further out the window. When he could reach you better he scooped you from your window and off you both flew. The weight of you in his arms and the feeling of your body held firmly against his chest intoxicated the blond haired man. You laughed in glee, skirts whipping in the wind. You always felt free when you flew with Johnny, you knew that millions of jealous girls would give up anything to feel what you felt in these moments with him

"Hungry," Johnny yelled above the wind whipping by as he headed toward a less crowded street.

"Yes! I said I had a stomach ache at dinner so I could eat with you," you answered holding tightly to Johnny's shirt collar.

"Good and I'll have to use that excuse next time," he grinned while he began to lower you both to the ground.

"What did you tell your family?"

Johnny shrugged, "That I wasn't hungry."

"Johnny," you laughed shaking your head.

"What?!"

"You're ALWAYS hungry," you laughed harder still holding onto him tightly despite your feet planted firmly back on the ground. "They definitely didn't believe you."

"I think they did," he shrugged putting his hands in his pockets while he waited for you to adjust your wind blown hair and skirt.

"Handsome and delusional," you cooed tucking the last strand behind your ear. "I think your flames may have fried your brain a little."

"Well since that's how you feel you can buy dinner then," Johnny walked away grinning to himself as you sputtered at his retreating back.

"But Johnny," you whined, " you eat enough for 5 people alone."

"That's the point. You're treating me tonight."

After teasing you relentlessly Johnny lead you to the restaurant that you both had been regulars at ever since you both started dating. The owner always went out of his way to make sure you and Johnny were comfortable and kept you both out of the public eye. He always slipped in an extra treat for you both as well, despite you and Johnny's protests. Johnny ordered his usual before placing your order as well and you slipped in a request for an appetizer since you could hear Johnny's stomach growling when he picked you up. That's one of the things Johnny loved about you most, you always seemed to know what he needed and how he was feeling. He tried to keep his emotions in check and stay the goofy carefree guy he was known as. But now that you had gotten to know him so well you could see right through his armor and you busted through it more times than he could count. He was thankful that he could be himself around you despite what everyone says is his many flaws.

"Still enjoying being Johnny Storm, The Human Torch," you asked fiddling with the straw that floated in your soda.

"It has it's perks," he nodded. "But I don't like that it keeps me from being able to walk freely when I'm with you."

"It's okay," you smiled though you did admit to yourself that it was hard at times. Especially that your parents didn't approve you dating him because of his celebrity hero status. But it wasn't lost on you that before you started dating Johnny, your dating prospects were low to nonexistent. Your parents had chosen a few guys but they didn't make you feel like Johnny does. So if you had any relationship with them it didn't last long. It was rare you went out on second dates.

"I don't think it's okay," Johnny's fist hit the table rattling the cups and making you jump. He quickly apologized for his temper. "I want to be able to show the world and everyone I care about how much you mean to me. This sneaking around I hate it."

"I do too," you agreed. "You mean more to me than anyone I ever met and it's unfair to the both of us."

"Then lets go public," he suggested eyes blazing with excitement.

"I don't know," you balked now playing with your silverware. Johnny could tell how nervous you felt at the suggestion but if there was ever going to be a change you both would have to take this first step. He didn't want to push you, mostly in fear of not wanting to lose you, but he didn't want you to ever feel uncomfortable around him. And if being in the public's eye as the girlfriend of Johnny Storm made you more than a little uncomfortable he wouldn't ask you to give it up your comfort for him.

"It's okay," he nodded. "If you don't want to we won't."

"I don't want you to think I'm ashamed of you."

Your quiet tone stabbed him in the heart, "I wouldn't ever think that."

"I shouldn't have suggested that I'm sorry," you paused to take a deep breath to steady yourself before you said anything else. Just when you were about to speak again food was placed on the table before you and Johnny.

"Enjoy," the waitress said before leaving you both alone. The moment passed and Johnny's stomach rumbled louder breaking the tension. You both laughed and tucked into the food. A comfortable silence passed between you both and not long after the plates were empty and Johnny was polishing off the food you'd given him from your plate. You took one last sip of soda while Johnny placed money on the table for the bill and a little extra for the waitress. He helped you from your chair and walked you out of the building his hand never letting go of yours.

It was getting later so the streets were beginning to quiet down even more but you both weren't ready to call it an evening just yet. It was rare that Johnny got such a quiet night to be with you. Sometimes he had to leave to go take care of Fantastic Four business with his fellow members. So you weren't looking a gift horse in the mouth just yet. Johnny squeezed your hand tighter gaining your attention. You had been too focused on the thoughts whirling around in your head you hadn't heard him speak.

"I'm sorry what was that Johnny," you blushed. Ashamed that you hadn't focused on him and this was supposed to be a night were you both enjoyed the other's company.

"Want to go dancing," he asked again. "Or I could take you home? Are you not feeling well? Did I overwhelm you?"

"No," you waved the thoughts away and his questions. "I don't want to go home and I'm okay. I promise. Of course I want to go dancing with you!"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Johnny nodded leading you to the dance hall. But it was too crowded, he glanced back at you and you seemed nervous. Not wanting to overwhelm you, he picked you up again and flew you both to the top of the building and setting you down on the flat surface of the roof. Once he knew that you were steady on your feet he dove back down, opening a few windows to let the music float out on the night air before making his way back up.

Your skirt fluttered as you tapped your foot to the beat and when Johnny landed right in front of you, you swallowed at the look in his eyes. Holding out his arms you didn't hesitate to accept his embrace. The tone of the song was slow but it was ending quickly and suddenly the music was fast paced causing you to break apart from Johnny. He knew the moves perfectly so you followed his lead and before too long you were laughing and out of breath. Johnny laughed when you tripped and wound up falling into him. He held you as the music continued to flow through the windows. Both of you breathless and laughing.

"That was fun," you panted finally regaining your feet but Johnny still held on tightly.

"I knew that you fell for me but I didn't think it was that literal," he teased earning a laugh and a teasing smack on his arm. You were about to retort back when the music changed again, back to something slow and beautiful. Without another word Johnny held you against him and started moving the both of you slowly to the beat. His hand held your right hand tight and his left snaked around your waist making sure you were close. A paper couldn't slip through where your chests met and you gazed up taking aback by how Johnny stared at you. He hummed along gently as you both moved gracefully before he lifted you both up from the ground. Moving you in a circle in the sky you held on tightly making him chuckle. His finger slipped underneath your chin causing you to glance back up at him. He didn't want you to run from the longing in his eyes or the way he was feeling. His body heated up and it wasn't his powers. Your bright eyes didn't glance away this time. You held his gaze slowly reaching up to touch his cheek because you knew he wouldn't let you fall.

"I love you," he breathed lifting you up closer to his level. You swallowed, tears of emotion pricking at your eyes.

"I love you too Johnny," you replied. "And I'm okay with you announcing our relationship publicly."

"Are you sure," Johnny asked nervously. He felt like his suggestion had pushed you to please him.

"I don't want to hide anymore. I love you too much and it's not fair to you. I'll have to get used to the spotlight but if you'll help me I can deal with it."

"I won't ever leave your side," he promised before he leaned in closer.

He didn't waste anymore time or words as he closed the distance taking your lips. You were warm and soft and perfect. He groaned loudly clinging to you tighter as he immediately deepened the kiss. You whimpered but dug your fingers into his hair. Normally he would complain but you could do whatever you wanted in this moment, even play with his hair. Your hands moved downward until they latched onto his collar trying to tug him closer as your mouth moved with his. Johnny sighed losing control of keeping you both afloat so he slowly set you both down. Your legs couldn't hold you so as soon as your feet felt the touch of the building's roof you sunk down taking Johnny down with you. He went willingly pulling you into his lap so you wouldn't get dirty as he took a seat. You pulled away for just a moment to grab a gasp of air before Johnny tugged you back in holding the back of your head and fingers tangling in your hair to keep you in place. He nipped and tasted not letting a second go to waste between you both. He was a thirsty man and it was never enough until finally he had to let you go. Your chests heaved, trying to pull in enough air but it was never enough. Johnny licked his kiss bruised lips still tasting you lingering there. You smoothed down your hair before doing the same to his. Your attentions had the strands sticking straight up and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Sorry I messed your hair up," you giggled smoothing down the last piece. It wasn't perfect but better than before.

"Kiss me like that again and you can rip my hair out sweetheart," he purred causing you to blush bright red.

"Can we do that again," you leaned in closer to whisper into Johnny's ear.

It only made him lean in and whisper right back, his heated breath brushing against your cheek, "Which one?"

You held onto his shoulders tightly leaning back so you could take in his full face as you grinned slyly. "Both."

Johnny laughed picking you both up and enjoying dancing the night away with you under the stars.

He returned you home hours later, one last kiss placed on his cheek before he flew off back home. The tower was dark and all the lights were off. It seemed like he had gotten away with his little excursion. Opening the glass door to his room from the outside he landed inside pulling his shirt off. He could spy a lipstick stain on the pristine white collar and the whole shirt was a little rumpled but it smelled like you still. He held it up breathing deeply and replayed the night over in his mind when a lamp flipped on suddenly.

"Hey," Sue greeted appearing on Johnny's bed, "how did the date go?"

"Sue," Johnny yelped dropping his shirt on the floor. "You know I hate it when you do that!"

She laughed standing up and walking towards her brother and expectant look that said she wanted him to spill his guts quickly.

"There was no date. I have no idea what you're talking about," he scoffed picking up his discarded shirt and tossing it in the clothes hamper in his room.

"Please Johnny," Sue rolled her eyes. "Not hungry? You? You were a bottomless pit when we were kids. Mom and Dad couldn't get you full and now you're even worse with your powers burning all the energy you get. So is she pretty?"

Johnny sighed, knowing he was defeated, "She's gorgeous. Everything I could ever hope and dream for."

Johnny couldn't help but pace until Sue grabbed onto his arm and lead him towards the chairs in the middle of his room. She forced him to sit where Johnny could only fiddle with his fingers and steal glances at his sister.

"How long have you known," he asked.

"I've had my suspicions for awhile now. But I'm happy for you both," Sue smiled. "Have you thought about going public it would take some of the bachelor pressure off of you from the media?"

"We're going to next week. We talked about it this evening and her parents are going to be furious or honestly I would have asked her sooner."

"Her parents disapprove?" Sue seemed worried for her brother and for good reasons. Johnny just shrugged.

"Yeah. They don't like my attitude I guess."

"They'll get to know you better. You'll grow on them like a benign lump," she teased.

"Ha ha very funny Sue," Johnny glared before sinking down further into the chair. "I'm worried this will run her off."

"If you haven't run her off yet I don't think she's that easy to get rid of," Sue replied getting up from her seat. "Just be good to her Johnny in our line of work it's hard to find a good one."

"You found Reed," Johnny argued also standing up from his chair.

"I found Reed before all this so I was very lucky but I believe in you. I'll always be here for you and her. So go get her and let the world know she's yours."

Johnny scooped his sister into a hug squeezing her tightly before sitting her back down, "Thanks Sue."

"Get some rest Johnny you're going to need it," she patted his back once more before leaving his room.

Johnny waited until he could hear her footsteps leading away before falling back into his bed and looking up at the ceiling. Innumerable possibilities swirled in his brain but you were the only clear answer. He could still feel the tender touch of your lips against his as he brushed a finger across his lips. He grinned remembering the feel of your arms holding onto him tightly as you both danced the stars glittering above your heads and the laugh that had escaped when he'd joked around. He clenched his fist ready to fight for the future he wanted with you. Nothing would stand in his way, he would burn everything that opposed you both to the ground as long as it meant that you got to stand by his side for the rest of your lives. One last glance out the window in the direction to your house he vowed to protect you and make you the happiest woman in the universe no matter what.

[purplecoffee13]

NFWMB - PART FIVE*

Summary: “Y/N hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what happened, but it seems like she is not the only one overthinking this time…”

Tropes: innocent!reader x boxer!harry

Wc: 3k

Warnings: smutty scenes, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, teeny tiny bit of angst ig

A/N: I AM BACK! I finished my exams today and I hurried home to write the rest of this chapter bc I have been itching to do so for the past weeks. I will try not to put as much time in between the next chapters, sorry about that! Love you all and enjoy!!!

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It had been three days. Three entire days since the kissing-in-the-car debacle that Y/N had participated in, and she still wasn't over it. How was she supposed to act normal at their class tomorrow? It had plagued her mind ever since she walked into her apartment that Saturday night.

All weekend, she had been contemplating different things. Saturday and Sunday, she was sure she wanted to never see his face again because she couldn't stand the embarrassment. But when Monday rolled around and re-thought everything after coming back from work, she realized that she should probably be mature and talk to him.

However, that resulted into her pacing around her room like a maniac with the phone in her hand, his number ready to dial. For the past twenty minutes she had been trying to convince herself to just press that call button and get it over with.

"C'mon..." Y/N growled to herself. She stopped in her tracks, took a deep breath, and finally called him. Her hands were sweating as the dial tone sounded over and over again, and the nerves she felt were sure to explode her stomach, but she kept breathing and waited for Harry to pick up.

The distant sound of a phone ringing took Y/N’s attention away from her own attempted call. Her heart began beating even faster as she walked towards her front door, and sure enough, when looking through her peephole, she saw Harry standing in front of her door.

As she took the lock off, Y/N broke up the call and putting her phone in her pocket. Harry's eyes were wide at the door opening all of a sudden, but he still managed to muster an awkward smile amidst his shock before he greeted her.

"Hi." He said quietly.

"Hi." She greeted back, unsure of what to do or say or feel. "uhm, what are you doing here?"

The question came out so soft, as if she was scared to ask it, not ready for the consequences his answer may bear. Maybe it was true; she had always had the feeling that her body was better at communicating her true feelings than her brain was.

"I need to talk to you." Harry said, his tone serious enough for Y/N's chest to start pressing on her, but a soft edge to it nonetheless. "Can I come in?"

She nodded, opening the door wider and letting Harry inside her apartment. He walked in and silently observed the place. Y/N felt oddly tense as she waited for him to take it all in, but he was quite quick to turn around. In the seconds that he stood there, entirely quiet, Y/N deduced the obvious: he was awaiting some instructions from her.

"Go sit on the couch, do you want something to drink?" She asked, already heading for the kitchen. Harry sat down like she told him to, but shook his head.

"No thank you, just wanna talk. Can you... sit down?" His difficulty to meet her eye and the apprehension behind his words had Y/N immediately head for the couch and sit down next to him.

"What did you want to talk about?" She asked innocently, like she wasn’t the reason this awkwardness existed in the first place.

"About last Saturday." He answered. You began to shake your head, cheeks already reddening from the shame that washed over you.

"Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Just— hold on," He interrupted her. "I said something, that night, I can't help but think that you didn't take it how I meant it. And it has been eating at me all weekend because I'd hate to be the fool who accidentally rejected you."

Harry's eyes bored into Y/N's until she couldn't take the intensity of it anymore and looked down. He leaned forward, putting his hand on her leg. She studied his fingers as they slowly caressed her skin.

"Harry, it's okay. I misinterpreted it, you don't have to make excuses to make me feel better." She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to prematurely dodge any bullets that might have ended up with her crying otherwise.

"I'm not!" He protested. "I— Y/N, look at me."

When she didn't instantly comply, Harry's fingers traced up to her chin and redirected her face towards him, forcing her to meet his gaze. His thumb slowly stroked her chin as he took in every inch of her face.

"I wanted it." He said slowly, making sure she heard every word he says. Slowly leaning in, he added: "Really bad."

His lips hovered near hers, so close it was nearly sending her into a frenzy, but far away enough for him to assess her reaction on his movements. But Y/N was an open book, a reactive person when it came to these desires. She couldn't feign disinterest as she had never felt this strongly about someone in such a perverted manner before. Harry mouth slowly curled up into a smirk.

"Can I show you how badly I wanted it?" He asked, the heat of his breath reaching her face and making her core pulsate. The only thing Y/N could do was nod, and before she knew it, Harry's lips closed in on hers.

A soft whine escaped her throat as he kissed her, the desperation of her body unshielded under his roughly delicate touch. Nothing seemed to make sense as he slowly slipped his tongue into her mouth and pushed her back on the couch, nothing but him.

Harry leaned forward, not taking his mouth off Y/N as she sat against the armrest. He hovered over her, his body between her spread legs. One of his hands was holding onto her waist, while the other one kept him up by holding onto the armrest.

As their tongues danced around each other, Harry's hand slipped down from her waist towards her inner thighs, and Y/N felt her panties getting wet at the suggestive caresses of her skin. She put her hands on Harry's shoulders and pushed him back a little bit, their lips now apart. Still caught up in the heat of the moment, Harry mindlessly trailed his kisses down her jaw and then onto her neck.

"Harry." Y/N tried to get his attention, but his name sounded more like an erotic plea, and caused a growl to sound from his lips, followed by a rougher treatment on her neck. Her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head as his lips sucked at that sensitive skin of her, and a small whine fell from her as he bruised her neck.

"Ha— hmm... Harry!" She exclaimed. "S— stop."

Within a millisecond, or at least it felt like that, Harry's hands and mouth were removed from her. His face was filled with worry as he took in hers.

"Are you okay? Did I go too far?" He began asking, but she was quick to shake her head.

"No! It's just— I haven't really, done much of this before. I don't have a lot of experience and uhm, I just wanted you to know that before we... proceeded." Y/N explained, voice near trembling as she spoke. Harry's eyes softened, and his face pulled into a soft smile.

"Thank you for telling me." He said, leaning forward and giving her a kiss before pulling back, sitting up straight. "I just have one question, though."

Y/N nodded, big doe eyes staring right at him as that innocent smile transformed into a smug grin.

"Can I show you what I actually wanted to do last Saturday?" He asked, stroking her already spread legs. Before she knew it, the answer fell from Y/N's lips.

"Yes."

He let out a satisfied hum before his hands grabbed at her shorts and pulled them down along with her underwear, leaving her bare cunt to be exposed to him. Y/N blushed, feeling slightly embarrassed at how exposed she was, but the fascination that twinkled in Harry's eyes washed most of her insecurities away. She watched carefully as he leaned down and his fingers began stroking her folds.

Y/N held her breath in anticipation, curiously waiting for Harry to continue, and when he finally put his hands on her clit, she couldn't help but shift in her seat a bit at the tingling sensation.

"O— oh!" She shrieked when she felt Harry's tongue attached itself to her clit, his middle finger now paying more attention to slowly beginning to slide in and out of her. Y/N tried to control her breathing to the best of her abilities as Harry explored her sopping and pulsating core.

Y/N's mind had gone all fuzzy from the sweet feeling of his touch on her sensitive parts. It was impossible to focus on anything else than Harry, and even if it was, she wouldn't dare take her eyes off of him anyway. It was addictive, the way he was ravishing her like she was a culinary meal, and it felt glorying.

Harry temporarily removed his mouth from her heat, and looked up at Y/N before saying: "C'mon, angel. Tell me how it feels."

Her heart skipped a beat at the nickname she'd grown to love ever since the first time he said it, and she tried to control her whines as she responded.

"So— ah! So good..." She managed to reply, her knuckles turning white from balling up her fists in an attempt to not come too early. Harry's tongue swept over her clit in such an intoxicating way, and his now two fingers pumping in and out of her was only getting her closer to her inevitable climax.

Harry moaned at her verbal approval, and picked up the pace of both his mouth and his fingers, leaving her nothing but a whimpering mess under him. This was surely going to be the death of her, wasn’t it?

"Harry— I think I'm going to..." She ran out of breath before she could finish your sentence, and she began convulsing around him, legs trembling as her orgasm began to reach her like a wave building up. And then just like that, it crashed.

With a cry of his name and a few profanities that followed, the sensual waves of her release hit Y/N. The release was slow and long, and one of the most satisfying ones she'd ever had. Harry's touch stayed on her skin, helping her ride out her high.

When he finally backed away, Y/N was still breathing heavily from what she had just experienced. Wide eyed, she observed how he licked his lips before he looked up at her. She could've come again from the sight of that alone.

"D'you want some water?" Harry suddenly asked, getting up from the couch and walking over to your kitchen. She followed him with her eyes, mouth agape as he went through her kitchen cabinets until he stumbled upon two glasses and filled them with water. As he returned to the couch, he raised a brow, indicating that he was still waiting on an answer.

"Uhm, yes, thank you." Y/N stumbled as he handed her the glass. She took a few sips, scanning him while she drank. He was so casual all of a sudden, leaning back against the couch with his legs spread like that... there was something cocky about it and Y/N wasn't sure if she wanted to roll her eyes at it or jump his bones.

Possibly both, at the same time.

Y/N put her glass down and slowly crawled over to Harry, who sniffed a laugh at her wobbly movements on the way too squishy couch. She hoped it would at least come off as cute, now that her attempt at being sexy had been trampled by her own furniture.

As the laughter from both parties died down, Y/N took it upon herself to slowly start kissing Harry's neck. Her heartbeat rose when she felt him shifting in his seat, a pained sigh escaping his throat. Meticulously, she dragged her hand down his chest until it reached his pants, and she began unbuckling his belt.

She was surprised when she felt his hand pull hers away, and stopped her actions to see what was going on. When she saw his clenched jaw, she frowned.

"Are you okay?"

"You don't have to do that angel." He said, tilting his head a bit. She slowly shook her head.

"Oh, alright." She said, and felt a pang in her chest at the idea that she could've done something wrong. Harry took both of her hands, cupping his over them.

"I’d like to save it for next time." He suggested, the slight raise of his brow adding a certain playfulness to his reply. The hint of a smile on his face filled her with a warm feeling, and she quickly found herself nodding at what Harry had said.

“Plus, I have to get my beauty rest… I’ve got a long day tomorrow. I teach this private self-defense class, client’s got me working till late.” He joked, eyes beaming when a giggle fell from her lips. Y/N took her bottom lip between her teeth, stomach fluttering as she took in the painfully beautiful, funny, charismatic man in front—or well, under her.

“Really? Is she any good?” She teased back, brows raising in surprise when Harry nodded.

“Difficult to teach tho.” He responded.

“Why’s that?” Y/N questioned, genuine curiosity dripping from her tone. Harry took his eyes off her and shamelessly lowered his gaze to her body as his hands, that had dug into her waist, slowly began to trail down to her ass.

“‘S just so hard to concentrate…” He said lowly, and she felt her core heating up again at the sole sound of Harry’s voice. Her cheeks flushed alike at what he was implying, and she felt like an animal with the way her body reacted to him.

Y/N remained as quiet as she could, savoring Harry’s touch on her bare skin. She would have closed her eyes, had she not been too mesmerized by her face to do so.

Nerves swirled in her stomach as she watched Harry’s stare trail upwards again, only to stop at her lips. Gradually, he leaned forward, closing the gap between the two’s mouths. Y/N couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her when Harry put his lips on her again, and much like the touch of his hands on her, she relished in the way his tongue circled around hers, and she was surprised at how well their bodies captured the connection that she had been unable to explain in words.

It was safe to say that Y/N was disappointed when at last Harry pulled away, but she couldn’t be mad at him, not with that face of his.

Her eyes widened when he got up all of a sudden, hands still holding up her thighs in the few moments before she wrapped them tightly around him in response to the sudden movement. He sniffed a laugh, which Y/N was only able to hear because her arms were locked around Harry’s neck and her face was only a few centimeters away from his. The urge to smile almost prevailed over her shock.

Harry’s hands let go of Y/N’s thighs, and she lowered her legs in response, putting her feet on the ground again and removing herself from his touch completely.

As they walked towards the front door, Y/N found herself to be a bit gloomy. She didn’t want him to leave, he was so fun to be around. He made her not worry, which was a miracle because Y/N always worried. And she knew she’d go back to worrying and overthinking the second she’d be alone again, so the prospect of Harry going away was not the most fun. She had to remind herself that she’d see him tomorrow, though.

Y/N opened the door, waiting as Harry put on his coat. When he finally had, he turned to her one last time.

“Sleep tight, angel.” He said, and with that, walked right out the door. Y/N croaked out a weak ‘bye’, but she was pretty sure she’d heard the elevator ding by then.

It took her a minute to recover physically before turning off her lights in the living room and floating towards her bathroom, where she smiled like an idiot all the way through brushing her teeth.

It wasn’t until her head hit the pillow that what she dreaded came along again: that tiresome worry. Thoughts and scenarios filled her head as she lied in bed, watching the ceiling as if it would grant her answers, or peace.

It was as if, with Harry, nothing else truly mattered. Not necessarily in the corny, dramatic way, but rather in the sense that it felt like the outside world wasn’t that much of a factor in Y/N’s decisions, nor did she have the feeling that it should be whenever she was around him. But when he was gone, it would all start to matter again and suddenly she found herself doubting whether dating Harry would even be a good idea.

What would her parents think? What would Sophie think? Would she be viewed as less professional by her co-workers for dating her trainer? Would it impact Harry’s reputation—

She stopped herself. Probably not, considering Harry was a man.

It was with a frown that Y/N eventually dozed off into a deep slumber. Not even in her dreams she was safe from the anxiety that plagued her, a nightmare about being fired stirring her awake at around four in the morning. She was more exhausted when she woke up than when she went to bed.

But despite all of it, her body still buzzed in anticipation of tonight’s class…

Taglist: @meetmeatyourworst @mema10 @seafoamwhispers @namoreno @inkedskin @fangirl509east @mellamolayla @lizsogolden @prettydelilah @kierramcduffie @harry2121 @babegoals @hermionelove @bitchidontpost @lomlolivia

[skimmingmilk]

aughhh sonic going back in time to visit little two yr old tails as been in my brain for what feels like forever! like how many dots does he end up connecting? how does he have the strength to not travel back further and knock the daylights out of tails’s mom? how does he react to the whole kukku invasion and forest fire? so many questions…aaaaa im so excited for this fic i will be in ruins. in ruins, i tell you

also with the whole sonic punching tails’s mom thing: you were talking about tails and his parents, but like sonic interacting (or just seeing) tails’s parents is always something ive thought about. idk, im curious about what your take on that would be, if you have one. (sorry if you’ve already answered something like this ahshhshs)

your boys are just spinning around in my brain constantly. they are living in there completely rent free. i adore them sm, they make me sick. anytime there’s a reference or parallel to something in their past, it hurts. these boys need therapy immediately. maybe even before immediately. your portrayal of them is such a huge inspiration istg

anyway, sorry this is kinda all over the place 😭 i just had a bunch of thoughts and threw them together in the most coherent way i could lol. hope you have a good rest of your night/day! stay safe out there 🩵

So, I was saving this because it really inspired me to write a little something, and it felt fitting because I live for your baby Tails and Sonic art, it's seriously the best boost of serotonin for me xD I'm sorry it took a minute to get to this, and I'll address the second idea you had in another ask (someone else was on the same wavelength as you around this time, and also asked about Sonic and Tails and Tails's parents xD).

But for now, please accept a continuation of the back in time shenanigans <3

Sonic Back In Time Shenanigans WIP #2: Back for the Luggage

Tracking down a second Chaos Emerald so he could skip back in time for an afternoon wasn’t how Sonic saw himself spending the past few days. Though, to be fair, he spent a good chunk of them trying to ignore the very itch encouraging him to give into this particular whim of the week, but impulse control wasn’t Sonic the Hedgehog’s claim to fame. Not by a long shot.

His curiosity had been piqued. New insight into the lore of his little brother’s life before he’d ever crossed his path niggled at his mind no matter how far and fast he ran from the temptation to take a peek. The glimpse he’d got on that rainy night hadn’t been all that reassuring, with Tails so small and sick and the time Sonic got to spend with him in that dusty, stuffy cabin all too brief.

Cocoa Island. He’d looked it up after he and Silver returned to Sonic’s present, their respective futures stabilized for the time being, but he couldn’t find much information on it. If it wasn’t for the fact that Sonic could chart it on a map, it almost seemed like it didn’t even exist.

Historic records mentioned studies of the volcanic activity on the island more than a decade ago. Mines had also been dug out in the cave systems throughout the island long before Sonic had been born, in search of potential esoteric energy sources.

The Chaos Emeralds, no doubt.

But other than that, it seemed the island had never been properly settled. Sonic could’ve flown over in the Tornado for a quick jaunt—running to small islands never boded well for him, they were always tricky to aim for—but he knew it wouldn’t have the answers he was itching to find out.

And sure, the big one was already answered. The sick baby fox he’d had to leave behind in the care of some flickies after that rainy night obviously made a full recovery, or else Tails wouldn’t be alive in Sonic’s present, off on his own adventure. Flying solo. Alone.

But knowing that without actually seeing it, experiencing it for himself, didn’t satisfy Sonic in the slightest. He was all about experiences. And he wanted to experience this mysterious chapter of his best bud’s life, one he never really let himself think all that hard on.

So, that was how Sonic found himself on a nearly deserted island eight years in the past with two Chaos Emeralds in hand. It was warmer than in his present, willing to bet they were somewhere in spring or early summer as opposed to late fall, but the dense cover of pine trees kept the forest floor cool in its shade. Allergies tickled his nose, prompting Sonic to scratch at it as he took in his surroundings. Flickies sang throughout the branches, their chirps a comforting song accompanied by the steady hum of insects hidden in the brush. With his own curious hum, Sonic picked a direction and ran with it—er, walked with it. He took it slow for the moment, trying to find his way back to the cabin from that night. It seemed like his best bet to start his search for Tails.

Until a child’s voice somewhere in the forest caught his ear, both perking up and flicking towards the sound with an instinctive pull as everything else faded into the background. A breath Sonic hadn’t realized he’d been holding lifted from his chest. The child sounded light, healthy. No coughing or crying as far as he could tell. 

Sonic followed the voice to a clearing. Unlike the stormy day he’d first stumbled in on, sunlight flooded the patch of grass between the trees with its warm beams. One fell across a tree stump where a two-tailed fox kit lay sprawled across on his tummy, bright-eyed and bushy tails further confirmation that he’d made a full recovery. Sonic’s shoulders sagged with relief as he observed him from the brush, his own green eyes lighting up as he realized he was playing. Making motor sounds with his mouth, Tails rolled a toy airplane through the long, wild grass. His tongue poked out as he accidentally blew raspberries amidst his very serious airplane noises.

“Pfft—” Sonic’s laugh nearly sputtered out of him, cut off only by the fact that the kid heard him and froze.

Ears swiveled in his direction, but Tails couldn’t see him through the trees from his spot on the stump. The toy airplane fell to the grass with a soft thump as the baby fox squirmed and tried to hoist himself up into a sitting position, his two blue boots dangling just over the edge as his bare hands planted themselves on the wood between them to support himself. One tail flicked up and down with excitement while the other twitched limply against the tree stump, like it didn’t know it could lift itself up like its twin.

“Mom?” he called out, and the hope in his voice ensnared Sonic’s heart in a vice. “Mom!”

“Ah, sorry, little guy. Not mom.” Sonic stepped out from behind the brush with his hands up, a sheepish smile on his face. “Just me. Long time no see.”

His tails immediately wilted as the bright-eyed, eager expression on his face retracted into something shy and pensive. But not scared, Sonic noted. There wasn’t a trace of fear in his eyes.

“Remember me? I stayed with you during that rainstorm the other night,” Sonic added, hoping to jog the little guy’s memory, but he didn’t actually know how long it had been since that night. 

He didn’t have Silver’s neat little time travel gizmos. His comm couldn’t pinpoint where he was in time, only in space. Which meant he couldn’t stay long, because if Tails or anyone else tried to ping his location, it’d probably come up blank. 

The Tails sitting in front of him drew his legs up, curling into himself a bit the closer Sonic got. Okay, well maybe he was a little afraid. Sonic stopped short of reaching the tree stump, hoping a reassuring smile would get him the rest of the way.

“My name’s Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog. What’s yours?”

Tails stared at him for a moment, until his gaze slowly slid past him to focus on the tree line behind him. Sonic planted his hands on his hips and canted his head back to see if anything was there, but aside from the buzz of insects and rustling of flickies in the leaves, the forest was still. No one else but the two of them smack dab in the middle of it.

“…Mom?” Tails whispered, grabbing onto one of his tails to hold.

Sonic’s smile slowly slid off his muzzle. In all the time he’d known Tails, he’d never once called for his mom. Not a single cry. By the time he came into Tails’s life, whatever innate trust he’d had for this faceless person had completely evaporated. There was only one person Tails had ever called out for, ever cried for, ever searched for when he was lost or scared or lonely.

Sonic swallowed thickly. “I don’t know where your mom is, bud. You waiting for her?” Tails nodded with the most intense certainty, his ears flopping forward and back with the force of it. “Did she… did she say when she’s coming back?” 

This time Tails pursed his mouth as he thought carefully about his answer, his pensive expression the same one he’d still make to this day when he debated how to explain something to him. If he should explain something to him. If he should give his big bro a glimpse into the inner workings of his big brain, or if it’d be easier—safer—to keep it all to himself.

And just where’d he pick up that particular trick?

But this Tails was young enough—hadn’t been hurt enough—to trust someone who looked like a grown-up, so he slowly shook his head in response, wide blue eyes gazing up at him like there’d be some sort of prize if he answered all the questions correctly. 

Sonic’s brow furrowed. “Do you know how long it’s been since you last saw her?”

“Long.” The small, squeaky voice was so matter-of-fact, Sonic nearly fell over with the sheer amount of joy a single syllable filled him with; his little bro’s attitude had been baked into him from the start.

“I’ll bet,” he huffed out a chuckle, choosing to sit cross-legged in the grass so he wasn’t towering over Tails like some kind of threat. “You like planes?” Sonic glanced meaningfully at the toy plane still discarded in the grass.

Tails glanced down at it, the tip of his tail in his mouth as he gently chewed on it. “Mmhm.”

Though Tails had long-outgrown the habit of chewing on his own tails, Sonic would still occasionally catch him nibbling on the ends of pens and pencils when he was deep in thought or starting to get hungry. Or, at least, he used to. Back before Sonic had been captured and Tails had been out on his own for six months…

“I like ‘em, too,” Sonic piped up with a grin. “Probably my favorite way to travel! Second to running, of course.”

Tails blinked at him, head canting to one side. Sonic’s smile grew and he scooched forward a couple inches, steadily closing the gap between them.

“Y’see, running’s sort of my thing. What kinda things do you like to do?”

Tails glanced down at the toy plane again, then up at the sky. He pointed shyly at the white, puffy clouds slowly floating by overhead. Sonic followed his gaze, unable to help the way his smile crooked to one side.

“You like to watch the clouds?” Sonic filled in for him, beaming when Tails nodded. “Me too. You ever look for shapes in ‘em?”

The little guy’s brow furrowed. “Shapes?”

Sonic laughed as the perplexed, and ultimately unconvinced, expression remained fixed on Tails’s face. “C’mere, I’ll show ya!”

Unceremoniously flopping onto his back, face turned towards the sky, Sonic patted the grass beside him. Though they were mostly shielded by the thick cover of trees, a light breeze still wafted down into the clearing and carried the salty scent of the sea with it. The stands of grass tickled Sonic’s side as he laid back and took a deep breath, listening for the familiar patter of eager footsteps following his lead.

Except they didn’t come.

Sonic pushed himself up onto his elbows. Tails was still curled up atop the tree stump, chewing on the tip of his tail as he watched him with worry in his eyes. Worry that had no place being there in a kid so young.

So Sonic cracked another smile. “Don’t worry. The floor’s not lava,” he teased, but it was something the toddler obviously didn’t understand. “It’s safe, bud. I’m not gonna hurt ya. Promise.”

Tails’s gaze darted to the treeline again, searching amongst their thick trunks and low-hanging branches before snapping back to Sonic. “Mm… s’pposed to wait here,” he mumbled, his words sounding a little thick as some of his syllables slurred together in a mouth that was still so small, but ultimately what he’d said was clear enough for Sonic to understand.

His smile slowly faded as he processed the simple explanation; the same feeling rising in the back of his throat as when he sat with a sick Tails in the cabin while the kid asked if he could go home. “Your mom tell ya that?”

Tails nodded. “Wait here. Be good.” His little face scrunched up in a look of pure, earnest determination. “Wait here an’ be good, then mom will come back. She said… she said.”

But she wouldn’t.

No one would.

And maybe Tails already knew that. Even if he didn’t want to believe that someone he loved would leave him, he’d always been a smart kid. Tails’s tiny claws caught in the fur of his tail as he clung tighter to it—like he could physically cling to the hope that his mom would still come back if he did this one thing really well.

If he did his very best.

“Look Sonic, I made this for you!”

“Sonic, I’ve made some adjustments to the Tornado’s aerodynamics, so her base speed has more than doubled! Pretty cool, huh?”

“I made a radar to help us track the Chaos Emeralds faster!”

“I still need to optimize your Extreme Gear’s turning radius and acceleration for your next race. It’s not good enough.”

“The Cyclone still has a ways to go in terms of balancing its different modes of transport. It’s just not good enough at land or air travel yet.”

“I’m wildly inconsistent. I’m just a burden to you. I’m not good enough.”

Not good enough.

Sonic’s fingers dug a little firmer into the soft, damp soil beneath the grass. “Well, I mean, ya gotta get off that stump sometimes. What about when you get hungry? You leave to go get food, dontcha?”

Tails stiffened, fur frizzed up like he’d been caught with his hand in the proverbial mint chocolate chip cookie jar. “Don’t tell,” he pleaded, eyes wide as panicked tears welled up. “I’m sorry—”

“Woah. Hey, hey, hey,” Sonic sat up straighter so he could lift his hands, using them to make a calming gesture as Tails’s little chest started to heave with each little gasp. “Easy there, bud. I’m not gonna tell her.”

“…Not?”

Despite the storm brewing just beneath the surface, faced with further confirmation that Tails had never truly felt safe or wanted, he refused to scare the kid with its intensity. Offering up a kind smile and reassurance, Sonic held up a finger to his mouth. Like they were keeping secrets from some nameless authority figure they’d never shared. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Tails’s ears perked up and the grip on his tail eased up. “M’kay…”

“M’kay,” Sonic mimicked, smile growing as he watched Tails scrub at his face with the fur of his forearm. “C’mere, kiddo. Watch the clouds with me.”

Tails looked at him for a moment, then scooted closer to the edge of the tree stump. He swung one leg over, then the other, his little boots scraping against the bark as he eased himself down. He was a little off-balance as he toddled over. Both arms splayed out to steady himself as one tail flicked up and the other was dragged behind him, still as limp and awkward as it had been on the stump.

Sonic’s gaze narrowed in on it immediately. “Didja hurt your tail?”

Tails paused and craned his neck back, wobbling a little as he tried to look behind him. “No,” he answered simply.

“Then how come it’s not up like your other one?”

Tails reached behind him and picked up the limp appendage, hugging it to his chest. “Doesn’t do it.”

Sonic’s frown deepened. “Let me see it.”

Tails didn’t even hesitate. He let go of his tail as he waddled right over to him. He turned his back to him, giving him complete access to the part of his body he protected the most. Sonic was the only one he’d learned to trust with them over the years, but he’d had to earn it. 

Sonic gently ran his fingers through the fur, watching his baby brother’s posture for any sign of discomfort. He didn’t flinch, but his good tail started wagging almost immediately, thwacking Sonic in the side of the face. 

“Careful with that,” he chuckled, catching it in a loose hold when it smacked him again. “You could take someone’s eye out with one of these bad boys. Here, hold onto this for me.”

He waited for Tails to grab onto his eager tail, hugging it hard when it wiggled uncontrollably. “S’tryna get away,” he giggled.

“Oh boy, better get a good grip. It’s a slippery one, that tail,” Sonic laughed, using the distraction to his advantage as he palpated along the base of the weaker tail with his fingertips.

There was barely any muscle to it, and the fur was patchy and matted, flattened in a way that his other tail clearly wasn’t, even though his fur overall could’ve used a good brushing. But it wasn’t injured, no welts or bruises or cuts. It was just… weak. Like it was developing slower than its twin. He’d caught a glimpse of it that night where he was sick, but now that he was getting a good look at it, the differences between the two were stark. He couldn’t imagine why; Sonic’s brain literally wouldn’t let him conceive of a situation where this would happen—where Tails wasn’t allowed to use one tail to the same extent as the other.

Whatever had caused this had reversed itself by the time Sonic met Tails, both little propellers of equal strength. At least, he thought they were. To be fair, he’d only been eleven and he hadn’t looked all that closely at them. And Tails barely let him patch him up from where he’d been smacked around by bullies or badniks in those first few weeks.

Idly petting along the length of his tail, Sonic stilled when it spasmed against his palm. Just looking at it, he’d have thought he accidentally pulled on it or snagged his fur, but there was a gentle rumbling sound emanating from Tails’s chest that assured him otherwise. Sonic flicked his gaze up to see Tails watching him, a smile on his face while he purred openly. His tail jerked in his hold again. It was trying to wag.

Sonic’s shoulders sagged, his own smile lopsided as he let his tail slip from his grasp. “All clear. Time to park those two tails of yours right here on the runway.”

Tails squeaked as Sonic nabbed him around the middle, but dissolved into a fit of giggles as he was lifted up and plopped down on the grass next to him. Kicking up one leg over the other, Sonic laid back once again, arms pillowed behind his head as he let out a contented sigh. Beside him, Tails laid back and wiggled a bit to get comfortable, both tails swept to the same side so they wouldn’t get pinched underneath him. He tilted his head up to look at the sky, the same color reflected back in his eyes.

“Shapes?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re gonna look for shapes, little buddy,” Sonic hummed. “Go ahead and tell me what ya find.”

Tails considered the sky for a moment, then pointed at a blob above them. “Oval.”

A sharp laugh burst right out of Sonic. “Sorry, sorry,” he wheezed when Tails pouted at him. “Not those kinda shapes, pal. I’m talking things like flickies or flowers or chili dogs! But good first try. I’m thinking that one looks more like… a whale.”

“Whale?”

“Uh-huh. See the tail?” Sonic removed one hand from behind his head so he could trace the oblong cloud as it faintly curved upwards at the end, making sure Tails’s eyes followed where he pointed. “And there’s its fin. And the wispy bits at the top are like the water shooting out of its spout.”

“Spout,” Tails echoed, blinking up at it like he was trying to solve a puzzle. 

“Yeah, you know. Like when they come up from the water and all that mist sprays from that hole on top of their heads like…” A devious grin spread across Sonic’s face before he looped his arm around Tails and dragged him close enough to blow a raspberry against his cheek with a loud, “pbbbbbbfffft!”

Tails squealed, legs kicking as he squirmed about instinctively, but made no move to pull away entirely. The ticklish sensation buzzed through him like a bunch of tiny butterflies; the feeling silly, unfamiliar, and almost overwhelming all at once. He eventually pawed at Sonic’s muzzle, pushing it away from the fluffy, baby fur of his cheek, but he was smiling and laughing as he looked over at him, eyes shining with delight.

“Was that funny?” Sonic snickered.

“Yeah!” Tails beamed at him, his tails beating an inconsistent rhythm against the grass. “You’re funny.”

“I’m funny?” Sonic feigned offense. “Excuse me, but seems to me like you’re the funny one, wiggling around over here like a cup of sparkle gelatin!”

“No!” Tails squeaked, curling up when Sonic poked him in the tummy. 

“No?” Sonic eased back, reminding himself to reign it in a bit so he could figure out if the “no” was just in play or if he was serious. 

As much as he wanted to give this little guy something to smile and laugh about while he was out here on his own—and it was so easy, it was almost intoxicating when he hadn’t seen his brother’s smile in weeks—he didn’t want to overwhelm the kid. But as he let him go and pulled back, a panicked look flashed in Tails’s eyes. His smile fell and a fear that was too big for a guy so small replaced it as he froze up.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Sonic lowered his voice, but even that didn’t stop the tears from suddenly sprouting in the corners of his eyes. “Was that too much? Sorry, kiddo. Not really used to you like this. I don’t know your limits.”

Tails didn’t answer him, probably because he didn’t know how. He was a baby, after all. Four-year-old Tails had often had trouble expressing how he felt or what he wanted. And heck, even ten-year-old Tails was still facing that particular issue. He couldn’t expect a maybe-two-year-old to know…

Tails’s tiny paw reached for Sonic’s arm, the light touch barely registering as anything other than an itch before his fingers curled into his fur. Sonic stared at his hand for a second, then immediately darted to his face. Tails sniffed, muzzle quivering as he held back his tears.

Always sucking it up. Always putting on a brave face. Always trying to be a big kid, like his big bro.

Even when he was just a baby.

“It’s okay,” Sonic repeated, his arm curling around Tails again. “I’m right here, it’s okay.”

Tails nestled against his side, nuzzling his face against him with a shiver and a barely suppressed whimper. “Mom… dad…”

The storm returned with a white-hot flash of frustration and resentment. Sonic directed his glare at the cloud whale lazily floating past them, since he couldn’t look the people responsible for this in the eyes. Not that he particularly wanted to. If they never crossed paths, his and Tails lives would only continue on for the better. That was one thing he was still certain of. There was nothing in the universe that could convince him otherwise.

Not even the baby who desperately wanted them.

But he didn’t know any better. They were all he knew. 

Releasing a long sigh, Sonic let go of the past and pulled himself back into the present—or, well, two-year-old Tails’s present anyway. He patted Tails’s side, then ruffled his fur a bit when he cuddled closer. His fur tickled as he rubbed his little face against his ribs, so Sonic scooched him up a bit more until his cheek was pillowed against his shoulder.

“Sorry if I scared you, bud,” he hummed, watching as one of Tails’s ears twitched from the lull of his voice. “Didn’t mean to. You’re safe with me, okay? When I’m around, I’m always gonna do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Tails tipped his head back to watch him, silently absorbing his words, even if he didn’t understand them. But as Sonic looked down at him, he saw his four-year-old brother snuggling up to him in a storm and his six-year-old brother falling asleep on him during a movie and his eight-year-old brother trying to be strong for Sonic as they lost another friend… He could see all of Tails in the way he looked at him, every moment where he let Sonic see a little of that vulnerability he always tried so hard to hide.

He could even see his ten-year-old brother, hundreds of miles away, determined to bury that vulnerable little kid for good, somewhere Sonic would never find him. And that was fine. If that was what Tails wanted, then Sonic wanted that for him. He wanted Tails to feel confident and capable and every bit the hero Sonic saw in him every day.

“And even when I’m not here… when you can’t see me? I’ll still be with you. Wherever you go, whatever you face, you won’t have to do it alone.”

Tails sniffed, then lifted his head to gaze up at him. “Pomise?”

Sonic’s breath hitched, his eyes as wide as saucers as the fox kit who’d only known him for a few minutes at most looked at him with nothing but trust. “Yeah. I promise.” He had to clear his throat, then tugged Tails up to sit on his chest. “You’ve got no idea just how stuck with me you are, keed.”

“No idea,” Tails repeated, shaking his head with the utmost seriousness a two-year-old could express.

Sonic’s laughter traveled through him and right up into Tails, the two of them shaking with it. The feeling of being bounced about coaxed a few giggles out of Tails and he nearly slid off his unsteady perch. But Sonic’s hands supported him, holding tight so he wouldn’t fall.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Sonic choked out as his laughter petered out on a breathless sigh. “Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

“M’kay,” Tails agreed.

“M’kay.” With one hand remaining on Tails’s waist, Sonic lifted the other to poke him on the tip of his nose, grinning at the way he went cross-eyed from following his finger. “I’m gonna follow up on that in eight years, y’know, so better work on committing that to memory, stat.”

“M’kay.”

“I mean it. There’ll be a test and everything.”

“M’kay.”

“You’re so agreeable,” Sonic sighed, closing his eyes as he laid his head back, leaving the comfortable weight of the baby fox on his abdomen. “I don’t think I know what to do with a little bro that actually listens to me.”

He felt Tails squirm a bit, one knee digging into his ribs as he attempted to scoot further up, then a finger lightly tapped Sonic on the tip of his nose. One green eye cracked open, immediately greeted with a pair of pleased blue ones and a wagging fox tail. Despite the fact that it was pinned beneath him, pressed into the grass, Sonic felt his tail give a jerky little wag, too.

“Shapes?” Tails asked.

“You wanna look for more shapes in the clouds?” Sonic waited for Tails’s eager nod before turning him around and laying him back in the grass beside him. “You got it, bud! You need a redemption round, after all. Let’s see what kinda shapes you can find this time.”

Tails hummed, contemplative gaze fixed on the clouds for a good minute before he pointed slightly to his left. “Floor!”

“Floor?” Sonic squinted up at the cloud, making sure he was looking at the right one. “Oh, ‘flower!’ Yeah, that does kinda look like a tulip flower. Good eye, kiddo.”

Tails nodded proudly. “Mmhm. Floor.”

“Flower,” Sonic repeated, and even made the sign for it, touching each side of his nose with his fingertips, like he was smelling a flower.

“Floor-er.”

“Close enough,” he chuckled. “Oh, okay, now that one looks like a crab claw. Like from a crabmeat.” Grinning devilishly, Sonic made a claw-like grabby motion at Tails with his hand while the little guy laughed. “Or, y’know, an actual crab.”

They watched the clouds, picking more shapes out of them until Tails’s stomach started growling. Sonic quickly sped through the forest to gather up whatever kind of fruits or vegetables were available on the island, eventually settling on some peaches, plums, and cherries. He grabbed them from the other side of the island, so as not to take from anywhere Tails was likely to forage on his own. He liked the plums and peaches, the sticky juice staining his muzzle as it dripped from his hands. He kept trying to lick his fingers clean while Sonic wiped the fur around his mouth so it wouldn’t bother him later when it dried. He didn’t care for the cherries as much, but Sonic still left a small stash of them and the leftover peaches at the base of the tree stump.

With a full tummy and sticky paws, Tails let out a big, squeaky yawn before he curled up on top of the tree stump. His tails covered him like a blanket as he settled down for a nap, giving Sonic just the out he needed. He’d been debating how to head back to his present time without sounding any alarms for Tails. He honestly wasn’t sure he’d be able to if the kid just looked at him with those sad eyes, like he was being abandoned all over again.

But if Tails was asleep, then maybe this would all have felt like just a dream. Sonic had just wanted to check on him after leaving him so abruptly that first time, and then he figured it couldn’t hurt to give him one good afternoon. There would be so many days where he’d be on his own after this, so many months before their paths would cross. One afternoon where a stranger showed him kindness and played with him wasn’t going to break the time stream, but even Sonic knew it couldn’t really go further than that.

“I’d break time lines for that kid.” His own words echoed at the back of his mind, the certainty he’d felt at the time faltering when faced with the sleepy face of a baby fox who wasn’t supposed to have met him yet. It wasn’t so simple.

Sonic waited until Tails’s breaths were deep and steady, arms wrapped around the weaker tail while the stronger one blanketed him with its fluff. Smoothing down his bangs with his thumb, Sonic gently stroked the top of his head and scritched behind his ear.

“Love ya, little bro,” he whispered.

Things would be okay, Sonic reminded himself as he backed out of the clearing, picking up the two emeralds that were his ticket back to his time. Because they were okay in the present. Even if Tails wouldn’t be there when he returned, they would still be okay. Eventually. They always came out on top. Sonic still believed that.

If there was anything he still believed in above all else, it was Tails.

So, to be fair, when he left the Poloy Forest that afternoon, it had been with the intention that this wouldn’t happen again.

But then, Sonic the Hedgehog’s impulse control wasn’t his claim to fame, was it?

---

A/N: Anyway, just wanted to say thank you again, 0vergrown, and that I appreciate you so much! I'm so happy you're interested in this little side plot I've got brewing and all the angst potential that it holds <3 I have so many little scenes I want to write for them, you have no idea! Hope this scratches a bit of the itch for more of these boys who need so much therapy. So much...

And thank you everyone else who's also interested in this idea! Much love to all of you!

[hoshifighting]

Hi. I love your writings. After I discovered Tumblr and your account... I don't know if I've had any day without coming back here... I had a request.

Bathroom sex with Minghao. It has been going on in my mind all day... Either bathtub or shower.

Even though he's not so masculine like others... I feel like he has an incredible core strength. So maybe putting the reader against the wall? Also if you're comfortable, could you add the reader as someone who's overweight and gets insecure from time to time.

It's like Minghao is comforting them through showing how beautiful they are through intimacy? Feels like something he would do.

Love your writing. Take care

bath sex with minghao

WARNINGS: bath sex, insecurities, praising, nipple sucking, penetrative sex, a tear dropping here or there...

a/n: thank you my love for making me part of your routine 😭🙏 I luv seeing you here, you are soooo sweet!! sorry for making u wait for so long 🥺 love you too, take care of yourself, and drink lots of water plsss

you’d been spiraling about it all damn day. the way minghao’s hands just felt—long fingers brushing your skin in passing, his touch so casual but also so intentional. it stuck to you like a tattoo, made your brain fuzzy. you didn’t even realize it, but the itch of your insecurities had been gnawing at you. maybe it was that girl in line earlier with the perfect ass and the confidence to match, or maybe it was just the mirror, the way it always reflected every single thing you couldn’t fix.

but minghao sees you, actually sees you, and it ruins you every time.

“you’ve been quiet all day,” he says from the bathroom doorway, his head tilted like he’s already piecing you apart, trying to read the shit you don’t say. “what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

you don’t answer right away—can’t, really—because he’s standing there in just his sweatpants, waistband hanging low, hair still damp from his post-workout shower. fucking unreal. and you hate it, the way you almost flinch at the word “pretty,” because yeah, he means it, but your brain won’t let you believe it.

“nothing,” you lie, but your voice cracks. his eyes narrow.

“bullshit.”

you huff, looking anywhere but him. “it’s not a big deal. just—ugh, i don’t know, okay? can we not do this tonight?”

but of course, minghao doesn’t take that. doesn’t let you slip into your head and drown in it. instead, he steps in, closing the door softly behind him, like he’s locking the world out. “you know you can’t bullshit me, baby. talk to me.”

and then he’s right in front of you, hands sliding over your arms, thumbs skimming your skin like he’s earthing you.

you mumble, “i just—i don’t feel good today, okay? like… about myself.”

his brows pull together, and you hate that he looks hurt on your behalf. “y/n,” he says, his voice softer now, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“you wouldn’t get it,” you mutter, but the words catch when he lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“try me.”

and fuck, he’s patient, doesn’t rush you, just waits while his thumbs start rubbing little circles on your hips. finally, you crack. “i just… sometimes it’s hard, okay? i see all these girls who look perfect, and then there’s me. i don’t even know why you—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, firmly. “don’t finsh it, don’t do that. don’t talk about yourself like that. do you know how fucking beautiful you are? like, actually?”

you laugh, but it’s bitter, because it’s not something you believe. “hao—”

he doesn’t let you finish, leaning in to kiss you, like he’s trying to rewrite whatever nonsense’s looping in your head. his lips move with yours, one hand sliding up your back, the other curling around your waist, and it’s so easy to melt into him, to forget everything else.

“i’m serious,” he murmurs against your mouth. “you’re the most gorgeous person i’ve ever seen. i love every. fucking. inch. of you.”

you want to argue, but then his hands are tugging at your shirt, and the air shifts. he pulls back just enough to look at you. “can i?”

your nod is shaky, he peels your shirt off like it’s a ritual, and when he sees the hesitance in your eyes, he leans in to kiss your shoulder, your collarbone, every patch of skin he uncovers.

he’s backing you up against the shower wall, his breath hot against your neck as he trails kisses down your jaw.

“hao,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out before he’s hooking your legs around his waist, his strength catching you like it’s nothing. “wait, i’m—”

“you’re fucking stunning,” he says, cutting you off, his lips crashing into yours again. “and i’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

the sound of the water hitting the tile was loud, drowning out every thought in your head except him. minghao was everywhere—hands firm on your thighs, lips pressed to your chest, tongue teasing your nipples until you were squirming. the spray soaked through what little clothing you both had left, making the fabric cling before he shoved his pants and boxers down with one hand, the wet heap hitting the floor with an exaggerated plop.

“didn’t know your pants were that heavy,” you giggled. he smirked before leaning in to kiss you again.

“focus,” he murmured. his hips pressed forward, and you gasped when his cock brushed against your pussy—hard and ready, like it always was when it came to you. it was one of those things that made you feel… better, somehow. like maybe he really did mean all the things he said about how he wanted you, how he needed you. not that you’d ever admit it—god, no, he’d never let you live it down.

you squirmed against him, suddenly hyperaware of how high he had you hoisted. “hao, i—”

“relax,” he interrupted. “i’ve got you.”

“but what if—what if i fall?”

his jaw tensed, his hands tightened on you. “you won’t fall, y/n. do you trust me?”

you nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. his eyes narrowed. “say it.”

your voice cracked. “i trust you.”

“good,” he said, but there was a shimmer of guilt in his expression when he saw the tears welling in your eyes. his voice softened immediately. “hey, baby—fuck, i’m sorry. didn’t mean to sound so harsh. you’re safe, okay? i promise.”

his lips brushed your cheek, catching the tear that spilled over, and you sniffled, clinging to him tighter. his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, “you’re safe with me. i swear.”

and then he rolled his hips, sliding into you, and whatever insecurity you’d been holding onto was gone—just gone. all you could feel was him, thick and deep, stretching you until your head spun. he groaned, his breath hitching as he bottomed out. “you feel so fucking good, baby. perfect. perfect.”

your fingers dug into his shoulders, a whimper slipping past your lips as he pulled back and thrust again, deep. the angle made you gasp, made your whole body shake in his arms. “hao,” you choked out, overwhelmed, and he just smiled against your neck.

“that’s it babe,” he murmured, picking up his pace, his hips slapping against yours. “see? i told you, baby. you don’t have to worry about anything. i’ve got you. always.”

his words melted into the steam around you, and soon you weren’t sure if it was water or sweat trailing down your body. he fucked you, his grip on you steady and unrelenting, making it impossible to think about anything but the way he filled you, the way he made you feel like you were his.

“shit—fuck, hao, i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he cut in, his voice thick and breathless, but that smug grin never wavered. “let go for me, baby. you’re so fucking beautiful when you cum. let me see you.”

and when you did—when your body clenched around him and your moan echoed in the steam-filled space—he followed right after, his hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go. his head fell to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as he held you close, neither of you caring about the water still raining down around you.

“see?” he said after a moment, pulling back enough to look at you. his smile was soft now, tender. “told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”

[ink-n-shadow]

Hey boo

I noticed you don’t often write for soap, so don’t take this as pressure to write for him if you don’t want!

but would you write about Soap getting back from deployment, pent up and in need of release? And his poor darling, in the middle of making dinner, keeps trying to tell him to wait, and the poor guy gets needy :(

no pressure, and keep up the good work 🫶

honestly, i need to write more soap stuff because he's really itching something in my brain— (also apologies for the shitty ending. this has been sitting in my drafts for so long and i just wanted to finish it)

PENT UP

𝜗𝜚 the one where soap gets back from deployment and just needs to be inside of you

𝜗𝜚 pairing: john "soap" mctavish x gn!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), slight dub con? (idk if it qualifies enough for a warning but i’d rather be safe than sorry), kitchen sex, unprotected sex (pls wrap it before you tap it/get tapped), oral (reader!receiving), implied cum play, unedited

soap couldn't even remember the last time he had felt your naked skin against his—and that was the fucking problem. he had been wracking his brain ever since you guys had gotten back from the airport, desperately trying (and failing) to envision the last time he had his hands all over you as his eyes followed you flit around the kitchen.

"are you even listening to me, johnny?" soap heard you huff out softly, spinning around on your heel and crossing your arms over your aproned chest as your narrowed eyes met soap's hazy ones.

of course soap wasn't listening—he was too busy trying to decide whether to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck his cock into you or carry you over to the already set dining table, spreading you out on your back before pushing his tongue into you. but the frustration pinching your brows together had soap trying to swallow down his pent up need, arms wrapping around your waist as he murmured his apology into the nape of your neck.

"y'just look so pretty, bunny," soap all but whined against your skin, unable to help the way he inhaled your scent deeply. "take a break from makin' dinner, yeah? lemme fill you up."

and you would be scolding soap, chastising him for being the reason why dinner was currently burning in the oven as you tried halfheartedly to squirm out from under his arms.

but soap would be haphazardly shoving your sweatpants halfway down your thighs, one hand palming your arousal through your already sticky underwear as the other worked to free his cock from his jeans.

"shhh—s'alright if dinner burns," soap breaks away from breathing filthy words down your neck long enough to let a wad of spit drip down between your bodies, watching it splatter over your twitching entrance before running his leaking tip through the mess to lube both of you up. "i'll order somethin' instead, yeah? treat you to some of that take out y’like after i fuck ya stupid.”

soap doesn’t even give you a minute to breathe out a snarky retort before stuffing his leaking cock into you, an almost animalistic growl ripping from his chest as he feels your gummy walls sucking him in deeper and deeper and deeper.

and god does it feel like taking your virginity all over again, soap's cock having to carve its way through your insides once more to nestle against the spongy spot he remembered would have your legs trembling. it's only been a few jagged strokes, and your walls are already milking soap for everything he has.

"r-relax, bunny," soap pants into the crook of your neck as his fingers grip tightly around the fat of your hips, pulling your ass flush against the front of his thighs to prevent himself from spilling his cum too quickly. "y'feel like a f-fuckin' vice—gonna make me cum already."

it probably wouldn't even be three strokes after he says those words that soap feels his high crash over him, hunching over your body as he feels ropes of his spend spilling inside of you. he would feel his softening cock twitching at the feeling of it dripping down your thighs, landing on the kitchen tile with a soft plit, plit, plit.

and soap wouldn't even give you time to breathe before he's pulling out of you, dropping to his knees carelessly to bury his face between your thighs and lick you clean until you cum. "told you i'd get you that takeout you like, right? just gotta have my meal first, m'kay?"

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

Privacy privilege

Summary: Dean had started to invade your privacy more often after a hunt

Word count: 0.8k

A/n: I had some fun writing protective Dean in this one

༺═────────────═༻

The last hunt was too much of a close call for Dean. 

It’s been a simple vampire case, a in and out kind of deal. But, when you slipped up a little and were almost a vamps blood bag, he felt a need to protect you immediately afterwards. The thought of you ending up dead while on a hunt with him caused an itch in the back of his brain. Something he needed to get rid of or at least settle down. 

So, he began to follow you around.

It started out simple enough, sitting on the same booth as you at a restaurant, watching you through the rear view mirror on a long drive. And, recently making you share the same bed as he did. The feeling of your body safely tucked against his calmed him. 

But, then the more hunts you went the more worried he got. 

The feeling that something would happen to you if he wasn’t around caused him to panic and start to hang around you more than ever. 

What started as a simple watching you from the corner of his eye quickly turning into needing to be right next to you 24/7. He’d follow you around like a lost puppy, eyes darting around to find any potential danger. 

You’d spoken to Sam about Deans behavior, and he had agreed that it was new and different than what he normally is. But, according to Sam, Dean is naturally a protector at heart. Probably coming from being the oldest and having to take care of his little brother all the time. 

But, still, you appreciated Dean trying to protect you, but he had started to invade you privacy. 

Often not leaving you alone when you’d really need to be. Kinda like right now. You were taking a shower in the motels bathroom, the water cascading down your body when Deans humming kept on bringing you out of your peaceful state. 

You didn’t really know when he entered the bathroom, but when he did you know it was no use in trying to kick him out. He sat patiently on the toilet, the lid down so that he wouldn’t ache from sitting in the same spot for twenty minutes. 

A small magazine rested in his hands, the sound of the turning papers mixing with his humming caused you to finally stick your head past the shower curtain. 

“Dean.” You called, in the nicest voice you could muster. Slowly growing tired of his protective attitude. 

“Yes, princess?” He asked, the magazine he’d been reading tossed onto the counter as he focused solely in you.  

Pasting a quick smile on your face, you pulled the curtain closer to your naked body. “Could I have just a couple minutes to myself in here?”

Dean furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“Because, it’s kinda weird how I’m naked in here while your out there fully clothed and humming a rock song.” You stated, hoping that telling him you were slightly uncomfortable with the situation would be enough for him to leave the bathroom. 

“Would you like me to join you then, so you’d feel less weird about this?” He asked, standing from the toilet seat and making his way towards you, his flannel quickly coming off and into the piles of clothes you’d already made. 

“No! No, Dean.” You started to shout, more than likely grabbing both your neighbors and Sam’s attention whilst doing so. “Put the flannel back on and get out!”

“Why?” He asked confused. “I’d have my back turned the entire time, or if you want I could even help you shower-“

Dean stopped talking when a soft but wet object connected with his face. “Did- did you throw a loofah at me?”

“Yes, and I’ll throw something harder next time if you don’t get out of here!” Your face was hot, and not just from the boiling shower you were taking but because Dean freaking Winchester was trying to hope in the shower with you like it was a normal thing. 

He held up his hands, reluctantly making his way to the bathroom door. “Look I get that it’s weird, but it’ll help protect you.”

“Dean, I’m not going to die in the freaking shower.”

“Who knows, it’s a strange world, but I’ll be here if it happens and I’ll be able to-“ His eyes widened as you made an attempt to throw your soap bar at him, missing him by a hair and sending him running out of the bathroom. 

A breathy laugh came from one of the beds, facing the noise he saw his brother with newspaper articles and his computer laid out in front of him. “I told you she would not have appreciated you going in there.” Sam told his older brother, a smug smile playing in his lips as he watched Dean taking a seat at the small table. 

“Shut up.” He told him, now waiting for you to leave the bathroom so that he could be glued to your hip once more. “She’s gonna thank me one day.”

“Yeah, but definitely not any time soon.”

[thealternateuniverse]

I'll be your daydream, I'll be your favorite things

"Deep in my bones, I can feel you / Take me back to a time only we knew, hideaway..."

Lance Stroll x Fem OC

This was a heavy one for me to write but the idea was good and it was like an itch to my brain that I need to scratch.

Ps. I'm tired of Lance being F1's punching bag

MASTERLIST

Word Count: 6, 717

Warnings: Self- harm | Mental health issues | Abuse | Haven't proofread to the point of perfection

Disclaimer:

The characters and events depicted in this story are entirely fictional. While some names and settings may resemble real individuals or locations, this work is set in an alternate universe and does not reflect actual events or personal relationships. Any similarities to real-life situations are purely coincidental and used for creative storytelling purposes only.

Lance couldn’t be happier when a race weekend finally ended. The moment he wrapped up post-race duties, he was gone flying off to whichever country felt far enough. If it weren’t for his job, he’d throw his phone in the trash and disappear, never to return.He’d left everything behind. But he couldn’t, could he? Not until the world was done tearing him apart, bleeding him dry on the track, crucifying him for every mistake, for every privilege. As if he were the only one born into wealth. As if the others weren’t also handed golden keys behind closed doors.

Unwinding used to mean drowning his exhaustion in alcohol, hockey games, parties, or short trips with his sister or mum. Lately, though, he’d been doing it alone. And to his surprise, he realized backpacking was a hell of a lot better than lugging around everything he owned.

“Soo…where to this time?”

His face lit up when he saw her at the airport, backpack slung over her shoulder, dressed in travel clothes. Her hair was in a French braid, her face fresh and bare except for a hint of gloss on her lips, her skin glowing with a sun-kissed tan from their recent trip to Cancun.

“Anywhere we want,” Lance replied with a shrug.

She thought for a moment, tapping her chin playfully. “How about… Palau?”

Lance gestured to the check-in counter. “Then off to Palau we go.”

He lied, though. He wasn’t alone. He’d met Revia on his first solo trip, in Greece. No one knew, no one was snapping photos of him or twisting his expressions into scandal. A stranger, a backpacker, a burst of color in his grayscale life. He never planned on talking to anyone and it was through her that he learned how to travel alone. He had never loved flying economy more, booking ferries, buses… Hell, now he was even into motorcycles and bicycles. It felt… therapeutic. He couldn’t explain why these simple changes made him feel like he had his life figured out. But the bliss always fades the moment he returns to his real life. Race weekends loomed like an unavoidable storm.

But now, there is something to look forward to. Revia. Enthralling, fresh, like a breath of clean air. Lance knew he couldn’t go back to Canada without at least learning her name. She was the most mesmerizing person he’d ever met, gliding through the golden light of Santorini like some kind of goddess. He stood there, frozen, mouth agape, like a complete idiot. When he finally gathered the courage to approach her, she chuckled, clearly amused by how badly he’d made a fool of himself. But they clicked. And just like that, they were travel buddies. She had no idea what F1 was, and that was perfect. It was the last thing Lance wanted to think about on his days off. They exchanged contacts and agreed to meet at the airport when they travel. Lance didn’t ask much about her life, just her name: Revia Elira. No backstory, no details, just someone who loved to travel and, for some reason, had decided to tag along with him.

From Greece to Amsterdam—where she made him chase tulips under the spring sun. Then to Egypt, where he questioned his sanity climbing temples in 40-degree heat and for agreeing to go so far from his usual vacation spots, but it was exhilarating. Hong Kong, where he ditched Michelin stars for street food and swore he found heaven in a dumpling cart. Mind you, he never would have considered before. He felt like Anthony Bourdain, learning about culture firsthand. Then China, the northern part, was surprisingly cold. The Maldives. Cancun. He’d never taken so many videos, silly ones, fleeting moments. Photos that would last longer than the pain of being vilified online. He knew he couldn’t run forever but while he could, he’d live.

Palau is beautiful.

“This isn’t real,” Revia whispered, breathless. They were both standing there, stunned.

“This can’t be real,” Revia gasped, looking out at Palau’s sapphire waters. Both of them were stunned by the view.

“Oh my god, Lance, this is paradise!” she squealed, taking off her cover-up mid-run toward the shore.

He instinctively pulled out his phone, capturing the moment. Her joy. Her light.

“Hey! Don’t just stand there like a statue!” she yelled over her shoulder.

Lance snorted. “I’m not miserable! I’m documenting greatness.”

He set his phone down on a nearby recliner and ran after her, both of them wading into the water.

“I wish I could live here,” she whispered as they floated beside each other, the sun warming their faces.

“Me too,” he murmured, eyes closed. “I wish I never had to leave.”

Later, they lounged on recliners, sunbathing. Lance drifted off without realizing only to wake to the soft graze of fingers on his face. Revia’s face hovered over his, haloed by sunlight.

“Hey…” she said softly.

He blinked, disoriented for a moment. Her features were the first thing he saw. She didn’t look real. She looked like something he dreamt up.

“You’re so beautiful…” he whispered, more to himself than anything.

Revia chuckled, her eyes sparkling, her beauty radiant even in the fading light. Without thinking, he reached out, pulling her into his arms. She fell into his chest, his arms wrapped around her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. He forgot about everything else. He breathed her in, like she was oxygen.

“Can we just stay like this? Forever?”

She sighed, her body relaxing in his arms. “You’ve got a job to get back to.”

“I know,” he groaned. “But I just want to be with you.”

“Are you… falling in love with me?”

He smirked "What if I am?"

She smiled, a playful glint in her eyes. “Then we’ll have to jump off a waterfall. Together.”

He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t need to. It sounded perfect.

“Only if you hold my hand.” He gently cupped the back of her neck and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

They both stood, but Lance couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Not when the golden hour draped her in light like some divine painting.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re even real,” he murmured, lost in the moment.

Revia cupped his cheek, pressing a soft kiss to his other cheek. “Define real.”

He didn’t have an answer. He just sighed, the words escaping before he could stop them. “Come with me to Silverstone. Watch me race.”

He wanted her to see him in his element, see the world he was from, the world that felt so far away from this paradise.

–

It was race weekend again. The paddock is buzzing. Mechanics rushing, engineers shouting across garages, and the ever-present whirr of engines in the background. But there was something different this time.

The usual pre-race tension seemed to have lifted, and it was noticeable. The team, the drivers, hell, even the crew members couldn’t ignore it. Lance was walking with a different kind of energy, one that had been missing for a while since F3. He was more present. More enthusiastic.

“Is it just me?” Esteban muttered as he walked past Fernando in the paddock, nodding towards Lance, who was chatting with Ollie. “or does Lance look… less haunted?.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed. He’d always kept an eye on Lance, but now he couldn’t help but notice the subtle shifts. Fresh out of his debrief and actually laughed at something Ollie said.

“Definitely less brooding,” Fernando added. “The man even joined with everyone for coffee this morning.”

“Didn’t think that was possible,” George quipped, adjusting his cap. “Lance, smiling. What’s next, a therapy session?”

“Miracles do happen,” Fernando quipped, sipping his espresso like a Roman god observing mortals.

George leaned over. “You know what they say: heartbreak shows in posture, but so does a woman.” He grinned. “He’s glowing.”

Lando gave a thumbs up, overly dramatic. “He even asked about my weekend. I almost cried.”

They laughed, amused and genuinely relieved. Lance had always been cordial, but distant. Social, but guarded. He kept the world at arm’s length, rarely letting anyone in. But today, there was a glimmer of something returning,his old self, maybe.

Lance, who was standing just a few feet away, overheard their conversation and felt a small tug of warmth in his chest. He glanced up, catching the eye of Esteban, who gave him a knowing wink.

He adjusted his fireproof suit, his gaze drifting toward the corner of the paddock where he knew Revia had told him she’d be watching. He could already feel the anticipation building in his chest.

But race weekends were tricky. His focus had to stay sharp. The roar of the engines, the pressure of the crowd.

The race came and went, the cars tearing around the track in their blistering speed, a familiar rhythm that had once felt like a suffocating cage. Lance finished in a respectable position, his performance solid, though not spectacular. But it didn’t matter. He’d felt good out there. And when the checkered flag waved, it wasn’t the race that lingered in his mind. It was the thought of Revia, waiting for him. Because he had asked her to come.

And he believed she would. As he walked through parc fermé and finished his post race duties, his eyes searched the crowd, hospitality, paddock entrance, guest areas but no sign of her. He even checked the garage, then peeked at the grandstand from the corner of his eye. His phone was quiet. No messages.

She wasn’t there.

His heart sank for just a moment before he shrugged it off. Maybe something had come up. Maybe she’d been delayed. But he couldn’t deny that the thought of her being absent tugged at him more than he cared to admit. Disappointment wrapped around him like a cloak.

But when he entered the hotel lobby, something caught his eye. A silhouette in the corner, slightly hunched under the weight of a drenched jacket. The sound of rain pounded against the glass doors.

And there she was.

Revia. Soaked from the rain, than her usually perfect braid frizzed in the humidity.

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. He barely had time to process before his legs moved, carrying him across the marble floor toward her.

"Revia..." His voice was a mix of relief and excitement. Then Lance broke into the brightest grin anyone had seen on him in years.

She looked up, and the moment her eyes met his, her lips curved into a smile that made everything else blur out of focus.

“My flight got delayed, and then my cab broke down in the rain. I didn’t make it in time…”

“You’re here now,” Lance cut her off, wrapping his arms around her tightly, as if anchoring himself.

“You’re freezing,” she mumbled against his chest, but she didn’t pull away.

“So are you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her damp hair.

She looked up at him, eyes glassy from the cold. “Did I miss everything?”

And in that moment, Lance felt a surge of something more profound than just joy. It was the feeling of being understood, of finding someone who wasn’t just present but truly there with him. His whole life, he’d been surrounded by noise, by cameras, by expectations. But with Revia? She was just here. No pretenses. No facades.

He took her hand, warm and real and right here, and led her toward the elevator.

“No,” he said softly, brushing a wet strand from her cheek. “This this is the only part that matters.”

“Let’s get you warm.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone light. “But I’m going to need a towel... and maybe some dry clothes. And you?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly teasing him.

Lance smiled, a real smile this time, one that reached his eyes. “I’m just happy you’re here.I don’t think I can do another race weekend without knowing you’re waiting on the other side.”

She smiled through the exhaustion and chill. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep showing up.”

–

After the madness and busy race weekend, Bali was the perfect place to escape.

The moment they touched down, the warm air hit Lance’s skin like a soft embrace. The hustle of the airport quickly faded as they found themselves winding down the long roads that snaked through the island’s lush landscape. The vibrant green rice terraces, the scent of frangipani flowers, and the distant sounds of waves crashing against the shore all made the chaotic world they left behind feel a million miles away.

Revia had been excited from the start, bubbling with energy as she always did when they traveled. But there was something else in her voice as she spoke about Bali. "You know," she said, tossing her bag into the back of their rented jeep, "Bali’s got a lot of spirit energy. The locals believe that the island is guarded by spirits, good spirits, of course. They can tell if you're a good person or not. And if you're not, you'll most likely get sick. It's like the spirits want to keep the bad ones away."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "You’re telling me Bali’s got spirit guardians?"

She nodded, grinning at his skepticism. "Exactly. And the ones who are good, who have good intentions... they get blessed. Their stay here is magical."

“Magical, huh?” Lance repeated, amused. “So if I get sick, you’ll know what’s up.”

Revia laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Exactly. So make sure to be extra nice, Mr. Race Driver.”

Lance smirked, but a part of him felt a strange comfort in her words. After all, how could he argue with someone who lived her life so fully, who embraced the belief in the unseen with such ease?

Their days in Bali became a whirlwind of adventure, far removed from the luxury hotel rooms and catered meals Lance had become used to. Revia insisted they eat in local warungs (small restaurants), where the food was as authentic as it got. They devoured nasi goreng with chili-spiced sambal, crispy duck, and sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves. Lance was still getting used to the street food vibe, but there was something deeply satisfying about eating meals prepared by local families rather than in the impersonal surroundings of a five-star hotel.

They rented motorcycles, a decision that made Lance both nervous and excited. He had never been one for motorcycles, but with Revia leading the way, he couldn’t help but follow.

The island’s roads were wild and narrow, twisting through jungles and villages, passing by temples decorated with intricate carvings and offerings of colorful flowers. Revia, fearless and carefree, weaved through traffic like it was second nature. Lance had to concentrate, gripping the handlebars with a mix of exhilaration and mild panic.

"Don’t go too fast, okay?" he called to her, his voice carrying in the wind.

Revia glanced over her shoulder, her face lit up with a grin. "Catch me if you can!" she yelled before speeding ahead, her laughter echoing down the road.

It felt like a different world. Wild, untamed, and carefree. After hours of exploring, they finally reached the base of a lush jungle, where they started their hike to the waterfall. The air was thick with humidity, and every step felt like a brush with nature itself. The jungle around them was dense, the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves almost musical, but it was the feeling of being completely in the moment that made it unforgettable.

They hiked up steep paths, weaving between moss-covered rocks, their shoes sinking into the earth with each step. Revia led the way, moving with a natural grace that made Lance feel like he was the one struggling to keep up. Sweat was dripping down his back, his muscles aching from the climb, but the promise of the waterfall spurred him on.

“Almost there!” Revia shouted back, clearly unaffected by the climb. Her face was flushed from the heat, but there was a sparkle in her eyes, this was her element, and Lance couldn’t help but admire how at ease she was, even in the midst of the challenge.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they reached the top. The waterfall roared in front of them, crashing against the rocks below in a beautiful, thunderous display. The mist from the falls sprayed their faces, the cool droplets refreshing against the sweltering heat.

Revia looked at him with an impish grin. "Ready to jump?"

Lance stared at the waterfall. The drop wasn’t far, but it was high enough to make his stomach churn with nerves. It was a moment that would test him, just like every other big decision in his life. The voice in his head, his racing mentality tried to argue against it, to stay grounded, to stay safe. But then he looked at Revia, standing there so confidently, her smile full of life, and something inside him broke free.

"Yeah," he said, his voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline. "Let’s do it."

They ran toward the edge together, their hands clasped tightly. As they jumped, the world around them seemed to stop just for a second. They were suspended in air, weightless, before plunging into the cool, welcoming water below. The impact was breathtaking, the coldness of the water shocking at first, but the moment they resurfaced, laughter bubbled up from both of them.

Lance floated in the water, his arms stretched out as he stared at the sky above, letting the current take him. Everything felt so surreal. The jump, the water, the feeling of being with someone who made the world seem just a little more magical than it had before.

“Now this is what I call a moment,” Lance said, his voice quiet but filled with contentment.

Revia swam beside him, her body moving through the water with grace. “This place does that to you,” she said softly, almost as if she were talking to herself. “Bali… It’s magic.”

Lance looked over at her, a smile tugging at his lips. Maybe it was the magic of Bali. Or maybe it was something about Revia, about their connection, about how her belief in the spirits of the island had somehow brought him here, to this moment, to this peace.

“I think I’m starting to believe,” he said, his eyes locking with hers.

Revia grinned, treading water beside him. “I knew you would.”

As they floated in the waterfall’s embrace, Lance realized something that had eluded him for years. This wasn’t just an escape. It was a reminder that life wasn’t meant to be lived in isolation or in the shadow of what others thought of him. It was about moments like these, spontaneous, raw, and real.

And with Revia by his side, he felt like he could live in this magic forever.

They lay side by side, just off the riverbank where the waterfall roared in the background—like nature’s own applause. The spray from the falls misted the air around them, cool against their sun-warmed skin. Their towels were spread across the rocks, the last of the sunlight casting soft gold over the water and trees.

Lance rested on his back, arm behind his head, eyes watching the sky turn orange. Revia lay beside him, tracing idle circles on her thigh, occasionally glancing at him but giving him space.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. Like they’d known each other in a hundred lifetimes before this one.

“Tell me about F1. I’m curious what you do.” She broke the silence.

He let out a deep sigh.

Then Lance spoke quietly, like he was speaking more to the trees than to her.

“You know, when I started racing… I used to get so excited I couldn’t sleep before a karting event. I loved the speed, the precision. Even the nerves. I couldn’t wait to get on track.”

He exhaled slowly.

“Then I got older. F3, F2... F1. And somewhere along the way, it started to change. It became... heavier. Less about the thrill and more about expectations. Eyes. Judgment. Backlash. And my father.”

He turned his head, looking at her. “Do you know what it’s like to love something so much, but feel like it’s draining your soul?”

Revia didn’t answer. She just nodded, eyes open, listening.

“I keep thinking I should be grateful….I am, but at the same time... every race feels like I’m on trial. ‘Daddy bought his seat.’ ‘He’s wasting space.’ ‘He’s not good enough.’ No matter how much work I put in. No matter how hard I try.”

His voice cracked slightly but didn’t waver.

“And I’ve gotten good at pretending it doesn’t affect me. That I don’t care what they say. But God, sometimes I wish I could scream. Just once. Let it all out. Because the truth is… I love racing, I do, but it’s starting to feel like I’m doing it for everyone but myself.”

He looked at his hands. Scarred knuckles, sun-bronzed skin, a few small bruises fading from his wrist.

“It used to feel like flying. Now it feels like falling.”

A long moment passed. Only the sound of the waterfall and distant birds in the trees.

Then Revia slowly sat up, legs crossed beneath her as she looked at him, her voice low but sure.

“You don’t have to keep carrying all of that alone, Lance. I think you’re letting everything else drown out the sound of your own heart,” she said softly, her gaze holding his. “You’ve been trying to live up to expectations that were never your own. Your dad’s. The fans’. The critics. It’s too much weight for anyone to carry, Lance. No one can breathe under all that.”

He met her eyes, guarded and vulnerable. He looked at her, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation for how heavy it’s gotten. Not even your dad. And you sure as hell don’t owe the world a version of yourself they’ll approve of. They don’t get to decide if you’re enough.”

She tilted her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, still damp from their swim.

“I don’t think you’ve fallen out of love with racing,” she said. “I think you’ve fallen out of love with how it’s been twisted, how much you’ve had to sacrifice for it. Who you’ve had to become just to survive it. Maybe it’s time to stop racing for everyone else. To stop pretending like it’s not hurting. What I’m saying is... you’ve been so focused on the outcome, the results, the pressure... that you’ve forgotten why you loved it in the first place. You loved it because it was you. It was your passion. Your drive. But somewhere along the way, it became about living up to someone else's version of success.”

Lance didn’t say anything. He was just… watching her. Eyes soft. Jaw unclenched. Her fingers closed around his

“Maybe it’s okay if the fire dims sometimes,” she added. “That doesn’t mean it’s gone forever. And maybe the drive doesn’t always look like adrenaline and glory. Sometimes it’s choosing to get back in the car, even when it hurts. Or knowing when to step away, breathe, and remind yourself why you started.”

Lance swallowed. His throat was tight.

“You’re not weak, Lance,” she said gently. “You’re just tired. And you’re allowed to be.”

Her hand was still holding his, and Lance squeezed it, letting the comfort of her touch remind him that maybe he didn’t have to carry it all by himself anymore. He could be honest with her. He could be vulnerable.

“I think I was just waiting for someone to say that,” he whispered.

She smiled, eyes kind. “Well, I just did.”

He looked at her for a long moment. The falls still crashed in the background, but all he could hear was the silence between her words, the kind that comforted without demanding anything back.

Then, with a small breath, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t want to lose myself to all of it,” he murmured.

“Then don’t,” she replied. “You’re still here, Lance. You’re still you.”

And as the sky faded to twilight, and the first stars blinked awake above them, he let himself believe her.

If only for tonight.

“Come on, let’s have one last dip.” 

The Stroll family’s mansion was eerily quiet, save for the occasional tapping of Lawrence’s fingers on his iPad screen, checking stocks. The sun had barely crept over the horizon, but Claire Ann and Chloe were already in the living room, tension thick in the air.

Chloe was pacing back and forth, her frustration mounting with every step. “It’s been three days, Mom, and he hasn’t left his room! He barely even answers the phone when I call him.” She stopped, turning to Claire Ann, her face drawn with worry. “He’s been like this for months now! Sometimes, he doesn’t even look like him anymore. I don’t know what’s going on, but we can’t just ignore it.”

Claire Anne’s face was tight, her concern barely concealed. She had noticed the same things: Lance had changed. His eyes, once full of fire, now seemed dull, the spark gone, as if life had drained from him. She watched him from afar, helpless and heartbroken. "I know, Chloe. But... I don’t know what to do. He’s always been so strong. He used to love racing, it was everything to him, but now…" Her voice trailed off, swallowed by the heaviness in the room.

She knew her son and his love for racing, she watched from f3, to f2, now f1. But her heart breaks every time she sees her boy losing his soul to the sport he once loved

Chloe threw her hands up in frustration. "What if this isn't just some phase, Mom? What if he needs help? He’s not eating properly, he’s barely sleeping, and I—" She choked, taking a breath. “I’m scared, okay? He’s falling apart and we’re sitting here doing nothing. He’s not okay.”

Lawrence’s voice cut through the tension, as calm and dismissive as ever. “Nonsense, Chloe. He’s throwing a tantrum. He’s just upset about that race. He should’ve gotten that P3, but he slipped and fell to P7. He could have done better, for Christ’s sake. If he drove like he actually cared, he wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Chloe’s fists clenched, her blood boiling. "A tantrum? You’re seriously blaming this on a race result, Dad?" She almost screamed, her voice cracking with frustration. “This isn’t about a goddamn race. This is about Lance. This is about my brother, who’s been slowly disappearing right in front of us, and you won’t even bat an eye!”

Lawrence didn’t even look up from his screen. “What’s there to see? He’s a driver. He’s been living in the shadow of his dad’s expectations. He had one bad race, big deal. He’s not crazy.”

Chloe’s breathing grew shallow, a mixture of panic and rage. “Oh my god, are you hearing yourself? You think this is just about a race? It’s been months, Dad! He hasn’t been himself since before that crash in Monaco. You know he used to smile after every race, even the bad ones. Now he barely talks to us. He’s empty. This isn’t normal.”

Claire Ann, her face drawn tight with worry, reached out and placed a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “Maybe he needs... someone to talk to. A professional. I’ve been thinking about it, but... I don’t know if he’d be open to it.” Her voice cracked slightly at the end, a sign of how deeply worried she was for her son.

Chloe’s eyes were wide with desperation. “Mom, he needs therapy! He needs someone to help him with whatever this is. I can’t stand seeing him like this anymore!”

Lawrence snorted, rolling his eyes. “Therapy? For what? You’re acting like the kid’s crazy. He’s not crazy. He just needs to grow up and stop letting a few bad results get to him. This is all a phase, and it’ll pass. Let him sulk, let him sort himself out.”

But Chloe had heard enough. She couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t just let her brother slip away in front of her eyes while their father buried his head in the sand.

Without another word, she turned sharply, heading towards the stairs. “I’m not going to stand here and pretend everything is fine,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Where are you going?” Lawrence called after her, but Chloe didn’t answer. She wasn’t going to waste any more time with him.

She reached Lance’s door and knocked softly, her heart hammering in her chest. “Lance? It’s me… I just want to talk. Please, open the door.”

Silence.

“Lance?” she tried again, louder this time, knocking more insistently. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle, finding it locked. Her stomach dropped.

Her voice was more urgent now. “Lance, you’ve been in there for days. Just let me in. Please.”

But still, no answer. It felt wrong, like the house itself was holding its breath.

Chloe’s hand flew to the door handle, twisting it with force. “This isn’t normal!” she muttered under her breath. “I’m not letting this go.”

Without thinking, her body pushed against the door, forcing it open with a loud creak.

What she found inside made her blood run cold.

Lance was slumped in the bathtub, his body motionless, his eyes closed, his skin pale and ghostly. The water was still running too high, rising up around him, and she could hear the faint sound of water splashing against the edge of the tub.

Chloe’s breath caught in her throat. “Lance!” she screamed, her heart lurching in her chest as she rushed to his side. She shook him roughly, but he didn’t respond.

“No, no, no...” Her hands were shaking as she reached into the water, feeling for his pulse, praying, begging for it to be there. Her mind raced, but everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. “Lance, wake up!”

She yanked him from the water, her heart hammering as she pulled him into her arms, her vision blurry with tears. “Mom! Dad! Help!”

Claire Ann and Lawrence came rushing in at the sound of her frantic scream, their faces instantly drained of color when they saw Lance, lifeless in her arms.

Chloe was shaking, her voice a frantic rasp. “He’s not breathing! He’s not breathing, Mom, do something! Help him!”

Claire Ann dropped to her knees beside them, her hands trembling as she checked for a pulse. She shook her head, her breath hitching, her voice shaking. “Lance... Lance, please...”

Lawrence’s face twisted into panic as he moved to help, but it was clear he was just as lost as the rest of them. “What the hell happened?” His voice cracked.

Chloe was still holding Lance’s cold body, her own tears now falling freely. “I... I don’t know. I just found him here, I—I didn’t know what to do...”

Claire Ann’s voice was strained as she snapped into action, her maternal instinct kicking in. “Get the paramedics. Now!” She grabbed her phone, dialing quickly, her voice trembling with urgency.

In the chaotic blur of the moments that followed, Lance remained still, his body a lifeless weight in Chloe’s arms. The world had gone silent around her, the rush of adrenaline cutting through everything, until all that mattered was the terrifying thought that they might have already lost him.

---

The water was warm. The light is soft. Revia was smiling.

They were still in Bali. Still by the waterfall.

Lance could feel the slick rock beneath him, the sound of the rushing cascade, the glint of the sunset caught in her eyes.

He heard her voice, soft and soothing like always. Only this time… it sounded far away. Muffled.

His brows drew together.

She was right beside him… wasn’t she?

Then her hand brushed his cheek. “Lance.”

Her voice trembled, but her smile didn’t falter.

“You need to go back.”

He blinked. Confused. “Go where? I am here.”

But then he heard something else, screaming.

Not hers. Distant. Desperate.

“No,” he said, frowning deeper, suddenly cold despite the heat of the tropics. “We’re together. You’re right here.”

But Revia just touched his hand, gently pulling away.

“I can’t stay,” she whispered, her voice beginning to echo as if underwater. “Promise me you’ll remember the good parts. And forget the rest.”

“No. Don’t say that.”

“Lance—please,” she said. “Don’t forget me.”

He reached for her but her figure began to fade.

“Revia!”

And suddenly….

The waterfall was gone.

In its place: a flash of rage, his father’s voice slamming into him like an impact.

“How many more excuses do you need to fail, Lance?”

“Do you even care about this team?”

“Grow up and prove you deserve it.”

“Always choking when it matters!”

“Why do you even try?”

Then another voice. A thousand voices.

Online. On fire. Unforgiving.

“He’s a joke.”

“Daddy’s money strikes again.”

“He doesn’t even belong in F1.”

“He washed out again. Another rich kid who can’t drive.”

“LOL he should retire.”

“Mental breakdown incoming.”

Then the screech of tires. The scream of carbon. Metal crumpling.

Another crash. Another impact.

He was falling. Faster. Faster.

Then he drowned…he can't breath and keeps flailing his arms and feet so he can get up to the surface. But it wasn't the surface.

Darkness. Cold. Wet tile.

He blinked. Gasped.

His eyes fluttered open and he realized…

He was on the floor of his own bathroom, fully clothed, drenched and shaking.

The cold wasn’t from a waterfall. It was from the shower that had been running for God knows how long.

His mother was screaming his name.

Claire Anne's hands were on his cheeks, frantically trying to keep him conscious.

“Lance! Baby, look at me…….

Lance!”

His sister Chloe was kneeling nearby, sobbing uncontrollably. Mascara streaked down her face. She kept whispering, "Please, please, ….."

His father stood frozen in the doorway. Pale. Speechless. The rage is absent. Just a man too stunned to breathe.

Lance blinked, delirious. “Revia?” he rasped.

Claire flinched. Chloe gasped.

“Where is she?” he looked around, panic rising. “She was right here, we were just in Bali. I swear, we were just…..she said goodbye……she said she—”

His mother and sister looked at each other and about to lose it too.

He tried to push himself up, limbs weak and uncoordinated, slipping in the puddle of water on the tile. He stumbled toward the counter, yanking his phone from where it had fallen, fingers trembling as he tapped through the camera roll.

“Look……look, I have photos—”

He scrolled. Faster. Desperate.

Nothing.

No waterfalls. No beaches. No Revia.

Only blank spaces and empty thumbnails where his mind swore there were memories.

“No. No, no, no…….where is she?” His voice cracked into a broken whisper. “She’s real. She has to be.”

Claire sobbed, turning her face into Chloe’s shoulder. Chloe cried harder, holding her mother with one hand and her phone in the other, already on the line with emergency.

“Lance…” Claire said through broken tears. “Sweetheart. She’s not real.”

He stared at her like she’d spoken in a foreign language.

“She was real,” he snapped, shaking his head. “She knew things. She laughed. She held my hand. She told me—”

“She was a dream,” Chloe choked out. “You were sick, Lance. You haven’t been okay.”

Lance stood there, eyes wide, chest heaving. Reality was crashing down faster than any race car he'd ever driven.

And suddenly, he stopped speaking. Stopped moving. His knees gave out, and he slid down the wall, phone clattering from his hands onto the tile.

He let out a low, strangled sob.

“She was real…” he choked

And then he cried. For real this time. Not in silence, not in private but fully, helplessly in front of his family. As his mother wrapped her arms around him and his sister held onto his legs.

The paramedics rushed in moments later. Someone said his name. Another pulled out a syringe. Everything was moving too fast. Too loud. Too bright.

Before the needle pierced his skin, he had one last thought:

“Don’t forget me,” she said.

And then, darkness took him again.

---

Months Later

The city felt quieter now.

Not because it was but because he was.

Lance stepped out of the clinic, pulling his hoodie up against the late afternoon breeze. The familiar rhythm of the streets no longer overwhelmed him. The static in his chest had lessened. Things weren’t fixed, but they were manageable.

Therapy had been going well.

Today’s session was light, checking in, unpacking the last dream he had about racing. The one where he wasn’t crashing, or running, or drowning in online noise.

In this one, he was just driving.

No finish line. No audience. Just wind, road, and peace.

His therapist had smiled when he described it. “That sounds a lot better,” she’d said.

He didn’t answer at the time.

But now, as he walked toward the café down the street, hands in his pockets, he realized…

Maybe she was right, who knows?

---

He ordered his usual. Matcha latte, no sugar.

The café was quiet. Warm lighting. Soft jazz in the background. The kind of place that invited stillness.

Lance was scrolling through his phone absentmindedly when he heard it.

> “One oat milk latte for… Revia?”

His head snapped up.

He almost dropped his phone.

There she was, at the other end of the counter. Wearing a long, tailored coat and heels. Her hair neatly pinned back, subtle makeup highlighting the same features he remembered. But she looked different. Sharper. Composed.

More elegant than the barefoot and adventurous girl who once danced beneath a waterfall.

His heart punched against his ribs.

Was she real?

He stepped forward slowly, eyes glued to her as if she might vanish again.

The barista called again. “Lance?”

He blinked, taking his cup.

They were side by side now. She was rummaging through her wallet.

“Damn,” she muttered, cheeks flushing slightly. “I’m short.”

Lance, without thinking, slid his card across the counter. “I got it.”

She looked at him.

A pause.

“Thanks,” she said politely, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll pay you back—”

“No need,” he smiled. Then took a breath. “I’m Lance, by the way.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, her eyes flicking up to his.

Like something registered—but not quite.

“I’m… Revia.”

There it was again. Her voice. The same melody that once lulled him into dreams.

Lance nodded, carefully.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

She smiled politely, still puzzled, but not unfriendly. “Thanks. Nice to meet you…and yeah… free coffee. ”

He chuckled. “Maybe.”

They stood there in a strange little bubble while the rest of the café carried on behind them.

For Lance, it was like déjà vu or fate playing a trick on him.

He didn’t press. Didn’t say you were in my head while I broke apart or you saved me even if you were never real.

He just said, “You come here often?”

“First time, actually,” she said, sipping her drink. “I just moved nearby. Starting a new job next week.”

He smiled.

Something in him like a familiar ache, a quiet longing settled.

Maybe this was a second chance.

Or maybe she was just a stranger with the same name, the same face.

He didn’t need an answer. For now.

“Then welcome to the neighborhood,” he said.

--

Revia - Hints at “revive” or “reverie”; beautiful and reflective

Elira- to be free or spirit

[howisjoostfanfictionforfree]

Twice as Many Shadows

Joost Klein x Vampire!reader

Real person fiction!

CW: 18+, MDNI, RPF, getting roofied, attempted sexual assault, body horror, reference to violence against animals, cannibalism, no smut yet sorry (that’s in part 2 heehee), obligatory club scenes, countless other cliches, please let me know if I’ve forgotten anything

Reader: vampire!reader, female!reader, not descriptive with reader’s appearance but I did give them a bit of personality and a backstory that I hope does not detract from the ability to self insert,,,, yeah I may have gone too hard on backstory

Other notes: Story takes place October 2022,,,,Also big thanks to my irl bestie for his help identifying stray plot bunnies and big thanks to @joosthead for always encouraging me and giving me so much advice over time when it comes to writing! You’re amazing!!!

Word count: ~5,900

Real person fiction! Beware! 👻

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve been so many places over the past few years but Amsterdam is a first.

The Netherlands club scene tickles you and Amsterdam is the center of it all. Bouncing from city to city and country to country has kept you sane but this place has you pausing for the first time in what feels like forever.

The energy of summer saturated the nightlife when you arrived and parties raged until the dawn. Festival season was loud and unignorable but even the mainstay clubs and bars were full to bursting for months on end. Anywhere a body could fit there was a party to accommodate.

Even now as long warm nights turn crisper and darker as summer turns to autumn, the Dutch party on and you find yourself carried away by the momentum they never seem to lose.

It’s easy to stay. Maybe it's just been long enough since you started all this that you feel like you can breathe normally. Maybe you're just far enough away.

Maybe it really is just something about Amsterdam.

You’re growing attached to this place. You dread the day you will have to leave.

He catches your eye at the club. You notice him first, of course. Can hear him from clear across the room despite the bone-rattling music and hundreds of other people.

It’s a Friday night and you itch to be among the crowd. Close enough to feel like one of them and share in their moment. You wish it were yours. You will make it yours too, just like always. 

Something about the exact way he looks and the exact way he speaks to his group of friends is so striking you couldn't ignore him if you tried. He jokes with an open affection that just shouldn't be possible in words chosen so crass and shouted so loud. Never have you heard ‘cancer dick’ sound like an endearment. 

He is so yellow and pink and blue. Your three new favorite colors. Golden hair almost luminescent under the black lights. Cheeks as pink as his flashy jacket. Eyes bluer than the toxic looking drink in his hand.

You couldn't say whether or not he is conventionally handsome. The sight of him immediately fills a space in your brain you didn't know existed like a lock and key and bowls over your pre-existing notions of the word.

Every part of his face fits in perfect proportion to the rest in a way you have never seen and it has you floored.

There's nothing unusual about it, nothing you can put your finger on, just something absolutely entrancing. 

He isn't just beautiful either. That perfect face is radiating an attitude like no one else in the room. No one else looks as happy, as carefree, as genuinely joyous. You can hear it in his words, see it in how he dances like he doesn't care who is watching. You can tell he doesn't. 

How long has it been since you felt such strong attraction? It makes you stupidly nostalgic for how simple things like this might have been when you were human.

You could have flirted with him, danced with him, maybe even taken him home, gotten his number in the morning.

Now, he is everything you want, everything you want to be, and most definitely everything you can't have. 

Not like that at least. He wouldn't have you. 

He catches your gaze from across the floor. Yeah, you probably are staring aren’t you. But you don’t look away. One perk of your creature status is a much increased ability to not give a fuck. Even when you really really should. His eyes rove over you and his face breaks into what you would call a smirk. 

You want to see it fall as you bite a chunk out of him. 

Okay, time to leave. Better get out of here before you do something weird. Turning away, you weave through the crowd. You feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

Literally. Vampires can do that. 

The itch of his gaze evaporates as you step out the door and reach for a cigarette. Disgusting but necessary. Perfect for blotting out all the people-smells that you’re suddenly having a harder time than usual ignoring.

The first drag is fucking toxic but it’s immediately easier not to focus on the cocktail of male sex hormones the club atmosphere provided. You wonder which are his of the dozens dancing on your tongue. 

The overlap between sexual attraction and the urge to hold someone between your jaws still surprises you sometimes. Of course it isn’t always about sex. You could want to eat someone you hated just as bad. Most often it’s a complete stranger.

It’s like squares and rectangles. You might not think about fucking someone every time you need blood, but every time you do want to fuck, you also want to sink your teeth in. 

If you’re being honest though, this observation is based on fairly brief encounters with fairly drunk men. In reality, you haven’t gotten any in a while. Years in fact. Literal monster behavior seems to be a bit of a turn off for most men and sexy encounters always end the moment you get a good few gulps in and their struggling makes you start to feel guilty. 

You sigh. This is far from the first time you’ve wondered at this particular predicament. Why can’t a girl get some?

You flick the butt to the ground and grind it out with your heel. It’s about time to head home. You came out to have fun and you don’t actually need to feed right now. Even if you did, it would probably go poorly given the mood you’re in. 

You don’t have the archetypical problem of killing people when you feed, not that you’ve never killed anyone, but the trauma level for whichever poor person you choose on a given night can vary greatly depending on your state of mind and right now you’re feeling a little worked up. It might be more bloody than usual. 

Ideally, it’s always drunk people you feed on, as fucked up as that sounds, in the end they usually remember less. That or sleeping people.

God. So much noncon. 

But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Blood banks actually ask a lot of questions and you’ve never felt like trying to intimidate a doctor into faking a condition for you, too afraid of catching their interest and becoming a science experiment.

There aren’t any vampires you've met yet that could point you in a helpful direction either. You never even got to know the vampire that turned you. 

The exact circumstances of your metamorphosis were actually a bit of a mystery. You had no memory of being bitten.

One night you came-to in the middle of the street, blocks away from where you should have been, shoulder bloody, and within the hour you were crawling out of your skin as you transformed. 

Outwardly, you looked no different, but that night your senses shifted and heightened and your bones and muscle tore apart and regrew stronger in far too short a time. 

It was a good thing you had been alone. You had been with your friends before. It was a girls night out catching the newest Spiderman in theaters.

Sitting there on the pavement, blood seeping into your shirt, you knew there was something off and you stumbled home without finding them. 

When you arrived you realized you were more than just in shock. It hurt. Everything hurt. You should have gone to the hospital. But how could you have known?

It came on fast.

By the time you knew there was something really wrong, you were too weak to make it anywhere in your agony. Too weak to even make it to your phone in your coat pocket hanging on the door. 

In the end, you are glad no one got to witness what happened. What you are sure would have been beyond explanation. The sight of your own flesh writhing under your skin is unforgettable. The tiles of the kitchen floor where you collapsed took days to clean. 

The only thing that kept you from totally freaking out in the moments afterward was the insane thought that maybe you had become Spiderman. As stupid as that sounds.

Not that you were a hero or anything.

That much was clear from the beginning when you stumbled outside to rip into the dog in the yard across the street after realizing you could hear your neighbors through the wall and it was making your mouth water. 

Dogs are disgusting. At least it didn’t die. 

You still watch Spiderman now and then on the days you're feeling a tad existential. Honestly, you wish you could be Spiderman. You don’t really know what you are.

Your heart still beats and you definitely don't sparkle, but your canines are extendable and people really do look delicious sometimes. You feel the need to feed on people but no one you've ever fed on has turned. You checked.

It would be nice if whoever bit you had stuck around to talk it out. In the end, vampire just seemed like the best word for it. 

Never mind the flesh eating part. 

What were you saying? Oh yeah, if you try and find someone drunk enough to not notice a little bite right now, you might accidentally decapitate them. A slight exaggeration, but still. 

The worn cobblestones glitter under the amber lamplight as you make your way down the street towards the tram stop, still thinking about that perfect face.

The breeze carries a real hint of chill now, letting go of the last traces of your favorite summer since you started all this.

The shadows on the water are deeper than you remember ever seeing them. They creep up over the edges of the canals to fill the street and swallow the alley you turn down. 

You make it only a few feet before a group of guys round the opposite corner and take up the entire width of the passage.

Even with the knowledge that they would ultimately move to the side, you don’t want to deal with the urges they might inspire in such a tight space. Not right now.

Somehow you’re only feeling more and more keyed up.

Making a quick decision, you turn around to head back the way you came. The thumping of the bass becomes detectable as you near the club again, rattling you physically to match your internal agitation. 

You round the corner to try going up the other street this time and collide harshly with the exact person you had been looking to get away from. 

What was even the point of being a vampire if you couldn’t avoid clumsy moments like these?

 You take a step back as you raise your hands up slightly in a placating gesture. 

“Het spijt me,” you say trying to dodge around him quickly as his scent absolutely floods your senses. 

Fuck, he smells good. 

The general mixed smells of horny male in the club had been enough when looking at him before, but here and now, you realize you are in real trouble. The way he smells itches something deep in you. You want to fuck him. You also want to bite him. Hard.

Go now. Leave.

He spins as if to follow you as you skirt around him. 

“No problem! Hey I saw you earlier, are you leaving already?” He says in perfect English. He must think you’re a tourist. Technically, you kind of are. 

“Is my accent that bad?” you say, pausing in step to look at him. 

What the fuck are you thinking. You need to go right now. 

He grins. ”Haha, yes a little.” 

You can’t help yourself. You can tell he’s teasing. He was charming before from all the way across the room and he’s just as charming right now. All blond fluff and cheekbones and effortless charisma. You turn to face him fully.

“Well, yeah, I think I’m done for the night,” you say carefully. 

He leans in a little, opens his mouth to say something else, but stops dead when he sees what must be your eyes turning pitch black. 

You feel the subtle tug as it happens. The proximity to something so fucking potent as he leans forward pushes you over an edge you didnt even know was there. You’re literally engaging night vision like you’re going to hunt him or something. Ridiculous. You haven't had this problem in years. 

“Fuck!” he stumbles back. “Your eyes! A-Are you…….What!?” 

You’re still just standing there and you can tell he doesn’t know what to say. For as much as pop culture loves the supernatural, no one is ever actually prepared to encounter it.

You can tell he isn’t drunk enough to forget what he’s seeing right now but once again you don’t care like you probably should.

You allow your gaze to flit from his shocked stare down to his lips and then, after a moment, to his throat. When you look up again, it’s obvious he’s blushing. His eyes have become so dark they could rival your own if it weren't for the sclera.

Less than a second later, the smell of his arousal hits you.

What the fuck?

It stirs you more intensely than you thought possible and you know it's now or never. Leave or absolutely traumatize this beautiful stranger. 

You summon all your willpower and turn tail and run.

You don’t even try to conceal your speed. It's dark enough and the risk has to be taken if you stand any chance of getting far enough away to save the situation by the time that willpower runs out. 

Besides, he’s already seen you. 

By the time you reach your street you’re panting. God, that was like four kilometers. Whatever fresh Twilight bullshit that says vampires never run out of stamina is just wrong. You may have done it in a nice neat ten minutes but still, that was rough.

The burning in your chest has you feeling decidedly less sexy and you walk the rest of the way home. 

Home was a small apartment you had found on the edge of the city where you could afford to not have a roommate and the landlady let you pay month by month instead of signing on for a whole year. It was always hard finding places like that.

In the few months you had been there not one of your neighbors was especially loud or smelly or nosey and you counted it a lucky find. It was a perfect spot really, and you were glad it was within your budget.

You had been working remote for the duration of your worldly travels. Even if things got tight sometimes, it was a good enough paying job and you wouldn't trade it for anything since it allowed you to move around when you wanted.

After your great murderous fuck-up back home, you had found it was very soothing to be out of country, even if you were sure no one was onto you. 

It would be pretty hard to pin anything on you with no body.

As far as you know, the poor guy is still considered missing. Well, you say ‘poor guy,’ but the guy was kind of an asshole. You had never been drugged before, but you could tell for him it was a practiced routine.

The horror of the night started at the bar at the local theater. Not a place you had thought to be on your guard. Mere months after your transformation, you were there with a few friends in full costume to catch this month's performance of Rocky Horror.

It was intermission and you were all milling about refilling drinks and stretching your legs and fighting to fit as many people at once into the lone photo booth in the corner. The bar was small and you did not expect to stop there for longer than it took to get a new beer. 

He came up next to you, too close from the get-go considering there was no one else standing there, and made conversation while he had you captive waiting for your drink.

He wasn’t from around there, was visiting he said, and wanted to know what people do for fun. You could tell he really meant he wanted to know what fun he could have with you.

As forward as he was, it wasn't unusually pushy and you were ultimately unbothered when you broke away to find your friends. You never even saw how he managed to dose you. 

You never found your friends.

You don’t even remember how you made it to his car. 

One minute you were walking back to your seat and the next, you were outside. It was cold. Someone was carrying you bridal style.

You were pretty out of it for a good minute. Not sure how long exactly, but long enough that when you started processing things again, you were pulling up by the side of the road near a cow pasture.

He clearly thought you were still out of it because he removed his hand from your thigh, cut the engine, and got out to go around to open your door without a word. 

God knows what he had in mind for you that night, but you never found out because as it happens, he was right, you were still kind of out of it. Not like he had intended, your metabolism already working through a dose surely meant to incapacitate, but you were still loopy enough that logic was miles away and a cold and creeping dread began to fill you as you realized your situation.

The inability to think clearly, though it was getting better with each second, was only more agitating. 

It didn't even occur to you at the time that he stood no chance, that this was all ridiculous. You had been different for too short a time back then.

He was a threat, and one way or another you were about to respond. 

He opened your door. 

You had never felt the kind of fear-panic-rage before that you did in that moment. 

You were up in a flash as soon as he opened it wide enough and dragged him with you into the field.

Your strength was unexpected and his last words were no more than a surprised shout before you ripped his throat out and drank.

Each time he thrashed, the panic fought to overwhelm you and you drank faster to quiet him. He couldn't hurt you if you made him stop moving. 

When he ran dry, the panic-rage still burned and it seemed only natural to take a bite. A real bite. You had to make sure he stopped. 

So you did. 

And then another bite. 

And another and another and before you knew it, he had no head. 

Then, he had no arm and then soon, he only had a leg. 

The only thing you didn’t eat was his clothes. 

When light started to creep over the horizon, you finally came out of your state. You felt both calm and horrified. The threat was gone, but you also didn’t know you could do that. Where did it all go? Forget the size of your stomach, your entire body couldn’t have fit his inside of it. 

It was a little startling at the time. 

You burned his clothes and drove his car to the bottom of a lake. It might have been enough, probably was, but after that you didn’t stick around long to find out.

All this was to say that you enjoyed where you were now. It had been a good couple of years and you were now only vaguely disturbed about your latent abilities. You had even gotten back to the point where you were going back to bars and clubs again!

There was a time when you stayed away after that. You had been slow to return to enjoying nightlife after all you had been through, but Berlin had done wonders in that department and Amsterdam only solidified it. There was something about the Dutch brand of party that made you feel alive.

Tonight put a slight damper on that feeling of progress though. You’re not sure what you would have done to that guy if you hadn't left that very second.

Even if the situation was entirely different, it was the first time since that disastrous night that you have felt so out of control.

You can’t say you felt particularly murderous but you did want to hurt him in ways that make you blush a little now as you trudge up the steps to your door and wrestle with your keys. 

Ugh. You can never repeat that night. 

You will have self control. 

You do have self control. 

Mostly. 

You should just calm down already. As you bolt the door and slip off your shoes, you resolve to make tea and forget about it. Besides, you didn’t really do anything and no one will ever believe him. 

The next day finds you completely normal and you spend your time working. You had a good night's sleep all things considered.

It’s such a good thing that vampires can sleep. Sure, maybe you would get more done if you didn’t, but honestly you think you would go crazy. You love your comfy little nest and you love turning your brain off. It needed to be turned off after that encounter. 

By next week, the entire thing is forgotten (filthy lie) and you feel like it is high time for another visit to the club. Boredom is killer and you can't resist anyways. Last time was surely a one-off.

You do yourself up and make your way downtown. 

The street lamps reflect off the water and the countless neon signs of bars and restaurants give the streets an ethereal glow despite the shadows, deep as ever.

They scatter in every direction, multiplying in protest of the city lights and gathering themselves to obscure every corner.

The pounding bass spills out the door of every club you pass and the carefree Friday night energy of every person wandering the streets is tangible. 

Amsterdam is so awesome. 

You purposefully choose a new spot you found on Instagram, hoping to avoid running into him again.

You’ve never been big on social media, but ever since your life took you on the road it became critical to your navigation of the world. It took some getting used to, especially with no one in your life to ask more than superficial questions, but you figured it out. 

It still startles you occasionally just how non tech-savvy you can be. It’s not usually an issue but when you forget how to convert file types or struggle to navigate online forums you can't deny you’re a little behind the curve. Honestly, you might as well be a vampire from the 17th century not the 21st. One hidden away in a decaying manor far from modern technology. 

An exaggeration, but it really feels that way sometimes. 

You often pat yourself on the back for learning how to use the software necessary to do your job. Your career hadn’t required it of you before and it was only due to the fuckass pandemic that it had become an option. Now that you had the tech down it was very convenient to be able to do your job virtually.

That had been one of your biggest concerns in the beginning. How were you gonna fund your life on the run if you had to constantly search for new employment? 

When you get to the club it is delightfully similar to the photos and you spend your evening rotating between dancing your ass off and people-watching from the side when the smells and jostling get a little too exciting.

Yes, the club is exciting. The right amount this time around. You feel like a real young adult. You give yourself another pat on the back for your foray into normalcy.

It’s a smaller club on Lange Leidsedwarsstraat. By no means tucked away, but far enough from Leidseplein main square that there are far fewer tourists.

The ice is starting to melt in your drink. You can’t be bothered with it when there is so much to look at.

There can't be more than a hundred people crammed in this tiny renovated warehouse but they manage to sport a variety of fashion and dance styles. Inevitably, you spot hakken amongst them. The tangle of decks and mixers on the small raised stage is huge and the lone DJ operating it all glows in alternating colors as lights strobe from behind to scatter over the crowd.

You work your way out of the corner and back onto the dance floor again. The upbeat song playing now hits just the right vibe for how you’re feeling. 

Doe de Fryslân bop

Wist je niet dat ik van Fryslân kom?

Dude, doe de Fryslân bop

Blaas het op als een fietsbandpomp

You bop along for a minute as the song demands and notice a group of several people shouting along much louder than everyone else. They seem to know every word.

One of them facing away from you turns in place as he dances and suddenly you’re locking eyes with the exact same guy. 

Jesus Christ, what are the odds. 

Well, maybe not terrible odds if you consider he’s probably a local. 

But still. Goddammit. 

His face instantly lights up and it would be kind of cute if you weren’t panicking. Those baby blues pack a punch. What happened to not giving a fuck?

Before you can move a single muscle to make your retreat, he is surging towards you through the crowd and  o h   s h i t   you did not expect that.

You thought he’d be running too. Even if he had been surprisingly horny in the face of inhuman eyes, you figured the freakish speed there at the end would have been enough to spook him.

Shocked, you fail to stop him from grabbing your wrist like he can tell you’re gonna make a break for it again. Vampire reflexes who? You open your mouth to protest but before you can say anything he leans in and bites your shoulder.  

What.

WHAT?

You realize you’re shouting it as he pulls away laughing. 

“Fancy seeing you here!” He is way too happy.

“You bit me!”

“Are you gonna bite me back?” 

“What!?”

“C’mon, I know you want to.” The way he waggles his eyebrows should not be attractive. It is.

“Excuse me?!”

“I’ve watched enough tv to know a bloodsucker when I see one.” He looks stupidly smug.

“Yeah, tv. You should probably stop watching so much.”

“Your eyes were beautiful y’know.” You feel your own heart stutter.

“I think you had too much to drink.”

“Please, that was not drunk at all, you should have seen how we ended the night!”

“Yeah, you definitely were. But you’re joking, right? You should know most girls aren’t into roleplay right off the bat.” Maybe you can embarrass him into leaving you be. 

He scoffs and brings his other hand to the back of your head so he can pull you in as he leans down to whisper in your ear. 

“Why did you run?”

You can tell he’s deliberately holding your face close to his throat and god damn him, you know what he is trying to achieve and it works. This close to the source, the other smells of the club can’t run interference.

His presence is just as overwhelming as the first time and the smell of his skin and the thump of his heart is so close now you can’t help your reaction once again.

You feel the familiar tug behind your eyes and the shadows of the room start to melt away. The little silver chain sitting against his clavicles snaps into perfect definition.

He pulls away to gauge your reaction, the sly motherfucker, but his grin melts into stupefied wonder when he sees exactly what he had hoped for. 

“There it is.” He whispers. His heart is beating harder than ever and his scent rushes forward to envelop you even though you are no longer pressed to his neck. He smells like adrenaline. He smells like arousal.

You pout as he drinks you in. He pulled a fast one on you. 

Realizing he’s still holding your wrist, you flex in warning. He grips tighter like he’s afraid to let you go.

“C’mon, I’m not gonna go around gathering a mob with torches and pitchforks, what’s the big deal?”

You hold his gaze. You remember very well what the big deal is. What you are capable of when emotions are this high. He has you feeling something, alright.

But, you have to admit, even though everything about his presence is sending you into the stratosphere, it is nothing like that night. This feeling, albeit intense, is a good one. 

When was the last time someone talked to you like this? After seeing what you were? Never. Maybe you overreacted before. Maybe you can control yourself. As much as you want to rip into his shoulder you're not doing it. You‘re enjoying looking at him too much.

He really is beautiful.

Right now it doesn't feel like you're in danger of a big deal 2.0. Just maybe something equally stupid.

“You know I’ll have to kill you if you out me right?” You look over at the rest of his group where they are still dancing. 

His eyes widen at your indirect confirmation- you are a vampire. His grip becomes stiff and you finally get a whiff of fear. Good. Even if you’re lying, he should know who he’s dealing with. 

He stutters a bit, “I-I told some of my friends I saw something crazy, but they don’t believe me I swear! They just think I was drunk! Like you said!” 

God, he’s outing himself already. He’s so lucky you’re not actually evil. You just laugh and begin swaying to the beat again. You break his hold on your wrist effortlessly now, just a hint of real strength, so you can grab his hand instead. 

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasing. Dance with me?”

Even in the low lighting of the club, you can tell with your shifted vision how hard he’s blushing. In spite of his fear, he smells like he’s ready to fuck you pregnant. 

God, he’s a freak. 

You love it.

He acquiesces after a stunned moment and begins to bounce along with you. After a minute, you see him start mouthing the lyrics and it strikes you again how well he seems to know them. 

“A favorite of yours?” you say. 

”I wrote it!” he exclaims, leaning in. “You like?” 

“Did you really?” You are genuinely skeptical.

He scoffs. “I did! I am huge Netherlands artiest, don’t you know Joost Klein? Also, I know the DJ so he plays my stuff.” You hear humor in his voice but you don’t know what part is a joke.

Joost Klein. Huh. You have never heard that name in your life.

“Wow, I feel so lucky to meet a celebrity.” You bat your eyes at him.

He clocks your bullshit immediately.

“Really! I can show you my stuff! Come to my studio and I’ll show you what I’m working on!” 

You smirk. You are really dancing quite closely now. 

“Wow I dunno, I never usually let boys show me their stuff on the first date.”

He chokes out a laugh “So this is a date huh?” his hands are on your waist now.

“I don’t know yet” You say. “Dance with me some more.” 

Because you are insane, you turn around and lean up against him. The music is a little slower and heavier now than the alt-pop rap playing before. Joost gets the message immediately and soon you’re grinding to the beat. Already, you can feel his bulge against your ass.

You let yourself get lost in the rhythm of the music and the feeling of him against you. It's easy to lose time when his scent and his touch surround you like this. You could almost forget the itch in your canines. 

His head bows and his lips skim your shoulder where he bit you. What a strange sensation. A role reversal. You still can't believe he did that. For a minute, you feel strikingly human.

You arch up into him and let your head fall back against his chest. His lips move up to your ear and he asks, “Can I have your number?” You twist yourself back around to face him. 

It’s getting harder not to just kiss him. 

You maintain eye contact for a minute, his gaze searching yours.

Without breaking the stare-down, you reach into his pocket oh-so-slowly and pull out his phone, offering it to him.

He is starting to look a little crazed but he breaks the eye contact to look down and open it for you. You punch in your number when he turns it to you and slide it back into his pocket, just as slowly. 

Hooking a finger into his belt loop, you look up at him under your lashes. Joost looks like he doesn’t know whether to fuck you now or fuck you later. If he can wait to get you home.

You don’t let him deliberate. 

Leaning up, you ghost your lips over his. “See you soon.” 

And with all the stupid supernatural guile you can muster, you sink backwards into the crowd and disappear. The last glimpse you catch of his face is one of outrage. 

You laugh all the way down the street. 

A side street without lamps lends the shadows you need for cover as you give it just a bit of a speed boost in case he gets the idea to go looking for you again. Lord knows you’ve bumped into him enough times now that he might think to try it. 

You aren’t even to the end of the street before you get a text.

        +31 06 5337496:  y r u so mean to me ( ｰ̀εｰ́ )

          +31 06 5337496:  when will you come to my studio?

          +31 06 5337496: ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

You're still not sure what he really means by studio. Maybe it was a joke for his apartment. A studio apartment? Or maybe he really does make music. That would be fun. Not that you know much about Dutch music. Or Dutch. You sigh. It’s a process. 

Saving his number you write back.

        cap

          I am not mean

          had to get out of there before you turned full blood-                 

          sucker on me biting my shoulder like that

          Tuesday? 

The dot-dot-dot pops up and goes away no less than seven times before he finally replies.

          Joost:  (/>w<)/ yayyyy can’t wait!!

           Joost:  meet me at 16 Schimmelstraat at 14:00 :333

You can't help but snort at the way he texts. Definitely a funny guy. You have such good taste. 

It took him quite a while to respond compared to the speed at which he first texted you. You might be technologically illiterate, but even you know that means Joost had to think about something a little harder.

He does seem to get flustered by everything vampiric. Oh this was going to be so much fun.

On the other hand, Joost might just be a slow texter. 

You know where you would place your bet. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for reading!! Sorry for the atrocious amount of backstory. I didn't realize what I’d done until it was too late (and I didn’t want to rewrite). I promise the next one will be more Joost-centric interaction and less boring exposition. Btw this series will include smut! Yay!!

[zomtart]

Chapter 1: Morphine and Lavender (Frank Castle x Fem!Reader)

okay this is terrifying but hi I am going to share some of my writing! this is just a snippet I wrote cause Frank is always on the brain. thank you tuna team for the encouragement <3

content warnings: hospital, canon-typical violence/gore, mentions of needles, language

word count: 1.1k

Frank was beginning to think they had left him in there to die when he heard a knock. You opened the door with a huff, brushing your hair out of your face before giving Frank a curt nod.

“Alright, hi, sorry, I know I’m not your assigned nurse but everyone in my unit decided to take lunch at the same time, so you are stuck with me at the moment.” you mumbled, barely looking up at Frank as you wheeled your computer stand to his side. You stayed outside of the duct-taped line, but it didn’t seem to bother you much. In fact, you didn’t seem bothered at all. Frank’s eyebrows furrowed together as you pulled up his medical profile, searching for his name.

“Okay, you are Mr…Castle?” you asked, the sound of your mouse clicking echoing in the small hospital room.

He blinked, dumbfounded. “...yes ma’am.”

You nodded, your relaxed (but rather exhausted) expression staying constant even as you said the name that was headlining every newspaper in New York. 

“Mr. Castle, could you give me a pain rating on a scale of 1-10?”

He blinked again. He felt like he had fallen into some sort of alternate universe. His assigned nurse hadn’t talked to him in the few days he’d been here, much less give him treatment he’d give another patient. An innocent patient. 

“Mr. Castle?” you repeated. 

“Right--uh…five.” he said quietly.

At that, you raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down slowly. You eyed the numerous bruises, cuts, and scars he was no doubt covered in, and asked, “That your final answer?” 

Something like a smile itched at his lips, but he forced it down. “...yes.” 

You shrugged, typing something into your computer. “Alright, well at least the painkillers are doing something. I’ll make sure to get a refill for that--” you paused as you looked at the full IV bag of morphine, following the IV down to…the floor.

You grabbed at the IV, looking at the wire and then back to Frank. “Did you yank this out?”

“No, ma’am.”

“The fuck?” you murmured, before understanding seemed to dawn on you. The cuffs, the bright red line of tape, the bruises on his face. Frank waited for disgust, for you to become terrified, for you to spit in his face. Instead, you stubbornly set your jaw and walked back to your computer. 

“Who the hell is your nurse?” you sounded furious, but it didn’t seem aimed at him.

Frank, through his confusion, could only shrug.

You rapidly typed at the keyboard, eyes running up and down the screen. Then you stopped scrolling, eyes narrowing. “Did he have blonde hair? Eagle tattoo on his forearm?”

Frank vaguely remembered the eyes of an eagle staring back at him as he faded in and out consciousness from the pain, a man with blonde hair sneering down at him. He nodded. 

“...motherfucker.” you all but growled, and the sound turned into a jagged laugh. You threw your hands up. “Aaron. Of course it--god fucking…damnit--”

Frank felt he was obligated to ask, or maybe his curiosity got the best of him. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

You laughed humorlessly again, words tumbling out of your mouth. “Oh yeah. I’m just peachy. I haven’t slept in two days, haven’t been in my own bed in almost a week, and all because I need to take extra shifts. Why do I need to take extra shifts? Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I decided to move to New York fucking City where an apartment room costs more than an arm and a leg! And just when I think--oh just when I think I’m gonna get that promotion? No. No, I lose it to Aaron, who won’t even do his goddamn job correctly!” you finished with a burst of gusto, before collapsing down into a chair.

You just sat there for a minute, face buried in your hands, and Frank wasn’t quite sure what to do besides give you the grace of silence. 

The absence of noise was quickly interrupted by your pager going off, and you reluctantly held it up to your vision before sighing and putting it back at your hip. It seemed to snap you back into reality, and you stood up and smoothed down your hair.

“I’m…very sorry about that Mr…” you glanced up at the computer again. “...Castle. I’m--that was unprofessional, it has just been a…very long week.”

Frank’s eyebrows furrowed. “...you really don’t know who I am?” 

You grabbed some gloves from the table and snapped them on. “Someone very humble, I see.”

That got him to laugh, a low rumble that made its way out of his throat. He…couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. It felt nice. Familiar, even after all this time. 

You shook your head with a small smile, grabbing the IV and sterilizing it. “No, I do not. I’m not even sure what day it is, to be honest.”

He nodded, stretching out his arm for you and making a fist. “But you…I mean they told you…somethin’, right? A warning?”

“I vaguely recall being told to stay behind the red line besides when absolutely necessary, yes.” you said, readying the needle. “Small pinch.” 

He stared, barely registering the sensation of the IV. “...so you…then why would you…?” He tried to find the answer in your face, but all he could see was concentration onyourtask. 

“Why would I…?” you repeated, waiting for him to continue. With the IV in his arm you took your gloves off, typing something on your computer.

“...I don’t know, you’re just being awfully kind.”

You pursed your lips, a hand going to your hip. “I’m not being kind, I’m doing my job. I took an oath to help people, no matter who they were, and that’s what I’m doing. Simple as that.” 

He grunted absentmindedly, his eyes flitting to the window. Ten stories down, New York raged on, lights flashing like fireworks. “Doesn’t seem simple.”

You shrugged. “It is to me.” you started wheeling out your computer. “I’ll be back to check on you in a couple hours. Hopefully that IV will help. If that dipshit comes in here again, you tell him about nurse malpractice. You have constitutional rights, even if you are off robbing banks or whatnot.”

With that, you were gone, the faint scent of lavender left in your wake.

Frank blinked. “...robbing banks,” he mumbled before closing his eyes, letting the numb feeling of morphine finally lull him into sleep.