#Anyway it just really makes their dynamic pop

[cookie-nom-nom]

oh nooo ep 35 utterly rekindled my Emberose flame. Anyway it works so well as a messy polycule, just really adds this extra layer to the dynamic. These boys have no communication! Half their mental health tips to each other is suppression! Such a fantastic ‘it’s Complicated’ ship. Emerich is so clearly desperate for approval. He wants to be appreciated and shows how much he cares by his inventions. But that often means he withdraws from them to work on a project. It’s a gift, he’s doing it for them, but he also just gets sucked in. And then there’s the periods where nobody sees him for days, locked in his workroom. And eventually Beef busts down the door and finds a sleep deprived mess ignoring hunger and injuries and exhaustion because he wants to get this project right for them. Because that is how he shows he cares. Fumbling, awkward words of affection too of course, he’s blunt on it albeit often coming off strange. He seems pretty free with hugs, occasionally a kiss if he remembers, though obviously he’s some type of ace. But for the most part Emerich goes for dragging his special interest to them and excitedly showing it off. He’ll ramble about other things that catch his interest too, old sports movies, SciFi tiktoks of water skiing feats, but mostly it’s the inventions he designs specifically with his partners in mind. It’s his way of showing love, and hoping to be given gratitude and acknowledgment in return. Emerich calls them partners in that vague way where nobody can tell if he means in the romantic or professional sense. Montrose calls them associates though. Not even friends. He’ll retain his air of smug separation no matter what, refusing to ever close the emotional distance, like he doesn’t quite give weight to the other’s feelings. He flirts, sure, often even. But it’s almost in that way bards do, pure dripping charisma, where you can’t tell how genuine it is. Emerich doesn’t clock it half the time, but when he does turns pink and tries to flirt back disastrously. Which is why Montrose does it; because it’s amusing. Beef tends to reciprocate in a more grounded, genuine way, but sometimes he’s just irked by how insincere it comes off. Random bursts of short arguments aren’t uncommon given the different ways they define their relationship. Because the mask never comes off even when they’re literally making out. Maybe it can’t. Montrose is eight layers of act so deep not he even knows his true self. But he does care, even if he refuses to acknowledge it. He tells himself his worry is pure pragmatism since they’re his associates. Frankly none of us know what’s going on in his head, but at the very least he doesn’t seem to treat reality as anything more than a game or a roleplay. Montrose maintains that suave detachment, acting like it’s a one night stand even though they’ve been living together for years.

Beef doesn’t. He makes his affections clear, upfront. Not that he’s the only one who’s willing to be emotionally vulnerable; Beef clearly has trust issues and suppresses his trauma. But simultaneously, he’s upfront with the fact he thinks they’re in a relationship. He cares openly and deeply. They’re both so reckless in a way that drives Beef insane with worry. Montrose just throws himself into risky situations, and Emerich never takes care of himself. And Beef wants to take that hit for them, his first instinct is to protect, and so often he feels guilty. Which he suppresses. And frankly he’s irritated by it, that they’re putting themselves and him through that pain. He’s tired of having to carry Emerich to their bed just to wake in the middle of the night and find him gone, the glow of the workstation seeping beneath the door. He’s tired of Montrose never dropping his literal or metaphorical mask, never admitting if he really cares or not, catching his hand whenever Beef tries to gently peel away the mask and force them to be truly face to face. Beef is the emotional glue that holds it all together and it’s exhausting sometimes. He wants to be clear in his affections and intentions, but Montrose refuses to admit anything and Emerich keeps withdrawing. He wants to call them his significant others but feels like he can’t because of how the other two treat the relationship. 

It’s just…complicated

[echolepzy]

Close relationships don’t always have to be about romance and intimacy! I cast sibling dynamic!!

Not necessarily actual siblings but the kind of relationship where they might as well be. They know so much about each other and shared crucial life experiences. They aren’t quite friends, they aren’t quite enemies, they aren’t quite lovers. They will be so so mean to each other but also come through for each other when nobody else will. I Am Sending You Things You Hate On Purpose And Also I Love You Good Night Stupid Idiot

[monty-glasses-roxy]

what's the family dynamic of the animatronics in the plex?

This depends on who you ask, when you ask, and who's nearby when you ask it.

They all kind of have to say they're all a big happy family when there's kids around, ya know? They don't always tell the kids that, but that's the answer kids tend to get and the answer anyone else would get when there's kids around. This goes double if the manager is around.

Then of course, there's the true answer which changes based on whether certain things like Glitchtrap have happened yet, whether they trust you enough to answer certain things honestly, and if again, the manager is lurking nearby.

Freddy will always answer that they're all one big family, regardless of who's around. He's the kind of guy that's on the clock whenever there's a human speaking to him. Sunny is kind of similar in that, but if you ask more specific questions, he tends to stutter a bit when he's stretching the truth or will go to great lengths to convince you the concerning thing he just told you about them is totally fine actually. Don't worry about it.

Moon would tell people he tolerates everyone a normal amount, which is him trying to sound cool, but he's not the most convincing if you know him well enough. Chica is the opposite and would honestly tell you that they mostly all work together really well and that she makes sure of it. She rules the roost, according to her, and ya know, she could be right. Possibly. She may complain a little bit about some of the others though.

Monty, Roxy and DJ will all tell you straight. Monty loves the group, though they get on his fucking nerves sometimes. He'll talk the others up so long as they're not around to hear him and act like what he's telling you is a secret when everyone already knows he loves them. DJ would tell you that the others try to make sure he's involved wherever possible, but he still often feels a bit like he's the sore thumb of the group. Roxy has nothing to lose by telling you Freddy is a bitch ass motherfucker, who pissed on her fucking wife and-

The Minis have their own, incredibly complicated family dynamic that's largely separate to the others. If they talk to you about it at all, you will be falling down the rabbithole and you're likely to never be seen again, because like I keep saying, there's 394 (or was it 384?? I forget) of these guys. You will die of old age before you know even a quarter of it.

That being said, the actual family dynamic of the main animatronics isn't that much clearer.

Remember, animatronics age differently to us. That means one of them can fill the role of a wise, older generation, whilst still being the youngest animatronic in the building. They don't really have the same concept of parents and grandparents and siblings and whatever else that we do.

I suppose they're more like a wolf pack at a poorly ran zoo. They don't control whether or not someone adds another wolf to their enclosure and they just sort of have to deal with it if they do. It's not a natural set up, ya know? Sometimes it's fine, sometimes it's not, but the owners of this particular zoo don't really care so long as they don't get caught killing each other so they just have to make do. Not to say they don't like each other, I'm just saying that the forced nature of it can cause some tension, especially when a new animatronic is introduced.

You then also have the Glitchtrap situation, and any others you might want to add like Storyteller and Mimic and what have you. Well ya know, big things like that tend to change things. I mean, Freddy literally up and bailed on them all after Glitchtrap, so he's definitely not being invited to the next family gathering lmao

[seventh-district]

tag limit my beloathed... continuing my analysis of my potentially Sun x Moon coded ships here ↓

[hard-core-super-star]

losing focus [W.Maximoff + N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: as unexpected as it is, you become a permanent part of wanda and natasha's relationship.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> porn with very little plot but many feelings; mommy + daddy kink; implied dom/sub dynamics; mentions of petplay; fingering [R receiving]; cunnilingus [R receiving]; overstimulation; nipple play; so many petnames; wanda and nat being competitive; badly proofread

wordcount: 3.7k

a/n: hi again! so, i was originally supposed to post a bishova fic today buuuut i got too attached and wrote a part two of "push me on the counter, call me princess" because i could. i hope you enjoy <3

[part one | part three]

* * * * * * *

It's difficult to define what your relationship with the witch and her grumpy assassin girlfriend has turned into. 

You know you're not really a part of their relationship, at least not officially, but you're not a mere observer either. Your main connection is with Wanda, which Natasha doesn't seem to mind, but the three of you are well aware of the way you simply started...joining them...all the time.

It started with small things. With Wanda inviting you to sit on her lap during movie nights. With Natasha begrudgingly letting the witch tie you down on their shared bed. With both of them holding you close at night, each of them murmuring some excuse about why they needed the physical contact.

You didn't mind. What kind of fool would mind being sandwiched between two of the most fearsome and beautiful Avengers?

But it very quickly stopped being enough for you.

You didn't want to be greedy, you knew your connection with Wanda wasn't right in the first place. You should have never allowed her to enchant you to the point of weaseling your way into her relationship.

And yet here you are.

Tucked under Wanda's arm while you watch her favorite sitcom.

A part you of you wants to be unhappy. To act like you don't want to be part of this.

But the truth is you do.

You really like this.

"You're thinking too much, detka." There's no judgement in the witch's tone, just the soothing sound of her accent. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head, instantly feeling overwhelmed from the mere thought of sharing your worries with her. You're not even sure why you're worried. Why there's a part of you that can't seem to settle, despite how warm and comfortable the older woman's embrace is.

"I'm fine," you mumble.

Wanda hates it when you mumble, but you can't help it. You also can't help the way you turn toward her, your face finding refuge in the crook of her neck.

She allows it for it now. Clearly, she doesn't need to read your thoughts to know how much you're struggling with them.

You want to feel embarrassed about it, but it's hard to feel anything except her palm pressing into your side. Her fingers slip under the hem of your (well...Natasha's) shirt and she draws small circles against your skin.

The two of you stay like that for a while. Wanda watches her show and you catch glimpses of it whenever you gather the courage to peak your head up and out of the comfort of her neck.

You've practically settled into the comfort when the door opens and your bubble of safety is popped.

Your shoulders tense until you hear the telltale sound of Natasha's sigh. There's an edge of annoyance to the sound that you've grown to associate with her. "Wanda, if you wanted a pet, we could have just gotten a cat."

Her words make the witch chuckle despite herself. She knew, no matter how cold the other woman acted, she was simply pretending. It was always easier for her to put her walls back up when she was unsure of something instead of going with the flow.

"Hello to you too, sweetheart."

Wanda gives your side a small pinch, not to hurt you but to encourage you to say hi. You don't really want to, you're still not sure how to act around the older woman, but you do it anyway.

"Hi, Nat."

The redhead rolls her eyes, but the corners of her lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles. "Hello, kitten. Have you been behaving?"

It's a small thing but it's a start. A reminder that she doesn't actually dislike you and she's not mad at the way things have turned out.

That maybe...she's softer than she looks.

"Yes, Daddy," you reply, a soft blush coating your cheeks as you address Natasha by her title. "I listened to Mommy all day."

The small smile on the redhead's face grows at your words. As tough as she looks, she completely adores the way you instantly submit to her without any objections. The way it all seems so natural. So weirdly right.

"Without pouting?" She asks, raising her eyebrow in the way that makes you tremble.

The idea of lying crosses your mind but you know better than that. Plus, there's no use in lying when you're sitting next to a literal mind reader.

"Well...no. But it wasn't my fault!"

Natasha doesn't seem convinced, although she does seem amused. Her eyes drift to Wanda, who can't seem to wipe the proud grin off her face. "It wasn't?"

"It wasn't," the witch replies. "She just got pouty because I told her we had to wait for you before we could play."

"Oh, I see. So, you didn't get pouty, you got needy, is that right?"

You nod, her tone making your head swim in an all too familiar way.

Natasha crawls into bed and shifts herself until she's laying down between your spread legs. The flimsy material of your shorts does little to keep your arousal hidden away from the older woman.

"Come here, detka," Wanda murmurs as her hands grip your hips.

She effortlessly lifts you up until you're sitting between her legs, your back pressed firmly against her front. It's a subtle show of dominance, a reminder that despite Natasha's stubbornness, Wanda's the one in charge. The one you actually belong to.

But there's also a soft side to it. A reminder that she's right there in case things get too overwhelming. That you can back out at any moment and they won't be upset.

It's far too late for that, though. Far too late to act like you don't want them both. Like you don't need them.

Natasha's hands bring you back. Her fingers trail a teasing path up your thighs until they reach the waistband of your shorts.

There's a wordless question in her gaze. One that makes your heart skip a beat.

You nod in response and she wastes no time in getting rid of the garments in the way.

Her eyes take in every inch of exposed skin, the softness in her smile turning slightly predatory. It's a sight you're growing very used to seeing.

"Look at you," she coos, although her tone is far more teasing than sweet. "You're already so wet for us. Mommy's left you needy for too long, huh?"

"I'm not the bad guy here," Wanda says with a chuckle. "It wasn't my idea."

Natasha rolls her eyes but your attention is captured by the witch and her warm hands that slip under your shirt. Her fingers make their way up your torso, her nails dragging against your skin and making your back arch in response.

"Don't listen to her, detka, she's just jealous."

You nod along to the redhead's words even though they don't fully register in your mind. All you know is you're stuck between them as they engage in yet another unnecessary competition.

Wanda notices first, far too used to the subtle cues that give away your growing dependence on them. Your growing need to let go and let them take over.

"There you go, sweetheart, doesn't that feel nice?" Her voice is soft and sweet in your ear, a constant lullaby that allows you to sink deeper against her.

"Mhmm," you hum, your hands reaching out for Natasha as her lips join her fingers in exploring your skin.

The witch is quick to stop you before you get too carried away. Her hands wrap around your wrists and she holds them down, allowing her girlfriend to keep teasing you. "Just relax, baby, Nat knows what to do."

You don't doubt her words for a second, but you also don't doubt the teasing mood the redhead seems to be in. You would complain if you weren't so busy trying to keep yourself still.

It's easier said than done, though, and Natasha quickly tightens her grip on your thighs, keeping you exposed to her gaze and completely still. "Come on, detka, don't you want to show Mommy what a good girl you are?"

Her words make your hips buck, but instead of teasing you for it, she sives right into the main event. Her breath ghosts the most sensitive part of your body before her lips wrap around your swollen clit.

The sensation borders on far too much far too quickly and yet the pleasure seems to overwhelm your body before the sensitivity hits you. Your head falls back against Wanda's shoulder as your lips part in a long moan.

The witch takes advantage of your change in position and attaches her lips to your neck, switching back and forth between gentle kisses and harsh nips. "There you go, isn't that better? Don't think, darling, just let us take over."

The answer is more than obvious considering how far gone your mind is. All you can fully focus on is the soft fuziness feeling your head and the pleasure you're drowing under.

"Daddy," you whine under your breath, your hips shifting against Natasha's mouth.

The redhead simply hums, lapping at your arousal like a woman starved. She doesn't want to admit it but hearing you call her that does things to her that she can't explain. There's a certain type of satisfaction she's never felt with Wanda, even when her girlfriend is in a more submissive mood.

It's what draws her closer to you despite how hard she tries to pretend like she doesn't care. And maybe she doesn't care, but the way she commits herself to making you fall apart, completely overwhelmed by pleasure tells another story.

Wanda's quick to notice how fuzzy you are by now, how perfectly pliable you've become with just a few soft strokes of Natasha's tongue against your throbbing clit. She lets go of your hands, trusting you not to move, before her fingers slip under your shirt again, trailing up until she reaches your breasts.

"Such a good girl for us," she murmurs, as her fingers find your nipples. "Such a pretty little pet."

You're stuck between wanting to arch your back and buck your hips. Ultimately, you end up doing nothing which is exactly what they like. It allows them to please you and use you in whatever way they want.

It's a little surprising how devoted Natasha seems to be to just pleasuring you, but your head is far too fuzy for you to try and think about that. The implications themselves aren't lost on you, though, and they only add to the growing coil in settled in your stomach.

"Don't tell me you're getting ahead of yourself, kotenok." The redhead leans back just enough to look up at you, dark green eyes drinking in every inch of your face. "Good girls don't act like greedy sluts, do they?"

"No, Daddy."

Your instant response makes her smirk and she rewards you by sinking two fingers into your wet cunt.

A gasp slips out of your parted lips and Wanda takes the opportunity to pinch and pull at your hardened nipples. The stinging pain mixes perfectly with the sudden pleasure and you can't stop your body from trembling under their expert hands.

"Please," you whine. "Can I cum?"

"Already?" Wanda chuckles. "Did I leave you too needy earlier?"

"Mhmm, so needy." You don't fully know what you're saying, you just know you can't hold back anymore and the last thing you need is to earn yourself a punishment. "Please."

Your words only seem to spur Natasha on and, instead of giving you mercy like you're asking for, she starts thrusting her fingers in and out of you, groaning as she feels your walls clenching around the digits. "Fuck, such a messy pet."

"I think she's about to get even messier."

The way they talk about you like you're not even there only adds fuel to your desperate arousal. There's nothing more for you to do besides wait for Natasha to decide to give you the mercy you're begging for.

You half-expect her to not give it to you just so she can punish you for it later. It certainly wouldn't be the first time, and you're certain she's only gotten more obssesed with the idea since then.

"Yeah? Is Mommy right, detka? Are you going to make a mess for us?" You know Natsha's teasing you and yet you don't feel the usual flush of humilation. Instead, the warmth that floods you is exactly the same one you feel when Wanda uses her sweetly condescing tone on you.

They're such different tones, such different people, and yet you can't deny the way you feel about them. The way every part of you begs for them.

"Yes, please-" Natasha steals your words by curling her fingers inside your wet heat, your thighs shaking from the force of holding back your orgasm. "Wanna cum, please-"

Wanda shushes you, knowing exactly how to soothe you when you need it most. She doesn't give you the permission you need, though, and in your desperation, you miss the silent conversation the two lovers have.

The seconds seem to stretch into hours until finally, Natasha gives in. "Go ahead, detka, cum for us."

She dives back in, her tongue drawing circles on your sensitive cit as her fingers move in and out of your cunt. The pleasure builds and builds, spurred on by Wanda's fingers playing with your nipples.

All it takes is the witch pinching your hardened peaks once more for you to fall over the edge for them.

Your mouth falls open in a loud moan, your whole body shaking as the waves of pleasure overtake your senses. Even as you lose control of yourself, the two women don't relent or give you a second to catch your breath.

As much as you'd love to complain about it, you can't when all you can think about is the electric sensations coursing through your body.

You cry out as Natasha continues her assault on your oversensitive clit, your hips shaking as you try to move away from her. Instead of scolding you for moving so much, she groans against you, causing your walls to clench around her in response.

"Don't fight it, sweetheart," Wanda mumbles, her lips grazing your jaw. "Just let Daddy make you feel good. It's what you wanted, right? Now take it like a good girl."

"Uh-huh, fu-" Your attempts at words turn into needy sounds that spur the redhead on.

"One more, detka, do it for me, yeah?"

Despite your initial complaints, your body gives in to the pleasure almost instantly. It's not fully surprising but it's certainly overwhelming and it sends you deeper into the fuziness filling your mind.

Natasha does her best to hold you down even as your hips buck desperately into her face. She works a third finger inside you and it takes all your self-restraint to not fall apart at the feeling.

"Please!" You gasp. "Can I cum?"

This time, the witch takes over and gently guides you toward your orgasm. "Go ahead, angel, you've been so good for us, just let go."

So, you do.

You give up control and let go.

You're not sure what happens, all you know is your whole body tenses as the coil in your stomach snaps free. You're too far gone to realize what a mess you make of yourself and the sheets beneath you, but the satisfaction in Natasha's movements isn't lost on you.

She works you through the seemingly never-ending aftershocks, easing herself away from your clit and slowly pulling her fingers out of your cunt. "So fucking beautful..."

Your body finally goes limp and you practically melt against Wanda. Her arms wrap around your waist while she places soft kisses to every inch of your face she can reach. "Good girl. You did so well."

You hum in response, barely registering Natasha's movements as she does her best to clean you up.

The bed shifts when the redhead finishes and you instantly know she's moving away from both of you. You try to complain but the words don't seem to form.

"Shhh, just rest, kotenok, you need it."

You want to argue and assure her you feel fine, but you can't seem to find the strength to open your eyes. All you manage to do is whine, earning yourself a chuckle from Wanda.

"Don't pout, baby. You're my good girl, right?"

You wait for Natasha to correct her. To jump in and say you're their good girl.

But she doesn't.

And the longer the silence goes on, the more it hurts your feelings.

"Mommy..." You whisper.

She presses a soft kiss to your temple as her hands go back to caressing your sides. "I know. We'll figure it out later, just sleep for now."

There's little for you to do besides give in and let sleep overcome you.

* * *

When you wake up, you instantly notice the lack of warmth against you. Your head's still a little fuzzy but you feel slightly more in control now. You're also still pretty drowsy, though.

You attempt to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes as you lift your head, your eyes searching around the room for Wanda.

Instead of the witch, you find her girlfriend curled up in the reading chair in the corner of the room. There's a certain tension in her form that tells you far more than she'd like.

"Maria called," Natasha says, her voice colder than you've heard it in a while. "Wanda had to go. It sounded like she'll be gone for a few weeks."

Oh.

At least that explains why the redhead looks so...vulnerable and...lost.

Their relationship has always been a bit of a mystery to you. Despite the many nights you've listened to Wanda complain about the assassin's shitty coping mechanisms, you don't know many details about their connection.

You just know that somehow...they work. Despite their traumas and their pain, they understand each other.

And then there's you.

You're even less sure of where you fit in.

Of how Natasha feels about you.

"You can at least pretend to be happy to spend time with me," she says, effectively cutting off your thoughts.

"I am," you reply without skipping a beat. "I just...didn't think you'd be thrilled about it."

"Why? Because I'm the big bad girlfriend who has no feelings? Who doesn't give a shit about anyone?"

Despite her attempts to sound mad, her tone gives away how hurt she is. How terrified she is that you see her like that. That you think she's half as bad as the stories you've heard about her.

"No, I just...well, I know you and Wanda had that arrangement and everything but you didn't ask for this. I thought you just saw me as her annoying pet."

The corners of her mouth twitch a little as she tries to hold in her smile. "I did at first. It's nothing personal, hearing Wanda say she wanted you was...a little hard to deal with."

"Yeah, I figured." You sit up with your back against the headrest, your eyes absentmindedly admiring Natasha's features. Even with the distance between you, she looks stunning. "It wasn't easy for me either, y'know? I felt really guilty about it."

"That didn't stop you from sleeping with her the first time, though."

"Well, no but...in my defense, you can't exactly say no to Wanda when her mind is made up."

That earns you a quiet chuckle. "Yeah, you can say that again. Why do you think you're here? Wanda didn't want to let you go after the first time."

It's not necessarily news considering how things went down after the first time, but you can't act like your heart doesn't skip a beat at her words. The confirmation that the witch wanted you is one thing, but you're still not sure how Natasha feels. Something that's not surprising considering how closed off she is.

"And you?" You ask, hoping you sound less nervous than you feel.

It takes Natasha a few seconds to form her response. You can't exactly blame her but the silence makes your skin crawl. The fear that she doesn't want you, that she doesn't care, rises up within you the longer it drags on.

Finally, she eases your mind.

"Let's just say you've grown on me, kitten."

It's not much and yet it's more than enough for you. It reinforces the connection you've started feeling with her. The bond that demands to be nurtured despite how unusual it is.

Then again, wanting unsual things is kind of your thing at this point.

"You've grown on me too," you mutter, doing your best to ignore the warmth that spreads along your face.

"That doesn't mean you're not still our pet, though," she clarifies. "...if you want, that is. It can stay casual or we can turn it into more. We can train you. I can train you, if you want to be our submissive."

It takes a second for the words to fully sink in.

You nod before you even know what you're doing. You don't need to think about it, though, it's what you want. You want them. And all the little nuances that come with them.

Natasha watches you for a moment, her eyes studying you as if she's waiting for you to realize what you're doing and back out instantly. You can't exactly put your reasons into words to ease her mind. All you know is you've never wanted anything the way you want them.

Despite not being a mindreader like her girlfriend, the assasin is quick to move toward you once the thought of being fully theirs crosses your mind.

"You sure you've got what it takes, kitten?" She asks as she settles onto your lap. "I'm a lot to handle."

"I can take it," you reply, your hands landing on her waist without a second thought. "I want you."

Finally, your words are enough to break through her defenses. 

It doesn't feel like enough and yet it's exactly what she had wanted to hear. What she was afraid you wouldn't want.

"Then you have me," she says, her voice far softer than you've ever heard it.

There's so much you want to say, but words don't seem to be enough right now. So, instead, you lean forward and press your lips to hers.

You're not completely sure how you ended up here but you wouldn't trade it for the world.

[loveabunbun]

; CHOI SOOBIN 🐰 after hours

— cw; age gap (5ish yrs), professor soobin, student athlete reader, unbalanced power dynamics, clubbing, alcohol, public/bathroom sex, intoxicated sex, top male reader, sub bottom soobin, big dick sb and reader 🙌🏾, sex toys (butt plug), blowjob (sb), protected anal (a first??), belly bulging. 5k words.

— 🎶 now playing; kehlani - after hours, tomorrow x together - love language, destin conrad - kissing in public.

once you noticed him in the crowd of moving bodies, you simply couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

him being choi soobin, currently a young visiting professor at your institution, having just completed his phd in sociology and education, and one your lecturers in particular. soobin’s large frame isn’t out of place among all the others. in fact, you think the number has grown since he made his way to the centre. an attention stealer.

it’s the same as when you’re sat in his lecture: he’s captivating when he talks, enticing when he moves, and irresistible all around. he brought the youthful masculine charm the department severely lacked. and, of course, all the girl students desperately latched onto the eye-candy.

he was here. at a nightclub. and not just any random nightclub, a popular gay nightclub in the city centre. it’s a delightfully pleasant surprise. your margarita burns as you finish the glass. the warm daylight filtering in through the windows of your classroom has been replaced with the cool of the moon from the warehouse's skylight. and with the transition, it seems a new side has emerged. a new side to you, at the very least.

his glasses aren’t to be found, dark hair styled up and back to reveal his forehead and eyes more clearly. his knitted jumper and slacks switched out for a blue baby tee and jeans. you can’t quite make out what it says under the strobe lights.

being completely honest, your attention is on other parts of his body. the tequila trickles into your bloodstream and you can feel your heartbeat revived in different places. he doesn’t appear to have a dancing partner — you’ve had an eye on him for a few minutes and spotted him laughing with what appeared to be a friend as they goofed around.

your own friends are also on the dance floor. your legs are taking you closer soon enough. you sway with the beat of the song as you push through the bodies, eyes locked onto your target.

what your goal is you’re not even sure of. nothing could happen, anyway — you tell yourself— you’re his student. if only a few years younger. soobin exuded ‘model faculty’ with his polite smile and gentle giant demeanour. you're sure even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t risk his budding career for some dick.

although he would give something else up for it. why else would he be surrounding himself with drunk men, more likely than not looking for sexual respite. you weren’t that much younger than him, really. around five years, if you remembered his age correctly? but a minor blip in the universe's grand scheme.

now you’re right behind him.

he moves even better up close. swaying his body, throwing his hands up in the air with the beat of the song. carefree. it’s hard to keep your wonder at bay. you’re not thinking straight as you step closer, and let your hands ghost his waist. high enough not to get you immediately elbowed in the stomach.

soobin isn’t surprised when someone sneaks up behind him. although he came with zero expectations, the young man was starting to doubt his abilities. without turning to look at the new presence, he backs up into you. your heart leaps in your chest. he was waiting for someone. for this. you bite your lip in to hide how your cheeks pull up from the feeling of your professor's soft ass against your groin. fortunately, the lights were concentrated elsewhere for the time being.

the pop song playing is punctuated with strong percussion, gifting you with the tempo you needed to move in rhythm with him. fortunately, you know the lyrics to this one and find yourself getting lost in the sensations. you would’ve hated to see someone else behind him. even now, you can feel jealous eyes on you. it only makes you pull him closer, meeting him at various points of contact where which you can feel his body moves against you.

your scent washes over him and he welcomes the new smell of your cologne. he had yet to go nose-blind to the overwhelming scent of testosterone-filled body odour. maybe you would be his ticket out of the crowd.

whatever. soobin puts an end to his overthinking. or rather, the liquor flowing through his veins does. he just wants to feel good. just wanted to dance and let loose. it’s been too long.

his runs his hands down his front sensually before they meet yours on his hip. he drags your hands up on his body; they catch his shirt on the ascend and you momentarily feel the sweat on his damp skin. you can’t focus on it, because at the same time soobin rolls his hips onto you.

damn, he moved his body so well. you would’ve never thought the shy man had it in him. but you’re learning more about him by the second. you follow along with his smooth moves without any delay, determined to not mess up.

and fumble the bag you don't. looks of intrigue and desire join the envious. soobin’s friends throw him teasing grins and immature winks. he ignores them. all he can think about is how well-oiled your tall body feels against him, lithe yet sturdy. it stirs a primal need within him. something almost foreign to him at that point.

when the next song ends, soobin spins around with a happy grin on his face. he had to know who the suave cutie was behind him.

your grip loosens. before you can duck away, you’re making direct eye-contact. he's confused at first, but then his eyes widen in recognition, straightening up like he’d been struck by lightning.

shit.

“yn??”

“h-heyy, prof.”

soobin gawks at you, not knowing where to begin. his student was just grinding on him. he was just grinding on his student, and he liked it. he wanted more. his integrity! his reputation! his future!

the crowded dance floor suddenly feels stark empty, and the multi-coloured lights stop their orchestrated twirl, replaced by a stationary, bright spotlight. focused on the two of you.

he needed to get out of sight. grabbing your wrist, soobin drags you behind him until you’re stumbling into one of the bathrooms. he waits for an explanation, with a hard look on his face that tells you: you fucked up.

you stare at your shoes, shuffling in place. he was intimidating when he wanted to be. and you were, admittedly, in the wrong, “i’m sorry i came onto you."

“no, you’re not.”

your head shoots up. it was a poor apology, but you weren't expecting him to call you out on it. because, true, you weren’t really. you’re not sorry because you’ve got jacking off material for like the next couple of years. but more sorry because you’re not sure he would’ve reciprocated if he knew who you were. not very consensual of you...

“what on earth were you thinking?” it’s like he could read your mind.

“i wasn’t. that, i apologise for. can you blame me?” soobin sees how your gaze trails his body with your reply. it reveals what instead you had in mind — his broad shoulders sloping into a small waist and slim hips. shapely legs clad in jeans and ending in stylish sneakers.

wild and wonderful.

“seeing you here threw me off a little, prof.” you continue, meeting his eyes once again. his eyelids and cheeks shimmer iridescent in the light. you couldn’t tell before, mistaking the glow for sweat in the suffocating horde. but it was deliberately placed highlight. looks like your young instructor knew how to get dolled up.

soobin felt the same; it was weird seeing you in a place like this. even though you were probably a regular. or a more regular than he was, at least.

…maybe it wasn’t so weird. after all you were attending the city's university as a student. specifically, both a promising basketball athlete and a top scholar for your class. soon to graduate, matter of fact. he's sure you've scoped the lay of the land over your time.

what was new was seeing you in something other than athletic wear. you looked good, donning a loose button down and black jeans, surprisingly more handsome than you usually did in your everyday comfort. you were dressed to impress too, that’s for certain, with your inhibitions loosened after a few shots.

the older had also been drinking. stronger stuff than usual; his friends wanted to spoil him, to celebrate the rare occasion of him crawling out his hole home. soobin would be lying if he said he wasn’t having a fun time.

“i don’t usually come out. and quit it with the prof — while we’re here. anything else.”

hook.

you tilt your head as you look at him, feeling your normal dynamic shift with the new location. and the request for less formality. you toss the bait: “yeah... i didn’t take you for the party type. does hyung work for you? instead of mr wild and wonderful?”

soobin can’t hide when his eyes sparkle in interest at your fluent english. he knew you were smart, but the casual flex takes him aback. so does realising you know exactly what the wording insinuates. he never expected it would be you picking up the hint.

he loathes to complain. of course, he pays a little more attention to you when you’re sat at your desk — attending to his words, sending messages on your device, or talking to your friend. you're enticing without meaning to be. your frequent insightful contributions made up for where you lacked in other efforts. he’d only ever seen you in the daylight. the shadows that fall on your face now bring out another side to you.

line.

the race of his heart comes back, but not in fear this time. in excitement. the professor had never entertained the idea more than a passing thought but now he’s tempted. the plug sitting between his cheeks becomes noticeable again for the first time since he put it in before leaving his home. not for any particular reason…

he shouldn’t.

“been said i can get a little crazy outside the classroom.”

oh! that’s not— soobin’s thick lips purse in shock at his words. sober thoughts?

“yeah?” a smirk appears on your face as you take a bold step forward, throwing a look around the restroom in faux enquiry. your boyish playfulness has a way of keeping him in place. “doesn’t look like we’re in the classroom right now... from what you said, this sounds like my area of expertise.”

oh, you’re good. pulling him into your dangerous game like a siren into the depths. he doesn’t even know when your hearts started thumping against each other, his hand on your arm.

“then, maybe you could teach me the ropes. show me how it goes?” comes his breathy whisper, eyes narrowed in seduction.

and sinker.

you push him into the stall furthest form the entrance and lock the door behind you. his back hits the wall with a thump and he gasps, looking at you with surprised eyes when you press into his front deliberately, strong hands back on his hips.

soobin has much more to lose than you, and you respect that. you give him time to change his mind, to slip out from underneath you and put the earlier events under lock and key. he doesn’t. a beat passes and then another. the muffled music matches the atmosphere. muted, on the verge of breaking the silence.

the door opens and upbeat chords slice through the air like a whip. a few voices dance just over the top, boisterous and joyful on the way to release. soobin surges forward and captures your lips.

you groan instantly, desire roaring inside you once again at his initiating. his hands grasp at your shoulders as you kiss him harder, licking at his lips until he lets you in. you can’t get enough as you suck on his tongue. soobin feels your fingers hook into his belt hoops and tug. your hips start to move in their own, bucking into his front.

the friction pulls a deep sigh from you onto his pretty lips, “hyung,”

his breath hitches. if soobin was somehow still on the fence about doing this, hearing you moan for him was the final push he needed. he wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you closer, letting his hunger lead the way.

he can taste the tangy lime on your lips and can smell the faint liquor when you pull away from his lips, only to trail down to his neck. you kiss the soft skin. his smell is intoxicating too.

before you get lost in yourself, the older man warns quickly, “no marks.”

like some dirty secret. it turns you on even more. you know it does for him too. “got it,”

you press against him harder, dipping into his neck and licking the sweat off. you nibble and lick at his salty skin, rocking your hips against him in fervour. his chub hardens under your ministrations and he moans shyly by your ear.

a small creak and the dj’s booming voice fills your ear, indiscriminate and accompanied by cheers of the audience. then you’re alone again.

soobin kicks up a leg and hooks it around your waist, getting leverage to fuck into you. one of his hands drops from behind your neck to in front, urging you closer with a firm grip. can't have you thinking you're in charge here. even as you grope at his body, humping him like a dog in a rut.

the desperation sets him alight. the fire consumes you. or maybe it’s the alcohol. maybe it's the risk. you needed him. right now.

"hyung, can-can i suck you off?"

soobin's face explodes with heat at your request. he nods before he realises, biting his bottom lip. you fall to your knees even quicker, nuzzling into his bulge. he can't help as his hips flit into your face, large hands coming to rest on your head.

he doesn't push or pull you away, but you gaze up at him through your lashes. his dick swells with blood and tents his jeans. it sticks out like a sore thumb against your handsome face and exacerbates its presence. he can’t stop staring your puffy lips, mesmerised as they slick and shine with his spit.

soobin swallows, starting to shake his head as reality sets in again, fighting against the sexual demand rousing in his gut. this was too far and extremely inappropriate. one of his most sought-out students literally on their knees in a filthy stall in even sleazier settings, begging for a taste. there was no going back after this.

he shouldn’t.

"wait, you're drunk yn." your hands come to fiddle at his belt, the other rubbing his dick through his jeans. you can feel yourself salivate at the heat it exudes.

"i'm not drunk, 'm tipsy. you might not know it because of the generation gap, but there's a difference." he rolls his eyes.

“i’m not drunk either,”

“then we’re both on the same page. been thinking about this cock since the start of term. everyone wants a piece of you, hyung. i want it."

his body betrays him, cock throbbing below your palm at the confession. you grin wickedly. you finally manage to tug down his jeans and boxers enough for his length to fall out. your jaw falls slack in surprise as you take him in your hands. “fucking big, oh my god.”

soobin blushes further at your vulgarity. you kiss at his cockhead before dragging your tongue underneath to taste his arousal. your hand grasps the base as you take him into your mouth. his grip tightens.

you let your saliva build to make the entrance smooth, gazing up at your attractive professor. he stares down at you in disbelief. he twitches in your mouth and your eyes flutter shut in satisfaction, taking him deeper. soobin pulls up his shirt, exposing his chiselled stomach, to watch as his dick disappears between your thick lips.

“ohh~,” he sighs, other hand curling into a fist at the warmth of your mouth. his hips jerk like he doesn’t know whether to pull out or go further.

you can’t help but moan at the feeling. this was so hot. he was so hot. a part of you couldn't believe he was single. and you couldn’t care less about the mysterious wet spot you started to feel on your right knee.

you quickly start bobbing your head up and down, dragging broken moans from the older man. pleasure cracks down his spine as the devil on his shoulder cackles in glee. you fist the base of his dick, covering what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

“oh my— s-slow down yn, fuuck,” the lewd wetness of your mouth bounces off of your ears, his sweet moans only spurring you on. you don’t think you’ve given such enthusiastic head in your life. the taste of his salty precum trickling down your tongue is only a welcome boost for your endeavours.

you hum and soobin feels his eyes rolling back in pleasure at the vibration around his shaft, fucking into your hollow moist despite his better judgement. you can feel as your dick strains against your jeans, crying for attention but you pay it no mind.

“yeah, just like that… you’re soo good, ha-ah!” soobin’s thighs shake by your head as he falls further into bliss with every obscene slurp coming from your skilled lips, fingers curling into your hair. he’s almost forgotten where he is: lucky for him it seems right now isn’t peak time for the drunken pissers.

you push yourself closer to him in response to his praise, until you’re almost directly underneath his body, and swallow your gag reflex. if it weren’t for his jeans, you would’ve had his thighs wrapped around your head. from where you are gravity pulls soobin’s throbbing length further into your tight throat with ease, leaving no space for him to get away even with his long legs. he wouldn’t want to anyway.

the sound of you finally gagging around his thick cock, your fingers on his thigh and ass urging him deeper, is enough for him.

he releases into your mouth with a loud gasp and a whiny groan, curling over your body as pleasure racks his body. your eyes squeeze shut as his bitter cum fills your mouth and swallow rapidly, moaning endlessly around your professor’s squirting dick. the excess spills from your lips when you pull away to breathe.

the older pants above you too and his shirt drops. it sticks to his sweaty skin and is too short to hide his arousal, sparking in the barely burning light with your spit and his sperm. leaning forward again, you guzzle down his cock to slurp up the remains. he welcomes the extra attention with a lazy smile.

“shit, that was..”

“best head you’ve ever had?” your eyes shine when you look up at him lying against the wall like he had all the strength stolen from him, cheeks rosy. soobin tears his gaze from you as you run your tongue over your tempting lips, teeth appearing with your pleased grin. innocent like the both of you weren’t on the verge of a lifetime ban from the club and probably academia in general on his end.

“s’up there,”

a couple of seconds pass and he realises you still need to be taken care of. his next move is only given a second of consideration as his critical thinking cap finally gets tossed out the window — the young man had already passed the point of no return as soon as the both of you walked into the stall.

soobin spins around to face the wall and pushes his jeans down to his ankle. he bends over slightly and spreads open his cheeks, revealing to you his asshole. where a black plug sits comfortably.

your gulp is audible as you make eye-contact with the toy. but you push past your shock to reach up and grasp it, watching soobin's back flex as you poke and prod at his squishy insides.

"t-take it out," you do so instantly, greeted with the sight of his puckered rim, wet and pulsing. suddenly you were starving again. before you can dive in, after setting the plug down on the toilet tank, soobin speaks up again, "do you have a condom?"

no fucking way.

"y-yeah, yeah, i do." after rustling in your front pocket, heart thumping in your chest, you pull out a shiny rectangle.

"fuck, what are you waiting for then? put it on, get inside me," he demands. it lacks the authority his booming voice usually holds, laced with lust and a neediness that makes you dizzy.

you scramble to your feet, apparently a little too slow for his taste. the older spins around and takes it from you, ripping it open with his teeth. he drags you into a messy kiss as he unbuckles your jeans and belt with calculated yet rushed movements, betraying his intentions.

you're rock hard — and leaking buckets — in his big palm and he marvels at how he has trouble wrapping his fingers around you. were you just being generous with your compliment about his size earlier?

you're too busy moaning and huffing at his grip to notice. soobin’s barely touched you, but the fact that he's touching you (the crush of basically every sane member at your university), and rolling a condom onto your sex, excites you like nothing other. not to mention, him just having emptied his sweaty balls into your stomach.

the beauty spins around with a sultry hum, arching his ass into the curve of your cock. akin to a page out of a playboy magazine. “you’re so unbelievably sexy,”

he grins at you just as the bathroom door swings open again. you take the burst of noise to push into him. you both moan freely at the burn of the intrusion. the men in the room are loud; you think someone’s holding the door open because the sound doesn’t cease like it should. you’re thankful it doesn’t.

“fuck!”

you press him roughly into the wall and fail to keep quiet at the warm, gummy feeling of his inner walls. soobin cries out in white-hot pleasure as your hips gain a life of their own, thrusting into him. every buck shakes the older man to the core. your athletic body is solid against his backside, hands gripping at his tiny waist. god, is this how you feel? like a place he could melt into with no worries?

soobin thinks you’re cute too, as you curse and whimper under your breath in consideration of not getting caught. he thinks about how that same mouth made him feel just earlier. your stiff cock doesn’t disappoint, filling him up and stroking his swollen prostrate easily. soobin can’t deny how his body responds to your gifted touch, how his pride swells at having you so shameless for his attention. he wonders if this is how you usually acted for some dick.

your enthusiasm translates with your wandering hands as they push up his cropped shirt to reveal more of his milky skin. his abs are dense under your touch, the muscles dancing below the surface. you rock your cock into him with firm circles, staring at where he consumes you with eager eyes and even eager movements — he greets you with hiccupped moans.

the thumping music doesn’t help the adrenaline sparking through his veins but it briefly hides the rippling connection of your sinful activities from the other fun-seekers. the sound cuts off and you’re left alone again. the energy doesn’t dissipate.

soobin throws his head back, fingers curling against the wall by his head when he feels you start pull him down and impale him further on your throbbing length, grunting by his ear. the way your fingers sink into his skin is strangely possessive. he shivers at the idea of you claiming him, or maybe it's the cold metal of your jeans against his bare ass, slurred whispers falling from his lips.

“fuck me, ffuck me! god, yn don't stop fucking me!”

“yeah, you like that?”

soobin nods in affirmation as you fuck the breath out of his lungs, dark hair flying up and down, eyes squeezed closed. shit, this was so bad. him getting dicked down by someone so much younger. he’s enjoying it too much. you’re having the time of your life. his sloppy hole feels like a heavenly respite to your aching needs. he massages and presses on all your right spots, like his ass was made to embrace you. like your lives were orchestrated for this moment.

you slip your fingers past soobin's open lips and thrust into his wet mouth to the rhythm of your hips. “look at me when i fuck you, sir.”

you tone is slightly condescending as you turn his head; using honorifics while he opens his ass and mouth for you like a two-piece whore.

but soobin does look at you. you feel yourself gasp as you meet his teary doe eyes from behind, eyebrows knitted in overwhelming pleasure. his pretty lips wrapped around your fingers and sucking like they were something else. a line of drool trickles down his chin from the disturbance.

a moan falls from your lips as he gazes into your eyes like a succubus with potent allure, tempting you to fall deeper into his web. his smooth walls squeeze your most sensitive areas and the pleasure crackles up your spine. you were already entrapped.

utterly irresistible. you watch his eyes flutter as you remove your fingers to instead curl them around his biceps. you pull his upper body up to rest fully against yours and his spine curves in tandem, head falling on your shoulder and opening his front up.

he can feel his hardness swing helplessly with every slap of your hips against his ass, legs starting to shake. his pliant body bounces back and forth with ease, but with the way he’s crying out, you'd think he was being pushed to the limits. it certainly felt like he was. one glance down at his stomach proved that.

“you're sho—! so deep inside—!" he can't help the hand that reaches out to caress the swelling you make in his lower abdomen, growling as it protrudes against his palm every time you bottom out. somehow you catch onto his words and do the same. too smart for your own good.

burning satisfaction envelopes your frame at the feeling of your cockhead poking away inside your professor's stomach, twitching uncontrollably inside him with an airy moan. sweat drips down your arms and legs. you were about to explode.

"hyung 'm close, uhmnn ah, c-can i?"

"y-yes," comes his breathless reply. your hand slips down to wrap around his cock and pumps roughly. that's enough to push soobin over the edge again, clamping down and pulsing around your hard cock with a wail.

the cord snaps inside of you too as you trap him against the wall with your strength. his taut ass grips you so tight in place as you fall into ecstasy, you can't keep your noises to yourself, moaning shamelessly when the feeling of fiery-hot pleasure spreads down to your fingers and toes.

your hand pumping his cock doesn't let up and soobin's eyes white out. he writhes against your body as you fill him up and send him spiralling into the depths of peak pleasure with hushed encouragement. each squeeze of his balls reflects in his stomach and rim, barely able to contain the cream you dump in his ass.

"shit," you heave and fall backwards after you regain some sense, your upper back resting against the other side of the stall. the air is stuffy. stuffier than it was before, anyway. euphoria ripples across your nerves as it melts away, leaving a satisfying ache in your muscles.

your eyes trail your eyes over soobin’s bent over form in front of you: the back of his head, down the dark patch along the curves of his shirt where it collected his exertion, down to where his rosy ass cradles your throbbing dick.

your cum seeps from the base of the condom, and you briefly wonder if it ripped inside him. not much time to think, because his pale ass slowly sinks down again until the soft flesh sits flush against your pelvis, drawing a sigh from both of you. you glance back up at your professor's side profile at his actions. his eyes are closed in contentment. you did that.

your palm lands on his ass and rub the smooth flesh before you reluctantly pull out. he slumps further, shiny puckered rim pulsating at the loss of something holding him open. you bite your lip at the indecent picture. then, you remember the plug perched above the toilet and slide it back in tentatively. with no complaint, soobin lets you pull up his jeans and boxers.

"...thanks. needed that,"

"don't thank me. thank you. i'm gonna be thinking about this forever." he turns around to face you as you convey your gratitude(?), but his handsome, flushed face disappears out of sight when he falls to his knees and tears off the condom.

"what are you— o-ohh," soobin swallows your softening length. seems like he wanted to return the favour. his mouth is so warm and wet as he licks up your creamy fluid, you flinch from the overstimulation. "ha-aa,"

he slides off with a pop of his lips, looking up at you as he tucks you back into your clothes. when he rises to his feet he regards your messy appearance, face bright in the afterglow of your orgasm.

"just make sure to keep those thoughts to yourself, got it?"

this could not get out.

"not even you?" you move closer and rest a palm on his lower back, oddly happy to be able to see his face again. he's so fucking pretty. it would be such a pity if this was the last time you felt him. you know he feels the same…

"could keep it between us instead. i have a couple more things i think i could teach you, prof."

©2025 loveabunbun. all rights reserved.

[mywritersmind]

AVOIDANCE - LN4

summary : Lando can’t help but keep his on you. You’re beautiful, talented, sharp as nails… just enough to wreck him. That doesn’t change the fact that he wants you. In fact, it only motivates him more.

listen up : daniel riccardo cadillac teammate!! 21st team. if you didn’t know, i have a driver x lando fic up on wattpad! i kinda wanna re write it bc i miss it so much and think it could be sm better! anyway i hope you like this!!

words : 6850

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Tate Mcrae’s ‘Just Keep Watching’ blasted through the speakers just as the podium trophies were awarded to the top three. 

Miami was hot and grueling for all the drivers, but specifically the finishers of P2 and P3.

Carlos and Alex stood below, watching their co workers get awarded, soon joined the newest addition to this season. “So what’s the deal with Lando and-”

He didn’t even need to finish, the two men already knew the name that would ghost his lips. “He’s in love with her, what else?” Alex said, crossing his arms to watch Lando pop his champagne. 

The crowd screams made Carlos correct Alex even louder, “He’s got a crush on her!” They watched as Oscar sprayed Lando’s back, Lando trying to retaliate but failing due to the amount of champagne in his eyes. 

“Always has!” Alex added, a flash of a silver race suit catches the crowds attention, the suit less important than who’s wearing it- someone that’s becoming more familiar to the top steps these days. “It’s been going on for years…”

Franco frowned, bringing his water bottle to his lips just as she faked Lando out with her bottle of champagne just to drink it, looking him dead in the eye while doing it. “She doesn’t know?” 

Carlos and Alex stared at Franco, poor, innocent, fresh blood, Franco… He had no clue how far their story went, no idea what has gone down. Alex and Carlos both sigh, knowing far too much about their twisted little dynamic, “Oh she knows…” Alex mumbled. 

“He doesn’t care that she knows and hasn’t done anything?” Franco looked so shocked at this that it almost made Carlos laugh. 

“Oh no… I think it turns him on even more.”

⋆༺

I hate fish

I hate gin

I hate paper cuts 

I hate losing 

I hate Lando Norris. 

And yet, the smile that tugs at his lips while he watches me pour the winning liquid down my throat, makes me think- only for a second, how could I ever hate him? 

Him and his stupid freckles. Him and his bloody need to make space for himself in my life. 

I stopped hating Lando a while ago. It lingers in my thoughts sometimes, but I'm pretty sure it’s a reflection of how I feel about myself. 

“Don’t give me that look, sev.” We’re still standing on the podium, the shaken champagne dropping low in Oscars hands. “Come out with us tonight.”

“P3 isn’t a celebration for me.” I say flatly, ignoring the nickname he’s pinned on me since getting one glance at the number 7 in our karting days. 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still party.” The way his lips curve makes my heart race faster, something I'll tell myself is just the adrenaline from the race. 

“You’re coming to the party?” Oscar says brightly, shining in bubbly as he wipes his eyes. 

I nod, keeping it short and standing on the top step with the boys with me, smiling for the cameras, wondering how different it will be when I actually stand up here alone. 

“Oh so you’ll come with Osc but not me?” Lando holds his trophy, waving to the crowd distractingly. 

“Of course I will, I like him more than you.” I’m not lying, not really. I don’t miss the way Lando’s jaw tenses, only a split second that could be missed by a blink before he goes back to smiling and slapping Oscar on the back. 

⋆༺

I do go with Oscar, sitting in the back of the car while my pregame shot sets in and Oscar rattles away on the phone with Lily. 

The club is just what I expected, maybe just what I needed. Alex sees me first, making me genuinely smile while dragging me over to the others. He’s awfully happy for the circumstances of his race. 

Daniel is doing shots with Max, probably celebrating his return to F1 for the millionth time. Isack, Pierre, and Ollie pull me into their conversation immediately after congratulating me. The two frenchmen are explaining football rivalries to Ollie, who sips his drink and gives me confused looks once and a while. 

It’s just about the time when I'm drowning out the boys and wondering why I'm not drinking yet, when I see him. Lando walks across the floor with Franco by his side, he’s in all black, his curls grown out and a drink in each hand. 

Franco leans in to Lando after they both notice me. While Franco talks, Lando’s eyes are on me. On my legs, on my heels, on my scrap of a top. They’re still on me when Franco stops talking. His reaction is a mix of laughter and uncertainty, his eyes darting away from me in the middle of his response. That’s how I know it’s about me. 

“Fran, I’d rather you talk about me to my face.” Franco laughs at this, pulling me into a side hug as I mess up his hair. 

“Start drinking before he keeps talking, it helps.” Lando hands me one of the drinks in his hands. It’s a martini. I pause before I take it and as if he reads my mind, he says, “Vodka, not gin.”

Everyone around us starts yelling and clapping at the exact same time. Making me pull my eyes from Lando and to Oscar, who smiles shyly at the welcome. 

“Our race winner!” Lando holds up his glass, he’s so chill, an easy smile on his lips even though we all know people could have been saying that to him. 

I love being with the rest of the grid, even if my intention last year was to have no friends, only enemies. My words clearly hasn’t panned out well because each of them has weaseled their way into my heart, new and old. 

The only thing I dislike about being out with them is that women flock to us. I mean, the girls are pretty and usually nice, but it also means that my friends are pulled away by mini skirts and bras. 

Don’t get me wrong, guys find me as well. It’s just that the ones that do happen to have a lot of confidence, walking into a crowd of fit F1 men who would likely fight for my honor… they happen to fall in the category that I call: False drunken confidence and eyes for my tits only. 

So I stay away from the thirsty guys and stick with the ones who are alone due to the lack of their girlfriend not being here. Lando is always with us even though, to my knowledge, Lando is very single. 

I’ve seen him flirt with girls, letting them slip their hands to his hair and kissing his neck cheekily. I’ve seen him wave goodbye with a pretty blonde on his arm, but never, in my two years in formula one, have I ever gone out and had Lando not talk to me. 

“That girl is staring you down like you’re edible.” Pierre sips his drink, nodding to the blonde girl who is doing just what he said. 

Lando looks at her, not flirty or teasing, just blinks before looking back at Pierre, “She looks about nineteen.”

“She’s twenty one.” Franco says, making us all look at him, “What? I talked to her.” I raise my brow at him just as the others mumble words of disbelief, “Okay- I made out with her.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Great. I don’t want your sloppy seconds, sounds paddock bunny like.” Lando shakes his head, leaning back into the couch and slipping his arm around the back of it- around the back of where I'm sitting. 

His jacket is over my legs, Lando saw the length of my skirt and my frown when everyone else sat and so easily handed it to me without another word. 

Franco starts fidgeting in his seat, “I need to dance, who’s with me?” None of the guys move. He turns to me, smiling ear to ear and holding out a hand, “My queen.” 

I almost say no simply because I hate the nickname the grid has dubbed me. I’m the only woman on the grid, something a bit awkward to navigate sometimes, but also something that the other drivers acknowledge but never really talk about. 

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you dance with Lando instead.” Ollie says suddenly, making my eyes narrow and Lando drag his hand over his face. 

“I’d give a hundred bucks to not do that.” I stand, throwing Lando’s jacket beside him and making him peak up at me. I don’t mean to sound so mean, but I don’t really know how else to respond to that. 

Not when I know he wants me to say yes, not for money or jokes, either. 

“Why will you dance with Franco and not Lando? Either is ending up posted somewhere tomorrow.” Carlos just has to remind me of the existence of phones and social media. 

I take Franco’s hand, “Franco likes older women.” He grins at this. 

“You are older than him!” Lando laughs, his eyes meeting mine and shining green in the strobe lights. 

I can’t help but smirk, shrugging and tugging the younger man away, “C’mon, Fran.” 

⋆༺

My free week is spent with training, getting coffee with Alex’s girlfriend, and trying to calm my mind by reading. 

I’m back in the air too soon, flying with Max and Daniel who surprise me with a special guest… Lando. Flying with my teammate and basically his husband means that Lando and I are third and fourth wheeling. 

I’m curled up in my seat, headphones on and book in hand while the boys play some card game. “Sev!” I hear Lando scream, making me pull of my headphones and hum in response.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Max asks as if they wouldn’t know the second a guy even asked me out. 

“No. Why?”

Daniel grins, looking over his seat at me, “I have someone for you.” 

My eyes narrow, “If it’s Lando, the answer is no.”

I see the brit frown, mumbling, “Why not?” 

“It’s not Lando.” Daniel says, making Lando physically react and sitting up straight to look at his friend, “He’s a driver-”

“Immediately no.” 

Max laughs out loud while Daniel rolls his eyes, “It’s rally-”

“Absolutely not.” Lando scoffs, earning a suspicious look from me. 

“You have no say in this, buddy.” Max tugs the hood of Lando’s hoodie over his head, Lando shoving him right back. 

“I have a girl for you, Lando.” I say, crossing my legs to get more comfortable in the two seats I’m taking up. 

“Is it you?” He shoots back quickly. 

“No.” 

“Then I don’t want her.” He says it teasingly but his eyes are on me, his usual smirk gone. 

None of the guys flirt with me except for Lando. Franco has said some joking remarks but apart from some drunken compliments, they’re like my brothers. Not Lando though, never Lando. 

I’ve known him since karting as the nerdy little boy who liked all of my instagram pictures and fought me on track. Now he’s the nerdy formula one driver who’s annoyingly hot and wildly confusing, still fighting me on track. 

Daniel whistles slowly, my eyes pulling away from Lando and back to my book. His eyes stay on me, I can fucking feel it. 

They go back to their game and when we land in Italy, I leave that plane with one plan in mind: beating them. 

⋆༺

“Hey sev.” I’m not happy to hear him, or see him. Except the way he looks might help a little bit. 

“Fuck off, Norris.” He shouldn’t even be near the Cadillac garage. 

My lap got deleted so I'll be starting P15. Lando’s P4 and even he’s upset about it. I’d give anything to switch with him. 

He doesn’t roll his eyes, just crosses his arms and leans closer. “Be nice to me, you rejected me on the plane.” 

I blink. “I always reject you.” 

He nudges my arm, looking away to scan the paddock before sighing, “God forbid a man speak his truth.” 

“What do you want, Lan?” 

“You?” He grins ear to ear and I hate that it makes me smile. “Hold on!” He opens his phone and puts it up to my face. 

“What!?”

He pockets his phone, “Just a reminder that I can still make you smile.”

“Still?” I raise my brow. 

“Don’t act like we didn’t cry laugh back in karting.” 

“Seven years ago!”

“And I stick with my feelings.” 

Someone whistles behind us, “Ay, lover boy!” It’s Daniel, he’s grinning like an idiot next to a sky sports camera man. 

I push Lando away but he grabs my hand to pull me back, “You’re gonna start rumors.” I say, very aware of the cameras on us. 

He doesn’t miss a beat, “Go out with me and then they won’t be rumors, just facts.” 

⋆༺

I don’t date drivers. I did once. Never again will I go back to that. There’s many reasons for him specifically, but a relevant one for anyone on the grid is that social media sees something and runs with it. 

Lando isn’t shy when talking about me, he’s never openly said he thinks i’m hot on camera but the way he talks to me, the subtle flirty words that get picked up in cooldown rooms… we have a fucking ship name now. 

Sour. Seven with Four; also a hint at how I feel about this little hashtag. Technically it’s pronounced ‘soar’ but I like Sour much more. 

It’s gone so far that even the other drivers will address us as Sour, even though there’s never a real need to group us together, they think it’s hilarious. 

The race goes okay from my position, ending up P7 and checking in on Kimi who couldn’t finish his home race. The weekend goes back so fast that the next thing I know, i’m on that fucking plane again. 

I’m watching the race back when Lando sits across from me, closing my screen without saying anything. 

I pull the red vine out of my mouth, “The fuck- Norris!” 

“You’re over analyzing.” He puts his feet up on my chair, wearing sweats and bright red socks. 

“I’m trying to get better.” 

“Seeing every tiny mistake you make isn’t gonna win you races.” He says flatly, “I would know.”

“At least you’ve won a race.” 

“Talk to me when you’re six years in and not two in a brand new team.” He reaches over and grabs a red vine before slouching in his seat, his curls pressing against the leather.

I breathe out, “I want to win.” 

“Then beat Max. Beat Oscar- Beat me!” He shrugs, biting into the candy. “Just chill on the race stuff when we’re 40,000 feet in the air.”

“What do you propose I do instead?” 

“Um… Watch Crazy Rich Asians like a normal person? Talk to me? Drink champagne. Play strip poker-”

“Lando!” 

He’s laughing now, “Sorry! I had to! It’s just… every second of every day is about racing for us, which is good, keeping us focused right? But I've seen people burnout…” He glances back at Danny who’s laughing with Max, “It’s not fun.”

I cross my arms, smiling a bit. “You just want me to talk to you.”

The corner of his lip tugs upwards, “I want you to beat me.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a kink of yours.” 

He full on laughs now, making my stomach twist. Lando stands, coming over to my side and sitting next to me just to open computer, “I’ll give you my netflix password.”

As soon as we land, Daniel and I have to go to a Cadillac event together. He drives while I do my makeup in the passenger seat, “So… you and Lando talked like- the whole flight.”

“It was short.” 

He hums, rocking his shoulders, “Sure but an hour is a long time to talk non-stop.” 

“We’re friends.” I rub my lips together, touching up my lip liner. 

Daniel lets out a laugh while I pop open my lipgloss, “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear that.”

“Will you shut it? We are.”

I can hear how unconvinced he is in the tone of his voice, “Friends who flirt.” 

“Lando flirts with me for fun- he knows people think it’s funny.”

Daniel glances at me, speechless for a second. “You can’t honestly believe he’s saying that shit for laughs… right?”

⋆༺

Being with girls after spending every moment of my day competing with men is like running through a field of daisies. Alexandra and Lily make me feel so refreshed and happy, even during a triple header!

We walk along the Monaco harbor, saying which yacht we would want or what we would name them, before heading out to get lunch. 

The place is unbelievably packed, making us all realize that we need to get better at planning and me to get over my fear of making reservations. 

I swear, I think i’m imagining his voice at first. But then, a head of dark curls and tanned body comes into view, “Hey pretty!” 

Lando already has a table because- of course he does. When Lando greets us, it’s like the waitress gains consciousness and realizes who I am. I’m somehow dragged to a table with Lando and his best friend, Max Fewtrell. The five of us sit at a table for three. 

Alex leaves midway through our drinks, having to go earlier than expected which leaves Lily and I, who are only able to laugh at who sits across from us. 

The table is less crowded now and surprisingly, we get on pretty well. Although I do think it’s mostly Max and his cheery personality. 

He’s genuinely hilarious and any tension that I expected is soon forgotten about after we order. Someone comes up and asks for a picture with Lando and I. We do it but I can’t help but cringe at the thought of #sourhavinglunchtogether going viral. 

Not one moment goes by where we’re not talking, every breath overtaken by someone else’s thoughts on whatever topic we bring up. Lily takes a selfie to send to Alex who promptly sends a million laughing emojis. 

After the millionth time that Max makes me laugh, Lando speaks up, half joking, half serious. “Why do you like all my friends more than me?”

“Maybe because they don’t hit on me every chance they get.” Now i’m half joking and half serious. 

He’s quiet the rest of the lunch, popping in jokes as usual but something’s off and he’s horrible at hiding it. 

Alex picks up Lily after our lunch, saying hello quickly before taking his girlfriend away from me. Max is on the phone when Lando awkwardly comes up to me. 

“You know, If I make you uncomfortable… I’ll stop.” It comes out of nowhere. For a second, I don’t know what he means, but then I remember my remark about him hitting on me and it clicks. 

I cringe, hating this conversation already. Do I want him to stop? Do I really just like it because of the attention? Or because it’s coming from him?

He looks worried- like he’s scared that he’s actually crossed a line. “You don’t make me uncomfortable- I just… don’t get it.”

His brows furrow, his hands in his pockets and his eyes too green for this world. His voice is serious when he says it, “You don’t get why I hit on you?” 

I don’t know what to say to that. I always know what to say- especially to him. But now… he’s looking at me as if the last two years have been a joke at his expense. 

Max joins us right before I can answer, saying something about his girlfriend and how he needs to head back. I just nod along, still looking over to Lando who won’t face me. 

⋆༺

Monaco is cloudy today and I'm suddenly very glad I picked out jeans and a sweater for this morning. I’ve spent the week on runs, doing press, and meeting up with some old friends. It’s been a quiet few days, something surprising since it’s still race week. I tap my pass against the entrance, expecting to hear the usual chime of acceptance, but when I start to walk, I'm stopped by metal.  

I frown and try again, but no luck. I’m about to try for a third time when, it finally chimes. But it’s not my paddock pass that slides against the machine with ease, I can tell just by the large veiny hand that holds it. 

I look back to see his face and my stomach does that thing again- he’s so close and for a second, I'm swallowed whole by a mess of curls and beauty marks. 

That second is soon over because without so much as looking at me, he nods to the people inside and says, “Go.” 

I mumble a quick thanks before moving through the metal and into the paddock. I try not to make a face, aware of the amount of cameras on me, but what the fuck is going on?

Lando’s been avoiding me. 

This has never happened before… I haven’t talked to him all week and it’s already Saturday. Well, unless you count that encounter that has me blushing and cringing all at once.

No. Sorry- No. Not blushing. My cheeks are just red from the sun… the sun on a cold and cloudy day. 

⋆༺

“Are you okay?” Daniel asks, standing in the doorframe of my drivers room while i’m spread out on my couch. 

“I’m great.” I mumble because, I am! P2 in quali. In Monaco! I should be way happier than I am.  

“Are you sure…?” 

“Do you think Lando’s mad at me?” I don’t look at him when I say it, I can’t. It’s wholly too embarrassing. 

I can practically hear the way his eyebrows raise, “I don’t think so. Has he been acting differently?” 

I sit up, “Today he apologized for walking past me.” He had his hand on my waist so I wouldn’t fall or panic. He was in a rush, but snatched his hand away the second I looked back at who was moving so fast. 

“Basic etiquette?”

I laugh, “Not for Lando.”

“Well, do you want me to ask? Maybe he’s just locked in for tomorrow.” 

“No!” I scramble, “No that’s okay! I don’t care. It’s good like this, quiet.” 

Daniel just smiles and leaves me alone. 

The truth is, I can’t do this anymore. I spent the whole of Saturday looking for him. What the fuck has happened to me? 

When I run into him- yes, physically, On sunday morning, I spit it out. “What’s wrong with you?”

He blinks, “Sorry?” 

We’re both in our race suits, orange and silver are not a good pair. “You’ve been weird this whole week- can you like act normal? Did something happen?” 

He starts to say something but stops before it can come out. “I thought you wanted this.”

I’m the confused one now. “What?” 

He looks around but no one’s close enough to hear, “I mean, the whole thing at lunch. You said you don’t like it when I hit on you and it’s really hard not to hit on you-”

“I told you it didn't make me uncomfortable.” 

“Max said something about it too and then that post…” He trails off, like he’s scared to make me uncomfortable again. 

A post went viral of all the reasons why Lando and I are secretly dating. It’s shit and honestly, a good laugh, but not that serious. 

“It’s fine.” I cross my arms instinctively, “I thought you were mad at me.” 

Lando rolls his eyes and when he looks back at me, I can feel the shift in the air. “Don’t tell me you’ve missed the flirting.”

“No!” I say a bit louder than necessary, “It’s just- your fans have noticed.” 

He’s grinning now, stepping closer. “My fans?”

I need to shut up. I turn sharply and start walking away, “Bye, Norris.” 

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Beat me today, Sev!”

I don't beat him. I give him some pressure on the last five laps- but Lando Norris wins Monaco and looks absolutely fucking beautiful while doing it. 

It reminds me of Miami- he can’t stop smiling. 

Me, Lando, and Oscar walk off the podium still laughing. Lando picks me up suddenly, his arms around my waist and making me scream. He shakes out his hair onto me- not as if it matters considering I'm soaked in just as much champagne as he is. 

“Put me d- Awh the back says your guys’ names in cursive! You look like you’re getting married!” I laugh. 

“I will keep you in air jail if you keep talking shit about our suits.”

He keeps me trapped against him until we get to the bottom of the stairs. Oscar gives me a look which distracts me so when Lando sets me down, I almost fall. 

His hand grabs my waist, my suit unzipped and his skin far too close to touching mine. “I’m not talking shit. The white looks good.”

He grins. “Did you just say I look good?” 

I roll my eyes, “I take it back, I want you to avoid me again.” I push him away, his touch leaving me while he smiles. 

“You’re a horrible liar.” He nudges my arm, “Come on, admit it. You missed me.”

I scoff, “I did not!” 

“Then why did you beg me to talk to you again?” 

“I did not beg you-”

“You can admit it, Sev. You’re in love with me. That’s okay! We can date in secret and watch our ship edits in bed with our dog.” 

My jaw actually drops. He’s ridiculous. “Our dog?” 

He points at me, walking away backwards while his PR manager says something to him. “You being shocked about the animal and not everything else I said tells me all I need to know!” 

⋆༺

“You can’t be tired!” Carlos snaps his fingers in front of my face, “You’re supposed to be the young one!” 

I can’t believe they’ve managed to drag me out to a club. Sure, I like to party- but not during a triple header! I’m partially discouraged from going because almost every guy brought their girlfriend and Lando won’t be there to keep my single ass company. 

The moment I think I want Lando with me is the same moment that I grab Alexandra and Rebecca, dragging them to the dance floor much to the dismay of their boyfriends. 

We laugh and sing and swing our hips until they are dragged away by said boyfriends. 

“Our queen!” Alex laughs when I pass him and Carlos, who bows. 

Franco is all up on some girl which makes me promptly turn around and head to the bar. “Just a water, thanks.” I say to the bartender. 

“Nothing stronger?” Someone says next to me. He’s the definition of tall, dark and handsome. 

I fake a laugh, trying to be polite at the obvious attempt to start talking to me. “Nope.”

“Can I get you something?” He asks, turning towards me now.

My smile falters, “Waters free.” 

He holds up his drink, swirling it around in the glass before holding it under my nose. I almost gag, tapping the counter and wondering where my water is. 

“Come on, let loose!” He laughs and I suddenly hate how close he is to me.  “Have you ever had a gin and tonic?” I’m immediately forced back to the memory of why my hatred of gin started. Yes, Max Verstappen is to blame. 

“She hates gin.” The voice doesn’t make me roll my eyes like usual, in fact, a wave of relief washes over me. 

His arm slips around my shoulders, looking up at the man who frowns at the sight of Lando. 

The bartender finally hands me my water. “Sorry mate- didn’t know she belonged to you.” 

Lando eyes him up and down, disgusted at his words, “Fuck off.” 

He leaves with a quick, uncomfortable, smile. Lando turns to me, his arm still around me and pulling us close. “Nice skirt.”

“Nice attitude. You’re good at faking the whole protective thing.” 

He smirks, “Faking?”

“I thought you were at the princes dinner, winner.” His nose scrunches at the last word. 

“It’s one in the morning, sev. Royalty doesn’t stay up that late- well, except for you.” He winks and my heart speeds up, the bartender sliding him a drink to match mine. 

“Couldn’t miss out on the party?” 

“Well, I heard you were here and couldn’t resist.” He shrugs, his arm falling from my shoulder to grab his water. “Anyone drunk yet?” 

“No but i’m pretty sure Franco is fucking a girl at our table…” This makes him laugh and once again, i’m reminded how lucky I am to even be around him, “Do you want to dance?” I say it fast, like maybe if it’s quick then he won’t hear me. 

He does. He looks surprised but not ready to risk me saying no. Taking my hand, Lando downs the rest of his water and pulls me onto the dance floor. 

I’m not drunk. I haven’t even had a sip of anything- but I feel like I'm fucking floating with him. 

We dance for a while- too long, probably. I end up back with Daniel and Oscar at the table, drinking water and laughing with them. 

Carlos joins us after I sit and I don’t think before saying, “Do you where Lando is?” I don’t miss the look that Oscar and Daniel share, I just chose to ignore it. 

Carlos just shrugs, “He went home with some girl.” 

⋆༺

I always forget how hard triple headers hit me until I’m woken up by Daniel because I fell asleep in my driver room. 

Spain is much hotter than Monaco, more crowded too. The fans here are insane and I absolutely love it. I’m scheduled for a press conference with Lando and Esteban, something i’m almost late for because of my impromptu nap. 

I sit on the side, Esteban in the middle of Lando and I. I sit through every boring question they ask Esteban and every irrelevant question they ask Lando. 

One question is finally directed at me, “Do you think your lack of wins is due to the space being dominated by men?” My heart races immediately. I hate getting asked these questions obviously but in front of a million cameras and the other drivers, it’s even worse. “We’ve seen you get emotional on track- you really believe you’ll be able to beat someone so mentally tough like say, Max or Oscar?” 

I’m not embarrassed now, just angry. The moderator tries to cut in, along with Esteban and Lando, but I get there first. “I’m not emotional, I just love my sport. Along with every other driver on the grid who shares everything with me except for the fact that they have something between their legs-”

I swear I hear Lando laugh. 

“As for the lack of wins, I'd like you to try and go up against the current top three drivers in the world who have cars and years of experience to back them.” I shift in my seat, sitting up with my mic closer to my lips, “In other words, I have my seat due to the same reason that will win me races someday soon. I wasn’t a diversity hire, I am the best for the job, unlike you who clearly needs to go back and learn how to ask appropriate questions.”  

Everyone is silent, the man who said the question is staring at me. I know my cheeks are red and despite my confident rant, I feel like I want to cry. 

Lando’s the first to speak, “Can we get him out of here?”

Lando’s waiting for me when I leave the conference room. Leaning against the opposite wall, his water bottle in hand and his ankles crossed. He stands up straight when he sees me, “Hey!” I start walking down the hallway, needing to just get out of there. He follows. 

“You handled that really well.” I mumble a thanks in response, staring at my feet as we walk, “He was a dickhead. You ripped him a new one though I'm really impressed- Like really, I’m proud of you!”

I stop walking before we walk out the door, turning to him and wrapping my arms around the man. It takes a second before he’s hugging me back, his hand slipping to my back. 

I take a deep breath. Lando smells like mint shampoo and something sweet, pulling me tighter to him. He feels like relief. 

“Are you okay?” He backs up a bit, keeping his hands on me. 

I nod, “Thank you.” 

He scrunches his nose, “For what?” 

“You’re a really good friend, Lan.”

He drops his hands after I call him a friend, slipping them into his pockets. God he looks too good for friendship- hat backwards with curls peaking out, his nose scar perfectly across his nose. Why are scars so hot!?

“So are you.” He says hesitantly.

I scramble for something to say- any topic would do, honestly. I just need him to stop looking at me like that. “You know, I was left to dance with Franco the other night.” 

He sways on his heels, “Couldn’t have been that bad, you’ve done it before.”  

“Hope it was worth it.” 

His eyes narrow, “Hope what was worth it?” 

“She. The girl you left with.”

He smiles- actually smiles! It’s heartbreaking, too pretty for this world. “Who told you that?” My heart drops. “Are you jealous or something?” 

“What! No!” I’m going to kill Carlos. 

He laughs, “Horrible liar, sev.”

“I am not jealous.” I scoff, “You’re the jealous one… Fuck off I probably have to go do crisis management for my little spiel.” I flip him off as I walk away. 

He shakes his head, walking the opposite way as me, I’m about to turn the corner when he says it, “Sev! For the record, no girl is worth more than you are.”

⋆༺

Oscar Piastri. 

Lando Norris. 

Me. 

Our qualifying lineup for the Spanish grand prix. 

Starting behind two mclarens- starting behind Lando! I’m in for a hell of a race. All I can do is pray for a miracle and trust myself. 

I do trust myself, I trust myself when I send it at the restart, passing Lando. I trust myself in the last three laps, shaving my proximity to Oscar down. 

I trust myself when, during the last lap- I pass him. It’s risky and for a second I'm scared that I could get a penalty… but then, there’s no one in front of me. 

The checkered flag is all I see and suddenly my race engineer is yelling in my ear and I think I'm crying. 

The second I get out of the car, I'm bombarded with people around me. Everyone’s congratulating me at once, Lewis high-fiving me at the same time Yuki pats my back. 

Everything is the perfect about of overwhelming, Oscar hugging me, Carlos screaming while Ollie pulls his phone out to video. 

My team embraces me with a million arm pats and tears, Daniel kisses my cheek before hugging me, whispering how well I did. 

I don’t see Lando until the cooldown room. We’re the first ones there and he scoops me up as if I weigh nothing. 

It’s different than our hug the other day- we’re both grinning ear to ear and when he tells me how proud he is of me, again, I tug him closer. 

I pull away first. “You beat me. Is this something I'm gonna have to get used to or…?” I laugh and push him away when Oscar enters. 

“Get a room.” He mumbles. 

“We’re in one.” Lando rolls his eyes, unzipping his suit. 

 Oscar frowns, “I’m not keen to join.” I laugh harder. 

⋆༺

We go to dinner. Not the club or a bar, a proper nice dinner with everyone I love in my life. My grid. 

I sit in between Daniel and Lando, eating Pasta and laughing way too hard for this nice restaurant. 

At some point, one of the rookies starts talking dating and we immediately fall into a rabbit hole of everyone’s dating life. 

“What about you Lando? Is that playboy reputation real?” Kimi asks, making Lando laugh and shake his head- yeah right. 

“I don’t really date…” He shrugs, “but I'm not a slut.”

I can’t hold in my laugh, “Right.”

“Right, what?” 

“The whole of Monaco has seen your-”  

“I need air.” Is all he says, standing up and walking right out the door. 

I look around, the table quiet and tension thick. 

“What’d I say?” No one answers, “Lando does date. Right?” 

They all either mumble something or shake their head. “Hello…? Am I missing something? Why wouldn’t Lando date?”

It’s Franco who says it. “It’s probably because Lando’s been in love with you for years and you still think it’s some joke.”

I didn’t think it was possible for this table to get even more uncomfortable. Yet here we are. 

Pierre hits Franco in the back of the head, they’re all staring at me. Expecting me to do something. 

I put my fork down, standing up and leaving the way Lando did. There’s no way… Sure I knew he had a crush but he still hooked up with other girls! Whenever I dated, which wasn’t often, he’d send a glare to the man but left us alone. 

Love? Lando Norris is not in love with me. 

I rush out the door, seeing Lando standing in the hot night air, “I need to know why you did all of it.”

He turns around, surprised to see me, apparently. “All of what-”

“The flirting! The comments! Everything! Lando- You can’t actually like me.” I can’t breathe. 

He makes me wait an agonizing two seconds, his mouth parted as he meets my eyes. “Why else would I do it, Sev?” His voice is soft and it reminds me that he’s never raised it at me. 

“But you… you were joking.” The look he gives me right there… like he’s shocked I could ever think that, I’ll never forget it. 

He breathes out, shaking his head like it physically hurts him to say, “I’m not stupid, sev… I know you don’t fancy me. Maybe some of the shit I said was in a joking way but I've never taken it back.”

I pause, getting madder by the second. “You are stupid. You teased me and flirted and basically wasted all of your energy on wanting me.” He doesn’t look hurt, just like he’s accepted it. “You can’t just not date because of me! You started a million rumors just by the way you look at me! You told my mom when you were thirteen that you would marry me one day! God- Norris!” I huff, running my hands through my hair like a maniac. I look at him, swallowing. He’s so beautiful, how could he ever not chose someone because of me? “The worst bit is that you let yourself think that the reason you’re stupid is because you didn’t give up.”

He doesn’t even process what I've said, “You’re right. I’m an idiot.”

“No.” It’s almost a laugh. “I am. I’m an idiot for never seeing how much you actually cared. And for pretending like I didn’t feel the same.”

His eyes dart to me. “What?” It’s no more than a whisper. 

“I’m sorry for taking so much time- I think I really like you and I have for a while.” We both freeze, the only sound being our breaths and the faint voices from inside. 

“Please tell me I'm not dreaming.” He steps closer to me, his hands drifting over my hips as I laugh. 

I look up at him, “What would you do if it was a dream?” 

He’s shaking his head now, “I’d never wake up.” And then he’s kissing me. Soft, careful… like I might break. 

I grab his face and hold him tight. I’m never letting go of him now. 

“This is the best day of my life.” I mumble into the kiss, making him laugh, “Beat Lando Norris and kissed him, save the date.” 

He pushes a strand of hair out of my face, “Took you long enough.” Lando winks before kissing me again. I can’t believe I never knew what he tasted like, how perfect he feels against me. 

He glances back to the door, “Ready?” 

“To get ruthlessly teased? Sure.” 

He takes my hand in his, “Worth it.”

When we walk back in, all Lando has to say is, “Don’t say a fucking thing.” They’re quiet for a moment, surprising us both, but then the whole table erupts in laughter and cheers. My family.

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

He lied about being a superhero. You lied about not having freaky ass mind powers. You broke up- bitterly. End of story. No shot Invincible and some superpowered grunt for Machine Head would ever work out in any reality. Except. When he comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you. 

[Invincible Varients x Reader] [current overall word count: 215k]

[6.7K, part one of ?] [2] [Ao3] [Chapter Index]         Took a lot of liberties with this. Wanted the variants to be more distinct. Please excuse formatting issues, tumblr is actually ass. Header art is mine. Buckle up, I write like a bad girl with a hope for better days.         TW: Canon typical violence, toxic relationships, abuse, unhealthy BDSM dynamics, major character deaths, what the flip is wrong with everybody here.

       1 * Buck Fifty

Where I think that we’re all gonna die, Just to get fucked in some parallel life, While a strange martian fungus sprouts, From our sexier parts. Canoeing on Mars - Go Hang Music

        Semantics are a funny thing, really.          You say, “Go jump off a bridge,” most people do just that. Jump.          Here’s the not so fun part, some people, they go, “Well, what bridge?” And it’s a back and forth, you pushing, them pulling until you find that magic sweet spot in their logic and they finally jump.          So because you were chatting with this asshole for the better part of ten minutes, people run to you asking questions. “Did you know him? Is he okay?” Clearly, he wasn’t. The guy’s brains were dashed on a rock, blood following the runoff stream, too shallow to break the fall.  Your attention slides off the body. To the couple that pulled over the second he went over the ledge. Early thirties. Medium-ugly man, pretty girl with her hand on her swollen belly. Engagement rings glinting under the spring sun.             “Get back in your car.” Power rolls off your tongue. Thick, heavy, and sour. “And drive away.”         Concern leeches out of their eyes. Glazing over the moment the words meet their ears. The woman gets in first, shutting the passenger and sliding a seatbelt over herself. The man steps around the car, into steady traffic flowing carefully away from their car. He’s nearly clipped by the side mirror of a sedan that blares it’s horn. Swerving away, scraping the opposite side of the bridge’s barrier.         He gets into the car. Unblinking as car after car rams into the sedan. A pileup in the making but he looks nowhere but straight ahead. The couple’s car, a buggy, pulls off the narrow shoulder. Catching a pickup in the side, sending it careening into the sedan’s front. You watch the sedan driver pop like a pimple and the buggy drive off.

        You look back down, to the target, the only one supposed to get hurt here. He’s dead alright. Job’s done. Collateral doesn’t matter, not here anyway. Pileups happen all the time for no good reason at all.         Still, you tug up your hood and make your way down the side catwalk of the bridge. Going the opposite direction of the pileup. Smoke thick in your nose.          Air displaces, a woosh overhead. You’re at the bridge’s end, at the corner of Park and Main when the spandex clad cavalry arrives. You know that pink glow anywhere. Atom Eve sprung into action. Resetting metal, fixing tires. You make yourself watch her, not the blue-black blur that’s scooping civilians out of cars to safety.          You catch a look at him anyway. Still at last, because the job was done that quick. Your gut tightens, brows press together, a sour lemon frown on your lips. He’s smiling at her as they talk about money. The city of New York a brand spanking new client of Invincible Co.          Payday for them. You too. So stop being such a dill, and get a move on.         You turn before Mark can see your face. He wouldn’t think of you as the culprit. A long ago thing of the past, pre-powers. Good, it’s better if you’re not on his shit list. The best if he had no idea you were still rolling with Machine Head.          He’d seen you in his superhero skin at Machine Head’s side. God, how that ended.          No longer seventeen. No longer needing desperate money for college. No longer innocent or wanted.          When they start asking questions to bystanders, you’re already halfway down Main. You walk fast, you’re late. Twenty minutes out from the tower on foot without a car when the meeting was in five fucking minutes. Wasn’t your fault the guy had to be persuaded to kill himself.         

Machine Head wouldn’t see it that way.          You caught somebody by the arm. Alone, in nice enough clothes. They turn, lip curling, about to yank their arm away. “Give me your wallet.” You say low. 

        Fear doesn't breach their eyes. They simply pluck the leather bound thing from their jeans, detach it from a chain, and hand the whole thing over. You hold a thumb out until a taxi pulls up.          You didn’t have to pay. With powers like these, you could’ve done anything. You could be living large. Countless pretty things on your arm, willing to do anything at your say so. But you’re here. In debt. A criminal. Because you don’t know where to go or what else to do or what else you’re good for. They’d find you anyway, you could tell them to go and forget you existed but somehow, through mental gymnastics, you told yourself they’d come back. Kill you for trying to leave.         You pay the taxi fair out of courtesy because you once worked a shitty customer service job. You’re a killer, not evil. Consider it a good deed for the day.         You run through the double glass doors. Careful not the leave prints on the glass. Machine Head was very particular. An evil megalomaniac, but particular.          You know you’re late by the time you push open the Italian maple doors. He’s standing, ramrod straight, back to you, machine eyes (cameras you supposed?) scanning the city. His city. For a time it wasn’t. He was usurped, locked in the same jail house as you. You thought that your difference in sex would keep him away from you. But no, you were still working for him in the slammer to keep your back shank-free. He got out, took The Order by the throat, and now you were out too and-         “Fifty-three seconds. You made me wait fifty-three seconds. Do you know how much money I could’ve been making in those fifty-three seconds, (Y/n)?” He turned to you. Suit crisp. Metal shining.         You feel drastically under dressed in your sweats and hoodie. Lightly stained from cheap takeout. But you wouldn’t change it, it was practically the uniform of the average New York streetwalker. Not noticed. Perfect for the casual assassin, burglar, and occasional drug mule.          You don’t apologize. Don’t explain. Because that’s more time wasted, more money piled onto your dept. “Granger is dead.”         “Yeah, of old age.”         You swallow back the anger. After five years of cat scratches like that, you’re more than used to keeping your feelings in check. “My next assignment, sir?” 

        His circuitry clicked. “Nothing. Maybe I’ll give you something next time if you aren’t so inconsiderate with my time.” You turn for the door. No argument there. “Oh and, (Y/n)?” You stop, hand on the polished knob. “Be here twelve tomorrow. Sharp. Or I’m adding another month.” His threat is real, but hollow. Another month under his thumb means nothing when you’re too useful to ever let go.         Shallowly, you nod and slip out the door.      ***         Another two hundred. A month after the last raise in rent. You could kill her. Tell her to jump off the complex roof while doing a hand spring.          “Miss Neighbor?” A voice behind you makes you look down, down, down.          She’s a tiny thing. A sprout though she’s supposed to be eleven. “Caligula got out again.” Her arms piston forward, presenting the fluffy thing. Eyes slited and soft belly exposed.          You sigh, taking him into your arms where he melts and purrs. “Thanks Cecelia.” You say, foot kicking open your ajar door. Caligula figured out how to turn the knob last year. Ever since you’d been vigilant about double locking the door but some days you were in a hurry and too stressed to worry. Like today. “I owe you one.” Your hand slipped into your hoodie, pulling out the last remaining dollars and coins stolen from the stranger. You spot a fifty in the wad that her eager hands wrap around. You hold on a little too long before letting go.          There’d be more pockets to pick tomorrow. You could make rent with a few extra hours. Though, man, you didn’t want to. You were tired enough as it was.         Her eyes glittered as she thumbed through the cash, the little capitalist. She slipped a single dollar and two quarters into one hand. The rest of the fat stack in the other. Ah, reward money for giving her money. Child’s logic.         She holds out the wad to you. “Thanks Neighbor lady, but I just need a buck fifty for the vending machine down the hall. Gonna get me a Reese's Pieces.”          She yelled a thanks more heartfelt than yours and toddled down the hall, knees awkwardly bowed. You watch her turn the corner. Slack jawed. For a change, somebody let you keep something. Something good happened, even after you made a stupid decision.

        You push inside the studio and push away all thoughts of killing Cecelia’s greedy bitch mother. Who would find Caligula if she had to move to her aunt’s? Plus, if you got rid of her mom another, greedier landlord would probably replace her.          There wasn’t a point.          Early dinner was phoned in because you were so frazzled after this afternoon you’d forgot to grocery shop. Pizza. You waited, splayed on the couch, Caligula purring away on your knee. A Youtube stream pulled up on your junk laptop because you didn’t bother with a TV. News was a good thing to keep an eye on when you were a criminal.          A knock at the door. You rise. The pizza boy looks about the age of minimum wage. Still, you tell him, “Give me your wallet and the pizza.” Before shutting, and locking, the door in his face, no tip. Good deed already done for the day.         Another knock should come. Him demanding payment and his wallet. Instead, footsteps recede. He’s already forgotten. He’ll remember vaguely later, making a regular delivery. Losing his wallet, maybe in his car on while packing pizzas. He’ll panic, pause his debit card that you’ll never touch out for fear of being tracked. Working for Machine Head meant cash only.         You’re back on the couch, indulging. Caligula licking grease off your fingers. You skip from one news stream to the next. Looking for yourself. You weren’t the costume and flashy mask type of supervillian. If you considered yourself super at all. No inhuman strength or speed or shape shifting. Just, talking and making people listen.         You were lucky. Only caught the once. It was the second time Mark saw you rolling with Machine Head, a month after your cataclysmic teenage breakup. A year in the slammer, slap on the wrist. Machine Head paid your way out of papers and records.          It was three months later, after a particular fuck up, Machine Head revealed to you that Mark came to the prison the day you were supposed to be released. You’d been let out a day early. At the time you thought they just wanted you out because of overcrowding. But Machine Head knew Mark would come. Would try and persuade you to his side of things. Maybe make up and be sweethearts again. By then, through prison and three months of being an official card in Machine Hand’s deck— you’d crossed lines Mark wouldn’t forgive. You couldn’t go running back, saying you saw his side now. Because you didn’t.          Imagining what Mark would say if he saw you again, if he knew you stayed with Machine Head, it was enough to make you cry right in the middle of Machine Head’s office. He didn’t even have to rub your nose in the shame when you’d do it yourself. You were so angry. At Mark for putting you in jail, playing you right into Machine Head’s hands. At Machine Head for never letting you out from under his thumb. At everything, all of the time.

        Working for Machine Head wasn’t all bad. Got his endless supply of grunts to teach you a thing or two about tact and not getting caught. Things like not abusing the pizza boy every day. You saved it for once every few months. Never the same boy twice. Any repeats would be begrudgingly paid.         Another slice finds it’s way between your fingers. You’re mid-groan as your attention catches on the latest stream. Not ten minutes ago you were bored out of your gourd. Now, “A devastating attack has left Seattle’s space needle— gone.” The camera panned up, up, not that far up because the iconic slab of concrete was fucking leveled.          Your brows raise but you make no move. Not your circus, not your monkeys.          The camera raises further. “And it seems the destruction was at the hands of—“ The stream cuts, going blue on your computer scream. You scoff, lean forward and beat the corner as flashes of blue and yellow mock you. Finally, it clears, and you see somebody. Decked in white. Hovering hundreds of feet about the needle.          The pizza turns sour in your stomach but you lean forward, elbows on knees. Unable to see a face but so familiar with the shape of that body. For every time you saw it, on the news or overhead, your stomach went sour. “What the fuck is he doing without his mask on?” You squint. Just seeing the dot of tanned skin that was his head, no details beyond.         Caligula yowled, crossing over your laptop keys to get at your fingers. The stream changes. “—le are evacuating Universal Studios Hollywood in droves. Authorities are unsure what’s caused the majority of the studio to collapse.” A crash off screen. The camera pans. Smoke rises from the skyline. Wind carrying it down to pollute the central valley. There’s that shape, that body again. Silhouette dark in the smoke, with something else, something you hadn’t seen. A new low. A fucking cape?         Caligula takes another step. The stream changes. “This just in, Big Ben is gone.” An anchor takes up the screen, pale and balding forehead shining with sweat.         “Sorry, Keith, uhm, what do you mean gone?”          “I mean it’s gone, Jared. Cut— Cut to the footage!” The stream flickers. There’s the London sky. Gray and dreary. Clouds overshadowed by pillars of smoke. Chunks of rubble litter the street. Cars with their horns still blaring, engines burning crushed beneath. People squashed like grapes. 

        There he is again. But. No. Not really. This shape in the sky, this man had the same makeup but wider, thicker. You lean closer to the screen, sure you’re seeing things and not his old super suit.          Your phone vibrates in your pocket. The news is forgotten, half eaten pizza slice thrown to the pen box where Caligula pounces to lick pooled oils off the cheese.         You don’t have to look to know it’s work. Nobody calls you for anything but work and you only work for Machine Head.         “Boss is feeling generous.” Isotope’s voice grits through the speaker. “Get back here on the double.”         Seeing what you mistook for your ex on so many streams has soured your mood. Spiked your daring. “You can’t just teleport me?”          He scoffs. “You’ve got legs don’cha? Use ‘em.” Machine Head’s voice spiked the other end of the line. Isotope sighs. “Don’t move.”         You wipe your hands off on your pants before he’s in your apartment. Appearing through a haze of radioactive green light. You don’t even get to stand before his hand is on your shoulder and you’re zapped into Machine Head’s sprawling high rise.         You stumble but straighten. Isotope leaving your side to stand at attention by Machine Head. Who was currently heaving over his desk.         Papers, pens, and pretty mugs dashed to the floor.          It’d only been a few minutes. Did Granger survive? Did somebody see you? Report you?  Is Machine Head going to have you killed, right here, right now?         Power coils in your throat. Words ready to shoot like bullets to protect yourself.          “Tell me, Dregs.” The word spits off his electric voice box like sparks. Your stomach cinches. In this room, on the street, in the normal world, you were (Y/n). On jobs with fellow grunts you didn’t trust, in Machine Head’s scant paper trail, you were Dregs. He reserved calling the insult of a ‘villain name’ for when he was particularly unhappy with you. The name wasn’t your doing. It was a nasty nickname that stuck when Machine Head, near dead, overheard Invincible, breaking up with you in the shattered remains of his office all those years ago.         “You— you’ve been— you’re—“ His lip quivered under his mask.          “I did this for us.” You’d said. “I needed money to go to college with you. It’s just a one time thing!”

“They tried to kill me. He hired you to help kill me.” His voice had changed then, matured a fraction. Gone was the boyfriend that called you dude. Here was the man, mask held in his hand, identity shocking you to your core.          “I didn’t know it was you!”         “So you were fine with killing somebody?”         “I thought it was all talk!” You’d pled with him. In the middle of this very room, now reconstructed and shiny.          “Well it wasn’t!”          “I saved you.” You’d protested. “Without even knowing it was you— I saved you!” Because you had thought it was talk. You thought it was an easy paid security guard gig and you weren’t ready to kill someone for money. How times would change.         “You— How long have you been working with these—“ He gestured to the room at large. The dead. The dying. The bloody. He wasn’t looking great himself, but you spared him most of the pain with your words. A few suggestions here and there could save lives. You could’ve been a hero. His face sucks in then the word comes flying out, “Dregs of society— these fucking—“         And it stuck.         Hearing it always made you want to hit something. Though your punches weren’t particularly affective. You could tell Machine Head to jump out his shiny bay window but you don’t because there’s always a bigger thumb.         “Why-“ You’re back to the present, “the,” staring down your shitty bosses back, “fuck,” thinking about killing him, “is,” again, “your ex boyfriend tearing apart my city!?”         “What?” Now that, was not what you were expecting.          “You heard me!” His voice synthesizer spiked, turning the words into a melody. “Use your eyes!”         You look past his heaving form. So focused on the idea of being murdered you neglected the city scape. Sky scrapers were sliced in half. Twisted metal supports reaching for the sky. Smoke billowing, fire brewing. You heard it now, the screaming from below.          A black streak cuts the horizon. Blasts straight through the empire state building. The top half of the building groans, hitting nearby buildings as it comes down, shaking the city. People fall out the windows, go splat on the ground. Others are crushed under fresh rubble.         Standing up in the air was unmistakably Mark. Wearing his Invincible skin, the new blue and black one that made you angry with how good it looked on him. But he wasn’t wearing his mask, which was unlike himself. He also had a mohawk, which was also unlike himself.

        “Jesus.” You say. Thinking of clones or illusions or shape shifters. Villain of the week type of bullshit.         “Is that you trying to fix things? Stop him!” Machine Head’s hands go to his head, gripping metal like hair. “Now!”         That’s how you ended up here. Standing on the roof of Machine Head’s high rise. Jerry-rigged megaphone in hand. No ordinary Walmart megaphone would do in a situation like this. Had to be a ‘roided up version of the original. Double speakers on the sides with complicated volume amplifiers in its guts.          You’d been here before. Ontop a building, shouting into a megaphone. There was almost nothing ridiculous you hadn’t done to get someone to hear you. To do what someone wanted you to do. Usually it was ontop of a bank, shouting at police to leave, to forget about the robbery, to forget your face.         This was new enough that your palms were slick with sweat around the plastic handle. Mark sliced through more buildings with his body. They went down like soft butter. His laugh cracking and wrong as people burst open on the streets.          The cavalry had arrived. Nobody low-levels on the city’s payroll. Mark cut through them easier than the buildings. Not Mark, you tell yourself. Mark didn’t kill. You did. Mark wasn’t bad. You were. That’s why things didn’t work out.         You breathe in. Anger surging. Whoever or whatever this loser was— was going down, hard.          “Hey!” The megaphone twisted your voice from one to multitudes. From a shout to a building shaking scream.          Not Mark paused midair. Holding a half dead hero against him. Fists beating his cheat while their guts spilled out their midriff. He was half a mile away, a spec, but you still felt his eyes on you. Hard and boiling a dot through your skull.         “You! Yeah, you!” Getting their attention was always the worst part. If he didn’t think you were talking to him, your power would fall flatter than a popped balloon. One of the many drawbacks that’d nearly gotten you killed time and time again.         The hero dropped. Still falling. You didn’t see him coming, human eyes too weak to see faster than light. He’d be on you before the hero hit the ground.         “Stop!”          The air cracks. You stumble back. Eardrums crackling. One good thing about having powers? The littlest, stupidest things are enhanced. Not your hearing, no, but your ability to not go deaf. You literally can’t. Sure, you could’ve had a naturally amplified voice, super speed, healing, but nope! You get— anti-deaf powers, if you could call it that, as a cherry on top.

        Not Mark is suspended midair, a flower preserved in resin. Fist reeled back ready to punch a hole through your head. A grin that’s more of a snarl on his lips. Black piercings shining in the light of nearby fires. Brow, bridge, cheek, lip, like lizard spikes. Mohawk flattened against his head. Blood on his teeth, on his knuckles.         Close up, he is Mark. A clone or deft shape shifter, but so close to your Mark it throws you off balance. Worse is the no mask part. Your ex-boyfriend stares at you will his full naked face. Eyes brown but darker, more sunken than you remember. With bags beneath, like being evil is so fucking exhausting.         Shape shifter for sure, and a bad one.         He blinks. Still in air. Eyes sharp on your features as you lower the megaphone. Something about those eyes scare the shit out of you. You expect glazed complacency. You except no expression at all. But he’s looking at you with so much emotion, too much to be really under your control.         There’s no time for machinations. You knew aliens or other powered individuals could give you trouble. But nobody was able to fully resist, not yet.         So you say, “Kill yourself.”          Just as he says, “It’s you.”         You’re both surprised.          You double down. Power leaden on your tongue. “Break your own neck, now.”         His arms move like an animatronic. One hand poised on his sharp jaw, the other poised on his shoulder for purchase. There’s no snap, death groan, and falling five stories. He is staring at you like you’re actually precious to him. Like he misses you. Like he didn’t dump you then throw you in jail a month later. Like he didn’t see other people, like Atom Eve and him weren’t going steady.         It pisses you off. Power roils in your throat. You growl this time, “Rip out your throat.”         His hands fall to his sides. You’d met resistance before but a rephrase, a second or third command always did it. He wasn’t dead and that was a very, very bad thing.         “You made it.” He says. Soft but voice gruff. “To New York.”

        “Die!” You command. Though your power didn’t work on vague words like die. “Die, right now!” His feet touched down on the ledge. You step back. “Stop breathing.”         At those words he sobers. A smile, sharp toothed and easy and so un-Mark-like stretches his face. “Guess we want each other dead in every reality.” The words are an inside joke that make him laugh. “I almost respect the forwardness.”         "Break your legs.” You spit, taking another step back. Megaphone falling to the floor. “Break your arms."         “I think-“ He follows you in slow, languid strides. “You shouldn’t talk to your emperor and boyfriend like that.” Your words like bullets on kevlar armor, on viltrumite skin. They make him pause momentarily, shudder, then he breaks right though your hold and keeps coming.         Boyfriend? Boyfriend!?         You couldn’t have a boyfriend working for Machine Head. You’d seen what he threatened Titan with. You couldn’t have Mark, of all fucking people, as a boyfriend because of what he did. So you couldn’t let yourself have a boyfriend because you were so scared you’d get the same fucking reaction. And if things got to be too much you’d tell them forget, find someone else.         You see red.         “Eat your heart and shit it out.”         “Jeez, did I really fuck up this bad here?” He chuckles, and it sounds like Mark. Your Mark.         “Now!” The power forces out of you in waves. His step wobbles but he just keeps coming.         “You really must want me dead! What’d I do, take over your planet? You know a man’s got needs, baby. No biggie.”         The door to the stairs bursts open. Machine Head heaves with the effort of racing up the flights. Isotope behind him, less winded.         “Dregs!” Machine Head hisses. “Fuckin’ kill him already!”         “Dregs?” Not Mark tests the name on his tongue. “Is your name here fucking Dregs? Do- oh shit-“ His eyes alight, “Now I geddit. You’ve got powers in this universe!” He says like it wasn’t obvious. “That’s like your hero name, right? Oh (Y/n), baby, that’s so stupid it’s cute.”         “Fly into the sun.” Power rips out you, sizzling through the air.          He actually hovers off the roof. You wait for him to blast off and become a solar flare.          His muscles tense and untense. “So that’s what that is. Shit, I thought it was just like, true love and stuff.” And he was going to kill you. “Man, that feels… weird. Do it again.”

        “Kill him!” Machine Head insists behind you.         “Kill yourself.” You can feel a migraine on it’s way, pounding in your temples. Powers are like a muscle. They can only do so much before giving. “Do it. Die.”         Not Mark shivers, letting out a delighted laugh. “Man, you could’ve really gotten me if I wasn’t full apeshit mode. But…” He hovers closer, leering, “You didn’t, so I guess it’s my turn now.”         “Isotope, take me to Seattle!” You speak before you think. Before his hand can clasp your throat. Isotope is next to you in a millisecond. Then you’re gone. Machine Head’s raging protests gone from your ears.         The streets of Seattle are wet with blood and rain. Isotope stands beside you, in a haze he’ll come out of any minute. Coming here of all places was a horrible idea but you hadn’t thought. The city came off your tongue, fresh on the mind.          “Help.” A voice croaks. A broken hand paws at your feet. Orange and gloved, once a defender, now an arm peaking out rubble. “Help me.”         You stare at it because what the fuck?          The air whips. You look overhead. He’s a hundred feet up, maybe more. Looking right back down at you. He’s more imposing than he was on your laptop screen. Broader of shoulder, uniform crisp white except where it wasn’t. Where glistening sinew chunks clung to his chest.         He stares you down like shit under his shoe. You wait for sudden death that never comes. Whoever this was. Mark, Not Mark, some hot guy, he wasn’t hurting you though he clearly just killed a metric fuckton of people; and you didn’t know why and honestly? It scared the shit out of you.         The hand finds your ankle. “Help. Help.”         Not Mark comes down then like an anchor. Arms crossed, legs tight. Crushing the rubble beneath his feet. Making the hand go limp, blood framing around it.         You knew at a distance and were even more sure now. It was Mark but wrong, again. Face too symmetrical, too sharp. Your Mark had little imperfections, a crooked nose from his Omni-Man induced beat down, ache scars on his hairline. This version was trophy husband material, mocking you in it’s image for what could’ve been.         He’s taller. Why is he taller? 

        Not Mark number two’s eyes are cold, rock brown slates that slide to Isotope. The shift in his muscles are subtle but you know violence is coming.         You weren’t staying to watch it happen. “Take me to Hollywood.” And it was done.         You were in a outdoor walkway by studio six. Isotope on your arm, stupor elongated.          The decision again proved to be bad, made from a sick need to check, to run. Studio six was burning and you could smell the bodies.          “Take me to the road.” You command. A flash, and you’re there. Outside the heart of Hollywood, watching Universal crash and burn. The rest of the city was no better. You knew Hollywood was worse in person but you never imagined it a gray flattened husk.          This couldn’t be real. You were dreaming, going to wake any second.         A shadow passed overhead. You look up, nothing but smoke and sun.          From behind, “Need some help, friend?”         You turn. He’s back in black (and yellow), grinning with his mask on. Cape billowing stupidly in the breeze. A scar indented to his face from chin to lip. A sliver of lip gone, exposing half a tooth before the scar meandered up, under his mask.         “Oh shit.” A laugh rips out of him. “(Y/n), you old so and so. What are you doing in my neck of the woods?”         Like the others he’s splattered with the lives of others. Reveling, practically glowing in it.          “Tell me who you are.” You say, holding tight to Isotope in case he sobers and decides to zap away. No way you were being stranded with this… thing.         His body goes ridged at the command. You think he’ll resist like the other, then it comes pouring out. “Mark Grayson.” He says. “But not the one you know.”         Your head pounds. He’s not lying, people can’t lie when you’re prying information out of them. “More than that. Details.”         “I’m here to destroy everything I see. I’ve been…”  He shakes his head, body loosening. You feel your control snap away like a cut cord. His lips seal then pull back in a wicked grin. “Oh, you’ve got different tricks here. Tell me, have I taken hold of this useless planet yet? Do you see me as someone to rise up against? Have you given up yet? Have you saved your own life by sucking my—“         "Tokyo.” 

        You’re somewhere you’ve only dreamed of going and it’s destroyed. You thought, since you hadn’t seen it on the news it’d be a safe bet. You could figure things out, come up with a game plan, but no. You couldn’t think with your head pounding and nose starting to bleed, power waning with overuse on too many overpowered targets. The muscle was straining. You weren’t used to this much. To resistance. To using         Isotope, strong in his own right, like a puppet. It was exhausting.          Isotope was wobbling on his feet. He could teleport over and over but being under your control so long as well? Wasn’t good for him.          Clearly, the apocalypse was nigh so you couldn’t give a shit about anybody but yourself.          You snapped back to reality standing over a pair of women, curled on the ground in fetal position.         “Tell me what happened.” You say.         The blonde one doesn’t unfurl but speaks, accented and injured, “He destroyed everything.”         “Who?”         Her arm unfurls, shaking finger pointing up. You look up, expecting. The sky is clear. The woman’s arm re-latches to her brain dead best friend.          “I wasn’t expecting you here.” The voice is a river smoothed stone. Dark and solid— as a rock can be.          You already know who it is before you can look. A sight you were starting to get a little more than tired of. Though you didn’t expect a red and white suit splattered with blood.  He’s thicker, like the others, hair taller and spiked with gel.          He steps forward, over the dead girl and her whimpering friend. The sounds catch his attention, the next step he takes crushes the living girls head. Brains dying his white boot pink. “It’s unfortunate you had to see this, but it’s better you did. We’re on the same page now.”         “What the fuck does that mean?” Your power comes out weak, involuntary. You hadn’t meant to strain yourself but there you go, fucking up again.         “I want you to understand that what I’m doing is necessary. I don’t understand why you fought me before. So… unneeded. You’d know you’d never beat me but you…” His brows press together through his mask. His lip twitches, “I’ve said too much.” And your hold falls away.  Out comes his hand, fabric originally white but now red. “Come with me.”          “Sydney.”

        You stood across the water from the flaming opera house. A scream of frustration comes out as a cough, blood and mucous splat onto the cracked sidewalk. Your balance tips and wavers but you cling to Isotope who is barley upright himself.          You really needed to stop going for capital cities.          This one you see. Black and blue above the hundred foot tall fire. Watching it burn quiet as the night which it now was, across the world from your starting point.          The mask completely covers his face, but knowing how today is going. It’s Mark, again.          He disappears. You open your mouth, power rising up your throat. Air breaks. You’re thrown off your feet. He’s before you. Feet off the ground, staring you down though blue lenses. Same stupid spandex this time with a thick tool belt strapped round his waist and left thigh. A harness strapped to his chest, surely hiding things that could tear though your soft human flesh. Slight armor padding hiding his muscles.         He hovers over the broken fence separating you from the water. Your panicked eyes reflected back at you through polarized blue goggles.         You scramble to Isotope, splayed on the ground, bleeding from the back of his head. “Take me home.” His eyes lolled back into his head. You shake him, looking frantically behind you, to the unmoving phantom then back to him. “Hey! Wake up!” You watch the shape of a man. Terrified he’d come closer when you weren’t looking but there he stayed. Watching. Isotope’s eyes flutter. “Dregs.” He groans. “I… I can’t…” Sweat shines on his brow.         You slap him hard across the face. Palm stinging. “I don’t give a shit! Take me home!”         His pale narrow fingers wrap around your wrist. Green light grows slowly around you both. Not instant as if it would be if he weren’t fucked up.         “Faster!”         A sound from behind. You turn, finding something whipping toward you. You flinch, expecting a punch but instead find some cuff clapping onto your ankle. Thick and dark, matte finished. You don’t think of clawing at it as you’re teleported away.         Yet you take one last look. He is still. Waiting.         Your hovel of an apartment is like a church. You throw yourself to the unvacuumed floor, reverent. Caligula doesn’t come to love on you. When you peel up from the ground, Isotope is gaining his bearings. Eyes hazy with distaste as he zaps away, without you. 

        Leaving you alone in your tilted apartment. Everything was a little off skew. When you stood you stumbled back, partly from exhaust, partly from the floor literally not being at the right angle. It was then the building decided to creek. Letting you know of it’s incoming collapse.         

Most of New York City had been ripped apart, so with your luck, why not your apartment?         You’re out the door. Racing down flight after flight, two steps at a time. Beams whine in the walls. Pipes crack, spilling water from the ceiling into the lobby.          You’re barley out when the building goes down. You run down the sidewalk, between crashed and burning cars. Hopping over bodies, bodies, bodies. When the world stops shaking, you look at the damage. Creeping closer, finally remembering your cat.  The creeping gives way to frantic running. Tripping back over the bodies, screaming, “Caligula!” At the mountain of what used to be your home.          You throw yourself to the most manageable bit of rubble. Throwing stone size pieces tossed away in hopes you’d reveal your cat. You didn’t have much besides the clothes on your back and this goddamn power of yours— but Caligula kept you going. Kept you hoping. Because if he could come up in life, going from a neglected stray to spoiled in a twenty-something year olds apartment. You could do the same thing.          “Ca-“          “Cecelia?” You look up. Climbed to the apex of the disaster was your greedy landlord. Tossing concrete more frantically than you were. You climb up, carefully avoiding exposed leaking pipes. She had the right idea. Higher up meant maybe a better chance of survival. You search together, but separate. Calling different names. Kicking down different chunks. Waiting for heroes to come but after what you saw earlier— you doubted it.         “Rrrrow?” You know that sound anywhere. Your head snaps. Watching the gray go from rock to a fuzzy back.          “Oh God, Caligula!” You skid down to him and he jumps up to you. Meowing. Dust in his fur but otherwise okay. He’d gotten out again. This time all the way to the outside. He was okay. He was okay and you were so happy you cried into him.         “Cecelia! Ce— Cecelia?” You shouldn’t have looked. Watched the landlord crack her back as she moved the largest piece of debris she had yet. Just to fall beside the severed arm of her little girl. Fingers curled around a buck fifty. 

        She threw herself on the arm. Dirty fingers clawing at the window ledge that covered the rest of her little girl’s body. Opening her nails up on broken glass. Screaming a scream so horrible you’d never forget— and you killed people for a living.         A dent split open the back of her head, a waterfall of blood you hadn’t noticed before. The dent exposed her hind brain, though she didn’t seem to care, still screaming for her dead baby girl.          You weighed the options. Leave. Help. Have a better chance of finding help for yourself. Put the bitch down like you’d dreamed. Survive. Chance being found by the monster that did this.          You chose both. Not getting any close to her but turning. Power weak, watery but you didn’t need much. Not for the average person, distracted and distressed. “Lay down. Sleep.”         She did just that. You climbed down from the rubble. Careful with Caligula in your arms. Retracing your steps away from the building. When you look back, she wasn’t breathing.         ***         “Where is she?” THUNK!          Machine Head didn’t so much as feel pain. More so, felt his circuitry being shifted inside him. Any more of this and he’d stop working. Repairs on a piece as intricate as himself didn’t come cheap.         “Probably in fucking Seattle, asshole!” He said for the fifth time. He’d explained, best a robo man could while his ass was being beat by his grunt’s now blood thirsty (or would it be oil thirsty?) ex boyfriend. “He can teleport and she took ‘im!”          “Seattle’s gone idiot!” THUNK! Another punch dented the side of his head. Devastating for Machine Head, but nothing close to the skyscraper shattering power he’d seen before. The motherfucker was beating the circuits out of him but still holding back. Something was sparking and smoking within him. His camera eyes were starting to static.          “What—“         “Boss!” Zip, zap, Cadillac.          He was out of one man’s arms, into another. But not anywhere near far enough away from the little freak.          Isotope managed to get his boss away, about thirty feet. Holding him up just barley, eyes still frosty with the mind fog that Dregs cunt had inflicted on him. He tried splitting reality again, just to fizzle out and land them right back in the same spot.         Said little freak’s gaze slid to Isotope. Voice more dangerous than before. “She was just with you.” It was more of a question, a demand. Isotope was about to pass out but that didn’t leave him stupid. “At her place.” He breathed.          The freak stepped forward. “Where?”

[starry-bi-sky]

Danny's used to finding lost kids in Amity.

The ghostly kind, that is. But the human variant happens on occasion too, usually when a too-lax parent takes their eyes off their child for far too long in the park. But he digresses.

It happens more often than he would like. He's not really sure what the family dynamics between ghosts are like in the Zone, he hasn't gotten around to asking about it. Although, it's not like he would be able to anyways — hard to ask questions about something you don't know much about. So far, it all seems kinda... laissez-faire.

Point is: Danny is used to finding lost kids in Amity.

It's since lost its novelty on him. Kids are kids everywhere, dead or alive, human or not. And kids are curious, and portals between the Infinite Realms and the Mortal World are rare in both dimensions. The braver ones will want to explore the things that are new and unknown to them, and they'll do so without any thought of what might happen.

The lost kids Danny finds are, more often than not, just kids who got curious about the portal and got too close to it, and ended up falling through. And in their panic and haste, accidentally fled the lab and got lost in the city.

Like right now.

The noise he makes as he squats to the ground, his knees bracketing his shoulders, is... well, the best way he could describe it is that it kind of sounds like a pigeon coo, or the trill a cat makes when you touch it while it's sleeping. It's as soft and as quiet as he could make it, while still being loud enough to be heard through his mask.

Ghostspeak is not a language that you can learn... technically speaking. That's because the majority of Ghostspeak relies heavily on core vibrations, of which Danny and other humans don't have. The verbal components that Ghostspeak does have also aren't done with the human vocal chords in mind, so most of the sounds Danny can't make.

...Except for a few.

The little noise he makes whips through the tunnel both him and the kid are in. The boy's terrified sniffling abruptly stops, if only because it's cut off by a teeny, startled gasp, and him snapping his head up at the sound.

Danny, crouched reminiscently like a frog, and a solid six feet away, tilts his head just slightly. He hunches his shoulders in and dips a little closer to the ground — it feels a bit awkward on his back, but he's found that moving unnervingly, even if it has to be animalistic, tends to help a lot in situations like these.

Lots of ghosts thrive off being weird and off-putting and inhuman; acting like one usually gets a lost ghost to calm down faster than if he didn't.

He can't parse how old the boy is — physically, he looks about eight, but he could always be older — but he can see shimmering, blue tear tracks streaking down his face. There's a snake-like seam stretching from both corners of his mouth and connecting up to his jaw, and little patches of scales around his yellow-eyes.

The boy's eyes go wide at the sight of him, before his pupils abruptly shrink into needles. The temperature plummets and the boy's mouth peels back to reveal two curved, deadly-looking fangs, and a perfunctory hiss comes out of his mouth.

"Go away!"

Danny does not go away, goosebumps rake down his arms and spine, and he cranes his neck until he hears it pop. The ringing in his ears subside, he braces and reaches back— "Ḩ̶̢̤͉̜̔̕- H̶̩́͋e̶̘̋̅̈̀ļ̵͎͉̑̒̚p̵͙̫͉̏."

He can't help the soft grunt that escapes him after, swaggling his head left and right like a lion shaking out its mane. His mask hides his grimace — he generates enough of his own ectoplasm to understand Ghostspeak and to have a few intrinsic abilities of his own, but compared to an actual ghost, it's minuscule.

It's like trying to speak in a register lower than your throat can handle; on a technical level he can in some aspects, but it still hurts to do. It's one of the few actual words he knows how to say, most are just sounds. Rumbles and trills and purrs that he's somewhat perfected.

The boy's face scrunches up, he shrinks a little away from Danny, looking both equally wary and judgmental. Which.. yeah, fair. That's the usual response. The boy croaks: "What?"

Danny tilts slightly forward — only enough to shift from a crouch to a partial kneel. He points at the boy, and then slowly draws his finger back to point at himself. "H̶̩́͋e̶̘̋̅̈̀ļ̵͎͉̑̒̚p̵͙̫͉̏," He repeats, throat straining, "ḩ̴̲̘̺͗͂ě̵̳̼̝̀̎͠͝l̶̬͈͍̳͂̓͆p̷̢̡̧̛̩̟̆̅͐͘."

He reaches back and tries to flare what little ecto-signature he has, and follows up with a low-rumbling noise he knows for certain means 'safecomfortsafe'.

Danny points to the exit of the tunnel: "H̵̼̹͎̊̏́͑̂͘͜ǫ̴̠̺̜̞́̕͜m̵̪̋e̸̢̞͔̞̺͛̽."

That seems to catch the boy's attention, his head perks up and his folded, pointed ears flap slightly. Unsteadily, his knees draw away from his chest, some of his distrust melting away like frost under the sun. "You- you know where home is?"

Danny can't say the word 'yes', its out of his range and his capabilities. But he knows how to mimic the sound of 'pleased', so he presses his cheek to the ground — ignoring the unpleasant clack it makes as mask thunks against concrete — and nods, replicating the trill.

The boy looks hopeful, a crack in the ice, before suddenly remembering to be wary. He shrivels back again, his brows furrowing and eyes narrow. "Who are you?"

"H̷͇͚̹͝e̶͉͑͗͒̂͝ĺ̸̡͇̟̅p̸̰̕." Danny repeats, because he doesn't know how to say "Phantom" in ghostspeak, and not every ghost knows English — Wulf is the first to come to mind in that regard. He points again to the exit: "H̵͈͉̖̳͚̾̀͐̄̀ö̶͖͑̄͝ḿ̷̨̭̬͋͆̃́e̵̺͑."

"Is that all you know how to say?" The boy asks, (more like demands) "Help and home?"

Danny nods again, he sits back up and slowly crawls back outwards from the tunnel, gesturing for the boy to follow. "H̴̤̊o̶̢̳̻͓̿m̵̘̘̀e̸̡̝̼̓̉," is all he says, "H̴̤̊o̶̢̳̻͓̿m̵̘̘̀e̸̡̝̼̓̉."

He only crawls back a few steps before stopping — he's not actually going to leave until he's certain the kid was going to follow him. And so far he wasn't moving, yet.

They stare at each other for a few long seconds, Danny watching expectantly. Emotions run rapid and rabbit across the kid's face, flickering between uncertainty and consideration. After a few minutes, victoriously, the boy drops his legs and begins to follow.

Danny rewards him with a very pleased trill. Perhaps some of his joy bleeds through his signature— the lines in the boy's face disappear for a moment as a little giggle escapes him.

"What are you?" The boy asks him once they're closer to the entrance, Danny holds his arm out to prevent the boy from walking out, and then peers out of the tunnel for stragglers. It's the middle of the night in Amity Park, but you never really know. "You don't feel like a ghost."

Ah, well. Danny glances at the boy, how does he explain liminality to someone who might not grasp the concept, and might not even know English? He barely understands himself what he is.

Danny shrugs, and points to himself, "H̷e̵l̷p̴."

[miedei]

plots and plans

the team's gotten to know spencer's gf very well... but now there's a new face in the bau (aka emily gets initiated into the team... by meeting mystery girl!)

a/n: this fic took an ungodly amount of time its been in my drafts for months but <333 mystery girl <333 (this is fr just a bau team fic at this point)

(look at '#mystery girl!au' on my blog to see more musings about them <3)

cw: alcohol consumption, reader referred to as a woman, reader is around spencer’s age in s1/s2 (23-24), the team plotting, use of y/n eugghhhhh

wc: 3.4k

part one | part two | mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

SSA Emily Prentiss is perfectly wonderful. Garcia thinks so, and so does Morgan. Sure, they miss Elle, and they miss working with her, but leaving the BAU was something she’d needed. Besides, Penelope wasn’t letting Elle out of the team’s outings anyway. 

So, the two of them really have nothing against Prentiss. She’s kind, good at her job, and fits into the dynamic of the team well. However, at the end of her third case with the team, something of interest happens that makes them start to plot against her. Lovingly.

Morgan’s on the phone with Garcia, letting her know that the unsub was in custody, when Emily comes up to him, tapping his shoulder. Without hanging up, he draws the phone away from his ear, turning to her questioningly.

“Morgan. Can I ask you something? About Reid?” At his sound of agreement, she plows on.

“Does he… He’s so young. Do you think he’s had the social experiences he needs?” She shakes her head slowly. “He’s so sweet that it makes me worry. I mean, a kid going to university at 14, that’s got to make you miss out on a lot of things, right?” She gestures to Spencer, and Morgan turns to see him. 

Spencer is fiending off the officers mobbing him with thanks and congratulations for his breakthrough on the case. A smile creeps up on Morgan’s face, watching him fiddle with his hands and bow his head nervously, trying to find a way out of the group.

“I mean, yeah, Reid’s a little clueless in some ways, but I don’t think it really affects him too much. He’s learned to adapt quickly.”

Emily frowns, still looking at Spencer. “I feel like there are things everyone deserves to experience, you know? He hasn’t been able to do so many things because he’s achieved so much. I mean, he’s never even dated someone, has he? Did you see the way he handled that witness?”

Morgan bites back the urge to laugh uncontrollably. Earlier in the case, Spencer was interrogating a witness, Morgan, Emily and Gideon watching through the one-way mirror. He recalls the way the woman grabbed hold of Spencer’s patterned tie, twisting the fabric in her fingers with a sly smile. Spencer, the sweetheart he is, had recognised the flirting, but did his best not to mention it, pulling his tie out of her grip multiple times as he stuttered through his questions, until Gideon came in to save him. 

Morgan recognised that for what it was, Spencer’s incredulity that anyone other than you, the person he’s so obsessed with, would ever try something with him. 

But Emily, poor, sweet, Emily, had assumed the same thing the rest of the team had, years ago. That Spencer was nothing more than an inexperienced nervous wreck, that had never even kissed a girl. Morgan shamefully remembers the time he’d been proven wrong of this same assumption.

Emily’s face is so earnest, that Morgan almost doesn’t want to pop the bubble, disturb her impression of Reid. Instead, he just pats her shoulder with the hand not holding his phone.

“Trust me, Prentiss. Reid’s missed a few things, but he’s fine.”

Walking away from her, he remembers that he didn’t hang up the phone, bringing it up to his ear to hear Garcia speaking rapidly, clearly having heard his exchange with Emily.

“-and she doesn’t know! Oh my god, you hunk, wouldn’t that be so good? She’d experience what we did back then and-” Morgan cuts her off. 

“Babygirl, what? I didn’t catch that first bit, who’s going to experience what?”

Garcia takes a deep breath, and Morgan can picture her smile. “Okay, I know you're always thinking, ‘what is the wonderful thing about having the most beautiful and brilliant woman you’ve ever seen in your life?’, and, sweetheart I’ll tell you. It’s that I have a wonderful, wonderful brain, and I have a plan we have to set in motion.”

Derek sighs, but he knows he’s all in before she even says the word. “Alright, princess. Hit me with it.”

Garcia insists that the plan must be unfolded in three stages. Three stages, in order to make sure that Emily’s introduction to you will be just as bewildering as it was to them.

Stage 1: Confirmation. 

Emily’s assumption of Spencer’s inexperience had to be nurtured, demonstrated to her, to lull her into a false sense of security, the way the team had for far too long. 

Morgan and Garcia begin just one week after the case, a paperwork day where the team is confined to the bullpen for hours. Emily is sat at her desk, across the aisle from Morgan’s, when Garcia walks by, a phony excuse for her presence spilling out of her mouth. 

“Just got to drop these files off to Gideon!” She speaks too loudly, to no one in particular, and Morgan groans internally at her unsubtlety. Emily quirks an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t say anything, even when Garcia taps her nose in a very exaggerated manner. 

No time to cover up for her, Morgan’s got work to do, and a time limit to boot.

“So, Prentiss. You’ve had three cases here so far, you’ve gotten to know the team. I wanna know, what are your impressions of all of us?” Emily narrows her eyes at him, but swivels her chair so she’s facing him. Bingo. 

He grins as she leans forward, speaking lightly. “My impressions? What, you want me to profile you guys?” 

He holds up a finger. “Ah ah ah. I’m a profiler too, don’t act like you haven’t been doing that to us since the day we met. Now, tell me. Why don’t you start with, say, Reid?” He winces internally, hearing the eagerness in his voice. Despite that, Emily replies readily.

“Well, I’m probably just going to tell you things you already know. He’s brilliant, insecure, anxious about not only himself but us, worries about his mother all the time. Socially unsure of himself, especially in non-professional settings.” As she speaks, Spencer walks into the bullpen from Gideon’s office, accompanied by Garcia, whose eyes are filled with poorly-contained mischief.

“...and, my good doctor, she was flirting with you! Didn’t you see the way she tried to give you coffee for free?” An expression of puzzlement flits across Spencer’s face, looking at Garcia as he grips the file in his hand. 

“Garcia, why are we talking about this again? That happened weeks ago, and I still don’t think she was doing anything more than-” She cuts him off with a palm facing him, barreling forward with her rant, eyeing Prentiss blatantly as she speaks.

“You never think they’re doing anything more until they’re the ones gripping those little ties of yours. Spencer, you don’t think anyone is ever flirting with you!” Prentiss nods at Morgan, speaking under her breath with a smirk.

“Uncomfortable in non-professional settings, especially romantic ones.” She sits back in her desk chair, swivelling away as Garcia ushers Spencer to his desk, ignoring all of his questions. 

Spencer sits with a huff, confused. He pulls out his phone surreptitiously. 

SPENCE <3: They’re being weird. Again.

Garcia has filled JJ in, and she is ecstatic. She still remembers the horrifying embarrassment that she hadn’t realised something so huge about her best friend. It might be a little juvenile, but it will definitely bring her a little comfort if Emily, profiler extraordinaire, makes the same mistake. 

It’s five days later, and they’ve moved onto the second phase of the plan.

Step 2: Doubt.

Garcia has decided that sowing seeds of confusion, the way the team had been confronted that one time at the bar, was the way to make sure Emily has the full experience of being one-upped by that infuriating man, according to her.

JJ’s role is the whisperer, making sure that Emily witnesses suspicious activity. She’s taking this immensely seriously, Garcia having impressed upon her the responsibility of this guise. 

Walking past Spencer’s desk, she shoots a glance at Emily, confirming her distraction, before speaking into the room, “Everyone had a good day off yesterday? Spence, went to that exhibit at the Living Museum?” 

A dreamy smile flashes over Spencer’s face, before he makes sure to school his features, allowing only a small grin to remain. “Um, yeah. We went to go see the aviary, they’ve got some new Southeast Asian birds in.” Yes. JJ resists the urge to smirk, but her hopes are quickly dashed when Spencer moves on without a word. “I think Gideon would really enjoy it actually, I’ve been meaning to…” She groans internally, tuning out of his meandering ramble about bird migration patterns. There’s no way Emily clocked that tiny ‘we’. 

JJ isn’t one to give up easily, though. Any good plan requires patience, so she waits another day before attempting again.

The team is on the jet on the way to a case, and JJ is sitting strategically at the table with Emily, Derek, Spencer, and Garcia on the grainy laptop screen. Garcia’s hands fly around animatedly as she finishes describing the state of the case. 

Hotch raises his head from the case file, proceeding to assign everyone preliminary tasks, when JJ nods at Garcia subtly, and watches as she begins to rush around her office in a whirl, finally snatching up her cell phone. It’s a wonder that no one else notices the rush of movement on the screen, leaving JJ holding her breath, hoping that Emily or Spencer don’t catch wind. 

Finally, two minutes later, Garcia sits back down at her desk, feigning nonchalance. 

“Yep! Okay, sounds like you guys all have it under control, so— I’m going to go, do my techy things in my techy room. Okay? Garcia out!” 

The image of her disappears from the screen, and JJ grips her mug tightly, fearing that Garcia gave it away. Gideon chuckles, but other than that, it seems that everyone has written it off as a regular Garcia-ism. Thank god. Hotch continues his spiel.

A few seconds later, Spencer’s cell phone rings, the ringtone different from the one everyone is used to hearing when he’s called by one of the team members, but JJ recognizes the 8-bit rendition of Vivaldi’s Summer that you helped him set up for your number.

She can see Emily tilt her head from next to her, but JJ resists the urge to look up, keeping her eyes trained on the case file in her hands, and nodding along with Hotch’s words. 

The sound of Spencer rustling around for his phone meets her ears, and the subtle sigh of happiness that he lets out when he sees the caller ID. The beep of him accepting the call and standing to walk to the kitchenette float through the cabin, and the whispered ‘excuse me’ when he walks into the curtained room.

JJ can almost hear the confusion radiating from Emily, knowing that the newer agent’s utterly baffled at the sight of Spencer missing out on the discussion currently happening.

She can only pat herself on the back for having maneuvered Emily into the seat closest to the kitchenette, too, because the way she stiffens when hearing Spencer’s saccharine-sweet voice say ‘hey, angel’ is just the cherry on top.

JJ whips out her cell phone, texting Garcia discreetly that the plan was a success, receiving a flurry of emojis in return. Unseen, Gideon looks over her shoulder.

In the kitchenette, Spencer furrows his brows, confused. 

“Wait, Garcia told you I needed to talk?” 

Your tinny voice flows through the phone and into his ear. 

“Yeah! She texted and said you asked for me but wouldn’t call for some reason? I don’t know, it was strange. You know I don’t call you when you’re on a case, but I thought it was an emergency or something.” 

He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“I told you, they’re being weird! I asked Morgan what was going on and he just laughed.”

Your matching sigh rings out. “If they’re not going to tell you, I think there’s nothing to do but let it happen until it comes out. They always tell in the end, anyway.”

His shoulders slump in annoyance, but he begins to nod. 

“I guess you’re right. It’s still annoying.”

The case wraps up four long days later, and the team pile into a booth at O’ Keefe’s all in similar states of sleep-deprived delirium. Spencer would much rather be at home right now, but Garcia was persuasive as usual, crooning on about how ‘your ladylove gets you every day, can’t you give us one evening?’. 

Despite his love for the team, their increased strangeness hasn’t abated over the days they were working. 

Even now, JJ, Derek and Penelope sit across from Spencer in the booth, huddled around each other and whispering behind cupped hands. Granted, they weren’t this obvious over the last few days, but their drinks have only weakened their resolve to not let Spencer and Emily in on whatever they’re doing, not broken it. 

Making up his mind to ignore them, Spencer has resorted to leaning into the other end of the booth, chatting idly with Gideon, Hotch and Emily. Hotch is smilier than usual, three beers deep and showing them a seemingly endless amount of baby pictures of Jack from his wallet. 

He can’t help but smile at the grainy photos of the chubby baby, grinning to himself at the memory of the last time he saw Jack. 

He’d been leaving the office to meet you, and ran into Hotch and Haley in the elevator, stroller in tow. The image of you excitedly waving at little Jack, holding out your hand and letting him grip on to your index finger is burned into his brain. He’ll probably never forget it, eidetic memory or not. 

The multiple drinks he’s had allow a lovestruck look to settle on his face as he half-listens to Hotch’s tales. They also make sure that he doesn’t notice the puzzled look that Emily flashes at him, same as the ones she’s been sneaking for days now. 

However, no amount of drinks can let him ignore the strange way that Gideon is acting. The stately profiler is normally rather talkative on nights like these, subtly teasing the team or devolving into long tangents about an old far-fetched story. 

Tonight, however, he’s silent, merely nodding along to Hotch’s words. 

Spencer can’t help but be weirded out, especially when he catches Gideon looking over at him with an expression of repressed mirth, as if he knows something Spencer doesn’t. It’s slightly infuriating, the way it feels as though everyone is keeping things from him these days. 

He knows it’s not exactly the smartest thing to do, but he offers to go to the bar for another round of drinks. If they’re going to be weird, he might as well have something to help tide him over. 

You’re at home when Gideon calls, informing you that Spencer’s gotten more drunk than usual, and it’s probably a good idea that you come get him. 

As you pull on your coat, you can hear Spencer ranting loudly about Rachmaninoff in the background, laughing to yourself when Gideon assures you that he’s fine. 

(Curiously, you hear an unfamiliar voice question Gideon, ‘Who’re you calling?’ before he hangs up.)

Arriving at the dimly lit bar, you crane your neck to try and glimpse Spencer and his coworkers, coming up blank. 

You’re just about to call Gideon again when a suspiciously swaying, lanky individual catches your eye. Sure enough, Spencer is standing by a wall, gripping a glass in both hands and staring into the middle distance, seemingly alone. 

Pocketing your cell phone, you make your way over to him, feeling a familiar infatuated smile start to bloom on your face. 

“Hey, handsome. You here alone?” He blinks rapidly before focusing on you, eyes widening dramatically. 

“You’re here! How are you here, I thought-” He hiccups, the action causing his entire body to wobble, your hand shooting out to steady him. 

“I thought you were at home!” He takes the hand you have on his waist, tugging you closer until he can drape himself against your side, tall frame hunched over you. 

You have to giggle, widening your stance so you can support the two of you as you look around the bar, hoping to find any of his coworkers. 

Unfortunately, you come up blank, assuming they're in the booths towards the back that you can’t see. Sighing, your hand comes up to rub at the nape of his neck, causing Spencer to sigh happily, bending even further so that his face is buried in your hair. 

“Spence, where’s the team? We’ve gotta say goodbye before we go,” You murmur softly, feeling him relax further and further. His voice is higher than normal, muffled due to his refusing to raise his head from yours. 

“I dunno, they’re sitting… somewhere, and Emily said she’d come find me after I came here. Did you know, she listens to Eric Carmen? I was telling her about the lawsuit Rachmaninoff’s estate filed against him, and…” 

He must keep talking, you can feel the vibrations against the crown of your head, but he’s shifted his face to where his mouth is pressed against your scalp, taking with it any hope of understanding his words.

You’re waiting patiently for him to finish, when a dark-haired woman catches your eye. She stands a few feet away from you, peering at you curiously, as if trying to suss something out. Her face is obscured due to the shadowy lights, but she looks vaguely familiar. 

Stopping your ministrations on Spencer’s neck, you entreat him to look up. 

“Hey, do you know who that is?” He raises his head with a heaving sigh, as if it’s taking all his energy. He nods once, before returning his face to your hair, snatching your hand and placing it on the back of his neck again. 

“Yeah, it’s Prentiss.” He falls silent after that, but at least he gave you something. 

You’ve heard a lot about Emily Prentiss from him, although you haven’t had the chance to meet her yet. Waving her over, you smile brightly. 

“Hi! You’re Emily?”

She walks over to you, expression wary, until she catches a proper glimpse of Spencer’s face, at least, what’s visible of it. 

“Reid? It is you…” Her face is bewildered, confused, looking at you. 

“Sorry, who are you?” You stick out the hand that Spencer isn’t holding hostage, shaking hers.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, his girlfriend. It’s really nice to meet you, I’ve heard great things from Spencer and the others.” She looks more stunned, if that’s possible, but stutters out a greeting. 

It reminds you of the time you met the rest of the team, the way they’d stared incredulously at you when Spencer introduced you. Thinking back to Penelope’s multiple texts confirming that you weren’t coming tonight, it seems you’ve figured out why they’ve been acting weird.

You can’t help but smile pityingly at her, knowing how she’s feeling. Gesturing at the man clinging on to you, you give her an out from the conversation.

“I think I should be taking him home. Would you mind telling the rest where we went? I don’t want them to worry.”

She nods wordlessly, watching after you as you slowly lead Spencer out of the bar and into the night. 

SSA Emily Prentiss is a profiler. A spy. She’s accustomed to learning everything there is to know about an individual within a few days of knowing them. It’s for these reasons that she stands, dumbstruck, in the middle of O’ Keefe’s. 

Spencer Reid has a girlfriend. And she didn’t figure it out?

She resolves to go back through the profiling notes she’d taken in her time at the academy. Maybe twice. 

Shuffling back to the booth, she’s stuck in her head, eyes wide and thoughts flickering at ten times their normal speed. It’s clearly noticeable, Derek looking concerned when she slides into her seat once more. 

“Prentiss? Are you okay?”

She reaches out to snag her beer, turning the glass in her hand. Her voice is low, still confused as to how she missed it. 

“Spencer’s girlfriend came to take him home.”

Her words incite identically incredulous squawks from JJ, Morgan and Garcia, all of them incensed. 

“You met her? She wasn’t going to come tonight, we had a plan!” Penelope exclaims in frustration, looking around the table. 

Gideon merely shrugs, his amused half-smile finally emerging. 

“Plan took too long. Took it into my own hands.”

Morgan has to hold Penelope back from lunging at him.

[supercutszns]

twin beads | luke castellan

wc + pairing: 6.7k, luke x daughter of poseidon! reader

synopsis: you’ve been unclaimed for five years. you’ve loved your best friend even longer. the sea used to be your greatest solace, but after percy jackson comes to camp, it’s your cruelest reminder. (based on this ask!)

warnings: best friends to lovers <3, percy/reader sibling dynamic, fluff and angst then fluff again, hurt/comfort, shameless making out. sorry this one is so long but besties to lovers is my lifeblood!!! i get so attached!! designated song is true blue by boygenius:)

i. you said you wanted to feel alive, so we went to the beach

“Ahoy, sailor!”

The familiar voice ricochets across the lake. You turn, leaving glimmers of sun behind you as you stare back at the docks of Camp Half-Blood. An orange blob with a curly mop of hair is beckoning you. You laugh, wave back at him, and plunge into the water. It cools your face after staying above the surface for so long—you just love watching the light reflected off the waves. But the second you’re under the water, the soreness in your muscles, the heat on your face, the exhaustion from treading for so long, are washed away from you. You swim with precision and vigor, relishing the feel of the river cupping your limbs to spur you forward. Not to sound lame, but you fucking love swimming. 

But maybe not as much as you love your best friend. 

He laughs when your head pops out of the water at the edge of the dock. “Wow, that took you longer than usual,” he teases, brown eyes glinting in the dawn. “You getting sloppy?”

You huff, splashing some water up at him but it barely touches him. “I’m tired, you moron. I’ve been out there for an hour.”

Luke leans down at the edge of the dock, offering you a hand. His face is bemused when you latch onto him, and with a good flex of his bicep he pulls you up. “All right, c’mon,” he grunts.

All your energy evaporates the second your body’s out of the water. You’re far too lazy to be graceful, so you sprawl out onto the dock like a dying fish, letting the sun kiss every inch of you. “Eww,” Luke giggles overtop you, prodding your side with the tip of his shoe. “Get up, you mermaid.” 

“Make me, you mailman.”

Your arm drapes over your eyes, and you sigh. There really is nothing better than these moments; droplets of water soaking into your skin after an early morning swim, your best friend right beside you. 

He keeps nudging you with your shoe, over and over until your ribs start to hurt. You groan, swatting him away and stretching out your limbs with a groan, letting them pop and relax, until you blearily make your way to your feet. 

“You forgot your towel again,” Luke condones, but like always, he’s brought one for you. 

He goes through a practiced routine of drying you off, wrapping the towel around your shoulders and down your arms, across your back, scrunching the water out of your hair. It doesn’t matter how cold the water gets—this part always makes you warm. 

“Thanks,” you smile as he hands the towel off to you. “Anything interesting happen this morning, O Captain, my captain?”

“Not yet, sailor, sir,” he replies in a stuffy, gruff voice the two of you have joked around with since you were kids. “Just grabbing you for breakfast.”

You giggle, following him past the docks and to the shore. Once you’ve grabbed all your stuff, you both fall in stride and head towards your cabin, your twin five-beaded necklaces hanging over your shirts. 

Five years ago, when you got to Camp for the first time, you were as big a loser as any. You were bad at everything—everything—and had no real friends until you accidentally whacked some other friendless loser in the head with an oar when you were about to go canoeing. Luke got mad at you, but his little sister Annabeth was even more furious. He offered to be your partner for the day anyway. You’ve been partners ever since. 

Over the years the two of you have grown in status at the camp, more so Luke than you. He’s an excellent cabin leader and by far the greatest swordsman in camp. You, still unclaimed, have found solace in giving younger campers swimming lessons and wading out there on your own till you get sunstroke. (It’s happened a few times. Luke is never pleased, but also refuses to let the Apollo campers take care of you. He nurses you back to health with ice cream and horrible gossip.)

But every night you return to the Hermes cabin with a hollowness in your chest. One bunk emptied, then immediately filled. You’ve had the same one for five years, and the only condolence is that it’s right next to Luke’s, and sometimes you spend hours at night making faces at each other till your laughter endangers other people’s sleep. 

Yes, you love the water at Camp Half-Blood, but you love Luke most. 

Rumours of a new kid are rustling at camp. You haven’t seen him, but you’re just dying to get in on the gossip. Apparently he slayed a minotaur. Apparently Annabeth has seen him. And apparently he’s unclaimed. You hate to admit it, but this is the most exciting news you’ve heard in weeks!

Your afternoon is spent giving some swimming lessons and taking some Demeter campers canoeing. (Some of them freak out on the water. so it’s a nice challenge to untangle the sea plants they get hooked around their boat.) It feels like you’ve been here forever. A break is in desperate demand right now. 

You have no idea what kind of God heard your prayers, but your fellow counsellor has an unimpressed look on her face when she taps you on the shoulder and goes, “Your friend’s calling you.” 

The way she says it is almost degrading. You turn to look back at the shore to see the dark curly hair you’d spot a mile away. Next to him is a much shorter orange blob, shuffling awkwardly as Luke attempts to flag you down. Score!

You shoot an apologetic look at her. “Uh … I’ll be right back.” You wince, already disposing of your baggy orange shirt (it’s Luke’s) with your bathing suit underneath. 

“No you won’t,” she says dryly. “Just go.”

You flash a smile you hope is loaded with charm, and you’re off into water. As you swim, the only thing on your mind is I really really hope that’s the new kid, and I wonder what Luke’s face looks like right now. (He’s probably grinning, eyes crinkled at the sides as he tries to follow your figure beneath the waves. Maybe he’s doing that cute thing where his head tilts to the side as he watches.) 

When you’re close enough to the shore, you come out of the water, wringing your hair. “Hey, guys!” It’s Luke, Chris, and some blonde kid you’re sure is the new one. “What’s up?”

Luke is about to say something, then he frowns. “Where’s my shirt?”

“Left it in the canoe, I’ll go back for it later,” you reply, limply gesturing behind you. 

“And where’s your towel?”  

“Okay, I did bring one this time!” You counter. “I just gave it to a little Ares kid ‘cause she forgot hers.” 

Luke clicks his tongue, shakes his head at you, but of course he’s got one in his hands so what’s the worry? He’s endearingly amused when you take the cloth and dry yourself off, and the new boy, having watched this all raptly, widens his eyes and drawls, “Ohhhh, so you’re his gi—”

“This is Camp’s resident mermaid, Percy.” Chris butts in, adding your name almost as an afterthought. 

After you fasten your towel around you, you’re put off by Percy’s scrutinizing stare. “Look, it’s been a pretty weird day so I cannot tell if you’re joking or not.” 

“I’m not a mermaid,” you snipe, throwing Chris a dirty look. “People just call me that because I give swimming lessons here.” You stick your hand out to the blonde boy. “Nice to meet you, Percy.” 

He gives a polite nod, a little awkward. “Right back at ya.” The two of you study each other as you shake. He’s young, probably about twelve, a smatter of freckles across his face. His eyes look like the lake. Something itches in the back of your brain. There’s a moment where the shake is suspended, neither of you have let go but are no longer actively holding on, and you see it in his face that he’s studying you, too. Huh.

The conversation continues as normal, but you almost start to feel queasy for a second. “We’re trying to find something Percy’s good at,” Luke says with a pat on Percy’s shoulder. “You got any ideas?”

“Yes, please, because I really would like to have a word with my father,” Percy clips. “Is Glory, like, purely a skill thing or can I get some if I tie someone else’s shoes or something?” 

“I don’t have shoes,” you add unhelpfully. 

“It’s okay, dude,” Luke squeezes Percy’s shoulder. “Camp is great, no matter where you end up.”

Even if you’re like her, he means without saying. Even if you don’t end up anywhere. 

You meet Luke’s eyes. This is a kid that wants so badly to meet his father, to ease the ache inside him. You are the absolute worst person for this. One of the longest current unclaimed streaks and your ache remains. To Percy, you’re the biggest example of a failure there is, and Luke is only just now realizing it. 

“Maybe try the infirmary?” You pipe, shuffling back and forth on the sand. “You might have a knack for medicine.”

“Doubt it,” Percy swallows. “But yeah, okay. Who’s your parent, again?”

Percy can’t see it, but Luke and Chris send you a shifty look and all you can do is widen your eyes to be like, Help! Don’t make me crush his dreams! I don’t want another kid to hate me! 

You swallow. No matter how fast you think, you cannot come to a logical sentence. “I, uh—”

Just then, in another stroke of luck (wow, that’s two more than usual) an Athena counsellor that looks insanely disgruntled is running towards you. “Stolls put spiders in our cabin again,” he heaves once at a stop. “Please get rid of them.”

“Can’t you just squash ‘em?” Percy asks. 

“Not the spiders, the twins.” 

Chris is already nodding, but Luke looks to you first. He’s anxious, disappointed. You wish you could smooth out the creases in his brow with your thumb. “Don’t worry,” you stretch out a smile. “I’ll chill with Percy. It won’t take you guys too long.”

He’s still hesitant. You’re not sure this is a good call either. But he reaches out, quickly squeezes your shoulder and mutters, “Thank you.” Your skin feels gooey when he touches it. 

His signature roguish smile returns as he looks back to Percy. The side of his face is shadowed by the sun so well it makes you jealous. “Don’t give her a hard time, eh?” He reprimands playfully. 

Percy smiles a little. “I’ll try not to.”

You are once again reminded just how easy it is to love Luke. How effortlessly he moves into your heart. It happened to you after you slapped him with an oar. It’s already happening to Percy.

You’re sure he won’t like you nearly half as much. 

After Luke and Chris leave, Percy resigns to staring out at the campers canoeing on the lake. Maybe now is a good time to admit you’re not good with kids. Luke has tried many times to make you his welcome partner, but you can’t take to the role nearly as well. You’re perpetually antsy. And sweaty. 

“So, what cabin are you a part of that lets you do this all day?” Percy asks, squinting against the sun. 

Your heart gets heavy. With a sigh, you sit yourself down, and Percy soon follows. “Hermes, actually,” you say as casually as you can. 

Percy goes pale as a sheet. “Uh, what?”

“I’m unclaimed,” you clarify. “I don’t … I don’t have a parent.”

There’s always a pitiful pause whenever a camper figures that out. This one is somehow … clunkier. “Oh,” Percy says. “Oh. Okay, that makes sense. For a second I thought—phew.” Then his eyes trail down to the thread hooked around your fingers, the five beads you run your thumb over. “How long have you been here?”

“Five long, blissful years,” you hum dryly. 

Water ripples over pebbles on the shore. Every new camper’s ambition is eroded by the truth you represent. Percy’s no different. His brows furrow and his face falls. “And you’ve never been claimed?” He asks, and you can feel the noxious mix of pity, confusion and despair laced beneath it. 

You shake your head, watching some Demeter kids splashing each other’s canoes with their oars. “Nope. But it’s not so bad. I like my cabin, you know? I like my life. Doesn’t really matter who your parents are anyway, I think. You do the same activities as everyone else, just on different teams.”

“But doesn’t it make you mad?”

“It used to,” you shrug, “But not anymore. It’s just …” You sigh, rolling a bead against your thumb. “If I’m unclaimed, I’m unclaimed. That’s the way it is. You can’t force the Gods to do anything.” 

“That’s what Luke said,” Percy remarks, almost bitterly. 

“I’m a rare case though, Percy,” you half-lie to him, nudging him a bit with your shoulder. “You’ll get claimed. It’s your first day. And until then you’re kind of free to be whatever. You don’t have to fit into anything, which is kinda nice, and you can screw around as much as you want and nobody can really get mad at you ‘cause you’re new.” A smile rises on your face. “And I heard you killed a minotaur, so you’ve already got some cool points.”

His face screws up in a grimace, and it makes you laugh. “Oh joy, cool points. Can’t live without those.”

Okay, maybe you’re not bad with kids. Maybe you’re just bad with boring kids. Because this is going decent, right? 

“What if I don’t get claimed, though?” Percy asks after a moment, a vulnerable note eclipsing him. It resonates inside your chest. You pause for a moment, heaving a loaded breath. 

“Do you fart a lot in your sleep?”

His melancholy pauses. He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Uh … what? No? I think?”

“Then you can take the bunk above mine if you want. It’s empty now,” you say. “And if you’re never claimed you can come swimming with me, and we can find seashells to put under Luke’s pillow every night until he starts thinking they’ve always been there.”

Percy blinks. “Do you have any friends?”

“Yes, and I’m going to torture him until I die. Cabin eleven is oodles of fun, Percy, you’ll see!”

He looks a little horrified. “Luke said I was going to like you,” he mutters. “I … am not sure if he’s right.”

Oh, well. You’ll take it. 

ii. you can't help but become the sun

You can’t sleep, and Luke knows it. His eyes burn into the side of your face as you stare up at your bunk. You sneak him a look. He smiles ruefully. Sweeping his arm up from beneath his covers, a makeshift tent is formed next to him. He nods to you. Before you know it, you’ve abandoned your own bed, taking a single step until you skirt into the pocket of his mattress Luke has carved for you. He lets the sheets fall, cocooning you with him the way he always does. 

You’ve been sharing beds on occasion for years. One of you gets cold, has a nightmare, or wants to talk until your mind fades out, the only solution is a place next to each other. Whispers against cheeks, giggles muffled into pillows, necklaces knocking together. You used to be further apart. Now you can’t remember the last time Luke hasn’t latched onto you the second you’re within reach. It warms you a little more each time. 

When your head hits his pillow, the two of you just stare at each other for a moment, lips pursed in amusement. His face is so wildly nostalgic to you—five years seems like too short a time to have known him. His eyes are pitch-dark and soft with exhaustion, but you can still pick out the trademark Hermes mirth glimmering through. You sometimes forget his scar, probably because you know he wants you to forget it. He’d kill you for thinking this, but you kind of like the way it hugs the curve of his cheek, bunches up when his dimple appears. It makes you sad. It makes you happy. It makes you love him. 

“Percy likes you,” he whispers, opening himself up so your chin brushes his shoulder. “That’s a first.”

He’s only wearing a tank top to sleep, so his warmth seeps through his skin when you tap him on the chest. “Shut up!” You hiss back, tapering into a giggle. “Has he picked up on anything yet?”

Luke bites the inside of his cheek, regretfully shaking his head. “Nope. But all that skill stuff is kinda arbitrary anyways. He’s still hung up on kleos, though, so … that’ll come in handy for Capture the Flag.”

“Ah, yes. Using a child’s misguided need for fulfilment as a weapon. A camp classic.” 

“Well someone’s gotta be useful for Capture the Flag in this cabin and it sure as hell isn’t you, mermaid,” he barbs back. 

Your jaw drops in mock offense and you squeeze a hand around his shoulder to shake him. “I will put you in a headlock right now, Luke, I’ll break your arm—”

“Be quiet!” He giggles as you attempt to wrangle yourself on top of him. “I’ll be nice to you, I’ll be nice, stop!” You get absolutely nowhere before the bed creaks and Luke shoves you back down. Your pulse rattles through your mouth as you laugh silently. “You’re the worst,” he mutters in your ear, raising the hairs on your neck.

“Well Percy likes me, so,” you turn your nose to the sky like a haughty old lady. 

“Percy’s a funnier, less annoying version of you,” he pokes your side. “That’s how I knew you’d get along, you weirdo.”

The momentary adrenaline this conversation has brought you is mellowing. “Hey, I’m very—very funny,” you mumble through a yawn. 

Luke laughs quietly. “Sure you are.”

He pulls you back to him, arm slung around the dip of your waist. When you make no protest, he seals you against his shoulder again. It’s started to feel a little different, him holding you like this. There’s an uncertainty your body faces about how to respond. His thumb runs over your spine and you decide to relax into him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Your chin knocks against his collarbone and you have the urge to curl yourself against his chest, just to feel him breathe. 

“Get some sleep, sailor,” he murmurs, fingers brushing through the roots of your hair. You don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. Your cheeks warm, and you bury yourself even further into the space against his shoulder and his pillow. Gods, there’s something wrong with you, isn’t there?

“Will do, soldier.” The campy voice you do is half hearted at best as you find yourself absorbed in the closest thing to a full home you’ll ever get. In this sleepy hollow with bedsheets and a boy, there is acceptance. 

Well, mostly. You think you dream about Luke brushing a kiss along your hairline in your last bit of consciousness. You think you wish it was real. You think you want him to do it again.   

iii. when you don't know who you are, you fuck around and find out

The last time your cabin lost a game of Capture the Flag, you’d still been taller than Luke. That’s how long your winning streak has felt. There’s no reason you foresee that changing today. Even when Annabeth drags Percy along with her on whatever surely precarious quest to victory she’s created. It’s unlike her, to bring a newbie along. It’s concerning. 

“He’s fine,” Luke drawls to you when your face has been tense for twenty minutes. “Annabeth’s got a plan.” He’s a little winded after clearing out some Ares kids with Chris. You aren’t much use when it comes to weapons—your friends take the lead as you wait from a distance, ready for backup. Thank the Gods they didn’t need it this time. You’re content to just watch, but whenever Luke grins after getting another kid to surrender, veins in his arms raised like rivers on a map, you get a little distracted and you’re not sure why. 

You just huff back at him, totally normal when he wipes a sheen of sweat off his jaw. “Annabeth’s gonna use him as cannon fodder,” you mutter back, and Luke hits your arm with an appalled grin. 

Annabeth did, in fact, have a plan. So you won. Obviously. 

You’re still doubtful Percy wasn’t cannon fodder, though, with how beat up he looks on the shoreline when the rest of your team flocks to the stolen flag to claim victory. He’s slumped down on the rocky shore, a few equally beaten Ares kids straggling away from him. 

“So I was right, huh?” Luke hums in your ear, pulling your eyes to him. 

He’s revelling in newfound glory, and damn it, you get confused when you look at him when he’s like this. You’re not sure when it happened but you want to tear your heart out of its chest because of how sick it makes you. Some of his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat, his hair suffering a serious case of helmet-head. But it’s the pride oozing off him, the infectious happiness laced through his smile, that makes you fond of him in a way you’re not sure you should be. He’s beloved for a reason—he looks almost prophetic after winning a match, and he knows it. A glaring difference between the gangly boy you met all those summers ago. If you weren’t his best friend, you’d probably be one of his many admirers, watching his teammates fawn over his talent and wishing you were beside him. 

But you are beside him. And you’re his friend. Not an admirer. So everything’s fine. 

“You wouldn’t be saying that if we lost,” you retort, knocking your chestplate against his. It’s meant to be a friendly nudge, but Luke leans into it until you swear you feel his heart beating through the metal. 

He’s grown into his smile, less boyish and more wry. “You know I never lose, sailor.” 

You want to reply, but his eyes are startlingly pretty in the sunlight. That’s normal. Whatever. A heat rises in the apples of your cheeks so you scoff lightly and turn away as soon as possible. You feel Luke’s gaze following as you turn attention elsewhere. Your sternum feels fluttery.

Percy catches your attention again. Gods, he looks beat. He’s talking to Annabeth as she helps him up, and you see the gnarly scrape marring his cheek. You should probably check on him, right? 

You’re halfway to the kids when Annabeth shoves Percy backwards into the water. Like, shoves. 

“Annabeth!” You’re scowling at her the same way she scowled at you when you first hit Luke with that oar, rushing over to help Percy. 

“What is wrong with you?” Percy sputters out lying in the lake, but you’re ankles-deep in the water before you know it. He’s glaring daggers at Annabeth, but she looks relatively unimpressed. What happened during this game? 

“Thanks,” Percy mutters as you help him up. 

You say something to shrug it off but you can’t remember what, because your eyes are drawn to the scrape on his cheek. You have to blink a few times to get it, but you’re pretty sure it’s dissolving. Vanishing off his skin. “What the hell?”

Everyone on the shore is watching him now, trying to memorize his injuries before they wash away. Percy’s staring down at himself like he’s just been body-swapped. “I don’t understand.” 

You’ve never seen anything like this before. The strangest feeling fuels you—your bones feel firmer somehow, like the blood inside your body has weight to it. Like something is happening. A fear pierces your gut. 

Annabeth’s eyes have raised, and so have Percy’s. Your mouth goes dry. Right above him is the symbol of a trident, radiating so blue it washes out the sky itself. 

The claiming symbol of Poseidon. 

“Your dad’s calling,” Annabeth says, a smile itching the corners of her mouth. 

Percy looks like he’s going to pass out. You probably do too. “Told you you’d get claimed,” you manage to squeeze the words through the knot in your chest. 

You���re smiling until Percy looks at you, then looks up. His face goes white as a sheet. Or, as white as it can bathed in a pale blue glow. “Uh…” He blinks slowly, and your stomach twists. “I think she was talking to you.”

When you look up and see an identical trident looming over your head, you know something’s wrong. It’s made worse when Chiron rings out your and Percy’s name, branding you as children of Poseidon. 

Poseidon. 

You have a father. And he’s known you all this time. Your ears hollow out like a rush of water in a cavern.

Luke is the first to kneel. The rest of the camp follows. You watch as the entire camp basks in the glory of newcomer Percy Jackson, so quickly claimed by one of the most powerful Gods of Olympus. And you, who has waited five years to earn even a shred of his favour. 

This thing you’ve wanted for so long is suddenly the greatest insult in the world. Your best friend can’t even meet your eyes. 

iv. i remember who i am when i'm with you

You stare at Percy as he unpacks his things. Waiting to see traces of yourself in his face, traces of your father. Anything that could give you an inkling of what he looks like. Of what you look like. Of how this happened in the first place. 

It’s a futile search. Percy’s blue eyes, his freckles, the bridge of his nose, they’re all … nothing. Half of you is half of him, but there’s no indication of which parts. The cabin is cold. You’re not going to sleep well without Luke nearby. You’re not going to sleep well ever again. 

You feel nothing but strife, your throat closing in every time you take even a second to think. You don’t want Percy to see you cry. So you do what you always do. 

This has to be in the running for most overwhelming day of all time ever. Even when submerged in your favourite place on earth, you can’t get away from your dad. Your dumb stupid dad that has made the things you love and has ruined your life. 

You swim hard, and you loathe how good it feels. At least you know why now, but that doesn’t do much to ease you. When you pop up again, the sun has started to sink into the sea. And Gods, you have to give your dad credit. The landscape is so gorgeous you almost forget how long he’s ignored you. 

You wonder if this is the last time you’ll find solace in the lake. If eventually, it’ll be nothing but an extension of your father’s neglect. 

The water ripples around you. You frown, barely having noticed it when someone taps your shoulder. You turn. “Luke?” You swallow, but why are you surprised? 

He’s panting, cheeks splotched with sun as he treads water, droplets worming down his face from his soaking curls. “Been looking for you,” he puffs, “Percy’s worried. Called you from the—from the thingie but don’t think you heard me.”

You assume he means the docks, but you don’t say anything as he takes a deep, grounding breath. “You’ve been out here for hours. Hours. For a second I thought you drowned.”

“Now we know that can’t fucking happen,” you mutter a touch too bitterly, staring down at your legs warped beneath the water. 

Luke’s silent as he watches you. “…Have you been crying?”

When you don’t reply, Luke tugs on your wrist. “C’mon, sailor, let’s go.”

“Not tired,” you say, frozen by the hot tears brimming on your lashes. 

“I’m not leaving you out here. Come on.” He frowns when you yank your hand away as he tries pulling you again. “You’re gonna get heatstroke.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

He reaches for you again and you try to reject it for a moment, but he’s stronger than you, and he loves you better than even the water could. The second he has you close your resolve falters. He holds you against his shoulder, knees knocking against yours as you tread. 

“It’s okay,” he croons when you involuntarily start to cry. For a Poseidon kid, you can’t seem to control your waterworks. “It’s okay, I know.”

His hand cards through your scalp and you relish in the warmth of his bare skin on your cheek. He smells like comfort. You cling to it with all you have, until your nails start to dig into his skin and your eyesight blurs. 

“Come back with me and I’ll dry you off, okay?” He kisses the top of your head, the way you dreamed it last night. “I’ll take care of it.”

You’re not sure which it he’s referring to, because it could honestly apply to anything. When you both set off for shore, you’re so distracted by your own misery that Luke’s actually able to keep up with you. He’s up on the dock before you so he can pull you out. 

The second you’re out of the water you feel like you’ve been gutted with a lead pipe. All the energy it gave you leaves, and you realize just how right Luke was about spending too much time out there. You can’t feel your legs. 

You buckle over almost instantly, but Luke holds you before you can even think of falling. “I’ve got you,” he assures, guiding you down to sit on the dock. Your eyes are too weak to even admire the sunset. Luke drapes a towel over your shoulders, rubbing it over your arms, a welcome familiarity. He takes his time, wringing your hair and drying your back as you gaze blankly ahead. There’s a tenderness to it now. Luke’s ruthless when it comes to a lot of things. When it comes to how he loves, too. But there’s nothing demanding here. He lets your tears fall in silence, undisturbed, the touch of his hands through the cloth a silent promise. 

When you’re fairly dry, he fetches something then quickly comes back. “Here.”

It’s his shirt. You only notice you’ve been shivering as he pulls it over your head, lets you fill in the sleeves, gently gathers your hair back. “Thanks,” you say. His fingertips brush your neck as he hooks them around your necklace to rest it over the shirt. You think he does it to remind you you’re still the same. You’ve had five years together. It doesn’t have to end now. 

“Why did it take him so long?” You struggle to say, eyes glossed like sea glass. “Why—why now? What did I do?”

Luke puts an arm around you. “I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly. 

You sink into his warmth like a wave meets the shore. “Five years, Luke. He ignored me for five years. And he takes Percy right—right away.” It’s hard not to choke between every word. “I just thought I’d never get claimed, and I was fine with that, and now I’m … this!”

Its hard to tell if the dampness of your cheeks are the remnants of saltwater or your tears. “I don’t want this,” you sniffle. “I waited so long … and I just don’t want it.”

Luke rubs your shoulder, lips pursed against your head. He murmurs into your hair, “I know, sailor. It’ll be okay. Promise.”

His voice is reserved. You look up at him. His jaw is resolute, his eyes red-rimmed in a way you hadn’t noticed before. “You’re upset too,” you comment quietly. 

He laughs listlessly. “Yeah, of course I am. I’m losing my favourite cabin mate.”

You sniff and try to smile. “Percy?”

He rolls his eyes fondly, and it feels like all you want. He squeezes your shoulders tight and you long desperately to be closer. “I just don’t know what I did wrong,” you whisper, pressing your cheek into him. “Why didn’t he see me until he saw Percy? Am I just … unremarkable or something?”

“No, no. Absolutely not—c’mere.” Luke loops an arm around your waist and manoeuvres you into his arms, cradled on his lap so you can bury your face in his neck. You can’t stop fucking crying, but his patience for you is infinite. “You are by far the most remarkable person I know.” He seals you against his chest, scratching your scalp the way he knows you like. “None of this is you, okay? Your dad’s an idiot. You are—you’re everything. They’re all mindless up there, they don’t know how to love you. They don’t deserve to.”

An edge seeps into his timbre that gives you pause. You feel weak, discarded. It sounds like he’s talking about a different person. But he’s right. He has to be, because he knows you better than you know yourself.

Luke keeps going. You peek at his face when he speaks. Stubborn as ever. “He doesn’t have any fucking right to you. If he wanted that he should’ve claimed you when you got here. You have a life. You … you had a home. And now just because he’s got another kid he kills two birds with one stone? He pretends like this is some Godly intervention? Like he didn’t ignore you the whole time you’ve been here because he couldn’t stand how much you didn’t need him? How much better you are? You’re my …” He struggles, brows furrowed, the sun melting in his eyes. “You’re my best friend, and we’re supposed to be together. He’s not allowed to take that from you.”

Your heart stirs. “Sounds like you’re jealous,” you try to tease.

Luke heaves a sigh, his muscles rippling against your chest. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that he’s got no shirt on. And that he’s pressed against you in a way that makes you question if you should be this close. Beads of water cling to the divots in his skin, and you linger a little too long on one nestled in his collarbone. You swear you think this every time he goes swimming with you: when did he get so … hot? And every time you think it, you want to gouge your heart out with a spoon. 

“Can you blame me?” A melancholy smile plays on his face. “I liked having you all to myself.”

Tears spring to your eyes all over again. “I liked that too.”

It’s a whisper that sends you forward, Luke bringing his forehead to your own, and you want to live in the warmth that coils through you. His nose catches against yours when he laughs, but he doesn’t move. You take a moment to savour it. You think he does too.

He wipes a tear off your face as you say, “I’m still yours.”

“Yeah?” Luke hums a bit, his hand sliding up your waist in a most unfriendly manner. “How?” 

You catch the glimmer in his eyes, that plucky smile he’s had since fourteen. Something shifts.

“What are you asking me, Luke?” You can’t fight the smile. 

“What do you want me to ask you?”

“I dunno, what do you want me to want you to ask you—”

“My Gods, you’re a pain in the ass.”

He groans, throws his head back, and kisses you like you aren’t the most annoying person in the world. 

It’s so cliché, but for a brief moment your strife is well worth it. You yank him closer before he pulls away. It’s a little unsure, the two of you so used to toeing the line, but soon you’ve given in and your hands are in his hair, mouths parting, and it’s messy and wanting and everything you need. 

Luke slips his hands beneath the hem of your shirt, palms flattening against your sun-beaten skin. It feels so good, better because the shirt is already his, a whine scratching your throat as he moves up so his thumbs graze the skin beneath the tie in your bathing suit. 

“Oh, sailor,” he coos against your mouth. You want to retaliate but it’s lost when he squeezes your thighs, warming you in all the right places. It’s hard to understand this is even happening—it feels like you’re underwater, a blissful fuzziness growing in your head entirely at his mercy. 

He razes kisses down your still-damp neck, catching pearls of water on his tongue. You cling to his shoulders, raking your hands down his back just so you can feel more of him. Luke’s dropped down to your collarbone at this point, tugging the neck of your shirt down as his teeth graze the bone. “You’re my best friend,” he mutters over your skin. “Still mine. Always mine.”

“Mmhm,” is all you can say back, the husk in his voice making your eyes screw shut. He teases a spot so sensitive you groan and laugh at the same time. The regret is immediate, but you feel a chuckle pass his lips, too. “Luke,” you purse a smile. He dots kisses back up your neck until you start returning the favour. 

You kiss his jaw, a few spots on his neck, feeling the flex of his muscle all around you as he squeezes the fat of your hips. You finally sweep up the water in the hollow of his collarbones, and his grunt of your name makes you, frankly, delirious. 

He brings your mouth back to his, skin sticking to each other. It’s harder to kiss as fervently when you’re both giggling against each other’s tongues, running fingers along the planes of each other’s bodies trying to see which places feel new and which are known from memory. It’s a fifty-fifty split, and you love it. 

Somewhere along the way he peeled off your shirt because it was clinging in places you knew he wanted, but now you’re panting and giggling into his hair, his nose pressed into your neck, both of you melded together with salt and sun. “You really know how to cheer a girl up, mailman,” you grin. 

His lips fix to your skin. “Really? You’re still gonna call me that right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Like it better when you call me captain,” he murmurs, nose grazing along your pulse. 

You swallow, “That doesn’t work unless we’re doing the whole sailor-ship bit.”

“We’re always doing the sailor-ship bit.”

“I seriously can’t believe I’m in love with you.”

He sighs warmly at the words. “You have no idea how much I’ve been dying for you to say that. Even though I knew you would.”

You roll your eyes as he presses his forehead to yours, and you’re more glad than ever that his face is the one you love so much. It’s a pretty great face. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says tenderly. “You’re too incredible for Poseidon. You’re worth more than that.”

He still looks gorgeous blurred by your tears. You listen to the beat of his heart and the waves rolling. “More than any water anywhere?”

“More than the fucking Styx, sailor. I’ll promise you that.”

That night, Luke stays with you and Percy in your cold chapel of a cabin. You exchange stories until Percy falls asleep in his bed, curled up like a sea otter. “He’s a drooler,” Luke notes fondly, eyes flicking to yours. “Like you.”

You shove his chest playfully until he wraps his arms around you and anchors you to sleep, like every night before. This time, as you drift off, he kisses your forehead again. Once because he loves you, and twice to make sure you know it’s real. 

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[wonderjanga]

au where billy and mary were friends w a teen patrick wayne before everything went down in the 40's and they both think that bruce is patrick and that hes shy cuz hes a hero now

I think Billy, Mary, and Patrick’s dynamic would’ve basically been two little kids and the older kid who hang out. Patrick would also have no problem treating them like his little siblings and would casually give them money in exchange for them helping him with experiments. He’d rather just give them the money but they won’t just accept it for free so he’d resigned to making them do little tasks instead.

Patrick: “Alright, I need three fairy wings, dried unicorn blood, sixteen siren scales, and dryad bark! Go! Go! Go!”

Mary and Billy: *salute before running off*

You might be wondering what he needs any of that for. You’ll know later.

Anyways, as for how Patrick found out about Billy and Mary being Captain Marvel and Mary Marvel…

Patrick: *talking to someone in Fawcett and trying to get siren scales because his usual suppliers (Billy and Mary) said they were busy with something at the moment (meeting with magical delegates)*

Seller: “Boy, you do realize how difficult it is to get siren scales, right? As far as I know, none of the shops in Fawcett sell it. Who is your dealer?”

Patrick: “My friends?”

Seller: “Your friends?! You know kids your age going after sirens so you can get scales?! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!”

Patrick: “It’s dangerous?! I had no idea??? They never come back hurt or complaining??”

Seller: “They’re coming back unscathed?? Who are your friends???!?”

Yeah… so that’s how Patrick found out about Captain and Mary Marvel being his two little suppliers/siblings. It took much poking and prodding and bribing, but eventually the two spilled. After that, they were just forced to take the money from Patrick anyways. He wasn’t gonna send them on those trips anymore. No siree. Doesn’t matter that they have superpowers.

Anyways, time moves on and unfortunately, Patrick was eventually old enough to be drafted into the war. He said bye to the kiddos went and came back, kept in contact with the kiddos up until the sixties when the time bubble appeared. By that time, Patrick was at least 30 and the twins had strangely not aged at all, not that he minded because Fawcett was weird like that. Thomas was a toddler at the time of it appearing. The time bubble caused Thomas to have a rather unfortunate early childhood as his father was always locked up in his study researching and wondering what the hell happened to the town, to the people, and to his friends. Fawcett was just gone. Practically overnight. Eventually though, he gave up and started focusing on his family again. He died thinking everyone in that little down had been erased.

Fast forward 50 something odd years and BAM the bubble pops! Billy and Mary are now in the present. They got to meet all of the new heroes, including Batman.

Marvel: “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Batman Si- Patrick?”

Batman: “Pardon?”

Mary: “Holy shoot, Patrick really is you!”

Batman: “My name is not Patrick-”

Marvel: “You’re so…” *looks him up and down* “Youthful! Did you finally make that elixir thingy?”

Batman: “What?”

Marvel: “You know? The elixir you always talk about. It was an elixir, right?”

Mary: “Wasn’t it called the elixir of life?”

Batman: “No…? I haven’t worked on an elixir at any point in time.”

Marvel: “Yeah, you have. We saw you! You’d always read that little book and do a little experiments!”

Mary: “And then the experiment would fail, and then you’d come to us covered in ash because nine times out of ten it exploded. Then, you’d slap twenty dollars in our hand and ask for us to find more ingredients so you could do more experiments.”

Batman: “I’ve never done that in my life. I assure you I’ve never met you before this moment.”

Now you know what all those mystical ingredients were for. Patrick Wayne was casually doing Alchemy. Everyone in Fawcett is at least somewhat magical after all. He didn’t even know he was doing it too. He’d still worked on normal human gadgets though, which still allowed him to contribute to Wayne Enterprises.

Bruce later went to his study (once Patrick’s study) as he remembered one of the books on his shelves was related to Alchemy. When he eventually found it and pulled it from the shelf, a photo slipped out. It was a photo of a younger version of his Grandpa and two kids which he both had in headlocks. When Bruce flipped the photo over, scrawled on the back was a date. After getting sidetracked and deciding to dig up some information on his Grandfather, Bruce came to the startling realization that this was when Patrick left for the war. This was a commemoration photo. Interesting. It was also interesting that the other two people- children in the photo looked suspiciously like the Captain and his daughter. Was this Mary and another brother, one that didn’t dabble in heroics? It made sense now why the Captain and Mary talked to him like they knew him. They both must’ve thought he was his grandfather. Oh well, Bruce isn’t gonna spoil the surprise. He can find out more information on them if he lets them think he’s his grandfather.

Marvel: “The war really toughened you up, huh? Did you inhale chlorine gas and somehow survive?”

Mary: “No silly.” *elbows him* “He didn’t sound like this when he came back from the war so something else must’ve messed up his throat.”

Batman: “My throat isn’t messed up in any way, shape, or form.”

Mary: “It isn’t? So you talk like that on purpose…?”

Batman: *doesn’t want to give away he isn’t Patrick* “…Yes.”

Mary and Marvel: *share a look before pointing and laughing at him*

Any nearby Justice League member was visibly surprised that Batman didn’t glare at them. Bruce himself was surprised he didn’t as well.

Robin!Dick: *standing beside Bruce as Bruce works at a computer*

Marvel: “Oh Tommy! Wait, Pat, this is Tommy right?”

Mary: “Of course it’s not Tommy. He wouldn’t feed the elixir to him while he was a kid. But then again, you can be a little stupid…”

Robin!Dick: “Did you just call him stupid?” *sounds like he wants to laugh* “Also no I’m not Tommy.”

Marvel: “Then are you a grandson…?”

Robin!Dick: “N-”

Batman: “Yes, he is. This is Bruce.”

Robin!Dick: *extremely confused* “What?”

Marvel: “Oh cool!”

[hellishjoel]

cherry thrill | lights

9.2k / pairing: daddy dom tattoo artist!joel miller x sub virgin f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | notifications blog | ko-fi chapter summary: your tattoo artist, joel miller, takes your virginity. chapter warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, implied age gap, swearing, virginity loss, dom&sub dynamics (/not lg), size kink, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, swearing, dirty talk, pet names (princess, bunny, baby girl, sweetheart, etc.), oral (m&f receiving), fingering, protected p in v, joel talks you through it, protective!joel, slight pov switching, reader is described as having no tattoos or piercings, as well as hair, but otherwise no physical description, no use of y/n series summary: Trust and devotion. Ink meets innocence. Your tattoo artist, Joel Miller, shows you what it really means to give up control. Reeling from the loss of your job, you’re running out of options, until a passing comment from Joel and a video camera give you just the right idea. A/N: this was supposed to be a one shot but just like everything else I try to write, I expand on the characters too much for it not to become a series. also, thank you for 2,000 followers, I promise to do something soon to show my appreciation <3 I'm bad at giving thanks and receiving attention so anyway - dividers by @firefly-graphics (thank you, daisy!)

During your first consultation, there was something in the air. 

Glances that lasted a few seconds too long, a charged energy replicating that of two strong magnets.  You stand frozen in a dark office down the hall from the shop’s main entrance. The walls are painted black. A gallery wall displays different art and posters in gold frames. There’s a large red neon sign with your tattoo artist’s initials, J.M. 

Joel Miller. 

You sit opposite of him, leg anxiously bouncing and nails subconsciously piercing the chair’s leather arms as he listens silently to your request before his mind starts to work. It doesn’t take much time to draw up an example or two with your guided tweaks and fixes. 

Other than the scribble of a graphite pencil, silence falls over you both. And observation takes over. 

Joel surrounds himself with scattered drawings on loose paper that litter his desk. You watch the way his eyes screw inward to focus on the sketch he is drawing up. A small vein protrudes from his temple, his jaw shifts from side to side with tension. 

He’s a blunt sort of handsome. With harsh edges and lines, jaded and carved with precision like precious marble. It makes your pulse jump a bit in your neck and wrist. 

You think your first tattoo should be something special, especially since you’ve waited so long to pull the trigger. He was a bit intimidating like you imagined a tattoo artist to be, what with his brooding demeanor and how he looked you up and down upon taking one step inside his parlor. 

Virgin. 

That’s what he called your skin, untouched by any ink or piercings. 

He didn’t know that it described you down to your core. No one had popped your cherry, taken your virginity, made you theirs. Untouched.

Now, half an hour later and sitting anxiously in his back office, he finishes drawing up the sketch and asks about the precise placement you had in mind. 

“I was thinking here,” you mindlessly point to a spot on your upper thigh. There was a level of secrecy to it, in case any future employers cared about that sort of shit. 

You can’t help the way your skin vibrates under his touch, when he aids you in taking off your bottoms and runs his calloused palms up the smooth skin of your thighs. 

You shakily exhale as he warms you. 

You definitely don’t let yourself fantasize that he’s feeling you up, or even think about wanting him to explore every inch of your body. You know he’s just doing his job. 

But the way his eyes flick up to yours when he feels the goosebumps he knows he’s created is otherworldly. Like he knows you want him to fuck you. The way your muscles twitch under the warmth of his palm, feeling pliant under his touch. Fuck. 

His eyes gleam as his mouth forms into a barely-there smirk. 

There was no point in playing coy. Your body changed at the contact and Joel knew it. 

It was damn near degrading the way he let you simmer. It set a light inside of you no one had before. So that’s when you knew you’d let him, Joel Miller, take your virginity. 

It would be no easy task. You didn’t know how to pursue him, or anyone for that matter. Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t have said virginity. 

You try not to stare for too long, but even with his gruff demeanor and silence being second nature to him, he was handsome. A rugged sort of handsome with different facial piercings. 

A septum in his nose highlighted its aquiline structure. And a small hoop in his right eyebrow, with greys tickling through like pretty streaks in the hair. It made him look deliciously too old for you. Perhaps that’s what you enjoyed most, though. He was no amateur. 

The moment his fingers dipped into your flesh to work on your tattoo's placement, you knew he felt it, too. Supple under his touch. Squishy. Something he could sink his teeth into. Something that obeyed. 

“You prepared for the pain, sweetheart?”

His southern drawl is sweet like honey, deep and husky nonetheless. 

“I think so.” 

Your response is meek. It’s your wavering nerves from having him so close and unsure what the feeling of being tattooed will be like. Joel looks for certainty instead. He insists on it. 

“Need ya t’tell me. Not that you think, that you know.”

“I’m sorry. I know so.”

Joel squeezes the back of your thigh fondly, a proud little smile twitching at the edges of his mouth. “Good girl.”

The praise alone was enough to make your thighs sticky with arousal. Joel sent you home that day with an ache between your legs that your fingers had to fix. And you thought about him the entire time. 

How his cold tongue piercing would feel against the warmth of your clit. Holding you with his strong, protective arms swirled with black ink. How his staggering dark eyes would look into yours as he fucks you. 

But thinking about him wasn’t enough. 

You tried to string out the process, anything you could do to fix more time with him. Anything to get his tough palms on your skin. 

You fiddled with different placements, opting to show a little skin as you rid yourself of your top and pointed to your ribs during your next appointment. 

A breath hitches in your throat as he eyes your bra's innocent pink color. Lacy and pretty. Delicate. He clears his throat and runs his fingers along your side, evidence of his touch causing an effect on you displayed with more goosebumps. Your body could simply not hide the attraction you felt towards him. 

“Would hurt. A lot. The ribs move every time you breathe, which makes the tattooing process more painful.” Joel gently cups your side with his large palm and squeezes your ribs, holding you in place as you shakily breathe with the hold he has on you. “Can’t tell ya where to place it, can only advise. Just don’t want such a pretty girl to shed any tears.” 

That’s when you knew you could trust him. That even a man as hardened as himself could treat you with such care. 

He excuses himself for a moment, opting for more transfer paper and leaving you topless in his private office. 

Your ears were ringing, you could hear the quickening beat of your heart. You slowly inch off the portable tattoo table, glancing around Joel’s dark academia-style office. 

He’s an enigma, you think, the more you look at his surroundings. Quiet but dark, you knew he was concealing a hidden desire. You hope to unlock it. That he’ll trust you enough just as you trust him. 

Articles of clothing start to drop to the floor, one by one. You knew you’d be ambushing him; you didn’t want to scare Joel. So you left yourself in your soft pink-colored bra and panty set. You thought it was classy and cute. Not too forward, but sweet. Definitely planned out, you hope he doesn’t notice. 

All your confidence quickly disappears as soon as he comes back in through the door. You could feel your heart slowly sink to your stomach, your lips parting to come up with some sort of reasoning. 

“I-I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say. Joel is stilled at the entrance of his office, door still ajar as he blankly stares at the delicate angel standing in the middle of his office. 

He clears his throat and finally closes the door, leaving the two of you in silence. You can’t read his expression. 

“What do ya think you’re doin’?” He asks, sweet southern drawl dripping with tension as his heavy boots slowly make their way closer to you. 

You can only shake your head, unsteady hands concealing as much of your body as possible. You decide to face the mirror, keeping your back to him. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I was just-” Lie. “I was just looking at your full-length mirror to see other placement ideas.” 

Joel merely shakes his head, a knowing look in his eyes. “I can tell when you’re lyin’ t’me, baby girl. You wanna try tellin’ me the truth now?”

His tone only makes the ache in your core grow with desire as your pulse quickens under his eyeline. 

You feel embarrassed, heat coursing through your body and making you tingle as his stare lingers selfishly, basking in the glory of your figure. You watch with want in the reflection as his eyes stare at the curves of your hips and your ass. A handful, he probably thinks. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes, moving closer and enveloping you in his musky pine and whiskey scent. It’s almost knowing what he says next. “Tell me what y’want.” 

You swallow the lump protruding in your throat before you decide to be honest with him. Like you said, you could trust him. You play with your fingers and pick at the skin by your nails.

“I want you.” You say barely above a whisper. 

Joel simply shakes his head, takes another impossible step closer, and cranes his head down to hear you better. His lips and coarse beard hairs tickle at the shell of your ear. 

Your eyes close shyly as he speaks again amid your silence. 

“Say it again, baby. Can’t hear ya.” His toned front meets your back, forcing a whimper past your lips. 

You work up the nerve to take a glance at the two figures in the gold-framed mirror. Perfect opposites. Young, beautiful, a little inexperienced. Older, handsome, sure as hell looks like he knows what he’s doing. 

His height looms over you. His eyes are an unknown shade of obsidian and he’s radiating a comforting warmth. Your hand reaches for his, only able to look him in the eyes through the glass as you guide his hand to your hip. 

Your thumb rolls across the faded tattoo on the backside of his hand. There used to be a cross there, but it looks to be covered up by some sort of python now. With a shaky sigh, you try again. “I want you, Mr. Miller. I want you to take my virginity.” 

You’ve prepared yourself to hear his laughter, a snickering, degrading comment of disbelief. You felt ready to experience shame. But you were wrong. 

Joel places his pointer finger under your chin, using his other hand to guide you in his hold to turn and face him. His thumb grazes over your lower lip as he guides your head to tilt up and look at him properly. Your soft eyes meet his lust-driven ones and your heart surges at the sight. 

You’ve never seen a man so hungry. 

“You want me to take your virginity, little bunny?” He hums seductively. Suddenly, you don’t feel so doomed. It’s placed with a little bit of eagerness now. You wanted your spoils. 

“Yes. Want you to do whatever you desire with me, I’ll do anything you want.” You sound like a devoted cult member, but the energy you feel is undeniable. You’re sure you’ve soaked through your panties at this point. 

Slowly but surely, Joel begins to nod. He’s mulled it over and he’s made up his mind. 

“Whatever I desire, huh?” He tuts almost degradingly. Your nod of enthusiasm makes his blood rush. 

He hesitates, untrusting of his own words. 

“Want you to call me Daddy,” He starts haphazardly, gauging your reaction. “Think you can do that, sweet girl?”

Your wide eyes soften, a notch of confusion knotting your eyebrows. 

“You- what?” 

“Want you to call me daddy. Want you to be a good little girl for me and hop up on that desk. Can ya do that for me, princess?” His chin juts up and signals toward his office desk. 

The swirling in your stomach just won’t stop. 

“Go on now.” His orotund voice projects his instructions. You back up a few paces until you feel the cool metal of his desk hit your backside, slowly moving to sit on it with hidden excitement and a shiver up your spine. 

You do want to be good, if there’s anything you want in this world right now, it’s to play along and be good for him. Knowing he would take care of you was making you leak. 

His fingertips delicately touch your skin, starting at your wrists and moving upwards to the straps on your bra. He’s intimidating to look at, so you fixate on something behind him. But it doesn’t help when he clouds your vision. Even his aroma, from the smoke of his cigarettes to the musky spruce cologne, was putting you in a tailspin. 

You don’t anticipate the way your body moves for him. His hands skim to the back of your bra, and your spine straightens. It makes the right side of his mouth twitch up into a smirk. 

“Nervous?” He belittles.

Your long lashes innocently flutter, you think you might be doing it on purpose. You sort of like playing along. 

“A little… Daddy.” You test cautiously, the word tangling on your tongue. But it’s unforgettable the way his eyes light up at the name. You find yourself already willing to do whatever it takes to recreate that signature look of his. 

Joel hums appreciatively, thumb making minuscule circles over your chin. “I’ll take care of ya. Ya know that. Or else you wouldn’t have chosen me.”

All you can do is nod. Because he knows that your selection process was a real thing. You had danced around it once during your first consultation when he asked if you had a boyfriend. All you could feel was heat rising to the back of your neck, shy eyes evading his warm brown orbs. 

“No, definitely not.” 

“What’d’ya mean definitely not? You’re a pretty girl.”  

You shrug in a noncommittal way. “I’ve never had to really worry about stuff like… boyfriends. Or girlfriends. Any of that sort of stuff.” 

His eyes flicked up to yours in an instant, a mutual understanding of your underlying words. “I see. I understand, angel.” 

Joel works your bra off with one hand, you gasp as you feel the material loosen around your body. His opposite hand taps at the top of your thigh. You’re all too aware you are eagerly sitting half-naked on his desk. 

“Open.” He directs, voice laced with smoke. 

You nip at your lower lip and slowly inch your clamped-shut thighs open for him. He instantly makes eye contact with the wet, dark little circle that’s ruining the pristine innocence of your panties. 

He decides not to make fun of it, but it’s truly a compliment. Your adoration for him. “This all for me, angel?”

You work up a few quick nods. Now that he was so close, you wanted him to hurry the hell up.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” 

You feel heat tingle at the sides of your neck. This would be your first time really talking like this with someone. He made it feel safe to talk so dirty. To try, to learn. 

“Yes, daddy.”

You can’t deny how proud you feel to be the reason a certain warmth brightens in his eyes and on his smirk. You did that, you pleased him. Little did you know how he’d thank you for it. 

“You said you’re a virgin? Hard to believe.”

A shaky sigh leaves your parted lips as his warm palms slowly pull your bra down, revealing your breasts to him. “Just never found anyone I really trusted or liked enough.” 

He mutters something quiet in understanding, all too distracted by how damn pretty you look. 

Joel is silently observing your body, he can’t help but want to touch the delicate flower in front of him. A gasp leaves your parted lips as his calloused hands come up and cup your breasts. He starts to squeeze, and a happy little whimper leaves your mouth with a small smile. 

“I like that.” You tell him, hoping it improves your chances that he’ll do it again. Which he does. 

“Good.” He compliments, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, turning them into peaks that send electricity down your spine. 

A sweet and experimental moan leaves your lips. Joel stands between your parted legs and you feel his erection for the first time against your skin. You can tell by the shape protruding through his pants that he’s a large man, already thick and swollen for your taking. 

“No one’s ever been inside of you?” He damn near growls, raising an eyebrow after the beat he offers you to answer.  

You shake your head again. “I’ve tried my fingers, but I’m sure it’s not the same.” 

A scoffy little breath echoes out of his nose. “No, not quite. Lay back for me, bunny.” His hands release your breasts, pebbled nipples left abandoned as you slowly move down onto your elbows and then onto your back. 

There was a sudden peak of anxiety, not being able to fully see him. But perhaps this was the point, to fully surrender yourself under his touch. To trust him. 

His rough hands grip the sides of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. He gets about halfway down your thighs before you quickly sit up on your elbows again. 

“Joel?” Your voice anxiously chirps. 

He stops, eyes flicking up to you from your cunt still concealed by your sticky thighs. 

“We can stop,” He says before you can explain. “S’okay if you’re not ready.”

“No, no, that’s not it, God, that’s not it,” You rid his worries, feeling your chest quickly rise and fall under his all of a sudden protective gaze. 

“I uh-... I know you don’t owe me this, we’re not together, but… can you talk me through what you’re doing? I want to learn, and I can tell you’re experienced, I know it’s a lot to ask but-”

“S’not too much to ask.” He quickly intervenes, gently taking your hands and guiding you to sit up fully once more. Your soft eyes graze over all the layers he’s still wearing, and suddenly you’re reminded how naked you are. 

“Use your voice, sweet girl. Can tell you wanna say somethin’. This is your time.” 

The sentiment means a lot. It is your time, your first time, and just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean it should be any less special. So you decide to make it your time, the way you want it. 

“Can you take your clothes off too? And is the door locked?” You trail off upon seeing his amused smirk. 

“Go on.” He nods again, letting you list your needs and wants. 

“And can you kiss me, please, Daddy?” You ask more softly than the rest of your demands. You know that kissing is romantic, but you think it might help settle you. Pull you back from drifting away, keep you here with him.  

He watches you for a moment, a bemused grin on his lips before he gently cradles your face. “The door’s locked. I’ll take my clothes off. And I’ll kiss you as many times as you like as long as you keep askin’ that nice.” 

For the first time during your interaction, your face lights up with a smile. It’s small, it’s thankful, but it’s there. There was an undeniable connection you shared with Joel, it made you feel safe under his curious eyes. 

With his large hands cupping either side of your jaw, he leans down while simultaneously guiding your chin up as your lips meet. It’s gentle at first, soft. His mouth tastes like a cigarette, it’s oddly intoxicating and you find yourself wanting more.

You know how to make out at the very least. So when you gently bite down and tug on Joel’s lower lip, both of your eyes open as a throaty little groan escapes him. 

He kisses you a little harder this time, hands falling to your hips as he pulls you closer so your fronts align. The force makes your lips part and Joel takes the opportunity to let his tongue invade your mouth. He moves fluently to explore, both of you falling into a sweet lull as your bodies meld into one. 

Inadvertently, he hooks his pointer finger into your panties halfway down your thighs and finishes pulling them to your ankles. They land somewhere on the floor in a pile of your other clothes. 

Unbeknownst to you until he took his hands off your body to pluck open his belt do you realize how you were on fire for him. 

You wonder while he pushes down his trousers and tugs off his shirt if he’s ever slept with a virgin before. If you’d be his version of a first time just like he’d be yours. No, not his first ever, you weren’t that foolish. But maybe you could teach him a thing or two as well. 

There’s no way to mask your surprise when he pushes down his boxer briefs, the dark band revealing all that was underneath. His half-hard cock raises towards his stomach, rosiness fluttering at his tip. You were pleasantly surprised to find that it was a little hooked, deliciously curving upwards. 

With a new sense of confidence, your hand reaches forward and you start to shift your hand up and down his length. Joel’s quiet grunt shatters your thoughts. He gently cups the side of your neck and twirls a piece of hair around his finger. 

Joel takes your hand off his cock and you worry you’ve done something wrong already. He holds it palm-side up and nods encouragingly. “Spit on your hand, baby.”

He nods after you look up at him with shy, blown-out eyes. But you obey. 

You spit into your hand and let him guide your hand back around his member. That seems a lot better. He glistens with your spit and you have the urge to keep shocking him with your confidence.

You lean forward and directly spit onto his tip, looking up to see his approving little smirk. 

“Fuck- That’s- mmm, that’s good, angel,” he sighs with a certain happiness, loving the feeling of getting his cock taken care of. “Feels real good.” 

The praise sets off a million pistons in your brain, feeling yourself scrabble off the desk,  dropping to your knees as you continue to pump him. 

He’s heavy in your hand, and you gently lean forward to give sweet kisses to the tip. You swallow the lump in your throat before parting your lips, taking the head of his cock into your mouth. He’s salty, musky, but not dirty. In fact, he was rather well-kempt in his nether regions. 

You force yourself deeper and Joel already has his hands in your hair to pause you. 

“Woah, slow your roll, pretty girl.” He says with shortened breaths. Heat floods your body, you hate being so new to this. 

Joel continues to stroke your hair back, gently gliding a thumb up your cheekbone before he cradles one side of your face. “I see you gettin’ all shy, I know this is your first time, but I’ll teach you the basics. And no one’s perfect on their first try, okay? So just get that thought outta your head now.”

Your chest swells at his eagerness to relax you, so you nod gently and lean in to kiss the base of his stomach in appreciation. The right side of his mouth tilts up as he swipes his thumb across your plump bottom lip, a silent thank you for the kiss. 

“You’re a real good girl, you know that?” A bigger smile breaks across your lips and you eagerly tug on his cock with eagerness. Joel sighs, already in defeat at how you’re willing to get it right for him, to learn, to listen. To obey. 

“You’re gonna wanna relax your jaw,” his fingers guide you, your lips parting and letting your jaw drop lower, lower, lower for him. “And the whole part is to suck, not just put your mouth on it, okay, peaches? So hollow your cheeks, no teeth, and only go as far as you feel comfortable.” 

You shake off your nerves and clear your throat, feeling your mouth fill with spit intended for him. You place your hands on the back of his thighs, feeling the dark hairs under the pads of your fingers. 

Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip once more. You swirl your tongue around him, adoring the way he hisses when you glide your tongue across the slit leaking a salty substance. 

Over the introduction, you try to take him down your throat properly. And he’s a mouthful, literally. He’s a lot. But you try to just enjoy that there’s no real pressure. 

A lot of saliva starts to build in your mouth, and you swallow it around him. You’re awestruck when he lets out a low moan, strong hands weaving through your hair and lightly tugging. Your eyes flutter up to him through your lashes, and he’s looking at you so deliciously. 

You can tell he wants to fuck your mouth, holding his hips back from really letting you have it. And maybe he could do that to you someday, but for now, today was slow. And Joel knew that too. 

Joel gently tucks your hair back, your lips suctioning around his length before he drags you back towards him, indicating for you to start moving, to bob your head. 

It takes a few tries, but you really feel yourself going further down his cock. You breathe through your nose, but it’s hard when you’re trying not to gag around him. Finally, after little to no error, you slip up. His tip unexpectedly hits the back of your throat and you gag around him.  Joel must feel your whole body tense with anxiety because he’s quick to gently hush and console you. Your eyes well up with tears, but your first instinct is to keep him inside your mouth and swallow around him. 

A long, low groan leaves Joel’s mouth, a compliment to your first big challenge. 

“Holy fuck,” he pants, weaving his fingers into your hair and fisting eagerly to keep himself grounded. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well, princess, you have no idea, fuck,” he grins. “Try using your hands on what you can’t take, come on, baby.” 

You can feel yourself physically gush at his compliments, your stomach swirling with a newfound desperation. To please. 

With new instructions, you work your hand at his base and pump up and down with the rhythm of your mouth. You worked on gently squeezing and releasing your hand, making Joel go slack-jawed as a husky groan leaves the back of his throat. Sucking and licking and bobbing your head in earnest, he’s already twitching in your mouth. 

“You’ve done this before baby,” his voice drips with a smirk, pulling yourself off for some deep breaths and a few desperate swallows. 

“Haven’t, promise, Joel,” You coo with a proud little smile, your voice thick and wrecked as you continue to pump his cock in the absence of your mouth. 

Joel lets your hair go and guides your hand off his cock before helping you up from the floor. 

Your face is obviously written with disappointment, you could have continued. You sort of wanted to continue despite the ache hanging around in your jaw. 

“You were gonna make me come, don’t wanna come yet, angel,” Joel pants weakly, ducking down and connecting your lips. You’re a little taken aback. Not by the kiss, but by the fact you already had him nearly ready to finish. 

“Really?” You murmur hopefully against his mouth, wishing he wasn’t just saying it to compliment you. 

The way that his features started to twitch and his tummy and chest fluttered with his jagged breathing, it would have been quite a sight to see him finish. Maybe he would have even done it right on your tongue. The thought alone gives you goosebumps. 

Your insides swirl as he licks inside of your mouth and gently runs his tongue along your bottom lip, moving you back towards his desk. You hop up without his instruction, feeling him smirk against your pouted mouth. 

“Now you’re gettin’ a hang of things.” He murmurs into your mouth, carrying on where he had left off before, sinking down to his own knees at the edge of the desk and positioning your feet to rest up on the edge. He seems to stare at the glistening arousal you’ve been creating for the last hour straight. 

That nervous feeling settles in your stomach, completely bare and open for him. A shocked gasp leaves your mouth, not prepared for him already to be diving into your pussy. 

The breadth of his tongue slowly swipes up the center of your core, purposely flicking off of your clit and making you yelp at the contact. His cold tongue piercing against your sensitive bundle made a shiver shoot up your spine. 

He gently smirks as he places a sweet kiss on the inside of your thigh. “You’re jumpy, kitten. Take a breath. Wanna make you feel real good.” 

You let out a shaky sigh and move off your elbows, back flat on his desk as your eyes slowly drift close. Then, as he starts to truly taste you, learning you and what you like, it’s unexpected how much you enjoy it. It never really dawned on you that some people truly enjoy eating pussy, but Joel Miller sure does. 

Your broken little whimpers and strung-out moans turn into writhing on his desk under him. He was such an expert, meticulously swirling his tongue around you and suckling your clit into his mouth. 

It didn’t take long for your fingers to wind up into his hair as his shoulders lay bracketed between your thighs. It was heavy, it was stomach-twisting, in fact, it was rolling through you like a storm. The it in question was your first oral orgasm. 

“J-Joel,” you gasp, your jaw dropping down as he slowly prods the tip of his finger at your entrance. 

“Need to get you ready for my cock, sweet girl, keep focusing on how good you feel,” he encourages. Your face pinches as his finger slowly sinks into your entrance, but you realize how grateful you are for all the extra spit and arousal Joel has provided. 

It doesn’t necessarily hurt, it’s a weird ache at first. But then his finger starts to slowly pump inside of you, and it’s a new craving. Especially with the way his tongue moves around your clit, the pistons in his brain firing all to figure out what you like. 

Do you like when he flicks your clit with his cold metal piercing?

“Ohmygod-” you gasp. 

Do you like when he swirls his naughty tongue around you in tight figure eights? 

“Joel, please,” you say, needing more. 

Did you like it most when he suckles around your sweet bud?

“Joel!” You cry out, tugging tighter at his hair, not sure if you want to tug him closer for more or push him away because it feels too good. 

“O-Oh, oh my god.” Lying still was a foreign thing to you now, all you could do was wiggle and grip your fingers into his hair, tugging harshly as he grunted against your core in enjoyment. 

He actually likes pleasing you, he likes tasting you! It’s a compliment without words as your eyes dip close and your head digs back into the desk.

Suddenly, your stomach starts to drop like you’re on a rollercoaster. You’re not unfamiliar with the feeling of an orgasm, but this, oral, it hits differently. 

“Fuck,” you curse unexpectedly, making Joel cock up an eyebrow as he glances up at you. All you can do is watch as his mouth suckles harder around you, his finger pumping faster and adding a second. 

Because if there’s anyone in this world that can break you out of your shell, Joel wants it to be him. 

Now you’re really aching for him,  wishing that it was his cock slotted between your walls, pushing you towards euphoria. 

“Know you wanna come for me angel,” his fingers quirk upwards in a come here motion, and a long, strung-out moan of his name leaves your lips.

God forbid any of the shop’s workers or clients hear you, but you can’t think of a singular reason to care right now. 

Your walls flex and squeeze around Joel’s two fingers, truly feeling the stretch as you come around his digits. It leaves you a whimpering mess on his desk, hot pants leaving your pretty lips. 

Joel is in heaven, lapping you up and moaning against your core as your clit starts to twitch with the overstimulation. His hands squeeze at the flesh of your thighs before he sits up and kisses up your body, his own lips meeting yours. He’s hungry, and you’re still bouncing back. But you want it so bad, and you’re so close to finally having it. 

“Joel, I’m ready.” You coo, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

He breathily laughs and pecks your lips once more, tasting your own arousal and making you feel warm inside. 

“Desperate for my cock, ain’t that right, pretty girl?” 

God, he was such a menace with his mouth. Your adorably shy grin is all the answer he needs. But you give him one anyway, because he likes when you talk like that with him. 

“Yes, daddy, I just wanna feel it already,” you try out, Joel’s lust-filled eyes meeting yours as white-hot heat spills into your stomach. 

“I’ll give it to ya, baby girl. Wanna give that tight little virgin pussy my cock, don’t want anyone else to have ya. Mine.” Joel huskily grunts, a choked moan leaving your lips. 

Joel reaches past your head and to the drawer on the other side of the desk. He jimmies it open and searches his hand around blindly. He flips open his wallet and pulls a small square foil package from the slot. 

Oh, duh, a condom. In all your excitement, you sort of forgot to be safe. But you’re glad he was prepared. 

You watch with adoration on your features as Joel lifts the condom to his lips, pearly teeth ripping the foil off but not hurting the condom. His other hand rests sweetly on your hip, thumb running soothing circles into your pretty skin. 

It’s a soothing feeling, one that he doesn’t have to do, but he does because he’s being considerate and maybe even a little protective. You gently lay your hand on his forearm, fingers tracing fresh black ink and older green ink on his arm’s sleeve. 

A shaky sigh leaves your lips as he uses both hands to glide the condom down his shaft. It’s nearly invisible, the way it’s so thin and tightly wrapped around his cock. Besides the band that rests at the very bottom of his shaft. He grumbles something incoherent, probably his annoyance with the fussing of the condom and how tight it probably felt around him.  

You take in a shaky breath and nod at him once he comes to rejoin your centers. 

“You’re sure you’re ready for this? Don’t wanna wait for someone y’love? Or trust? Or just... Anybody but me?” Joel’s face is pinched with genuine concern. 

You smile softly and gently cup his cheek. “I do trust you. It takes a lot of trust to allow someone to alter your body forever with a tattoo. So, you’re giving me a tattoo, and you’re taking my virginity. You’re sort of doubling down for me right now, honestly.” 

Joel flashes a genuine little smile. It’s the most you’ve said consistently all day with him, even with a little drip of sarcasm and wit. 

“Okay. But ya gotta say it.” He says more seriously. 

“I’m ready, Daddy. Want you to make me feel good. I know you can.” You can already feel yourself picking up his dirty talk. It makes your smile twitch as you gently grip both of his forearms, his hands spreading your thighs open for him. 

He enters the space, his heavy cock resting over your core and slowly slipping up and down your wet folds. 

You let out an unexpected little scoff as he grinds himself down against you, your arousal soaking the condom. He holds himself at his base and taps his tip down against your already throbbing clit, making you hiss out a desperate whine. 

“M’not usually this… gentle.” He admits through gritted teeth. You’re sort of shocked by that. Sure, he has a rough and tough exterior, but he’s treated you with such delicacy that you assumed he was like this all the time. 

“So, what are you usually like?” You pose, your breath hitching in your throat as one of his hands abandons your thighs and guides his tip from your clit to your entrance, up and down, several times. Your thighs twitch impatiently. Your entrance squeezes around nothing. 

“M’just... not this gentle,” is all he can say without breaking into a bemused smile. 

“Yeah? Maybe you can show me next time what you’re really like.” 

Joel playfully scoffs as his face starts to pierce with concentration. “Not sure if you can handle it, kitten.” 

“I’m sure I-” your words are cut off by a loud gasp, your lips parting as his tip penetrates your walls. You’re phased for a moment before you gulp and recollect yourself. You whimper, louder and louder as he pushes on, watching Joel move with such caution. 

He really is holding back, you think. You wonder what he’s like when he can just fuck how he pleases. 

“Baby,” Joel’s voice breaks your concentration. “Breathe.” 

A loud huff of air leaves your mouth that you hadn’t even realized you were holding in. The ache in your hips and core only builds with tension as Joel pushes on, his length and girth surely parting your tight walls. 

“So fuckin’- tight.” He says with gritted teeth, his fingers piercing into the delicate flesh of your outer thighs, making you whimper. 

“Joel,” you quietly cry for him, tears threatening to spill at the pain. It’s just- a lot. It’s a lot for your first time, and maybe you wouldn’t have signed up if you knew what he was packing, but in a weird way, you loved it. He felt made for you. 

“M’here, angel, look at me.” In all the excitement and overwhelming feelings of pain and pleasure, you hadn’t even noticed you were clenching your eyes closed. You slowly peek them open, greeted by his heavenly features. 

“There’s my girl.” He compliments, warmth and sweetness shooting through your body. 

“Fuck,” you say, your voice a bit wet as Joel comes down closer to aid you. He’s all the way in now, you can feel his balls flushed against your sopping wet cunt. 

The arousal helps, the condom sort of doesn’t but it’s fine, that’s life, you think. You’re torn between pain and pleasure. Honestly, you just feel so fucking full. 

He tells you between breathy pants that he would have used lube if he had any, but he didn’t, and he’s sorry, and his pretty voice starts to turn into static with how fucking good he feels inside of you. 

“You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he praises, sponging a few kisses along your cheeks and tasting your salty tears. You feel like some weak pathetic being under him. He’s been sweet, but you’re sure he’s just treating you like he found a wounded animal. 

“Move, Joel, please” you weakly demand, lassoing your arms around his neck and holding him close to you. 

“No.” He says through gritted teeth. “Just-” he pauses and takes a deep breath, knowing that you’re dealing with a million emotions right now as he’s trying to breathe around the death grip you have on his cock. “Just wait a minute, sweetheart, let yourself adjust.” 

A pouty, bratty sigh leaves your lips as you continue to blink away tears. You eventually nod and he only smiles adoringly as he returns to kiss at the tears.

Your senses are spiked. You can smell his cologne, feel each gristle of hair from his salt and pepper beard. It’s erotic how much more you can feel while at the edge of your emotions. 

One of your hands roams into his darling chocolate curls, instinctually going to gently scrape your nails delicately against his scalp. You’re sweetly surprised to hear him mutter a sweet little moan just for you against the shell of your ear. 

Your hands flutter across dark tattoos on his shoulders and arms, your blurry vision trying to make out the shapes as you trace a pretty angel on his upper bicep. 

Joel Miller was inside of you. Joel Miller has taken your virginity. The hottest man you’ve ever set your eyes on is fucking you at his place of work, on his desk. And you convinced him to. 

Joel was right. The pain, ache, and burn slowly turned into a real yearning for him to move. It felt like what was right, a certain neediness to be filled and fucked.  

“Daddy,” you whisper more sweetly this time, more to your character. “Please fuck me, you feel good now, I can take it. Promise.” 

It takes him a moment to gather himself as well, smiling sweetly as he keeps his mouth by your breasts where he is sucking a gentle hickey into your soft skin. Color flushes to the area, feeling his teeth gently nibble on the spot before he finally lifts off. 

Marking you, you think. It makes another gush of arousal flood your core, liquifying your spine as you become putty in his hands. 

His mouth twitches in a small smile as he captures your lips. Unbeknownst to you, the sweet kiss was just a distraction. 

Joel slowly began reeling his hips back which was a whole new sensation. His strangled moan harmonized with the gasp you let out into his mouth, moaning out the breath you were holding as he plunges himself fully back inside your warm cunt. 

You whimpered weakly, needy and anxiously happy, you wanted more. More, more, more. 

“Oh- my god,” you whimper, feeling him start a steady rhythm inside of you. Your jaw slowly drops and your eyes flutter closed, feeling your tits start to lightly bounce every time his hips perfectly align with your own. 

“So goddamn tight, still,” he grunts each word, forehead against yours as he watches your face unfold with a million reactions. 

Something primal switches in Joel, knowing he’s the first one to do this sort of stuff with you. 

It’s strangely possessive and arrogant, he knows it, but being the first man you trust to fuck you properly was feeding his ego. You’re a beautiful young woman with big doe eyes who waltzed into his shop and insisted he rail you, take your sacred first, talk you through it, and carry you through this dark and fearful forest. 

You trusted him. He wouldn’t break that bond. 

You came here wanting something, knowing how to get it. You came here asking, and Joel was open to teaching. The last thing he wanted was for some asshole to hurt you, something your sweet nature couldn’t afford was poison. 

Maybe he could teach you more, if you wanted. If he offered you an invitation to his world, would you take it? He only shared a slice of his lifestyle with you today, would the rest scare you, or entice you? 

Joel can’t help the way his hips buck faster at his thoughts, a little sob leaving your lips. He’s absent, just for a moment, feeling your skin slap against his as he holds you down and fills you fully. His tip hits your cervix for the first time and heat floods your stomach as you cry out his name. 

“Shit,” he panics and quickly comes back to his senses, wide eyes meeting your bleary ones, “you okay, angel? M’sorry” Joel whispers, returning to his original rhythm. 

“Yes-yes, fuck, please keep going, keep doing that, I can’t believe how good it feels.” 

Joel weakly smirks, proud to see you taking him so well.

The desk squeaks and juts with each of his heavy thrusts, that’s how you know it’s fucking good. You came here wanting to lose your virginity, but now that you’ve unwound Joel Miller, you want him to fucking rail you. 

Licking your lips, you lean up and pepper kisses up his wirey jawline, feeling the patch of hair that fades out and then back in again. He’s so sweet right now, but you wonder what he was talking about before. What was he when he wasn’t gentle? How good would rough feel? Would you like it? Maybe you could learn, explore, adventure. Surely Joel with his experience could be a guiding light. 

You watch with glittery eyes as Joel pulls his head off yours and licks across the pads of his fingers. 

“What are you- shit,” you whimper as his fingers start circling your clit, taking a moment to find your sweet little rhythm, one that somehow matches his hips. Now, your skin is slapping and it’s echoing around the room. Your moans are louder and uncontrollable, as are Joel’s. Your hips ache but you don’t find the will to care, he feels like fucking heaven. 

His cock is somehow inching deeper, as if your walls have decided to invite him in further, where he hits this perfect little spot inside of you that makes you squeak Joel’s name with robbed breaths. 

You’re not sure if you can hold on much longer, your stomach starts to swirl as all the knots inside your belly begin to untie themselves. 

You brace Joel at his shoulders and look into his eyes as you moan his name. A certain hunger flickers behind his dark brown orbs. His jaw clicks and he starts fucking you in earnest, filling you up each time as his hips snap with vigor. He feels fucking amazing, piercing your walls and marking you as his. 

“Joel-”

“Say what I wanna hear, baby,” he rasps. You quickly nod and gulp. 

“Daddy, please, I-I’m so close,” you moan sweetly as your head digs into the desk, jutting your chin up and arching your back. Joel takes full advantage of your breasts in his face, burying his nose in between them and nipping at the sensitive flesh, nearly making you yelp. 

“M’right there with you, angel baby, come for me,” he insists breathlessly.

His hips were losing their precision, going buck-wild, so you knew he was close. But he was holding out for you. 

You clench your eyes closed, feeling yourself lose all control. Your heart races in your chest, beat thrumming in your throat as you hold Joel against your front as his hips continue to snap and fill you. You don’t know what to do with your mouth, so you feverishly land your lips on his and make him mask the moans of your orgasm. 

Joel’s groan echoes loudly into your mouth as you gasp against his lips. Your walls clench eagerly around his cock as he spills into the condom. 

It’s blinding, deafening even. Your face goes slack and your eyes see stars. You think you might be shedding a tear or two because Joel is cupping your face kindly, thumbs swiping under your eyes as he encourages you out of your haze. 

“Lemme see those eyes, pretty girl,” he pants sweetly, watching for any sign of doubt. But he wouldn’t find any. 

You’re not so sure where he starts and you begin, your mind is so fuzzy. 

A soft hum leaves your lips as you soothingly run a hand through his dark hair again, gently stroking the longer curls away from the sheen on his forehead. Both of you were so warm, it felt like a fire was set between you two. When you curl a strand around your finger, you weakly smile as it coils back up and bounces. 

“How was your first time, angel?” Joel pants, still buried balls deep inside of you. Your hips ache, but part of you wasn’t ready for him to pull out yet. 

“I can’t believe I finished twice.” You admit with a shy smile, running a thumb up his cheekbone and glancing up at his eyebrow piercing. He notices you staring but keeps his eyes on your own.  

“Did it hurt?”

He shakes his head. 

“What about the one in your nose?”

He shakes his head again, this time with a smile. 

“Or your tongue?” 

This one made him ponder before he finally gave a light shrug. 

“You don’t remember the pain after a while. Just like tattoos. The pain is temporary.” 

Your mouth tilts in a lopsided smile, feeling messy with both of your spillages still puddled around your centers. 

Joel grunts as he slowly stands up from his bent-over position on the desk, pulling himself out of you and tying up the condom before he tosses it into the waste bin. 

You whine quietly to yourself as you close your legs. It hurts a little more now. Your hips and your core, a certain soreness. Or maybe it was missing him already. 

“Oh,” you whisper, starting to feel a little bit of leakage glide down your thigh. “Joe, do you-” 

“Course,” Joel says assuringly, hands already on a towel as he neals down and gently glides the material up the inside of your thigh. You bite down on your lip as he cleans you up with the soft towel and a little bit of water. 

You glance around the sterilized room and realize he’ll probably have to scrub this place down for the most part. Whoops. 

You’re slow to dress. Joel’s already buttoned his pants by the time you find your panties. He snickers quietly and helps you dress with a smirk. 

It’s not awkward like you feared it would. It sort of felt like you guys were friends. Then, something sort of unexpected happens. 

Joel fondly strokes a hair out of your face, pushing it behind your ear and smoothing out the little knots he had caused while fisting your hair during his blowjob. He’s soft and gentle with you. It makes you oh so curious what he looks like when he’s not soft and gentle. 

You sigh softly as you look at yourself in the mirror. You sort of felt proud, like you’d be a whole new person leaving the shop today. Even without a tattoo. 

“Joel, I don’t want anyone to see me leaving your office.” 

“That ashamed of me, huh?” He scoffs at you playfully, running his hand up and down his chest hair before he finally throws on his shirt. “I have the back office, so we can just go out that door.” He juts up his chin to behind you and you follow his eyeline. “Goes to the alley behind the shop.” 

You note the dark green painted exit door, and you’re thankful you don’t have to parade through the front of the shop or go past any other clients. 

The gentleman that he is, Joel walks you to your car as dusk settles in, marking the sky an orange and red horizon.  

“I gotta clean up the shop and close. You gonna be okay until I see you next?”

You nod meekly, a sweet smile on your face that twinges with a little shyness. “I’ll be okay. I still need that tattoo.” You tease to which he grins. 

“You do. I’ve worked real hard on it, so you better come back an’get it.” 

You nip at your lower lip as he stays guarded by your window, like a handsome pierced, and tatted bodyguard. 

It’s itching at you too much to let it go. You’re just too curious. “M’not this gentle.” 

“Yeah? Maybe you can show me next time what you’re really like.” 

“Not sure if you can handle it, kitten.” 

You gulp and clutch his hand before he fully stands up to walk away from your car. “You’ll show me again sometime? Like you said?”

Your eyes glimmer with a certain hopefulness, but his own seem to harden out of caution. 

It was just insane that he knew so much more than you. You wanted to unlock all forms of pleasure you were comfortable with. You like that he was holding something back. 

You were wet clay in his massive hands, he could mold you to his liking. You could learn his pleasures, his kinks, what unravels him beyond repair. You could learn a thing or two about yourself in the process. 

Joel sighs. 

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.” He warns, lips crooked in a snarl. His eyes beg for you not to want him, not to want this. 

But nothing set your nerves on fire like seeing him in control of you, just that brief second where his eyes flashed from amber to black and he fucked you like nothing or no one was stopping him. What if you gave it all up to him? 

Submissiveness dances behind your eyes, and Joel’s a sucker for that sweet look on your face. He debates if this is what you really want, or if it’s something else. He can’t deny he enjoys the trust you put in him. 

Joel quietly sighs with hesitation, eyes the way your small hand desperately holds his before he finally squeezes back. 

“You don’t know how t’take no for an answer, do ya?” He asks, a small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. “That’ll have to change.” 

You grin and nod, biting down on your lower lip as you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Joel takes notice, not wanting to see you in any sort of discomfort, especially from something he caused. 

“Take some pain medicine and relax tonight, angel. You were perfect.” 

Your heart swells at the compliment, the appreciation, the care. He gently pats your window a few times before standing up straight and backing up from your car, moving back towards the dark green exit door. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Driving away, you’re giddy with excitement of the unknown. It was a dark path you wanted to pursue. And maybe it was fucking stupid how you could trust a complete stranger like this, how none of your past partners felt worthy of your first time, but the tattooed and pierced old southern gentleman did. It was fucked. But you were sort of fucked for Joel Miller. 

You hum to the radio as you experience pure adrenaline, thumb gliding over the raised numbers on his business card. You glance down and notice a small stamp of a fern in the top right corner, adjacent to his name and professional title. 

The Obsidian Gallery 

Joel Miller

Senior Tatoo Artist

You can’t explain how your heart inadvertently races as you remember flashes of his hips rutting into yours, those same delicate fern leaves decorating the front of his hips. You were so fucked for Joel Miller. 

next chapter ->

[cameronsbabydoll]

I’m not sure if it’s still going but I’m a literal SUCKER for your bimbo!reader fics w/ the pogues… like the way you write is so so gorgeous, anyways i was wondering if you could do a piece, I don’t mind the plot really but basically bimbo!reader and jj smut!!! It’s so okay if not but you write so well and I’m so obsessed w their dynamic… okay im rambling now

thank you lovie ◞૮꒰ ˶> ༝ <˶꒱ა


trouble in sparkles

jj maybank x bimbo!reader

warnings: smut, suggestive language, possessive behavior, mdni 18+

the sun was dipping low, painting the beach in shades of pink and gold, and you were totally feeling the vibe. your sparkly pink bikini was, like, so cute, and the way the tiny straps tied around your neck made you feel like a total princess. you twirled a strand of hair around your finger, glossed lips popping as you chewed on some strawberry gum, scanning the bonfire party for him. jj. the guy who made your heart do that dumb little flippy thing every time he smirked at you.

“there’s my girl,” came that low, teasing drawl, and you spun around, nearly dropping your glittery phone case. jj was leaning against a palm tree, all messy blond hair and that stupidly hot cutoff tank that showed off his arms. his blue eyes raked over you, lingering on the way your bikini hugged your curves, and you felt that familiar heat creep up your cheeks.

“jj!” you squealed, bouncing over to him, your heels sinking into the sand. “i was, like, totally looking for you! this party’s fun, but it’s, um, way better now.” you tilted your head, batting your lashes, and he chuckled, stepping closer. his hand brushed your waist, fingers grazing the bare skin just above your bikini bottom, and you shivered.

“better now, huh?” he murmured, voice all low and raspy, the kind that made your brain go fuzzy. “you lookin’ like a whole damn snack out here, princess. makin’ it real hard to behave.” his thumb traced a slow circle on your hip, and you giggled, pressing yourself closer, your hands sliding up his chest.

“behave? since when do you do that?” you teased, popping your gum and giving him your best pout. “i wore this just for you, y’know. thought you’d like the sparkles.” you did a little shimmy, and his grip tightened, eyes darkening.

“fuck, you’re trouble,” he muttered, pulling you toward the edge of the party, where the music faded and the waves crashed softly. before you could say anything, he backed you against a dune, one hand cupping your jaw, the other sliding down to hook your thigh around his waist. “you got no idea what you do to me, do you?”

your breath hitched, and you blinked up at him, all wide-eyed and fluttery. “mmm, maybe you should, like, show me?” you whispered, lips brushing his as you spoke. that was all it took. his mouth crashed into yours, hot and hungry, tasting like saltwater and the beer he’d been sipping. you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair, your body arching into him as he kissed you like he was starving.

his hand slipped under your bikini top, calloused fingers teasing just enough to make you gasp, and he grinned against your lips. “so fuckin’ pretty when you make those noises,” he mumbled, nipping at your bottom lip. you were a mess, all giggles and moans, your gloss probably smeared, but you didn’t care. jj’s hands were everywhere, and the way he was pressing himself against you had your head spinning.

“jj, you’re gonna, like, ruin my makeup,” you pouted, even as you pulled him closer, legs wrapping around him. he groaned, lifting you effortlessly, pinning you against the dune as his lips trailed down your neck, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.

“good,” he growled, smirking. “want everyone to know you’re mine, baby.” and with the way he was touching you, the party fading into nothing but background noise, you were pretty sure you’d let him do just about anything.

[eddiazx]

axe me out, already - eddie diaz x reader

Based on this request: Can we get some pre-relationship jealous Eddie? His feelings are obvious but he still hasn't made a move. The team is all hanging out somewhere and reader is being hit on and poor Eddie is glaring daggers at the guy who had the nerve to chat her up XD. The 118 tease him and tell him to just go tell her how he feels.Reader was aware of his feelings and was giving him some time. She's noticed his behavior though and decided she's done waiting, so she goes back over to where everyone is and plants a kiss on him and tells him to stop pouting and take her on a date already

"Really, Cap? Axe throwing?" Chim asks, popping his gum as the entire 118 observes the activity room on a random Friday night.

"What? I thought it would be a good team building exercise." Bobby grins.

"Bobby, we deal with axes practically every day." Hen laughs, but picks up the tool anyways, feeling the weight of it in her hands.

Buck and Ravi already starts throwing them, bickering about each other's techniques. Eddie however, is fixated on you. Specifically, you and the worker of the place, who had been standing a little too close to you, showing you the proper way to stand and throw the axe. You currently had your head tipped back, laughing at whatever the man was saying. Eddie sees red as the man places his hands on your waist, urging you to face the target with your non-dominant foot forward.

"You're glaring." Bobby chuckles at Eddie, amused.

"What? No I'm not." Eddie covers up unconvincingly.

"You were glaring." Chim and Hen chime in.

"Why do I hang out with you guys?" Eddie bemoans.

"We're the only people that tolerate your lovesick pining." Chim answers automatically.

Eddie shoots Chim a look, but he doesn't refute it. Eddie has had feelings for you for so long, but he has yet to muster up the courage to ask you out. He's scared of things being different at work; scared of screwing up the group dynamic. Watching people flirt with you might be scarier though.

Eddie goes into his own lane, picks up an axe and throws it. He watches as it hits the bulls-eye, and he can't even conjure up any excitement because of the jealousy invading his thoughts. Before he retrieves the axe, he hears your low whistle from behind him.

"Damn, Diaz." You congratulate him, smirk present on your face.

Eddie laughs, the tips of his ears flushing pink at your appraisal. "I'm sure you're no slouch. I saw Clay over there teach you some tricks."

"His name is Trey." You correct, giggling.

"Whatever." Eddie grumbles, turning back towards the target. Before he could get away from you, he feels you tug on his arm to make him face you.

He isn't given time to react before he can feel lips on his.

You're... kissing him?

Eddie doesn't hear anything other than your satisfied hum, and the sound of his own heart beat in his ears. He recovers relatively quickly, tilting his face sideways and holding onto the sides of your head to deepen the kiss.

When the two of you eventually pull away, you laugh at Eddie's dazed expression. "By the way, I'm not Trey's type - you are. Next time, just ask me out instead of moping around in envy."

"...Noted."

[mimipolo]

Can u write headcanons for the sakamoto days characters as the animes coming out on Saturday. For ur bestie friendie 😆😆

Sakamoto days x reader headcanons

Yes I will, happy birthday to you. You should be ecstatic rn.

Is the Sakamoto days fandom alive on here??? Hope so.

Shin

He's really obvious about the fact he like you, like reallyyy obvious

Puts extra effort into every little action he does so you think he's cool(he's really not),if you two met in the JCC he'd make sure his entire routine for group assassination missions is basically flawless.

Can't help being curious about what you thought and tunes into your thoughts and has to pretend his face isn't growing hotter by the second as he walks back in line, your inner thoughts of admiration replaying in his head.

Has at least one person(Mr Sakamoto) who he talks to endlessly about you, if he was still an assassin he'd have found it unbearable but now he sits blissfully with a ramen cup in hand as Shin talks away, when his mind wanders to young love and then eventually his wife, Shin snaps at him to pay attention.

Knows a lot about you (most without you knowing but sh), sometimes he just comes up to you and reminds you of something you're about to forget or a question too niche for him to ask and you're like "huh?" and he just blinks at you before going "huh-?"

Takes a deep breath and does that silly shake thing guys do when they're about to run when he's determined to talk to you, ends up folding anyway because he's geeked you asked to eat with him today.

Does the absolute most to keep you out of danger, at the JCC and at the shop, enemies seem to be popping up from anywhere now he and Sakamoto had dropped from the ranks and he didn't want you wrapped up in that.

Cannot flirt, he cannot and it's so embarassing, it's sweet when he tries though, the moment he sees you trying to hold your laugh he just gives up and holds his flushed face as you double over laughing. At least you said he was cute(internally.)

I can imagine you two in his or your room on a hot day, the windows wide open and the fan is blasting in your faces as you split twin popsicles, he thinks you look beautiful even as you sweat profusely and fan your face with your hand.

Nagumo

So annoying, to the point it's almost driving you mad, makes every excuse under the sun to come see you, be it day or night. People often ask how you deal with his unprecedented visits and you can only drag out a sigh and shrug.

Terrible gift giver but it's clear he tries, hands you a beaten up rubber duck and looks at you expectantly when you're not immediately ecstatic (cause what??). He'll explain like some expertise in the science of you that he saw you cooing and feeding ducks one day in the summer five years ago. You look down at the small colourful bird and decide it's actually quite cute, it can go in your random trinket box.

Naturally touchy guy, an arm around your shoulder is not a rare thing but one thing he does get nervous about is holding your hand. Yes he could hold you against his chest for ages as you read out something to him but the idea of holding your has his head in his hands as he squats on the floor.

Would love it if you liked his stupid jokes but would love it even more if you made it your goal to absolutely despite them. He finds the dynamic quite funny. Actively enjoys seeing the way your face crumples up when he cracks a joke at the absolute worst time, something dumb about grannies as the both of you are still panting and painted in blood in a care home of all places.

Not that jealous or possessive but will feel left out when he notices you're hanging out with someone a bit more than him. Will insert himself between you and this new person, mostly unaware he's acting on self preservation to keep himself in your sights.

Shishiba

He's so calm and collected all the time, the concept of him liking someone and that person possibly being you had never crossed your mind and it probably never will.

He likes to praise your work ethic a lot, "Looks good." , "You cleaned them up yourself?" You just nod back with a smile and he's convinced he made the boldest move in the books.

Would want to make absolute certain you like him before saying anything life threateningly risky. Pretty traditional with it, asks you out to eat after work and lets you choose the place. Insists he pays because he earns more than you but he just wanted to treat you. Has a list on his phone of the places you two enjoyed the most and pins them on Maps in case you want to go again.

The type to stare daggers into you while you're busy talking to someone else, when you're done talking he's still looking your way and waits for you to acknowledge him. Sometimes he announces himself, sometimes he'll just walk up beside you and hands your new assignment over which honestly startles you at times.

Wish he could've met you under different circumstances, wherever you're in his line of work or not. He'll never be truly satisfied with the way things are, constantly weighing the options.

For now he's enjoying watching you enjoy your favourite snacks and his heart warms when you offer him a generous bite.

Kashimo

Doesn't know what he's feeling towards you, the only thing he knew was his loyalty to Slur and you were gradually changing that one situation at a time.

It started when you'd apply ointments to where his body disconnected even though he was literally designed to be able to be broken and put back together with no effort. But you put in that effort, insisting he should let you and it'd be beneficial in the long wrong, he liked to believe you.

Often shows up to your cubicle at work just to say good morning then walk away, not even waiting for you to respond. You find it oddly charming and he just likes hearing your giggle as he leaves the office.

He believes you're also one of those people whose never done anything worth damning in their entire life. You're so kind and considerate of him he couldn't even fathom you doing anything wrong. Sometimes he hopes he's still capable of dying just so it could be alongside you, doesn't understand what that means fully though, it's just an ideal.

Likes it when you hold his arm, patting it slightly as you give some feedback on the latest mission. Doesn't understand the point in it but is far from complaining, he enjoys your attention and doting words.

Doesn't like to hold delicate things, like cats he really likes them but has a lingering fear he'd accidentally hurt the small thing. Instead he likes watching you hold these fragile things, pointing to them and you pick them up with a questioning look on your face, he makes a motion for you to scratch it's ears, he's pleased when you do.

(Y'all know like those slime stimboard monkey vids💀💀)

He considers you to also be delicate, so you'll never catch him making a move to touch you even though sometimes his bones ache to, he's fine with the brief touches you give him he couldn't ask for anything more.

Heisuke

He's also helplessly down bad for you, instead he tries his best to be helpful to you but you always seem to one up him in that area, especially when you let him crash at your place. Like a true angel.

Doesn't bother with pickup lines he's tried them out and they're not really his thing but sometimes he says something so heartmoving you pause all together. When he notices your reaction he's completely oblivious he's successfully shot his shot, "Pfft look at ya face."

Piisuke loves you because he does, it's like their brains are interlinked. The bird will catch small sight of you and immediately rush over to perch itself on your shoulder and snuggle its beak into your cheek, it hurts but how could you say no. Heisuke already knows that whenever his small partner did this you were likely around, so he's walking up to you bashfully and taking Piisuke back (he's secretly setting the two of you up.)

Showers you with compliments and praise likes it's nothing, words of affirmation is definitely one of his top love languages on hopefully getting you to like him back. But the moment you reciprocate, admiring his terrifyingly precise sniping skill he's so flushed and hot and fumbling his words he just has to slap a hand over his mouth. Needs a minute before he's chucking softly, his hands smoothly over the rough build of the artillery as he thanks you.

The forgetful sort but not when it comes to you, suddenly he remembers everything. Sometimes he comes to you to say something he needs to remember because it's so much easier when it's your face and voice he remembers reprimanding him.

Dreams of a soft domestic life with you, maybe, if you like, a kid or two to complete the picture and of course the family pet as Piisuke. Grins stupidly to himself at the idea of how he'd propose to you (you're not even together yet.)