#Don't hesitate to come to me for anything

[vanillawomb]

my sweet boy (jungkook) !

tw blood - mini post.

· ꪆৎ

jungkook takes the stained sheets off the mattress, hearing your faint cries from the corner of the bedroom. he smiles softly as he turns to face you, "baby, it's okay. It's just a little mess. no big deal." he bundles the sheet in his arms before walking to you and giving you a kiss on the forehead; grabbing the back of your head with his hand.

your period had started in the middle of the night and you were too frustrated and in too much pain to help.

jungkook started the load of laundry before coming back to the bedroom with a new, fresh sheet. he smiles softly at you before making the bed.

every now and then he'll glance at you. jungkook sees your tear stained face and your posture taking in all the cramps. he tries his best to hurry so you can lay down for the night.

"need anything?" jungkook finishes the bed by putting your favorite throw blanket over the fresh comforter. "hot bottle, water, bath?"

you look down to your feet before looking up into his eyes. you blush a little, but it's hard to tell with how red you were before because of the crying.

"you," you whisper, "just you, jungkook. I need some love right now."

jungkook's face was sympathetic, and he completely understood you. he gently put you in his arms and carried you to bed.

he laid you down before laying himself down behind you. jungkook spooned you, but he was gentle with you, treating you like glass as he wrapped his arm around you.

jungkook's lips kissed the back of your neck and he let out a little groan, "you smell so sweet...like ginger."

you giggle, "did you just smell me?"

"hard to resist." jungkook muttered, still taking in your scent. he lent kisses every once and a while. "don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything. I'm here for you, sweetheart."

-

banner by me xo / masterlist

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit - pt.iv

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

summary: You and Jenna each reflect on your own choices and the growing tensions between you both. Torn between loyalty, responsibility, and personal longing, what does this growing conflict mean for the future of your alliance?

word count: 12.8k

————

"So, victory sex?" Hunter teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Victory sex?" You echoed, genuinely confused. "With who?"

"Who else? Your little Viper girl," he replied, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

After dropping Jenna off at home, you'd shot Hunter a quick text, asking if he wanted to come over. After the whirlwind of the race, and the intense feelings stirred up by Jenna, you needed someone to debrief with—someone who knew about the tangled situation you'd gotten yourself into. Fortunately, your mom didn't know Hunter was part of the Sinners, so he was in the clear to hang out without raising any suspicions.

"Come on, Hunter, I barely know the girl."

"Doesn't seem that way to me," he shrugs, taking a seat on your couch and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. "You let her wear your jacket, didn't you?"

Did everyone see that?

You roll your eyes and flop down beside him, letting out a tired sigh. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say." Hunter smirks, but his teasing tone amplifies after a beat. "But there's no way you didn't feel Racer's High after winning."

You didn't need him to define Racer's High. You knew he was referring to that primal, raunchy, adrenaline rush of a feeling that overtook you once you won the race a few hours ago. You shudder remembering how much you yearned for Jenna in that moment.

"So, how are you feeling about it all? The race, the attention... her?"

You hesitate, considering how much to say. You trust Hunter—he's the only one in the crew you can really open up to, but you're also not ready to dive into the whole Jenna situation. Not with everything going on, especially since you're not sure how deep things go with Percy and this "Ghost Smoke" deal.

"I don't know," you finally say, running a hand through your hair. "The race was wild. Winning felt... intense. I get why people get hooked on that feeling."

Hunter raises an eyebrow. "And?"

"And... I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this. Like, there's this whole side to racing I'm not seeing."

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, watching you carefully. "What do you mean?"

You glance at him, trying to gauge how much you can say without tipping too much of your hand. "I don't know, man. I've been hearing things—whispers about this new stuff called Ghost Smoke floating around Brimstone. You heard anything about that?"

Hunter's eyes narrow, and for a second, you think maybe you've pushed too far. But then he exhales slowly. "I've heard the name. It's bad news, Y/n. Real bad. That shit's spreading fast, and people are already getting hooked. Some of the younger guys are sniffing around for it. Why are you asking?"

You shrug, trying to play it cool. "Just heard it mentioned. Thought it might be connected to some of the things I've been noticing. You don't think the Vipers are involved, do you?"

Hunter goes quiet, his face unreadable. Then he leans back, crossing his arms. "I don't know, and I'm not looking to find out. You shouldn't either. Percy's been getting into things outside of racing, and if Ghost Smoke's part of that, it's not something you or anyone else in the crew wants to be tangled up in."

You nod, though his answer doesn't satisfy you. Not because you don't believe him—but because you have this sinking feeling that the situation is bigger than either of you realize.

The conversation shifts after that, and the rest of the night passes with more casual banter. But the unease never fully leaves your mind.

"Looks like Madison's got a thing for you."

You raise an eyebrow, laughing lightly. "Mikey? That girl's never even cracked a smile at me. Pretty sure she barely tolerates me."

Hunter shrugs, smirking. "Nah, trust me. She was asking about you the other day in the garage."

Your brow furrows slightly. Was it because of what I asked about Percy? A small part of you wonders if Madison's caught onto your suspicions.

"And even during the Viper and Raven races, she was giving you these weird looks."

"What does that even mean, Hunter?" You roll your eyes, half-amused, half-worried.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this too much. "Hell if I know, but winning that race definitely got you on some people's radar."

Maybe at one point, being on the radar of a few girls would've mattered to you, but not anymore.

————

While Hunter crashed on the couch, you spent the entire night tossing and turning in bed. If someone had told you a month ago that you'd be neck-deep in street races and shady dealings—all for the sake of a girl—you would have called them insane.

When dawn finally broke, you shuffled out of bed and headed into the kitchen, finding Hunter gone and your mom brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

"Morning, Mom," you yawn, stretching your arms out. "Did Hunter leave already?"

"You just missed him. He said he'd be back later," she replies with a gentle smile.

You hum in response, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, savoring the warmth. It was in these quiet, mundane moments that you hated the path you were on more than anything. Between the mess with Jenna, the unpredictability with Percy, and the weight of secrets and family legacies, you sometimes wished you could just be normal—not tangled up in rivalries or trying to make sense of feelings you didn't dare admit.

"You've changed," your mother's voice broke you out of your thoughts, catching you mid-sip.

"Changed?" You raise a brow, joining her at the dining table. "What do you mean?"

She sighs, studying you with a mix of curiosity and concern. "You seem... happier in some ways but also more stressed. Something's weighing on you."

You stare down at your coffee, catching your own reflection in its dark surface, letting your mother's words sink in. Of course she'd notice something different—you're her child. But she's right; you have changed. And now, in this rare quiet moment in the chaos your life has become over the past month, you're finally realizing just how much. You've changed so damn much—and the thought terrifies you, especially because you can't even pinpoint when it happened.

Or you do. And that was the scary part.

A month ago Anton told you to find what's your purpose, your drive. What makes your heart race. What's worth risking everything for.

But you'd been so careful, you tell yourself. You abandoned her the first night you met, didn't even share your name—but now, she's got far more than just a name. She's got you feeding her intel, leading her through Brimstone like her own personal guide, pulling you deeper into a world you swore you'd keep at arm's length.

When did it happen? When did you start dropping her home, buying each other jackets, eating ice cream together—and, hell, when did you start racing? Racing, something you'd vowed never to do. And now here you are, about to walk into a private meeting that likely involves drug lords fueling Brimstone's biggest epidemic—all because she needs leverage on Percy. Leverage to protect herself from some mystery he's holding over her, something she still won't tell you.

You try to rationalize. She's got leverage on you, too. She's got footage of you stealing her dad's car. But deep down, you know she'd only pulled that card to hook you in. She wouldn't actually use it. You knew that. You knew her.

Except—you didn't. You didn't really know a damn thing about this girl, yet here you are, throwing caution to the wind for her. Risking everything for her. Breaking your own rules, doing things you'd avoided for the past twenty years...all because of her. And all way too fast.

Maybe it's because you're finally sitting in front of your mom, and to her, you'll always be her little girl. And facing her now, all you can see is the woman who once opened the door to find cops there, telling her that her husband, the father of her nine-year-old kid, was dead. You remember watching her piece together her shattered heart, all while carrying the weight of resentment for the racing that took him. And now, somehow, you're part of it too. How could you put her through this?

"Y/n?"

Your mom's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you lift your gaze from your coffee to her face.

"I've been calling your name for a while now. What the hell is going on with you kid?" she asks concerned.

Everything you wished you could tell her was everything you couldn't. Everything she warned you to stay away from.

"Look I know I haven't been the best mom," she sighs. "But I did it because I care. I'm strict because I know how quickly things can go south in this shithole of a town."

"You're not a bad mom, stop—"

"I can tell there's something on your mind, I don't know if it's good or bad. But I want to know Y/n/n."

Just as you were about to respond your phone pinged and of course it was Jenna.

Hey Oil spillage, just got news that the meeting moved. It's on Friday at 10p.m. now.

Wonderful news. After the realizations you just had, you were not ready to face Jenna again. In fact you would rather anything but see her. And now you can avoid her for six more days. Without replying to her message, you turn off your phone and turn your attention to your mom.

"I guess I've just been thinking about my future and what that looks like." You decide to open up a little, seeing no apparent harm.

Your mom nods slowly, her brow furrowing slightly as she absorbs your words. "And I also have to consider the fact that we're in Brimstone," you add, your voice dropping a notch.

She looks at you intently, searching your face for clues. "I get that this place can feel limiting, Y/n. But remember, it doesn't have to define you. You have the power to change your path."

You take a sip of your coffee, contemplating her words. "It's just...sometimes it feels like I'm caught between what I want and what I should be doing."

"And what do you want?"

"I don't know! I don't know what I want," you finish, softer now.

She squints, registering the tension in your voice. "Then, what do you think you should be doing?"

Racing. The Club. The Sinners.

But you can't say that. Not to your anti-racing mom, but clearly your face says it for you.

"Y/n," she sighs. "There's no place for you in that life."

"You don't understand, Mom! It's easy on paper to say 'stay away.' But people talk. I'm the daughter of a founding member; they expect me to be part of this."

"And how exactly are you hearing all this talk?" she asks, voice tinged with sass. "I thought I told you to stay away from Anton and that whole club."

"I am!" you lie. "But people at the warehouse still talk," you lie again. "Is working in a warehouse really what you want for me? For the rest of my life?"

"If it keeps you out of that club, then yes, a thousand times over. That club killed your father. I don't get your fascination with it!"

"Maybe I like cars! Maybe I want to feel close to him by doing something that mattered to him. You never even talk about him," you say heatedly, pushing yourself back from the table.

"Sit back down," she says, rubbing her temples.

You sit, your frustration simmering.

Your mom's eyes, usually a fortress, softened with a sigh. "You're right, I don't talk about him much. Not because he wasn't worth it, but because it's painful. But let me tell you something about your dad, something I should've told you sooner."

A shadow of confusion crossed your face.

"He was a founder, sure," she admitted, a bitter smile playing at her lips. "One of the Y/l/n brothers who started this whole thing. But that's not the part of the story that matters. Not the part that should define how you see racing."

Your heart stilled, anticipation prickling at your skin. "What do you mean, then? What's the part I'm missing?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, focusing on a memory only she could see. "Your dad wanted out."

The weight of her words hung between you, more jarring than the rumble of any engine. The idea of your father—the man who had seemingly built his entire world around speed, thrill, and the camaraderie of the club—wanting to leave felt impossible.

"What do you mean, 'out'?" you asked, the question barely a whisper.

She sighed, running a hand over her tired face. "He didn't start the club for the glory, Y/n. Not for the rush or to become some legend everyone would talk about. He did it because he felt trapped, and for a while, racing felt like freedom. But when things got bigger, more dangerous... he saw where it was heading. He knew it wasn't sustainable. He wanted out before it swallowed him whole."

You stared at her, trying to process this new version of the man you thought you knew. The stories you'd grown up on were all about victory, triumph, the unmatched skills of your father and the empire he helped build. But no one talked about the nights he lay awake, second-guessing the choices that led him there.

"Why didn't he leave, then?"

Her eyes glistened with a pain that seemed older than time, a sorrow she'd carried long. "He did, or... he was supposed to. That last race—the one that took him from us—it was meant to be his farewell. He promised me it would be the last time, that after that night, we would start over, somewhere far away from all of this."

You felt like the ground beneath you had shifted. The race that defined so much of your past, the race whispered about in awe and grief—it had been an ending, but not the kind you ever imagined.

"He was going to walk away?" you asked, your own voice thick with disbelief.

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the weight of old promises and lost dreams shining in their depths. "Yes," she whispered, a tear finally breaking free and rolling down her cheek. "He was tired of what it had become—the danger, the violence, the way it devoured everything good. He wanted out for you, for us. But fate had other plans."

You looked at her, seeing not just your mother but a woman who had lost everything for the sake of someone else's ambition. The image of your father—legendary racer, fearless leader—began to fracture, replaced by the vision of a man who was trapped, fighting for freedom that never came.

"And now," she said, drawing a shaky breath, "you have to decide if you're going to chase his ghost, or choose a different path."

Suddenly, the image of racing, of the thrill that had always called to you, shifted. It wasn't just the adrenaline, the wind whipping past and the engine's roar. It was what lay beneath—the fear, the drive to outrun something that couldn't be escaped.

"So, what does that mean for me?" you asked quietly.

Her fingers tightened around her cup, eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. "It means you decide if racing is freedom or a cage. For your dad, it became both. You don't owe this club anything."

You sat back, absorbing the truth. Racing had always felt like destiny, an inheritance carved into the fabric of who you were. But now, for the first time, it seemed less like a birthright and more like a choice—a choice you'd have to make on your own terms.

"Do you ever... want to get out of here?" you ask, almost too quietly, afraid of the answer. "Out of Brimstone?"

A question you should've asked your mother years ago, but is only leaving you now.

She raises her eyebrows, surprised by the question. It lingers in the air between you for a moment before she sighs, looking out the window to the tired streets beyond. "Sometimes," she says finally. "Sometimes I think about it, yeah. The way this place drags people in, holds them down... It scares me for you, Y/n. I don't want you trapped here. I want you to have options, a life that's bigger than this town."

"Then why do you stay?" you press, voice softer now.

A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face. "It's complicated," she says, her voice tinged with a weariness you hadn't noticed before. "Your father was here. This was where we met, built our lives, and after he... after everything, I felt like leaving would be... giving up on him. Like walking away from the one thing he was part of."

"But you don't owe this place anything," you say, echoing her earlier words back to her. "If it's just a memory keeping you here, then... maybe we both deserve better."

She nods slowly, her gaze returning to you, eyes softer, more vulnerable than you've seen in a while. "Maybe we do," she admits, voice barely a whisper. She makes a gesture with her hand of tapping a cigarette into an ash tray—a habit you noticed since you were a child. Something she does out of nervousness.

For the first time, it feels like you're seeing eye-to-eye, both carrying parts of the same burden—one that isn't really yours to carry. You've both been holding on, afraid of what letting go might mean.

You never thought you had a bad relationship with your mom. You both just worked and worked, trying to make a life for each other. Survival mode felt like autopilot—there was no time for bonding or deep conversations. Showing care meant keeping each other going, making sure you both were okay. Talking like this felt foreign, almost like a new skill you were both trying to learn. You wonder what prompted it, this sudden need to speak the things you both usually left unsaid

"So Hunter told me you had a girlfriend—"

You face palm, "for fuck sakes."

————

"Dude you told my mom I have a girlfriend?"

"She asked me if there was anyone special in your life!" He puts his hands up defensively.

You groan, feeling a wave of annoyance wash over you. What the hell are you supposed to tell your mom if she asks about this again? The image of her face pops into your mind. "Hey Mom, here's my supposed girlfriend I met at a race I snuck off to behind your back. Don't worry, she's not a Sinner—she's a Viper, though."

Luckily, Hunter had walked in earlier from whatever he'd been up to that morning, sparing you from answering your mom's question on the spot. Now, all you have to do is figure out what to say when she inevitably brings it up again.

It's still morning as you both settle into your room, falling into the familiar rhythm of your routine. You sprawl on your bed while he spins around in your chair, his energy infectious. Hunter dives into the latest gossip, animatedly sharing every detail, and you find yourself drifting in and out of his words, letting the sound of his voice wash over you.

You phone then starts ringing, and his voice suddenly stops. You glance at the screen, and let out a heavy sigh. You've really got to change her contact name.

"Who is it?" Hunter asks, hopping off the chair and leaning closer to your phone.

"Is she not your fave Viper anymore?" He jokes, sitting at the foot of your bed. "Come on, pick it up!"

You hesitate, staring at the screen as the name blinks back at you. The tension in the room shifts, Hunter's playful smirk fading as he senses your reluctance.

"Seriously? You're just going to let it ring?"

You shake your head, biting your lip. "I—I can't, Hunter. What do I even say?"

He leans forward, a look of mock seriousness on his face. "How about, 'Hey, Jenna, what's up? Oh me? I'm just living my perfectly normal life—definitely not spiraling into an identity crisis because of you?"

You roll your eyes but can't help the smile that threatens to break through. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you know I'm right," he insists, nudging your foot with his. "Just answer it! What's the worst that could happen?"

A million thoughts race through your mind, each one heavier than the last. You're scared of what her voice will bring up—the memories, the feelings, the undeniable shift in your life since you met her. "What if she wants to see me again?"

"Uh, hello?" he raises a brow, giving you a look. "Isn't that the best-case scenario? Getting cozy with your fine, rich Summer Valley girl?"

You hesitate again, and the ringing seems to grow louder. Hunter's eyes are wide, filled with mischief and encouragement. "Come on! Just answer it already!"

"Huh, looks like I can't anymore, the ringing stopped," you smile, relieved that the ringing was cut short.

Hunter's expression shifts from playful to incredulous. "What the fuck, man? Why didn't you answer?"

You shrug, but inside, a storm of emotions brews, each thought heavier than the last. Jenna represents everything you're trying to escape, and yet everything you're drawn toward. She's the pull of a world that's dangerous, one you've seen tear lives apart—your life apart. And every second you spend with her, it feels like you're slipping further down a path you might not come back from.

You can't let that happen.

"Because I can't keep doing this," you say, the words coming out softer than you'd intended. Each moment with her feels like a step away from the life you once knew, from the version of yourself that kept your family safe. You're drawn to Jenna, but she's also a stark reminder of how much you've changed, of how close you're getting to undoing everything your mom worked so hard to protect, everything your father was trying to leave.

She makes you feel alive in ways you haven't felt in years. But that feeling comes with a vulnerability you're not sure you can handle. If you keep this up, you'll lose more than just yourself—you'll risk letting down the family that depended on you to be the strong one. The thought sends a cold chill through you.

"I don't think I'm doing the right thing, Hunter."

Hunter lets out a quiet sigh, watching you closely. "You were doing alright last night. What's got you all worked up now?"

You hesitate, the weight of it clawing at you. Saying it out loud feels like crossing a line you can't come back from. "Things just... feel different," you say, voice barely audible. "I've been doing things I never thought I would, getting in deeper than I should. I don't even recognize myself anymore."

Hunter frowns, studying you. "You're not a completely different person just because you're out there racing. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"It's not just about racing." You rub your face, trying to calm the frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Jenna's got this... hold over me. She's made me cross lines I thought I'd never touch. She's tied up in a world I swore I'd stay away from."

Hunter's gaze softens, like he's trying to understand. "Maybe she's just got you seeing things differently. Doesn't mean you're losing yourself."

But that's the problem—you can feel yourself losing your grip, and the need to push her away rises, desperate, like an instinct. You know that the closer you get to Jenna, the deeper you risk sinking into something that could destroy you both. "Maybe it's better if I keep my distance," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. "I can't let this go any further. She's in the Vipers, and that's not a world I can afford to be part of."

Hunter shakes his head, not fully understanding. "So you're just going to shut her out? Because of some fear? Even if she hasn't been around long, what you two have—it's something real—"

"No." You cut him off, a hint of desperation in your tone. "What I have with her isn't real. Not really. We just thought... we could help each other. But that's all it is."

Even as you say it, though, you can feel the lie settle in your chest, heavier than you expected.

Hunter doesn't know the whole story with Jenna and Percy, or how you got roped into digging up dirt on him. You bite your tongue, stopping yourself from saying too much. A part of you wishes you could tell him, though—because if he knew you were supposedly getting mixed up in things like Ghost Smoke, he'd be the first one pushing you to cut Jenna out of your life for good.

"Alright, let me ask you this," he says, leaning forward. "You've had your first race, you were technically a Sinner. But from what you're saying, it sounds like you've made up your mind. So, what—you're sticking to your car hijacking ways, no racing, right?"

You hesitate—even after everything your mom has told you today, and he catches it.

"There's still a part of you that wants it, Y/n. You're not sure, and that's okay. This isn't about you changing; it's about something else. Unless you can look me in the eye and say you're completely done with this racing stuff, I don't see why you have to push her away."

You don't know why either. Maybe this wasn't about racing entirely and how much you've changed. But it feels foolish now to drag yourself deeper into this world after learning your dad died trying to leave it. Point is, you need to step back before you lose yourself completely.

And as much as it hurts to admit, that might mean losing the girl who makes your heart race. Looks like you found what makes your heart race, but not what's worth risking everything for.

————

"So, should I throw the microwave at your head now or later?"

Jenna tears her gaze away from her phone, frowning at her sister. "What are you even talking about, Aliyah?"

Aliyah grins, enjoying the confusion on her sister's face. "You don't remember? You told me ages ago that if you ever fell for someone again—or got caught waiting on a text—I should throw a microwave at your head."

Jenna sighs, the memory of that ridiculous pact making her groan. "Yeah, well... Wait—hold on. I am not falling for anybody!"

Aliyah raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh. Says the girl who's been glued to her phone all day waiting on a text. Sounds exactly like someone not falling for anybody."

Jenna scoffs, rolling her eyes, but she can't hide the faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm just... checking my messages. It's not that deep."

Aliyah chuckles. "Right. Not that deep. Just let me know when to start unplugging the microwave."

The older of the two shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "You're so dramatic."

"I just know you too well. Face it, sis—you're hooked."

Jenna scoffs, though her expression softens. "It's... complicated," she admits quietly, her fingers grazing the edge of her phone. "She's—" She stops, catching herself. She's. But she's not about to explain all that to Aliyah.

"Complicated?" Aliyah finishes, feigning shock. "You? In something complicated? Never."

"Okay, fine, enough!" Jenna laughs, trying to brush off her nerves. But her sister's words stick with her. She can't ignore the fact that she's thinking about her way more than she should be. And she knows all too well that if Percy found out, it would be a whole new problem.

Aliyah flops onto the bed, scrolling through her phone with a satisfied grin, fully aware that she's already planted the seed.

The Viper tries to focus on something else, anything else, but her mind keeps drifting back. "You're hooked."

Aliyah tilts her head, watching Jenna with a knowing look. "You don't even deny it. Whoever this person is, they've got you in knots."

Jenna rolls her eyes, trying to dismiss it, but the truth settles heavily in her chest. "It's not like that," she says, almost to herself. "It can't be."

Aliyah raises an eyebrow. "Why not? Because of Dad? Or because of that sleaze Percy?"

Jenna's jaw tightens at the mention of the men, and she looks away, fighting the urge to share too much about her mystery Brimstone girl. "Let's just say... it's not as simple as having someone in your life and calling it a day," she says finally.

Aliyah's playful demeanor fades a bit, sensing the weight in Jenna's voice. "Jenna... are you in some kind of trouble?"

For a moment, Jenna considers coming clean, but she shakes her head, forcing a smile. "When am I not in trouble?"

Aliyah's smile falters slightly, guilt seeping through her playful demeanor. She shifts in her seat, Jenna wouldn't even know this kind of trouble if it weren't for her.

Jenna catches the look in her sister's eyes and instantly regrets her words.

"Aliyah, don't," she says softly, the tension in the room shifting. "You know I don't blame you."

"I know, but I can't help feeling responsible," Aliyah whispers, looking down at her hands. The unspoken reality—that Jenna's entanglement with the Vipers was to shield Aliyah—lingered between them, heavier than any words.

"Dad shouldn't have made you—"

Jenna reaches out, squeezing her sister's hand. "We're in this together, remember? Whatever happens, I'm the one who chose to stay."

Aliyah looks up, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But it's not fair. You shouldn't have to carry this for me."

Jenna offers a small, sad smile. "Family isn't about fair. It's about being there, no matter what."

Aliyah's shoulders slump as she bites her lower lip, a familiar crease forming on her brow. The guilt that's been gnawing at her shows clearly in her eyes, and Jenna's heart clenches at the sight.

"I hate this," Aliyah whispers, her voice wavering. "Every time you walk out that door, I keep wondering if you're coming back. And it's because of me."

Jenna's tough facade cracks, and she leans forward, wrapping an arm around Aliyah's shoulders. "Hey, don't go there," she murmurs. The words are steady, meant to reassure, but the tightness in her chest betrays her. For a moment, she lets herself imagine a life free of this cycle—a life where neither of them has to look over their shoulder.

"I won't be stuck for long," Jenna finally admits, a determined edge creeping into her voice. She pulls back just enough to look Aliyah in the eyes, hoping to pass on some of that conviction. "I'm working on something, alright? This isn't forever."

Aliyah searches Jenna's face, her eyes widening with hope and hints of disbelief. "You mean it?"

Jenna nods, "I mean it. I promise."

Suddenly the sadness in Aliyah's expression is replaced with a smirk, "Does she have anything to do with it?" she asks glancing at her sister's phone.

"Don't change the subject," Jenna says, trying to sound stern but unable to keep the corner of her mouth from quirking up.

Aliyah's smirk grows, the earlier heaviness giving way to something warmer, more familiar. "I knew it. Your mystery girl isn't just another risk, is she?"

Jenna rolls her eyes but can't fully suppress a small, reluctant smile. "It's complicated, Ali. She's... well, she's a lot more than I expected."

Probably the biggest risk of all, Jenna thought

Aliyah's smirk softens into a genuine smile. "Good. You deserve more than this mess, Jen."

Jenna's heart tightens at her sister's words. "Yeah," she whispers, more to herself than to Aliyah. "Maybe I do."

Suddenly an idea stirs into the younger Ortega's mind. In a swift motion, her hand darts out and snatches Jenna's phone from the bed. Before Jenna can fully process what's happening, Aliyah is already on her feet, eyes dancing with mischief as she clutches the phone to her chest like a prize.

"Aliyah!" Jenna's voice sharpens "Seriously? Hand it over."

Aliyah tilts her head playfully, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Relax, big sister. Just checking if your mystery girl left a love note or two."

Jenna takes a step forward, trying to maintain her composure as she reaches out for the phone. "I mean it, Ali. Give. It. Back."

Aliyah shifts her weight, effortlessly dodging Jenna's reach as she chuckles. Taking advantage of the height, she holds the phone above her head, reading the chat messages. "Greaser? Pet names already?"

"Aliyah."

"Left on read for almost three hours? And here I thought you had game."

"I don't like her."

"Sure you don't," Aliyah teases, tapping the screen. "Let's see if your non-existent feelings show up when I—"

Before she can finish, the familiar ringing tone starts, and Jenna's heart drops. Aliyah's eyes widen with mock surprise. "Oops. Guess we'll see soon enough."

"Aliyah!" Jenna lunges, grabbing the phone from her sister's hand after the phone rang for a while. Without hesitation, she swiftly hits the end call button. The silence that follows crackles with tension as Jenna clutches the phone, her face flushed.

Aliyah bursts out laughing. "Wow, if that's not feelings, I don't know what is."

Jenna takes a steadying breath, unable to mask the way her pulse races. "It's not like that," she insists, more to herself than to her sister.

She couldn't help but wonder why you didn't answer your phone. You had more than enough time to answer the phone while it was ringing.

————

Two days have passed since you left Jenna's call unanswered. The rhythmic clinking of tools filled the garage as you worked tirelessly on your latest project—the stolen Aston Martin. For the past two days, the garage had been your refuge, the metallic smell of oil offering a sense of your old routine amidst the chaos. In that span, you had buried yourself in work, starting early in the morning and ending late into the night, determined to keep your mind from straying.

You stepped back to study the Aston Martin, now wrapped in a deep green that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. The change from the initial black colour was supposed to help, to make the car feel less like a painful reminder of her. But as you ran your hand over the freshly smoothed surface, sighing at the ghost of memories it evoked, you realized that nothing had changed. No matter how much you worked, every inch of that car still spoke her name.

Your phone buzzed on the workbench, a sharp intrusion that pulled your attention. A name lit up the screen—Jenna's. A message providing you the address of the meeting, nothing else. Seeing her message made your chest ache with a guilt you tried to ignore. You glanced at the glowing screen, your resolve wavering for a moment before you shoved the phone into a drawer, the metallic clang echoing in the small space.

Out of sight, out of mind.

As you smoothed out the last stubborn air pockets on the Aston Martin's fresh wrap, the sound of footsteps echoed in the garage. It was nearly 1 a.m. and no one should be around at this hour.

"Y/n?"

You turned at the familiar voice, eyes narrowing slightly before recognition softened your expression. "Mikey?"

She walked toward you, eyes curious as they swept over the car. "What are you doing here so late?" she asked, curiosity lacing her voice.

You shrugged, forcing a nonchalant tone. "Just working on a car. Needed the distraction. And you?"

Mikey tilted her head, not satisfied with the answer. "I felt like going for a drive. Thought I'd stop by first."

Her gaze shifted between you and the green Aston Martin, catching the tension in the air.

"This is the car you rolled up in with your girl right? What was on the surveillance?"

Ahh yes my girl. Now you need to come up with a believable break up story for the crew.

You clenched your jaw at her question, the mention of Jenna sending a pang through your chest. "Uh, yeah," you muttered, hoping to keep the conversation brief. Mikey's sharp intuition wasn't something to underestimate.

"Trouble in paradise?"

You sigh, "something like that, I don't really want to talk about it."

Mikey nods carefully, and deliberates her next words before speaking, "Did you want to join me on my driv—

"Okay I brought Chinese!" Hunter's voice booms through the garage.

Hunter set the bags down on a nearby workbench, the crinkling of paper and the scent of takeout breaking the heavy silence. He glanced between you and Mikey, sensing the charged atmosphere and shooting you a raised brow.

"Am I interrupting something?" Hunter asked, his usual playful tone laced with curiosity as he tossed a napkin your way.

You caught it mid-air, forcing a smirk to hide the knot in your chest. "Just working late," you replied, shrugging as if that explained everything.

Mikey's expression softened, the slight edge from moments ago replaced with a grin. "Nope, you're just in time. I was about to drag Y/n out for a drive," she said, her voice lighter now, as if trying to pull you into an easier conversation.

Hunter's brows lifted. "Oh? That's a miracle. She's been glued to that car for the last 48 hours" he teased, nudging your arm.

The mention of the past few days made your stomach tighten. You hadn't told Hunter or anyone else why you'd been so buried in work. The truth was, it kept you from thinking about Jenna. The guilt, the confusion—it all seemed simpler when muffled under the sound of engines and the smell of oil.

Mikey leaned against the Aston Martin, folding her arms. "Come on, you've been cooped up in here long enough. What's a quick drive gonna hurt?"

Before you could answer, Hunter grabbed a takeout container and tossed another to you. "Food first, you too Mikey. And then drive second," he said with a grin. "Don't think we'll let you skip out on both."

You took the container, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. Maybe stepping away from the garage—and everything it represented—would be good for you. Even if just for a moment.

You could tell a lot about a person from how they drove, and never in a million years did you think Mikey would be a careful driver. She would teeter on surpassing street limits, but was a relatively relaxed and smooth driver.

The car rolled through the night, the city gradually giving way to quieter roads framed by dark silhouettes of trees. A comfortable silence settled among the three of you, broken only by Hunter's occasional commentary and Mikey's bursts of laughter when he cracked a particularly absurd joke.

"Remember that time you tried to drive with only three wheels?" Hunter leaned forward from the back seat, his eyes dancing with mischief. "You swore it would work."

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head at the memory. "And you were the one who dared me to, you idiot."

Mikey laughed, the sound deep and genuine. "And you actually tried it? That's commitment."

"Or stupidity," Hunter added, and the three of you erupted into laughter that carried through the night, momentarily easing the tension that had wrapped itself around your chest for days.

The conversation meandered through old stories and lighthearted teasing as the car hummed smoothly down the open road. But then, in a pause between topics, Mikey glanced sideways at you, her gaze more serious. "So, do you plan on racing again anytime soon?"

The question hung in the air, a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Before you could respond, Hunter's smirk dropped. He leaned back in his seat, his voice more subdued. "Don't bother, Mads. She doesn't know."

Your eyes flicked to Mikey, watching her reaction. She didn't miss the slight hesitation in your expression, the way your hands clenched. Her brow furrowed, a mixture of concern and curiosity flashing across her face.

"Still figuring it out, huh?" she said softly. "If you haven't made up your mind yet and you're not already back on the track, it's probably a no."

You kept your gaze on the road, the rhythmic whoosh of the wind outside acting as a buffer for your thoughts. Mikey's insight stung more than you'd admit; she was right. Your lack of being back on the track had to mean something.

"Maybe," you said finally, offering no real answer. Hunter glanced between you and Mikey.

Mikey settled back in her seat, a subtle understanding flickering in her eyes as her expression softened. "Trust me," she said, her voice calm yet pointed. "Most racers, when they're trying to get something off their mind, they hit the streets and push their limits. But you? You're here, spending your nights working on a car. That says a lot about where you really want to be."

She was the first person to openly discourage you from racing, and you couldn't help but appreciate it. It felt different, almost liberating—a break from the endless pressure to prove yourself. For once, someone saw the side of you that wasn't caught up in the thrill, and it was a relief.

But there was also that suspicious part of you. Mikey was close to Anton, and she knew how much Anton wanted you in the crew. Does she fear that you'll replace her spot in the club if you join? You brush off your intrusive thoughts and try to enjoy the rest of your drive.

————

Two more days had passed since Jenna had sent the text with the updated meeting address, and the silence on the other end gnawed at her. She leaned against the balcony railing outside her room, eyes skimming the darkened city skyline in the distance each blinking light a reminder of how life pulsed and moved without pause.

The air was crisp, biting against her skin as she shivered, but it did nothing to numb the restless ache in her chest. She scrolled back through the last messages, the words on the screen staring back at her like a mockery of the certainty she'd once felt. It wasn't like you to go this long without responding, but then again what did she know about you? You were the definition of uncertainty, you couldn't figure your own shit out how could you help with hers. She should've seen the red flags for your ghosting tendencies from the first time you met. You had no reason to help her, there was no personal gain.

Aliyah's voice broke through her thoughts, calling from inside. "Jenna, you're doing it again."

Jenna blinked, tearing her gaze from the phone as Aliyah stepped out onto the balcony, eyes filled with concern.

"You're still thinking about her, aren't you?" Aliyah's tone was soft, not judgmental, but knowing.

Jenna sighed, slipping her phone into her pocket as if hiding it would erase the gnawing uncertainty. "I can't help it. Something's off. She's... pulling away, I can feel it."

Aliyah's expression shifted, guilt briefly clouding her features before she masked it with a small, encouraging smile. "Maybe she just needs time. You know how it is—this life, this... chaos we're in. It's not easy."

Jenna met her sister's eyes, searching for reassurance that felt out of reach. "Yeah, maybe." But it wasn't enough. Aliyah didn't know the extent of your relationship. How you were going to help her get dirt on Percy. How you were her best bet.

Jenna had noticed for a while now that Percy was spending a lot more time in Brimstone, and that anything she could find would be found in that shady town.

"I saw the messages with her... something about a meeting? If she won't go with you, maybe I could?" Aliyah ventured, her tone eager but tentative.

Jenna's reaction was immediate, sharp. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."

Aliyah crossed her arms, a defiant glint in her eyes. "Come on, Jenna. It could be good to do something together for once."

"I'm serious, Aliyah. This isn't up for discussion. It's not safe," Jenna said, her voice firm, eyes blazing with protectiveness.

Aliyah lifted her chin, stubbornness radiating from her. "Too late. I don't care," she declared, turning on her heel and striding out before Jenna could argue.

"Aliyah, wait—"

Jenna's phone pinged, jolting her from the tense silence that followed Aliyah's departure. For a split second, hope fluttered in her chest—a foolish, fragile thing—as she thought it might be you, breaking the days of silence that gnawed at her. But that hope quickly crumbled as she glanced at the screen.

It was from Percy.

Get yourself dolled up. Race tomorrow night. Be there. And you're on my arm. Look the part, don't embarrass me.

Jenna stared at the messages, her fingers itching to throw the phone across the room. He knew exactly how much he got under her skin and used it at every opportunity. And tonight was no different; he needed her there, not just as a racer, but as his accessory, some trophy to drape over his arm. Like she was at the Sinner race almost a month ago. It was a power move, one he'd pulled too many times, trying to keep her bound to him and his schemes.

Another ping. Don't even think about bailing. You know what happens when I'm not happy.

Jenna scoffed, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She could imagine Percy already preening in the mirror, smugly counting on her to show up, loyal and subservient as always. She could almost hear his oily tone, the mock concern he would flash when she hesitated, only to follow it with another thinly veiled threat. Percy loved to remind her how "lucky" she was that he'd given her a place in the Vipers—and what a shame it would be to lose it.

Jenna pushed away from the railing, the metallic chill of it seeping through her skin as she stood upright. The city lights looked dull now, swallowed by the storm brewing in her mind. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a part of her tempted to tell Percy to shove it. But she knew better. Defying him could mean losing her only leverage, the tiny foothold she had in this game of shadows and lies.

With a sharp sigh, she typed out a reply, each keystroke feeling like a betrayal to herself.

Swallowing her disgust, she replied. Fine. I'll be there.

It was almost too easy to imagine the smirk that would be stretching across his face as he read her reply. She could feel her muscles tense, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface, made worse by the fact that she'd lost any sign of you as a reprieve.

The phone slipped back into her pocket, but the weight of it pressed heavier than ever. The ache in her chest turned sharper, a reminder that even though she needed you, even though you were the one who was supposed to stand beside her, the silence between you spoke volumes. She just wished it wasn't so deafening.

Her eyes drifted to the hallway where Aliyah had disappeared moments before. She couldn't let her sister get pulled deeper into this mess, not when it felt like she was barely holding her own head above water. Yet, with every passing moment, the line between protecting the people she loved and keeping them at a distance grew blurrier. And Percy's summons felt like another shove towards the edge she was already teetering on.

Tomorrow night, she'd play the role. But Jenna swore, as she stared out at the city, that she would find a way out of this tangled mess.

Aliyah popped back into the room, her eyes bright but cautious as she took in Jenna's guarded stance. "Hey, so, the family's heading out to catch a movie right now. Are you coming?" Her tone was light, hopeful even, as if she already anticipated the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

Jenna's gaze shifted to her sister, the corners of her mouth pulling into a tight line. The unspoken question lingered between them, though Aliyah's expression faltered as she awaited an answer.

"Is Dad going?" Jenna's voice came out sharper than she intended, and Aliyah's smile dimmed slightly.

"Yeah, he is," Aliyah admitted, her eyes darting down for a moment before meeting Jenna's again, trying to read her sister's mood.

Jenna's jaw tensed as she looked past Aliyah, the weight of years of resentment and disappointment pressing down like a vice. "Then no," she said flatly, the finality in her voice leaving no room for argument.

Aliyah's face fell, but she nodded, understanding etched into her features. She didn't push, didn't try to convince Jenna otherwise. The silence between them grew heavy, filled with all the things they weren't saying.

"Okay," Aliyah said softly, turning to leave. But before she stepped out, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, eyes shadowed with a mix of concern and quiet resignation. "Just... don't stay up all night, okay?"

Jenna forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. I won't."

But as Aliyah's footsteps faded down the hall, Jenna knew she was lying. The night was already hers to wrestle with, haunted by the things she couldn't change and the person she wished she didn't need.

————

Before you knew it, Friday had arrived—the day of the meeting. The meeting you weren't planning to attend. You started your day the same way you had over the past few days—in the garage.

You had been avoiding your phone all morning, afraid of what new messages might appear. Each buzz was a test of your resolve, a reminder that giving in would undo everything you had decided. You needed to stay strong, keep your distance, and not let the past pull you back in.

The project car in front of you demanded all your attention. You poured every ounce of focus into it, the sleek curves of the Aston Martin glistening under the dim garage lights. Tonight, you were determined to take it out for a spin, using it as an excuse to push out the stress gnawing at your mind.

The garage was unusually quiet, lacking its usual bustle. The regulars, including Anton and Mikey, were conspicuously absent, skipping their usual stops at the garage. You welcomed the peace; the last thing you needed was their relentless teasing about the car's dubious origins.

The sound of footsteps broke the monotony, and you didn't need to look up to know it was Hunter.

"Got a minute?" His voice came from the doorway, casual but laced with concern.

You nodded, wiping your hands on a rag before tossing it aside and standing up. "Yeah, what's up?"

"So you're really done with Jenna?" he asks wasting no time.

You couldn't even bring yourself to say the words.

"I'm hoping the drive with Madison the other day doesn't mean yes," he frowns. "I don't think she's right for you."

"Neither do I dude. I never said I wanted anything with Mikey. We literally all went on a friendly drive, nothing more."

"Good, she kind of gives me an off vibe," he shares. "I mean, she's cool and all, but there's just something... I don't know. 

Hunter leans against the workbench, studying you. "But that still leaves Jenna," he says, quieter now. "Are you sure cutting her off is what you really want?"

Your chest tightens, and you look away, focusing on the glint of metal on the project car. "I don't know," you admit. "But staying away feels like the only way to keep things from going up in flames."

Hunter's eyes narrow with concern, but then he smirks, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Just don't forget—sometimes running from the fire only makes it burn hotter when it catches up," he finishes with a wink.

You roll your eyes, but a small chuckle escapes despite the tension in your chest. "Trust you to turn everything into a dramatic line."

————

Hunter left around the 6 p.m. mark and time slipped through your fingers, and before you knew it, the clock had struck 8 p.m. The Aston Martin stood before you, polished and ready. It looked solid, steady—exactly what you needed. Without a second thought, you grabbed the keys, took a breath to steady your nerves, and slid into the driver's seat. Tonight, it would be just you, the car, and the open road.

You eased the car through the streets of Brimstone, your hands gripping the wheel, your mind drifting as you weaved through the winding roads. The town looked different at night—darker, quieter, with the occasional flicker of neon signs casting long shadows on the empty streets. You passed by abandoned buildings, alleyways where the stray figures of drug addicts huddled together, their glazed eyes staring into the nothingness that had consumed them. They barely registered your presence, too lost in their own world.

You drove without a clear destination, allowing the car to take you wherever it wanted to go. The sound of tires on asphalt was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. The rush of the road beneath you, the flicker of streetlights, the occasional blur of other cars passing by—it was all you needed. Just you and the road.

And then your mind went to her. Of course it did. How could it not when you were sitting in this car. You were fooling yourself by thinking a single car wrap can get the job done.

You remembered the day you took this car, how you spilled your guts to her in the midst of your chaos. The way she'd listened—really listened—and kissed your cheek when you dropped her off. The memory was so vivid, you could almost feel her lips on your skin again.

She should be heading to the meeting now. The one you weren't going to attend. The one she was walking into, blind. No idea what it was really about, no clue what she was getting herself into. Alone.

For all you knew, she thought Ghost Smoke was some sort of cereal. But no. You knew better than that. She wasn't stupid. She was smart, and she could handle herself. You tried to tell yourself that, tried to calm your racing thoughts. She could handle herself. She would be fine. Nothing bad would happen.

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the doubt crept back in. The image of her walking into that meeting—unprepared, vulnerable—made your stomach churn. You couldn't help but picture the worst. What if they used her? What if she got caught up in something deeper than either of you realized?

But then, as you took a sharp turn, you found yourself on the road you hadn't meant to be on. The track.

The place where it all went down.

You didn't intend to end up here. Not tonight. But there it was, the race track standing still under the muted glow of the moon, the outline of the old fence barely visible against the darkness. The stories rushed back like a wave—your father, Anton's dad, both gone in an instant after the crash that took their lives. The race had been their last, the night that changed everything.

You slowed as you approached the entrance, the cars long gone. There was no movement, no sign of life, just the emptiness that had followed the tragedy. The track had been abandoned ever since. The Sinners stopped racing there out of respect, unwilling to return to the place that had claimed so much.

You parked the car on the side of the road. For a long moment, you just sat there, the hum of the engine ticking down as the silence of the night pressed in. The weight of the past, of your father's legacy, of everything you thought you knew about this town and the racing world, settled on your shoulders.

You couldn't help but feel the ghosts of the past watching, waiting, taunting you—what are you going to do Y/n?

You shifted the car into drive, the road ahead a blur.

————

"Can you not be mad at me anymore please?"

Jenna rolls her eyes, frustration evident in her posture. "I told you not to come. I seriously can't believe you followed me here."

Aliyah huffs, crossing her arms. "You're in this mess because of me, and god forbid I want to help! It's not like your girlfriend was dying to come with you, so you should at least be grateful I'm here."

Jenna's stomach clenches at the mention of girlfriend, but she holds her tongue. She's too tired for this. She could've corrected Aliyah for the thousandth time, but it wasn't worth the fight now. Better to focus on getting this over with. At least until this little mission was done, she needed to push all thoughts of you to the back of her mind.

You're not here anyway. You're not helping her anymore.

Aliyah continues, clearly trying to lighten the tension, but there's a note of sarcasm in her voice. "Seriously, there's no way you're not happy I'm here. Look at this place!" She gestures toward the imposing, dark warehouse ahead, a shudder running through her as she takes it in. "It's straight out of a horror movie."

Jenna doesn't disagree. The place does feel like something out of a nightmare. She can feel the resentment bubbling inside her, a sharp, unwanted feeling that she tries to push away but can't. How dare you ghost her, leave her to face this alone? If you were here, Aliyah wouldn't be, and maybe she wouldn't feel so exposed, so vulnerable. But you aren't, and her little sister is. The sting of abandonment hangs in the air, heavier than the looming shadow of the warehouse ahead.

Jenna sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing in from all sides. With one final glance at the door to the meeting place, her shoulders slumped in resignation. "Fine," she muttered, voice tinged with exhaustion. "But stay close, stay quiet. Don't do anything stupid."

Aliyah gave a small, relieved nod. "You've got my word."

Jenna leads the way into the dark warehouse, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cold, concrete floor. The place is completely abandoned, with broken windows casting faint, eerie light into the room. There's nothing in sight but dust and the lingering smell of stale air.

Aliyah looks around nervously, her eyes darting from corner to corner, but all she can see are the dim shadows creeping along the walls. The place feels like a ghost town, unsettlingly empty.

"Is this really the right place?" Aliyah's voice is low, the uncertainty clear in her tone.

Jenna pauses, squinting into the darkness, trying to make sense of the scene. She's not sure why the meeting is set up like this, or why it feels like they're walking into the unknown, but she can't let herself doubt now. "Yeah," she answers, her voice steady but with a hint of something unspoken. "This is it."

They keep walking, the air growing colder as they venture deeper into the warehouse. Aliyah keeps glancing at her sister, confusion written across her face. "What exactly is this meeting about?" she asks, her voice tinged with concern. "I mean, what's going on here? Is this about the club or—?"

Jenna cuts her off, shaking her head slightly, her gaze focused ahead. "Don't worry about it," she says, her tone sharp and final. "Just stay close."

And then, they saw him.

He was standing in the far corner of the warehouse, facing away from them, his silhouette sharp against the dim light filtering in through the broken windows. Dressed all in black, his figure was imposing in a way that sent a chill down Jenna's spine. He hadn't noticed them yet.

Instinctively, both sisters ducked behind a stack of old, dusty boxes, their breath held as they exchanged a look. The quiet tension between them thickened, and in that moment, everything felt so much more real—so much more dangerous.

On the phone, the man spoke with a low, almost mechanical tone. "Yes, boss. I'm the first one here, waiting on the other two."

Jenna made a mental note on the words. So this was a meeting between three people. Percy would be one of them.

Aliyah's voice was barely a whisper. "Do you know who that is?"

Jenna didn't answer at first. Her eyes stayed fixed on the man, analyzing his every movement, trying to make sense of the situation. Finally, she shook her head. No, she didn't know him. But something about this felt wrong—like they were in deeper than they had anticipated.

She reached out, squeezing Aliyah's hand tightly to calm her nerves. "Stay quiet," she murmured. There was no turning back now.

Jenna's heart skipped a beat when the door creaked open, and two figures stepped into the dim light. Percy walked in first, his usual calm confidence unmistakable, but it was the figure beside him that made Jenna's breath catch in her throat.

She remembered seeing him at the Raven race. The night you were racing. What the hell was he doing here? Her mind raced, the weight of the situation crashing down harder than before. Why was he with Percy?  Was he the club leader? This meeting was about something far worse than she could have imagined.

Aliyah's grip on her hand tightened, her eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. But Jenna couldn't look away. She barely registered the tension in her sister's hand, too focused on the strange alliance before her.

Without a word, Percy and the Raven exchanged brief glances before walking further into the warehouse with the mysterious person in all black. The air around them seemed to thicken, the sound of their voices indistinguishable.

Jenna's pulse quickened as her instincts screamed that she needed to get closer, to hear more.

She crouched low, glancing over at Aliyah with an intense, silent plea. "Stay here," she whispered sharply, her voice low but firm, knowing the weight of the situation.

Aliyah nodded, her face pale with fear.

Jenna barely gave her sister another glance before she began moving, silent as a shadow, staying low to the ground as she crept closer to the three men. 

But the floor of the warehouse wasn't as kind as she hoped. Her foot caught on a jagged edge, and in an instant, her body lurched forward, her heart skipping a beat.

Time slowed, the rush of panic surged through her, and in that split second, her heart seized with terror. She was going to fall—she was going to make a noise and blow their cover. Aliyah was going to be in danger.

She braced for the inevitable crash, for the sound of her body hitting the ground and the betrayal of her hiding place.

But just as the world tilted beneath her, strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back from the brink. Her heart raced, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked, disoriented, but when she looked up, her world seemed to freeze.

There you were, standing in front of her, holding her steady. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. You were here. You had come for her.

In the six days you had ghosted her, Jenna had planned what she was going to do if she ever saw you again. First was a slap, possibly the silent treatment—a taste of your own medicine. She even toyed with the idea of keying one of your cars. But falling into your embrace, wrapping her arms around your neck and letting out a sigh of relief was certainly not part of the plan.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You could feel her breath against your chest, soft and steady, and despite everything, her warmth was exactly what you needed.

Jenna pulled back slightly, her hands lingering on your arms as she looked up at you, her eyes searching for something—answers, maybe, or just reassurance. She was still upset with your disappearing act. "You really are something," she muttered, her voice softer than usual, almost vulnerable.

You couldn't find the right words, not when your heart was racing from the sudden rush of emotions. Instead, you simply nodded, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a quiet acknowledgment of everything unspoken between you. "We'll talk afterwards," you whispered.

She nodded, knowing you both have a bigger issue to deal with at the present moment.  You notice Jenna worriedly glance behind you and you follow her gaze to see another girl you've never seen before.

Jenna noticed the fear that was once on her sister's face melted into a mischievous grin as she looked at her, raising an eyebrow and pointing a finger at you while mouthing, Greaser?

You'll have to figure out who that is later, but for now you take your attention away from the girl who is very close to you, and look up at the scene in front of you. Pissy, the Raven crew leader, and an unfamiliar man.

“Who thought holding the meeting here was a good idea?” Percy muttered, annoyance dripping from his tone as he glanced at the dust clinging to his shoes.

“We can’t afford any slip-ups,” the unknown man replied curtly. “Let’s keep this brief.”

The Raven crew leader smirked, eyes glinting in the dim warehouse light. “We’ve already pushed about fifty keys of Ghost Smoke into Brimstone over the past two weeks,” he said, voice smooth but full of intent. “No hiccups, no heat—just a steady stream. And trust me, the streets are starting to bite. By the time the next batch hits, they’ll be begging for more.”

"Okay, and you Percy? How's the Vipers' distribution going?"

You clenched your jaw as the conversation confirmed your worst suspicions. These guys were flooding Brimstone with product, exploiting the town's vulnerable, turning the Brimstoners into their playthings. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Jenna stealthily recording the exchange between the three men, every tense word.

Percy shifted uneasily, a flash of frustration in his eyes. "We've moved about eight keys so far," he said tightly, the disappointment in his voice evident. The number wasn't enough compared to the Raven's progress. "It’s not easy for a Viper to operate on Sinner territory without drawing attention."

"Maybe if you'd stop cozying up to your girl at races and focus on your job, things would be different," the unknown man snapped, his tone biting.

His girl?

"Relax," Percy retorted, his voice strained but defiant. "No one wants Brimstone to become a zombieland more than I do. Some of those Sinners have been getting way too fucking cocky."

Jacob, the Raven leader, let out a low chuckle and placed a hand on Percy's shoulder. "Easy there," he said, smirking at the unknown man. "I can’t blame the guy. It’s hard to stay focused when your girl’s a knockout like that." He finishes with a whistle.

A whispered "ew" sounded behind you, and you felt Jenna tense, a silent fury radiating from her. Anger roared in your chest. Not only were these men scheming to drown Brimstone in Ghost Smoke, but now they were talking about Jenna like she was just another trophy. The rage that simmered inside you sharpened into a razor's edge.

But now was not the time to get angry. You had to remain calm, get all the info you can and get the fuck out of there.

Jacob, the Raven leader, crossed his arms, his gaze sharp as he looked between Percy and the unknown man. “And what if this operation doesn’t go as planned? What happens if someone decides to interfere? I know you tried this once and failed.”

The tension in the room crackled like static. The unknown man’s expression darkened, a slow, menacing smile creeping across his face. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, voice low and chilling. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of Bullet and Apex.”

You freeze.

But before you could fully process the implication, a sudden noise shattered the silence about 15 meters to your left.

“Hey! Who’s there?” one of the men barked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Heart thundering, you whipped your head in the direction of the sound and spotted the familiar mop of curls.

Hunter.

He was crouched low, eyes wide with a reckless determination that sent a jolt of both dread and relief through you. Before you could even react, Jenna’s urgent voice sliced through the fog of panic clouding your mind.

“We have to go,” she hissed, fingers locking around your arm like a lifeline and yanking you into motion. The edge in her voice snapped you back to the present, and your body jolted into action. The girl—clearly someone Jenna trusted—was already sprinting ahead, weaving between crates like shadows. You cast a quick look back, your gaze catching Hunter’s for a split second as he, too, bolted to follow.

This was a fight against time, and survival was the only thing that mattered.

Jenna’s grip on your hand anchored you as you both tore out of the warehouse, feet pounding the ground as adrenaline roared through your veins. The cold air bit at your skin as you charged towards the first car in sight—yours.

“Stop right there!” A shout from behind sent a surge of terror down your spine.

“Hey!” you yelled to the girl ahead. She glanced back, eyes sharp, just in time to catch the keys you tossed her. She was closer to the car, and with no time to spare, she slipped into the driver’s seat.

The three of you scrambled in—a blur of limbs and frenzied breaths. Jenna flung herself into the passenger seat, while you and Hunter dove into the back, your heart hammering in your chest like it might explode.

“Go, go, go! Step on it, Aliyah,” Jenna commanded.

Aliyah didn’t hesitate. The engine roared to life, and the Aston Martin peeled away from the warehouse, tires screeching against the asphalt. The last thing you saw in the rearview was the shadowy figure of the man pursuing you, growing smaller as you sped into the dark night, leaving danger and revelations in your wake.

No one dared to speak. The air in the car was thick with tension, the adrenaline still simmering just beneath the surface. Once Aliyah had put enough distance between them and the warehouse, she eased off the gas, slowing to a steady, legal pace. They were in Summer Valley now, the bright lights of the town casting fleeting shadows across their faces.

Ten minutes ticked by in silence before the red glow of a traffic light gave them a momentary pause. It was then that everything unraveled at once.

“Hunter, what the hell are you doing here?” you demanded, voice tight.

“How the fuck did you go from boosting cars to this?” Hunter fired back, eyes wide with disbelief.

Aliyah leaned back, throwing a teasing look Jenna’s way. “You didn’t tell me Greaser was cute!”

"Since when did you know how to drive?” Jenna shot back at Aliyah.

The car was filled with a low hum of murmured conversations, each person settling into their own thoughts as the road stretched on.

“Did you follow me here?” you asked Hunter, still in disbelief.

“Yeah, I did. And I’m glad I did.” His voice was filled with concern. “What the hell are you mixed up in, Y/n?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m just finding out about all this today, too.”

Hunter let out a frustrated sigh. “We need to tell Anton. They’re trying to destroy Brimstone.”

You exhaled, mirroring his sigh. “Yeah, this is bad. Real bad.”

As soon as Anton’s name left his lips, your mind raced back to the meeting. What the men had said.

Hunter could see it in your eyes—he knew exactly what you were thinking, and the tension in the air between you both grew thicker.

Up front, Jenna’s voice broke the silence. “Okay, yes, I get it! She’s cute. Can you just… shush? She’s right there,” she muttered in exasperation, turning back to her sister, who was practically grinning.

Jenna slouched back in her seat, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. This was not what she expected when she set out to gather dirt on Percy. She couldn’t wrap her head around it—Percy, the same person she thought she knew, was tangled up in a plot to destroy Brimstone. Yeah, he was a jerk, but this... this was murder, drawn out and deliberate.

The crew she had once considered family was directly linked to the distribution of Ghost Smoke, targeting people from the town over.  She knew there was always a rivalry between Brimstone and Summer Valley, but she didn't think it would resort to elimination techniques. The shock of it all left her breathless, the pieces clicking together with an unsettling finality. 

She got her dirt. But this feels far from over.

Despite everything, Jenna couldn’t ignore the pull to check on you. She knew you had to be feeling the weight of it all—learning that your town was the target of such destruction. But there was also the anger. The unresolved frustration from you walking away earlier. She couldn’t just let you back in without confronting it, could she?

But as the drive wore on, the pull to turn back softened, and she glanced at you instead. You were lost in your own world, staring out the window, looking like you’d retreated into yourself. Nothing could touch you right now. And she didn’t blame you. Tonight had been a mess.

She turned her gaze to Hunter, raising an eyebrow, silently asking if he knew how to handle this. He met her eyes, shaking his head in that subtle way that said, Not tonight.

Jenna nodded in acknowledgment, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. She gave a quiet command to Aliyah, who turned the car toward their place. The drive was silent, the weight of everything hanging thick in the air. When the car finally stopped, both girls exited, but Jenna couldn’t help but glance back at you one last time. Her gaze softened, seeing how much this was affecting you. You didn’t look at her once as you stayed seated in the back, your face unreadable.

Somehow, without even realizing it, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Hunter’s car. The shift had happened so subtly that you hadn’t even registered the transition. You assumed once the girls had left, Hunter must've taken over the drive. But the ride felt endless, every minute dragging in uncomfortable silence, like you were trying to outrun the truth without really knowing how.

When Hunter finally pulled into his driveway, the car came to a stop, and the air between you two felt suffocating. No words were spoken for a long moment.

Finally, Hunter broke the stillness. His voice was low, sincere, and filled with an understanding that made your stomach churn. “I’m sorry, Y/n,” he said, his tone full of empathy. “That must’ve been a hell of a lot to take in.”

It wasn’t easy, not by a long shot. You could feel the weight of the words pressing down on you like a heavy stone.

Bullet and Apex. Your dad and Anton’s dad, their racing names. You had tried to convince yourself that you had misheard at the meeting, that it was some twisted misunderstanding. But as you turned to look at Hunter, his pitiful eyes told you everything you needed to know. You weren’t wrong.

Your father and uncle’s deaths wasn't an accident. They’d been taken from you on purpose. And now, the truth of that hit you harder than anything else.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

I know this sounds so boring but what Bruce with a polite, wise gentle girlfriend? This is so boring 🥹🙂‍↕️ I’m sorry🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

No omg I actually love how like domestic this request is, in a way?? Literally in love with the amount of creative freedom that you guys let me have with reqs.

-----------------------------

BF! Bruce Wayne w/ a Wise/Caring Girlfriend

BF! Bruce Wayne who you're convinced really doesn't have a chill button. There are only a handful of times over the past few years you've been together where he's been home, unoccupied, and not pacing around the Manor like a maniac.

BF! Bruce Wayne who's always just so sore, achy, and tired. This comes into play especially when his age finally starts catching up to him, depite how hard he pushes his body. The best thing, however, is that if you get him to sit down for more than five minutes, you'll get to rub his back.

"Sit."

"Hm?" He was pacing the lavish master bedroom again, his mind working overtime to plan ahead for a recent situation with his 'nightly extracurricular.' In all honesty, he wasn't paying attention as you watched him from the edge of the bed.

"Come sit with me, Bruce." You repeat softly, moving to lay back against the pillows and holding your loving arms out for the tired man beside you.

"I can't-"

"You're going to burn out if you keep going at this rate, Bruce." You don't even give him the chance to protest before you're leaning forward, grabbing his wrist, and pulling him to lay on top of you with his head burried into your chest. There's a few moments of domestic bliss as he tries to find the will to pull away and fails. "Sometimes..." You start softly, the heels of your palms gently digging into the knotted muscles of his back and shoulders, "Sometimes I think you forget to breathe."

A deep breath and a soft sigh can be heard, although its slightly muffled by your chest. "I know." He whispers after a few moments. "Im sorry."

"Don't be." You respond without hesitation as you continue your gentle ministrations. "You shouldn't apologize to me. Ever, Bruce." You pause for a moment as thoughts gather. "You should, however, apologize to yourself for what you keep putting yourself through.

BF! Bruce Wayne who doesn't realize it, but needs your help so much more than he'll ever need anything else. It doesn't matter if you know that he's Batman or not, you somehow just... Know what needs to happen. Bruce, of course, tries not to let you in on exactly what problems he's facing, but he swears you have a sixth sense for this kind of stuff.

BF! Bruce Wayne who absolutely melts every time you make him dinner, even though he likely won't be home to eat it. He often forgwts to eat between work meetings and beating the everloving shit out of criminals on the Gotham City Streets.

The feeling of a large, caloused set of hands resting on your waist was enough to pull you out of your own thoughts as you put down the spatula in your hand. "Somebody's home early." Your voice is almost a teasing jest to Bruce, but he knows just how much you've missed him over the past few days.

"I heard that a certain lovely woman was in need of attention." His voice is slightly muffled by the skin of your shoulder and fabric of your shirt as he practically buries himself into you, pressing a soft line of kisses up your neck.

"You can't just keep cancelling work meetings for me, handsome." You turn to face him for a moment, pulling him down slightly to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. "You need to start doing things for your own sake."

BF! Bruce Wayne who refuses to go on a vacation for years. Until you listen in on some banter between him and a few of the 'Elite Gothamites' at a Wayne Gala and find out where he's always wanted to go. And proceed to drop subtle hints that you want to go there until he finally gives in, because how could Bruce ever resist that begging tone? After all, it made him feel less guilty that it was for you (it totally wasn't) and less selfish for taking time away from the city forgotten by God.

"You have impeccable taste in locations, beautiful." He mutters before pressing a kiss to your warm cheek, broad arm already around your shoulders as you basked in the setting sun of the private beach he rented out for a few days.

"Maybe you should listen to your girlfriend a little more, Mr. Wayne." You tease softly before gently grasping his chin in one hand and pulling him in for a soft, sweet kiss. His lips mixed with the faint taste of liquor are as close as you feel you'll ever get to heaven.

BF! Bruce Wayne who, if you know about his identity as the Caped Crusader, goes to you for help as little as possible. You undertsand that he's doing it for your own protection, but you can't help but feel a little upset over him.hiding even more from you.

"No, there will be too many thugs waiting at that entrance." He mutters softly, eyes trained on the flashing and blinking lights displayed on the Batcomputer forming a map of a warehouse inhabited by the Joker.

"What if you went in through those vents?" You ask softly, moving the hand not on the back of his rolling chair to point out a hidden ventilation system. "Sure, I get that it's a tight fit, but you could probably take of the utility belt for a few minutes, right?"

-----------------------------

Masterlist

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: When Noah was left alone to take care of his daughter about two years ago, he never thought he would find someone else he would trust enough to include in his little family. But things can change.

Tw: little bit of angst (fluff is always there, I don't even write it in the tw anymore)

Series masterlist

3 years earlier

Your apartment felt suffocating. You stood by the kitchen counter, staring at the sink, trying to breathe through the frustration that had been building for probably months. Jason was pacing in the living room, the sound of his feet on the hardwood floor sharp against the silence.

"Why is this always so difficult with you?" His voice was rising, the anger behind it unmistakable. "I try to talk to you, to explain how I feel, but it’s like I’m speaking to a wall. You don’t listen."

You turned, your patience wearing thin. "I am listening, Jason. But you can’t just lash out every time things don’t go your way. It doesn’t work like that."

Jason’s face twisted in disbelief. "You think I’m the one causing problems? You think I’m just making this up?" He threw his hands up, exasperated. "You don’t even seem to care when something’s wrong. You shut down every time I try to talk to you about it!"

You let out a slow breath, trying to hold on to the last shreds of calm you had left. "That’s not true. I care. But you’re trying to control everything. You are trying to control me, and it’s exhausting. Every time we have a disagreement, you make it feel like it’s my fault, like I’m the one who’s doing everything wrong."

Jason scoffed, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Oh, so now I’m controlling? That’s rich. I try to make things work, I try to talk to you, but all you do is shut me out."

"Don’t act like this is just about us not communicating," you snapped, your voice shaking with frustration. "It’s not just one thing, Jason. It’s everything. The way you treat me like I’m supposed to be available on your terms, the way you talk down to me like I’m incapable of making my own decisions. You’re always making everything about you and your needs, but you never ask how I feel about anything."

Jason’s eyes darkened, but you saw something else there too—fear. Maybe he wasn’t ready to face what he was losing, but you had already made up your mind. "You’re overreacting," he muttered, taking a step toward you, but you didn’t back away.

"No, Jason. I’m done," you said, your voice more firm than you felt. "This isn’t working anymore. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to keep doing this."

Jason froze, his brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? You don’t mean that. I love you. I need you."

Your chest tightened at the words,. "We shouldn't feel the love so painfully. I shouldn’t. You don’t love me, Jason. This isn’t love," you said. "Love isn’t trying to control someone, love isn’t belittling them every chance you get, love isn’t making them feel small. You don’t get to hide behind 'I love you' and make it okay."

His face twisted in disbelief, like he was trying to comprehend what you were saying. "You’re throwing all of that away? After everything?"

You shook your head slowly, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to break free. But you didn’t let them. Not now. "I’m choosing myself, Jason. I can’t keep letting you walk all over me and thinking it’s okay. I’m done with this and I am truly sorry things didn't go in a different way, trust me."

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening. His eyes flicked to the door and back to you, his lips parted like he was about to say something, but the words didn’t come.

"Just go," you said, your voice barely a whisper but stronger than it had been in weeks. "Please. I need you to leave."

Jason hesitated, his fists clenched at his sides. "You’re making a huge mistake," he muttered, his voice low and strained. "You can’t just throw this all away. You’ll regret it."

You shook your head. "No. I won’t. I’m not doing this anymore."

He stood there for a long moment, and then, with a final glance at you, he turned toward the door. It clicked open, and then shut.

The sound echoed in the silence of your apartment, and for a moment, you just stood there, your back pressed against the door, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You told yourself you had made the right decision, that you had done what was best for you. And yet, as the seconds ticked by, something inside you twisted.

The tears came in slow waves at first, and then, like a dam breaking, they poured out. You didn’t try to stop them. You didn’t even know how to. You sank to the floor, knees pulled to your chest, burying your face in your arms as the sobs wracked your body.

You had told him to leave. You had closed the door on him. You had made the decision to walk away from a relationship that has never been healthy.

And still, your heart ached like it had been ripped out of your chest. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself that you were done, that you were stronger than this, your heart betrayed you. You had loved him. You loved him.

And as much as you tried to convince yourself that the way he treated you—his lack of respect, his jealousy, his need to control everything—had been enough to make you forget the love you once shared, your heart couldn’t let go.

You loved him. Even if you didn't want to.

One week after he stepped out of your house, you got the news that he left the city to open his shop somewhere else. And you haven't heard from him since.

Now

You were still staring out the window, frozen, as the realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

Jason’s Ink Studio.

The name was loud and clear in your mind, a flashback to everything you had worked so hard to leave behind. You hadn’t expected this, not today, not now. You never thought he could get back in town, and yet, here he was.

Your gaze fixed on him before your mind could even catch up with the shock in your chest. He was standing on the other side of the road, talking to someone, his face in profile as he lifted a package—large, wrapped in brown paper.

His hair, lighter now than it had been back then, was short but messy, like he’d run his fingers through the light brown locks and forgotten to smooth it down. The buzz cut he once wore was gone, replaced with something more grown-up, but still familiar.

He was wearing a simple black sweater with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the tattoos that snake around his forearms, ink you remember well. His skin is still a bit tanned, like it always was.

His eyes, those blue-grey eyes that had always caught the light in that almost magnetic way, were hidden from now, but you knew they were shining under the morning light.

You didn’t want to look, but you couldn’t help it. As he turned, walking toward the door, his eyes flicked up, right toward the window where you were standing. For a split second, you could have sworn his gaze landed on you.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t move.

You weren’t sure if he’d actually seen you, or if you were just imagining it. But in that moment, everything around you seemed to stop. You held your breath. You didn’t want to react. You didn’t want to acknowledge him, not in this place, not now. You were happy with Noah. You didn't want to see him everyday in front of your workplace.

For a moment you both stood there, and then, just like that, he disappeared through the door of his own shop.

You exhaled slowly, the air feeling thick in your lungs. Your palms were suddenly clammy, and you found yourself gripping the counter for stability. He was here. Of course he was. Back there like nothing had changed. But so much had changed. You had changed.

You stared at the door he had just walked through, a sense of unease twisting in your stomach, still trying to wrap your head around the sight of Jason standing outside. It had been years, but seeing him again—especially in front of your café—stirred up a mess of old memories. Why the hell was he back?

Noah’s voice suddenly cut through your thoughts. “Hey, you okay?”

You blinked, snapping back to reality. "Yeah. I'm fine," you muttered, brushing off the question. But before you could add anything else, Grace, leaning over the counter, caught sight of what was going on on the other side of the window.

"Oh well—look who’s back."

You stiffened. Noah looked over, clearly confused. “Who?”

You let out a sharp exhale. “You remember when I told you about my ex?”

Noah raised an eyebrow. "The tattoo artist who treated you like shit and left the town to chase a bigger paycheck?"

“Yeah.”

Grace, without missing a beat, pointed at the window. “Him. Right there.”

Noah turned, following her finger, and the look on his face shifted. His eyes narrowed, “Of course he’s back.” He muttered.

You felt your stomach tighten. “I don't know why he's here. But I don't fucking want him here. Not in front of my café."

Grace, clearly enjoying the situation a bit too much, leaned in with a smirk. “I wonder if he already knows about your ‘charming’ new... rockstar boyfriend with pink nailpolish here?”

Noah shifted on his feet, his expression tightening ever so slightly. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Grace shrugged, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if the guy’s gonna get jealous seeing you’ve moved on... to someone else.”

You felt the heat rise to your face, and before you could respond, Noah cleared his throat. His voice, though calm, had an edge to it. “Yeah, well, that’s none of his business.”

The casualness of his tone didn’t escape you, but there was something else—something in the way he said it that made you wonder if he was a little too quick to defend you. Or maybe he was just annoyed by the whole situation, too.

Grace watched the two of you, clearly entertained. "Oh, I get it now. High-school reunion vibes, huh? A bit embarassing and awkward?"

You shot her a glare. "Don’t even joke about that."

Noah’s posture had shifted. He was still looking at the window, but the way he stood now had more tension in it. “If he thinks he can just show up and start making trouble, I’ll deal with it,” he said, the words sounding like more of a promise than a suggestion.

You blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden protective tone in his voice. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate it—but why was he getting so worked up?

“I don’t need you to deal with it,” you said quickly. “I can handle it myself, don't worry.”

Grace leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief. “Oh, I’m sure you can. But... still, if he tries anything, I’m pretty sure he’ll wish he hadn’t.” She finished the sentence looking at Noah.

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the tension building between you and Noah. You could feel his eyes on you, but you weren’t sure if it was out of concern or something else entirely. Was he already jealous? Without even seeing Jason yet?

“He’s not gonna try anything,” you said, trying to reassure both you and Noah. “I’m done with him. For good. It's almost been four fucking years. I moved on. He probably did that too. Maybe he moved back with... I don't know, his wife? Who knows.”

Noah just nodded, staying silent. You knew his mind was full of thoughts but that wasn't the right moment to talk about them.

You stared at the window again, watching your ex as he spoke to someone outside, completely unaware of the tension building inside the café. The knot in your stomach only tightened.

You kept working after Noah left to work on something with the band.

The café was busy and you used that as a distraction from the knot of anxiety in your stomach. You couldn’t shake the image of Jason standing outside.

You busied yourself behind the counter as you made drinks and refilled pastries, trying not to look up at the window every few minutes. But every time the door opened, your heart jumped, and you couldn’t help but glance over.

A couple walked in, laughing together. The man’s grin reminded you too much of Jason’s—slightly crooked, genuine, and a little too familiar. For a split second, your heart skipped, and you felt the familiar ache in your chest. But as they made their way to the counter, you saw it wasn’t him. You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

"Can I help you?" you asked, your voice a little shaky as you forced a smile.

The man ordered a cappuccino, and you moved through the motions, trying to push the thought of Jason from your mind. But every time the door opened, you couldn’t stop your heart from skipping. You looked, always half-expecting him to walk through.

The bell above the door chimed again.

The man entering had brown short hair, his face half-obscured by the collar of his jacket, but for a moment, your mind screamed, It’s him.

You froze, watching as he approached the counter, but when he turned his face toward you, your stomach sank. It wasn’t Jason. Just another stranger.

You forced yourself to breathe, to smile. To get it together. You couldn’t keep reacting like this.

Minutes passed. Then another hour. The tension in your chest never quite eased, but you managed to focus on the customers, the tasks at hand, your routine.

Jason wasn’t coming in. He couldn’t be.

And as the day wore on, and the sun began to set, you didn’t see him again, not even outside the window.

You kept working, moving through the motions. But the truth was, the sense of unease wouldn’t leave. Every time you heard the door, part of you braced for the possibility that it was him. The man who had once been everything, but now felt like a stranger.

But he didn’t come. Not today.

Noah was sprawled on the couch in the band's living room, casually scrolling through his phone while Ruffilo sat across from him. The quiet hum of the house felt comfortable, but Noah’s mind was clearly elsewhere.

Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Noah set his phone down with a frustrated sigh.

“What's wrong, man?” Nick asked casually.

Noah ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just... Y/N’s ex is back in town,” he said, his tone less than enthusiastic. “And he opened up a tattoo shop right across from her café.”

Nick’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait, that guy? The tattoo artist?"

“Yeah,” Noah confirmed, leaning back against the couch. “Jason. He’s been gone for a while, but now he’s back. And of course, right across from where Y/n works.”

Nick nodded thoughtfully. "That’s... uh, that's gotta be awkward."

Noah rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, it’s not great. And I can’t help but feel like something’s going to happen. It just doesn’t feel good."

Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I get it, man. But, you don’t have to worry about that. Y/N’s with you now, and she’s moved on. She’s not gonna let some guy from her past mess things up.”

Noah hesitated. "I know. But... I don’t know, man. I can’t shake this feeling. Ever since I got involved with Y/N I’ve been scared of losing her. I’ve always been scared of it, after... well, after everything that happened with Hannah." He took a deep breath and looked at Nick, his expression more vulnerable than usual. “But now... with Jason back in the picture, I feel it more than ever. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, and it scares the shit out of me.”

Nick studied him for a moment, then leaned back into his seat, shaking his head slightly. "You’re doing it again," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You’re thinking about things that haven’t even happened yet. I get that you're worried, but listen, you don’t have to keep carrying that fear around."

"I know I sound like a broken record,” Noah said, rubbing his face with his hands. "I just... I love her, man. I don’t want anything to mess that up."

Nick’s tone softened. “I get it. I do. But you don’t have to be scared of losing her. You’ve got a solid thing going. Y/N chose you. And she’s with you now. Jason’s part of her past, and that’s where he’s gonna stay. She’s moved on."

Noah let out a long breath. "I know. But it’s still hard not to worry, you know?"

Nick gave him a small smile. "Yeah, I get it. But trust me, man. You’re enough. You don’t have to live in fear of something that might never even happen. You’re already doing everything right."

Noah nodded slowly. “Thanks, man. I needed that.” He stood up, stretching. “I should go pick up Luna. She’s probably starving by now.”

Nick chuckled, standing up with him. "Good idea. But hey, remember, if you need to talk, you know where I am."

Noah smiled. "Appreciate it."

With a final wave, Noah walked out the door.

Things would work out, he hoped. But he still couldn’t shake the weight of his own worries.

He didn't want to get hurt again.

When Noah stepped into the daycare, his eyes quickly found Luna sitting at a small table in the corner, her little brow furrowed in concentration as she worked on something with a pile of crayons scattered in front of her. She caught sight of him immediately and waved enthusiastically.

"Daddy!" she squealed, bouncing out of her seat.

Noah grinned, walking over to scoop her up in his arms. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Ready to go home?"

Luna nodded excitedly, but before Noah could move, Ms. Harper, one of the teachers, approached with a warm smile.

"Noah, do you have a second?" she asked. "We had a little project today, and I wanted to show you something."

Noah glanced at Luna, who ran off to rejoin a friend in a nearby play area.

"Of course," he replied, following Ms. Harper to the small corner of the room as she handed Noah a folded piece of paper.

"We had the kids draw pictures of their families,” she explained as Noah opened the paper carefully. “Luna was really proud of hers, and we wanted to make sure you saw it."

The paper was an explosion of color, with vibrant swirls of pink, blue, yellow, and green. In the sky, there was not a sun (like it usually was in kids' drawings) but a moon.

The clouds were big and puffy and a small house stood in the middle of the page.

Noah’s heart warmed as he looked at the three main figures in the foreground. One was small, the other two larger. The shapes were simple—a circle for each head, a few lines for arms and legs, but they were immediately recognizable. A man, a woman, and a smaller figure.

"That’s us, isn’t it?" Noah asked, looking up from the drawing to meet Ms. Harper’s eyes. His voice was soft, filled with warmth.

The teacher smiled and nodded. "Yep, Luna said it was ‘Daddy and Y/N.’ She was so proud of it."

Noah’s heart swelled as he looked back down at the drawing. The way Luna included you made him smile. "I love it," he murmured.

As he admired the picture, his eyes wandered to the background. He noticed several small shapes scattered on the horizon, almost like trees but not quite. They looked out of place compared to the other elements in the drawing, and his curiosity piqued.

"What are those?" he asked, pointing at the figures.

Ms. Harper chuckled softly. “She said those are her uncles,” she explained.

Noah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a laugh escaping him. "Her uncles?"

"Yes," she replied, grinning. "She said they’re the uncles who love her."

Noah couldn’t help but laugh too, a warm, genuine smile spreading across his face. "Well, I'll tell them Luna included them in the family," he said, shaking his head with amusement. "This is perfect."

Luna, who had been playing with her friend, returned to him just as he was carefully folding the drawing.

"Dad" she asked eagerly, "did you see my picture? What do you think?"

Noah beamed down at her. "I love it, Luna. I think it’s the best drawing ever." He picked her up with one arm and kissed the top of her head. "You’ve made me so happy with this."

Luna’s face lit up, her grin stretching wide across her face. She hugged him tightly, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck. "I’m glad you like it!"

The teacher gave them one last smile before stepping away.

"Alright, Lu," Noah said, shifting Luna slightly in his arms, "let’s go home."

The soft glow from the TV illuminated the dim room as you and Noah lay on his bed, wrapped up in the warmth of his blankets as Luna was already sleeping in her bedroom.

The gentle hum of some anime playing in the background was more of a comfort than entertainment at this point. You were curled up beside him, your head resting on his chest, the familiar weight of his arm draped over you. His hand idly brushed through your hair as you watched the fight happening on the screen, though you noticed he wasn’t quite as engaged as usual.

You shifted slightly, glancing up at him. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, unfocused, almost as if his mind had wandered far away from the bright colors on the TV. You could feel the subtle tension in his muscles, the quiet distance that had come over him.

"Hey," you murmured, your voice soft but steady. "Mrs. Linn asked to come see her sometime, yesterday. We talked a bit when I was about to get into my car to go back home. I forgot to tell you. She seemed such a sweet lady." You smiled, hoping to bring his attention back to the moment, but his gaze didn’t move from the ceiling.

Noah’s lips tugged up slightly, but it was more of a reflex than a genuine response. "Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her," he said absently. “Maybe we could all go sometime, say hi." His tone didn’t carry the usual warmth, though. His mind was still clearly elsewhere.

You frowned, now fully aware of the shift in his mood. You grabbed the remote and paused the anime, the room suddenly feeling quieter, even more intimate with the absence of noise.

"Is it about Jason?" you asked softly, almost afraid of what his reaction might be.

Noah didn’t look at you, but his head gave the smallest nod, confirming what you already suspected. His jaw tightened, and you could tell his thoughts were running in circles, probably replaying some old memories.

You let out a quiet sigh, lifting your hand to gently trace his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin. "You don’t have to worry, Noah," you said. "I love you. I love Luna. I love the life we’re building together. He’s a ghost from the past, and that’s all he’s ever going to be now." You pressed a soft kiss to his naked chest, hoping the words would reach him, would soothe all his worries.

For a long moment, Noah didn’t respond, but then he shifted, turning to face you. His eyes were soft but looked tired. "I know," he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "It’s just... when I realized he was back earlier, I don’t know... it just stirred up a lot of shit that is still there. You are important to me. I don't wanna lose you."

You smiled gently, sliding your hand to his face and cupping it tenderly, your fingers brushing his stubbled cheek. "You’re allowed to feel however you feel. And if you wanna talk about anything, I'm here." you whispered. "But don't think I'm gonna leave you. I’m right here. I'll be here until the day you'll tell me to go away." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

And as if in response, his lips curved into a smile, a soft, real smile. You moved away slightly, your gaze meeting his.

"There it is," you teased, pressing more kisses to his face, his cheeks, his nose. His eyes closed, and he chuckled, the sound warm and genuine.

"Finally," you grinned. "I didn’t hear you laugh since this morning. I was starting to worry."

Noah’s laughter filled the quiet space between you two, and you thought, in that moment, that everything would be okay.

Even if Jason was back in town, he was still part of your past and that's where he was supposed to stay.

🍪 a cookie for you if you caught the little bmth reference

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @mathfairchild1 @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme

TBAF Tags: @aubrey-melinoe @klutzy-kay24 @mrscevans @concreteangel92 @iconic-taurus @niicoleleigh @cheyyyyr @supersquirrel1996 @respectfulrebel @alwaysfighforwhoyouare @clickmedead @missduffsblog

[humiliatemeplesse]

After your nephew overheard his parents talking about you being gay, he went and asked them if he could go spend the weekend with you because he really liked spending time with you and you hardly saw him around anymore. They said sure and he said he'd have his buds drop him off at your house after his soccer game after school Friday. You were surprised but happy about the request, you liked your nephew, he was a good kid, smart, a masculine straight confident jock like you wish you had been in school. After his friends dropped him after the match Friday, he just stormed in the door, no knock, no doorbell, he scared the shit out of you. You laughed and said hey buddy! He dropped his gym bag on the floor and said "pick it up you stupid faggot" and you were shocked and horrified. As you stood there not saying or doing anything, he punched you in the gut and you doubled over. "What didn't you understand faggot? Pick up my gym bag asshole." He was so angry and aggressive that your naturally sissy fag self did what he said, you didn't want to get punched again. "Follow me," he said and you did, into your bedroom. "I'll be sleeping here in the master bedroom, you can sleep in the guest room," he said. " Now put down my bag and get on the floor." You almost mindlessly did what he said, still stunned and afraid of him. He sat on the floor and kicked off his sneakers. "Sniff my stinking socks homo, I've been wearing the same pair all week at practice and at the match today, where by the way I scored the winning goal, I bet you wish you were like me you old fag, don't you?" he said and laughed. You hesitated, you couldn't believe what was happening. Then he slapped you across the face with his stinking socked foot. "Sniff it bitch," he said. You stuck your face into his socked sole and started sniffing as ordered. Ya, they smelled like he'd been wearing them for a week. He said "Now remember this, as you're pathetically sniffing your teenaged nephew's socked feet at his orders, you do whatever I tell you to do this weekend. Buy me and my buds beer. Pay for weed. We're gonna steam anything we want on your TV and computer and you're gonna pay for it. You're gonna go to the store and buy anything we want to eat. Got it bitch?" You instinctively said "Yes Sir." Everything he said he'd make you do happened that weekend, and that wasn't the only time he made you sniff his sweaty smelly dirty socked feet AND his buddy's. They all laughed at you. When he left Sunday evening he said "I'm going to start coming over here most weekends so get used to it faggot" and walked out the door into one of his buds cars who was picking him up.

[unlikelynerdsweets]

Jason Toddy X y/n

Fluffy

Jason Todd stumbled into the small apartment, grimacing as he leaned against the window frame for support. His usual confidence was dampened by the blood soaking through his shirt.

Y/N, busy in the kitchen, hadn’t heard him come in until the soft creak of the window. She turned just in time to see him try to stand, though he was clearly struggling.

"Jason?" Her voice was immediately concerned as she dropped the spoon from the pot she was stirring. "What happened to you?"

Jason's lips curled into a faint smirk, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ah, you know, just another night. Nothing too bad."

Y/N didn’t buy it. She rushed over, her gaze scanning him quickly. "You’re hurt. Sit down, now."

Jason hesitated, but then slowly lowered himself onto the couch. He winced when his side pressed against the cushions.

"You're really lucky I don't let you get away with this," she muttered as she knelt beside him, grabbing the first-aid kit she kept ready for moments like these.

Jason smirked weakly, eyes darting toward her as she carefully began to clean his wound. "I'm sure you'd love to play nurse every night, huh?"

"You're an idiot," she replied, gently applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Her touch was gentle but efficient, something that came naturally after dealing with him for so long.

After a moment of silence, Jason let out a low chuckle. "You always know how to handle me, huh?"

Y/N didn’t answer at first, focusing on her task, but then she looked up at him. "Someone has to, considering how reckless you are." There was a quiet affection in her voice that she didn’t bother to hide.

Jason met her eyes, the faintest hint of something vulnerable beneath his usual bravado. "Guess I’m lucky you’re around."

Y/N finished patching him up, securing the bandage in place. "There. You’re all set. Try not to do this again, okay?"

Jason leaned back against the couch, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "No promises."

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled as she grabbed a glass of water from the counter and handed it to him. "You're impossible."

"That’s why you like me," Jason replied with a smirk, taking the water gratefully.

For a moment, they both relaxed into the quiet of the apartment. The rain pattered softly against the window, and Y/N sat down next to him.

"You know," she said, her voice softer now, "you don’t have to do this alone, Jason. Not anymore."

Jason’s eyes flickered toward her, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, in a rare moment of sincerity, he muttered, "I know."

And for just a little while, the world outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of them, and that was enough.

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

First Encounter

Life had a funny way of happening sometimes. One moment you're crying in your best friend's arms, the next his lips are on yours and you're kissing him back like your life depends on it. And then everything comes to a standstill, and a week later neither of you can even look at each other. Over a stupid kiss. And your roommates and friends can feel the tension. See it. So much so that they all have mentioned it.

Quinn sighed, reaching across her bed for her phone. A week of sleeping, or rather not, in her own bed. Just a solid week of staring at the ceiling every night for hours on end. One week of Noah hiding in his room, not answering the door for her. Seven days of his bedroom door staying locked. Of hearing it creak open as she lay in her bed, wide awake, listening as he crept downstairs. An entire week of him avoiding her at all costs. Unanswered texts. Calls going straight to voicemail. No answering her knock on his door. Nobody joining her in the bathroom while she showered. He was just gone. And how was that fair? He had kissed her!

Her text from four hours ago had been read. No response. Just read. All that talk about how she deserved better and one stupid fucking kiss had him completely ghosting her? While she actively lived with him?! The fucking bastard.

Everything in her went cold. Leaving her phone on her bed she carefully climbed out of bed, avoiding the spots on her floor that creaked. He wanted to be a dick? Well, he could deal with the consequences instead of hiding.

With bated breath she tiptoed out of her room and across the hall. Slowly, carefully, she pressed her ear against his bedroom door, listening for signs of life. The faint sound of a movie starting reached her ears and she smiled. Caught him. With no hesitation she knocked, calling his name softly. No answer.

Frustrated she knocked and called his name louder. Still no answer. She knew it would be locked but she had to try anyway. The knob didn't turn. She wished she could blame rage for what she was about to do, but it was just hurt. He was the one person who never left. Never abandoned her. Always reminded her that life was worth living. And now he was acting like she didn't exist? After something he had initiated? That hurt more than anything.

"Noah!" She yelled, banging on his door. "I can fucking hear you! Answer me or I'm kicking the goddamn door down! You don't get to do this, too!"

Nicholas's door creaked open at the end of the hall, followed quickly by Noah yanking his bedroom door open and hauling her inside before he slammed it closed and locked it again. One look at him and she felt somewhat guilty. He looked like he'd barely slept, if at all.

"What the fuck, Quinn?!"

"You're seriously acting like I'm wrong here?! YOU kissed ME. And yes, I kissed you back! What the fuck of it?! It was a kiss, Noah!"

His large hand covered her mouth as he drug her over to his bed. Why in the fuck was he acting so paranoid? Quinn pushed him away, making a show of keeping her mouth shut as she sat on the edge of his bed. He wanted to play? She could play.

"Quinn. People are fucking sleeping. What the fuck?"

Noah dropped to his knees in front of her, his eyes pleading with her. For what she didn't know. But she watched as he repeatedly started to reach for her, then draw back. Noah had never been scared of touching her before. This was weird. Even for him.

"Seriously, Noah? You kiss me and then act like I don't exist? After telling me I deserve better? And then you go and act just like them? The fucking audacity!" She was yelling again. She didn't care.

Quinn watched as he drug his on hand down his face, rubbing his mouth. He was frustrated. Good. He deserved to be frustrated after this shit. Who did this over a stupid kiss? It wasn't like it had gone any further and crossed major friendship lines. Was she that fucked up that even a kiss was too much?

"Noah," she begged, her resolve breaking. "You're my best friend. It was just a fucking kiss. Please." Her voice shook, breath coming in short spurts. "I'm sorry I kissed you back? I'm sorry for whatever I did that made you this mad at me. I'm fucking sorry, Noah."

She completely dissolved. Clearly she had done something wrong. But what the fuck had she done?

"Quinn..."

"What did I do, Noah?!"

"Exist."

And then his lips crashed into hers, desperate. Pleading. She couldn't help but respond in kind, her fingers threading through his hair. Pulling him closer and closer still. They were all desperation and teeth and tongues, fighting for dominance. Just two people finally acting on the feelings they had always known were there. Desperate to be as close as possible, yet desperate to just consume each other.

Noah fisted his hand in her hair, the other gently caressing her cheek, his thumb resting just on the corner of her lips as he tugged, tipping her head back, gaining more access as her lips parted on a soft gasp. His tongue delved into her mouth, hungry, but gentle. Tasting every part of her. Memorizing every movement that made her moan. His free hand traveled slowly south, fingertips tracing over her throat, over her collarbone, hesitating at the swell of her breast.

Quinn tore her mouth from his, frustrated. Here he was, finally touching her, and he was stopping?

"Noah. I swear to fucking God," she pleaded.

"What do you want, baby?"

His eyes locked on hers and she saw everything there. Everything he had been fighting the last week. All the things he had been avoiding. This moment here. He wanted her. And he wanted her desperately. Just as much as she wanted him.

"Touch me," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

He broke then, his mouth attacking her throat, biting and licking and sucking. And she was helpless against him. They tumbled back on the bed together, pressure already building deep within her. His free hand quickly slid down, much further down than she anticipated or needed, resting on her bare inner thigh. His fingertips danced across her skin, tracing lazy patterns.

"Noah," she begged, pressing her body against his, feeling herself grow impossibly wetter by the second.

He didn't make her beg anymore. Deft fingers shoved her panties aside, a single digit rubbing lazy circles on her clit. The pressure deep inside her quickly turned into a tight band, ready to snap. She was so close already that she nearly panicked. It had never been this intense before, and he wasn't even inside her yet.

"Fuck," he groaned, slipping a single finger inside her. "You're so fucking wet. Jesus Christ, Quinn."

Everything was on fire. Her skin. Her lungs. One of those long fingers she'd admired for years was deep inside her, stroking her in just the right spot as it pumped in and out of her. And just when she thought it couldn't get any better he slipped another finger inside her, and she swore she blacked out for a second as he curled his fingers inside of her, applying more pressure to that spot deep inside her, his palm rubbing against her clit as he worked her with his fingers.

"You're close, aren't you?"

All she could do was moan desperately in response, her hips writhing against his hand. That band was growing tighter and tighter, and she was desperate for release from the pressure low in her belly. His forehead dropped to hers, holding her gaze, his pupils blown so wide with lust his eyes almost appeared black.

"Noah!" she called out his name as that band snapped, her hips stuttering as she clamped down around his fingers, her orgasm tearing through her.

"That's it, baby. There you go. That's my girl," he praised as her orgasm peaked, talking her through it, his fingers still pumping in and out of her, massaging her through it.

Dazed she watched as he pulled his fingers out of her, bringing them up to his lips. She watched, her heart leaping out of her chest as he sucked every drop of her off his fingers, eyes never leaving hers.

"Goddamn it, Quinn. You taste even better than I imagined."

Tag: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

[ramblinscramblin]

May I request scout and demo (and maybe heavy if you want) with a ftm reader??? It can be any scenario NSFW, sfw idc. I'm hungry and I need food 😭 (you don't gotta do this btw just a little thought ♥️)

-‼️

→With a FTM reader!

Genre: slice of life, fluff! Male reader!

Characters: Scout, Demo, Heavy

Of COURSE I will write this. Relationship left pretty ambiguous. Hope you enjoy! Thank you again for the ask!

Scout

Scout definitely doesn’t realize without you spelling it out for him, no matter how “feminine” you may present.

Asks A LOT of questions, borders on invasive, but is just genuinely pretty confused and intrigued about it.

“So… wait, you were born a chick, but now you’re a guy? How’s dat work?”

“Scout, we have been over this. Literally ten times,” you say, exasperated.

After the initial long and honestly exhausting conversation, the two of you feel closer for it. He’s secretly sentimental as hell, so he appreciates you telling him so much, like it genuinely makes him feel so trusted.

When you come out to him, the support is not instant, as he tends to show these kinds of things in really covert ways, he doesn’t want anyone knowing he has a big heart.

But the second someone says something out of line that is when his support is the most apparent. Always corrects someone when they misgender you, but if they continue after he corrects them? Buddy, it’s over.

You tell scout you appreciate it, but you can stand up for yourself. He’s not really having it though, too hot headed to let it go.

Genuinely forgets your trans at time.

“Why don’t you ever use the urinals? S’weird,” the commented once as you left the bathroom together.

“Scout.”

“What?” He blinked at you dumbly for a few seconds, before realization dawns on him “oh shit! Dats right, sorry.”

He’s trying his best.

Demoman

Demo is part of team “not really my business so it doesn’t affect me”

As in it doesn’t really affect the way that he feels about you, or the way he treats you.

Doesn’t ask any questions unless it’s clear to him it’s something you’d like to talk about.

Depending on closeness he may even feel confident in making some jokes about it. Only if you find them funny though, absolutely wouldn’t do it if made you upset/uncomfortable.

Is big into giving you male experiences that you may have missed out on, mostly cliché and stereotypical things, some of which you have probably definitely done before.

“Demo, I think we’re a little too old to be playing trains right now,” you say, holding a train in your hand.

“Fine then, I’ll just clean it up then,” Demo said with a huff.

You stop him “well… I didn’t say that.”

Let’s you speak for yourself in most settings, but if you ever express your discomfort in a situation he won’t hesitate to remove you from it/remove the person causing this discomfort.

Doesn’t make a huge scene, will take the blame for you saying it’s him who’s got a problem.

Demo supports you when you need it, encourages you through your medical transition if you choose to do so/if you haven’t already.

Alternatively, reassures you that you’re not less of a man for not having surgeries or using HRT if you choose not to.

I honestly believe that Demo has been around a lot of queer people, he’s the world’s best trans ally.

Heavy

Heavy, like Scout has a lot of questions when you come out. Isn’t nearly as invasive and holds back anything that he thinks may make you uncomfortable.

It doesn’t change how he views you, thinks of you as man no matter what.

Really appreciates that he’s someone you trust enough to tell, even if he doesn’t fully get it, he understands that it can be a nerve wracking thing to talk about.

Recommends medic if you want to have any surgeries done, respectfully you decline. Fearing for the rest of your organs well being.

Heavy does a lot of reading to ensure he gets things right, but only brings up your transness if you do.

Loves hearing about your trans experience if you tell him about it, will listen intently taking mental notes.

Doesn’t feel the need to protect you, you’re a grown man who handled himself perfectly fine without him. But, like Demo, if he feels you getting a little out of your depth all he really has to do is come stand behind you.

Gender affirming nicknames, always. I feel like Heavy is big into nicknames some of his favorite for you is “big man” “guy” “handsome” if he’s feeling bold.

“How is the big man today,” he asked coming up to you one day.

You chuckle a little bit “it really should be me asking you that.”

Being with Heavy is a testosterone booster, just enjoy being masculine together.

OOOOO I LOVED WRITING THIS SO MUCH. I may revisit this idea later and add more of the mercs, for now I have more asks to get to! Thanks so much for the ask! (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Keep thinking of Jonelias and turning up the gothic elements to x1000 than they already are in canon, and somehow it always ends up in my mind with Jonah still having his Scottish family house/manor, and getting Jon there, and then Shenanigans.

In my head, it's mid-season 2, Jon's off rails, in a beautiful way, for sure, but Elias has also had a lot of thoughts on his side ever since he hesitated, watching Jon getting eaten by worms, pulling the trigger early. So it's almost a test for himself and for his Archivist when as "punishment" for Jon's behaviour, he tells him he's sending him on a very specific mission in Scotland, to Jonah Magnus's old house, to gather and archive the documents there as the Institute is thinking of turning it into a museum or an extended branch or something.

Jon, of course, is furious (and secretly relieved, for a brief moment, because the paranoia DOES tend to lessen whenever he's away for a bit of the Institute and his coworkers, coughnot!sashacough) but it's not like he's got much choice, beyond quitting or being fired, and when he asks if his assistants are coming with Elias is like "don't be ridiculous, Jon, they need to take care of things here and you'll agree with me you all need some time apart. You'll do a reconnaissance of the house and its content, as it is, and I'll join you myself in a week or two. You should have all amenities available there, excepted perhaps the Internet - but phone service should be fine, so we'll be able to keep in touch if you need anything."

And then he gets into the house, so quiet, so old, but kept in order, clearly; the phone service is actually terrible; the bed he sleeps in ("Jonah's bedroom," Elias tells him when he does manage to call him) is comfortable, but the room is often cold; and here, as well, just like in the Archives, he keeps being WATCHED. And it's not the only odd thing that happens - that one he's almost used to, now. But it's the letters; the weird objects; the noises at night; the old fashioned clothes filling the wardrobe one morning instead of his own clothes; the way his car won't start after four days; etc. etc.

(Something something something, breathing life into another of Jonah's attempt of living beyond death, getting a nostalgic shade of the monster who already loves him and sent him here for judgement, and who decides that Jon would, in fact, make for a proper spouse,,)

[rist-ix]

This might be weird but bare with me: i saw some fanart of valtor and his mamma bears (I'm sorry), he was freshly made and a child still for some reason (idk if it's canon at this point that he was made in adult form or not buuuut) and so it's shown how they don't like him but at the next panel he wants their makeup so tharma and lysliss give him a makeover and at the end belladonna says i think we'll find a use for that pretty face. What i started thinking was if it's possible they used him as a pr0stitute at some point besides all the torture they put him through. My brain today is fixated on how much trauma or ptsd he could possibly have. Now that i write it i sense how weird this is but what do you think?

My friend my dude my brother in fandom, I am but a humble bacteria and u have given me the juiciest slimiest tastiest agar plate imaginable. Let’s get INTO THIS!

(For the record, this is purely fanon. I think I’ve alluded to this headcanon of mine in fics but I am well aware that I have little to no evidence from canon for these assumptions.)

ABSOLUTELY I think that Valtor was used for getting into royal's beds. Though I do think it would have been more complicated than simply “his moms are whoring him out cause they hate him and they want stuff from people” — and I think there are some FASCINATING implications that has for both Valtor's personality as a whole, and his relationship to sexuality and his own body.

First of all, the reason why I think you are correct is simple: he seems to be universally regarded as attractive in-universe, to the point of having even the Trix fawning over him, and he is consistently seen using charm and flattery to get others to do what he wants. If you wanted to expand on this in a darker and more mature setting, the logical conclusion would be that he'd use his body the same way. And I do think he would do that entirely of his own will by the way, no coercion necessary! Though there most certainly was coercion.

That ties a little bit into my view on the Ancient Coven's relationship to each other in general. While we do see Valtor and the Ancestresses at odds with each other in the finale (culminating in the Witches ‘disinheriting’ him and reverting him to his monster form), the fact that they seem to have worked successfully together for AT LEAST a good few decades implies they could be cordial when necessary. Plus, Valtor somewhat wistfully recalls working under them with Griffin, smirking and content in the flashback, makes me personally believe they were genuinely GOOD at cooperating too, instead of the Witches relying solely on tyranny. Don’t get me wrong: there is no way they were a happy family. I'm thinking more along the lines of them playacting as a very harmonious coven, doting creators and loyal creation, like a game that every one of them is in on — a performance, just for funsies, and because none of them want the outside world to see them as anything but perfectly aligned and ruthlessly efficient. All that while also having a sort of spiteful, vengeful arms race going on internally, with Valtor not-so-secretly trying to find ways to overthrow them, and them waiting for him to lean out of cover too far so they can gleefully, brutally remind him who's in charge.

There's a deep, deep, deeply rooted resentment Valtor seems to have for them, but they are also objectively the same: They both want power, they both want to control the Dimension, they both would do anything to accomplish that goal. So if there was a situation in which having someone charming on the inside would help them, I think both Valtor and the Witches would come to the conclusion that Valtor could do whatever necessary to accomplish that. Be it charm someone, poison someone, or sleep with someone in the hopes they might spill some secrets. I consider all four of them to be pretty pragmatic, I don’t think there would be any conflict or hesitation here — not at first.

Because while Valtor would certainly agree that that’s the best approach, and probably be more than willing to get out of their sight for a while and live it up in some palace or another, I do think it would chafe at him eventually. Whether he's using his body to fight people or seduce them is not all that different, both happens at their behest. He's always painfully aware that he is their tool — but I imagine it does get more pronounced with the latter. Especially over time. Your taste in people or attraction does not matter in combat, but certainly plays a role in sex. While Valtor certainly seems to enjoy putting on a show in combat, that is a power play, whereas having to play a long con, with himself so heavily involved no less, can start to feel humiliating, tiring, more like a loss of agency than a game of wits. I don’t think it’s the seduction itself that would bother him, but the clear knowledge that he's just following his creator's plans here, puppeteered even in this aspect of his life.

The result of that in the present day of the s3 era wouldn’t be sexual trauma per se, I would headcanon. Not in the ptsd sense at least. (Though I bet a good fic could convince me otherwise :D) I remain a firm believer that his trauma is purely about his lack of control over his physical form, and a revulsion towards his original body that borders on dysphoria. The sexual aspect of his utility to them would ADD to that, don’t get me wrong, but it wouldn’t be the main source.

It DOES influence him though.

I'm thinking mainly about Valtor's interactions with the Trix here. On multiple occasions he secretly witnesses how they argue or straight up brawl over who gets to have him. None of them even thinks about who he might have shown the most interest in, they treat this solely as a contest of strength, winner takes all. (I don’t think that’s them being rapey btw just to be clear. I see it speaks more to them being juvenile and deeply unserious about romantic relationships, like dogs chasing cars. They don’t care enough about people beyond the three of them to have any actual experience with romance: Darcy's fling with Riven was discarded INSTANTLY once the three had something better to entertain them — like world domination. If one of them had “won” only to get ignored or rejected, the other two would have laughed her out of the room and then they would have done it all over again the next day.) im getting distracted. What I meant to get to is that Valtor sees them acting like he's a prize to be won… and he does not react at all. The first time he finds it mildly entertaining, the next few times the bit seems to get old for him already. That’s it. He encourages their possessiveness of course! He clearly enjoys being feared, admired, or simply the center of attention, but being treated without regard for his own desires doesn’t really register as an insult to him. AND he's shown to be pretty unperturbed with Darcy getting into his space, and flirting rather aggressively with him.

And while that may seem anticlimactic after all that, I find that FASCINATING. (Not just because Winx Club consistently writes men — powerful men! — the way female characters would be treated in another show. An essay of its own!) A non-reaction is still a reaction, and Valtor's lack of irritation says a lot in my opinion. I think he has little to no real boundaries, at least outside of combat or with people that are allies/useful to him. By that I don’t mean he would reject someone's advances if he didn’t welcome them, but that he wouldn’t really remember that this is a point where people usually DECIDE whether they welcome the advances or not, u know what I mean? I think his entire sense of self is pretty nebulous to himself, and that his own body seems to him more like a commodity than, well, him. Which makes sense, doesn’t it? He is created as one thing, for one purpose, and then given another body, for another purpose. He prefers to be human, reviles the monstrous form, but has no control over which one he is at any given moment — the people who do could change their minds on a whim. It would make sense for him to feel somewhat alienated from his physical form, and therefore have little care for what happens to it. It would take him far longer to know his own reactions, and to realize whether he enjoys something or not.

I feel like I’ve only managed to put like, half of what's in my head into words here. The dysphoria thing alone feels like something that should be dissected on its own, but I’m dead tired and this post is already pretty long. I will say that I’m not 100% consistent in this headcanon, and depending on the fic I use some of this and some of that, but I do think it’s one of my most favorite reads on Valtor as a character. Thank you so much for this ask!!! I hope the answer is close to what you hoped for lol

[the-badger-mole]

If that's how you interpret Mai, that's fine. I've read some really great stories where Mai is written as someone who has a cold, prickly exterior, but is all warm and fuzzy on the inside. Some writers really make that work for her. I don't think the show really bears that out. The way Mai is written (or underwritten) leaves a lot of room for people to take her in different directions. For me, it's less that I don't like her, and more I don't see her as a good person, so her ending made no sense to me.

The Beach is the only time we really get to see the softer side of Mai, and it's so much at odds with what came before that I, and a lot of other people, truly believe it was added at the last minute because they needed a reason for Mai to turn on Azula and save Zuko. Because that's not who she was until then. I have (and still could) go on, and on, and on, and on....blah, blah, blah about why I don't like Mai, or rather prefer her as a villain, but I don't want to bore you with it, so I'll give 3 reasons, and I'll be brief.

Yes, absolutely that moment with Zuko on the balcony is bad, and that's where I decided I hated Maiko. Actually, that's where I became certain that I was supposed to hate Maiko. After everything he's been through, for that to be her reaction to him opening up was vile. Especially considering that she got with him specifically to manipulate him into doing what Azula wanted.

She treats people terribly in general. I've brought this up before, but the fact that it's made clear that she takes joy in ordering servants around for fun and then it's never addressed in her "redemption" is maddening. The show is using so much short hand to prove that Mai is not a very nice person, and it's never walked back. That's just who she is, and she's very unapologetic about it.

This is more of a meta complaint about how Mai was written, and then hastily rewritten, but the show failed to make me believe anything Mai says in Book 3. When we meet her, she goes out with the guards to find the rebels who attacked her family (of colonizers). She's clearly been taught to fight, and those knives probably don't come cheap, either. Mai doesn't hide her bad attitude from her parents, who react the way most parents would when they have a child who didn't want to move for their parent's promotion. So how am I supposed to by that her parents were these emotionally distant, cold, repressive jerks who didn't let Mai have fun? I also don't believe she fears Azula. She doesn't even hesitate when Azula comes and asks her to help her hunt down Zuko, who she has feeling for, even though the best outcome for him at that point was imprisonment. This was the same episode, by the way, did such an amazing job setting up how terrified Ty Lee was of Azula. The same episode. They could've added some hint that Mai was afraid of Azula here, but they actively chose not to. That made her about face in Book 3 look really weak, especially because she only turned for Zuko, not as the culmination of any internal work on herself. If Zuko had stayed loyal to the Fire Nation, so would she.

I've already gone on longer than I meant to. I can't speak for anyone else who doesn't like Mai, but if I had to sum up my feelings, I like Mai better as a villain. To me, she works better as a hedonist who is here for a self-indulgent good time and a loyalist who upholds the status quo. Or as Maleficent. Give me a Maleficent coded Mai.

i actually can't process why people don't like mai. is it because of the "i just asked if you were cold" scene. is that it. okay LISTEN i will go to bat for her. she says it herself in the beach episode, she's been raised to not share her opinion or like. care about anything. she probably deflects in that moment because it's obviously an emotionally heavy conversation and she's been told her entire life not to share her feelings. or share other people's feelings, tbh.

she's ngl pretty incompatible as a match for zuko, who is constantly full of feelings, and needs someone who can help him work through them in his life, like iroh or katara. but that does not make mai the stone cold bitch y'all haters want her to be. i promise she's fluffy on the inside, the stone cold bitch is but a thin outer shell that protects all the love and care she contains within herself

[mizzcap]

mouthwashing x reader

how you met part 4

JIMMY MENTIONED, monologues from game

actor AU Jimmy where he is a nice British man who is nice with dogs and who is a nice good boy

JIMMY (ACTOR AU)

-you have been having a hard time finding a final actor for your movie

-you were a college student working on your final for the year

- but because of the content of this final character's personality and story: it was hard to cast.

-the others were easy. Curly and Anya: kids form your class. Daisuke, a freshman in college who you met one day while working on the script in the college's Starbucks. And Swansea, Daisuke's older stepfather.

-truthfully you were ready to scrap the project completely

-the issues with the main character being so controversial and frankly horrible, people were hesitant to tarnish their reputation on campus

-"I got a mate. Never acted a day in his life but I got faith in him" curly told you one afternoon

-and desperate you said yes

The man in baggy grey sweatpants and a loose fitted Star wars shirt shifted uncomfortably in his spot as his eyes darted continuously between the director and Curly

"Thank you so much for coming- Jimmy, right? I'm (Y/N)" They approached him, holding out their hand Jimmy nodded, pausing to look at their hand before shaking it "Uh- yeah! Thanks for the opportunity- despite- my lack of-" he cleared his throat "-uh yeah.." his lack of experience.

He just couldn't remember the word

They nodded and smiled, backing away to sit on the desk to watch

It had only been curly and (Y/N) in the room with him, minimizing as much as possible to make him comfortable.

Jimmy stared down at the script in his shaking hands, eyes darting to Curly-- who gave him a wide and encouraging smile."Whenever you're ready" the director nodded

"What-" he cleared his throat, taking a breath "how do i- like- okay.. what emotion am I supposed to..?" They smiled reassuringly "any that feels right. You've got our attention, I promise it's normal to feel nervous"

Jimmy nodded, feeling more at ease than anything. He took a breath. Then.

"I don't think I understood the pressure you were under before"

(Y/N) Perked up at how gruff he made his voice sound. His usual slightly rasped British accent was replaced by a deeper rasping American on

"Fuck.. and you tried to tell me.. Our worst moments don't make us Monsters, Huh? You're a good captain curly... And you'll be a good captain again.. I'll get us both. Through this.."

Jimmy paused, his confidence fading as he met their eyes- "and- the other monologue too?" He asked, a bit hesitant (Y/N) Nodded and smiled "if you're up for it"

He nodded and took her another breath

"What do you think will happen when we get back, hm? All I ever hear is how great of a leader you are. God. It's so annoying. But now? What do you think will happen now when you get back? Everything you and I worked for in our lives. Accomplishments. Changes.. None of it. Will matter. No.. it's not just me, is it- you were supposed to be the one who had everything under control. You said so yourself. The ship. The crew. Everything that happened here. It's your responsibility captain. That's what you'll be hearing for the rest of your life. Or... This can all be remembered as a tragedy. Despite the best possible efforts from its acclaimed captain; the Tuplar crew was never found. No one survived to tell the tale.. you're standing at the top. Feet in cement.. I get it now. Right? I'll take care of it."

Jimmy paused, anxiety overcoming as he looked up at the director and his best friend. "How did I.. do?" He hesitated- his usual accident shining through

"..how do you feel about growing a stubble?" The director asked with a grin

[erosjournal]

☆ what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh ?

~ leo valdez x jason grace

~ synopsis : piper notices something weird on leo's leg

~ tw(s): slightly suggestive ?

Piper decided she was gonna take Leo and Jason surfing. Not that either of them were very good, but she wanted them to get the practice and experience.

"Okay, so hold your board like this," she explained, holding the board as so. Piper realized she was gonna have to teach them out of water first, so they didn't fall and drown in the water. Jason was very hesitant about this, due to the ocean god already out for his ass. Leo was as well, since fire and water usually didn't mix well.

"Pipes, I think my boards upside down." Leo said, holding it up. Piper sighed, frowning.

"No, you're ankle band is on the right side. You're fine." She assured. Jason kept adjusting his glasses, taking them on and off, unable to decide if he should wear them. Piper personally thought he shouldn't, but he wouldn't be able to see anything without them.

She sighed, dropping her head in her hands.

"Okay, Jase, Leo, come with me. We're gonna paddle out." She dropped her board in the water, which was hot pink with a lesbian sticker on it, and started padding out farther. Jason and Leo exchanged a nervous glance, and followed.

Jason was up first. Piper had explained to him, in full detail, what to do. He waited for a wave, started paddling, and rode off onto the shore. Leo scoffed.

"Of course he does it well, he's Jason Grace." He sighs, biting his lip. Piper giggled. Jason started paddling back.

"Okay, your turn, Repair Boy." Leo tried to do exactly what Jason did, waiting for a wave, paddling, and riding off to the shore. Except for the fact he did not, and ended up being attacked by a wave.

"WIPEOUT!" Piper yelled, rushing to help Leo. She rode the wave that came next, all the way to Leo's floating board. She dunked herself in the water, helping his wet and limp body to shore. Once she got there, she was thankful she wouldn't have to give mouth-to-mouth since he was fully concious.

"Pipes, I just saw my whole life flash before my eyes!" He yelped, clutching onto her hand. She shrugged.

"It happens, don't worry. You'll get better..." She trailed off. Her eyes were checking that Leo was okay, and in doing so she noticed a (tattoo?) mark on Leo's leg. More in his upper inner thigh. His swim trunks had rode up and revealed something in handwriting.

"Leo, what's this?" She asked, pointing at it and squinting to try to read it. Leo blushed and yanked his trunk down, in his best attempt to cover it. Unfortunately for him, Piper had read it and burst into laughter.

"You have a tattoo of Jason's handwriting that says 'Mine'?" She cracked up, Leo hugely embarrassed.

"Shut up..." He grumbled, shoving her as she just laughed harder. "It's not even a tattoo!" Jason had come over with them, worried they hadn't come back to the spot in the ocean he'd been waiting.

"Hey, everything-- Why's Piper cracking up?" He frowned. Leo groaned. He pointed to the neat handwriting Jason'd left on his body. Jason flushed. "Oh."

"Damn, you guys, I didn't know you guys were that freaky," She teased, crying from laughing so hard.

"God damn it, Pipes. Stop!"

~ an : i think this one speaks for itself . i apologize if the surfing aspects aren't accurate , i only took 1 lesson and hated it the whole time . i heard that lyric and thought ; omg i need to write a valgrace fic abt that right now ! so yeah . i hope u enjoyed !! ( do not ask why this came out faster than my chappell roan one , some i write over days , others i write in 10 minutes . )

<3 eros

[yui-onnero]

Sorry for the inconvenience, and I hope you’re doing well. My name is Lana, a former engineering student from Gaza🍉💔. My life was turned upside down when the war started, destroying my dreams and my home. I barely made it out from under the rubble, losing many loved ones, and my father was severely injured. He has always been my biggest supporter, and now he’s fighting for his life. I’m desperately trying to secure the treatment he needs.

I never imagined I’d have to ask for help, but time is running out, and my father’s condition is critical. I cannot afford the medical care he desperately requires. Please, I urge you to act quickly. Your donation could be the difference between life and death. Even a small amount, like $20, would make a huge difference. Please don’t underestimate the impact of your contribution, as every bit of help makes a real difference in these critical times.

Life is unpredictable—what you give today may come back to you tomorrow. Please, don’t wait. Help us now.🙏❤️

OMG!! I'm so sorry! As someone who's also suffering through their father needing severe medical care, I cannot express how desperately I wish to donate! I'd give you thousands of dollars if I had the money! Unfortunately, I physically can't because I'm still getting paid minimum wage with, again, my own father to support. I pray with all of my soul that you or someone is able to get him the treatment he needs! Please, be safe and I wish you the best in all that you embark on! Do you have a GoFundMe I can tag?

Found it! It's on CHUFFED:

Please, someone, donate! I cannot stress how much almost losing the figure, maybe only figure, in your life who's supported you through it all feels like, and I cannot sympathize with Lana more!!

Please, PLEASE, donate to help her and get her father the treatment he needs! I grew up/am poor, and I know how hard medical care can be to get, especially for my beloved father. And I know I couldn't deal with the loss of my father if he did pass, so I want NO ONE else to have to go through that. Countless nights at the hospital/elsewhere where your wondering if your father is still alive or not, knowing nothing about his condition at the moment except what they told you when you were there, if you were at all.

And it hurts.

It hurts the heart, the soul, twisting a knife into your gut and pulling out hard before stabbing back into the contorted wound over and over as your anxiety hits you like it'll kill you with one more hit, one more attack. And on top of this, she's lost many family members to these attacks...

So please donate, and I'm begging whoever comes across this to donate. Because my experience was horrible, but Lana's...Her's is worse, so much worse, and she needs our help! So please. PLEASE. Donate if you can, or spread this around Tumblr as much as you can. Reblog! Like! Share! Something that can help her, that can help Lana and her father!

Lana, know that you could NEVER be a burden, bother, nor inconvenience to me, alright? If/when I get the money, I'll donate. But until and after and during that time, my page can/will ALWAYS be a safe space for you , alright? Please keep that in mind. My tag is @yui-onnero , where I go by Yui. Real name is ||||| Heatley. This Blog can always be a safe spot for you. I will offer you all of the support I can give, and know that you will be loved and supported as long as you are on my blog. If you ever need to rant, go in my inbox. I'll respond. You wanna talk? My messages are open! If you need support, my digital, wilting arms will try their best to raise you high enough so you may soar.

I wish you the best, truly the best, only the best. I'm here for you.

-Yui / @yui-onnero

[quinnverse]

A devilish grin cracked across her face as she licked her lips with satisfaction. She'd never seen a man like this before, so needy and malleable. She couldn't deny that it made her feel things that she knew a true lady shouldn't feel. As he arched his hips to move into her touch, Sarah allowed her free hand to rub his thigh.

A soft gasp slipped past her lips when she felt his mouth against her breasts, taking her hardened peak between his teeth. Her strokes on his cock slowed into mindless movements, her mind unable to focus when her entire body felt alight. His finger slipped inside her and her brows furrowed as her hips arched up towards his touch.

She didn't even realize what words had come out of her mouth. She'd barely realized she'd said anything at all until he voiced his concerns in long, uneven breaths.

"What?" She stared at him with wide, wild eyes, the loose hairs framing her face mussed and tangled. "No." She shook her head, looping her arms around him to keep him in place. He couldn't leave her like this, she wouldn't survive. "You cannot stop now, y-you..."

Sarah swallowed and looked away. He was right. But that didn't mean she didn't want to continue. Her husband wouldn't have to know. Sarah had acted in enough of her sisters' plays to know how to pretend. She could pretend like she'd never seen a man before, like she had never been touched before. She could lie to everyone, just so that she didn't have to stop such a feeling.

"What is 'more than this'?" Gently, she sat up straight and pushed his hand away, not wanting him to put her clothes back. Not yet. "What does that even mean? Do we not care for each other? Do we not want each other? I-I may never feel this way for another man, let alone a husband." Reaching out, she tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, taking on a desperately saccharine tone. "I may never be treated with this much care again. Would you truly wish to deny me the pleasures of love, just so another man can steal my purity?"

It was a low-blow, manipulative at best, and maniacal at worst. She didn't want to guilt him into continuing. The last thing she wanted was to make him regret this, to make him despise her for leading him astray. But Sarah wanted him to realize how she felt, and that a moment like this may never happen again for her if she didn't act upon it now.

"And I want that, too. I want you to kiss me... and touch me... and hold me. So, I do not think that makes you a scoundrel." Sarah took a deep breath and shook her head, as though disagreeing with every single thought that crossed her mind. "I appreciate your worry over my purity, but I don't think any of the thoughts in my head could be considered pure. I do not wish to do this with anyone else. I-I want to do it with you, Benjamin." His name felt foreign on her tongue, but they had long since moved past formalities.

"Is it..." She hesitated, trying to find the proper words. "Is it the part that comes next that you're worried about? Because w-we can just continue like this if that's the case... I can touch you, and y-you can touch me..." She offered in a sing-song tone, running her hands across his skin and avoiding his gaze. "I want to make you experience what I felt. Don't you want that, too?"

An ache was surely an understatement. Benjamin presently felt over-stimulated, his teeth catching on his bottom lip to silence his grunts and gasps as Sarah worked him over, decidedly innocent in her gentle exploration. Fumblingly, he gripped at her shoulder with his free hand, tightening his hold once he thrust through the sturdy ring of her fingers.

“Touching helps? So, this is okay?”

"Yes," he managed to grit out. The half-whisper, half-moan embarrassed him, especially since he couldn't be certain if he was answering her questions, or simply praising her for the way she continued to scramble his thoughts.

Somewhere amidst his dizziness, Sarah gave him the same permission. With clumsy hands, he immediately set to work on unfastening the buttons along the back of her dress. He brought his mouth to hers, fierce and needful as he groaned into their heated kiss, his hips jerking each time she stroked in a downward, purposeful motion.

In between their messy, open-mouthed kisses, Sarah's exploration slid up his arms, down his back, and then back between his legs again as he eased her bodice down to drape loosely around her elbows. Smearing his hungry mouth toward her neck, chest, and then to the heaving swell of her breasts, he took one budding nipple into his mouth and gently grazed the protrusion with his teeth, his free hand sliding back between her legs and delving into her warm, sodden heat. The way her body clenched in an effort at rejecting his entry made him slow down, opting for careful, shallow thrusts to ease any discomfort as he slid another finger inside her tight wetness.

“God, I want you.”

Her entreaty made him shudder.

With a silent, persistent begging, Sarah allowed her legs to part wider for his searching fingers. “Please," she whimpered. "I need you.”

Sobered by the magnitude of just what she was proposing, Benjamin froze above her, breathing hard as his long, loosened hair fell into his eyes. "Sarah, I...w-we shouldn't," he panted. "I want you more than anything -- I do -- but your future husband will not approve, should you not seem pure on your wedding night."

With shaky hands, Benjamin removed his touch from between her legs and started righting her clothing. "I only wanted to hold you...to kiss and touch you for a bit. That's all, I swear." Closing his eyes, he tenderly kissed her brow. "Please don't make me into a scoundrel...you deserve more than this."

[bertoyana]

Erik, what are you doing?

X-MEN: DAYS OF THE FUTURE PAST (2014)