#If i had it to over again would have been a mechanic

[kermdoeswriting]

The worst jobs ever lead to 0 Student debt

Have you ever been so broke that you've resorted to gigs that normally would make you seem like a minor villains goon?

Danny has.

Being practically broke, drowning in constant student debt, college student has led to some of the weirdest side gigs Danny has ever done. He can at the very least confirm that as he continues his degree in Astrophysics at MIT.

But in all honesty, he's not very picky or upset about how weird they are. Danny would rather do something strange once, then continue drowning in debt the way he was currently.

Student debt was not a joke.

And even if it were, it wasn't a very funny one, considering he himself was just scraping by on his two front teeth due to them.

Either way, the point was Danny's done practically everything in Gotham possible just to make some small bits of cash here and there. Danny only ever goes to Gotham for the sake of an extra ectoplasm boost on top of the fact it has the most jobs out of any city possible due to the crime rate.

He's been a temporary goon and a guard to several different warehouses throughout Gotham & New York City (most times there isn't even anyone or anything in them but a jobs a job). He's been in charge of covering a front temporarily for what looks like fake companies (nothing to do with drug dealing or the mob for some reason, he usually tries to stay clear of those offers).

He also was a tester for some of Mr. Nygma's traps being hired for the sheer fact that he couldn't really die and therefore could test several of Mr.Nygma's traps at once.

He took a temp job to help feed Dr.Quinzel's pet hyenas when she was in Arkham for awhile as well as pet sit. That one was his favorite honestly, Lou and Bud were sweethearts despite the carnage thing.

He recently had even been a personal insta-cart driver for a certain Penguin mob-boss strangely enough (until the guy got sent back to Arkham that is).

Danny really isn't picky when it comes to jobs unless it was just something mostly immoral and just insane, like drug dealing and/or murder & world or several life ending situations or just involved with someone like the Joker.

It's gotten to a point that the average Gotham goon usually recognizes him when he passes by during a job visit. They tended to recommend him a new job when they saw him, knowing he was just as eager as they were in this economy.

Which is how he ended up here, sitting in an empty warehouse yet again for possibly another hour before he could leave and get paid. Danny was sat on the floor doing his advanced calc homework and trying not to scream about it as he sat there.

It was something he did when the nights were slower honestly. The night was ruined quickly after that though when the glass shattered above him and scattered all over his homework and the rest of the ground.

Danny only sighed and mourned the possible money he'd be losing to that mess before shaking the glass off of him and his papers. He didn't bother looking up at his possible attacker.

"You have got to be fuckin kidding me. Not again, Kid."

Only then does Danny look up to see who broke the window. Red Hood sounds exasperated despite the mask covering all of his real voice with a mechanical voice changer. Besides him was Nightwing who seemed just as disappointed as his partner was while putting his escrima sticks behind his back.

"Can I help you Red Pill, Blue Pill?"

That made Red Hood snort while Nightwing just sighed into his hands and dragged them down his face before responding.

"Kid, what are you doing in he- Is that homework???"

Nightwing walked closer almost sounding offended as he looked down at the mess of Danny's math that he was going to have to redo before turning in tomorrow. The thought of recopying everything made him feel angry all over again.

"The one you guys wrecked by getting glass all over it? Yes," Danny leaned back into his plastic chair provided by the Goonion. "Thanks for that by the way, I'm going to have to recopy everything before class tomorrow."

"That wouldn't be a problem if you just got a normal part-time job like a normal young adult." Red Hood snorted as Nightwings slight lecture and it made Danny roll his eyes at the both of them as he sat up.

As if he hadn't tried that route already. In between his space museum internship during the day and his thousands of classes every week, he didn't exactly fit a lot of younger adult jobs schedule.

"Do you know any nearby normal adult jobs that are hiring a current university student with millions in debt and a internship schedule that only allows them to work at night?" Danny snapped back which made Red Hood start to snort and laugh again at Nightwings expression.

"Well..." Nightwing at the very least had the decency to look sheepish as if he had thought about it genuinely and couldn't think of a thing.

"Thought so." Danny slumped against the chair again, before shutting his eyes. He waved them away as he sat back, already mentally preparing himself for another all nighter for the sake of recopying his papers.

"If thats all, I'll see you next time I get a fake listing or bad job that you guys have a tendency to break into. Go away."

Nightwing only sighed again before Danny heard his grappling hook sound off back through the broken window into the night. Red Hood only chuckled one last time before ruffling his hair.

"See you, Kid. Make sure you try to sleep before class"

Danny just huffed at him and waved him off again as Red Hood shot his grappling hook off into the night and joined Nightwing. With a sigh, Danny sat up again and grabbed his nearby backpack filled with scrap paper.

Time to restart the equation all over again.

______________________________________________________________

Basically Danny needs money to keep going to MIT so he continuously decides to take up jobs for hire in Gotham (and other places but mostly Gotham), which lead to him breaking a lot of laws for another cash grab.

Meanwhile, the Batfam is very concerned that they keep meeting this meta young adult (who doesn't even live in Gotham!!) who seems to continuously be running through villain placed ad offers like water to get cash.

How desperate for cash is this guy????

[empyrealix]

⊹ ࣪˖ LOVER | #CS55

pairing. carlos sainz x reader

genre. fluff; suggestive

synopsis. you and carlos are on holiday, which includes ignoring all of your responsibilities and kissing—making out—until you're both nearly dizzy.

warnings. suggestive

word count. 1k

note. this was supposed to have more plot, but it doesn't. i wrote this to a, procrastinate my philosophy exam and b, to procrastinate writing the second part to my wolff!reader fic. ALSO CARLOS P9?? WE'RE IN THE POINTS !! AND OSCAR WIN !!

MASTERLIST ; requests open

CARLOS HAD GONE ON A RUN early in the morning, just as the birds began to wake, hours before you woke. He walked into the hotel room just as you stirred; blinking sleep from your eyes; staring at Carlos in his exercise gear, sweat clinging to his brow, with bleary eyes—Carlos smiled at the sight of you; cocooned in the white duvet, blinking blearily up at him as though your eyes had just fluttered open. The smell of sweat and sea surrounded you as Carlos stepped closer to the bed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead with the whispered promise that you would get breakfast as soon as he was done showering—you mumbled something about wanting to go back to sleep while you squinted against the unwelcome light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows; Carlos laughed.

“Okay, mi amor.”

You laced your fingers with his before he could fully pull away and disappear into the bathroom; a smile quirked up the corners of his lips; his thumb running over the back of your hand; Carlos brought your hand up to his lips, pressing his soft—pillowy, almost—lips to the back of it. He leaned over you—the smell which surrounded him, which came from him, surrounded both of you—nuzzling his nose with yours, pressing his lips to yours—the same tender way he had been doing the four years you’d been together; the same way Carlos hoped you would let him do as long as the both of you lived. A smile curved up your lips; you placed two fingers on his shoulder, gently—teasingly—pushing him away from you. When Carlos took a step backwards—his hand still holding yours, your fingers still entwined—he saw the disgusted look on your face; your nose was scrunched up, and the smile which previously sat etched on your face was turned into a frown.

“Go shower. You smell like sweat.” You shooed him away, removing your hand from his—still sweaty—hand. Chuckles bubbled past his lips, filling the room; whenever you heard that sound, you swore you would bottle it if you could—sadly, that wasn’t possible; sound couldn’t be bottled. His chuckles lingered in the air long after he closed the bathroom door after him.

You curled up on your side, closing your eyes, waiting for Mr Sandman to pull you back to sleep; Mr Sandman never came. With a frustrated huff—and a misplaced, almost malicious, muttered curse meant for Carlos—you sat up in the soft hotel bed. Light streamed in through the windows facing the bed, bathing the room in sunlight; you squinted against the sun, reaching for the remote on Carlos’ side of the bed—the blinds made a mechanic whirring sound as they were lowered. With the light gone—you didn’t mind light, necessarily, it was just this light; it was too bright and it was too early—your fingers curled around the book left abandoned on your nightstand—the book you had been itching to start for weeks, but had never found the time to.

Before you could finish the first chapter, Carlos stepped out of the bathroom; a white towel was wrapped around his waist; moisture clung to his skin. He smiled as he saw you sitting in bed, the duvet gathered around your hips, your hair messy, an old shirt of his hanging off your frame, a book open on your lap—Carlos recognised it as the book you had carried around in your bag for weeks, opening occasionally only to read the first page before putting it away. Carlos Sainz realised again—as he had realised so many times before this—that he could stare at you forever; it never seemed to matter to him what you were doing; your mere existence was enough to stop him, momentarily, in his tracks.

“You finally started that book?”

You hummed softly, glancing up at him from where you sat, holding the book up so he could read the title. In two short strides, Carlos was standing beside you; he pulled a shirt over his head; he—gently—placed two fingers under your chin, tilting your head upwards to meet his warm, brown eyes—you swore you could get lost in them if you only stared into them long enough; you smiled into the kiss he placed on your lips—which you eagerly reciprocated; you tugged him down towards you, your hands curling into this t-shirt; the book long forgotten as Carlos’ lips pressed against yours and his fingers tangled in your hair. The moment was broken—shattered like glass against concrete—as Carlos—in an attempt to get closer to you, despite the awkward position he was in—stumbled; he yelped; his body falling forward, collapsing on the bed. You couldn’t stop the burst of laughter springing from your lips. Carlos twisted his head to look at you.

“Stop laughing at me, mi vida.” He whined—you could see amusement dancing in his face, pulling the corners of his mouth into a smile.

“I’m sorry, honey. It was just unexpected.” You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp; Carlos immediately relaxed into your touch; he shifted his body weight, shuffling around until he was no longer halfway draped over you. He looked at you in disbelief, as though not fully believing your apology—you didn’t blame him; you wouldn’t have believed your apology either. Again, your fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him closer until your breaths mixed and the only smell surrounding you was Carlos and that soap he accidentally bought in Italy once, and now swore by. You pressed your lips to his—for the third time that morning—hesitantly at first, slowly, until that faded away and Carlos’ strong hands rested on your hips, steadying you as you straddled him. His lips trailed from your lips down to your jaw; he pressed feather-light kisses to the column of your neck. You gently tugged at his hair, bringing his lips up to yours again.

“I thought you wanted to sleep.” Carlos muttered against your lips, his hands tightening on your waist as he felt you almost losing your balance.

“I thought you wanted to eat breakfast.” you quipped back, your lips still pressed to his.

“I never specified what I wanted to eat for breakfast.”

“Shut up, Sainz.” He laughed at your comment, which held no real malice, continuing to press kisses to your lips, pulling you closer to him.

[jester-privilege]

Villain Stone is definitely what I'm hoping to see from Sonic 4, so I tried my hand drawing him - mind you, in my design he's a bit of a hot mess, with Robotnik's old coat repurposed and patched up, and with longer hair and beard (and the sunglasses, just because those are fun).

Then I ended up deciding to write a short piece for this Stone, which could be a beginning of a longer fic. Text under the cut:

Stone gives himself a year to grieve. A year for the Earth to rotate, for the people to recover. To forget. 

He doesn’t stay idle, of course. He uses the emergency bank card in his shoe to leave England. Flies back to the United States. Rents a car and drives to Idaho. 

The Doctor liked the idea of putting a secret bunker in Idaho, mostly because nobody would ever expect it to be in Idaho. 

Stone stocks up on food at a nearby town, and hunkers down. For the first two months, he looks at trees. Eats. Reads the Doctor’s old notes, downloaded once he was able to connect to the private network. And he thinks. 

When Stone was thirteen, a couple came to the orphanage. Friendly, wealthy-looking, hopeful. For some reason, they spoke to Stone, who gave off one-word answers. The next day, Stone was pulled into the director’s office. Told that there would be another meeting with the couple, with the prospect of fostering him, with adoption in mind. 

When the couple came back, a few days later, Stone made a point of walking up to a boy two years his senior and breaking that boy’s nose. He still remembers the couple’s shocked faces - the director’s panic, the boy wailing in surprise as blood poured down his face. That boy, who Stone had found annoying at the time, had looked at him with an expression he could not back then quite parse. It wasn’t until later that Stone recalled that he’d been smiling. 

Smiling, Stone learned later, in the right context could put people at ease. 

After a few months, Stone starts to plan. He runs out of supplies fast, but he has emergency funds, he has contacts, and he has a pick-up truck. For the next few weeks, Stone hunts down mechanical and electrical parts, and calls in favours. In the evenings, he begins to build a database of G.U.N, collecting schematics and personnel files. It helps that he still remembers where the bodies are buried, and which people are the weak links. 

Around month six, Stone travels back to London, purchases a coffee shop near the G.U.N headquarters, and takes it over. It’s a particular favourite of many of the bigwigs in G.U.N, and Stone makes sure to keep the operations running exactly as they did before. Give or take a few listening devices. 

One time, the Doctor had asked him if he was dating anyone. Of course, he hadn’t phrased it quite like that. 

“So, should I presume that you have some sort of paramour, Agent?” Robotnik had said, his head bowed towards the chip he was soldering. “Note my lack of assumptions about their gender. Don’t care, don’t need to know, read the HR memo!” 

Stone had swallowed down his initial response, which was to point out that Robotnik had asked. Instead he smiled, standing attentively with the tool case in hand. 

“I’m unattached, Doctor. Free as a bird.” 

Robotnik gave him a sharp glance, with something odd flashing across his face, there one moment and gone in the next. He’d turned back to his work, moustache twitching. 

“What, no takers? Pretty pathetic, Stone, I gotta say. At least I have the excuse of my prize-winning personality.” 

“I’m not interested,” Stone had said, mildly. “I don’t like most people.” 

This, for some reason, had attracted the Doctor's attention - the man had turned and looked at him again, brows raised.  

“You don’t like people? You, Stone? You’re always grinning at everyone like an idiot!” 

Stone had grinned at the Doctor, like an idiot, just happy that the Doctor paid that much attention to him. 

“Adapting certain positive mannerisms makes it easier to navigate social interactions, Doctor. The only person I actually like is you. Everyone else I simply tolerate.” 

The Doctor had looked at him for a moment longer, studying him. He wasn’t the first person Stone had told about his lack of interest in the general humanity, but he was the first one who didn’t look at him like he was some kind of a monster. Of course he didn’t. He was the Doctor. 

“You’re an odd little man, Stone,” Robotnik had said then, his voice tinted in genuine amusement. “No wonder you made such a good merc. You little sociopath, you.” 

“Not diagnosed,” Stone had responded cheerfully. 

“Huh! Well, whatever - at least I don’t have to worry about you running off to fornicate with some Suburban Sally, or - Barbeque Bob,” Robotnik had added hastily. “No assumptions, of course.” 

Stone had bitten the inside of his cheek, to swallow his initial response. Not very work appropriate. Instead, he’d just smiled. 

“Of course, sir.” 

Doctor Robotnik had been the only person he’d cared about, and now he was gone. 

Stone barely sleeps. He stops grooming himself. The shadows of the bunker grow longer, twist and turn as he works through the nights. Whenever he closes his eyes, the shape of the explosion burns inside his eyelids. 

He’d been content, for as long as the Doctor was by his side. He’d been happy to be domesticated, to be soft.

He’d been happy. 

By month twelve, Stone packs up his meager possessions and loads them into his truck. The time for grieving alone was over. He was ready to share the pain. With the whole world.

He starts the long drive towards Montana.

[silkscream]

creation myth

ੈ✩ caleb (xia yizhou) x reader

ੈ✩ tags: based on caleb's myth and set a little after they escape the lab, lads spoilers? i guess?, afab gender neutral reader, unprotected sex, virginity loss, fingering, oral sex, handjobs, they are icky gooey romantic, religious imagery duh

ੈ✩ wc: 3.2k

ੈ✩ a/n: xia yizhou im sooooo drunk. xia yizhouuuuuuuuuu

divider by omi-resources

When Eve was born, she was close to Adam’s heart. Under the aorta, surrounded by pumping blood. Cut out of his rib – a part of him.

Similarly, you are a part of Caleb. Sometimes, it feels like you only exist within his context. 

Seeing him again had evoked the memory of soft grass and violet skies, the juices of summer fruit dripping down your chin. You say his name in your head and think of it. It feels like your first memory. The first thing beyond clinical white walls and the harsh rubble of a battlefield. 

When Caleb saves you and teaches you what it means to lie with another human being, you drown yourself in all of it. All the affection, all the dopamine. You feel the sun on your skin and it feels like being kissed a thousand times over.

Caleb teaches you about affection very slowly. There’s hand-holding, his thumb caressing your palm. Forehead kisses.

For people who share a close bond, a kiss on any part of their body can be seen as a sign of affection.

It takes him almost two months to kiss you on the mouth. It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it. He dreamt of your mouth often, but that was something he kept to himself. It’d be humiliating to tell you how much he thought about the image of you biting into a ripe fruit. The pink pout of your mouth. How much that vision would haunt him even before the two of you had escaped the lab. 

You’re so eager about kissing him that it genuinely disorients him. Your small hands always grip some part of him – his shirt, his hair. Your kisses over the past few months have gotten longer. 

Your touch is the only thing that reminds him he’s not a cold, mechanical weapon. Blood flows through his veins, hard. It feels so good with you. Too good.

He can’t help the rush of blood that floods downward when he thinks about you. Can’t help the feeling when you linger a little too long near his neck. He’s had to scold you for biting the skin next to his jugular, your hands pawing too eagerly at his body like an overexcited puppy.

Caleb likes to calm you down with other indulgences. Swimming is one of them, but you insist on being naked. Cutting pieces of fruit has been good, as long as he doesn’t watch the way your mouth moves as you eat it.

You learn easily. You’re too observant in a way that infuriates him. It’s been months and you’ve memorized all the reactions he has to your touch. You know that the two of you share a close bond because of what he lets you get away with. Kisses on the mouth have gotten to be so much that he has to hold himself back. You notice this. So you play with him. 

You’ve been camping out at your current cabin for over a month. It’s the longest you and Caleb have stayed somewhere. Both of you have come to the unspoken conclusion that you might stay there long term, considering it was an open cabin and there hadn’t been any threats to you both since you first found it.

It’s summer again. Not like it was when you had first remembered it. You and Caleb have traveled far since your escape, far enough that the climate has changed to something more barren. Dryer. Gone are the nights with fireflies and long grass. The two of you are lucky that the cabin you found is near a river. Despite this, the environment isn’t the same. 

It’s fucking hot. Which is why you wear less clothing, opting for nakedness around the house if there’s not much to do. Caleb doesn’t protest, even though he knows damn well that the sight of you has his blood pumping harder towards his dick. The look in your eyes is too innocent. You don’t know any better, he presumes, and he can live with that. Anything to make you feel comfortable in the first year of your life outside of the labs.

It’s an afternoon in July and you’ve gone for a swim. Caleb hates to leave you alone but decides to do it that morning after you stubbornly refuse to wake up early. 

Going into town for some supplies. Be good.

And you are. You prepare some food for later and go for a swim in the river. You’re draped in linens by the time he comes back. 

When he sits up on the bed you share, you settle in his lap without asking. He stiffens, but his hands still automatically go to your waist, circling your sides softly. 

You lean in to give him a wet kiss, more passionate and practiced than before. You’ve gotten better – you were much shyer, more naive a few months ago. Now, you’re more deliberate with your affection. Kisses on the mouth for reassurance. Teeth on his neck when you want something. 

When you nip him, he huffs. 

“What is it? Are you still angry that I didn't take you with me?” He raises a brow.

You shrug, mumble something unintelligible. 

“Can’t I just kiss you? I’m showing affection. Because I like you.”

“I know you like me,” he chuckles, “you don’t have to keep doing it.”

You frown slightly. “But it feels like —”

He raises a brow. “Feels like what?”

“Like you’re not… getting it,” you mutter petulantly. “Like something’s missing.”

It’s Caleb’s turn to frown this time. He caresses your cheek softly with callused fingertips. 

“What do you mean? I kiss you back. Love kissing you back.”

But I want more, you want to scream. You don’t know what more is, though. There are times you get too caught up together, when his tongue prods between the seam of your lips. You always remember the faint flame that seems to ignite whenever things go a little too far. It’s tantalizing warmth, wetness in between your legs.

Your yearning turns to desperation. Your eyes are big and wide as you plead with him silently, unable to form words. 

“Caleb…”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Call me something else.”

“Like what? Your name?”

“No. Like in the pictures we watch.”

The movies. Caleb smiles softly. He supposes he spoils you too much by taking you to see them once a week, but he can’t help it. Each time, he loves to see your face from the side, the way your eyes glow in awe at the lives of humans on screen. They’re ancient fairy tales to the both of you. Despite his cynicism, he can’t take that away from you.

“What? Like baby?”

“Y-Yeah,” you mumble.

“You want me to call you that?”

“It sounds nice,” you huff. “But if it’s weird, you don’t have to –”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Okay, baby.”

He rubs his thumb over your jaw and you preen to his touch immediately, like an eager cat. 

“Kiss,” you mumble.

You’ve been saying this a lot lately. Less as a question, more of a demand. Caleb can never deny you.

He slots his mouth with yours and you respond in kind. It’s soft, like the waves kissing the tide, until it’s not. He feels your tongue tease his mouth with an unexpected aggression and he jolts in surprise. 

Where the hell did you learn that?

“Baby–” he mumbles, but he cuts himself off with a strangled noise. Your tongue is in his mouth again. Naively, bravely. Full of intent.

He can’t help but groan. He can feel blood rushing to his cock already.

He should stop you. He really should. But he doesn’t. It’s not like he’s felt this kind of affection with anyone else, either. He’d been less sheltered than you, for sure, but he doesn’t have the experience to withdraw. He’s too selfish. He’s been waiting for you for so fucking long.

So, he mirrors your intensity. Pulls lightly at your clothes out of eagerness. You tug your sleeves off until your robe drapes halfway down your back. His eyes widen as he pulls back to see the curve of your breasts.

Desire consumes the both of you. While he’s frozen, you attempt to take matters in your own hands by grinding against his clothed cock.

“H-Hey –”

“That feels good, right?” you breathe. “F-Feels good for me…”

“Baby,” he pants, “we should probably – hah – stop…”

“Why?” you pout. Your mouth glistens with sweat. Or is it spit? “Want to feel good. Want you to feel… good…”

Caleb groans. He can’t push you away, not when you’re in his lap like this. He attempts to satiate you by kissing the corner of your mouth. You whine when he pulls away. 

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, I just —”

“Don’t wanna kiss me anymore?” You look up at him with wide, wet eyes. Seeing the curve of your mouth makes his skin burn hot. 

“Of.. of course I do. But–”

“You said kissing is a sign of affection,” you mumble. “Anywhere, if \we’re close. And we’re super close, I think, soooo…”

His breath hitches when your hand grazes his clothed cock. Your eyes lower as you bite your bottom lip. Almost instinctively, you palm him with a little more pressure. Enough to make him gasp.

He whispers your name shakily and you take it as encouragement. You free his cock from his shorts and lick the tip, kissing it down to his shaft gently as you revel in the way he shudders.

“Fuck,” he gasps, “you gotta stop–”

You whimper. Your breath on his bare cock makes him shiver. You want to kiss him all over. 

The way he responds makes heat rise in your body. It’s unfamiliar but it feels good. You want more of it. When you sit up to look at him, he captures your mouth in a feverish kiss. You can’t help but fall forward, bracing yourself with your hands on his shoulders while your core is slotted right above his aching cock. 

You rub against him and he moans. It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard from him before.

“That feel good?” you whisper.

“Y-Yeah– oh, shit,” he gasps. 

You mewl, grinding against him as you kiss him once more. Every touch point with Caleb feels electric. He bites down on your bottom lip and you make a small noise of surprise. He finally pulls away to look down at you, pupils swollen at his eyes settle on your chest.

His mouth descends to lick around your nipples, making you gasp and moan like he’s never heard before. The air around you feels so hot that you could melt into a puddle. 

“Nnn – Caleb,” you whine. “More…”

“Mm, more what, honey?”

“Dunno,” you huff, your eyes wet. “More… it hurts…”

You’re referring to the throbbing in between your legs. He knows this. When his fingers brush over your swollen clit, you hiss.

“Hah–”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “Feels nice, hm? Right here?” 

He continues his ministrations on your bud. Watches you moan until you let out a choked gasp from his fingers prodding the inside of your pussy. You’re flooded by fullness, all around you. 

“Oh, Caleb,” you gasp, “that’s –”

“Too much?”

“Nnn – feels good –”

You blush at the sound of squelching from below you. You’re so wet – wetter than when you’ve ever prodded yourself late at night out of curiosity while he sleeps beside you. 

“Hey,” his voice snaps you out of your fever dream desires, “Lay back for me, sweetheart.”

You obey, whining when he pulls his fingers out of you. He pries your legs apart and nips at your supple thighs. When he lowers his head to lick at your slit, your kitten-soft mewl has his cock throbbing against the mattress.

He fills you with his digits again, groaning as your walls welcome him easily. You’re silky and wet inside, smooth like a river bed. The way he eats your pussy is fucking obscene. You grasp the locks of his dark hair to stay grounded to Earth.

“Caleb,” you whimper, pulling his hair. His violet eyes flicker with something darker, something you’ve only seen when he’s competitive. His expression as he sucks on your clit is something else entirely, a version of him slowly unfurling with precedent desire. Something new blooms in your core. Pink-slippered, kissed by the paradise of his mouth.

The sensation in combination with his fingers pumping inside of you is so much that you don’t even register the build up. Your orgasm hits you like an exploding star. It feels as destructive as it is beautiful. You feel rebirthed, almost.

Your hips are still stuttering as he slides up to caress your jaw and kiss you all over your face. Without thinking, your hand extends to brush over the bulge in his slacks, making him groan in surprise.

“What are you doing?” he husks.

“Does it feel good? Your face is warm like mine…”

“Y-Yeah..” His breathing picks up rapidly as he watches you shyly unzip him. His cock is heavy in your hands. You thumb over his leaking tip and your breath hitches when he involuntarily bucks into your hand.

You’re mesmerized by his reactions. You’ve never seen him want so much in the time you’ve been with him. Your stomach churns knowing that all of it is directed at you. 

His hand helps your smaller one pump his shaft. When he feels you grind against his thigh, he moans.

“Please,” you whine pathetically. You could cry from how much you ache for him, your cunt fluttering around nothing. “Need –”

“Need me to fuck you?” he mumbles. He thinks of covering your eyes when you watch movies together. How he taught you how to kiss properly.

Caleb has thought about this exact moment ever since. He’s afraid to take from you when everything else has been taken from you, too. But your eyes are wet and wide, begging for him. As touch-starved as both of you were since childhood, perhaps you both deserve this.

He rolls you over and undresses himself entirely, slotting in between your legs. He bites back a groan when his cock presses against your wet heat. Ever since he took you with him, he’s wanted to be good and selfless. Didn’t want to ruin you just because he wanted you for himself.

This is the first time he decides to be selfish.

He eyes you warily as if to ask permission. You nod, legs tightening around his waist.

When he pushes into you, his mind goes blank. He’s never felt anything so warm in his life. It feels like sinking into the unknown – bliss flooding his insides once he bottoms out. 

“Shit,” he mutters.

“I’m –” you gasp, overwhelmed, “Do I feel good?”

He chuckles. Kisses both your cheeks, then your forehead. “Yeah. Amazing. You’re so tight.”

His voice makes you blush even more. Your core stings with an unfamiliar sensation but it’s a pain you don’t entirely mind. Like pressing down a bruise. He cradles you in his arms as he moves slowly and the pain turns to pleasure.

Caleb can’t help but fuck you in earnest. There are tears in your eyes but your moans are turning him on even more. Fuck, he really can’t help it. You’re all he’s ever wanted.

He gets rougher as he kisses you, tongue heavy in your mouth. Biting at your lower lip hungrily. His forbidden fruit. Your body welcomes him like a flower opening up to the sun.

“Caleb,” you moan. The first name you’ve ever known, even before your own. “Caleb –”

He mumbles into your shoulder in between thrusts. Pants your name and I love you in different breaths like a mantra.

Your back arches as he reaches somewhere deep inside you that you’ve never touched yourself. Your thighs are shaking and it almost alarms him until he lifts his head from the crook of your neck.

He wishes he could take a picture of your face right now.

“Keep doing that, mmnn –” you breathe. “Feels good… I…”

“You like it?” he rasps.

“Yes, yes –”

“Tell me, baby.”

“Love it,” you moan, “Love you. Love you so much –”

God, he could cum right now. His cock twitches as you clench around him.

“You’re perfect, shit. It’s you and me. Always, okay?”

“You and me –”

You cum so hard that the world around saturates with vibrance. Your eyes are screwed shut, phosphenes like shooting stars in your lids. Flung into space with his wings enveloping you with love.

“Oh, God, you look –” he pants, his eyes blown wide. “I love you, fuck!”

You feel his warmth flood your insides like syrup. You sigh into each other’s mouths. Unspoken love letters.

Caleb collapses beside you, chest heaving, one arm draped protectively across your middle. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin as your breathing gradually slows. The afternoon light filters through threadbare curtains, casting golden stripes across your intertwined bodies.

"You okay?" he whispers, pressing his lips to your temple.

You nod, unable to form words yet. Everything feels different now—your body, the air between you, the very cabin itself. The universe has shifted on its axis.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His voice carries a hint of worry.

You turn to face him, your nose brushing against his. "No. It was... perfect." The word feels inadequate for what just happened, but language fails you.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, violet eyes searching yours. "You're perfect," he murmurs. His thumb traces the curve of your bottom lip, and you can't help but catch it gently between your teeth.

"Careful," he warns playfully, but his eyes darken again.

“We should do it again.”

He laughs, the sound warm against your skin.  “Already? You’re insatiable.”

“Maybe.”

"Give me a minute to recover, honey."

You hum contentedly, stretching like a cat in sunlight. Every nerve ending in your body feels alive, sensitized. The places where his hands touched you still tingle with phantom sensation.

"I didn't know it could be like that," you whisper, tracing the line of his collarbone with your finger. "All this time, I felt something was missing. I mean, it was you. Obviously. But this feels like… more."

Caleb's fingers trace the notches of your spine, counting each vertebra like precious stones. You shiver under his touch, still sensitive from before.

"I used to dream about your skin," he confesses, voice barely above a whisper. "Back in the lab. What it’d be like to touch you. How it felt to touch you the one time I held your hand in the field when we escaped the first time.”

“And now you have me.”

“Mhm.”

“Took you so long to kiss me though. I’m sure Caleb from a year ago would have a heart attack if he saw us now.”

Caleb's expression softens, vulnerability painting his features in a way you've rarely seen. "I wanted to give you time. Let you discover the world first."

"You are my world," you say simply. It’s so easy for you to say that it pains him. It sounds naive. He’d warn you of it if he didn’t feel the exact same.

“So are you. This is our little galaxy.” 

“Our little galaxy," you repeat, rolling the words over your tongue like a prayer.

You nestle against him, fitting perfectly in the curve of his body. The cabin creaks around you, a protective shell against the barren landscape outside. In here, you've created something lush and verdant—an Eden of your own making.

[magickizu]

Shop Repairs

Crossover dp x dc. So I've got this time line in mind, for my crossover AU and this is a snippet of it. Master Post: Lost Retirement

Jason has to find a solution, quickly: during the last mission his bike received more damage, than he had planned. Bringing it back to the cave will take too long, not to mention the repair time, that he can't make time for! And here's another thing: for like the past week or so, the pits have been acting extremely weird. Bubbling and flaring up randomly, like this pissed off but not revenging rage, if that makes sense?? What is going on???

Jason absolutely hated his luck: not only did these bastards get away, not only was it a pain in the ass anyway to hunt them down, not only did they take their goods with them as they fled after, not only kicking Hood's ass- ohohoho no! Of course his sweet baby had to be pulled into it! They used his bike as shield!! HIS FUCKING BIKE-!!!

The silvered raven groans annoyed, the pits are flaring up again too! He can't even get to the bat cave and fix her up, because he needs her by tomorrow and he does not have the right parts. Let alone the time, since he's got this meeting with this building company to talk over the plans for the Alley's new community gardens he wants to build. So naturally he's on his way to bring her to the only guy he trusts with her, when suddenly the pits flare up again!- right, rightrightright... Of course that wasn't enough, since the pit seemed to have even more problems in the past week, with him feeling like he got run over by trucks. The constant whispering and screeching and hissing about an intruder in his territory, inside his head- ...at this point it's just tiring.

Red Hood was deep in thought, in fact he was so deep in thought, that his feet have carried him all the way to the little mechanics shop and maybe, just maybe, he could be a little lucky today? Please? And they have everything and the damage wasn't as bad as it seemed? The pit is rumbling and gurgling disgustingly and he can see the green tinge slowly creeping into the corners of his eyes. Panic floods him, there's not a single one of the birds or bats around to help him now-

Hood tried his best, to take deep breaths. Steady his thoughts and fight back, imagining Dick would be there helping him concentrate. The mental image of his family just being there for him, helped a little, lately their bond has gotten better and Jason can definitely tell- snap out of it! He can't have a panic attack in the middle of the road! Not as the Red Hood at least... With one last, deep breath Hood's feet begin to move again, as he rounded the corner and pulled into the open garage door or the workshop.

"Ah-hah! The Red Hood," the old man behind the little counter laughs and stands up, Hood's shoulders relax at the sight and sound of him. "Tell me, tell me niño, what can I do for you? Have not seen you in a while, eh?" Mateo, the owner, shakes the vigilante's hand with a big smile and a small hug.

"Hey Tío," he greets back, hugging back briefly and gently. "My bike got... Involved in the action... Please tell me you can fix her by tomorrow, Tío." If it wasn't for the modulator in his mask, Hood would have sounded tired, which Mateo must have known, as he started to laugh out loud before answering.

"Alright, alright. I'll take a look, eh? But no promises." Mateo leaned down slowly with a huff and a grunt, until the man kneeled in front of the motorcycle. He called out for someone, after trying his best to look at the machine. Hood couldn't hear what Mateo said, he was too distracted with suddenly being confronted by Mateo's high age. Neither Jason, nor Red Hood have been here in a while and he mentally scolded himself for it. Jason helped out here and there, ever since he came back, ever since before Bruce... Mateo has always been there- been right here. Hood just wasn't ready yet; Jason wasn't ready. He hadn't realised how old the man was really getting, until now. Now that he sees him squinting at the details, sees him having trouble with finer motor skills of the machinery and now even so much as getting back up again after kneeling down. Hood forced himself back to reality, when Mateo tried to get back up but only grunted, he was about to take a step closer, help, something when-

"¡¡Tío!!" Suddenly a young man was faster. Analysis; same blue overalls as Mateo, just that the upper part is tied around his waist, dirty white t-shirt, work gloves, steel toed work shoes and one black sleeve, seemingly some kind of compression cuffs, on his right arm covering it completely- must be working here, well enough acquaintaned with Mateo, was in the back probably does the work now. Pale skin, dark raven hair with a few snow white streaks- good style! Hehe... And bright blue eyes, that are full of worry and- "Tío, how often did I tell you, just say something! ¿¡Eres estúpido!?" The young man scolded the older, grinning and chuckling one, but Hood didn't listen he was just staring... Jason couldn't look away from these electric blue eyes, that reflected in a strange neon green, that he just knows. The pit was bubbling over, growling and screaming at him and panic rose up like a lump in his throat, nearly clogging it and slowly suffocating him, as his vision is tinging green, bit by bit. This is not happening now, not now!! Shit!! What is he supposed to do!?

Suddenly the same voice breaks through to him; "...fuck, it's you..." And they both look at each other for a moment, then Hood reached for his gun immediately, the second the other man moved- He is the intruder! Shred him... "Wait! I-I'm so sorry! Ancients... I had an offering, but I forgot it at home. I swear, I do not mean any harm, to your haunt nor people nor you! I never meant to be disrespectful." The man held his hands up in surrender and the green subsided slightly from Jason's vision- how?? "-look; if it's good for you, I'll have her ready by tomorrow, as you asked, free of charge. Can that be my offering? Would that be acceptable for you?" And the pits calmed down... Hood stood there, frozen in place, overwhelmed and absolutely shocked, yet strangely relieved. The man also didn't sound hysterical, just calm enough to make it believable that... He wasn't scared... Against every bit of sanity left in his brain, the Hood nodded, his hand no longer hovering over his gun's holster. He straightened up.

"Explain." He growled, shocked by himself how much venom there was in his voice and how deep the rumbling of the growl was... As if it's coming from his chest. But moreover: what does this guy have to do with the pits!? And why the F U C K can he calm it down by T A L K I N G!?

"Okay, listen..." The man sighs, then contemplates something, looking Hood up and down, asassing him. "Alright, uhm... Name's Danny, my siblings and I just got here. We won't make any trouble and just need a place to stay, for now. The only reason I'm entering your haunt is because I work here and it's the only place that would hire me. Again my offering of doing a full round up on your bike still stands. If you don't wanna accept, that's your choice and I'll find something else, somewhere else. Okay?" Hood did listen; the man's alone, apparently desperate for money or else other places would do, he takes care of his siblings and cares for people seeing his instant worry about the old man, peaceful indeed with immediate surrender... And even a useful offering. ...what?

"Fine." Hood sighed, the other man, Danny, also sighed probably from relief. Wait... Where the hell did Mateo go?? Upon realisation, the larger one looked around,

"...Mateo's in the back office. I just... I just sent him back. Uhm..." He fidgeted a little, then stuck his hand out awkwardly. "How about this: Hi, I'm Danny. I take care of the work here now... And you're the Red Hood, that's kinda cool- I mean you are cool, like,... Sorry, I'm new to Gotham." Then Danny smiled awkwardly at him, as if he didn't just threaten to get shot. Hood stared but slowly reached out to grab the hand and Danny's smile widened, revealing the smallest hint of fangs. Hoods guard should be up but for some reason... This somewhat aggressive friendliness was welcome, somehow. "Right! The Ducati!" Danny reminded himself and moved his attention and body to the machine straight away.

"...and you'll be able to get her ready by tomorrow?" Hood asked after a moment of watching him looking through his bike. Danny perked up, seemingly ripped from his focus;

"Huh? Oh, uh... Yes, definitely! Seems like nothing too vital got hit. The tank is still good, the engine and the battery are also unharmed; a blessing in disguise, it's just...maybe a handful of tubes and a couple cables. I'll get you a round check, change the oil and clean up the painting. Be back at..." Danny thought about it. "Would five sound good?" He offered and that was admittedly fast, yes. Hood hummed in agreement.

"Make it six, deal." The vigilante held his hand out to the mechanic, who shook his hand for the deal and then made a little surprise yelp, as he got hoisted back up. Surprisingly light, but lean built. No directly visible muscles, but Danny still holds up strong. With one last look at his baby, then a warning glare at Danny, who ironically seemed to understand as he lifted his hands in surrender again and a small smile.

"I promise, I'll take good care of her. Will make her purr like a kitten." Because if not... What is he talking about? That guy has his family waiting at home and can't even change locations properly. As Hood walked out and began to his closest save house, it suddenly clicked in his mind, when he realises one fundamental thing, as he listened to the streets in Crime Alley and nothing else... That's exactly it, for once Hood didn't hear anything from the pit... As if it's completely gone. The static sensation in his mind, only picked up again slowly, the further away he got.

So this Danny guy has something to do with the pits and Jason will find out how...

"Ta-da!" Danny grinned proudly, as he showed Red Hood his bike, looking brand knew right out the factory. His eyes grew wide under the mask,

"Holy shit..." Hood rounds the machine, softly gliding over every visible surface. Checking even some of the nooks and crannies, after all he has to make sure it's all in proper order. Danny crossed his arms, sure of himself. "... I'll admit, that's good work." Danny nods, his smile widening in appreciation for the man's work.

"Rev her." The smaller man instructed, Hood for once did what he was told without hesitation and it paid: as he ignited the engine and let her reel, the machine simply purred. Litteraly just purred. Low, menicing bass and silent efficiency...

"Holy shit!" He shut her off again, for now. "That..." Hood gestures in slight disbelief, "that's real good work. Thanks man." He holds out a hand, Danny looks down at it, less smiles and a little more perplexed but nonetheless, the shorter one grabs it. What he seemingly didn't expect was for Red Hood to haule him in shoulder bumper- ey, he may be the Red Hood, but he's still from the hood. Danny just starts smiling again. "I mean it, damn fine. I'll bring her around more often, when she needs it. How much?" He reaches for his wallet, cash only of course, but he got waved off.

"Nonsense. Is the least I can do." Danny made his way already around the counter, typing away at the computer and scribbling something in a black book.

"For what? You did the work-"

"-Woopsies! Looks like I already started closing our only register! Oh man, I'm such a dummy! Urgh! My clumsiness...!" Danny exaggerated dramatically, then leaned onto the counter with one elbow. The other hand on his hip, "forget it, the register's closed, we don't take payment anymore." That smug little bastard then had the audacity to start grinning and daringly lift an eyebrow. ...and honestly, the vigilanty couldn't help but smile at this. Danny can be a little shit, apparently, just as he himself which by all means is entertaining. Hell, even the pits began flairing up in an unusually positive way, almost like a low but friendly rumble in his rest.

"Okay, fine... But I can't let this stand unattended." Danny, yet again, waved him off. But there, just for a brief moment, the way his eyes sparked like an idea, he rushed to scribble something out. Then Danny came over.

"Alright... when you're done with your mission, shoot me a message. There's something I'd actually like to talk about..." The mechanic said, shifting a little nervously, but never loosing the hint of a smile on his lips. The pits gurgle a little shrill, almost like dieing chirping... Oh!- uninted, but good one, heh. But now Hood was definitely intrigued, for the lack of better words.

"...Sure." He agreed, with that he swung himself onto his sweet baby and nodded the other bey, who mirrored the action as response and took a few steps back, to give Hood enough space to start up. As he did right in that moment, then he was gone again, into the night.

Even the pits have massively quieted down again, after deeming the young mechanic non-threatening. Yeah, he still needs to figure out, what that guy has to do with the lazarus pits, but right now he's got one real big fish to catch, fillet and fry for what he did and did to his machine.

@georgiefreddie0829 @shirasorin

[sillygoose067]

Crash Landing Into You

Joaquin Torres x female reader

Joaquin wasn’t exactly Avengers-famous. Not in the “signs autographs” or “front of the mission briefing” kind of way. He was the support guy. The gear-up-and-back-up guy. But when Sam had tossed him an invite to a low-key rooftop party—“Not a gala, just a hangout. Some shield folks, some old Avengers. Come chill”—he didn’t hesitate.

He needed a break. A night without a harness digging into his shoulder blades. Somewhere he could eat something not freeze-dried and actually talk to people without background gunfire.

And anyway, Sam said there might be cake.

So here he was, solo in a sea of mostly-familiar faces, warm light strung overhead, a breeze skimming through the city like it was taking a victory lap of its own.

He made his rounds early. Said hey to Torres from Intel—no relation, but they always fist-bumped. Talked up a couple of tech specialists from the DOD about neural interface updates. There was a guy from the Air Force talking propulsion systems, and that sparked a half-hour tangent where Joaquin completely forgot to blink.

“Wait, you actually linked a HUD visual to sub-vocal muscle twitch?” he asked, eyebrows climbing. “Man, that’s insane. You got numbers on latency?”

He was glowing—body buzzing in that familiar rush of overlapping tech-talk, theory, mechanics, potential. He loved it. It felt like flight even when he was on solid ground.

But even golden retrievers need water breaks.

He slipped away when someone mentioned deep-space communications (not his thing), grabbed a drink, and headed to the edge of the rooftop to catch his breath. From up here, the city hummed like a living organism—windows glittering, headlights threading down avenues.

And for once, he felt still.

Then, without meaning to, his eyes scanned the party again.

He wasn’t looking for anyone. But some instinct pulled his gaze toward the far corner of the patio, just beyond the heaters and tables—where a few kids were parked with juice boxes and crayons. He might’ve looked away immediately… except someone else was with them.

You were seated on a bench, cross-legged, shoulders loose, completely unbothered by the party around you. You were wearing a navy wrap dress, simple and modest, the kind of thing someone wore when they didn’t know if it would be weird to dress up or down.

…And entertaining three kids who were talking a mile a minute. You were listening— nodding along, asking questions, smiling like this whole event had been thrown just for them.

Something about it made Joaquin’s heart stumble.

He hadn’t seen you around HQ or during missions. Which meant…you probably weren’t SHIELD or military. And judging by the way you looked at those kids, the easy warmth behind your laugh…

“You’ve been staring,” said a voice to his right.

Joaquin jumped. Sam Wilson was holding a glass of lemonade and smirking.

“No, I haven’t,” Joaquin lied immediately.

“You definitely have,” Sam replied. “What, she got a laser on her forehead or something?”

Joaquin cleared his throat. “I just—I was wondering who she’s with. She doesn’t look like she’s part of the team.”

“Yeah…,” Sam said simply. “Normal. That’s not a bad thing.” He nudged Joaquin lightly. “Besides, I saw your face, Torres. You looked like someone just handed you a puppy.”

Joaquin let out a short laugh, shook his head. “I dunno, man. She’s probably someone’s cousin. I’d rather not interrupt the coloring summit going on over there.”

Sam grinned. “Sounds like an excuse.”

Joaquin didn’t answer. But he kept sipping his drink a little slower, glancing over again.

He lingered by the drink table a few minutes longer, trying to be casual about it. But his eyes kept drifting—back to you, still surrounded by those kids, still lit up in a way that had nothing to do with the party lights.

He didn’t overthink it this time.

Crossed the patio and told himself it wasn’t a big deal.

You were mid-discussion with a wide-eyed little girl about whether or not Thor had ever been to space on a goat. (“Definitely yes,” you were saying, “but I think the goats get travel sick.”)

Joaquin crouched beside your bench, resting one arm across his knee, voice light and warm.

“Excuse me, sorry—I think I’m interrupting an intergalactic livestock debate?”

You blinked, surprised, turning to look at him.

The little boy next to you gasped. “It’s the new Falcon!”

Joaquin gave a humble shrug.

The kids immediately launched into questions—what it was like flying, had he ever raced Sam, did his suit come in red—and he answered every one like it was the most important mission briefing of his life. But every so often, he’d glance at you again. Noticing how you stayed quiet, just smiling, not trying to insert yourself or redirect.

Finally, when a parent called the kids over for cake, Joaquin was left standing in front of you. You straightened slightly, brushing your skirt smooth as you rose.

“They love you,” you said softly. “You made their whole night.”

He shrugged, a bit sheepish. “They started it. I just followed their lead.”

There was a beat of silence. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.

“You, uh…you work with kids?”

You nodded. “Pediatric surgeon. Emergency and trauma.”

His eyebrows lifted, impressed. “That’s intense.”

You gave a small smile. “It has its moments. But the kids make it worth it.”

There it was again—that same glow he’d noticed earlier. Not just kindness, but a whole-hearted presence.

“And you?” you asked, meeting his gaze for the first real time.

He hesitated—not because he didn’t know, but because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like listing off flight metrics or suit specs.

“I guess…I’m still figuring it out,” he said. “I help out where I can. Mostly flight support, recon. Backup wingman.”

You tilted your head. “That sounds important.”

He smiled at that.

After a pause, he leaned in a little, dropping his voice.

“So. Be honest. Did you come here willingly, or did someone bribe you with cupcakes?”

You laughed. “Roommate dragged me. Said it’d be low-key.”

“And how’s that working out?”

You looked around—lights, buzz, clink of glasses—then back to him. “Pretty sure she and I have different definitions of low-key.”

That made his heart skip, just slightly.

He let the moment hang for a beat, then nodded toward the rooftop stairs.

“Wanna sneak out? Grab some real food? I know a diner a few blocks from here. No one will ask you to explain a single acronym.”

You hesitated—surprised, maybe, or just caught off-guard by how fast this all felt.

But something in his eyes made it feel safe.

You smiled. “Sure. Just let me grab my bag.”

———-

The neon hum of the sign outside buzzed faintly through the window. You were halfway through a milkshake, and Joaquin was telling a story about the time he accidentally activated his wings in a hardware store.

“And I swear, this poor old guy thought I was a drone attack. Dropped his wrench and bolted.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “How are you not a walking headline?”

“I am, I just keep getting pushed below the fold,” he joked, nudging his fries toward you.

The conversation moved easily—his time in the military, your worst overnight shifts, both of you tossing stories back and forth like a tennis match you didn’t want to end.

Somewhere between your third refill and your fry count getting dangerously low, the table fell quiet.

He was watching you. In a way that made your skin feel warm under the fluorescent lights.

And then—

“Can I ask you something?”

You looked up, surprised. “Yeah?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I take you out sometime? Like…a real date.”

You blinked, stunned by the sincerity.

Then your lips curved. “This one wasn’t?”

He grinned, cheeks pink now. “So that’s a yes?”

You nodded. “That’s a yes.”

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 7

Source for pic

Imperfect 7

Word Count: 5782

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: This chapter is a bit silly, but definitely a lot of fun. Let's strengthen these relationships before it all falls apart! I hope you enjoy it!

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

You know Shanks saw you arrive yesterday with Kid. He probably even witnessed that meaningful moment next to Kid’s bike. But he doesn’t mention it over breakfast, even though he eyes you with a worried gaze, and you’re thankful he doesn’t.

Though you don’t think anything can ruin your mood, not even your father’s overprotectiveness. You’re walking on cloud nine. Last night’s plan was successful, Kid opened up, let you in, even if it was just for sharing fun and silly moments. He didn’t push you away or withdraw from you. 

One step at a time. 

You can’t lie, going back to the garage the day after felt like walking in with your heart in your hands. Half-expecting him to be in another foul mood, ready to push you away and deny any connection, while another hopeful half of you expected him to still be in a good mood. 

He didn’t push you away.

Instead, he put you to work. He was sanding Victoria again, prepping her for the final paint job, and you were to help. He taught you how to mask the windows so no paint would accidentally get there, and you did a decent job - his words. 

While he sprayed the primer paint on the car’s body, and after you admonished him to wear a mask and gloves because of the fumes, you went out to buy coffee and donuts. When you arrived, about an hour and a half later, because you bumped into Robin and Nami at Sanji’s café, Kid was spraying bare-handed, using a bandana as a mask.

You sighed. It was good enough. 

The next days were a blur of more sanding, more spray painting, and endless hours of literally watching paint dry. All of it was interspersed with curses and grumbles from the red-headed mechanic because the hue of the red paint wasn’t doing his baby justice, leading to hours of adjusting it or adding another coat. 

You mostly offered moral support and coffee runs while continuously taunting Kid with the help of Killer, riling him up so hard that it was rare for a day to pass without him telling you both to fuck off. 

You were having a lot of fun. 

Romantically speaking, you both were taking the unspoken rule of ‘one step at a time’ to a tee, because other than heated looks, flirty banter, and the flurry of winged bugs inside your stomach, nothing else had happened. 

Which also meant he hadn’t pushed you away. You saw that as a win. 

Supposedly, and this has been announced a few times already, today is the day Kid finishes the last coat of paint, and a sense of accomplishment keeps spreading a sly grin over your lips, even though you don’t mean it to. 

The heat wave has finally relented, and there’s a soft breeze blowing through the trees, the weather actually resembling springtime for once. Once you enter the garage - noticing that both the door and the gate are wide open - you’re hit with a waft of spray fumes and chemicals that make you wrinkle your nose, despite being used to it already. 

Kid is already elbow-deep in finishing the last coat, and you don’t even bother announcing yourself over the whirring of the air compressor as he uses the spray gun. You just hop on top of the workbench and watch him in his element. 

He’s, thankfully, wearing the bandana around his mouth, and he has some gold-rimmed, square-shaped goggles over his eyes to protect them from the splatters. The gloves are nowhere in sight, and therefore, his bare hands and forearms are dotted in red paint. Next to you on the workbench are open cans of automobile paint and turpentine, augmenting the strong odour of chemicals and making your head feel slightly lighter. 

After a while, Kid finishes. He sets down the spray, backs up a few steps, and pushes the goggles up to his forehead, examining his work from afar while he tilts his head left and right. You jump from your perch to join him, and he acts like he knew you were there all along. 

Maybe he did. 

“Is she done?” you ask in a small voice, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. 

“Aye.” Kid’s throat works through some emotion he can’t place into words before he smirks softly. “Still needs to be waxed, after she dries. Then I need to set up the tires, get her road-ready, fix small issues, but aye… she’s mostly done.”

It’s a huge moment for Kid. You can feel it in the way he can’t stop staring at Victoria, in the way his paint-dipped fingers twitch against his jeans, and in the lump he keeps swallowing in his throat. 

“That’s it?” you turn to him, and his fiery gaze lands on you, eyebrows twitching in confusion. 

“What’s it?”

“That’s all you’ve got to say? She’s done?”

“I just told ye! She still needs some work, but aye, she’s done.” Kid grits his teeth and raises his shoulders, not quite getting your point. 

“You’re not being enthusiastic enough,” you state.

“Beg yer fuckin’ pardon?”

“You need to shout or something! Jump, flail your arms, I don’t know… be more dramatic!”

Kid stares at you like you’ve grown horns. “Dramatic? Drama is for theatre geeks and soccer moms, Sparkles.”

“Oh! Excuse me! High and mighty manly man!” Kid grumbles something at you, but you’re already turning back to the workbench you were sitting on, grabbing one of the open red paint cans and a brush. “You’ve been working on Victoria for years. You gave her your blood, sweat, and tears. You scavenged and bartered for parts so she could be perfect.”

You approach him, and he’s still eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. 

“You deserve to be proud of what you’ve achieved. You need to express it.” Stopping near him, you raise the paint-covered brush and draw a streak across his muscled forearm. “Shout, Kid. Tell the world how proud you are of what you’ve accomplished.”

Kid stares at his arm, growls, and then stares back at you. “What the hell? I ain’t gonna shout. I’m proud, but I ain’t gonna yell about it.”

You make a small heart, this time right on the vein that’s throbbing on his neck. “Do it, Kid.”

“Oi! Sparkles,” he lunges for the paint, but you dodge him and run around him. “Better stop that!”

You raise the brush again, still evading Kid’s lunges. “Do it, Kid, or I swear to God I will draw a dick on your forehead.”

“Ye wouldn’t fuckin’ dare!”

“Try me!”

“For fuck’s sake, fine!” Kid lets out a low growl. “I finished it! Victoria’s done! I’m fuckin’ proud!” He elevates his voice, but you still splash him with paint. “Oi! Brat! SHE’S FINISHED! I’M THE BEST FUCKIN’ MECHANIC IN THE CITY.”

He finally shouts, and you let out a bubbly laugh. “Yes! Fuck yes, you are! In the world!” You jump, and the paint sloshes inside the tiny can you’re holding, spilling some on the floor. You stare down, and in that small moment of distraction, Kid dips his fingers in the paint and drags them across your cheek, making you squeal in surprise and delight. 

“Aye, Sparkles, I am!” He’s standing close to you, eyes glinting with satisfaction and mischief, and you can’t even fight the warmth that’s spreading in your chest. 

“Where are you taking her on her maiden ride?” You barely take notice of the step you take just to be closer to him. 

His hand raises again, and you think he’s about to war-paint your face some more. Instead, he tips your chin so he can stare right into your eyes. “Anywhere ye wanna go.”

Emotion swells inside your chest as you try to fight a happy grin. It feels like both of you have made progress in the last few weeks, from the explosive, fiery attraction to a small, slow-burning flame. 

One step at a time suddenly feels like it’s not enough. 

Perhaps sensing the tension, Kid grins and yells again, “I’M THE BEST MECHANIC IN THE FUCKIN’ WORLD!” 

“What did I miss?” Killer’s voice reaches you from the entrance of the garage. You run to him, brush already aimed, and he has zero time to react before you dot his arm with red paint.

“We’re celebrating!”

“Victoria’s done,” Kid proudly adds.

Killer is still staring at his arm, and at Kid’s and your paint marks. So you take advantage of his confusion to add another streak of paint to his other arm. “Oi! The hell?”

Your giggles turn high-pitched when Kid wraps his arms around yours, immobilizing you. “She’s bein’ a brat,” he grunts near your ear, and you squirm in his arms, trying - in vain - to free yourself. “I say we give her a taste of her own medicine.”

Killer is already reaching for the paint can before you even start begging for mercy. It falls on deaf ears, and the paint can gets turned upside down over your head. The shrill shriek you meant to unleash gets stuck in your throat because if you open your mouth at this moment, you’ll be eating paint.

You still make a meek, muffled protest, showing exactly how pissed off you are. None of them care one bit as Kid’s laugh echoes around the garage. He finally releases you, just to laugh some more as you scoop the paint coating your eyes, leaving drips, smudges, and smears all over the floor of the garage. 

“Seriously?” you ask in disbelief.

“Come on, City Girl, you deserved that!” Killer’s shoulders shake, even though his laughter is mostly silent. 

“I’m covered in paint, you morons!” 

Kid guffaws at that. “Serves ye right. Kill, how does takeout and beer sound as a celebration?”

“I’m still covered in paint…” What sounds good isn’t food, but maybe a shower or a quick trip to a car wash…

“Sounds like heaven. I’m gonna grab the food, you chill the beer.”

“Hey! Hello!” Waving your arms in the air, you splash some more paint everywhere, and that gets them sniggering again. 

“Aye, aye, calm yer tits, Sparkles. There’s a bathroom right there with a shower. Yer welcome to it.”

On second thought, food and beer do sound great.

-*-

You take a quick shower in Kid’s garage bathroom and get most of the paint out of your hair and body. Some of the paint managed to drip into your lady bits, and scrubbing that off is a bit uncomfortable. As wondrous as it seems to have a handy-dandy shower right next to the garage, where one usually gets dirty and greasy, this handy-dandy shower doesn’t have a drip of hot water.  

However, you feel cleaner than you were before, even though your clothes have definitely seen better days. Kid handed you a clean towel and some of his clothes - a faded Iron Maiden tee-shirt and some oversized shorts - before you hopped into the shower, and you try to ignore the fluttering sensation that overwhelms your stomach and lower abdomen when you step out of the bathroom and he eats you up with his fiery gaze. 

Slowly eats you up. 

His throat works somewhat, but he gets back to the task of stocking the freezer with plenty of beer while Killer suddenly grabs his phone, pretending it’s ringing, and answers a ‘call’ saying that the takeout is ready for pickup. He promptly grabs the keys to the shop’s truck and makes a beeline for the door.

“Don’t forget, folks, doors have locks! ‘K?” Killer ignores your empty stares as he sniggers and closes the door behind him. 

Kid continues to stock the fridge as you shove the towel’s end as far as it can go inside your ear. “Jesus Christ, I swear I have paint embedded in my brain!”

Kid chortles and closes the fridge. “Ye got paint all over my garage, sweetheart. Yer ear never had a chance.”

You know he calls you sweetheart more in a teasing way than an endearing way, but damn it if the godforsaken word doesn’t get your heart thumping like a wild beast.

“I stand my ground, mister. And I still think you deserved to have a dick drawn in your forehead.” Discarding the towel, you grab a rag and some paint remover, then kneel on the floor to try and clean the worst of the damage.

Kid begins by telling you that you don’t have to do that, but soon enough, he’s joining you on the floor.

There’s no denying it. There’s still plenty of heat where both of you are concerned. And the fact that Kid can’t seem to take his eyes off you wearing his clothes isn’t necessarily helping with this whole ‘one step at a time’ bit. 

Would it be so terrible if you jumped him and kissed the bejesus out of him?

Yes.

He might just push you away again, and you’re not quite sure if you could bear that while being as vulnerable with your emotions as you are right now. What you see in his eyes is proof enough that he’s battling the same restraint you are. So, if he’s strong enough to withstand primal urges and keep things civilized, damn it, so are you. 

-*-

“Are you ever gonna show us your face?” you ask Killer with a giggle, cheeks burning red from the alcohol, tongue looser than a worn-out screw.

Kid laughs and takes another sip from his beer, his composure still standing impeccably. Either you’re a lightweight, or these two can handle liquor like pros. “Speak for yerself, Sparkles. I’ve seen plenty of that ugly mug.”

You jerk with the shock of this revelation, and the motion sets the room spinning around. Kid has to grip the scruff of your shirt to keep you from falling off the couch, where you are precariously perched. 

“Betrayal!” you point at Killer, and he shrugs. “Just a peek?” you bat your eyelashes this time, but Kill just shakes his head.

“Maybe someday, City Girl.”

“Aw, come on! It would cheer me up immensely!” You say the word with slurred confidence, and you nail the pronunciation with a cocky grin. 

“I don’t think you need cheering up.” Killer takes a sip from his beer by placing it under his bandana.

“‘K! I can work with that. What I heard was: if you ever need cheering up, I’ll show you my face!” With a triumphant laugh, you nudge Kid right on the ribs, and he groans because drunk you has no depth or strength perception. “Hear that, Kid? You’re my witness!”

“Aye, aye.”

“I ain’t agreeing to that,” Killer deadpans.

“Just say ye agree, dumbass, or she’ll never shut up about it.”

“Kid’s right, though,” you add, and Killer sighs.

“Sure, then.”

Soon enough, the world is spinning faster, and your friends are nothing but a blur of colours and distant sounds. You seem to hear Kid and Killer discuss sleeping arrangements, and Killer ends up stating he’d rather walk home than unwittingly interrupt something he doesn’t mean to. 

It’s also decided that they’re both too tipsy to drive you home, and you’re definitely too wasted to do it yourself, so you’ll be sleeping in Kid’s bed while he sleeps on the couch. Apparently, Kid’s house is on the floor over the garage. 

Huh.

Killer says his goodbyes, and you hear him lock the door from the outside. Kid hits light switches everywhere, leaving only one on the stairs at the back of the garage, and then he makes his way to you.

Somehow, you’ve managed to curl up against the arm of the couch, legs pressed against your chest as you try to make yourself small. 

“What’s happenin’?” Kid asks, bemused.

“You turned off all the lights, Kid! That’s when the bogeyman comes out to play!” Your words come out muffled against your legs, but you can still hear Kid’s snicker. 

“The only bogeyman here is me, sweetheart. C’mon, let’s get ya to bed.” Kid grabs your hand and pulls, but you barely budge.

“Bed?” Raising your head from your arms cocoon, you smile sultrily at Kid, bogeyman all but forgotten. 

“Aye, ye need sleep,” he chuckles. 

A mischievous glint makes your eyes sparkle as you place your knees on the couch and raise your arms over your head. “Pick me up, I can’t walk all by myself.”

“Is that right, couch princess?” Kid seems amused, but you only nod at him. 

“You can’t expect me to climb all those steps!” you state dramatically and exaggerate the sentence by placing an arm over your eyes in a fainting motion. 

“Drama queen,” Kid mumbles between his teeth, but still picks you up, princess style. You can’t stop giggling and squirming in his arms, and he isn’t exactly hiding his grin either. 

“You’re so strong, Kid. I bet you could manhandle me into any position.” Kid stumbles on the last step and almost causes both of you to fall before he manages to steady himself.

“The fuck, Sparkles?” His tone is amused, and maybe a little bit aroused. 

“I mean any position.” You raise your eyebrows suggestively three times, and Kid shakes his head, his grin widening. 

“Like ye could handle that. One good poundin’, and ye’d be ruined.”

Fuck, that sounds hot.

“It sure does, Sparkles.”

SHIT! Did I say that out loud?

“Ye did. And that too.”

“Anyway!” You clear your throat, “I doubt that very much! I’d be asking for round two even before you had a chance to compose yourself.”

Kid’s grin widens further as he balances you in one arm so he can open the door that leads inside his house. His face is suddenly way closer, and his breath smells like alcohol and endless possibilities. 

“Yer all talk, City Girl. Besides, yer drunk off yer ass.” Kid walks you both through the threshold and closes the door behind him, settling you down on the floor, but not letting go of you yet. 

“Well, this ass is ready for demolition.” You wink and smack your butt while looking him dead in the eyes. 

Somewhere in the haze of alcohol that’s hindering your brain, you remember some resolution about taking it slow or one step at a time. But it all just seems so far, far away. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” His eyes glint mischievously as he maneuvers you both towards what you assume is his bedroom. God, you hope it’s his bedroom. “If ye were sober right now, ye’d eat each and every one of those words. I’d make sure of that.”

Kid sits you on his bed and removes your boots, tucking you inside the covers and winking at you. 

“If I were sober?”

“Sure.” You’re pretty sure he’s saying that just to indulge you, though. 

“Okay. Fair. We shall discuss this again tomorrow, good sir!” With a salute, you snuggle into the sheets and sigh contentedly. 

“Aye, like yer gonna remember any of this.” Kid turns, then freezes on the spot when you shriek.

“OH MY GOD! You’re right. I’m not going to remember. Hang on!” Picking up your phone, which Kid had just placed on the nightstand, you type something fast and then look at him with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever shown him. 

“What did ye–” You don’t even let him finish. You push the phone against his face, hitting his nose in the process, and earning yourself a grunt and a curse word before he grips your wrist and pushes your arm back so he can read what you wrote.

“MEMO,” Kid starts, “Get ass demolished by Kid.” Kid deadpans and stares at you. You’re pretty sure he wants to laugh his ass off, since his jaw is twitching, but he’s holding it in decently. “Seriously?”

“I can’t forget this vital piece of information, Kid. I’m one hundred percent sure you’re the guy I should turn to so my ass gets demolished properly.” Jaw twitching again, hands clenching, he’s almost laughing. 

“Yer a menace.”

“I am, big guy.” You wink at him. “And you just got yourself plans for tomorrow, clear your schedule.” 

At this, he can’t hold off anymore and finally lets out another one of those unburdened laughs, turning your legs to jelly and your heart into a stuttering mess. 

“Sure. But for now, be sure to text yer dad sayin’ ye ain’t gonna go home tonight, so he ain’t worryin’ his ass off.”

“Oh, shit!” You open the texts. “Thanks, Kid, I really should do that.” You start typing, and then the little drunk devil on your shoulder turns you naughty again. “Dad,” you recite, “I’m staying at Kid’s. He’s gonna fold me up like a pretzel, make me come at least two times, and then manhandle me into a good position to get my ass demolished. It’s consensual, and we’ll be sure to use protection. Love you! Aaaaand… send!”

Kid is livid. His mouth hangs slightly open as he stares at you with wide-open eyes. You’re pretty sure part of him knows you’re messing with him, but you’re also sure there’s an infinitesimal part of him that’s doubting the situation. 

“Ye… ye didn’t… right?” 

“Sure did! Dad won’t mind!” You wave a hand in the air. “You’re chums, aren’t you?”

“Sparkles…” He doesn’t look afraid, but he looks like a man who’s not very happy to have to deal with an angry dad. Especially when said dad is Shanks. 

“See for yourself.” Once again, you shove the phone into his nose, but this time, he’s faster with his actions, and he doesn’t even grunt at the contact. The text reads: ‘Sleeping at a friend’s house tonight. I’m fine, see you tomorrow. <3’

Kid visibly relaxes as you let out a mirthful guffaw. “You’re so easy to rile up, Kid!”

“Ah, ye fukin’ menace.” Kid presses his hand to your forehead and pushes you down, tucking the covers again. “Sleep!” 

“Wait!”

With a sigh and a groan, Kid stares at you, arms crossed, waiting for more shenanigans. He doesn’t even move when you throw the shorts he lent you at his face. They slide unamusedly to the floor and Kid’s expression is one of exasperation. 

“Here, it’s way too hot to wear those anyway.” You sigh and snuggle, turning on your stomach and burying your face in his pillow. With a few silly giggles, you thrash around until you settle and close your eyes. “Fucking room can’t stop spinning. But Kid, hey Kid?”

“What?” He sounds much more bemused than annoyed. 

“This bed smells like you.”

You don’t open your eyes to see his reaction, but you don’t miss the soft, exasperated chuckle he exhales.

“Aye, go to sleep, lightweight.” You hear his boots shuffle on the floor, ready to leave the room.

“Wait, wait! Kid?”

He pauses, the door creaking slightly.

“You’d demolish it pretty good, wouldn’t you?” You open just one eye, a naughty smirk upturning your lip, and this time his chuckle rings low and inviting. 

“Sweetheart,” Kid’s voice thickens, and the fluttering in your chest is only drowned out by the drowsiness in your head. “Ye wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a damn week.”

-*-

You feel the sun on your face, burning and bright, forcing you into an untimely wake-up call. “Five more minutes…” you groan and bury your face beneath the covers. Your head feels like someone’s been tap-dancing inside your skull all night, and your throat is drier than desert sand. 

Hangover is a bitch.

Your next inhale smells homely - a mix of gasoline, grease and something metallic - and you can’t help a small smile curling your lips. Kid. 

With a Herculean effort, you roll the covers off yourself and blink slowly, adjusting to the daylight. Beside you, on the nightstand, is a full glass of water and a couple of aspirin. Your heart swells at his thoughtfulness, and you can’t help but feel a little bit special. You bet that Kid doesn’t show this side of himself to just anybody. 

After downing the pills and draining the glass, you make your way to the bathroom and stare at the mirror. The reflection doesn’t do you any favours, and you curse as you try to tame your bed hair after thoroughly washing your face. You’re already considering chewing on a bit of toothpaste just to get the awful aftertaste of alcohol and regrets from your mouth when you notice it, a spare toothbrush.

Your heart does another weird flip, and you will it to stop being stupid with gritted teeth and a clenched fist. Falling for Eustass Kid is the worst decision in a long line of bad decisions. 

But you always had a penchant for making horrible choices, anyway. Exhibit number one: Vinsmoke Ichiji… 

Besides, you might already be in too deep to back out now…

You brush your teeth and then walk slowly towards the kitchen, the coffee scent acting like a siren call to your senses. Vaguely, you remember telling Kid some inappropriate things, but you’re not quite sure what words were exchanged, and he must’ve already forgotten them anyway. 

You find him in the kitchen of his apartment, a small space open to the living room with a breakfast counter separating the spaces. Kid’s hovering over the stove, scraping burnt eggs from the bottom of a pan with a scowl and a litany of curse words in lieu of a morning prayer.

Shirtless. Again.

And wearing sweatpants instead of his usual jeans.

Gotta bless the almighty gods for this perfect morning view. 

“Hey,” you mutter. Once Kid’s fiery gaze settles on you and lingers on your exposed legs, your brain slowly clicks one missing piece into place.

Click. 

You threw him the shorts he lent you.

Huh.

“Hi,” he answers. Aren’t you both so eloquent this morning? “Hungry?”

Your stomach coils at the mention of food, and you shake your head with a grimace. “No. But I’d do unspeakable things for coffee, if you have any.”

Kid gives up trying to salvage the eggs and throws the pan, along with the burnt food, into the sink. “That I can do. Grab the mugs from that cupboard, will ya?”

You nod, yawn, and go behind Kid, reaching the cupboard he mentioned. The mugs are crammed in the back, so you stretch to reach them, and the shirt you’re wearing rides up, showing more skin than you intended. 

Kid leans back, and you feel his eyes on you. It takes you longer than you want to admit to grab two mugs. Not because you’re having trouble reaching them, but because you are enjoying the attention. 

“Unspeakable things for coffee, ye said?” Oh… right. “Is that a promise as empty as the ones ye made yesterday?”

Click.

“I bet you could manhandle me into any position.”

Oh, shit.

You clear your throat, close the cupboard, and try to shake away the incriminating blush that’s surely coating your cheeks before setting the mugs next to Kid, who slowly fills them with coffee.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say with the most innocent intonation you can muster. 

“Ye don’t?” You vehemently shake your head, accepting the coffee mug without making eye contact. “Check yer phone, Sparkles.”

Click.

Memo: Get ass demolished by Kid.

Fuck!

You don’t want to check your phone in front of him, and you’re fairly certain your blush has reached crimson red at this point. Also, your ears might be fuming. 

“I left the phone in your bedroom,” you lie. 

“No problem,” Kid says with a mischievous smirk and a knowing glint in his eyes. Then he reaches for his phone and pulls up his schedule. “Ye said to keep my schedule clear, so I did. Just for ye, check it out.”

He shoves the phone into your face in a mimicry of your actions from the previous night, and you grumble as you take a step back to indulge him. 

11 AM: Manhandle Sparkles into ANY position I want 12:30 PM: Ass demolition duty 3 PM: Fold Sparkles like a pretzel 

There are so many things you want to address that you don’t even know where to start. First: this is the most embarrassing thing you might’ve gotten yourself into because of a drunken state; second, you’re pretty sure Kid’s messing with you, but you’re too afraid to ask; and third, will he relent all his teasing if you beg him to just forget all about it?

Instead of getting any of these pressing issues addressed, your foggy, useless brain betrays you. 

“Are you so cocksure that you think it’s going to take you two and a half hours to properly demolish my ass, or does your refractory period usually last this long?”

Kid’s grunt vibrates so low in his throat that you practically feel the sound waves rumble in your chest. He takes two steps forward and cages you, his hands braced against the counter beside your body. 

You inhale sharply and tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. 

“That was countin’ time for yer recovery, sweetheart, but if it’s back-to-back rounds ye want, I’m happy to oblige.” Kid leans in and you swallow a lump down, your skin tingling from his closeness, his body heat suffocating every sane thought, drowning you in anticipation and want. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

“That was drunken talk,” you whisper. Your breath hits Kid’s chest, and you don’t miss the way soft goosebumps appear on his skin. 

“But were ye lyin’?”

Kid’s flesh hand leaves the counter, and he presses it against your hip, making your breath hitch and your heart stutter. 

What does this mean? Is he ready to take this next step? Will he finally allow all the tension between you to explode, like it's been begging to for weeks? 

Or will he push you away again?

“I wasn’t lying…”

“Good. Because seein’ ye here, in my house, wakin’ up in my bed, wearin’ my clothes—” Kid’s hand grips tighter as he moves his body flush against yours, making you gasp. “—it almost feels like yer already mine.”

His fingers curl around the fabric of the shirt, pulling it up, and up, and up, until your thigh is exposed. Then he lowers his hand, digging his fingers into your flesh, eliciting the softest of sighs from your lips. 

There’s a fluttering in your chest, a wrong rhythm in your heart, a heaviness in your lower belly, and heat between your legs. 

It’s heaven and hell coalescing into a maddening limbo where uncertainty reigns. Will he follow through, or will you be pushed away once more? Should you really let yourself give in to this feeling - to him - and risk being hurt again?

“What if I already am?” you whisper the words, not wanting to linger on the feeling of regret that’s already constricting your chest. He’s gonna bolt. It was too much, too soon. You shouldn’t have said that. You shouldn’t.

Stupid, stupid, stu—

Kid’s prosthetic hand climbs up your spine, and he curls his metallic fingers around your nape, gripping your hair. “Do ye have any fuckin’ idea how badly I want to bend ya over this counter and fuck ye until ye forget everythin’ but my name?”

A shameless sound leaves your lips, and you don’t know if it’s a moan, a whimper, or a fucking prayer. There’s just a pulsating need in every beat of your throbbing pulse. 

“Please,” a breathless whisper is all you can manage when he’s so close and yet so far away. You’re not even sure if you’re begging for his touch or simply for him to stay. 

Kid makes a throaty sound, and his fingers grip you harder. He leans down, close enough that you can smell coffee on his breath, and then—

BRRRRZZ…BRRRRZZ…BRRRRZZ…

“For fuck’s sake!” Kid’s exasperation mirrors yours as he pulls away from you, leaving you cold, empty, and wanting. “Fuckin’ timin’, for cryin’ out loud. Callin’ at fuckin’ ass-o’-clock, motherfuckers— what?” Kid picks up the phone with a growl and adjusts himself in his pants.

You take deep breaths as you try to steady your shaking legs. Was he really going to follow through? Or did he have another sad-ass excuse waiting at the tip of his tongue?

“Aye, I’ll be there in twenty, hold yer horses.” Kid slams the phone down on the counter and breathes deeply, his back muscles coiled tight with tension. 

“What’s wrong?” You actually manage to find your voice, even if it sounds raspy and affected. When he turns to you, you avoid his gaze, fearful of what you might find there, and knowing for sure that regret is taking up the whole space. 

“Work. It’s Kill’s day off, and some motherfucker got himself stranded. Gonna need to tow the bastard to the garage.” 

Is it an excuse? Or were you just unlucky?

Anyway, you don’t intend to find out and be disappointed again, so you decide to spare yourself the process. “It’s okay, Kid. I need to get back to the farm anyway, to help Dad with the chores.” 

You don’t even give him time to answer. Instead, you move away from the counter and make to pass by him, find the shorts he lent you, and be on your way. Except you can’t make it past him. He snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you against his chest. You gasp, hands instinctively bracing against his pecs.

You still don’t dare to look him in the eyes. 

“Sparkles…” The cold metal of his prosthetic fingers pinches your chin as he tilts your face up, and when you finally meet his gaze, your earlier question is answered immediately. 

He wasn’t going to push you away this time. 

You’re positive. 

There’s no regret, no doubt, or second thoughts in his gaze. Only fire and lust. And maybe… something else you don’t dare to admit, something that might resemble care.

“Ye wanna drop by later?” He’s hesitant, you can tell. So you nod in reassurance, a small smile painting your lips, and he relaxes. A grin spreads on his lips, and his eyes narrow. “If we start around five o’clock, we’ll still have time to do all our scheduled activities… what d’ye say?”

Fuck yeah.

“Sounds perfect.”

For a moment, it looks like he’s about to kiss you, but then he pulls back, still smiling, still playful. It feels like he’s saving the kiss for when he has the time to continue what comes after it. 

And after you say your goodbyes and leave his house, all you can think about is how five o’clock can’t come fast enough.

Tags: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @dazzlingstarlight23 @bearg-bia @babyboofangirl @praline357 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @traffys-heart @cherileecore @violetmatcha @theloserqueen @mapachito @shamblespirate @ibuch7

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[minzart]

Beggars can't be choosers (3)

Ao3 - Prev - Next

Decepticons & Reader(GN), Rumble & Reader(GN), Frenzy & Reader(GN)

You find an "automatic" tank busted in the middle of the night, and as the good millitar Mechanic that you are, you fix it.

Or, the Decepticons don't have a trained doctor(yet), and you just volunteered as a substitute by their leaders' logic and standards

Next time you wake up, you are trembling and on a corner, hugging tightly your backpack and curious electronic voices chatting amongst each other very close to you

"Are they dead?"

"Do I look like a human doctor to you?"

"What if we pick it up?"

"Ohhh lets play toss the human, that would wake the-"

You wave your arm around, still sleepy and dying of hunger, but anything to keep you alive "no, no, let's not play toss the human. How about feed the human? That sounds nice to me..."

Stretching and hearing bones snapping you finally take a good look around. To your surprise, you are greeted with the tiniest Cybertronians you have seen thus far

"Frag, did you hear that?!" A black and red transformer screams and hides behind a lavender one, both still towering over you, but at least they just looked like abnormally tall for human height and not... building levels of tall

"Oh, so it is awake, morning sun shine" the purple mech waves at you, in his arms what looked like two pistons shine, one of them stuck out "I require your assistance"

"Hm..." You get up "alright just... give me a minute... sit around..." you look at the massive place, and points to were Thundercracker had last transfomed for his checkin yesterday "there, I'll go by just one second"

"Oh wow, you suck at this" the purple one says snickering at you

"Don't you guys need to eat to function? Energon, right?" You snap at him, picking the remains of your pack of proceced potatoes "well guess what? Humans do too, now sit down, be a good bot and wait"

When your slow brain finally registered, you had just snaped at two giant robots with deadly weapons. You almost broke your neck, looking directly at them waiting for a reaction. Surprisingly, both just sat there, looking at you and... wait for you to finish eating

You quickly and ankwardly do, and finally, go to meet them, you give a wave "well, hello... how... may I help you both"

The lavender one snaps first of whatever though he was having and points at his right arm, the one with a piston stuck out "it's stuck, fix it"

You hum, getting closer, the black one gets out of the way and sits the other side, visor never leaving you, now taking a better look, both bots looked practically identical, you wonder of they are twins... wich lead to you wondering how does reproduction work for Cybertronians, wich you promptly goes back to focus on your work, least you wonder too much

"Can you transform? I have better rattings in fixing problems on alt-modes"

"Ugh do I need to?" He grimaces " It feels unconfortable when transformed"

"Let me see what I can do for now then" you nod and start inspecting the arm and it's crevices "but be warned, until I have a proper Cybertronian anatomy book I won't be of much use to you if you can't change"

"Whatever..." the bot pouts and looks at the other

"They are nicer than Shockwave" you hear they whispering as you inspect the crevice between the pistons, and find the culprit of the bots' problem

"Shhhh, they haven't even done anything yet" you hear a slap, and your patient move

"Still, better free than trapped on the table"

"Bah stop being such a weenie... did Soundwave COMM yet?"

"Negative, your absense has not been noticed yet"

"Thank Primus for that"

"Whats your name?" You ask, breaking the conversation flow of the bots, wich makes your patient jump with enough force to help you take the small metal slit out, just as you hopped it would

The two look at you like they finaly noticed you, you continue to work, inspecting each cranny to have a good idea if there were any more stuck parts, besides dirt and dents you haven't found any again

"I'm Frenzy" the black and red one answers, wich prompted the lavender one to smack him on the helm

"Idiot! We are not even supposed to be here! Soundwave will kill us if he finds out!"

"And this is Rumble-"

The purple and lavender mech jumps his right hand up, piston sliding into place "why you-!"

"My arm!"

"Unstuck" you agree at the beaming mech "it was just a metal slit"

"And you just took it out so easily?! No cirurgy or anything?!"

You looked at them, then at the crevices of his pistons, and then at your hands "small... hands?"

"That's so cool!"

"You said something about Energon, right?" Frenzy beams at you "what do humans consume?"

"Oh..." You stare at the bot, stuned that they were actualy paying attention to what you said before "many things... but most need fire and water to actually be... comsumed properly by a human"

"Cool, cool, cool... where do you find that stuff? You guys have bars or something like that?"

"Yes... but" alright, weird alien race knows what a bar is... can they get drunk? "Comum consumable itens, food, we find more in markets, convenience stores, grocery stores, usually crawling with humans"

"You are not ditching me on dutty to go raid a market alone" Rumble grumbles

"I wasn't going!"

"Yes, you were!"

"..." You look at both bots arguing with each other, and try to think how to gently suggest that maybe you can tag along or if there's a way to talk with Megatron about-

"Pit-" Frenzy stops

"Oh hey, how convenient, we-" Frenzy slaps Rumbles helm while holding the side of his own head

"On it, boss!" As he releases his helm sides, he screams at Rumble "are you stupid?! He doesn't know we are here! Do you want to blow our cover?!"

"Bet you he does..."

"If he did he would have come and killed the human after yesterdays warning" you swing from a feet to the other anxiously to the side, hopping whoever they are talking about does not in fact know they are here then

"Anyways, human!" Rumble completely ignores Frenzy rambling "the big guy wants to see you!"

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

Megatrons' office was, like everything in this godforsaken base, big, enormous, towering over you and your two new companions, however the warlord made sure to greet you at the door and as Rumble and Frenzy demonstrate an absurd capability of jump height, he gently shows you his palm waiting for you to get in

You do, because who are you to say no to a giant mech, the Cybertronian tyrant carries you to his table, letting you out besides the twins as he takes his seat in front of you, your two companions snikers to each other when you stumbled out of the warlords hand

"It has come to my attention" Megatron speaks "that we may not be suitable to host a human"

No shit, you think, but holds your tongue, body rigid and ready for report as it was instigated in you by your superiors "hence after pondering, I came to the solution, you"

His red eyes lock with yours "are to have a trip to the nearest human store and grab whatever you may need for your survival, however, you are never to leave this facility without permission or company, am I clear?"

No, he isn't, because how the fuck is someone to accompany you if they are all big war vehicles, what are you even supposed to buy, how would you even get there and back in time, if you would call for help would anyone even belive you?

But that's not the right answer to him nor the answer that would probably keep you alive, so, as you have done all your life you hold still, and answers politely and professionally "yes, lord Megatron,may I know who would be acompaning me sir?"

"I voluntear!" Frenzy imediatly chirps up, earning a growl from Rumble

"I was going to say that!"

"You already go to missions on a monthly basis! Let me be the one to get out once in a while"

Megatron smiles, pleased with your answer and the cassettes eagerness "Frenzy has my permission"

"Yes!" "Nooo!"

"Thundercracker will be your ride, I have already informed him of this, Frenzy..."

The black mech perks up "Bring the human to the main hangar, you are to meet there"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good, dismissed-"

"A word, lord Megatron" you dare to speak, it was now or never, he looks annoyed at you, pleasantly momentary forgoten

"Speak briefly, I have duties to attend"

"There will be need of new parts for some concerts" you look him up and down, hoping he understands what you are referring to "spare parts, to better function that merely fixes can not in long term maintain good health to my patients"

"That's all?" You glup

"Yes sir"

"Dismissed, your concerns are noted" and with that, Frenzy picks you up and jumps out of the warlords table, you yelp in surprise

"You could have done that?!"

"Oh sush you liked being carried like a little mouseturn"

"What-" the black Cybertronian pulls you along and out of the office

"Come on I haven't seen the sun in cyclesss"

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

"How?!" You screech at the little black and red caccette in your hands "how the fuck can you get so fucking small?'"

"Neat right ehehe" you hear and feel the vibrations in your hands as Frenzy answers "now there won't be any problems on the way in or out"

"What the fuck" you inspect him from all sides

"Carefull human, I am very fragile"

"You could stomp me to death in your other form"

"Details"

"Is every... Minicon, right? Is every Minicon a little caccette then?" You ask, looking around yourself to see what you could use to carry the little guy in your hands

"Nah, just some after we bond with a certain tipe of transformer"

"What? You need a caccette player to become a caccette?"

"... yeah"

".... what the fuck" as you look around you finally notice the hagar, an open place, still in need of walls and doors, right by the missing wall was the blue mech, you wave at him "morning Thundercracker!"

"DON'T WAVE ME AROUND!" you imediatly stops and feel the little caccette in your hands grow in size, in a panic you toss him aside and in mid air Frenzy de-transforms and grows in size

He looks at you annoyed but is immediately distracted by your panicked expression, he snickers "serves you right"

"Evening" the blue flier answers, great, you overslept, amazing. Taking a closer look you see his optics are brighter than yesterday, his posture more alert, someone hadn't slept well the last time you had met then, good to see him better now, you smile "shall we?"

"Do you even know where we are going?" You ask

"To the nearest florest to a human city, from there it's on you, Frenzy is to call me once you are ready to come back" oh great, you would have to walk from miles

"Don't you guys have... like, a car transformer or something?"

"Flight is superior" Thundercracker immediately answers "and no, we do not, those are still in Cybertron"

"Got it... I can't hope to have my bike back can I?" You mumble

"You know how to tame a bike?!" Frenzy looks at you

"Inanimated object" you correct his assumption, at least what you think that he was referring to "I know how to drive a bike, not tame it"

"Oh yeah right" the caccette transforms again and you reflexively catch him "I'm ready! Lets go!"

You sigh amused, and put him in one of the bottle pokets of your backpack "can you see from there?"

"Yup!" You nod at his response

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

The flight went without major inssues, it was not the first time you had to momentarily be on a jet, you luckly didn't pass out, but you did scramble out the second you could and puked in the nearest corner of the forest you found

Thundercracker found the act curious while Frenzy was laughing at you from having a weak complex or whatever that means to him

The walk to a nearest market? Tiresome, miles and miles of only walking and talking with the transformed caccette, at least you learned so things, his job was the main guard of the fortress, while Rumble was more of a field agent once the constructions were finished

There were grounders, flyers, minicons, predacons, and many more subcategories for transformers, when asked about what made seekers diferent from flyers Frenzy didn't knew how to answer properly and only gave you a vague "they are faster" answer, you accepted it for now, you did have at least one seeker to talk to about this another time... hopefully

Once at your destination, you grabbed all junk food you could and many, many water bottles, and lady luck must have finally liked you to let a small portable manual stove on sale, money was not an inssue for you now, rent be damned, you are in half a custody of giant ass robots if you survived this you were already done for life

It was almost night when you finally decided to go back to the meeting point, arms sore from carring so much stuff, and Frenzy refused to transform and help out

"This would be faster if someone were to help me" You jab at the caccette, not stopping once, powering trough the steps

The caccette doesn't answer, and that makes you stop "Frenzy?"

The night breeze pass trough you, once again, in the middle of nowhere, but now not at all alone, your ears pick up the soft huming coming from the small bot, and you let a amused grin show, he has fallen asleep

You keep your pace, now quiet, admiring the tundra view, cars pass once in a while in the highway, lucky not one stops to help, you see a red truck approaching, massive in size, a beauty to behold even if it clearly had seen better days and in dire need of a paint job, you can't help but stare

As it comes, you make eye contact with someone inside, a young man, far younger than you, he notices and waves, you smile tiredly at him, and the truck passes

Alone again you... hear it coming back, oh fuck, you stop in your tracks and look at the parked red and blue truck, from the passage seat the boy opens his door "Want a ride?! It's pretty late for groceries!"

You hope Frenzy won't just pop out and kill this guy just because he talked to you "thank you, but there's no need!"

You lie, ignoring how you feel your legs tremble "my friend is just over there, and we just needed some gasoline to keep going! Thanks for the offer tho"

"Oh..." the brow haired boy looks embarrassed "I see... do you want help getting there anyways?"

"Nope! bye!" You quick your steps and runs away from the stranger, hoping to whoever was out there that he stops persisting

He did, and when you finally enter the meeting forest, Frenzy transforms, he look around worried, always checking back

"Something wrong?" You ask

"No! Not at all!" The caccette answers high pitched "where is Thundercracker when you need him anyways right?! Haha"

You hear in the distance a roar, coming ever closer and when stopping, oh... that's why he is called Thundercracker .Slowly, the seeker comes to the ground away from the night sky, he keeps quiet as his ladder descends

"Did something happen?" You ask Frenzy

"Kinda..." the black casserte answers, tension never leaving him as he continues to look around

You don't waste time to embark on your blue jet, as you do, you notice, he has burns around himself... something happened to the base

[slytherin-pen]

To Live

pairing: Azriel x Reader

word count: 2k

warnings: canon typical violence, reader is dead, mourning, slight suicidal ideation. poor Az i’m so sorry

a/n: i drank the angst juice today, my deepest apologies. this hurt to write tbh but there is a sweet ending i promise. written for day 1 of @sjmxreaderweek

Azriel moved through the days like a ghost. He ate mechanically when Cassian or Rhys placed food in front of him and stayed near like dutiful sentries. He spent most of his time flying, because if he sat still too long his mind barraged him with thoughts of you.

And at night he sat in the darkness of the town house parlor, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at the door like maybe, somehow, you would walk through it.

But you wouldn’t.

You were gone.

It had started as a simple stake out mission, get the information then get out. He had not been prepared for the unit of twenty Hybern soldiers. He had been distracted by the way your eyes sparkled in the sun. Even his shadows had missed them until it was too late.

You had both started fighting them off, dispatching the soldiers one by one. But all it took was one lucky strike and Azriel’s world had ended. One of the soldiers had thrown a poison tipped dagger straight at your heart. He hadn’t realized until it was too late. He was always too late. After he stabbed Truth Teller through the throat of the last soldier he turned around to find you collapsed on the ground, your blood seeping into the grass below.

He’d killed them all. Every last one. But it hadn’t mattered. He couldn’t save you. The poison had been lethal, and with its proximity to your heart and the blood loss, it killed you quickly.

He had shadow-walked you back to Velaris, screaming for Madja, but it had been futile. Your chest had stopped rising before Azriel even stepped foot into the town house. Your blood had soaked his hands, hot and sticky, your beautiful eyes staring blankly up at him.

You had been so warm. So alive. Like a sentient star that had shot into his life and lured him out of the depths of his shadows. And now without you, the darkness had found him again. Suffocated him. He used to be so comfortable in it, thrived in it and preferred it.

It didn’t feel the same anymore. You had given him a taste of the light, shining and vibrant, and he could not live without it.

A fire crackled low in the hearth. Azriel sat in the low-backed armchair across from it, his wings drooping behind him and shadows coiling loosely around him. They grieved too. He could feel it in the way they dragged across the ground at his feet, sluggish and mournful.

His hand hung over the arm of the chair, whiskey glass dangling loosely from his scarred fingers. He stared into the flames without seeing them.

She’s gone, the shadows whispered.

We failed her, they accused.

He didn’t argue. He had failed you. His mate. His soul.

Without you, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore. He had prided himself on being your mate. In his five hundred years he had been labeled as Shadowsinger, Spymaster, and the High Lord’s brother. But being your mate…that had been his favorite title.

The fire blurred. He tossed back the remaining whiskey in his glass and slowly rose from the chair, leaving the glass on the side table.

He stumbled through the hallway. Drowning himself in alcohol helped him sleep sometimes. Most nights Cass or Rhys stayed with him, ensuring he did not partake in any of his vices, but tonight his babysitters were busy with more important things.

If I don’t wake up, he thought numbly, it would be a blessing.

Sleep found him quickly, and for the first time in six months, he did not have a nightmare—he dreamed.

He stood in a meadow of wildflowers, the sun warm on his skin. A soft breeze tugged at his hair. He could hear a stream bubbling somewhere nearby, and birds singing lazily from the trees.

“Azriel.”

His heart stopped.

He turned.

And there you were.

You looked exactly the same—no, better.

Healthier, brighter. You wore a soft white dress that fluttered in the breeze, and your hair shined like it had been doused in starlight. Your skin glowed. Your eyes sparkled the same way they used to.

Azriel staggered back a step, the air stolen from his lungs.

He said your name, his voice nothing more than a breath.

You smiled. Mother, that smile. He thought he’d forgotten it—but here it was, more beautiful than any memory could capture.

You walked toward him, bare feet brushing over the grass.

Azriel couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He fell to his knees.

Tears blurred his vision. He pressed his hands over his face, chest heaving with a broken, shuddering sound.

A soft, warm hand cupped his jaw.

“Azriel,” you murmured. “Please look at me.”

He forced himself to. His eyes met yours, and the sight of you shattered something deep inside him.

“You’re dead,” he whispered.

You smiled sadly. “I know.”

His throat closed. “Then this isn’t real.”

“It’s real enough,” you said gently. “For now.”

Azriel closed his eyes, breathing hard.

Your fingers brushed his face, thumb sweeping away his tears, knuckles tracing the line of his cheekbone like you used to.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I should’ve protected you. I should’ve—”

“No,” you said firmly, pressing your forehead against his. “No, Azriel. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”

“But I couldn’t keep you safe. I failed you”

“You didn’t fail me.” Your voice shook, but you kept going. “You gave me more happiness than I ever dreamed I could have. You gave me a love that will be written in the stars one day. That’s what matters. That’s what I carry with me.”

He sobbed, silent and broken, as you kissed his forehead.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again. There was a weight in yours now. A sadness but also peace.

“I came to say goodbye properly,” you whispered.

Azriel’s heart shattered again, crumbling like sand through his fingers.

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” he whined. He didn’t care that he sounded like a boy again. A boy begging not to be taken away from his mother. The only difference now was that it was you, and you had been taken from him.

“I know.” You brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Neither do I. But you have to live, Azriel.”

He shook his head violently.

“You have to,” you insisted, voice trembling. “You have so much left to do. So much love left to give.”

He clutched your hands like he could keep you here by sheer will. “How can I live without you?”

“You don’t have to live without me. I’ll be with you. Always. Right here,” you whispered placing a hand on his heart.

The meadow blurred around him, the edges of the dream fraying.

“No,” he begged. “Please—stay—please—”

You smiled again, sad and beautiful and full of infinite love.

“I’m proud of you,” you said. “I always have been and always will be. You’re stronger than you know, my love. And you are never, ever alone.”

The dream rippled.

You leaned in and kissed him. Soft and sweet and full of every ounce of love you hadn’t gotten the chance to give him in your final moments.

And with a final brush of your fingers against his cheek—

You were gone.

Azriel gasped awake.

The room was dark. He still hurt. He hurt so badly he thought he might tear apart at the seams. But there was a strange lightness in his chest too, like a hand had cupped his heart, gentle and warm.

He pressed a hand to his chest.

A whisper of your voice lingered in his ears. You are never, ever alone.

Azriel rolled to face the ceiling, staring into the shadows above.

For the first time since losing you, he let himself cry. Not the slow, silent tears he occasionally couldn’t keep at bay. But a gut wrenching sob that shook his whole body and echoed off the walls.

He cried until the sun rose, spilling gold across the wood floors of his bedroom.

And when he finally got out of bed, moving stiffly and clumsily, he didn’t feel like a ghost anymore.

He felt like a male who had been loved deeply. Who had loved deeply in return.

And who had one last promise left to keep.

Live.

Azriel stepped into the light streaming through his windows.

He would never stop missing you. Never stop loving you. But he would carry you with him, always.

And he would live. For you.

The grave sat at the edge of a quiet hill outside Velaris, overlooking the sea.

Azriel had chosen it himself. A place where the cliffs kissed the sky, where the wind carried the scent of salt. You had loved it here. You had once told him it was your favorite spot, where the world felt wide and endless.

He visited often. Sometimes he spoke. Sometimes he just sat in silence and let the wind weave through his wings.

Today he brought flowers.

Not the heavy, perfumed kind from the city markets, but wildflowers. Bright and stubborn and vivid. The kind that grew even in the harshest of Illyrian winters where most vegetation withered.

He laid them gently at the base of your headstone.

It was simple. Just your name, etched in elegant, steady letters. No grand titles. No mention of tragedy.

Only one line beneath your name: Loved beyond measure.

Azriel crouched down, fingers brushing over the smooth stone. “Hi, love,” he said quietly.

The breeze tugged at his hair, playful.

He smiled a little, small and broken.

“I… I’m doing better,” he said, voice rough with the weight of truth. “I didn’t think I could be. After you… after that day. I didn’t want to be.”

He swallowed hard, tracing the curve of the letters.

“But you were right. You always were.”

A humorless huff of a laugh escaped him. “Of course you were.”

The waves crashed softly against the cliffs below.

Azriel sat down fully, wings draping onto the grass behind him, and stared out at the endless blue horizon.

“I’m trying,” he said after a long moment. “Trying to live. To be someone you’d be proud of.”

He plucked a stray blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers.

“Cassian’s being a pain in my ass as usual,” he said wryly. “Rhys met his mate. Feyre. You would love her. She has two sisters. One of them, Nesta, has been causing some trouble.”

He smiled to himself. “You would’ve loved her. She could really use a friend right now, and you share the same taste in books.”

The wind whistled like laughter.

Azriel’s throat closed. He stared at the sky until the tears stopped blurring his vision.

“I miss you,” he whispered. The words cracked open his chest, fresh and bleeding.

“I miss your voice. Your laugh. The way you would kick me in your sleep as you rolled around the bed. The way you would hum when you thought no one was listening. The way you always looked at me like I was… more than I am.”

He pressed a hand to the ground above your heart.

“I’m lost without you,” he said hoarsely. “But I’m still trying. For you.”

A moment passed. Two. Three.

The sun slipped lower, casting long golden rays across the sea. The world felt quiet, suspended.

Then a warmth, brushing over his skin.

Not the sun.

You.

Azriel closed his eyes.

He could almost feel you there, sitting beside him the way you used to, your hand slipping into his. Not speaking. Just being.

He didn’t fight it. Didn’t try to force it to be anything more. He just breathed. And for the first time in a long, long while—he felt you breathing with him.

He stayed until the stars pricked the purple sky. Then, he slowly rose to his feet. He pressed two fingers to his lips, then rested them against the top of your headstone.

“I love you,” he whispered.

The wind carried it away, across the cliffs and over the endless sea.

Azriel spread his wings.

And with a steady heartbeat, a deep breath, he launched into the sky.

Carrying you with him.

Always.

sorry for neglecting the taglist for awhile! comment if you’d like to be added 🤍

@tele86 @viktoriaashleyyx @pham-tastical

[theeartuaist]

The App (2)

Three weeks. Two burner phones. One frenzied apartment change. That was all it took for you to start believing you were free.

You’d torched every digital breadcrumb like a fugitive with blood on their hands. The old phone? In pieces. Your social media? Wiped clean, like a crime scene bleached of evidence. The new number came from a prepaid device you bought with cash at a rundown gas station two towns over—right next to a place that sold fireworks and pickled eggs. You told no one but your family where you’d gone, and even then, you didn’t tell them why.

The apartment was smaller than the last one. Claustrophobic, maybe, but it had good bones: thick walls, double deadbolts, and a front desk guy named Marcus who treated unknown visitors like they were walking lawsuits. Most nights, you even slept through without scanning the corners for shadows that moved too smoothly, too human, but not quite enough.

For a moment, a fleeting, fragile moment, you believed you'd done it. That you’d outrun Raye.

And then the books started arriving.

The first one came five days after you moved in. No envelope, no Amazon box. Just a dog-eared romance novel—The Billionaire’s Forbidden Love—resting right in front of your door like an orphaned pet. Shirtless dude on the cover, a woman swooning like her bones had gone soft. You laughed, briefly. Then you saw the neon-yellow highlighting, thick and uneven like it had been applied with too much pressure:

“You can run, my love, but you cannot escape destiny. What belongs to me will always find its way home.”

You didn’t laugh after that. You pitched it into the alley dumpster and double-locked the door. Then you added a chair under the knob, just like your dad taught you.

The next day, the second book showed up. But this time, it was inside. Sitting right on your pillow. The highlighted passage was even worse:

“He watched from afar, memorising every pattern, every habit. True love required study, devotion, and pursuit. She would understand, eventually, that his persistence was the purest expression of his feelings.”

You tore the place apart. Every lock, every latch, every inch of ductwork. The windows were sealed, the cameras at the front desk had nothing. No one but you had come in.

By the end of the week, you had seventeen books. Seventeen. Titles like – Surrendering to the Shadow King and The Possessive Duke’s Darling. And they kept appearing in places they had no business being. One in your refrigerator, its pages damp with condensation. One stuffed between your clean towels. One curled like a sleeping dog in your shower caddy.

Each with its own highlighted passage about destiny, ownership, and love sharpened into obsession.

You considered calling the police. Then you thought about what that call would sound like: Hello, officer? I’m being stalked by a man who may not be a man and who communicates exclusively via bodice-rippers. Yeah. That’d go over well.

Then came the knock.

You crept to the peephole, half-expecting a nightmare in a human suit. But it was Mrs. Abernathy, your octogenarian neighbor with a floral scarf and a fondness for raisin cookies.

“You have a package, dear,” she called sweetly. “Special delivery.”

You cracked the door just enough to peer out. “I didn’t order anything.”

Her eyes didn’t look quite right. Too glassy, like someone had forgotten to switch them on all the way. Her smile stretched a bit too wide, like someone had drawn it there with a knife.

“Oh, I know,” she said, waving a small wrapped parcel. “That lovely boy Raye asked me to bring it. He showed me pictures. Said you were engaged. Such a devoted young man!”

You slammed the door like it was a guillotine. Locked everything. Heart pounding hard enough to echo in your ribs.

Through the wood, her voice came again, but it had a different flavor now—tinny, mechanical, like it had been routed through a bad speaker. “He asked me to tell you he’s learned from his mistakes. Movies were poor research materials. He’s found much better guides now.”

You didn’t say a word. Eventually, her steps shuffled away.

You should’ve been gone by then. Should’ve run. But something—foolish hope, or maybe just fear—kept you rooted to that spot. That night, the package still showed up.

You found it on your kitchen counter. Inside was a leather-bound journal. Handmade. Not a book but a log. Each page was filled with razor-precise handwriting—cold, methodical, obsessive. A surveillance diary.

It catalogued your life: what time you left for work, what you ordered for lunch, who you spoke to, how long your showers lasted. Some entries even had photos. From behind bushes. Across the street. Through windows. They dated back months before you ever met him.

The final page was in red ink, as if written in something warmer than pen:

“I have identified the errors in my courtship approach. Fiction is an incomplete source for behavioural protocols. I have been observing actual human mating behaviours and have identified more successful strategies. Persistence is key.”

“I have instead been consulting superior information repositories that your species calls Reddit, 4chan, and various forums dedicated to "game." I have also analyzed 2,731 dating advice blogs and YouTube channels dedicated to human mating strategies.”

“The consensus is clear: females respond to what humans designate as "alpha" behaviour. One must "hold frame" and employ "negging" and "dread game." The courtship requires what your species terms 'pushing past last-minute resistance”. I will begin again tomorrow. You will find my improvements satisfactory.”

You didn’t read any further. You just grabbed your things, left the apartment, and checked into a hotel. Paid cash. Used a fake name. You didn’t care anymore. The world you thought you knew had slipped away, and now you were just running, your phone buried in the lining of your suitcase. At dawn, your eyes opened to a rose on the pillow beside you.

Your phone buzzed, though it was supposed to be off. You checked it. The app was back.

A single message blinked at you like an open eye:

Good morning. I have located your temporary nest. Your evasion techniques are impressive but unnecessary. I now understand that pursuit and resistance are part of the dance. This is biology. I will perform correctly this time. I am upgrading for you.

You didn’t even stop to brush your teeth. You didn’t bother packing. You didn’t bother trying to reason with yourself. You were out of there in a flash, running down the hotel hall, looking for the door, the exit, the chance to breathe without Raye’s presence closing in on you like a vice.

You burst into the morning air, breath clouding in the cold, and stumble into the parking lot. The first taxi you spotted felt like a lifeline, and you threw yourself into it without thinking twice.

The driver is an old man—silver hair combed neatly, liver spots on his hands, eyes soft and wet like a dog’s. He glanced at you in the rearview mirror and smiled, a slow,little smile.

“Where to, miss?” he asked, voice gravelly and warm, the kind of voice you think should come bedtime stories.

“Train station.” Your voice was high, tight. “Please hurry.”

The cab pulled out with a gentle lurch.

“Bad morning?”

You nodded, eyes glued to the window and pressed yourself against the door. You stared out the window, your heart was still punching your ribs. You thought if you stayed quiet, maybe you could disappear. Maybe he wouldn’t find you.

“Boyfriend trouble?” the old man asked, trying to make it sound harmless.

You swallowed. That word—boyfriend—curled in your throat like something rotten.

“Why do you care?” you asked, too sharp.

He didn’t respond.

The city blurred past—gray buildings, flickering signs, streets that all looked like they were exhaling their last breath. Then you realized something was off. A left turn when it should’ve been right. A street you didn’t recognize. You sat up, brows furrowed.

“Hey,” you said, leaning forward, “you’re going the wrong way.”

No response.

“Sir? Did you hear me?”

Still nothing. The cab made another turn. Left. Not toward the bus station. Not toward anything you recognised.

“Hey! Sir this isn't where the train station is,” you repeated, the chill of dread sliding under your skin like ice water. “You’re going the wrong way?”

The driver’s voice came again, but it had changed. Just slightly. Too measured. Too... calculated.

“Creating uncertainty increases emotional dependence,” he said.

You froze.

“What?”

“The literature states that unpredictable environments produce deeper attachments.”

You reached for the door handle.

Click.

Locked.

You yanked this time. Still locked - child locks. Of course.

Your stomach dropped like a stone into a bottomless lake. You turned back to the driver, heart hammering. “Let me out,” you said. “Now.”

“The manuals suggest limiting options increases compliance,” he says, smooth as ice, still not looking at you.

You pulled your phone from your pocket. No signal. Useless. pounded the window. “Let me the hell out!”

The taxi sped up, turning down a quieter road—broken sidewalks, chain-link fences, warehouses that haven’t been used in decades. The kind of place where bad things happen and no one finds out until it’s too late.

In desperation, I looked at the driver, ready to plead, threaten, whatever it took—and froze.

In the rearview mirror, where the old man's eyes should have been reflected, there was nothing. Just empty space.

As if sensing my realization, the driver's face rippled. Like wax left too close to a fire, the old man melted away. The silver hair receded, the wrinkles smoothed. And what’s left was him.

Raye.

His familiar, too-perfect face stared back at you from the mirror, his expression neutral, observant.

“Was the old man's disguise inadequate?” he asks, genuinely curious, like a scientist observing a mouse that bit back. “I modeled it after ‘trustworthy archetypes.’”

“Let me out,” you said, quieter now. Not because you’re calm, but because you were trying to be. “Now.”

“Your heart rate has increased,” he noted. “The forums suggest this indicates attraction, yet your verbal cues suggest aversion.”

His head tilted. That same goddamn tilt you remembered from your first and last date.

“The data remains inconsistent.”

You saw the road slipping past. Warehouses and rusted fences blurring by. You tried to memorize every turn. Useless. You knew it was useless.

“Well, gee, perhaps the reason for that is because you are kidnapping me!” You spat.

He processed that. You can see him processing it. “Your cultural narratives celebrate pursuit after rejection. They frame perseverance as romantic despite the ethics and laws. Is this your attempt at stimulating narrative tension? Are you playing, as your people say, hard to get?”

You were shaking now. Not from fear—from rage. “They’re written by people who want control, not connection. Hell, do you even understand what you're reading?” You said, breath trembling, “You have no damn idea, do you?”

"The research is indeed inconsistent," he admitted with clinical detachment. The cab had slowed now, creeping down a service road lined with oleander bushes, their pink flowers drooping like exhausted dancers. "I calculated the most efficient approach based on available data," he continued, still not looking at me directly. "The forum posts with the highest engagement metrics suggested—"

"You don't know anything about love!"I gestured at th3 surroundings; the locked doors. "This just creates fear. And fear isn't the same as love.”

Raye's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Just slightly. The knuckles went white, then translucent, something that looked like starlight filtering through fog.

"I have exonerated my sources. I have watched 689 romantic films," he said, voice carrying a new edge like glass scraping against glass. "Read 447 romance novels. Monitored 432 relationship advice forums. Observed—"

"OBSERVED!" You were shouting now, past caring. "That's all you do, isn't it? Watch and copy and calculate, but you've never felt a goddamn thing in whatever passes for your life."

The cab jerked to a stop.

In the terrible silence that followed, your own breathing, ragged and harsh, ricocheted in your ears. Raye's reflection had gone perfectly still. When he finally spoke, his voice was different — quieter, with a sound like distant rain.

"You are... correct. I have no experiential database for the emotion you call love. Only... approximations. Simulations." His head tilted, that familiar gesture now seeming disappointed rather than curious. "The inconsistencies in human behavior patterns suggest an underlying complexity I failed to adequately model."

Something changed in the air. The child locks clicked open.

"If love cannot be calculated or observed from the outside," he said, still facing forward, "then my research methodology is fundamentally flawed."

I didn't hesitate. My fingers were on the handle, my foot hitting the cracked asphalt before my brain could catch up. I was already running, but his final words followed me down that empty road:

"I will... recalibrate. Begin new research. Attempt to understand the variables I overlooked."

For three days, there were no books, no messages, no signs of Raye. You began to hope that perhaps you had crashed his reasoning, created a logic loop he couldn't resolve.

Then on the fourth morning, you found a book on my new kitchen table in yet another new apartment that no one should have known about. It wasn't a romance novel this time, but a philosophy text opened to a passage about identity. A note had been paper-clipped to the page, written in that same mechanically precise handwriting:

"I purged the corrupted data. Your internet contains many viruses of thought. I will observe more carefully now, without intervention. When I understand the paradox, I will return."

"The designation "fiancé" was premature. The designation "researcher" was inadequate. I find no human words for what has transpired between us. Thank you for identifying the error in my programming. I will experience love."

[literary-lesbo]

What Have We Become

MedWhump May Day 4: Flatline Summary: JJ can't live without Emily. Word Count: 900 A/N: I actually really love this one, it's my favorite so far.

AO3

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

JJ sat nervously in the waiting room, hands clasped under her chin in a long abandoned practice. She couldn’t remember the last time she prayed, she wasn’t even sure who she was praying too. Her relationship with religion had been nearly nonexistent since college, after leaving her small town she had left the church behind almost entirely. Almost. She only turned to her faith in times like these, times where her friends – her family – were hurt. 

She had seen Emily drop, heard the bullet tear through the air, and then through Emily’s skin. It was a sickening punch and then the brunette was on the ground. The bullet had passed through her side, entirely bypassing the bulletproof vest. JJ had quickly taken the Unsub, a killshot. One thing about Jennifer Jareau, she could hit her target 9/10 times. 

She had knelt beside her friend, no, she had become more than that over the last few weeks. Friend wasn’t strong enough, but she didn’t know what else to call the brunette. It felt like a part of herself was lying on that dirty warehouse floor, blood pooling onto the ground, soaking into JJ’s jeans. She had liked them, not anymore.

Blood had coated Emily’s soft lips, though she tried to keep a calm expression the entire time. JJ did not. JJ screamed into the radio, demanding medics. It felt like it had taken hours for the ambulance to arrive, it could only have been five minutes. Five minutes of begging Emily to hold on, of pressing her shirt into the hole in her partner's(?) side, of feeling warm blood cover her hands as the life faded from the older woman’s eyes. 

The first thing JJ heard when she was pried away from Emily’s side was a sharp, mechanical wail piercing the air. The pads on her chest were supposed to be reading her heartbeat. Instead the machine screamed the lack of life. Flatline, no pulse, blood loss, shock. Those words were tossed around as the EMT’s moved quickly to get Emily into the ambulance, someone was shouting at her, asking for information. 

She relayed the name, age, known allergies, current medications, as if they were her own. It was her job to know. She had the information for everyone at the time since she was a media liaison, but she kept special track of Emily’s just in case. Did that make her a bad person? Probably. She didn’t have the energy to worry about that anymore. 

Back in the waiting room JJ’s lips moved silently, the words burned into her brain. She could never forget them, no matter how hard she tried. She had tried. When the feelings for Emily first began to crop up she had tried so hard. She wasn’t able to crush the feelings nor forget the words. They felt almost foreign in her mouth, but it was all that she could do. 

She was vaguely aware of her team members around her, milling about as though they were fish in a bowl. No one felt entirely real, there were too many emotions swirling throughout the room. Hotch was on the phone, Hotch was always on the phone, presumably to Emily's mother. JJ wished he wouldn’t call her, not that she expected Ambassador Prentiss to show up. Not unless Emily died. 

which she did she did die she died in JJ’s arms she died in JJs arms and JJ had been useless again she had let two people die now if she had been faster maybe Emily wouldn’t have died

Her silence turned into soft mumbles as she spoke faster and louder, if she prayed harder everything would be okay. It had to be. Emily had to live, she couldn’t die. JJ would walk into the hospital room and the monitor would show a consistent spike, that would be her heart. It would beat steadily and perfectly. Emily would live. 

JJ didn’t register the tears slipping down her cheeks, she didn’t feel Spencer's hand on her knee. He was trying to be comforting, she would appreciate that later when she could feel anything other than panic and numbness. 

“...entiss?” 

JJ shot up, catching the tail end of the name. She walked to the doctor on trembling legs, mouth dry and hands shaking faster than she thought possible. 

“Is she alive?” The woman croaked, her voice barely audible. She had barely spoken since Emily was shot, the lump in her throat had blocked any words. 

The doctor eyed her carefully, perhaps waiting for her to burst into sobs. Maybe she would. It entirely depended on what he said next. 

“She’s alive. The surgery was touch and go for a while, she’s still very weak, but I expect she will make a full recovery. You may see her, in small groups,” he added that last part to the team that had gathered behind her. Penelope let out a relieved noise, the collective sigh of relief cut the tension in the room with a knife. 

JJ felt weightless. The tightly wound ball stress, anxiety, and fear tearing her chest had been shattered, it was too much. Her knees went weak and she found herself in someone's arms, chest rising and falling quickly with small gasps. Emily was alive. Emily would be okay. She hadn't failed. She hadn’t let another person die, not for real this time. 

Someone tried to call for a nurse but she pushed them off, mumbling something about being fine with a forced smile. She needed to see Emily, to verify that she was okay with her own eyes. Once that was done, she would let it out. She would deal with it all once she could see Emily. 

@medwhumpmay

[kathlare]

that should be me

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando faces the quiet ache of jealousy and the bittersweet realization that feelings he’s tried to keep buried might be more obvious than he thinks.

Wordcount: 3.0 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

June 29th, 2020 - London, United Kingdom

liked by alexleclercfan, ameliedayman.fits, and others

gossipcentral:☕️👀 Spotted: Amelie Dayman and Joshua Bassett seen grabbing lunch together in Maui today — beachy vibes, sunglasses, and a lot of smiles. Are things heating up between the pop princess and the High School Musical heartthrob? Or just a casual island hang? 🌴😎

View all 36,018 comments

ameliedayman.fits: i just KNOW lando is pacing his hotel room rn → maxyboyf1: @ameliedayman.fits bro is halfway to writing driver era: the musical

isthatlando: imagine being joshua bassett and having to sit across from her in that top and not combust → gridgirlie69: @isthatlando better men have tried and failed. cough. norris. cough.

gridgirlies: what does joshua have that lando doesn’t besides heartbreak lore and a piano 😐 → mclarenwife: @gridgirlies trauma bonding is crazy

daymangravity: idk joshua is cute but like... lando was THERE during her breakdown era → tifositerror: @daymangravity he earned the final rose fr → monacogf: @daymangravity not this turning into The Bachelor: Paddock Edition

ameliesglow: if she’s happy i’m happy (but also pls go home to lando immediately) → f1barbiedoll: @ameliesglow she’s just doing hot girl tourism leave her alone → quadrantwife: @ameliesglow until she posts a soft launch, i’m pretending this didn’t happen

lanfan44: joshua basset i fear you are simply the prelude to a lando-shaped heartbreak → alexleclercfan: @lanfan44 NOT THE PRELUDE 😭😭

daymanfan999: she’s just doing what any of us would do if joshua bassett AND lando norris were in love with us → quadgirlie: @daymanfan999 i wouldn’t survive a day in her shoes. she’s living fanfiction

amelie4president: they’re cute but my delulu heart only beats for lanmelie

lanmelieupdates: joshua bassett is cute or whatever but lando norris exists. be serious. → alexmakesmemelt: @lanmelieupdates we need to bring back arranged marriages and we’ll be arranging hers with lando.

swiftiesinthepits: olivia rodrigo somewhere throwing darts at a photo collage rn → daymansangel: @swiftiesinthepits the crossover episode we didn’t ask for

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

Lando had barely taken a bite of his pasta when he pulled out his phone to mindlessly scroll through Instagram. His lunch break at the MTC had been quiet — too quiet, considering how chaotic his mornings usually were. The McLaren gym was empty, the cafeteria only had a few engineers and mechanics scattered about, all masked up and socially distant. The soft hum of the TV above him played muted Sky Sports replays of classic races, but none of it really held his attention.

Until that post appeared on his feed.

@gossipcentral: ☕️👀 Spotted: Amelie Dayman and Joshua Bassett seen grabbing lunch together in Maui today — beachy vibes, sunglasses, and a lot of smiles. Are things heating up between the pop princess and the High School Musical heartthrob? Or just a casual island hang? 🌴😎

Lando froze.

No.

No fucking way.

His thumb hovered over the screen, and he blinked twice, as if that would somehow make the image disappear.

There they were — Amelie and Joshua. Sitting side by side at some open-air café, Joshua, grinning like a fucking idiot, leaning in way too close. Way too familiar. Her smile didn’t look forced. If anything, it looked... easy. Relaxed. Like she was having a great time.

Lando's jaw clenched, and his fork dropped onto his plate with a quiet clang.

He scrolled back up and stared at the picture again.

What the fuck is he still doing there?

When he and Charles visited Amelie a couple weeks ago — which had been a chaotic blur of surf lessons, inside jokes, and Lando pretending not to trip over his own heartbeat every time she wore a bikini — they’d met Joshua. Briefly. And by briefly, Lando meant just long enough to know he couldn’t fucking stand the guy. The way Joshua had shaken his hand with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The way he’d looked at Amelie like he knew something Lando didn’t. The way Amelie had laughed at some dumb joke of his and touched his arm without thinking.

Lando had assumed — hoped — that Joshua was flying out the same day they were.

Apparently not.

Lando locked his phone and shoved it face down on the table, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots a little harder than necessary.

—What’s up with you?— came Carlos’ voice, cutting through the air like a knife. Lando hadn’t even noticed him sit down.

Carlos plopped his tray next to Lando’s, peeled his mask down under his chin, and raised an eyebrow. —You look like someone just told you you’re starting from the back row in Spa again.—

Lando didn’t answer. He just picked at his pasta like it had personally offended him.

Carlos tilted his head, suspicious. —What? You lose a bet? Miss a sim session? Someone steal your driver room snacks again?—

Lando gave him a withering look. —No.—

Carlos leaned over, eyeing Lando’s face for a moment before his gaze flicked to the phone. He snatched it up with zero shame.

—Hey...—

—Relax.— He unlocked it with ease, Lando hadn’t even bothered to close Instagram, and Carlos’ face lit up like it was Christmas. —Oh this,— he said with a grin. —Of course. Of course.—

Lando groaned. —Give it back.—

Carlos ignored him. —Joshua Bassett, huh? Isn’t that the guy from that singing show? The one who kept talking about playing guitar on set or some shit?—

Lando gave him a look. —He’s from High School Musical: The Musical: The Series.—

Carlos blinked. —That’s not a real title.—

—It unfortunately is,— Lando muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Carlos let out a bark of laughter, leaning back in his chair like this was the best entertainment he'd had all week. —God, this is beautiful. You’re actually jealous.—

—No, I’m not,— Lando snapped, too fast. Too defensive.

Carlos grinned like he’d just caught Lando in 4K. —You totally are. Look at you. Face all grumpy, stabbing your pasta like it’s Joshua’s kneecap. Come on, mate. Just admit it.—

—I’m not stabbing anything.—

—Right, right.— Carlos twirled his fork dramatically. —You’re just casually committing pasta-based violence while glaring at an Instagram post. Normal Monday behavior.—

Lando exhaled sharply and finally reached for his water. His fingers tapped the plastic cup. —I just... didn’t think he’d still be there. That’s all.—

Carlos quirked an eyebrow. —Why? Thought he had better things to do than hang around Maui with your girl?—

—She’s not my girl.— Lando’s voice dipped lower.

Carlos raised both hands. —Whatever you say, Romeo.—

Lando rolled his eyes. —We’re friends. That’s it. She’s... she’s had a rough year. She deserves to have fun. I'm happy for her.—

—You sound thrilled. Really selling the whole “cool and unbothered” thing here.— Carlos nudged his arm. —Come on, man. You’ve been into her since, what, 2018? Back when she didn’t even know you?— He laughed, like it still amused him to this day. —All of us knew. The moment she followed you back on Instagram, you acted like you’d won a championship.—

—That was a big day,— Lando muttered under his breath, earning another laugh from Carlos.

—Exactly. And now you’re watching her grab lunch with Malibu Ken and you’re ready to throw hands over a tuna poke bowl.—

Lando rubbed his temples. —You didn’t see the way he looked at her. Like... smug. Like he knew she’d pick him.—

Carlos gave him a long look. —And did she?—

Lando stayed silent.

Carlos shrugged. —Then what are you so afraid of?—

Lando didn’t know how to answer that. Because maybe it wasn’t just about Joshua. Maybe it was the fact that Amelie looked happy. And yeah, she deserved that. She deserved to smile again, to laugh without a shadow behind it. After Cam, after Italy, after everything... Lando didn’t want to be selfish.

But damn, it still stung.

Carlos leaned in again, more serious this time. —Look, you don’t have to tell her how you feel if you’re not ready. But don’t sit here acting like you’re fine watching someone else swoop in and get everything you’ve been dreaming about for two years.—

—I’m not dreaming about her,— Lando said weakly.

Carlos just looked at him. —Mate. You rearranged a flight to stay one more day in Maui just because she said she liked the way the light hit the waves at sunset.—

—That was for the vibes.—

Carlos snorted. —Sure. Vibes and a girl in a sundress who doesn’t know you’ve got her initials saved in your phone with a heart next to them.—

Lando glared at him. —You’re insufferable.—

—I know.— Carlos grinned, unbothered. —But I’m not wrong.—

Lando sighed, dragging a hand down his face. —It’s just... it’s hard, man. She’s still figuring things out. And I don’t want to be another complication. Especially not after everything with Cam. I feel like she’s finally breathing again, you know?—

Carlos tilted his head. —Yeah. But don’t forget, sometimes the people who help us breathe are the ones who show up and stay. You’re not a complication, Lando. You’re a constant.—

And fuck, if that didn’t hit Lando square in the chest.

He picked up his phone again, looked at the photo one last time, and then finally swiped past it. Out of sight. Sort of out of mind.

Carlos bumped his shoulder. —C’mon. Let’s finish lunch before you spiral so hard you start journaling in a McLaren notebook.—

Lando chuckled despite himself. —You’re such an ass.—

—But a wise one,— Carlos said, shoving a forkful of rice into his mouth. —And hey, if you ever need a wingman, I’ve got years of material on how embarrassing you’ve been about her since day one.—

—Don’t you dare.—

Carlos grinned. —Too late. Already making a PowerPoint.—

Lando groaned. But even as he picked at his food, the edge of his frustration dulled a little. Because yeah, maybe he was still jealous. Maybe he hated Joshua’s smug face and his dumb guitar and his too-white teeth.

But Carlos was right.

He wasn’t just anyone in Amelie’s life.

He was her constant.

And maybe, just maybe, that still meant something.

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

liked by gridgirlsupreme, sunshinef1baby, and others

ameliedayman: isla bonita

View all 99,012 comments

stelladayman: tell hawaii it can keep the trees, we’re stealing the flower 🌼 → ameliedayman: @stelladayman only if you come visit 😌

landonorris: did the palm trees approve this thirst trap or were they just held hostage → ameliedayman: @landonorris they were honored

mcclarensimp: brown bikini supremacy. lando is WEEPING somewhere

elysiadayman: you really posted the bikini one huh. → ameliedayman: it's art

jadenhossler: this is what peace looks like and it’s offensive → ameliedayman: @jadenhossler come visit and ruin it then

f1.sluttycorner: i’m not saying this is a girlfriend post but this is a girlfriend post

lanmeliedelulu: the flower. the tan. the vibes. she’s the reason hawaii exists actually → softie4lando: @lanmeliedelulu imagine being the guy she put behind the camera…… i’d evaporate

joshuabassett: flower girl energy 🌸 → lanmelieupdates: @joshuabassett NOOOOOOOO 🚨🚨🚨 → f1dumbassery: @joshuabassett someone check on lando he’s in danger

lanmelieedits: THE FLOWER IN HER HAIR. SHE’S IN LOVE. IT’S OVER FOR US

gigihadid: top tier vacation aesthetic. obsessed. → lanmeliefanpage69: @gigihadid GIGI SHIPS IT CONFIRMED.

lanmelieupdates: LANDO. STAY CALM. BREATHE. → norrissinner: @lanmelieupdates he’s already liked it 0.2 seconds after it was posted we LOST

georgerussell63: so when do alex and i get to see you irl and not just through thirst traps → alex_albon: @georgerussell63 she’s gatekeeping the entire pacific ocean from us → ameliedayman: @georgerussell63 maybe if you stop bullying me in groupchat 🤨

madisonbeer: unreal. literally not real. → ameliedayman: @madisonbeer i learned from the best 😇

billieeilish: u make this look illegal → ameliedayman: @billieeilish only crime is slaying tbh

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

Lando was in his room, hoodie half-on, curls damp from a post-training shower, headset already snug over his ears. The soft blue glow of his setup lit up his face as OBS counted him in. He glanced at chat — the Twitch crowd was already rowdy.

—Alright, alright, calm down,— he grinned. —Yes, George is late as usual. What else is new?—

—Oi!— George’s voice burst into the stream as he finally joined the Discord call. —I’m fashionably delayed, thank you very much.—

Alex chuckled, already clicking into the Valorant lobby. —More like tragically uncoordinated.—

—You’re just mad I outscored you last match.—

—By one kill!—

—Boys,— Amelie’s voice cut through the bickering like honey and static, teasing and warm. —Behave. You're embarrassing yourselves in front of the entire internet.—

Lando leaned back in his chair, lips twitching. —And we care about that... why exactly?—

—Because I’m here. Duh,— she said, and he could hear her smirk.

The chat lit up like fireworks.

Chapter: Constant Interference

Lando was in his room, hoodie half-on, curls damp from a post-training shower, headset already snug over his ears. The soft blue glow of his setup lit up his face as OBS counted him in. He glanced at chat — the Twitch crowd was already rowdy.

—Alright, alright, calm down,— he grinned. Yes, George is late as usual. What else is new?

—Oi!— George’s voice burst into the stream as he finally joined the Discord call. I’m fashionably delayed, thank you very much.

—More like tragically uncoordinated,— Alex snorted, already clicking into the Valorant lobby.

—You’re just mad I outscored you last match.—

—By one kill!—

—Boys,— Amelie’s voice cut through the bickering like honey and static, teasing and warm. Behave. You're embarrassing yourselves in front of the entire internet.

Lando leaned back in his chair, lips twitching. And we care about that... why exactly?

—Because I’m here. Duh,— she replied, smug and flirty.

The chat lit up like fireworks.

Lando's smile >>>> GEORGE STFU LET LAN AND AMES FLIRT ALEX AND CHARLES LOOKING LIKE THIRD WHEELS JOSHUA WHO????

Charles finally joined with a dramatic sigh. —Bonsoir, losers.—

—Charles, it’s not even 6 PM,— Amelie said through a giggle.

—I was setting the mood. You ruined it.—

—Mood for what? Missing all your shots?— Lando chimed in.

—Wow,— Charles gasped. —Your British hostility is showing.—

The game kicked off, voices layering over each other in perfect, chaotic harmony. George kept accusing Alex of stealing his kills. Charles was being overly French for comedic effect. Amelie was too good at clutching rounds, which only fed into the dramatics. Lando, meanwhile, kept making little jokes just for her — lowkey, but unmistakably fond.

—Nice shot, Ames,— he murmured after she wiped a squad on her own.

—What can I say? I’m multitalented,— she replied sweetly.

But then… there was a knock.

It was faint, but everyone heard it.

—Hold on,— Amelie said quickly, pulling her headset slightly off. —Someone’s at my door.—

Lando sat up slightly, already uneasy.

Her stream cam — dimly lit and mostly focused on her face and shoulders — showed her rushing out of frame. The boys kept playing, but Lando’s attention drifted.

Seconds later, she returned with a small breathless laugh and slid her headset back on. —I’m back, sorry.—

But not alone.

In the blurred background of her cam, a figure flopped onto the edge of her bed. Hoodie, tousled hair, long legs stretched out.

Joshua.

Lando’s jaw tightened.

He knew that silhouette. That irritating, over-relaxed posture. Like he belonged there.

Amelie, bless her, tried to act normal. —Alright, where were we?— she asked, fingers moving across her keyboard again.

But Lando could barely focus on the match. His eyes kept flicking to her cam — to where Joshua was clearly watching her screen, clearly bored. His lips moved, like he was whispering something to her, and she smiled without meaning to.

Chat noticed too.

IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS who is the guy in ames' room 👀 tell him to GET OUT 😭 lando bout to lose it i swear his face rn... bro's not okay

Amelie kept playing, still tossing out callouts, but she was more distracted now. Laughing quietly at things Joshua said off-mic. Her focus split.

—You alright, Ames?— Lando asked, voice deceptively casual.

She blinked. —Yeah! Just— multitasking.—

Lando let out a dry chuckle. —Right. Didn’t realize we had guests tonight.—

Her eyes flicked to her camera. —Oh, that’s just Josh. He’s bored. He’ll chill.—

But he didn’t.

Within a few minutes, Joshua was nudging her shoulder. Saying something about "just finishing later" and "come watch a movie."

And then she hesitated. Said, "One sec, guys," and muted herself.

Lando leaned back in his chair, jaw clenched tight.

Muted or not, they could still see her talk to Joshua. Could still see her nod, roll her eyes fondly, and finally — finally — sigh like she was giving in.

She unmuted a moment later, her voice soft and apologetic. —Hey, I think I’m gonna head out. But thanks for the game, boys. I’ll catch you soon, yeah?—

George immediately booed.

—What?! You’re ditching us?—

—Mid-match, even? Disgraceful,— Charles added, hand over his heart in mock betrayal.

Alex laughed. —Tell Josh he owes us a rematch.—

Amelie smiled sheepishly. —You’re all so dramatic. Love you. Bye!—

And just like that, she disconnected.

Silence hit the call for a beat.

Lando exhaled, long and sharp. Then leaned forward to reload, trying — and failing — to hide the roll of his eyes.

—So that’s what we’re doing now,— he muttered under his breath, not quite low enough.

Charles caught it. —Oh? Lando? Something to share with the class?—

—Nothing,— Lando said quickly, his voice tight. —Just… must be nice. Being that convincing.— He clicked into the next round, jaw flexing. —Guess all it takes is a pretty face and a guitar, huh?—

George snorted. —Jealousy. Straight up leaking out your mic, bro.—

—I’m fine,— Lando said, too clipped. —Just saying, if I left a stream every time someone wanted to watch a movie with me, I’d never finish a match.— He leaned back with a forced laugh. —But hey, priorities, right?—

No one responded immediately.

The tension crackled quietly over the comms, and the next round started.

Lando’s kill count doubled in two minutes.

Passive aggression made for deadly aim.

And even though he didn’t say another word about it, the tight set of his jaw, the deadpan sarcasm, the refusal to look at chat — it all screamed what he was thinking.

Joshua was still in Maui.

Still around her.

Still taking time that Lando desperately wished belonged to him.

[zelphafrost]

Love this so much!! It reminds me of Deborah Underwood's children's book "Interstellar Cinderella." Beautiful art and such a great book!

Mechanic by Axel Sauerwald

[gece-misin-nesin]

Bruce Wayne stop slandering your dead son whose murder you were high-key responsible for challenge

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)

[sirfrogsworth]

How do you take a photo of time?

I've been watching the track events at the Olympics since I was a wee lad. It was a tradition in our family. We'd gather around our ancient low-definition 19 inch CRT television and watch tiny blobs compete against other tiny blobs and root for our country.

It was a bit like watching YouTube on your phone in 144p.

Several heroes emerged.

Jackie Joyner-Kersee was amazing.

You can't forget about Flo-Jo.

And then the Olympics decided NBA players were allowed in the competition.

Which formed... The Dream Team.

Was this fair?

Well... they won each game by an average of 44 points.

So... no. It was not fair.

Though it became more fair as time went on.

But, umm... yeah. The other teams looked like the Washington Generals and the US looked like the Harlem Globetrotters if they stopped screwing around half of the game.

But my absolute favorite Olympian was a runner named Michael Johnson.

He was cool as heck.

For one thing... gold shoes.

But he also had this crazy, upright, Tom Cruise-ish sprinting style that just made him look like a running robot on the track.

And in the 1996 Atlanta games he just trounced EVERYONE. I mean, it wasn't even close.

Yikes. Those losing blobs are probably really embarrassed.

Last night I decided to invigorate my nostalgia and watch the track events again. And I got to see one of the wildest races in history.

It didn't even last 10 seconds but it was one of the most exciting sporting events I've ever witnessed. Almost every runner won the race.

After I saw that initially, I was like... who the heck won???

Even in slow motion I wasn't sure.

This was one of the closest finishes in history. There has never been a race where all 8 runners were within this margin.

The arena was silent as the winner was being confirmed. The runners just kind of paced around waiting for official word. My best guess was the Jamaican runner, Kishane Thompson. But then the loudspeaker announced Noah Lyles.

The last tiny morsel of American pride burst out of me with a big "Wooooo!"

I forgot what it was like to be proud of my country. I wish it happened more often. But this young man, despite being last place in the first 3rd of the race, turned on the afterburners and won in a photo finish.

And that's when my inner nerd took over.

Because when they showed the photo finish image, it looked super weird.

Why is the track white?

Why do all of the runners look all warpy like that QWOP game?

So I went down a research rabbit hole to figure this out.

Photo finishes are actually fascinating. The first photo finish captured the end of a horse race in 1890. But that was mostly luck and timing. The actual photo finish mechanisms weren't used until 1937.

Originally they would film the finish line through a physical slit.

And the first horsie head that appeared in that slit would be the winner. This technology ended a huge aspect of corruption in horse race fixing almost overnight.

But we have come a long way since then. And I'd like to introduce you to the Omega Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate.

This slow motion camera sits fixed on the finish line of every race. The concept of the photo finish has remained remarkably similar to the 1930s approach. The camera sensor is specially designed to only record a vertical slit.

Only the finish line itself is actually captured.

And because it limits what it records to only that slit, it can capture 40,000 frames per second to get amazing temporal resolution.

So why don't the photo finishes just look like, well... this?

That is because the camera takes a picture of time more-so than dimensional space. I guess it would be more accurate to say it *assembles* a picture of time.

As the runners cross the finish line, the camera combines all of the little strips of pictures into a single image.

It's almost like if you tried to reassemble a piece of paper after it had been shredded.

Imagine each strip of paper is a picture of ONLY the finish line, just at a slightly different point in time.

What if someone stopped on the finish line and didn't move... what would that look like?

Once they got there, the same part of their body would just be repeated.

So the right side of the photo finish picture represents earlier in time and it just assembles the image strip by strip as time passes and you literally get a picture of time itself.

NEAT!

Okay, but how do they determine the winner from the photo finish?

I mean, that shoe looks like it is ahead of Noah Lyles!

Clavicles!

The IAFF rules state the foremost part of the torso must cross the finish line first. And the endpoint of the torso is the outer end of the clavicle.

So if you get this bone across the finish line first, you win the race.

Two more fun facts!

The start of the race is actually just as carefully timed as the end of the race. There are sensors in the starting blocks of each runner.

The starting gun also has an electronic sensor.

They have determined the fastest a human can react to the sound of a gun is roughly 100 milliseconds. So if you start running before 100 milliseconds they know you didn't actually hear the gun, you just got antsy and started running too early.

And the final fun fact...

Did you notice the Omega logo at the top of the photo finish?

That isn't superimposed or added after the fact. That is captured by the camera.

But if this image is composed only of tiny little slivers, how did they get the Omega logo to show up?

That is a little display. And it is synchronized with the Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate to show a little sliver of the Omega logo for each frame captured.

So when the final image is stitched together, it looks like a cohesive logo at the top of the photo.

Pretty clever, Omega!