#definitely going to be using the hell out of that

[shewhowillrise]

Sam drags Tucker into Danny’s apartment after they bid Danny good luck on his date. She ignores his protests of her nails hurting and and practically throws him into the living room before slamming the front door. Danny’s neighbor yells something but Sam can’t hear it over her anger.

“What the hell was that? He finally, finally! Goes on a date, and you’re face couldn’t look anymore sour then if you drank lime and pickle juice!”

“Come on Sam, even you have to admit that was an obvious catfish!” Tucker yells back while checking on his arm.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The guy he matched with doesn’t exist! At least not anymore! Don’t you remember the case! The guys name itself was a red flag!”

“I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

Tucker looked at her incredulously, “have you not listened to any of the true crime podcasts I’ve recommended on my blog?”

Sam crossed her arms and just starred at him.

“You haven’t even read my blog have you?”

“I’ve been busy,” Sam defended.

“We’re literally roommates you have not been busy!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said putting her arms up in defeat, “what happened there connects to the guy our Danny is going on a date with?”

“Eight years ago Bruce Wayne adopted a boy. A son who likes everything listed on that guy’s profile. Pride and Prejudice, neapolitan ice cream, and favorite color green,” Tucker says as her takes out his phone and starts typing quickly.

“Okay?” Sam says, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“That boy died, four years ago, officially, in Ethiopia. I’ve seen the morgue papers myself. It’s one of the biggest cover ups this century. And his name was Jason Todd,” he turned his phone around to show a picture of a boy. And Sam paused. While this photo was of a teenage boy, it definitely was the same face as the profile Danny showed them a an hour ago. Just more baby fat.

“Holy fuck Danny’s in trouble.”

Breaking driving laws wasn’t something Sam did often in Gotham. Especially this close to night time but her friend was in trouble.

“They aren’t supposed to be at the restaurant for another twenty minutes. We could stake out on the roof-”

“-and risk a bat seeing us-” Sam interrupts.

“-They’ll understand when we tell them, they probably think Todd’s death is also fishy and wouldn’t like a man pretending to be him.”

Thankfully there was an apartment building across the street, with still attached fire escape. It still creaked though.

“Man I fucking hate this,” Tucker says, “how the hell do these not crumble under Batman or Red Hood’s weight fuck”

“Your idea,” Sam says, smirking at Tucker’s yeah I know.

Sitting at the roof’s edge wasn’t comfortable but anything for their friend, anything was worth it.

It was freezing but they didn’t have to wait long for the motorcycle that was as on the guy’s profile to park outside the restaurant.

Sam slapped Tucker’s arm to get him out of his phone and conspiracy boards, “he’s here.”

They watched as he set up the kickstand. The guy was as bulky as the photos were, so Tucker was thinking maybe Jason’s face photo shopped on the real guy’s body.

The guy took off his gloves and shoved them in his side bag. Before closing the bag back up he took out flowers, red spider lilies. Danny’s favorite.

“That’s actually sweet,” Tucker remarks then avoids Sam’s glare.

When the guy reaches for the strap of his helmet, Tucker gets his camera ready. But he doesn’t snap a picture because he’s frozen in shock.

Standing on that sidewalk was the same face from the profile. Only his green eyes glowed when in the flesh. Like Danny’s did.

“Holy shit,” Tucker says, “holy shit Jason Todd’s like Danny.”

“He’s like Danny,” Sam repeats in astonishment.

They both look at each other then start smiling, “he’s perfect!”

They started celebrating by hugging and jumping around, “Danny’s got a soulmate!”

They were shaking each other back and forth by their shoulders when they heard screaming from below.

“Sam! Tucker!” They turned to see Danny, holding the lilies in his hand, and Jason snickering behind him, “what the fuck guys!”

Dead on Main Omegaverse

Jason is having a brothers day out with Dick. The once a month they let the other in on their inner most thoughts.

“So any thoughts of dating?” Dick asked, setting a beer in front of Jason before sitting with his own.

Jason snorts, “An alpha wouldn’t want me.”

“Come on Little Wing,” Dick insists, “a traditional alpha would like the fact you cook and take care of kids well. A non traditional alpha would love your independence and resourcefulness. What’s not to like about you!”

“No alpha wants an omega that can break them in half.”

900 miles away Danny Fenton sits at Nasty Burger with his friends. He was the only alpha in Amity Park that weighed 180 pounds soaking wet.

“Look, there might be someone outside of this small town that likes small alphas,” Sam tries to point out.

“Yeah,” Tucker backs her up, “statistically you’ll find a better match in a global city like New York or Gotham.”

“I did qualify for a Gotham U scholarship,” Danny says. Tucker grasps Danny’s shoulder and shakes it while Sam slaps the table excitedly.

“See!” She exclaims, “already looking at the bright side! We’ll help you pack, set up a dating profile, and plan rogue attack escape routes.”

“Oh! And catch you up to speed on the bats—”

Danny smiled sadly as his friends talked about to do lists and must haves. He’s grateful for them but he knows that there’s no omega out there that would want an alpha they could push over with their pinkie.

[clairewritesfanfics]

Rick Sanchez-level intelligent Reader who casually opens a portal to the wasteland where all the Marks are and takes Angstrom with them.

He glared at you. “Who the Hell–”

Your palm slammed against his face so hard spit flew out his mouth.

One of the Marks whistled and another guffawed, but you ignored them. You grabbed Angstrom roughly by the collar. 

“All that knowledge and you act like the biggest dingus across a hundred realities.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Going after every version of Mark Grayson? You set off a chain reaction, dumbo.”

“He's a menace to society, they are a plague–”

“Listen, idiot, infinite versions means infinite possibilities. For example, what happens if you kill a Mark Grayson whose wife goes on a rampage and kills infinite versions of you? Then a version of your son decides to go after her in every reality? And then the cycle is passed onto her daughter or son or mother–do you see where I'm going with this? This grand-scale act of petty revenge means destruction for the multiverse.” You got up, spraying your hands with sanitizer. 

“They're all scum! Every universe..." He clenched his fists. “All those countless worlds, in every single one of them, he is a heartless monster! If my own death means they lose then–”

You introduced the sole of your boot to his face. “Did you fail middle school or something? Your human definition of countless is nothing in the face of infinity. Every evil iteration you encountered, somewhere there is one who made the opposite choice, you fucking twit!” You forced down your knee until he fell on his back, the sand turning into a fog from the force.

You sighed and then turned to face the reflections of your husband. Shoving your hands into the pockets of your lab coat, you relaxed into a smile. “Hello, Mark.”

Their faces were a mix of shock and suspicion, though in their hearts they couldn’t help but be impressed. 

You chuckled. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your face look like that, but I guess that’s what being married for over a thousand years does to us.” 

“You’re not afraid of us,” the one without a mask stated, arms and legs flexed.

“How can I possibly feel anything but love for you? Every single one of you is a version of the man I adore.” You paused and then shrugged. “Unless one of you cheated on a version of me with that Eve girl.” Disregarding human rights was your bread and butter, and genocide was nothing to you, but adultery? That’s a turn off. 

The one with a mohawk, turned speechless for once, glanced at the unconscious Angstrom. “Shouldn’t we grab him?”

Just as he said that, Angstrom started gaining consciousness. The variants were poised to speed blitz him but you just made a face of irritation before pulling out a silvery sphere from your coat.

The sphere split into three discs. The top part kept Angstrom in place with a powerful gravitational field while the middle portion shone a light over his body. “Analyzing subject genome… Running simulations… Simulation complete.”

The middle and bottom portions manifested large robotic limbs armed with scalpels, lasers and other gadgets. “Prepare for recombination.”

Looking at Marks’ surprised faces, you giggled. “Nanites,” you explained. 

In a matter of minutes, Angstrom’s grotesque mutation was gone. The middle and bottom discs presented him with mirrors to show the result of the surgery. 

“H-how…” He gawked at his reflection. He looked like he did before all of this. “All those doctors and professionals, not a single one of them could cure me.”

You leaned down and pressed a condescending finger on his forehead. “You’ve been to what, a few thousand realities? Tsk. Clearly you haven’t even scratched the surface of ‘countless’ when you haven’t met me.” 

You turned towards the Marks. “I took away his portal abilities and special physique so do be careful when you take your anger out on him.” 

“If you took away his powers, then how the Hell are we supposed to leave?!” The one with a veil demanded.

Your face blanked.

In a split instant you were right in front of him.

He nearly fell down on his ass.

You giggled, “Pissing off someone who clearly surpasses you? You’re so cute, Markie. I forgot how hot-blooded you can be.”

You glanced around the others. “Relax, I wouldn’t leave you guys to die out here.” You snapped your fingers and the discs cut into the air, forming a door. “This portal will scan your quantum composition and take you to your respective reality of origin. Pretty useful, huh? It will ensure that no one gets lost and–” You threw a look at the Mark wearing black and yellow “–no outsider can take over your reality.”

“Why should we trust you?” The Mark in Omni-Man’s costume asked what everyone else was thinking.

You shrugged again. “Well, you don’t have to, but what other choice is there?” 

The air split.

Two Marks tried to grab you but you were gone from the sand. 

“Think about it, sweeties!” You yelled as you stood in the air above. “Unless one of you ding-dongs can vibrate fast enough to phase through time and space, you either rot here or you pass through that door.”

The fully masked Mark flew right next to you. Your feet were flat as if they were still on the ground. “You’re… not flying.”

“Hm? Oh, no. My boots can manipulate the atoms of anything, including air, so I can walk on them. Personally, I find it more impressive than walking on water, and much more efficient than having to alter the air to thrust myself into flight.”

Your little sphere beeped. “Doctor, the cake has finished baking. Shall we leave now?”

“Almost forgot about that.” You beamed at the Mark floating beside you. “Gotta go now. You boys enjoy your playtime.”

a/n: a short little imagine i wrote during my breaktime. granted, reader feels more like a herta and rick sanchez mix. but whatever.

[kayharrisons]

Caught up in a moment, lipstick on your face [Erik Campbell x Fem!Reader] [18+]

Erik Campbell has escaped death - narrowly.

So, naturally, his first pit stop on the way home is to the first dive bar that crosses his path.

The dive bar where you just so happen to be working that night.

His ex girlfriend. The woman he never got over.

The one that got away.

A/N: ok I know I said I wanted to get my other works out first but I just saw FD6 and 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️ I'm in love with Erik RICHARD HARMON I'VE LOVED YOU SINCE THE MURPHY DAYS anyway have this lil oneshot!!! Happy FD6 release day (note: it was release day when I started writing this LMAOOOO)!!

Warnings: fire mentions, injuries, drinking, smoking, death mentions, making out, thigh riding ehehe, piercings ;) , use of the word cunt and whathaveyou, lot of swearing from our boy LMAO, spoilers for FD6!

Minors dni!

Heat still licks at his skin.

The fire that could have killed him, should have killed him, is looming over him like a frigid chill. Ironic, he knows, but the goosebumps all over his entire fucking body speak for themselves.

If he'd worn one of his band shirts, or literally any-fucking-thing else, he'd be dead.

Lucky, the fire fighters had called him.

Erik prefers invincible.

He certainly felt it, in that moment.

Relief, yes. Smug at his cousin's theory being a big fat wrong-o, most definitely. Still jittery with nerves after literally falling into fucking fire, being branded and almost having his sweet as hell piercing ripped out, absofuckinglutely.

"Get ahold of yourself, Campbell," he breathes, laughing to himself as he trudges away from the smoked husk that was once his livelihood. Boss'd be pissed, but fuck him, he left him to lock up when he wanted to go home, grieve his father and drink himself into a fucking nice long sleep.

Yeah, fuck him.

Ri-fucking-p that sweet leather jacket too, by the way.

Saved him, sure, but god at what cost?

He should go home. Should change out of the ratty band shirt that is a few sizes too big and had been left in the lost and found box at work. Should cling onto his family tight and laugh at his luck.

He doesn't.

His feet, he finds, take him on a fun little detour, boots clomping against the pavement in a rhythm that's oddly soothing, like that of a heartbeat.

He's alive. He's alive. His heart is very much still beating, air is still flooding his lungs.

Take that death, motherfucker that you are.

A lamp-post sparks above him, and he flinches back with surprise, blinking at the light as it flickers weakly and then sputters to a dim end.

He holds up his hands, whistling low. "My fucking bad, dude. Jesus, can't even keep my thoughts to myself now?"

A pause.

"I'm not like grammy. Not gonna start that shit and yabber to the fuckin' walls. Fuck you."

That's all he has to say on the matter before he continues down the sidewalk, flipping the bird to the lamp-post as he saunters on down the street.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, kicking a loose pebble and watching it skip across the sidewalk as it would upon the flat calm reflection of a lake.

It's strange, wandering with no sense of purpose. Well, beyond heading home, but he knows that won't be his first stop of the evening.

It's just a matter of what catches his interest on his way there.

Initially, he debates stopping in at 7/11, debates grabbing himself some seriously unhealthy chips and an obnoxiously large slurpee that'll give him an intense as shit brain freeze and make him wish he was dead.

Ha.

But his feet pull him past 7/11, away from cherry syrup and fake cheese covered nachos.

They instead pull him to the end of the street, where the street corner diagonal from him is dimly lit red by one large sign;

BAR

Erik's lips curve up into a toothy, wide grin.

You take the last drag of your cigarette, tilting your head back against cool brick and watching the smoke curl from your lips and fade into the stars above you.

It's been a long night, so far.

Some firefighters had stopped in earlier after their shift, talking about the shitty tattoo shop a few blocks away that had burned down, about the poor man that had only lived by the skin of his teeth.

Or, rather, the leather of his jacket.

You can't help but think of Erik, wondering if it was his shitty tattoo place that had burned, if he was the one who had been inches from death.

No, you decide, flicking your cigarette butt into the trash.

Can't have been his.

Or else he'd have sauntered in here by now, would've taken the best seat at the bar and asked for your shittiest beer all the while staring down your shirt at your cleavage.

Or, well, that's what your boyfriend would've done.

You haven't seen him in a few months. Not since your last argument, your last screaming match post break up that was fucking Oscar or Emmy worthy.

You'd fucked him that night.

Because of fucking course you had.

You don't know what it is about Erik, even at his worst, or more terrifyingly his best, you would crawl back to him and beg him to fuck you like a goddamn bitch in heat.

The man melts your damn brain.

You can't help but wonder if he used one of those damn tattoo guns to etch himself deep beneath your skin, if he's penned himself into your bone marrow; the deepest and most intimate parts of you certainly feel like he has.

With a sigh, you push yourself off the wall, smoothing down your black shirt, your miniskirt, before heading back into the bar.

The juxtaposition of the sweet silence of your alleyway compared to the deafening dad rock of the bar is jarring.

You feel the beginnings of a headache, as you always do when coming back into work. It nips at your temples, the base of your skull. But it will pass, as it always does once you readjust to the noise level.

"You blow through a whole pack out there or something?" Todd asks you as he pours whiskey over ice, giving you side eye as you tie your apron back around your waist.

"Debated it," you hum, tying the ties in front of you in a neat little bow. "Why, you get a hoard when I dipped?"

Judging by the fact that there's only one guy at the bar and the tables are half empty... you're gonna go with a big fat nope.

"Just don't pull bullshit like that again, alright?" Todd scowls, to which you smile angelically back at him before turning around with a roll of your eyes as you start to polish glasses.

Fucking Todd.

You aggressively wipe at a smudge in a martini glass. Fucking Todd and his inability to clean his damn fingers before he touches glasses. Fucking Todd who's worked here not even a year and he thinks he owns the place. Fucking-

"Polish that any harder and you're gonna break it," comes a sing song voice from the end of the bar.

Your head whips around so fast it's a wonder you don't give yourself whiplash.

Erik is sat at his usual seat, elbows leaning against the bartop and expertly dodging any sticky patches. His hands are clasped in front of him, and you follow them up to his wrists, then his left forearm, which now boasts a piece of gauze likely covering a new tattoo.

"Doodling on yourself again, are we?" you ask, arching a brow as you instinctively reach for the shittiest lager you guys have on tap. Just the way he likes it.

"Less doodle, more memoriam," he shrugs, taking a swig from the pint with a content sigh and smack of his lips.

Your expression softens, any venom and fight leaving you within an instant, "I heard about your dad," you frown, reaching over and settling your hand atop his. "I'm really sorry, Erik. He was a great guy-"

"You believe in fate?" he blurts out, those icy blue eyes of his locked onto yours. You feel as though you're stood on thin ice, watching your breath in the air as you wait for it to shatter and pull you beneath and into the freezing depths. "Coincidences? Luck? Any of that bullshit?"

"Like... step on a crack, break your mother's back? That kind of thing?" you clarify, furrowing your brow.

Erik clicks his tongue a little. "No, not quite. Just... fate, like I said. Say every member of your family died a horrific death by the time they were twenty-seven-"

"Morbid."

"My dad got his face mown finer than the damn grass on the fourth of July, literally fuck off. Anyway... they all die by the time you're twenty-seven, but you live past your twenty-eighth birthday... what would you call that?"

You purse your lips in thought, considering your ex a moment as you lean against the bar. His eyes drift down your throat, glimpsing at your cleavage before flicking back up to your face.

"Luck, maybe," you concede, tilting your head. "Divine intervention, maybe."

Erik barks out a laugh, spraying some foam from his lager across the sticky bar. You scrunch up your nose, grabbing a rag to start cleaning.

"Fuck, sorry, babe, just... kind of riding on a high," he explains, pushing his dark hair out of his face, setting his glass down on one of the beer mats.

You'd instilled that into him during the early days of your relationship, ranting about customers who never had the goddamn thought to use the little mats.

Erik, at least when you'd dated him, had never set a drink on the bar.

You arch a brow as he leans in, his smile wide again. "I feel kind of fuckin' invincible right now. Legit on the greatest high of my life."

"Are you high?" you ask, giving him a quick once over.

"What? No. Do I look edible induced to you?"

You grumble your agreement that no, he does not.

"The tattoo parlour burned down," he informs you, casually, as if it's a completely normal thing to drop mid conversation.

Your heart stops in your chest, even if only briefly.

"Erik! Jesus Christ- are you okay-?"

"Fucking obviously, babe. Look at me, not a scratch on me- oh! Telling a lie, I did get this sick branding-"

He moves to lift up the gauze, and you wave him off. "Fuck- no, no. Don't wanna see that, you freak. Cover it back up, slut."

"How is this slutty?" he asks, bewildered, as he waves his left arm around. "In what universe is this slutty?"

"It's you," comes your flat remark. "You once humped a mailbox and asked if she was a good girl."

"...so?"

"You can make anything slutty, if you try hard enough." you say, tutting at him.

Erik considers you a moment, before his lips curl up into a devious smile. Like that of the Cheshire Cat.

You point a threatening finger at him. "Not an invitation, Campbell."

"Not even a little bit?" he asks, batting his lashes.

You hate that it's working.

"No."

"Boo." he pouts, before taking another sip of his lager. "...I almost died tonight," comes his soft admission, eyes glued to the tiny bubbles in his lager. "Literally was on fire. If I hadn't worn that damn leather jacket then... Jesus, I'd be right alongside my ole pops some time next week."

You reach out again, fingers gentle as they rest upon his.

He exhales, shakily, eyes flickering up to meet yours. "I almost died."

"But you didn't," you remind him, thumb gentle as it rubs back and forth along his knuckles.

"No," he agrees, voice softening in that way it always does with you. The same tone that turns your insides into mush. "I didn't."

And with that, he leans over the bar and kisses you.

You startle, lips tingling even as you lean back. "Erik!" you chide, shakily. "This is- we're broken up, we can't keep doing this. It super goes against what being broken up means-"

"Our break up," Erik breathes, eyes glued to your lips as if hypnotised. "Our rules."

That's all it takes to convince you.

It never does take much, when it comes to one Erik Campbell.

"Smoke break!" you bark out to Todd, as you toss your apron aside and dash out from the bar, grabbing Erik's t-shirt and pulling him along behind you.

"Fucking AGAIN?!" you hear Todd cry out indignantly behind you as the door closes, which you pay no mind to.

Erik has you pressed up against the cool brick wall in seconds, your face cradled in his palms as he slams his lips against yours.

You moan at the sensation, at the familiar feel of his hands, of his mouth.

His tongue pushes past yours without a second thought, in no mood to play fight for dominance. No, tonight, he's the one in control.

You slide your fingers beneath his tee, fingers lightly scraping up his chest, tracing designs of familiar tattoos that are burned into your memories.

You wonder if he's gotten anymore recently. It's tempting to rip that shirt off and find out.

But you control yourself, for now. Though your fingers do creep up his chest, lightly brushing over the piercings in his nipples.

Erik groans deep into your mouth, the sound reverberating in your mouth and straight down to your cunt which pulses with want.

You whimper, your hips bucking instinctively. You want him so badly it fucking aches between your legs, your underwear flooding with warmth as you think of his rock hard length filling you up. As you think of that damned piercing he got whilst drunk, and how it feels so fucking good when he-

Erik shifts, sticking his thigh between your legs. "C'mon, baby," he pants against your mouth, hands moving from your face and down your body. His fingers trail fire in their wake, leaving you feeling as though your skin is burning. His digits only briefly linger over your breasts before continuing southward and finally settling on your hips. Gently, he moves you forwards upon his thigh, and then back, then forwards again. "Be good and ride it for me, yeah? C'mon, sweetheart-"

You whimper again, and do as you're told. It doesn't take much more coaxing from Erik before you're leisurely rubbing yourself up and down his thigh. Your panties are a fucking mess already, and you know for a fact that Erik's jeans are going to follow suit soon. "I've missed you," you admit, eyelids heavy as you pick up the pace, grinding harder against his thigh as that ever familiar delicious ache begins to build.

"Missed you too," he murmurs, leaning forward and tipping his forehead against yours. Your noses brush with every desperate grind of your hips against his thigh, and his breath is heavy against your skin. "Fuck- didn't realise just how bad until-" he cuts himself off as he surges down, pressing a heavy kiss to your lips.

Your fingers reach up and tangle in his hair, holding him closer as you move faster, and faster and oh god yes you canfuckingfeelityou'resofuckingclose-

"Dude your smoke break is going on a little lo-OH MY GOD-"

Both your heads snap in the direction of a wide eyed Todd, who is averting his eyes from the pair of you.

"FUCK OFF TODD!" comes your joint yell, to which Todd does, in fact, fuck off, stumbling as he shields his eyes and returns inside.

All the while you are still grinding against Erik's leg, desperately chasing your release. It crashes over you just as the door slams shut, and you cry out softly as you come against Erik's thigh, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips.

Like you said; the man practically reduces you to a bitch in heat.

You pant softly as you come down from your high, leaning your forehead against Erik's shoulder as he noses at your hair, pressing kisses to your temple and forehead.

"...that'll teach him to fucking knock, huh?"

"We're outside, dumbass." you can't help but laugh, swatting at his chest.

"Dumbass that you just came all over," Erik sing songs, nothing but smug pride in his tone.

You lean back a little, eyes dancing over his face with a little smile. You could have lost him. You haven't been together in months and yet... the thought fills you with a terror you've never quite experienced before.

You've never not been in love with him.

"...I'm glad you're okay." you say softly, brushing his hair out of his face.

Erik nods, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your palm. His lips linger, his eyes flutter shut as he takes a minute.

Takes a minute to soak it all in, to soak you in. To think about whatche could've left behind, had the fire killed him.

But it hadn't.

And standing out here with you? Your slick heavy against his jeans, the smell of your perfume lingering in his nostrils, your warm touch...

If he thought surviving a fire made him feel invincible...

You make him feel infinite. Immortal. Everlasting. Untouchable.

"Yeah," he agrees, pressing another kiss to your palm. "Me too."

[rhaeverie]

No Pain, No Gain — ljn

pairing. gym-rat!jeno x aider!reader genre. fluff, (kinda)friends-to-lovers, a dash of hurt/comfort, slice-of-life wc. 4.3k summary. Jeno’s well aware that he looks like an idiot in front of you, but what else could he do when just the sight of you makes him feel like a kid with a schoolboy crush?; or in which, Jeno’s been coming to your office with the tiniest of scratches just so he has an excuse to see you warnings. mentions of minor injuries (fake & real) and some bleeding (nothing super detailed but it’s still there), I sorta wrote this as if it were like a sitcom, cliche scenario an. clearing my wips! yet another fic set in the most random place u can possibly think of and it’s bc I (unhealthily) romanticize everything (×-×)—I started writing this during my gym rat (mouse?) era in 2023 but never finished it til now oops dk if its any good,,, enjoy!!

“I can’t move my thumb.”

You use your finger to smooth down the sports tape over its first layer, gently grabbing the younger boy’s wrist to inspect your work, “That’s the point, Chenle.” 

“How am I supposed to play basketball with this,” Chenle pouts, bringing his taped thumb and wrist to show you as if you weren’t the one who just did it. His posture grows worse at the realization of his small injury and now he’s slumped on the bed. 

You sigh and repeat yourself, “That’s the point. You need to rest it or else you can get an injury worse than this. I recommend maybe a week? But I’m not a doctor.” 

You start cleaning your station up, fully expecting Chenle to understand and leave. But instead, he remains seated on the medical table, pouting. You know he’s trying to get you to change your mind, but seeing that he reported his wrist feeling tight and stiff, you know that it’s sprained and playing with it could make things worse.

“Chenle, I’m being serious,” you groan, “You need to rest it or you can’t play basketball for the rest of your life.” You were obviously exaggerating, raising your brows for even more emphasis. If he won’t listen to you by simply telling him, you might as well scare him into listening to you.

“Rest of my life?” He frowns, looking down at wrist, “I… I guess a week doesn’t seem too long… Thanks Y/N.” 

You smile, relieved that he’s choosing to listen to your advice, “I’ll see you next week then?” 

He nods and gathers his duffel bag and his sweater, dragging himself out the door of the first aid room. 

You turn away from the door, ready to busy yourself with some housekeeping items when you hear a knock at the door. It’s quiet, and you almost think that you were imagining the sound, but when you turn to face the door, you’re met with the vibrant gaze of Lee Jeno, accompanied by a sheepish smile. 

Ah… Lee  Jeno—of course.

“Almost thought you weren’t going to show up today,” you joke, “What happened now?” 

To anyone unfamiliar with the two of you, it might come across as if you weren't exactly doing your job well, seemingly rushing through treatments even when faced with potentially serious injuries. However, the guy standing in the doorway right now has been delivering the most poorest excuses for injuries you've ever heard.

Sure, perhaps a couple of questionable 'injuries' wouldn't bother you much, because maybe the person was just overly cautious about their well-being. But when Jeno strolled into your office recently with the tiniest scratch on his left calf, you couldn't help but suspect that something was definitely up. 

“I need ice,” Jeno side-steps into your office and pulls the corners of his lips higher on his cheeks, “Please?” 

“Next time, just jog over to the nearby McDonald’s and get ice there,” you say jokingly. This was his nth time in the past month asking for ice. You wonder if he’s just been using it to put into his water or if this dude just has some kink involving ice. 

You only question Jeno’s recent tendency to visit your office because, ever since you started working at the gym, he's been a regular. Hell, his physique alone is proof to his long-standing commitment to the gym. It just doesn't add up that Jeno, with his apparent gym ‘seniority��, would be falling victim to injuries so frequently.

“Here you go,” you hand him a small, transparent bag that was partially filled with ice, “Anything else?” 

Jeno’s irises fall to the right corners of his eyes in brief thought, “More… ice?”

You groan to conceal your amusement and move closer to Jeno, “Goodbye, Jeno. See you again another day!” You gently place your hands to his elbows, spinning him around and out your door.  

“No, wait I—“

“See you!” You wave, leaving Jeno no choice but to actually take his leave. 

Your coworker Jaemin sees the interaction from the front counter, and seeing that there weren’t any gym goers coming into the facility, he waves you over. 

"Everything alright?" he asks, his gaze flicking briefly from the computer screen to you.

You glance at his screen and notice a game of minesweeper unfolding. Suppressing a snicker, you retort, "Yeah, same reason as last week." Swiftly, you click on an empty tile on his minesweeper grid, revealing the mine locations.

“I’m trying to help you and you do this,” Jaemin clicks his tongue against his teeth and diverts back to the situation, “It’s not in a creepy way, is it?” 

You give yourself a moment to think everything through, “I’m not sensing anything weird or creepy with it, if I’m being honest. He’s going about it… in a cute way?” 

Jaemin lets out a hysteric laugh and it echoes throughout the gym, “A cute way?” 

"There's no other way to put it," you casually shrug. Leaning against the desk, you absentmindedly flip through the management binders laid out before you.

Jaemin's brows knit, his curiosity piqued. "Cute, how?"

“I don’t know.” You’re lying. You know damn well what you meant. 

Every time Jeno decides to pull one of his ‘stunts’, he’s at your door, eyes all glossy and resembling a hopeful puppy. And when you choose to pretend not to notice him, he doesn't hesitate to clear his throat (rather obnoxiously) or hum out a soft, "anyone home?" even though you're clearly rummaging in your cupboards for more supplies.

Jaemin reads right through your feigned innocence, eyes narrowing, “Sure you don’t.”

“Well, it’s not something I can explain,” you groan, “Just take my word for it.”

“Okay… cute… does that mean you’re enjoying all this?” Jaemin’s eyes wiggle your way and you’re glad that no one’s around to see or hear this. 

You scoff, “Enjoying what?” 

"Come on, Y/N. Let's not play naive," Jaemin smirks, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” Jaemin pats your head like you would a child, which you dodge almost immediately, “Which is honestly disappointing. A guy like Jeno could probably think of something way better but he resorted to something so basic.” 

You glare at Jaemin, your annoyance evident, “I hate that you’re probably right.” Because what else could the reason be? Jeno couldn’t be that concerned for his well-being. And you distinctly recall questioning your other coworker, Xiaojun, about whether Jeno tends to show up frequently on your days off. His response? A shocking no.

“I always am,” Jaemin brushes non-existent dust off of his shoulder, “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” At times like these, you have the memory of a goldfish.

“If you were enjoying it,” Jaemin clarifies, "You did call it cute, and cute usually equals enjoyment."

There were a couple ways you could go about Jaemin’s question. Was he asking if you were reciprocating this attraction Jeno seemingly had for you? Or maybe he wanted to know if you found amusement in the ongoing situation?

Regardless, your cheeks betray you by warming at the question and the thought of your answer sliding off the tip of your tongue.

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

—

It’s no surprise when Jeno shows up to your office two days later with the same smile plastered on his face. 

He’s standing right outside of your office, waiting for you to welcome him in. When you do, he enters the room slowly, greeting you as he moves toward the medical bed situated at the far corner and away from the entrance. 

Jeno watches as you rake through a pile of disorganized supplies, “How are you?” You weren’t in search of anything specific, but you were trying to busy yourself now that Jeno was in the room with no clear purpose. 

“I'm all right," you reply casually, your voice calm. "You?” You quickly glance up at him and almost crumble to your knees. Today, Jeno is sporting a black muscle tee and grey sweatshorts, and though you've never really taken notice of his outfits before, you secretly (and shamefully) remind yourself to start doing so. 

“I’m okay,” Jeno hums, “I was wondering if I could get a heat pack?” 

You take a good look at him and narrow your eyes, “It doesn’t look like you need one.” But regardless, you make your way toward the heat packs sitting in a cupboard by the fridge. You simply wanted to hear what his reason was this time. 

“My quads are really stiff today,” Jeno replies, subtly gesturing to his legs, “I could barely get through leg day with them.” 

“Well, this should work,” you say. You pop the pack and wrap a towel around it, “There you go. See you!” 

“Can I stay here for a bit?” You don’t see the way Jeno pouts. You’re too busy making your way to your box full of miscellaneous things. He presses the pack against the upper side of his thigh, remaining seated on the bed, “I’ll leave when the heat pack is finished.” 

Jaemin’s voice echoes in your head, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” And you can now see that it was painfully obvious. 

“Of course,” you say, “Take as long as you need.” 

You move on to organizing the supplies, trying your best not to mind the pair of eyes that were burning holes into the side of your head. 

“So…” Jeno starts, “How was your weekend?” 

“You don’t need to make small talk you know,” you say, pulling out three pairs of medical scissors, “You could take a nap or something.” With your back turned to him, you go to put the tools away, “I don’t mind.”

Jeno swings his legs in the air and slumps, “Yeah, but I—uh—do want to make small talk.” He’s half-assedly holding the heat pack to the side of his thigh, growing annoyed that it wasn’t staying in a specific place. He resorts to pinning it under his thigh. 

“Which I also don’t mind,” you say, biting back a smile, “My weekend was okay… stayed home and relaxed. Nothing super special. You?” 

You stop and turn to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the man who was now leaning back against the wall. The position looks uncomfortable, yet Jeno appears to be content. 

“Similar to yours,” he replies, “Except Hyuck forced me to play a few games online with him. It was fun, actually! But don’t tell him that.” 

You let out a snort. You’re familiar with Donghyuck, recalling how he and Jeno had made a deal that if Jeno managed to bring him to the gym for a few workouts, then he had to play some of his PC games in return. 

“How’s he doing anyways?” You question, “I haven’t seen him in a while.” 

Jeno’s brows furrow for a sliver of a second before they sit back to where they had originally been, “Last leg day killed him, so he’s given up until he recovers.” 

“Ah,” you giggle, “Can’t keep up with you, I’m guessing?” 

Jeno shakes his head, bangs creating a blanket over his eyes. He sweeps them aside, “Not really. I don’t really go hard on leg days. I’m more of a back and biceps type of person.” 

Your eyes defy you as they scan Jeno’s arms. You blame him. His statement was practically an invitation to look at his upper limbs as if you needed some kind of evidence, “I believe you.” It comes out a lot more flirty than you intended and you want to sprint out of the room before you make one more wrong move. 

“O-oh,” Jeno stammers. It was a sight seeing Jeno grow shy, using his hands to hide arms. And although he was hoping to conceal them, the man forgets that doing so only means he had to flex his arms, “Thanks?” 

You’re not sure how to reply, resorting to rummaging through the same box. You find some empty rolls of tape and you toss them in the trash. How do you even go about this conversation? Say ‘you’re welcome’? Weird. Ask him about his routine? No, it wasn’t like you were looking into building your arms. Ask if you could feel his arms? 

Shut up, brain, be fucking for real right now.

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” You look up and Jeno’s looking back at you expectedly.

“Sorry, I zoned out a little there,” you sheepishly confess, playing with one of the box’s flaps, “Did you say something?” 

“I… uh, nevermind, it doesn’t matter,” Jeno clears his throat, “It was just about—um—something. But it can wait another day.” He smiles and it just about reaches his eyes. 

“Wait, no, tell me,” you frown. 

“It’s…” Jeno’s eyes flicker back and forth, contemplating if he really should go through with his question. He wants to—he really does—but his words fail him, teeth biting at his bottom lip. 

“It’s really nothing, ha-ha!” You watch as his gaze drops to the heat pack suffocating underneath his thigh. He uses the back of his hand to feel it. It’s still very warm, but regardless, he uses it as an excuse. “I’ll just take my leave… Um, I guess I’ll see you around?” Jeno slips off the bed, tossing the pack into the trash before he moves past you. 

“Wait, Jeno…” You make another attempt to stop him, guilt slowly creeping up on you, curiosity accompanying it because you should’ve been listening. 

For once, you wished he stayed just a bit longer. 

—

It’s been almost a week and a half since Jeno last visited your office. 

But who’s counting?

You check once, twice, thrice over your shoulder for Jaemin’s presence, nodding to yourself when you’re sure that your coworker wasn’t there to see the down-bad bullshit you were about to pull. 

Pulling up the gym’s database, you quickly type Jeno’s name into the search bar. While it loads, which feels so so painfully long, your fingers tap against the edge of the desk. You can’t believe you’re doing this.

“Hm.” 

Once Jeno’s profile finally appears on the screen, you follow his row to the Date Last Active column, seeing that he was at the gym this morning, two hours before your shift. 

A low whistle knocks you out of your trance and you jump, almost knocking the keyboard off the desktop. 

“Fucking hell, Jaemin!” You swing at his shoulder at a strength you knew damn well he wouldn’t even feel, “You think you’re funny sneaking up on me like that?” 

“Yes,” Jaemin shrugs, “Misusing the database I see…” His eyes narrow at you, brow raising. Then, he smirks and pokes at your rib, “Stalking your boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” you quickly exit the application and pull up Jaemin’s minesweeper game, “He’s not my boyfriend… Acting like you don’t do the same shit with other gym goers…” 

“I don’t see why you can’t just walk up to him and talk to him,” Jaemin sighs, “He’s still here, you know.” 

“He is?” 

“Awww your eyes lit up!��� Jaemin teases, diabolically sticking a finger in your face. 

You threaten him again, which Jaemin completely disregards out of spite.

“But tell me why he’s been coming to the gym more often when you’re not here,” Jaemin, like you, was quite familiar with Jeno’s routines, “Did you do something that would force the poor guy to change his routine all of a sudden? Sometimes he wakes up at ass o’clock to get his workout done.”

Your mind reels back to your last interaction. Playing back each and every second and overanalyzing each and every word that left your mouth that afternoon. Yeah, you probably did but you don’t want to think that you’ve scared Jeno away. 

“I don’t think so?” 

“‘I don’t think so?’” Jaemin mocks, “Writing ‘liar’ on your forehead would be more subtle than whatever the hell that was.” He pauses his game and decides to fix all his attention onto you, “Now spill.”

“I really don’t know, okay?” you groan, “Last time I spoke to him, I zoned out and I missed what he was saying and then he left and he didn’t even choose to repeat it or anything.” 

Jaemin narrows his eyes at you, almost as if he’s lost all hope in his very good friend and coworker, “Y/N, did you not just graduate with a master’s?” 

Your brows meet, “Huh? What do you mean?”

He mutters a dumbass under his breath, which completely flies past your head. “Nothing.” Jaemin smirks subtly, turning away to leave in hopes that you don’t ask any further questions.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Jaemin gets flashbacks to his mom, “Uhhhhhhh, there?” The man points to nowhere in particular before taking off. 

“Na Jaemin!” You call out. Your voice echoes through the gym and you groan, slumping against the desk before accepting defeat—because what did Jaemin mean? Was he calling you stupid or something?

Not even five minutes pass when you hear Jaemin’s voice boom over the speakers, “Y/N, you’re needed in your office. Y/N, you’re needed in your office.” 

You look over to Jaemin’s office and shoot him a look that could kill. And again, Jaemin ignores your threat, grinning menacingly before he waves cause he knows he’s pissing you off. You’ve never grown used to this man’s attitude, but it doesn’t mean you don’t adore it. 

Logging off the computer, you let out a huff and pad your way past the exercise machines and into your office. And from all that you were expecting, you sure as hell weren’t expecting to find a very worn out Jeno, the hem of his tank sprinkled in faint drops of blood. 

“Jeno?” You don’t even try to mask your worry, fast-walking straight to him before you guide (practically tugging) him to the medical bed, “What happened? Are you okay?” 

An annoying and almost spiteful grin shyly appears on Jeno’s lips before he turns his palms up for you to see. His hands were covered in blisters, some popped and others brand new. They looked extremely painful to even look at.

“Fuck,” you mutter, “Didn’t I say not to overwork yourself that one time?” You turn your back to Jeno and begin gathering all the supplies you need to treat his blisters. You’re rambling under your breath, words unrecognizable from where you’ve sat Jeno down. 

Your heart’s beating out of your chest, mostly because this is the first time you’ve seen Jeno in a while. But to add his injuries on top of that? You’re certainly not sure how you’re keeping composure. 

Meanwhile, Jeno really can’t do much but watch you move from one corner of the room to the other. He wants to get up and help, but by the way an eleven forms in between your brows, he’s reluctant to even say anything. 

It’s funny because despite how aggressive you’re handling all the supplies, the second you make contact with his wrist, your demeanor changes, suddenly shifting to be more gentler. You hold his hands as if you were holding a newborn, delicately rotating them to understand what had to be treated.

“If it hurts, tell me,” you say quietly, “Actually don’t. I’m mad at you right now.” 

Jeno’s head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. Then he finally says, “Mad at me?” 

“Yes,” you grab a sheet of gauze and begin wiping away at Jeno’s palm, dabbing carefully when it comes to the blisters, “I’m mad at you.”

“Why?” 

“This is why you need a break.” You ignore his question, grab new gauze and continue wiping away the new and old blood that’s accumulated in his palms. “Jeno, I know you like it here, but your body needs rest, too.” 

A response sits at the tip of Jeno’s tongue and he’s not sure whether or not he should tell you. The last time he decided to take a step out of his comfort zone, you didn’t even hear him. 

Does he want to try that again? 

You spray his palms with disinfectant before applying some ointment to help them heal faster. At this point, you hadn’t done as much as looked up to make eye contact with the man. 

“But..” Big step. “But this is the only place that I get to see you.”

What the fuck? 

You hope Jeno doesn’t notice the way you freeze for a burning second before you try to play it off by grabbing long bandages. It’s a good thing he can���t see the way your heart is beating erratically—and you’re hoping he doesn’t hear it, too. 

“You can literally see me wherever you want if you just asked,” you say nonchalantly, voice quiet, “But instead you resort to…” You stop yourself from speaking any further, unsure if you would even want Jeno knowing that you had suspicions of him pulling fake injuries out of his ass to make excuses to see you. 

“I’m not even sure if you’d even agree to it,” Jeno confesses, “I like… I really like talking to you but—“ 

“But what?” You slowly begin wrapping the bandage around his wrist, making your way up to his palm. 

Jeno can’t help but whisper, “You don’t seem to like me as much as I wished.” 

You hold back a giggle. Jeno’s always so accidentally cute and he doesn’t even know it. It’s literally pissing you off that a man you’re fake-mad at is doing absolutely nothing to earn your affection, yet here he was, doing just that. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that,” Jeno counters. 

“No, you don’t,” you ping-pong back. The bandage crosses between his fingers and you manage to finish wrapping the bandage around his palm. 

“I do.”

“Did you ask me?” You gulp, because at this point you’re afraid where this conversation was going. 

“Well, do you like me?” 

You move onto his other hand, grabbing another roll of the long bandage. You could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift and now you’re beginning to sweat in your light sweater. 

“I do.” 

Jeno clears his throat, “In the way I like you?” You groan. Of course he’d say that. It was a valid follow up question, simply because your answer could very much cover that broad spectrum of like. 

You ask, “How do you like me?” 

Jeno takes a moment to think about his answer, watching as you start replicating your work from his other hand, “I honestly… think it’s obvious how I like you.” “Mmm,” you hum. At this point you’re teasing him on purpose, “How so?” 

“I make myself look like a fool when it comes to you,” Jeno huffs, “Ice? Heat packs? Who am I kidding…” Jeno scoots back in his seat and you follow, practically falling between his knees from the way he’s sitting. “Every time I come here looking for you, that’s when I gain the confidence to finally ask you out… well not always out but maybe for your number or just simply talk to you or something. I wanted to be friends and then more if it went well…” 

Your movements slow, attention failing to even do a decent job at bandaging. 

“But, when I finally reach this room and see you? It’s like I lose all that confidence and it’s stuffed in the bag with the ice you give me,” Jeno explains. “I’m even lucky enough that I can finish my sentences around you…”

You blink at his injured palm and the realization dawns on you. So this was what Jaemin was hinting at, “And that last time… you asked me out and—”

“And you didn’t hear me,” Jeno finishes, “And I couldn’t for the life of me repeat what I asked because my confidence plummeted and then the fear of rejection kicked in.” 

Your hands have since halted, cradling Jeno’s hand as you try to calculate your next move. It’s now clear as day that Jeno has feelings for you, and you’ve slowly been coming to terms with yourself that you care a little too much about Jeno than a normal person should. 

“Ask me now.”

“What?” Jeno practically jumps, startled and confused. 

You drop the bandage roll and lightly tighten your grip around his hand. Looking up, you find that Jeno’s gaze has already been sitting and waiting for your own to meet his. You clarify, “Ask me what you asked then, now. This time, I’m listening.”

The reassurance from you lifts some weight off of Jeno’s shoulders, ones he didn’t know even existed. Then, he fixes his composure, moistens his lips and finally says, “Would you–um–like to go out for dinner with me?”

“My answer then and now are the same,” you smile down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, “I would really love to.”

Eyebrows reaching for his hairline, Jeno’s eyes widened, “Wait, really?” 

“Really,” You nod. And although you try to look anywhere else in the room, Jeno’s eyes capture your eyes once again, holding them there for a few skips of your heartbeat. 

You clear your throat and let out a breathy laugh, “Haha so um… let me just—“ You hastily pick up the bandage roll and return to your work. 

It doesn’t take much longer before you finish, concealing and protecting his injuries under the bandages. “Now that you’ve got me, promise me you won’t overwork yourself like this?” 

“I’ve… got you?” Jeno’s cheeks heat up at your choice of words, the shift between the both of you being so evident now that he’s experiencing a weird case of whiplash. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, “Just promise me. I don’t wanna have to keep worrying about you getting hurt.” 

Jeno laughs, completely enamoured at your own flustered state. 

“Yeah, yeah… I promise.” 

[kooqitas]

#pairing: bf!wonwoo x friend!scoups, vernon, mingyu x reader ♡ smut [18+ mdni], pwp ♡ #important warnings: rough sex, degradation, spitting, slapping, humiliation, free use, unprotected sex, aftercare

you knew what would happen on this trip since the first suitcase was put in the car. i mean, you and wonwoo have always had a very... creative relationship, you felt good and free with each other, you were always willing to try new things, be it a recipe, a series, a sexual position, or a fetish...

and it was in one of the thousand conversations you had that he commented on how hot his friends thought you were, and well, he didn't judge them, you really are hot as hell. in that conversation, you asked him how he felt, and that's when you discovered that wonwoo wouldn't mind 'sharing' you with his friends, in fact he would like to, well, in reality he even wanted to...

so a few days later, when he said that vernon had invited you to a beach house, and that 'you' referred to you and him, scoups and mingyu only, you understood what your boyfriend was proposing. you never talked explicitly about what would happen at the beach house, but it was obvious, and you were calm, you trusted your boyfriend.

you don't know what your boyfriend told his friends, but damn, from the first moment they looked at you like a piece of meat, and well, you didn't complain, you liked it a lot, and you didn't mind parading around with only your boyfriend's t-shirt that covered almost nothing of your body.

you got out of the shower, applying moisturizer and combing your hair while the boys prepared dinner, you had spent the whole day at the beach, and of course, you definitely noticed the dirty looks they both had on you, you could even swear you heard vernon say that he wanted to be wonwoo so he could fuck you on that beach, but you pretended not to listen... but you liked the idea.

downstairs, the boys were making dinner, seungcheol was cooking something you had no idea about, but it smelled really good, vernon was smoking weed, wonwoo was messing with something in the fridge and mingyu... well, mingyu was fixated on you.

okay, you knew exactly what you were doing when you chose tiny shorts and a thin blouse without any bra underneath, but mingyu's look almost made you give up on the whole idea because that man made it clear that he wanted and would devour you.

you walked down the stairs trembling, going towards your boyfriend and standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, wonwoo smiled, squeezing your ass right there in front of your friends, leaving a loud slap that made you squeal softly.

vernon was still smoking weed.

you walked over to him, the youngest of the four there, stopping in front of him as he let out a smoke, smiling mischievously afterwards, ready to make him lose his mind... and you saw that it would be easy.

your boyfriend finally left the fridge, appearing with a bottle of wine in his hand... son of a bitch, he knew exactly what he was doing.

"is cheol cooking?" you joked, receiving a smile of agreement from him. "i believe everyone here is really looking forward to eating."

and he was, but it wasn't dinner...

a few hours later, there you were, sharing a couch while some bad movie was playing on tv, wine on everyone's mind (except hansol's, he was high on weed). you were starting to get anxious but also disappointed. what the hell was this? it was the last day in that damn house and you couldn't even give them a handjob? you looked at wonwoo, and your boyfriend knew you so well that he knew what you wanted right away. wonwoo kissed your cheek, only to start complaining about the movie and grab the tv remote. "we should watch something better, something that really interests all of us." and he put it on the porn channel the next second. damn. you felt everyone there swallow hard, and even you, wonwoo seemed to have chosen that thing meticulously: a woman, surrounded by four guys, being treated like a toy while she felt so much pleasure that she could barely moan.

"what the fuck?" mingyu was the first to question, coming out of his own trance. "are we teenagers now?"

"what's up, gyu? don't you like porn? what's up? are you going to get turned on watching it?" wonwoo teased.

but the teasing was cut off by a low moan from hansol, who had his hand inside his pants, masturbating slowly while alternating between staring at the tv and you...

"what the fuck-" seungcheol questioned when he saw his friend like that, the woman in the video still moaning loudly and being fucked by the four guys, taking everyone in that room out of their minds.

"is that what you want, wonwoo? for us to take our dicks out and masturbate while watching some ridiculous porn while your girlfriend is right next to us?"

"what? no! of course not!" he laughed. "i want you to take advantage of my willingness to share, and stop acting like dogs in heat after her... come on, it's pathetic, if you wanna fuck her so bad, just ask... you know i'm not the selfish type, i know how to share very well!"

"did the weed get me high? or are you literally offering your girlfriend for us to fuck?" vernon asked, completely shocked.

"well, if you think that's so absurd, i'll take her to the bedroom and do everything myself..."

"no!" seungcheol interrupted you. "if you want us to share this cheap little slut, we'll do it with the greatest pleasure... at least i will... just don't whine later when she comes to sit on my dick again because she misses me."

"if she wants, i'll love watching..."

mingyu turned off the television, taking off his own shirt at the same time...

"okay, just listen to me." wonwoo said authoritatively. "don't mark her, she's not yours, she's ok with degradation, but when this shit is over she's still my girlfriend and you're gonna continue to respect her and my relationship."

"okay!" they said in unison.

"only i can hit her face, the rest of the body is free, she has a habit of saying 'too much' 'slow' don't take it seriously, she never really cares. the fucking aftercare is mine, i don't want you thinking about bathing or taking care of my girlfriend. and lastly, no pee or anything other than cum, saliva and sweat."

the conversation was short, but enough, and you trusted your boyfriend, you knew he would never let his friends touch you if they weren't people he trusted.

vernon walked over to you, quickly taking off your shirt, staring at your pointy nipples as soon as they appeared, while seungcheol and mingyu still seemed to be thinking, the younger one just put his mouth there, making you let out a slow moan, wonwoo laughed. "someone was faster than you... and they say that weed makes you slow."

mingyu joined vernon, leaving a slobbery kiss on your lips before going down to your free tits, massaging it, biting and sucking the nipple. you only felt scoups join in because someone bit the inside of your thigh, making you jump on the couch, which made everyone else there laugh. no one noticed wonwoo organizing the living room carpet, they only noticed when he called you over, ordering you to take off your shorts and soaked panties, your pussy completely exposed to them. "you're acting like virgins, damn it, am i gonna have to teach you everything?"

"i can-" mingyu spoke up.

"we don't question whores, mingyu, we just do what we want. that's what they're for."

your mind went out of orbit the moment mingyu's finger entered you, while seungcheol patted your clit and vernon continued to enjoy himself on your tits, you moaned in a pathetic way, and wonwoo liked what he was watching.

"you get so stupid for so little, crazy to receive cum in your pussy, you are so disgusting, wanting four men to just use you as a toy. pathetic slut." and wonwoo hit you, slapped you so hard that it echoed in the room, and your response was to laugh, laugh asking for more because that was exactly what you wanted, mingyu felt you contract on his finger.

"she gets even more excited if you treat her like trash, damn wonwoo, where did you get a slut like that?"

cheol pinched your clit, making you whimper in pleasure, it was pathetic how fast you would cum with all that.

wonwoo put a pillow on your head, letting you think for half a second about how cute and careful he was in those moments, but it didn't last long, since in the next second you felt mingyu inside you, and damn, he was big.

"aren't you ashamed of being completely wet just because of that? look how my dick is sliding inside that slut's pussy!"

and when you opened your mouth to answer, you felt vernon's dick enter your throat, making you cough and choke in reflex, they laughed in pure humiliation.

"you made us think she was good for something, wonwoo! but she's nothing more than a useless and cheap whore"

cheol was the one who was alternating between rubbing your clit and your tits, but in the end he ended up joining vernon and taking off his own pants while rubbing himself on you, it was pathetic, you couldn't properly suck either of them, they just rubbed themselves on your face while humiliating you in ways you never even imagined.

"wonwoo got us a slut who's no good even to be a sperm deposit."

"i feel sorry for him, he has to fuck her every week."

you looked at your boyfriend, and he laughed as he rubbed his thumb hard on your clitoris, you moaning in the dirtiest way possible while he laughed.

"shut the fuck up, your moaning is disgusting me," mingyu said as he continued to thrust hard into you, his hand squeezing your waist tightly.

you just stopped feeling his hand on your clitoris, but soon you felt your boyfriend's hand forcing you against the two dicks in front of you. you didn't even think, you didn't understand what was happening anymore, you just accepted it.

you also just accepted it when mingyu came inside you, the hot and sticky liquid making you feel even dirtier, but not in a bad way, you loved it. the way mingyu came out of you a little wobbly contrasted with vernon's desperation, because he soon stuck himself in your pussy, fucking you like a rabbit, at a speed you never imagined possible, seungcheol's dick still in your mouth preventing you from moaning loudly, and now you felt mingyu slapping your breasts hard. "bitch. useless. fucking delicious pussy." he moaned uncontrollably, and you knew he was going to cum, the extremely pornographic sound of mingyu's cum still inside you being expelled out with each rough thrust of vernon. and when cheol forced his dick down your throat you moaned loudly, your body shaking announcing the strong orgasm you had. vernon couldn't take it anymore, cumming right after while his whole body was still shaking.

cheol looked at wonwoo, like a silent question, and received a nod, he soon entered, you completely dirty, your thighs with cum from you barely know who! mingyu and vernon still beating you, sticking their fingers in your mouth, squeezing your nipple, pulling your hair, spitting on your face...

"disgusting bitch"

fuck, vernon spat on your face, the hot saliva running down your cheek as he pulled your hair making you face him, it was too much, your legs were shaking from the recent orgasm and you couldn't even speak or keep your eyes open.

"t-too much."

mingyu was the one who laughed, remembering wonwoo's phrase from earlier.

"stop whining, accept it and don't be a useless whore!" he said, sticking two fingers down your throat while his dick rubbed against your body.

"cheollie~ please~ slow down~"

"what kind of useless slut are you that can't handle this? shut up, you're annoying me!" cheol spat in your face before thrusting again.

you smiled, feeling exactly how you wanted from the beginning, a sperm deposit for all those men.

vernon approached, putting his finger inside you, still with cheol's dick there, and that was enough for you to cum again, this time even harder, crying and shaking like a real little slut. cheol couldn't hold back, cumming inside you too.

"it's my turn!" your boyfriend announced, making you tremble. no matter who or how many you have sex with, no one would do it like him.

"wonunie~ i'm tired~ i can't do it anymore." you pretended to be naughty to him, but he knew you well enough to respond with just a hard slap to your face.

"ride me, bimbo, and do it right, don't forget you have an audience."

you sat on his dick, your legs shaking, unable to move properly and whimpering from your recent orgasm, it was too much, and the first tear fell.

"are you gonna cry? are you gonna cry, bimbo? get off me then, damn it, if you're not going to use that pussy of yours for something, get out of my sight."

"wonunie~" you moaned, trying to move, trying to support yourself on your boyfriend's thighs, but your vision was blurred, everything was shaking, you wanted more and more but you simply couldn't keep going.

and he hit you.

"useless bitch, you're not even good enough to be a cum-slut! ride this shit or get off me"

you struggled, crying due to overstimulation, you would never get out of there, you wanted it, you wanted more and more, you wanted to keep crying and cumming until your mind went black.

you felt someone push you, and when you looked back, fuck, mingyu was pushing your waist up and down, making you bounce on wonwoo's dick.

"t-thank you" you mumbled, and the answer you got was vernon entering your mouth again, his dick leaking cum, eager to fill you in another hole, and then there was cheol, slapping your breasts with his hands and his own dick.

you couldn't hear anything anymore, but you knew they were both insulting you, calling you a bitch, useless, slut, you knew they were bragging about how dirty and open your pussy was.

you had one of the strongest orgasms of your life, your body shaking on top of wonwoo in a way he had never seen before, you screamed something incoherent trying to get your orgasm out in other ways.

and then you passed out.

you woke up minutes later lying in bed, wearing your boyfriend's t-shirt while he rubbed cream on you.

"hi, honey, are you okay?" you nodded. "fuck, you passed out after you came... i gave you a bath, and now i'm here rubbing cream, fuck, they ruined you."

"and... i liked it." you said, still fragile.

"of course you liked it." he laughed. "but now you're going to rest, okay?" wonwoo kissed the top of your head, placing the cream on the table next to the bed. "i love you! fuck, i'm going to be the happiest man in the world when i marry you!"

and then you fell asleep again, smiling!

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Keep Me Close

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ : ᴍᴏɴᴅᴀʏ

ᴘᴏᴘꜱᴛᴀʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʙᴏᴅʏɢᴜᴀʀᴅ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ | 8ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : Age gap, Angst, Masturbation, Car crash mentioned, Drinking, drugs, mental health problems, depression, suicide mentioned

A/N : THE DRUG MENTIONED IS FICTIONAL

SUMMARY : Your longtime bodyguard says goodbye, and in his place comes Sevika—silent, intense, and nothing like what you're used to. The day spins by in a blur of rehearsal chaos, tight schedules, forced smiles, and pain you pretend isn’t there. You power through it all with glitter, charm, and the help of pills no one knows about. Sevika doesn’t say much, but you can feel her eyes on you—watching, noticing, understanding. By the time the lights fade and the heels come off, something between you has already shifted. She may be here to protect you, but it’s starting to feel a little more complicated than that.

Sunday evening

The city lights flickered past the tinted windows in streaks of gold and crimson, a blur of nightlife and camera flashes. The soft hum of the limo engine was the only sound between you and the man seated across from you, his hands folded neatly over his lap, tuxedo jacket draped over his arm instead of worn.

“Hard to believe this is the last night,” you said softly, swirling the untouched champagne in your glass. You glanced up at him—Marcus, the only bodyguard you’d ever had. Gruff, dependable, practically family at this point.

He smiled, deep lines forming at the corners of his eyes. “You say that like I’m dying.”

You laughed, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You’re just… the only one who ever got it. You let me sneak out of rehearsals when I needed air, remember?”

“I also dragged your ass back before anyone noticed.” He shifted slightly, wincing a bit at his knee—bad from an old injury. “I’m not twenty-five anymore, kiddo. I’ve got a wife who’s been waiting for me to stop chasing headlines and come home for dinner. Real dinner. Not cold catering backstage at an award show.”

You nodded slowly, trying not to let the disappointment show. You were happy for him. Really. But the thought of someone else watching your back, some stranger who didn’t know your routines or when your anxiety kicked in before a big show—it made your stomach twist.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you said, voice low, sincere.

He gave a short laugh, reaching over to ruffle your hair like he always did when you were younger. “You’ll be fine. They already found someone. She starts tomorrow.”

“She?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. She. Bit of a change of pace, but I’ve seen her file. Military background. Keeps to herself. Looks like she could snap a man in half without smudging her eyeliner.”

That got a smirk out of you. “Sounds terrifying.”

“She’ll keep you alive. That’s the job.” He leaned back again, exhaling like he was letting the last ten years go with the breath. “Just… don’t give her too much hell, alright?”

You tilted your head against the leather seat, looking out at the flashing lights again. “No promises.”

Monday Morning 

Your alarm screamed to life at 8:47 AM.

You jolted upright, tangled in silk sheets and sleep paralysis panic, blinking against the sunlight that was already flooding your bedroom through half-open curtains.

Three knocks tapped against your door a second later—precisely timed, too proper to be anyone but Geoffrey.

“Miss Y/N,” came the clipped British accent. “You’re currently—how do I put this politely—late as hell.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the mattress dramatically before shouting, “I’m up, I’m up, I swear!”

The sound of retreating footsteps echoed down the hallway as you launched yourself out of bed, hair a mess, eyeliner smudged from last night because you definitely hadn’t taken it off before passing out. The floor was cold against your bare feet as you darted across the room, dodging your neon pink yoga mat and tripping over a pile of half-unpacked shopping bags.

Your massive walk-in closet loomed like a luxury war zone—sequined stage outfits hanging like glittery ghosts, shelves of shoes taunting you with their pristine organization. You grabbed your phone off the vanity, eyes widening at the text from your choreographer.

“If you’re not here in 15 minutes I’m choreographing the bridge solo around a plastic folding chair and calling it avant-garde.”

You whimpered.

“Okay, okay, leggings—black bootcut—where are they—why do I have six identical pairs of leopard print shorts but no normal pants?!”

You yanked a hanger from the bottom row and pulled the leggings off, trying to shimmy them on mid-hop. One leg went in. Then the other got halfway before the fabric caught on your heel and refused to go further.

You cursed under your breath, wobbling across the carpet like a flamingo in crisis, leg halfway in, trying not to fall as you shoved the waistband up with pure desperation.

Outside, your phone pinged again. You ignored it. You had bigger problems. Like getting your damn pants on.

Downstairs, the marble foyer gleamed like it had been waxed that morning—and probably had. Sevika stood near the grand staircase, arms crossed over her chest, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a look on her face that said she'd rather be literally anywhere else.

She shifted slightly, glancing around at the mansion’s high ceilings, ornate crown molding, and an offensively large crystal chandelier. This wasn’t her scene. Her combat boots looked wrong against the tile. Her leather jacket squeaked when she moved. She hated that.

Across from her, your manager tried to fill the silence, smoothing down his already perfectly crisp blazer.

“She’s, uh… not usually this unorganized,” he offered, voice tense, eyes flicking toward the ceiling as thud-thud-thud echoed down—sounded like someone wrestling a wild animal up there. Or possibly a drawer full of bronzer.

Sevika lifted a brow, unimpressed. “Uh-huh.”

He cleared his throat. “She’s just been swamped. Album rehearsals. PR gigs. Emotional support animal drama, don’t ask. She’s really very professional, I swear—”

“Mind if I smoke?”

“What? Oh, no, I’d really prefer if—”

But she was already pulling the cigarette out from behind her ear, lighting it with a practiced flick, and letting the first inhale fog up the air between them. She didn’t say anything else. Just leaned back against the bannister like this was all the same to her. Popstar princesses. Mansions. Lipstick-stained chaos. Nothing new.

And then—like a hurricane made of Sephora and regret—you came barreling down the stairs.

Bootcut leggings, a cropped white tank top that definitely wasn’t meant to ride up when you raised your arms (but absolutely did), and a wrinkled cotton jacket hanging off one shoulder like an afterthought. You looked like a sleep-deprived soccer mom who’d just dropped her kid off at practice and remembered she had a concert in fifteen minutes.

Sevika blinked.

This was her?

She coughed once, startled by her own inhale of smoke, then casually flicked the cigarette down and crushed it under her boot. No expression. No reaction.

You bounded up, breathless but smiling, hand outstretched like this was a networking brunch.

“Hi! You must be the new bodyguard—Sevika, right? I’m Y/N.”

Sevika stared at your hand. Didn’t take it.

Instead, she nodded once. “Yeah.”

Your manager ran a hand down his face. “Y/N. One hundred people. Lighting, sound, dancers, band—waiting for you.”

You turned to him with that same sweet smile, as if that was somehow going to stop him from having a heart attack. “I know. I’m ready. See?” You gestured to your outfit.

Sevika huffed a short laugh through her nose, barely audible, already following behind as you made for the door. Soccer mom or not—this was going to be interesting.

The luxury sedan purred to life as the doors shut with a soft click, sealing you inside with thick leather seats and the awkward tension of three people who had nothing in common.

You were squished in the middle seat—middle seat—like some kind of peasant in your own damn ride, shoulder-to-shoulder with your manager on one side and Sevika on the other. Except Sevika had her legs spread wide like this was her car and she paid the insurance. You kept adjusting, trying not to elbow her, but she wasn’t budging. Not even a little.

Your thigh was pressed against hers. Her jeans were rough. Her presence was… loud, even in silence.

You shifted again, subtly trying to reclaim an inch of cushion. Nothing. Not a single concession from her side. She kept staring out the window like you didn’t exist.

Beside you, your manager was already going off, voice rising with each bullet point from his phone.

“Okay, we’re starting at the staduim—soundcheck’s already half set up, then we have the PR shoot at two, then you’re supposed to do that podcast taping and then the red carpet teaser You can’t reschedule the shoot again, Y/N, they flew in the photographer from Milan.”

“Mmhm,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on your phone screen. Instagram. Your last post was still getting comments. Mostly about your hair. Some creepy ones, as usual. You liked a few replies, just to look engaged.

Sevika hadn’t said a word. Just sat there like a wall—muscle, leather, and cigarette smoke residue. Her fingers drummed once against her thigh. Then stopped.

Your knee was still touching hers.

You didn’t move. Neither did she.

The sedan pulled up to the studio’s private entrance, and before you could even grab your bag, the door swung open. A production assistant practically yanked it off the hinges.

You stepped out into a swarm of barely-contained chaos.

Crew members paced with clipboards, headsets buzzed with overlapping chatter, and someone was already muttering “She’s finally here” under their breath like it was the day’s worst news. The energy was palpable—irritated, twitchy, caffeine-fueled.

You smoothed your jacket, stepped into the chaos with practiced ease, and flashed that smile. Soft. Sweet. Just shy of apologetic. The one that said: I know I’m late, but aren’t I cute enough to get away with it?

It worked like a spell.

A few sighs. A few glares that softened immediately. Someone chuckled. You heard, “Okay, we’re back on track,” as if you hadn’t just derailed the entire schedule.

You started down the wide hallway, the soles of your boots clicking faintly over the polished floor. The place was huge—glass walls, minimalist white decor, framed platinum records from other artists lining the walls. A place that was meant to look expensive and feel exhausting.

One assistant jogged up beside you, holding out a cup without breaking stride. “Almond milk, extra ice, two pumps vanilla, half a shot of espresso.”

You took it with a grin, lifting it like a toast. “Lifesaver.”

On your other side, a woman with a sleek ponytail and a laminated ALL ACCESS lanyard speed-walked beside you, flipping through her iPad.

“Okay, we’re running behind,” she said in a sharp tone that meant business. “We’ve moved your rehearsal to Studio B and your glam team is waiting in green room two. If you could not sneak off mid-lipstick like last time, that’d be great.”

Behind you, Sevika followed like a shadow, hands in her pockets, eyes scanning every hallway corner, exit sign, and passing crew member with practiced boredom. She was quiet, but you could feel her—solid, imposing, unbothered. She didn’t match the scene at all.

Which, you had to admit, made her kind of hard to ignore.

You pushed open the dressing room door and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar rush of perfume, fresh flowers someone had arranged hours ago, and the faint hum of the building’s sound system leaking through the walls.

“Alright,” the woman with the lanyard said, pausing in the doorway. “You’ve got an hour to do your warm-ups before rehearsal. Studio B at noon sharp. Don’t make me come find you.”

You gave her a little salute with your coffee cup. “Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes and disappeared down the hallway, already talking into her headset again.

You didn’t look back as Sevika followed you in.

The room was massive. More of a mini apartment than a dressing room, really—white shag rugs, full-length mirrors lined with lights, racks of performance outfits, a velvet chaise in the corner. You slipped off your jacket and tossed it lazily onto a nearby chair, revealing your white tank top underneath—thin, a little sheer, and definitely not built for modesty.

Sevika closed the door behind her with a soft click, but didn’t move from her spot. She stood by the wall like a sentinel, arms crossed, watching everything and nothing.

You didn’t notice the way her jaw clenched. Or how her gaze lingered a second too long before flicking toward the ceiling.

You grabbed your water bottle, took a sip, and began pacing the room as you hummed scales under your breath. Then came the lip trills, the tongue exercises, the silly siren sounds your vocal coach swore by.

And, multitasker that you were, you dropped down into a deep side lunge mid-vocal run, stretching your legs as you sang out a clean soprano arpeggio.

Sevika shifted slightly.

You switched sides, arms overhead as you bent into a wide stretch, breath steady and controlled as you started the next exercise.

Her eyes flicked back. Then away. Then back again.

You had no idea. Or maybe you did. Either way, it wasn’t helping that the room was cold, and your tank top left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Nipples peaked through soft cotton with every inhale.

Sevika adjusted her stance, exhaling through her nose like she could physically push the thought out of her head.

She was here to work. That was all.

You reached for your toes, perfectly flexible, still vocalizing.

Sevika stared at the ceiling like it was telling her the meaning of life.

A sharp knock tapped at the door, snapping Sevika out of her internal crisis.

She cleared her throat, voice low and gruff. “Yeah?”

“It’s glam,” someone chirped from the other side.

Sevika opened the door and immediately regretted it.

Three stylists breezed in like a gust of perfume and hairspray—bags clinking, palettes open, curling wands already heating up. They barely glanced at her, too focused on you, who were now perched cross-legged on your spinny chair like a little gremlin queen, sipping iced coffee and scrolling through your messages.

Sevika stepped aside, pressing her back to the wall like she needed to cool off—which was ironic, considering she was sweating. Literally sweating. In a room that felt like a walk-in freezer.

Her jacket was too hot. Her neck felt flushed. And her face? Yeah, it was red. Tomato red. Great.

You swiveled lazily as one of the makeup artists dabbed primer onto your cheekbones, your eyes meeting Sevika’s in the mirror.

“You okay over there?” you asked sweetly, a little smirk playing on your lips.

She blinked. “Fine.”

The stylist tilted your chin. “Try not to move, love.”

You giggled and winked at Sevika before facing forward again, humming quietly as brushes swept across your skin, your tank top still clinging to your curves like it was part of the show.

Sevika shifted her stance again, jaw tight, eyes glued to the farthest corner of the room like she was monitoring for snipers and not trying to suppress a full-body reaction to you being ten feet away in that top.

This was going to be a long damn day.

The room cleared out after glam wrapped, leaving a haze of setting spray and glitter in the air. You stood up from the chair, makeup flawless—winged liner sharp, rhinestones twinkling at your temples, lips glossy and sweet like strawberry syrup. Your hair was pinned up in big bouncy curlers, held together with an army of pink clips and butterfly pins.

You turned toward the garment rack where your dress for the rehearsal hung like a disco ball had died and been reincarnated into couture. Sparkly. Pink. Dramatic.

As you unzipped the bag, Sevika shifted by the door.

“You want me to step out?” she asked, eyes flicking toward you for just a second.

You waved a hand. “You don’t have to. We’ve got the same parts, right?” you teased, grinning over your shoulder.

Sevika huffed a single dry breath of amusement, but still stepped out. “Yell if someone tries to assassinate you.”

You rolled your eyes as the door clicked shut behind her. The dress wasn’t exactly easy to get into. Glittery corset, off-shoulder straps, zipper that ran up the back and refused to cooperate. You twisted and fumbled and cursed under your breath.

After a full minute of struggling, you groaned.

“Sevika!” you called. “Can I borrow your scary fingers real quick?!”

The door opened.

She stepped back in—and froze.

You were standing in front of the mirror, trying to reach the zipper with one hand, the other braced on the vanity. The corset was already squeezing your waist in that perfect hourglass, glitter sparkling with every tiny breath. The skirt hugged your hips like it was holding on for dear life, and it had definitely ridden up higher in the back—dangerously high.

Sevika’s eyes locked for a fraction of a second too long before she forced them up. Her jaw flexed.

“You stuck?” she asked, monotone, already walking toward you.

“Mmhmm. I got everything but the last three inches.”

She stepped behind you, fingers brushing the exposed skin of your back as she grabbed the zipper. Her hands were cool. Yours definitely weren’t.

“I could’ve just worn sweats,” you joked, breath catching as her knuckles grazed your spine. “You know, if anyone here respected my vision.”

Sevika said nothing. Just pulled the zipper up in one clean motion. You were fully zipped—and she stepped away like you were a bomb that might go off if she got too close.

You turned to her, hands on your hips. “You’re really hard to fluster, huh?”

“Not my job to be flustered.”

“Oh?” you raised a brow. “So what is your job?”

Sevika didn’t blink. “Keep you alive. Keep you out of trouble.”

You took a slow, deliberate step closer, voice dropping just slightly. “What if I am trouble?”

She looked at you. Really looked. Eyes dragging from the rhinestones at your temple down to the glitter clinging to your collarbone. Her expression didn’t change—but there was a flicker behind her eyes. Something dark. Wanting.

Then it was gone.

She turned toward the door. “You’ve got five minutes.”

And just like that, the warmth was gone, replaced by cold steel and a slammed-shut wall.

But you could still feel where her fingers had touched you. And something told you she could, too.

The lights dimmed and the bass kicked in—BOOM-BOOM-CLAP—as your prerecorded track echoed through the rehearsal space.

“Alright, backup plan A, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself, sliding the mic prop into your palm just as the beat dropped and the spotlight hit you dead center.

The first verse hit with a wink and a snap of your hips, glitter catching in the overheads as you strutted downstage with your dancers flanking you like a little glittering army.

“You keep me on ice just in case she says no…” You dragged the line out like it was a punchline, twisting your hips with a smirk that landed somewhere between sultry and I know exactly what I’m doing.

The whole routine was flirty, high-energy—kicks, turns, struts. Your dancers moved in perfect sync, arms framing your body as you danced like the stage owed you rent. The track pulsed with synthy attitude, and the chorus exploded into a kaleidoscope of neon light and heat.

But just as you hit your mark for the bridge, spinning out into a smooth cross-step with a hair flip— your heel snagged.

Your balance lurched forward, and the floor hit your knee hard, pain spiking up your leg.

Gasps rippled through the room, the music still blaring as your dancers froze for just a beat too long. You blinked up from the floor, heart pounding, mascara fluttering as your gaze snapped to the girl behind you—Renee—whose expression was all wide eyes and innocent surprise.

But you felt it. That was no accident.

You pushed yourself up, furious. “Did you just trip me?”

Renee put her hands up like she was the victim. “What?! No—I didn’t even touch—”

“Bullshit!” you snapped. “I felt your leg hook mine, don’t play dumb with me.”

“Okay, everyone take a breath,” the choreographer said quickly, stepping between you both. “It didn’t look intentional from where I was standing. Could’ve just been bad spacing—”

“I saw it,” Sevika’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

Everyone turned.

She was standing near the back wall, arms crossed, face unreadable—but her eyes? Cold. Sharp. Certain.

The room fell silent.

“I saw her foot sweep out. It wasn’t spacing.”

Renee opened her mouth—then closed it.

No one argued. Not the choreographer. Not the assistant. Not even Renee, who suddenly looked like she might melt into the floor.

Sevika’s gaze stayed on the girl a moment longer, just long enough to make her shift uncomfortably before Sevika looked away like she was done with the whole thing.

Like she could snap someone���s neck if it came to that—and honestly? No one doubted it.

Your manager appeared beside you almost instantly, his perfectly styled hair slightly askew for once, eyes flicking from your face to your ankle.

“Y/N. Are you okay?” he asked, voice a little too calm to be genuine.

You nodded quickly, brushing some glittery hair from your face. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just a slip.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, stepping in closer. “We can reschedule rehearsal, get someone to look at—”

“I said I’m fine.” You forced a bright smile, teeth tight. “Let’s just run it again. I’ve got it.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

As he stepped away, you took a careful breath and shifted your weight to your foot.

A white-hot shock of pain shot up your leg—so sharp and sudden it made your vision blur for a second. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink. You just smiled like a liar and gave the cue to start the track again.

The music blasted. You launched into the choreography again, biting your cheek so hard it might bleed. Every twist, every kick felt like walking on knives. But you moved through it with your head held high and your smile never faltering.

From her post near the back, Sevika’s eyes narrowed.

She saw the tiny hitch in your step. The way you didn’t put your full weight on your right foot. The slight tremble in your thigh when you landed the next spin. You were good—really good—but she was trained to notice weakness. Pain. Tension.

She said nothing.

Just watched you power through it like the stage was a battlefield and you weren’t planning on losing today.

But behind that calm exterior, Sevika’s jaw clenched.

She’d seen people push past pain before. It never ended well.

The dressing room was quiet now—too quiet.

You’d swapped the sparkle for sweatpants, tugged your cotton jacket back on, and were curled up on the futon with one leg tucked under you, the other stretched out in front. Your ankle was bruised and swollen, the purple blooming just above the bone like a warning sign you didn’t want to read.

You sighed, brushing your fingers over it gently, flinching at the contact.

“Cool,” you muttered to yourself. “Real cute.”

You sat there for a moment longer, letting the silence wrap around you like a weighted blanket—too heavy, too familiar.

Then you stood, biting back a wince as your foot touched the floor. You hobbled over to the mirror, bracing your hands on the edge of the vanity. The lights ringed around the mirror cast your reflection in soft gold, too kind for the way your eyes scanned yourself.

Waist. Arms. Stomach.

Your gaze drifted across the curve of your hips, the faint mark of your waistband pressed into your skin, the tiny blemishes under your chin you swore weren’t there yesterday. You sucked in your stomach, tilted your face, pursed your lips like you were posing for a photo no one was taking.

Too puffy here. Too soft there. Not enough here.

You blinked and turned toward your bag, rooting through it until your hand closed around the small white pill bottle tucked inside the zippered pocket.

Hydraxin.

No label, not that you needed one. You knew the shape of the pills by heart.

Your fingers twisted the cap without hesitation.

You shook two into your palm, dry-swallowed them with a sip from your water bottle, and closed your eyes. The cool rush was subtle at first, like the volume on reality turning down just a little. The ache in your ankle fuzzed at the edges. Your breathing slowed.

Just enough to get through the rest of the day. Maybe even smile while doing it.

You set the bottle back in your bag, zipped it closed, and looked at your reflection again. The lights were still too soft, but for a second, you almost liked what you saw.

A knock came at the door—three quick taps, impatient but polite.

You didn’t flinch. The Hydraxin was already working its way through your bloodstream like a warm, sugary fog. The ache in your ankle was still there, dulled now, distant. Manageable. Your heart beat a little faster, but you liked it that way—like your body was catching up to your schedule, not dragging behind it.

“Y/N?” your manager called through the door. “We’ve got to leave now if you want to make the shoot on time. Thirty minutes, tops.”

You straightened up from the vanity, blinking away the haze, and took a second to adjust the zipper on your jacket. Then you tilted your chin up and gave your reflection a practiced, dazzling smile.

Sweet. Controlled. Public-ready.

You opened the door with a light flick of your wrist, bright eyes and white teeth greeting him like nothing was wrong at all.

“Sorry,” you said breezily, stepping into the hallway. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Your manager gave you a once-over, eyes scanning for anything out of place. If he noticed the faint flush to your cheeks or the too-dilated sparkle in your pupils, he didn’t mention it.

“You good?” he asked, glancing down at your feet.

“Perfect,” you chirped, already walking ahead. “Let’s go make me look expensive.”

Behind you, Sevika fell into step silently, her eyes trailing you with that same unreadable expression—but her gaze lingered just a moment longer on the slight favoring of your left leg.

She didn’t say a word.

The luxury sedan hummed beneath you as it slid back onto the road, city lights beginning to flicker awake outside the tinted windows.

Your manager had claimed the front passenger seat this time, already barking orders into his phone about lighting setups and which of your PR-approved angles were best for the backdrop. You tuned him out, focusing on the screen of your phone instead, flipping it to selfie mode.

The camera caught your reflection—glowy, a little too flushed, pupils still dancing a bit too wide, but your lips looked dry. You popped the cap off your tinted chapstick and ran it across your bottom lip slowly, then smudged the excess with your ring finger. You pressed your lips together, analyzing the shape, then did a little pout just to see how it would photograph.

Next to you, Sevika hadn’t moved.

Still sitting like a boulder with legs, her thighs spread, one arm resting lazily on the center console while the other stayed draped across her knee. She hadn’t said a word since getting in the car, but her eyes were constantly shifting—watching the mirrors, the side streets, the alleyways they passed. Her posture screamed ready, like she expected someone to crash through the window at any second.

You peeked at her through the edge of your screen, catching how her jaw clenched slightly as the car turned a sharp corner. She looked like she didn’t trust the driver. Or maybe she just didn’t trust anyone.

“Do you always sit like someone’s gonna assassinate me?” you asked, voice light, teasing.

She didn’t look at you.

“I’ve seen weirder shit happen in quieter cities,” she muttered.

You leaned back against the seat with a little hum, dragging your finger across your phone screen to adjust the filter. “Well, if they are gonna assassinate me, I hope they wait until after I get a good photo in this outfit.”

She finally glanced at you, one brow twitching just slightly.

“Priorities,” she muttered.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

She looked away again. But you didn’t miss the flicker of amusement in her eyes as she scanned the street.

Monday Afternoon

The rooftop was bathed in late-afternoon glow, the sky casting golden hour warmth over the shoot setup. A faux cityscape backdrop stood behind you, sleek and modern, while a glowing acrylic pedestal held the star of the show: a rose gold box of foundation with your name stamped across it in cursive font.

You were draped across a velvet chaise in heels far too tall, the pink corset dress from rehearsal swapped out for a more editorial version—tighter, shinier, lower cut. The makeup team had gone all in: glitter along your collarbones, highlighter on your cheekbones that caught the sun just right, and lashes so long they cast shadows when you blinked.

You shifted into another pose—one leg curled under you, hand resting flirtatiously beside the foundation box, lips parted just slightly like you were in the middle of whispering something scandalous. The photographer yelled encouragement from behind the lens.

“Yes! Right there—hold that! Give me pouty, give me playful, yes, that’s money!”

Sevika stood near the far edge of the rooftop, arms crossed, sunglasses low on her nose. She was trying—really trying—to be professional.

But she was staring.

And not just in a scanning-the-environment kind of way. No. She was watching you pose, watching the way your body arched just right under the light, how your mouth curved around every sultry smirk like you were sending the look straight to her. Your lips were glossy again. Your dress had ridden up just enough to break a few broadcast standards.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Someone behind her fanned themselves dramatically. “God, she’s so hot it’s offensive.”

“Tell me about it,” another crew member muttered. “She’s gonna sell a million units off that look alone.”

Sevika didn’t even register the comments. She was caught up, pulled into the moment despite herself. Just a few seconds too long.

Then your gaze flicked up and locked with hers.

You didn’t break pose. But the smile that followed? It wasn’t for the camera.

She looked away, jaw tight, sunglasses pushed higher on her nose like a shield.

But her ears were red. Just a little.

The flashbulbs faded one by one as the photographer called, “That’s a wrap for this look!”

Applause and scattered praise rippled through the rooftop crew, but you barely registered it. You stood slowly from the chaise, balancing yourself on the balls of your feet, your smile stiffening as that pleasant Hydraxin haze began to slip—like glitter washing off in the rain.

Your ankle throbbed, sharp now, pulsing under the skin where the bruise had darkened. You took a cautious step—

Wrong one.

A spike of pain shot up your leg like a live wire, and you yelped before you could stop it, hand flying to the backdrop wall for balance. A few heads turned.

Your manager was immediately at your side, tablet in one hand, iced coffee in the other. “You alright? You’re good, yeah? Because we’ve got the podcast taping in two hours, then the red carpet teaser—oh, and they still want you to approve the final edits for that beachwear promo—”

You plastered on a smile, teeth clenched tight. “Yeah, no, totally. I just need to… fix my hair. It got frizzy.”

He blinked. “It looks perfect—”

“I’ll be right back.” You were already hobbling off before he could argue.

You disappeared down the hallway that led back to your temporary dressing room. Your vision felt too bright, your skin a little clammy. The weight of your lashes was starting to sting, your heartbeat speeding up in that uneven, post-Hydraxin crash way.

Sevika moved from her corner silently, already starting to follow behind.

But you turned at the dressing room door, one hand gripping the handle, the other holding yourself steady against the wall.

“Hey,” you said softly, not looking directly at her. “Can I… just be alone for a second?”

She hesitated.

You didn’t say it rudely. You didn’t have to. She could hear it in your voice—the crack around the edge, the exhaustion beneath the glitter.

After a pause, Sevika gave a short nod. “I’ll be outside.”

You slipped into the room and closed the door behind you, the latch sounding impossibly loud in the quiet. The space was dimmer than before, your reflection in the mirror already a little smeared around the edges. You leaned against the vanity and finally let your body sag.

Alone. At last.

The room was quiet again—too quiet for the mess happening inside your chest.

You reached for your bag with shaky fingers, pulling it open like a secret you weren’t supposed to tell. The bottle was already in your hand before you had a chance to second guess it. Hydraxin. Just two more. You popped them past your lips and chased them with a lukewarm swig of water from your bottle, the kind that had been sitting out too long and tasted faintly of lemon and backwash.

You peeled yourself out of the corset dress and slipped into your “normal” clothes—those soft bootcut leggings again, the cotton jacket, a fresh tank top. A version of you that felt quieter, simpler, easier to carry.

But your ankle was screaming now.

You sat down at the vanity and lifted your leg into your lap, inspecting the swollen mess. It looked worse. More purple, more angry. Just the pressure from your leggings made you want to scream.

You stared at your reflection for a long time.

The makeup was still perfect. Hair still curled. But your eyes were glassy, red at the corners. Your lips were starting to tremble, gloss clinging to the skin like glue.

You touched your cheek. Then your hip. Your stomach. Your throat.

Not skinny enough. Not smooth enough. Not good enough.

And then—

The sob hit your chest like a punch. Soft, at first. Like a hiccup caught behind your tongue. You tried to breathe through it, pressing your hands to your face like that might hold it all in.

But it cracked. Just a little.

Then another sob. This one sharper. It broke through your clenched teeth as you doubled over slightly, elbows on the vanity, trying so, so hard not to be loud.

Outside the door, Sevika stood with her back against the wall, arms crossed like always.

She heard it. She’d heard a lot of things in her life—screaming, begging, even silence where there should’ve been sound. But this?

This was different.

Your sobs were muffled, soft, like you were still performing even in your own breakdown. It wasn’t the kind of crying that demanded attention. It was the kind that happened when someone had no one to perform for anymore.

And despite every instinct she had to stay neutral, Sevika found herself listening. Carefully. Closely.

And goddamn it, there was something so pretty about the way you cried.

Not because she enjoyed it. Not like that. It just… did something to her. The rawness of it. The way your voice cracked at the end. The fact that you were alone in that room and still trying to sound small.

She ran a hand down her face, exhaled through her nose, and stared at the door like it was testing her.

And maybe it was.

Monday Evening 

The rest of the day blurred like a highlight reel played too fast and too bright.

Car rides. People. Lights. More car rides. More people. More lights.

You smiled when you were supposed to. Laughed on cue. Kissed cheeks, posed next to strangers, waved at fans behind barricades as flash after flash blinded you into something smooth and hollow. Your ankle throbbed through every step. The pills worked, until they didn’t. Then you took more.

You lost count of how many times someone asked if you were “so excited” for what was next. You nodded every time.

By the time you got back to the mansion, it was well past midnight. The staff greeted you at the door—two security guards, a sleepy-eyed maid, and Geoffrey with a glass of lemon water and a warm towel, like you were a prize racehorse coming in from the storm.

You thanked them softly, stepping out of your heels like they were shackles, and disappeared up the grand staircase without a word.

Behind you, Sevika lingered in the foyer, watching as the guards reset the perimeter and the gates slid shut.

Her shift ended there.

No overnight detail. No cameras in your room. You were locked up tighter than most vaults, and Sevika knew the kind of men patrolling your property—men who’d shoot before asking questions. You didn’t need her at night.

So she turned on her heel, heading out through the side entrance, leather jacket slung back over her shoulder, helmet in hand.

She took her bike across the city, winding through neon signs and pothole-riddled streets, where the air smelled like burnt oil and fried food. By the time she pulled up to her building, her buzz was gone. Reality had returned.

Her apartment was small. Cracked tiles in the bathroom. A fridge that hummed too loud. One flickering overhead light in the kitchen and a couch that sagged in the middle. The window didn’t shut right. She shoved it closed anyway.

Sevika dropped her keys on the counter, kicked off her boots, and sat down heavily on the edge of her bed.

Silence.

She rubbed her face with both hands, then lit a cigarette with a tired flick of her lighter.

She could still hear the sound of you crying behind that dressing room door.

Still see the way you smiled after.

She exhaled smoke toward the ceiling, muttering to herself:

“Rich girl’s gonna wreck me.”

The movie played on her busted little TV—some old action flick with bad audio and worse pacing—but Sevika wasn’t watching it.

She sat slouched on her worn-out couch, cigarette burning low between two fingers, eyes locked on the grimy window that looked out over the street below. Neon signs blinked and flickered against the cracked glass, throwing color over the peeling paint of her living room walls. Down on the sidewalk, someone was being mugged behind a corner store.

No one helped.

She didn’t either.

She just watched, blank-faced, the glow of the screen lighting her cheek while gunshots and explosions from the movie echoed behind her like they belonged to someone else’s life.

But her mind wasn’t here—not in her apartment, not in this part of the city. It was there. With you.

That glittery dress. That glossy smile. That yelp when you stepped wrong. That sound—soft and broken—when you cried behind the door and asked to be alone.

She tried to shake it off. She was good at shaking things off. But this?

You were stuck behind her eyes like something lodged in a wound.

Sevika stood up with a grunt and wandered over to her desk. It was cluttered—half-burnt candles, spare parts, a small tin ashtray. The busted laptop sat closed beneath a faded stack of mail. She swept it clean with one arm and flipped the laptop open, the screen flickering to life with a faint whine.

She waited, drumming her fingers against the table while it groaned its way awake. The internet was shit. Everything took longer than it should. But she didn’t care.

She opened the browser. Typed your name.

And there you were.

A dozen search results. Articles. Headlines. Fan forums. Paparazzi shots. Studio interviews. Instagram reposts. Close-ups of your face, smiling with fake lashes and dimples. Red carpet gowns and morning coffee runs. Performance clips. Magazine covers. Grainy phone videos of you blowing kisses to screaming fans.

But none of them looked like you.

Not really.

Not like when you were sitting on that futon in your cotton jacket, staring at your ankle like it might swallow you whole.

Not like when you were crying so quietly it made her chest ache.

She lit another cigarette and leaned closer to the screen, eyes scanning every photo, every word, every digital version of you that didn’t quite match the real thing.

And she whispered under her breath, almost like a warning to herself:

“Shit. This is bad.”

The video buffered for a moment before settling into low-res clarity—an old Tonight Show interview with your name in all caps beneath the frame.

Sevika leaned in.

You were sitting across from Jimmy Fallon, legs crossed in a cherry-red mini dress that hugged your curves like it had been made for you. Your hair was fuller, curls wild and bouncy, and your cheeks were rounder, flushed with that effortless kind of joy most people had to fake for the cameras.

Fallon was laughing—too loud, too staged. “So tell me, Y/N… is it true you once tried to sneak a puppy into a private jet inside your handbag?”

You lit up, laughing hard, full-bodied. “Okay, in my defense, he was tiny and emotionally supportive.”

Sevika blinked at the screen, lips parted just slightly. You looked… different. Not just physically. There was a looseness in your body, a light in your eyes that she hadn’t seen—not in rehearsals, not even in passing.

Same smile. But somehow not the same girl.

She let the video play a few seconds longer before clicking out of it, the sound of your laugh lingering as she scrolled down the search results.

That’s when she saw it. Bold, sharp headline. Tucked halfway down the page.

“Pop’s Rising Star Crashes Hard: Y/N L/N in Tragic Collision—2 Dead, 2 Critical”

She clicked it.

The article was stark. Brutal. The kind of journalistic tone that tried to sound respectful but leaned on devastation for clicks.

“Y/N L/N, the 21-year-old pop powerhouse known for her chart-topping hit ‘Lipgloss Lies’, was involved in a fatal car accident late Thursday night following a sold-out show in Los Angeles. Sources confirm the singer’s SUV was struck at an intersection by an oncoming truck, resulting in the deaths of the vehicle’s driver and another passenger. L/N and one additional crew member were critically injured but survived.

The incident has raised questions about the singer’s relentless schedule and post-tour exhaustion. A representative has declined to comment on the star’s current condition, though fans have flooded social media with well-wishes under the hashtag #StayStrongYNL.”

Sevika leaned back slowly, cigarette forgotten between her fingers, ash curling down toward her boot.

You’d almost died. Two people had.

And you were still dancing. Still singing. Still smiling on cue.

But that sparkle in your eyes? It made sense now.

She exhaled once, smoke leaking out in a slow drag, eyes drifting back to the search bar.

You didn’t need a bodyguard.

You needed a break.

Or someone to see you.

Sevika hesitated before clicking the next link, her fingers hovering over the trackpad like they were second-guessing her choices—like she already knew this was crossing a line she couldn’t uncross.

But she clicked anyway.

The thumbnail showed you curled in white sheets, back arched, soft lighting casting a golden halo across your skin. The title was simple, lowercase and moody:

“just like heaven – official music video.”

She clicked.

The screen faded in slowly—ambient synths humming beneath a heartbeat-thrum of drums. You appeared in flashes: bare shoulders, the slope of your back, your fingers trailing down a silky curtain as you turned to face the camera. You wore nothing but sheer fabric and high-cut underwear, the kind of shot that looked soft and sensual on the surface but had tension stitched into every frame.

Your voice came in low, breathy, aching:

“Touch me like you mean it, Like I’m not a replacement.”

The video shifted—slow pans of your body silhouetted in warm light, long, sensual takes of you pressed against glass, water droplets sliding down your skin like tears. It wasn’t just sexy. It was sad. Intimate in a way that made Sevika feel like she wasn’t supposed to be watching.

She swallowed hard.

Your body was on full display, but there was no hunger in your expression. Just longing. Vulnerability. That same ache she’d heard behind the dressing room door. Except here, it was framed with choreography and camera angles, cut into something palatable for mass consumption.

Fan service. Wrapped in art direction and low lighting.

Her jaw tightened as the video played on—hands grazing your thighs, your lips parting on a sigh, the kind of moan that was meant to be heard, remembered, replayed.

She sat there for the entire thing.

Watched it all. Every note. Every frame.

And when it finally faded to black, Sevika didn’t move for a long time.

Then she closed the laptop slowly, her reflection flickering in the black screen.

Her voice came out low. Croaky. Like gravel.

“…Fucking hell.”

The room was dead quiet now, except for the faint buzz of her fridge and the soft clink of her lighter as she flipped it open and closed, over and over, just for something to do.

The laptop screen had gone black. But the images—you—still flickered behind her eyes. That soft, aching voice. The stretch of your body in golden light. The way your thighs shifted under the sheets, that breathless look on your face that was meant for the camera but felt like it was meant for someone.

Sevika dragged her hand down her face.

She shouldn’t be thinking about you like this.

You were her job. Her responsibility.

But responsibility didn’t explain the way her chest tightened when you smiled. It didn’t excuse the heat that crept under her skin when she heard you cry, soft and private, like a secret only she got to keep. And it definitely didn’t make sense, the way her fingers tingled now—restless, twitching—like they needed to do something about this.

She leaned back on the couch, legs spread lazily, fingers grazing the waistband of her sweats. The cigarette still burned between her lips, its cherry glowing like a slow confession. Her other hand hovered over her thigh, motionless.

She let her head fall back, eyes closed.

Thought of you in that video.

Thought of how you looked that morning in your bootcut leggings and that little white tank, hair messy, eyes half-lidded.

Thought of how you’d smiled at her—sweet, like honey on the tongue—right before turning around and limping away like nothing hurt.

Her fingers twitched again.

This time, she didn’t stop herself.

Her hand slipped lower, slow at first. Testing the heat that had built up between her thighs like it wasn’t already coiled there—tight and pulsing. She let out a quiet breath, something caught between a sigh and a growl, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth as she shifted on the couch.

The city lights bled through the cracked blinds, painting her in neon reds and sickly yellows, but all she saw was you.

That version of you.

The one in glitter, dancing. The one in sweats, limping. The one on camera, writhing under the weight of your own loneliness, your voice pleading like it wanted someone—anyone—to touch you like they actually meant it.

Sevika groaned under her breath, dragging her hand down the front of her sweatpants, the friction just enough to make her hips twitch.

She didn’t say your name. She never would.

But you were there in her head—sweet and cruel and untouchable. And in this moment, you weren’t her client. You weren’t some popstar wrapped in gloss and rhinestones.

You were just a girl.

Vulnerable. Needy. Real.

Her breathing grew heavier as her fingers moved faster, teeth clenching around the filter of her cigarette, ash spilling down her chest. She barely noticed. Didn’t care. Her jaw slackened slightly as she tilted her head back, chasing that pull in her belly, the one that was all you, all memory, all forbidden craving coiled around her like a vice.

And when it finally came—sharp and fast and low in her gut—she let out a soft, guttural sound, biting down on the filter to muffle it.

For a long time, she just lay there.

One hand slack between her legs. The other covering her eyes.

The glow of the laptop was gone, but her guilt? That stayed. Warm and bitter.

She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not about you.

But she did.

And something in her gut told her that was just the beginning.

A/N : woohoo new layout

comment to be added to the taglist!

NOTE : If you or someone you know is struggling with things like mental health, you are not alone.

American Foundation For Suicide Prevention

[ineedpaigebuckets]

like gravity

pt.1

little timeline series (no angst i'm sorry i suck at writing that)

anyways... here you go!!!

................

paige didn’t wanna be here.

her team had already played hours ago, but somehow everyone had convinced her to stay for the last game of the day. something about scouting. “good competition,” they said. “future teammates,” they said.

she didn’t care, not one bit. she was sweaty, starving, and already irritated from her knee acting up. these folding chairs weren’t built for this long of a sit. she was already planning her post-game chick-fil-a order in her head before the game even started.

that was all until number 35 checked in.

paige noticed within seconds, she moved like she was born to ball. smooth handle, tight braids, textbook three. not a hint of nerves on her face—just calm. like she had the whole floor mapped out in her head before she even crossed half court.

paige straightened up in her seat without meaning to.

her eyes followed the mystery girl across the court like it was involuntary—like gravity.

the way she crossed half court was too smooth. the kind of smooth that made paige suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty her shirt felt clinging to her lower back.

she shifted in her seat. tried to look away. couldn't.

number 35 caught the ball in rhythm and let it fly from deep. swish. no rim. no reaction. just turned to run back like it was the most normal thing in the world.

paige blinked.

jesus christ.

she then leaned over to the teammate next to her—some guard she never really clicked with. “yo,” she said, eyes locked on 35, “what’s her name?”

the girl barely looked away from the court. “uh—that’s azzi fudd. she’s a year younger. dmv area. she’s cold.”

cold was an understatement. azzi was fucking ice. clean footwork, perfect form, eyes like she’d already seen the shot go in. paige couldn’t stop watching. couldn’t even pretend to care about anything else.

the name echoed.

azzi.

the name didn’t just bounce—it echoed. like someone had lobbed it into her head and it hit every wall on the way down.

by the time it reached her chest, paige felt like someone had pressed the pause button on her lungs.

she pressed a hand to her sternum.

was that her heartbeat?

or a warning?

she didn’t get like this. not for boys. and definitely not for girls.

her mouth was dry. her heart was trying to run a mile a minute.

she told herself it was the lighting in the gym. the long day. the hunger.

but even hours later, laying back in her hotel bed, sweat finally dried and her hair up in a messy bun, she couldn’t stop thinking about her.

azzi.

number 35.

dmv.

cold.

she pulled up instagram convincing herself she was just casually checking it. but, of course she searched “azzi fudd.” her profile popped up immediately. paige stared at the little blue follow button for longer than anyone should ever stare at a button.

her thumb hovered.

clicked.

she threw her phone across the room like it burned her.

her face down into the pillows.

a muffled scream.

what was that? what even was that?

she rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling like the answers were written in the popcorn texture.

it wasn’t love.

it wasn’t lust.

but it sure as hell wasn’t nothing.

it felt like gravity.

the kind that makes your knees shake. that throws your stomach off balance. that pins your whole body to one thought.

azzi.

and paige wasn’t used to not knowing what something was. she was always on point—in basketball, in interviews, with boys. she always had a script, a plan, a finish line.

but not for this. not for her.

she kept telling herself it was admiration. that was safe. that made sense. azzi was insanely talented. of course she respected her. that’s all it was.

she brushed her teeth that night with a little too much force, spit into the sink, and froze.

she stared into the mirror, into her own icy blue eyes.

she whispered, “i have a crush on a girl.”

like the words were made of fire.

like they might catch and burn her down.

she stared at herself in the mirror.

waited for her reflection to flinch.

it didn’t.

paige rubbed the back of her neck, jaw tight.

“no, I don’t.”

but even as she said it, the lie didn’t stick.

because her mind wasn’t saying no.

It was saying azzi.

over and over, like a fucking song stuck on repeat.

paige didn’t sleep much that night.

the next few days blurred by, until she saw it.

the guest list for the next usa basketball camp.

there it was. azzi fudd.

without thinking, she sighed of relief and dropped her phone on her chest like it was fate. like the universe had made a decision before she was ready to.

and maybe it had.

because weeks later, even on the first day of tryouts paige could stop thinking she had to do something.

maybe it was just a coincidence.

but paige wasn’t buying that.

because gravity doesn’t pull for just anyone.

and now, it had a name.

so even if she knew she'd embarrass herself, she tried.

⸻

@paigebueckers1:

yo

quick question

what size are the practice hoodies supposed to be

mine feels like a dress lol

@azzifudd:

umm i think they’re all big

mine goes to like mid thigh lol

@paigebueckers1:

okay phew

just making sure i didn’t get like… the wrong batch

or like the coach’s spare hoodie or something

@azzifudd:

😭😭😭

it's okay to admit you're a skinny white girl

elite genetics

@paigebueckers1:

true true

can’t teach length 😌

@azzifudd:

did u really dm me to ask about jersey sizes or was this just an excuse to talk to me 😏

@paigebueckers1:

…

u caught me

i panicked and that was the best i could come up with

her fingers hovered over the screen.

too much?

not enough?

god, what was she doing?

she barely knew this girl—had spoken like five actual words to her in person.

and now here she was, trying to flirt through hoodie sizing?

smooth, paige. real smooth.

@azzifudd:

solid effort

i’ll give u a 7/10

@paigebueckers1:

ouch

tough crowd

what do i have to do to earn a 10

paige pulled her hoodie up waiting for a response, the second her phone lit up it felt like her stomach flew to the moon.

@azzifudd:

maybe not open with fashion critiques next time 😭

@paigebueckers1:

okay but fr

u were really good today

like REALLY good

not just saying that

@azzifudd:

thank u

that means a lot

especially from u

@paigebueckers1:

from me??

@azzifudd:

yeah u know

the paige bueckers

everyone at camp literally loves u already

@paigebueckers1:

well

i only care if one person does 😳

@azzifudd:

oh??

who 👀

@paigebueckers1:

she’s kinda quiet

real good handles

cute laugh

lowkey bullied me about my hoodie 5 mins ago

@azzifudd:

sounds like she has taste

@paigebueckers1:

she really does

anyway

u free to watch a movie later in my room

or ur room

or literally any room u want

@azzifudd:

…

i’m in

but only if u promise not to judge my snack choices

@paigebueckers1:

deal

i’ll bring pretzels

and my massive hoodie

we can be matching

⸻

paige waited outside azzi’s dorm, butterflies exploding in her stomach.

she held her phone like it was a shield, checking the time even though she knew it was early.

her other hand tugged at the hem of her hoodie—the hoodie, the one she’d used as an excuse. now it felt too weird, too obvious, like it was screaming I LIKE YOU in all caps.

she could hear muffled voices down the hall. laughter. the distant sound of someone bouncing a ball. normal stuff. everything was normal.

except she was not normal. not right now.

she practiced what she was going to say at least six times, mouthing the words like a weirdo.

“hey.”

“what’s up?”

“so rom-coms or horror?”

ugh. awful. all of it.

her breath caught the second the door cracked open.

and there she was.

azzi.

hair pulled into a messy bun that was barely hanging on. a long-sleeve tee slipping off one shoulder. sweats slung low on her hips like she didn’t even think about it—like she didn’t know what it did to paige’s heartbeat.

she looked soft. and sleepy. and stupidly beautiful.

paige just stood there, completely blank.

azzi tilted her head, amused. “you gonna come in or…?”

“yeah,” paige managed, her voice barely working. “yeah. totally.”

azzi stepped aside and paige walked in, trying so hard not to look at her mouth. or her collarbone. or the way the room smelled like lavender and popcorn.

the lights were low, the TV already on idle. a comforter draped across the bed. snacks in a chaotic pile on the floor—cheetos, gummy worms, some trail mix that looked untouched.

paige sat cross-legged on the bed, hoodie bunched around her knees.

azzi flopped down next to her like they’d done this a hundred times. like this wasn’t new. like paige wasn’t internally combusting.

“you brought pretzels,” azzi said, grinning. “respect.”

“i keep my promises,” paige said, then instantly regretted how breathless she sounded.

azzi opened a bag of cheetos and popped one in her mouth, her lips stained red-orange. “so,” she said between bites, “what are we watching?”

paige blinked. “uh. literally anything. your pick.”

“dangerous,” azzi said, kicking her feet up beside paige’s. “i have weird taste.”

“i already figured that out,” paige teased, nudging her leg lightly.

and then—there it was.

azzi looked at her. just looked. not smiling. not joking. like she was seeing right through her.

the moment stretched too long, too quiet.

paige felt it again.

that gravity.

except now they were sharing it. stuck in it together.

and maybe that was the scariest part of all.

[jjkbambi]

jealous luigi thouggtszssss like he’s a lover boy and a yearner and would just hate hate thate the idea of sharing his girl!!!

jealous luigi (before you start dating) ->

fratboy!luigi catching another guy flirting with you. it’s not really flirting, he assumes. just some guy that’s too close for his own good — you’re nice, of course you are! he doesn’t think anything of it until you’ve pulled out your phone out. better believe he’s in your corner almost immediately.

-> oftentimes weaponizes his extroverted nature. aggressively hard handshake to whoever the hell thinks it’s okay to talk to his girlfriend. even though he hasn’t asked yet, he intends to, and has no problem making that obvious to everyone around you. all while smiling ear to ear!

nerdy!luigi isn’t abrasive or mean. he’s curious, by nature, he can’t help it! he’ll ask (shyly and honestly,,, not very subtly) questions when he notices a new guy hanging around you. “is that your boyfriend?” he asks, tone even and calm as he walks into class with you. you laugh it off, shaking your head. every now and then he’ll follow this up a jab like “you two seem close, though.” so when this new guy pops up in one of your instagram stories, and you’ve tagged him, it’s just research. let’s not forget, luigi likes to work. takes bits and pieces of your exes/close friends, and presents them to you, gauging for a reaction.

-> has a list in his notes (handwritten, never on phone): glasses -> didn’t like, band tees -> no rxn, hats -> neutral.

my thoughts

well if were thinking about it, he also seemed to engage with the whole “male loneliness epidemic” conversation (see: video he rted) so i definitely get the impression he has more “traditional” ideas in regards to relationships ->

is definitely put off by the idea of you going out to the club with the girls when you’re in a relationship. very much a “well,,, if im not doing it then i just don’t see why you have to…” type of guy. is clearly NOT afraid to voice his opinion. even if you’re still in the “situationship/what are we” phase.

clingy & “curious” by nature !!!! interested in knowing everything. location on isnt necessarily a feature of his jealousy, but definitely a tool he uses on nights where he feels you’ve been away too long.

when he was younger (college years) i can imagine he would enjoy the game of trying to “get you back” by chatting up another girl. it’s all in good fun, of course, but the second he notices your smile falter, he’s turned away.

other headcanons im thinking about:

personal trainer!luigi finding out you’re talking to someone, and is immediately snarky about it. he knew he couldn’t make a move soon—you’re his client, after all. suddenly makes a bunch of comments like “come on, you’ve got to look good for your date!!” and rolls his eyes whenever you stop to look at your Apple Watch notifications

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Nat behind the cut; “the Last Son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh,” Kon says, looking a little surprised by the question, so Clark thinks sitting in the armchair was probably for the best. Kon clearly isn’t sure how to respond to him either. “Uh–so like, I guess probably the jacket was tracking other people with the same DNA signature as it was programmed with, or like–usin’ us as anchors, maybe? ‘Cuz I wound up pretty much on top of, like, most of the other me’s that I met. First reality I got dumped in, that one’s me was a friggin’ Robin. Like, he called himself Superboy? But definitely the dude was a Robin. Had the mask and cape and everything. Had the utility belt, even, it was a total trip.” 

“He was?” Clark asks in surprise, then laughs and lightly jokes: “What, were that Batman and Superman doing a sidekick-exchange program?” 

Kon–blinks, a couple times, and looks a little–odd, maybe. 

“Um . . . no, it wasn't . . . and actually, uh, I think his reality probably didn’t have, uh, a Superman in it?” Kon says, wincing a little. “Like–not anymore, I mean. I guess a lot of the realities Black Zero’d made a move on didn’t actually have a Superman in ‘em anymore. At least not the ones he was actually, like, all-out going to war on. He’d never actually met one of you, apparently. Or at least never fought one? Well–actually, technically he did meet . . . look, it’s complicated. Hypertime is weird, basically.” 

Oh, Clark thinks, feeling a little struck as his chest clenches painfully. 

Hell. 

Well, that explains why Kon had looked odd over him making that comment. 

At least that reality’s Bruce had taken their Kon in–Clark assumes that version of him had arranged something with that version of Bruce, given the nature of their lifestyles, but also that’s just the kind of thing Bruce would do for a kid who needed it either way, so who really knows–so Clark at least doesn't have to worry about who’s taking care of that Kon, but the idea that there are multiple realities where he isn't there for the kid is . . . 

God, that's an awful idea. 

Just–obviously it's better that Kon exists, but who's taking care of those versions of him? Do they all have a Bruce, or a Ma and Pa? Do they have– 

( do they have a Lois, he thinks briefly, and then puts the thought aside. 

it's not fair, to ask Lois to give up children of her own. not fair to ask her to be with him when he can't give her that. not– )

“I suppose that makes sense,” he makes himself say, offering Kon the best smile he can manage. “I'd like to think if he'd met a version of me, they could've helped him before you ever had to deal with this.” 

“Uh–help him?” Kon asks, looking bewildered. “Dude, what? Like, he was literally trying to conquer literal Hypertime, how the fuck is that something you woulda wanted to help him do?” 

“I–no, kid, that's not what I meant,” Clark says, softening carefully and gentling his voice. Hell, what did the people who made him put in his head? “You said he had problems. That his reality wasn't safe for him. I'd like to think one of me could've helped him find a place that was. Kept him from hurting himself, and kept him from hurting other people too.”

[saturneras]

Private Eyes V

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Your brother is taking your parents down to Florida to see your grandparents for the weekend and you've got the house all to yourself. Casey hasn't explicitly said that you could use the love of his life aka the vintage car he has been working on for the past months, but a little spin in a convertible on this sunny Saturday afternoon wouldn't hurt, right? And maybe it will take your mind off the way a certain chief of police has been occupying your thoughts recently. Sometimes a girl just needs a crisp Diet Coke, the "My Life is a Movie"-Playlist on Spotify queued up and nothing ahead but some wide open spaces.

Note: Siri play "Cowboy Take Me Away" by The Chicks.

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4

There is something so exhilarating about doing something you definitely should not be doing. It's this feeling as if pop rocks are going off inside your chest. It is exactly what you feel when the garage door slowly opens to reveal Casey's shiny metallic blue vintage Mercedes convertible. She's a beauty. He's been working on it for months and has dropped the idea to take her for a spin when he gets the chance last week. If he didn't want anyone to drive it, he maybe shouldn't have parked it in your parents' garage. And since you know where he keeps the key you are just doing him a favour. It is a public service basically. You need a long drive through nowhere and his baby needs a chance to blow off some steam. A win win situation.

You slip into the driver's seat and turn the key. The car starts immediately. God bless. And also bless Casey for being as much of a music freak as you are and putting in a bluetooth connector so you can connect your phone to the radio. You press play on your playlist and pull out of the garage. In ten minutes you're on a country road heading out of town. You drive until you can't see houses anymore, just fields and the occasional farm on the distant horizon. The Texas sun is beating down on the concrete, heat simmering in the air. The windows are down and the breeze is lifting up your hair, cooling the back of your neck. You take a sip of your Diet Coke when the opening notes of "Guilty As Sin" start playing and you lean back, loudly singing along.

There is a flash of something in your head. More like someone. The sensation of feeling skin on your skin, having his body pressed against yours. You shake your head. No, no, no. This is exactly the reason why you took this damn drive - to take your mind off of ...things. The image of his figure hovering above you, his curls falling into his forehead, his eyebrows drawn, has been haunting you for days. The way his lips parted, when you slowly opened your legs is imprinted on your fucking brain. How on earth are you ever going to get rid of that image? It definitely is not good that you're fantasising about your boss and even worse that it's Joel freaking Miller. Obviously that can never happen for so many reasons but mostly because your brother is actually gonna kill him first and then you, without missing a beat. Maybe also Tommy, if he is really on a roll.

Right as Taylor Swift is singing about writing things on inner thighs, something goes wrong. For whatever reason, the gas pedal does not seem to be responding. You put your foot on it a couple of times but nothing is happening, the car is not accelerating. Stunned, you try to put your foot down, but nothing seems to happen. You're really starting to freak out, when you realise that the break also seems to be fucked. At least there is nobody anywhere on this goddamn road you could have hit, so you just slowly let the car come to a stop in the middle of nowhere. You exhale heavily. The tank is full, so at least you weren't a complete idiot. Maybe Casey did not finish fixing it up like he said he did?

"Fucking hell," you groan and slap the steering wheel. Just your luck.

What the fuck are you supposed to do? You obviously can't call your brother or your parents because not only will you get the lecture of a lifetime, but they'll also freak out that you're stranded in the middle of a country road with nothing to keep you company but an almost warm can of coke and some pretzels you brought in case of an emergency. Apparently, what you thought might be an emergency is vastly different to what is actually possible. You could call triple-A but on a Saturday at this time of day they'll probably be here by nightfall. How the fuck are you going to get out of here? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

You open the car door and step out, feeling the heat of the day immediately engulf you. You definitely should have brought water. Christ. What were you thinking being all free and a little reckless, huh? Walking a couple of steps down the street you think maybe you could just wait for someone to pass by and help a girl out. That's when it dawns on you that Casey is not the only one you know who knows his way around a vintage car. You hurry back to the car and grab your phone, tapping Tommy's number and calling him.

He doesn't answer. Why should he? He is probably busy on a Saturday afternoon. You try again though nothing but the soothing sound of the dial tone is whispering in your ear. When you press his contact one more time, he finally picks up.

"Hello?"

"Oh my God, Tommy, hi," you say, relieved. "I am so sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if by any chance you're free right now? I kinda did something stupid and I need your help."

"Huh?" He says, sounding like he's outside or somewhere loud.

"I borrowed Casey's Mercedes and took a drive up west and now the car is not working and I'm sort of stranded on this road and I can-"

"Who is this?" he says and you frown, saying your name.

"Casey's sister?" You say, hesitantly.

There is just silence at the end of the other line for a moment and then you hear a commotion, sounding like someone getting up.

"Where are you?" You're trying to put the phone closer to your ear, to hear him better.

"I kinda have no idea to be honest, but I can send you my location maybe? I think I passed that one dairy farm with the red sign on my way," you say quickly. "I'm so sorry Tommy, I really appreciate your help."

A sigh resounds from the other end. "This ain't Tommy."

Your eyes widen. "What?"

You take a look at the screen and see Tommy Miller's name and number on the display. Confused, you put the phone back to your ear.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"This is Joel Miller," he says and after a second or two he adds, "The Chief."

Fuck.

"I know who you are, Miller," you say, hearing him moving on the other end. "What are you doing on Tommy's phone?"

„He left it on the table,“ he replies.

You run a hand through your hair and frown. „And you just answer?"

"You called three times," he says.

"Have you ever heard of a right to privacy?"

There is a groan on the other end. „You want me to come get you or keep lecturing me about shit?“

You hear a car door slam.

„Okay,“ you say. "Why did you ask who I was?"

"Apparently Tommy has named you Little C in his phone," Joel says. "How am I supposed to know that's you."

"Fine," you say, „I can send you my lo-

„I‘ll find you,“ he says and the call ends with a click.

„Alright, Chief,“ you mumble and put the phone back in your pocket.

About a long boring hour spent kicking rocks on the side of the road later, you can see a car emerging on the horizon, speeding toward you. The heat makes it flicker in the distance and you squint your eyes to sharpen the picture. The familiar outlines of a his truck take final form and before you know it he slides the car on the gravel and brings it to a sudden stop in front of you.

Joel jumps out of the car and stalks toward you. He’s wearing worn out jeans, boots and a familiar flannel over a crips white tshirt.

"What were you thinking?" He shouts, stepping up in front of you.

"Hello to you too," you reply.

"Why did you take the car?"

"I was just trying to go for a drive," you say.

"Maybe you should've taken a car that actually works and not this thing," he snaps harshly.

He comes to a halt in front of you, breathing heavily. His hair is toussled as if he had just spent the last hour running his hands through it vigorously. His dark eyes shift slowly from yours down to your torso and further toward your feet. Once he has clocked the size of your shorts and the quite long stretch of bare legs, his eyes widen for a second.

"Casey said that he was going to take it out soon," you explain.

Joel snaps his eyes back to yours. "Your brother has been saying that since last summer."

"Maybe he should have told me that," you say.

"Maybe you should have asked him before taking his car," Joel says sternly. "Do you even know where you are?"

You shrug. "I can just check on my phone."

"And what happens if your phone shuts off?"

"I'll just walk somewhere," you say, crossing your arms.

"There isn't a ranch for thirty minutes each way," he says. "Drive, not walk."

"Well," you say, "I've always been fond of walking."

"It's almost a 100 and you probably don't have any water with your, do you?" Joel says.

"I have a Diet Coke," you say.

"Christ, this is how people die!" He shouts.

"Okay, I feel like you're blowing this way out of proportion," you say.

"Did you even tell anyone that you were going out?"

You shake your head. "It's not that serious."

"Someone could have driven by and just decided to kidnap or assault you and no one would even know!"

"Jesus, Miller," you say, "I'm not some damsel in distress, who can't protect herself."

"I've seen some fucked up shit in my time, honey. You don't stand a chance against these psycho."

"Okay," you defensively raise your hands. "I need you to snap out of your paranoid chief/papa bear mentality and just take me home, okay?"

Joel frowns. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You can be a bit overprotective sometimes, has anyone ever told you that?"

"I am the chief of police, it is my jo-"

"It's your job, I know, I know," you finish his sentence.

Joel just stares at you blank. "You actually think that I'm some file pushing desk guarding idiot, don't you?"

Now it's his time to cross his arms and you take a step backward.

"I'm just saying that maybe you've spent a lot of time in a job that alters your impression of certain probabilities."

Joel nods, "You sure as hell have made up your mind."

You sigh. "Can you just take me home now, please?"

He shakes his head. "Can't."

"What?" You say. "Why?"

Joel takes his phone out of his back pocket and checks it. "We need to wait for Earl."

"Who the fuck is Earl?" You say and lean back against the trunk of the Mercedes.

"He's the guy that's gonna tow your brother's car and bring it over to my house."

"Why would he bring it to your house?"

He checks the phone again and looks back up at you. "I don't have the tools with me to start it back up."

"Why don't you just bring it back to my parents' house?"

Joel chuckles. "Because your brother doesn't have any tools, he always borrows Tommy's."

You roll your eyes. "Of course, he does."

That's when another truck arrives on the end of the street, slowly driving toward you and Joel, standing on the side. You both wait in silence and you can't help but steal a glance at him standing there, his side profile facing you. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up and you can see tiny beads of sweat on the back of his neck, running into his shirt. It looks like he's been outside today, his face a little more tanned than usual.

The tow truck comes to a halt in front of the Mercedes and after a couple of seconds a man, maybe in his seventies, gets out of it. "It's hotter than a witch's tit out here! This better be worth at least two days of yard work, boy."

Joel actually laughs and moves toward the guy. "Make it three, sir."

You don't think you've ever seen him this at ease with anyone else but Tommy. His smile lightens up his whole features, smoothing out the ever-present frown entirely.

They shake hands and Earl grins, taking a UT cap off his head. "This must be important then."

The old man looks over at you and flashes another smile, his grey moustache stretching with his grin. "And who do we have here? The trouble maker I assume."

You walk over to them and take Earl's outstretched hand, shaking it heartily. "At least the Chief seems to think so."

"Is that so?" Earl says and turns back to Joel, who rests his hands on his hips.

"Just let her work for you and you'll agree in no time, I'm sure," Joel says annoyed.

Earl laughs, his grey beard shaking. "She sure as hell can get you riled up, Miller."

Joel scoffs. "I ain't riled up, Earl."

"Sure, sure," Earl says and motions for Joel to drop it. "Let's get to work, son. The misses is going to be in outrage if I don't make it back in time for dinner with the kids."

Earl easily positions the truck in front of the Mercedes and they hook it up to pull it onto the back of the truck. Once everything is secured, the two men walk back over toward you.

"So, you wanna take a ride in a tow truck, girlie?" Earl grins.

You laugh and Joel says: "She'll be riding back with me, Earl."

"Maybe she wants to ride in the truck, Miller," Earl counters.

"Yeah, I want to ride in the truck," you say and expectantly look up at him.

Joel shakes his head in one swift motion. "It's not about what you want. Now get in the car."

"Don't tell me what to do. We're not at work. I don't have to listen to you at all," you snap.

Joel narrows his eyes. "I ain't doing that with you right now, Sweetheart."

"I'm glad we agree on that," you say.

"Imma say this one time only," Joel says, his southern drawl coming through, showing his temper simmering. "Get in the car."

"You never let me have any fun," you say and turn to Earl. "He never does."

"And you never know when to listen," Joel rumbles.

Earl looks between the both of you back and forth a couple of times. "Yeah, very calm, Miller. Not riled at all."

Joel scoffs and starts walking toward his car. "I'll see you at the house, Earl."

Earl points at you and shouts: "I like her, Joel. You should keep her around."

Joel just slams the car door shut and starts the engine. You sigh and offer a smile to Earl. "Sorry, 'bout that. He can't stand giving up control."

"Sure can," Earl agrees and gives a little wave. "Just needs a little longer to trust. Haven't seen him loose his cool this quickly in... ever really. I sure like the way you work, girlie." Earl laughs and walks over to his car, hopping up onto the truck.

You turn around and walk up to Joel's running car. From the windshield he still looks pissed. Before you can grab the door, he leans over and pushes it open for you.

"Thanks," you say and get in the truck.

Joel makes a turn and starts driving back the way you came.

"Listen," you start, "thank you for coming to get me. I hope I didn't pull you away from anything important."

Joel glances over at you, one strand of his dark hair dancing on his forehead.

"Nothing important," he says, "and don't mention it."

You frown. "'Don't mention it' as in no worries or as in don't tell anyone?"

"Both," he grunts and turns his eyes back to the road.

You both continue to ride in deafening silence until he pulls up in front of his home. The front yard is beautiful as ever and the summer flowers are in full bloom. Earl has already unloaded the Mercedes in the front. Joel kills the engine and quickly gets out. He presses something on his phone and the garage door slowly slides open. You step out of the car and walk up to the front, leaning back against it. Watching them.

Without another word, Joel opens the door of the Mercedes and with Earl's help on the back, pushes it down the driveway into the garage. Seeing him like this, heavily breathing, does absolutely nothing to you. It's not like you're thinking about the way it sounds when you close your eyes for a split second at all. Earl however looks like he isn't even pushing, but more there for moral support. Once the car is standing in the garage, Joel exhales heavily and swears.

"Hey! Let's mind our manners here, son," Earl warns. "A lady is present."

Joel steals a glance at you. "Ain't so sure 'bout that."

"You trying to get an old man to smack your head, boy?" Earl says and Joel laughs heartily.

"Not planning on it," he replies and goes over to pat Earl on the back. "Thank you for the rescue, sir. I'll see you whenever you want to cash in."

Earl nods and glances over at you. "Sure as hell worth more than yard work, huh?"

Joel's face doesn't give any reaction and Earl turns back to him. "You should bring her to Sunday lunch some time soon."

"She works for me, Earl," Joel says sternly.

Earl shrugs. "Not on Sundays, does she?"

Joel response is a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. Earl chuckles and gives you a wave before he steps back into his tow truck. "See you, honey."

"Bye, Earl," you shout back and walk up toward the open garage.

You both watch Earl drive off in silence.

"You can wait inside, where it's cool," Joel suggests, any trace of ease or the last bit of a smile vanished from his face. You exhale heavily and you shake your head.

"I can help you," you say.

"If I need someone to not do what I tell them to, I'll come and get you."

"Wow," you say and step into the garage, hopping on the empty counter, "very original."

Joel narrows his eyes and lets them slowly run down your legs.

"I can just take you home. Your parents are probably worried," Joel says, still carefully following your feet dangling in the air.

"They're in Florida visiting my grandparents," you say. "With Casey."

"Ah," Joel says, stepping into the garage. "That's why you didn't call Casey."

"One of the reasons, yes," you say, "and he sure as well would kill me if he ever found out I took the car."

Joal sighs. "I fucking hate secrets."

"You are 'bout that?" You ask, watching him innocently. "Seems like you're pretty good at keeping them yourself."

He raises his eyebrows.

"Or did you tell Tommy about our run in in the bathroom at the BBQ?"

"That's different," he says.

"How so?"

"That wasn't on purpose."

"Oh, right," you say, "so you lifting me onto the counter or pushing me down on the shooting table weren't on purpose? You sure do like to get yourself into accidents huh, Chief?"

Joel just turns away from you with a grunt and walks to the front of the Mercedes.

Without any warnings, he shrugs off his flannel and throws it to the side on a nearby work bench. The moment he takes off the flannel you realise that maybe you should have gone inside and waited there. That that might have been a better idea, not just for your faith but for your sanity.

Joel's shirt is pressed to his entire torso, clinging to it like sticky honey. He must have been so hot under that flannel that even the thought of pressing your hand on that boiling chest makes you shift in your seat. You can't help but watch the way it stretches over his broad back, tightening over his chest. His bicep flexes as he opens the hood of the car with a grunt and it's so obscene you actually have to look away. With both hands he pulls his hair back and presses the dark curls neatly to the back of his head. The evening sun is drenching the garage in a golden shade. You watch him work on the car, get different tools and swearing from time to time. Every time he runs his sweaty hand through his hair, you have to hold your breath involuntarily. The way the sun lights up his body gives his presence a different aura, almost as if a halo-like shine as formed around him.

After a while you couldn't possible put into any form of time measurement, he suddenly comes up from underneath the hood of the car and slams it shut. "Should be fine now, I’ll try starting it back up tomorrow and bring it over as soon as I can."

You nod and Joel sighs.

"You want something to drink?" He asks.

"Sure," you say, slowly sliding down the countertop, at exactly the moment he is trying to make his way past you. Joel hesitates for a second but then quickly moves out of the way and steps toward the entrance to the house, opening the door.

You follow him into kitchen. He goes right to the fridge and you lean against the counter opposite him.

"What do you want?"

"Water is fine," you say.

Joel opens the fridge door. "I got water, beer and whatever weird energy drink Tommy brought over last night."

"I'll have a beer then," you say and he grabs two bottles, opening them quickly and handing one to you.

You grab the bottle from his hand and almost hiss when his hand touches yours. It's warm from the sun and slightly wet from the condensation on the ice cold bottle.

Joel flinches. "Sorry, I'm a bit sweaty." He rubs his hand on the back of his jeans, furrowing his brows.

You shake your head quickly. "No, I don't mind. It's just a bit cold." You say desperately trying to refrain from reaching out again. You would die if he realized just how much you would like to know what it would feel like to have that hand wrapped around you.

He closes the fridge and leans back against it, watching you intently. You hold his gaze, both taking swigs from your beers.

"Listen," he starts and then turns, opening a drawer next to him. He sets down his bottle, takes out a block of post-it notes and a pen, quickly writing something down. Then he hands it over to you.

A phone number shows on it in bold writing.

"This is for next time you get yourself into trouble," he says. "So you don't have to terrorise Tommy."

You take the note from him and hold it between your fingers. Then you take out your phone, dial the number and press the call button until you hear Joel‘s phone vibrating in his pocket.

„I feel like the only times I get myself into trouble you're usually already there."

"I ain't talking 'bout that kind of trouble, kid," Joel says huskily. You don't realise it, but as if on it's own accord, your body moves away from the counter and veers ever so slightly toward him.

"Don't call me kid," you say.

"What would you rather I call you, huh?" Joel asks, taking his beer bottle back from the counter.

"Don't know," you tilt your head. "Should it also depend on whether I'm in between your legs or does that only apply to me addressing you?"

"Why do you have to bring that up?" He asks, the grip on his bottle tightening.

"Maybe I'm just trying to get you all riled up as Earl puts it."

"I ain't between them now am I, Darlin'?" Joel drawls.

"Is that a factual statement or a suggestion?" You raise your eyebrows in question.

"You are trying to make things very hard for me, aren't you?" Joel sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

"How hard is kinda your thing I guess, don't you agree?"

He scoffs, but can't hide the way the corner of his mouth slightly twitches.

"You ever think about it"? You ask.

When he shakes his head and pushes himself off the counter, the beer bottle in his hand grazes your arm. You raise your head up to him, letting his warm breath hit your cheek.

"No," he says and keeps his eyes locked on your lips.

You grin. "You're a bad liar."

"And you're out of your depths, Sweetheart.“

"Maybe I like being there," you say, "maybe it's nice to not be able to feel the ground."

Another inch disappears between you two, when he places his bottle on the counter behind you.

"Maybe I'm just waiting on you to rescue me," you say, waiting for him to say something.

But Joel just stares at you with narrowed eyes as if he is trying to figure something out. Something that he can't grab a hold of. Something that has been bothering him for weeks. And maybe it is time to finally dare open up the box, to release the bird from its cage and let it flap its strong wings with nothing but the vast open sky above.

"Are you going to come out and rescue me, Mr. Miller?" You whisper.

You're close enough to trace his smell oozing from him and could count the hairs of his beard one by one, if you had the time. Nothing happens, it is just the sound of your breathing in sync, resounding in the silent kitchen.

His hand rises to your hips and he draws his eyebrows further together as if he was pushing against an imaginary barrier in his mind. You cannot help but inhale sharply as he carefully lets his right index finger curl around the belt loop on your shorts. You feel the softest tug that pulls you toward him.

"Me dropping everything to come and get you once today isn't enough for you, Darlin'?" Joel says softly, his eyes showing that familiar twinkle.

You can't help but let loose a little grin for him and lift your chin up toward his. "Maybe I just like to see you workin'."

Now it's Joel's time to smile almost unnoticably, before his face morphs back into that exterior of stone. The only thing giving him away is the way the brown in his eyes has turned molten, making you think of strawberries dipped in warm chocolate.

"Is that so, honey?" He says.

"What about you?" You ask.

"What about me?" Joel says.

You lift up your hand without thinking and put one finger directly in the middle of his chest. Joel almost hides his flinch.

"What do you like?"

He exhales a shaky breath.

"Huh?" You say, when he doesn't reply.

"I liked seeing you sitting in my garage," Joel says after a while, his voice husky and calm.

"Why?"

"I like you watching me work," he says even softer.

You smile up at him. "I already knew that," you say, "tell me something I don't know."

Joel huffs and in one swift motion has snuck his hand into the belt loop at the back of your shorts, grabbing the fabric, pulling you flush to him. The feel of his jeans against yours surely will never leave your head until you pass from this earth. Your chest grazes his still damp shirt and you wonder wether this will be one of those vital moments in your life you later think back on.

"I ain't much of a talker, Sweetheart," he says, using the other hand to brush a strand of hair from your cheek.

"Why do I not believe that, Mr. Miller?" You narrow your eyes. "Or is it Chief now already?"

"When you're standing between my legs, you can call me whatever you want, Darlin'," he says and lowers his head in slow motion.

„I thought it wasn’t about what I want,“ you say.

Joel’s mouth is so close that it would only need a little nudge of his hand to erase the distance between the two of you.

„Out there it’s not,“ he says, his lips moving deliciously slow. „In here, it’s only about what you want.“

„Then show me what you like and I’ll tell you what I want, Jo-„

"JOEL!"

Tommy's voice resounds from the opening front door.

Before he has stepped into the kitchen, you've pushed yourself off of Joel's chest and put as much space as possible between the both of you.

"Joel?" Tommy calls again. "What are you doing? I thought you were gonna come back. I had to stop Mary like five times from calling yo-"

Tommy enters the kitchen and comes to a halt as he sees the both of you on opposite ends of the counter. You in front, Joel in the back, the countertop covering him from the waist down.

"Oh hey," Tommy says and smiles. "What are you doing here?"

"Your brother helped me out with some car trouble," you explain. "I tried calling you, but he picked up your phone."

Tommy nods. "Oh yeah, I'm sorry, I was out dancing," he says and does a little shimmy in the doorway. "What happened?"

"Nothing really," you say and wave it off. "The chief came to the rescue."

Joel's eyes flash over to you for a split second and then land back on Tommy.

"Why didn't you come back?" Tommy asks him and Joel shrugs.

"Took longer than I thought," Joel grunts.

Tommy sighs. "You could have called. Mary literally was about to come over here. I think she might have developed a bit of a thing for you. A little much for a first date, but who am I to judge?"

Your head snaps to Tommy. "Date?"

Tommy walks over and laughs, sitting down at the counter. "Oh yeah, I convinced Joel to go out with my friend's sister and I thought it was going well but then he vanished, saving you apparently and didnt come back."

You can't help but grin as you watch Joel's face turn a little red.

"Must have been a good date then?" You ask and Joel rolls his eyes.

"You made me look bad, Joel," Tommy complains and Joel grabs his beer.

"Wasn't for me," Joel says, taking a swig.

"She seemed nice," Tommy says.

"Too agreeable," Joel counters and shoots you a look.

"Didn't know the chief was dating," you say and take a sip of your beer as well.

"Didn't know you'd be interested in knowing," Joel says and Tommy frowns, looking back and forth between you two.

"Alright," Tommy says, "I'll take you home, little C, before you both kill each other."

"Thanks, Tommy," you say and put the bottle on the counter.

"See ya, Chief," you call and leave Joel standing in his kitchen, still leaning against the fridge, watching you like a hawk. The moment you’re in Tommy’s car, your phone resounds with the familiar ding of an incoming message. You pull it out of your pocket and check, a smile spreading on your lips.

Message from Chief: Stay out of trouble. Call if you can’t.

[allthewaytom63]

❥ in which nerd!armin meets you at a rave..

cw: smut. 18+. drug use, strong language, degradation, rough sex, mirror sex, public/semi-public sex, praise & humiliation kink, and one deceptively shy nerd who turns out to be freakier than anyone was prepared for. mdni .

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

the air was thick with sweat, strobe lights, and questionable decisions.

someewhere in the neon haze of the warehouse-turned-dancefloor, bodies moved in waves—clothes clinging, glitter smearing, the beat thudding deep into every ribcage like a second pulse. you couldn't tell if you were drunk or just overwhelmed. maybe both. most definitely both.

hitch had already vanished into the crowd, which wasn't surprising. one shot in and she was off like a chaotic little rocket, riding the high of bass drops and male attention. annie stood to your left, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room like she was here on a security detail rather than as your friend. you loved her for that. always had your back, even when she'd rather be literally anywhere else.

"i think that guy just tried to bite me," annie muttered under her breath.

you laughed, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you sipped from your half melted cocktail. "and yet you're still here. love that for me.”

annie didn't respond, just raised an unimpressed brow before glancing back toward the bar. you let your gaze sweep over the crowd, letting the beat pull at your limbs like puppet strings. this was exactly what you needed, a night of chaos to shake off the monotony of the week. no classes. no family. no responsibilities. no worries. just drugs, music, and freedom.

and that's when you saw him..

he didn't belong here. not even a little.

blonde hair, long and pushed back behind his ears. long sleeved shirt that was tucked in, layered with another green shirt on top of it. God help him—and the kind of stiff posture that screamed, 'i don't go out much.' he stood just outside the edge of the dancefloor, gripping a redbull like it was a flotation device in a stormy sea of bodies.

something about the way he looked like he was calculating his exit strategy made you grin.

you watched him for a moment, sipping slowly, wondering what brought someone like that to a place like this. maybe he lost a bet. maybe he had friends here and got dragged along. or just maybe he was about to become your entertainment for the night.

you nudged annie. "see the guy by the pillar? green shirt. looks like he's being held hostage?"

she followed your line of sight. "oh no."

"oh yes."

"i can already feel the secondhand embarrassment."

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

armin wasn’t entirely sure how this happened.

one second he was reading in bed, content with his blanket and the dulcet tones of a podcast about ancient civilizations, and the next he was being herded into a rideshare by eren and connie, forced into a rave like some sort of social experiment.

"i feel like i’ve entered a different dimension," he muttered as the group spilled through the warehouse doors and into chaos.

"welcome to hell, nerd," eren smirked, already pulling mikasa toward the bar.

"just try not to look like you want to die," connie offered helpfully before disappearing into the crowd with Jean.

armin stayed near the wall. he wasn't built for this. the lights were too bright, the music too loud, and the people—God, there were so many people. everyone moved like they were on fast forward, half naked and soaked in glitter, shouting and laughing and touching like they'd never heard of personal space.

he should've said no. should’ve stayed home and read that new book on linguistic anthropology he'd been looking forward to. but eren had given him that stupid look. the 'you never do anything fun' look, and armin, despite his better judgment had caved.

and now here he was. holding a redbull he didn't want. sweating in places he usually doesn’t. praying no one tried to talk to him.

so naturally, with his luck, that's when you walked up.

"hey," you said, loud enough to cut through the music but smooth enough to sound casual. "i’m [name]," you continued, although he never asked yet.

armin turned, startled. his first thought was she's hot. his second was she's talking to me?

"uh. hi. i’m armin."

you gave him a slow once-over, playful and shameless. "fitting . you always look this uncomfortable though, or is tonight special occasion?"

his ears turned red instantly. "i... yeah. no. i mean- yes? it’s kind of a new environment."

you tilted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. "did your friends drag you here?"

"yeah, my best friend," he admitted. "he said i needed to 'get out more.'"

your laugh was quick and warm, like you weren't judging him. "rough. you don't strike me as the rave type."

"cause i’m not," he said, then added, "i study linguistics. my idea of a wild night is usually just arguing with people about syntax online."

your grin widened. "a nerd and self aware. i respect that."

he relaxed—barely, but enough for his shoulders to drop a fraction. "you?"

you took a step closer. "i come to places like this when i need to blow off steam. no expectations, no responsibilities. just music and chaos."

armin's eyes flicked to the dancefloor, then back to you. you were close now. closer than he expected anyone to get tonight. you smelled like sugar and danger. your smile was sharp. and when the lights flashed pink across your face, he felt something inside him shift.

"that sounds... kind of nice."

"it is," you said, and then, boldly, "come dance with me."

armin blinked. "right now?"

"no, tomorrow," you teased, taking his hand. "c’mon, professor. i won't bite. unless you ask nicely."

he could've said no. he should've said no. but something about you, your energy, your smile and your fingers curling around his wrist—made the word disappear from his vocabulary.

so he let you pull him onto the floor.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

you didn't expect him to be good.

and he wasn't, really. not in a technical sense. but he moved with this quiet focus, like he was trying his best to follow your lead without stepping on anyone. it was... weirdly endearing. his hand found your waist at some point, tentative but not hesitant. and when your hips brushed his, he flushed from his chest to the tips of his ears.

cute.

you leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "still hate it here?"

he shook his head, voice lower than you expected. "not at the moment."

you let the tension stretch like taffy. kept your body just close enough to tease, just far enough to keep him guessing. his hand tightened slightly at your waist, and you saw his jaw flex like he didn't trust himself to speak.

the music slowed to something deeper, heavier. a remix of something sultry. bodies pressed in all around, but you didn't notice anyone else. just him.

armin arlert, hesitant and wide eyed, dancing like his world had tilted sideways and he didn't mind.

you glanced up at him. "do you always look this lost, or is it just me?"

his eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was nothing bashful about him at all.

"just you."

the next song bled into another without pause, the kind of smooth, heavy bass loop that made time stretch and snap like elastic.

armin was still dancing, if you could even call it that, his movements still stiff but loosening with every second he spent with your body near his. he was catching on now. leaning into the rhythm, matching your sway, holding your gaze a little longer each time.

he didn't feel like an inexperienced loser anymore.

he felt like a live wire.

your arms were looped lazily around his neck, and his hands had migrated from your waist to your hips, a subtle shift that didn't go unnoticed. he still looked unsure, like he was waiting for someone to yell at him for having fun. it made you want to test him. push him. see what he'd do if you got just a little closer.

so you did.

you rolled your hips against his, slow and fluid, and leaned in, your lips ghosting the shell of his ear again.

"you’re starting to get it," you murmured, voice syrupy and edged in heat.

armin's fingers tightened, just barely. his breath stuttered. "i'm trying."

"trying," you repeated, pulling back with a lazy smirk. "that’s cute."

he looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes a little darker than before, breath a little faster. there was something coiled under his skin now, something hungry. he wasn't just reacting anymore. he was watching. choosing.

"i could try harder," he said, and the tone was new. not cocky. not shy. just... honest.

your grin widened. "good."

the lights flashed violet, and your fingers slid into the short hairs at the nape of his neck, nails dragging just enough to make him shiver. he leaned into it like instinct, like maybe no one had ever touched him like this before—like he hadn't known how much he needed it until now.

and God, did you want to ruin him.

the crowd pushed closer as the tempo dropped again, sticky with heat and sweat and bass. your bodies stayed flush, every sway of your hips dragging against him in a delicious tease. you felt him—halfway hard now and very aware of it—tense and then melt with every shift in movement.

still, he didn't pull away.

you tilted your head, teasing. "do i make you nervous, armin?"

he blinked. "terrified."

that earned a genuine laugh from you. "good. you'll live."

"i'm not so sure."

his hands slid slightly lower on your hips, fingertips brushing just shy of where your short and tight, hot pink dress started to ride up from the friction of the dance. the contact jolted heat straight up your spine.

oh. he really was learning.

and you? you were a little impressed.

you slowed your pace, hips rolling in lazy figure eights, dragging him with you. his grip adjusted instinctively, and when your thigh brushed against his, he didn't flinch this time. he leaned in, breath grazing your temple.

"still judging me?" he asked, quiet and warm.

you looked up at him, amused. "what if I said yes?"

his lips quirked, and then—God help you—he leaned down, voice pitched for only you to hear.

"then i guess i should give you more material."

where the hell had that come from?

your breath caught, and for a second, you just stared at him. armin, golden boy, bookworm, sweet little syntax nerd, top of his class, was smirking at you like he had a secret.

you wanted to eat him alive.

your fingers trailed down his chest, slow and deliberate, until they reached the hem of his shirt. you hooked one finger there, tugging him just a fraction closer. close enough that your lips brushed his jaw when you spoke.

"you’re kind of blowing my expectations out of the water, you know that?"

he chuckled, breath hitching. "that’s what happens when you corner a nerd. they mutate."

you snorted, pressing your forehead briefly to his. "i knew there was a reason i liked you."

he was about to say something else. something witty or self deprecating or, if he was feeling bold, flirty, when your hand slid from his chest to your bra strap, slipping something small and candy colored into your palm.

his brow furrowed. "what’s that?"

you held it up between two fingers. it was a tiny pastel pill. the music dipped, and a burst of cold air from the fans above sent goosebumps down your arms. your grin didn't fade.

"molly," you said simply. "want to level up?"

armin stared at the pill like it had teeth.

"i…i've never-"

"i figured." you rolled it between your fingers, then offered it to him again, less playful this time. "no pressure. seriously. but i promise, if you're ever gonna try it, tonight's the night."

he looked at you. really looked.

and maybe it was the way your pupils were already a little blown, or the way your lips glistened under the purple strobe, or the soft sweat gleaming on your collarbone, but something in him snapped loose. something bold, something curious.

he took the pill from your fingers.

you raised a brow, just a little impressed. "you sure?"

"i want to feel what you're feeling," he said, voice low. "i want to see what this place looks like through your eyes."

fuck.

okay.

you swallowed your own tab dry, already feeling the first hints of warmth blooming low in your spine, like a furnace kicking on. you leaned in, brushed your lips against his jaw again.

"you're in for it now, baby."

he smiled, nervous and excited all at once.

and as the crowd swallowed you both again, bodies slick and glittering, music vibrating your bones, hands never leaving each other, you felt the night start to twist. slow and warm and dizzy.

everything was about to change.

and you couldn't wait.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

you didn't realize how long you'd been dancing, how many songs had bled into each other, how many times your hands had traced the same lazy paths across armin's shoulders, his chest, the warm curve of his waist until your heartbeat started to echo in colors.

the first sign hit in a wave.

the walls breathed. your skin buzzed. you closed your eyes, and the bass wasn't sound anymore. it was sensation, deep and primal and humming through your veins like you were part of the speaker system itself.

when you looked up at armin, the world split open.

his pupils were blown wide, eating up the blue of his eyes. his lips were parted, just slightly, and the lights overhead caught in his hair like a halo. he looked untouchable. or maybe just unreal. or maybe you were tripping already.

"[name]..." his voice cracked into a laugh. "i feel fucking amazing."

you laughed too, loud and open, because same. your hands slid up his chest, thumbs brushing under his jaw. "good, baby. you’re glowing."

"i feel like i'm inside my own brain," he said, voice awed, eyes darting around like he couldn't take it all in fast enough. "like - like everything is loud, but in a good way. like you're loud."

you grinned. "you like me loud?"

he nodded. "you're, like... light. you're the whole song."

you kissed him.

it wasn't the first time you'd thought about it—not even close, but it was the first time it felt impossible not to. your lips met his in a slow, dizzy rush, soft and lingering, your hands cupping his cheeks as if to anchor him. his breath caught, and for a moment, he froze.

and then melted.

armin kissed like he felt everything. like his whole body had become nerves and skin and hunger. he leaned into you with a kind of desperate softness, lips moving with clumsy eagerness, teeth catching on your bottom lip like he didn't even realize he'd done it.

you gasped into his mouth.

he chased the sound.

the world narrowed to heat and taste and touch, the way his fingers curled around your hips, the way his breath hitched every time your lips parted just enough for tongue. his hands were bolder now, one slipping up the back of your dress, fingers brushing bare skin. he made a sound—a tiny, broken thing and it made you nearly lose it.

"fuck," you whispered against his mouth, "you're kind of good at this."

"i'm high and stupid," he breathed. "you're doing all the work."

you bit his lip, just to prove a point.

he groaned.

and yeah, maybe you wanted to ruin him, but there was something kind of magical about watching armin become someone else under your hands. someone reckless and starry eyed, someone who wasn't afraid of wanting.

"you wanna get out of here?" you asked, nose brushing his.

he nodded so fast you laughed again. "where?"

"doesn't matter. anywhere."

you didn't even remember leaving the crowd. the next thing you knew, your fingers were laced with his, pulling him through the haze of bodies and smoke and synthetic starlight. you barely caught glimpses of your friends. hitch grinding on someone with a mullet and patchwork tattoos tattered all over his body, annie nursing a drink in the corner with that permanent unimpressed stare, but they blurred into background static.

the hallway was cooler, quieter.

you stopped near a wall of mirrors, breathing hard. armin's chest heaved. his cheeks were flushed, mouth swollen pink from your kisses, and his hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty strands. he looked... wrecked. beautiful.

you pushed him gently back against the wall.

"you okay?" you asked, hands resting on his chest.

his laugh came soft. "yeah. just overwhelmed. in a good way. you?"

you tilted your head, smiling. "floating."

"God. you’re so..."

you raised a brow. "so what?"

"you." his fingers brushed your jaw like he couldn't explain it any other way. "you're making me feel things i didn't even know were possible."

your pulse fluttered.

"yeah?" you whispered.

he nodded, then leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

"i've never wanted someone like this."

your knees went weak.

you surged forward again, kissing him harder now, and he caught you around the waist like it was instinct. your bodies crashed like waves, messy and slow and uncoordinated, all breath and friction. his hands roamed, tentative but hungry, mapping every inch of you like a secret.

"touch me more," you breathed, dragging his hands higher under your dress.

he obeyed.

his fingers explored, shaky but curious, brushing over the swell of your thighs, the arch of your spine, the soft curve of your ass. he looked at you like you were some rare, glowing thing. like you were made of sugar and heat and static electricity.

"[name]..."

you silenced him with a kiss.

"we've got all night, baby."

armin's hands continued to roam your body at that, exploring every bit of it that he felt comfortable enough to. it was warm, almost too warm, but you weren't sure if that was from the drug or him. your skin buzzed, high on molly and adrenaline and something electric.

"is this... okay?" he asked, voice low, careful.

you turned to face him slowly, letting your fingers trail up the front of his shirt. "what do you think?"

he looked like he was trying to play it cool, trying to suppress the slight parting of his lips when you pressed your body into his, the barely there gasp when your chest brushed his. but molly was a truth serum and a catalyst. it made him more honest and way more bolder.

"i think i've never seen anything like you," he admitted.

your heart tripped over itself.

the mirror beside you caught the way his eyes traveled, slow and reverent—from your lips to your throat to your hips. there was a careful kind of awe in him. like he didn't want to rush, but couldn't help craving more.

you took his glasses off. folded them neatly. slipped them into the neckline of your dress.

"hey-"

"they'll be safer there," you teased. "you'll thank me."

his mouth curved into a crooked smile. "you're trouble."

you shrugged. "you're just now figuring that out?"

you reached behind to tug the zipper of your dress down an inch. not enough to fall, but enough for the fabric to gape slightly at your chest. you watched his gaze dip.

"keep looking," you whispered. "i like how you look at me."

he obeyed. hesitated. then, his hands found your hips—tentative at first, then firmer, fingers digging into the soft curves as he pulled you closer. the sudden confidence sent a jolt through you.

"i don't usually do this," he said softly.

"yeah?" You nuzzled close to his ear, grinning. "you're doing fine."

you rocked your hips into his slowly, rolling them just enough to brush against the hard line of him beneath his jeans. his jaw clenched. his breath stuttered.

"jesus," he muttered.

"not quite," you said sweetly, dragging your lips along his throat.

the tension between you was molten now. not frantic, not clumsy. just thick and heavy and good. like it had been simmering for hours. the kind of tension that begged to be touched, to be drawn out, to burn slow.

he pressed you back into the mirror, one hand bracing beside your head.

"touch me," you demanded all over again.

he didn't ask where. he didn't stammer this time. his hand slid up, fingers splayed against your ribs, then over the swell of your chest, cupping you through the fabric. he squeezed lightly, experimenting, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaked beneath the fabric. your breath caught.

"too fast?" he asked, voice husky.

"too slow," you said, smirking.

he huffed a laugh. "you're a menace."

you licked into his mouth before he could finish smiling. the kiss was messy and hot and sweet—drug-sweet, tongue-slick, laced with want. you pulled him closer by the belt loops, desperate for more friction. his hands settled firmly on your ass and lifted you just enough for you to hook a leg around his hip.

every part of your body was alive. every nerve ending tuned to him. the way he smelled—clean laundry, cologne, the sharp scent of sweat. the way he tasted—mint and something heady. the way he sounded when he moaned into your mouth, low and needy.

you broke the kiss, panting.

"look at us," you murmured.

you both turned to the mirror.

you—flushed, tousled, lips swollen. him—glasses gone, eyes dark, chest heaving. he looked feral. so damn good like this. like some alternate universe version of himself had crawled out of a book and decided to become your undoing.

"you ever imagined yourself like this?" you asked.

he shook his head slowly. "never."

"you like it?"

"i love it."

you guided his hand between your legs. "then keep going."

his fingers slipped under the hem of your dress, dragging up the inside of your thigh. the molly made it feel like lightning. you gasped when he finally reached your panties, brushing the wet fabric with the back of his knuckles.

"fuck," he whispered. "you're soaked."

you bit your lip. "do something about it."

he did.

and this time, he wasn't careful.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

his fingers hooked your panties to the side and dipped between your folds without hesitation. he was warm—so damn warm—and wet with you instantly. his breath hitched when he felt how ready you were, and then he leaned in close.

"all this for me?" he asked, voice dark, like silk cut with static.

you nodded, eyes fluttering as he slid two fingers inside you. the stretch made your knees buckle, but he caught you easily with his free hand braced behind your back. his lips ghosted over your ear.

"fuck, you're tight," he murmured, thrusting them deeper, rougher, curling just right with experience he never even really had before. it just came naturally.

you whimpered, burying your face in his neck, but he didn't let you hide for long.

"look at yourself," he ordered. "eyes on the mirror. watch what i do to you."

his tone was commanding and low. and God, did it shock you. gone was the nerdy, soft spoken, slightly nervous armin from earlier. this wasn't that version of him. this armin was unrelenting, slick with control, completely in this newly discovered element now that your body was unraveling around his fingers. oh, how the tables had turned.

you obeyed, turning your head to the glass. the sight made your stomach flip: your mouth slack, makeup a little smeared, the sharp jut of his shoulder as he finger fucked you against the mirror like he owned your body.

"say thank you," he said softly, eyes pinned to yours in the reflection.

your breath came in shaky bursts. "Thank you..."

"for what?"

you gasped when he pressed his thumb against your clit and rubbed. it was too good. too much. you could barely stay upright.

"for... for making me feel good," you moaned.

"that's right."

he withdrew his fingers, and you nearly cried from the loss. He brought them to your lips, smirking.

"open."

you parted your lips, and he pushed them in slowly, all the way to the back of your throat briefly, watching with obsession-dark eyes as you sucked them clean and gagged onto them. your tongue swirled, and he groaned low in his throat.

"good girl."

the praise sent a full body shiver down your spine.

he spun you around and pressed your front against the mirror, your cheek flush to the glass. you could see him in the reflection—how he stood behind you, one hand palming your ass, the other at his zipper.

"i've been patient," he growled, the sound low and dangerous. "but now i'm gonna ruin you."

you whimpered. "please, armin..."

"you want it rough?" he asked, teeth grazing your neck.

"yes."

"say it."

"i want you to be rough. i want you to ruin me."

his breath caught, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. then you heard the unmistakable sound of his jeans lowering. a condom wrapper tearing that eren had given him, 'just in case.' thank God for that. his hand gripped your waist tight.

"you're not gonna be able to walk after this," he warned, sounding way too certain, despite his lack of experience.

"do it."

he didn't ease in. he slammed into you with one brutal thrust, knocking the air clean from your lungs. you cried out, legs trembling, nails clawing at the mirror for balance.

"holy shit," he hissed, panting. "you feel like fucking heaven."

he pulled out completely—slowly, leaving just the tip in—then drove back in, hard, deep and fast. you yelped, and his hand clamped over your mouth.

"shh. don’t want anyone finding us, do you?"

you shook your head, dazed. the pressure of his hand, the weight of his body pinning you to the mirror, the thick, deep drag of his cock—it was all too much. too good.

"you're dripping," he said, sounding wrecked. "God, you were made for this. for me."

you nodded desperately under his palm, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

"take it," he growled, shoving himself ballsdeep into your dripping cunt with each thrust. who knew that he packed like this, splitting you completely open. “take all of it like a good fucking slut."

you whimpered under his hand, clenching around him. he groaned and shoved deeper somehow.

"you like that? being talked to like that?" he sneered, lips brushing your ear.

you moaned against his palm.

"you're gonna cum all over my dick, aren't you? gonna cream like the filthy girl you are."

you were already close—so close. every snap of his hips pushed you higher, every filthy word driving you closer to the edge. his other hand found your clit again, rubbing harsh circles with no mercy.

"cum ," he commanded. "now."

and you did—body wracking, vision going white as your orgasm ripped through you like lightning. you screamed into his hand, eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into your own skin.

he wasn't done.

even then, he fucked you through it, pace punishing, grip bruising on the fat of your ass, slamming you into him harshly. the loud sound of skin slapping together and your whines filled the hallways.

"fuck, i'm gonna-" he grunted, and then he was spilling into the condom with a broken moan, jerking hard against you one last time.

you both sagged against the mirror. sweat slicked your bodies. your legs trembled like they might give out.

he pulled out slowly, almost reluctantly, then turned you around and kissed you. this time it was soft, reverent, like an apology for how wrecked he'd just left you.

your legs wobbled dangerously as you pulled your dress back down into place, fixing your lipstick in a smeared reflection while armin clumsily adjusted his shirt and pants back.

you both looked wrecked.

you felt wrecked.

not just from the sex—though that had clearly been engineered in a lab to dismantle you piece by piece—but from the everything. the night. the high. the way he'd taken you apart like he was discovering something, like you were the rare find in the room full of mirrors.

you glanced at him.

he was still catching his breath, cheeks flushed, curls sticking to his forehead. his glasses were still tucked safely between your tits—so, technically, he'd entrusted you with his vision too.

a little symbolic, no?

"hey," you said softly, smoothing your fingers over his shoulder. "you good?"

he looked at you like he wasn't sure if he'd ever be "good" again, then gave a dazed nod. "i- i think so. yeah. just... processing."

"same," you said. "like, what the fuck just happened?"

he laughed, boyish and hoarse, the sound melting into something sweet between you. "i blacked out for a second there. did i actually call you a slut or did i imagine that?"

you grinned. "you absolutely did."

he looked horrified. "oh my God-"

"and it was hot as hell," you cut him off. "don’t feel bad."

"...okay. wow."

you handed him his glasses. he slid them on with shaky fingers.

"guess we should probably..." you jerked your chin toward the direction of the bass, now a little less distant. "rejoin civilization?"

he groaned. "eren’s never letting me live this down."

"yeah, well, my homegirls are gonna roast me alive."

"deserved."

you both snickered, then lingered. neither of you made a move. the silence stretched in a weirdly tender way.

"hey," you said eventually. "for what it's worth, i’m really glad i met you tonight."

he smiled, small and soft and stupidly gorgeous. "me too."

and with that, you slipped your hand into his one more time, and made your way out of the mirror hallway, like exiting a fever dream.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

disclaimer: i do not own the fanart shown. it was created by @musapylsa

[daniiwrites]

Ties That Bind - Chapter 2

Pairing: Aaron Pierre and OC, Jade Laurent

Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Hints of smut.

Summary: Now that the cat is out of the bag, Jade and Aaron begin to get to know one another, to see if there's more there than they initially believed.

Rebuilding my tag list, so please let me know if you'd like to be added.

Chapter 2: 

“What do you mean pregnant?? How the fuck is she pregnant?”

Aaron sighed softly as he looked over at Kelvin, slight irritation etched into his feline like features. His friend paced back and forth in front of him, seeming more upset about the news than Aaron himself.

“Did your parents not tell you how babies are made, Kel?”

“I mean, y’all didn’t use a condom?”

“Used quite a few of them. Guess one didn’t hold up. I don’t know. That night got pretty wild.”

“How do you know the baby is even yours? Are you gonna ask her for a DNA test?”

“It’s mine, Kel. She’s not like that. Hell, she didn’t even care that I’m an actor. And lets be real, it’s not like I’m rolling in money.” “Yet,” he corrected, shooting Aaron a pointed look.

“You’re right. Yet.”

Aaron cleared his throat before taking another sip of the whiskey Kelvin had poured him immediately after hearing that he was soon to become a father.

“She comes from a good family. She doesn’t need money from me. Her dad is Vincent Laurent.”

Kelvin narrowed his eyes as he wracked his brain for why that name sounded familiar. 

“The real estate guy?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Damn. How’d you meet her again?” 

“That afterparty in December… She’s friends with my stunt double and he invited her to the premiere.”

“How do you know it’s not his kid?”

“Cause I was the one who was all over her that night.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Aaron shrugged, taking another small sip of whiskey.

“Tell my parents… hope they aren’t too disappointed. Be a dad. I mean, honestly, what am I supposed to do? Stick my head in the sand and act like this isn’t happening? I can’t do that… My kid doesn’t deserve that and neither does she.”

“Have you told your team yet?”

“Absolutely not. Hell, I’ve only had a couple of days to wrap my head around it.”

“You are… startlingly calm about this. I would be losing my shit if some girl told me she was pregnant with my kid.”

“I’m still processing it. I wanted more from her before I found out about the baby. Despite the circumstances surrounding me getting her pregnant, I was actually interested in her that night. Very much so. And I am kind of excited. I’ve always wanted kids. Between the two of us, we can definitely afford to take care of a kid. And of all the women I could have gotten pregnant, at least I picked one who’s gorgeous and smart as hell. You know she went to Howard and got her masters from Cambridge? My baby’s gonna be a little genius.”

Kelvin snickered, shaking his head as he looked over at his friend.

“Well, you seem determined to do this, so, I got your back.”

“Appreciate that.”

—

They really should call morning sickness all fucking day sickness. Jade had been in the bathroom of her office puking for the last half hour. There was nothing left in her stomach and she was exhausted. She dragged herself up from the toilet and began to brush her teeth. Her pitch meeting from earlier had gone well and her calendar was clear for the rest of the day. She was strongly considering finishing out her work day from the comfort of her couch with Netflix to keep her company. She reapplied her lipstick and fluffed her hair in the mirror. 

“You got this, Jade…”

When she stepped back into her office, there was a large bouquet of blood red roses sitting on the small table near her sitting area. With a little smile on her face, she walked over, plucking the card from the bouquet.

“I can never thank you enough for the gift you’re giving us. I hope you’re feeling better. With love, AP.”

The man wasn’t even here and he was making her swoon. That’s how Chloe caught her when she popped in a few moments later, a cup of tea in her hand.

“Oooooh who are those from? They are absolutely beautiful. I brought you some ginger tea for your stomach.”

“Thank you, Chloe.”

She took a small sip of the tea, prepared with honey just the way she loved.

“You take such good care of me.”

“Like you haven’t taken care of me your whole life…” Chloe plucked the card from Jade’s hand and read it with a little smile. Smooth… real smooth. Jade smiled over at her little cousin, incredibly grateful to have someone like her firmly in her corner. 

“How did he take the news? She asked, nodding towards Jade’s still flat belly.

“Shockingly well. Honestly, I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“I mean, it’s not like you got knocked up on your own.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to be around. I googled him the other day and he’s kind of becoming a big deal… C’mere. Look at this.”

Jade dragged Chloe over to her laptop, quickly pulling up his appearance on the Jennifer Hudson Show.

“Aaron Pierre- that’s Mufasa!”

She couldn’t help the little giggle that bubbled up from inside her as she watch him dance down the spirit tunnel. She found it kinda dorky and super cute.

“Girl, your baby daddy is a whole meme.”

“And I didn’t even know who he was at the party. Not a clue. I just thought he was fine as hell. How did I not know who he was? The man is everywhere. I saw him on Entertainment Tonight last night..”

“I mean… you thought right. The man is fine as hell. I saw some of the comments under that video before they turned them off and those women are going feral for him. It’s kinda crazy.”

“Yeah… You know he’s called and checked in on me every day since he found out? Multiple times a day? Sent little gift baskets to the office…”

“That’s sweet. Bare minimum, but sweet. Have you two talked about how you’re gonna handle the munchkin?”

“He’s based here in LA for the next year because of some new show he’s on. We haven’t gotten too deep into custody agreements. Nothing like that. We’re still in the getting to know each other stage.”

“Yeah, usually people do that part first,” Chloe joked, ducking when Jade tossed a pen at her. “What about when he goes home? I’m gonna assume he’s not moving to the states just yet, huh?”

“He’s undecided. According to him, he’s seeing where things go work wise. So I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it…”

Chloe plopped down in the soft leather chair in front of Jade’s desk, crossing her long legs as she narrowed her gaze on her favorite cousin.

“And what about you? How are you handling all this?”

“Excited… grateful. Terrified. What if I’m not good at this? What if the baby gets here and he changes his mind and then I really do have to do this on my own?”

“First of all, you’re gonna be an amazing mom and this kid is lucky as hell to have you. Secondly, if he turns out to be a deadbeat, you got me.”

Jade shot her a grateful smile.

“When are you going to tell your parents?”

“Aaron suggested he just meet them first and tell them we’re dating. That way when the I drop the baby news, it’s not outta nowhere.”

“That’s a smart idea. Uncle Vincent is still gonna freak when he finds out. I think your mom is mainly going to be excited to be a grandma. If anyone deserves to be a grandma, it’s that woman.”

Thoughts of her mom brought a smile to her face. Jasmine Laurent was truly a powerhouse of a woman and Jade couldn’t have asked for a better mom. She actually was looking forward to telling her mom and soaking up all her parenting wisdom. Even if things didn’t end up working out with Aaron, her mom and Chloe would never let her down.

“She’s gonna be an amazing grandma… You know I cant help but to wonder about just how this all worked out. I’ve always wanted to be a mom and have a family. But I’m not supposed to be able to get pregnant on my own. And in waltzes this handsome man who completely upends my life and gives me the one thing I’ve always wanted. Sounds like a Hallmark movie.”

“Do you actually like him?”

“I don’t know him yet. But he’s gorgeous and gave me the absolute best night of my entire life. But I’d like to get to know him... see where it goes. Even if it doesn’t turn into anything, I still want to know what kind of man the father of my child is.”

The quiet buzz of her cell phone brought their conversation to a pause. Jade quickly checked the caller ID, unable to hide the little smile that tugged at the corners of her lips when she saw it was his name lighting up her screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey mama…” 

That deep rich baritone had her clenching her thighs together and her nipples tightening behind the silk of her bra. Instantly she was flooded with the memory of him talking her through it, his big body on top of hers and his breath in her ear. Aaron had recently taken to calling her the affectionate little nickname and she found that she loved it way more than she should at this point.

“How are you? Are you working?”

“I actually just got wrapped earlier than I expected. Wanted to see if perhaps you wanted to grab an early dinner? I can come to you if that’s easier.”

“I-,” she glanced down at her outfit. “I’d love that. What time are you thinking?”

“Gonna take me at least an hour to get to you from Burbank. How does six work? Give you time to get even prettier than you already are for me.”

The heat in her cheeks came back with a vengeance. 

“Six is perfect. And thank you for my flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re very welcome. Can you do me a favor?

“Maybe… what’s the favor?”

“Wear a dress for me tonight. One that’s your favorite color.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said with a little smirk.

“I’ll see you soon, mama.”

Jade hung the phone up, a little smile on her face as she glanced over at her cousin.

“Your calendar is clear for the rest of the day. Please go ride that man to kingdom come cause you look like you’re about ready to fuck him through the phone.”

Jade scoffed as she stood and grabbed her bag, slipping her laptop inside.

“I am not having sex with him. That’s what got me in this situation in the first place.”

“Why not? It’s not like you can get pregnant again.”

“Because we shouldn’t complicate things anymore than they already are.”

“Babe… you’re pregnant with your one night stand’s baby. It’s already pretty damn complicated. Plus, you said you wanted to get to know him...see where this goes. I suggest seeing if y’alls chemistry is legit or if it was just an alcohol fueled romp gone wrong.”

“Chloe…”

“You know I’m right.”

“Goodbye,” Jade said with a little laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Thankfully, traffic was better than usual and she made it back to her Manhattan Beach home in less time than usual. Once inside, she tossed her bag on her sofa before beelining it straight to her bedroom. Although she was serious about not sleeping with him, she still wanted to look absolutely delicious for him tonight. There was something about him that made her want to drive him crazy. The way those green eyes darkened when they’d settled on her that night was still fresh in her mind. He’d looked like a hunter who’d sighted his prey. She wanted him to look at her like that all the time.

Hot water poured over her smooth brown skin and she sighed softly, lathering up with her favorite vanilla caramel scented body wash. When her fingers drifted across her belly, she found herself wondering what she’d look like when she was showing. What would Aaron’s reaction to her pregnant body be? He seemed to love her breasts and hips, practically worshipping her body the entirety of their night together. Her nipples peaked and she shivered as she remembered how good the hot lash of his tongue felt against her overheated skin. She’d never been with a man like him before, one who took the time to get to know the curves and peaks of her body. Those massive hands and wicked mouth had worked her into a frenzy before she'd even reached for his pants. By the time she got him naked, her body had already been on the precipice of one of the biggest orgasms of her life.

Honoring his request, she picked a pretty orange body con dress, complete with a pair of strappy heels. Her pretty brown skin was moisturized and radiant and for the first time since discovering her pregnancy, she actually felt like she was glowing. A quick glance at her phone let her know that she only had a few minutes before Aaron was due at her place. She headed back downstairs and let her dog in from the backyard, grinning when the big black Shepard nuzzled her hand.

“How’s my sweet girl?” 

From the moment she’d brought Kali home as a tiny little puppy, she’d felt a kind of love she’d never known before. Kali was her protector and the one creature that loved her unconditionally, expecting nothing in return except love. She offhandedly wondered if Aaron liked dogs… Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a soft knock at her front door. 

He was here.

Butterflies kicked up in her belly as she made her way towards the door and she didn’t know why. The need to impress him, to make him want her again was unfamiliar to Jade and she swallowed hard as she pulled the heavy oak door open. Aaron stood there, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he let his eyes drift over her. Goddamn… she was perfect. 

“These are for you.”

Jade tore her eyes from his fine ass face to see the bouquet of stargazer lilies he held in his hand.

“Thank you,” she murmured softly, taking the flowers from him and stepping back so he could come inside. “They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome. You look…incredible.”

Heat flashed in his eyes and Jade felt the answering pulse in her clit. Down girl. Kali ran up to him, curious about the strange man in her home. Her tag wagged softly as she sniffed him.

“This is Kali.”

Aaron squatted down in front of her, a huge grin on his face as the Shepard nuzzled at his hand. 

“Hi Kali… Hi sweet girl. Beautiful like your mama, I see.”

Jade couldn’t help the little smile on her face as she quickly put her flowers in a vase, keeping a close eye on her dog and Aaron.

“She doesn’t usually take to men like this…”

“Guess that’s good thing since she’s going to be seeing a lot of me, huh?”

“Is she?”

Those hazel-green eyes of his met hers as he rose to his full height, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes briefly dropped down to her lips before meeting her steady gaze.

“I plan to be around for whatever you need… whatever our baby needs. So yes, she should get used to me.”

Jade nibbled her bottom lip as she felt her heart thudding in her chest. He was saying all the right things so far, but this was the easy part. She’d see if he’d be around for the four am feedings and diaper changes. As much as she wanted to hope for the best, she had to be realistic about this. It was safer to just expect the worst. No disappointment that way.

“You mind if I wash my hands real quick?” He asked, motioning to her kitchen sink.

“Of course…”

Jade grabbed her purse, waiting for him to make his way back over to her. For a man of his size, he moved so damn silently. Once outside, he guided her over to his sleek SUV with a hand at the small of her back. It seemed crazy to her that this man had already seen her naked and yet a hand on her back was making her pussy leap with joy. Hormones.. it must be the hormones. She’d already started reading pregnancy books and was very aware that her hormones would be going haywire over the next nine or so months. 

His hand shot out before hers could, opening the passenger door for her and helping her inside. Jade couldn’t help but watch him as he walked around the front of the car, licking her lips when she caught the little dip in his stride. She knew she was down bad if the way the man walked was doing it for her. 

Conversation was light and easy as they drove towards The Strand House. Aaron couldn’t help the way his gaze kept drifting down to her bare thighs as he drove. He was trying his hardest to be a gentleman, but goddamn. The woman was a walking sexpot and there was something deeper, something that felt almost primal in the way he desired her now. Maybe it was the flourishing of life they’d created together. He wasn’t sure what it was but he felt this… almost magnetic pull towards her. After handing off the car keys to the valet, he opened her car door, reaching in to help her out. Even in her heels, she still barely came up to his shoulder.

“What’s that smile for?”

“You’re so tiny.”

His hand slid to her lower back as she glared indignantly up at him, only further proving his point by the way she had to crane her neck to even look up at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true.”

“I am a very average height, thank you very much.”

Jade couldn’t hide the laughter in her voice as they were led to their booth by the hostess. It was relatively private, tucked away in the corner of the restaurant. She scooted in, nibbling her bottom lip when he slid in closely behind her. The warmth from his thigh seeped into her bare thigh and she shivered.

“Are you cold?”

The intensity in those golden green eyes of his, framed with the kind of dark lashes she paid for, temporarily rendered her unable to think. She just shook her head, tearing her eyes away from his. Jade didn’t miss the way his broad shoulders shook as he chuckled. 

“You make me nervous…”

Her voice was soft and unusually timid. His gaze met hers again and this time, there was a little crease in his brow that she wanted to rub away with the pad of her thumb.

“Why? I don’t want you to be nervous around me. I want you to feel comfortable.”

“I do feel comfortable… that’s what makes me nervous. I’m not usually this comfortable with people I’ve just met.” She swallowed hard before continuing. “You make me feel like this is all going to be ok.”

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted when their waitress approached, handing them menus with a too big smile directed at Aaron. Once she’d made her retreat, Aaron turned his body more towards her, giving her his full attention.

“I know you don’t know me yet and my word means nothing to you, but I meant what I said. I do want to get to know you. And I want to be there for my child. Even if this,” he motioned between the two of them, “goes nowhere romantically, I will always be there for you as the father of our baby. I don’t want my child growing up feeling unloved or unwanted. Whatever I have to do to make sure the both of you are good, I’ll do.”

Her dark eyes searched his and he prayed that she saw the sincerity in him. It would take more than words to convince her. The only thing that would was time.

“How are you feeling about it now that you’ve had some time to think?”

“Happy honestly. This isn’t how I expected to become a father for the first time, but I love kids. I’ve always wanted them.”

“Me too. I’ve always wanted to be a mom.”

“Before, you said you didn’t think this was possible for you? Can I ask why?”

“Essentially, I don’t ovulate the way I’m supposed to. A few years ago, I had some eggs frozen in the hopes that I’d get married one day and we could try with IVF. But I guess… I don’t know. I guess the universe had different plans.”

Aaron nodded and she could see the thoughts behind those mercurial eyes of his. 

“Have you told your parents yet?”

“No… no… My mom is going to be so excited, but my dad…” she sighed, dropping her gaze to the table. “He’s going to be disappointed. I’m not married and he is very traditional.”

Aaron reached over, taking her small hand in his. His thumb stroked back and forth across the satin soft skin of her palm and the rhythmic motion comforted her.

“We can tell them together. I mean, if you want to. We don’t have to tell them the actual circumstances if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I think I’d like that.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a little smile and she couldn’t help but to smile back at his fine ass. Damn… drunk her had picked a good one. Their waitress made her return to their table and took their orders. Jade crossed her legs, turning her attention back to Aaron.

“Tell me about yourself… The stuff I can’t find online. What’s your favorite book?”

“Like my comfort read or a book that changed me?”

“Ooooh…. Good distinction. Both.”

“Comfort read is most definitely Bloodchild by Octavia Butler. And when I was a teenager, my mother gave me a James Baldwin book called Notes of a Native Son. Blew my mind…”

“You just earned major brownie points for that one,” she said with a little laugh. “My mom’s favorite author is James Baldwin.”

“Smart woman. What about you?”

“Uhhh…. I don't have a specific comfort book, but I love a good thriller. The In Death series by J.D. Robb has never disappointed me. And a book that changed my life…. Oh… Bell Hooks’ All About Love. That one sat with me for a very long time after I finished it.”

“I haven’t read that one.”

“It’s beautifully written. I love the way she explores love beyond just romance, especially in this day and age. I have a copy if you’d like to read it.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

The way his deep voice dripped like honey made her nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of her dress. How did the man make talking about books sexy? Almost as if he knew how he was affecting her, his eyes dropped to her breasts and Jade knew there was no way he could miss her body’s reaction to him. She could feel the flush in her skin deepen when he dragged his eyes back up to her face. 

“I know I said it earlier, but you look so beautiful tonight. I appreciate you wearing this for me.”

“Thank you, Aaron..”

“Mmm…” His voice rumbled in his chest. “I love the way you say my name.”

“You like making me blush, don’t you?”

“Might be my new favorite thing. I like making you do a lot of things.”

The way he was looking at her right now…the man was thinking a lot nastier than just making her blush. This time she didn’t look away, holding his gaze. Two could play this game. Aaron chuckled darkly when she matched his stare. Sure, making her blush was his new favorite past time, but bringing out this new side of her did it for him.

“You look so beautiful with my baby inside you. Did you know that? You were stunning that night. I remember I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. But now… baby doll, you are positively radiant.”

Her breath caught in her throat at his loaded compliment. Maybe it was because she was pregnant. Maybe it was because he was so fucking handsome. There was some kind of pull in her towards him. Jade couldn’t quite put words to it yet but it both fascinated her and scared her. They were supposed to be getting to know one another and all she wanted to do in this very moment was push the table back and straddle him right here in the restaurant, all the other patrons be damned. 

“How am I supposed to be getting to know you when you distract me so easily?”

The tip of his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip and his smile was downright wicked.

“Now you know how I feel. I’m sitting here trying to get to know the woman I’m tied to for the rest of my life but you’re so damn pretty, I cant focus on anything except how you felt that night. I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman, mama. I really am.”

He was lost the moment those dark brown eyes of hers filled with mirth and she leaned in even closer to him.

“What if I didn’t want you to be a gentleman right now?”

As always, please let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list.

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[lsunstreakerl]

SUNNY. MAX DEVELOPS SOFTWARE FOR F2/F3 SIM. I WILL NEED A CURRENT UNIVERSE FICLET OR SMTH FROM YOU PLEASE. SUNNY R U LISTENING.

okay I know absolutely jack shit about how sim development works and I hate BS'ing in my work, so hopefully this isn't too incorrect! if someone knows better than me, please feel free to infodump about it :)

"Mate, that is way better than when I was in F2."

Kimi squeaks as George's voice startles him, running low over a kerb as his teeth rattle in his head.

"Mate."

"Sorry! I was going to say that Toto wants to do lunch with us— didn't mean to scare you."

He definitely did. Kimi is learning that George is just as prone to jokes and hazing as the other drivers, the only difference being that he's polite about it. Mostly.

Kimi swings out of the sim, stretching his legs with a low groan.

"You can take it for a spin if you are missing it so much."

George snorts, arms folded across his chest. His hair is loose, falling across his forehead, and he's just in a hoodie and shorts— Kimi has seen him more casually in the factory in the past few weeks than he'd seen in the media ever. It makes him feel more human, even if part of him still feels untouchable.

"Yeah, I can't imagine it's improved much."

Kimi shrugs, hugging one knee to his chest to stretch his hips, wobbling slightly on his one leg.

"I liked it— it helps with learning the smaller differences and all that."

George raises an eyebrow, checking his watch before shrugging and stepping into the sim.

"Watch the door and tell me if someone's coming by, so I can blame it on you."

Kimi rolls his eyes, dutifully stepping backwards to be able to view the hallway as he pulls out his phone.

Kimi: george is trying the f2 sim

Ollie: LOL

Ollie: WHY

Kimi: he doesn't believe it's better than when he used it

Kimi: which is stupid

Kimi: of course it's better

Kimi: he's just old

Ollie: don't let him hear you say that

Ollie: the botox mercedes curse is real

Kimi: if he comes in with filler I will tell Toto to set up his retirement account

Ollie: and then put in a good word for me?

Kimi: you are earmarked as a ferrari sacrifice already mate

Kimi: don't even bother

Ollie: I'll fix them

Ollie: just you wait

"Kimi, what the hell are they feeding the dev drivers?"

George sounds incredulous as he takes a corner.

"Why is it so good?"

Kimi laughs, tucking his phone in his pocket.

"I should be asking you, honestly. I am not sure how there is enough time in a formula one schedule to do sim work for us, but it is very nice."

"Huh?"

George takes a corner too sharp in a move that would've sent Kimi into the wall, but he manages to recover it, lips pressed together in concentration for a moment before relaxing again. Kimi feels the envy like a physical beast in his chest, the same way he does every time he's reminded how much further he has to go.

He's always careful to be perfectly ready in the mornings, to have his employee badge clearly visible, but George shows up in casual clothes and an easy confidence, knows all the team members by name, has Susie's coffee order memorized— it all feels unattainable to him. He's not sure how he'll ever match up, and finds himself wondering if it will always be obvious to everyone, if he's always going to look like a kid trying to wear his older brothers shoes.

Still, George had sounded genuinely confused.

"Well... I know Max does a lot of the work, but surely the rest of you do sometimes also? It cannot all be him?"

George goes into the wall, twisting to look at Kimi.

"Verstappen? Wait, no— don't tell me. That's exactly who you mean."

Kimi nods.

"Kimi, I am going to be very serious with you."

George swings out of the sim, stepping forward and putting his hands Kimi's shoulders.

"That man is not normal. Please, please do not use him as your metric for normal people, because he's a freak of nature."

Kimi opens his mouth to try and defend him, but George presses his palm over his face.

"Nope, don't hit me with the hero worship, I don't want to hear it. He's unnatural, okay? Like a freaky racing robot that sometimes glitches and talks about cats instead. He has extra hours in the day and eyes in the back of his head."

Kimi quirks an eyebrow. George sounds fondly exasperated, like Max being inhuman is something he's begrudgingly gotten over. George pauses, and then his eyes look at Kimi, extremely serious.

"And I need you to be a prodigy and come into the team early, because otherwise Toto might actually manage to drag him over here, and I would rather shunt into the barriers full speed then have to be teammates with him, got it? I am counting on you."

Kimi nods, trying not to laugh. Max isn't scary, he's actually very nice— he's always happy to chat on discord and share setup tips, and he'd promised Kimi he was only a garage or phone call away if he needed something. He's much kinder than Kimi had expected the current world champion to be.

George lets his hand fall away, ruffling Kimi's hair.

"Okay, move it, Toto got catering and if we're late all the good sandwiches will be gone."

He steps out of the room, head swiveling both directions to make sure his stint in the sim hadn't been noticed, before walking confidently down the hallway.

Kimi follows dutifully behind.

[fandoms-in-law]

Say Yes

Summary: Steve definitely doesn't want to agree to whatever brings the Party into Family Video asking him to just agree.

Author's Note: This week I have had a breakdown after watching a VR video of a carcrash that did NOT have enough warnings given about it. Why the hell did my brain decide driving lessons were the best things to use for the 'Say Yes' loveheart sweet? You're not getting any actual lessons written about.

~

“Okay before you start, we’ve planned everything. You just need to agree.” Dustin began, grinning at Steve in the way the kid thought was charming. The fact he only smiled like that when he wanted someone worked constantly against that.

Steve frowned at him for a moment before turning away to carry on loading the returns onto the trolley to be re-shelved. “That definitely does not make me want to agree to anything. What is it you’re asking and why would you greet anyone like that?”

Mike glared past him, towards where Robin had been working. “Robin was meant to have told you already.”

“Except I don’t agree and definitely did not say yes to being your support against Steve.” She called, uncaring of the glares being thrown her way, but did offer the explanation up at Steve’s questioning noise. “By the way, what they’re asking for is group driving lessons from you.”

“No. Definitely not all together.” He shuddered at the thought. “One learner is bad enough but having everyone else distracting them? You would kill us all in the first lesson.”

“Then start with me, you already know I can drive.” Max goaded and he scoffed.

“No, I know you imagine you can, and I know whoever lets you behind a wheel next should have called Hopper and an Ambulance ahead of time.

Dustin came over and nudged his side, attempting to be playful, “One at a time then, while the rest of us hang out at yours. Come on Steve, don’t you want us to stop bugging you for rides.”

He stared back attempting to be emotionless, before shaking his head. “Robs, have I taught you to drive?”

“Nope. You said, and I quote, ‘One of us has the smarts to change the world and the other is happy being her chauffeur. Don’t take that job from me.’ By the way, we still haven’t decided what job I’m aiming for to be able to pay you to drive me around.” She stated.

“I don’t even want you teaching me, but say yes so we can all get some peace.” Mike grumbled.

“Yeah, say yes Steve. You are a good teacher anyway and we can’t all fit in your car still.” Lucas spoke up for the first time.

Will snickered behind him, “Mike, you literally suggested Steve because you don’t want your sister teaching you. I’ve had a couple lessons with Jonathan, so I’m just here to learn alongside my friends. Please say yes so we can do that.”

Steve looked the group over with narrowed eyes, settling on El, “And has Hopper agreed to me teaching you? That seems like something he’d want to share.”

“He has a lesson plan to share with you so I can learn some from both of you.” She replied seriously. “Please agree.”

He walked away from them, pushing his hands through his hair then tugging it back into place as well as he could without a mirror to check.

Looking at the pleading or expectant looks of the group he groaned.“One at a time. Different evenings and nobody hangs out at my home without me there. If in three months you’re making decent progress, I might MIGHT allow you to come along in groups of three, but that’s a big If.”

Despite his instructions matching neither of the things they’d asked for the younger teens all cheered until he cleared his throat. “And have you got your provisionals already? Because I’m not teaching you without them.”

“We’ll get them!” Dustin quickly promised. “Get them as soon as we can and show you how well we did to get them.”

Steve groaned again. He did not want to imagine these young teenagers driving at all, and definitely wasn’t looking forward to teaching them all. But the excitement and repetitions of “He said yes” going around the group was kind of adorable.

“They’re growing up quickly, aren’t they?” Robin commented leaning on his shoulder. “You going to get empty nest syndrome when they head off to college?”

He snickered, jabbing his elbow back, “Give over, I’m not their dad.”

“Pretty sure you are.” She teased back, before both of them went back to work, ignoring the teens now focused on picking out a movie to watch that evening.

[moonlitbeth]

the Death and Rebirth update yapping, y'all! you're welcome to join in the comments 🐦‍⬛

so... with so many players now sprinting through the lore and main story chapters (myself included), i guess it's perfect time to indulge in a little speculation session abt tomorrow’s update.

first of all i'm sooo glad we're getting a full main story update instead of a separate branch. the only thing here is no free 5-star card (and tbh, most of us were waiting for a green one). but that's at least balanced out by the fact that major updates are now released a bit more frequently than once every 6 months. hopefully, this trend continues (given some rumors, next story updates might be dropped within 2 months). lads really feels the most exciting when the main plot is moving forward, no back-to-back banner mayhem match that energy.

action, drama, and that damn entrance it's pretty clear that we're so in for action-packed storylines. that trailer is absolutely big-screen material. the shift toward more dynamic animated scenes is noticeable and very welcome. esp when it comes to Sylus. the boss-man is finally back nearly a year after his debut.

and how can we ignore that entrance? the man never shows up quietly, always so dramatic and effortless (just like in his intro in LAR). i'm hoping what we saw in the pv isn't all we'll get cutscene-wise since there'll be 2 chapters per LI. it's also possible that the devs might've changed their approach to how they deliver the main story content. tho don't let me get too excited, this fandom loves being delusional.

in angst we trust judging by the Death and Rebirth title, we're sure as hell getting our heavy dose of angst (which i've honestly been craving lately). we've had our fluff therapy over the past couple of months, now it's payback time. and knowing infold, it's going to hurt. i also bet everything i have that the whole "memory return" thing will revolve around MC, not Sylus or Zayne. those chapter descriptions basically scream it.

the Timelock Key event as for the alongside event, there's a solid chance we'll get LIs' POV into their past. last night, while rereading LAR for the umpteenth time (don't judge me), i had this thought – what if we get a deeper dive into Sylus' backstory? like the stuff briefly touched on in World Underneath (Mischief/Elysium timelines), his early years on Earth, his path leading to meeting MC, his POV mid-LAR (this man had a breakdown, ok?), or his absence in the N109 Zone earlier. maybe even small pieces from his anecdote? there's so much potential here, and i hope his team keeps delivering that peak writing. i'm just eager for some analysis fuel.

Eye of Aether and more hints damn, those visuals!

this one is just adding more fuel to the fire for the theory that the Eye of Aether is deeply connected to Sylus. maybe we'll finally get some answers... or another batch of cryptic clues. personally, i think this is one of the most intriguing mysteries in both the core lore and Sylus' story. but as usual, we're only getting crumbs.

and then there's another pic. this one clearly references the abandoned chapel from the limited myth. and i love the gothic vibe (i instantly started thinking abt the next myth, but more on that later). plus, perhaps it's just me, but that specific image radiates loneliness – a sense of forced isolation and unwanted solitude, idk. i'm probably overthinking it. and Sylus' silhouette here is definitely not the one referencing his dragon myth. which means we might be getting a current tl perspective with reflections on the past.

foreshadowing? yes, please now onto the part i'm most excited abt.

every major story update is obviously the devs' chance to tie up previous clues and core narrative threads – all those crucial points and chekhov’s guns finally go off. but that's not all, what abt foreshadowing? it's the best time to start teasing future updates, esp when it comes to new limited myths. with Sylus' character development tempo and the timing of his content, i wouldn't be surprised to see hints of what his next myth could look like. i'm still betting on his anecdote tl. a cosmic conqueror with the Robin Hood agenda? sign me up. this kind of limited companion and setup both have insane potential. and going back to that gothic visual from the new event – what if we get a gothic/futuristic Sylus in his myth style-wise? i'm just widely speculating atp, but it sounds so good.

final thoughts to sum this up, i really hope y'all catching up on the story (or in the middle of it), cuz tomorrow's going to hit us hard. also, don't forget to manage your phone/tablet storage and clear space.

and just be ready for whatever is waiting for us there 🐦‍⬛

[anaban44]

Important opinion

All right, here I go… The past few most the case of @tiredsn0w @tiredsn0w-extrablu has become popular and not for good reasons, this person has been accused of grooming and pedophilia, I will clarify, I have never heard of this woman before this problem, but is serious, so, I decide to investigate and before trying to send something offensive against her I firstly tried to talk

I take a look around in her profile and something I can indeed say, her art can be misunderstanding  SO easily, she said “I’m not really responsible how others see my art” and in a way, that is true, but THAT is not the main problem here

“And, even if someone younger did find my works - kids get abused, kids are disabled, kids are mentally ill, kids self-harm, kids have thoughts of suicide” with this message you prove me that indeed you don’t care if kids actually watch your art and here come the main problem, you SHOULD CARE IF THEY FIND IT, why? Because, yes, you are right, kids with problems exist, but not all the kids, and definitely this is not the place, nor the way to treat such themes, time have prove me this next point, your art is found to be sexual, or easy to fetishy EVEN IF YOU DON’T WANT TO, and, if adults are getting it wrong, how much kids?

I showed some of her drawings to people not aware of this situation and not giving any contex and in conclusion their comments can resume in, feeling uncomfortable or find it kinky, why for me was important to show them with no context? Easy, MOST of the people trend to just scroll and like when the main thing is art, and just THE INTERESTED people will actually click for the context, out of that, people will NOT CARE for it   For the second and fourth drawing you are literally admitting that the whole intention is to show he is been objectify, and you have to give me a whole context in order to I didn’t get it even more wrong

First you try to justify that your character is small because he has dwarfism, I was like “okay, maybe you don’t know how to draw them and that’s why you made him looks so childlike even when you can easily look when a dwarf is a kid or an adult, so I tried to remark that and just until then you change your argument  explaining me that “no he has a very specific kind of dwarfism of little person”  which first, is not the scientific name of the syndrome, second makes the person who suffers from it LOOKS AS A CHILD So yeah, is a real condition but with this you just recognize your character INTENTIONALY LOOK AS A CHILD

And no, if you are not giving well the context that is not “education” that is morbid, you also said  SCP universe is not mean for kids, so that lead us to the beginning, scp is not meant for kids, NEITHER YOUR ART With all this I’m not asking you to stop drawing or posting your art, but just as SCP literally has it’s own page PRECISELY to avoid kids to reach it so easily, you should post your art in a different place, not in a platform where THERE’S PEOPLE OF 13 YEARS ALLOWED AND EVEN DARED TO PRETEND IS GOOD IF THEY LOOK AT IT Is like put a filter to it, just as SCP, this things aren’t mean for kids, and because of that they have a WARNING, and of course some kids will not care of it and see it anyways, and that is because of a bad care and not because the page is allowing it again, you are free to draw and post whatever you want BUT BE RESPONSIBLE OF THE PLACES YOU DO IT    

For last this are my conclusions:

Just because you “didn’t intend” of your drawings to be sexualized will not take away the fact IT ARE SEXUALICED AND FETISHIED SCP 6118 design IS INTENTIONALLY child looking which make him shota bait, “but that wasn’t my intention” SHUT UP! Hell is full of well-intended people, you didn’t mean BUT IT IS   If at any point you believe is okay to show this to a kid, to justify your actions saying that is “educational” that you are trying to give “visibility” IT IS WRONG  and if you are not capable to accept it and  CHANGE IT, then yes, YOU ARE THE PROBLEM and minimize sexual and suggestive situations to a kid indeed MAKES YOU A GROOMER Also, if anyone is thinking I'm taking out of context the conversation, no, is literally all