#and all of their associated crew compliments

[merlyn-bane]

i still can't believe skywalker got a slap on the wrist after all of that nonsense with r2 instead of, idk, a fucking court martial?

[beardedjoel]

honey, honey | three: stirring up a hurricane

sugar daddy! joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

summary: a lunch outing with joel brings some unexpected company and digs up anxiety. 10.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sugar daddy worthy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 54), slow burn! inherent power dynamic imbalance from a sugar daddy arrangement, flirting!, one (1) more jerk off session, talk of past relationships on joel's part, playing it a little fast and loose with pov, reader's clothing is described (dress and jacket).

a/n: i definitely intended to have this out sooner for y'all but life got in the way. i'm so ready to keep going on this journey with them, and this slow burn has been sooo fun to write. i really love them getting to know each other and fighting their feelings 🤭

The elevator softly whirs as you fly past the floors, all the way up to twenty. Alone and enclosed by the monochrome walls you fidget, smoothing your dress and wishing you had enough time to double check your appearance. 

It’s exhausting, apparently, actually caring what Joel Miller thinks about you. He always seems to have a compliment or two in store, but you can’t shake this pesky, anxious feeling gnawing at you that comes at the prospect of seeing him. Of him seeing you - perceiving you - and deeming you worthy of his time and money.

The elevator doors open to the office beyond with a rounded, wood paneled desk sitting centered in the foyer. Joel’s company comprises the entire floor, and you see a bustling crew beyond the glass walls and dividers. Black, shining floors beneath your feet, dark wood walls, and leather furniture adorn what appears to be a waiting room. It's decidedly masculine, but it doesn't feel cold in the slightest.

You nearly turn back around, wondering if this is a good idea after all. Being seen out in public together held its risks, you know that, but Joel seems assured that nothing will come of it. And if it does, he's promised to be there for you. You aren’t a public figure by any means, but any overachiever here in the know of Joel’s business associates might be able to place you and your connection to your father. The thought alone makes you feel itchy.

The young man behind the desk greets you in a chipper, smooth voice before you can make a decision on scampering back the way you came. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

You snap back to attention, approaching the rest of the way, trying to move with more purpose, a way to trick your brain into believing this will all be okay. “Yes, I’m here for Mr. Miller. It’s a - a lunch meeting.” Your cheeks heat in a rapid blaze, not having rehearsed any of this. You couldn't be the first of this nature in the office, based on Joel’s history, and you wonder if the man - Vincent, by the little nameplate on the desk - knew exactly what you were to his boss.

With a few clicks on the computer in front of him, Vincent gives you a soft smile of recognition. “Absolutely. I’ve got explicit instructions to have you brought back to his office first.” He holds up a finger to you as he dials on the phone, speaking in a hushed tone.

“Mhm, Mr. Miller’s twelve thirty is here. Yes. Okay. Thanks.”

You shift awkwardly, but only for a few moments before a woman appears around the corner, wearing a stylish blue pantsuit. She calls you by name, making your eyes widen in surprise before beckoning you to follow her. You’re guided between cubicles, open areas that appear to be free working spaces, and conference rooms. The place is buzzing with energy, a well oiled machine with employees engrossed in their individual work or collaborating. A pang of jealousy shoots through you, reminding you just how far you are from your goal of feeling that same spirit and drive towards your work.

You stop short in front of an office enclosed with glass walls, half opaque, half clear. “Mr. Miller will be just a moment. You can have a seat,” the woman says. “Water? Coffee? Tea? While you wait?” She rapidly fires the questions at you, to which you shake your head mutely, having a seat on the leather sofa that sits opposite to Joel’s office. 

She settles in at a nearby desk, turning her attention back to her computer, and it dawns on you that this must be Joel’s personal assistant here. Movement inside of Joel’s office catches your attention, your prying, curious eyes unable to look away even if giving Joel privacy feels like the right thing to do. Hurried movements ensue - a flash of Joel, hands flung up and then falling in frustration, and his face comes into view, screwed up tight before he says something that you can’t hear. You don’t see who he’s talking to, blocked by the fully opaque door, only leaving a shadow of a body that looks equally as heated. 

A few uncomfortable, shameful moments of spying pass before the door to his office flies open and a woman appears, throwing it shut behind her with a purposefully loud and dramatic thud. She appears closer to Joel’s age, dressed well and adorned with expensive, flashing jewelry. She seems to have a permanent scowl on her face as she approaches where you sit, stalking with purpose in her heels.

When she makes eye contact with you, the side of her lip curls up with a sweep of her gaze up the entirety of your body. You feel small on the leather loveseat under her scrutinizing stare portraying her message loud and clear: I am better than you.

“Feels good to be the latest model, huh?” she rasps, hips swaying as she walks.

You stutter, your voice only able to make a strained sound before you finally squeak out, “E-excuse me?”

A scathing breath of a laugh leaves the woman, and she shakes her head as she slows to a stop in front of you, letting her eyes rake over your outfit once more. It’s a simple, casual dress covered with a jacket to keep the October chill off of you - you hadn’t wanted to go all out for only a lunch date, but you’d felt good, presentable, for Joel. Until now, that is. 

“Good luck with that,” she says without any real sincerity behind it. A cruel joke sits in her words, something you don’t seem to be in on. “Until the next comes along.”

Your brows knit tightly as you just stare at her, your heart thundering heavily against your ribcage, nearly painful. No witty retort comes to you, too shocked by the turn of events to even think straight as she just huffs in satisfaction, moving along. You crane your neck, following her movements with your mouth agape until she turns the corner, not even bothering a glance back at you.

It feels like hours condensed into these few moments passing as you sit stupefied on that couch, your cheeks burning in shame. You try to avoid eye contact with Joel’s assistant who almost surely heard the entire exchange with how close she’s sitting. Eyes down, you finally bring them up when you hear Joel’s office door open once more.

He looks brighter than you’d seen him minutes ago, so heated inside his office with that woman. At least one of you seems to have shaken her off.

His smile is wide and warm when he spots you, and you hope the distressed look on your face has wiped off enough to avoid suspicion. You’re not sure if you want to tell him what just happened, unsure if what it all means is something you can handle. It was embarrassing too, to imagine speaking the words she’d said aloud to him. It had felt demeaning, your existence boiled down to whatever that mystery woman saw in you, some kind of less than being, some thing for Joel’s pleasure. She knew nothing about your situation, who you were to Joel, or the fact that he didn’t even seem interested in it becoming about more than money. 

“Hey there,” Joel’s voice cuts through the depths of your mind, and you softly smile, standing to greet him. He places a hand on your bicep, wrapping his fingers tenderly around it, leaning in to peck your cheek. His scent envelops all of you, forcing you to hold back a sigh, this particular smell already worming its way to a place of comfort for you. “Y’look fantastic.”

You have to clear your throat before your voice betrays you. “T-thanks.” You flash him another smile that luckily he seems to buy, but that woman's piercing, judgemental stare has your confidence completely shaken up. Beyond that, your curiosity is piqued on who the hell she even is to Joel, but you don’t know if it’s nosing into his business too much to ask about it. The way things had seemed between the two, it gave the impression it was a topic best left forgotten in Joel’s eyes.

So you bite your tongue, trying to become the pleasant, fun-loving girl Joel signed up to spend time with. It’s hard though, to not break open this dam of emotions that’s been full to bursting. Everything has just been too much this past week.

This arrangement. That woman. Joel. School. Your parents. Lying.

You have nobody to lean on, nobody to understand the stress, the diamond forming amount of pressure you’re put under to be somebody you don’t want to be. You’ve been dodging calls from your father, not having the energy to make up lies about the firm you’re supposedly interning for. You know it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out somehow - knowing him he’ll likely try to call the CEO using his own influence just to try and keep tabs on you. To make sure you’re doing it all right, up to his gold standard. When this comes to light, the fallout could be catastrophic, and you wonder if it might be better to just come clean now, maybe helping to absorb some of the blow.

The thought of doing that instantly makes you feel nauseous, and you realize you’ve gone the entirety of the way back down the elevator and out onto the street with Joel, barely paying attention to your surroundings. Joel has been talking on and off the entire time, his voice a distant murmur, and you’re flooded with guilt for being so rude. The sudden city noise blaring hits your ears harshly, and you turn to look at him.

“I-I’m sorry, what’d you say?” you ask him.

“Oh, jus’ that we should walk to lunch. It’s nice enough, and the place is just a few blocks. That alright with you?”

“Right, um, sure,” you reply, stumbling over your words when you feel Joel’s questioning gaze on you. You try to brighten up to avoid suspicion, tuning in to the autumn sun on your face and Joel’s presence beside you. It doesn’t seem to help the constant loop of anxiety swirling in your gut like you'd been hoping.

“How’s school goin’?” Joel asks, sounding far away.

“Alright. Just trying to get through the semester until I figure things out,” you tell him on autopilot. You know he’s only being polite, trying to check in, but the question pulls up pressure from inside of you, choking your already anxious stomach. It’s like the weight of the world crashes on your shoulders, like you’re supposed to have it all figured out by now. That way, Joel can stop this ruse with you and get back to his normal life, not having to continue to waste his money taking care of someone who can’t seem to sort their life out. You’ve been researching schools, ideas, and careers, wanting to do your due diligence to Joel’s generosity, but you keep coming up short or feeling indecisive. It seems too big a choice, too weighty, right now to decide your entire future when for most of your life you’ve never been able to think this way.

“You’ve got nothin’ but time,” Joel replies, seeming to either not notice or not be bothered by your flat attitude today. His hand gives your back a quick, reassuring rub as you walk, and you stiffen, but only because of the unexpected flutter it brings to your belly, momentarily distracting you from overthinking.

You let him do most of the talking as you saunter along, and are grateful it’s only those few blocks until you reach the restaurant. It’s a chic, modern looking space with high, airy ceilings and minimalist furniture. It’s bustling, apparently a hot spot for the business elite to attend their lunches with each other and their clients as you scan the room and see mostly suits and black, gray, and navy attire.

You’re seated right away despite some lingering groups clearly waiting for tables at the front, which makes you finally crack a smile. Joel always has things so figured out, so planned to perfection.

“This place is all the rage, I guess,” Joel commentates, glancing around at the busy dining room. “Ate here a few weeks ago with some folks and it was pretty damn good. We’ve got to get you one of these grilled, uh, avocado appetizer things. Wouldn’t have thought myself keen on it, but hell, it surprised me,” Joel rambles on, picking up his menu and scanning it. He holds it further and further away from himself until he sighs, pulling his reading glasses from his jacket pocket and plopping them onto his nose with a frustrated sigh. The entire series of events melts away some of your sourness, and you grin at him. It makes you glad to have someone like Joel, who so effortlessly lifts your spirits.

“Don’t say anything,” Joel snips, noticing your amusement at his struggle. “You’ll need these someday too.”

“I didn’t say a word,” you reply smugly, glancing down at your own menu. 

“This is nice, y’know,” Joel remarks out of nowhere after a beat of silence. “Goin’ out together, enjoying the day.”

“Yeah.” You smile a little brighter, almost starting to feel silly for pulling into your shell so much. Joel is always laid back in his own way it seems, acting as if it’s not a bother to be here with you. You only wish you could believe it to the degree he so effortlessly exudes it. “It is.”

Joel orders for the both of you when the server comes around, but only after finding out what you’re interested in eating. Of all the assholes you’d been set up with or asked out by, thinking they were doing you a favor by ordering for you, Joel has been the only one who actually asked. 

Whether Joel has detected the difference in your mood or not, he seems intent on keeping the mood positive, continuing to carry the conversation while you two wait for your food. You do swear you perceive some minute difference in his eyes, though, some discerning quality that's attempting to figure you out. You try to avoid suspicion, but it seems that the harder you try to act normal, the less you feel it, and the more that Joel’s studying gaze deepens, trying to read your mind. 

You answer his questions about school, about your life, and ask him how his week is going, playing the part as best you can. When the avocado appetizer Joel so excitedly mentioned comes, you rave about it, but everything feels half hearted when all you want to do is scream out in questioning about that rude woman at the office. Could Joel be secretly married or have some serious relationship you aren’t aware of? Could that be the type of woman he liked to affiliate with - someone cold and mean with no regard for other people’s feelings?

“Everything alright?” he finally decides to ask once the main course comes. His fingers wiggle together anxiously, his voice softer with a shy edge to it.

“Uh, y-yeah," you lie. You’re caught off guard, blurting it out before you can think about it. “Just tired with schoolwork and stuff. Haven’t been sleeping enough.”

That stare is on you again, his eyes slightly narrowed, but he nods. “Well alright, then,” he says faintly, looking down at his meal. You feel a pang in your chest, a desperation there to fix it. You’ve wounded him, and you open your mouth to speak, to retract what you said and tell him the truth, but something catches your eye over Joel’s shoulder. A woman is approaching, deliberate in her movements with her eyes on Joel’s back like she knows him.

“Joel?!” the woman’s perky voice cuts in. Joel turns just as the woman sidles up beside him, a cheerful look of recognition on his face. She’s dark haired, curly and wild, but in a way you know has been styled to look so effortless. She seems to have a glow about her, something glossy in her aura that’s instantly friendly and attractive. “I thought that was you!”

You hate that jealousy sears through you in an instant. You hate this protective feeling you get over Joel, over this undefined, amorphous thing you have with him. She’s everything you wonder if you should be - the perfect, shiny match to his desires for investing all his hard earned money. You’re only the latest model, after all.

“Valerie? Hey there.” Joel is up in an instant, wrapping his arms around the woman in a familiar embrace. Never forgetting his manners, he introduces you in the next breath. She flashes you a bright, inviting smile and tousels her hair before waving a hand at you.

“Valerie,” she replies with her graceful, perky body language, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Nice to meet you,” you muster up. The look she’s giving you is coy and knowing, understanding of the situation, because you’re guessing that she has been exactly where you are, who you are.

“Randy and I were just having lunch ourselves. We love this place. It’s so funny to run into you here. Did I tell you we got married last year?!” Valerie rambles on to Joel, her hands animated as she speaks, one of them held up to display the ring as if it would be hard to miss the giant, sparkling rock that sits heavily on her finger. She gestures to a table behind Joel, and you glance over his shoulder to see a man near Joel’s age, his hair a coiffed, shining silver. He’s facing away, typing on his phone, and blatantly unavailable and uninterested in his wife’s side quest to your table.

“That so? Well congrats to you two, then,” Joel says, sounding genuinely excited for her.

She nearly squeals. “Thank you, it was so beautiful! Just every girl’s dream, really. We flew everyone out to Fiji, did it on the beach at sunset and everything. But enough about me! I’ll let you two get back to your date. I just saw you here and had to say hi. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?!”

As much as Valerie steals the spotlight, you’re stuck on watching Joel’s face, the subtle ways it moves and reacts to her. The corner of his lip twitches up, clearly privately amused but not fazed by her erratic yet charming way of taking up the entirety of the space in the conversation. When he shoots a glance at you, your heart squeezes, feeling in on the little joke that this is just Valerie being Valerie. You feel part of his wide, glamorous world. 

Joel is polite and kind as they wrap up the conversation, sending Valerie back to her table with a smile where it appears she begins to animatedly recount the entire conversation to her husband.

“Who was that?” you ask, your lip curling up a little deviously, your problems half forgotten for the moment at your piquing curiosity and seemingly innate desire to tease Joel. “One of your girlfriends?”

Joel flushes, his cheeks tinged a soft pink. “You know I don -” He sighs, clearly flustered. “She’s an old friend. And married now, by the sound of it.”

“Ah, a friend. Like I’m your friend?” you ask, and Joel shoots you a pointed look. 

“Would that be a problem?” He finally snaps, latching onto your teasing and throwing it right back with a raised brow as he leans towards you. Your face heats the tiniest bit, knowing despite your teasing that yes, it actually did seem to be a problem while Valerie was here chatting up a storm. Even if whatever it was between them was ancient history, you feel insecure, wondering if you can live up to the other women he’s let into his life. You’d been feeling good about the arrangement - finally - even excited for this lunch today, until that presumptuous woman at the office threw a complete wrench in your emotions.

“I’m juuust asking,” you tell him, “So…?”

“Yes, alright?” He clicks his tongue, sitting forward and placing his forearms on the table, challenging you. “It was ages ago now, but yes, if you must know we had a similar arrangement.”

You give him a slow, intrigued nod. “I see,” is all you reply.

Joel’s lips twist to the side in irritation, but the sparkle in his eye reminds you that he’s having just as much fun as you are with this. “You see, what?”

“Nothing!” You chuckle. “I swear. I just - she’s really nice. And pretty.” You hear the way your voice falls, cracks a little without trying, on your last words, so you clear your throat, hoping to cover it up. Eyes on the table, on your half eaten meal, you can feel Joel’s gaze boring into you.

“What is this? What’s goin’ on here?” he asks, sounding a little impatient, losing that light edge to his voice that says he’s no longer teasing. 

You sigh, waving a dismissive hand. “No, nothing. I just, I mean what I said.”

“It’s true. Valerie’s wonderful person. And so are you.”

You nearly snort, but feel yourself go shy at the last minute under his praise. “I guess. Yeah, thank you.” You try to sound sincere, but you can hear the way you’re trying too hard, the strain of each syllable an attempt to hide your rising emotions.

“I don’t get it,” he says, sounding exasperated. Joel always tried his best, but sometimes he was stumped by the inner workings of the women’s minds he chose to have relationships with. Even Sarah, when she was growing up, had her share of moments just like this where he felt helpless, just wanting her to talk to him, let him help. “Are you jealous? Of a fling I had five years ago?” he asks, guessing what seems to be the first logical explanation. “Cause I promise you that I only like to focus on one woman at a time. That’s long in the pas-”

“It’s not that, I swear,” you cut in. Processing his words a second later, you flick your gaze to his, wonder in your widening eyes. “Wait, what? You - Joel, you don’t have to do that for me. This isn’t -” A relationship, you’d wanted to say. But you can’t discount that you did feel protective over keeping Joel all to yourself, even if he’d made the promise that it wouldn’t become anything more. “You shouldn’t hold yourself back because of me.”

“I’m doin’ nothing of the sort, I promise you. I’m too busy for having all kinds of relationships, and besides, I’m happy with where I’m at right now. I swear t’you.”

Joel’s reassurance instantly cuts through your racing thoughts. You put your head in your hands, your whole face hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’m acting so… so… insane right now. I mean we literally just started this whole thing and I’m already more trouble than it’s worth. God, I -”

“Stop it right there,” Joel says softly, but his voice hits a dichotomy with the biting edge to his words, urging you to listen. His hand reaches out, wrapping around your wrist. The touch is gentle but his fingers are thick and rough, sending a skittering of sparks across your skin. Affection isn’t something you’re used to, and it does the job he’d hoped of stopping you in your tracks. “Just know, whoever told you that about yourself before, it ain’t true. It’ll never be true. I chose this too, y’know. You didn’t force me to spend time with you, to want to help you out. I wanted it, too, right? Hell, I’m the one that offered, remember?”

Your breath catches, a lump in your throat thick as you attempt to swallow. You peek at Joel from where your head rests in your hands, slowly lowering them, but his hold on your wrist stays steady for a few more seconds, a comforting presence while his thumb rubs a few lazy circles. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him with a watery smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I think this is all just new, and a lot. And worrying about everything with my parents… Or being seen together like this…” You blow out a long, stressed breath. “Yeah, it’s a lot.”

Joel gives you a nod of understanding. “It’s true, it is a lot. You know I’ve got your back now though, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’m not gonna go back on things, that’s just not the kind of guy I am.”

Until the next one. The woman’s words cut in, making you nearly flinch. You believe Joel, you do. He’d already proven to be generous and steadfast, but would he really show up for you long term? Would he keep up the charade of pretending you mattered in the world, that you could find your place with his help? Or would he be distracted as soon as something better came along?

You stare at him for a long, quiet moment, biting at the inside of your lip. “The - the woman… Who is she?” you ask quietly, balling your hands in your lap underneath the table. At Joel’s quizzical look, you sigh, elaborating. “At the office earlier.”

He clicks his tongue, his head drooping and fingers coming up to swipe at his eyes then pinch the bridge of his nose. He looks decidedly defeated and tired now. “God damn it, Marissa,” he mutters under his breath. His eyes flick back to yours, burning with fresh intensity. “What did she say?”

“I - Well-”

“What did she say to you?” Joel’s sudden surge of protectiveness over you is surprising, but welcome. The intensity of it, though, takes you aback, making you start to regret bringing it up. This was a whole new side of Joel you hadn’t gotten to see yet. 

“J-Just some bullshit, it’s fine.”

You see the recognition flash across Joel’s face, now reaching a new level of anger and defeat. “I knew it was somethin’. That’s why you’ve been acting quiet today, yeah? So it ain’t fine.” 

You groan internally, hating the confirmation that he’d noticed. “She just made a dumb comment about me being the latest model, or whatever.” And looked at you like you were the scum on the bottom of her shoe, but you hold back from saying that part out loud.

Joel rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “She’s got a flair for the dramatic, especially when she’s not gettin’ her way.” You stay silent, so Joel goes on. “That’s my ex. She’s - it’s complicated.”

“Two in one day. Lucky me,” you say flatly, and Joel offers you a sympathetic, guilt ridden smile. “At least one was nice.”

“Marissa is… it’s a different situation. As much as I wish we weren’t, we’re stuck together. On account of havin’ a kid and everything.”

The realization hits you hard. You’ve never seen Sarah’s mother or heard much about her. She doesn’t show up to functions, is never mentioned, and effectively, Joel has always seemed like a single dad from your perspective. 

“Oh, shit. That’s Sarah’s mom?” you ask.

Joel nods solemnly. “It’s complicated, like I said. It’s a long history, and her favorite thing seems to be stirrin’ up trouble for me, so I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no, I’m sorry. That sounds awful,” you tell him, sympathetic to his cause. 

“She shouldn’t have said that, or said anything to you at all. I’m sorry. She showed up this mornin’ out of the blue as she does, on her usual shit and I didn’t notice the time. Should have sent her away the minute I knew you’d be comin’.”

You give him a shrug. “It’s - it’s not your fault, Joel. You can’t control what she says.”

“There’s no merit to it, I swear. I would never have let her speak t’you that way. She say anything else?”

You shake your head at first, hesitant to share more for fear of hurting Joel. You could tell how heavily the guilt of someone else’s words was weighing on him, like he was responsible for everyone in his world and how they behaved. 

 “Not really. Just… basically that I was about to expire and be replaced any minute. And if looks could speak, well, yeah. She had a lot to say with those,” you tell him, avoiding eye contact, focusing on fiddling with your fork on the table.

Joel’s mouth presses into a flat line. “Don’t pay any mind to it. She’s always done this, always wanted to make sure I’m less happy than she is, even though I’m the one that took care of things when she was too -” Joel cuts himself off, placing his palms on the table. His sudden distress causes you to snap your head back up, looking to him and seeing the worry now etched on his features. It nearly breaks your heart to see him like this. “Sorry, you don’t need my whole sob story, sweetheart.”

This time, you reach to him, placing a hand on his and squeezing before pulling it back, unsure of yourself in the intimate gesture. Joel seems to be so much better than you at this kind of thing. “If you want to share, I’ll listen. I can’t imagine what that’s like. I - I thought she wasn’t even in the picture, but…”

“She ain’t,” Joel snips. “Not really. She comes and goes when she pleases, and I - I let her walk all over me, take from me. Shit, hard to even admit it, but that’s the truth. Never do that shit for anyone, just… when it comes to Sarah, I’ll do fuckin’ anything. Marissa knows that.” Joel avoids holding your gaze, his eyeline averted to the left at some spot off in the distance. “The worst part is, watchin’ Sarah get that hope in her eyes, like maybe it could be different this time. Even after all these years. God, listen to me. Second meal together and I’m turnin’ into this big sap, ranting like some sad old man. You should be havin’ fun, being shown a good time.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Joel,” you chide him. “What did you just tell me? About wanting to be here?”

He cracks a small smile and you return it. In a way, it’s nice to know he has this baggage, that he’s not always put together and suave. He has demons, like you do, like the rest of the world does. He’s not invincible, he’s complicated. Just like you, too.

“You’re a good one, kiddo, y’know that?” Joel says, sighing, and you try to fight the bolt of disappointment hurtling itself through your chest at the nominer. A kid. Joel says it so passively, and you know he’s not trying to undermine you, or make you feel the crush that it brings to know he doesn’t see you in the way you’d like him to, so you just smile.

“I like this kind of conversation much better, anyways,” you reply, swallowing down your hurt. “Helps me get to know you.”

Joel’s smile cocks sideways. “Right. Almost forgot this is what it’s all about, ain’t it?” he teases. “Been talkin’ your ear off, not even askin’ about you.”

“Oh, no, no. You’re not getting off that easily. I have more questions.”

He laughs, the thick tension in the air starting to evaporate as his shoulders relax. “Really, now? Alright, nosy, shoot.”

You bite your lip, reigning in your cheesy grin. “Okay. So… What happened with you and Valerie?”

Joel speaks bluntly. “We ended things. She did, actually.”

You raise one brow, unimpressed. “Well, that much is obvious. But, you just let her go? I don’t know, she seems so… nice. Perfect. Like someone every man would want to be with.”

Joel’s look shifts to something more amused. “You ever broken up with someone before?”

“I - Well, kind of, I guess. But they were assholes, and it wasn’t anything serious.”

“And maybe just not the right person for you, yeah?”

“A mistake, more like it,” you mumble, and Joel chuckles, scratching a hand through his beard as he shakes his head at you.

“My point is, some people just aren’t right for each other, no matter how perfect they seem,” he says pointedly. “Me and Valerie got along, but we were just wanting different levels of, er, commitment at the time, I guess.”

“Oh? And you… weren’t committing then?” It’s hard to see that for Joel, given what you’ve already learned about him in this short time. He was steadfast, seeming singularly focused when he put his mind to something, given his success, so it was hard to picture him shying away from commitment. Especially seeing as how whenever you’ve been in his presence, it's felt like you are his sole priority, like he's dedicated only to that moment with you - it seemed to be a gift he had. 

“She was lookin’ for more, and I wasn’t really there with her back then. We were havin’ fun, and she realized she was lookin’ for someone to marry, spend her life with, y’know? So, I’m happy for her that she found it. She’s a nice gal, deserves that.” 

You consider it, knowing there may be more to the story than he’s letting on, but you don’t press him. Maybe it’s too early to dig into things, despite you wanting to learn everything you can about him. 

“That’s really sweet, actually. It seems like things ended amicably, then?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, it did. Never was really contentious with any of the others, neither. Sometimes y’just grow out of things, or realize it ain’t a good fit, even if money's the motivating factor. For me, I want to look forward to spendin’ time with the person, too. It makes it all worth it.”

You give him a genuine smile, feeling your gaze going soft. Something about the way Joel speaks about this, so surefooted and thoughtful, and the way he regards the women he’s involved in his lifestyle, it grasps at you and refuses to let go. He recognizes where he’s at and owns it - not trying to say anything to please you, but just speaking honestly about the experience. 

“And not to mention the, you know, little boost of… motivation you get from it,” you say, poking at him.

Joel nearly chokes on the sip he’s taken from his water glass, then composes himself. “Very funny,” he grits out with an overexaggerated frown, one you can tell he’s forcing. “Keep it up, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You put your hands up in mock defeat. “It was just too easy. But I get what you’re saying. Uh… have the others known about that part of it, too? I - I’m just genuinely curious about all of this. I guess I never thought about the, uh, intricacies of these sorts of things.” You’d been wondering if it was obvious or expected in that kind of arrangement, or if what you knew about Joel was some kind of rarity. Was it always all about that for these men providing lavish gifts and financial stability? Or could it be something more, like what you and Joel have? Was it the big secret that all these women were in on, that writing checks and throwing credit cards their way was a one way ticket to these men getting hard in their overpriced slacks?

You’ve been feeling so naive, ruminating on it since that dinner with Joel, that you hadn’t guessed the minute he’d brought it up in his office that day. Was that the only reason he was here doing this, to get some kind of sexual satisfaction out of it? 

Joel grimaces a little, clearly anxious about toeing back towards this topic with you. “Well, yeah, to a degree. It’s not always spoken, but sometimes it’s part of the fun. Making jokes about it, or… shit, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but we’re both adults here, I ‘spose. It’s foreplay at times, knowin’ about what’s going on for both people. Makes it fun.”

You fight the slight gape your mouth has dropped into, snapping it shut into a smug smile, nodding. “Oh,” you blurt out dumbly, feeling your cheeks go hot, curling the back of your knuckles to rest your chin in your hands, looking down. One mention of foreplay with Joel and you’re reduced to an awkward, wordless mess, unsure of how to proceed. There wasn’t any foreplay happening here, he’d made that very clear repeatedly, but your conversations always seem to edge towards something else, filled with an unspoken tension. It was messing with your mind, your ability to keep things compartmentalized for your own sanity. You pick up your fork, attempting to return to your meal just for something to do with your hands. “That’s…”

Joel seems to catch himself, leaping into action. “B-but not… this. This situation is different. I’m able to separate things, and… and… shit, I’m sorry. I’m the one goin’ on about not crossin’ those lines, and here we are. I was jus’ trying to tell you how it usually goes for lots of folks doing this sort of thing, that’s all.”

You wave your hands as if to pardon his blunder, finally collecting yourself. “No, no, I get it, and that makes sense. I was the one who asked. It sounds fun, honestly. I see why people do this.”

Joel loosens up, his tense shoulders dropping and lips giving you a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah, it is. I’m havin’ fun now, too, just to make that clear.”

“Oh gee, thanks,” you reply sarcastically, giving him a playful scrunch of your nose. “Me too, though,” you add on with more sincerity.

“Oh, so gettin’ treated to new things and meals because of me is fun, is it?”

You feign thinking for a long moment to irritate him. “Hmm, I guess so.” You laugh, grateful to be back on track with Joel, the banter right where it should be in both of your sweet spots. This was far from normal - secretly dating but not dating such an old friend of your father, accepting his money and gifts - but it felt like one of the most natural places you could be right now.

“Now, should we enjoy our meal together?” Joel asks.

Smiling at him, already feeling the hefty weight that had been pressing on your soul this entire week lifting some thanks to Joel, you nod.

You walk side by side along the busy sidewalks with Joel, his body constantly hovering close to you so as not to lose you amidst the throngs of people going about their busy days. The lunch rush is still alive and well, a blur of people in business casual rushing past, clutching their bags or talking hurriedly on their phones, likely all on their way back to their respective jobs.

Joel had insisted on walking together instead of going separate ways after lunch, seeming to have a secretive air about him that piqued your interest enough to go along with it. 

“Want to make up for everythin’ from today,” he tells you, stopping outside of a jewelry store with gold and silver alike, gemstones and diamonds glittering in the window displays.

“Joel…” you chide. “There’s nothing to make up for. This seems to be a theme with you. Wasn’t lunch supposed to make up for the mustard incident where you almost poisoned me to death?” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yes, but this is for Marissa.” At your insistent mouth opening to brush it off, he puts both his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. “I’m serious. I’m gonna have a talk with her about it. She shouldn’t be gettin’ into my business or yours. I really am sorry.”

You melt quickly under the softness in his tone and the bulk of his hands weighing comfortably on your shoulders. 

“It’s really not like she’s making it out to be, I want you to know that. I know you don’t know me as well as you’d like yet, but it’s always been… as respectful as I can get things to be between me and whoever I’m with at the time. She can’t see that, and doesn’t want to, ‘cause she’s bitter she’s not getting more out of me. So if she made you feel like you’re just someone to use an’ throw away, I’m sorry about that. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m here until we get everythin’ sorted out for you and more, yeah?”

You blink rapidly, willing away the unwelcome tears starting to make your eyes shine. You’ve never heard words even remotely like what Joel is saying to you right now, never have had anyone take the time to express a sentiment like that, make you feel worth the time of day for it. It’s… incredible, a warmth that quickly burrows itself inside your chest, so foreign but so welcome to feel like you’re truly seen, truly matter to someone else beyond what it could give them. Even if it was Joel, who barely knows you, but seems to see the merit in helping you figure your life out despite it being risky for him. Nobody had ever done anything like that for you before.

“I…” you stutter out, clearing your throat and looking down at the sidewalk. Joel’s gaze is pensive and sharp as he studies you, trying to read the emotions warring within you. “Thank you, Joel. I’m sorry, I’ve just never - you’re really kind. Not just the money thing, but you’re… not what I expected.”

He smiles, seeming to understand the struggle you’re unable to verbalize. It was obvious here, what was going on based on everything you’d told him about your father. There was a deep wound you were simply trying to fill. It should make Joel feel dirty, but he lit with pride somewhere deep inside, making him want to keep being the reason for you to smile.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he replies smugly, forcing a weak chuckle out of you. “Now c’mon. We’ve got things to buy.”

Joel surprises you when his hand trails down, grasping at yours, making a beeline for the door to the shop. You let your fingers intertwine with his like it’s a natural, everyday occurrence for the two of you, tugging you along. 

The man behind the counter knows Joel, greeting him by name, which amuses you to no end. Joel really has perfected this type of relationship for himself, down to the jewelry shop he frequents. Joel introduces you, and you can only offer a shy smile and hello, feeling the difference between the bustle of the outside world and placidity of the polished jewelry shop hitting you hard. You’re too aware of the way your hand is clasped tightly in Joel’s now that you’re somewhere quiet with eyes on the two of you. The more places you’re seen together, the more likely it is that your entire world could come crashing down with this secret getting out. There are millions of people in this city, yet you keep getting the sinking feeling it would be just your luck to be spotted by the wrong one.

Joel senses your shift, slipping his hand out of yours and briefly grazing the small of your back with it. “Hey, it’s okay. Nobody here knows anythin’, or would say anythin’, even if they did,” he whispers, and you eye the clerk suddenly acting very interested in wiping the surface of a case across the room to give the two of you privacy.

You shoot him a nervous look. “Should we really be out together like this? It’s been making me nervous all day. What if - what if…?”

Joel’s entire body nearly lurches forward, but he holds himself back from grabbing onto you, squeezing those anxious cheeks of yours between his hands and holding them tightly, making sure you look into his eyes while he reassures you. This instinct he has, the one he’s never been able to ignore, feels like too much with you, too suffocating. You have a father, someone to look after you that way already. Hell, all of them have had a father, but never one that he knew personally. Yet, he saw the need you had for it, the craving maybe you weren’t aware of, the one that brought you to tears the moment he’d shown you any sign of that kindness.

It hurts his heart to see you so neglected - all these years of knowing you by proxy, and he’d never seen it. How could he have missed it, how miserable you’ve been? How much sooner could he have been able to help you realize that you were worth anyone’s time, that you were worthy of living the life you wanted to live? Somehow though, he felt that this was exactly where the two of you were meant to be at this point in your timelines. Any sooner and maybe he wouldn’t have been able to make the difference he wanted to because you’d not have been ready to face it, or too late in the game, already too miserably deep in your path to CEO to care.

Meant to be - the words that kept running through Joel’s mind, despite everything in him fighting to stop thinking like that, to stop gently placing your sweet self so deeply in his heart so early on in the relationship. You yearn so earnestly for something he was so innately able to give, and that’s making it harder than it ever had been with the others.

“We don’t have to go out like this again, if you don’t want. I know, I thought the same thing, and we can stick with my place if y’want to. I just want you to feel comfortable, that’s all.”

You throw him an appreciative smile. “I - I’ll think about it. I liked today, though.”

“Me too.” He smiles. “Now can I treat you to somethin’ pretty like I’m supposed to?”

“Alright, alright, Mr. Impatient. Let’s have a look,” you reply, stepping forward to peer down at the closest display, feeling Joel’s presence sidling up beside you. Heat radiates off of both him and the lights in the glittering case, making you sweat at the proximity of it all, the nearness of his body and that cologne of his wafting invitingly into your space.

“What do you usually like? Noticed you mostly wear gold. But not many bracelets.”

You flick your gaze to him, brows lifted. “Very observant of you.”

“It’s all part of the gig. Got to know what kinds of gifts you’re lookin’ for, so I can surprise you when you least expect it.” Joel’s pleased smugness shadows his face, and you roll your eyes at him, even though you are impressed. Men don’t have the best reputation for paying attention, or at least not the ones you’ve known. Your father has never opted to buy his own gifts for your mother, always either hiring someone to do it or deferring to you, since you’d clearly know better what his wife would like.

“Well, what would you pick out for me if I wasn’t here?” you ask him, feeling emboldened.

Joel seems to like this game, taking on the challenge with an intrigued twitch of his brows. He leans the tiniest bit closer to you, but he may as well have crossed an entire canyon with the difference the proximity makes to your steadily beating heart. He seems to morph into something more right there - giving you the suave show he offers to any other woman in your position. 

“Alright, well, I’d want to know first if you don’t wear bracelets because you don’t like ‘em, or if you just don’t think about buyin’ them for yourself, which would be a damn shame. ‘Cause for some reason, I really want to be the one clasping something nice to your pretty wrists. Just a feeling I get.”

You can scarcely breathe at the way his voice reverberates so close to you, lowering to a gravelly rumble with each word weaving its way inside of you. It’s all too sensual, too evocative of an image painted in your mind for this to be the casual thing you’re both seeming to pretend it is. Your skin is prickling, warm all over as you stand with tightening thighs, your hip pressed against the jewelry case to help hold you steady. You don’t dare look him in the eye now, for fear he’ll be able to see the mortification burning its way through you at the effect his words have. 

“I - I just don’t think about it. I like bracelets, though,” you somehow squeak out, keeping your answer safe and only opting to respond to the actual question rather than… whatever the hell all the other stuff was. You simply can’t dive into it further if you want to remain sane right now and pretend that Joel didn’t have some kind of obscene hold on you.

“Alright, then. Let’s have at it,” he says casually now, dropping some of the charm. He prowls along the cases at a slow, steady pace, carefully weighing the options. “I’ll stick with gold, for obvious reasons. No point in mixin’ it up if you’re not interested.” He flashes a glance back to you, to see if he’s on the right track, so you nod for him, agreeing. You do your own browsing, admiring the wide selection of jewelry while he’s quiet for a while, stopping to observe each case with scanning eyes before he glances to the clerk across the room.

“William, I think we’re all set here,” he booms out, and you look at him curiously, walking over to the case he’s landed on. You peer down through the glass, trying to guess which one he’s selected, but Joel stops you with a gentle hand to the shoulder. “Do you want it to be a surprise?”

You consider it, pursing your mouth in contemplation. A flutter moves through your middle, making you lick your lips before smiling wide for him. “Yeah, why the hell not?” you conclude. 

Moments later, after dutifully averting your gaze from across the room as Joel and William pack up your new gift, he walks over to you with a slender, black box in hand. There’s a bag in his other for you to carry it home in, sporting tissue paper and the shop's name in a classy, black font across the front. 

“For you,” Joel says quietly, presenting the box to you and cracking it open. It’s a dainty, gold bracelet, periodically studded with flowers, daisies by the look of it, each one beautifully crafted and shimmering with diamonds. You’re accustomed to nice things like this - diamonds, designer clothing and bags, all the highest quality things your parents provided for you growing up, yet you still gasp at the sight before you. There’s something touching about it being specifically chosen for you by someone who truly wanted to do it. That makes it the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’ve ever seen, despite having laid eyes on much more elaborate, eye-catching pieces. 

This feeling was pure magic.

“I love it,” you exclaim softly, bringing a hand up to your mouth, some self conscious part of you desiring to conceal your smile, not wanting to seem materialistic. Joel’s hand goes to your wrist, moving it away, his eyes intently flashing between watching your grin and your eyes crinkling happily with it.

“Mm-mm,” he chastises you, nearly a whisper. “This is the best part, watchin’ you be happy.”

Your smile falls into something more subtle, an electricity crackling down to your very veins at the intimacy brimming in the air between the two of you. “Thank you, Joel. I love it. You did really good,” you manage to say, your breath a little shaky.

“Let me,” he says, bringing your wrist a little lower and gently pulling the new bracelet out of its box. The way he so gingerly moves, wrapping the gold chain around your wrist and clasping it, all so certain yet reverent, has something inexplicable taking hold of you. He’s an expert, this sort of thing practically a second job for him, yet you feel like it’s the first time, as if he’d never tire of making you feel this cherished and special. 

“Now would you look at that,” Joel marvels as he finishes up, turning your wrist in a slow, graceful manner to allow a moment of appreciation as the bracelet shines and sparkles. When he lets go, you feel the absence like a plunge of ice to your skin, much colder than you could remember it being before he’d touched it. You smile absentmindedly at the bracelet, shaking it to hear the tiny, pleasant jingle. 

“It’s perfect,” you tell Joel. “Thank you again.” Before you can think, your arms are thrown around him in an embrace, wanting to show your appreciation. You feel his hesitation at first, but once his arms finally wrap around you, they’re committed, squeezing you tightly to his chest. “I thoroughly forgive you now for your rude ex. And the mustard,” you say into his shirt.

You both descend into laughter, pulling away to watch his crooked smile lighting up his whole face. “Thank god. I was worried it was a deal breaker.”

You shrug. “Nah. More where this came from, and we’ll definitely be even.”

Joel’s hurried footsteps have him rushing along the sleek black floors past the front desk, not so much so as to not give Vincent a proper greeting as he passes. Thankfully Bianca, his assistant, is still on her lunch too, no questions or needs or check-ins from her buzzing in his ear. Just for these few minutes, that’s all he needs.

The office door closed in a haste, shaky hands pulling the shades on his windows into the hallway, he makes sure to lock the door before settling in at his desk. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, the half hard cock he’d been fighting for blocks now straining against his slacks, so stiff and achy it’s nearly painful. Leaking a spot onto his briefs, he palms it, sighing softly at the relief it brings.

Jerking on his cock, the length of springs out, slapping at his belly before he tugs out his balls too, resting heavily against the hastily shuffled down fabric. He swallows the tiny pit of shame growing inside of him before skimming a finger through his precum, spreading it along his head in a circular motion.

This time, he doesn’t even try to avoid picturing it’s you doing it.

He’s hardly allowed himself to let go like this for days, not since your first dinner together. It’s been too difficult to not tie it to you, to not conflate the fact that he was rock hard more often than was convenient now to the fact that he had someone new out there enjoying all the wonderful things he could provide for them. That someone being you, maybe one of the few people he absolutely should not be fantasizing about. He was coming on too strong, he knew that, unable to help himself from giving in to what seems to come naturally between you two. You’re too nice, too sweet to ruin with vain, carnal desires, so he’d have to resort to this instead - holding back until he’s nearly bursting with unplaced desire. 

He thought he could handle the jewelry store, could handle you. But just as you’d said he’s different than you’d expected, so are you. Funny and biting, but so soft and caring underneath it all, passionate and driven but without a direction yet, something in you so wanting of it, so needing, you were simply… lovely. Radiant and perfect in all your own little ways, you’ve been one of the biggest pleasures to be around after only two god damned dates. Joel hates himself for it. It’s such a shame it had to be you, the one who’d finally caught his attention in this way. It has been too long since he’d indulged himself, let someone in and taken care of them. He’d just stayed focused on work and family, ignoring the part of him that ached to be satisfied with being seen as someone’s provider.

Joel’s slick hand slides up his cock, gripping tightly, a dichotomous hope uttered on his lips that it should be you, and that he wishes it wasn’t you running through his mind during such an intimate act. 

“F-fuck, yeah,” he mutters to himself, stroking faster. You and that smile, the new bracelet hanging off your wrist, just as he’d imagined it. The new dress you’d worn to dinner, aching to see more, more, more - new, pretty things, or to watch your stress melt away as he took on all those burdens for you. You could have everything, you could have it all, because of him.

He’d never touch you, no, and never let you touch him like this. But in this moment, squeezing his own slickened cock, he allows himself just one glimpse of it in his mind - one time, and he’d be done. One moment of imagining your hand wrapped around his shaft, fingers curling delicately as they move up and down, struggling to take him all in your hand. You would struggle, with that pretty new bracelet sparkling the entire way through.

He groans. 

It’s louder than he’d meant, unexpectedly so, but that’s just what you do to him. The unexpected. A thin sheen of sweat coats Joel’s brow now as he strokes himself furiously, enjoying every second of allowing himself to relinquish his morals. It would be over too soon, he thinks to himself, catching a glimpse of his ruddy, pulsing cock in his hand, desperately imagining you’re there instead, touching it, riding it, the two of you doing something nobody has to know about.

“Sh-shit, shit,” Joel blurts out, hastily reaching for a tissue, pumping his cock a few more times, throwing his head back. When he comes, it’s harder than he has in recent memory, so much built up tension and need behind it all, but he doesn’t picture any specific thing to push him over the edge. It’s just you.

Catching his breath, he copes with the shame of it all, still feeling you buzzing pleasantly around his mind. This thing he can not rid himself of now that you’ve taken up residence there. It was a new kind of high, one he hadn’t felt in years, or maybe ever. None of the others had felt like this, his heart and mind seeming to slip out of his control and into something dangerous. Joel always found he didn’t like things to be out of his control if he could help it. You, however, were completely, irrefutably out of his control now.

Sitting there in his pool of shame, Joel cleans himself up and discards the evidence in the trash, feeling defeated. He’s already let this get too far, putting you in a dicey position, and for what? For him to self satisfy some part of him that he’s considered broken?

Isn’t that exactly what you were doing too? Could two people trying to fix what’s broken come together and not have it end in disaster? This isn't like his other relationships - there hadn’t been so much at stake, no end that resulted in upsetting the status quo of the other’s life. 

He’s pondering all of it, if he’s being fair to you, if he should be more careful with what parts of your life he holds in his hands now, when he feels his phone buzz inside his pocket.

You’ve sent him a photo of your wrist, seemingly out on the street somewhere. He catches the facade of a high end, cream colored building in the background, and he wonders in passing if that’s where you call home. Wonders if he’ll be able to see it, be let into your world a little more. Not the parts of it he knows from being on the fringes, but the bits of you that you don’t share with your parents, your friends, or maybe anyone else.

Never taking this off, you tease in the message attached to the photo, and Joel’s chest tightens and swells with affection. He longs to make you feel like this every day, to make sure you know that you have someone looking out for you even when so many people in your life seem to have forsaken that. He studies the picture, looking over every inch and promising himself to put aside his vain desires to see this through for you. To give you all the things you deserve to have, because you’re a nice girl who deserves better than the lowness he’s stooped to in his office today.

It nags at his mind though, in a way he can’t shake off despite trying, the things he feels when he looks at the photo, the new bracelet shining in the sun. The things he feels when he looks at you.

You. You were certainly going to be the death of him.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

I need part 2 of Toto Wolff with wife of Unscripted Moments!!! 😩

A guide to modern slang

Word count: 1k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader, feat. Jack

Summary: After the overwhelming success of their first video, the Wolff family returns with a new challenge to meet fan demand. In this follow-up, Toto Wolff tackles Gen Z slang

________________________________________________________

The Mercedes-AMG Petronas studio was buzzing with excitement, and the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Ever since the “This or That” video featuring Toto Wolff, his much younger wife (you), and their five-year-old son, Jack, had gone viral, fans were hooked. They loved the unexpected glimpse into the Wolff family's life, the humor, and the sweet dynamic between the three of you. Now, the team had another video idea that promised to deliver even more fun.

“Alright, folks, cameras rolling in three… two… one!” called out the crew member. You settled into your seat, sharing a quick smile with Toto, who, despite his normally composed demeanor, looked genuinely amused. Jack sat between you, his legs swinging under his stool as he grinned at the camera, bursting with excitement to be the star again.

“Hey, everyone!” you greeted with a warm smile. “After all the love we got for our last video, we decided to come back and do something a little different today. We’re doing a ‘Word Association Challenge’—but with a twist! Jack is going to give Daddy some words, and Toto has to say what he thinks they mean. Easy, right?”

Jack giggled, nodding eagerly. “Yeah! I’m gonna give Daddy the words!”

Toto chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Jack?” he teased, giving his son a playful look.

Jack beamed, but then leaned over to you, whispering, “Mama, I can’t read the words yet.”

You smiled softly, nodding. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll whisper the words to you, and then you can tell them to Daddy, okay?”

Jack nodded, his confidence instantly returning. “Okay, I’m ready!”

You leaned in and whispered the first word into Jack’s ear. “Alright, tell Daddy the word is ‘drip.’”

Jack turned to Toto with an important expression on his face. “Daddy, the word is… ‘drip!’”

Toto’s brows knitted together, trying to piece it together. “Drip? Like when something is leaking? Water dripping?” he guessed, looking between you and Jack for some indication of whether he was on the right track.

Jack covered his mouth, his laughter bubbling over. “No, Daddy, it’s not about water!”

You laughed and chimed in, “No, ‘drip’ means having a really cool or stylish outfit. Like, ‘Check out his drip’ means someone is dressed really well.”

Toto’s expression turned thoughtful as he considered this. “So, if I say, ‘Lewis has some serious drip in the paddock today,’ would that be correct?”

Jack clapped his hands together, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, Daddy! You got it right!”

The crew chuckled, and you gave Toto a little nudge. “See, you’re getting it! You’ve got some ‘drip’ yourself,” you teased, tugging at the collar of his sharp, tailored suit.

Toto chuckled softly, looking down at his outfit. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, his smile growing.

You leaned in to Jack again, whispering the next word. “Okay, buddy, this one’s ‘salty.’”

Jack turned to Toto, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Daddy, the word is… ‘salty!’”

Toto squinted a bit, deep in thought. “Salty… Is it like when someone is annoyed or grumpy?” he ventured, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked at you for confirmation.

Jack’s eyes widened in surprise, and he gave a little jump. “Yes, Daddy, that’s it! It means someone’s being, like, grumpy or upset about something!”

You laughed and clapped along. “Look at you, two for two! I guess you’ve been around enough ‘salty’ engineers on bad race weekends to pick that one up,” you teased.

Toto smirked and nodded. “Yes, we’ve had our fair share of salty moments,” he agreed, leaning back in his chair.

Jack was practically bouncing with excitement now. “Okay, next one, Mama!”

You leaned in, whispering the next word in his ear. “Alright, tell Daddy the word is ‘simp.’”

Jack looked at Toto, his little face scrunched up in concentration. “Daddy, the word is… ‘simp.’”

Toto’s brow furrowed as he tried to decode the term. “Simp? Does it mean someone who is simple-minded or not very smart?” he asked, his confusion clear.

Jack giggled, shaking his head. “No, Daddy! It means someone who’s, like, really, really nice to someone they like or want to impress. Like, they do everything for them.”

You chuckled, watching Toto’s face as he processed this new information. “It’s like when someone is super sweet to their crush and does whatever they want,” you explained. “Or when you go out of your way to bring me coffee in the mornings because you know I love it. That’s you being a bit of a ‘simp.’”

Toto’s smile widened, and he gave a mock-offended gasp. “Well, if that’s what it means, then I’m quite happy to be called a ‘simp’ for you,” he said, leaning over to kiss your cheek, causing Jack to make a face and the crew to chuckle.

Jack jumped up and down, thrilled with his father’s progress. “You’re doing good, Daddy! One more, Mama!”

You leaned in close, whispering the final word. “Okay, buddy, the last word is ‘extra.’”

Jack turned to Toto, his expression very serious for this last round. “Daddy, the word is… ‘extra!’”

Toto sat back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Extra… Does it mean someone is doing too much? Being overly dramatic or enthusiastic?”

Jack’s eyes went wide with amazement. “Yes, Daddy! That’s right! It’s like when someone is just… too much!”

You laughed, clapping your hands together. “Well done, Toto! You’re really starting to understand the lingo!”

Toto grinned, looking pleased with himself. “I have excellent teachers,” he said, wrapping an arm around Jack and pulling him close. “And I think Jack might be a better instructor than some of our engineers.”

Jack giggled, snuggling into his father’s side. “Yeah, I’m the best teacher!”

You turned to the camera, still grinning. “Well, there you have it, folks! Toto Wolff, mastering Gen Z slang one word at a time. Should we do more of these videos? Let us know in the comments!”

Toto gave the camera a playful wink. “Maybe next time, Jack will teach me how to use all these words in a sentence properly,” he said, clearly enjoying himself.

Jack nodded eagerly. “Yeah! We can do it again! I like this!”

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: Attack of the Homeowners Association

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 14.3k

Synopsis: A surprise visit leads to some unforgettable encounters.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire AU, established relationship, situationship, set in my IPOB AU (a must read for you to understand this one), Hunter! Reader, Mockumentary AU, WWDITS AU, spider trio appearance, CW food mentions, CW blood, CW injury, TW violence, CW suggestive, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @hyperfix-wip ❤️❤️ come get your food @al1x00 !!! Just a little silly fic that I had so much fun with!

In Pursuit of Blood/Vampire! Hobie Masterlist

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The camera appears from the corner, filming you leaning on the doorway with a steaming cup of tea, and a thick cardigan pulled around your shoulders. The fabric smells weirdly like the vampire you're currently watching.

You almost jump in place when you finally notice the camera's presence. Rolling your eyes, you point at Hobie who's currently standing motionlessly by the window sill. The heavy curtains are open just enough for him to peek through, moonlight shining through the red velvet, illuminating his silhouette. His thin button up leaves little to the imagination. Lean biceps in full show, back flexing every time he shifts his weight.

“He's been standing there since he woke up.” You whisper to the crew, “it's the most entertaining thing that has happened here since I moved in six months ago. The drunken incident doesn't count.”

The camera lowers towards the dark cardigan around your body, earning you a disgruntled scoff. “I was cold, it was the nearest thing next to me.”

Hobie inhales sharply, staying still. You purse your lips together at his heavy sigh.

“That's…concerning.” The producer gives you a questioning look. “I'm not concerned about the man eating vampire, okay. I'm worried that he might be hungry again and look who's the nearest blood bag there is, me, bitch. And you too I guess.” You gesture wildly at the crew.

Jared the cameraman side eyes you. “That was a one time thing, Jeff.” You say his name like he's the bane of your existence, knowing that you called him a different name just to annoy him. “‘sides, I'm not his familiar. He can feed himself—”

Hobie releases a gutteral sound from the belly, growling in place.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” you say under your breath. “I think I should tell him to eat. Be right back.” Walking briskly, the cameras follow you closely. You make it to his side, tapping him on the shoulder with slight apprehension.

His scowl is replaced with a smile when he sees you. Fangs and all. “Darling, you're awake.” He flicks his eyes down to his cardigan, raising a brow at the sight. His grin grows wider, no sign of hunger on sight. Maybe a different kind of hunger that is. “You need anythin'? Me perhaps?” He says unabashedly before he glares at the people trailing behind you. They back away, almost tripping amongst themselves.

“Just wanted to see if you're hungry. You were standing here growling like a fucking hell hound.” You push him away with one finger on his chest. He backs away, but his smile and fond stare remains.

“That's a compliment, love. And I wasn't growlin’.”

“You were.”

“Really? How? Can you show me? I wanna hear it.” He says with a teasing smirk, you almost fall for it.

“You know what? It's too cold for this.” You try to walk away but he yanks you back, twisting you around to look at the window, your back braced atop his chest. “What—? Come on, Hobie!”

“Shush.” He says as he holds you against him.

“Don't shush me!” You wiggle out of his hold. He lets you go but you stay in place after seeing him scowl again.

“There are old people outside. Watching us.” He whispers.

“What? Don't be rude.”

“No, look.” Hobie takes your face in his cold hands, careful not to pierce your cheeks with his sharp nails, sending goosebumps down your arms. He points your face towards the accused. “There, see? Fuckin' Peepers.”

With a roll of your eyes, you peek at the small gap in the curtains. “Huh?” You see a group of old people huddled together on the sidewalk, whispering amongst themselves. “What the fuck? Have they been there long?”

“Maybe, I only noticed after feedin'. Do you think they know?” His hands are still atop your cheeks.

You look up, stuck in place. “They're probably just gossiping. You know how old people are, you're a part of the demographic.”

He lets you go, leaning on the wall casually, arms crossed on his chest. “Basically your type, yeah?”

“Augh,” you resist his awful charms again. “I'm gonna talk to them. Get them out before you decide to eat them.”

“I don't ravage old people!” He yells after you, “I let time do that!” Laughing, he sees the crew staring at him with flat expressions. “What? It's funny.” Waving them off, he goes down the patio to meet with you.

—

You go outside, with Hobie and the documentary crew trailing right behind you, their shoes shuffling quickly to meet up with you.

“Hey!” Waving at the older group, you open the gothic gates, the metal squeaking against its hinges. You take a mental note to get that oiled or it'll irk you. “Do you guys need anything or are you just gonna stand there and block our driveway?” Despite your cheery smile and the lilt in your voice, your words sounded like a threat.

The group looks at the camera crew behind you with puzzled looks before shrugging in understanding. You guess the crew have their permission.

“So sorry, but we're not here to block anything.” An older woman with platinum hair scrunches her wrinkled nose. “We're HOA, and we were actually trying to find your doorbell. Do you even have a doorbell? It's mandatory to have one.” She smiles kindly, but her eyes say otherwise. She reminds you of an entitled Karen you always seem to run into.

“We don't have one. It ruins our aesthetic. Why are you here exactly?” You narrow your gaze at the group who are all staring behind you with wide eyes. Sighing, you place your hand on Hobie's chest to tell him to calm down. You sometimes wish you're the one with telepathy.

“Uh,” the older woman fixes her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Your scowl deepens. “We're here to congratulate you two on your wedding.”

You blink away the glare. “W–Wedding?”

Hobie's breath hitches in his throat, feeling his surprise under your hand. The shock disappears a second later, replaced by a smug grin on his face. “Thank you, love. The ceremony was beautiful.” His arm snakes its way around your waist. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Oh, I bet! You seem to have good taste, Mr. Brown. Your father and your father's father did!”

Turning your head to look at him, he winks at you, voice wiggling its way into your mind. “She’s talkin' about me don't worry, I just go on vacation for a few years and come back tellin’ people my father died only to ‘replace’ him. People are idiots, lovie.”

You tamp down a laugh by biting your lip, craning your attention back to the group, you smile sweetly at them. “It's too bad that my in-laws didn't get to see us marry.” Hobie gives you a sly high five behind your back. “Well, thank you for the congratulations, but we gotta—”

“Are you two planning on having kids?” Another old woman with a pink sweater asks excitedly. “It would be nice to have kids running around the neighborhood again. Now it's all tiktok and something about toilets.”

Hobie can't help the chuckle that leaves his lips. Your cheeks are aflame from the simple question. But your hunter training blocks the thought, bringing you back to your studies, eyes narrowing at the prospect of half vampire children.

The scene shifts to you back inside the house, sitting on the dining table with you looking awfully serious at the camera.

“Half vampire children.” You say like you're a host of a true crime show, tone serious. You flip the weighty tome in your hand to face the camera. A medieval painting of a baby with fangs is drawn on the page, adorable but deadly. “Some live happy and long lives but for some they don't even make it through birth. I know very sad but it's worse if they turn out like this—”

Turning the page, a macabre drawing of a baby with a half goat body with bat wings for arms and eyes like a cat jumps at the camera. “Sorry, not exactly PG-13.” you say in your normal cadence.

Closing the large book, you decide to spare them the next gory pages. Going back to your narrator voice, you continue. “They say that when a half vampire is born, god tosses a coin. Whichever—”

“Ain't that from Game of Thrones?” Hobie appears from the doorway, smirk on his lips, eyes glinting with mischief.

“What–? No, Shut up! I'm educating the masses!”

He saunters over to the chair, wine red eyes staring at you softly. He sits on the arm of the chair, which you reluctantly scoot over to give him space.

“Educatin’ huh? Have you told them that one branch of the family where your great aunt canoodled with a vampire?” He glances at the cameras.

You look at him with wide eyes. “I'm sorry w-what?”

It's Hobie's turn to look surprised. “Shit– You didn't know?” His voice wavers, “I shouldn't have said that.”

You stare off at the camera, eyes glossy, mouth slightly parted, looking like you're having a crisis.

“I guess that's why they're disowned–”

You suddenly grip his collar, pulling down towards you. “Did you fuck my great aunt, Hobie?!”

“Fuckin' hell!” He yelps, hands curling around your wrists. “No! It wasn't me!”

You glare at him. The stare sends shivers down his spine, and in between his legs.

“Did. You. Fuck. My. Great. Aunt?” You say through gritted teeth,

“No.” Hobie says with his chest. “I haven't sired any children, darling. She’s not even my type!” He tries to lean away but your hold is too strong. Worried that he might accidentally break your wrists. He leans closer to you, forehead placed on top of yours, he felt your fists loosen. Just a tiny bit. “I'm not that vampire, yeah?”

Hissing, cheeks burning, and palms sweaty, you push him away. “I think I need to take a look at the family tree.” You practically jump away from your seat, avoiding his eyes and the cameras.

Hobie sighs, sitting down where you sat. The crew is stunned to see him smile like usual, red eyes brighter than before. “She's jealous.” He laughs, sounding more like a giggle.

With a smooth transition, the scene goes back to the previous conversation with the HOA.

“So sorry for the late intrusion.” The woman says without an ounce of genuine apology. Eyeing her friend after asking that loaded question. The rest of her lackeys nod simultaneously, reminding you of a group of bobbleheads, “but do you have a cat?”

“A cat?” Hobie's hand squeezes your side, urging you to make up a lie on the spot.

Your mind goes back to the blob mess of a cat that keeps wandering in and out of the house. You feed him occasionally, and he seems to like you despite his terrifying look with his milky white eyes and fur that is akin to a slime more than fluff. You've accepted anything is possible in this world, hence why you're not completely puzzled by the alien-like being, who seems to like you most. You suppose that you've seen weirder things in this world.

“No.” You blatantly lie. “We would know, trust me. I mean…” Pointing at the cameras, you shrug. “Impossible to hide a whole cat.”

“Oh, alrighty then. There have been complaints about cat droppings in the area.” They don't seem too convinced. Hobie's ready to hypnotize them despite his own promise to not use it unless in an emergency. But if it involves you, and that you might be in danger of getting kicked out by a bunch of old ladies, then he's ready to put them under. “We're also here to ask how many people—” she chuckles, “or pets are living inside so that we can properly bill you the homeowner fee.”

Hobie makes a face. “The what?”

“It's just that— oh I hate to be the bearer of bad news but, you're late with your dues.” She eyes you up and down as if you're the bad influence.

“Um,” you feel like you're being scolded by the elders in your family again. The camera moves to zoom in on your clenched fists, shaking as you grip onto the cardigan. “H–How,” you clear your throat but the lump still stays. “I—”

“We’ve never been late in payin’” Hobie answers for you, hand sliding up to your shoulder to massage the tensed muscles. He lies through his fangs just to get them away from you. In truth, he has never paid for anything except for the occasional electricity, water, and internet fee. Other than that, the house is his, and he has never heard of the so called HOA fee until now.

“The city hall has informed us—”

Hobie steps forward, hand still upon your shoulder protectively. “Then we'll go there and see it for ourselves. Have a pleasant night.” He says the last sentence through gritted teeth as he shuts the gates close, then leads you back into the house without another word. The group could only stare at the closed doors as they're left behind outside in the cold.

With the doors locking on its own, no doubt from Hobie's telekinesis, he cups your cheeks, feeling the warmth of your skin against the cold of his undead flesh.

“You alright?” He asks in a soft tone, thumb brushing along your jaw while the crew films the whole interaction with bated breath. “They're not here, Y/N. You're with me, and you're home.”

“Married?” He cracks a smile at the word. You take his wrists, trying to level your breathing. “Are you hypnotizing me?” You ask in a small voice.

“No, love. I'll never do that to you. If I ever do that one day, feel free to put a stake through my heart, yeah?” His wine red eyes look at you softly, as if it's just you and him in the room. “Can't even do that, remember? The curse and all.”

You chuckle, nodding as you take his hands off of your cheeks. Heart beating quickly, Hobie can hear it clearly in his ears. A song that he has dreams of every night. “Thank you, Hobie.” Glancing at the camera crew hunched together in the corner, you back away from Hobie. “I— I need to go to work. Maybe there's some stupid vampire out there who's begging to be staked.”

“I'll pay for the fee, you don't have to worry ‘bout it.” He calls you back.

“No, I don't even pay rent here so I might as well pay for that.” You exhale shakily, fingers still numb from your anxiety building up and bubbling to the surface just a minute ago. “I don't want to be a freeloader.” Hobie frowns at your words.

“But you do pay the rent?” Hobie scratches the back of his neck, wondering where the monthly checks have been coming from.

“I don't?” You turn away from him and towards your room, signalling the end of the conversation.

—

The whole documentary crew pants as they try to keep up with you lest they get burned by a large lava monster out to get you.

“Shit!” You look over your shoulder, hand still holding onto the broken hose, whilst the groaning blob of molten rock runs after you. “Get away from here!” You yell at the crew, “go! I'll be fine!”

Just as when they were about to leave you behind, a loud crash from behind can be heard. You stop in place, panting as you stare at the burn marks left on the pavement, but no creature.

“What? W–Where?” With another crashing sound, you run towards the source, it leads you towards an alleyway. The camera follows right behind you, ready to run away if need be. Taking a glass of holy water from your utility belt, (the only thing you have right now to fight a fire being) you ready to throw it at the beast.

Feet skidding across the pavement, you make it towards the dark alleyway, finding the walls scorched but still no lava monster in sight. Grabbing your flashlight from your belt, you flick it on, watching as the light illuminates the way.

“Stay close to me.” You tell the crew. As you walk towards the alleyway, a silhouette appears, all balled up in the corner with the burning trash. “Hey, you alive over there?” Moving your light, you see a lone man with his clothes singed and fear locked in his eyes. “Cursed, huh?”

He nods, trembling in place. “D–Did I hurt you?”

You stare at the hem of your coat that's singed, other than that, you're perfectly well. “You made me run a couple of blocks. I'm fine, don't worry.” You place your weapon away, taking off your coat and toss it over to him. The stranger immediately drapes it over himself, lips wobbling from the stress of transforming back. “Do you have someplace to stay? Someone waiting for you?” Your mind flicks back to Hobie waiting at home. You shake your head to get rid of the vision.

“Y–Yeah, my wife. I–I think she's waiting for me.”

You stand up, giving him a helping hand. “I'll take you home.”

“You're not gonna kill me and take my heart like the others wanted?” He reaches for you, but retracts his hand back from how cold your palm was.

“No, you were dealt with an awful fate. I'm not gonna take your heart because of it. I just never thought there'd be a human under all the lava.” Hands wringing together, you try to warm yourself up so he could hold onto you for support. “Just a bit of advice from a supernatural expert. Keep your head cool next time. Or at least bring a pack of ice with you and put it on your chest whenever you feel like you're about to turn.”

“Will that work?”

“It's good prevention. At least you won't burn down a whole parking lot next time.” You hold out your hand again, this time he takes it. “Do you know any breathing exercises?”

As you lift him up, you help him waddle back towards your car. “No, do you?”

“God, no.” You chuckle, heaving his heavy form up. “I was hoping you did, I hate for my new car to burst into flames.”

The man smiles, laughing along with you as you help him into your kia. The documentary crew stays back to get into their own car, but Jared the cameraman sees something glinting above a building. He aims his camera at the silhouette, within a second the familiar figure is gone in a snap.

—

Your neck and ankles ache from the hunt, entering Hobie's house empty handed. It was a bust obviously. All you got from it were a bunch of thank yous and a bushel of celeries that the guy's wife gave you straight from her garden. To your surprise, even with the sun peeking from the horizon, you see Hobie in the living room, nursing a burn while he tries and fails to wrap it in gauze.

“Rough night?” You ask from the doorway, shrugging off your coat and leaving it on the coat hanger.

Hobie's eyes flicks down at the celeries in your hand. “For me, wifey? You shouldn't have.”

You scoff with a smile, heading towards him on the couch. The documentary crew is forgotten in the hallway the second you see him bleeding. “You know what they say, happy husband, happy life.” Sitting next to him, you snatch the gauze away from him, helping wrap it around his sizzling arm. It'll heal quickly, but the pain is still there. You want to help in alleviating it, even for a moment.

“It's not just for a moment, y’know.” He whispers to you, but the boom mic still picks it up. You glare tiredly at him. “Sorry, you were thinkin’ too loud.”

You sigh, “it's fine, I was thinking too loud.” wrapping the gauze tightly, you finish him up with an affectionate pat to the back of his hand. “You're done.”

Before you could stand up, he grabs onto your wrist, sliding his hand downwards to grasp at your hand instead. You look down at your interlocked hands, eyes shining in the warm light of his home. You guess it's your home now too.

“Ask.” He softly says.

You chuckle softly, knowing what he meant. Squeezing his hand, you look down at him through fond eyes. “Can I stay in your coffin tonight?”

His crimson eyes sparkle with mischief. “Like yesterday? And the day before that, and the day—”

“Alright, if you're gonna be smug about it—!” He's suddenly carrying you in his lean arms. “Hobie!” You smack his chest weakly. “Don't drop me.”

He leans closer, if his heart still beats, it would beat like a drum right now. “Never, love.”

The lens zeroes in on Hobie's soft gaze on you and at how you're gripping onto him like a lover would. With a puff of dust from the carpet, you and Hobie have run off towards his room. The audio guy hears the sound of shuffling and giggling before the mics get tossed right outside the window with a piercing thump that has the poor guy clutching at his ears.

—

You sit on your desk, fingers kneading at your temples as you glare at your opened laptop that has an absurd interview question. Eyes flicking at the crossbow hanging above the desk, you thump your head against the keyboard, leaving a bunch of Hs in its wake while the camera watches you collapse further into your desk.

The scene shifts back to you, now on the same ancient couch where Hobie once helped you on. There's a steaming cup of tea left untouched on the table with a note in Hobie's scribbled handwriting together with a doodle of you smiling while driving a stake through his heart. That seemed to cheer you up as you smiled slowly, and taking the cup from the coffee table.

“He went out to hunt.” You blow at the warm drink, addressing the camera. Sighing, you already know what Jared the cameran is about to ask you before he could open his mouth. “It's hard to find a decent job when everything in your resume says you kill and hunt the supernatural for a living. A degree in chemistry doesn't help much these days. It doesn't even pay that well— hunting the supernatural, I mean. I think, wait, how did my family get rich from this gig?” Your frown gets deeper, eyes glimmering as you leave the barely touched drink on the table to walk towards your room alone.

You're left to ponder amongst yourself, meanwhile on the second team of the filming crew, they're chasing Hobie while he's on his nightly hunts. He's in a dark alleyway, if it weren't for the camera's night vision, the crew wouldn't be able to see Hobie feasting on a suit clad man with shiny leather shoes.

He lifts up his head from the neck of his latest meal, chin dripping in blood, fangs fully out and eyes bloodshot whilst staring directly at the camera. His eyes glow in the night vision, a proper sight for the start of a horror movie.

“What?” His voice is akin to a growl. He slowly tilts his head towards the camera, claws gripping onto the limp man.

The crew doesn't back away anymore, they're used to Hobie's post feeding haze. But the fear is still there, Hobie can hear their heartbeats thudding against their chests. Just begging to be ripped out. The producer utters your name softly, barely heard by the boom mic.

“Is she still sad?” His fangs retract back slowly, sound squelching as he tosses the body on his shoulder. The camera nods, and Hobie lets out a face. “Nod normally, Jared.” With a whoosh, he's gone, presumably back home. Back to comfort you.

—

You open the front door and are immediately startled by the bright flashing light of the camera. Besides the shock, it’s a beautiful night out, with the stars twinkling in the early hours of night, and the full moon showing itself to you. Giving Jared the cameraman a nasty glare, you button on your coat properly, fixing your hair to hide the warmth on your cheek.

“You guys are late today.” You clear your throat.

Hobie appears from behind the door, yawning and still in his pajamas. He’s wearing your old college sweatshirt, pajama pants hanging low on his hips, and with very fluffy slippers on his feet. He opens the door wider for the crew, keys in hand with a bat keychain hanging alongside it. “Don't forget your keys, love.” The camera pans over to you then back to Hobie. He shrugs, lips shining in the same shade of your lip balm.

The keys jingle as you take them from Hobie, glaring at the camera. “Don't follow me to work.” You point at the lens, making sure to smudge it with your fingerprints, taunting them.

Whilst the crew cleans the glass, moonlight filters inside the house; bathing the now brightly lit home in silver light, blending in well with the warm yellow tone of the light bulbs. Sighing, you glance at Hobie before waving goodbye. He opens his mouth to say something but with the camera following his every move, he shuts his mouth.

“Come home safe, yeah?”

You walk backwards to face him but still heading towards your kia. “It's a grocery store, Hobie. The only danger I'm in is getting stuck in the freezer.” You pause mid-step. “Actually— that's really scary.”

“Well, jus’ don't get inside the freezers then.” He waves back, stepping forward, as if he wants to join you.

You shrug with a smile. “Okay, dad—!”

As the words leave your lips, something or someone flies overhead at unimaginable speed. The air around you almost blows you away, the breeze whistling out a high pitched tone. You shield your head with your arms while the crew braces themselves. Hobie rushes over to you, holding onto you the second he spots a pink blur in the sky.

“Is that a bloody witch?!”

You peak over his bicep while he holds onto you. “I think that's my godmother!” A sultry laugh echoes in the night, and Hobie grimaces at the hazy memory of that sound. He can't quite pinpoint who laughs exactly like that though.

With a whizz of yellow and orange, a crashing sound can be heard inside the house. Glass smashes inside, wood creaking and falling based on the chaos heard. The rushing wind subsides, and you're left with your godmother's words of wisdom in the night.

“Take care of him for me!” Her cackling makes you groan in Hobie's arms.

“Damn it! Not again!” You march inside the house, leaving Hobie's side and pushing away the confused film crew. Kicking the front door open, you enter the house, already noticing the cold air getting inside.

Hobie follows right behind you, your shriek coming from the inside has him immediately appearing right next to you.

“That's my fucking room!” You hold your head in your hands with a frantic look on your face. The camera and Hobie follow your gaze, finding the ceiling now has a person-shaped hole on it.

Hobie had to tamp down a guffaw at how perfectly shaped it is. The hole goes through from the roof to your room then down to the living room ceiling.

“Found the source of the draft you were complainin’ ‘bout last night.” He pokes your side to lighten the mood. “Now you really have an excuse to stay in mine.”

You stomp your foot down, annoyed by it all. “I swear Felicia does this everytime I get my shit together!”

Hobie blinks, then his expression morphs into shock. “That Felicia's your godmother?! The same witch that cursed your whole family?!”

Your eyes widen briefly, head slowly turning towards Hobie. “...no, what I meant was—” The pile of wood and cotton candy insulation moves and groans, the perfect distraction for you. “Oh shit! Someone's under there!” You fail to act worried as you help the person underneath all the rubble.

With a helping hand, a teenager emerges from the splinters. He still holds onto his broom, cloak covered in dust and pink fluffy insulation, yet his hair is still perfect in every way. You're quite jealous.

“You okay?” You flick your eyes towards Hobie who seems concerned about the poor kid who plummeted down through his house.

“Sorry about the damage, lady.”

His deep brown eyes stare into your soul. Maybe he can, your godmother's apprentice always has some gift, that's why she trains them and once they've unlocked their potential, she dumps them on either you or your family members. You still have no idea why she does it though.

The said apprentice notices the cameras following you, and his frown turns into a bright smile. You swear you'll need sunglasses around this kid.

“Oh, cameras! Hello!” He waves back at them all friendly like.

“Did you hit your head that hard?” Hobie gently tilts the kid's head to the side to check for an injury, finding none. He locks eyes with you, answering your question wordlessly, and you sigh in relief.

“Uh, don't think so.” The apprentice knocks on his head and you immediately take his hand to avoid further damage.

“Okay, we're gonna sit down now.” You carefully lead him towards the couch, stepping over debris and a shattered guitar that Hobie doesn't seem to mind being broken.

“A shitty rocker gave that to me, don't worry about it.” He tells the camera and you.

The plush seat helps the kid relax. You take a pen light from your coat, checking signs of a concussion. Thankfully you find none. “You seem good. Can you tell me your name?”

“Pavitr Prabhakar. But you can call me Pav if you like.” He smiles at you, giving you his hand to shake.

“Y/N, and this vampire here is Hobie.” You shake his hand briefly before letting him go and glancing at Hobie, having a wordless conversation.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry about the roof.” He frowns, concerned about the giant hole that is now in the living room.

“Don’t worry, I'll send your mentor the bill.” You stand up, pocketing the pen light. “Felicia does this every time she's bored of her apprentice.” Hobie raises a brow at you, jaw tightening at the name uttered. You ignore it for now. “You seem fine. So come on, where do you live, kid? I'll drive you.” You gently tap him, jiggling your carabiner of keys.

“Mumbai.”

“Damn it.” You hiss.

Hobie finally lets out a loud guffaw that rattles the house, making a plank of wood fall from the ruined ceiling.

“We'll figure this out later.” Checking your watch, you head out. “I'm so late.”

Hobie protests immediately, fluffy slippers squeaking on the floor as he follows you outside. “What about the kid?”

“Just keep him entertained or give him some juice!” You open your car with a beep, entering the driver's seat. “Open tiktok or something!”

“A what?!”

You poke your head out of the rolled down window. “Just don't eat the kid, dude.”

“Dude?!” He animatedly gestures around him like you've scorned him. “That’s not what you called me last night, darling!”

You beam at him playfully. “Dude! There's a kid inside! Don't start!” You're already backing away from the driveway.

He huffs on the porch, hand placed on his hips. “Jus’ don't forget about tonight!”

“Yeah, yeah! Bye!” The car screeches as you drive away wildly as if you're in Tokyo drift.

Hobie exhales deeply, turning around to meet with Pavitr’s polite smile. “D’you like ice cream?” He nods happily. “C’mon, let's get you a bowl. And make sure you grab the one with her name on it, yeah?”

—

The mundane grocery store has you breaking down your defenses that are always on high alert because of your upbringing. So when the camera crew appears right behind you, followed by a familiar black smoke forming into a silhouette, you almost jump in place.

“Nice melons.” Hobie’s face materializes next to you, he glances at the two melons you have in each of your hands with a raised mischievous brow. You roll your eyes, gently placing the fruit back down on the crate.

He leans on the apples right next to you while you were stacking the melons properly after someone took one from the bottom. His brow is raised, eyes flicking towards Jared the cameraman for approval. The said man seems to bite his lip to prevent a laugh from escaping, especially after seeing your deadly glare.

You yank the fruit from under Hobie's arm, making him stumble a bit. “Don't lay on the apples, Hobie.” Your tired voice echoes around the near empty grocery store. This is why you took the night shift, it's more quiet. That and the night deferential salary. “What are you even doing here? Please don't tell me you couldn't keep the kid alive for more than six hours.

His face flickers into concern briefly before smiling softly at you. “Our son misses you.” Gesturing behind him, you peek behind him to see Pavitr browsing the shampoo aisle. “‘Sides, we're here to pick you up for our appointment.” He suddenly groans and rolls his eyes. “I hate that fuckin' word, ‘appointment.’” He shivers in place.

“Pick me up? I'm the one with the car, Hobie.” His grin widens. “No, you're not literally picking me up and flying us towards the city hall.” He pouts, fangs peeking from his lips. “No, remember what happened last time I let you?”

“C’mon, love, it'll be a bloody crackin’ entrance. Strike fear into the hearts of government employees.”

“No, could you guys wait twenty minutes until I finish up my shift?” A thud rings out around the quiet store, you and Hobie look at the source only to find Pav trying to pick up a fallen bottle of shampoo with its strawberry scented contents now oozing on the floor. “You okay?”

“I'm sorry.” Pav's shoulders are slumped, face contorted into fear.

You sigh, heading towards him to help clean it up. “It's alright, don't step into it, you might slip.”

Pavitr looks at you apologetically, “I can pay for it—”

“No need, bruv.” With a wave of Hobie's hand, the oozing shampoo returns back into its bottle on its own. As if being replayed backwards on tape until it flips back on the shelf. Pav stares at him with wide shining eyes. Hobie shrugs at him, patting the top of Pav's head. “See, ‘s fine now.”

“Woah you're really powerful.” Pavitr says with wondernment. “Now I know why my mentor left me with you guys!”

Hobie glances at you only to be met with an empty space. “Oi!” His long legs immediately catch up to you towards the meat aisle. Pavitr follows right behind Hobie, trying not to get distracted by the scented candle aisle they passed through. “Darling, we gotta talk.”

“Uh oh!” You sarcastically say, trying to act busy while you stack up packaged chicken nuggets in the freezer. “We don't, Hobie.”

“What's up with you and Felicia, hm?”

“What's up with you and Felicia?” You throw his words back.

“That was bloody centuries ago, love.” You click your tongue, annoyed at him. Hobie pinches his brows together, instructing Pav to busy himself somewhere while mom and dad talk.

The younger witch makes a face before leaving towards the candle aisle. He was hoping that the crew would do the same but all they did was hide behind a cookie standee to film the interaction subtly. If subtle was an elephant stomping through the aisles.

“Are you fuckin' jealous?” The corner of his lips tick upwards into a smirk. “Thought you didn't fancy me very much, huh?”

You pause, elbow deep in the freezer. “I still don't fancy you.” Emphasizing the word, his smirk turns into a hurt expression. “Don't forget that I tried to kill you, Hobie.”

But he recovers quickly. “That's not what you say every night in my coffin—”

“Felicia is my godmother, there, happy?” You huff, shutting the freezer door loudly. Inhaling, you think of a lie.

You can't exactly please everyone in this situation. If you tell Hobie the truth that your family has broken the curse and is now able to kill him? That could enrage him so much that he could kill you and your entire family in one fell swoop. Sometimes the soft embraces and gentle words make you forget that he was once worshiped as a god. You really don't believe he'll do that but your years of studies hinders you to think otherwise. Or you lie, you keep your family happy and safe, and Hobie stays in the dark. Win/win. If only it were that easy when he's staring at you like that. As if you were the exact person he fell for centuries ago. As if he loved you for who you are and not your ancestor’s face you wear. It's not your fault that you look like her. And yet, it's entirely your fault for falling for him. The one you were supposed to kill three years ago.

“How did that happen?” His voice wakes you up from your internal turmoil.

“They…” you stare deeply into his wine red eyes. Hoping that something will make you fall out of love. But you find none, you find yourself drowning in those crimson pools. Your godmother was right, you're bad with choosing partners. “...They made a deal before I was born. Way before I was born.”

Hobie waits for more but you stay silent, your nails digging into your palms while you lie. “And? What was the deal?”

“I don't know, Hobie. No one told me, it's a family secret— a house secret. The elders only know about it.” You feel awful, like you're spitting venom right at his face.

For a second, you thought that he's able to see through your well concealed lie. But with his nod, he trusts your words wholeheartedly. He trusts you. Maybe he shouldn't.

“Right.” He glances at the cameras still rolling before reaching for your hand atop the freezer to unfurl your fists gently. “We'll wait for you outside—”

The sound of glass shattering smashes the tense atmosphere, followed by Pavitr's muffled apologies. “Gotta help our kid before he breaks anythin' else.”

“Please, before I get fired.” You urge him to go, but his touch lingers on you. Before he could leave, he brings your hands towards his cold lips, pressing softly along the knuckles while he keeps his eyes on you and you only. “Hobie…” Your guilt eats at you.

Watching his back retreat from you has your heart clenching at the sight. You're used to lying, lying to your family about a monster kill when in truth you let them go out of pity. Lying to lovers about your profession; lying comes natural to you. But with Hobie, it's like swallowing a flaming bullet.

“Men, right?” The sudden voice startles you, staring at the source, you find the grocery store owner behind the butcher's counter, with a large knife in her hand.

“It's not nice to eavesdrop, Janet.”

“So is slacking. Get back to work.” With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you head back towards the front of the store.

You stare directly at the camera, “cut this part out.”

—

“Stop touching shit, Hobie.” You drive recklessly in your kia with Hobie in the passenger's seat, Pavitr in the backseat, and Jared the cameraman holding onto dear life right next to him.

“Can't help it, it's my first time in your car.” He smiles as he checks himself out in the rearview mirror. Smiling, he leans on the center console, teasing you with a simple look. “Your air freshener smells oddly like fresh linen and sandalwood, love. I wonder why.” His grin gets bigger with every word. You've been got.

“I like it!” Pav unintentionally saves you the embarrassment. “Reminds me of an ikea.”

You snort, dodging a car on the road like you're Vin Diesel in fast and furious. “It does smell like it, right?” Glancing beside you, you see Hobie frown and sit up right on his seat with a slight huff.

Hobie side eyes you, eyes glinting with playfulness. “Oi, Pav, fancy a snack?”

“No, thank you—”

“Right! The kid's hungry, love. ‘m sure you've got your stash in ‘ere.” Before you could stop him, he reached towards the glove box, opening it swiftly and releasing a stuffed worn out rabbit to tumble out of it.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath. “Don't, Hobie.”

He picks it up by its patchwork ears. “What's this then?”

“Uh, a rabbit. Is this a test?” Pavitr peeks from behind you to stare intently at the plushie. “Yep, a stuffed rabbit.” He confirms.

Your annoyance grows. “Just let it go.” Trying to snatch it, Hobie holds it further away from you. “It's just a toy!” You almost swivel on the road, but you manage to drive straight, eyes keeping up front.

Jared feels like he's about to piss himself.

“I know what it is, the question is, why hide it from me?” He mocks a pensive look, oddly sniffing at the toy. “Pav, mate, any chance that you're a medium?”

“Dude.” You warn. “I swear I will hit the breaks so fast you'll go through the windshield.” Jared hopes you don't.

Pavitr smiles widely, but Hobie stops him. “And don't say that you're a small, bruv. I invented that joke.”

Pav pouts lightly, “...no.”

He shrugs, “damn, the secrets this thing could tell me.”

“I use it as pixie bait, Hobie!” You finally make it to the city hall, thankfully finding it still open even though it's close to two am. You guess that it's a new policy to remain open 24/7? You have no idea, the whole city is weird enough to have goblins and vampires roaming around with no one the wiser.

“Sure…” He flips the bunny upside down, releasing a quiet squeak when he does. Grinning from ear to ear, you already know what he saw whilst you were too busy parking the car. “Then why does it have your name scribbled on it, hm?” To add salt to your wound, he shows the camera your child-like handwriting on the bottom of its fluffy foot. The lens zooms in, making sure that it gets all the details. “Why do you still need a stuffed toy when you have me, love—?” You're already outside, door closed as you leave them behind in the car. Hobie's muffled guffaw can be heard from where you are.

“I think it's cute that she kept a childhood keepsake.” Pav chimes in, opening his door to exit. He leaves Hobie to think about it further.

As you walk towards the entrance, you feel a rush of wind behind you, then a not so subtle arm snaking over your shoulders. Sighing, you stare at Hobie, finding that he has pocketed your bunny inside his coat pocket.

“What? Just keepin’ him safe, don't worry.”

“You better not lose Mr. Prince.” Shoving him off, you leave them behind as you head inside the building.

Hobie looks over at the camera, smirking while patting the rabbit's head.

—

As you enter the glass double doors to collections, you have a group of mismatched people following right behind you, making you seem like you're someone incredibly important. Good thing there's only a handful of people waiting inside. Or else you'd be embarrassed about appearing with a dozen people right next to you. Add the cameras, lights and boom mics, people might ask for Hobie's autograph seeing that he looks like a punk star in his usual red velvet and leather getup. He's in his usual spiked jacket, complete with the numerous pins and patches that you will never confess to anyone that you helped stitch some of it.

And Hobie will never confess to having your initials embossed on the inside, lest you take a peek inside. Which has happened before, if he wasn't fast enough back then, you would've noticed how it's placed right above his heart. The red velvet pants he has on looks comfortable, you know it is from how you borrowed it before when you thought it was pajama pants. His ringed fingers glint in the light, shining as if it's hypnotizing you. The small scattered group of people seem to think so too when they can't get their eyes off of the certain punk. And yet, his eyes don't wander, they're only looking at you as you take a number and sit patiently under the harsh fluorescent light of the government building. Pavitr takes notice of this, so does the whole camera crew. But they don't say anything, just letting him unabashedly stare at you with fondness in those crimson eyes.

Looking up at the screen that says what number they're serving now, you find that you're only two people away from being called on. So you sit tight, pretending that you don't feel his affectionate eyes on you. You try not to glance at him, lest you lean against him and cuddle on his side. You know it's bound to happen when he looks at you like you're the living embodiment of a blood bag. You're not his blood bag, not yet anyway.

The room feels stiff with its drab grey walls, boring PSA posters, and even more boring royalty free music playing softly in the speakers. You feel sorry for the employees right now for hearing that kind of music on loop for eight hours. The air around the place is just incredibly mind bogglingly boring. The room doesn't even smell anything, as if the room itself sucked all the good things and farted it out in the parking lot.

You can hear the whirring of the camera lens while they take establishing shots of the entire place. You're used to the sound nowadays, what you're still not used to is the questioning stares from people around you. Sighing, you feel Hobie's arm snake around your shoulder subtly. While Pav sits on your left, and trying to ignore the blatant PDA, Hobie lounges on the cold metal bench as if he owns the place. You can hear him scoffing and murmuring a “bureaucrat” under his breath after waiting for exactly six minutes.

“Be patient, Hobie, we just got here.” You pat his hand laying on your clavicle, index playing with the frayed edges of your shirt.

The camera hones in on the close proximity, and Pav stares at the camera with a blank stare. One day in and he's already tired of it.

“‘m gettin' hungry, darling.” Hobie replies with a playful lilt.

“You fed after you woke up.” You unconsciously touch the side of your neck where the two pinpricks of scars lay. The lenses whirr again, and you don't have to wonder what they're currently shooting at. Leaning closer to him, a smirk immediately appears on his lips when he gets a whiff of your familiar perfume. “Don't be greedy.” Your whispered words are no use when the mics pick it up clearly.

“Still, ‘m hungry now.” His honeyed wine eyes glance at the bathroom in the far corner of the room. You take notice.

“No.” You enunciate for clarity. He pouts, feigning disappointment. “Keep those fangs in, Hobie.”

“Until we get home?” He whispers against the shell of your ear as you see your number glaring on the screen.

“In your dreams.” You say, standing up to go to the nearest available counter. Hobie's quiet footfalls follow you immediately together with Pavitr's louder footsteps. The camera crew stay a few ways away from you, save for Jared the cameraman who sidles up with you on the counter.

“I love seein’ you in my dreams, lovie.” He calls after you. And you ignore him with a roll of your eyes.

“What are we doing here again?” Pav scratches the back of his head, talking in between yawns. “Are we getting your marriage certificate?”

“What?” You almost yell in shock. “No, we're here to pay our dues.”

Hobie chuckles, “Where'd you get that idea, bruv?”

“Marrying your familiar isn't unheard of—”

“She's not my bloody familiar.” Hobie says, a bit offended.

Pavitr gives an apologetic look, hands raised in surrender.

“I'm not his fucking familiar.” You simultaneously say with Hobie, but the second you let out the sentence, the person behind the counter appears. “Shit– sorry, hi. We're here to check our balance?”

“Uh,” the brown eyed boy wearing an oversized hoodie glances at the camera next to you, then his eyes widens at the sight of you and Hobie. Recognition flits across his face for a second before clearing his throat. “HOA fees right?” he's already typing, weirdly enough, he doesn't ask for your name or Hobie's, he didn't even ask what the camera crew is about. Hell, he didn't even ask what's up with the bunny inside Hobie's pocket.

You flick your eyes towards his nametag, reading his name and position internally. ‘Miles Morales, intern.’

“Thanks, mate.” Hobie rests his chin atop your shoulder, while Pav tries to take a peek at what the guy behind the counter is typing. You resist the urge to cup the back of Hobie's neck.

“Hey, aren't you my age?” Pavitr suddenly asks, face pressed against the glass.

“Uh, don't do that. The glass is nasty.” Miles answers while still typing. Pavitr immediately moves away from the glass pane. “Yeah, I guess.” He taps his badge, “got the short end of the stick.” Pav nods, now leaning on the glass all nonchalant, copying Hobie.

“Let me guess,” Hobie chimes in, hand slyly pressed on the small of your back, giving you enough space to move away. But you remain still, even leaning against him. The producer and Jared the camera man take note of this. “Your old man gave you community service for spray paintin’ hm?”

Miles pauses from typing, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “I didn't give you permission to read my mind.”

Now it's your turn to be confused. “You know that he's a vampire?” Pointing at Hobie's chin, you can feel him smile on your shoulder.

“Bro has red eyes, and has been glancing at your neck.” he shrugs, “What else could he be?”

You and Hobie chuckle nervously, getting called out is embarrassing enough, but getting called out by a teenager is much more mortifying.

Hobie looks impressed. “I didn't read your mind, mate. I saw your phone wallpaper and it has your old man wearing a copper’s uniform. Then I saw the paint on your hands, I put two and two together. I don't do that invasive shit, come of it.”

You crane your neck to see him looking back at you smugly, proud of his own perceptiveness.

Miles smacks his lips together, continuing to type, keyboard clicking loudly around the room. For a half second, Miles' eyes turn white, as fast as it came, it's gone. If you blinked right there and then, you would've missed it. Pavitr seems to notice too, he moves next to your side, hand cupping your elbow. He's probably freaked out about it but didn't want to say anything. Hobie noticed it, based on how he squeezes your hip lightly. Jared looks like he saw a ghost, his hands trembling as he holds the camera.

“Right, Brown residence on—? Watch out for the mail cart!” Just as he says it, the sound of rolling wheels and metallic clanging can be heard right behind you. The presumably mail guy runs after it frantically, trying to catch up.

Grabbing Pav out of the way, Hobie in turn moves the two of you away from harm as the cart smashes against the counter. Envelopes and packages fly off, the sound of metal bending has you gnashing your teeth together. If not for Hobie, you would've been pancaked by the cart. Good thing Jared the camera man had enough time to jump back. You can't exactly pay for the damages if he got run over by the homicidal mail cart.

“Shit, sorry about that!” The man running after it quickly picks up the packages with yours and Pav's help. In a minute or so, he's already wheeling the damaged cart away.

“Knobhead should've been more careful.” He pats the space between your shoulder blades, wordlessly asking if you're alright. With a nod, he returns his attention towards the mysterious Miles.

“You okay, Pav?” You nudge him, smiling kindly at him.

“Yeah,” he pats himself all over, checking for injuries. “You saved my life.” He gasps at you, eyes shining.

You chuckle, “don't worry about it.” Turning towards Miles, you tilt your head curiously at him as he presses gently at his temple. “Headache bothering you?” Hobie glances at you with a soft smile, while the other two stare at you with wide eyes. “One of my cousins was clairvoyant, I know about the skull splitting headaches after a vision.” Grabbing a piece of paper from Miles’ table, you take your pen light, scribbling down a recipe. “She brews these everyday. Helps with her migraines.” You give it to Miles without another word.

He takes it gingerly, skimming through it. “Thanks. It's getting worse these days.” Clearing his throat, he shows you his computer screen. “Turns out you're fully paid for everything. I guess the system got it wrong the first time. It happens a lot.”

Hobie grins at him. “Thanks, bruv.”

“Did you think I rigged the system?” Miles glances at the three of you. “It wasn't me, even if I could do that. You're actually just fully paid. It was probably an error.” He shrugs, “we're good here.”

“Wait, are you sure?” You try to confirm. Flicking your eyes towards the vampire, he just shrugs, more than ready to go home as he tugs you away.

“We need to go before I start eating everyone in ‘ere.” Hobie whispers, pulling you and Pav away from the counter.

“It was nice meeting you, Miles!” Pav waves a goodbye, now getting hauled away by Hobie. The entire crew exits with the three of you, finding the whole encounter boring except for the fact that they just filmed an actual clairvoyant in action.

“You too, Pavitr.” He tiredly answers back.

“He knows my name?” Pav wonders as Hobie opens the double doors with his mind. With a gust of black smoke, he teleports the three of you outside, leaving the crew in the dust.

—

“That was anticlimactic.” You say as you unlock your car, which Hobie quickly sits on the passenger seat before Pav could call shotgun. “Did you know about that?” You ask, leaning against the doorway, head peeking in.

Hobie buckles himself, still holding Mr. Prince hostage. “You better get inside or the rabbit gets it.”

“I'm with Hobie on this one, Y/N, I'm really tired.” Pav yawns, head leaning against Jared's shoulder, all weary.

You sigh, “fine, we still need to get you settled in one of the rooms.”

“Don't worry,” he fights a yawn while you start the engine and put on your seatbelt. “It's only temporary until Felicia takes me back home.” His eyes close gently, lashes fluttering as he relaxes in his seat.

You feel sorry for him, knowing that your godmother dumped him over to you after unlocking his powers. Now he's all by himself after being practically raised by her. Hobie seems to think of the same thing, red eyes turning into a softer hue as he looks at Pav in the rearview mirror. Turning towards you, he knows what you're thinking.

“The blue room. I'll clear it for him.” Without thinking, you reach over the center console to kiss his cheek. His eyes close briefly, breath staggered in his throat.

“Thank you.” Leaning away, you pat his cheek Without looking at the direction of the camera. Good thing that Pavitr's already asleep. “I'll help clean it up.” Hobie seems to be stuck in the moment, leaning against your palm, eyes cast on you.

A loud metal thud ruins the saccharine moment. Screaming in shock, you see Miles huffing in front of the car, fists knocking on the hood. Pavitr snorts in his sleep, none the wiser at what transpired.

“What the hell, man! I just bought this!”

Hobie's eyes glare dangerously at Miles for ruining the moment and for punching the hood of your kia.

“I—I need help!” He heaves, panting like he ran after you three. “It's my friend! She's in trouble!”

Hobie's demeanour changes. You're already unlocking the door for Miles. “Get in!”

—

“There!” Miles points at the city's cemetery.

Fog rolls in, blanketing the grassy knoll and grey gravestones. Curved trees loom overhead, moonlight beaming down, painting the leaves in its silver light. You slow down the car into a stop, eyes trying to decipher what's hiding in the mist. Before you could stop Miles, he's already running further into the cemetery.

“Fuck! Don't run off!” You yell after him, releasing your seatbelt as you quickly grab a dagger under your seat. Opening the door, Hobie grabs your wrist, clawed hand wrapping gently around you. “What? I gotta help the kid!”

His red pupils shake, lips pursed into concern. For a moment you thought that he'd protest, or even teleport you back home. “I'll come with.” Instead, he releases you, exiting the car in a blur of smoke as you stare at the trail he leaves behind.

You turn towards the backseat, finding Pavitr still sleeping off the day's fatigue. Then you glance at the camera and the van parked right behind your kia. The filming crew could be in terrible danger if they come with you, but with Jared's curt nod, you exhale sharply.

“Stay far from the action and don't do anything reckless. You got that?” You don't wait for his reply as you're already getting out of the car. Speed walking towards the trunk, you open it quickly, yanking the false bottom away to reveal your array of weapons towards the film crew. “Shit, should've asked what we're killing.”

So you chose the quickest thing you have and the most universal thing that could kill an entity, silver tipped arrows and crossbow. Grabbing the quiver, and your utility belt filled with toys for hunting down the supernatural, you head towards the direction Miles went while you frantically equip yourself.

“Hobie!” The cold pinches your cheeks, lashes fluttering in the cold autumn air. Yours and the documentary crew's footsteps crush fallen leaves whilst you dodge gravestones on your way. The fog parts for you, and now you see what you're up against. “Oh good, at least it's not a gang of pixies.”

The ten foot werewolf howls, blond fur matted with dried blood, claws drenched in the same ichor. Your worst fears come to mind, but the second you see Hobie hauling away Miles on his shoulders, you sigh in relief.

The crew listens to you after seeing the behemoth, choosing to get out of your way instead of getting the shot that might win them a golden globe. Instead, they'd rather stay alive in the sidelines even if the footage will be grainy and far away.

Loading the crossbow, you step on the cocking stirrup, anchoring it on the ground as you load the arrow in its crosshairs. Knocking it back with some force, and putting it in place. The sharp string cuts your palm open but you ignore it while your blood drips on the grass below.

“Damn it.”

The camera pans from you over to the werewolf, its teeth are bared, maw opening and closing as it whines, as if it's in pain. Its blue eyes glint in the moonlight as it sniffs the air, head moving until it stops in your direction.

Heart stuck in your throat, you raise the crossbow. The wailing werewolf bounds over to you, paws as big as your head digging into the soil below.

“No, don't shoot!” Miles manages to wiggle out of Hobie's hold, now running towards you, desperately trying to reach you.

“Miles!” With one lightning quick move, Hobie yanks Miles away, and in turn snatching you off your feet, making you miss your shot.

The arrow pierces the tree right next to Jared's head, you swear you can see him collapse on his knees from where you are.

The werewolf slashes at thin air, howling and huffing from the missed mark.

“Why'd you do that?!” You ask Hobie, bracing yourself on a gravestone as you try to keep your dinner down from the sudden jerky movement.

“She's my friend!” Miles answers for Hobie. “Don't kill her please.” He grabs you by the shoulders, and you now notice how he limps. “She's already hurt.”

You glance at Hobie, who nods at you. Looking at Miles’ friend, you find her clawing at her head, still crying out in pain. Tilting your head, you notice that her ears are bleeding, claws digging in her ears. Like she's trying to quiet down the noises. But you're at a cemetery, the quietest place you can be at night.

Miles yells your name, shaking you awake. “Can you help her?!”

“I think I can.” You stand up straight despite your nerves inching its way into your chest. “Go wake up Pav, tell him he needs to do a trapping spell, one that is strong enough for her.”

“W–What?” Miles is panicking, hands shaking and body trembling from fear.

“I know we just met but you trusted us enough for you to ask for help.” You clasp his shoulder. “Please do what I tell you so we can help your friend properly, okay? Nod if you understand.” He nods, still trembling. “Good, wake up Pav, tell him to cast a trapping spell, one that would last for at least ten to fifteen minutes. Before he does that, go to my trunk,” you hand him your keys. “There's a leather pouch in there filled with vials. Take the whole pouch and then my mortar and pestle. As much as possible, avoid her. She won't be able to recognize you in this state. Hobie and I will keep her occupied.”

“Mate, do you understand?” Hobie takes a look at the werewolf then over to Miles. “You can do it, weave through the trees, avoid her eyes, easy, thread the bloody needle.”

“O–Okay.” He takes a deep breath. And you encourage him with a smile. “Her name's Gwen, please don't hurt her.” With those words, he enters the thicket, running even with his sprained ankle.

Gwen doesn't seem to notice him just yet, she's still wincing and groaning on the ground. Paws still clutching at her bleeding ears.

“What do you think, lovie? Should we call your uncle the Jersey devil?” Hobie sidles up to you, nudging you with his shoulder.

You chuckle despite the dire situation, hands feeling for the things in your utility belt, making mental notes of what you currently have. “Don't call him that just because he has a birthmark in the shape of Jersey.”

“I think he's the only family member you have that I like.” He says while slipping off his leather jacket and draping it over a tombstone.

“I'll tell him that.” Dropping the crossbow, you opt for a more defensive strategy. Hobie walks in front of you, subconsciously protecting you. With trepidation in your veins, you hold him back with your hand clasped around his wrist. “Don't die. I'm the only one who's allowed to kill you.”

He looks over his shoulder, smiling softly. “‘m immortal, remember?”

“Immortal, not invincible.” His red eyes soften into a pinkish hue.

“Fuck it.” Hobie grins before cupping your cheeks and leaving a chaste kiss on your lips. Leaving you breathless. It was so fast that you barely felt it. Like a breeze fluttering by, but you savour it nonetheless. He runs his thumb across the scar he left on your neck lovingly. “Twilight fans will cream themselves when they see this fight.”

“You ruined the moment.” You whisper, leaning closer to peck the corner of his lips. In your peripheral, you see Pavitr is now awake, with Miles rummaging through your trunk. But the most concerning thing is Gwen is now noticing the two boys behind her. “Go fulfill some fanfic, vamp.”

He winks all suave, then a puff of smoke envelopes you, hugging your form before a large bat appears through it. Hobat flies towards Gwen with a determined screech.

Hobie distracts Gwen, his bat form circling around her wildly as he dodges her clawed swipes. She continues to yelp and huff at him, blue eyes darkening with annoyance at the shrieking bat that is the size of a grown man. You've seen this bat form of him a few times before, but it always astonishes how flawless he flies overhead. Even though you've seen him drunk in this form before.

Whistling out loudly, you take Gwen's attention briefly before she could side swipe at one of Hobie's wings. His claws dig into her matted fur, tugging and pulling at it like a playground bully.

You step into the fray to help him. You can't help but worry with every second that ticks by. Taking a smoke canister from your utility belt, the can is filled with bright pink smoke, you throw it in the direction of the frantic werewolf, obscuring her vision and staggering her backwards from the hissing sound the cans emanated. You circle around her, throwing more and more of the canister. Her yowling echoes in the cemetery, sending shivers down your spine. The pink smoke is dyeing her blond fur, mixing in with the darker crimson hue.

Miles suddenly calls for you, inadvertently getting Gwen's attention from Hobat. “Ah shit!” Gwen turns towards him, ready to pounce at her friend. “Gwen, it's me—!”

Gwen raises a large clawed paw, and you don't even think before you lunge at Miles to push him away from harm. Your bag clatters in the ground. With a thump and the sound of cloth tearing, you land with Miles on the soft soil, dry grass clinging to the both of you.

“You okay?” You huff, giving him a once over to check for injuries. He nods his head, eyes wide with panic, and staring above you. Looking over your shoulder, you see her going in for the kill. “Hobie.” You whisper into the wind, he hears it, frozen heart clenching at the scene as he tries to get Gwen's attention.

It's futile.

Within a half second, Hobie turns into his regular form above Gwen, fist raised, ready to strike. He meets with your fearful eyes, your own body shielding Miles. Dread fills him as Gwen's knife-like claws get closer and closer to your head— he can't see you die again.

A sudden blast of light blinds him. Instead of landing a hit on Gwen's furry face, he slams unceremoniously on a glass like dome, face smashing against it harshly. He groans, body sliding down the dome slowly. As he hits the ground, he immediately runs towards you at unimaginable speed.

Yelling your name, he finds you sitting on the grass with Miles, still heaving from the close call. “Love!” He makes it to you, hands immediately cradling your face. “Fuck, I thought I lost you.”

Taking his wrists, you close your eyes, leveling your breathing as you inhale his perfume to ground you back to reality. “I'm o–okay.” There's a sudden ache on your leg that you ignore for now. “We need to put her to sleep.”

Miles stares up at Gwen, claws piercing through the spell but still holding her in place. “That won't hurt, right?”

“No, it won't. Just think about it like a sleeping pill.” You try to stand up, but you feel something wet just under you. Placing your hand under your thigh, it's warm and wet. Lifting your palm, you see red. “Oh.”

Hobie smells the familiar scent, alarms ringing in his head just as when you lift your hand up. “No,” he immediately rips a piece of fabric from his shirt to quickly wrap it around your wound. “You'll be okay.” His hands are drenched with your blood, and not in a good way.

Pavitr makes it to your side, hands glowing with the same yellow light from the spell. His eyes widen at your bleeding leg. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Miles' terrified stare has you rethinking your injury. Gwen mumbles incoherently inside the bubble, snout sniffing at your spilled blood. “It was an accident.” He whispers, you don't know if he's saying it to you or to his friend.

“I'll be okay, just a flesh wound.” You tug at Hobie's arm, feeling the tingling sensation from the loss of blood. You have to do it quickly. “Hobie.” Tying the cloth around you tightly, he's too panicked to hear you, blood rushing in his ears, fangs out as he tries to tamp down his hunger. “Hobie.” Cupping his cheek, he finally looks at you. “I'll be okay, we have blood bags at home, and we can stitch this later. For now, someone go get my kit, Pav can't hold her back forever.”

“I can wait—” Pav's glowing hands are starting to shake.

“No, you can't.” You say as you take the leather bag from Miles' trembling fingers. “I can survive this, don't worry.” You can tell that he's feeling guilty. “I won't turn into a werewolf if you're worried about that. I need to get bitten to turn.” Hobie gives you space to work, your leg aches but you carry on.

“I think you dyin’ from blood loss is our main concern, love.” Hobie stares at you fondly while you expertly pick your herbs and flowers into the mixture inside the mortar. Using your teeth to open the vials, pouring just the right amount as if you're not actively bleeding.

“Nobody's dying today, Hobie.” You glance at him, smiling softly before you return to crushing the ingredients together until it turns into a metallic purple shade. “Needs more wolfsbane.” You add a bit more into the concoction, crushing it into the mortar.

“Y/N?” Pav's shaking voice has you pausing in place. “I'm g–getting tired, I'm sorry.” Sweat dribbles off his forehead, straining from the spell.

“Just a few more seconds, Pav, you're doing great.” You have no time to finesse the crushing, so with a few more strikes to the bright purple powder, you immediately take a handful of it. “Help me up.” Hobie quickly grabs hold of you, arms enveloping around you as you anchor yourself against him. “Can you open it a bit?”

“What?” Pavitr swallowed thickly.

“Just enough for the powder to get inside.” You see the apprehension in his eyes. “You can do it.”

He nods slowly, still unsure. His left hand balls into a fist, unclenching it slowly. Lips muttering a spell softly. You watch while a hole emerges from the side, Gwen roars at you, an ear piercing sound that has the birds waking up from their nests.

“It's okay.” You slowly approach the opening, fist unfurling in front of it. Without wasting another second for Pav's sake, you gently blow at the powder, sending it fluttering inside the dome that encapsulates her. The opening closes, keeping the substance inside. “C’mon, go to sleep.” Hobie feels you weaken in his hold, he brings you back down on the grass, letting you lean against his body. “Thanks, guys. You all did well.” Voice wavering, you look up at Hobie as you hear Gwen's soft yawning. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Oi,” his tone cracks, “don't die on me.”

“Not a chance. I think I inhaled a bit of it.” You chuckle, craning your neck just in time to see Gwen slump on the grass, snoring softly. “She was hearing voices, wasn't she?” Eyes flicking over to Miles, he nods, relief evident in his shoulders.

“Yeah, she— she's a medium.”

You nod, understanding fully. “She has no pack because of her ability.”

“Yeah,” Miles sniffles, and Pav releases the spell, opening the dome fully. Light fades away, replaced by the bitter blue of dawn. “She only has me.”

“A medium werewolf, there's a joke in there somewhere.” Hobie quips, admiring you in the glow of the early morning sky. He has never seen you in this light, and this is the closest he has gotten to sunlight in a thousand years. But warmth? He feels it everytime you walk into the room. Hand reaching for the stuffed bunny, he places it on your arm for comfort. “Let's get you some blood, yeah?”

“Oh how the turn tables.” You chuckle, hugging Mr. Prince as Hobie lifts you up and carries you. “Hold on,” you look at your childhood companion in its button eyes. “I think Gwen needs him more than I do.” You hand it to Miles so that he could place it on the crook of her arm. Gwen immediately feels the fluffiness, curling around the plushie and hugging it in her werewolf form.

The sun peeks from the horizon, now it's your turn to panic. “Do you want to be toasted, Hobie? Because if we stay for a minute longer you'll be a pile of ash. And that doesn't look good on T.V.”

The filming crew walks towards the group now that it has calmed down. They're still shaking from what happened, but they're alright. The sun slowly inches its way over to you and the group, flooding the way behind you in its golden rays.

Hobie's skin is starting to sizzle, and yet he still smiles with endearment at you and the little rag tag group he's lucky enough to run into. You stare longingly at him while the glow of the sunrise bathes his face. You can't help but imagine a life where he could walk in the light again. One day, he'll be able to once he reaches a certain age, but for now, you're well alright with walking the shadows with him.

Hobie’s tempted to kiss you right then and there if not for the threat of him becoming cement. “Take large werewolf and that's so raven ‘ere and meet us back home, Pav.” Your car keys leap off from the ground and into Pavitr's hand. “Don't forget my jacket.” Before the sun fully blankets the cemetery, you and Hobie disappear into a puff of blackened smoke.

Pav sniffs, “But I don't know how to drive.”

—

“Well, I'm alive!” You gesture at yourself on the couch while Hobie lounges right next to you. His arm is perched right on your shoulders, fingers brushing along the pin prick scar on your neck. “It's been a long recovery.” You sigh, “too fucking long.”

“But we made it.” Hobie pats your stomach lovingly. “Two months and we've got her runnin’ circles around us.”

You scrunch your face into a scowl, flinging his hand away from your tummy. “Don't do that, they might think I'm knocked up.” Shrugging, he instead pats your face with his palm covering your entire face. “This isn't any better, Hobie.”

A blond girl with pink highlights walks behind you, leaning against the couch with a smirk. “Congratulations on the little abomination.” She flicks her blue eyes towards the camera, pointing at herself. “Gwen, the werewolf who almost killed her.”

Hobie finally releases your face. Revealing your glare, which he covers up again with his hand. “Right, I guess she lives here now too.”

Gwen rolls her eyes, jumping over the couch to sit next to you and yank off Hobie's hand away from your face. “You guess? You're the one who invited me here, Vampire.” She leans over you, eyeing him up and down. “You of all people should know the value of an invitation.” Sticking her tongue out, she places her head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your arm.

“Get off my darling, mutt.”

“Nope, bloodsucker.”

You stare at the camera with a flat expression. “Just do the montage for context.”

—

The scene shifts with you while on bed rest, flipping off the camera that the crew has sneakily managed to peek through the crack in the doorway. Gwen, now in her human form, has taken the mantle of taking care of you. Even though you've told her numerous times that it's not her fault and shouldn't feel guilty about it. She always answers with her puppy dog eyes, and you always surrender.

She's covered in bandages herself, still healing from what you've been told— from a werewolf pack that decided to pick on her during the full moon. With some help from your books, you found a way to tamp down the ghosts that haunt her. And in turn, shutting up the lifeless voices she hears. There's nothing you can do about the transformations though.

Gwen pauses from her reading to you, sniffing at the air. “I smell death.” You roll your eyes at the comment.

“Not again, Gwen—”

With smoke slithering inside, Hobie appears in the room, carrying bags filled with take out. Gwen makes a face at Hobie, nose scrunched up. “Oh, just him.”

Hobie smirks at her, but his eyes glare at her before turning soft when he sees that she was reading to you. “I guess you don't want your spring roll then?”

Gwen gasps, offended. “No, I want it!” She pounces over the bed, bodying Hobie. He falls back into the door, shutting it closed, slamming into Jared and making him stumble backwards into the stairs.

The camera falls with him, landing directly next to Pavitr's feet, it catches his shocked expression. His scream almost cracks the lens. He panics around the groaning cameraman, calling for Miles who appears from the doorway, joining Pav’s side.

“Why's Jared on the floor?”

—

The mics pick up the soft hum of the record player, the candle lights gives off a lens flare when the camera moves to fix the angle they're capturing. There you are sitting next to Hobie on the long dining table, laughing with Miles about something, while Pavitr accidentally knocks his glass of orange juice from his bout of laughter.

“It was one time!” Gwen exclaims, giggling along.

“That poor leprechaun, Gwendy.” Hobie shakes his head, acting as if he's disappointed at her. He takes a subtle look at you, smiling with his bloodstained fangs from the goblet of blood that he's having. It makes you laugh harder.

The camera moves downwards, recording what's under the table. Hobie's hand is atop your own, fingers interlocked with yours lovingly.

“I didn't know they don't like lucky charms, okay!”

The house fills with laughter, warmth blanketing around the once cold and barren home.

—

“A bat!” Pavitr shoots a web of light from his hands towards the shrieking fruit bat flying around the ceiling of the living room.

“Don't let it bite me!” Gwen hides under the couch blanket you specifically placed there for movie nights.

“Transform or something, Gwen!” Miles screams when the tiny bat plunges down towards him, chasing him around the living room as Miles knocks down several knick knacks off the shelves. “Catch it!”

“No, fuck off!” Gwen says, still balled under the crocheted blanket.

“Keep it still, Miles!” Pav shoots wildly, almost hitting the camera directly. “Sorry, Jared!”

“It's gonna bite me! Help!” Miles' voice cracks, feet stumbling all over the carpeted floors.

“Y/N! Help!” The trio simultaneously yells for you.

Within a few seconds, you're off the bed and making your way downstairs with your crutch helping you walk.

“What?! Are the goblins back?!” You skid off the floor, side hitting the door frame but otherwise fine. Looking around, you see the mess that was previously the living room. Then you see Hobat flying around in his smaller bat form, playfully teasing them and riling them up by flying close to each of them. ‘Hobie, change back and stop scaring the kids!’ Is what you would've said if not for Hobie's happy screeching. Instead, you join in on the fun. “Pav! Watch out, it's gonna get you!”

Their simultaneous screams have you guffawing in place. Hobie will change back in front of them later for sure, but until then, he's gonna have his fun.

—

The security camera sits stationary in the living room, pointed directly at the rubble filled floor where Pavitr fell in. The footage is grainy and in black and white, but clear enough to see everything that's happening.

“Keep it still, Pav!” Hobie's muffled voice can be heard from upstairs, followed by some rustling.

“I'm trying! Miles, help me!” Pav answers back, tone muffled from the security camera.

“It's slipping!”

With a yelp, Hobie falls into the hole, plunging down on the living room with a harsh thud.

He groans, Gwen rushing towards the crash. When she sees him lying on the rubble, her loud laughter sends the camera's mic into a scratchy audio that would rock your hearing.

—

Miles leans against the kitchen island, head placed on his palm while you and Hobie help each other with the dishes. If someone told you that you have to actually read a proper cookbook, and shop for ingredients that aren't instant ramen or coffee, you would've told them to get back inside their alternate dimension. But here you are, washing the dishes with a thousand year old vampire you were supposed to kill years ago. Together with a teenage werewolf who can see dead people, a former witch apprentice, and a clairvoyant who probably knows when you'll die but remains quiet about it. He's nice like that.

“So still a no on me being your familiar then?” Miles asks again, and you're sure that he's only doing this to annoy Hobie now.

“No!” He says, towel flipped on his shoulder, and hands placed on his hips.

Miles smiles, getting the reaction he wanted. “Okay, dad.” A chorus of laughter floats around Hobie as he looks down at his very dad-like posture.

If you're not honed in on his micro expressions, you'd think he's proper annoyed or embarrassed, but with the slight tick on the corner of his lips, you know that he's amused and endeared by it all.

“Does that make Y/N our mom?” Pavitr chimes from the dining table, helping Gwen wipe down the oak.

You feel their stares right on your back. Turning around, you face a very smiley Hobie, and a trio of teasing grins. “Get back to cleaning or you're all grounded.”

—

“I heard my name!” Pav saunters inside the living room, flour still sticking to his cheek.

“We were telling the crew how bad of a driver you were.” Gwen teases as Pav sits next to Hobie with a pout.

“We made it didn't we? You didn't even wake up from the bumping!” He argues over you and Hobie, Miles hears the whole thing, following right after Pav.

“It was because of Mr. Prince.” Miles says, falling on the couch with a groan. He sits next to Gwen, pointing at the bunny plushie’s head that's peeking from her back pocket. He makes sure that the cameras zoom in on it.

“Shut up, Miles.” Gwen says through gritted teeth, hiding the bunny with her cardigan.

Pav and Miles snickers in their seat, while you and Hobie look at eachother affectionately. The producer behind the camera tries to ask you a question above the arguing from the three.

Hobie chuckles before shaking his head, he tells you his plan in your mind. He sniffs at the air, fingers snapping together. “Oi, what's that burnin’ smell?”

“Wait, the sourdough!” You play along, acting as if the loaf you made with them is burning inside the oven.

“No!” The trio jumps off the couch, scrambling towards the kitchen and leaving you and Hobie once again.

With a grin, Hobie scooches closer to you, arms pushing you closer to him. You've given up on hiding the affection from the cameras, hell they even captured the kiss, no matter how grainy it was, there was obvious lip locking happening in the cemetery.

You lean your head on his shoulder, that's the line you're willing to cross in front of them. Lest they have to change the content rating on the documentary.

“What happened with the HOA?” The producer asks clearly now.

“I honestly forgot about them.” You glance at Hobie, finding that he's already beaming at you. “They never came back to the house. I guess your payments went through this time.”

Hobie furrows his brows, side eyeing you. “I didn't pay for jack shit, lovie.”

You blink, thinking. “I pay for the electricity and the groceries just like we talked about.”

“Yeah, and I pay for the other shit like the internet and the water—” he points at the camera, “which should be free by the way.” Then he returns his attention to you. “I'm not payin’ for some membership so that the old coots would judge our bloody lawn.”

“That's true, they always complain about the lumpy soil and the wildflowers.”

“Where else would I bury the bodies? The thames? It's already nasty enough.”

“Wait,” you place your hand over his mouth, which based on his eyes, he's fond of it. “Who's been paying for our shit?” You two look at eachother with confusion.

—

“Why did I leave my apprentice with my favourite goddaughter?” Felicia is being interviewed right in front of Hobie's house. Platinum hair blowing in the wind, still in her witch attire, and hand holding onto a broom. “He's too happy for me, literally, his mood is changing my aesthetic.” She grabs a handful of her bright pink cloak. “This used to be black.”

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[scamguy]

Due to Kim Dokja being a VERY repressed person in general, I think he would REALLY struggle with his how he'd associate with his sexuality, whether you see him as gay/bi/aro/ace... Actually if you think he'd be fine with dating Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung, from the bat, without any issue, then I think you're insane. More under the cut because that all became a big chunk of text.

We're talking about a guy who spent his entire life trying to blend in the background so hard that he became a literal ghost. If he even ever thought about his own sexuality, then he either came to the realization that he is straight (which I just don't think is true considering how often he compliments other men's looks), or that he's not and therefore he should try his best to pass as cishet just in case, so that no one would bother him about it. Don't forget he grew up bullied AND scrutinized by the press. He's used to having to keep things hidden.

I also don't think he'd bother experimenting with his sexuality in adulthood, considering he's only still alive for the sole and unique reason that he wants to read that one ongoing novel, so that stuff is completely out of the picture for him. His closest friend is a coworker he barely ever speaks to, do you think he would try to go out and date people? Pleaaaase...

Kim Dokja wants to disappear in his surroundings, he wants to be ordinary, forgettable, just another coworker, the upstairs neighbor, the unnoticeable everyman in the subway seat angling his phone away from other people's line of sight so they can't see what he's reading. Gender and sexuality is a non-behavior for him; he's presenting as a man because of his assigned sex, and he's not looking for romantic partners because he doesn't need one in order to survive. Genderless, and sexless - truly an undefined shape, who discarded everything there was to discard about his life in favor of focusing completely on a fictional story. Funnily, I think his gender is closer to 'reader' than it is to anything else: he's just Not There.

And as such, standing out, even just a little, is his natural enemy. So while I dont think he's bigoted (all of that stuff could've been handled a lot better in the novel, but: it's made rather clear that he doesn't judge people on their gender identity but on their actions - as shown in the early chapters of the demon king castle scenarios with the catfishing crew - and once he comes to see Jang Hayoung as a real person, rather than his OC, he recognizes her as a woman), I think that because of this fear of standing out, he'd obviously consider the idea of queerness as something undesirable, especialy if it's in relation to himself, because it gets in the way of his comfortably dull (non-)existence.

This internalized homophobia is, imo, made even clearer everytime his possible queerness is brought up by other characters, because he avoids the subject like the plague and he rarely comments on it in the narration, which makes his real thoughts on this very ambiguous and up to interpretation. Even if it's only brought up for laughs, I think it's interesting that Kim Dokja just flat out refuses to speak or even think about being into guys because he's just that embarassed.

So what about post-canon? Unless you're some heartless monster without a modicum of reading comprehension, then you surely dream of an ending where Kim Dokja wakes up and gets to live and grow old with the ones he loves. But even after learning that he can be loved, that he IS loved, can he truly let go of his lifetime(s) of repressed emotions, can he truly accept himself? Is the self-love that brought him back, the same thing as self-acceptance? And even after absorbing the idea that he is of immense worth to the world, is it enough to overcome his guilt? Could he truly bear to live without feeling like he has to hide himself anymore? He understands that he should exist, but does he truly try to live his life to the fullest?

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Twisters AU - Kara starts to heal

Kara isn't sure what she'd expected, walking into the Harding household. Somehow, a sea of pictures featuring Lena at various ages surrounded a motley crew of men and women at various degrees of cleanliness is somehow not, but also exactly what she expects. It feeds into the rough and tumble nature that Kara has come to associate with Lena, and as she peruses walls on her way back from the bathroom, she hears Lena's full belly laugh rolling from the kitchen. The photos and the warmth and the mirth all fuel the full presence that is Lena. Lena Harding, it would seem.

Lena's eyes flash to her when Kara steps back into the kitchen. Her gaze lingers a half-second longer than Kara expects, but before she can study it further Lena returns her attention to the frypan on which she's cooking a pair of eggs with sure, practiced flicks of her wrist.

"I was just telling mom about our most recent escapade," Lena tells her.

Kara scoffs a laugh, folding her arms as she leans against the kitchen island. "Which one? The fireworks or the misfire?"

"A misfire?" Jo arches an eyebrow at her daughter. "From Lena? Doesn't sound like any daughter I raised."

"Hardy har," Lena returns, her accent deepening in a way that makes Kara grin. "I let you have that one."

"Sure. I'll just pretend I didn't snoop on your comms and hear your crew teasing the shit out of you."

"Hah!" Jo barks, clapping her hands. "Oh, Lena, I like her!"

Kara flushes, unable to keep her chest from swelling with the compliment.

"I assume the guys are helping with the EF4 that touched down over in Rowena." Jo's voice softened, but remained matter of fact.

Kara's stomach drops, and a finger of ice curls down her spine. The memory of the night before chills the warmth that's built around her, tightening her chest and hitching her breath. When Lena quiets, Kara lifts her gaze, and their eyes lock across the room. Jo notes the beat, and nods.

"Front row seat?"

Lena exhales. "You could say that."

Kara expects Jo to warn about danger, perhaps echo an old argument about the inherent risk of chasing tornadoes, especially the kind of "wrangling" that Lena does. But none of that comes.

"They were lucky you were there."

Jo's response is so unexpected that Kara blinks, stunned. She looks to Lena, who gives a grim, close lipped smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Jo reaches out to her, cupping her daughter's cheek.

"The work you do is so important." Jo looks at Kara. "The work you both do. Not a lot of people see that. But I do."

Kara stares. "You do?"

Lena chuckles. "Oh yeah. You know Dorothy? That was mom."

"Wait, you--" Kara chokes out. "You're Jo-- You're that Harding? Of the Harding model?!"

"Guilty," Jo returns, not bothering to hide her smug smile. "Wasn't always a farmer."

"I developed my middle school science fair project based on your research!"

Lena cackles, earning a smack on the arm from her mother.

"Don't say that!" Jo exclaimed. "Like I need any more proof I'm getting older..."

"Oh, you're still young," Lena chides, craning back to give her mom a peck on the cheek.

"Yeah, sorry, I mean-- all of my research is based on what you achieved with Dorothy."

Jo's eyebrow quirks. "Oh? What kind of research?"

"She's going to tame a tornado," Lena supplies. But this time, it's without teasing. In fact, Kara detects a note of pride.

Jo turns fully towards Kara. "Tell me more."

Kara does. She shares the entirety of her project, her hypotheses and experiments and predictive models. Jo asks insightful questions, forcing Kara to dig deep into her knowledge banks, recalling the particulars of research she hasn't touched in five years.

In doing so, she recalls the nights spent with her sister, her friends-- the laughter and adrenaline, the intellectual combativeness, the drive to push each other to new heights.

The image of her sister's broken body the morning after that final, fateful chase.

She doesn't realize she's crying until Jo's arms wrap around her. She sags into the hug, clutching Jo as sobs wrack her from head to toe. Jo lets her cry, until the tears run out and Kara catches her breath again.

"I'm sorry," she says shakily. She adjusts her glasses, before noticing they're fogged. She removes them, and busies herself with drying them.

"Don't ever apologize for missing the lost, sweetheart." Jo cups Kara's cheeks. "It hurts, but until that hurt passes-- until thoughts of them go back to bringing happiness-- the sadness is how we remember them."

[strawberryfairi]

Synopsis🌹: After discovering a strange yet alluring red book in a boutique bookstore, you find yourself sucked into a strange world, where all of your inner most desires exist…

Pairings: Wakasa Imaushi X Musician! Black Fem 🤎 Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️) Content: Author AU, scifi, Musician! reader, reader is a talented nerd, smutty (slow burn) romance, tiny doses of angst, adventure, futuristic city, magic?, !!sexual tension!!, etc (just find out the rest, lol)

w.c: 4.1k💠 Released: November 23

Previous | Next | Chapters Masterlist

A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: Ok soooo, PLEASE forgive me for the long ahh wait for the next chapter I am SOOO sorry!!! Like I said in a post earlier tonight's gonna be DOUBLE CHAPTER night ok so buckle up! (The smut comes in chapter 8 which is coming out right after this one).

C.W: None

Tags: @nixalozt @lilthana @wakasaishot

↳ (Let me know via inbox or the comment section if you would also like to be tagged here for this story🩵). Enjoy guys!!

𝟕 || 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞

The night buzzes with excitement, and the faint hum of engines revving fills the air as a crowd unlike anything you've ever seen gathers at the underground race venue. It didn't take a genius to see this is no ordinary street race—not like the ones you'd ever see on Earth. This is Neon City's race circuit. Practically a battleground where the streets themselves became part of the danger.

A massive holographic screen hovers in the air, announcing the event along, and casting ghostly lights across the spacious subway landscape. Discreet drone cameras hover all throughout the "track" around the city. Some even hover by some of the racers, giving a sort of "behind the scenes" feel before the race starts.

"There's no rules here, no safety regulations. The only thing that matters is winning." You hear Benkei's voice snap you out of your awestruck daze as you gawk at the surroundings. You honestly can't even form a response, too busy being overstimulated and anxious to really hold any sort of conversation. Everyone and everything is so colorful and captivating. Like Times Square in New York City.

The vehicles that line up for these races are decked out with enhancements that would be literally impossible on Earth—gravity-defying jumps, reinforced vehicles built to survive brutal collisions, and offensive systems to sabotage their competition. Every racer knows the risks, but none of them seem to care. They're each addicted to the thrill, to the rush of speed, the danger, and most importantly, to the glory of being the one who comes out on top.

You stand off to the side with Wakasa's crew, your heart racing. The neon lights reflect off your eyes as you take it all in, the sights, the sounds, the intensity of it all. Honestly, it's like something out of Mario kart, minus the cute playfulness and ability to pause or retry the races. This is real life and there's absolutely no room for any of the racers to make a mistake, as it would mean risking their life.

"Hey! Love your outfit!"

You turn, surprised by the sudden compliment, and are greeted by a bright, bubbly girl with striking pink hair that cascades down her shoulders like water waves. Her eyes are an equally vibrant shade of pink, sparkling like candy gems beneath the neon lights. She literally looks like a movie character or something.

You blink, taken aback for a moment by the sheer beauty of the girl. "Thanks but...," You trail off, a smile curling your lips. "This pink going on? It's giving Valentine's Day; it's giving Barbie." You compliment.

The pink-haired girl's face lights up even more, her eyes twinkling as she giggles. "Valentine's Day? What's that?"

You laugh softly. "It's a holiday where I'm from. It's like a day of love. Pink, red, and purple. It's the colors we associate with love."

"Aww, thank you! I love it." The girl beams. "I'm Astra."

Before you can introduce yourself, another voice joins the conversation. "Don't hog all the spotlight," The second girl teases lightly, stepping forward with a playful grin. She has midnight blue hair cut into a sharp bob that frames her delicate face perfectly, her eyes an equally deep shade of blue that shimmer under the city's lights.

"I'm Nafré," She adds, flicking a strand of hair out of her face. "Love the vibe you're giving off, by the way."

You feel warmth rush through you as you smile at her. "Thanks! You look amazing too! That hair color is so pretty."

Astra grins, giving a mock bow. "Why, thank you."

The three of you share a moment of laughter, compliments bouncing back and forth like old friends as you drift away from Benkei and the others. It's actually refreshing. You hadn't really expected to make friends so quickly (or at all) in this world, let alone ones so sweet and welcoming.

"So, what brings y'all to the race?" You ask curiously, glancing between them.

"Oh, my boyfriend's racing tonight," Astra explains with a smile. "He's been readying up for this big gig for weeks, so of course, I had to come and cheer him on. I dragged Nafré along because—well, she's my best friend and all."

Nafré grinned. "Not like I had a choice. But hey, the races are fun! It's an adrenaline rush."

"I've never seen you before. Is this your first time at a race?" Astra asks.

You nod. Technically it is since you didn't really get to see the race between Jaxon and Zero. Though that was probably for the best. "Yeah actually. I'm here for Wakasa. He's racing too."

The two girls exchange a quick look at each other.

"What?" Nafré gawks, her brow raised in disbelief.

Astra adds, "Here for him as in a fan or....?"

"Here with him?" Nafré finishes.

"Uhhh, with." You chuckle awkwardly, watching as their expressions morph into a look of awe.

"Stop! Are you serious?!", Astra gawks, "Are you his girlfriend?!"

"Huh?! No no no," You shake your head, "I'm literally just here for the ride."

Nafré raises a brow, her smirk growing playful. "Ohh, here for the ride, huh?" She teases, winking suggestively.

You burst into laughter, covering your face with your hands for a moment. "Wait no! Not like that!"

Astra wasn't about to let you off the hook so easily. "Uh-huh, right," She teases, crossing her arms and giving you a knowing look. "I've literally never seen Wakasa bring a girl along to his races before, like ever. But you wanna sit here and tell me it's not like that? Yeah ok."

"Yeah I can't lie, that was a nice try. Everyone knows what it means when a guy brings a girl along to watch one of his races. Especially when he brings her to "the pit" (The Pit: The closest you can be towards the starting and finishing line in a Neon City race)." Astra chimes in, gesturing around to where you all are.

"Well...I mean—"

"It's alright girl, you don't have to make up anything. I kept things lowkey with Shin in the beginning too. I only went to one race, and it was just a beginner one." Astra grins.

"Oh yeah, by the way, which one is Shin?" You ask, your eyes scanning out towards all the racers. The girls keep on walking to get a closer look at all the racers.

"That one. He's six away from your man." She replies.

Your heart does a little unnecessary flutter when she calls Waka your man, but you quickly brush it off. You follow her pointed finger, eyes landing on a particularly tall guy with dark hair and a silver chain around his neck. He's pretty good looking, dressed fairly casual with black jeans and a white t-shirt, and he also rides a motorcycle just like Waka does.

"Okkkk! Girl, he's not bad!" You compliment, giving her an approving nod.

"Right! And to think I used to date—

"Don't even say it." Nafré cuts in, face palming.

"....Who?!" You ask cautiously. It's not like you'd even know, seeing as you're quite literally not from here.

"...Zero." She chokes out, looking down and to the side shamefully.

"Noooo! Stop!" You gasp, hovering your hands over your mouth. Of all people....

"Yeah. It-...it wasn't my best era." She chuckles awkwardly.

"Girl...." You trail off, not even sure what to say since you actually do know who that is thanks to Jaxon's race with him. "Well, you know what, you've leveled up now! Shin seems like a really nice guy!"

"He is." She gushes, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "Hey Shin!" She calls out, waving her arm to get his attention. He actually notices, instantly turning around with a wide smile, waving at her then blowing a kiss her way.

"Aaaaaw!" You and Nafré gush. It's so crazy how calm and even happy these guys seem even though they're all just moments away from engaging in a life threatening race.

You look over at Wakasa, who's standing by his bike talking to Benkei, Jaxon, and some other guy you've never seen before with a scar along his face. The reality starts to sink back in, having been swept away in the breeze of conversation between Nafré and Astra, that this is still a dangerous and potentially life threatening event. A frown replaces the previous warm smile, and your heart begins to sink with worry.

"Hey. Why don't you go talk to your man?" Nafré asks, with almost scarily perfect timing to negate the oncoming rush of anxious thoughts towards this race.

"Definitely not my man...but I was actually just thinkin' about going over to talk to him real quick before the race starts." You tell her in a low tone, then shoot her a quick "I'll be right back", breaking away from the two and heading over to where Waka and his friends are.

He notices you instantly, and you catch a glimpse of a faint softness in his eyes as you approach. "Came to see me off?" He grins.

"Yeah" You begin, nervously fiddling with your hands in front of you, "I know you've done this a lot and stuff but...this whole thing looks really dangerous, you know? So, you better be careful, ok? For real, I don't wanna see you—

"Oh Waka, please be careful!" Benkei suddenly mimics loudly, pitching his voice higher and fluttering his hands dramatically in the air, much to Jaxon's amusement.

"Nah, don't worry about me, baby. I got this." Jaxon chimes in, the two of them chuckling like idiots behind you both.

Your eyes narrow, cheeks burning up with embarrassment as the guys go on playing around. They continue their back and forth but walk away to you guys some space. You hear the other man with the scar on his face briefly ask who you are, before they completely fade out of earshot.

Waka chuckles softly, shaking his head. "See? Now you've got them goin'. But for real, don't worry. I got this."

His smirk deepens. "Besides"—he leans in slightly, lowering his voice—"I've got an undefeated record I gotta keep up. Can't let 'em ruin my streak. Not with a pretty doll like you watchin'." He hums, lightly tapping under your chin.

You shake your head, a small smile draping across your lips. "You really think racing in front of me's gonna be enough to keep you from losing?"

"Absolutely," He replies, his voice a little lower, yet equally as playful. He straightens up, leaning just close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. "And actually...I was thinkin' we should make this interesting."

"How could this possibly get more interesting?" You raise a brow, curiosity piqued.

"It ain't a real racing experience if you don't make a bet. That's how it goes around here. So how 'bout this", He says, holding your gaze with a bold intensity that sends a shiver of excitement down your spine, "If I win, you're comin' home with me to celebrate."

Your cheeks warm immediately, and you try to ignore the quickening of your pulse, as well as the multitude of very unfriendly-like imaginations of going home with him. You don't back down from his challenge though. Keeping your tone light, you raise a brow as if unaffected. "Hmm..ok, and if you lose?"

Wakasa's eyes sparkle, a dangerous glint in his lilac gaze. "I won't."

The simple, confident reply makes your heart skip, but you feign indifference once again, giving a dismissive wave. "How 'bout you just focus on winning first, before thinkin' about what's going down after, ok? Now that's a deal."

"Believe it or not I like to plan ahead." He muses playfully.

The announcer calls for all of the racers to start heading out to the starting line, and it makes your anxiety spike once again.

"Alright, make sure you keep you're eyes open." He says.

"I'll try..." You murmur nervously, giving him a small wave goodbye, watching as he heads off to his bike at the starting line.

You chew on your lip till it hurts, trying to hold back the unease gnawing at you. You want to be fully excited, you really do, but this isn't at all what you were initially expecting of a street race. This one is even crazier looking than the last one you caught a glimpse of at Sector 9. Your fingers subconsciously grip tightly around Benkei's muscular arm, holding on as if the contact would somehow ground you.

Benkei glances down, noticing your grip, and chuckles. "You're really worked up, huh?" His tone lightly teasing. "I'm tellin' you, Waka's got this. He always does."

"I know, I know." You reply, trying to sound confident, but your voice wavers heavily. You don't pull away from him, though. "It's just...this is really different, you know, from races I'm used to. The track, the traps...I don't know. We don't do races like this where I'm from."

The other friend with the scar, who's standing on the other side of Benkei chimed in. "Don't stress yourself out. He's undefeated for a reason. I'm Takeomi by the way. Me and Waka go way back."

"I'm Y/N. We kinda just met." You tell him with a shy yet pleasant smile.

"I can tell..." He says, giving Jaxon and Benkei a look. You could tell what he was silently asking them.

Is this his girl or something? What's he doing bringing her here?

Though the guys mean well, their casual confidence makes you want to scream. You know they're probably right—Wakasa's been u defeated for who knows how long, and he likely isn't about to lose his streak now—but still, the pit of dread in your stomach refuses to settle. The thought of something going wrong, of one of those other racers playing dirty, makes your chest tighten. You aren't used to feeling this way, so utterly out of control, so scared.

And then, the countdown begins.

The huge holographic screen above everyone lights up, displaying a massive number 10 in glowing neon blue. The crowd starts chanting, voices rising in unison, the excitement in the air nearly palpable.

9

Your heart starts racing, thrumming in your ears as you glance over at Wakasa. He's laser focused, his gaze locked on the track ahead, hands gripping the handlebars of his bike like he's already one with the machine.

8

The other racers revved their engines, taunting him, trying to get in his head. But Wakasa doesn't flinch even a little. His eyes remain sharp, his jaw set. He was ready.

7

"Please be careful..." You whisper, barely aware of the words leaving your own lips. Your grip on Benkei tightens, and this time, he doesn't tease you about it. He simply gives you a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

6. 5. 4.

Your hands start to tremble slightly, and you force yourself to take a deep breath, eyes never leaving Wakasa.

3

The racers all continue revving their engines loudly, like a bunch of bulls knocking and banging against the wooden gate, eager to be freed into the ring.

2

You can feel it, the tension, the anticipation, the quiet before the storm.

1...GO!

The racers shoot forward, a rush of sound and motion that blurred into streaks of neon. Wakasa's bike left a trail of purple light as it surged ahead, weaving through the tightly packed starting line with effortless precision.

The track started deep in the subway system, a labyrinth of tunnels barely wide enough to contain the speeding vehicles. The first turn came quickly, a sharp curve to the right that forced the racers to swerve hard. Taking a turn at that speed has to be physically impossible.

You wince, squeezing your eyes closed as your breath catches. On the holographic screen above, you watch as Wakasa leans into the turn with full confidence, the purple streak behind him carving a perfect arc through the chaos.

The other racers aren't as graceful though. One clips the wall, sparks flying as their bike scrapes against the steel. Another misjudges the angle entirely, spinning out and slamming directly into a support pillar. The pit crowd roared, half cheering, half jeering.

You can't even begin to cheer. Your breath catches every time the camera cuts back to Wakasa, terrified to see a shot of him crashing or even worse. He maneuvers through the wreckage with nearly surgical precision, tilting his bike at impossible angles to dodge debris and weaving seamlessly through the narrow spaces.

"I can't, I can't, I can't...." You repeat under your breath, your eyes glued to the screen as your foot taps the ground anxiously where you stand.

The track twists again, plunging deeper into the tunnels before reaching the opening to the city. The racers were now jockeying for position, their vehicles packed tightly together as they vied for dominance. One rider, a hulking figure on a chrome-plated bike, edged closer to Wakasa, trying to box him in against the wall.

Your stomach twists in anxiety as she saw the narrow gap Wakasa had to navigate. The chrome racer leaned in aggressively, but Wakasa didn't flinch. Instead, he braked sharply, his bike tilting back slightly as he let the other racer overshoot the angle. In a flash, Wakasa swerves left, slipping past the gap and accelerating ahead, his purple streak cutting through the maze like a lightning bolt.

The pit erupted in cheers, but her hands were still trembling.

Your heart pounds as the race transitions aboveground, the vehicles bursting onto the neon-lit streets of the city. The holographic display adjusts to follow the racers as they all speed through tight alleyways and open highways, the city’s towering structures a vibrant blur in the background.

The race aboveground is even more chaotic than underground. The racers now have to contend with the unpredictable layout of the city, weaving through alleyways, highways, and pedestrian walkways. Wakasa remains ahead of most of the pack, his bike darting through tight spaces with unerring precision.

Your heart nearly stops as the screen shows one of the racers behind him deploying some kind of medium sized drone. The device zips forward, its spiked appendages whirring menacingly as it closes in on Wakasa's rear tire.

"He's cheating!" You outburst.

"Unfortunately, it's legal." Jaxon says with a huff.

But Wakasa must have sensed what was going on behind him. Without looking back, he veers sharply to the right, cutting onto another street entirely, filled with pedestrians and other drivers simply heading from home from work. The drone follows him, its mechanical limbs scraping against the walls as it tries to keep up.

The street suddenly opens up into a plaza, and Waka seizes the moment. He tilted his bike sharply, skidding in a controlled slide that sent the drone hurtling past him. It smashes into a streetlight, exploding in a shower of sparks.

The crowd erupts into cheers once again, but at this point you're barely remembering to breathe.

The race plunges back underground, this time into an abandoned maintenance tunnel that's barely wide enough for the racers. The camera switches to an overhead view, showing how the racers have to line up single file to avoid colliding with the walls.

Wakasa, now in second place, uses the tight space to his advantage. He edges closer to the lead racer, his bike nearly grazing the wall as he closed the gap. Just as the tunnel began to widen, Waka makes his move. He accelerates sharply, leaning forward until his body was almost parallel to the bike. The purple streak flares brighter as he shoots past the lead racer, his bike slipping through the narrowing gap with millimeters to spare.

Your breath hitches. He's pushing so hard, taking so many risks and doing all these crazy tricks. 

The holographic screen cut to another angle, showing the cyber-police drones beginning to close in on the racers at the back of the pack. Their blue lights flicker ominously as they hone in on their targets. One drone shoots forward, deploying a neon red energy net that ensnares a struggling racer and sends him spinning completely out of control.

Wakasa, far ahead of the chaos, seems unfazed. He maintains his lead as the track transitioned back to the streets. The camera followed him closely as he navigates a series of hairpin turns, the purple streak behind him tracing impossible angles.

Just then, a group of seven cyber-police drones turn out from between skyscrapers, attempting to cut him off from the front as two other bots catch up to him from behind, weaving through the other racers. 

"Gosh this is too much...!" You groan, chewing anxiously on your bottom lip as you clasp your now sweaty hands together. Your mind races, as if trying to think for him for a way to somehow get out of this situation. But there's no need. 

Suddenly, Waka pulls to an abrupt stop, three other racers and two cyber-police drones zooming in front of him. He immediately pulls into a quick reverse, driving backwards and sharply turning into an alleyway that he uses as a shortcut. The audience goes absolutely wild, everyone screaming and hollering in awe at the insane move he just pulled. 

"WHAT?! WAIT, HOW THE HELL?" You outburst, your jaw on the floor. The other racers all crash into the cyber-police, causing a multi-vehicle collision, including poor non-racing drivers. 

"That's Waka for you. Crazy bastard." Both Takeomi and Benkei mutter at the same time. Jaxon's expression is the same as your, completely blown away with his eyes glued to the big screen.

The final stretch of the race is a straightaway leading to a glowing finish line. Behind him, the other racers left are still jostling for his position, though all they can hope for at this point is second place. They all reenter the subway, the scenery on the big screen looking familiar as they make their way back. The sounds of their engines becoming louder with each second.

Wakasa crosses the "finish line" first, his bike slowing as the crowd erupts into roaring cheers. The purple streak fades, leaving only the faint glow of the underground lights reflecting off his bike.

You exhale a shaky breath, your body starting to relax as you realize it's finally over.

The racers who made it back all cut off their engines, instantly getting surrounded by their friends, girlfriends, and others as they dismount from their bikes or hop out of their cars.

Without thinking, your legs pull you into action, weaving through people as you run towards him. He notices you just as he dismounts from his bike, his lilac eyes lighting up at the sight of you once again.

The corners of his mouth curve into an easygoing, satisfied grin just as you barrel into him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. The drones all zoom in on the two of you, catching all kinds of angles as the holographic screen displays it for everyone to see.

But the both of you are too preoccupied to notice.

“You won, oh my gosh!” You beam, clinging to him. “That was insane—I can't even believe you! You're giving..." You trail off, struggling to find the right descriptive words, "You were out there giving...just like straight up—

Without warning, he crouches down slightly, wrapping an arm firmly around the backs of your thighs. In one swift motion, he lifts you off the ground and slings you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes or something with a mischievous looking grin on his lips.

"Hey! Wait, my skirt!" You holler, quickly using a hand to hold the back of your skirt in place just in case. Nonchalantly he heads back over to his bike parked across the finish line.

"What're you doing?! Put me down!" You laugh. The drones are all still locked in on the two of you, playing out what's happening on that jumbo screen.

"Not a chance. Bet's a bet. I won, so I'm cashin' in. " He says, smirking as he straightens up, holding you securely. He turns to face his crew, Jaxon and Benkei already bubbling up with laughter, and Takeomi simply shaking his head with a knowing smirk.

"Alright, I'm gettin' outta here, boys." He calls out, "I gotta handle somethin'."

"Take it easy on her, Waka. She's still new to your crazy lifestyle." Benkei teases, crossing his arms and grinning from ear to ear. 

"Yeah man, don't scare her off." Takeomi adds, though his teasing tone suggests he isn't at all worried about that.

"Bruh, this is so embarrassing. There's literally cameras everywhere; we're on the big screen!" You protest between laughs, though that laughter and the sparkle in your eyes betray just how much fun you're actually having.

"There's nothin' embarrassing about it. Everybody can see how pretty you are." He replies playfully, setting you down just to help you onto his bike. Then, he swings his leg over the bike and settles in front of you, the sleek black machine rumbling to life beneath you once again. You barely have time to process what's happening before Waka revvs the engine. "Hold on tight." He says, glancing back at you with a smirk.

"You and this crazy bike..." You groan, memories form your first time riding with him resurfacing as you tightening your grip around him. 

He pulls off and out of the scene, leaving the erupting cheers and drone cameras behind. 

A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: Yaaaasss! It always feels so good putting out another chapter😌anyways stayed tuned for chapter 8! I should have it out in like an hour or so teeheee!!

[formosusiniquis]

this doesn't have a title cause it's late and I have work in the morning. this is a surprise gift for @cauldronoflove cause her fic last week and the whatever is going on with this show did something to my brain (positive) wc: 860 | T | pre-Max/Avery/Tristan (odt3?)

“Welcome to Eyes Wide Shut week, doctor.” Tristan's smile pulls up higher on the right side, Max’s side, as he wiggles his fingers in a wave at a woman boarding. Her dress is tight as her hold on her husband's arm. She's older than him, easily old enough to be Tristan’s mother.

“Don't call it that,” Avery chides, still it's hard not to miss the amusement that sparkles in her eyes.

“That's the Tom Cruise movie?” He finds himself asking. He hadn't read the briefing, he never reads the briefing, far preferring this rundown where his experienced team tells him what he actually needs to know.

“So he knows the finer details of the Barbie Dreamhouse but not one of the best Cruise films to date?” Tristan muses.

That earns an actual reaction from Avery. Max can feel the smile playing on his own lips as her eyes widen and she leans enough to see around him to stare at Tristan, mouth dropped open just a breath in her disbelief. “Not Interview with the Vampire?”

“I did say ‘one of.’ I can like more than one thing.”

“Oh yes, I forgot you hit two of the B's for your little poker game.”

The quip is right there for the taking and something about the two of them has made it harder and harder for Max to resist taking. “Our Tristan is pretty butch, isn’t he?”

Pleasure ripples across Tristan’s face instinctually accepting the compliment implied with the claim before the next wave crashes over top of it, him catching the tease.

“Funny.” There’s a charm to his scowl. If Tristan weren’t so handsome when he was mad, he wouldn’t be so fun to rile up. As it stands, there’s a light in his eyes as he plans his next comeback, and the tight draw of his brow somehow compliments the line of his jaw. “Maybe you'll find someone who appreciates your wit during this year’s swingers week.”

“That’s what this week is?” He can feel his smile in his cheeks and his eyebrows arching up his hairline. In the milieu beneath their feet he watches with fresh eyes the way the boarding couples greet one another. The way greetings linger, hands on elbows and kisses pressed to cheeks.

“Officially,” Avery says, a warning note in her voice that the fondness on her face betrays, “we are hosting high ranking guests from several fraternal orders.”

“And unofficially?”

“Priapism is the diagnosis of the week.”

A grin that's all boarding school charm melts across Tristan's face. “Good thing for your steady hands, Doctor Odyssey.”

His own smile turns small, his face feels warm as he takes his eyes off his crew and looks back down at the boarding passengers. Faces with the bland similarity that he associates with wealth and power. A former Midwestern Senator moving around the floor holds his focus but not his attention.

That is devoted to the memory of Avery, laid out on his table. His fingers alongside Tristan’s inside her, her life in their hands.

“I thought swingers were couples.”

“Yes, that’s the point.” Avery says.

“No, I just mean that couple was just making eyes at Tristan.”

“Some are just looking for a third,” he says, lips twisting into something coy. “Have you ever known me to deny a damsel in distress?”

The former Senator has found the woman that smiled up at them in the mezzanine. A scowl has found Max’s face and his hand has found Avery’s. Their knuckles graze against one another, seeking comfort in a way that’s becoming increasingly common. He thinks he could pick their hands, strong and sure, out of a line up. 

He understands more than ever the bright flashes of green eye irritation every time he and Avery emerged from a room with a locked door. Tristan laid out against white sheets with… He doesn’t even want to finish the thought.

“Don’t tell me you’re a prude, doctor.” A coy smile grows wider, teasing. Mirth and something Max has come to recognize as curiosity dance across his face, in the lines beside his eyes. 

Tristan keeps his attention on Max, but with every brush of hand against hand he knows his answer will be for both himself and Avery.

“Personally, I think the only couple I’ll worry about pleasing this week are my nurses.”

It’s not been long, but they react the way he would have predicted. Avery scoffs, smacks the back of his hand with hers before crossing her arms across her chest, playing at annoyance and disapproval. Tristan, who’s need for approval and fickle attachment Max understands much better after meeting his mother, gapes any witty retort he might have managed stolen by the blatant way the thing they have been dancing around has now been laid out like a patient on the operating table.

“Now, is there anything other than fine gauge needles we should be preparing? Antibiotics? Some compresses? Condoms?”

As he wanders toward the elevator his team follows. The previous topic not forgotten but transmuted, changed in his favor like the tide beneath him. It’s something he thinks he could get used to.

[earthry]

Mafia Papas (Mafia AU Headcanons)

I couldn’t stop thinking about what if the papas were mafia bosses and maybe the Emeritus family’s territory is so big that they had to split it into four, one for each papa.

tw: mentions of violence and murder, sexual themes and content— just a little spicy, f!reader.

disclaimer: this is all fictional and romanticized, not at all reflective of what actual mafia life/people are like. plus my knowledge is absolutely not accurate this is all just for fun!

Primo

He’s not as hands on as he used to be in his youth— these days his ghouls do more of the work with him controlling the puppet strings behind the scene. You spend your days with him in a lavish estate with a beautiful growing garden that you both tend to.

The area you live in is known to be difficult to grow things, so you often get comments wondering how you managed to make the soil fertile enough. It’s probably all the bodies rotting in the backyard but you don’t tell them that.

Sometimes Primo hosts parties in the courtyard just to watch you flourish, fluttering around as others orbit around you. The life of the party. At the end of the day however he always makes sure everyone knows who you belong to.

“Dolcezza, would you like another glass of wine? Mm, yes you look very beautiful today. Beautiful and all mine, si? Good girl.”

Secondo

More hands on then Primo, works out of a night club as a front. You started as a dancer but now, as Secondo’s lover and beloved, you needn’t worry about anything else. Most nights are spent at Secondo’s side as he chats with business associates and plays cards, either curled against him or nestled in his lap. No one pays any mind to you— they’ve already learned long ago the danger of doing so.

Has a possessive streak and loves to have you wear things of his. Whether it be his jacket or shirt or even a watch, as long as you have something of his he’s usually satisfied. You bring up the subject of maybe getting a tattoo with his name or crest and he’s immediately chubbed up to full mast (good thing it was just the two of you in his office).

You move in to his large condo with large windows and a beautiful view of the cityscape and learn that he has a weakness for making love with you pinned against the windowpane. Whining with need and pleasure as the the neon lights of bustling city below illuminate your form. Laid bare for anyone who might happen to look up.

“Do you like that, tesoro? Do you like knowing the whole world can see you like this for me? I’m the only one who can reduce you to this, cara. No one else.”

Terzo

Loves to flex his power through dramatic appearances and is definitely the kind of monologue for a good hour to his victims before finally getting to business. He often has Omega stand beside him because of how intimidating the ghoul is.

When you first meet him at the coffee shop you work at, you are not impressed and he is immediately smitten. He visits almost every morning and orders drinks for both him and his ghouls for two months straight until you finally agree to a date.

For your first year anniversary Terzo goes all out, booking a cruise to the most exotic places he could think of. Of course you don’t know that 90% of the crew and passengers are linked directly to the mafia. He’d never put you on a cruise full of mostly strangers, it’d be too dangerous.

Loves dressing you in jewels and expensive gowns and showing you off. The two of you definitely have a few matching sets of suits and dresses that compliment each other perfectly.

“Let me help you with that zipper, amore mio. Fuck you’re gorgeous. Can’t wait to take this off you later.”

Copia

Out of all the brothers, he’s definitely seen the most fights. To him, it doesn’t feel right to have his ghouls go out to do the dirty work while he sits behind a desk or goes have fun somewhere else. To him, the mafia is family. While he may be the boss, he treats his members fairly and like equals. He’s earned a lot of loyalty as a result, even from those that may not have been on their side at first.

Out of all his brothers, everyone had expected him to fail because of how timid and anxious he was growing up. He can still be awkward and anxious but when his family’s lives are on the line? When your life is on the line? He’ll show no mercy, no remorse.

He worships you, absolutely adores you. Buys the cutest little house because he knows you’ll love it. There’s plenty of extra room for your rats and for a mafia boss you’ve never seen anyone coo or baby talk animals quite like him.

Nothing gets Copia harder than the idea of you being his little housewife waiting at home for him. It’s the dream he never thought he’d have. Of course, you’re way more than that to him; you have your own job and career too. But whenever he comes home to a home cooked meal and open arms, you’d better expect to eat the food cold cause the first thing he’ll wanna do is rail you again the kitchen counter.

“Fuck that smells good, dolcezza. You’re so good to me, how about you let me be good to you? Let me show you my thanks, si?”

[sunflower1experiment]

How Crasona talks to the crew

Crasona: Captain I’ve assembled a capability commands for the shipment process to accessible technological solutions for when the ship faces some form of disruption.

Curly:….You don’t have to be formal…

Crasona:….Why would I want to associate with you?

Curly:……You wanna try that again?

Crasona:…..apologies, let me rephrase. Why the heck are you trying to be my friend?

Crasona: Daisuke if you wish to improve, don’t try to fit Swansea’s standards, try a new angle.

Daisuke: *nod* Okay

Swansea: Crasona whatever you told him, it sorta worked…sadly he’s a gooner and a goofball.

Crasona:….Damn we got a fuckboy?

Swansea: NO! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Crasona: My bad OG.

Swansea: I’m not your little friends, don’t do that.

Crasona: *snickers while Swansea laughs*

Anya: Crasona you can’t stay up late to send coordinates, every two hours. It’s unhealthy and I’ll have to set a procedure for you….

Crasona:……..

Anya: Um….

Crasona: Sorry…I understand, just probably will find a loophole so I’ll be sure to avoid doing it so late.

Anya: Thank you.

Crasona: No problem doc…

Anya: Um, would you like to listen to some music?

Crasona: Yea, yea…..I really miss her.

Anya: Sometimes we have favorite people we obsess over. No worries.

Crasona: *walks past Jimmy*

Jimmy: Crasona.

Crasona:…..*slow turn*…..

Jimmy: Ya mind warning me before you do anything with Curly?

Crasona:……Are you Captain?

Jimmy: Well no-

Crasona: Then why the funk would I listen to you? Anyway, food will be done in two minutes. *leaves*

Jimmy:….*salty because he wanted to talk more*

Second interaction with Jimmy

Jimmy: Crasona Curly said we should try to get along.

Crasona: *tapping on panel*….

Jimmy: So…

Crasona: Yeaaaaa I’m not buying it, you want to see me ignore you?

Jimmy: Whatever, you can act like that all you want.

Crasona: I sure will.

Curly gets involved

Curly: If you two can’t get along I will make you both sit together whenever we eat.

Crasona: On gawd Curly imma- *inhale*

Jimmy: They’re being stubborn.

Curly: Try to compliment each other.

Crasona:….Your existence is comparable to dirt….

Curly: MS. BLANK!

Crasona: What I’m being nice, dirt creates life, trees and flowers.

Jimmy:…..You’re a bitch.

Curly: JAMES WHAT THR FUCK GUYS!

Them: *shook cuz he got mad so they start shaking hands*

Later

Jimmy:……..My bad

Crasona: No no, my apologies….

They are both afraid of Curly, Crasona however got attracted to that and wanted him to body them.

(Attracted in a psychological thriller sense, Crasona is more infatuated with death than people)

(This is my perspective of Curly when it snaps at Jimmy during the crash but ya know he doesn’t physically do anything. I feel like if Curly had the chance to he’d manhandle Jimmy, and I feel like it’d scare him because he’s used to stepping all over Curly verbally. But we never notice him do it physically until Curly cannot defend himself. Basically I think Curly is super strong, doesn’t know his strength and probably accidentally flexes off which scares Jimmy)

[champmorado]

chick hicks & jackson storm character analysis!!!!

so chick hicks has major daddy issues, plain and simple. because of his dad, he tied his self-worth to being a "winner". because of his dad, he made himself not care about anyone else but himself. because of his dad, everyone else was either a "loser" or someone standing in the way of victory

chick is arrogant, overly so. because of this, hes lonely. hes unbelievably lonely. do you think his crew chose to wear those matching mustaches? who would willingly hang out with the dirty, cheating, crash-causing, second-placing chick?

he surrounds himself with mirrors. with people that tell him what he wants to hear, and laugh at his stupid jokes, and just so happen to be on his payroll. but if you strip away all the sponsor money, the insults and jabs, the angry & arrogant exterior, youre left with a sad and disappointing middle-aged man that was never truly a "winner". a man that no one wants to love or even be associated with

(but hes in extreme denial about that)

now, jackson storm

i dont have access to a copy of storm chasing (damn ittttt) so i'll just be going off the wiki and the movie

jackson storm didnt even want to be a racer. he was completely fine with being an e-sports player. but he was extorted by a guy that ended up firing him anyways so here we are

because of that, jackson has the world's weirdest form of imposter syndrome. he doesnt belong here. hes the best racer there is. he shouldve been racing since he was a child. he hates being a racer. he wouldnt trade it for the world. he wishes he could be just a gamer again. etc etc

he never really compliments himself, though. he needs to tear someone else down to lift himself up. he needs someone thats "worse" than him before he can boast about how great he is. deep down, he doesnt like being a racer, and he feels that the racing world doesnt deserve him

he also never lets himself feel. hes always distant and his emotions are always disconnected from the present. this started out as a way to avoid having angry outbursts but now he feels shallow. his losses arent painful but his wins arent rewarding. meeting a fan feels the same as meeting a hater. everything just feels.... insincere

so yea 👍 thats my brainrot on them as individuals, the father-son dynamic brainrot will come soon

[halfd3af]

Severance season two finale thoughts in no particular order

I kept screaming at Lorne to get Drummond like “KILL HIM, CAPTAIN PHASMA”, that whole scene was so awesome to watch

It’s wild how Drummond didn’t even hesitate to beat the shit out of Innie Mark, despite his achievement

I love that she got to keep her “kid” ☺️ Emile is apparently viewed as a name that can mean someone who is “industrious”…

Outie Dylan’s letter to his innie was so emotionally touching, it made me nearly cry… Innie Dylan being complimented 🥺

Absolutely fascinating that Jame was interested in Helly’s “Kierian fire” which is… very odd because this seems to be referring to her rebellious nature, which that isn’t something I’d associate with Kier 🤔 How much do we NOT know about Kier as a person, then?

How many half-siblings does Helena have?!?!? I wanna know! Will we meet any?

I love Helly nearly stabbing Jame, she’s so real for that

I knew that the conversation between outie Mark and innie Mark was going to lead to an argument, and ohhhh boy did the writers do such a fucking good job! I was rooting for how innie Mark was standing up for himself and the other innies! It’s such a good emotional pay off!!! He is in the right to tell off outie Mark with such a manipulative tactic of “oh I won’t forget you I swear, even though I’ve never cared about you until now 🥺”

I loved how Cobel confirms ideas and thoughts the fans have had for months or years, it’s such a good payoff, like how yes, the numbers ARE about Gemma

The massive fucking painting on the severed floor was insane… the fact that soooo many people were on it…

I’m so curious what the ‘we kill this person and a baby goat so it will guide the person’s soul to Kier” process is about because we (luckily) never got to see it fulfilled!

Mark accidentally shooting Drummond in the elevator is NOT what I expected, I imagined they would have fought over the gun…

Gemma’s attendant cursing Mark the fuck out was SO funny lmao

The crib dismantlement was such a fucked up thing to make her do, god 😭

I’m glad Crib Innie Gemma had no trouble leaving with Mark from that room

The way Outie Mark and Outie Gemma kissed and held each other 😭😭😭😭

Milchick’s Dance Scene #2 was wild, the crew must have had a great time recording all that haha I wonder if Traman did band in his youth

Dylan saving the day again AND instead of him being solo, he’s with Helly so they can tag team 🥺

Helly’s speech…

The way that Gemma was finally able to get outside, but her screaming at Innie Mark 😭

And at the very end, I dunno about y’all, but I love that he didn’t leave. I love that Innie Mark would stick to what he knows, and that’s MDR and Helly! I’m so curious if Season 3 will focus on Gemma on the outside primarily because… I don’t think Mark S is going to be leaving the Lumon building any time soon 😅

In the finale, instead of Mark losing Gemma like many had wondered about potentially happening, she “lost” him because she looked back Orpheus-style… and I loved that lol

I wonder how reintegration will resolve the conflict between Outie Mark and Innie Mark, because the latter is right—how WILL it work for two identities to share a body? Does Cobel know?

[mwexodusofficial]

Chapter VI: Festivities (Pt. II)

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(Music: "Supersonics", by Caravan Palace)

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"Whut floor ehm I oonnn???"

5 shots each and a few hours later, and the Tulpar crew plus Hawkes were shit-faced drunk. Before he reached the point of no return, Hawkes instructed the room staff to loosen up their uniforms and join in the merrymaking. In his severely drunken state, he had mistakenly gone up to Annalise and quietly directed her to sit next to Daisuke, being painfully obvious in his implication without realizing it.

Whereas any other woman would have simply ignored the drunken Captain and continued their merrymaking, Annalise was a die-hard loyalist- and additionally, very dense. The Captain's failure to hide his agenda completely passed over Anna's head, and instead, she simply interpreted the order as an assignment to socialize with the resurrected to help them adjust to the land of the living again.

Enthusiastically, she sat down next to Daisuke, who yelped in a high pitch as he noticed her presence, gaining temporary sobriety.

"Hey, Daisuke!"

"H-Hey there, A-Annalise!"

Meanwhile, Jeremiah entered the room with a somewhat drunk Roble, the two of them instantly noticing the chaotic atmosphere. Many of the crewmates employed as waitstaff were engaged in all kinds of mischief and party games. A few of them were playing beer pong on the bar counter, some others were playing cards, two were playing chess (where the hell did they get a chessboard?), and even the stowaway rats were sloppily dancing to the music pumping from the overhead speakers, after licking up spilled droplets of Hennessy.

"I need some liquor in my system, stat!" Jeremiah immediately commented, and Roble smirked, leading him with a stumbling gait over to the bar counter to grab a bottle. At the same time, Swansea was drunkenly reading medical flashcards to an even more intoxicated Anya, quizzing her as Daisuke, Curly and Hawkes cheered Anya on from the sidelines.

"Okey. Nexx queshtion," Swansea muttered almost incomprehensibly, pulling the next flash card up to read. "Dehfine thuh ad-dreen-uhl cor-tecks (Define the adrenal cortex)."

Anya swayed back and forth, seemingly thinking on the question, before spitting out an answer like a robot.

"Outeerrrr... Outerrr sex-shin uhf tha adreeenal gland. It sec-kreets cor-ti-sahl, all-dough-ster-own, andddd-uhhhh, ssseeexxx hor-mones(Outer section of the adrenal gland. It secretes cortisol, aldosterone, and sex hormones)."

"Currrr-eckt!" Swansea announced boisterously, as Hawkes, Daisuke and Curly clapped wildly.

"Shee's on a rollll!!!" Daisuke slurred.

"Amay-zinggg!" Curly exclaimed with weary but spirited eyes, his mind still haunted and on the verge of breaking despite the severe lack of sobriety.

"Sum-one ghet her a troph-eee." Hawkes complimented with rapidly deteriorating awareness of his surroundings. Anya smiled obliviously, waving at her supporters as if she'd just been elected to office.

"Nexcht question!!" Swansea incoherently interjected. "Wheeh-ch part of thaa ver-teh-bruhl cah-naal will shooow sec-un-dehr-eee currr-ves, with cahn-cah-vit-eee back-werrds (Which part of the vertebral canal will show secondary curves, with concavity backwards?)"

Anya swayed back and forth once more, thinking on the question while fighting the urge to drop on her side and fall asleep.

"Thaa ser-vick-uhl an' lum-barrr reej-juhns (The cervical and lumbar regions). Tha curvess dev-ehl-uhp af-tur birth, and-uhhh are ass-osh-ee-ay-ted with thaa-uuhhh bah-dee's adaptation toooo up-right pause-shter and bye-ped-uhl lo-coh-moh-shun (The curves develop after birth, and are associated with the body's adaptation to upright posture and bipedal locomotion)."

"Currect, ag-ayn!" Swansea proclaimed loudly with overwhelming drunk stupor, pumping his fist in the air like he'd just watched his betting horse cross the finish line first. Again, the clapping from the peanut gallery erupted, humbly inviting thanks and salutations from Anya, who at this point was standing up and bowing several times over, offering thanks and beaming with pride.

How did she fail the medical exam eight times? Hawkes wondered in semi-coherent thought.

"Hey, Anya!" 

Anya turned to Hawkes' voice, stumbling and placing her hands on her hips with acute confidence. Hawkes thought his heart would burst from how the sight overwhelmed his orbitofrontal cortex with adorable-ness. He looked to Curly, concerned that-

"CuRLy!" He muttered under his breath in alarm, seeing Curly had flopped back on the couch with a violent shiver- a rigid grin wrought across his face as he silently quivered.

Fuck, Hawkes thought in rising concern. He might have an actual heart attack.

That was no hyperbole, either- Hawkes had thought about the intricate problems with this whole 'reviving people from the dead' thing. When a person died, their emotions were pushed to their extremes, beyond anything they've ever felt in their life. Imagine dying with those otherworldly heights of emotions, then waking back up in the same life?

Without a doubt, from what Hawkes had observed, those death's door emotions came slamming back into their minds, wreaking havoc across their body, and decimating practically every complex component that summarized their existence. Everything from simple topics, to merely glancing at other returned friends or loved ones, to just thinking about the trauma, was enough to cause meltdowns, breakdowns, mental snaps, insanity, and a whole other troupe of issues.

So, in conclusion, Curly seeing his once-dead (alleged) lover exude such adorable energy sent his receptors into shock, which cascaded across the rest of his brain and body, amplified by the heightened emotions from death and subsequent resurrection. What a fucking headache to deal with.

It was times like these that Hawkes was always grateful for the invention of the Reformation Procedure- he could fix any issue they had. However, he had reservations about just 'curing' everything about them.

Physically, he had no issue restoring them to perfection. But when it came to mental issues, there were certain moral misgivings he had with it. No matter if it were an illness or an ailment, those were unfortunately part of who a person is or was. The primary fear that Hawkes had with removing those was if he removed such a key component to someone's life; they could potentially lose their sanity entirely by being pushed over the edge, not knowing who they were or being unable to comprehend reality without those key parts of them.

Perhaps, as time went on and they healed from their past, there could be a gradual reduction and eventual dissipation entirely. But right now, doing that was far too risky. Right now, they needed treatment.

Hawkes almost snickered out loud at himself. As often as he had used it to practice terror and evil on the wicked, he had discontinued it for torture ever since the Day of Erudition (A really stupid name, in his opinion), and had focused his full efforts on healing and improving people's lives.

It was the only path he was allowed because it was the path he had been gifted by the greatest. He was not going to squander this. Everything, every fiber of his being was dedicated to helping the innocent and punishing the guilty.

The only difference was, helping the innocent would be far more of an ordeal.

As everyone began to glance over to Curly to see what happened, Hawkes quickly diverted the conversation back to Anya.

"WhUt's thE nExT qUeSsstchun, ShwaaansSEAA?" Hawkes proclaimed giddily with a facade of being more drunk than he was, dancing with his upper torso while poking the air in rhythm with the song. Thankfully, everyone's attention returned back to Swansea, who didn't skip a beat in reading off the next question. Hawkes took the opportunity to silently sneak over to Curly to check on him.

"Hey. Hey. Curly, you good? Curly?" He whispered as he came up to inspect the blonde idiot. He was relieved to see Curly had stopped shivering, suddenly raising his head with wandering drunk-eyes and surveying the suite with regaining clarity.

"Y-Yeah... Wh-What happened?"

"You fell in love again. Anyways, can you keep an eye on Anya and drink some water? I gotta hit the men's room."

Curly jabbed a thumbs up and Hawkes quickly departed, heading towards the restroom door. He felt a surge of gratitude and affection for his crew as he didn't have to duck his head when going through it; they had taken a lot of time and care for this suite. And it wasn't for nothing.

He had saved their lives more times than the amount of years they'd lived. Not collectively, obviously, but individually. He wasn't sure why he had to clarify that in his thinking.

He entered the restroom and immediately went to a stall to relieve himself. He had drank a ton, after all. It wasn't dignified, but tis was the nature of any living being. Dignity was a facade made up by humans to seem above the station they were given in life; as vulgar, awkward, bumbling creatures whose only saving graces against the natural order were cunning, intellect, and a horrifying imagination for creativity.

Oh, and sweating, of course. They would still be monkeys if not for sweat evolution. Wow, what a pair of words to put together.

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(Music: "Midnight", by Caravan Palace)

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"Ah, shit." Hawkes cursed silently, trying to finish his prolonged relief. "Song change, I need to get back out there and vibe right now."

He quickly re-did his belt and pants, sprint-walk-stumbling towards the sink to cleanse his sinful hands, and stormed through the door. 

Seeing the faces of Curly, Anya, Swansea and Daisuke turn to face him, their eyes lighting up with affection and excitement, seeing their bodies relax and re-energized, seeing nothing except respect, admiration and hope resonate from them...

Hawkes was born in a dingy lower-class fiefdom on Canaris. His father was a metalworker, his mother a seamstress. Both were employed by the Canaris Global Federation as they were waging wars against pirates, rival nations and private mercenary groups. His father was cruel, but after being conscripted his cruelty found an outlet. He had eventually brought this home, inflicting it on the family for years.

Hawkes' mother died at his father's hands. And his father died at his hands. His brother had joined a gang to find alternative income and ended up dead from a drive-by. Hawkes moved off-world, finding nothing except contempt and abuse in the holdings of cruisers, freighters and carriers. Even as he was promoted, his young age garnered disrespect and loathing from his subordinates and superiors, along with his impoverished background.

He had to find respect through overwhelming, frightening violence. It was the norm for military vessels at the time, and he caught on quick. Ten years more, ten years before he finally gained some respect from his peers.

Ten years after that, he gained admiration from his crew and military.

Ten years once more, and he gained their trust- the whole damn kingdom.

But at no point in time, did he see affection in their eyes. At no point did he see love. Familial love.

And that was exactly what he said in those four only a few meters away. Love.

He had never seen this from his mother nor father, nor brother. He had long known he was the product of rape, that the mother hated the child and the father loathed him for being the burden that ended his nomadic lifestyle; that Hawkes' brother was a mutual conception thanks to his mother's Stockholm Syndrome, a brother who hated him for causing his parents such grief and rage for no apparent reason, one they did not disclose to him.

Such injustice. Such hypocrisy. Such ignorant evil.

And yet when he looked at these four, those thoughts that terrified and enraged him would fade away as if it were the morning mist of a rising sun.

Love. Love, love, love.

Loooove.

What a wonderful word, he thought to himself. It was the most fitting, most perfect word he could conceive to describe how he felt about them. Love.

It was settled. He had no family until today. These people- these beautiful souls- they were his family now. They were kin to him. A divine gift.

Thank. God.

"hEy hAwKeS!!" Daisuke mumbled near-incoherently, waving over-dramatically as Hawkes exited the bathroom. Hawkes smiled genuinely, waving back at him- more sober and euphoric than ever before. Minus the sober part.

"Hey Daisuke!" He replied with a beaming smile. He wanted to go and sit with them so badly. But he needed to take care of some minor issues first. He turned on his shoulder radio, speaking to a few people before he went back to his comfort.

"Hawkes here, you hear me, Ali?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Start the renovations on their rooms early tomorrow."

"Fuck... Hawkes, dude, we're gonna be hung over as hell."

"I'm sorry, did hangover cures become obsolete when I wasn't looking? Here's some tips, crack an egg over a beer and chug it."

"That was only one tip, Cap-"

Click. He switched to the next channel.

"Jazz."

"Jazz here, what's up?"

"Suite. Now."

Before Jazz could respond, Hawkes switched the radio to the next channel. He was pissed at Jazz; solely over his bullshit speech about Anya during the Ritual. He had his reservations on what happened, but he wanted a damn good explanation from Jazz on why he would lie during a revival procession.

"Lily. Hawkes here." He whispered as loud as he could over the music and noise.

"Here, beautiful."

"I told you to stop the flirting. I need you to have some agents keep an eye on the four we resurrected, 24/7."

"Done. When are you free tomorrow?"

"Never... maybe." 

Click.

Hawkes exhaled, trying to fight off the urge to fall over and find slumber. He wasn't going to waste a second of this precious time. Two more. He changed the channel.

"Annie, you there? It's Hawkes."

"Fuck you want? I'm partying."

Hawkes half-grinned , having always enjoyed the crude behavior and language of the Chief Medical Officer. It reminded him of his home district.

"I'm not asking you to stop. Tomorrow (write this down, you forgetful ditz) I'd like you to perform a mental evaluation of the Tulpar crew, I'll be present."

"Why do you always make wishes that can't be granted? I shouldn't have to reiterate why evaluations are isolated between the CMO and the patient."

"I'm the Captain. My wishes are always granted."

Hawkes had come off more strongly than he intended, but the message seemed more than sufficient.

"Very well, Admiral."

Hawkes laughed, then sneered at the crass rebuttal. Hawkes was an admiral, a commander of several ships in a fleet, but for this rescue mission he had been temporarily bumped down to the rank of Captain since he was only commandeering one ship. Apparently, the reasoning for this had been, "If an admiral dies during a non-combat operation, it is far worse of a hit to public morale than a captain dying."

What the fuck? Shockingly, Hawkes was somewhat understanding of the reasoning, no matter how cold-blooded it was. Seeing 'Admiral Dead During Rescue Operation' in the headlines was not good for morale, and since Canaris was still fighting two wars with other nations, that morale was key to winning the whole conflict.

He turned off the radio, knowing he was better than to respond spitefully to Annie's provocations-

Click.

"Hope the love life is progressing well, Annie."

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY YOU SON OF A BITC-"

Click.

It was just too satisfying.

Last one. He switched to the Divinity Channel, this time hearing Jazz's shaky voice.

"S-So, uh, Captain Hawkes, we're all good right?"

"Get that sack of shit ready for resurrection, then dose him until he's in a coma for twenty-four hours. I don't want to hear his name spoken by anyone. After he's back, tie him down and shove him into Interrogation. Then you can come up and hang out in the Captain's Suite."

Jazz exhaled through the radio in relief, seemingly glad he wasn't getting reamed out.

"Yes, sir."

Click. He was still getting reamed out.

Hawkes purged his mind of the last few seconds, trying to clear his mind rapidly before any form of rage could onset. He practically skipped over to the four of them-

...

To his family.

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(Music: "Tension", by Avery Alexander)

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"Miss Lilia, Mr. Frank is on the line."

"Patch him over."

Lilia, Chief of Espionage for the Argonaut II, was swiveling in her chair to handle the deluge of different assignments, tasks and issues that assailed her every minute. Being a workaholic, she absolutely loved this role, giving her overactive mind a constant stimulation that itched that scratch she'd been looking for her whole life.

"Lilia here. Any sign of trouble afar?"

"Hey. Yeah, there's a renegade armada with no sigil readings. They're on a different course, though, and they've got some serious manpower and weaponry. We should let them cruise by."

Lilia chuckled in slight amusement. Had this been three months ago, her report to Hawkes would have resulted in an inevitable fight. That stubborn bastard possessed a hate for pirates she'd never seen in anyone else, her whole life. Everytime they won the fight, having disabled the engines, blown up the bridge and obliterating the enemy armaments, they would board these pirate ships.

There would always be captives onboard- always. No pirate could survive long in the outer reaches of space without a penchant for raiding weaker ships and getting involved in the slave market. The first time she had seen him free those captives and grant them comfort and reprieve, she had been a cold skeptic- believing it to be nothing more than a political stunt to make himself look better.

The second time, she wondered.

The fiftieth time, she knew. She knew.

In this hellish society, with these pig-fucker leaders and autocrats and elitists and useful idiots... there was a real-life hero. Tainted as he may have been, he was a hero to her. She'd served as a spy, an informant, a double agent and an undercover detective for over twenty years. At the ripe old age of 35, she was a master in her craft. But for 20 of those years, she felt soulless. Empty. Aimless, no matter the accolades or talents she gained and exhibited. In her role, she'd seen the absolute worst that humanity had to offer, and no further statements could fully detail nor explain that kind of depravity- what it did to the human mind.

But on one fateful day, she was given a contract to spy on Admiral Hawkes, of the 8th Canaris Fleet.

Lilia pressed the button to speak over the radio.

"We'll let them cruise by, then."

"Should we warp now to avoid confrontation?"

"No. It takes a while to spool our FTL drivers, and the energy it gives off while it warms up is detectable within several millions of miles. We're sure to get found and shot at if we do it."

"Copy that."

Lilia switched her radio to General, secretly hoping Hawkes would call her to request something. She had been obsessed with him for the last ten years. After being promoted to Chief of Espionage, she was granted access to every surveillance device onboard. With this overwhelming power, she naturally spent several waking moments watching, listening and understanding the Captain's words and actions.

The more she listened, the more she saw- the more she felt connected to him, empathized with him. She'd spent her whole life studying others, seeing the worst and best sides of them all. Those 'worse' sides were far more plentiful than the best.

But with Hawkes... he was, without a doubt, a hero. She'd spent so much time trying to know him, brute-hacking and scouring through his locked-away government records, studying his every movement, interpreting his actions and words in with multiple ledgers of those movements.

Over the years, she'd accumulated a handful of subordinates in her position, those who knew of her obsession and were still loyal after years of dutiful service. These people were trusted with her most secretive of tasks; infiltrating gatherings, eavesdropping on private conversations, jotting down the movements and behaviors of troublesome crewmates.

Most of the head of crew were at the end-result of veterancy; more than a decade for most of them. Their direct subordinates were loyal, efficient and reliable. Their minds were clear of trouble, their morale unwavering.

But Lilia was the reason for this. She had weeded out the cancerous tumors that had boarded this vessel. Whether by imprisonment in the brig, severe punishments for atonement, or outright execution for foiled plots- she had been the maintainer of this ship's safety and order; through surveillance, a proactive mindset, and a network of trustworthy spies who were willing to die before giving up her name. Her role and theirs were known only by the Heads of Departments- and the true identities of her informants were only known by her.

A perfect system, that she had devised for optimum security and full accountability. A system she had created and wanted so badly to put in place. And Hawkes -God! That fucking beautiful man!- had given her the greenlight to implement it however she pleased.

This was her paying him back, for everything he'd done for her. She'd seen every interaction of him on the ship. Every single one for fifteen years. There wasn't a single moment where he doubted his crew, or talked shit behind their backs; there wasn't a single instance or occurrence where he committed wrongs against his crew, or acted out of hubris or cowardice or self-interest. For fifteen fucking years! He was an unwavering force of nature, to her. And a force for good.

She was aware of what he did to criminals in the Interrogation Room. She was aware of his flaws, his insecurities, his imperfections, his moments of self-doubt and depression. She knew his history, for the last fifteen years and everything she could find in records or from witness accounts since his birth, as much as she possibly could. She just wanted to understand what made him tick- especially from how he was raised... how could he form such a heroic mindset and stick by it? With such intellect, how did he not grow slothful, or lazy, or contemptuous of the world and lose all hope? How did he find the determination to reach a goal known to no one but himself?

When his whole personality and mindset switched in the last two months, Lilia was only driven into a frenzy of curiosity. More questions, less answers. The discovery of resurrection. The discovery of an afterlife- of a creator, of a universe that was designed...

Her mind raced. And raced. And raced. It was all so interesting. She just needed time to sort it all out. And throughout this time, she had only Hawkes to thank. For centering her mind, centering her world, around a beacon of hope and steadfast leader in these changing times.

She was eternally grateful for having ever met him. She would protect him at all costs. And she would continue to do so, to guard the man she venerated as the most heroic person she'd ever met.

"Lilia, I've got the prints for that armada."

"Give 'em here, Ozzy."

The First Agent, Ozzy, handed the documents over to Lilia, who scanned them with pinpoint focus.

"Send copies of these to the Heads of Departments."

"Roger. By the by, are you still watching the Suite Cam?"

"Please exit this room with haste."

"Why don't you just ask him out?"

"LEAVE- THE- ROOM- PLEASE."

Ozzy snickered plentifully as Lilia, frustrated, returned to her work.

Bzzt.

"Lily, Hawkes here."

OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OHMYGOSH-

Lilia recomposed herself, answering the radio with giddy excitement.

"Hey, beautiful." She flirted over the radio. Despite being a master spy with decades of experience, she had absolutely no understanding of social conventions nor romance in the slightest. She had spent most of her teenage and adult life watching other people interact, which meant she had no opportunity to accumulate this experience herself.

"I told you to stop the flirting. I need you to have some agents keep an eye on the four we resurrected, 24/7."

"Done. When are you free tomorrow?"

She pitched the question with earnest, even if she knew the answer every single time.

"Never."

She barely smiled, shaking her head in disappointment. She was hurt every time he said it, but she would never want to impose-

"...Maybe."

"AAAAAHAAHAHAAHHAHAHHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!"

As the radio clicked off, Lilia squealed in absolute euphoria, punching the air to release the pent-up energy that had been brewing inside her. Ozzy came back around the corner, relaying more news.

"The CMO says she wants to-"

"TELL THAT BITCH TO FUCK OFF AND D- Ahem. Ahem. Mmm."

Lilia quickly recomposed herself, trying to ignore the deluge of eyes glancing towards her in slight concern. Her host of subordinates expected those kinds of outbursts from Hawkes, but not their usually calm and collected Chief. 

...

Then, the room collectively reconsidered their thoughts and summarily, unanimously concluded that this was, in fact, in line with their Chief of Espionage's past behavior, and continued their work diligently.

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(Music: "Lady, Hear Me Tonight", by Modjo)

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The Captain's Suite was once more abuzz, as the alcohol wore off somewhat and left most of the room in a state of perfect non-sobriety. A Modern-Era song was jamming on the overhead speakers, and the first one to jump up and start dancing was none other than Daisuke, equipped with a pair of sunglasses Hawkes had gifted him from his bedroom drawer.

Swansea cheered him on, while Curly and Anya were talking privately to one another, serious expressions on their faces. That damnable look of terror hadn't dissipated from behind their eyes. Hawkes badly wanted to intrude on their conversation to know what they were discussing, but he knew that was going to turn them away. He decided to let them be for a few minutes- but not for too long. He had a ping pong match set up next- that is, if there wasn't some random incident that spoiled his plans.

"Hawkes."

Hawkes turned his head to Swansea, who was leaning against the couch, beaming with pride at Daisuke as he danced.

"Thank you."

Hawkes needed no other words to understand the depths of Swansea's gratitude- it was tenfold the gratitude he had received from people whose lives he had snatched from death. It exhumed from every pore of Swansea, echoing sentiments of deep, deep thankfulness that stretched beyond what words could possibly describe.

Hawkes smiled at him, feeling a stirring of emotion he hadn't felt in decades.

"I am not sure how you perceive me, Swansea," Captain Hawkes conceded with genuine remorse. "And whatever you may learn of me in the future, I hope you'll... still see someone worth being around."

He was surprised when Swansea scooted over, placing his hand firmly on Hawkes' shoulder (having to stretch his arm to the max limit) and looking Hawkes dead in the eyes.

"We all have skeletons in our closet. You gave us something that could only happen in a dream. I couldn't give less of a single fuck what people have to say, or what your past was like. You saved the people who were- are my world. My entire world. As far as I'm concerned, I'm indebted to you for the rest of my life and beyond."

Hawkes felt light stabs of pain in his eyes, fearing the onset of tears. It would not do for a Captain to cry in front of anyone, much less those he'd just brought back from the dead. It did not inspire confidence in others to see their highest authority lose his composure.

"Th...Thank you, Swansea." Hawkes said with a breaking voice, turning his head away to conceal the tears running down his cheeks. "You deserve the world, and I will g....give it to you no matter what."

Hawkes quickly stood up from the couch, covering his face with his hand and disguising it as a coughing fit, returning to the restroom once more.

How undignified! Hawkes raged at himself. The Captain of the ship, frequenting the stalls like some sort of blitzed bozo! This would be the last time he entered this cursed restroom... unless he genuinely needed to relieve himself, of course. He wasn't stupid. 

Hawkes opened the stall with the most leg room, sitting on the top of the toilet seat and pondering. The tears continued to stream down his cheeks, but it was easier to let it happen when no eyes were concentrated on him.

"What to do next?" He muttered confusedly, trying to piece together the next plan of action. He had given them comfort, provided them food and booze, given them the warmth and coziness of a social, fun atmosphere... what was next? What was... what was next?

Perhaps... perhaps after this, they could pass out here and wait until their room renovations were done. There were still two months left for the return trip; the rescue mission only took a year because the flight path was so spotty and indecipherable most of the time; yet another failing of that shit-bred fuck-wad useless detritus of a pithy company, Pony Express. 

"I'm gonna- heh! I'm gonna fucking eviscerate them in court. I'm gonna destroy their companies and find their names and home addresses. I'm gonna use my authority to police their transport to the prison systems and- GhhhRAAAH!"

He smacked himself in the head a multitude of times, utterly enraged at himself, knowing he'd already made a pact to discontinue physical torture- he was thinking of so many ways to help the Tulpar crew recover, he could barely conceive plans for the next day without thinking of everything involving them, and especially about the people who hurt them.

Why? Why was it so hard to help people? Why was it so complex? This wasn't a one-and-done issue like blowing up a pirate vessel, or capturing an integral enemy's team of scientists, or even hosting negotiations for a cruiser full of hostages. This was a day-to-day struggle of constantly maintaining and ensuring one's mental and physical states were okey dokey.

He wanted them to be okey dokey. FUCK! He wanted them to be okey dokey! Just to-

Knock, knock.

"Captain, can I use this stall? The other one's clogged with toilet paper."

"MOTHERF-"

Hawkes had been prepared to launch a barrage of verbal replies tinged with animosity, but decided against it. He sighed and covered his face with his hands. What was he thinking? Couldn't he just get his thoughts together?

"So... is that a no, then?"

"Name, rank and ID number, please."

That sentence alone sent whoever was behind the door scurrying out of the bathroom. Hawkes snickered, getting up and dusting himself off again.

"Fuckin' belligerents." He muttered, exiting the bathroom just in time to see Anya and Curly scuffling out of the Suite quietly. With concern, he quickly moved over to where Swansea was, sipping from a glass of wine while watching Daisuke, still dancing, and tapping his feet to the rhythm of the song.

"Hey hey, Swansea."

"Wazzaaaap, Hawkes." Swansea greeted him casually. "You havin' a good time?"

Hawkes nodded with a forced smile. His anxiety was gnawing at him over Curly and Anya's recent actions.

"I saw those two early scurrying off, are they going to do some dirty business?" Hawkes questioned mischieviously with a sly grin, putting on a clear facade to extract information. Swansea laughed and shook his head.

"No, no. They just said they were gonna have a private talk for a bit. I'm a bit thankful, cuz they were bringing down my energy for a while..."

"Uh huh!" Hawkes said dismissively as he immediately stood up and practically floated across the room to an empty corner, turning on his radio.

"Lilia, come in."

"Where do you think we should go? I was thinking we could try out Hephalia's Garden once we get back to Canaris!"

"Wh..What? Sure, whatever. Listen, I need you to-"

"REALLY???"

Hawkes was overwhelmed by the energy pouring out of the radio, and almost regretted whatever he had just agreed to. Still, his primary concern was Curly and Anya- he could deal with these other issues later on.

"Yes, really. I need you focused. Please get your spies to follow Curly and Anya, and whatever room they enter, route the wiretaps and hidden cameras to my headset and holopad."

"You got it, Hawkes."

Hawkes shivered slightly as the milky voice poured over the radio, before it turned off from the other end. Now that he had a few seconds to think, he realized he might just have agreed to a date with Lilia.

Oh, well. Whether or not it worked out, he knew there'd be no efficiency issue with the ship. Lilia was reliable by every standard, regardless of whatever emotions she had brewing inside her.

Having resolved the remainder of the issues, Hawkes sat down, tired, on the couch alongside Swansea, admiring the endurance and ability to dance that Daisuke possessed.

"Swansea, what do you think of me?" Hawkes muttered. Swansea looked over at him, then back at Daisuke, pondering.

...

"I think you're an amazing human being. Brought us back, spoiled us, gave us relief from the endless nightmare. I still have a hundred thousand questions about what the fuck is going on. I still don't fully trust this situation. I still partially think this is some twisted, long-form dream that I'm gonna wake up from and realize I'm still stuck on that piece of shit freighter."

Swansea exhaled, as if glad to voice his thoughts.

"But, for once in my fuckin' life, I actually feel... hope. I feel like I have a chance to breathe, like my chest isn't always tightened, choking and crushing me from the inside over time. I feel like I'd won the lottery. I had so many fuckin' wishes when I died... I had regrets like you wouldn't believe. Daisuke... his... past life... was un-fuckin-fair. I hated it beyond what words could do justice. I hated it."

He turned to Hawkes, with tired but ever-grateful eyes shining anew.

"But you... you managed to fix everything I wanted. You... fuck, you're like an actual savior. How the hell else could I describe you? I'm not going to brown-nose. But you did the impossible. And before my very eyes, is all the proof I need."

His eyes switched back to Daisuke, his face softened into new and youthful vigor.

"So what do I think of you... I think you can do no wrong, at this point. As long as you aren't some psycho bastard getting a kick out of seeing us happy again-"

Hawkes laughed, once again glad to see Swansea had similar thoughts to his.

"-Then as far as I'm concerned, you're someone whose corner I want to be in."

Hawkes bowed his head in deep appreciation, deeper than any he'd felt in his entire life.

"The feeling is mutual, Swansea. I will dedicate my life to protecting you, Anya, Curly and Daisuke."

Swansea chuckled somewhat awkwardly.

"Well, I didn't say you had to be our bodyguards the whole time, heh. But we appreciate it. You're a good soul, and I'm constantly grateful that you gave us this. All of this."

Hawkes nodded respectfully, his mind invaded totally by an urge to see this band of crewmates perpetually happy.

"Thank you, Swansea... I hope you don't mind. I need to tend to a radio call-"

Swansea waved him off gently, smiling. "Do what you gotta do. No need to coddle us."

Actually, that is precisely my job, Hawkes thought worriedly, tuning in to the radio that was buzzing alert notifications from Lilia.

"Lily, did you do it?"

"Yeah. Patch in to listen, whenever."

[starshipsys]

🛰️an intro post? After all this time? Youbetcha! I’m writing this for the sake of people being able to get to know us better. Our system uses two different tumblr accounts and the alters that use one don’t want to be associated with the others, so this is only a few alters. We’re a DiD system, diagnosed, and interested in making friends! Please don’t involve us in syscourse or any discourse really. We’re not interested in harassment campaigns, mob mentality, or anything like that. We won’t even unfollow someone unless you can give us direct receipts. From you, not a link to some callout post or whatever people do nowadays. If You, yourself, can’t provide us with screenshots of someone saying something unquestionably heinous, in context, don’t bother.

Here’s some info about us! We’re a system of 26. I’m Merlin. Our system name is Starships. The body’s name is Nova. What is the difference between me, the system, and the body? Think of a boat with a crew. I’m the captain, Merlin. The crew is the system, Starships, and each crew member has their own name. The boat is the body, Nova. It has habits and mannerisms that we all adopt when we come into front, but those aren’t really us. None of us are the “main alter” or the body’s “real personality;” all of us are fragments of the child the body used to be, who grew up in different ways. Each alter is like the tip of a tree’s branch. No twig is the “real tree” but we’re all part of it, and if you go back far enough, we were all part of the same trunk.

I’ll introduce our alters now! I’m not going to introduce everyone, because some of them don’t want to be associated with this account. I’m going to write their emoji so that you know who’s who, but I’m writing all the introductions.

🧤Agate, they/them. While none of us like the term “little,” syskid is accepted, but none of us feel entirely like children, we just retained childlike qualities. Agate is one of those alters, they’re the more sensitive and emotional part of our childhood.

🪩Boppie, they/them. Excited and energetic party animal! Just wants to have fun, especially dancing and anything related to music. They like having friends because it means more opportunities for fun.

♠️Coghlan, he/it. He just migrated from the other account to this one because he changed allegiances. He’s cold, steely, and sharp. Usually cuts right to the chase in conversations. He’s also bad at social cues, but he’s caring and protective, despite his hard exterior. Formerly 🖤

🐰Daisy, she/her. Traumatized little creature, super nervous and anxious all the time. Desperate for affection, particularly fond of cuddles and compliments. Also switched to this account recently.

🔭Estella, she/they. Creative and cheerful, friendly catgirl. Likes videogames, especially Minecraft. Wants to learn how to code and program games. We are unfortunately very bad at computers.

🌺Haven, she/he. The hopeless romantic. Craves friendship and love, and is very friendly and warm and welcoming. Loves to shower people with affection. Likes to tell people when we appreciate them.

✏️Indigo, they/them. Creative aspects of our childhood. Has dreams of becoming a novel writer, cartoon artist, and/or animator. Loves to write new stories and create whole new worlds.

🍠Kakxyl, he/any. Basically our system’s father figure. Protective and compassionate towards us, he tends to guide us to do healthy and useful things. Doesn’t usually get involved in things until they get dangerous, though. He recently got transformed and is still figuring himself out.

🫐Lynx, he/they. Silent and protective. Lynx cannot use language to communicate, though he is pretty creative with mixing together pictures, screenshots, and emojis to deliver his message. He usually doesn’t have much to say anyway. He tends to front to take the brunt of an emotional attack on us, so he usually only fronts when something is wrong. If he isn’t frantically trying to tell you something then it’s probably not something you can help.

🛰️Merlin, they/any. I’m Merlin :]. The others describe me as an emotional suppressor. I’m not very introspective and I don’t really know what I want or what I stand for. Mostly I’m just here as a shell, to make us appear to have some semblance of normalcy to others. I front when in-person social interactions are required.

🍥Nyan, they/he/she. The silliness of our childhood! They like being loud, annoying, and hyper. They love candy and high energy music and bright colors. The nyan cat song is basically constantly playing in their head.

🩵Present, she/they/it. Soft, quiet, and delicate. Very shy, but craves companionship. She blames herself for a lot of things that are outside her control and is a bit of a perpetual people-pleaser.

🔥Xray, he/xe (xe/xim/xis, like he/him/his). Omnipotent primordial eldritch deity 1/3. God of destruction. Represented by fire, the sun, death, light, sharp angles, spikes, stone, blades, gore, and metal. Values truth, bravery, closure, curiosity, finality, persistence, and order. Has a composed demeanor and authoritative role in the system.

🌲Yarrow, it/they/yey (yey/yem/yeir, like they/them/their). Omnipotent primordial eldritch deity 2/3. Goddex of transformation. Represented by greenery, clouds, fungi, insects, the moon, mirrors, frost, trees, armor, and mountains. Values empathy, change, introspection, attentiveness, observation, rebellion, and protection. Has a guarded demeanor and informative role in the system.

🌊Zenith, ze/zer (ze/zer/zers, like she/her/hers). Omnipotent primordial eldritch deity 3/3. Goddess of creation. Represented by the ocean, cosmos, feathers, fur, scales, flowers, rainbows, shadows, eggs, and pens. Values humility, kindness, creativity, adventure, exertion, passion, and beauty. Has a loving demeanor and supportive role in the system.

[carewyncromwell]

jasmine & chia for desiree and bat💙

jasmine ⇢ do you have a movie or book you loved but will never watch/read again?

[Desiree has to consider this question incredibly carefully.]

Desiree: "...Truthfully...no, I cannot zhink of anyzhing zhat fits zis question. I have not watched many non-Magique moving pictures, but ze few I have zeen are pleasant enough. And as for books -- mon Dieu! Even zhose books zhat I have read a million times, I would be happy to read again. Even zhose books I have read and not enjoyed as much as ozhers, I would be willing to try again at zome later date. If I end up not liking zhem again, ah! C'est la vie. And zhere are zo many more wonderful zhings to read, in zheir place."

Bat: "Robinson Crusoe. I read it quite a few times as a young lad, largely because there weren't that many fiction books in print appropriate for boys my age back then, Muggle or otherwise...but over time, I've found both the main character and his outlook on the world and the people in it who differ from him less and less pleasant. From what I've been able to research about the author of the novel, it seems Mr. Defoe was an intellectual to a degree, indulging in political satire and championing the ideas of religious freedom at a time when people were arrested for speaking ill of the nobility and violently persecuted for their faith...but the character Defoe created sadly embodies the painfully racist, imperialistic attitude that many non-Britons came to associate with England in particular, when it was a world power."

chia ⇢ what’s an inside joke you have with someone else?

[Desiree can't bite back a wry smile.]

Desiree: "I do not know if zis counts...but ze very time we first met, Monsieur Aquila told me to call him by his nickname alone. I refused, zince we were still but strangers, and it would not be appropriate -- zo I only called him 'Monsieur Aquila.' Even when I joined his crew, I zhought it would be best to call him 'Captain,' for zhat is what he is."

[Her long-lashed black eyes twinkle with something almost girlish, with how much amusement dances through her expression.]

Desiree: "Even now, he ztill tries to coax me to just call him by his nickname -- but I never do."

Julio Aquila is a very handsome name. Zeems a great shame, to shorten it.

@kathrynalicemc

[Have a fanged smirk.]

Bat: "Oh, my old school friends and I had plenty, back in the day. Most of them at my expense...but hey, it was all in good fun! I laughed just as much as anyone else."

Sometimes all you can do in the face of having eternal bad luck is have a good sense of humor about it...

[Memories of Barty and Cecelia swooping in to save him from the consequences of yet another lost bet flicker over Bat's mind, making a bittersweet smile twitch at the corners of his lips.]

Bat: "For a more modern example, though, I can always point to one I've got with Grim. I very often have to go up to the school in dog form -- I'm an Irish Wolfhound Animagus -- and quite a few the portraits have found me rather cute, especially when I come bearing gifts for Grim in my teeth. So several of them started calling me different things, such as 'Mutt' or 'Wolfy' -- "

[Bat's fanged grin spreads.]

Bat: " -- nicknames that Grim occasionally will also 'adopt,' when we're out in public with me as a dog. He always gets such compliments about how well trained I am."

[It's clear this amuses Bat greatly.]

@cursebreakerfarrier

Plant Ask!

[chumart1]

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