#The first interaction and she's already got a big one to bring to the table

[sercphs]

@grislyintentions sc - freminet

⠀⠀⠀⠀The gentle clinking of a spoon against the edge of her teacup, her gaze fixed on the amber liquid within the vessel. The approach of the child is not openly acknowledged, but it is entirely expected. She had, of course, been responsible for summoning him.

"Freminet. Take a seat."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Simple, and to the point.

[girlfromflor]

previous | part 3 (final) | pack!141 x omega!reader, who has a backstory with simon.

their first attempt at trying to make you and ghost get along wasn’t quite successful as they hoped it would be, but slowly they manage to make you and simon share spaces more often – like the living room, or even hanging out in johnny's room without complaining – and have some quality time together. you’d exchange small words and only when necessary, but that was already a big win. it got easier and easier to plan something bigger. it wasn't until a whole month of their not-so-subtle attempts that things finally felt right  – more than they ever expected it. john listened and watched his boys with all the care and attention in the world and decided to take matters into his hands, like the pack alpha he has always been. he decided to make a proper dinner night with everyone included, a way to have the moment all of you have been needing to reassure the new dynamics that have been settling within the pack, but also make it a way for you to properly talk with ghost for the first time. you’ve been living with them for a few months now, how could you not spend much time as a pack? – he knew you weren’t exactly a pack yet, but he’d make sure that didn’t last long. 

so, that’s how you found yourself sitting between kyle and johnny. they work well in keeping you entertained as john goes to simon’s room to call him so you can all eat together. john had cooked with your help whilst you all engaged in light talking about your lives – or rather, theirs. ghost would pass by once in a while, not wanting to be the “killjoy” in the room. you’d always be polite towards him, quietly bringing him as a subject within the conversation or even directly addressing him – which he answered with a three word sentence and a shrug, most of the time. once john is back he settles on the other side of the table, sitting across from you and the betas, and ghost takes his side. the dinner goes by smoothly, you and the alpha who seems to despise you less and less often used having a mouth full as an excuse to remain in silence, but neither of the others seemed to mind.

it was the very first time you all felt like things were in their rightful place, and that started to happen more and more frequently. simon would ask things about you – he even started to ask about you to the boys like “where’s she at?” or “what’s she doing?” – and you would do small things, like when you were making tea for everyone and ghost’s was particularly stronger because he said once that that’s how he’d take his tea. little exchanges of words turned into full conversations, the cold – hesitant – interactions turned into genuine smiles from you and playful remarks from him. you started to make it more clear that you saw him truly for the person that he was showing himself to be, and not only for his callsign and skull mask. and then, in one random ass day, you find out – or, more specifically, he tells you – what his name is. you all but cry right as the words slip through his mask-covered lips. 

“are you… are you serious?” is all you can speak, the words coming out weird like they’re not even your own. the tone in your voice is so serious he thinks it wouldn’t be a great idea to make a lame joke to lighten the mood – like he grew used to, getting back a bit to being the careless teenager he once was.

“yeah… why?” he answers, dark brown eyes trying to take in what you’re expressing through your features because he can’t smell anything from you – something he started to hate, he thinks to himself.

“uh… just, something i told kyle once–” you cut yourself, feeling emotional. great,  now not only you’d think about your lost friend when you’d stare into ghost’s eyes, you’d have to call him by your friend’s name too. you quickly realize that it’d be less painful to call him ‘ghost’, but you also thought that maybe you could play pretend sometimes, giving in to the longing that plagues your mind from the friendship you never got to have closure from.

simon only hums, showing that he’s understanding even though he’s not sure what he should think about it. so instead of wondering and feeding unlikely possibilities in his mind – overthinking, but he will never admit it – he goes to kyle. on the very same day he finds himself knocking on the beta’s door, after ensuring that you were cuddling johnny on the couch.

“come in,” kyle calls from inside. as simon steps inside he can see kyle moving on his bed to sit up. “oh, si…” he says, sounding a bit too surprised before questioning, “what do you need?”

“just… i told my name to her today…” he starts without much ceremony, watching as kyle shifts in his position almost as if he's physically uncomfortable. interesting, he thinks.

“did you, now? what’d she say?” he asks, trying not to seem so worried. he was afraid you had fallen into anxiety’s arms like it usually happens when you have a nightmare.

“nothing, really… just looked at me like i was lying, even asked if i was serious.” he replies, honestly. he watches as kyle reaches to grab his hand, pulling him closer until they are sitting side by side on bed. “and then she mentioned you. so i thought maybe you knew something…”

kyle stays silent for a moment, thinking if telling simon would be something you’d be mad about. he brings their hands to his lap, brushing simon’s knuckles with his thumb in a tender manner before speaking, “she had a best friend in town when she was younger, and he was named simon…” he can smell the alpha’s discomfort, but he keeps talking. “she said that she was still a teenager when they saw each other for the last time. said he ran away.”

simon heart stops in his chest. the beta can see the sorrow that burns in his skin, so he projects his scent to try and calm him down. simon is as still as a stone – thinking what he thought was impossible –, but after a few minutes too long he manages to voice out his inner turmoil. “i… i don’t think i ever told you that, but i had a friend too, back where my parents left me when i was younger.” he glances at kyle, who is patiently listening, before he adds, “she was an omega, and i left her behind… that’s why i couldn’t bring myself near her, y’know?”

the younger man only nods, happy at the confession despite its heavy background. they sit there sharing soft caresses while kyle decides to make a confession of his own. “you don’t think it’s possible… that it is her?” he questions carefully, not wanting to overstep a boundary, but simon’s reply catches him off guard.

“yeah…” his voice is gentle, almost a whisper. “i mean, i’ve only thought about it after today... just don’t want to–” his voice cracks, but he clears his throat pushing the fear away. he shakes his head as he speaks, “i can’t be wrong, kyle.”

“we’ll get through this, si. all of us.” is his answer. he hugs simon’s shoulders and the alpha allows the warmth that spreads within him at the motion.

it takes exactly one day of researching your past for simon to make up his mind and decide that it is time to see this though. he had gathered enough information – things you’ve said to them along the months – to know that it was you. he waits until you’re in the couch with john and johnny, watching a weird tv show they seemed to share a deep interest in. he steps inside the living calling for kyle to join them, who comes from the kitchen a second later. he stands there looking at you and you sit up straighter on the couch. you don’t have time to question what’s wrong because – after getting elbowed by kyle – simon starts talking, very nervously so.

“so, uh… i– this is not a big of a deal,” he lies, but they all ignore it. you have your eyes focused on him. “just, god, i’ll just take my mask off and, uh– yeah…”

he’s so awkward you almost want to laugh, but you don’t because that seemed too mean of you. you watch very intently as he steps closer to the couch, not even realizing that john and johnny were standing up. simon’s hands reach for the hem of his balaclava, and suddenly you grow very nervous, curious and a bit apprehensive. i swear, you think, that if they look anything alike i’m gonna lose it. it was enough that the simons had the same eyes. you take in his slightly chapped lips, blond eyebrows and very blond hair. the long healed scars here and there adding a dangerous charm to his features. much to your dismay, you realize way too quickly that they do in fact look very much alike. so much so, that ghost seemed simply an older, scarred version of the boy you held so much fondness for – wait.

“oh my god,” comes your breathless voice. the words stumble out your lips before you can stop them. “simon…?” you say, uncertainty clouding your thoughts before you watch him nod in his own hesitation. you can’t deny it nor ignore the realization that washes over you, your scent masking drops completely as your hands come to your face. and that’s when it hits him, he can smell you. “simon…” it’s quiet for a moment. john watches the scene unfold from where he stands near the entrance to the living room, kyle and johnny moving to stand beside him as they eye you and simon. it made sense that simon wouldn’t have remembered you immediately, he spent way too many years trying to push away the memories of you – the memories of his mistake. but you? you tried to keep the same memories with all you could, because that was all you had.

and poor simon is so lost. he expects you to back away, to maybe even run and lock yourself away in your room out of pure disgust. or maybe you’d scream at him, intoxicate the room with the smell of your disappointment, wrath and sorrow. you could push him, slap him, punch him – whatever, any harmful reaction would’ve been welcome, because it was you. god, it was you, it had been all this time and he blindly avoided you like a plague. if you didn’t hate him enough before you must certainly do now – except, you don’t. nothing could’ve ever prepared simon for your reaction. he can see it happening but he doesn't acknowledge it until you're drowning in your tears. soft sobs and hiccups leave your lips as you bury your head in your palms. your shoulders shake like crazy and they’re all certain that you’re not breathing at all in between your silent crying. that is, until your eyes seek simon in the room and there’s not a single drop of distaste in them. not sadness, not anger, just pure adoration and bliss, the delightful sensation that he’s alive and he’s okay and he’s here. right now, in front of you – not in a nightmare, not in a dream. you move before you can think and when you realize you’re already on him, but all you do is rest your forehead to his chest, arms limp on your sides – like you always did when you were just two awkward teens trying to get through life.

“thank god,” you whisper and it’s just so broken, soft and gentle but so fucking filled with emotion that it drowns everyone in the room. john’s arms come to rest on each of his beta’s shoulders, johnny is already crying and kyle is blinking away the tears as they watch you and simon.

“bloody hell…” simon mumbles, his eyebrows furrowed and there’s a confused little pout on his lips. it’s the first time he gets to smell you without any restraint from you or him, and he lets himself drown in the moment – he allows himself to truly savor this, because he’s sure he’s about to wake up. “you’re alive…” he moves slowly as if to not startle you, right hand resting on your waist as the other finds its place on the back of your head. his nose brushes on your hair, taking in your scent but it did nothing to conceal his craving. so the hand on the back of your head dips to your nape, the very tip of his fingers come to brush down your neck with such tenderness that it leaves a trail of thrill tingling down your skin. you tilt your head slightly, giving him permission to continue and he is so very glad you did, because not even a second later he's sinking his head, nose finding your scent glands like he's a man starved – and you let him, fingers curling on the fabric of his shirt just enough to wrinkle it.

it takes a while for him to step away, his eyes teary and unfocused for a moment before he slowly drops to his knees for you to do the same. your hand leaves his shirt to find his shoulders, balancing your faltering weight on him as you sink your head towards him. you press your face on his scent glands and god, it just made so much sense now. he smells the same, just more mature and a bit aged – just like whiskey – and it has your eyelids fluttering close immediately. when you straighten up and look down at him, there's a new sense of fulfillment taking place in your heart. you reach for his arm, urging him to get up and as he complies, you turn to your boys – your sweet, patient men who had put so much effort into this.

you don't have to say anything. before you can let out a single word johnny is on you, arms hugging your waist as he pulls you to him. you giggle and let him have you for a second before your hand finds the back of his head. you guide him gently to your neck and you can hear the gasp that falls from lips as realization washes over him. he's not as gentle as simon – too eager to finally finally scent you – as his nostrils open to take in as much of your scent as he can. his head rubs on the skin of your shoulders and neck before he backs away and you roll your eyes at his antics. when you move to scent him, his head is already tilted to the side and his reddish eyes are closed, his breath hitches when your nose touches his skin, he couldn’t believe this was happening. his scent is familiar of course, but to be able to smell it directly from the font has you a bit dizzy in his arms.

kyle watches as you disentangle yourself from johnny’s grasp, your eyes find him instantly where he's standing with john, who you glance over right after. it's john who moves first, offering his hand to you which you gladly accept. you move until your back is lightly touching the alpha’s chest. kyle is right in front of you, eyes roaming your features and your hands find his chest, your nose pressing on his collarbone over his shirt and then on his jaw. once you press further to have better access to his skin he puts a hand on your hip. it stays there when he moves to take in your scent, grip tightening as he pushes past the lingering of johnny's scent to seek yours. he leaves a soft peck on your neck before moving you, the hand on your hip urging you to face john.

it's very fitting, really – the fact that simon had to be the first to scent you, while john would be the last. he lets kyle hold you by your hips, his own hands find your cheeks where he leaves a soft caress with his thumbs. then something changes a bit, he does the same thing johnny did, rubbing his face on the juncture of your shoulder and neck – his beard a bit more than just ticklish on your skin –, before his nose found the spot on your neck where your scent was strongest. he's clearly hesitant to let you go, so instead you pull him closer, projecting your scent so he'd feel surrounded by you – at the point, all of them would. you take advantage of the hug-like position to bury your face in his neck – your back pressed on kyle’s chest letting him know that he is a part of this moment just as much as you or john. you stay like that for a moment before you move away, and it reminds you of the very first night you spent in the flat, where you and john squeezed kyle between you two until sleep got the best of you.

when you look for johnny and simon, you find them sitting on the couch watching you. and as you savor your very first moment as a pack, you relish the fact that you wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the world – and neither would them.

a/n: was this rushed ya'll? i don't know, i have mixed feelings about it, let me know what you think. uptade | taglist: @camcvpidd @fruitymoonbeams-blog @throwing-up-butterflies @yearninglustfully @faggotinie @theo-the-danger-mouse

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter one, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, blood, meeting the mentors, tribute parade, not too much rafe and reader interaction YET but it’ll come sooner than you think.

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

you’ve been on trains before. nothing like this one.

this one is too smooth, too fast. you barely feel it move. the windows blur with tunnels and sleek, metallic walls outside, sometimes breaking into vast stretches of nothing but gray-blue light and darkness blinking like a heartbeat.

you sit alone in a chair that could probably buy someone a house. everything is red velvet and gold trim, like the whole train was stitched together from the capitol’s pocket change. it smells expensive, too, like citrus and fake flowers.

you’re still in your reaping dress. someone said they’d bring you new clothes soon. someone else took your measurements. you don’t remember who. your ears have been ringing since your name was called.

rafe’s across the room, stretched out on the other side of the glass table, one leg over the other like he’s posing for a photo. he hasn’t said much. his face is unreadable, blank, but not stupid, like he’s already memorizing escape routes. or maybe he’s memorizing the names of every other tribute so he can picture them all dead.

his jaw clenches when the train shifts again, barely noticeable unless you’re looking.

you are.

the tv flickers on in the far wall. someone’s playing back the reapings.

district 1’s girl looked dangerous. all eyes and confidence. her male counterpart practically flexed his way down the stage. typical.

2 is you and rafe. 3, 4, and so on.

none of them look particularly terrifying. not yet. they will, once they’re all cleaned up and shoved into costume and trained to kill. but right now most of them look like scared kids in too-big shoes. even the ones who try to smile.

you both just watch the reapings on the screen to fill the silence, but nothing sticks. no one looks that threatening. yet.

then the door hisses open. enobaria, one of the few living victors in two, steps in first. she’s tall, composed, her glossy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that looks too tight to be comfortable. she’s dressed sharp, tailored, like someone with nothing left to prove. and her teeth . . . they catch the light when she smiles. pointed. sharpened. but she doesn’t bare them unless she wants to.

she gives you both a once-over. “stand up,” she says. her voice is calm, but still firm. rafe stands first, slow but steady. you follow, legs stiff from sitting so long. your stomach turns with the train, or maybe it’s her.

behind her comes brutus. he’s massive, silent, and broad-shouldered like a living wall. he doesn’t bother with a greeting. just closes the door behind them and lets the quiet settle.

“so,” enobaria says, crossing her arms loosely. “you’re the ones we’re working with this year.”

brutus grunts. it might be agreement.

“you look the part,” she adds, tilting her head. “though i heard someone got a little messy getting here.”

her gaze slides to rafe. not judgmental, just amused. rafe shrugs, unbothered.

“he shoved me first.”

brutus narrows his eyes. “you still broke his nose.”

“he was weak,” rafe says. “he would’ve died in the first five minutes.”

you glance between them, curious how this will go.

enobaria lets out a short laugh. “well, he’s not wrong.”

brutus doesn’t laugh. but he doesn’t press, either. “next time, control the impulse,” he says. “you’re a tribute. not a brawler in the street.”

rafe gives the smallest nod, jaw tight.

enobaria moves closer, nodding toward the door. “come on. let’s talk where it matters.”

they lead you down the corridor to the next train car. it’s some strategy room, clearly. it’s darker, more utilitarian. the walls are lined with screens, a long table set in the center surrounded by deep leather chairs. maps of the arena’s past years flicker faintly, and files are stacked at brutus’s side.

you sit beside rafe. he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. you sit straighter, eyes flicking across the maps, learning. everything matters now.

“this is where we get to know what we’re working with,” brutus says, finally breaking the silence. “we’ll go over schedules soon. training days, interviews, assessments. but first—we need to know you.”

“what’d they teach you in the academy?” enobaria asks, sitting across from you. her eyes land on you first. “what’s your strength?”

you don’t hesitate. “blades. close-range combat. throwing knives too.”

“accuracy?” she asks.

you nod. “tight grouping. fast recovery. high hit rate.”

she lifts an eyebrow. “mental?”

you pause. then, “i don’t freeze, i think under pressure. i read people.”

“hm.” she taps her nails against the table once. satisfied.

“you?” brutus turns to rafe.

“hand-to-hand,” rafe says. “blunt weapons. axe, mace, staff. trained in a few chokeholds.”

brutus nods slightly. “pain tolerance?”

rafe’s mouth quirks at the edge. “pretty high.”

enobaria hums. “good. we can work with that.”

that makes brutus look at him a little longer. not smiling. but almost pleased. “you’ve got potential,” brutus says simply.

“both of you,” enobaria agrees. “we’ve seen enough tributes over the years to know who’s dead the second they get off the train. you two—”

“they might have a shot,” brutus finishes.

you glance at rafe. for the first time, he’s looking at you too.

“now,” brutus says, dragging a folder closer. “you’ll have three days in the training center before assessments. we need to talk presentation. strategy. we want sponsors watching you from day one.”

“confidence,” enobaria says, pointing at you. “you’ve got that, i can tell. play it up. don’t act like a victim. victors don’t come from people who want to be liked.”

you lean back a little, arms crossed.

“this year’s tributes look soft,” brutus says. “a few big ones from four and eleven, but no real killers. not yet.”

“that gives you an advantage,” enobaria says, gesturing lazily. “you walk into training like you’re already the ones to beat. let them know you’re district two. let them fear you.”

rafe leans forward slightly. “what about other strategy?” he asks. “like alliances?”

brutus smiles for the first time. it’s not kind. “you make them. you break them. that’s up to you.”

“but don’t expect loyalty,” enobaria adds. “only one of you walks out. remember that.”

her eyes slide to yours, thoughtful. “are you planning to be the one?”

you answer before you can think, “i don’t plan to die.”

brutus lets out a short, sharp laugh. it’s not mocking, it’s approval. “good. that’s the attitude.”

you feel your pulse steady a little. faster than it should be, but controlled.

you don’t know what’s coming exactly, but it’s war. and at least now, you know who’s on your side.

brutus stands then, massive and silent, nodding toward the door. “we’ll regroup before we reach the capitol.”

enobaria follows, pausing in the doorway.

“get some rest,” she says. “you’ve got a lot of blood to spill.”

you see the capitol from the train window as it pulls into the platform, and for a second, it feels like something’s crawling beneath your skin. there’s a quiet itch that tells you this is not your home. this is the center of the world that wants you dead, but dressed up pretty when it does it.

they lead you through long marble corridors, ceilings stretched so high it hurts your neck to look. peacekeepers flank every corner, faceless in their stark white armor. everything smells sterile and expensive.

you’re taken to the third floor. district 2’s floor. brutus tells you it’s yours now, until you’re dead or crowned.

your apartment is bigger than any home you’ve ever lived in. warm lighting, silver walls. there's fruit in glass bowls, too, and a view that wraps around the city like a threat.

but there’s no time to rest. your prep team is waiting.

they descend on you like insects, swarming with excitement and thin, practiced hands. you lose count of how many of them there are—two? three? one has pink hair styled in loops, another wears latex gloves and talks only in hums. they’re gentle, mostly. methodical.

they strip you down to nothing and pretend not to notice the bruises on your ribs, the dried blood under your nails, the way your lip is still swollen from the reaping.

you sit still through the scalding bath, the scrubbing, the waxing. they touch every part of you like you’re a project, like you’re not a person. they remove every piece of you that looks too human, like body hair, scars, dirt, blood, pride.

when they finish, you feel hollowed out. but also . . . polished. like a weapon pulled clean from the forge.

they leave, giggling, promising to return. and then the door clicks open again, and in walks your stylist.

her name is valis.

she’s tall, not much older than you, with skin like obsidian and eyes rimmed in silver liner that somehow makes her look even sharper. her hair is shaved close on one side, the rest pulled back into a thick braid wrapped in gold wire. she wears all black, all angles. she looks at you the way someone looks at a blueprint, deciding how best to make it a masterpiece.

she doesn’t smile.

instead, she steps closer, circles you once, and says only: “you’ll be unforgettable.”

you believe her.

valis doesn’t ask you many questions. she tells you how it’s going to be.

“district two is masonry, strength, legacy. they expect you to look like gladiators, yes, but that’s easy. what they won’t expect is how we make you divine. not just killers, but symbols.”

you’re fitted into a bodysuit made of something metallic and matte, like iron but soft to the touch. dark, gunmetal gray that catches the light and splits it. sculpted pieces of armor are fitted onto your shoulders, chest, arms. not bulky. sleek. molded to your frame like it belongs to you, like it was always yours, waiting.

etched into the armor are fine lines, maps of old battlegrounds, wars lost and won, mountains cracked open for stone. the designs shimmer faintly when you move.

your hair is pulled back, tight and regal. your face is left mostly bare, just sharp contouring, metallic powder across your cheekbones and down your collarbone.

valis places a final piece on you: a headpiece like a crown, low and fierce. a brutal, elegant circlet of dark steel or iron, shaped like a blooming crown with jagged upward spikes, mimicking both a rose’s thorns and the carved stonework of district two.

“you’re not just from district two,” she says, fastening it. “you are district two. they’ll see you and remember why they’ll root for you.”

when you step out of the prep room, you see rafe across the hall. he looks like he’s been carved out of stone.

his stylist’s clearly coordinated with valis. the look is sharp, sculptural. thick, slate-gray armor plates molded over a fitted black base layer, like cracked stone pulled from a mountainside and reforged around his body. there's silver powder dusted into the creases, like light catching between bricks. his shoulders are draped with some idiotic black cape lined with marble-patterned fabric that sways just slightly when he moves.

he looks less like a boy and more like a statue brought to life.

your lips twitch, and he notices, takes his time dragging his eyes from your war crown down to the laced boots hugging your calves.

“nice crown,” he says, like he’s trying not to smile. “very queen-of-the-quarry.”

you arch an eyebrow. “nice cape. looks like something they pulled off an old memorial statue.”

“i was going for intimidating,” he deadpans. “you know, before we get turned into national entertainment.”

“i think we’re already that.”

he glances at the armor shaped tight to your ribs. “yours actually fits,” he mutters. “mine’s like walking around in a coffin.”

you tilt your head. “that’s because mine was made for a victor.”

he gives you a look for that. flat, unreadable. but there’s a glint in his eye you’re starting to recognize.

the dry amusement. the you’re just as annoying as i am, and i hate that i like it kind of look.

“you look like a funeral,” you say, nodding at his costume.

“you look like the reason there is one.”

you pause, slow grin. he breaks first, just a small exhale, a breath of something close to laughter. it's sharp and quiet and it doesn't last. but it’s there.

and that’s the problem. you don’t want to laugh with him. you don’t want to see him like this. not when you're both dressed like weapons, walking toward your own slaughter. and yet, you like it. more than you should.

valis claps once behind you, sharp like a whip crack. “positions!”

you climb into the chariot first. rafe follows.

your mentors are waiting nearby. brutus doesn’t say anything for a long time. just looks at the two of you like he’s seeing a dream come to life.

then finally: “if you die dressed like this, it’ll be the most expensive mistake the capitol’s ever made.”

enobaria grins wide, fangs flashing. “you’ll burn them down,” she says. “and look beautiful doing it.”

district 1 steps out before you, draped in diamonds, glinting like fire. they’re tall. smug. perfect.

but when you and rafe mount your chariot and the horses start to move, you can feel it already. there’s this roar rising before you even reach the avenue.

the horses pull forward, muscles rippling beneath their sleek coats, hooves clacking steady against the marble-like ground. you’ve seen this parade before, sure, through a screen. but nothing prepares you for the real thing.

the crowd is massive. oceans of color and sound. glittering costumes, faces painted in horrifying beauty, hands reaching up, voices screaming for names they don’t even know yet. and you, you're on that screen now. you’re one of them. you’re the face they’ll remember.

and you’ll give them something worth remembering.

you stand tall, head high. your shoulders are pushed back, chin lifted like you were born to be here. and in a way . . . maybe you were, born to bleed in front of them, born to make it look good.

rafe doesn’t say a word beside you. you don’t need him to. he stands just as tall, just as cold. the two of you balance the chariot like matching statues—his side, your side. equal presence, equal pride. he doesn’t lean in, doesn’t try to whisper. he knows better. right now, this is a game of image, and you both know how to play.

you see district one’s chariot just ahead, gold and jewels and arrogance, but hear the pitch of the crowd shift when yours rolls out. louder. more excited. more curious because there’s a kind of danger to the two of you that can’t be replicated with glitter.

district two doesn’t come to entertain. you’re here to conquer.

your costume shifts when you move, metal and leather catching the overhead lights. your headpiece is heavy, it presses down on your skull like a threat. but you keep it there like it’s second nature.

when the chariot turns the corner and the path begins to narrow, your gaze lifts, and there he is.

president snow.

standing tall atop his ivory platform, hands folded neatly in front of him, white rose pinned to his chest like an omen. he watches like a god. and you hate the way your chest tightens just looking at him.

it’s not awe. not fear, exactly. just that reminder that no matter how tall you stand, he still sees you as small.

your eyes flick sideways. rafe’s jaw is tight. his brows pulled just slightly, just enough for you to see it. he feels it too. but he doesn’t waver. and neither do you.

you nod, just once. it’s not warm. it’s not for comfort. it’s strategy. we don’t falter. not here. not in front of him.

and then, you feel it.

the shift. the slip.

a slight release of pressure from your crown before it clatters, sharp and metallic, against the chariot floor. it bounces once, then rolls to the edge. off. gone.

you don’t move. rafe doesn’t either, his posture iron beside you.

you don’t even look down. not a twitch. the crowd hasn’t noticed, not really. the cheers are too loud, the cameras too high up. but you saw the way the district three tributes flinched behind you, their eyes darting to the fallen headpiece like it was the first drop of blood in the arena.

they’re worried for you. maybe even pitying.

you feel heat crawl up your neck. not from shame. from rage.

you hate when people assume they should be afraid for you. like you can’t handle the weight of a crown. or a mistake. or a punishment.

you meet their gaze over your shoulder, cold, sharp, unblinking. mind your business.

and then you turn back to face the capitol like nothing ever happened. spine straight. chin high. head bare, but proud. the spiked crown left behind like a piece of armor you never needed in the first place.

the parade ends in a slow blur of heat and noise.

hands reach for you and rafe immediately, belonging to security, staff, some faceless intern pulling you both down from the chariot with quick, trained motions. the horses are led off. the chariot’s rolled away.

you’re still standing tall, armor stiff, head bare, skin humming with leftover adrenaline when you’re guided toward the group already waiting near the edge of the staging area.

valis stands front and center, perfectly composed. she spots you both, gaze flitting briefly to the empty space where your crown once sat, but she doesn’t say it. not directly.

“i’m sure someone’s already picked it up,” valis offers instead, her voice light, easy, like she’s talking about a misplaced bracelet instead of a political symbol. “it’ll be returned to your suite. no need to worry.”

you don’t answer. just raise a brow, lips parting slightly in that resting expression of yours that always seems like a threat in disguise.

beside her, enobaria steps forward, more practical in her approach, arms crossed but face impressed.

“you stood like killers,” she says, nodding with approval. “not scared. not too smug. like you belong in the arena already. the way you claimed your space . . . people will remember that.”

you glance briefly at rafe, who looks equally unimpressed. good.

“i told you they’d pull it off,” valis adds, half to enobaria, half to herself. “i knew they would.”

their escort pipes in with a sudden clap of her jeweled hands. she’s tall, with pale pink skin painted in shimmery swirls, lashes curled up like petals, and an updo stacked so high it nearly brushes the overhead lights. her name is cassaline, and she literally sparkles when she talks.

“this is so thrilling,” cassaline squeals, already guiding you both toward the elevators with her arms open like she might actually try to hug one of you. “i cannot wait to show you your floor! i know you’ve already seen the dining room but your bedrooms are simply to die for! and i know you’ve had such a long day but—oh—it’ll be quick, i promise! just a little peek and then you can sleep like champions.”

you almost laugh. like champions.

rafe walks beside you, quiet, his shoulder bumping yours lightly as you’re led further into the hall.

you feel brutus’s presence more than you see it. he’s behind you both, a wall of silence. but something makes you glance over your shoulder. and you catch it.

he’s not looking at you. he’s watching something over your shoulder, just past your line of sight.

your eyes flick past him, slow and casual, until you spot them. there are clumps of tributes lingering in small groups. district four, five, six. stylists, prep teams, mentors. they're laughing, murmuring, adjusting costumes. but their eyes?

their eyes are on you. not just glancing, but watching. a few lower their heads quickly, whispering. a few don’t even try to hide it. like maybe they expected something out of district two. and maybe now they know they were right to.

you hold their gaze for just long enough to make them uncomfortable. good.

then you look back at brutus. and finally up at rafe, who meets your glance like he’s been expecting it. like he saw it all, too.

“get me out of this,” you mutter, your voice low, clipped, directed at valis without even turning her way. “i want to lay down.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth

[retireddaddyric]

BUONGIORNO

Synopsis: (y/n) is Daniel’s PR and they’ve always tried to keep things professional, with (y/n) always taking a step back before the inevitable could happen. But, it’s inevitable, and Daniel’s VERY sex starved.

Warnings: 18+, minors do not interact please. Sub/dom play, smut, sex, female and male orgasm, blindfolding.

Note: this is all fiction. English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance. Send comments or requests even in private, I love it!

“Buongiorno.” Daniel says too loud entering the breakfast room of the Silverstone hotel.

People from other teams turns their heads towards him and salute him back smiling.

They all love my clown. I don’t, not in the morning. But he’s still my clown.

I sip my cappuccino, hidden behind my sunglasses. It’s too early in the morning and by any means I am remotely ready to listen to him yap. He smiles and jokes with everyone, shakes hands and throws his head back laughing. The black Enchante hoodie falls behind him and he adjusts his hair.

He arrives at our table and doesn’t even say hi while he drops the phone, his key and a bag. I narrow my eyes watching him walk back to the coffee lady asking for an oat latte. She politely smiles at him and after saying goodmorning she tells him she will bring his latte to his table.

I watch him come back and after taking his phone he walks to the croissants area.

Is he ignoring me?

When he comes back with a plate of croissants his latte is already at his place. He sits and starts pouring a little sugar in his latte.

I clear my voice and he looks at me.

“Good morning.” I say sarcastically.

He keeps looking at me swirling the little spoon in his latte, a cold stare.

“Cat got your tongue?” I ask and sip my cappuccino.

He bites his croissant watching me.

“I thought you said you hated having to talk to me in the morning.” He says, mouth full.

“A good morning is enough.”

“You can go ask Lewis Hamilton for a good morning because I’ll never give you one again.”

I keep eye contact and he does the same, none of us breaking it first. I hold it, he holds it longer. I feel warmth spread under my belly but I keep my cool.

“And yet you insist for me to be your PR lady.”

“Because you’re good at your job. Only.”

I gasp wide eyed and take my sunglasses off.

“Put them back on, you’re so ugly in the morning.” He smirks and sips his latte looking me in the eyes with a challenging stare.

I grit my teeth and look at him sternly deciding to not answer.

“Cat got your tongue?” He whispers before biting his croissant once again.

I stand and collect my things. “I forgot my laptop in my room. I’ll see you later.”

He just nods. I walk past him, headed to my room.

As soon as I am in my room i nervously try to collect myself. Why does it bother me that he can avoid me or even say I look ugly in the morning? He’s just a smart mouth and a good body.

I take a deep breath and drink some water.

A knock at my door. I open it and there he is, handing me the bag he brought to breakfast with him.

I take it looking at him skeptically and look inside the bag.

“You knew I had it, why would you tell me you were coming to your room to grab it?”

My eyes go wide when I rememeber I leant it to him to upload his pictures from the camera since his laptop was having problems.

“Were you inviting me over?” He asks low.

“I wasn’t.” I say fast.

“I swear I can shut up. If you let me in.” He promises.

“You can?”

He smirks and pretend to zip his mouth. His shoulder hits mine while he enters the bedroom.

“If you talk you’re out.” I tell him.

I close the door and put the laptop on the desk. He looks around and wants to say something but he doesn’t. I suppress a laugh.

“Have you ever shutten up for more than ten seconds or this is a first?”

He smirks looking at me and sits at the armchair next the floor to ceiling window. The Silverstone sky so grey and cloudy and foggy you can barely see the track.

“Oh so you can shut up for real.” I say amused.

He puts his big hands on the arms of the seat and looks at me.

“What?” I ask walking to him. “You’ll lose, you know that.”

He shakes his head slowly, a smirk on his lips.

“You will.” I say laughing. I turn and open a drawer. I take out a black bikini bottom and laughing devilishly I whisper “hands behind your back Danny.”

He immediately complies smiling, already understanding. He puts his wrists together at his back and leans his upper body forward to give me access. I tie his hands.

He leans back smiling and looking up at me.

“You look cute as a submissive little boy.” I tease him.

He smirks but gives me a daring look. He doesn’t like to be called a little boy and I do it often. Just to piss him off.

“Or what? You wanna talk?” I say taking my shirt off. “You talk, you’re out, remember.”

He smiles and spreads his thighs while sitting, getting more comfortable, his eyes eating my lacy black bra. He briefly closes his eyes and then opens them again. He opens his mouth to talk and then closes it again.

I laugh. “Almost got you.”

He shakes his head smiling.

I take off my shoes and slide my panties down from under my skirt.

He licks his lips while i make my lacy thong spin around my finger walking toward him. I straddle his hips and smiling i hang my panties at his ear. I laugh.

“Like the clown you are.” I tease.

He laughs and leans to kiss me but I pull away. “Uh uh. You don’t make rules here.” I whisper admonishing him.

I put my hands at my back, on his knees and start grinding my bare pussy to the front of his jeans. I can feel him already getting hard.

“You keep dreaming about this, yeah?” I breath hotly looking at him.

His eyes zero on my tits and then back at my face, a low groan coming out from his lungs. He nods.

I nod. “I know. You wanna stick that in but I never let you.” I grind my hips more, he buckles his hips up searching more friction.

I put a hand on his chest “No, little boy. I do the work here.”

He looks at me exasperated and narrows his eyes. “Shhh. You’ll love where this is going.”

He leans back at the armchair and looks at me while I stand and start undoing his jeans. I pull them down with his boxers, his thick hard cock bouncing on his lower abdomen.

I smirk and look at him in the eyes. He smirks back and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Do you have a condom?” I whisper.

His eyes go wide. He didn’t think. It’s written all over his face he wasn’t preparared, that he thought I’d tell him no so he left it in his room god knows in what zip of his suitcase.

He opens his mouth and then closes it again squeezing his eyes shut. Pain all over his face. I laugh.

“Never mind. I have one.” I smirk. I grab it from the drawer and tear the packet spitting the little piece at his face.

His face is priceless, a smile as broad as the brooklin bridge, his breath accelerated. It’s christimas in his brain.

I kneel between his legs.

I roll the condom on his hard veiny cock while looking at him with sexy eyes. He looks at me like I am the best thing he’s ever seen his entire life.

I stand up and whisper “you want me Daniel?”

He nods eagerly.

I take my panties from his ear and straddle him. “Pity you find me *ugly in the morning*.”

He shakes his head opening his mouth looking at me apologetically.

“Because it’s only 9 am love.” I say looking at the clock. “Still morning, still ugly.” Then I smile at him devilishly and blindfold him with my panties.

He furrows his eyebrows and I slowly sink on the head of his cock, my pussy lips stretching around it.

He lets out a moan and says in panic “No, fucking take this bandage off me!”

“No.” I moan grabbing his shoulders and taking him balls deep. “Shut up.”

“Fuck, (y/n)! Don’t do this to me, i wanna see!” He breathes desperately, his cock twitching. “I waited for so long I thought this was never gonna happen come on, let me look.”

I smirk and roll my hips. “You said you wou-“

“No! You won! Okay you won! Please!” He moans leaning blindly towards my face.

I smirk and cup his face kissing him slowly, moving my hips up and down in a slow pace. “Ssh. Be a good little boy.”

“Fuck! You’re never ugly for fuck’s sake, I was just teasing!”

“Next time think twice before talking.” I whisper into his ear.

“You’re paying for this.” He groans and slowly moves his hips. “Fucking hell this is heaven and hell at the same time.” He says husky and breathy.

“The right place for little boys like you.” I smirk and when he thrusts up harder i throw my head back. His mouth licks my throat and nibs it. “Minx. I’m sending you to Hamilton after this.” He groans.

I laugh. “So I can ri-“

In an instant i am up in the air, an arm of his around my waist and I squeal. His free hand takes my panties off his eyes and he gives me a glare while he walks us to the bed “You’re not riding any other cock.” He finishes my sentence and lowers me at the edge of the bed. He grabs my hips and looks down at where his cock disappears inside my pussy.

“Ohhh.” He says dreamy. “You almost took this away from me.” He whispers breathlessly pulling out until just the tips stays in before slamming back him.

I arch my back and moan grabbing the bedsheets.

“Holy mac and cheese balls.” He mutters.

He starts fucking me with purpose, every hard thrusts he looks between my face and our joined bodies. “Gosh I don’t wanna even race anymore.” He moans. He takes his hoodie off with his t shirt and his chest is on fire. “I want to start a porn agency with just you and me in it.”

“You’re all red.” I whisper laughing a little breathless.

He leans down to kiss me, his tongue stroking mine in my mouth.

“You’re making my blood boil.” He whispers back using a hand to circle my throat. He stands again and starts saueezing my throat while he fucks my pussy so hard and deep. I moan, loud. His other hand shut my mouth while he looks at me in the eyes.

My eyes roll back and i bend my knees, closing them in reflex to my orgasm. I come hard, all around him. He keeps thrusting in, his pace relentless. Then his hands grab my knees and spreads them. He pulls out and throws the condom away, coming on my belly and spasming pussy. He moans watching in a trance as his thick white cum drops in messy lines on my pale skin. He then sits on the carpet at the foot of the bed catching his breath. I laugh sitting up and looking down at him.

“What?” I hask breathlessly smiling.

He looks up at me, speechless.

I smirk and wink.

“Cat got your tongue, little boy?”

He smirks up at me. “I think i forgot to say something this morning.”

“Did you?”

He smirks. Then jumps on me in a fraction of a second shouting “BUONGIORNO!”

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | Two | Bradley Bradshaw

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Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell. age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Bradley rents a bungalow about twenty minutes from base, towards the south of the San Diego bay. He explains, on the drive there, while she is hugging an overnight bag of her things, that he’s been renting it from this sweet old lady for the past four years — but he’s only been living in it for about three quarters of that time, with deployments.

He talks a lot. Shooting halfway amused looks across at him every now and again as he talks over his music, explaining his entire rental history, Avery just lets him go on and on.

Maybe he’s worried that the silence will give her room to start tearing up again, but she knows that won’t happen — it was already a rare occurrence, just the once. 

She lets him talk. He doesn’t seem to mind how much attention she’s paying either. Anything other than silence is fine, even if he’s the only one filling it.

The respite comes when he parks in the driveway, hops out, and proudly displays the home to her. It’s white all over and covered in plants, all up the driveway and over the porch. There’s a surfboard sitting on the porch, waxed up and looking ready to go.

Inside is masculine and simple, and spotless. It looks more lived in than Maverick’s place, but in an exceptionally organised way. 

Just past the front door, he has an organised entryway with a closet and one of those shoe racks that looks like an end table. 

Beyond that, his living area is all open plan. His kitchen is to the left right as you walk in, and the living room is the clear focus. He’s got a big grey sectional pointed at a big tv with a stack of video games beside it.

He doesn’t ask her to take her shoes off by the door, but she copies politely when he kicks his off. 

That leaves her, blue and white tube socks, toeing against the chewed up corner of the area rug while he busies himself with fixing the few things he deems to be out of place. 

Itching to keep moving, she prods at the fabric, examining the teeth marks, wondering where the dog must be.

“Oh— that was my ex-girlfriend’s dog. I’ve been meaning to buy a new rug.” He explains, furrowing his brows at the spot as he tosses a throw pillow down onto his soft looking grey couch. “Um — so, I do have a guest room, but it’s kind of a gym right now. You can just make yourself at home, and I’ll go get everything out of your way.”

“I can take the couch.”

“No, no, you deserve some privacy at least. I’ll just be a sec — I have sodas and beers in the fridge, glasses are in the cabinet to the right. Help yourself.” He’s a good host, and a better one than she had been yesterday, considering that Maverick’s place is now technically her own.

As he heads for the long, stretching hallway, she shoots a look back down at the mauled rug. With how spotless the rest of this place is, he must have really liked that girl to let her bring her dog here, and to let it chew up his stuff.

She wonders, aimlessly, if he was mad about it. If they argued. If they broke up long ago.

Avery hasn’t had too many relationships of her own. Some mediocre sex and a couple of couch-based movie dates here and there, nothing to write home about. 

She sits cautiously, sinking into the pillowy cushion of the couch, taking the time finally to really look around her. The space is bright, with big windows all around and a view of the bay. There’s a sun catcher dancing from the curtain rod, casting rainbows across his wooden floors.

Maybe his ex had bought that, too.

The bungalow is small, but it fits all of his belongings with an abundance of space left. Avery thinks back to her father’s place, always cluttered and spilling over with junk, treasure from his years of travels.

Maybe Bradley is a little bit less sentimental about keeping things.

He rattles around in the room at the end of the hall for a while, huffing occasionally. While waiting on the couch, she considers getting up and offering to help a few times, but ultimately convinces herself against it.

“Alright! Fresh sheets and some space to move, there’s still a bunch of stuff in there but I tried to get it out of your way.” He comes strolling back down the hallway and drops down onto the couch at her side, letting out a heavy sigh.

She screws her mouth up a little, looking across at him while he rests his eyes, long, dark eyelashes brushing his warm cheeks. His long legs, covered by worn denim, stretch out far enough that he has to bend them around his coffee table.

When one hand comes up to card through his mussed curls, she catches sight of the tattoo inked across the expanse of his bicep. LXXXVI. ‘86. She starts to think on it, letting him enjoy his moment of peace, when he shifts and startles her enough to drag her eyes away from his flexing arm.

“Thanks, for everything,” Avery manages to still sound a little cautious in her tone, even when she’s rushing to speak. “Staying last night, driving me around today, letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles without opening his eyes, reaching out and letting his hand pat skim across the seam of her jeans, patting at her knee platonically.

“Any time.” He breezes, cool. 

The first night is uneventful. Avery sleeps restlessly on the futon in Bradley’s spare bedroom, turned home gym. 

She pretends that she doesn’t see the numbers on the sides of the weights, and pretends also that she doesn’t give a little bit of her imagination to the way that tattoo must move when he lifts them.

When she wakes up, Bradley is gone and there is a note on the kitchen counter explaining that he went for a run. He was gone for two hours, trying to run far enough that the sick, hot, thudding feeling in his chest would stop.

Back at the house, Natasha stops by and spends the afternoon. She lets herself into the place with her key, which sits on her own keychain like she’s had it for a while. Watching a sitcom from the armchair while they sit beside each other on the couch, Avery notices that the two of them are very close.

She wonders if Natasha happens to have a dog.

Sleep doesn’t come any easier for either one of them the second night. When he finally catches sight of the red, flashing declaration on his alarm clock that it is now 2:01am, Bradley gives up.

He tries to be quiet as he’s getting up, careful not to wake Avery. They’re in much closer quarters in his place than they had been back at Maverick’s house, her door is right opposite his across the narrow hallway.

He pads down the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, tossing up whether he’s going to try to drink something warm and go back to bed, or if he’s just going to stay up. He can’t keep not sleeping.

He almost heads straight for the kitchen, freezing in his tracks as he finally takes note of the blue light coming from his living room, and the sound of women’s voices. It takes him a second, even though he’d been being so considerate on her behalf, to remember that he has a guest over.

“Ave?” He mumbles. 

The TV immediately falls silent. She winces from her spot on the couch, craning her neck to try to see him at the edge of the hallway.

“Just me. I’m sorry! Did I wake you?” She sounds worried. He’s still half asleep. 

He shakes his head as he steps out from the shadows and heads for his kitchen. “No, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I couldn’t sleep.”

He passes by pretty quickly, concealed behind the kitchen island in just a few steps. Still, she saw him. Illuminated only by the light of the television, wearing a tight pair of black boxer briefs and dog tags around a silver chain. Long, muscled legs and tapered hips. 

Sure, he was good looking before, and clearly fit — but she wasn’t expecting what had been under those slightly loose t-shirts.

Her mouth is dry as she mumbles out a soft, “Me either.”

“D’you want a tea?” He stands with her back to her now, reaching around in the darkness of his kitchen. She stares, unblinking, at his back.

“You drink tea?”

“Sometimes,” He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not weird.”

Her lips almost quirk, and she gives him a confirming shake of her head. “I didn’t say it was. Do you have green tea?”

He scoffs without looking. “Of course I have green tea.”

This whole lack of sleep thing isn’t new to him. It comes with the grief, but it’s there even when he feels like he isn’t grieving anymore. Since he was a kid, Bradley has had thoughts that keep him up at night, thoughts bad enough to stir him from peaceful, pleasant dreams.

He’s tried every tea in the catalog.

He carries the two mugs across the living room without once noticing the way he’s been stared at. He sets hers down on a cute little wicker coaster on his coffee table, walking past and dropping down onto the corner of the sectional.

His legs stretch out and he shifts and twists until he finds himself comfortable. “What’s this?”

She sets her gaze steadily on the television, her hands in her lap, wondering if he’s this brash with all of his house guests. With a swallow, she shrugs her shoulders. “Oh, it’s just this TV show about a columnist in New York in the nine—“

“Are you explaining Sex and the City to me?” Bradley sounds bewildered, his face stark as he stares at her across the couch. Avery’s lips tug at a smile, and she almost forget the nerves she’d been feeling.

Until, the light from the television catches on the silver of his dogtags. Her gaze drops, like a flicker, to his bare, toned chest — and she swiftly looks back to the television.

“You’ve seen it?” She asks softly.

He’s beyond good looking. He’d always been okay looking, he’d had a nice smile in all of those pictures she had seen. But now, the roundness of his cheeks is gone and he has grown into his nose, his lips are a shade of pink that would be a bestseller in cosmetics. 

Avery curses herself; she had been pretty successfully pretending not to notice that he had gotten good looking. Then, he comes strolling down that hallway and making her tea from his apparently extensive collection, having the nerve to sprawl across his own couch looking like that. 

Across from a girl who hasn’t seen any action in the better part of a year too. 

She almost scowls. 

“Every episode,” He answers gleefully. At first, she thinks of Natasha or that mysterious girlfriend with the badly behaved dog. Then, he adds, “This was my mom’s favourite TV show, ever.”

And suddenly, she feels a little guilty for acting like those muscles make him some kind of ladies’ man. Just because the rest of them have been, she guesses. 

Bradley seems like a nice guy. He slept in a bed clearly meant for a child all night last night, and he let her take the first shower this morning, he chased her across the parking lot and offered to fix all of her problems in one fell swoop. 

Maybe that’s because of some kind of debt he thinks he owes to Pete, and maybe it’s just because that’s the kind of man he is.

She glances across, watching him chuckle at a classic Samantha one-liner and take a sip of a raspberry herbal tea. Wrinkling her nose, she settles back down into the spot she had been relaxing in, and lets herself zone out again. 

They watch a couple of episodes. Unlike earlier, Bradley doesn’t feel the need to talk. He likes the quiet, mixed with their frequent chuckles. It’s an okay thing, to not have to fill that silent void. 

Avery is the first to excuse herself to go back to bed, and she hasn’t once mentioned his little Calvin Kleins or the way they make his thighs look. 

As she walks away, Bradley catches himself. He hadn’t much thought about what she might wear to bed, or what she’d been wearing when he first sat down with her. Her hips wiggle in her stride, her fitted pyjama shorts hugging her ass as she heads for the guest room. 

The material of her loose t-shirt is tucked in at the back. Those cotton shorts hug her hips and show off just the tiniest glimpse of her round ass, from where they have ridden up a little.

He looks away before she’s even out of view, but it doesn’t change what he had been thinking. She’s Pete’s kid, for gods’ sakes. Not much of a kid anymore, but still, it wouldn’t be right.

Man, Maverick would hate it, too. 

Bradley wishes, silently, that he was here to scold him. Pete would square his shoulders and get that rare and serious look on his face, warning Bradley to keep his hands to himself. And Bradley would smile and taunt him, saying, “Don’t worry, Mav, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

With her dad gone, it just makes it worse.

These next few weeks are going to be hard, and the least he could do is think with his head to keep things simple between the two of them. He heads back to bed late enough for it to almost not be worth it. 

He wakes to the sound of chaos over the comms, that same last conversation, those snowy peaks behind his eyelids. 

Mouth dry, heart thudding, his eyes are still shut when he stumbles out into the hall and twists the bathroom door handle. It jams, and he remembers. The sounds of water coming from behind the door stops abruptly.

Peeking her head around the shower curtain, already wincing, Avery calls back out to him. “Sorry! I’ll just be a second!”

“No — sorry, take as long as you want.” He calls back, shaking his head and heading for the kitchen. Restless and anxious, he splashes cold water across his face and thinks about Pete.

He saw Mav do this insurmountable times. He remembers all of the mornings that Mav would wake up gasping, shaking, and he would head straight for the bathroom, bolting the door. He’d come back out okay again. He wonders if Mav still did it, even all these years later.

If he still heard Goose’s voice through the comms, calling him out of his dreams. 

The thought makes him shudder. The bathroom door unlocking makes him flinch, looking up sharply. 

Avery steps out of the bathroom, her hair still dry and tied back, droplets of water still beading along the skin and flowing under the plush blue towel she had taken from the linen closet. He had told her to help herself, but he’s staring at her now and she’s second guessing herself.

He stands at his kitchen sink, his hands braced against the countertop, his knuckles white. She barely even notices his little Calvin Kleins. Her brows knit together as she takes a step toward him, barely visible around the corner.

“Hey… are you okay?” Her face creases with concern, lingering in the hallway so that he can see her just enough.

He remembers to let go of the countertop.

“Yeah,” He breathes out, unconvincingly, reaching up and shaking a hand through his tangled curls. He takes a second, trying to gather his thoughts enough to keep the conversation moving. “Were you still thinking you’re gonna need a job while you’re here?”

She blinks, her scrunched up face relaxing as she takes another step closer, cocking her head at him.

“Um, yeah. I think so.”

He nods. “Get dressed. We’ll go see my friend in a bit, can see if it’s something you might be interested in. Maybe, then we’ll take your car to a mechanic this afternoon.” 

Out of the house, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s just sleeping, that’s all. When he’s really awake, he can control it all a little better, it doesn’t get to him as much.

He drives the same way he had yesterday. Three fingers around the bottom of the wheel, seventies music playing. Today, the windows are down. Avery makes a pretty good passenger — she doesn’t ask him to change his music and she doesn’t put her head in the way when he’s trying to check his mirrors.

Mainly because she isn’t once watching the road, but that’s okay. 

She looks around the city like she’s seeing it for the first time. Mav lived her for longer than she’s been alive — and the entire place seems foreign to her.

Bradley knows both of his parents’ hometowns like the back of his hand, and he still hasn’t ever lived in either one of them. 

“Did your dad ever tell you about Penny?” He asks so calmly, drumming his fingers along the wheel, Ray-Ban caravans sitting across the bridge of his nose.

The look that Avery shoots him gives him more than enough of an answer. She sets her phone down in her lap and studies him, frowning slightly.

“Who’s Penny?”

Shit. Bradley shakes his head and his voice pitches up a fraction. “Oh, she and Mav were just good friends for a long time.”

A product of one of Maverick’s ‘good friendships’ herself, Avery doesn’t need Bradley to explain to her what that means. It makes her a little less excited to get to wherever he’s taking her. 

With one quick glance across, he catches the little frown settling across her lips.

“She owns that bar on Breakers Beach. We drove past it yesterday when we saw Admiral Simpson?” Bradley prompts her, glancing across at the passenger seat. She nods along. “I texted her yesterday and she really wanted to meet you, said you can have some shifts there if you want them.”

Avery wrinkles her nose, trying not to frown across at him when he’s doing his best to just be helpful.

“What? — What’s that look?” He prompts, looking across at her with an amused smile toying at his lips. 

“She’s like a long time ago ex, right? She wasn’t dating Pete recently?” 

Bradley thinks on his answer for a moment. He isn’t surprised that she figured out there was something between Mav and Penny, he would have figured it out too.

But, he had heard of Mav’s experience with Penny Benjamin a long time before he had actually gotten to meet Penny Benjamin. Really, he’s surprised to find that Avery has never heard of her, she and Mav were really on and off for quite a while.

He guesses that Mav kept that kind of thing from her.

Which means that he would want Bradley to keep the fact that he had seen Mav and Penny leave the bar together three times in the weeks leading the mission to himself too.

“Yeah. Like a long time ago.” He confirms.

“Alright, okay — yeah, this’ll be good,” Avery sounds more like she’s giving herself a pep talk than like she’s replying to him. He shoots her a smile and a nod anyway. “Thanks, again, by the way. You’re cool for setting this all up.”

Cool. Not the kind of compliment he’s usually searching for from a pretty girl, but he’ll take it.

Reaching across the centre console, he gives her knee a quick squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mitchell.”

Briefly, his palm lingers there. It’s just because he’s focusing on turning into the parking lot, but it’s still his large palm hugging the curve of her knee for a minute longer than it should have.

Completely over the thick protection of her jeans, but she stares at the touch anyways. Then, she dares to look back up at him. Totally relaxed as he pulls into a spot up front like it’s his own personal one. 

One more squeeze, and he takes his hand back and swings open the door. The parking lot is surprisingly busy for the middle of the week at noon.

 Avery follows him out of the vehicle, gingerly matching his pace as he heads inside. It’s once he’s spotted that she falters. 

“Rooster!” Someone even taller than he is comes marching up right away and throws his arms around Bradley. Bradley hugs him loosely, greeting him with an aloof but firm pat of the back.

“Payback.” He greets quietly.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you. How are you holding up?” His warm eyes bore into Bradley, his head bowed slightly and his voice sincere. He hasn’t spotted her yet.

“I’m alright,” Bradley sounds convincing enough, but this Payback guy hadn’t seen how rattled Bradley had looked this morning. “This is Avery.” 

Finally, Payback’s gaze flickers to the girl standing behind Rooster. Halfway tucked behind his shoulder, staring at him through her lashes, looking totally lost and sheepish.

“Mav’s kid?”

In the short time Bradley has known her, he knows that’s not the kind of response she would have wanted to get.

Swinging his arm out and throwing the heavy limb around her shoulders, Payback watches Rooster drag the stunned girl out from behind him and present her at his side. “It’d pay you to learn your new bartender’s name, Fitch.”

He’s looking Avery right in the eye, and he already can see that Bradley’s going to have to be reminded that not everyone likes the heavy handed approach to affection he can have.

Still, he smiles at her like he means it and nods his head respectfully.

“Already got it, it’ll be good to have you around, Avery.” 

A small smile works its way across her lips, grateful if not anything else.

“Nice to meet you.” She answers him quietly, stiff against Bradley’s side. He pats her back and urges her forwards.

“Here, this is Penny. Penny, meet your new bartender.”

Penny Benjamin is tall and striking, standing behind the bar with her eyes already on the new bartender. There’s a recognition and affection in the blue of her gaze that tells Avery she was lied to just a moment ago.

That’s a woman who cared deeply for Pete Mitchell.

It puts a bad taste in her mouth, a pit in her stomach, a sudden coldness about the possibility of this job. Even if just for a short time, for however long she’s here, she’s just going to be an extension of the man she had always felt so far from.

Penny cocks her head to the side, just a bit. Sure, she can see semblances of Pete in the girl across from her, but it’s the rigid, flighty look in her eyes that catches Penny’s attention. 

Across from her is someone with something to prove, and a character they’ve been playing for a long time now. That’s what feels most familiar.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Avery says stiffly, trying to sound like she means it. 

Penny nods, smiling. She glances towards Bradley, then back to the girl still tucked under his arm.

“You too. Let’s talk.” 

As Jimmy takes over the bar duties, Bradley’s left with the prospect of facing his friends when Penny and Avery disappear toward the back deck.

He scratches at the back of his neck, shooting one last look at the two of them over his shoulder, and wondering what he’s supposed to say to all of those guys. 

One by one, he could manage… but all in a group like that? — He hasn’t seen most of them since it happened. 

It’s Natasha that he can trust to catch his eye first, giving him that kind of look cautious parents give their kids when coaching them on a bike. She worries a lot for someone who swears that she doesn’t care about the meatheads she hangs out with.

He heads for her as coolly as he can manage, hoping that the other guys know not to give him a hard time today. They don’t, they never would. 

His therapist says it’s a defensive thing, the way he waits for people to say the wrong thing. When he’s hurt, he expects it, almost. He’s trying to get out of it. 

They can all give him credit for that.

Even so, it doesn’t take long for conversation to fade from small talk to the newest, most exciting subject.

“So, she’s staying at your place?” Natasha’s the first one to bring up the missing party, picking up on a comment about the two of them arriving together.

Bradley shakes his head and fiddles with his root beer bottle. “No, she’ll be over at Mav’s place once we get her car fixed up. It’s a real piece of shit, I don’t even know what they’d do to make it run any better.”

“Mav loves cars — and he lets her drive a shitbox like that?” It’s Javy who scoffs that out, the only one still talking about the Captain who had taken a shine to him in present tense. 

Bradley just shrugs. This isn’t the place to unpack whatever went down between Mav and Avery. He doesn’t know enough, even if he wanted to talk about it.

“She came all the way down here by herself?” Callie asks. She doesn’t say it, but she’s referring to the fact that her mother came all the way out to Lemoore to try to move her into the barracks like it was college when she was that age. 

Bradley shrugs again. He hasn’t heard much about Avery’s mom in the past twenty years, he isn’t even sure that he ever met her — certainly wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd. All he knows is the gossip he’d gotten from his mom when it was all going down. 

“How’s she doing?” Bob asks, his blue eyes deep and sincere as he searches Bradley’s face, knowing better than to ask the same question. 

“Okay, I think.” Bradley muses, thinking of how quickly Avery had questioned the recovery efforts yesterday. “I dunno how close they were, but it’s always gotta be hard. Just… trying to make it a little easier on her, I guess.” 

They all nod, slowly.

And then Avery comes marching back inside, her chin high and her hair a little wind-swept, making a beeline right for the closest thing she’s got to a friend in this town.

“Hey.” Bradley offers her a smile, and reaches out for her. His hand grazes the back of her bicep, and she smiles more genuinely than she has in the past two days.

“Hi.”

He catches sight of himself being watched, and takes a look back over Avery’s shoulder to find Penny looking. Her blue eyes flicker down to his hand on Avery’s arm. 

Pursing her lips, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and Bradley’s mouth almost falls open. There’s no way she thinks that he’s hitting on Avery. He’s just being friendly.

Penny knows Bradley well enough to know that. He’s always been a very affectionate guy. Still, the look that she gives him is one that certainly, and silently, tells him to keep his hands to himself. 

He blinks, and finds his friends looking back at him expectantly. 

“So, you’re taking the job?” He checks, shaking off Penny’s watchful eyes and settling back into what he knows. Avery nods her head at him.

“Starting tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. That’s way soon. He’s going to have to make sure he doesn’t keep her up until four in the morning watching the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw tonight. 

“Well, guys, say hi to your new bartender.” 

He brings the bottle of rootbeer back up to his lips and shoots a quick glance back over Avery’s shoulder. Penny stares back, unfazed, as he narrows his eyes back at her.

What does she know about anything, anyways?

…

[gudfornuthin]

All I’ve Ever Wanted pt2

Season 4!Five Hargreeves x fem!reader

Summary: after saving the world (again), the Hargreeves decide to have a proper celebration. Five should be happy, but there’s only one person on his mind, and he’s unsure if he’ll ever see her again. After being questioned by his loud mouth brother, there’s a chance he won’t have to wonder much longer.

Word count: 4k

A/N: the amount of support I received for part one of this was insane, and truly overwhelming. Thank you all for sharing the love and as requested I now have the idea for part two. Just like the last part, I’ve changed the story so no one ceases to exist and they all live happily ever after. This is also heavy on the Klaus and Lila content but I absolutely loved writing them and characterising them as I wish we had had more interaction between the pair. Hope you all enjoy, feedback is greatly appreciated :)

Read part one here!

“To saving the world. Again and again.”

“Hear! Hear!”

Glasses clink together as the Hargreeves family stand in a circle, celebrating their hero status. What had once felt like a long, gruelling journey, now at last was finished. The siblings weren’t sure if the world would need saving again someday, but at least for the time being, they could relax.

Diego and Luther were already wasted, Klaus and Alison were fussing over Claire, Victor and Ben were surprisingly having a heart to heart, Lila was hugging her children for what seemed like the 30th time that evening, and Five was sat in the corner moping. He wanted nothing more than to celebrate, to be in the moment with the people he loved the most. The only issue being, something was missing. Someone was missing.

When Five returned to his timeline, nobody held back their questioning. The only thing he could tell them was that it had been a long six years, and he was glad to see their faces. He couldn’t bring himself to mention her name. It would’ve just been too complicated. And he hated the thought of appearing soft and sweet. But that’s what she had done to him. And he knows he’ll never get that back.

“There’s my favourite sibling!” Klaus’ voice grates against Five’s ears, not in the mood to hold a conversation.

Five looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Favourite?”

“Yeah,” Klaus nods. “Right after Alison, Viktor and Ben.”

Five rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his lukewarm drink and sinking deeper into his seat. Unfortunately, his brother like always doesn’t read the room, and decides to sit down, slinging an arm around his shoulder. Five quickly shrugs it off.

“What’s got you so glum, chum?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

If Five was going to open up to anyone, Klaus would have to be the last person on earth before he even considered telling him anything. He’d turn it into one big innuendo and completely ruin his already shitty mood. No, he’s planning on keeping his mouth shut.

Klaus props his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand and looking at Five with big puppy eyes. Five glares back.

“I’ve been told I’m great at giving advice. I help Claire bear all the time!”

“I don’t think I need the same advice as a teenage girl,” Five says, crossing his arms. “And hasn’t she been suspended from school?”

Klaus raises his hands in defence. “The advice doesn’t always go according to plan.”

Five shakes his head, any ounce of energy left in him draining away. He stands up, much to his brothers dismay.

“Great chatting to you as always Klaus, but I um, I think I’m gonna take a walk and clear my head.” He starts to slowly walk away. “Hopefully get hit by a car,” He mumbles under his breath.

Klaus watches him leave the room, pouting slightly. He knows his not the first person any of his siblings come to for help, and usually the last one to know anything that’s going on. Most of the time he can be gone for days and no one seems to notice. Even so, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Seeing his brother this down pains him, and if he’s able to help in any way, he will. He also knows he can’t do this alone.

He glances around, the party still going strong and most of his siblings smashed out of their minds. One person who still appears spritely and aware of her surroundings, is Lila. She’s always down for a challenge, Klaus thinks to himself, stumbling out of his chair and making his way over to her. She spots him coming closer, shooing her kids away in case he’s too drunk to control his inappropriate thoughts.

“There’s my favourite sister in law!”

Lila looks at Klaus, squinting her eyes and choosing not to bite back a snide remark. “Having fun?”

He nods a little too enthusiastically. “Oh the best, just swell. Us Hargreeves sure know how to throw a shindig.”

Lila finally decides she’s had enough of the pleasantries. “Alright, what’s going on?”

Klaus takes her by the arm, pulling her further away from the rest of the family out of earshot. He also chooses to take it slow, giving himself more time to figure out what he’s going to say to Lila and how he’ll convince her to agree to whatever he comes up with.

“Has Five seemed,” Klaus pauses for a breath, “moody to you?”

Lila raises an eyebrow. “As apposed to his regular sunny disposition and positive attitude?”

“Okay, I know he’s not the most happy, go lucky guy.”

“He’s a twat.”

This isn’t how Klaus wanted the conversation to go, but he pushes on through, ignoring Lila’s harsh words.

“The only thing he’s opened up about is that he traveled through a weird subway system and was gone for what, to him, felt like a long time.”

Lila shrugs her shoulders, having already lost most of her interest in the conversation. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Klaus leans somehow closer to her, lowing his voice. “With your brains and my,” he falters slightly, “can do attitude, we could find out what happened to him when he disappeared!”

“And how is this going to benefit me?” Lila asks, her interest yet to be piqued.

“You get to possibly find something embarrassing to use against Five,” Klaus responds, “and you can take a break away from babysitting those two.”

As Klaus says this, he points over to Diego and Luther, the former smashing champagne bottles against the latter’s bare chest.

“See,” Luther exclaims with a smile on his face. “Can’t feel a thing.”

Lila groans, turning away from the man children. “Fine, I guess I have no issue snooping into Five’s private life.”

“There she is!” Klaus jumps up and down. “Now step one: infiltrate the boys personal quarters.”

Lila grimaces. “Please, don’t say that ever again.”

- - -

The pair move away from the party and head towards Five’s room. After the apocalypse fiasco, the family all agreed to spend the next week or so staying at the Umbrella Academy mansion while they figure out more permanent arrangements. The siblings stuck to their childhood rooms, with Lila’s family bunking in Reginald’s quarters. Not like the old man needed it anymore.

“What are we looking for exactly?” Lila asks, walking into Five’s room and looking around.

Klaus walks in after her, immediately heading for one of the drawers and haphazardly pulling it open. “I don’t know! Clues, notes, maybe he bought something back from wherever he disappeared to.”

Lila huffs, scuffing her shoes against the ratty carpet. She chooses to go along with the scavenger hunt, moving to the bed and poking her head underneath. A box catches her eye as she reaches for it, dragging it into the light. She sits cross legged on the ground and begins rummaging through it.

“So,” Klaus starts. “You watched any good shows recently?”

“I’m not doing small talk with you.”

The continue searching, finding nothing of significance other than some random calculations for something Lila can’t figure out, and Klaus doesn’t even try to understand what any of it means.

Just before the two decide to give their searching a rest, Klaus finds a sealed envelope under a pile of paper. He scatters the parchment across the desk and holds the envelope close to his face. A name is written on the front.

“Jackpot.”

Lila notices Klaus holding something of interest and walks over to him. “Who’s Y/N?”

“Hell if I know,” he replies, beginning to tear open the top of the envelope.

Lila quickly stops him, wide eyes piercing into the side of Klaus’s face. “Is your name Y/N? You can’t just open something not addressed to you.”

Klaus scoffs. “Come on! This could help us figure out what’s wrong with Five.”

He rips it open and pulls out the contents, much to Lila’s dismay. Two pieces of paper. One with random scribbles etched across it in messy writing. The other a blueprint of sorts, almost like a mapped out plan of a subway system.

“So,” Klaus starts after a beat of silence. “Any of this making sense to you?”

Lila doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes glancing back and forth over the blueprint and the words she can decipher on the paper. It looks familiar. She’s certain she’s seen something similar before, not just any ordinary subway plan. Suddenly it hits her.

“I’ve been here.”

Klaus gives her a blank look, forcing her to continue. “When we went on our little ‘road trip’ and got ambushed in that town. I blinked, hoping to get away from the gunfire for a moment and all of a sudden I was in what looked like an abandoned subway station.”

She pokes urgently at the blueprint. “This is that subway. Or a certain part of it.”

Klaus finally catches on, nodding slowly. “Okay, this doesn’t explain why it was sealed in an envelope addressed to some person we’ve never heard of before.”

Lila looks down at the paper again, moving her finger along the drawn on lines. They go so far, then stop, then start again on a different part of the blueprint. She slowly starts to make sense of it all.

“These parts here,” she shows Klaus where the lines stop and start. “It looks like he blinks across multiple stations.” She sees a big dot and a circle furiously drawn around it. “And maybe this is where he stops permanently.”

“You think that permanent stop might have something there of interest to us?”

Lila shrugs. “It definitely seems like it had some interest to Five. We may as well try.”

- - -

It’s a cold, autumn’s day, and Y/N stands in her greenhouse, clearing out some of the plants that had wilted away due to the change of climate. She’s wrapped in a warm cardigan, sniffling slightly as a chill runs up her spine. She didn’t mind the weather, but always preferred the warmer temperatures. It was the best time to grow her favourite fruits and vegetables. Either way, she’s hoping to grow pumpkins soon.

Since the events of the mysterious stranger landing in her back garden, and the whirlwind of emotions he put her through, she hadn’t left the comfort of her home other than to buy groceries. She busied herself with a lot of baking, crocheting, and practicing more of her combat skills. She hadn’t had to use them yet, but still she likes to remind herself of the moves she’d been taught. She filled her time well, but there was always something missing.

Y/N shakes her head, rubbing her nose against the back of her hand. She grabs a plastic bag and heads outside into the cool air, scooping up handfuls of leaves and shoving them into it. Maybe she’ll make some artwork out of them, the reds, greens and oranges complimenting each other well.

A tickle runs up her nose and she sneezes into her palm.

“Bless you.”

“Thank you,” Y/N replies, then freezes, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

She turns to look in the direction the voice came from, coming face to face with a man with shaggy hair and a wide smile. Y/N yelps and, without much thought, punches him in the face. As he lets out a cry and stumbles back, she swipes his legs from under him, forcing him on the ground. She kneels on top of him, pulling his arms behind his back. ‘Guess the moves Five taught me came in handy’ she thought.

“I’m all for a bit of foreplay,” the stranger groans from under her. “But the punch felt unwarranted.”

“Who are you?” She interrogates.

“I must say,” a new voice sounds from behind the two on the wet grass. “If I knew you were this good at subduing Klaus, I would’ve come for you sooner.”

She whips around, spotting a woman standing not far away with her arms crossed and an amused expression donning her face.

Y/N looks back and forth between the two, confusion and adrenaline running through her body and mind. Was a quiet life too much to ask for these days?

Still on top of who she now assumes is “Klaus”, she glares at the woman. “Is it a trend now for people to show up in my back garden out of thin air?”

The woman smiles. “You must be Y/N.”

Hearing her name come from the stranger shocks her at first, but as the thought of Five runs through her mind, she has a strong feeling this has something to do with him.

“Sorry for scaring you,” the woman continues. “But I promise we’re only here with good intentions. Just here to help our brother.”

“I would also love to be apart of this conversation,” Klaus pipes up, still lying on the floor under Y/N’s weight.

She pauses for a second, then decides to trust the pair, standing up and holding a hand out to Klaus, the man happily accepting it.

“Alright,” she nods at them. “I’m listening.”

The three of them make their way into the home and sit in the kitchen. Lila takes the wheel, properly introducing herself and explaining the reasoning behind their unexpected visit. While the mention of Five doesn’t shock Y/N, her heart breaks hearing how miserable he’s been since leaving her and the life they’d built. She brews them all some coffee, listening intently to Lila’s explanation of their family and what’s gone on since Five returned. He’d obviously told Y/N about saving the world, but it was still hard to fully comprehend. She was used to a boring life, doing mundane tasks and basking in the quiet. His life sounded stressful and never ending. She begins to understand why he wanted to stay with her.

“And then we found an envelope in his room with your name on the front,” Lila finishes, taking a sip of her drink. “We thought finding you might be exactly what Five needs.”

Y/N eventually breaks her silence, trying to comprehend all the information thrown at her. “If he knew how to get back to me, why didn’t he?”

Klaus shrugs, grabbing for one of the home baked cookies on display in the centre of the table. “I don’t know, Five’s pride overshadows his emotions sometimes. Maybe he didn’t wanna seem desperate, or a burden. Maybe he was scared you’d moved on?”

She huffs at that. “No chance. The past few weeks my mind has been consumed by Five. I’ve tried my best to distract myself, but all I think about is him.”

Lila and Klaus look at each other, neither of them realising how much this woman must mean to Five. While this had initially been a way of teasing their brother and finding out something personal to use against him, it had now become much more serious. This woman was in love with him. And they don’t need to imagine that he’s in love with her too.

“Look,” Lila talks directly to Y/N. “We don’t expect you to give up your life here. I certainly wouldn’t with a home like this.”

Y/N smiles shyly, taking pride in her house and hearing the acknowledgment from someone else.

Lila continues. “But for the sake of helping two love sick puppies reunite with each other, we’d love to take you with us to see Five.”

At first, Y/N isn’t sure how to respond. The shock of meeting some of Five’s family, finding out how down he’s been since leaving her, and now getting the chance to see him again. She’s nervous as her stomach does flips. Even if it’s just one last time, she doesn’t want to spend a moment longer thinking it over.

“Okay,” she replies. “I’ll come with you.”

- - -

Five sits in the kitchen, a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter on the table in front of him. He’s looking straight ahead, grabbing a slice and slathering it with the nutty spread. He doesn’t care if he’s making a mess. He won’t be living here much longer anyways.

Footsteps sound from the hall, as an out of breath Klaus enters the room. He spots his brother and, straightening himself out, he casually walks over to the table. He nods at him even though Five has yet to acknowledge his presence.

Klaus sees the sprawled out food. “Hungry?”

“Not really,” Five responds, as he grabs a peanut butter covered slice of bread and throws it at the opposite wall. It sticks for a second then slides down.

Klaus watches as it slowly lands on the floor, then looks at his brother. “Well enough moping around, why don’t you come back up to the party?”

“I’m not in the mood to mingle.”

Klaus bounces slightly on the back of his heels. “You sure? I think there’s someone here who’d love to see you.”

“If the Handler’s somehow come back from the dead, tell her I’m not interested,” Five grabs a towel, wiping off the stickiness on his fingers. “She always gave me the creeps.”

“Oh I think it’s someone much better than the Handler,” Klaus replies before skipping away and out of the room.

Five waits for a few moments, letting out a giant huff and moving away from the table. He’s in no mood to socialise, but his brother’s weird behaviour has him curious. He leaves the kitchen, slowly making his way towards the sound of the ongoing celebrations.

“Come on just one more drink, I can beat you this time!” Luther’s voice is heard slurring from around the corner where Five walking.

“No way,” he can hear Diego pipe up. “She’s too good for someone who’s never played before.”

Five quickly catches on that they must be playing some dumb drinking game. Whoever they’ve challenged must be kicking their asses.

“I dunno, I’m just not as drunk as you guys.”

Five freezes, his heart picking up speed. That voice. The soft tone followed by a melodic laugh. It can’t be her. What the hell is she doing here? How the hell did she get here?

He absentmindedly runs a hand through his hair, hoping he doesn’t look as much of a mess as he feels. He turns the corner, the sight before him filling his insides with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Y/N is standing in between Luther and Diego, cups in front of them most likely full of alcohol. The three of them pick one up and chug as quickly as possible. They slam them down, Y/N much faster than both of them, and start flipping them. After only a few seconds, she flips her cup and lands it, earning a cheer from her and a groan from the two brothers.

Luther shakes his head incessantly. “Alright, again. Let’s go again.”

“Luther, you sound like you’re about to pass out,” Diego argues, his words slurring no less than his brothers.

Y/N laughs at the pair, admiring their competitive spirit. Her eyes glance away from them for a brief moment, and she spots Five. They both look at each other for what seems like an eternity, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Hey Five!” Luther’s loud voice echoes throughout the room. “Your girlfriend’s awesome! Way cooler than you.”

Five shuts his eyes, groaning inwardly at his brother’s inability to sensor some of his thoughts. Y/N continues looking at him, a shy smile gracing her lips. She excuses herself from the drunk duo, trying not to appear too eager as she walks over to the love she thought she’d lost. Finally, she stands before him, trying to ignore the not so subtle looks from the partygoers.

“Hi.”

“What’re you-,” Five is breathless, spluttering over his words. “I mean, how? How’re you here, how’d you get here?”

“Uh,” from not too far away, Klaus pipes up. “I think you’ll find I am the one you can thank for that.”

Lila, standing next to him, smacks the back of his head, eliciting a small yelp from the man. “I was the one who figured the blueprint out you prick. She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my ability to blink.”

They carry on bickering back and forth. All the while Five watches them, unsure if he should thank them or curse them out. Maybe both.

A soft touch takes hold of Five’s hand, pulling his attention away from his family and back to the woman in front of him. For the first time in a while, he smiles wide, matching her own.

“Do you wanna maybe go for a walk?” Y/N asks. “Your family seems lovely, but I’d really like some time just the two of us.”

Five breathes a sigh of relief. “Nothing would make me happier.”

- - -

The pair walk around the grounds of the mansion, holding hands and talking, as if nothing had changed. While Five knew he’d missed her company, he didn’t realise how her presence changed his mindset completely. He felt content, at peace. His thoughts weren’t consumed by the apocalypse and the world possibly ending again. How he’d spent the past several years moving from one place to the next, making sure his family was safe, and never having a second to stop. It was draining.

But with her? He can finally relax. He doesn’t feel the need to put on a facade and lie that he’s okay. She makes him feel seen, feel vulnerable in the best way possible. She’s not here to judge. She’s not here to ask for his help. She’s just here. And in that moment, that was the only thing Five cared about. It was the only thing he wanted.

They find a bench and decide to sit down for a bit, basking in the soft glow from the moon. Y/N rests her head on his shoulder and leans in close. Five can’t help but lay a small kiss on her hairline.

Y/N sighs. “I could stay like this forever.”

Five hums in agreement. “So could I.”

After saying those words, it dawns on Five what they truly mean. He could do this forever. Not just sitting on a wet bench in the moonlight, but spending the rest of his life with her. Living that quiet life they’d built together before he had to leave. He can’t bear to say goodbye again. So maybe this time, he doesn’t have to.

Five moves slightly, forcing Y/N to take her head off his shoulder and sit up properly. She looks at him confused.

“Why don’t we?” He asks.

“Why don’t we what?”

Five stands up. “Do this forever. You and I. Me and you. Live the life we both want. We both deserve.”

She stands up too, looking deeply into his eyes. “We talked about this last time. I can’t give up what I’ve made for myself. I can’t stay here.”

Five falters for a second, scared of what he’s about to propose. But there’s no point in living without taking a few risks.

“What if I come with you?”

Y/N is shaking her head before Five finishes the sentence. “I don’t want to be the reason you leave your family. I know now why they mean so much to you. I can’t live with that guilt.”

Five raises his hands to rest gently on the sides of her face. “And I can’t live without you.”

Tears threaten to spill from Y/N’s eyes, as he carries on talking. “I wouldn’t be saying goodbye to them forever. I know how to get back. Lila clearly knows how to get there too.”

Five rolls his eyes at that as Y/N laughs, her mind wandering to the shocking but wonderful introduction of his brother and sister-in-law.

“But if you still want me,” Five now speaks in a whispered tone. “I’m ready to finish building that life with you. However long it may take.”

Y/N nods, her heart beating fast. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Y/N moves her arms up to wrap around his neck, pulling him close and kissing him deeply. They both sigh, Five tasting the alcohol she had been drinking earlier, as well as a hint of strawberries. Some things never change.

//

(Additional A/N: I’m not planning on doing any more parts following after this, HOWEVER, because I’ve loved writing Five and reader so much, I might do some one shots diving deeper into their time together before Five left. eg. Five teaching her fighting skills and reader teaching him how to bake. If you wanna see that please let me know and also if you have any suggestions for those kind of ideas I’d love to hear them.)

Taglist:

@indestructeible @reijixia13 @busy-buzzing @jshxng @krazyk99 @lxkeeeeee @inkspiredwriting @redbunny03 @philoslostfiles

(I tagged anyone who said they wanted pt2 but some tags didn’t work so apologies to anyone I couldn’t tag)

[dreamsofbroflovski]

Craig Tucker x Reader - sugar (c)rush - part 2

Also available on ao3! 𓆩♡𓆪 Link to Part 1

Summary: Craig Tucker's unwanted visit to the maid cafe leaves him in a sour mood, but the place might bring something that makes his life the sweetest it's ever been.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content (everyone involved is above the age of consent), Fem!Reader, Smut, Penis In Vagina Sex, Mating Press, Dom/Sub Dynamics (Craig gets called 'Master'), Possibly OOC Craig Tucker, Arguing

A/N: aaaand here it is! the part damn near everyone who read this came for. i wish it hadn't gotten as long as it did, but it is what it is. if Craig sounds OOC I promise he's just whipped. reader will do that to ya

It took months for a day to happen that would change this groove you’d fallen into. Craig noticed the difference as soon as he arrived - he barely managed to hear the ringing of the door chime when he entered the shop, since it was drowned by the loud chattering and commotion inside. Apparently, on that specific afternoon, your workplace was having some type of different event with discounted menu items and limited-time meals he hadn’t cared much for, but now especially did, since it messed with his plans. Every single seat he saw was occupied, maids zipping through the commotion to serve multiple tables at once, a completely different atmosphere from how laid-back and hospitable he had learned to find the place to be when not as full. It made him uncomfortable, like he’d lost something familiar, but he pushed through it, holding onto what was left of the routine.

“My apologies, Craig, but (Y/N) is a little bit busy today,” one of your work colleagues told him as he settled into his usual spot, kept secure for him by a small sign on the table that said it was ‘reserved’. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure your experience is as amazing as possible!”

“It’s alright.” He didn’t even look at her as he said it, pushing away the menu she was trying to hand him. “Just give me a black coffee then.”

She didn’t bother to write his order down on the tablet before leaving for the kitchen, and Craig sighed as he found himself alone again, mentally preparing for one of those days of boredom and annoyance that used to be commonplace when you weren’t his appointed maid. The table in the corner gave him a good view of the surroundings, and he spotted you with just one scan of his eyes, making small talk on a booth near the counter. Just as quickly, you found him - he caught your face turning as if it was magnetically drawn to that side, big eyes shining with gleeful surprise before you raised your hand and waved at him. He could’ve sworn your already present smile became a tiny bit bigger when you saw him, too; but he pushed the idea away as delusion, giving you a curt nod of acknowledgement and following you with his vision as you got back into movement.

He counted about four tables that you’d stopped by to take or deliver orders and chat with customers. Four different instances of his throat emitting a low rumble, like a growl, a direct voicing to the thoughts he had, watching as you directed your gentle affection to people he’d never seen before in all the days he came over. When he was around, it was a given that he’d have 100% of your attention, considering he’d pay for the company. That day, however, he had arrived too late for that - having to resign himself to watch and maybe internally pray that the movement would slow down so you’d exchange a few words with him, even if that was unlikely.

His coffee arrived and he ignored all the excited things your maid colleague had to say about it, waving her off with not many words, both him and her appearing extremely glad about the short duration of the interaction. Putting two sugar packets in the hot liquid and taking a sip, he frowned: still too bitter. The taste of the very first coffee he drank in the shop was still vivid in his mind, remembering it as overly sweet even without added sweetener; with the passage of time, however, it seemed to slowly become less and less so, shifting into the completely opposite end of the taste spectrum into ‘not ever nearly sweet enough’. As he opened a third packet, he made a mental note to get a word in with the kitchen staff later to see what had changed with the brand they were using or the preparation.

There was a conscious attempt on his part to not focus on you as much as he drank his coffee, trying to pay attention to other things until he’d eventually get too annoyed by the noise and leave - which was setting itself to happen earlier than usual, since the chatter was louder than ever due to the sheer amount of people inside. He was, however, keeping an ear out for any snippets of your voice, almost straining that particular body sense in the process.

When he did hear it again, it was in the middle of another sip of coffee, and he stopped with his lips still on the mug. It was barely audible, but he picked up on it with precision, his sight immediately flickering to where the sound came from, finding you a few meters away. You had your back to him, tending to a table with two guys in it, both with their heads turned to you.

“Like I said, I’m so very sorry, but I can’t sit with the masters this afternoon,” you said, and through the apologetic intonation, Craig caught a hint of discomfort that made him put down his mug and lean with his upper body in that direction, doing what he could to hear better. “The fee is not available today, we have so many wonderful customers and…”

“No no no, sweetie, you don’t understand,” one of the men spoke, “We don’t wanna pay no fee. We just want you to hang out a little.”

 The other dude nodded with a shit-eating grin, and the stoical male felt something run down his back - like he had just got an epidural injection of pure venom to the top of the spinal cord. He wasn’t at ease, and by the way he saw you shift your weight between your feet, swaying in place slightly, neither were you.

“I… I would love to, but that’s unfortunately not possible. However, if the masters would like to place an order now, I…”

“We’ll order if you sit here with us,” the second fellow interrupted your soft voice with his raspy barking, and Craig found himself wanting to be president so that he could make that particular action a crime. “Come ooon, darling…”

“I can’t, I really can’t…”

You were beginning to whine now. Craig glanced around quickly. Was no one paying attention to that interaction? All of the other maid workers were busy with their own clients, and your boss was nowhere to be found. The gnashing of his teeth inside his closed mouth felt way too loud when he was trying to pay attention to you, but he couldn’t help it, the building angry energy in his body needing somewhere to go to.

He looked back towards you just in time to see your head turn in another direction, hearing one of your other better tables calling to you for something. The swaying stopped, and Craig could almost feel the same relief you did to be free of that annoying situation.

“My apologies, dear masters, but another table is calling to me,” you said with more confidence this time, the whiny tone fading as you found your peace again. “I’ll give you a little more time to go through the menu and decide on your order and then I’ll be right back!”

“Hey, wait up! We’re not done talking to you!” The first man, the one closest to you, reached out from his seat just as you took a step backwards to make your exit, wrapping his hand around your arm and making you yelp. 

One might’ve thought Craig had developed teleportation abilities. Because before he himself had even noticed it, he was next to you and his own hand was on the guy’s wrist, holding it with twice the grip strength that other man’s hand had on your arm. His face did not denounce the pure anger that sparked under his skin like tons of needles urging him to violent action, and neither did his voice. But even through the deadpan expression, his eyes were still intense.

Both you and your disruptive client gasped in surprise, but Craig didn’t acknowledge either reaction. “Back off. She already said no.”

“Hey dude, what the fuck? Let go!” The other dude began trying to wriggle his wrist out of the oppressive grasp, releasing your own arm in the process - you stepped back again right after, eyes locked on the situation unfolding in front of you while frozen in fear. His own movements, however, came to no avail, as Craig stood almost perfectly still even when the harshest yanking threatened to swerve his body.

“Then apologize and let the maid leave.”

The second client came to his friend’s rescue and tried pulling at Craig’s free arm, and still he didn’t move, spreading his feet a bit on the wooden floor to have more stability. “Apologize for what? We aren’t doing anything wrong,” that man barked again.

“You’re harassing the employee,” Craig enunciated his words more firmly than usual, like the mere mention of the action offended him greatly. 

“They’re paid to hang out with us, dude,” the first guy scoffed, “Fuck you mean, ‘harassing’?”

“They’re paid to serve your orders. You’re not ordering.”

“We’re fucking clients here!” The second guy’s tone turned ironic, like he was trying to explain something to Craig as if he was five years old, and it made him want to bash those teeth so far into his throat he’d never be able to speak like that again. “They’re supposed to do what we ask! The customer is always right!”

“You need to pay for something to be considered a client. Right now, you’re just wasting a table.” And the attention of a great woman, he added mentally.

“It’s a maid café, dude,” Wow, what a precise observation, Craig thought over the voice of the dude. “These chicks are supposed to do what we say, it’s the whole point!”

“Well, that chick-” he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder towards you, feeling slight guilt over the tiny squeal you emitted as the spotlight was back on you, “-is not going to do what you say. So talk to her properly.”

“What are you, her boyfriend?” Another scoff. “She’s not gonna fuck you, dude. Leave it.” 

Craig consciously refused to recognize the way his stomach dropped with those statements. Sure, they were true. Your interest in him didn’t go far beyond the confines of his wallet, and it pained him to know it. But he’d be damned if that would be the reason he’d let another person speak to and about you like that.

He decided not to answer the guy’s comment directly, unwilling to draw this line of thought to the unwanted attention you were already receiving. “Apologize to her and leave her alone. The maids are busy.”

“Or what? What’s it to you?” Still being held in Craig’s grasp, the first guy stood up, his full height and build almost rivaling Craig’s own, but making up for the one or two inches of difference with his audacity. A chair scraped out of their view, the second dude standing up as well, clearly more out of moral obligation to defend his friend rather than actual courage. “You gonna do something about it?”

At this point, the whole shop had gone quiet, watching the commotion unfold. The all-female staff were all frozen in place, unable to step up and diffuse the situation physically but also incapable of looking away from it, and Craig couldn’t blame them at all. He also would’ve chosen not to engage in any other circumstance; it was admittedly none of his business. But even so, he still stood there proud, emboldened by a sort of bravery he had never felt before in his life. Maybe you weren’t his to protect, but he was still going to do it, using whatever he had - be it physical strength, intelligence or just the power of not giving a fuck - to make sure you were respected. 

“If you’re not ordering, then you gotta leave,” Craig declared, “Free the seats for someone else.”

“That’s not in the rules, dipshit.” So they did know the rules after all. “I’m not gonna fucking apologize to no one about asking for the service this place’s supposed to provide. So go back to your damn seat and shut the fuck up.”

The response to that didn’t come verbally. With a huff, Craig yanked at the arm of the guy he was arguing with, making him almost topple over the table if his free hand hadn’t held him on it. His friend scrambled to help, pushing at Craig’s other shoulder, but all that managed to accomplish was making his jacket drop a little off his arm. Maybe those sumo lessons he got in elementary school weren’t totally useless - he knew how to keep himself firmly in place, hardly budging under the other guys’ attempts at making him stagger.

A swing came from his side, missing his face by a bit as Craig took a step back, pulling his opponent with him. The chair the first guy was seated on fell when its occupant tripped on it, but it was barely heard over the angry shouts, the noise of his loud sneakers and the gasps of all the other customers when your protector took the nuisance away by the arm in long strides. For a guy that didn’t maintain a frequent workout routine, Craig was abnormally strong - the effects of his fight response were not to be underestimated.

“You had your fucking chance,” Craig growled as he walked, an acknowledgement of the offenses the other guy was spilling while being dragged away. “I’m not one of the maids, but I can clean up the place too.”

Reaching the door didn’t take long, considering the length of his legs and the fact that Craig cared very little if his opponent was walking properly or not. With another harsh yank of his arm, he shoved the man forward, finally letting go of him and bracing himself with his free hand on the wall by the door when the other dude, having followed behind, pathetically tried to push him as well. All bark and no bite, both of them.

Like a sack of trash being thrown into the garbage truck, the primary disruptive client fell through the doorway into the sidewalk in front of it, landing on his side with a harsh noise of his clothes rubbing on the stone. He might’ve scraped his arm, too, but the pride would certainly hurt more with being so casually discarded like he was. The second fellow, in his urge to help his buddy, lost his footing on the elevated step by the entrance, missing his balance completely and falling on his stomach not far from the first one, his outstretched hands doing little to brace him.

“You’re fucking fucked, dude!” Both guys stood up clumsily as one of them yelled, reaching out to each other for stability and almost falling on their asses again in the process. “We’re gonna call the cops on this place and then you’re done for!”

“Go on, you do that,” Craig retorted from the doorway, flexing his dominant hand, balling it into a fist then stretching his fingers out - though he had managed to come out on top in the strength display, there was still pain from the grip he had to keep. “Then they’re gonna have a bunch of witnesses to listen to about how you were disturbing the workers and breaking the rules of a private business.”

That mention seemed to have given the two men pause, their eyes flickering towards what little of the shop’s interior they could see from their position, just now realizing the amount of people inside who saw the whole ordeal. With huffs and muttered complaints, they left, trudging away from the shop without further action.

Barely any time was given for you and Craig to really process how tense the situation had been before you both felt the hands of your store’s owner holding heavily onto your shoulders and dragging you away from the main shop area into the cramped staff room at the back. Stepping into the much less cutely decorated space and taking in what little furniture it had - a few tall lockers for stashing personal belongings in, a sink and microwave on a countertop, and a table against the opposite wall with a couple chairs around it -, all he thought was that he was screwed. Just because the other bothersome client hadn’t called the police for his aggression, it didn’t mean you or your boss wouldn’t. In the best of cases, he’d be banned from the café after the scolding of a lifetime. And, honestly, it would all have been worth it if he could keep you safe from at least one creep.

However, none of that came to pass. The owner was, of course, distressed, the heavy makeup on her face doing little to hide the twenty or thirty years she had aged in just the span of that exchange. But then she apologized, both to you and to him - to you for not being able to keep you safe and not paying close enough attention to the situation amidst the crowd, and to him for putting him in harm’s way as well, adding that, considering his violent conduct happened in defense of the safety of one of her workers, she wouldn’t contact the police. She did clarify that this went against the norms of the café and he wasn’t to take advantage of it by picking fights with peaceful patrons, but even in that unneeded slap on the wrist, he noticed the mix of pride and appreciation for how he had stepped up to protect you. To top it off, she decided to waive his bill for the day as well, as an apology for his troubles and a personal thank you gift.

“And so, uh… Yeah, I guess that’s all,” the owner eventually concluded, rubbing her own temples to try and relax. “Craig, if you want, you can return to the shop. (Y/N), you can stay here for a while, calm down and-”

“Actually, I’d like to talk to Craig a bit.”

This was the first set of words that left your mouth ever since he got involved in the ordeal with the client, and it made his hazel eyes widen. What did you even have to discuss? Surely just some more gratitude. But it was the thought that you might want to interact with him alone, outside of the paid arrangement from your job, that had his brain flooding with curiosity.

Your boss’ expression shifted as she frowned slightly. “Are you sure, (Y/N)?” She asked, and Craig caught on to the hint of concern in her voice, attributing it to justified worry about your personal safety.

Through the corner of his eye, keeping his face turned to the front, he saw you nod emphatically. “Yeah… I’m sure.” You turned to him, and there was now true effort on his part not to glance in your direction. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

The space of the staff room seemed to have gotten even smaller, claustrophobic to Craig’s heightened senses. Like any of his actions could be seen, heard, judged. “Yeah, that’s cool.” Thank God his voice didn’t fail him in that moment, keeping seriousness despite the nerves that were sneaking into him.

The owner’s gaze flickered between the two of you for another moment, lips pursing as if holding back something she wanted to say; but then she nodded as well, turning on her heels and leaving through the small door Craig had been forcing himself to stare at this whole time, closing it behind her back.

And then it was just you.

“I really don’t understand how you make any money here,” the man commented a few seconds after she left, “You keep giving people free stuff all the time.”

Still paying attention to you without looking like it, Craig expected you to laugh, as you tended to do whenever he had a snarky remark to make about something. A part of him was hoping for it, even, to hear your small giggling and the playful scolding that usually followed. But you didn’t. He turned to you just in time to catch as you took the few steps towards him with a decided expression, wrapping your arms tight around him and planting your face in his chest.

His whole body instantly became taut against yours. What the fuck? This was a complete burst of his personal space bubble, way more physical contact than the two of you ever had, which was usually limited to small touches to his arm or hand during your conversations at his table. It was against the rules of your workplace, for sure, and he had an urge to scan the corners of the room and check for cameras - both for surveillance, terrified of the notion that someone might see it and get the wrong idea, and to confirm that he wasn’t in a comedy reality show and it was not a joke -, but the shock held him from doing even that. You had hugged him first. You were holding him close, he felt the front of your body pressing against his, he was not paying for this endeavor.

A couple seconds passed like this, Craig staying put as if expecting you to notice what you had done and pull away terrified. You didn’t. And this gave him the tiniest sliver of courage to slowly embrace you back. His hold wasn’t as tight as yours, still held back by lingering unease over too much unexpected physical touch, but it was there, an attempt at giving you the comfort you so clearly needed yet he didn’t know how to provide.

Him finally reciprocating your hug triggered your speech, making his breath hitch as you finally spoke. “Thank you so much.” Your voice was muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but the emotion in it was very much audible, that gratitude he already expected mixed with the remaining tension from earlier, relief and something else he didn’t quite get. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

“It’s alright,” he responded, turning his face to the ceiling; if he’d look down and see you there so close to him, he might not be able to keep his cool. Although he knew he had none to keep - your nose was probably vibrating from the thumping of his heart on his chest.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t there,” you continued, almost like you didn’t hear what he’d said. “You saved me, Craig.”

That simple sentence got to his head in a way he didn’t even know was possible. He never even knew his ego could inflate like that. Is this what Clyde wakes up like every day? “I did what anyone else should do, it’s no big deal.”

You shook your head, making small ruffling noises against his clothes. “Of course it’s a big deal… You didn’t have to do all that. But you did.”

“Like I said, it’s alright. You don’t have to thank me.”

First time ever that he cursed his dry delivery of words - he wanted to sound more reassuring, approachable as you were, but instead it just came off assholish like everything else he said. You didn’t complain, though, which he considered a win. Instead, your arms tightened even more around him, squeezing him briefly. “You could’ve gotten hurt, and then what would I do?”

This made the stoical male frown to himself, his brain getting momentarily confused at what you could possibly mean by that. “Maybe you’d have to call an ambulance,” he began explaining, taking the sentence literally. “They’d take me away, the cops would deal with the other guys, you’d have to testify and-”

“What?” 

Your interruption sounded as confused as Craig’s own thoughts were, and not muffled anymore. He tilted his face down toward you, frown disappearing from it when he saw that your own face was lifted up. “I’m explaining what you would’ve done if I got hurt.”

“Huh? Oh, I’m not talking about that…” 

You let go of him, taking a small step back, and he was pissed at himself for missing your hold as much as he did immediately after that. Watching as you focused on the ground, placing your hands tamely in front of your body, it then dawned on him that maybe he was the one misunderstanding the situation. Another one of those logic versus emotion things he had a hard time grasping.

“I was worried about you,” you said, “I care about you. I didn’t want to see you hurt.”

Hearing this, Craig crossed his arms. Had he left them at his sides, he would’ve risked them moving on their own to pull you into another hug - those sentences mirrored perfectly how he felt towards you, a slice of the feelings that had driven him to involve himself in that altercation earlier. But it was also a way of keeping himself guarded, impassive and looking the part. You ‘cared’ about anyone who came to the café. You ‘cared’ for him as long as he continued buying. The moment his foot touched the first stone of the pavement, you didn’t anymore.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” He internally wished you actually would. “I’m just a client. There’s more than a dozen of those out by the shop.”

Just as quickly as your face had lowered, it was lifted again - and this time you appeared aghast, almost as much as you had when he stepped up to defend you earlier. 

“Don’t talk like that!” His usual expressionless face shifted into surprise at the scolding tone you were trying to use - you couldn’t be harsh for the life of you, so what came out was more like a pained plea, but your smaller frame was all tense. “You’re not just a client to me!”

Craig took a deep breath, trying to tackle his drumming heart that insisted on taking your words and running with them. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, or that he didn’t at least want to; he literally wasn’t supposed to. “That’s exactly what I am.” He affirmed, more to himself than to you. Nothing more.

He heard your breathing too, softer than his, more of a sigh. Oh how he had let his mind wander during the table meetups, one side of his brain listening to what you had to say while the other imagined in what other situations you’d make noises like those. Sexual or not. Though none of those imaginations involved it coming with a hint of sadness while he squished his own feelings by standing firm behind the client-server wall he needed to maintain.

“You’re… more than that to me.” Your voice had dropped in volume, body still tense. “I like you, Craig. Like, really like you.”

What fucking wall now?

It was his turn to go tense, shoulders squaring up as the words hit him like a wrecking ball. Shit, maybe he did really get in a fight and the other guy bashed his damn head in. Only like that you’d be telling him such a thing. There was no other way to interpret your statement, no way for him to rationalize it into a different context, consciously or not. You said what you said.

“You do?” His eyebrows arched the slightest bit, arms slowly uncrossing and dropping back to his sides. “How?”

Your head tilted a bit, hands moving to clutch your own chest. The shift in body language showed him that you were legitimately anxious about the declaration, and about his reaction to it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this doesn’t make sense,” Craig continued, “I’m your regular. You can’t like me; You don’t know me like that. It’s not allowed.”

“Why?” Your voice got thinner again, as it usually did when you got nervous. ”Of course it is! I know you, I hang out with you all the time!”

“Because you’re paid to do that,” he insisted, becoming increasingly frayed over your prolonged assertions. “I pay the fee and you hang out with me. Those are the rules.”

“You haven’t had to pay for that in weeks!” There was a slight giggle accompanying your words now, those beautiful big eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement.

He’d have cussed you out for making fun of him, if he wasn’t so wrapped up in what you were actually saying. The behavior he had adopted regarding his spending at the café - that of not paying attention to it at all and just trusting blindly that everything was inside of his budget - was maybe the most jarring difference to his normal habits, no matter how much he tried to paint over it with claims of ‘supporting local businesses’. But only now did he realize that maybe his credit card statements had been a bit too easy on him.

“No way.” He brought his hands to your shoulders and squeezed a bit, not enough to hurt, just wanting to ground himself on something as he processed the information - or rather, the proof. “So you’ve just been hanging out with me for free?”

You shook your head. “It’s actually coming out of my paycheck.” The small giggle faded as you acknowledged that he was taking you seriously, but a timid smile lingered.

Anyone more honorable would’ve scolded you for basically paying to work, maybe even tried to give you back the money owed. But the truth was Craig didn’t give a fuck. He was too hung up on the fact that you did, in fact, hang out with him willingly, to the point where it was becoming detrimental to your own wallet. The fondness in your words and actions hadn’t been imaginary.

Not quite ready to look at you directly as he processed the information, he tried lowering his gaze a bit, but almost fully flinched when it stopped on your chest - and out of nowhere the wooden floorboards became interesting enough to stare at intently. His fingers twitched on your shoulders, itching to touch any part of your actual skin.

“Damn,” he muttered, “Since when?”

“I… I don’t know.” Hearing movement, Craig raised his eyes, seeing you bashfully playing with one of the strands of hair closest to your face, thinking he wasn’t looking. Another habit he’d grown to love. “I guess since the first day you came back. That time you told me I should be myself was awful, but...”

“You are yourself,” he interfered, straightening up and staring at you head-on. “You’ve always been yourself. And I like that. I like you.”

Those words should’ve been harder to say, and maybe they would’ve, if your confession hadn’t come first. But Craig found them as easy as saying ‘good morning’ - partly because he had no qualms about speaking his mind, ever, but also because he had waited with them on the tip of his tongue for almost as much time as you had. And time he now had to make up for; slowly, he leaned closer, giving you several moments to pull away before his lips met yours.

Holy hell. Despite being the one who initiated, it took him a moment to process that he was actually kissing you. Your lips were like the softest velvet possible against his and tasted like candy - he didn’t even know lip products could taste like anything, but now yours might’ve even become a new standard in kissing for him, one he wasn’t sure could be reached anywhere else. Seeking further closeness, he brought one of his hands to the back of your head, tilting it so your mouth could fit as perfectly as possible against his, not that it needed any help. The other hand drifted from your shoulder down your arm, catching your own and intertwining your fingers.

It was supposed to be a gentle kiss, just to test it all out, give him something to expect when he inevitably asked you out on a date later and exchanged numbers. But when your free hand grabbed hesitantly at the front of his jacket, as if you didn’t quite know where to put it, he found it impossible to part; you were too adorable for your own good, and he could sense your interest under the layer of shyness. So he got you even closer, tugging at your other hand with his and using it as leverage to draw you flush against him once more, deepening the kiss with a quiet moan.

Time seemed to slow down, incapable of catching up to Craig’s sped up heart rate. The silence in the room, the taste of your mouth, and having you in closer proximity than he’d ever had - those all contributed to him letting go of thought and not even noticing how uncomfortable it was getting with the rising warmth on his body as he lost himself more and more in the moment. But there was no denying it once you pulled back for air and he opened his eyes just in time to see the trail of saliva that was left connecting your mouths break. Then the heat in his lower abdomen hit him like a truck, and he was fully alert in the same second.

Look, at the end of the day, Craig was only a guy and operated accordingly. He was not above feeling arousal, and definitely not immune to the effects the maid outfit and your general cuteness had on his person. It was easy to pretend everything was fine in public, with multiple distractions, but alone with you and interacting directly, there was nothing to keep him from being engulfed in desire. Years of evolution had probably hard-wired his brain to being attracted to this type of submissive behavior and wanting to have it for himself. Darwin or some other badass scientist probably explained it better than he would.

The stoical male wasn’t going to tell you outright, not if he could avoid it. It was better to just let you get back to work, take care of himself in the bathroom and talk to you later as if nothing was amiss. But you stepped back before he was able to do anything, and the tent at the front of his jeans - which he’d just barely managed to ignore thus far due to it having been concealed by your skirt, the petticoat underneath providing an extra puffy layer that shielded you from having to feel any of it - was subjected to your full view straight away.

Silence fell in the small staff room, your gaze locking down onto the bulge of his crotch in a way that almost made Craig even more aroused. Maybe he had no right to stay near you after that, but simultaneously he felt rooted in place, incapacitated from leaving. The secret third option was turning his face away, but keeping sight of you on his peripheral vision as you took your time analyzing him.

“Oh… Oh wow.”

There was surprise in your voice, but he was relieved to notice it was the good kind. You hadn’t run away, you didn’t scream - despite the sudden development, you didn’t appear uneasy. Fascination kept you focused, and though his reaction was to just stand still and let you do so, he was inwardly preening himself at the fact that his arousal had drawn your attention like that, the awkward situation notwithstanding.

“Craig…” You called out softly, a flush forming on your cheeks and ears. “Can I… Touch it?”

This had to be a tease. No way you were this naive about what you did to him with stuff like that. And, in the off-chance you really were, then that would make it all just more satisfying when you did find out. “You can do more than touch,” he responded, not bothering anymore with the common sense that told him to at least fake being embarrassed. “But you really should head back now.”

“But I don’t wanna. I wanna stay here, with you… And…”

Agonizingly slowly for Craig, one of your hands reached out towards his crotch - just brushing against the denim of his pants at first, before you grew bolder and palmed it fully. Your touch was extra gentle, barely stimulating, but it still made him grunt and his dick twitch inside of his boxers.

His head snapped towards the break room’s door, almost as if expecting the whole staff to barge in at that very moment. “Your boss is gonna realize you are missing. She’s gonna come looking.”

“I… Don’t think so.” You covered your mouth with your other hand as you giggled, and Craig had to hold firmly onto the subject in his mind to not get fully distracted between that and your touch. “She knows I like you. I don’t think she’s gonna bother us…”

Craig’s eyebrows arched, and he turned his face to you again. As if made shy by his eye contact, you pulled your hand away, but he didn’t care about that anymore. If he was allowed to have his way, which appeared to be the case, both of you would be feeling much better soon enough. “You told her you liked a client?

The smallest smirk curved the edge of his lips when he saw you becoming even redder in the face. “Well… Sorta…” Your response came lower in volume, like confessing to a terrible secret, even though it was nothing major and you had been so willing to say it just a few seconds prior. “The staff here’s pretty close, they saw us talking a lot and… Yeah.”

“Huh.” Now it made sense. The weird behavior of the boss when you said you wanted to speak with him. She had known what was up and just wanted to confirm that you were comfortable going for it. “Well, then.”

That was going to be a talk he’d have with you some other moment; how long had he spent being the only clueless one in the room about your interest in him, the subject of lunch hour talks and giggling whispers in the corners from the other maids who saw you two talking? But for now, he had more important matters. Claiming your lips with more intensity this time and grabbing your waist, giving you just enough time to wrap your arms around his body, Craig walked you backwards the couple steps towards the other wall - lifting you up onto the table as soon as your ass hit the edge of it, with the same ease and strength he would’ve used to fight on the coffee shop space earlier if needed. 

He settled nicely between your legs, and only took his mouth off of yours to bring his nose to the crook of your neck. His grip on your waist instantly tightened. There it was, the scent that always followed him home and accompanied him most hours of his day for weeks on end now. Like the sweetest strawberry; one he’d never eaten before, but still had gotten ingrained into his taste buds, making him always chase that same flavor like an addict. You were pure candy, better than anything they served at the café, and he had a mad sugar craving.

Avoiding the ruffle choker you wore as part of your uniform, his tongue found your skin, licking a messy stripe from your neck to your ear; lips closing around your earlobe, sucking on it with barely held back enthusiasm. The way you squirmed and trembled under his touch, letting out a shaky sigh and tilting your head to the side to give him more room, had him wanting to just pin you down and keep doing just that, prompting those adorable reactions over and over.

His cock, however, had other plans. Instinctively, Craig had started rutting lightly against the table, seeking any form of contact to sate the need he was in. It wasn’t nearly enough. Only by feeling you for real would he be at peace, and he wasn’t settling for ‘the next best thing’ anymore, like he was when he kept telling himself just being your customer was fine. His breathing was harsh as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, the scent of your perfume still enveloping his brain like a pastel pink fog of passion.

“You want this, right?” He grunted, holding onto a scrap of sanity to make sure you were into it. “I won’t be able to stop later.”

You nodded desperately,  gasping like the mere mention of the concept jolted your core. He didn’t even have to touch you - only by the way you responded, with utter need, he was able to tell that you wanted him just as bad. “Please, Craig… I-” 

“Call me ‘Master.’”

Just as the words left his mouth, he knew he had lost his marbles completely. In absolutely no world would he have made such a request had he been in his right mind. But he couldn’t bring himself to not make it. 

Your eyes widened. “But you told me-”

“What I told you does not matter right now.” The fierceness with which he stated that made you gasp in surprise, a reaction that he clearly picked up on, as the next part came out lower and softer. “Please.”

After holding his gaze for another moment, as if expecting him to pull back on the request, you spoke again. “Okay... Master.”

Your voice was meek and uncertain, barely dipping your toes in that water, possibly waiting for the moment where he’d remember just how much he ‘hated’ - did he now? - being called that, braced for the scolding. Yet there was nothing that had felt more right for him as this did in that moment. The simple term lifted him to the top of the world, making his brain go feral with thoughts of dominating you, taking with delight everything that you were so willing to give, then handing it right back to you just to prove how correct you were in surrendering your body and your mind to him. Restraint was definitely not a factor anymore, and though it was out of his element, it felt fucking fantastic.

Even though he was the one that just got called Master, he’d get on his knees and hand you the universe on a silver platter if you asked.

“That’s right.” The way his voice shifted into a more hoarse version of itself denounced how much it all had affected him. “Good girl.”

Ah, your fucking whimper that followed. Never had he heard a more perfect sound. It spoke volumes of your need to please, proving that it wasn’t just an act you’d put on upon request. That was all want.

Craig didn’t make another request as he let go of you to undo his belt and the buttons of his currently way too tight pants, leaving you waiting with bated breath. However, as soon as your hands moved towards your own back, attempting to reach the tied strings of your apron and the zipper of your dress, your dominant arm was under his grasp - not enough to hurt, but plenty to warn.

“Leave it on,” he commanded, the thumb on his free hand hooked on his own waistband. “It’s fucking hot.”

Immediately your hands were back on your lap as if they’d never left the spot, such speed pleasing Craig immensely, even if he only showed it through a hum and a smirk. You were truly created to serve, and he was created to order. And fuck, did it feel good to not have to pretend that uniform of yours wasn’t sexy as hell. It had been hard, respecting it as just workwear while continuously inspiring images of what it would look like in all his favorite positions. But now he was the one that got to bestow it new meaning, since you also didn’t seem particularly attached to its meaning as job apparel.

He pulled down his jeans and boxers just enough to free himself, sensing the monster of pride inside him - which was usually lazily resting, due to not caring much what others actually thought of him or his qualities - roaring with satisfaction as you moaned quietly upon seeing his member, noticeably satisfied with the view. Your thighs pressed together more, rubbing instinctively, and he knew you were just trying to ease your own ache; but you had so easily submitted to his desires, he saw it as unacceptable that you’d get release from anything that wasn’t him. One of his hands pushed your chest firmly but gently, lowering your back towards the table, while the other brought your thighs away from each other and lifted up the front of your skirt, letting layers of dress, apron and petticoat bunch at your hips.

There wasn’t any teasing as he pulled your panties down and took them off you, and also no need for that anyway; the fabric had turned basically see-through by the point he got to it, your folds slick with glistening anticipation. Seeing you spread and dripping made him think that covering his head with those layers of your skirt and dying of heat stroke while eating you out would not be a bad way to go. He was positive you’d taste like candy, just like everything else that surrounded you, and lapping up your honey would consolidate the huge sweet tooth he’d apparently developed the last couple of weeks: he wouldn't be able to put another savory thing in his mouth ever again. But he didn’t have all that time - you were still on work hours after all, and though he didn’t give a fuck what was happening to your clients out at the café, he didn’t want you to be scolded or listen to any stupid complaints.

It was with that in mind that he shoved your panties into his back pocket and grabbed your waist again, dragging your now laid-down body closer to his own hips. As your legs lifted, crossing loosely around his waist, he took care of lining himself up with your entrance, dragging his angry tip up and down your slit, accompanying your mewls of pleasure with his own groans whenever it would brush against your clit. You were so goddamn responsive to even his smallest actions, it was unbelievable.

When Craig risked a glance at your flushed face again, all he saw were expectant wide eyes trying to watch where you two were about to meet - and quite failing to do so due to the barrier of bunched up fabric. Although it made him quite smug to know you were so interested in watching his cock, it was a waste of your precious gaze if you couldn’t look at anything. 

“You don’t have to watch. You’re gonna feel it.” His voice made you look up at his face again, and just then he put his cock against your entrance, breaching into your tight heat with a thrust that made you gasp in surprise despite how slow it had been. His own eyes shut, focusing on the sensation for a moment, and fuck was it amazing. He’d never felt so utterly enveloped, your warmth embracing his member with just the right amount of tightness, and by the way you clenched even more around him when he bottomed out after a bit, no doubt you were feeling just as amazing.

“I told you.” Craig spoke again, rough with desire, daring to open one eye to peek at your adorable face. He hadn’t even moved, and you already had half-lidded eyes and parted lips. How would you look when he effectively put you through it? “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you feel everything you need to feel.”

“Y-yes, yes… I trust you, master…” You nodded once, resolute despite the nerves that seemed to prickle right at your skin - which Craig knocked right out of you as his cock started to move inside your cunt, his hips setting a steady pace right away. He didn’t have the patience to drag anything out, not if you were going to keep calling him that word.

“Good girl… Good girl,” he murmured like a prayer, an encouragement for you to keep talking, to fuel his ego even more. He had delved into an uncharted zone - although he was pretty decent at thinking only about himself, he’d never valued himself as highly as he did in that moment, never felt like such a realized man.

And as this man he felt like, he wanted more. Whatever he could get. Planting his palms under your thighs, he pushed them up until your knees hit your chest, folding you up unceremoniously. He heard you squealing, but didn’t budge - because your hands quickly found the back of your knees and held them in their spread, letting your legs rest on his shoulders, keeping the position without a single complaint. He wished he could photograph that perfect vision to forever have the image of you open and taking him with unabashed eagerness, but his own memory would have to suffice. 

“Fuck, you’re flexible,” he commented distractedly while he drove himself into you harder and faster, placing his hands at your sides on the table and leaning more over it to hit even deeper, chasing the limits of what the sudden mating press would allow him. 

“Only- Only the best for my ma- master,” you stammered over your words in response, gasping and whining as he repeatedly hit that spot inside of you which made you goddamn stupid. A beautiful kind of stupid, one which Craig hadn’t known existed until then.

“Mmph… That’s what I wanna see,” he rasped, leaning with his upper body towards you even more until his face was hovering over yours. His lips trembled with the urge to kiss you, but the interest in hearing your moaning took precedence. “And you’re gonna always be the best for me, right?”

Whatever answer you had to verbally give, it got swept away by the quick breaths that left your mouth. It was sufficient feedback for him, though.

The table began to slam against the wall with each thrust, and the stoical male thanked its sturdy material, otherwise you’d both soon be sent crashing down to the floor with how rough he was getting. But the noise it made with the constant hitting did not grace his ears; all that did were the wet sounds of your cunt as he pounded into it relentlessly and your sweet little moans that spilled freely. Both of you were hanging onto hope that the noise outside would cover your actions, but the setting was long forgotten, anything outside of that tiny room ceasing to exist.

Each of your whimpers brought him closer to the brink. You’d talked to him in nothing but softness the whole time he knew you, and yet now he knew just how lewd you could get. How lewd he could make you get. And that was when he regretted his rush to get to this moment, because now that he had it, he couldn’t ever savor it enough.

“Aaaaah… Craig, I-” His actual name slipped out of your vocal cords before you could reel it in, and you slapped your mouth with your hand, tensing up even more with the worry of having messed up when you were so close to release. But at this point he didn’t care; any word you used to call him sounded heavenly in your voice anyway, and he wasn’t in any condition to punish you when he was also struggling to hold back.

“Speak up…” One of his hands moved to your wrist, pulling your palm away from your face and stopping it from muffling your words.

“Ngh… Master, I need to cum,” you whined, visibly relaxing - but not by much, considering the need that made your muscles taut - with his overlooking of your mistake.”Can I- aah- can I c-cum for you? Please?”

His fingers tightened around your wrist as he nodded firmly. “Do it,” he grunted, and right after the last letter left his lips you were clenching impossibly around him, a true high-pitched scream of pleasure tearing your throat when you gave him the most beautiful form of surrender. Your legs flailed against his shoulders, but he paid it no mind: his attention was on your expression, watching through half-lidded eyes as your own rolled back and your jaw went slack.

Craig had no idea how he found the self-control to do what he did next. When your cunt tightened even more around him, being already on edge, he’d surely be a goner - but he managed to pull out at the last moment, a move that he patted himself on the back for during the whole ride home after your encounter. Throwing his head back with a prolonged moan, he took himself in his hand and aimed towards your body as he came, spilling sticky white jets directly onto your apron.

A moment was needed after that, him letting go of his cock and hovering over you again with his hands on the table while you just laid there, both of your heavy breaths the only thing audible in the small staff room. You just stared at each other for what seemed like forever, your own slowly refocusing eyes capturing the perfect moment where rational thinking graced the man’s mind again and he looked down to see his seed splattered on your work clothes.

“Oops,” he murmured, still not all that sound with his thoughts, “Sorry…”

“It’s… It’s alright…” You responded with your voice still small and trembling, making a random movement of dismissal with your hand.

He knew it actually wasn’t. If you didn’t wash it off as soon as possible, it risked staining, and the whiteness of the apron’s fabric would not be able to camouflage it at all. But, like for many other things, he didn’t care. In fact, it was thrilling to think about: to send you off back into work with that marking of what had transpired clear on your uniform, so you’d go and serve all those customers - however unhygienic that would be - and call them ‘masters’ without being able to hide the stamp of who really owned you.

Finding strength in his body again, he took his cock out of you and settled it back into his underwear, the light rustling of the denim and clinking of the belt as he buttoned his pants being overshadowed by the shuffle of your skirt as you sat back up on the table, legs dropping to dangle at the edge of it.

When he was fully decent and brought his attention back to you, it was obvious that you were nervous. Your feet were kicking the air by his sides, that adorable face still flush from shyness and lingering arousal, and you were looking down with your hands folded over your lap, carefully avoiding the still sticky residue on your clothes. Not a peep came from you, not that he expected it. Getting in your head about what that meant for the both of you, if he had to guess. Fucking a customer in your place of work wasn’t peak relationship starting conduct.

Craig, however, had no nervousness to feel. For him, there was nothing to mull over. He wasn’t used to the whole romance thing, which showed in how he acted, but for you he felt he was willing to try, even if it proved difficult. He had decided.

But he had to soothe your concerns somehow, even if he didn’t share them. So he brought his lips to the top of your head, pressing them against your hair; not forcing you to look up, and also catching a whiff of your delightful shampoo in the process.

“You really have to go now. I’ll stick around. See you when your shift is done,” he said as he pulled away.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

You finally looked up at him and it made his heart feel floaty. Lips slightly parted and swollen from all his kisses, doe eyes gleaming with hope and relief, the beginnings of what could be tears of joy forming - made him want to disregard the last statement and just whisk you away someplace nicer right then. Damn you, responsibilities.

Still it took a moment for you to gasp and blink frantically, as if caught off-guard noticing the distraction caused by how happy you were feeling. When you looked at him properly again, there was that smile Craig had learned to associate with himself.

“Yes, master.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[w2soneshots]

I’ve missed you -W2S

words: 0.9k+

warnings: none.

summary: Harry comes to pick you up from the airport after a week with your family in Norway. Then he brings you to dinner with his friends to meet them for the first time.

notes: this fic was based off of this request!🙂 I hope you enjoy my lovelies💗🫶🏼

I met Harry four months ago. We immediately hit it off and have been together ever since. We're still in the early stages of our relationship, so I'm yet to meet his friends. Last week I left to go and see my family in Norway, which is where I've lived my entire life until last year when I moved to London. Me and Harry have spent most of our time together these past few months so it was really weird not seeing him for a week. Though we face-timed every night and I was constantly texting and sending pictures to him.

Today I'm flying home. My dad dropped me off at the airport and with one final hug we said goodbye. I checked in, went through security and was soon sat on the plane waiting to take off. I made sure to text Harry that I'd be landing in around two hours, since he insisted on picking me up. I listen to music and read for the entire time, so before I knew it we were landing.

I walked out of the huge glass doors and stopped as I looked around. When my eyes caught Harry's my heart rate began to speed up. A smile spread across my face and he quickly made his way towards me. "Hey!" He pulled me into a warm embrace. I wrapped my arms around his torso. "Hi." As we pulled away he smiled at me, then pulled a white bouquet of flowers from behind his back. "Oh my god Harry, they're beautiful!" I beamed. "I've missed you." He placed them in my hands. "I've missed you too, and thank you." I pushed myself onto my tip toes to peck his lips.

Once we got in the uber Harry had booked (since he absolutely hates driving, especially in London) we headed back to his apartment. When we got inside I took a shower to wash the plane smell off of me. Then I got ready because tonight I'm going to dinner with Harry, Ethan, Faith, Simon, Talia, Josh, Freya, JJ and Tobi. Harry has already given me the rundown on their names, what they look like and who's with who. I'm really excited to meet them and take the next big step in mine and Harry's relationship.

After making myself look presentable with, makeup and a nice outfit I left the bathroom. Harry sat on the bed and immediately looked up at me. "How do I look?" I asked jokingly with a twirl. He stood up "you look incredible." He complimented. "Why thank you." I smiled.

My leg shook slightly and I picked at my nails as we pulled up to the restaurant. Harry noticed this so placed his hand on my knee. "Everything's gonna be fine they'll love you." He soothed. I nodded then took a deep breath, intertwining my hand with his.

When we got inside we were quickly taken to our table where almost all of Harry friends sat. I politely smiled and immediately the girls stood up to greet me. "I'm Faith. It's so nice to finally meet you!" She pulled me into a quick hug. I introduced myself to the rest of the girls then looked back over to Harry who was already fondly observing at me. Unbeknownst to the both of us Ethan and Josh were nudging each other and whispering about how 'in love' Harry looked.

Once we sat down (me between Harry and Talia) we ordered some drinks. "So y/n how did you n bog meet?" Tobi asked. Harry had already forwarded me about his "stupid nickname" as he'd put it. "Um, well we bumped into each other and he knocked my bag out of my hand. Then we knocked heads as we both bent down to get it." I laughed lightly as I remembered the awkward interaction. "That sounds like it came straight out of a movie." Freya added.

Harry's hand sat comfortably on the top of my thigh as we chatted. I was soon fully comfortable around everyone and was having a great chat with Faith about her and Ethan's daughter, Olive. When our food arrived, all of the girls (including me) told the boys to "wait!" while we took a picture. The boys all groaned and then burst out laughing at the synchronised annoyance.

While we waited for dessert everyone was having their own little conversations. "So what's toffee pudding in Norwegian?" He asked. I giggled "it's just toffee pudding." "Oh. Well then what's," he took his time to think "thank you?" "Takk skal du ha." I replied. "Takk skal du ha." He repeated. I nodded "ye pretty much." I lifted myself from my seat "I'm just gonna go to the toilet, I'll be two seconds." Harry smiled "ok see you in a minute."

Harry's pov:

I watched as y/n walked away then turned back to the table to see the boys giggling. "What?" I asked, with my brows furrowed. "Harry you're so whipped." Simon stated. My face softened "well I really like her so... I don't mind." "I'm really happy for you bog, she seems really lovely." JJ said sincerely. "Ye it's nice to see you finally with someone." Ethan added. "It's not been that long has it?!" I asked, referring to Ethan's "finally". He chuckled "It's been like four years mate."

Your pov:

I returned to the table a few minutes later and sat back down next to Harry. "Did I miss anything important?" I asked. "Not really, the boys were just reminding me how long it's been since I've been with someone." I raised my brows "oh, why?" "Because they're glad I've finally found someone amazing as you." He whispered into my ear. A pink blush spread across my cheeks. Harry chuckled then placed his hand back onto my thigh.

[forbebeandjam]

STEP | BADA LEE X FEM READER | 21+

Summary: You see your first love for the first time in three years at your father's engagement party.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: VERY Explicit language and scenes. SMUT!!! 21+ Ex. Thigh riding, fingering, etc... MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

READERS DISCRETION IS ADVICED

A/N: Hello •u• I am brand new to this app and I... I feel like a baby learning how to walk but l am also happy I got to find this app... again... after five years ANYWAY!! I bring this small piece of work I made hoping you'll like it!! I don’t know how often I’ll post on here but I’ll keep you updated ☺️ Also feel free to check out my Wattpad books!! And thank you @dearminaa for your help!! You are awesome!

P.S. apology for any mistakes or errors in grammar. English is not my first language!!

You sat in front of your vanity getting ready for the party. A party to congratulate your father's recent engagement.

You couldn't care less on who he decided to marry this time. It was probably the same as the last person he married. Young, stupid, and a gold digger that only wants his wealth but will end up failing and he will divorce her. You could never forgive him for cheating on your sick mother.

You blame him for her death because he decided to cheat while she was in the hospital and when you took her home for a while, you two found him in bed with some girl. You mother become depressed and died a few day after that

You tried to push aside those thoughts and get ready. You were still dependent on him after all and had plans to take the company away from him. As you fixed you blush, you did one more brush stroke and looked through your jewelry box.

There, you spotted a choker your first love had given you. You met her in high school. She was two years older than you but you love her like you've never loved anyone and she was always there to comfort you when your mother passed.

She was your first kiss, your first love, and your first girlfriend. The day she graduated she was offered a big scholarship in the United States and since she was poor she decided to take the opportunity. You become so mad at her that you pushed her away and broke up with her. A few days later you received a box with that necklace inside and you kept it to cherish the beautiful relationship you two had.

-

"You look gorgeous, honey," your father said as he hugged you. You didn't return the hug and just stood there.

"Be nice to her okay? She's had a rough life. She suffer a lot and I really like her. Please?" He said and you looked at him with a wry smile.

"How much do you think mom suffered when dying, knowing you were fucking the maids daughter?" You whispered in his ear.

"Stop that. I made a mistake and I regret it. It will haunt me for the rest of my life. Now try to be nice to her and drop the attitude," he whispered back making you roll your eyes and sit back down.

A few minutes went by and the so called fiancé was no where to be seen. You sighed resting your chin on you palm until you spotted a familiar figure. Tall, slim yet well built and the same hair from years ago. You bit your lip as a scream was about to escape your lips. You didn't know why she was there.

You followed her figure until she reached the table and with a big smile she greeted your father.

"Bada, my darling. Was there traffic on the way?" Your father said a she placed his hand around Bada's waist. She didn't answer and just nodded before turning to you.

"Oh! This is my daughter. Honey, greet your future step-," he said and you stood up. You couldn't form a sentence and were already about to bust in tears.

"Hi." You said in a quick manner before looking away. Her eyes were scanning each part of your body. The outfit you were wearing was driving her insane and she didn't know how to hold back from touching you... and she didn't.

She placed hand index finger and thumb under your chin and turned your head towards her. You were startled by her actions so you froze under her touch.

"She's beautiful," Bada said. Her eyes showed sincerity and warmth but you were too upset to see it. You took her hand and tossing it away you excuse yourself leaving the guests astonished by your actions.

"I'm sorry, darling. I'll go talk to her," your father said as he was about to get up but Bada held his arm.

"Let me. I think it's best if we have a conversation from woman to woman. I'll ease my way into her heart, okay? Don't worry,"

"Just how you eased your way into mine. You're just perfect," your father said and Bada gave him a soft smile before walking out the door you went through.

You wonder the halls of the mansion talking to yourself. You were beyond mad, confused, and heart broken. How could your first love be engaged to your father? Your heels clacked and suddenly you began to hear an additional set of footsteps. You looked back but there was no one so you assumed it was one of the servers hired for the party.

"After three years of not seeing or talking to me she shows up. And she's going to marry my father? How disgusting can he be? She swore she would come back to me and she's with him. She can go fuck herself for all I care. I hate her guts. She's so annoying yet so beautiful and... I want her so badly. Am I the sick one? Oh, for fuck sake! I'm talking to myself," you rambled on and on.

"How about you talk to me instead?" You jumped when you heard Bada's voice but immediately kept walking towards your room ignoring her presence next to you.

She grabbed your hand and pulled you into the room where she assumed was your room and she was right. She pushed you against the wall and you let out a squirm as she did so.

"Let me go, you psycho! What is wrong with you!?" You shouted and pushed her away from you. She stumbled a back and chuckled. You look at her with a scowl. How could she find this funny when your blood was boiling?

"You find this funny? You're an asshole," you pushed her to the side and sat on your vanity trying to ignore her so she would go away. Your mind was clouded with thoughts and emotions so you fumbled trying to get the necklace off of your neck.

Instead of walking out of the door, Bada walked up to you and moved your hair to the side. She carefully took the necklace off and you began to melt under her soft touch. She put it in your hand and you just placed it on the vanity not caring where it landed.

"Why... why are you marrying him? My dad. You said you would come back and... I waited. I waited for three years and when I finally see you again you are engaged to... that? Why the fuck!?" You shouted not holding back anymore. Your tears began to fall and she only softened her gaze.

She walked to you slowly and took you hand while you wiped your tears away.

"I'm not going to marry him. I came here for you, my love," she said as she cupped your face.

"Don't. Don't do this Bada. If you're just going to break my heart and walk away from me again, just leave and go with my father," you said looking away but she pulled you into an embrace.

"Baby, look at me. I would never leave you again. Never again. I'll do everything I can to be next to you always..." he hand traveled from your cheek to your exposed shoulder. You shivered at her touch and then she planted a kiss on your shoulder making you bite your lip to prevent any noises from escaping your mouth.

"You have no idea how much I longed to touch you. To kiss you and make you mine. That is all I could think about. You wouldn't leave my mind for one second all I could think about was for a way to come back to you," she whispered into your ear as she walked. You took small step back until your legs hit the bed.

Her hands were on your arms and her gentle touch made it hard for you to hold back. You used your hand to create some space between you and her. You couldn't deny that you wanted her to touch you. You wanted her to make you her but you were sacred. Not if your dad. Never if your dad. He was a weak man after all, but she was engaged to him.

"Please promise me that you won't leave. That after this, you won't walk away from me. I will run away with you if we need to but please don't continue this if you can't promise me that," you said as you closed your eyes.

She cupped your face and you opened your eyes at the sudden skin contact.

"I promise with my life. I will never even again leave, my love. I will stay by your side and we can do whatever you want. We can stay or run away and I will be there because I love you and I should've never left but I had to think of my mother. Please understand. I'm so sorry," a tear escaped her eyes as she was practically begging for you to forgive her and understand her reasoning and you did.

You nodded and wiped her tears before kissing her lips. You kissed her hungrily and she responded with the same intensity. The kiss become for sloppy and wet as snacking sounds began to fill the room. You thanked your father for the first time for making the rooms sound proof.

"Tell me you want it. Tell me how you want it and how badly you want it. Tell me what you want," Bada said as she left love bites in your neck.

"I want you. I want all of you. I want you to touch me everywhere. I want you to fuck me, please," you said and let out a loud moan as she dragged her tongue across your collarbone.

"I didn't know you were so needy, my love. But you're such a good girl using your nice words for me," Bada said as she pushed you lightly on the bed. Your legs were slightly parted and she took the opportunity to crawl on top of you placing her knee in between your legs and slight pushing into your folds.

You moaned at the contact and moved your hips searching for more friction but her hands immediately went to your hips to halt your movements.

"Wait a minute, baby. I want to be the one to please you," she said sending you over the edge. You bit your lip and groaned in desperation . You need her touch. You wanted her so badly and when you opened and saw her remover her bra you almost came untouched letting out whispers and moans

"Calm down, baby. I'm all yours and I'm not going anywhere," she said as she lowered herself on you. She admired how your legas partner with no shorts and your panties were soaked. She pulled them down and kissed right above your sensitive bud making you part your legs even more. You wanted her and you couldn't handle any more emptiness.

"Bada, please..." you whispered.

"Yes, my love. Anything for you,"she immediately attacked you clit with her tongue and used her hand to pull you dress down revealing your tender breast and she didn't hesitate to begins massaging it as her tongue flicked on your bud in all the right ways that were making you let out moan after moan.

Your nipples were perky and sensitive and she let go of them to instead one finger into you. You were still a virgin so you felt a bit of pain as you felt her go in a cried out loud. She looked up at you. You were the most beautiful thing. Your skin glistened as small beads of sweat formed on your forehead. Your face was flushed in a a bright pink color and she moved up to kiss you tenderly still inside of you.

"It's okay. I'll be gentle. See?" She said as she began to slowly move her finger allowing you to adjust to the feeling. She placed soft kisses on your cheeks, forehead, lips, and chest helping you ease out the pain.

You slowly began to moan in please as you felt the pain dissipate and she sped up a little. You lips were slightly parted and your hand made it way to her breast. The soft skin was so pleasant you wanted to taste it. Using you elbows, you pushed yourself up and put her nipple in you mouth sucking and lightly tugging with your teeth. She began to let out soft and deep moans.

"That feels so good, my love. I'm going to add another finger okay, lay down for me and hold my hand," she intertwined your hands together.

She added a second finger and you felt like you were levitating as her warm tongue assaulted your clit. You felt her curl her fingers inside of you and you clenched around her as you felt an odd sensation at the pit of your stomach.

"Bada... Bada, fuck~ please. Let me cum please!" You begged as you back lifted from the mattress. She slowed down her pace making you  take a a hold of her hair and tugging.

"That wasn't nice, my love," she completely pulled out leaving you feeling empty and a tear rolled down your cheek.

"I'm sorry. I just need you. Please~" you whined softly as your eyes begged for release.

"Please what?" She asked.

"Please, baby. Please, Bada," you said and she smiled as she thrusted into you with great force. You yelled at the unexpected motion but you began to moan as her tongue started to work on your bud once again but this time she was slight biting down making you shout her name in pleasure. A pleasure you had never experienced before and when you least expected you released on her feeling a pulsating feeling as she licked you clean and then her fingers.

"You taste so good, my love. All of these years of waiting finally paid off. Now helped me," she said. You were still trying to come back to your senses as everything was blurry and you could only see how she was undressing herself. Your dress was now bunched on your waist.

She hovered above you and you felt a wet warmth on your thigh. When your vision was finally adjusted, you saw her beautiful figure on top of you. Her fringe stuck to her forehead as she was riding your thigh trying to reach her high.

Your hands traveled down to her waist as you helped her ride you. You used one of your hands to rub on your clit once more and she watched you actions letting out shaky breaths and moans biting her lip.

"You look beautiful riding me like that, baby. Keep going. Cum for me. Cum in me please," you said making her roll her eyes back as her hands rested on your breast for support and with a loud moan she came on your thigh. You sided your fingers to collect her juices and taste her the way she did with you.

"Fuck, that was so good,"you said and she collapsed on top of you. The two of you lay there for a few minutes as you were still throbbing with pleasure and catching your breath.

After a few minutes, Bada fixed your position removing the dress you had on and you both cuddled your bare bodies under the covers.

"Thank you," you said. Bada pulled you closer to her.

"For what, my love?" She asked as she planted multiple kisses on your shoulder.

"For this. For coming back and for loving me," you replied as you turned your body to face her and play with a stand of her hair. You admired her body. Beautiful as always. Then when you saw a ring on her finger, it hit you. She was way out to marry your dad and you just let her fuck you... You felt like a monster. You were no different than your dad.

"Bada, I think this was a mistake. You're marrying my father and this doesn't make me any better than him," you said on the verge of tears but she quickly embraced you.

"How about we go down and I explain everything to you. Trust me, okay? Nothing is what it seems," she helped you stand up and you both got dressed. You fixed you hair into a high ponytail and fixed your makeup as well when you  noticed how messy your face looked.

Bada also fixed herself and held you hand. You made your way down the stairs and into the big hall where majority of the guests had already gone home. That's when you saw you father kissing a woman around his age. You furrowed your brows in confusion.

"Mom!" Bada shouted and the woman turned to you with a bright smile.

"This is, Y/N. The girl I always told you about," Bada said and the lady pulled you into a hug.

"Wow! You're even prettier in person. I'm so glad I get to finally meet you. Bada and your father have talked wonders about you and do not feel pressured to call me mom or step mom. You can just call me Haneul," the woman said and you started to put the pieces together.

"I'll go to your father now. He seems to need me but let's all go on a ladies fun day one of these days. Bye girls. Y/N, honey... cover your neck," she said and waved before walking off.

Your face tired a bright shade of pink making Bada laugh. Bada pulled you out to the balcony where there was no one around before anyone could see the marks she left on your neck.

"You see? I'm not marrying your father. My mom is. When I saw her get engaged and I saw your father I didn't hesitate one second to leave it all behind and come here with you," she said and you internally smacked your face at how dumb and clueless you had been.

"I'm sorry, Bada. I should've listened and now I just feel stupid," you said as you lowered your head. She used her index finger and thumb to raise your chin and kiss your lips with tenderness and love.

"It's okay. I'm here and I'm here to stay. I love you so much," she said and connect your forged with hers.

"I guess now we are even," you said making her chuckle. She hugged you from behind placing her chin on your shoulder and you two watched the sunset with sweet kisses and soft laughs.

[collegeishardbutwritingisharder]

Yandere Kalim Al-Asim x Little Brother Reader Headcanons/Short Story(?)

Sunshine child time! I've actually had a good idea for Kalim for the longest time and I'm excited about it so let's go! Fun fact: when I started writing this, I just came up with a second brother for Kalim. I hate myself for this.

Warnings: Clingy Yandere

Kalim Al-Asim

Brother A:

You're the second oldest in the Asim line. It's also useful to note that you are the only one who is also Kalim's full brother.

You absolutely adore your older brother and the adoration is fully returned. You two are barely ever seen apart. Heck, when you both were tiny, if you were separated for two seconds, Kalim would start full on bawling. Your parents killed two birds with one stone and had you two share a room.

You two were basically the same person, mainly for the fact alone that you tried to mimic Kalim's every move. Your parents would start to call you 'Tiny Kalim' as a joke but it stuck for years.

"Kalim! Tiny Kalim! It's time for dinner!"

"Yay! Come on, Tiny Kalim! I heard that it's a whole buffet!"

"Coming! Is Jali joining us?"

"He should already be down there!"

"Okay!"

We both ran throughout the house to the dining room. We were so excited to eat what was made! We both enjoyed a big feast.

"I wonder if they have curry!"

"I hope that they have some coconut juice to drink!"

We both took our seats at the table and started bouncing up and down. Food always got us into an excitable mood.

"Alright, alright calm down."

"Jamil!"

"Jali!"

Jali was a nickname that I came up with for Jamil when I first started to learn how to talk. If I had a nickname, that meant I was going to give everyone else a nickname as well. I call Kalim Big Bro more often than not but sometimes, I call him Carpet Rider. He's really talented at flying a carpet.

"Here you go, Kalim."

Jamil set a plate of food in front of Kalim and made sure that nobody else touched the food. Kalim let out a light cheer before digging into his food. I had to wait for another twenty minutes before a servant brought me my food. I let out my own cheer.

I got my utensils and grabbed a big bite.

"Hehehe, Tiny Kalim!"

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I looked to see who it was. I turned back to see Kalim eat my food.

"Hey!"

"Hahahaha!"

This was always a normal interaction between you and Kalim.

When your other siblings came into the picture, you both tried to make sure that everyone felt welcomed into the family. All of the games that you would play would result in complete chaos. Mainly for the fact that everyone would lose who was It.

Your mother kept a careful watch over her two children to make sure that the other mistresses wouldn't dare hurt you two.

Although that doesn't stop them from trying to get you to hurt Kalim.

"Hey, Tiny Kalim. Come over here for a second will ya?"

"Huh? Yeah, do you need something?"

"Could you do me a favor and put the contents of this vial into your older brother's drink?"

"Maybe?"

"If you do, I'll make sure that you get a sweet treat~"

I just stayed silent but took the vial from the lady. She's the mother of my fourth and fifth younger siblings, who are very sweet to me. I don't want her to be thrown out and lose those two.

I looked at the vial a little closer and saw the skull and crossbones etched into the glass. Another poison... Why does everyone come to me to poison my brother? Thankfully, I know exactly what to do with this anyway!

"Hey! Hey, Mr. Ver!"

"Huh? Oh! It's Tiny Kalim! What brings you here?"

"I was just out on the town when I remembered you talking about how a weed completely took over your favorite flower bed. Do you think that this type of poison will clear it out?"

"Hmmm, let me take a little looksie."

Mr. Ver took the vial from me and poured it on a recently fallen leaf. It took only thirty seconds for the leaf to just shrivel up on itself. If Kalim actually drank that...

"Wow! Good choice, Tiny Kalim! Thank you for being so considerate!"

I only gave him a shaky smile and a quick nod of my head. I needed to go find Jamil and warn him.

"Tiny Kalim!!"

Nevermind, my job just got easier.

Kalim tackled me in a behind hug and squeezed extremely tight. I let out a laugh before enveloping Kalim's arms with my own.

"Hiya, Kalim! Do you know where Jali is?"

"Over here, (Y/N)."

I looked over to Jamil and I gave him a slight wave. I then looked back to Kalim.

"Big Bro, would you mind if I talked with Jamil alone for a few seconds?"

Kalim's smile dropped and his eyes became dull for like two seconds. It was like it never happened because his smile came back full force.

"Of course!"

There was a slight strain to his voice but I just brushed it off as a bad day. I grabbed Jamil's arm and walked out of hearing range while still able to keep Kalim in our sight.

"What did you want to talk about with me, (Y/N)?"

"Our father's third wife gave me poison to give to Kalim. I just wanted to warn you so you can keep a close eye on him."

"Hmmm, thank you for the warning, (Y/N). It's greatly appreciated."

I gave Jamil a nod. It's so weird to hear my actual name instead of Tiny Kalim. But it felt really nice.

This wasn't the only time you were given poison and then figured out how to get rid of it.

You were also given small weapons and some money but you were prepared for that as well. Whenever you got a weapon, you went to the hunters to find out if they could use it. They were willing to take whatever weapons you had and gave you even more money for them. Then you would take whatever money that you got from selling the weapons and the money that you were given and give it all to Jamil. The man needs the money more than anybody else does.

Sadly, your 'tricks' put a target on your back as well.

"Hrk!"

"Tiny Kalim?!"

I felt my stomach convulse and out came the food that I had just eaten. Normally, that wouldn't freak me out if it wasn't for the fact that there was also some blood in what I threw up. And my body wasn't done yet.

Jamil quickly grabbed some of my food and put it in a plant. The plant shriveled up, making my eyes tear up. I should have been expected to be poisoned.

"His food was poisoned. We need to get him to a healer!"

Kalim picked me up and sprinted towards the healer's office. My body was still heaving, trying to throw more and more up even though my stomach was empty. This was very painful.

"Please! Help my little brother!"

"Oh my! Please set him down!"

I felt the healer work and let out a sigh of relief. Kalim looked extremely terrified by the fact that I was poisoned. The amount of tension that I had in my body released and I blacked out.

When I came back to reality, Kalim was sitting by my side, clutching my hand tightly. I don't even think that blood could flow naturally in my hand with how tight Kalim was gripping it. I weakly tried to get him to let go of my hand but it notified him that I was awake and I got trapped in a bear hug.

It's safe to say that you could barely leave Kalim's side after that.

Kalim was terrified at the thought of losing his only full sibling and felt useless about the fact that he couldn't protect you.

He demanded that Jamil would also be at your beck and call for the fact that and I quote 'Tiny Kalim needs Jamil more than I could ever!'

It's also safe to say that Kalim was less friendly to your other siblings. Still be courteous to them but refusing to let them play with you.

"Tiny Kalim! Tiny Kalim!"

I turned around to see Malik and Maia, twins by the way, running towards me, holding what seemed to be new toys. Not that surprising considering their birthday was only two days ago.

"Tiny Kalim! We haven't seen you for what feels like forever! Come and play with us!"

"I would lo-"

"(Y/N)."

I turned my head to Jamil, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. As always, he had a poker face on.

"Yes, Jali?"

"Kalim has requested your presence."

"Ah, I see."

I then turned back to the twins and gave them a sad smile.

"Sorry guys. But it seems like our older brother needs me for something."

"Awwwwww, but we really wanted to play with you."

"I know. How about this? As soon as I'm done with whatever Big Bro needs from me, I'll come and find you as soon as possible! Then we can play the night away!"

"YAY!"

Now with Malik and Maia happy once again, I started to follow Jamil to wherever Kalim was.

"You do realize that Kalim most likely won't let you go before it's way past their bedtime right?"

"Yeah, I'm just trying to figure out what he wants from me this time. This is the fifth time that he has called me today alone! It's over a hundred if you count the rest of the week."

"I did take count. With this call, the count becomes 134."

"Oh goodness. How long do those meetings take normally?"

"Six hours is the average that Kalim will keep you normally."

"I need to talk about this with Big Bro."

You tried to talk with Kalim about the current monopoly that he was trying to have over your time.

Kalim decided to pull one of his best tactics.

"Monopoly over your time? Do you really believe that I'm trying to be selfish? I'm just trying to protect you, Tiny Kalim!"

"Big Bro, I don't have any doubts that you're only concerned about my well being but! It has been feeling like you're trying to prevent me from hanging out with anybody else lately. Well, other than Jali."

"I'm quite hurt that you would blame me like this. I guess that you don't love me anymore."

"That's not true! I still love you, Big Bro!"

"Then why must you push me away so often?!"

Kalim's eyes were starting to well up with tears and were quickly overflowing. He broke down into tears while huge sobs escaped from his mouth. I felt my heart twist at the sounds. The feeling was awful in my chest. I walked towards Kalim before enveloping him in a hug of my own.

"Please don't cry, Big Bro. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings! I was just being dramatic! I won't push you away again."

"Do you promise?"

Kalim's eyes were so broken. The tears streaming down his face added to the pain in my chest.

"I promise."

Ever since that promise was made, Kalim made sure that you would never leave his side. Wherever Kalim went, he made sure that you were coming along or would tell Jamil to drag you along.

You can't really remember the last time that you were truly alone. Either Jamil was in the same room, staring from the corner or you would be right by Kalim's side.

This persisted until it was time for Jamil to leave for NRC.

Kalim and I were watching as Jamil was getting ready to enter a black carriage. A smile was present on my face while Kalim was basically vibrating with excitement.

"Bye, Jamil! Have fun and stay safe!"

"Yeah! It's going to feel slightly lonely without you around!"

"Hehe, it'll be fine without me. You two have each other after all."

After those parting words, Jamil entered the coffin and the carriage rode off with him. Despite the fact that he couldn't see us, Kalim and I were waving our arms in the air until the carriage was no longer in sight.

"You know? You're right. It already does feel a bit lonelier without him."

"I know! Either way, let's go back inside. I want to play some Mancala with you, Tiny Kalim!"

When Jamil left, your mother and father took extra precautions with you. Since Kalim's most trusted servant was no longer available, they upped your guard count to make sure that neither you nor Kalim would be left alone.

Eventually, Kalim's magic appeared and he showed your parents. Everybody was overjoyed for Kalim and threw a party to celebrate him.

Shortly after the party and two months after Jamil left, an invitation from NRC arrived for Kalim!

Everyone was enthused! Well, almost everyone.

"NO!"

"KALIM! Do not fight with me! This is a huge honor!"

"Not unless Tiny Kalim is coming along as well!"

I kept my ear pressed close to the doors while the argument persisted. Kalim tried to burn the invitation when he got it and it sparked this argument. Dad wasn't very happy with how Kalim was acting. But Kalim wasn't completely above throwing a mild tantrum.

I stepped away from the door before sitting between two of our guards. I looked at both of them but neither of them dared to meet my gaze. I closed my eyes and wondered about how we reached here. Kalim's possessiveness, my willingness to play along, Jamil leaving. Kalim has become basically entitled to all of my attention.

I'm mildly hoping that Mom and Dad say no. Maybe the separation will benefit both of us.

"WAHOO!"

But that scream tells me otherwise.

Yep, Kalim was able to convince your parents to pull some strings to get you a ticket into NRC as well.

You were two months late into the school year but since Jamil has been there, he was able to catch you both up to speed.

"JAMIL!"

Jamil's head whipped around so fast that I was afraid of his neck getting hurt. Kalim basically body slammed him to the ground while I was running to catch up with both of them.

"KALIM?!"

"Yep! Did you miss us?"

Kalim was slightly bouncing while still keeping a strong grip on Jamil's shoulders.

"Us?"

"Hi, Jali!"

Jamil then saw me standing a bit away from the two. I gave him a slight smile and wave. Jamil's face displayed shock before he schooled his expression. Kalim finally got off of him and stood up. Once Jamil was on his feet, I gave him a hug of my own. No point in knocking him back down.

Jamil cleared his throat before talking.

"What brings you two here?"

"We're joining NRC!"

Jamil's eyes widened and Kalim took that as a sign to elaborate.

"I'm able to use magic now after many years of practice! I kept trying and trying and trying. But now, it has finally clicked! I got a letter a few days ago and tada~! Now, we're here!"

"That explains why you're here. But why is (Y/N) here?"

"I'm here because-"

"How could I possibly let Tiny Kalim be on his own?! We've been together since he was born! Not to mention, how would I be able to keep a proper eye on him?!"

Kalim interrupted me again. He has been getting into the habit of speaking for me. I guess I'm to blame for that as well.

Jamil only nodded his head before muttering stuff under his breath.

NRC days seemed to be pretty much the same to you as days in the palace.

Hang out in Kalim's room, eat with Kalim, hang out with Kalim and go to classes with Kalim.

You had tried to make new friends with the people of the dorm but Kalim always sent Jamil to find you. It was amazing how he knew whenever you had free time.

"Isn't NRC so cool?"

Kalim and I were resting on his bed staring at his ceiling. He recently became dorm leader. How? We have no idea other than Crowley randomly telling him one morning.

"Yeah, I guess."

I haven't been able to see much of NRC if I'm being honest. The most that I've seen outside of Scarabia are the classrooms. Before Kalim goes to his after school activities, he drops me off in our room. And to add insult to injury, he also locks the door behind him.

"You guess?! Come on, Tiny Kalim! This place has basically everything! Plus, everybody is really nice!"

I wouldn't know, considering I can't talk with any of them since Jamil always comes and interrupts any conversation that I could have. I only nodded my head before putting a forced smile on my face. When did I lose my ability to be (Y/N) and became only Tiny Kalim?

That thought plagued me for the rest of the night. I couldn't even close my eyes. My thoughts were much too frantic for it.

The next day, you decided to do something that you haven't once thought of in your life.

You left the room while Kalim was asleep. You normally woke up early and waited for Kalim to wake up. But you really needed some alone time. Time to be (Y/N). Not Tiny Kalim.

You ran out of Scarabia to the main campus. You only really knew where the main building was so this was a good chance to learn more about it.

You first went to the gate and started to patrol the perimeter. The stars were your company for this nightly stroll! They were ten times better company than your brother or Jamil.

"I wish I paid more attention to Arqa's ramblings. He would know all of these stars by heart. And the constellations that are out at this time of year."

I spoke out loud to the stars. Nobody else was up at this time, which was mildly disappointing. At least back at Silk City, the night Bizarre would have many different faces. Some scary, some friendly, and some just faces.

I started to hum and dance with the cool air enveloping my body. I haven't felt this unburdened in forever.

"TINY KALIM!"

I felt a body collide with my own, sending both of us to the ground.

"Kalim!"

Kalim was snuggling into my front, his grip getting really tight. It was quite obvious that he had been crying again.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!"

"What do you mean?"

"WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?! I-I-I had to go to use the b-b-bathroom! AND WHEN I WOKE UP, YOU WERE GONE!! I-I-I-I THOUGHT SOMEONE KIDNAPPED YOU! I THOUGHT THAT I LOST YOU FOREVER, TINY KALIM!"

I listened to Kalim's crying before I saw Jamil walk up to us.

"He woke up the entire dorm to create a search party for you. That was very reckless."

I tilted my head down. My face felt so flushed from embarrassment.

"You should have left a note, (Y/N). I always thought that you weren't like Kalim but maybe... I should start calling you Tiny Kalim as well."

I felt my heart drop. Jamil was the only person who called me (Y/N). If he no longer does, would anybody remember my name?

Brother B:

You were the youngest (So far) of the Asim family. Your birth wasn't the biggest thing that has happened to the family but a few of your older siblings visited you the same day. One of those people was Kalim.

When it was his turn to hold you, Kalim felt something stir within his soul. He didn't know what exactly made you different from his other younger siblings that he has held. But he just felt such a connection with you!

There were plenty of times when you SHOULD have been with your mother that Kalim just took you instead. Whenever you needed to sleep, eat, or take a bath, Kalim would be the one to do it with you.

"Kalim! You need to stop taking (Y/N) whenever you want! I swear, if you keep this up, you'll become more of his mother than I am."

"But... (Y/N) likes to be with me! Right, (Y/N)?"

I babbled and put my fist in my mouth. I taste really nummy!

"See! He wants to be with me!"

Kalim would constantly run off with you. He took you to places that weren't really safe for your age.

Since your immune system wasn't as strong as a normal human being and you would normally get milk from your mother basically once a month, you would get sick quite often.

Kalim would feel mildly guilty since it was his fault but he would take the sickness as another thing to experience with you!

"Do you think that he's better yet, Jamil?"

Jamil took a breath before answering Kalim.

"No, Kalim. Look at him. His face is still flushed. Taking him out now would put him at risk."

I kept on crying. It was so hard for me to breathe! Plus I feel icky!

"I didn't mean to do that! You know that, right, Jamil?!"

"Yes, I know, Kalim. Come along. Let's give (Y/N) his medicine and let him sleep this sickness off."

A cup was put to my lips and a sweet syrup was in it. I drank it all up. What a sweet treat! I felt my eyes get droopy before I just passed out.

One year after you were born, Kalim was told that he was going to NRC after Jamil.

Kalim came up with a 'clever' plan.

He got special clothes to hide you in and snuck you into NRC without the Headmage or any of the other staff noticing.

"We're here! At our new home for a while!"

"Why are you shouting that, Kalim?"

"Because~~~!"

Kalim then reached into his secret pocket and pulled me out! I let out some giggles because it felt like I saw flying. Ooooo! Look! It's the grumpy guy again!

"Kalim... You're joking right? That's not actually (Y/N). Right?"

"Nope~! It's (Y/N) alright! I simply couldn't stand being away from him! I tried for one night. I had the caretakers move his crib out of my room and into his mother's but I couldn't sleep! What if he was crying?! What if he needed attention?! How was I supposed to know that he was safe if he wasn't with me at all times!"

The grumpy man just let out a sigh while Kalim spun me around in the air. He fell onto his bed with me on top of him.

"We're going to have so much fun here!"

Kalim took you to all of his classes, despite how much Jamil protested.

The staff would also raise an alarm but noticed that when you weren't there, Kalim wouldn't be able to focus and pay attention.

So they put up with you in their classes. Sometimes they would bring little toys for you to play with as well.

Eventually, letters started to come in. Letters from your mother.

"Hmmmmm."

I watched Kalim as he sat at his desk, looking at a piece of paper. I crawled over to him and started tugging on his pant leg.

"Huh? Oh!"

Kalim picked me up before setting me down on his lap. I looked at the paper too but it had weird scribbles on it.

"Your mother is quite upset with me, (Y/N)."

Kalim started talking and I just put my ear against his chest.

"She says that I shouldn't have taken you away from her. That I'm in the wrong for putting you at such risk. That I'm a monster who takes what doesn't belong to me. But that's where she's wrong, correct?"

I just tilted my head. I didn't really understand what he was saying.

"You do belong to me. You belong to me just as much as you belong to her. Just differently! I'm your older brother! It's my job to make sure that you live the best life that you can live! It's her job as the mother to bring you to life! She's already done her part of the job and now, it's my turn!"

Kalim gave me a huge smile, which I returned.

"See! I knew that you would agree with me!"

Kalim brought me into a hug. I reciprocated it but I was blind to the dark glint that appeared in his eyes.

"Maybe... I should send someone to remind her that she's done with her job."

[buttdumplin]

A John Price meet-the-fam special!! This is pure, indulgent fluff.

cw: gn!reader, latine reader word count: 1.2k

When Price first meets your family, it goes over smoother than fucking water over a polished worry stone. It just is. You thought it might go like that, knowing that he’d do practically anything to make himself fit in as seamlessly as possible. But you also knew that bringing home a white guy always comes with a very specific brand of first interactions.

You prep him for the teasing that’s to come, about his accent, about his complexion, about the food he eats. John takes it all in very seriously, nodding along and asking probing questions. It’s all for your benefit, and he’s incredibly mindful of that. You don’t necessarily need to know he’s already got a plan of action, though.

By the time you arrive at the family home, you’re a little stiff, braced for the barrage of probing questions that’s to come. You can tell the family is curious, you see the tías eyeing up and down. But there’s no interrogation this time. Because John beats them to it. He’s polite and answers all the niceties as respectfully as he can. And then he immediately launches into offering up information, as cryptic as it may be. He dons that dimpled smile of his and tells them what he can.

“I’ve been at this job for a while now, but I’m retiring soon. It’s actually my personal life that I'm more invested in improving now.” 

“I’m hoping to buy a home in the very near future. Maybe like this one, a big family place. I’ve been tucking away money for it for a while now.”

“I’ve had to spend a lot of time away, but I’m really looking forward to staying home with this one.”

The tías are swooning when he makes intense eye contact with you across the table as he speaks. He’s not hiding any kind of intentions, from you or them. None of the information is particularly new to you, but hearing him say it out loud? In front of all the people important to you? It’s one thing when it’s quietly discussed in the early hours of the morning. It’s another thing entirely to hear it all said in such a permanent way.

At one point, your godmother, as entrometida as she always is, mentions she’s willing to go shopping with him if he’s ever in need of a ring, says she’s always had a good eye for your style.

“Oh, no. Se lo agradezco, pero ya no va a ser necesario,” he replies with an even bigger smile, and it’s got the women hollering. They’d take a bite out of him if they could. John carries himself with the firm confidence of knowing who he is, and they can see that. They respect it.

The tías, predictably, also do everything they can to keep you two physically apart. You’re put on comal duty, keeping you in the deep corner of the kitchen where he can’t reach you. John himself doesn’t try to reach for you, wanting to spare you the godforsaken “chiflando y aplaudiendo” even at your big age. So he keeps busy by setting the table, asking only where he can find the cups and tableware. They all ooh and aah.

“Ven? Ni se le tuvo que pedir,” they shout at the tíos, pointing at John’s busy hands.

A few questions do pop up once dinner is set. Do you eat this kind of food? Have you had this before? Do you like it? Tíos razz him into adding more and more salsa on his food, and John, knowing full well how it all ends, goes along with it. He’s managed to build up some tolerance that he’s quite proud of, but there is no way that’s saving him. He knows what he’s in for. A single bite and his face turns so red it’s almost purple, his coughing making it hard for him to get water down. The tíos laugh and he’s smiling along with them, the tías rushing to get more water and napkins and a cup of milk because “I heard this helps white people?” You swap his plate out for a new one while they’re all caught up with John, taking a few bites of food to try to match it to the dish he had before. 

A bubble of softness blooms in the room. The tías are cooing over him, consoling him after his “brave attempt.” The tíos take turns patting his back, smiling down proudly at him for having met their challenge. He smiles back at you from across the table, knowing full well what you’ve done to his food, spotting a few more veggies than he’s originally served himself. The tablecloth is long, surely they won’t spot him gently nudging your foot with his own. 

When your godfather invites him out onto the porch for a smoke, John knows it’s his time to shine. He asks you to stay inside with a wink. He brought those Cuban cigars with him for a reason, he’s sure he’ll make it through. You hold him at the door for a second longer, just enough to give him a tender kiss before sending him along. Neither of you missed the way your godfather so clearly recognizes the way John moves, his own military past helping read further into the man you’ve brought home. You know there’s a good chance of this not going perfectly. 

Ignoring the calls from your tías, you crawl to sit below the window that lets out right behind them. They both let out soft grunts as they settle into their chairs, a long hum of appreciation from your godfather clearly signaling John has opened the cigar box for him. It’s silent for a while. The only sounds come from the lighter and their soft exhalations. Then a soft rustling begins. It’s not the trees, it’s too muted for that. It’s not gravel, they aren’t going anywhere and they certainly didn’t make their getting-up grunts. No, it’s their clothes. Because they’ve come up with hand signs on the spot, across languages, so you can’t listen in. 

There’s some chuckling, surely that’s a good sign! But the low sigh coming shortly after isn’t very encouraging. You try to make sense of it somehow, but there’s no distinct rhythm to it. And suddenly you’re twelve again and trying to sneak a peek. You may not need a stool to help you, you’re tall enough to see through the window on your tiptoes. Maybe if you do it slowly, they won’t notice. So slowly it goes, your knees creaking as you inch up. Their rustling continues; good, they haven’t noticed. Yet as stealthy as you try to be, they’re both looking directly at you as you finally get eyes on them. Their smiles all too knowing. You godfather winks at you, clicking his tongue fondly. He holds a hand up before you can say anything, groaning a little as he rises. He takes a beat to look down at John. You’re all frozen for a moment. And then your godfather’s hand comes down firmly on John’s shoulder, giving him a sturdy shake. 

“Me meto antes de que la vieja huela todo este humo,” he says. It’s done. No disaster, just acceptance.

When you turn back to John, he’s already got a mad grin on his face, “See? This old white boy’s still got some moves.”

AN: I am buckled the fuck in for all this latine reader content, so yall will be seeing a whole lot more of it. Thank you again to @mikichko!!! For your support and encouragement, and your incredibly generous feedback. I'm doing this to feed us both.

Let me know if yall wanna see anything with latine reader in particular!!

[nottieln4]

landoscar wip spoilers 👀

it's sunday. i'm bored. have some no-context snippets. :)

these are all four completely different fics I've been working on!

most of them are un-edited and some are stuff that even my beta reader hasn't seen yet. 💔 (i'm fine, she's got no tumblr)

i'd be very excited to hear some of y'alls thoughts on these.

hate to be lame

December 2022 

Lando closes the article when Andrea and Zak walk into the room, being followed by an unfamiliar mop of brown hair. Oscar Piastri, his new teammate for the 2023 F1 season. There’s not a ton Lando knows about the guy, except for the fact that he won F2, is younger than Lando and is Australian, just like Daniel. Though his former and current teammate couldn’t be any more different, if Lando is to judge from the couple of clips he was able to find of the younger man online.

And then there’s the fact that Oscar’s been following his accounts for longer than Lando’s known of him, judging from the likes and interactions that go back to years before Lando even made it to the big league. It’s kind of adorable, to be honest, and it’s for sure something that Lando’s going to bring up one of these days. Simply to be able to watch the other driver squirm a little. 

While Oscar crosses the room to sit down on the other side of the table, Lando locks his phone and puts it down, watching as their bosses take the seats at the front of the room. The article he’d been reading is still circling through the back of his mind. It’s not something that bothers Lando every second of every day, the fact that he’s yet to meet his own soulmate but it’d be a lie to say it doesn’t hurt sometimes.

That he’s alone, in a world built for two. 

Non-soulmate relationships have become more common, and a lot more respected in recent years, but at the end of the day, finding one’s soulmate will remain the end goal. Whether or not it will end up in a platonic or romantic bond. Lando can’t imagine not falling for his soulmate though, after all, aren’t they supposed to be perfect for each other? Two halves of the same soul? 

His soulmate could be feeling differently about it all, Lando’s well aware. Maybe they’re already in a relationship or simply won’t be interested in dating Lando, cause he’s well - himself. There are examples of happy and healthy non-soulmate relationships on the grid, like Lewis and Seb who got married in autumn of last year. 

Lando can’t lie, thinking of his own fairytale romance, he imagines something a lot more like the perfect soulmate bond that Daniel and Max share, even if it makes flying with them unbearable on more occasions than not. 

Clearing his throat, Zak redirects the attention of the room to himself, “I’m sure you’re all aware but this is Oscar’s first proper day as a McLaren Racing Formula 1 driver, so let’s all make sure he feels welcome, yeah?” There's an agreeing murmur going through the room and then it’s time for the meeting to begin properly.

All in all, it’s not one of the most exciting debriefs Lando’s ever had, and he’s reaching to get in the simulator rather than listen to Zak and Andrea go on about the same thing another time again. The only thing keeping his interest is when somebody will call on Oscar to share his thoughts. Their rookie will confidently manage his way through his sentences, calm and eloquent, but there’s a telltale, red-flush creeping its way up his neck, still. Lando’s a little peeved to admit he finds it unreasonably adorable.

oscar winning tears

They’re in the car now, Jon driving to the hotel while Lando rests his head against the window, pretending to doze off. Despite the fact that he can’t see himself catching even a second of sleep anytime soon, knowing damn well he’ll replay the race in his head over and over again. At least his trainer is kind enough to let Lando keep on pretending. 

When they reach the door to Lando’s room, Jon sends him a tired, but genuine, smile. The pity in his eyes might be more than Lando can take though, and it doesn’t do his heart any favours when the older man’s hand comes down on his shoulder. “Try not to beat yourself up too harshly, okay? You’re human, you’re allowed to make mistakes.”

‘Yeah, I just keep making more than the rest of the grid together’, is shooting through his head but Lando bites his tongue and keeps quiet. Jon doesn’t get paid enough to deal with his shit, and still, he does so on most occasions. Lando will let him sit this one out. “I’ll try,” he mumbles, and tries to send a smile back in the Brit’s direction.

Judging from the grim expression on Jon’s face, it doesn’t quite work. 

When the door falls shut behind him, Lando appreciates the silence. He doesn’t turn on anything inside the room, apart from the tiny lamp on the bedside table. His brain’s loud enough anyways. With any more strength left in his bones, he might try to go for another (warmer) shower, or to put on some mind-numbing tv to lull him to sleep.

But Lando just wants to fall into bed and pretend he’ll fall asleep in the next three hours. Even getting in the proper sleep attire proves too much for him, so Lando simply gets rid of all his clothes until he’s left in his boxers and slips underneath the giant, feather duvet. It’s a decision Lando will probably come to regret later, considering how low he keeps the temperature in the room. Maybe it’s another, although small, way of punishing himself for his missteps. 

A knock on his door is enough for Lando to flinch, his heartbeat starting a sprint inside his chest. The person at the door had kept it at a polite volume, considering the time of the night, but inside Lando’s quiet room, it had appeared much louder. Even with the voices screaming inside his head. 

“Lando? Are you still awake?” Somehow, Oscar is the last person Lando expected to reach out to him right now. And despite how much he wants the younger man close, to bury his face in the soft skin of his neck and forget the gloomy world around him, it’s nothing he deserves. Lando’s too numb, too empty, to call out for Oscar.

After another few tries, the Australian leaves. Eventually, while blankly staring at the ceiling, gravity pulls Lando’s eyelids down, and sleep claims him. His entire, restless night is accompanied by silent tear tracks colouring the white of the pillow a pale green. . 

-

Waking up the next afternoon, it’s not kind either. All his limbs aching, and his eyes swollen from all the crying Lando apparently did in his sleep. He’d figured, even as he was tearing up while falling asleep, that it’d stop at some point during the night. But looking at the way he’d stained his pillows, it’s a pretty clear sign he never really stopped. 

The heartache was too overwhelming, maybe. First, the clear confirmation that Oscar couldn’t be any less interested in Lando and then, the disaster-class of his race. If there wouldn’t be a good chance left for them to secure the championship in Abu Dhabi, Lando would have already crawled into another hole never to be seen again.

That’s not an option right now, though, no matter how badly Lando craves hiding underneath his own blanket, back at his home in Monaco and forgetting about the world that exists around him. No, he’s still got a championship to win for his team, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his hardest to try. 

For a moment, he thinks about trying to get a few more minutes of sleep, but it’s quite obvious he’s way too awake to do so. Sighing, he sits up and presses the button for the blinds to slowly go up while he grabs his phone, scrolling through the messages he’s missed while asleep. On the bottom of the screen, Oscar’s singular message stands out. ‘I’m here if you need me.’

It’s utterly sweet, yet the message does nothing but deepen the nausea Lando is feeling. Instead of answering anyone, he puts his phone away again. They’ll head off to the airport soon, and he’d rather take an actual shower and try to tame his curls beforehand. 

On the way to the bathroom, he grabs a baggy, washed out jean and a dark grey hoodie, as well as a pair of new boxers and some socks. By the time Lando’s done with his shower, carefully taking care of his curls and scrunching them into form, Lando feels a little more alive. His eyes are still red-rimmed and swollen but it’s nothing a pair of sunglasses won’t hide. 

Packing is by far Lando’s least favourite part of traveling, but he’s meticulous about it all the same. He remembers the first time Oscar had peered inside of his suitcase, eyebrows raised high in surprise, “Not going to lie, mate, I expected you to just kind of throw your stuff in there and call it a day.”

Well, turns out Cisca Norris didn’t raise no heathen. Besides, there’s something calming about folding his laundry and arranging it inside the suitcase. It’s a task that makes Lando feel grounded, the high-tension and jet-setting parts of his job really make it hard to keep one’s feet on the ground sometimes. Lando’s quite careful about keeping himself in check, in that regard.

He tries, at least. 

Twenty minutes later, he stumbles out of the elevator and into the lobby of their hotel, Jon already waiting there, impatiently. Just as Lando is about to raise his hand in greeting, the older man spots him. His eyebrows draw together as Jon tilts his head, which is almost enough for Lando to stop in his tracks.

Before he can even think about asking his trainer what’s wrong, Jon shakes his head, “Mate, are you sure you meant to pair that green hoodie with those pants? Guess, it’s something.” Confused, Lando’s about it to point out to the other man that he’s clearly wearing a grey hoodie, when it hits him. Looking around the entrance, the big palm plants that just yesterday were a healthy green are nothing but a lifeless grey now. 

Even the brochures on the front desk, the one’s Lando clearly remembers being pale green, because he was staring at them bored out of his mind while Jon had been checking him in, just a few days ago - even those are fucking grey too. 

What the fuck.

no promises to keep

Oscar climbs the stairs of a building, using the rain pipes and windows to move at a faster pace. It turns into a dead end soon enough and once he’s down on the cobblestone again, he runs headfirst into a group of Shinra soldiers, taking out the gunmen one by one. The buster sword remains heavy in his grip, but it’s welcoming to Oscar, these days. Grounding, especially in high stress situations like these. 

2,000 gil, is the mantra that keeps him going while he ducks in between burning structures. 

And then, suddenly, the entire world is burning all around him. He’s teleported to five years ago, his home burning in front of his eyes. Nibelheim crashing down on itself, the people either cut down by Masamune or simply victims of the fire and ashes. Oscar’s house - the one with his mother still inside of it - falling down into nothing but a pile of bricks and stones. Aiva’s house, right next to his, is nothing more than an empty casket. 

Max Emilian Verstappen, clutching his sword in the middle of the fire. Shinra’s Mighty Lion, the hero of the Wutai War and the first SOLDIER to ever receive a first class ranking. The guy basically everyone at Shinra had been falling their feet over, at least back then when Oscar had first joined the company.

He doubts it’s the same now, considering Oscar had murdered the man five years prior. How, it’s still a fucking mystery to him, considering how greatly outmatched Oscar had felt. The memory is hazy, cloudy in his mind, even now. But seeing Midgar burn around him like this, it’s almost like Oscar can see him. 

Max, just a couple feet away from him, smirking as his grip on Masamune tightens. Just as Oscar’s about to pull his own sword from the shoulder holster on his back, the illusion vanishes into the dark of the night. That’s it. Nothing more than my mind playing tricks on me, Oscar breathes a deep sigh before continuing on. There’s no way Max survived, falling down into the Mako Reactor on Mt. Nibel. No way. 

Back to being quick on his feet, Oscar stumbles onto 8th street, the theatre coming into his view. The advertisement for LOVELESS, the most popular play in this goodman city, stands tall and proud. Guess there’s nothing bringing that one down. 

That’s when Oscar spots him. 

It’s a younger guy, Oscar assumes around his age, standing next to a cart with flowers. He’s wearing light, baggy jeans and a baby pink sweater with red flowers stitched onto the fabric. A yellow flower is tucked behind his ear, complimenting the messy curls on top of the florist’s head. 

Suddenly, the cart of flowers falls to the side, and the florist starts shielding his face, ducking away. It’s almost like there’s an invisible force reaching for him, or attacking him, as the pretty guy ducks an attack from the dark shadows surrounding him.  

What the fuck, Oscar’s eyebrows draw together as he hurries closer, deadset on helping the man. What he doesn’t expect is to be hit with the headache of death, a pounding behind his eyes that makes death seem like mercy. And then, suddenly, Max Emilian Verstappen is there, in all his glory. Short, neatly trimmed hair, all-black outfit similar enough to Oscar’s own but with the right modifications, like the long, dark blue leather coat he’s got around his shoulders. Max is putting a hand on the florist's shoulder, staring right at Oscar. Mako green eyes meet their twin match, the world ablaze around them.

Oscar takes a step back as Max comes closer, “You’re weak. Too weak to save yourself - or anyone else -.” The headache turns into a proper migraine, and Oscar is trying his most to stay upright despite the searing pain. 

He opens his eyes once more and then in the next second, the former Shinra general is gone with the wind. 

Suddenly, the florist is in front of Oscar, head slightly tilted towards one side as their gazes meet. He’s even more gorgeous up close, his big and bright green-blue eyes look up to Oscar. They’re the most beautiful watercolor mixture, and there’s a healthy pink flush on his tan cheeks. “Hey, mate,” even his fucking voice is nice too, “Are you good?”

It’s fucking embarrassing but Oscar feels his own cheeks up with heat at the attention. Fuck, he’s really got no time for this, he’s still got his former employer up his arse with a search warrant for Oscar and the rest of AVALANCHE after their little stunt. He should be hurrying up if he wants to make it to the bar before Avia kicks his arse into Wutai.  

Before he can get far however, there’s the sound of steps behind him and a light touch on his wrist. A much bigger palm than his own around Oscar’s glove, as the florist drags him back around. This time, the guy’s holding out the yellow flower that rested behind his ear earlier. When Oscar doesn’t react, he shoves the flower even closer to his face. “Dude,” the man rolls his eyes, “It’s a gift! For you.”

“A gift for what?” Oscar can’t help but ask, eyeing the ‘gift’ warrily. He’s been scammed on the streets of Midgar before by people like this, they’ll push something in your hand and then claim you’ll have to pay them since you already received something from them. No way he’s going to make the same mistake he made as a 15-year old, green-eyed and innocent, ever again. 

“You could also keep it as a memory, I guess, listen dude, I just want to do something nice after you chased those things off,” there’s a proper pout on the other man’s lips now, as he shoves the flower even closer into Oscar’s face. “Just take it, flowers don’t bite.”

“Not sure about you though,” Oscar mutters under his breath but takes the flower, still, securing it behind the holster strap across his chest. “Hey,” there’s a hilarious frown on the guy’s face, “I heard that, you know?!”

Before Oscar can even think of a smart comment, the florist ducks away, his second hand coming around Oscar’s arm too, as they get attacked by those ghosts again. Only this time, Oscar can see them, too. They’re like whisps, a bunch of flying dark ghosts surrounding them, edging closer to them bit by bit. “What the fuck,” Oscar mutters, can this day get any weirder?

At the end, he’s still a trained SOLDIER - a first class - so Oscar frees the buster sword from his back and swings it, getting ready to attack the ghosts. It’s just their luck that a group of Shinra gunmen arrive at the exact same time, yelling at Oscar to drop his weapon. The ghosts are at the soldier’s side in a second, flying around them. Instead of reacting to that, the soldiers keep their attention on Oscar. 

“Are those guys fucking blind?” He turns to the florist, who’s eyeing the Shinra soldiers before his gaze switches back to the hooded whisps surrounding them. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you,” is the only thing the curly-haired man replies, before he’s taking off, not looking back once. Oscar can’t do anything else but watch the florist run, the ghosts following him on his path. 

He’s gone, just like that. Oscar didn’t even get his name, though he assumes it’s just as pretty. 

A stray bullet hits the buster, and Oscar turns back to the problem at hand, namely the fact that he’s outnumbered and has a battle waiting for him. “Just my fucking luck,” he grumbles as he sprints into the fight.

zak VS the horrors of landoscar (working title)

There’s quite a few things Oscar expected for McLaren to have him agree with, when the decision had been made, once the contracts had been signed. On that day Oscar became the first alpha to join the team in the years following Fernando’s departure. After all, McLaren had only one beta (Sainz) and two omegas (Ricciardo and Lando) join the team since then - until now, at least. 

What he did not expect was for McLaren CEO Zak Brown to pull him aside after the signing, a suddenly serious expression on his face. “Listen,” he had started, clasping a hand around Oscar’s shoulder, “I know how you young people are, yeah? But I need you to promise me something.” Zak had been more urgent than during their entire time negotiating with McLaren, so Oscar had known that whatever would be coming next, would be important. 

“You can not get Lando pregnant, yeah? We need him for the team.”

For a moment, several moments actually, Oscar thought he’d been pranked. That one of the media people would jump out of their hiding spot and the entire room would burst into laughter, Zak’s booming voice echoing from the walls. When that hadn’t happened for another minute, Oscar started to realize the older man was being serious. Dead ass. 

“Oh, uh, of course, yeah, I understand,” he awkwardly mumbled his way through his response. Seriously, what made Zak believe Lando would get on with Oscar in the first place? Like his new teammate wasn’t the prettiest, most perfect omega on the entire grid. This is ridiculous, Oscar had thought to himself.

But Zak had been satisfied, nodding as he patted Oscar on his shoulder, “That’s a good lad.” 

The interaction, despite how weird it had been, had quickly vanished from his mind afterwards. Maybe it had been a trauma response, trying to rid his brain of the memories of the painful interaction. Almost the entirety of their two first years together as teammates, Oscar hadn’t even thought about the possibility of Zak’s fears becoming reality.

Well, Oscar really should have known better than to doubt Lando Norris' ability to get what he wants - and his own inability to say no to one Lando Norris. 

To be honest, Oscar doesn’t get even close to impregnating Lando until that fucking night after Abu Dhabi 2024. Something about how making history together brings people closer, something Oscar had read online in the aftermath of it all, comes to mind.

[kuisi666]

ANSWER TO @anonymous-spooks about what the lovebirds' first kiss was, there was a small error making it impossible to answer the question directly.

Well, it was something like this...

...

Laughing Jack had been noticing that Jeffrey was very busy, and that was making his anxiety noticeable.

They had just started dating, and in two days they would have been dating for a month. Jack was thinking about what to do to relax him and also to celebrate their first month together.

He spent the whole night thinking about what to do, until an idea came to him.

Laughing Jack had always thought that everything that happens in romance books happens only once in a lifetime. He remembered that in one of the many books he'd read, it said that with a kiss all problems would go away. In another, there was a chapter where the protagonist had taken her lover to a beautiful, peaceful place where she confessed her love.

So, he planned to do that. He remembered that near the town where they were, there was another town filled with open fields.

In the morning, he woke up happy and ran to the room where Jeff was sleeping. When Ben knocked, he opened it. He was wearing a gray-green shirt that was a little too big for him, along with equally green shorts. He opened the door wider, causing Laughing Jack to see Jeff lying on the bunk bed. He was sleeping on the bottom bunk.

He noticed that he was shirtless and wearing black pants. He smelled a little like alcohol. Jack got a little upset because a few days ago, Jeff had promised not to drink for two months.

When he woke him up, he asked him if he drank alcohol. He shook his head and tried to hug him, but Laughing Jack pushed him away.

He left the room to go to his room, upset about the broken promise. Jeff, with all the strength he had, ran after his clown. When he got to the room, he apologized.

Laughing Jack couldn't hold it in much longer and accepted the apology. He asked him if he wanted to go to an open field to be alone in a quiet place.

Jeff agreed so as not to make Laughing Jack feel bad. As the day went on, Jack arranged the things they were going to bring the next day. When he finished, he went to dinner. He noticed Jeff talking to Jane.

It was one of those first times they interacted without arguing. Laughing Jack wasn't one for jealousy, but remembering everything they'd been through, he couldn't help but imagine them reconciling and becoming more than friends. Maybe Jeff wouldn't want to be with him anymore and would go with Jane.

He didn't know that Jane already had a partner, and that Laughing Jack was just starting to have insecurities comparing himself to everyone.

He just sighed and asked Jeff if they could eat somewhere else. Jeff accepted and accompanied Laughing Jack to the living room, where there was a small table where they set out their dinner.

Jack sat down first, and then Jeff put his arm behind Laughing Jack's head.

...

The next day, the two of them headed to the place early. Upon arriving, Jack saw Jeff jotting down some things in a notebook, his hand shaking a little.

Jack arranged his things under a tree in the middle of a green field, sat down, and ate some of the grapes he had brought.

While he was eating, he saw Jeff still writing. Jack asked him if he was going to finish, and Jeff said no.

Laughing, Jack told him to relax, that he could do it tomorrow when he got back. Jeff ignored him and continued writing.

They were notes Slenderman had asked him to take. Laughing, Jack looked at him and stood up a little. He leaned closer and waited for Jeff to look up slightly. As he did, Jack kissed Jeff. A short kiss that, in a couple of seconds, became reciprocated and longer.

As they separated, the two smiled. The clown asked him if he could leave that for tomorrow, and the man agreed. They began to eat a few snacks and then walked through the countryside, even further.

They came across a very large lake. They decided to go in. After taking off a few pieces of clothing, Jeff noticed the scars Laughing Jack had on his ribs and waist.

The taller one was embarrassed and put his shirt back on. Jeff told him not to worry, that he still looked cute in them.

He smiled and hugged Jeff, kissed him on the cheek, and then went swimming. A few minutes later, they went out and realized it was getting late.

They raced to the tree, and of course, Laughing Jack, with a little cheating, won.

They ate a little and set up a tent. Before going to sleep, they cooked some sausages over a campfire. For a while, the two just looked at each other.

Jack leaned closer and gave him another kiss. The temperature was rising, and that made them go inside the tent. They were both so focused on loving each other and being closer.

And of course, there were also occasional sounds coming from the clown. It was his first time, so he couldn't control those sounds as much.

When he finished, Jeff let Laughing Jack lie on top of him. The feeling of the fabric and grass bothered him a little.

The next day, they tidied things up and left with a fond memory.

...

Sorry if there are any mistakes, I had to use the translator to find out some words! 😭

[venus-haze]

Working for the Knife (Mickey Altieri x Reader)

Summary: It’s been over 15 years since the Windsor College murders, not that they had ever been on your radar. That changes when you get hired at a New York marketing firm where you work closely with Mickey Altieri, alleged Ghostface killer whose charges were dropped after a controversial mistrial. Working so closely together piques your interest in each other, soon spiraling out of control. [This is an AU.]

Note: Female reader implied to be mid-20s or older, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request and also Timothy Olyphant being such a DILF, I had to write something like this (I had Justified era Olyphant in mind while writing this, specifically these gifsets, but you can picture whatever hehe). Creative liberties have obviously been taken. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: True crime elements (the reader engages with a lot of true crime content), but obviously this is a fictional serial killer. Mutual stalking/obsession. Sexually explicit content that includes dubious consent fantasy that involves knifeplay; spanking, daddy kink, oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

For once, you felt like things were going your way. After a little over three years of scraping by at your old job where you were woefully overworked and underpaid, your months-long job search finally came to an end when a mid-sized marketing firm gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Sure, you’d taken a huge pay raise and shifted to a hybrid schedule with your new job, but the highlight was undoubtedly Mickey, the only other person on your small team and the type of sexy older man you sure as hell didn’t mind spending your days in the office with.

With the whole company working hybrid or completely remote, people only came in sporadically, as did you and Mickey, only going in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with the occasional Friday if needed. As a result, you didn’t get much of a chance to meet anyone else who worked there. 

Your first week was fully in person, since some of the programs you’d be using for the job were easier to learn if he were there to show you. You certainly weren’t complaining, having plenty of time to get a feel for your new coworker, silently observing and testing the waters with light flirting, which he seemed to return. Maybe you were just a little too hopeful.

“Big plans for the weekend?” you asked when five o’clock rolled around on Friday.

“Got a hot date with Netflix,” he said. “How about you?”

“My friend and I are getting drinks later, but that’s about it.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Anything under $10, if I can help it.”

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart. Don’t have too much fun.”

“I’ll try,” you said, smiling as you began packing your laptop into your bag. “Have a good weekend, Mickey.”

“You too.”

With your first week at your new gig down, you headed to a small bar in Flatbush to celebrate with your best friend and dish the highly anticipated dirt on your hot coworker. Lee was already at the bar when you’d arrived, sitting at a small table and sipping a beer she went ahead and bought herself.

“Drinks are on me,” you said. “I fucking owe you.”

Lee grinned. “Always glad to help.”

You wouldn’t have gotten the job without Lee. She helped you fudge your resume to match the experience on the job listing, gently scamming your way into the position you now held. All week you’d been texting her about how great things were going, and fawning over Mickey, of course.

After joking about ordering top-shelf liquor on your dime, Lee settled on a margarita, undoubtedly the first of many for the night. You returned from the bar with your drinks, more than ready to gush about how much better your new job was compared to the hell of your old one. Nothing could bring down your mood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they pay you out the ass and you don’t have to worry about health insurance anymore. Great,” Lee said over her margarita. “I wanna hear about your hot DILF coworker. No detail is too small.”

“Lee, oh my god, it’s not even fair how hot he is. Our desks are right next to each other in an L shape, and I feel like such a weirdo for staring at him all the time. He’s been so nice helping me all week, too. Maybe I’m looking too much into it, but sometimes I feel like he’s being a little flirty?”

“Is he married?”

“No ring, and no mention of any family or long-term relationship. I don’t get it, how could Mickey be single?”

“You don’t hear many people going by Mickey anymore,” she said. “Either he’s a mouse or incredibly Irish.”

“I think he’s Italian,” you mused. “Altieri sounds Italian to me.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Wait, was that offensive?”

“No, just that you’re working with an alleged serial killer.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, but she was already busy typing away at her phone.

Suddenly, Lee’s phone was shoved in your face, a your hot coworker’s mugshot front and center in an archived New York Times article from October 1998.

SUSPECT ARRESTED IN WINDSOR COLLEGE KILLINGS

Michael ‘Mickey’ Altieri, 21, was arrested early Thursday morning in Windsor, Ohio, as the primary suspect in the Windsor College killings. Among the charges are first degree murder, attempted first degree murder and aggravated assault. Altieri has maintained his innocence and is being held on $1,000,000 bail in Windsor County Jail as he awaits trial. 

The brutal killings that made national headlines were directly inspired by the ‘Ghostface’ murders in Woodsboro, California, two years prior and coincided with the release of STAB, a film based on Woodsboro survivor and reporter Gale Weathers’ book on the murders. Survivor Sidney Prescott was a student at Windsor College and targeted yet again in the latest string of murders. Allegedly, Altieri’s accomplice was Debbie Loomis, mother of one of the two original Ghostface killers, Billy Loomis. Mrs. Loomis was killed in an altercation prior to Altieri’s apprehension by police.

You looked away from her phone screen, feeling like your head was spinning though you weren’t even finished with your first drink. “Well, if he did all that stuff, why isn’t he on death row or something?”

“There was a mistrial. It was a huge thing,” Lee said. “You’ve seriously never heard of it?”

“No. Can you send that to me?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’ll send some podcast episodes and Youtube videos on it, too. You know I’m on that true crime shit.”

It took a few more drinks for you to be able to shake off the thought of your hot older coworker potentially being a serial killer, but the rest of your night with Lee was a lot of fun. She’d been one of your closest friends in college, and the two of you lived together when you first moved to New York. You knew she meant well, but damn, did that news put a damper on things.

You returned to your apartment a little after midnight, kicking off your heels at the door and collapsing on your couch, not bothering to make the short walk to your bedroom. 17 missed texts from Lee, all links to videos and podcasts about Mickey that she recommended.

Among the links Lee had sent you was a nearly hour long Youtube video titled: ‘What Happened at the Windsor College Ghostface Trial? A Deep Dive’. The woman in the thumbnail had a scared expression on her face, her eyes focused on that same mugshot of Mickey you saw in the old New York Times article. 

Pressing on the link in your messages, you had the video come up on your TV instead, slouching back in your seat as it began to play.

‘I know most stuff about the Windsor College murders focus on just that, the murders, but I thought it’d be interesting to go into the trial that followed because it was almost like something out of a movie, but it doesn’t get as much attention as the killings, especially since there have been like two more Ghostface murder sprees since this happened. I’m just presenting facts and my own observations here for educational purposes, and it’s not my intention to imply guilt on anyone who hasn’t been convicted in a court of law. Before we get into it though, I wanna give a huge thank you to BetterHelp for sponsoring today’s video—‘

You rolled your eyes, skipping through the three-minute long sponsorship spiel.

‘So my sources for this video are Gale Weathers’ books Wrongly Accused: The Maureen Prescott Murder, The Woodsboro Murders, and College Terror. I also used James Chase’s book Ghostface on Trial, articles from newspapers and a few like lawyer journals that I was able to find online, and whatever stuff from the trial itself that’s public information. I have it all linked in the description—“

Pausing the video, you pulled up the New York Public Library website and searched for College Terror and Ghostface on Trial. Copies of both were available at the branch near your office, and you wasted no time in putting a hold on the books. 

The next few minutes of the video gave an overview of the murders at Windsor College, which you half-paid attention to. You’d watched Stab 2 in high school, so you felt you were familiar enough with the killings. Thinking back on the movie, though, all of the characters had the same names as their real-life counterparts except for Mickey. Legal reasons, you assumed.

You turned up the volume on your TV as the video finally got into the details of the trial.

‘As soon as Mickey was arrested, theories were all over the news about what had happened and there was a ton of speculation about his guilt. James Chase, a controversial defense attorney from Chicago, took on the case pro-bono, stating in his book Ghostface on Trial that he knew he stood to make more money on a book deal, interviews, and speaking engagements by winning the case than whatever fees he’d get for representing Mickey. The defense focused on discrediting both of the prosecution’s star witnesses early on in the trial, planting seeds of doubt in the jury.

Chase and his team leaned heavily on the fact that three years prior, Sidney Prescott had incorrectly identified Cotton Weary as her mother’s killer when in fact it was Sidney’s former boyfriend Billy Loomis and their mutual friend Stu Macher who had committed that initial murder that led up to the original Woodsboro Ghostface murders. 

Gale Weathers’ testimony was also discounted by the defense on the fact that she was a sensationalistic tabloid journalist who’d admittedly fabricated elements of her best-selling book on the Woodsboro killings. She claimed this was a result of editing and to achieve a better narrative flow. 

The defense also said the deceased Debbie Loomis had more of a reason to go after Sidney and recreate her son’s Ghostface murders as revenge for his death. They pushed the idea that she acted with Sidney’s boyfriend, Derek, and that Mickey ended up getting caught in the crosshairs of what was a gruesome and unfortunate situation. Sidney maintained Derek’s innocence, but the fact that both he and Debbie were killed by gunshot wounds made it likely they were the Ghostface duo this time around.

Former Woodsboro Deputy Dewey Riley, another survivor of both Ghostface killings, was unable to testify because he was in a coma. He later said that because he was incapacitated before Sidney and Gale allegedly confronted Debbie and Mickey, he couldn’t say for sure who the killer or killers were, but he trusted their judgment and stood behind their testimonies. 

It didn’t help either that Sidney was visibly distraught while on the stand and mixed up details of the original Woodsboro murders and the Windsor College ones. Gale was initially confident while being questioned by the defense, but later became combative when the inaccuracies in her books came up. In contrast, Mickey appeared calm and earnest, and seemed to have his story straight every time he took the stand.

There’s actually some footage of the trial that I was able to find, so I’m gonna play that now.’

The video was grainy, camera focused on an agitated-looking Sidney Prescott sitting in the witness stand. On the other side of the stand, a blond man in a gray suit read off from a stack of papers in his hand. 

“Ms. Prescott, in your statement to police, you claimed that Mr. Altieri admitted to both you and Ms. Weathers that he had committed the murders with Debbie Loomis and wanted to get caught. Could you perhaps explain to myself and the jury, why exactly an alleged killer would want to get caught?”

“Because he’s fucking sick in the head!” Sidney exclaimed.

“Language, Ms. Prescott,” Judge Matthews said.

“He said he did it on purpose,” Sidney continued, her voice breaking. “He told us he wanted to get caught so he could blame it on the movies! He had everything planned out, the lawyers he wanted, the angle the media would take, he even quoted that line from Psycho, ‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’”

Chase furrowed his brow as he looked over the papers in his hands. “When did he say this? I’m not seeing that in your statement.”

“He said it right after he shot Randy,“ Sidney said.

“Randy wasn’t shot, he was stabbed.” 

Sidney’s eyes widened. “I know. I meant—“

“Ms. Prescott, is there something you didn’t include in your police statement that you’re telling us now?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Billy quoted Psycho, after he shot Randy at Stu Macher’s house, not Mickey. I got mixed up.”

You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. The courtroom on your screen devolved into nothing short of pandemonium. The video then faded into Gale Weathers in the middle of being questioned by the defense. She, in contrast to Sidney, looked confident and well-put together under Chase’s grilling.

“Ms. Weathers, you wrote in your book that your camera man Kenny was gutted, when in actuality his throat was slashed, is that correct?”

Gale nodded. “It is.”

“Why the inconsistency?” 

“All books, fiction or nonfiction go through an editing process. That was a decision made by my editor to establish a better narrative flow. It isn’t uncommon in the true crime genre by any means.”

“Better narrative flow isn’t the truth, though, is it?” Chase asked.

“Look, a book is a book. I’ll say right now under oath that Kenny was killed when one of those guys in the Ghostface costume slit his throat. I’ll also say under oath that Mickey Altieri did commit those murders with Debbie Loomis, and he confessed it to me and Sidney Prescott.”

“Your honor, this isn’t the only major inconsistency we’ve found in Ms. Weathers’ book on the Woodsboro murders. Yesterday we distributed to the prosecution and now present to the jury at least seventeen of these major inconsistencies.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m the cheesy tabloid journalist everyone thinks I am?”

The corners of Chase’s lips twitched. “Not quite my words.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Gale scoffed.

The jury murmured among themselves at her shift in attitude. You found yourself chewing on your nail, enraptured by the trial. For the last time, the video faded out and then back in to show Mickey, your coworker, sitting on the witness stand. This time, the prosecutor was in front of him, his annoyed expression a contrast to Mickey’s calm demeanor.

“Mr. Altieri, we have signed affidavits from several of your former classmates that in your film theory class, you claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and CiCi Cooper, both of whom were killed by this ‘Ghostface’ persona of yours—“

“Objection!” Chase shouted. “Claiming the Ghostface persona belongs to Mr. Altieri is an undue presumption of guilt.”

“Sustained,” Judge Matthews said. “I advise you to reconsider your wording going forward, counselor.”

The prosecutor huffed. “You claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and Casey Cooper, both of whom were killed by the ‘Ghostface’ persona, that violent movies were responsible for influencing people to commit acts of violence, is that correct?”

“It was a classroom discussion. Our professor had brought it up because two fellow students were brutally killed at the premier of a slasher movie the night before, by someone dressed as the killer from that same slasher movie. I just thought it wasn’t a coincidence, and neither did half the other students in that class. Are you going to make them testify too?”

“Don’t deflect, Mr. Altieri.”

“I don’t understand how I’m deflecting. You asked me about a conversation I had with my classmates, and I answered.”

The video went back to the commentator, but you had goosebumps raised across your skin. You rewound back to the clip of Mickey’s testimony, staring at his face. Could he be a killer? Only a few days ago, you wouldn’t have even considered it. Now, you were down a rabbit hole that sent your mind reeling.

‘A lot of the prosecution’s evidence was dismissed as circumstantial by the defense. Mickey had alibis for all of the murders, even for the one Sidney claimed to witness him commit, allegedly shooting her boyfriend Derek. The chat room records and emails allegedly linked to Debbie and Mickey didn’t do much to convince the jury of Mickey’s alleged involvement in the murders. The records did positively identify Debbie based on the account’s password hints and her IP address. The other user was more tech savvy, changing IP addresses to make it more difficult to confirm an identity.

In move that was described as ‘sloppy’ and ‘desperate’ by the media following the trial’s conclusion, the prosecution also tried to claim that Mickey being the only other survivor among Sidney’s friends was suspicious and indicated his involvement, but the defense pointed out that Randy Meeks had also been the only other survivor of Sidney’s friend group in the original Woodsboro killings despite a gunshot wound like Mickey had, and later on at Windsor he was a victim. 

Randy Meeks’ murder actually played a huge role in the defense’s strategy. Several Windsor College students saw Mickey elsewhere on campus during Randy’s murder. The final nail in the coffin was when Windsor County police confirmed that DNA in the news van where Randy was murdered was a match for Debbie Loomis. The police retested other evidence, but couldn’t find anything conclusive.

After weeks of questioning and evidence, the jury deliberated for a little over five days before returning to the judge in a deadlock. Judge Matthews declared a mistrial, and less than a year later, a district court dismissed the case on lack of substantial evidence and all charges against Mickey Altieri were dropped. Despite media speculation that he would, Mickey chose not to sue Sidney and Gale for defamation and hasn’t been in the public eye since the controversial trial.’

You stared blankly at your TV screen when the video ended, another one auto-playing a few seconds later. Even after your drinks with Lee, you felt way too sober to even process any of it. For the next few hours, you devoured videos, bookmarked dozens of articles, and sifted through podcast episodes to listen to during work.

The odd case had made its home in the recesses of your mind. You dreamed about him when you finally fell asleep, just before sunrise. Sitting in the downtown Manhattan office, the open floor layout was unusually bright, fluorescent lighting washing the place in an eerie white glow. Mickey walked over to his desk, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering on the carpet in a trail leading right to him. He looked at you, a smile on his face as he brought his upright, bloody index finger to his lips. 

As the weekend flew by, you tried to keep yourself otherwise occupied. It wasn’t good for you to stay fixated on it, and certainly not fair to Mickey. 

Working from home on Monday helped, as you focused on finishing the last of the onboarding process. 

Tuesday was where things became tricky again. You sat on the forty-minute long subway ride to the office equipped with a podcast episode about your new coworker. The hosts didn’t seem to have much new information from what you took in the night before, except for the last few minutes of the episode where they’d gone off-script.

‘Last I saw online, he was living in Manhattan.’

‘Oh my god, that’s so Patrick Bateman-core.’

‘So you think he did it?’

‘It’s tough to say, like I totally get why the jury couldn’t come to a consensus.’

‘Yeah same, messy as hell. I tend to think that he didn’t do it. Innocent until proven guilty, ya know?’

‘I get that. We did try to get in touch with him for some kind of statement or even an interview—‘

‘Wishful thinking.’

‘Yeah, we looked for his email address, but I guess it wasn’t the right one because our message got bounced back, so that was a big fat bust.’

‘He’s like notorious for denying interview requests, anyway. I think he turned down book deals and stuff.’

Enraptured by the conversation, you nearly missed your stop. On the three block walk to your office, you hurriedly opened one of your playlists and put it on shuffle. The last thing you needed was for Mickey to somehow see on your home screen you’d just been listening to a podcast episode about him.

Your head was spinning by the time you got to your desk. He hadn’t arrived yet, and you felt a bit relieved that you had a little more time to psych yourself up. You shouldn’t have even had to do that in the first place, just be normal about your coworker, but if you learned anything over the weekend, even if he wasn’t guilty, he sure as hell wasn’t normal.

The elevator doors opened, and you looked up to see him walk out, waving at you.

“Morning, Y/N, have a good weekend?”

“Pretty good. I’m more broke than when it started, though. How about you?”

“Like I told you, hot date with Netflix,” he said, sitting down. “Thought you were sticking with shitty liquor?”

“I was, but my friend wasn’t. I got the tab, and she got plenty of margaritas.”

“Shit, I oughta get drinks with you sometime if you get all your friends’ tabs.”

You grinned. “Don’t count your luck.”

He chuckled to himself. The two of you worked in near silence for the next three hours, though you found yourself glancing over at him every so often, out of curiosity and also admiration. His graying hair suited him, and you could see the muscles in his arms from his casually rolled up shirt sleeves. 

Soon, though, you found it hard to stay awake, the light from your computer screen adding onto your fatigue. To your horror, you yawned loudly, catching Mickey’s attention.

“You alright? I’m not too boring, am I?”

“No, I just kept waking up last night. I feel like I barely slept.”

“Why don’t we take an early lunch and go get coffee?”

“That sounds great,” you said, grabbing your purse.

There was a deli right up the block, and when you looked at the small pastry case, you decided to order something with your coffee. Mickey placed his order, a hot coffee and a bear claw. With plenty of tables to choose from, you and Mickey sat near the window. 

Your coffee definitely hit the spot, and the sugar from your pastry helped wake you up too.

“How long’s your commute?” Mickey asked.

“About 40 minutes. I live in Brooklyn, kinda between Bushwick and Bed-Stuy.”

“Damn, that’s long. I live on the Upper West Side.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. Before this job, I was barely able to afford to rent on my own.”

“It’s a rent-controlled building. I’m not making a ton after alimony and child support.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, though he looked out the window as he continued speaking. “It was a long time ago. Deanna and me just didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff when our son was born. I knew before he even got to kindergarten it was over.”

Unsure of how to respond, you slowly reached across the table, putting your hand over his. “I’m sorry, Mickey, really.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before releasing it. “They live upstate, so I don’t see them much. I have more time for going to the movies and Mets games.”

“I only go when they’re bad because tickets are cheaper.”

He snickered. “I should take a page outta your book. How about you? Any sports? Or reading? Isn’t true crime pretty popular with young women now?”

Your heart pounded at his question. Innocuous enough. True crime was extremely popular. The paranoid part of you couldn’t help but feel like it was an accusation. Then again, he couldn’t possibly know you’d spent the weekend immersing yourself in it, particularly stuff about him.

“I’m not really interested in that,” you said. “Sometimes my friends and I go to trivia nights at bars. I’m not that good, but it’s fun to just hang out. I have a membership at the MOMA, so I go there a lot. They show movies sometimes, too.”

To your relief, the conversation shifted to just that, and Mickey seemed surprised by some of your opinions on different movies. He told you he’d originally gone to college for film studies, which you already knew, of course. The odd thing was, while you certainly didn’t want him aware of just how much you knew about him, you didn’t feel guilty for it, just that he would be weirded out by it, obviously.

You and Mickey ended up talking about movies for nearly an hour and a half, well over your allotted hour lunch break, but he assured you no one would care that much. Still, the two of you half-ran back to the office, and something bubbled in your chest when he sat down and smiled at you, the wrinkles by his eyes becoming more prominent. 

The rest of the workday went by quickly, and you headed to the library where you’d reserved the two books about the Windsor College murders and trial. By the time you got home, you’d already devoured the first two chapters of Gale Weathers’ book. Glad to be working remotely the following day, you let yourself stay up later than usual to read, getting to the halfway point before you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Weeks turned into months, and you absolutely loved your job, and the pay, but most of all, how the content you consumed and your proximity to Mickey seemed to feed into each other in a vicious cycle that increasingly drowned out the rational part of you that knew what you were doing was weird. 

Still, it wasn’t like you were invading his personal privacy or treating him any different than you did before. All of the information you’d read, listened to, or watched was all public as your running list of books, podcasts, and documentaries on the matter grew. You’d even rewatched the Stab movies and started scrolling through threads and tags related to Mickey and what happened at Windsor College. After all of the personal research you did and how much you’d gotten to know Mickey at work, you couldn’t conclusively say whether or not he did it. 

You tried keeping your obsession lowkey, but your friends seemed to notice how you’d shoehorn it into conversations. Lee had even told you she was afraid she’d created a monster by bringing up Mickey’s past in the first place. If she’d never made her comment or showed you that first article, you probably never would’ve known about it, remaining blissfully unaware and going about your business at your typical office job with your hot older coworker.

For how much time you spent at home between work and researching, it seemed like whenever you’d go out, you’d come home to something missing or moved. Articles of clothing gone, coffee mugs out of place, books not quite in the order you’d left them. At first, you chalked it up to your consuming too much true crime content, feeding into your paranoia, but when you asked your landlord to install another lock on your door, it all seemed to stop. That didn’t bode well with you.

Your fantasies blended with reality in your dreams, as you were having increasing occurrences of Ghostface or Mickey, or both, in them. Whenever you woke up, you didn’t remember much except for a warm feeling in your core. One dream remained vivid even after you awoke, though.

You were in your apartment alone, late at night, when you got a call from an unknown number. Normally, you didn’t pick up calls unless you were expecting them, but for some reason you picked up. The details of the phone call itself were jumbled, but you were frightened, running into your bedroom and locking the door behind you. 

To your horror, you’d locked yourself in with Ghostface, the looming predator who looked at you emotionlessly, stalking toward you with his knife. When you turned around, the door knob was gone, and a black gloved hand grabbed your shoulder, moving you to face him as he pushed you against the door. He sliced through your slinky pajama top, exposing your breasts to him. Roughly groping each of them, he let out a low moan in appreciation before bringing the knife to your collarbone, dragging the blade to the valley between your breasts. Your breath hitched as he pressed it a bit deeper, but instead, you felt it in your pussy, like he was penetrating you.

“Give me a kiss, sweetheart,” your masked assailant ordered in a distorted voice.

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips against the cold, hard plastic mask. You gasped as he dug the knife into your skin with one hand, his other slipping under your panties, pushing his fingers between your folds.

“I own you,” he said, clearly in Mickey’s voice this time.

You threw your head back in ecstasy as he pushed his fingers into your tight cunt, and then your alarm blared, jolting you awake. Turning over, you groaned into your pillow in frustration. At least it ended up being great masturbation material later on.

Another Thursday at work, seemingly uneventful as usual. You and Mickey had gotten into the habit of getting lunch together whenever you both were in the office. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but as time went on, they felt more like dates than just a casual lunch with a coworker. Not that you were complaining.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” he asked in the nearby deli the two of you had begun to frequent.

“No, not really.”

“Do you wanna come over after work tomorrow? Watch a movie or something?” he asked.

“That’d be great!” you said, almost a bit too enthusiastically. “Should I bring anything?”

He shook his head, smiling a bit. “I can order a pizza.”

For some reason, you trusted yourself to be normal at his place, telling yourself throughout Friday that everything would work out fine. Being a weirdo about his alleged murders certainly wouldn’t help you get a real date with him, but your infatuation with him was only growing. You liked the slightest hint of danger about him, going to his apartment alone, wondering in the back of your mind what his true intentions were and feeling a bit of a thrill at the prospect that they could be anything less than innocent.

You showed up at his apartment that evening with a bottle of wine in hand, even though he’d told you not to bring anything. As expected, he thanked you for the wine, though he gave you an exasperated look as he let you into his apartment. Nicer than yours, but it still looked lived-in.

“Pizza will be here in a couple of minutes,” he said. “I’m thinking Mean Streets for the movie.”

“It’s a classic,” you agreed. “I love Harvey Keitel in it.”

“You know, that was De Niro and Scorsese’s first time working together.”

“Wait, why did I think Taxi Driver was first?”

“Came out in ‘76, just after he was in Godfather Part II in ‘74. Busy decade for him.”

“You’re telling me.”

The doorbell rang, the pizza arriving sooner than expected. You waited in the kitchen while Mickey dealt with the delivery.

“We can eat in the living room while we watch,” he said, carrying the pizza box inside. “I don’t have many people over, so it’s still a little messy.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him.

He put on the movie, and you balanced the paper plate on your lap, nodding along to “Be My Baby” as it played during the opening scene. Testing the waters, you scooted closer to him a few minutes into the movie. He glanced over at you, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face. 

You were especially pleased when he put his arm around you, not bothering with the pretense of a “move,” but rather taking what he wanted. Settling comfortably next to him, you tried to focus on the movie.

Despite his arm around your shoulders, closer physically to him than you ever had been, you felt restless. You knew when the halfway point of the movie was, and so you excused yourself to use the bathroom, telling him he didn’t need to pause it until you returned.

The tips of your fingers itched as you passed closed doors to the bathroom, which he told you was at the end of the hall. Biting your lip, you considered your options, and in a moment of impulse and weakness, you reached for one of the door handles. A mostly empty extra bedroom, maybe his son’s old room. 

You weren’t deterred, opening another door. Jackpot. Slightly messy, with clothes strewn about the floor and on the dark sheets of his bed. Glancing behind you, you stepped into his room and looked around for anything that stood out. 

Most people hid things under their beds, and so you got down on your hands and knees, wondering where exactly he might hide his—

“Don’t think this is the bathroom,” he said, startling you.

You yelped, frantically turning around as your brain short circuited for an explanation. “I—I was just—“

“Looking for trophies? All serial killers keep them, right?” he asked, towering over you from your spot on the floor. “Mementos of their victims or the kills.”

You shook your head frantically. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but you’re looking in the wrong place anyway,” he said, pulling the knife from behind his back.

“Serial killers also don’t—don’t kill people th-they know,” you stammered.

“Typically,” he agreed, “but I’m not typical, am I? I’m sure you’ve listened to plenty of those cute little podcasts where some dumbasses read the Wikipedia page about the Windsor College murders in between hawking security systems to their listeners that they’ve just scared shitless. I admitted I did it, went to fucking trial, and the jury couldn’t even find me guilty.”

“Point taken.”

“So, what trophy would I keep from you?”

You were silent for a moment before answering, looking him in the eye. “My panties.”

“Which pair? Figure I have at least five of them now. Unless you wanna make that six, sweetheart.”

“You’ve been breaking into my place all this time.”

“You made it way too easy. It’s like you were asking for it.”

Maybe you were. Regardless, you didn’t show any resistance when he lightly kicked at your leg, a silent command to stand up. You got to your feet, though your gaze was fixed on the knife in his hand. His eyes followed yours, and he smirked a bit before putting the knife aside.

He turned you around, pushing you back onto his bed. Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed your skirt up, his hand caressing your ass, fingers brushing the thin fabric of your panties.

“Were you asking for it, sweetheart? Have you wanted this all along? Been a bad girl to get my attention?”

“Yes,” you whimpered weakly, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Y’know, I’ve heard of serial killers having groupies, but you,” he said, slapping your ass for emphasis, eliciting a moan from you, “are something else.”

“Fuck, daddy,” you whispered, fidgeting against his mattress.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Another smack on your ass. “I could’ve been having fun with you months ago.” Smack! You hissed this time, though your pussy was pulsing between your legs. “Bent you over my desk in the office, have my way with you while no one else is around—or maybe a little slut like you would wanna get caught with daddy’s dick buried inside her.”

He spanked you harder this time, holding you down when your body instinctively recoiled at the impact. A pained moan escaped your lips as he pressed his body weight against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your tender skin. Tears welled up in your eyes as the sensation, and you resisted the urge to slip your hand between your legs.

“Or maybe,” he said, reaching around you to wrap his hand around your neck, “you just want me to fuck you before I kill you. Probably cum the minute I put that old Ghostface mask on, huh, baby?”

You let out a strangled moan at his words. “Yes, daddy.”

He released his grip on your throat, standing up to give you one more slap across your ass. “Turn over. If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

The friction from his sheets stung against your sore ass as you rolled over to look at him, though he grabbed you, pushing you onto your back himself. His grip on you was tight, fingers digging into your arms as he held you down beneath him, completely at his mercy.

He pulled off your skirt and panties, leaving your pussy exposed for him. He dragged his index finger between your folds, and you whimpered when he brushed your clit.

“God, you’re soaked,” he murmured against your lips. “Was it the spanking, or is it the serial killer thing?”

“Both.”

“Good answer,” he said, lazily circling your clit with his finger. 

He ducked his head down, wasting no time in devouring your wet cunt. His tongue relentlessly flicked at your clit while he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of your hole. You took them easily, but wondered if it’d be the same for his cock when he’d undoubtedly fuck you. 

Your hands gripped his sheets as he worked his tongue, your feet curling at the tension you felt building up inside of you. He moaned against you, loud enough that it felt like his voice rocked through your body. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded breathlessly.

A pained and outraged whine pulled from your throat when he did just that. You looked down at him between your legs, betrayed.

“Why should I let you cum?” he teased, rubbing light circles in your clit with his soaked fingers. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Please, daddy.”

“You can do better than that, sweetheart.”

“Please let me cum, daddy. I’ll be so good. I—I’ll do anything, just—please,” you cried out in frustration of being so close yet not quite there.

“Only since you asked so nicely,” he relented, dipping his head back down between your legs, his hands holding your hips in place as your lower half began to quiver at his touch.

You could feel his lips move slightly against your sensitive pussy, nothing short of a smug expression on his face at making you fall apart so easily. It didn’t matter, your head was swimming, muscles strained as he brought you closer to climax. Grabbing his hair, you pressed his face closer against your pussy, grinding against it in desperation. 

“Mickey—Fuck—“ you choked out as your orgasm wracked through you, fireworks in between your legs as your body shook. 

He ate you out through your orgasm, and another tidal wave of pleasure hit you all at once, almost painful and overwhelming, your brain on fire at the sensation. You could hardly catch your breath when you released your grip from his hair and he lifted his head, your wetness glistening on his lips.

When he kissed you, you hardly had the strength to kiss him back, though tasting yourself on his mouth sent a rush through you. He pressed sloppy kisses to your face, trailing down to your neck. His hard length rubbed against your slick-coated thigh, a low growl coming from deep in his throat.

“W-Wait, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Did you really wanna get caught?”

He stopped, lifting his head from your neck to look at you a few moments before answering, “Yeah, blame the movies, make a real circus of the trial, but my attorney said he didn’t think I could pull off an insanity plea because I was too put together. Obviously pleading guilty and confessing everything wouldn’t get nearly as much attention as actually going on trial. I was pissed at first, but it worked out, I mean I had every reporter eating out of the palm of my hand by day three.”

“Why don’t you do interviews now? Or write a book?”

“What’s there to say? Not the truth.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you muttered. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“Probably should,” he said, the slightest smirk ghosting his lips as his eyes raked over you, “I might need more convincing not to.”

[sluttery-withoutshame]

Hello, I’m newish to KISS (at least the fandom), what was your experience meeting Eric like? You gave him a kiss!?

I’m sorry if you already explained this before, if so please link back to that post!

Warning: This is a long arse post!

And because it’s such a looooong story, I’ll break it up into separate posts. It’s too epic for a single post!

Ok, first of all, no need for being sorry coz I’ve explained before, I will never, ever get sick of talking about meeting Eric, and will take every opportunity to do so, so thanks for asking!

I guess I’ll just start from the beginning. He arrived on the second day, and the little group of us walked into the expo hall and there was a big line up. I asked what for and was told Eric was coming to do autographs. That was a bit of a surprise coz he was in the schedule to do that the following day. Of course we immediately lined up. That was the time that @ghostinyourface arrived so she lined up with me and we decided we would film each other meeting him.

I was really wetting my pants about how I would react when I saw him arrive, it was about to happen. Then there he was, he stepped up onto the small stage and oh my he looked good.

I had brought a bunch of stuff for him to sign, which I knew would allow me a bit of time to interact with him. Pretty soon it was our turn. If you wanna know how it feels to be the next in line to meet Eric, it feels like this.

Now I’ve met quite a few people I really admire, and I always feel like I didn’t take it in coz I was too mesmerised, so this time I told myself to really take it all in.

I stepped up and smiled at him and said “I’ve come from Australia just to meet you and I’ve got a crate load of stuff for you to sign”. He looked really buoyant and friendly so I put the stuff down on the table and he began signing stuff. I had albums mainly but also a couple of photos, of which this was one.

I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with it, I really just wanted to get him to sign it to see what his response would be! He had a chuckle and yelled out “Oh look! It’s Russell’s favourite outfit!”

(Russell is his mate who was helping he coordinate everything, like holding peoples bags and stuff)

So it was totally worth having it just for that!

Then I noticed he wasn’t signing it to me, so I asked him to put it “To [name redacted]” and he asked me how to spell my name (coz there’s a few ways to spell it) and I actually struggled to remember how to spell my name, and I felt like an idiot and had to tell him I was struggling coz he was very mesmerising!

One thing I found very sweet was that he wanted to make sure we let the autographs dry so the don’t get smudged, and Russell’s wife Lori was taking each item to the end of the table, and she mentioned that Peter Criss’s team has someone whose specific job was to fan newly autographed items. Eric dryly responded “How special”. I told him that he needs to hire someone to do that and he said “I can’t afford slaves”.

I had a couple of items from his time in Black Sabbath, a promo flyer and a CD cover for Seventh Star, the album he was part of. Glenn Hughes, formally of Deep Purple was the singer for that time and I’d seen him in concert a couple of months before, so I’d had him autograph those two items. When I pulled them out and showed him Glenn’s autograph and told him that I’d just seen him play. He asked me what I thought of that and we had this nice conversation about Glenn and what an amazing voice he has how that gig felt like a religious experience for me. We were in that moment just two Glenn Hughes fans talking about our experiences with him.

As he was going through all the stuff I’d brought with me, I told him that I hoped that perhaps after one of his performances he might be able to gift me with a drumstick. He said he didn’t bring a whole lot of sticks with him and he was going to have to play tomorrow as well. I told him I’d still be here tomorrow, and he pointed at me like he did when he played to the camera during his solos.

Like the very thing he stole my heart to begin with and then just did that while I was right in front of him! I then told the story of the previous night how someone dropped a pick on the catwalk, and no one went after it so I literally crawled up the catwalk to grab it. But that’s getting side tracked…

The day before, I’d bought at a live album from Bruce’s expo stand, that was recorded during the Revenge era in Australia. So I couldn’t leave that behind. Eric autographed it then said “What the hell is this?”

I’d worn a necklace with a pick I’d bought from Graceland about ten years ago. It had TCB on it, and I wanted to show it to him. So I leaned forward and held it towards him but he couldn’t read it. I told him it was TCB and he said “Oh! Taking care of business!” Then he showed me his ring and said “I’ve got this one, you know what it means?” I couldn’t see it without my glasses so he told me “FTW, Fuck The World.” And I cracked up laughing.

I think he was enjoying making me laugh.

He then told me he got it from a Hells Angel in Helsinki, coz this man has all the best stories. It was about then that I told him his bracelets were sexy, but by then we were up to my last item which was the Catman vest I’d just bought. I’d tried it on the day before, thinking it’ll look like shit on me and I could hang it back up and never speak of it again. But the fucking thing looked really good on me, and on the day I thought I know, I’ll buy it and get Eric to sign it for me!

A couple of weeks before this, he’d done a live auction on Facebook and he was telling all these funny stories about touring Australia with Ace Frehley, and I commented that “I’m PMSL at these Ace yarns” and he was totally stumped by that comment. He said “What does that girl mean?” I didn’t realise that Pissing Myself Laughing is a colloquial phrase in Australia, not the US, then he must have clicked on my profile and realised I was Australian and that’s why he didn’t get it. So I wanted him to sign it “To That Girl” and mentioned what happened, and of course he couldn’t remember that. He was having trouble hearing me, so I leaned right in to tell him that I hope he remembers what PMSL means, coz he couldn’t understand Australian. I didn’t think paid much attention to that, but found out a little later he took that in. So because I was so close to his face, I said “I’m going to have to kiss you” and turned his face towards me and let me kiss him. :sigh:

Then he said “You should kiss my friend Russell coz he just got married”, so I did! And then Russell told me I should kiss his wife, who was the one talking my items off Eric so they wouldn’t get smudged. That’s when the penny dropped, that this was @bunchofrandomfandomsandbands friends whose wedding she went to!

The it was @ghostinyourface’s turn in the Eric spotlight and I’ll let her tell her own story if she so wishes and she can tell you I asked her to play stripper music.

But I’ll jump to where she also showed Eric her TCB necklace, and then he started talking about the big one he got Elvis’s jeweller to make for him. It was great to see him get all enthusiastic about telling us all about it. He told us the name of the jeweller and how he made the special mold for it this is him showing us the size of it.

You can also see his Fuck The World ring.

He told us that it’s about $700 and we should ask him to make the same one as Eric Singer from Kiss, and I’m almost tempted to actually order one just so I can say “Eric Singer told us to ask for this specific one”.

Ghost had him sign the CD cover of the live in Japan ESP album and I went back again to the live auction he did to see if they’re going to put it on vinyl, coz I asked that question on Facebook and he and Keith said they’ll do it in 2025, and that Eric wants it on bowling ball marble vinyl.

One thing I was worried I’d forget was to show him my tattoo. And sure enough I did forget, but Ghost reminded me just before we stepped away. I was telling him about it, and that even though it’s the Catman symbol, I’d added a stylised S to it, for Singer. I’m standing there waiting for him to shower me with praise and gratitude for being such a dedicated fan, and what he actually said was

And then he asked everyone there if they think it looked like a tennis ball, including Ghost, but I’ll let her tell what he said to her, coz it was hilarious. That is definitely a much better and funnier story to tell, and I will never unsee the tennis ball.

So right at the end before we left I said thank you for showing Olivia off on that Facebook live auction coz I’d been the one who asked, and it was so good to finally see her, and he just looked at me with a blank face and said “Can someone please translate what she just said to me?”

And once again, I cracked ugly laughing at him like Edna Krabapple.

I’ll write part two tomorrow! (If you’re not sick of the story yet…)

[pallyjelly]

Changing for the Worst

(A Darkley’s Oneshot, featuring the lovely Harumi)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64514098

Harumi slipped on a mask of innocence as she prodded around for her answer. “But I am here to become a better daughter, correct?” 

Yang smiled at her, seeing straight through her mask. Yet he didn’t seem upset; if anything, the principal seemed amused by Harumi’s behavior. 

“Is that what you want?”

OR

The time when Harumi got sent to Darkley’s (as well as a conversation about Lloyd with Morro). 

“I wish we had chosen a quieter one,” the emperor’s voice boomed in the dining room. Through the crack of a door that was hardly opened, the empress could be seen sitting beside her husband near the head of the table, reaching out and touching his arm in condolences,

“There’s nothing to be done about it except to make do with what we have. The people have already heard about the adoption by now and returning the girl would only put a stain on the Jade family name…” On the other side of the door stood a little girl named Harumi, who dropped her stuffed animal lamb at the words. Eavesdropping, she had been told by her birth parents, was something to be ashamed of. If the girl had a question about something, she should ask her parents who would try to be as truthful as they could with her, albeit gently. Harumi had agreed to this arrangement at the time with an understanding smile on her face, but when it came to the royal family…it felt like every interaction with her new parents involved somebody wearing a mask.

The child frowned, sliding down against the door as her pigtails caught against the wood, choosing to only listen with her eyes closed instead of watching her new caretakers. Hugging herself, Harumi frowned and wondered what she had done wrong. The emperor and empress had offered her many toys, a lavish room all to herself, and more sweets than she had ever seen in her life. All had been accompanied by strange faces taking photos of such gifts. Harumi had gotten over her shyness with these people, wearing a big smile on her face and happily telling them about her most recent presents. Her attitude had seemed to please the Jade family at the time. But slowly, one by one, the photographers left and the little girl couldn’t help but wonder why none of the photos had been put up in the hallways like her birth parents had done at their old house.

Suddenly, her bouncy happiness and excitement of exploring the palace of which she now lived in (something Harumi previously believed could only be found in fairy tales) became scolded against. The princess should be a model example to her citizens. The princess should not bring shame to her new family name. The princess should do all that her parents wished. It was a bit difficult for the six year old to grasp such a shift in rules that she had grown up with. And now, Harumi knew that the emperor and empress didn’t even want her anymore…

Her new father’s voice had began to raise louder but the girl opted to let it turn into a dull roar as she sniffled and tried to stop her voice from wavering as tears trickled down her cheeks. 

“I need to be a quiet one…” Harumi whispered to herself, grabbing the fallen stuffed animal and pressing it close to her chest. No more playing in the hallways then. Or anywhere besides her room. Even though her parents never minded her games, sometimes they’d even join in…At the thought of them, something tugged at the little girl’s stomach as her cries became audible, although still kept to a lowered voice. Her head buried into her arms as she continued crying, wanting nothing more than for Garmadon’s attack to never have happened to her village in the first place. After a minute or two, a regal yet soft voice asked, 

“Your majesty? Are you alright?” With a sniffle, Harumi looked up with bleary vision at a tall man with slicked back silvery hair and fancy green attire. With a small gasp of alarm, the child noticed an eyepatch covering the man’s right eye. Glancing back at the door behind her, remembering to keep her voice down, Harumi asked with wide eyes,

“Are you a pirate?” The man raised his eyebrows in surprise, then chuckled in amusement. 

“Quite the opposite, your highness. My name is Hutchins, one of your many caretakers within the palace. I assure you, you will be protected under my guidance.” As the man crouched down to her level, Harumi caught eye of his armored shoulder pads and wondered if they were truly made out of gold. “Now that we’ve been introduced, I’ll ask again. Are you alright?” With another glance behind herself, the child wondered if she’d get in trouble for admitting that she was hurt by what her new parents were saying about her. This man had served for them longer after all. Harumi looked at Hutchins with a trembling lip and unshed tears waiting to finally drop from her eyes. The guard looked at the door with a sigh as the empress could be heard calling out sweet nothings to appease her husband. 

“I understand,” Hutchins said simply, making sure to meet the princess’s eyes as he said so. With that, Harumi broke down, throwing herself into the guard’s arms and sobbing into his shoulder. She allowed for him to pick her up (even if she believed she was too old for that) and let herself be led away as her whispers of wanting to go home were absorbed into the his shirt. 

“Honestly, this sort of behavior we expected from you when you first came here, but you’ve done nothing but deteriorate from the precious little girl we knew.” Harumi rolled her eyes at the empress’s words before returning to her bedroom’s mirror, where she sat wiping off the white paint on her face with a damp cloth. Her so called mother stood at the doorway, crossing her arms and not standing at all like a queen should. The princess retorted, 

“Oh, the horrors.. I��m a child pulling childish pranks.”

“You released snakes on top of chandeliers in the ballroom!” Harumi let out a small chuckle at the memory. They were small little things she found outside in the more vegetated parts of their lawn. It took her a week of gathering and sneaking the little creatures bits of food before unleashing her terror. Her parents’ friends were a bunch of stuck ups anyway. 

“They won’t bite you if you don’t upset them,” Harumi met the empress’s eyes in the reflection before moving on to remove her lipstick. Both of them knew that not one guest left without a bite. They never harmed Harumi, but maybe roast beef straight off the plate satiated the little things. 

“I want them out of the house!” Harumi was slightly surprised by when the empress ripped the stool out from underneath her. Who knew she’d actually enter Harumi’s room? The princess smiled on the floor at the queen and drawled, 

“Well, that wasn’t very ladylike of you…don’t you have an image to protect? Wouldn’t want to stain the family name.” Harumi could swear she could see red from beneath the empress’s painted white cheeks. The queen stared daggers, but the girl felt no fear, nor would she ever when it came to this woman. Yanked up by the wrist, Harumi was dragged into the throne room where her father sat with quite an unpleasant look on his face. Hutchins stood nearby, looking frustratedly at the floor. That…was odd. The guard usually tried to please the king all while helping the princess behind closed doors. He was more of a father to her than the emperor ever was. Did the two of them get into an argument? The last time that happened was-

“Harumi, your mother and I are very disappointed in your behavior recently.” Harumi scowled, biting back a “you’re not my parents”. Who knows, maybe they’ll finally give her up for adoption? After all, no matter if she was pleasant or cruel, she couldn’t please her parents without becoming a marionette doll. The thought of having a new family, perhaps even being the daughter of Hutchins amused the princess before she dramatically curtsied in her way too big dress.

“My apologies, your majesty.” Hutchins let out a sigh, shaking his head before leaving the room. The princess’s eyebrows furrowed when he did. Wasn’t the guard supposed to protect her from her parents taking things to far? Her answer to that came quite suddenly.

“We are sending you to Darkley’s Boarding School for Bad Kids,” the king announced, watching his daughter’s reaction carefully. Her mind faltered a moment, stuck on both the idea of the school and how her father had never said the word “kid” in her life. The Jade princess glared up at him. 

“The reforming school? For better behavior? You’re sending me there? After refusing to let me have a normal education with other kids my age at their schools?”

“Well, it’s close enough,” the emperor snapped. “It can teach you your generals and how to act like a better daughter.” 

“I’ll complain about it every day,” the girl threatened. “Every supper. When guests come over, it’s all I’ll ever speak about.”

“It’s a boarding school,” the empress inputted with a sharp look. She moved to take her place beside her husband. “You’ll be living there for nine months out of the year. Visitation is strictly prohibited so that parents will be able to see their children completely transformed.” A fake smile filled with honey was given to Harumi. “Could you please try to accept this?”

Harumi snarled, backing up a step or two. Hutchins couldn’t visit her?! They were punishing her by cutting away the only decent person within the palace! The princess’s voice came out in a growl, “I will never accept it. And I never wanted you to visit me anyway!” When Harumi realized that tears were threatening to pour out from her eyes, she took off to her bedroom, ignoring what else the emperor and empress had to say. Flopping down onto her mattress, the girl sobbed into her pillow. She didn’t want to be sent away to what she saw as some sort of prison camp. Abruptly, the princess threw her head upward when she remembered Hutchins. Rolling herself out of bed, Harumi ran to the door to go searching for the guard when a knock got there first. Opening up, she didn’t care that her eyes looked bloodshot or that random bits of hair stuck out in different places. 

“I take it the news didn’t bode well with you,” Hutchins sighed, his eye taking in her appearance with pity. With a clenched jaw, Harumi wrapped her arms around the guard tightly, burying her face into his chest.  She was getting taller and this wouldn’t feel the same soon, but the princess was going to savor every last moment before that happened. Or…she would’ve if it weren’t for the emperor and empress. 

“Why do I have to go?” Her words were muffled into Hutchins shirt. The guard grabbed her shoulders, gently separating the two of them so that she could look at his face.

“I tried my best, but your behavior hasn’t helped, Harumi. I know you don’t care for them, but could you at least try to play nice with the emperor and empress? None of this would’ve happened if-” The girl ripped herself out of his grasp, taking a step backwards and glaring at him. The guard never approved of how she acted, even if he cared for her more than her parents. 

“I’d play nice if they didn’t treat me like some sort of lost stray they took in! Until then, they’ll just have to deal with me. It’s their fault, anyway.” Hutchins folded his arms behind his back, putting on his “no nonsense, listen to me when I’m talking to you” face. 

“Your highness, you must remember who you are speaking about. Not only are the king and queen your guardians but your rulers too. Even if you weren’t their child, you still would have to obey what they-”

“You know they’re separating us, right?” Harumi snapped, crossing her arms. The guard tried to keep his voice even, but the girl could tell that she struck a nerve. 

“Which would not have happened if you were obedient. There is nothing I can do about the matter.” 

“Well, I don’t need to see you anyway!” Harumi stormed back into her room, leaving the door wide open for Hutchins to hear her. The princess began packing her bags right then and there. “You’re just a mindless, stupid guard who does everything asked of you! Never caring how you make others feel by your actions.” When Harumi finished packing, she looked up to find the guard gone. She let out an annoyed “hmph”, despite the hurt creeping its way into her heart. She probably shouldn’t have said what she did…whatever, it was too late now. Soon, she would be sent to Darkley’s and never see the light of day again. 

“You are twelve, correct?” A sharp nod. Harumi slouched in her seat as she stared out the window in the office. The principal, oddly named “Yang”,  was having a meeting with her, now that he had talked to her parents and arranged the payments for the school year. Yang had a long, dark beard, which Harumi couldn’t wrap her head around how he was able to keep it looking so straight. His baldness was covered with a traditional straw hat, as he informed her that he much preferred to be called “sensei” rather than another title. The princess had informed him to shove off. Now, the principal of Darkley’s was leisurely strolling across his office, not once taking his place at the desk in front of Harumi.

“My, you sure don’t act your age.” 

“Isn’t that why I’m here,” Harumi drawled, rolling her eyes, “to better my behavior?”

The principal chuckled, running his fingers through his beard. The girl sat up straighter, cheeks burning at the thought of being mocked. Yang’s dark eyes locked onto the princess’s as he said, “No, you misunderstand me. You seem to have quite the vocabulary and good idea of how the world works, at such a young age.” 

Harumi shuffled in her seat. She had grown to recognize what buttering people up looked like while she was a princess. Yet she couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride at the recognition being given to her. What exactly did the principal want from her? Harumi slipped on a mask of innocence as she prodded around for her answer. “But I am here to become a better daughter, correct?” 

Yang smiled at her, seeing straight through her mask. Yet he didn’t seem upset; if anything, the principal seemed amused by Harumi’s behavior. 

“Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“What if I could offer you something…more suitable for someone in your position?” Harumi raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in her seat. Did the royal family not do their research on this place? She wouldn’t put it past them. And well…the princess would be a liar if she said she wasn’t intrigued by the offer. With a smile, the girl said, 

“I’m listening…”

Throughout the school year, Harumi had gained quite the popular status among her female counterparts. Maybe being royalty is what caused others to submit to her will. Or maybe it was the fact that when they didn’t, she would get dirt on them and spill the news to everybody else. The princess had learned very quickly how to draw secrets out of people to tear apart friendships. Anything to stay on top. And Harumi thrived on the feeling. Hutchins rarely passed through her thoughts anymore. Teachers were very proud of Harumi. The princess not only followed their teachings but excelled at them. Clouse especially considered her as his protege after watching how tuned in she was to his Persuasion and Manipulation class. To put it simply, everyone would bow to her, else they get hurt by being shoved down.

Almost everyone…

“I want you to stop talking to Lloyd.” Harumi tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear before raising an eyebrow at the emo-wannabe standing beside her locker door. Morro, wasn’t it? Apparently another favorite of the teachers. How long had he been here compared to Harumi, and yet she seemed to still outshine him when it came to verbal adoration? 

“And why is that?” The princess batted her eyelashes. At that moment, she tried searching through her mind to remember if she knew a “Lloyd”. So many boys here had tried something to win her affection and all ended up being crushed at the end of the day. The only difference was which ones were led on the longest. 

Morro scowled, jabbing a finger into her collarbone. Rude. 

“I know you’ve been leading him on lately. Quit that. The kid has enough to deal with in his life and obviously doesn’t know how to recognize a gold digger when he sees one. You don’t want to have a problem with me over this.” A faint image of the blonde boy who had been following her around recently with wide green eyes and calling her “Rumi” popped into her head. Ahh, that was Lloyd, wasn’t it? Harumi popped a stick of gum into her mouth with a smirk, one hand propping against her waist as she laughed, 

“The puppy dog boy? He’s cute, I’ll give him that.” Amusement was evident on the princess’s face as Morro’s jaw visibly clenched, the anger in his eyes scalding. 

“You leave him alone,” the boy growled. 

“Aw, don’t worry, we’re becoming friends. You don’t have any problems with him having friends other than you, do you?” The boy opened his mouth to retort something, but Harumi stopped him by quickly adding, “Of course, you always did have attachment issues, didn’t you? After what happened with your mom and d-” 

“The Preeminent wasn’t my mom!” Morro shouted, gritting his teeth and slamming a fist into the locker closest to him, eyes never leaving her. Harumi chuckled, crossing her arms.

“So you do have mommy issues…I’ll have to find out who that was later. But you just reminded me, I did say I would go to Niche Noodles with Lloyd tonight for supper.” The boy looked a bit stunned, reeling in the fact that he had played into Harumi’s trap and she had already found a way to get Lloyd alone by herself. With a wink and a spin, the princess turned away on her heels and added, “Thanks for reminding me!” Sounds of angry discontent could be heard from behind her. Who knew Morro would be so fun to tease? 

The princess twirled her chopsticks around her ramen as Morro’s glare burned into her forehead. She didn’t really care about that part. What was annoying is that he had somehow convinced Lloyd that he was really craving Niche Noodles. Now, Harumi and Morro would send dirty looks across the table as Lloyd munched on his food in between the two of them, blissfully unaware. Despite the hostility, Morro seemed to have an air of smugness around him. Whatever. Harumi would eventually wipe that smirk off of his face. Although, she did have to admit, watching  Lloyd give her glances when he thought she wasn’t looking was sort of amusing. Even more so when she could see Morro nudging him in the peripheral of her vision, trying to get him to stop. 

A smile twisted onto her face when an idea came to mind. Wouldn’t it be fun to see who Lloyd would choose when push comes to shove? A grumpy, overprotective roommate or a beautiful princess straight out of a fairy tale? Harumi waited for Lloyd to shove a handful of noodles into his mouth before asking, 

“Does it taste good?” With a nod, the boy answered with his full mouth, 

“Yeah! Thith wath a ood idea!” Glancing at Morro, who was trying to send some mental message across to Lloyd by use of his piercing eyes to no avail, Harumi’s smile only widened. Yes, this was a good idea.