#but then we got side tracked into talking about all the clothes we were made to wear in middle school | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jetii · 2 months ago

Text

Lessons of the Heart

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Teacher!Reader

Words: 15,738

Tags/Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, strangers to lovers, soft!Crosshair, grumpy/sunshine dynamic, awkward flirting, mutual pining, kissing/making out, Crosshair's anxiety, reader has long-ish hair, Tech mentioned briefly

Summary: Over a year after settling on Pabu, Crosshair is still struggling to adapt to life without having something to fight, or fight for. When Omega comes home with a bad grade, he jumps at the chance to help. He doesn't expect to become so invested, and he certainly doesn't expect to fall for his sister's teacher.

A/N: This one got away from me! But since the poll indicated I should keep this all one part, here you go. I really enjoyed writing Crosshair's perspective and all the little sibling moments in here.

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"Again, Omega? We talked about this."

Crosshair stops dead in his tracks, one boot in front of the other, and stares straight ahead. The basket of dirty clothes in his grip hangs limp by his side as he stands in the hallway, listening. Hunter and Omega are in the kitchen, the latter having just gotten back from another day at school, and they’re clearly talking about something serious.

Crosshair doesn't dare to breathe too loud in case he misses a single word. It's hard not to notice how Hunter's voice drops low when he speaks, trying not to be overheard by someone. By someone like Crosshair.

"I know, Hunter," she groans. He can hear the sound of something hit the counter, likely a datapad, and Omega shifts on her stool. "I tried on this one, I promise."

Hunter hums in a tone that makes it clear he's not quite believing her, and Crosshair's eyebrows raise a little in curiosity.

"Let me see, please."

"Hunter—"

"Omega."

She huffs, but a few seconds later, the datapad slides across the counter with a quiet squeak, and Omega's chair scrapes across the floor as she sits back down. "There. Happy?"

"Thank you." There's a pause, and Crosshair can only imagine the face Hunter is making as he reads whatever it is that Omega is showing him. His voice is stern, a tone that Crosshair's come to know as the sergeant, not the brother. "What is this?"

"I told you," she whines.

"She gave you a 50%?" Hunter's voice raises slightly. "Why would she do that?"

Omega scoffs. She's getting better at that. It almost sounds natural now.

Crosshair peeks around the corner, and sure enough, Hunter has the datapad in his hands, reading over whatever report the teacher sent back. Omega sits next to him, her shoulders slumped, arms crossed, and she's not meeting his gaze. Her backpack sits unzipped, its contents strewn out across the countertop and the stool where she usually sits.

He knows he shouldn't eavesdrop, but he's been doing it for so long he's not sure how to stop. And besides, the look on Hunter's face is one he doesn't like.

They'd all known going into this that Omega wasn't going to have an easy time at school. She excelled far beyond her peers in most subjects — math, history, science, languages, you name it — but there were two subjects where her intelligence failed her. Art, for one, because it was hard to grasp the concept of drawing something when she had no frame of reference. And then, of course, there was literature.

It's not her fault, and Hunter's well aware of it. Her education prior to the Batch adopting her was entirely focused on being the best lab assistant a Kaminoan could ever want. Over time, she soaked up anything they would teach her. Strategy, engineering, politics, even some basic medical training — Omega could do it all. But, as it turned out, there was a pretty big part of her education that she was severely lacking in, and it was starting to show.

Out of the three brothers, Crosshair was the only one who actually made a habit out of reading, though he'd never admit it to anyone. So he tried his best to teach Omega the concepts that her teacher was trying to instill in her, but sometimes it was difficult.

Literature was, by nature, subjective. It's always up for debate, and Crosshair found himself constantly questioning himself while helping Omega with her assignments. It usually ended with both of them frustrated, and Hunter or Wrecker stepping in to mediate the situation.

But still, Omega loved her classes, even if they were difficult. And Crosshair would never say it out loud, but he enjoyed spending time with her and helping her learn, even if it wasn't always the easiest.

It seemed, though, that her teacher didn't agree with his methods.

Hunter looks up from the datapad and places it on the counter. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and reaches across to pat Omega's shoulder. "It's okay. We can work with this."

She shrugs him off and hops down from the stool, gathering her things and stuffing them into her bag. When she tries to reach for the datapad, Hunter snatches it up and holds it out of her reach.

"Give it to me, Hunter."

"No. We're going to talk about this, Omega."

"There's nothing to talk about," she mutters, trying again and failing to grab the datapad.

Crosshair takes that as his cue. He steps into the kitchen and drops the basket of laundry onto the ground by his feet, the force of the landing enough to get their attention.

"Oh, good," Hunter says, looking at Crosshair. "You're home."

"Yep." Crosshair pops the 'p' and folds his arms, leaning back against the wall. He meets Omega's eyes for a moment, and the look on her face is like a punch to the gut. She looks defeated, and it's not a look that suits her.

He hates seeing her upset, especially over something so trivial. It's a report, and not even a very important one. It's not like her grades in the other classes were suffering. She was passing every single one of them with flying colors. It's just this one assignment, this one class, this one teacher who seems hellbent on making her feel bad about herself.

Crosshair can feel the rage bubbling under the surface. How dare her teacher give her a score that low, and why? Because of his help? That was his job, and he was doing it.

"What's going on?" Crosshair asks. He's still staring at Omega, trying to get her to look up at him, to meet his gaze, but she's not taking the bait. She's got her arms folded, her shoulders tense, and her lower lip juts out as she pouts at Hunter.

"I told her we'd talk about it, and she doesn't want to." Hunter sets the datapad back down, sliding it across the counter.

Crosshair picks it up, glancing at the words on the screen before scrolling through the report. It's an analysis, one he's read a million times. He doesn't bother skimming it, because he already knows exactly what she wrote. It's a decent summary of the text, and her thoughts and opinions are written plainly and with an obvious understanding of what the author meant. It's not her fault her teacher wanted her to interpret the text the way a typical thirteen-year-old might, but that wasn't who Omega was.

He glances back up at Hunter. "And what is there to talk about?"

"Well, her teacher doesn't seem to agree with her analysis," Hunter says. He nods at the datapad in Crosshair's hand. "The comments."

Crosshair finds the section in question and reads over the notes. It's a lot of the same, just worded a bit differently, but one comment sticks out among the rest.

Please try to stick to the original meaning of the text, Omega. You did well explaining how your interpretation differed from the traditional meaning, but try to focus on the actual story.

It's the most condescending, ridiculous thing Crosshair has ever read, and he has to keep himself from throwing the datapad at the wall. He has to remind himself that doing that would only make Omega feel worse, and he doesn't want to upset her.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and hands the datapad back to her.

"This is stupid," he says, and he can see Hunter's eye twitch at his choice of words. "I read the text. I know what it means, and you know what it means. What, are you supposed to go through the entire thing and find the most cliche, obvious way of reading it?"

"No," Omega mumbles.

"Right," he agrees. "So then why is she giving you a low grade for your own thoughts and opinions?"

Omega shrugs. She's frowning, staring down at the datapad like it personally offended her.

And Crosshair knows that feeling, intimately. It's the same way he'd stare at the training room floor whenever a drill sergeant would call him a failure. It grates on his nerves, and he's half-tempted to find the teacher's home address and tell her just how wrong she is.

"But I'm doing it wrong," Omega says, her voice small and defeated.

Hunter is glaring at him now, but Crosshair can't find it in him to care.

"No, you're not," Crosshair insists, and he takes a seat beside her at the counter. "You did your research. You did everything you were supposed to, and you wrote a report about what you think it meant. What's wrong with that?"

Omega shrugs again, and he can see her hands balling up into fists.

The sight alone is enough to set him on edge. His entire body feels like a coiled spring, his muscles tense and ready to go. He hates seeing her like this. She's a bright kid, always smiling and happy, and to see her so down on herself makes him feel ill, and the last thing he wants is for her to think she's failed somehow.

Crosshair doesn't know why the teacher doesn't understand that, doesn't appreciate how amazing it is that a girl her age is even capable of writing a paper like this. Maybe, somewhere deep down, the teacher does get it. Maybe she's just pushing her own agenda. It wouldn't surprise Crosshair in the slightest, and the more he thinks about it, the more annoyed he gets.

"Maybe I should comm her," Hunter says, interrupting his train of thought.

Crosshair snaps his head around, glaring daggers at his brother. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't comm her." He pushes himself away from the counter and stands. "I'll handle this."

Hunter stares at him, one eyebrow raised, clearly confused. "Handle it?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna talk to her."

"Cross," Hunter says, but he doesn't finish his sentence.

Crosshair doesn't stick around long enough to hear the end of it. He's already halfway out the door, pulling his jacket off the hook, and slamming the door shut behind him.

Crosshair is pissed.

He doesn't often get angry. Annoyed, frustrated, irritated, yes. All those are familiar. But angry? Angry is not something he deals with. He can't stand it, the way his chest feels like it's about to explode, the way his heart rate picks up and his stomach feels sick. Anger makes him feel out of control, and the last thing he wants is to lose the little self-control he does have.

But now?

Now, he's angry.

Omega doesn't deserve to be treated like this. She doesn't deserve the way her teacher is talking to her, telling her she's doing something wrong when she isn't. If anything, the teacher should be grateful that Omega is even bothering to read the texts in the first place, that she's putting in the effort to analyze the meanings behind them.

He's so caught up in his own thoughts, he barely realizes how far he's gone. It's only when he spots the school, the tall building looming in the distance, does he realize he's halfway across town, and the sun is starting to dip below the horizon.

He slows his pace, taking a moment to catch his breath, and glances around. He's only been here a few times, just long enough to drop Omega off at the start of the day or pick her up after. He's never actually been inside, never even met a single one of her teachers, and he has no idea where her classroom even is.

A sign points him towards the front entrance, and he follows it. There's a handful of other parents waiting around the main entrance, all of them talking and laughing and joking with one another. A few of them glance his way, watching him curiously as he approaches the doors.

He ignores them, slipping inside and letting the doors close behind him. The hallways are quiet, and the sound of his boots against the tile echoes throughout the empty halls. He's not entirely sure where he's going, but he figures it can't be that hard to find her classroom.

It isn't.

It takes him less than a minute to locate her name, next to a door decorated with bright colors and images of what he assumes are the characters from a few of the stories they've read. He doesn't stop to admire the decorations, though. He doesn't stop at all, really. He pushes the door open and walks right inside, his eyes scanning the room.

The rows of chairs and desks are empty, but the one near the holoboard at the front of the room is occupied. There's a human woman sitting there, head bowed over a desk as she writes, and Crosshair strides up to her without hesitation.

"I want to talk about the report you gave Omega," he says, his voice tight, barely able to contain his anger. The woman looks up, clearly startled, and blinks owlishly at him.

The anger coursing through his veins suddenly tempers as he locks eyes with you, and he finds himself at a loss for words.

You're not what he was expecting, not in the slightest. He'd expected someone older, a woman with graying hair and crow's feet, maybe, one who's lived enough years to become old and jaded. Not this. Not you.

Your eyes are wide and bright, and the expression on your face is nothing short of adorable. He's not sure where that word came from, thrust to the forefront of his consciousness with the force of a speeder, but he can't deny that it's accurate. Your hair is tied up in a messy bun, a few loose strands hanging over your face, and there's a small, pink stylus stuck behind your ear. Your lips are slightly parted, a pretty shade of pink that almost matches the color of the pen, and he watches as they slowly form into a small 'o' as you process what's going on.

And then, just as quickly, your expression changes.

The adorableness falls away, and you straighten your posture, your brows furrowing and your lips pulling into a tight line.

"You must be Crosshair."

He frowns. "How did you—"

"She talks about you." You nod, glancing him up and down, and Crosshair has to fight the urge to shrink under your scrutiny. His mouth feels dry, and the sudden change in tone catches him off-guard. He was expecting defensiveness, maybe a little bit of anger. Instead, you sound...

Well, he can't really place it.

Crosshair nods, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. It's probably because he's angry. It has nothing to do with the way you're looking at him, the way your eyes rake over him, or the way your lips are curled up ever so slightly in a hint of a smile.

You clear your throat and gesture to the seat in front of you. He settles in it, not because you told him to, but because it seems like the polite thing to do. And because he wants to sit down.

Once he's seated, you fold your hands and place them on the desk, giving him your full attention. "I'm glad you're here."

That throws him. "You are?"

"Of course," you say, and the smile on your face is nothing short of dazzling. "I've been hoping to meet you for a while now. Omega speaks so highly of you, and I have to say, I was looking forward to finally meeting the man who's been helping her with her assignments."

And then, you do something Crosshair wasn't expecting. You extend your hand, offering a handshake.

He looks down at your hand, your fingers spread out, palm facing up. Your nails are painted a bright shade of pink, and there's a small smear of what looks like ink near the tip of your index finger. He glances up at your face, and you're smiling at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling a bit as you do.

His stomach does a weird flip, and his chest suddenly feels a lot warmer. He doesn't know what it is about your smile, your eyes, your voice, but it's...nice.

You're nice.

He doesn't take your hand.

You pull it away, but the smile doesn't leave your face. You don't seem offended or hurt, and you're still looking at him with an expression that can only be described as genuine kindness.

Crosshair swallows the lump in his throat. It's getting harder to stay angry, but he does his best to cling to his resolve.

"You graded her report wrong,” he hisses.

He expects you to get defensive, maybe even offended. After all, no one likes having their work challenged. But instead, you just sigh.

You look down at your desk, grabbing the stylus and twirling it between your fingers. The light reflects off the smooth surface, glinting off the tip of the tool, and the movement is almost hypnotic. He has to force himself to look away, to focus on your face.

For the first time since he barged into your classroom, he notices the tiredness in your eyes. It's subtle, and he doesn't think anyone else would notice, but the way your shoulders sag is a dead giveaway. You look exhausted, and Crosshair suddenly feels an odd pang of guilty for dropping in on you like this.

Your smile is tight when you look up at him again..

"I can explain my rationale, if you'd like," you say, and it's not a question. It's a statement.

He's not sure if he should be annoyed by that or not, but he nods regardless.

"Thank you."

You reach for a datapad laying haphazardly across your desk and tap away for a moment, before you hold it out for him to take. His fingers brush yours as he accepts it, and the touch sends a tingle up his arm. He tries not to show it, though, and busies himself by looking over the file as you speak.

"I know Omega has been struggling in my class, and I've done everything I can to make sure she has the support she needs. But, unfortunately, there's not a lot I can do when the curriculum is so..."

You pause, and he raises an eyebrow. "So what?"

"Well, it's not exactly tailored for her," you finish, and the small laugh you let out is strained. You shrug, a gesture that's supposed to be nonchalant, but he can see the tension in your shoulders.

He hums, nodding along as you continue to talk.

"I don't usually get students like Omega, you know? Kids who've already seen the world and have lived through so much more than their peers. And that's great, I mean, it's awesome. She's a brilliant kid, and she has such a great sense of herself, but I'm not equipped to handle a student like her."

Crosshair stops scrolling, his thumb hovering over the screen. He looks up at you, and you're staring back, chewing on your bottom lip.

He swallows the lump in his throat and nods. "So, what does that mean?"

"It means..." You trail off, letting out a sigh and shaking your head. You look away, turning to stare out the window behind you. The sun is setting, and the last rays of the day are reflecting off the buildings in the distance, bathing the room in an orange glow.

He watches the way the light illuminates your face, highlighting the curves and lines. It's not the first time he's found himself admiring the way someone looks, but it's the first time it's left him feeling like his heart's about to burst out of his chest.

It's not until you turn back to face him, the light fading, does he realize he's been holding his breath.

"I'm sorry, what was I saying?" you ask, and he's not sure if it's the lighting or his imagination, but he swears there's a faint flush creeping up your neck and cheeks.

"You were talking about the report," he says, his voice a little softer than usual.

You blink. "Oh, right. Of course." You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter, and Crosshair has to remind himself not to lean in. "I graded the report based on how she did against the curriculum."

"Which is stupid."

"Yeah, I know." You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and Crosshair tracks the movement. "But it's how it works, unfortunately. We have a certain set of standards we have to abide by, and unfortunately, Omega's interpretation of the story was outside those standards."

"So? Her analysis is solid, and you know it," he says.

"It is," you agree, and the corner of your mouth twitches up into a half-smile. Your eyes are soft and full of understanding, and Crosshair has to look away.

"Her argument was well-researched, and her points were valid," you say, and it's with an apologetic tone. "But she also failed to follow directions."

Crosshair blinks.

That's not right.

"What?"

"She was asked to write a report on her thoughts and opinions on a classic work, and her interpretation of the story was excellent, but..."

"But what?" He knows he's being defensive, and he's not sure why, but the thought of you grading her unfairly, giving her a low score because of something that was his fault, makes his blood boil.

He takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair, folding his arms and forcing himself to relax.

You don't seem bothered by his attitude, though. In fact, you just smile at him.

"Well, she did a wonderful job of explaining her interpretation, but she failed to stick to the author's original meaning," you explain. "And while I understand why she was interpreting the text the way she was, and I'm happy she's able to do that, she was asked to write a paper specifically about the author's intended meaning."

Crosshair doesn't respond. He stares at you, his lips pressed together, trying his hardest to stay calm.

He has to admit, it makes sense. You're just doing your job, and the fact that you're even taking the time to explain it to him is a testament to how hard you're trying. But that doesn't make the situation any easier, and the disappointment in Omega’s voice when she'd shown him her report earlier that day is still fresh in his mind.

"It doesn't change the fact that she's brilliant," you say, interrupting his train of thought.

He snaps his head up, staring at you, and the expression on your face is almost...tender. You're not just saying it to placate him, or to try and get him to leave. No, you mean it. He didn't realize just how much you cared about his sister, and he's taken aback by how sincere you are.

"Omega is an incredibly intelligent young woman, and I am in awe of her every day." You lean forward, your elbows resting on the desk. You're smiling, but there's a hint of sadness in your eyes, and the way you speak, the words that spill out of your mouth, are genuine. "I can't begin to imagine the things she's been through, and I know that's not an excuse for how difficult I've been, but I'm sorry. I really am."

The anger he'd been holding onto melts away, replaced by a strange mixture of pride and confusion. He's proud that you care so much about Omega, and confused by how much it seems to affect him. He'd expected you to be stubborn, maybe even rude. But this? This isn't anything like the image he'd conjured up in his mind.

It's...

Nice.

"So, what now?" he asks.

"Well," you start, and the smile on your face turns mischievous, "you're welcome to challenge my grade. You can go to the school board, or we can go to the principal's office. You could even submit a formal complaint, or—"

"No," he interrupts, and his cheeks flush when he realizes how fast the word came out. He clears his throat, trying to compose himself, and says, "I meant, what do we do? To help her?"

"Oh." You blink, clearly surprised.

He's not sure why. Does he come off as the type of person who would file a formal complaint over a grade?

Probably, actually.

"Right," you say, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts. "Well, there's not a lot we can do. This was her last chance to make up for her last test score, and I'm afraid she'll have to repeat the class next year."

"There has to be something you can do," he insists. The words fall out of his mouth before his brain catches up, and he's already cringing internally at how desperate he sounds.

"Look," you sigh. "You're not the first parent to come in here at the end of the semester and ask me to raise a grade. But, if I raised Omega's grade, then I would have to raise the grades of everyone else who turned in a similar report. And I can't do that."

"You can't be serious," he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"I am," you say, an edge to your voice. "It wouldn't be fair."

"Life's not fair."

"Yeah, no kidding." You huff a humorless laugh. Your lips purse, and he can tell you're holding back a glare.

He knows he's pushing his luck, and he's starting to feel like an idiot, but he can't help himself.

"You can't honestly tell me that there's nothing we can do."

Your eyes flicker away from his, and your gaze drifts down to the datapad. He can see your mind working, can see the gears turning as you mull over your options. You chew on your lower lip, and Crosshair tries not to stare, but it's a struggle.

He's never met someone who could have him going from angry to intrigued in the span of a few minutes, and he's not sure why he's so fixated on you. Maybe it's the way you're not afraid to stand your ground against him, or maybe it's the fact that you seem genuinely concerned about his sister's wellbeing. Or maybe it's just the way you look, with your bright eyes and kind smile, and the way you're clearly trying your best to make a difference.

Whatever it is, it's working.

"There is one thing," you say, after what feels like an eternity.

"What?"

You take a deep breath, as if bracing yourself, and meet his eyes.

"I can't raise her grade, but I could offer her some extra credit, if she'd like. It's not a guarantee, and I'd have to see her improvement before I decided to give her the points, but it's an option."

"Yes." The word slips out before he can stop himself, and he mentally curses at his own eagerness.

You arch an eyebrow.

"She'd like that." He clears his throat and forces himself to sound casual, unbothered. "If you're willing."

"Of course." You smile at him, and the warmth that spreads through his chest is...weird. But not unpleasant.

He's not sure what he did to deserve that look, that smile, but he decides he doesn't hate it.

"I'll tell her," he says, and he gets to his feet.

You stand as well, and the height difference between the two of you is not lost on him. He has to look down to meet your eyes, and the way you have to tilt your head up makes him feel strangely amused.

He's used to looking down at people, and most of the time, it makes him feel superior. But right now, he just feels...

Well, he doesn't really know how to describe it.

"Thanks," he says, and the word sounds foreign on his tongue. It's not something he's used to saying, especially to a stranger. He's not even sure what he's thanking you for, exactly, but it feels appropriate.

"You're welcome," you say, a grin on your face that's almost too wide, too bright, too much. "Oh, one more thing."

He hums, and you take a step closer around the desk. You're a foot or so away from him, close enough that he can smell the perfume you use, the floral scent filling his senses. He swallows hard and tries to ignore the way his pulse is racing.

You're not making this easy for him.

"We had a chaperone drop out last minute for the end of the year field trip," you explain. "If you have the time, would you be interested in helping me out? We're going to the spaceport museum."

Crosshair has no interest in a bunch of kids running around a museum, and he's about to decline, but the look on your face stops him.

The pleading look in your eyes, the way your eyebrows are knitted together, the slight pout of your lips. He knows what you're doing, and he doesn't like it. He's not the kind of man who caves to pretty girls asking him for favors, and he's definitely not going to cave now.

He's stronger than this. He can resist the urge. He's a trained soldier, a skilled marksman, and he's not about to give in to the will of a cute teacher.

He's stronger than this.

"I'll do it," he hears himself say.

Fuck.

"Perfect." Your eyes light up, and your smile widens. You're practically beaming, and it's like looking directly at the sun. "I'll send you the details. Thank you, Crosshair. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah," he says, struggling to think of a clever response, but coming up empty. He doesn't have a chance to say anything else before you're practically shoving him out the door.

When he turns back to face you, he sees you wave, and then the door is shut, and you're gone.

The silence of the hallways is suddenly too much, and he has to force himself to take a deep breath.

He's in trouble.

The trip is a nightmare.

It's not your fault. If anything, you've gone above and beyond to keep the kids in line. Crosshair's watched you run after them, chasing them through the exhibit and reminding them that they're not allowed to touch things. And, for the most part, the kids are well-behaved. There are a handful of them that seem to have a problem listening, but you've got the rest under control.

He has to hand it to you. It's impressive, and a little endearing, how hard you're trying. He knows you're exhausted, can see it in the way your shoulders sag when the kids start talking over you, can see it in the way you sigh when one of them pushes their way past you.

But the kids are bored, and he can't blame them. It's a pretty lame field trip, and he doesn't really understand the point of bringing them here. What is a museum, anyway, if not a place to look at cool, old ships?

So far, all they've done is look at boring, historical texts, and listen to you drone on about the importance of space travel and the role its played in storytelling throughout the galaxy.

The whole thing is dull, and he doesn't have the patience for this. He wants to go home and do literally anything else, and if he has to listen to one more kid whine about being bored, he's going to scream.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

Really, he's not bored.

In fact, he's quite the opposite.

He's fascinated.

It's the way you speak, the passion and excitement in your voice. He finds himself watching the way your lips move, the way your eyes sparkle with amusement. It's the same sparkle they had the other night, when he'd confronted you in the classroom. It's the same one that's been haunting him for the past week, and it's the reason why he's stuck here, in a crowded museum, surrounded by dozens of prepubescent teenagers, all while his brothers are back at home, probably having fun without him.

And, as if things weren't already bad enough, you're wearing the cutest outfit he's ever seen. It's a dress, the kind that flows down to your ankles, and it's got tiny flowers all over it. Your hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, tied back with a pink ribbon, and it swishes back and forth as you walk.

Crosshair's not usually one for dresses, and he's definitely not a fan of the color pink. But on you? It works.

It's almost unfair, really.

No, it's extremely unfair.

He's spent the entire day stealing glances at you, trying his best not to be obvious, and Omega is catching onto him. She keeps smirking at him, her eyes narrowed, and he's pretty sure she's been teasing him. He'll get caught staring at you, and she'll elbow him in the ribs and wink at him.

It's annoying, and he hates it.

Not as much as he hates himself, though.

Because he knows better. He knows it's wrong, knows it's stupid, and yet, he can't seem to stop himself.

And the worst part is, you don't even seem to notice. You're so busy trying to keep the kids in check, to keep them from causing a scene, that you're not paying any attention to him. He's grateful for that, because he's not sure how he'd handle the embarrassment.

But, at the same time, he wishes you would look at him. Just once. Just a quick glance, a tiny smile, a small nod. Something.

He sighs.

It's been a long day, and he's tired.

He's standing near the entrance, keeping an eye on the group of students, Omega included. They're currently huddled around a holoexhibit, and he watches as you answer their questions and explain the significance of each ship. You have the patience of a saint, and he has no idea how you do it. The questions they're asking are ridiculous, and a few of them are just flat out wrong.

Crosshair's tempted to go over and tell them how stupid they are, to get them to give you a break, but he refrains. He's not supposed to be getting involved, after all. This is your job, and he's just here to make sure the kids stay safe.

But he's not about to let them cause a scene.

A flash of metal catches his attention, and he frowns. One of the kids, a Rodian, is standing on a platform, and his hand is hovering over a lever. Crosshair doesn't need to read the label to know what the kid is thinking. He's been watching this one eye this exact display all morning, and he's been waiting for him to finally get brave enough to try his luck.

The kid reaches out, and before he can touch the lever, Crosshair strides across the room. He grabs his wrist, his grip firm, and pulls his hand away. The Rodian squawks in surprise, and Crosshair glares down at him. He's not tall, not for a Rodian, and it's easy for Crosshair to loom over him.

"Don't touch that," he growls.

"I-I wasn't gonna," the kid stammers, and his eyes dart towards the exit. He looks ready to bolt, and Crosshair would find it funny if it weren't for the way the rest of the kids are staring at him.

"Bullshit."

"Language," you scold, and Crosshair turns his head to see you approaching him, an exasperated look on your face. You have your hands on your hips, and you look like you're ready to lecture him instead of the kid who was about to activate the simulator without permission.

He raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you.

"You shouldn't swear in front of children," you say, your tone matter-of-fact.

"Well, maybe they shouldn't touch shit that's not theirs," he retorts, and he shoots the kid a pointed look.

"Crosshair!"

You're glaring at him now, and he knows he should feel bad, but he doesn't. He can't. Your cheeks are flushed, and your brows are furrowed, and you're trying so hard to look stern and serious, but it's not working. He's not sure why, but seeing you angry is a lot more appealing than it should be.

It makes him want to push your buttons.

"If I catch you touching this again, I'll throw you out," he warns the kid, and he lets go of his wrist. "Got it?"

The kid nods, and then he's dashing back to the rest of the group, a look of fear on his face.

"What is wrong with you?" you demand, and Crosshair looks down at you, fighting the urge to smirk. You're still glaring at him, but the flush on your cheeks is a shade darker now, and he can't help but feel a little proud of himself.

"I'm just doing my job," he says, and the smirk he'd been fighting is making its way onto his face now.

Your eyes widen. "Your job is to make sure the kids are safe, not threaten them."

"I wasn't threatening him," he scoffs.

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you—"

"Okay, fine, maybe I was. A little," he admits, and you shake your head, a huff escaping you. The glare falls away, and the look on your face is softer now, a little less annoyed, and a lot more amused.

"I had it handled," you tell him, and there's a hint of teasing in your tone now, too.

"Yeah, it looked like it."

"Crosshair," you warn, but the corners of your lips are twitching upwards, betraying the seriousness of your voice.

"What? I'm just trying to help," he says, and the shrug he gives is a little more smug than it should be.

Crosshair isn't trying to antagonize you, not really. He's just...testing the waters, he supposes. Seeing how far he can push you, seeing how much you can take before you crack, and he has to admit that you're holding up pretty well so far. Most people would've told him off, or stormed off by now, but not you.

No, you're still here.

You're standing in front of him, your arms folded across your chest, trying your very best not to smile at him.

You're enjoying this.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut, and he has to force himself to breathe normally. He's not sure why that's such a revelation, but it is. You're enjoying his company, enjoying the back-and-forth, and it makes him feel lighter than air.

"Are you always this much of an ass?" you ask, and his eyes widen at the sudden vulgarity, but he recovers quickly. He likes it, actually. The bluntness, the honesty. It's refreshing, and a lot more than he expected from you.

Crosshair smirks. "Now who's swearing in front of children?"

"They're not paying attention."

"Oh, right, because the exhibit on the history of intergalactic trade is so exciting," he says, and you snort, shaking your head.

"Yeah, you're not wrong," you admit, and he chuckles.

"I know."

"Of course you do," you mutter sarcastically. But, the annoyance has faded, and there's a smile on your face as you turn to look at the kids, so Crosshair considers it a win.

You stand there, next to him, your arms folded, and you watch as the kids slowly make their way through the exhibit. They're talking among themselves, completely oblivious to the exchange between the two of you. It's a bit of a relief, because he's not sure what they would make of the fact that he's flirting with their teacher.

Is he flirting?

No, that's not right.

He's not flirting.

He's just being...friendly. He's just making conversation, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's not his fault that you're easy to talk to.

Omega is the only one looking in his direction, and he doesn't miss the grin on her face. He shoots her a look, a warning, and she winks at him. He glares, and she sticks her tongue out.

Great.

He's definitely going to hear about this later.

"You're not exactly what I was expecting," you say quietly.

Crosshair looks back at you, his heart skipping a beat when he realizes just how close you are. You're standing next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and you're looking up at him, the same sparkle in your eyes as before. There’s a hint of a smile on your lips, and you seem...pleased.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asks, and he's almost afraid to know the answer.

"A good thing, of course." You nudge him playfully with your elbow, and the touch sends a jolt of electricity up his arm. "I'm glad I was wrong."

"Yeah, me too."

You laugh at that, and he smiles, more than a little pleased with himself. It's an unexpected, but pleasant, reaction, and he finds himself wanting to make you laugh again.

"Anyway," you say, taking a step back. "Thanks for keeping the kids in line. I really appreciate it."

He shrugs. "It's nothing."

"No, really." You look up at him, your eyes bright, and you give him a sympathetic smile. "I know this isn't exactly what you signed up for."

"It's not so bad."

You raise an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

"I mean, it's boring as hell," he admits, and the way your nose scrunches up as you laugh is adorable. He clears his throat and tries to focus. "But it's not awful. The company's...bearable."

You tilt your head to the side, and your eyes narrow. "Thanks, I think."

"Don't mention it."

"So," you start, a slight hesitation in your voice, "does this mean you're not going to file a complaint against me?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Crosshair teases. The way your eyes widen is enough to make him chuckle. "But I guess I can let it slide. For now."

"For now," you repeat, and you let out a breath. You shake your head and look up at him, the ghost of a smile on your lips. "Well, I'll take it. Now, let's get back to the kids, shall we?"

"After you," he says, gesturing for you to lead the way.

He follows after you, and he tries his best not to stare at the sway of your hips as you walk. He fails, but only a little bit.

And, if he catches you glancing back at him every so often, well, he's not complaining.

Omega is practically bouncing on her heels as they make their way down the street, heading home from the school. She's talking a mile a minute, her eyes bright, and she's still somehow full of energy despite the long day they've had. Crosshair can't quite keep up with her, and he's having trouble focusing on her words. He has no idea how you manage to do this every day, and he feels a little bad for thinking that teaching is an easy job.

She's going on about the trip, how much fun she had, and she's not slowing down. Crosshair doesn't mind, though. He's content to listen to her, and he's not going to stop her from gushing about her day. He does the same thing for her he’s always done for Tech, humming and nodding in the right places, and he knows that it makes her feel good to talk.

Besides, he's too distracted by his own thoughts to focus on what she's saying.

He's spent the last hour replaying the events of the day in his mind, trying to make sense of everything. The way you'd looked at him, the way you'd laughed, the way you'd teased him. It's all a little overwhelming, and he's not sure how to process it.

Crosshair isn't the kind of person who gets all worked up over a pretty girl. He’s not even the kind of person who gets all worked up, period.

But something about you, the way you carry yourself, the way you smile, the way you look at him. It's different.

You're different.

He doesn't know what to do with that information, and he's not sure he likes it. For all he knows, you're just being nice, just trying to be polite so he doesn’t give you a hard time. It wouldn't be the first time someone's done that.

Crosshair has been told his whole life that he's difficult to deal with, and he's learned to live with that. He's used to people being afraid of him, and he's used to people not wanting to be around him. He used to take pride in the fact that people were scared of him, but lately, it's started to wear on him.

Maybe it's because of his brothers, the way they've started to change, the way they've become softer. Or maybe it's because of Omega, the way she looks up to him, the way she trusts him, the way she thinks he's capable of great things.

Either way, he can't deny that he's a little lonely.

And maybe a little curious.

"Crosshair," Omega says, and the sharpness in her voice catches his attention. She's stopped walking, and she's giving him a look, her eyes narrowed. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Huh?" He blinks, and then he frowns. "Yeah, of course."

"Then, what did I just say?" she challenges, her hands on her hips, her head tilted up.

He pauses, and then sighs. "No, not really."

"I knew it!" she exclaims, throwing her hands up. "You were totally spacing out."

"I was not."

"Yes, you were," she argues, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"Really? Because you look like you're thinking about something."

"Nope," he lies. Crosshair turns his head away from her, pretending to look at something else. There's a few vendors pulling in their stands in front of them, closing up for the evening, and he watches them, trying to avoid Omega's gaze. The florist is packing up his display, and the bright, colorful flowers draw his attention. He tries to ignore the fact that they remind him of your dress.

"Are you sure? You seem...weird."

"I'm fine."

"Are you thinking about the field trip?" she asks, and he can hear the smugness in her voice. "About Miss—"

"Omega." He snaps his head back towards her, his eyes wide, and he gives her a warning look.

"What?" she says, feigning innocence, and he groans.

"Just drop it," he mutters, and he turns to keep walking.

"I can't," she says, following after him. She has to jog slightly to keep up with his hurried pace, but it does nothing to deter her. "You like her."

"Of course I like her. She’s nice,” he replies. His tone comes out more defensive than casual, and he grimaces internally.

"No, you really like her."

Crosshair opens his mouth, ready to defend himself. There's no way that's true. It's impossible. He barely knows you, and you're just his sister's teacher.

Just a pretty, sweet, kind teacher who cares about her students and isn't afraid to push the boundaries to help them learn. Who didn't back down when he challenged her, and didn't hesitate to stand her ground when he was being an ass.

Who smiles at him and looks at him like he's worth something, like he's important, like he matters. Who laughs at his pathetic attempts at humor and makes him feel like he's not a complete waste of space, like maybe there's something worthwhile inside of him after all. Like maybe, just maybe, there's a chance for him.

Shit.

He shakes his head. "You're crazy."

"Am not," she insists, and she skips in front of him, forcing him to stop. "I won't tell anyone."

"Omega—"

"You know, she's single," she continues with a knowing, smug grin, and it reminds him so much of Hunter that he has to take a deep breath and count to ten before he can speak again. And even then, he's still annoyed.

"How the hell do you know that?" he demands, his eyebrows raised.

"I overheard her talking to the other teachers during lunch," she explains, and the smugness fades, replaced by a sheepish smile.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop," he chastises, though he's a little too preoccupied with the new information to put much force behind the words.

"I didn't mean to," she says with a shrug. "I was looking for her, and I found her, and they were talking about her, so..."

"So, what else did you hear?" he asks, trying his best to sound disinterested.

"Nothing."

"Omega," he warns.

"I didn't hear anything!" she insists, her eyes wide. After a beat, a smirk forms on her face, and her eyes narrow. "Why? Did you want to know something else?"

"No," he snaps, a little too quickly. "Just forget it."

"But—"

"It's not important," he says, cutting her off as he steps around her and continues walking. He hears her groan in frustration, and he smirks to himself. Serves her right.

"Wait!" She hurries after him, her hands gripping the strap of her bag tightly as she catches up. She's practically running now, trying her best to match his long strides, and her breathing is a little heavier than normal. "Crosshair, slow down."

"No."

She huffs. "I'm just saying—"

"Omega, enough."

"I think she likes you, too."

Crosshair stops walking abruptly, and Omega almost collides with him. He turns his head towards her, his eyebrows raised, and she takes a step back.

"What makes you say that?" he asks. He knows he's being foolish, letting her bait him like this, but he can't help himself. The hopeful note in her voice is hard to ignore, and he's suddenly feeling a lot more optimistic than he should.

"Because she kept looking at you," she explains.

"No, she didn't."

"Yes, she did," she argues. "She was looking at you, like, the entire time. The whole trip. I'm surprised you didn't notice."

"You're exaggerating," he mutters, trying to hide the flush in his cheeks.

"I'm not," she says, shaking her head. "I was keeping track."

"You know, if you paid half as much attention to your schoolwork as you do to gossiping, neither of us would be in this mess," he retorts.

"Hey! That's not true," Omega pouts. "I learned everything I need to know about intergalactic trade from Tech. I'm good."

Crosshair can't help but smile at that, and Omega grins back at him. They start walking again, this time a little slower, and she reaches for his hand, grabbing hold of his fingers.

"But you like her, right?" she asks, tilting her head up at him.

"She's...nice," he admits, and the look on her face tells him that's not enough. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck with his prosthetic hand. "I don't know. Maybe."

"You should ask her out."

"Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea," he mutters, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I barely know her."

"So? Just get to know her," Omega says, and he sighs.

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Crosshair hesitates, trying to think of a reason. The truth is, he's never really had to deal with this kind of situation. He's not exactly the best when it comes to social interactions, and his history with romantic relationships is...limited. It's not something he's ever bothered to think about, but now that it's staring him in the face, he feels woefully unprepared.

"What if she says no?"

"Well, what if she says yes?"

Crosshair doesn't respond. If he's being honest, he hadn't even considered the possibility of you saying yes. He'd been so focused on the negative outcome, the embarrassment, the awkwardness, that he'd completely forgotten about the other side of the equation. What if you did say yes? What would he do then? Would he be happy? Relieved? Or would he be even more nervous than before?

"I don't know," he finally admits.

"You should ask her," Omega urges. "At least, think about it."

"Maybe," he says, and she frowns, clearly not satisfied with the answer. He sighs, and then gives her hand a squeeze. "I'll think about it."

"Okay," she grumbles, and the two of them continue walking, falling into a comfortable silence. It's quiet between them all the way to the front door, and he's almost home free, his hand hovering over the sensor pad, when Omega speaks up.

"I'm just saying," she starts, and he groans, "you should go for it."

"I'm done having this conversation," he grumbles as he tugs her inside, slamming the door behind him. He can hear voices coming from the kitchen, and he freezes, holding fast to her wrist.

"You have to promise not to tell them."

"Okay, okay, I promise," she says, rolling her eyes, and she tugs her arm away.

"No, not okay," he says. "If you tell them, I'll kill you."

"Okay, fine," she huffs, and he narrows his eyes at her.

"I'm serious," he says, his tone low, threatening. It doesn't work on Omega, not anymore, and she just looks up at him, unbothered.

"So am I."

"Fine." Crosshair sighs, deflating, and then, before he can stop himself, the words are spilling out. "So, what do I do?"

Omega's face lights up, a grin so wide it nearly splits her face in two, and he regrets the question almost instantly. "I'll help you."

"What?"

"I'll help you," she repeats.

"You're kidding," he deadpans.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I have a great idea. Trust me."

"Omega—"

"I promise, you won't regret it," she says, and then, she's gone, dashing off towards the kitchen where Hunter and Wrecker are arguing about dinner.

Crosshair watches her go, and then, with a groan, he drags his hand over his face.

What has he gotten himself into?

The next few weeks are a blur. Omega's been keeping him busy, asking him to help her with homework, walking her to and from school, and the whole time, he's wondering when she's going to bring up her big plan.

She managed to get a score high enough on her extra credit in your class to pull her grade up, and Hunter nearly fell over when he found out. You'd sent a letter home with her, letting them know how impressed you were, and both Hunter and Wrecker wouldn't shut up about it for days. Omega's been bragging about it, too, and Crosshair's heard her go on about how smart and amazing and brilliant and perfect you are, over and over again.

She hasn't brought up her big plan again, though, and Crosshair's grateful. She has, however, started dropping hints here and there, meddling in ways that she shouldn't, and it's getting old, fast.

He's already had to stop her from inviting you over for dinner, twice, and he's not sure how much longer he can keep her from blowing his cover. More than once, Omega's forgotten her datapad at home, and he's had to drop everything to run it to the school. It's a pain in the ass, but at least it gives him an excuse to see you.

And he sees you, a lot more than he should.

He tries not to get too excited about it, tries not to think too hard about what it means, but it's impossible. Omega's made it her mission to get the two of you alone together, and he can't help but feel a bit like a pawn in her scheme, one that she refuses to share with him. Not that it matters, because it's working.

You're talking to him.

In fact, the two of you have spent so much time together over the last few weeks, that it's almost weird when he doesn't see you. Every morning, when he drops Omega off at school, he makes sure to walk her inside. You're always there, and he doesn't miss the way you look up when the door opens or the way you smile when you see him. You're usually sitting at your desk, grading papers, or helping a student, and he's quick to leave before anyone notices how long he's standing there.

But every once in a while, when he's lucky, you're standing at the front of the room, and the two of you are able to exchange a few words. It's nothing too special, and it's not as if you're exchanging life stories or anything, but it's enough. It's more than he could've hoped for, and it's better than the alternative, which is absolutely nothing. He even brought you coffee one day, after you'd stayed late to work on a project with Omega, and you'd blushed.

Blushed.

For him.

Crosshair would be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed that. It's nice, having someone to talk to, and it's nice, being able to see you smile. Even if it's only for a minute or two, and even if his brothers are constantly giving him shit for it.

He's not an idiot. He knows they're all watching him, waiting to see how this plays out, and he's doing his best not to give them any ammunition. Omega's already told him, several times, that they're rooting for him, and he's not sure how to feel about that. The last thing he needs is everyone butting into his business, and he's hoping that Omega will keep her word and keep her mouth shut.

He's not going to say anything, not until he's absolutely sure. And, even then, he'll probably wait. The only problem is, he's almost certain he's run out of time.

Crosshair has been keeping a mental countdown, counting down the days until Omega's finished with school, and it's come up a lot sooner than he'd expected. The semester is over, and it's officially summer vacation, which means you're no longer Omega's teacher. And with that, comes an end to whatever small shred of hope he'd had that something might happen, that whatever plan Omega had in mind would work, and the two of you would end up together.

Which is fine.

Really, it's fine.

He's not hurt. He's not disappointed. He's not anything. He doesn't care, not one bit, and he definitely isn't sulking, not at all, because that would be ridiculous.

It's just a crush. A silly, stupid, fleeting thing, and it's not worth getting upset about. It's not like anything would've happened between the two of you. You're way out of his league, and he knows that.

But still.

He can't deny that he misses the daily interaction, the brief exchanges, the occasional smiles. He can't deny that he'd enjoyed it, and now that it's over, he feels a little lost.

He jumped at the chance to go to the summer festival with everyone, partly because he didn't want to be home alone, and partly because he was hoping to run into you there. Which is stupid, and foolish, and pathetic, but he can't help himself. He'd overheard you telling Omega that you'd be there, and it's the closest thing he has to a sign, and so, he's taking it.

Besides, Hunter practically ordered him to go, so it's not like he had a choice.

So, here he is, standing off to the side, watching the rest of the family enjoying themselves. It's still early, and the real festivities won't begin until the sun starts to set, but everyone is already in a good mood. He tries his best not to ruin it with his attitude, but he knows he's doing a shitty job of it, and it doesn't help that they're teasing him relentlessly.

"You're moping."

Crosshair sighs and rolls his eyes as Hunter bumps him with his elbow. He's been standing next to him, staring out into the crowd, and he doesn't turn his head when his brother speaks.

"No, I'm not," he replies.

"Yes, you are," Hunter says. He takes a sip of his drink, and then, nudges him again. "Is this about your girlfriend?"

"Shut up," Crosshair grumbles, and he elbows him back, a little harder than necessary. Some of Hunter’s drink spills, and he feels a small flash of satisfaction.

"Ow."

"Leave me alone," he says, and Hunter snorts.

"No, I'm not gonna do that," Hunter says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's too easy."

Crosshair groans, and turns his head away, trying his best to ignore him. It doesn't work.

"Come on, just ask her out," Hunter urges, and Crosshair glares at him.

He can hear Wrecker snickering behind him, and when he turns around, the look on his face tells him everything he needs to know. He must've been listening in the whole time.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Hunter continues.

"I could make an idiot out of myself," Crosshair replies.

"So? You already do that every day," Wrecker jokes, and he winces when Hunter smacks him.

"Not helping," Hunter mutters, and Wrecker just shrugs.

"Look," Hunter says, turning back towards him, "if she says no, at least you'll know, and you can stop worrying about it."

Crosshair doesn't respond, too caught up in the sight of you weaving your way through the crowd. You're wearing a sundress, a cute little thing that ends just above your knees, and a flower crown sitting atop of your head, and he can't take his eyes off of you.

You're walking with Omega's art teacher, a Rutian Twi’Lek laden with jewelry, talking and gesturing animatedly. She has her hands full with decorations for the festival, and you're trying to help, but she keeps shooing you away. He can see the pout on your face, and he can't help but smile, just a little, and then you turn your head and catch Crosshair staring.

He doesn't have time to look away.

He doesn't even have time to try.

Instead, he watches, frozen, as your eyes lock with his. Your face lights up, a bright smile on your lips, and you wave at him. He feels his hand lift in acknowledgement despite himself, and he can't stop the way his lips quirk up into a half-smile.

He can see Omega trailing after the two of you, a stack of posters in her hands, and she's saying something, but he can't hear her. The only thing he can hear is his heart pounding in his ears, and the only thing he can see is you, your face flushed, and a look in your eyes that's far too soft for him to know what to do with.

"Wow," Hunter says, breaking the spell, and he blinks, the image of you in front of him fading, replaced by his brother's annoying smirk.

"What?"

"I knew you liked her, but I didn't know it was this bad," Hunter says.

"Oh, come on," Wrecker teases, a big grin spreading across his face. "He's in love."

Crosshair can't stop the growl of frustration that leaves him, and the sound makes his brothers laugh. He wants to shove them, or punch them, or something, but he doesn't have the chance.

You’re walking over.

You're heading in their direction, and Crosshair panics, unsure of what to do. He doesn't know how to be anything other than aloof and rude, and he's afraid he'll say something stupid and embarrass himself. He doesn't want to mess this up, and he's terrified he'll ruin everything if he says the wrong thing.

He looks at Hunter, a desperate plea in his eyes, but his brother is no help. Instead, he just smirks and shrugs, nudging Wrecker.

"We should go check on Omega," he says, his tone is casual. "C'mon, Wrecker."

Wrecker doesn't argue, and he doesn't hesitate, following Hunter without a word. Before he can blink, they're gone, and it's just the two of you. Crosshair's not sure if it's better or worse.

"Hi," you say, your voice soft as you come to a stop in front of him.

Your cheeks are flushed, and you're fidgeting. He finds it endearing, and the fact that you're just as flustered as he is makes him feel a little bit better.

"Hey," he says, his voice coming out a bit raspier than he'd intended. He clears his throat, and then nods towards your companion. "Are you having fun?"

You tilt your head and look back over your shoulder, and Crosshair doesn't miss the slight roll of your eyes.

"Yeah, I'm having a blast," you deadpan, and he can't help but laugh. He's grown used to your particular brand of sarcasm over the past few weeks, the kind that only seems to come out when he's around, and he's come to enjoy the way it sounds when it's aimed at someone else.

"Don't worry," he says, "we can be miserable together."

"Well, that's not very festive," you reply, and there's a teasing edge to your voice. "What did the festival ever do to you?"

"Nothing, I just don't like people."

"Fair enough," you say with a laugh. "So, what brings you here?"

"Omega."

"Ah." You nod, and a soft smile forms on your face. "Of course. She told me you'll be helping us out later. Thanks, by the way."

Crosshair raises an eyebrow.

This is news to him.

"Uh, yeah," he says slowly, his eyes narrowing. "What did she say, exactly?"

"She said you'd be helping with the games." You tilt your head and look up at him, confusion in your eyes. "Is that...not true?"

He stares back at you, unsure of what to say. He's never agreed to anything like that, and the idea of working with children is...unappealing, to say the least. He can't imagine why Omega would've said that.

The realization hits him, and his eyes widen.

That little brat.

She set him up.

She's been planning this, and he was too distracted with moping to realize it. He'd let her walk all over him, and now, he's going to have to play along. Because there's no way in hell he's going to tell you the truth, not now, not when you're looking up at him, expectant and hopeful.

"Yeah, no," he lies, shaking his head. "She's right. I'll be there."

"Great," you say, and he's pretty sure you actually mean it. "I'm running the scavenger hunt. And, if you wanted, I could use a partner."

Crosshair blinks, brain stuttering over the word partner, and he must look like an idiot, because you start to backtrack.

"But, you probably have better things to do. I'm sure there's someone else who would love to help. I just thought—"

"No, no, I'll help," he interrupts, and you stop, giving him a grateful look.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Your smile is so bright, so radiant, that it makes his heart ache. He can't remember the last time someone was this happy to spend time with him. He's not used to feeling wanted, and the knowledge that you enjoy his company fills him with a sense of pride he's not quite prepared for.

"But," he starts, his eyebrows raised, "you owe me."

"I know, I know," you say with a laugh. "Anything you want."

"I'm serious," he insists, though the smirk on his face betrays his words. "I'm doing this under duress. I'm being held against my will."

"I'll make it worth your while," you tease, and the way your eyes flash, the playful look in them, is almost enough to make him forget how to breathe. He tries not to focus on it, tries not to dwell on the way his mind immediately goes to some very interesting places, but it's a losing battle. He's sure his cheeks are red, and the knowing look in your eyes doesn't help.

"Uh," he says, his voice strangled, and he has to clear his throat again before he can continue. "Good.”

"Good," you repeat, and the smile on your face turns shy. You take a step back, and then another, and the look in your eyes is...different, softer, and a little more vulnerable. It makes his stomach twist. "Well, I should probably go. But, I'll see you later, right?"

He nods, and you grin. You wave goodbye and walk away, and Crosshair watches you go, a small smile on his face. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at himself, but he can't stop smiling. It's a dumb thing to be happy about, but it's nice, knowing that you're looking forward to seeing him. And the way you'd looked at him, the hopeful look in your eyes, the shyness, the blush on your cheeks. He can't stop thinking about it.

It's just a crush, and it'll go away eventually. It's just a silly little thing, and it'll fade away. You'll be gone, and he'll be left behind, and everything will go back to normal. He'll get over it.

But, as he stands there, watching you laugh and smile and talk to the others, the sight of you making him feel things that he's not quite ready to admit, he can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want it to.

By the time the sun sets, the courtyard is packed. The vendors have all set up their stalls, the games have begun, and the music is blaring. Crosshair stays close to Wrecker, using his bulk to help him avoid the crowds, and does his best to ignore the children running around. Wrecker's not much help. He keeps wandering off, getting distracted by the food or the games, and Crosshair is left to wander around alone.

It's not all bad, though.

He's able to keep an eye on Omega, and that's enough to keep him occupied. He knows she can take care of herself, but it's hard for him to relax when she's not within eyesight. And, every once in a while, you catch his eye. You're busy, running from place to place, and he knows that you don't have time to stop and chat, but the small, shy smiles that you give him are enough to put him at ease.

It's a nice distraction, and it helps him stay focused, which is a good thing. Because, before he knows it, it's time for the scavenger hunt. Omega drags him over to the table where you’re waiting, and he can't help but smile at the enthusiasm in your voice.

"I'm so glad you could make it," you say, and the look in your eyes tells him that you really mean it.

At his side, Omega looks far too proud of herself. Crosshair narrows his eyes at her, and she gives him a toothy grin in return.

"Me too," he mutters, and you laugh.

"Come on," you say, grabbing a basket from the table. "Let's get started."

Crosshair nods, and he stands back as you hand out datapads and explain rules to the crowd that’s formed around them. He's not paying attention. He's watching you, listening to your voice, enjoying the way you look in the light of Pabu’s setting sun, and it's a nice moment. That is, until Omega elbows him, and he startles.

"What?"

“She likes you," she whispers conspiratorially, her hand cupped over her mouth.

"Shut up," he hisses.

Omega giggles, and he glares at her, but it does nothing to wipe the smirk from her face.

"I'm not talking to you," he growls.

"Yeah, you are," she says, her voice laced with amusement. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Before he can say anything, you announce that the scavenger hunt has started, and the kids are off. Omega joins the crowd, and soon, she's lost among the swarm of children running past them. Crosshair watches her go, his eyebrows furrowed, and then, he turns his attention to you.

You're smiling, waving at the kids, and he can't take his eyes off of you. This was a bad idea. He should've said no. He should've done something, anything, but instead, he'd let himself get roped into helping, and now, he's standing here, watching you, wishing he had the courage to just say something, and it's driving him crazy.

"Thanks again for helping," you say, turning towards him, and he startles, caught off guard.

"Uh, yeah, no problem," he replies. "I was going to be here anyway."

"Yeah, Omega mentioned that."

Crosshair nods, and the two of you settle into an awkward silence. He shifts on his feet, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he stares out into the crowd. You're quiet beside him, and the longer the silence lasts, the more uncomfortable he becomes.

It's not like you to be so quiet. Usually, you're chatting his ear off, asking him questions, trying to get him to open up, and the fact that you haven't said a word is concerning. You’re shuffling datapads and small trinkets around as if looking for something to keep yourself busy, and he's starting to wonder if he's done something wrong.

He's trying not to worry about it, but the longer the silence stretches, the more his mind races. He knows he's overthinking, and the more he thinks about it, the more anxious he becomes.

It's just a crush, he reminds himself.

He doesn't want anything from you. He doesn't need anything from you. He doesn't expect anything from you. But, as he stands there, trying not to dwell on the way his heart is racing, the way his stomach is twisting, the way his breath catches in his throat, he can't help but feel like a bit of an idiot.

He can't help but wonder if you've figured him out.

Maybe you know, and that's why you're acting so strange. Maybe you can tell, and you're waiting for him to make the first move. Maybe you're nervous, or maybe, you just don't want him to say anything, because you don't feel the same way, and that's why you're keeping your distance. He knows that's a long shot, but it doesn't stop his brain from fixating on the thought. He can't help but think about how much worse it'll be if you do know.

So, he stands there, and the silence stretches on, tension thick in the air as you cast glances at each other.

It's not until a couple of kids come up and ask for help with the next clue that the tension breaks.

The two of them are young, maybe eight or nine, and they're struggling. They're a cute pair, brother and sister, and they remind him a lot of his siblings. Their parents are nowhere in sight, and they're arguing, bickering, and it’s not until you crouch down to speak to them, taking the datapad from the boy's hands, that they calm down. You explain the next clue to them, and Crosshair watches as the siblings nod, their faces lighting up with understanding.

He wants to keep watching you, but a second pair of kids approach, and then a third. He can see you’re starting to get overwhelmed, and so he picks up a datapad and gets to work.

Soon, the two of you have a rhythm. You help the younger kids while he helps the older ones, and the system seems to work. He finds himself enjoying the task, and he doesn't even realize that an hour has passed until the scavenger hunt is over and the sun has nearly set. The two of you gather up the datapads, and the kids line up in front of the table, ready to receive their prize.

They're all so excited, and they're smiling and laughing and cheering, and it's a nice sight. Crosshair has never been the biggest fan of children, but these ones aren’t so bad.

He doesn't even realize that he's smiling until Omega runs back over to him, her arms outstretched, and she flings herself at him. She grabs hold of his waist, and she squeezes him tight.

"Thanks for helping," she says, her voice muffled, and he has to swallow past the lump in his throat.

"No problem," he replies as she lets go. She's still grinning at him, her eyes bright, and he can't help but reach out and ruffle her hair. "How'd you do?"

"I won," she boasts and slaps his hand away, and he rolls his eyes, unable to keep from smirking.

"Of course you did."

"It wasn't easy," Omega continues, her eyebrows raising as she speaks slowly. "But I had a great partner."

Crosshair sighs, and he gives her a knowing look, which she ignores.

“Don’t screw this up,” she whispers, and then, before he can say anything, she turns on her heel and heads back towards the others.

You're still sitting at the table, and he takes a moment to compose himself before heading over. You're organizing the datapads, sorting them into a bag, and he takes a seat next to you.

"Thanks for the help," you say, and he nods, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Not a problem."

"You did a good job," you tell him. He ducks his head, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as you continue, “You’re good with them.”

"Well, you're welcome," he says, his voice low. "I have a lot of practice dealing with little brats."

You laugh, and the sound makes his heart swell. You continue sorting the datapads, and he watches you work, his eyes trailing over your features. It's not until you clear your throat that he realizes how long he's been staring.

"So, um," he begins, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he's been caught. "I was thinking..."

You look up. "Yeah?"

"You owe me."

"Huh?"

"You said anything I want," he explains, and the confusion on your face clears.

"Right," you reply, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You stop what you’re doing and turn to face him fully. "And what would that be?"

"Dinner.”

"Dinner?" you repeat, your eyebrows raised, and he nods.

"With me."

"Are you asking me on a date, Crosshair?"

"Yeah," he says, and his heart leaps into his throat when your eyes light up. "I'm asking you on a date."

"Oh," you say, a soft smile on your lips, and he can't help but mirror it. "Well, how could I say no?"

"Great," he replies, and then, after a pause, he asks, "is that a yes?"

"Yes, of course it's a yes,” you chuckle. You shake your head, and then, a teasing smile forms on your face. "Did you think I was gonna say no?"

"Uh," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was prepared for it."

You snort, and the laughter that follows is almost enough to distract him from the way his cheeks are burning. Almost. He looks away, embarrassed, but he can't help but smile.

"Sorry," you say, stifling your laughter, and he shrugs.

"It's fine."

"No, no, I'm not laughing at you," you say. You're biting your lip, trying to stop yourself from smiling, and his eyes narrow. "It's just..."

"What?"

"This whole time," you begin, and you have to bite back another laugh. "I've been trying to figure out how to ask you out."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah," you admit, and the shy smile on your face is almost too much for him to handle. He can't believe what he's hearing. "I've been waiting for an excuse to spend some time alone with you, but I couldn't think of anything. So, when Omega mentioned you'd be helping out, I figured it would be my chance."

Crosshair shakes his head, trying to process the words. It's a lot to take in. You've been trying to ask him out? All this time, he's been wondering, worrying, and it was all for nothing? You've wanted this, too?

"Oh," is all he can manage, and it's enough to make you laugh again.

"Yeah."

He doesn't know what to say, so he stays silent. You shift next to him, and you place your hand on his arm, the contact sending sparks through his skin. Your touch is light, but it makes his breath catch, and he doesn't miss the way you smile at his reaction.

“So, do you want to watch the fireworks with me?” you ask, your voice soft.

"Yeah, sure," he says. He's trying not to let his excitement show, but judging by the grin on your face, he's not doing a very good job of it.

"Good."

He's expecting you to let go of his arm, but instead, you slide your hand down, and your fingers brush against his, a subtle gesture that makes his heart race. He turns his hand palm up, and you slide yours into it, your touch warm and gentle. His fingers curl around yours, and the smile on your face makes him feel bold.

Crosshair stands, pulling you up with him, and the two of you walk to the edge of the courtyard, hand in hand. It’s quiet now, save for the music playing over the speakers and the soft murmur of conversation, and the sky is dark. There are only a few people left nearby, mostly parents picking up their children, and no one pays the two of you any mind. You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back, a smile forming on his face.

You lead him down a set of steps, and the two of you make your way towards a spot overlooking the bay. The breeze is cool, and the smell of salt fills the air. Without the lanterns and torches and strings of lights, it's dark, and he can just barely see your face, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon.

There’s a tree behind you, and it offers a bit of privacy, and the two of you settle against it, sitting on the grass. He can see the bay spread out in front of them, and the waves crashing on the beach, a steady rhythm that helps slow his racing heartbeat.

He's still holding your hand, and he gives it another squeeze. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, and the two of you watch as the fireworks begin. The explosions are loud, and bright, and colorful, and you point out the best ones, and the ones that remind you of him, and the ones that make you laugh. And, as the fireworks continue, as the colors fill the sky, you lean closer, and he pulls you into his arms.

He's not sure how long it lasts, but the longer the fireworks go on, the closer you get, and the more content he becomes. You're sitting between his legs, leaning back against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around you, holding you close.

You turn your head, the movement catching his eye. Your eyes meet his, and the two of you stare at each other, and the fireworks fade away, forgotten.

"Hey," he whispers, and the corner of your mouth twitches.

"Hey."

"This is nice," he says, his voice low.

"Yeah, it is."

You shift, turning towards him, and your face is so close that he can feel your breath on his lips. He knows he should wait, should give you a chance to change your mind, should give himself a chance to talk himself out of it, but he can't.

"I—"

"Yes," you interrupt, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and he has to laugh.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say," he teases, and you shrug.

"I'm sure it's something good," you say. You reach up, cupping his cheek with your free hand. "Whatever it is, the answer is yes."

He can't stop the smile that forms on his face. He doesn't even try. He just leans in, closing the gap between the two of you, and he kisses you, a soft press of his lips against yours. He feels you sigh against his mouth, and his eyes flutter closed as he loses himself in the kiss.

The fireworks are still going off, but he can barely hear them, and the cheers and laughter and music are distant, a soft hum that fades away. All he can focus on is the feel of your lips against his, the warmth of your body pressed against his, and the soft sound of your breathing.

He feels you smile, and his heart races, and he has to pull back to catch his breath. He opens his eyes, and he's met with the sight of you, your face flushed, and the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.

"That was nice," you say softly, and he scoffs.

“Just nice?" he asks, half-joking and half-serious. He’s just had the best kiss of his life, and if you think it was just nice, then he's got some work to do.

"Well, maybe it was a little more than nice," you tease. The look in your eyes has him leaning in again, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips and back.

"Only a little?"

"Yeah, a little."

"Hmm, well, let's try that again," he murmurs, and you laugh, a soft breath against his lips.

"Alright."

Crosshair kisses you again, and this time, the kiss is deeper, slower, and more deliberate. His hands find their way to your hips, pulling you onto his lap, and you don't hesitate to follow his lead. He runs his tongue along your lower lip, and when you moan into his mouth, he feels a thrill rush through him.

Your hands are on his shoulders, and you're straddling his lap as you kiss him back, matching his pace. The feel of your tongue sliding against, and the soft whimper you make when he bites down on your bottom lip, nearly drives him crazy. He grips your hips, and he tugs you closer, the pressure of your weight against him drawing a groan from his mouth into yours. It’s a sound so low and raw that it surprises him, but you don’t seem taken aback by it. If anything, you seem pleased, and it suddenly occurs to him that there’s a lot he doesn’t know about you.

And, for once, he's excited to learn.

He doesn't want this to end, and when you break the kiss, his lips chase yours, unwilling to part just yet. You're gasping, your breath coming in shallow pants, and he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his fingers digging into your hips.

"You're right," you say, breathless. "Definitely better than nice."

Crosshair laughs, and he opens his eyes. The sight of you, your eyes dark and your cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red, is almost enough to make him let go of the fragile grasp he has on his control. He wants to kiss you again, and again, and again, but the sound of cheering startles him and reminds him of where he is.

He blinks, and he looks around, and then, he lets out a breath. The fireworks are over.

He hadn't realized.

You're still staring at him, a dazed look in your eyes, and when your lips twitch into a smirk, his grip on your hips tightens.

"Don't look at me like that," he warns, his voice raspy.

"Why not?" you ask. Your hand moves from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers brushing against the hairs there, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

"Because I'm trying to be good," Crosshair explains. "And you're making it very difficult."

"I'm sorry," you say, but there's a hint of laughter in your voice that tells him you're not sorry at all.

"Don't be," he replies, and then, with a groan, he continues, "you're worth it."

Your cheeks flush, and he has to fight the urge to lean in and kiss you again. He knows if he does, he'll never be able to stop, and he'd prefer not to scandalize the locals. Or worse, have his brothers catch him in the act. So, instead, he takes a deep breath, and he moves his hands from your hips to your waist.

"Come on," he says, giving you a gentle nudge, and you pout.

"Fine," you sigh, and you give him a quick peck on the cheek before sliding off his lap. You stand and dust yourself off, and then, you offer him a hand. He takes it and lets you help him to his feet. You're still holding his hand as the two of you start walking, heading back up the stairs.

"So," you begin, breaking the silence, "when should we have that date?"

"Are you free tomorrow?"

"You don't waste any time, do you?" you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’ve wasted enough time," Crosshair says, his tone serious, and you give him a look of understanding

"Yeah, me too."

"So, tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow.”

The two of you share a smile, and he leads you back through through the courtyard. You walk slowly, and you let go of his hand, but the loss of contact is quickly forgotten when you lean into him, your shoulder brushing against his. He's tempted to wrap his arm around you, to pull you close, but the idea of having an audience for that makes his stomach turn, so he doesn't. Instead, he just enjoys the feeling of you at his side, and the easy way you fit into his space.

It doesn’t take long to make it to the point where you part ways, and the two of you linger, neither one of you ready to leave the other.

"I guess this is goodnight," you say, your voice soft.

"I guess so."

You reach out and grab his hand, and you squeeze it, giving him a shy smile. He squeezes back, and then, without thinking, he raises your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it.

The flash of embarrassment that follows is enough to make his face heat, but it's worth it for the way your eyes light up, and the faint blush that colors your skin. You duck your head, and the small, pleased smile on your face has his heart racing.

"Goodnight, Crosshair," you say.

"Goodnight."

You turn away, and he watches you go, his eyes lingering on the sway of your hips, and the way your hair dances in the wind. You don’t make it very far before you turn around, a mischievous grin on your face.

"By the way," you begin, your voice raised, and the smirk on his face fades. "Tell Omega I said thank you.”

Crosshair's eyes narrow, and his mouth opens and closes, his mind stuttering as he tries to process the words.

Omega set him up, and you knew, and this entire night was her idea. He'd known, in the back of his mind, that she'd been plotting something, and yet, it hadn't occurred to him until now just how much that entailed.

That little brat.

He can't decide if he's proud or embarrassed. He settles for a combination of the two, and the amused look on your face tells him that he's doing a poor job of hiding his feelings.

"Goodnight, Crosshair," you call out, a teasing lilt to your voice.

"Goodnight," he calls back, his tone flat.

You wave goodbye, and then, with a final, knowing look, you turn around and walk away.

He waits until you're out of sight before letting out a groan. Crosshair runs his hand down his face, and he shakes his head, trying not to think about how many times he'd made a fool of himself tonight. His siblings were never going to let him live this down. He sighs, and then, with a roll of his eyes, he starts walking.

When he makes it home, he finds them already gathered in the living room, talking amongst themselves. Omega’s chosen a chair that faces the front door, and her head snaps over toward him as soon as he walks in. Wrecker and Hunter catch on quick, and the room falls silent, the three of them watching him.

"So, how'd it go?" Omega asks innocently.

Crosshair glares at her, his eyes narrowed. She meets his gaze, a challenging look on her face, and he closes the front door with more force than necessary.

"It went fine."

"Fine?" Wrecker repeats. "That's it?"

They’re all staring at him now, and he can feel his temper rising, the heat of embarrassment rushing to his cheeks, and his fingers twitch, aching to shoot something. He forces himself to calm down, to remind himself they’re only asking because they care. Crosshair relaxes his shoulders, his jaw unclenching, and then, he lets out a sigh.

"Yes, fine," he says, his voice low. "We're going out tomorrow."

The room erupts into cheers and laughter, and Wrecker stands, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Crosshair squirms, trying to escape, but it's useless.

"Wrecker, let him go," Hunter orders, and Crosshair breathes a sigh of relief when his brother finally releases him.

"Thanks, Wrecker," Crosshair grumbles, only to let out a grunt when Omega barrels into him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

"I told you it would work," she says, and Crosshair reaches down and ruffles her hair.

"Yes, you did," he concedes, and the look of triumph on her face has him rolling his eyes. He sighs and extracts himself from her embrace, and he clears his throat. “She says thanks.”

Omega beams, and Wrecker and Hunter laugh, clapping him on the back. They congratulate him, teasing him, and he bears it as best he can, trying not to show how happy he is even as his heart races, and a warm feeling spreads through him.

He hadn't thought he'd have this again, a family, people who cared about him, and he hadn't dared to hope that he'd find something else, something more. He hadn't even known what he was missing until he met you.

And, for the first time in a long time, he's excited for the future.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

@marchingviolinist @deerspringdreams

#tbb crosshair #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #tbb crosshair x reader #the bad batch crosshair #clone x reader #the bad batch x reader #roy writes #realizing just now that I forgot about batcher im sorry #also confession time: i hate HATE naming fics #i cringe so hard #literal agony every time i have to name one of these #if anyone wants to volunteer to be my title generator #i'd owe you my life #chatgpt is not cutting it

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russellsppttemplates · 9 months ago

Text

That’s bullshit if I’ve heard of any (Lando Norris)

Lando finally had enough of seeing you hurt like that

Note: english is not my first language. I've been writing this one for a little bit and today felt like the day to finish it ✨️ this also felt close to home, but good to write it out, too!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: reader's self-doubt and low self esteem, loneliness, curse words, mentions a bad date with a rude person

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Are you sure you want me to come over?", you asked your best friend over the phone, refusing to accept that he had no better plans for his Friday night now that he was not racing.

"Is this your way of telling me you don't want to come over? Because that's fine, I'll stay in - are you going somewhere though? Like a date?", Lando said over the phoneline.

"Bold of you to assume I would have plans, and with a date nonetheless", you muttered, "all I'm saying is if you have something better to do, you should go do it!", you explained, not wanting to get into the topic too deeply.

"There's nothing better than spending time with my bestfriend! Do you need me to pick you up or do you feel comfortable driving at this time of night?", he wondered, "I'll be there in 10 then", you chatted off, ending the call.

Looking around your room, you found clothes that were both comfortable and presentable in case, with your usual luck, you were pulled over by the police and had to come out of your car.

Lando finally had some time off before the season began and he wanted to spend it with you. While you were usually able to fly out to most of the European races and even travel the long distance to other race tracks, this season you had more responsibilities to juggle between your internship, your studies and your family.

He arranged the pillows on the sofa and brought out your favourite snacks, getting his place ready while occupying the time until you rang his doorbell, walking up to the door so he could let you inside, "hey!", he greeted, excited to finally have you with him after weeks where you both had been busy.

"Hey", you said, nudging his hip slightly with yours as you went to the shoe cabinet, leaving your shoes there and putting on your slippers you kept at his house.

Following him silently to the living room, you watched him sit down as you took in the comfort his place made you feel.

"You're not okay", Lando stated, "I noticed when we were on the phone".

"So this is a pity visit?", you wondered, "That's why you called me over?", you grumbled, feeling the blush erupt on your cheeks along with a little annoyance.

"I never said that! I, I called you and then noticed you weren't okay! Scoot, scoot, I got a tray full of goodies for us to eat", Lando urged, pushing the blanket to the side so you could get in the warm cocoon he created with the soft fabric along with pillows in various shapes and sizes you had insisted he needed to make the place feel more home-y.

"Are you going to talk about what's on your mind or do you want to watch this new show in silence?", he wondered, pointing the remote at the TV.

"I don't want to talk about it, not now anyway", you grumbled, finding your perfect position as you laid against your bestfriend, his arm going around your shoulders as you snuggled your legs under the blanket.

The new show ended up involving a romantic couple which only heightened your feelings. Lately, it was all you could see. Everyone around you seemed to have something romantic going on and they were happy with it. One of your friends was even convinced that she would be proposed to within the next few months, and you were single. Soon enough after you entered these thoughts, they pulled you to questions like why won't people love me? why am I single? what is it that doesn't attract people to me? and the one that you had yet to find a proper answer to, the list becoming too long for your own good am I unlovable?

"Can we watch something else, please?", you asked after debating for a few minutes wether or not you should interrupt, "I'm sorry, but I'm not enjoying it that much", you mumbled.

"That's okay, Y/N, I'll just put on one of our reruns", he smiled, changing the streaming platform and looking for the square on the screen, "if you want to just lay here, that's fine, too", he encouraged.

"At least I'm not alone with my thoughts", you mumbled again, looking at the ceiling as Lando moved his neck to join you, "I'm not sure what you mean, but I'm here for you anyway", he squeezed your hand that found its way to his own.

"It's just, - I've been reflecting? I don't even know if that's the word, but I've been feeling lonely", you blurted, still unsure if you were voicing all of it.

Lando hummed, urging you to continue, "like, I'm craving to have somebody there for me, someone who I know is in my corner, who I feel totally comfortable with. My brother was telling me all about the stuffed bunny his girlfriend asked him to take care off! I want that with someone", you pouted.

Lando tensed, rearranging his position on the sofa to look at you softly as you kept looking at his white ceiling.

"Maybe I should be less opinionated, less vocal about what I think and feel", you mused.

You'd lose your essence, Lando thought as he heard you rant on and on about the traits you wanted to change about yourself.

"Changing something physical is harder, but maybe I can change that, right? Be a bit quieter with what I say, measure my opinions, say yes and agree with things more", you shrugged, shaking the whole thing off of your body, wanting to rid yourself of the thought, "I can't, I won't be able to do that, they'd notice it straight away", you sighed.

As the night went on, Lando quickly changing the subject, you spoke about anything that came to mind until you looked at your watch, "Fuck, it's so late, I have to go", you stood up quickly, bending to pick your slippers up from the floor when he stopped you, "stay in the guest bedroom for tonight. Sleep here", he tried.

"Is it because I said I was lonely? I was just venting it out, you don't need to worry about me being a loner", you tried your best to assure it.

"No, you muppet. I'm doing it because I don't like the idea of you having to drive all the way back at this time of night", he reasoned, getting up himself and walking with you to the guest bedroom.

"Is this still made from the last time I was here?", you wondered, looking at the sheets.

"I made it before you came here! And I've washed the sheets, thank you very much. You have a fresh bed to sleep on", he smiled charmingly.

"Thanks", you smiled back, grabbing the clothes you usually wore to sleep when you stayed over from the drawer, "those have been washed, too", he pointed, "if you need anything, I'm in my usual spot", he winked, "Good night, Y/N, sleep tight!".

"Thanks for this", you gestured, "Good night, Lando", you said before he saluted you playfully, closing the door behind him.

Using the ensuite for your night routine, you changed into the shorts and Lando's t-shirt, noticing that all of the washes had made it smell less of his cologne and more of the scented fabric softener he uses.

The t-shirt fit snug against your hips, embracing your curvy body as you got under the sheets, letting the weight of them lull you to sleep and slow down your thoughts.

Lando was driving to a restaurant he knew well enough. He had had a few dates there before, one team dinner and a few family birthdays too whenever they were in town.

But right now, he was picking you up. From a date that apparently wasn't going well since he got a text from you asking him to pick you up.

"Hey, gorgeous girl", he said once he opened the car window as he parked in front of the restaurant, thankful that it wasn't too busy and no one seemed to notice or care that he was there.

"Thanks for picking me up", you mumbled as you sat down, pulling on your seatbelt and nothing your bestfriend's gaze on you, silently questioning you.

"He was an asshole", you explained, "kept asking me if I was sure of what I was doing, if I knew any Formula One drivers - don't worry, didn't out anything - and then he just kept being rude to me, to the waiter, who was wonderful by the way".

"I didn't mean him. I don't care about him, I care about you", Lando said, driving back to his place, assuming you'd want to have someone close by that wouldn't ask too many questions.

"It was just another one where it didn't go well", you mumbled, letting your head rest on the window and looking out at the lights illuminating the city.

"Do you want to go to my place?", Lando asked, knowing you wouldn't want to be pushed about the subject, "yes, please", you said.

As soon as you got inside his place, you took your shoes off, walking up to the spare bedroom to leave your bag in there, "thank you for picking me up, you're the best, Lando", you smiled as you rested against the door frame.

"No worries, okay? Sleep tight, I have good plans for tomorrow so this will be out of your mind", he smiled a small one.

"Night night, Lando", you said back, closing the door behind you and letting the tears finally fall.

It was horrible. The way he treated other people should have been the first clue and red flag, but somehow it still surprised you how he conducted the whole date. You weren't expecting a prince or a gentleman, but you expected human decency and it turns out you were not afforded that. He kept leaving snarky comments about his exes. He was rude, sexist and definitely not your type, and after splitting the bill, you informed him that someone would come to pick you up.

Could someone be unlovable? Not worthy of love to the point where anyone they attracted to their presence just wasn't a match and they had to be content with the bare minimum?

Splashing some water on your face and wiping it with the towel, you took one good look in the mirror. It looks like it's going to be you for a while, so you might as well get used to it, Y/N.

When morning rolled around, Lando was the first to wake up, getting ready and heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the two of you. He wanted to make something special, because even though you had your tough shell on yesterday, he knew you were feeling it deeply and painfully.

This quest of yours was doing you more harm than good. And it wasn't helping him either. For a few years, Lando figured, he has loved you. At first, it wasn't a clear sentiment. You were best friends, obviously there was a deeper connection. But then it felt so much all the time, there was never a break for the butterflies on his stomach or for the jealous green eyed monster whenever you so much as mentioned anyone else. He wouldn't dare say it, but he's so glad your date last night sucked.

As he prepared your coffee, your footsteps approached, "Good morning", you croaked out. You looked like you hadn't slept well, which Lando figured was a given considering the heard you move a lot during the night.

"Good morning, I made this for you. The balcony had nice sunlight right now, I figured you'd enjoy breakfast there", he attempted, bringing a small smile to your lips as you thanked him for the mug, "I'll bring the rest shortly", he called.

As you looked out to the always busy streets, you took in their quickness and rush. How it was all fleeting and momentary.

Lando placed the tray on the table, arranging it so you both could reach everything.

"I heard you crying last night", he began, his fist clenched at the memory as he sat down.

"I'm fine", you shrugged.

"I don't think you are, and I don't want you to suffer, Y/N", he insisted, unusually bold considering he knew which territory he was stepping into.

"It's not easy to come to terms with the fact that I'm single and that it might look like that for a bit, and who even knows how long that 'bit' might actually be", you chuckled, looking at him expecting his understanding gaze but being face with furrowed brows instead along with a scoff. "What? It's not like I'm being unreasonable, I'm just stating the facts", you squinted.

"That's not how it works, and you know that Y/N", he sternly spoke, straightening his back and facing you completely.

It was your time to laugh and scoff a little, "unless something changes within me, I'm sure this is how I'll find myself in the foreseeable", you shock your head.

"All of those things you want to change about yourself? Or that you say you should change to make you more likeable and lovable? That's dimming your light and your spark", Lando bit back, having had enough of it, "if someone loved you after all of those changes, they wouldn't love you for who you are, they would love a fabricated version of you. You're not unlovable", he smiled at the irony of it all. How after all these years, he still hadn't plucked up the courage to tell you how he felt about you.

"How can you say that when you have everyone falling at your feet? Women see you and they're ready to have anything you'll give them! You don't have to change who you are because someone made you feel like you couldn't be loved because of who you are and what you do!", you bit back, sensing a tone in him that was unusual and certainly not comfortable.

“I just need to know who the fuck told you you don’t deserve to be loved, because I’m about to beat their asses up", Lando called, elbows supported on the chair's arms as he looked at you.

"No one's ever told me, I'm probably the one saying it to myself, the rest of the people just make me feel like I'm unlovable, so if you want to hit me, I would prefer you didn't, I bruise quite easily", you tried to joke, not wanting to let your mind wander to the parallel utopian reality where your bestfriend feels the same way about you.

"Then it's all the people that made you feel unloved", Lando said, "none of them deserved a second of your attention, but I can give them a second of mine just for that".

“That’s a lot of people you’re gonna have to beat up, then, and I’m not sure if I want to bail you out of jail for that. We can't all have full bank accounts like yours", you joked again, watching him as he kept on with the subject.

"Stop joking about this! I'm being serious with you, Y/N! You deserve all of the love in the world - and even that wouldn't be enough!", he got up.

“Please, I think we have both realised and reached the conclusion that maybe I’m just not meant to be loved", you added.

“That’s bullshit if I’ve heard of any! No one’s not meant to be loved. There’s someone out there for you, and I think I’ve made it clear that, if it’s really not anyone else, then that someone’s me”, he stopped in front of you. There it was. Out in the open for everyone to hear. His balcony was covered and closed, something he was grateful about as he confessed his love for you.

"You can't joke about this", it was your turn to mention it, getting up as he took your hand in his.

"I'm not, Y/N, I'm really not", he whispered, resting his forehead in yours.

"Kiss me", you pleaded. He was quick to comply to your request, hand cupping your cheek as he tasted the bitter coffee from your lips and felt you unravel to him in a way he didn't think was possible anymore.

"I have loved you for so long, Lando", you whispered once you pulled away for air, "and I couldn't imagine a world where anyone would love me back, let alone you", you admitted, looking into his beautiful orbs.

"You don't have to make any effort to imagine it anymore, baby. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. You're so loved and I'll be damned if I don't show you how much everyday of our lives", he smiled, kissing your lips again as your hands travelled to his messy curls.

#lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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jokingmisfit · 10 months ago

Text

Never Again.

Platonic Yandere Metal Family x Reader

Prompt- “It’s midnight! Where the hell were you?”

Notes- Reader is Dee’s twin. No gender mentioned that I remember. Heavy is 13 as in canon and Reader and Dee are 16

Warnings- Reader is injured, Reader was stabbed, Victoria yells at reader, Victoria and Heavy torture people in the living room but we don't talk about that, reader is scared of being seen as weak

The red head ranted and threw items across the room. You didn't pay much mind to the words because you knew whatever you answered wouldn't matter.

Finally the woman, your mother, hovered over you fuming. “It's fucking midnight! Where the hell were you?! Huh?!” She looked expectantly while crossing her arms.

The floor seemed more interesting than the anger or at least that's what you pretended was the case.

“I lost track of time at the library, that's all.” You exasperated.

Finally your father who stayed quiet spoke up. A menacing smile and a tilt to his head. “The library closes at 9.”

Sighing you look up. “I'm friends with the librarians kid she let's us stay as long as we stay in one spot and keep it clean… Normally she let's is know when it's closing time but she got busy and we all forgot.”

“Heh, and you expect us to actually believe you?” Your mom sneered.

“Why wouldn't you?” You asked nervously. “I've never done anything like this, I don't skip school, or get in trouble, or talk back… I made a mistake and I'm sorry.” Your hands shook lightly as you held yourself up. Only glancing at your parents as the seem to boil.

Nothing you said seemed to matter though as you spent the next hour be berated by both your mom and dad. On top you're grounded. 2 weeks. School then home then school then home. Nothing else, nothing more.

It was 1:13 when you finally got back to your room. It didn't make much sense to you how your twin or little brother acted out but you do something wrong once and you get banned from living a life.

At least they didn't find out the truth. Maybe they knew you were lying and that's why they really punished you, but it didn't matter as long as they didn't know what really happened.

Because what really happened will haunt you, and you refuse to let them know how weak you truly are. You would always pride yourself in being independent. While Dee and Heavy leaned on their parents you distanced yourself from them.

You had a job, you had good grades, and as long as no one noticed, you had good health

But of course that's what the big problem was. Bruises from where the men hit you rose across your body. And blood spilled onto your clothes where they slashed at you. The room was dark and your parents didn't see anything, but there were bruises forming on your face.

You were exhausted and you knew if you went to sleep now you might be woken by someone else and they'd see the mess that's been made of you.

You laid for 2 hours in that alley. That's enough sleep right?

Dee opens your door and slinks into your room. He thought you were pouting. He knew you got into trouble last night, but didn't expect what he saw.

If only you could have stayed up.

~~~~~~

You were sitting slouched on the floor book loose in your grip. You had tried staying up, but it clearly didn’t work. Bruises dispersed against your wrists, arms and face. Your tanktop bunched up slightly by your slumped form showing off the bandages delicately wrapped around your midsection.

Dee had made a decision at that moment to let you rest and to figure out what the hell happened to you.

You woke up to chaos. Your eyes were still heavy and blurry. The noises still didn’t quite reach your ears yet. It was the warm palm on your face that had you trying to wake yourself up. Your body was weighed down with pain.

Blinking quickly, large blue eyes and a frown were the first thing you were met with. “Dad?” you choked out, “What- what you doing?”

Your throat burned slightly, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your side. You couldn’t comprehend the fear of your family finding out what happened, you were too drained, too hurt.

“I’m putting you in your bed. You fell asleep on the floor.” Your father says smoothly.

It was disturbing hearing this voice so early. His normal pitch was lowered several octaves and his smile was nowhere to be seen.

You tried to help by standing, but you were quickly tutted and moved into his arms. Of course you wanted to try, you still didn’t want to seem useless. It was concerning, you could hear your mother hollering in the background.

The worry was overwhelming. Was she angry with you or what happened? Will this change how they see you forever? Are they disappointed? What were you supposed to say?

Breathing deeply you were still held to your dads chest. It took a moment to realize he was in the bed with you. Holding you close to him as you lay on your non injured side.

“What’s happening?” you rasped out. As nice as it was to be held, your mom was upset and he should be with her.

Your dad let out a breath. “Your mother is taking care of some things while I take care of you.”

Humming acknowledgement to him you rested your eyes again.

Of course Glam kept it simple. He didn’t need to tell you he already stitched your side. He didn’t need to tell you that Dee hacked the library cameras and found the men who hurt you, or that the “things” Victoria was dealing with were the men that harmed you. He didn’t need to tell you that Heavy was so upset that he offered to help Victoria deal with these men. He also didn’t need to tell you that Dee was handing in the paperwork to the school for you to be homeschooled and a letter telling the librarian you won’t be coming back.

All you needed to know was you were safe.

And you’ll stay safe no matter what your family has to do. This will never happen again.

#metal family x reader #yandere metal family #platonic metal family x reader #platonic glam x reader #platonic dee x reader #platonic heavy x reader #platonic Vicky x reader #yandere metal family x reader

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mjr-acourtofdreams · 5 months ago

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Didn't Love Me. I Ain't No Fool.

Azriel x Y/N

warnings: angst...? I don't know if there is anything else?

summary: you meet Feyre at the paint studio you two clicked right away and became good friends, soon enough you got to meet the rest of the IC and started forming friendships with them. Azriel and you had a spark at the beginning or at least you thought you did... you two started seeing each other shortly after, keeping each other company in the deep hours of the night and telling each other the darkest parts of each other, he said he loved you but oh how things couldn't have been anymore different...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winter Solstice a time where we gather with our family and friends to exchange gifts, drink and visit with each other it is a wonderful time of the year, it has always been my favorite time of the year... been.

Everyone has made their way back to their rooms for the night dinner went well lots of laughs and stories told. I am not exactly part of the inner circle but after becoming great friends with Feyre she invited me to a family dinner one time and the rest is history, these people are like my family now. I picked up my glass and took the last sallow. I was the last one in the living room making my way back to my room, I changed into some comfortable night clothes and was about ready to rest for the night when I remembered I forgot some gifts that I didn't put under the tree.

Making down the hallway with the arm full of gifts I stopped dead in my tracks has I heard hush talking coming from bottom of the stairs slowly making my way the top of the stairs I peeked down staircase my whole body teased, there standing was Azriel and Elain. They were so close oh so close to each bout ready to kiss, I can smell the arousal from here it was too much I took a step back feeling a hard body behind me glancing form the corner of my eye I seen Rhys then I felt him trying to get past my mental shields I drop them "go to you room y/n." I gave him a small nod and sped walked to my room and locked the door behind me.

I shouldn't be upset about what had happened I have seen the way he looked at Elain and how he started to get closer to her and seeing me less and less. We were never really an official thing I mean we talked a lot and we slept together, and I would be crazy not to say it wasn't the best sex I had in a while but with all of the bonding that we had and a strong friendship even if was with benefits I would be lying if I said I didn't form feelings for the shadow singer. The deal was sold one night after he snuck into my room after a mission, and we spent the night together we didn't just have sex we made love and after we cuddle close to each other before he drifted off to sleep, he told me he loved me I believed him. What a fool I was to let him break those walls of mine to let me fall for him, I know better now.

I stood in front of the mirror looking at the work I put into this outfit a smiling being bought on my face. I wore a black gown that had sparkles all the way through it that looked like starlight, with slits coming up both legs and stopping at my hips, the back was open while the straps gently wrapped around my neck with a soft chain then it drops down to a plugging neck line, my eyes were done with a smokey look and my hair was pinned off to one side and my natural waves danced across my back. Tonight, everyone is going out to Rita's it seems like it's been forever since I see them all together it will be nice to catch up with them all and with the news a heard from Feyre a couple weeks ago, she told me that Azriel and Elaine made it official to everyone. Since that night I caught them in the hall I decided to completely stop going over there and seeing them other than Feyre but that is going to change because I miss the friendships, I formed those amazing people and it look those weeks or months to build myself back up from the heart break if that was even worth calling what Azriel and I had it was just one siding but now since back to a better self and not going to go crawling back to a man that clearing never really truly wanted me, he is going to truly see what he is missing.

Short time passed and stood in front of the packed bar the music and laughter poured out to the empty streets taking a deep breath I made my way to the door. It didn't take me long to spot the whole inner circle in the booth they always sit at while here, looking them all over before I make my way to them, I seen Aziel and Elaine sitting to close together there wasn't room to even breath through and he had his arm flung around her shoulders she was resting her head in his side while he smiled down at her fondly I let a small hurt smile flash across my face and shake my head realizing right there that didn't love me and never did.

Azriel POV

Smiling down at Elaine while she leaned into my side I glance back up to where Cassin was going on about the building he destroyed in summer when my eyes landed on and focused on the figure that was making their way over to our table blinking and swallowing hard, I realized that it was y/n straighten up and slide my arm from Elaines side and sit up and looked me with questionable face but I couldn't take my eyes off of y/n as she comes to the table she looked absolutely divine, I haven't seen or heard from her since solstice and I haven't been able to seek her out busy with missions and well Elaine, oh Elaine glancing over to her on my side she was now talking to Mor on the other side of her.

"Hello everyone!" the sweet voice that was sweet has honey now sounds like it has been hardened. Feyre jumped up and pulled y/n into a hug. "I'm so glad you came!" Feyre's smiled beamed at her friend y/n's smile matched hers but there was less sparkle in those beautiful eyes, she slid into the booth right across from me I couldn't take my eyes off of her something felt like it was pulling me towards her even my shadows wanted to leave their master to go to her sides. I cleared my throat it all of a sudden feel dry, to dry. "Hello" she picked up her drink and slowly took a drink and looking down into the glass "How are you?" I tried again to get her attention one of my shadow flew over the tabletop and wrapped around her wrist she glanced up them looking straight into my eyes it felt like she was looking into my soul cutting right through me. "Hello, shadowsinger." there was ice in her voice I felt my body flinch at the coldness in it, this wasn't right I shake my head and looked her back in the eyes "what is going on with you, haven't seen you in weeks, months and you are so cold." I paused and looked her watching her face for any changes she let out a small low chuckle that sounded more like a huff like she hasn't laugh forever then she looked at me the hurt in her eyes were too much to bare to look at then she spoke with no emotion in her voice at all "well, that what happens when love lets you down." she stood from her spot and walked away through the crowded and I felt it then something shattered into a million pieces and I couldn't stop the tears from falling.

#acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel acotar x reader #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x reader angst #sarah j maas #sjmaas #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #fanfic #azriel x y/n #azriel x you

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satzumosupremacy · 1 year ago

Text

Nothing More, Nothing Less

Male reader x Yujin

4k Words

Tags: Smut, Cheating

Yujin always calls you during her boyfriend’s business trip, and it’s always every three months—secrecy at its finest. A pattern that you learned as Yujin kept coming over after a year of meeting her.

You got someone’s daughter, another man’s girlfriend, all under the sheets, screaming your name so desperately and erotically in your bed—no guilt, no shame. Although you never planned to keep having her, the adrenaline and thrills of another man’s woman in your bed were like no other feelings. She’s just what you want and need.

Speaking of which, a relationship with her would end in tragedy—assumingly or not, but the same way she’s cheating with you could be the same with another man. It’s only assumptions. Neither of you knows the future or what it holds.

Day three is the best, and it’s mostly every time. Yujin only had another day to recover after her legs became weak. Rarely, it sometimes becomes so passionate to the point that feelings and romance can spark dangerously. The whole house becomes a mess with clothes all over the floor, misplaced pillows, and unfinished drinks. During the night, the lights would be all off with just you and Yujin fucking in the dark. Bodies did all the talking.

The only thing you knew about her was that she just wanted to fuck—day and night. Of course, there will be breaks in between. There aren’t such things as genuine feelings of love, apart from just being together under the same roof naked. Yujin never wears a bra, knowing it’s going to be off either way, and you love seeing her nipples poking out her shirt.

“I love the way you touch and fuck me.”

The wholehearted confession she made as you spent time on the bed naked with her. Assumingly, you know her boyfriend doesn’t satisfy her, and it was a pity. Yujin needed more than just vanilla. She deserves more for the beauty that she is.

In fact, she’s good at using her mouth, apart from the dirty talking. Those very eyes of hers are always desperate and hungry for more. It’s surprising how you got a beautiful woman in bed without her boyfriend knowing. You’re keeping her secretly fucking and cumming anywhere she wants. Sex with her always leads to a hot mess most of the time and all tired after, lasting hours, and sometimes before the sun has risen. There’s no such thing as a quickie.

Mostly every time, but not always, you would act like her boyfriend out in public or even inside the house. It’s always natural with Yujin—maybe that’s what went wrong when she’s smiling with you more and keeps coming over during her boyfriend's trip.

——

It’s been around three months since you kept track; you patiently waited, knowing she’s going to text. Speaking of the devil, you received a text, and it was from her.

Yujin: I’m coming over

She knew what days you were busy or not. You waited for Yujin, but it didn’t take long until she showed up at your door again, knocking shamelessly with no guilt.

“You look beautiful today,” you said with a gentle tone.

“I have three days to be with you. Give it to me.”

“Yujin,” you paused in silence while she looked at you.

“Yes?”

“You want something to eat first?” Fucking Yujin isn’t the only thing you wanted, but treat her with respect—the beautiful woman she is. She’s a human being at the end of the day.

“Give me a taste, and then we can go out for something.” You know her after all the secret rendezvous. If Yujin wanted something, she’s going to do whatever it takes, and she’s already digging under your pants with a smile so wicked and mischievous.

“You look nice in those clothes, Yujin.”

“My boyfriend bought them. And you’re taking them off one by one.”

“Yujin that’s…” You tilt your head, somehow wondering how wrong it was, yet the sensation feels undeniably correct as her warm hands tease your cock.

Just when you believed you had witnessed the wild side of her, she never fails to leave you speechless. As the days unfold, everything else doesn't matter—she'll be in your bed, completely naked with her panties stained with your cum.

“Shh. No one knows what we have between us, Daddy.”

“Lay your head on the couch, ass on the floor,” you commanded. She loves it when you’re in control.

“As you wish, Daddy.” With a smile and a slow blink, Yujin's so beautiful that you can do anything to her. She’s in your very hands and arms at night. Yujin lays her head on the cushion of the couch while her body is slanted on the ground with her legs spread and her ass being the only thing that’s keeping her positioned. She gladly opens her mouth wide—tongue out. You shove your cock in her mouth slowly until it disappears, keeping it deep into her throat with small, quiet chokes from Yujin.

“Good girl.” You can tell she’s smirking from the corner of her mouth just from being called that. “You look so beautiful with my cock in."

No words were exchanged as you increased the pace of your thrusts. She gasps, chokes, and her eyes shut tightly under the intensity. Gently brushing her hair behind her ears, you enjoy the view of Yujin.

Pinning her down isn’t the only thing you love. Bending Yujin to a table, countertop, bed, wall, or even standing is what you also love. You have all the control while she freely moans and groans. It’s the same for Yujin—she loves to fuck you in the most narcissistic way for her pleasure. Her body is a drug; toned thighs, silky hair that gets messy after fucking, and even her beauty keep you yearning. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even pull out but go for another round after cumming. Yujin deserves it, as do you.

You love the feeling, her, and her very own sense of bringing you this much pleasure. You pull out halfway and shove your cock right in to make her gag even louder. It’s cute of Yujin—hotter as you keep doing it continuously.

No woman gave you the pleasures like Yujin. Maybe it’s that she’s over, maybe she’s cheating with you, or Yujin has been longing for satisfaction for a while.

“Fuck, Yujin.” You said, groaning and taking deep breaths. Her tears begin to form, her eyes all red like lightning, as she only had one goal: getting you to cum inside her mouth. You continuously shove your cock, and it always gets messy when her saliva leaks out from the corner of her mouth. You grunt and groan, forgetting that she’s technically someone else’s woman, but Yujin’s all yours for several nights, and you’re taking advantage of it. “Just like that. I know you missed this."

You pull out of her mouth to let her breathe. Yujin looks up to you, glaring with desperate eyes. She spits on your cock, then wraps her hands again, jerking you off and squeezing it with love. Saliva and pre-cum were the only things dripping onto her clothes. “Taste good as always.”

“Just for you, Yujin.”

She kisses your cock, slapping it on her cheeks with a smile. “I can never get tired of you.”

“How badly did you wait for this moment?”

“Too fucking long. Maybe because I love your cock better than my boyfriend’s.”

“Let’s keep it that way. He don’t need to know what you can do. Let him miss out.”

Yujin laughs, “you make me so fucking happy.”

“I could say the same. But hey, less talking, more sucking, please.”

“You’re so eager to cum in my mouth aren’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I, Yujin?"

“What about my pussy? Im also your cum-slut.”

“Bend over right now and we won’t be able to go for dinner if you’re that curious.”

“What if I do bend over?”

“Let’s-” Her thumb rubs on the underside of your tip, sensitive enough to make you stumble in your speech. “Fuck, Yujin,” you groaned. And her eyes were purely lustful at the way she was looking up at you.

“I think we should stay home, Daddy."

“What’s so special about eating out when I have you, Yujin. Am I right?”

“Eat me after you cum.” Yujin sucks on your cock again, slurping loudly and making a mess like she was sucking on a popsicle stick. You brush her hair behind her, wanting to see Yujin sucking you off so beautifully. And you’re always baffled by seeing Yujin so nasty, hot, and even beautifully sucking on your cock. It’s a blessing.

“Right there, Yujin.” Her tongue’s sliding underneath your tip. The area she loves teasing you the most. She laughs with enjoyment as you try to stand straight. Bobbing, slurping, sucking, moaning, and humming—it’s all you hear from Yujin.

Paradise, or rather the feeling of pure euphoria. In her company, time seems to stretch, and neither of you mind if the world momentarily stops revolving.

She grabs your thighs and tilts her head to the side. Her cheeks are massaging your sensitive tip. Overwhelmed by an endless flow of sensations, grunting, and panting, she’s amazing at pleasing you.

“Yujin.” You groaned her name, a longer tone of pleasure as you kept brushing through her hair.

“Mhmm.” She hummed, smirking and smiling with your cock inside her mouth.

It’s torture and pleasurable at the same time, and you don’t want to do anything about it. She continues to bob her head; her gags got louder, chokes got harder, and eyes closed so beautifully to see her eyelashes all done for you. Your breaths got heavy, panting more as she kept going. Euphoria is where you’re still at. Without a word, you push your cock right inside her deeper and nape against the cushion of the couch harder.

“I’m going to cum if you keep doing that, and I’m going to cum deep in your throat.”

Yujin nods in agreement, gazing directly at you with lustful eyes. Her throat contracts the deeper you go, and you love the feeling. You thrust slowly, faster by the second, until she begins to choke and gag loudly like usual. By any means, you would rather ruin her makeup that she put on just for you. Even if it took an hour, the look on Yujin’s face would be the aftermath of satisfaction between the two of you.

“Take it like the little slut you fucking are.” You felt her swallowing every drop of saliva and pre-cum, until choking was what she got for doing it. Letting her swallow isn’t what you wanted—a mess is what you want to see. You go deeper, pausing as she sits still without any muscle or movement being pinned down. “Don’t swallow, and be my good girl. Make a mess like you always do. Don’t be shy; it’s not like you.”

She blinks slowly, with a tear falling. A sign that Yujin listened. Her hands squeeze your thighs as you pull back out halfway, shoving right in her mouth again—continuously. Seconds turn to minutes; she’s such a mess as you look at her.

You hold onto the side of her face with a grin, whether or not you’re going to cum like this. It's not about her at this point; it’s all you—the feeling of pleasure cumming inside her mouth. And Yujin’s going to take it all like the shameless slut she comes over for.

“I’m going to cum.” You tell Yujin, and her eyes are closed shut with her head pushed harder onto the couch. Yujin coughs from all your cum down her throat, and she’s taking it with a smirk so slutty. You feel her swallowing all your cum, and you pull out as her mouth is still wide open, just licking off the extra on her lips, brushing it with each finger to savor the taste on her tongue.

“That was so much,” Yujin said, catching her breath. She wipes her lips clean and sits on the couch, quickly spreading her legs out, beckoning you for an invitation so seductively.

“Such a slut you are, Yujin.”

“You’ll shut up when you eat me out.” And she's right. You kiss her thighs, quickly licking on her folds, and she moaned right as soon as she felt your warm tongue circling in all the right places. Yujin’s legs hang onto both your shoulders, squirming around the more you eat her out.

Her legs pin you in, and you aren’t going easy. It’s also been too long since the last time Yujin came over. You were hungry just for her. With her moans being more erotic, you know all the spots to make her melt and weaken. You grabbed onto her tits, squeezing them the hardest, as Yujin could only tolerate the aggression.

Squirms, slight jerks, and her moans breaking became continuous. She tilts back, only her back arching as her legs pull you in harder. Your face became planted to her pussy. Breathing isn’t your worry; getting her to cum hard is all you wanted—right in your face.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…..fuck!” Her body sinks onto the couch uncomfortably, but you’re making her like this. You wouldn't take it easy on Yujin; you want her exhausted after. “You’re gonna-”

With a pause from Yujin, you felt her body tense as she screamed uncontrollably in the most erotic way. She's cumming earlier than you ever expected. It's just minutes later that her breathing slows down. “When was the last time, Yujin?"

And you continue to kiss her thighs until she gives you an answer.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said and looks to the side, embarrassed to cum earlier than you expected.

“Talk to me,” you kiss her thighs passionately, “you taste so good though. And it’s always every time that my I get a chance.”

“You aren’t disappointed, are you?”

“Not at all. Let’s go to the bed. I’ll make you happier than him.” You carry Yujin to the bed without her answer. “Just relax, and I’ll do the work today. You’ll be sleeping so comfortably tonight."

“So confident of you.”

You threw her on the bed, and she fought to be on top as you let her let it happen after a few seconds. She laughed, chuckled to be happier with you. “I should fuck you romantically. We can do what you want tomorrow, Yujin.”

“At least let me be on top. I want to feel loved tonight. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Her words made you gulp, just wondering what was happening to her without you. Although you were curious, you didn’t want to ask. "Feel free to do as you please tonight, Yujin."

“I’m sorry, this isn't how we usually are on the first night, but thanks for understanding.”

You beckon her to get closer, kissing her passionately until she begins to grind on your cock. “I’ll love you for tonight. Maybe tomorrow if you need it also, Yujin.”

“Shh, I’ll turn off the lights. Just let me have it my way. Cum as much as you want. It’s mine, Daddy.” Yujin gets up and shuts the lights off, even closing the blinds to a pitch-black bedroom. She gets on top of you, just her hands jerking you off slowly. Her hair brushes onto the sides of your cheeks as Yujin kisses you more romantically. “Love me tonight."

“Ready when you are, Yujin. Ride it as long as you want.”

A night like this wasn’t in your favor, or either, as you imagined, but you willingly accepted her feelings, just for the night.

The moment she puts your cock in her, Yujin gets closer to you in a more lustful way, staring at you romantically. And the kisses quickly became tongues fighting. Yujin grinds slowly the moment you trace over her figure, just caressing her in the most gentle way.

“Say you love me. Just for the night.”

And you’re surprised at what she wanted you to say. Regardless of whatever is going on in her life, you’re the one she’s cheating with. “I love you, Yujin.”

“Should we fuck to a slow song? Let’s try something new.” Yujin sits on top of you and browses for a song on her playlist. While she was on her phone, you caress her thighs, which you love to feel. The slow and soft, with the gentle squeezes you made, only made Yujin giggle with happiness.

“You’re always smiling when you’re with me, Yujin.”

Yujin seductively gazes you up and down in the slowest way with a teasing chuckle. “That’s because I get to be with you, Daddy.”

The song starts playing. You heard how slow the beat was, and it can come off sexual due to the lyrics. The moment Yujin lays down on top of your chest, both of you moan together as she starts to ride you.

Neither of you broke a single eye contact while the song was playing. The moment was with her, fucking each other like both of you are in love, and that’s how it remains. Even Yujin had her hands on the sides of your cheeks, begging you not to look away and keep staring at her, and only at her.

It gets more dangerous when your heart starts fluttering while Yujin already has butterflies in her stomach. Neither of you wanted to admit any of this and quietly continued with the song in the background. Her breathing became heavier, moans got softer, yet it sounded erotic at the same time while you’re balls deep in her. And both of you are in the moment together, quietly.

The time each song changes, you can only assume how long she’s been riding you without any words. Every three to four minutes is typically how long a song lasts, and you’re grunting the longer Yujin rides.

She continues kissing you, from neck to lips, and you join her for passionate kisses. It didn’t take long for tongue kisses to start happening. You hold her in like you love her, tilting your head the opposite way from Yujin and making her hair a mess.

Not until the fifth song starts playing, the music suddenly pauses as you hear her ringtone. Yujin looks at the phone and puts it on silent, playing the song again to not disturb what both of you are doing.

“It’s just my boyfriend,” Yujin said in an annoyed tone and quickly gets down towards you again to continue.

Her kisses get more passionate, riding you to the rhythm of a slow romantic song. You caress her body to your desires in the early night.

“Fuck, just like that, Yujin,” you groaned.

“Daddy,” Yujin whispered in your ear purposely, “this pussy is all yours.” She gets off and lays beside you to be on the bottom.

You quickly get up on top to hear Yujin moan loudly for the split second you shove your cock inside her. She’s a beauty while her hair spreads on the pillow. And without a word, you pin her arms above her head, thrusting slowly with the rhythm of the song.

Song after song, Yujin starts to pant every second with you, knowing she’s going to cum, and you’re almost at your limit. Her body jerks, quivering into Yujin cumming on your cock as you quickly choke her neck gently.

“Good girl,” you groaned with a deep voice.

Not long after, she hugs you while you’re balls deep in her, thrusting slowly. And you continue to stare at Yujin, right in each other’s soul, while she nods from her body brushing against the bedsheets.

You begin to choke her, not like she wouldn’t smile if her airway was blocked. Yet, she wanted love and affection tonight, and you’re giving it to her. You kiss her lips, biting them softly for the warm breaths you feel.

“Get up and bend over for me, Yujin.”

“You love seeing my back, don’t you?” Yujin gets up and spreads her legs, looking back at you putting your cock back in without rest. It’s her toned back and ass that you love so much—just a shameless woman sleeping with you that doesn’t belong to you, but only on the bed. The backlines on her back when she arched always looked so beautiful.

“Shh. Just moan for me, Yujin, like you always do.”

Her back arches more to give you a show of her body that you always get. “You’re fucking me so damn good,” Yujin murmurs into the pillow.

And you push her down, stomach flat on the bed with her moaning more erotic. Nothing sounded better when Yujin moaned in your bed all the time; it was pure bliss. Just music to your ears, and again, the thought of cumming inside her would be the best feeling every time.

You nibble on her ear, smelling the faint tropical shampoo she used today. It turns you on the fact that she got ready just for you. Yujin grips the pillow harder with her face planted. For not even a second, she wouldn’t stop moaning; it was just the right pace that Yujin loved: deep and moderate thrust—enough to feel loved.

“Say you love me, Yujin,” you murmured and groaned into her ear, just dancing with the devil and making feelings involved at this point.

“I love you, Daddy,” Yujin said, breathing along the rhythm of your thrust.

“Turn around, I’ll cum inside your pussy.”

She turned around quickly after you pulled out, beckoning you with a smile so happy that her legs spread open for an invitation. “Give it to me; no need to tell me.”

So you would, and she wouldn’t care anyway. Yujin loves how your cock throbs inside her, coating her tight walls in warm cum each time. You can tell she’s addicted to you, your cock, and everything you do to her, even in the smallest ways to make Yujin happy and loved.

“Don’t stop,” Yujin pleaded.

You’ve lost count of how many songs went by. Yujin is in your very arms, gripping you so tightly. Her hands are soft and warm, and you feel how much love she needs for this. Neither of you would be able to tell if this is love or just wanted a rendezvous.

You thrust deeper, pushing her thighs against your pelvis. Yujin moaned harder with her neck begging for attention, and you kiss her neck, making her tilt into the pillow while her arms were pinned against the headrest.

“Cum in me, Daddy. I want it!”

Your cock throbs with each stroke, and Yujin has it all deep inside her. You grunt, only thrusting harder as your body hesitates. And you cum, erupting inside Yujin while she moans from feeling it flood her walls.

“Yujin,” you said, toppling down towards her and going for a kiss that she accepted. You felt the warmth of her body after you waited for months. “Cumming inside you is so satisfying.”

Without a word, she holds you in, kissing your lips like you belong to her. You heard her moaning and humming as you joined Yujin for a romantic kiss. Back to your awareness, the song was still playing, and you turned down the volume to mute, not even caring if it was still playing silently.

“I need to shower after this.” And she stares at you with a cute smile.

“Need me, Yujin?”

“No, you’re covered in my scent. I want to smell myself on your body.”

“Join me tomorrow morning, Yujin.”

She nodded with a seductive smirk and grabbed her phone. You stare at her naked body until she closes the door to the bathroom with a bright smile.

It’s been more than twenty minutes after she came out the shower. You’re relaxing on the bed with her, quiet as you both stare at your phones and cuddling.

“Want to see my panties? It’s so drenched and stained with your cum. I could feel it.”

“So dirty of you, Yujin.”

“And you love how I’m such a dirty whore for you.” She gets up on her knees and opens the slit of her panties for you to see your cum stained. “What do you say? The night is still young, Daddy.”

There weren’t any second thoughts. You get closer to her as Yujin closes her eyes with a smile to meet your lips, until you suddenly come to a pause. “Forget tomorrow; how about joining the shower with me? Then we can crash on the bed again.”

“Fine. That’s if we can even make it on the bed, Daddy.”

#yujin smut #ive smut #kpop smut

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temporaryrose200 · 5 months ago

Text

✩Without You✩

✟pairing: Yandere Kalim Al-Asim x GN Reader

✟genre: ⚠️Yandere⚠️

✟warning: ⚠️Mention Of Suicide Unhealthy Obsession, Toxic Relationship⚠️

✟One-Short

✟fandom: Twisted Wonderland

✟summary: Realising that your relationship with Kalim wasn’t healthy, you break up with him. It doesn’t go as planned…

You love Kalim, you truly do. He’s sweet, kind and thoughtful, what else could you ask for? But there was one problem. He was too clingy. Constantly stuck by your side, it was beginning to become unhealthy and slightly annoying. Sleepovers at his dorm started to become the usual. It was as though you were living there now. Whenever you tried bringing it up, Kalim would be quick to shut you down, changing the subject. But could only take those things for so long.

You rarely hung out with your friends anymore and when you did, Kalim was there by your side, with his ‘sweet innocent’ smile. You had finally snapped when your boyfriend somehow got all your classes changed to his. Kalim was becoming way too much to handle. So what did you do? It was time to break up with him.

“Please!” Kalim shouted, eyes watering as he blocked the exit, forcing you to stop in your tracks. He stared up at you with his watery red eyes. “Please” he repeated, the second-year's voice cracking slightly. “Don’t leave, we can talk about this.” It tore your heart to see Kalim like this, but it just had to be done. Your relationship just wasn’t healthy for either of you

“You have to move,” you said calmly. Your eyes tearing away from him, guilt eating away at you. Kalim didn’t move an inch though, his feet cemented to the ground. You could see tears slowly roll down his cheeks, but you just couldn't give in, not again… “Kalim-“ you spoke firmly but before you could say anything more, the white-headed teen dropped to his knees, hands clasping on your uniform.

You froze in place as the Prince buried his head into your stomach. “Please, please, please” He cried out over and over again until his words became incomprehensible. You could only stand there. What else could you do? You already felt terrible for making him like this, you couldn’t just push Kalim off you. And it didn’t help with people walking past and giving you a dirty look. Kalim had stopped. pulling his face away from your uniform and looking up at you, tears staining his cheeks. “Is it because I don’t pay enough attention to you” he stated. His face was serious and determined. “I’ll give you anything! Jewellery, the newest and most expensive clothes. You just name it, it’s yours!” He exclaimed a crazy smile plastered across his face, making your blood run cold. Trying to tell him that money wasn't the issue but he just wouldn’t listen, too caught up in his own world.

Suddenly, Kalim grabbed both of your hands, pulling himself up from the ground. “I need you” he whispered, eyes boring into yours. You tried to pull away but Kalim’s grip was surprisingly strong.

“Stop it” you begged, tears threatening to spill from your [Eye colour] eyes.

His grip on your hand only tightened, knuckles nearly turning white. “I’ll die without you” his voice was shaky and unsteady. He looked deranged.

Thoughts began forming at what the prince had just told you. Scenes played out in your mind of what he would do to himself. All because of you. “Please don’t” you muttered softly, a single tear sliding down your cheek. The words he used, the way he spoke, the look in his eyes, they all made you feel guilty. You knew this was his plan. To cry, to beg. Making you feel like the bad guy, like you were being a bitch. And what shocked you the most, it was actually working.

Kalim smiled softly releasing his grip off you. He raised his hands, cupping both sides of your cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumb. "Then don’t leave me" he spoke gently. He didn’t even wait for you to respond. He already knew the answer just by the way you get out a defeated sigh. Not even wasting a second, he pulled you into a tight hug, whispering sweet honey words into your ear.

You could never leave. This was your life. Stuck in this toxic relationship. Even if you somehow manage to get yourself out of it, Kalim always gets what he wants. He will bring you back, he always finds a way.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst kalim #kalim al asim #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #kalim x reader #kalim al asim x reader #yandere kalim al asim #yandere kalim x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #x reader #x y/n #fanfic #fanficion

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koiiiji · 4 months ago

Note

pls do a one shot for wooin or a long story with a lot of smut ( of course it's wooin we are talking abt ) when his down bad for you that he's willing to change his ways and lifestyle up to living your lives peacefully.

PLSSSSS, FOR MY UPCOMING BIRTHDAY 🥹🥹🥹

happy upcoming birthday hun🪄✨🫶🏻🕯️🦢🎧🐚🫧🎐

hope i made it in time

porn without plot straight under the line

mdni, ageless and empty blogs dni

you found yourself in a rather compromising position on your boyfriend's lap while he mercilessly plunged two fingers into your tight hole. of course, you knew that sometimes Wooin got too carried away with games, but now, after so many dirty words and promises were whispered in your ear, you have already lost track of time. how many minutes have passed since you returned to your shared apartment? 20? 30? for about 40 minutes, Wooin kept slapping your ass, fucking you with one finger, then adding two more, at a fast pace, slowly, almost painfully, at your peak, deprived you of all pleasure, and just slowly, almost weightlessly, teased the entrance while you drooled on his knee.

"oh sweetheart, we've just started, don't you really want to get your first present for birthday completely, mm?" - he whispered teasingly, hot breath tickling your neck.

"come on baby, i can't read minds" - the forked tongue touched the ear, biting the lobe.

you could literally feel that nasty little smile on his lips, and of course you couldn't resist him. whimpering something indistinct into the fabric of his pants, you finally felt his hands on your ass again. after stroking and persistently massaging your ass, Wooin slapped you again, this time a little harder than usual. noticing how you squeaked in surprise, and again paying attention to your butt, he noticed a reddening trace in the shape of his palm. he grinned, apologetically stroking and kissing your ass cheek, gently pulling you off his lap.

groaning from a mixture of pain and pleasure, you rolled onto your back, throwing your head back in anticipation of your boyfriend, who was currently throwing off his clothes by the bed, simultaneously rummaging through the shelf of the bedside table in search of a condom.

when he was on top of you again, with his hands on either side of your head, leaving you no way to escape. It's not that you want to run away. for a few moments you just stared at each other, the distant lamplight casting shadows on your faces, but you still recognized your native facial features. reaching out his hand to your cheek, he abruptly clung to your lips, leaning all his weight on you. however, the kiss was not rough or harsh or sloppy, no, it was passionate, slow, you both put feelings into this moment when your tongues intertwined together, when you both playfully bit each other's lips, smiling and laughing into the kiss. your arms wrapped around his neck and reached higher, burrowing into the shock of black hair, ruffling and pulling back a little as his palm slid lower, to your neck and collarbones, wrapping more gently than usual.

when you finally broke away from each other, breathing fitfully into each other's lips, pressing your foreheads, you were still foolishly laughing and smiling at each other. Wooin was the first to break away from you, showering kisses on your face, going down to your neck, shoulders, running a wet path between your breasts, and grabbing a swollen nipple in his mouth while the other hand stroked your thigh, rising higher, squeezing your waist, passing along your ribs and finally groping the second breast, squeezing it harder. he kneaded the soft, supple skin, squeezing harder, then releasing, switching only to the nipple. pinching and pulling, Wooin teased the other nipple with his tongue and lips in parallel, pulling sweet moans out of you over and over again while you gave in to him forward, arching your back.

letting out a low groan, he slid lower, kissing your belly, feeling and squeezing your thighs, impatiently clinging to the fabric of your skirt, pulling it down along with panties. rising above you and not breaking eye contact, he grabbed your ankles and finally took off your clothes, throwing it somewhere on the floor. giving you one of his smug grins, Wooin pressed his cheek against your leg and gently stroking it began to go lower and lower, becoming more and more insistent through every centimeter of your skin. light kisses turned into playful nipping, sucking the skin until it turned red, leaving increasingly brighter marks closer he get to your sweet, wet pussy.

"ow cupcake, already so wet for me?" - Wooin mischievously murmured into your thigh, running his finger teasingly along your slit, never taking his eyes off your face, watching your every emotion.

inhaling noisily, he leaned forward, nuzzling your warmth, teasingly touching your hole with his tongue, slowly penetrating inside.

it seems that someone was waiting for a long night full of birthday gifts.

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smoooothoperator · 5 months ago

Text

What Was I Made For?

06: I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

Charles Leclerc x driver!OC (Dafne Morelli)

childhood enemies, forced proximity, accidental pregnancy, enemies to lovers

Warnings: time skip (three months), Sebastian Stan, race inchident, crash, hospital

a/n: Hiiii!!!How is your life going??? I have to thank my lovely @alltoomaples for being the beta reader of this chapter :3 thank you!! And I just have to warn that this is the start of the real deal!

Masterlist

previous part | next part

If you want to be tagged don't forget to message me!

Every way of feedback is very welcomed

3 months later. Abu-Dhabi GP.

“Are you sure it's okay if we're seen together?”

After that charity event, where I had an anxiety attack and Sebastian came to help me, the two of us somehow got closer. We exchanged numbers and he texted me every day asking me how I was doing, if I felt better or if I had an anxiety attack again. And that concern turned into something more as weeks passed by, ending in something like a situationship.

“Of course. They should mind their own business” I smiled. “You came to support me”

He smiled and nodded, pressing a light kiss on my head and grabbing his backpack, getting ready to leave the hotel room to go to the track.

Avoiding Charles in Maranello was easy, I only had to look at the schedule and go whenever he wasn't there or even being in the same building but making sure I didn't see him at all. During race weeks was harder, because our garages were next to each other and the team briefings were in the same room, but that didn't stop me from sitting on the other side of the table and ignoring him.

And now that the season was finally ending, I could finally breathe in peace knowing that the only time I'll see him after this race is going to be at the team dinner.

I got out of the hotel room with Sebastian behind me holding my hand, squeezing it softly as we walked towards the elevator. The last three months with him were amazing, he always supported me even if he had to be away filming, sending me gifts or calling me before a race.

“This is the last race of the season, right?” he asked. “Why don't we go somewhere to have a week alone, only the two of us? Maybe somewhere warm?”

“That sounds amazing” I smiled looking at him, pressing a kiss on his cheek and hugging his arm.

If someone ever told me that I could do something like this with the one and only Sebastian Stan, I would tell them that they had drugs on their drink. But here I am, waking up next to him some mornings and feeling his touch all over my body.

I knew there were rumors about us. Some people somehow connected dots and started saying that Sebastian and I were dating. And the comments are everything but good. I had haters all over my career, but since that night of September the hate started to get worse, making fans get creative and make comments about everything I did: be with someone older than me, going to fashion events, trying to start a clothing brand.

“You are tense” Sebastian said while we walked towards my car.

“I'm okay, it's just… I'm tired” I smiled weakly. “It's been a long season, all I need is to rest”

“Are you sure?” he sighed. “It's just… Lately you've been so tired, Dafne. And I worry about you”

“Don't worry, really” I smiled, squeezing his hand softly. “After this race I'm all yours, okay?”

He smiled softly and nodded, kissing my temple and getting in the Ferrari. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, preparing myself for what is about to come once I'm near the track. I swallowed thickly, feeling tears burning my eyes and the knot of my neck not letting me breathe.

I can do this, just one more day. I can handle this. Another day or hearing the crowd roaring, engineers talking to me asking me to push more and more, fake smiles to the photographers. Just one more day until I can disappear for a while and come back stronger to fight Charles.

I sighed, opening the door and sitting on the driver seat, looking at Sebastian and smiling weakly. This will be the first time he will come to a race, and even if we made clear to the other that what we had right now was everything we wanted, I was still nervous about what people would think and assume, how he would react to the hate.

“It will be okay, yeah?” he smiled looking at me, placing his hand on my knee and squeezing it softly. “The race will end before you know it and then you won't have to be around him for some months”

I smiled weakly and nodded, driving towards the track. My grip on the steering wheel is tight, with my mind working nonstop about the different scenarios of what will happen once my car appears near the track, with all those fans there waiting for the drivers. Will they be respectful? Will they scream profanities? Will they hate seeing Sebastian next to me? The hate will be towards me or towards him?

I clenched my jaw when I started to see all the people behind the barriers, taking pictures of the cars that drove in front of them, calling the names of the drivers. I recognized Lando's car in front of mine, and I could hear the fans calling him, excited to see him. But when I drove pass them, the turned their heads to look at the car behind me.

“God, not even taking pictures of this beauty?” Sebastian said, trying to cut the tension. “Come on, this car is amazing, when will be the next time they'll see a Ferrari Roma?”

“This is Abu Dhabi, Seb” I smiled weakly. “They have supercars in every corner…”

I looked at him smiling weakly. I know he tries to cheer me up, but it's not the first time they do this. I'm already used to being ignored.

“My family will be in the hospitality during the race, you want to be with them?” I asked him, changing the subject.

“Don't mind me, I love your family, they are great” he smiled. “But… I want to be in the garage. I-if that's okay with you, of course. I want to experience a race inside of the garage”

“Yeah of course” I smiled. “You'll have to stay in the back, but… Yeah, sure”

He smiled and nodded, biting his lip and looking at the front.

What people will if they see him in the garage? What will media say?

I swallow thickly and park the car, taking deep a deep breath before opening the door. Sebastian got out after me, looking all the time at me. I grabbed my backpack and locked the car, looking around.

“Go ahead” Sebastian smiled, nodding. “I'll be okay. It's just scanning the pass and then I have to walk to the big red building, right?”

“Yeah” I nodding, grabbing tightly the backpack. “I'll see you there”

I took a deep breath and walked away, wanting to go back and kiss his lips, but I knew people had their cameras ready to picture every move I made. So, instead of that, I walked alone with the biggest fake smile I could make, scanning my pass and walking through the paddock, letting the photographers take pictures of me.

Chin up, bitch smile, walk straight.

During most part of the day I felt nauseous. And my chest hurt.

“Probably your period will come soon” my sister Soleil said. “You want me to give you some vitamins?”

“Yeah, sure” I nodded, moving my shoulders in circles to warm up. “And give me a cold jacket before I go to the anthem”

The last few days I have been feeling weird, true. My breasts were more sensitive and I felt swollen.

“Thank God this is the last race if the season” I sighed.

Sebastian was out of my room with the rest of my family while Soleil helped me get ready for the race. I looked at myself in the mirror and sighed, slipping the fireproof shirt inside the leggings.

“Yeah, probably it's the period” I sighed looking at my abdomen.

I walked out of the room with the suit hanging on my hips, grabbing the bottle of water and walking towards my family and Sebastian. I saw Charles' family near, and I just smiled weakly at them before hugging Sebastian.

“You ready?” he smiled, kissing the top of my head and rubbing my back.

“Yeah, I'm just a little nauseous” I smiled weakly. “Probably I shouldn't have eaten that yogurt from earlier…”

“I'm sure it's nothing” my mom smiled. “You always get nervous in the last race of the season, is normal”

I nodded and smiled weakly, hugging Sebastian tighter as he rubbed my back, comforting me.

I heard Charles walking out of his room and I tensed immediately. I can't avoid him always, we are in the same team, even if we hate it.

“I have to go make the team photos” I sighed, kissing Sebastian's jaw. “The race is in an hour, you can go to the garage now”

“Okay” he smiled kissing my forehead.

I smile looking at him walk away, biting my lip when I heard my sisters giggling. I rolled my eyes and grab the helmet Erica was holding for me.

“What would say the Dafne of a year ago?” she smirked.

“About what?” I laughed.

“Well, look at you and Sebastian” she smiled.

“Yeah, well” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “We are not dating”

“Yet” she smirked.

“We are too busy for that” I sighed.

I walked out of the hospitality and went towards the garage, smiling weakly when I saw Sebastian already with a headset hanging on his neck. I walked towards him and smiled.

“You'll be okay here?” I asked him.

“Of course I'll be” he smiled, holding my helmet while I zipped the suit. “Smile, okay?”

“Yeah” I sighed, smiling weakly and grabbing the helmet, following all the workers that were walking towards the stands where the picture will be taken.

Charles was already there, following me with his eyes. He was already sitting in the tyre of his car, with his helmet resting on his thigh. I ignored his eyes and sat on the tyre of my car, looking at the camera with my helmet on my thigh, wishing this would end fast so I could take a lap on my car to place it on the grid.

“Are you okay?”

I frown, turning my head slowly and looking at Charles standing next to me. I laughed loudly, standing up. Did he really ask that?

“As if you cared” I laughed.

“You look pale. If you get sick today it won't be good for the team” he frowned.

“Mind your own shit, Leclerc” I said. “What I do is none of your business”

I walked away fast before he could talk to me more, not wanting to interact with him at all. I got inside of my car and after the track was clear, I drive to the postion I'm starting the race.

But things do not always go how I planned. The moment I got out of the car he was already there, looking at me with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Fuck off” I groaned.

“I heard you throw up this morning, Morelli” he frowned. “Remember our rooms are next to the other”

“So? Am I not allowed to feel sick?” I scoffed.

“Today is an important race for the team, Dafne!” he exclaimed. “If we want to keep the second position of the championship we have to be in the podium. And if you are not feeling well, that won't happen”

“Come on, don't make me laugh” I frowned. “I drove multiple races having the period, with cramps making me want to get out of the fucking car and curl in my bed! And did I do it? No, right? So shut the fuck up, focus on your own race and leave me alone”

I groaned, hugging the helmet and starting to walk away. But again, he's not satisfied with making me mad, so he keeps opening his mouth.

“Why did you bring that dude?”

I frown, turning around on my heels and frowning.

“Oh, now we are talking about my private life?” I laughed.

“He's too old for you” he frowned.

“Oh my God, shut up!” I exclaimed, walking closer to him. “Do you have something else to say? At least I am with someone that has a brain and a job and doesn't need my money to be someone. Oh, and he is way better in bed than you, asshole”

I saw him clenching his jaw as well as his fist, and I knew that it hurt him. Groaning, I turned around and walked towards the garage to have one last meeting with my engineers to have everything ready before the race.

I walked towards Sebastian once the meeting was done and he welcomed me with that shy smile he always has. He was on my side of the garage, opening his arms slowly as I walked closer to him.

“Are you ready?” he asked, wrapping his arms around my waist while I hugged his neck, playing with the baby hairs of his nape.

“I am” I sighed. “And you?”

“I’m excited to see my girl being an absolute badass out there” he smiled, making me freeze after I heard those words.

“Your girl?” I whisper. “S-Seb…”

“I know” he sighed, pressing his lips on my forehead. “We’ll talk after this, okay? Come back to me with the big trophy”

“I will” I smiled, playing with the hair of his nape and standing on my tip toes to press a fast kiss on his lips. “I have to go”

“Yeah” he smiled. “You’ll do amazing”

He unwrapped his arms from my waist, pressing another soft kiss on my lips before I walked away, with Soleil joining me on the grid.

“And that big smile?” she teased me, handing me the cold jacket and helping me put it.

“Well, Sebastian called me his girl” I chuckled softly. “I think tonight we are going to talk about… Well, us”

“Finally! Arthur owes me money!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“What? Did you make a bet with him? Why?” I frowned, confused, but somehow that smile didn’t disappear from my lips.

“Because it was obvious you two would end up together” she said. “He said it was going to be during the winter break, but I just said that it was going to be for sure tonight after the race”

“Idiots” I laughed, shaking my head.

The national anthem played, and I took my position alongside the other drivers. My mind was a spiral of thoughts and emotions. The weight of the season, the pressure of the race, and the looming conversation with Sebastian were all battling for dominance in my head. But most of all, I felt an inexplicable sense of unease in my body.

As the anthem concluded, my dizziness started creeping into my body. I blinked hard, trying to focus on the task ahead. Just one more race and I will rest.

The cars roared to life, and the anticipation in the air was electric. I strapped myself into my seat, hands gripping the wheel. Sebastian's words echoed in my mind, giving me a strange mix of comfort and determination. I glanced towards the garage, knowing he would be there, biting his lip like he always does when he’s nervous about something.

The race started, and I pushed all doubts aside. My car flew down the track, driving through the early chaos of the race with precision. But as the laps progressed, the dizziness got worse. Each turn required more concentration, each acceleration felt more hard.

On the 44th lap, I found Esteban Ocon in front of me. He had to let me pass because he had the blue flag. But he was fighting me, defending like he was defending his position.

“What the hell is he doing?” I groaned. “He has to let me pass! Fucking idiot!”

“Stay calm, Dafne. We sent the report to the stewards” my engineer said.

Some seconds after he seemed to understand that he couldn't fight, maybe he even received a penalty, so I just drove next to him, showing him my middle finger as I overtook him.

But then it happened.

He didn't give me enough space, making his front wing clip my rear tire, sending my car spinning out of control. I struggled to regain control, but the dizziness made it nearly impossible. The world around me tilted and swayed, the track blurring as I fought with the steering wheel.

I hit the barriers hard, the impact shaking my entire body. Pain exploded in my head, and the last things I remembered were the deafening sound of crunching metal, the voices of my engineer and Fred in my ears and the crowd screaming terrified before everything went black.

The sound of the beeping of a machine next to me was the first thing I heard when I started to wake up. Then I held the weight of another hand holding mine. When I started to take deep breaths, the smell of hospital and Sebastian's perfume filled my lungs, making me open my eyes and search for him with my eyes.

“S-Seb” I croaked, feeling a wave of pain in my neck when I moved my head.

“You are awake” he said softly, relief flooding his voice.

“What…”

“You had a crash” he sighed, smiling weakly. “Ocon lost control of his car and crashed into you… You've been unconscious for some hours, Daf…”

“The race” I mumbled, nervous.

“There was a red flag” he explained, rubbing my hand softly. “Until they took your car out of if the barriers and they translated you to the helicopter”

“Who won? The championship…” I mumbled concerned. “We lost it…”

“Fuck the championship. You could have died, Dafne” he sighed.

I swallowed thickly, looking away and closing my eyes, the memories coming back in fragments, repeating in my mind over and over again. The race, the dizziness, the impact.

“My family?” I whispered, swallowing thickly.

“I sent them to the hotel” he sighed. “They have been here since you arrived and they needed to rest, Dafne. I'll call them later, okay?”

Some minutes later, after Sebastian pressed a button, a doctor entered the room with a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a reassuring smile, holding a file and pressing it against her chest.

"Miss Morelli, how are you feeling?" the doctor asked, checking the monitors.

“Like I got hit by a truck” I sighed, smiling weakly.

“It's totally understandable. You had a severe concussion and some minor injuries, but nothing too serious" he said. "However, there is something else we need to discuss. We ran some tests to make sure everything was okay after the crash”

“Okay… and? How did they come out?” I asked confused, nervously.

“You are pregnant” the woman said, opening her file and showing me what looked like an ultrasound. “Three months pregnant, to be more precise”

“W-what?” I mumbled.

"The baby seems to be doing fine despite the crash, but you'll need to take it easy for a while.”

Pregnant. No. No, it can't be. Sebastian and I always used protection. Always. And I am on the pill.

“It's imposible” I said, looking at Sebastian and then back at the doctors. “No, I'm sure it's a mistake. I can't be pregnant. I'm on the pill! We use protection!”

“There are many possibilities, Miss Morelli” the woman said. “The condom could break… I saw in your medical file that you've got prescripted some antibiotics three months ago because of a throat infection. The antibiotics can take down the effects of the pill…”

The woman kept talking and talking, Sebastian's grip in my hand was tighter. But my mind only could repeat that scene from three months ago.

“Please, leave me alone” I mumbled, making the woman stop talking.

She and the other doctor nodded and walked out, closing the door behind them.

Three months. My mind raced, trying to piece it together. The timing... it couldn't be. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt a mixture of emotions swirling inside me. Anger, disgust, fear, panic.

“Talk to me” I heard Sebastian whisper, squeezing my hand again. “Dafne, please say something”

“I don't know what to say” I whisper, feeling my throat closing with panic.

“We can do this together, okay?” he smiled weakly. “Maybe this wasn't how we wanted, but… God, Dafne, the past few months made me realize that I really like you”

“Sebastian…”

“I know it's not the perfect timing, but I promise I will take care of you two, hm? I can take a break from filming, we can… We can buy a house, what do you think? So our baby can grow up happy. Yeah, we can do that. We will live together, hm?”

“Sebastian”

He's going to hate me.

“And I know you might not like it, but you can't race…”

Oh, that was what broke me.

“It's not yours!” I exclaimed.

“What?” he mumbled, the smile on his lips disappearing slowly.

“This baby” I whisper. “It's not yours. It's Charles'”

Sebastian's grip on my hand tightened slightly, but he didn't say anything immediately. I could see the hurt flicker across his face, masked by a veil of confusion.

“That fucking idiot” I spat, feeling the anger burning in my veins, getting rid of his grip in my hand. “Of all people it had to be him! Why?!”

“Dafne, calm down…” I heard Sebastian say.

“Calm down? Calm down?!” I exclaimed.

“We'll do this together, okay?” he said, trying to reach my hand again. “I'll be next to you-”

“No” I said quickly. “Leave me alone”

“Dafne…”

“I said leave me alone!” I said louder. “Get out, please! Get out! I don't need your pitty, I don't need you!”

He clenched his jaw, looking at me with pain in his eyes. But that pain is nothing compared to the one I'm feeling right now.

“I need to be alone” I whispered, feeling a wave of panic.

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, hurt and confusion filling in his eyes. Finally, he nodded silently and stood up, his shoulders down, defeated. He paused at the door, casting one last worried glance at me before leaving the room.

Alone in the hospital bed, the anger that had fueled my outburst began to disappear, leaving behind a terrible ache. I felt disgusted. Disgusted at the situation, at Charles, at myself for letting this happen. How could I have been so careless? How could I have let him go this far?

The tears that I had been holding back finally spilled over, tracing silent paths down my cheeks. I was scared of what this pregnancy meant for my career, for my relationship with Sebastian, for everything I had worked so hard to achieve.

I was so lost. I will lose my career. My family will be disappointed. The team, the media will hate me. Sebastian probably hates me, I'm not carrying his child.

What am I going to do?

taglist

@racinggirl @elisysd @alltoomaples @ssprayberrythings @rach3164 @yvonne-dump @deliciousfestsalad @janeh22 @hc-dutch @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @ssararuffoni @itsjustkhaos @scaramou @tapedeck-hearts @apollosfavkiddo @sltwins @glitterquadricorn @ladystardust05 @theseerbetweenus @vizzzashley @auawdo @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @leptitlu @green-thots

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petertingle-yipyip · 8 months ago

Text

SO LONG LONDON - STEVEN GRANT

Pairing: steven x reader (established) (and then marc shows up)

Word Count: 2,489

Summary: Dating Steven was always a bit of a gamble. So when a beautiful woman comes to town claiming your boyfriend as her husband, you find a whole new side to the man you love.

//honestly idk what happened here, just go with it//

It made no sense.

You two were scheduled together all the time. Donna claimed it was the only way to make sure Steven actually showed up to his shifts. And for the most part, it worked. Occasionally, you two would have a day or two different and he wouldn’t show or would be ridiculously late. But you were usually able to explain it away to your manager so Steven wouldn’t get in trouble.

But now, it has been three straight days of Steven pulling no-calls-no-shows. Even when you tried to call him, it went straight to voicemail. Like his phone wasn’t even on.

You were walking around the city that day after work. You picked up some lunch and were looking at your phone, contemplating whether or not you wanted to try calling out texting him again, but the sharp whizz of a woman on a moped cut you off.

You stopped so suddenly in your tracks that your phone fell from your hands as you scrambled to catch your food.

“I’m so sorry!” The woman said quickly, suddenly in front of you with your phone in hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” You shrugged it off and held a hand out for your phone. She went to pass it back to you but her eyes lingered on your screen where Steven’s contact photo was waiting.

“It was my fault for not looking.” You tried while she quietly stared at the screen. Your fingers hooked on your device and with a slight tug, you got it back.

“I’m Layla, by the way.” She said when you had moved to leave.

“Y/N.” You nodded. “Nice to meet you.” You tried to leave again but she spoke up.

“Boyfriend?”

“What?”

“The guy on your phone.” She gestured to your hand where your phone still sat. As subtle as possible, your thumb hit the lock button to hide the photo that was still waiting. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “He’s M.I.A. right now so I’m starting to worry. Normal girlfriend things, y’know? He’s a bit of a sleepwalker so…” You finished awkwardly.

“Would you…” She began and your brows raised. “Would you wanna get some coffee maybe? I think we should talk some more.”

“Oh, well.. Thank you but I should get home. I’m like three missed calls away from a missing persons report.” You tried to joke.

“It’s just that your boyfriend looks an awful lot like my husband.”

“What?” Your heart sunk.

“Yeah, uh..” She hurried to pull her phone from her bag. “My husband, Marc Spector. Maybe you’ve heard his name? He comes and goes for work but then I got a call and now I’m here trying to find him.”

“Oh!” You sighed in relief. “Okay, it’s probably a coincidence because my boyfriend’s name is.. Steven… Gra…”

Your sentence trailed off as Layla showed you her screen and a photo of her and someone who looked exactly like Steven faced you. His posture was different and you assumed his aura was as well. His hair was styled differently and he even wore different clothes than Steven would. Too similar to ignore but too different to convince you.

“Wow, um, that resemblance really is… Y’know what, maybe we should get some coffee.” You agreed.

After a while of you two talking, neither of you were convinced the other person was talking about the same person. Layla’s ‘Marc’ seemed to have a completely different personality than Steven. He seemed rougher, insufferable even. To be able to completely abandon your wife with no explanation was borderline appalling, and Steven would never. He hardly even went to run errands without giving you a full list of everywhere he intended to go.

As far as you could tell, the only similarity was their looks.

You offered to bring her to Steven’s apartment to show her that he was a different person with a different life. But when you knocked, your usual habit just in case he was home, he actually answered the door.

“Hello, Love.” He smiled at you, though the expression quickly faded when he saw yours. “Something wrong?”

“Steven, this is Layla. Layla, Steven.” You introduced before she had pushed past you both and into the apartment.

Steven looked at you in confusion but you smiled in apology with a small shrug. He stepped aside and gestured for you to come in so you did. Layla was investigating the small space and Steven was staying close to your side. You could feel his fingers tapping the back of your hand, his silent request to interlock your fingers together, but you put your hands in your jacket pocket instead.

“This is your flat, Marc?” She asked and you were thankful someone finally spoke to break the tension.

“I’m Steven, actually.” He answered.

“And you live here with her?” She gestured to you.

“No.” You answered for yourself. “I stay a few blocks over.”

“It’s my mum’s flat, actually.” Steven defended.

“You guys are talking again?” She asked as she found one of the poetry books on his shelves.

They exchanged remarks about the French poet and the hieroglyphics on Steven’s desk. You watched quietly and were finding nothing that could indicate Steven was Marc. But then again, the one French poet he knew just so happened to be Layla’s favorite. And his explanation of hieroglyphs was the same as hers.

Was it possible?

While the two turned to argue about divorce papers and Steven’s identity, you were distracted by the unusual gym bag on the table. You glanced and saw them take their conversation to another side of the room so you went over to the bag. You were thankful it was already unzipped so you pulled the sides apart and were dumbfounded by what you saw.

Stacks of money, a gun, a golden bug, and a passport.

You were drawn to the document so you pulled it out quietly and opened it, seeing a different name printed on the page.

“Marc Spector.” You read to yourself and your heart came to a screeching halt in your chest.

“Who’s Marc?” You asked suddenly, drawing attention to yourself. You held up the passport expectantly.

“Oh, jeez, uh…” Steven rushed over, crumbling the divorce papers under his arm as he reached for the passport.

“No.” You held it further away. “Who are you?”

“C’mon, love. You know me.” He tried, almost desperate for you to be on his side.

“I don’t think I do.” You said sadly. “Who’s Marc? Is he your twin brother or something?”

“I don’t know.” He answered quickly.

“He is Marc and he needs to tell me if we’re getting this divorce or not.” Layla spoke up and snatched the papers from under Steven’s arm.

“You seem lovely, Layla, truly. But I’m not Marc Spector.” He insisted and you so badly wanted to believe him. “I’m Steven Grant and I work at a gift shop. Well, I used to work at a gift shop. I just want my life back.”

“Doesn’t seem like you know which life that is, do you?” You slammed the passport against his chest.

“Y/N, please wait.” He reached for your hand but you backed away.

You nearly ran down the hall to the elevator. You needed to get away. From Layla. From Steven or Marc or whoever the hell he was.

It felt like you didn’t know him anymore. A different name you could live with. A secret job, sure, you could get over that. But a wife? An entirely opposite personality? That shook your entire world, the very foundation of your relationship. You could justify the rest but the idea of him loving someone else so wholly and being someone else so entirely, it had you questioning everything you knew.

About him. About life and love. Even about yourself.

It made you wonder if you could walk away from it all. Say so long to the quiet london boy that stole your heart.

You were back in your apartment before you knew it and you leaned against the closed door for a moment once you were inside. Your head was spinning with the new situation and you decided you didn’t want to think about it. You pushed yourself up and headed to your fridge, picking out one of the cans you usually reserved for after dinner or nights you had friends over for drinks and movies. You took it into your room and got changed before dropping onto your couch.

You put your can on the side table and picked up the remote, flipping through channels until a familiar movie played. You let it run as background noise while you read your book and slipped your drink. But despite your best efforts, Steven was still present in your mind. When you were picturing the main male character, all you could picture was your boyfriend. One of the female characters started to look like Layla. It drove you insane.

You threw the book to the coffee table and dropped to your back across the cushions. You didn’t know how long you had been staring at your ceiling when someone knocked on your door. The first time the noise came, you didn’t move. Surely whoever it was would leave. But after a few seconds the knocking came again, with more authority than the first time. so you hauled yourself up and shuffled over.

Opening the door, you were greeted by the ghost of your boyfriend. For the most part, it was the same man. Same clothes and same facial features. But his dark curls were pushed out of his face. His posture stood taller and his shoulders pulled back.

It didn’t take long for you to recognize you weren’t looking at Steven.

You moved to close the door when his hand shot out to stop you. You tried leaning some of your body weight against the door but it hardly budged. You muttered a small complaint to yourself before stepping back and opening the door fully.

You stared at the imposter expectantly.

“Not gonna let me in?” He asked, gesturing slightly towards your apartment.

Even his voice was different. Missing the accent, deeper and fuller than Steven’s. Seeing the more mature sound come from your boyfriend’s face sent goosebumps across your skin.

“Why would I? I don’t know you.” You shrugged.

“C’mon, Y/N.” He groaned and ran a hand down his face. “You really wanna have this conversation in the hall?”

You sighed heavily and as if on cue, your nosy neighbor was leaving her apartment. You grabbed Marc’s jacket and pulled him in, giving the woman a quick wave and a tight smile. You heard her question who he was but you shut the door before having to answer. You stared at the door for a second to collect yourself before turning to face Marc, who had already made himself comfortable on your couch.

“Little early in the day for drinks, don’t you think?” He tried to joke and shook the empty can but you didn’t laugh.

“Well when I find out my boyfriend is married and absolutely not who I thought he was, I’m entitled to a spiked lemonade… Just be glad it isn’t the bottle of vodka in my freezer.” You countered, the words spilling faster than you could control them. “So who the hell are you this time?”

“My name’s Marc.” He began and you rolled your eyes. “Steven and I are…”

“Twins?” You tried your earlier guess. You just desperately wanted something simple for an explanation. A case of mistaken identity among twins was simple enough.

“No, not exactly.”

“But you are the one married to that girl, Layla, right?” You pressed.

“Yeah.” He nodded and a small smile crossed his lips. “Steven’s never met her till today.”

“Well…” You said awkwardly, coming a few steps closer. “She’s very pretty.”

He smiled a little wider for a second before he seemed to remember why he was there.

“Listen, I came here because I wanted to try and explain what I could to you.” He began carefully.

“Is Layla right then, Steven’s just an act?” You cut in sharply. “A fake name so you can lead a life away from her? Because it seems to me that that woman loves you. Why she would is baffling to me and why you would divorce her is even more ludacris.”

“He’s not an act and he’s not fake.” He seemed to flinch at the last word. “Maybe he’s not all that real, either. It’s…” He blew out a heavy sigh. “It’s complicated, Y/N/N.”

“Don’t you dare.” You said tightly, closing the distance to put yourself in front of Marc. “You’ve existed to me for all of ten minutes. You have no right to call me that.”

“You’re right.” His hands went up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

“How do you know about that anyway?”

“I know pretty much everything about Steven’s life.” He shrugged innocently. “You, the gift shop, his really shitty boss. I know what bus he takes, that goddamn fish. Jesus, I even know what underwear brand he wears.”

“How? Why? I just-“ You groaned and pushed your hands into your hair. “What the hell is going on, Marc?”

“Sometimes…” He spoke carefully, as if he was treading around land mines. “There were a few nights when you would come to Steven’s, or walking back to his place after work, it wouldn’t be him… He wouldn’t take over in time and it would be me. Kinda got to know you through that.”

“Oh my god.” You said quietly, your hand covering your mouth as you sunk into the chair beside you. “When he would be super quiet and just nodding or making little humming noises…”

“Yeah…” He hesitantly agreed, clearly embarrassed. “I tried to kind of push him forward but- I don’t know how this shit works, Y/N. I’m just living with it at this point.”

“So… You’re Marc and he’s Steven, but you’re also the same?” You questioned as the information tried to sink in. “Like you two are-“ You interlocked your fingers together.

“Same body, different people.” He nodded. “I know it’s a lot but don’t.. Don’t leave him over this.”

“Leave him?” Your brows furrowed and you almost laughed. “I’m not gonna leave him over this.”

“Really?” His brows raised quizzically. “Cause it didn’t seem that way when you walked out.”

“I can handle personalities, I think. It’s the marriage that’s a problem.”

“To be fair, it’s my marriage.” He offered. “Like I said, he never knew her.”

“I just need a day or two to let it process.” You confessed. “And I think you need a day or two to figure out things with Layla.”

“Yeah, probably right.”

“And if you two work it out, me and Layla are gonna have to figure out an arrangement.”

#steven grant fic #steven x yn #steven grant one shot #mcu steven grant #steven grant hc #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #marc spector moon knight #steven grant moon knight #moon knight fic #moon knight x yn #moon knight x you #steven grant angst #marc spector angst #marc spector #steven grant #moon knight

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riordanness · 3 months ago

Text

burning it down — [p-jackson]

wordcount: 1.1K

warnings: vague mentions of sex

requested: yes!!

It had been a crazy, impulsive thing. Getting tangled up with Percy Jackson, of all people. Letting myself fall into his god-like charms, his mischievous grin that seemed to make all girls swoon.

I told myself I wouldn’t ever let him get to me like that.

And yet. Here I was, in bed with Percy Jackson, son of the sea god. His fingers are knotted in my messy hair, his mouth on mine. Our clothes are discarded somewhere on my bedroom floor. A messy, wild, tangled together night, followed by another, and another, until my life is a blur of him.

“No one has to know what we do,” were his whispered promises in my ears, the quiet assurance that this was a secret. A well kept one, too.

But, all good things come to an end. Or rather, bad things that you pretend are good to fool yourself into believing it’s alright.

He never liked me. He never loved me. He never pretended that he did. But my heart didn’t want to listen to reason. I realised it one night, as Percy’s mouth made its usual trail down my collarbone, his strong fingers pressing marks into my sides, my entire body warm for him.

I was in love with Percy Jackson.

“Percy.” I knock on the open door frame of the Poseidon cabin.

Percy, a mess of black curls and hoodie, sits up and stares at me, slightly confused. We barely speak during daylight hours. “Hey.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, my foot tapping on the floor behind me. “Can we talk?”

He puts down his blue plastic water bottle. “Ye-yeah. Of course?”

I shut his door behind me, quickly checking that no one is watching first. Then I approach his bunk, trying not to think of what usually happens in it.

“We have to stop this,” I say slowly, my voice dragging.

Percy’s sea green eyes don’t reveal anything. “Why is that?” he asks carefully, his finger tracing a slow circle on his bedsheets. A movement I know all too well.

I force my gaze away from his hands and back to his eyes. “I’m done with this… whatever it is. Okay? So, yeah.” I spin on the heel of my shoe, intending to just walk away and pretend Percy Jackson never happened to me, but his voice stops me in my tracks.

“Wait.”

His voice, oh, how familiar and pretty a sound it is. Part of me aches at the thought that I won’t be hearing it nearly as much anymore.

I turn back. “Yes?”

I half expect him to say something more, something important. But all I can see in his face is an easy smirk. “Don’t forget about me,” he jokes, his sea green eyes glittering with mirth and teasing.

I purse my lips, part of me wishing he would say something more, something to make me stay. Because I would, if he wanted me to. I think that I would do anything he wanted me to do.

I study him, imprinting his appearance in my memory. He’s tall, and gods, handsome as hell, with his sea green eyes and messy dark hair that curls at the edges. His tan skin with the crinkles in the corners of his face. His troublemaker smile that takes girls’ breaths away.

I know that I am lucky for the time I’ve been in his life. Of course, I want more, but not everyone gets close to Percy Jackson like this. He’s the kind of guy every single girl falls for, but most of us get ignored. And, as I know, when he does pick you, he drops you again soon after.

Bad, but doing it very well.

“See you, babe. You were fun.”

The simple, dismissive words make something inside of me snap a little. Now I’m mad, angry that this is all I ever was to him. A plaything to last until he got bored, and if it ended, he wouldn’t care at all.

I scowl, my fists clenching a little. “That’s all?” I snap.

Percy’s face crumples in confusion, the first real emotion I’ve ever seen in his gorgeous eyes. “What do you mean? This wasn’t serious, you know that. We agreed.”

“Yeah. I know that,” I say. “But that’s really all it meant to you? You seriously didn’t… ever…” I trail off, not really knowing what I’m trying to say exactly. I’m just angry and hurt, and… in love.

“I broke the rules,” I admit. “I fell for you. That’s why I’m leaving. Because I know we weren’t supposed to do that.” I hesitate, draw a long breath. “I guess I’m just here to see if you’re going to stop me. If you… have a reason to.”

Percy’s expression is back to its usual unreadable form. His eyes study me for far too long.

“No,” he says finally. “I don’t.”

That’s all I need to hear. I nod, a shaky smile on my face. “Okay. Then this is goodbye, I suppose.”

I then away again, glancing down at my red dress, wiping my palms on the skirts. At the door, I glance over my shoulder. “Just… say you’ll remember me, at least? You can’t pretend we weren’t… something.”

“We were,” he whispers. “Trust me, I don’t think I could forget you. Your red lips, rosy cheeks, the way you sound when…” He doesn’t finish, but I know what he’s implying.

I flush ever so slightly. “Good,” I say. “Think of me, even if it’s just in your wildest dreams of what could have been.”

I shut his cabin door behind me, and it’s not until I reach my own that the tears come. Nothing lasts forever. I knew that. I always knew that. And yet I still let myself down. I let myself fall for the one person out of reach.

In hindsight, I think I would have done it differently. Not gone into something like that with Percy Jackson, the irresistible son of Poseidon. I don’t think I would have been able to resist him, though, even with the gift of hindsight.

He really was a magical boy.

Just too confined to be open, too gorgeous to be kind, too bad to be good.

We were truly something special. Like a firework. Hot, blazing, but dangerous too. Get too close, and you’re on fire. I got too close, and then everything came burning down.

The memories will always be there, though. Memories of scattered shirts and messed up bed sheets, damp curls and whimpered names.

In my wildest dreams, he will stay. Locked in the secret parts of me that not many people will see. Safe, in my vault of dreams and memories.

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #perseus jackson #book percy #book percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson x reader fanfic #perseus jackson fanfic #perseus jackson x reader #wildest dreams #taylor swift

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idyllcy · 7 months ago

Text

this is a drama. i am the drama.

word count: 10.4k

WARNINGS: mentions of SA, mentions of sex trafficking, mild violence (all r kinda glossed over but still warning), Nonexplicit smut

summary: your soul drowns Tim, but he finds comfort in it.

The city of Gotham is not phased by much.

From the drug trafficking in the docks to the human trafficking happening under everyone's nose, the average citizen doesn't really care. Though, arguably, they do mind when their sleep is disturbed by the sound of racing cars— something else that isn't necessarily new in Gotham. However, there had been news that the racers were steering off into the city at night, so Tim finds himself in civilian clothes, holding up a pass to access the venue that the racers were using, stepping in past the loud noises and people screaming. Ah, he made it in time.

He's surprised to find actual racing cars— cars that look like they could be in a grand prix.

From the seats, he meets eyes with a racer. He can't tell anything, but from posture and body frame, a woman. Now that he looks at it, all the racers seem to be female-presenting. He turns down the drink offered by one of the men, striking up a conversation instead, batting his lashes at the man, hoping to seduce him in some way. He wore too much clothing to be able to do so with his body, but it was still worth a shot. He hates dressing up like this anyway.

"So, what's a goody two shoes like you doing here?" The man smiles, sliding an arm around his shoulder.

"A friend gave me his pass because I said I'd never watched a Gotham street race." He bats his lashes. (Hopefully the fake lashes Stephanie glued don't fall off. God, did he hate dressing as Caroline)

"Really? Usually we place our bets on a racer." He hums, waving a guy over, dropping a twenty in a box. "I'd recommend you vote for Spitfire, she's an oldie and usually wins."

"Who are the others?" Tim slips a twenty from the back of his phone, blinking at the other names.

The man chuckles. "Lightwing is another good contender. She's been around forever. But also, her vision is spotty from an accident last time, so she's not as popular as before."

Tim nods slowly, staring at the other two names. "Who's Moonknight and Aquastar?"

"Moonknight is making her debut tonight, but her test run streaks were pretty bad because she doesn't have as big of a team as the rest of them." The man waves his hand. "You don't need to bet on her, pretty girl." He grins toothily. "Oh, and Aquastar is a visiting racer from a nearby city. We usually have more racers, but Cardinal got suspended for going off the race tracks and breaking into Gotham two weeks ago."

Now that he thinks about it, all of the names were practically knockoffs of the vigilantes and heroes who protected the cities. Although, he's surprised the street racing had ended up this big without any of the bats shutting it down. Someone must have a hand somewhere. He just wonders if it's Hood or B. It could be neither for all he knows.

"How does one race?" Tim blinks at one car in particular. It looks too much like a batmobile for comfort.

"You'd have to talk to the racers for that."

"Ey, Chris, are you hitting on newbies again?" A woman walks up the stairs, shoving him to the side playfully, tilting her head at Tim.

"Oh, come on, Spitty. You know I only do that so I can collect profits when you win."

"Arguably," She tilts her head at Tim, pausing. "You should bet on Moonknight."

"A-ah?"

"If she wins," Spitfire smiles, "then you collect all the profits. It's only a twenty, after all."

Tim frowns.

"But there's also a tradition for newbies to bet on newbies." She laughs. "You never know. That girl's got more speed in her than Cardinal. She just refuses to tell people."

"What's the cash prize?" Tim raises a brow.

"Driver gets ten percent of the bet money on top of the two million that WE pours into the track." She pauses.

"WE pours money into this?"

"We're not sure why, but they have been for a while now. The whole race track was from them." Spitfire sighs. "It's an old story, so it's not that surprising anymore."

Tim glances at the car again, pausing. Ah. This was where Bruce tested out his batmobile by using other people. No wonder he didn't push anyone to check the driving out. If Bruce was testing out all of his vehicles here, then there was no way he'd want it to be shut down. It would explain why he handed him an access card without having him get one. Tim glances around to look for seating, and Spitfire notices.

"You wanna sit in the grandstands?" She smiles. "My treat."

"Really?" Tim puts the money into Moonknight's box. The woman was right. It's only a twenty. Worst case, he loses the money. Though, he wonders what kind of a racer would have a leading champion telling him to vote for her. "Oh, is there a reason all the racers are girl?"

"We tried co-ed racing for a while." Spitfire holds her hand out for Tim, and he takes it. "But the men would get too aggressive and lead to unnecessary accidents on the track. Our goal is to test out cars for our sponsors before they're taken onto the field."

"Is that why there's a pass to get in?"

"Yeah." She hums, pulling the door open. "Come on in."

"Spitfire, favoring a newbie?!"

"Spitfire, who do you think is going to win!"

The woman turns her head, smile on her lips. "Me, obviously."

But it proves wrong when Tim meets eyes with the same woman from the first time.

You stare into his eyes, white racing suit snug on your body, a look in your eyes he recognizes. Though, the longer you look at him, the more you seem to read him— as if his entire past were exposed in front of you at a table. There is a sort of darkness to both your eyes and hair, the stare of a thousand souls. He breaks eye contact first, waving goodbye to Spitfire as she hops back to her position, final checkups of the cars in progress as Chris asks him if he wants a drink. Tim waves him down, but he mentions a can of Zesti would be fine. Chris barely makes it back in time for the announcements.

Tim catalogs the majority of the announcements in, checking for their voice on his phone, blinking when he finds a lack of match for it. He'd ask Chris, but the man is practically leaning over on the stand, eyes glittering as the cars prepare to race. He stands up, cracking open his soda, blinking when the four racers seem to fly off, and his eyes glance at the big screen, camera flying after the cars.

Moonknight goes from second to third, and Spitfire goes from third to first. He doesn't have much faith in his twenty bucks, but he wonders if the batmobile would really be helpful in a race like this. It didn't—

Moonknight goes from third to first at the final moment, boosting past Spitfire and racing to first place as she makes it into the second lap. Tim pauses while recalling the batmobile, and he remembers the change he had made just a week ago on the car, letting it accelerate faster than the other cars. Seeing his own creation in action hits something in him, blinking as she swerves.

"Oh, I might actually lose my money today." Chris laughs. "I didn't think she'd be able to do it."

"Who is Moonknight?"

"She's a completely new racer. She's called Moonknight because he sponsor gave her a car that looks eerily like a batmobile every time. Though, her car is in light grey." Chris points. "I'll hand you the pamphlet later."

"Thank you." Tim mumbles, watching as Spitfire races neck to neck with Moonknight. Tim wonders if it's going to be a tie. Though, he did add something else to the car. Maybe Bruce told you, maybe not. If she manages to find it, she could win. Though, he's more curious to know if rocket boosters were technically allowed in a race like this. Who knows.

You grimace in the car, pressing a couple of buttons as your fingers brush over something new. You wonder if it's the self-destruction button that Batman had told you not to touch. Yet, you shrug it off, clicking it anyway, slamming back into your seat as you speed past Spitfire, breaking past the finish line, steering with one hand as you try and stop the rockets on your car, clicking on the screen, grimacing. You'd rather not call Oracle. Last time you did, she tried pulling your social security number on you, only to find a lack of one.

Your heart races in your chest as you press the button again, the rockets only growing stronger, and you groan as you type in a code you had memorized from the Batcave, successfully shutting down the systems on the car, turning it back into a regular vehicle. You don't know who invented that line of code, but god were you thankful that you memorized it. The car eventually slows, and you drift next to the other racers, parking successfully. You step out of the car, leaning on the door as it closes, the blood in your body flushing your skin.

"Moon, are you alright?" Spitfire rushes next to you, hand on your bicep.

"I'm fine." You pull the helmet from your head, meeting eyes with Tim's again. You raise a brow, and you lower your voice to Spitfire. "That girl isn't a girl."

"Drag maybe?"

"No." You mumble, turning to shield your mouth from his eyes. "Undercover cop. Either that or they're a vigilante. They used Batman's card to get in."

"Ah." She frowns. "Are we safe?"

"I'll deal with it if he throws a fit." You stretch your neck, placing your helmet onto the top of your car. "Gotta submit a report later."

"I'm not looking forward to that." Lightwing groans. "Our next race is supposed to be motorbikes."

"Ewwww." Spitfire shudders. "I hate racing those."

"I hope they don't have rocket boosters like on my car today." You shudder.

"Alright, go get your cash prize, girlie." Spitfire smacks your back to send you walking to the podium.

You step over to the makeshift stage, taking the cheque from the announcer, blowing a kiss at the phones as you stare at the blank cheque. Two million was the max, but you were told you'd get to cash out five if you could win the race. You pause, though, when the girl you were staring at earlier makes her way out of the stands and walks over. Spitfire tries stopping her, but she seems to say something that has her quiet as she steps up the podium to meet you. You tilt your head at her.

Tim opens his mouth to speak before you cut him off.

"You know." You pause to wave the announcer off, hooking your arms under her knees to rest your chin on her chest. "You're real hot as a woman, but I'm sure you'd look better as a man."

Tim flushes as you press a kiss to the crown of his head, and you set him on the podium, lips pulled into a pretty smile. Your voice lowers as you rest your chin in the valley of his tits, blinking up at him. You jut out your bottom lip as Tim swallows thickly. Your fingers lace into his hair, nails digging into his scalp gently, blinking slowly, reading his emotions, his expressions, his everything. You look entranced, and Tim almost feels bad that he's here undercover and you're staring starry-eyed over someone who doesn't exist.

"What's your name, pretty girl?" You raise a brow at her, grinning.

"Caroline." He swallows again, heart racing in his chest. You're too attractive for your own good. Maybe you were using that against him. "Caroline Hill."

"Well, Carrie," You hum, tucking his hair behind his ear. "I think you're gorgeous. Care for a drink sometime?"

"A-as much as I would like to, I'm not into w-women." He stumbles. (A bold lie. He's never had a worse panic over a woman in his life.)

"Quite a shame." You mumble. "You're so pretty too..."

You step down the stage, holding the cheque up as the girls cheer with you.

Tim should really talk to Bruce about what the batmobile was doing in a street racing event.

Though, as Tim tries to run a background check on you, he finds nothing come up. Even in the private files of the batcomputer. Even on the card that gave him access, all the fingerprints were wiped clean. He finds practically nothing, not that it gets to him, he just looks harder. He practically lives in the cave now. He doesn't remember the last day he got regular sleep. He has nothing on you.

So, he shows up at the next race as himself this time. He enters with the same card, and this time, you find him first.

"So? You related to B?" You hand him a can of unopened zesti, and he raises a brow at you. You raise a brow back at him, pointing at his card. "Card. That's a B exclusive card."

"How so?"

"Sponsor card." You smile. "Since it's light grey, that means it's my sponsor. My sponsor is B."

Tim frowns. "Who are you?"

"My question first."

"He's an aquaintance. Now my question." He opens his can, pressing the drink to his lips.

"I'm a racer." You smile.

"I meant as a person." He clicks his tongue.

"Why don't you find out?" You bat your lashes at him prettily, hand pressed to his abdomen, leaning in to blink at him devilishly. "Or are you not into women too?"

Tim's heart races in his ears, swallowing as he tries his best to match your pace. "What does the media say?"

"Lots" You grin, pressing yourself closer to him, arms wrapped around his neck, your air mixed with his, lips pulled into a dangerous smirk. "But all I hear these days is how someone keeps trying to hack my personal information."

"Yeah?" He tilts his head, placing the can to the side.

"Mhm." You hum.

Tim smiles at you, dangerously, all while his mind is a jumbled mess. You had an effect on him that he dared not to pry further into, but god were you intoxicating — bad for his brain even. He finds himself leaning closer to you, all systems going off about how this was bad for him, but he doesn't care. Not when your perfume smells tantalizing and the only thing he wants to do is kiss you sick— make out with you until you're whimpering against his lips, knees giving out under you, and brain fuzzy with only him. His eyes darken with the thoughts, a smile on his face.

You remove your arms from him, tapping his shoulder twice with an innocent smile. "Thanks for giving me the last piece."

Tim raises a brow as you peel yourself from him, his mask in your fingers, smile not so pure anymore.

There was no way.

Tim grabs it back from you as you back up, both hands in the air, and as he shoves it into somewhere you can't touch, you hop over the stands, landing on the dirt with a thud. Tim frowns in frustration as you send a wink his way, starting final check-ups for the race. It's bikes today, and Tim recognizes all of the models. A copy of his own bike is in Spitfire's hand right now. Maybe this was how Bruce figured out whether or not his bike was safe to ride after his own customizations. Jason's bike is in another rider's hands, red helmet with black— presumably Cardinal, and Dick's bike is in Lightwing's hands. You have Bruce's bike still. It checks out now.

This was the testing ground for the vigilante vehicles in Gotham.

The fact that you had figured him out so quickly only meant that you had realized faster than everyone else.

But there had to be a reason that no one part of the team saw the similarities between their vehicles and the ones that the Gotham vigilantes used. There had to be a reason that only you would be crazy enough to figure it out just based on vehicle models. Maybe he could use the status card to talk to you all for a little. Too bad you were already checking the vehicle. He should have asked earlier— strange. It's not like him to be this disoriented.

You win the race.

It's obvious. B's bike was designed with the fastest engine possible, and in a race of pure speed, it would win. No matter how much Tim tinkered with his bike, he wasn't allowed to go faster than Bruce. The man had said it was too dangerous, and Tim could see why. The Batbike was a nightmare to steer at such high speeds. Though, he does wonder where everyone on the track gets their practice. There's never a peak of sound during the day on the track, and neither was there much noise at night when you weren't racing.

Tim does not dig the idea that he has to pull his money card out, but the more competitive part of him does wonder what it would look like to have you fold for him.

"A drink?" He leans over the railing, card held up, raising a brow at you.

You wave him off, handing your helmet to someone else, clicking your tongue.

"That's not the way to ask a pretty woman out on a date, boy." You raise a brow, lips pulled upwards in a grin. "Maybe ask better next time. Some of us have black cards too."

So Tim watches as you leave with the rest of the racers, his heart racing in his chest.

It takes ten more tries for Tim to trace from someone else to you.

He blinks at the woman on the screen, and he pauses to ponder. Perhaps.

However, all of his thoughts are thrown off when a command is called from behind him by Bruce with a new case. A file is handed to him, a file with a rather unoriginal name, and it makes Tim raise a brow. Surely it was a jest.

"I assure you, they are very much real." Bruce rolls his eyes, cowl peeled off, humming with a drink pressed to his lips.

"Is this related to the serial murder of rapists going around in Gotham?" He opens the file.

"Not just Gotham." Bruce hums. "Clark did a report on the serial murder of both registered and unregistered sex offenders in Metropolis as well. It has been a trend. Despite the vigilantism, it is still very much illegal to kill someone."

"I don't see too much of a problem with killing a rapist." Tim presses his coffee to his lips, scanning through the files Bruce hands him. The target seems rather clear. The killer does not regard anyone in the way, knocking everyone out and always only killing the rapist. A maneater. The name given to the murderer was maneater, as if it were some ploy. In some cases, the victims were found with their pants unzipped and an anti-rape condom stuck on them, writhing in pain as they were almost always found dead with poison in their system.

Those who suffered more gruesome deaths... either found castrated with their genitals lying not too far away, or a hole where their heart was supposed to be, the organ missing. It reminds him almost of Heartless, but... that is not the case. This is a vigilante no different from them... just less sparing and guaranteed murder. Now, does Tim solve the case or let the vigilante free...

He does not know what possesses him to ask you of all people, but your response does not help much.

"Moonknight." Tim hums, adjusting his glasses as he puts them on. "May I pick at your brain?"

"Is this about the serial murders?" You wipe the helmet in your hand, cheque tucked safely into your wallet.

Tim nods. "Thoughts?"

"I feel like the murderer's doing us ladies a favor." You shrug. "Think about it."

"I know, but murder is a little..."

"Little hypocritical of you, you know?" You raise a brow. "Must I name your war crimes?"

"No." Tim hums. "Perhaps I should do some digging anyway."

"Wouldn't hurt to have it on file in case you do need it one day." You eye one of the newer men on the track, grinning at Spitfire as she greets him. "Hm?"

Tim's eyes trail up to Spitfire.

Similar build. His glasses indicate the same.

"It's not any of my girls." You crack open the can of soder. "I promise they're clean. B runs background checks on all of us."

Tim mulls over your words.

Scary.

Yet, he visits you anyway, money piling in his back pocket as you win round after round, small talk rolling off your lips in a sort of practiced way, smile inviting as you turn down his request to grab a drink again, humming quietly as Tim's eyes trail down to the small of your back, brow raised as he notices your shorts peeking out past your pants.

"What does it take for a date with you?"

"Maybe not being part of law enforcement." You hum. "Legal or not."

"Why? Worried I'll turn you in?"

"No..." You trail off, chewing your top lip as you turn your head at Lightwing. "Well, if you save Lightwing from some trouble, I'll consider."

"What's wrong?"

"You see the man talking to her?"

Tim raises a brow and spots another group of men not too far off. "Bingo."

You wink in her direction, and Tim hums.

"Hey big fella. Having fun so far?"

You watch as Tim tears the man apart, Lightwing leaving at one point to stand next to you.

"Really, I don't know what you see in that man."

"Not much." You purse your lips, smiling. "Something tells me he's the one."

"I'm willing to bet that he is not." She mumbles.

Yet, as Tim barely lifts a finger to piss the man off, you grin.

"Oh, he's definitely the one."

Tim runs the information, stalking down the final member of your racing team, matching the majority of information to the final member, brow raised when he realizes that Cardinal was not part of B's files either, hunting the woman down as he searches for her current location, and it makes Tim's stomach churn uncomfortably when he realizes how eerily similar the racer is to the described criminal. The person who was dubbed Cardinal had been face-matched to someone who had entered Metropolis just a little bit before the serial murders. It made Tim nauseous.

"Got any leads?"

"Might be one of the previous racers." Tim grimaces. "Of the race tracks."

"Cardinal? I assure you it is not her."

"Really? There had been rumors—"

"It is not." Bruce mumbles. "You know who Cardinal is. It is not her. They may have similar builds, but it is not her."

"Who is Cardinal?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough."

Bruce's evasion of his question does not help the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

You end up with Tim on the date, hair ruffled as he picks you up in his bike, hand held out to you as you take it, humming. It's supposed to be simple. Though, you suppose simple for a Wayne is impossible to determine. You never know what to expect from him. Though, when he pulls you to the local diner, you find it impossible to not know he's the one. It's really too simple.

"Would you tell me about Cardinal?" Tim finally asks you proper questions once the two of you finish ordering.

"Do you think she's the one?" You raise a brow.

"You said your girls are innocent."

"The ones I currently race with." You hum, reaching for the bread on the table.

"And Cardinal?"

"I don't know much about her. She didn't talk much."

"But she was aggressive, no?"

"No." You hum. "She drove into Gotham because she saw something. She also raced her own bike. No one knows who she is."

Tim connects something in his mind, and it sends him back to step one.

"Would you be able to help if I gave you the file?"

"Isn't it just what's available online?"

"One final thing. The killer in Metropolis might be the same person." Tim mumbles. "Thank you."

The food is presented before the two of you, and you stab into your pasta. "I don't think so. Did you track anyone else that entered and exited Metropolis that was a Gothamite?"

Tim shakes his head. "I find it strange."

"Perhaps magic?"

"Not impossible." Tim mumbles. "What do you do in your free time?"

"Tinker." You hum.

"With your bike?"

"No. That's B's property. I tend to tinker with smaller things. It's always fun to build a PC from scratch."

"Ah, you're quite handy with tech." Tim hums, blowing on his pasta. "Anything else?"

"I like watching detective shows." You pause to think. "And racing. I think that's about it. How 'bout you, boy wonder?"

"That's my brother." He laughs dryly.

Tim finds that it's intriguing to talk to you. You know everything that he does, and it seems you know much more than what you let him in on. Dare he say it, perhaps he's met his match.

Tim sends you home and starts patrol. Gotham had become eerily quiet since the murderer had been on the loose.

Though, he has a knack for saying things too early.

A man dies the same day, and B finds his way there with Tim, the two of them sweeping down and kicking the man down, a woman shaking as Tim shields her, holding his cape out, making sure to not look at the way her clothes are ripped up and she's shaking with an intensity unknown to him. He can feel the vibrations of her skin through his cape. The fear is easily contagious had he not known.

"B?"

"Dead. The poison spread too fast."

The woman doesn't look like she was aware.

"Did you buy the product?" Tim raises a brow, eyes scanning her face for any changes in emotion, and she shakes her head.

"I... a-a friend got me o-one on because—" She gasps, shoulders trembling still. "I-it saved her life."

"Do you know where she bought it?"

The woman shakes her head. "Th-they were giving them out on the streets a while back. It's been m-months."

"May we take one back?"

B shakes his head. "Gordon is coming. We will decide then. Oracle?"

Oracle has no intel either, and Tim wonders just how far this murderer is willing to go. If he just let them kill all the rapists in Gotham, then it would result in a number of the population as gone. If he checked them, perhaps the offenders in Gotham would assume they are protected by B — which truly could not be further from the truth.

"Where are you living? I will take you back." Tim catches a figure in the corner of his eye.

"B."

The man shakes his head.

"I-I'll be fine." She mumbles. "May I borrow a... clothes?"

B nods, and Tim hands the woman to him as he takes a good look at the man on the ground.

Familiar. He looks familiar.

The scan from his mask indicates the same. The man who had been talking to Spitfire at the tracks. It was the man who had been talking to her. Some clicks in the back of Tim's mind, his fingers pressing to the silicone, pressing the dirt and grime to the back of his glove to check for DNA.

Just the shaking woman.

"B, I need one of them." He speaks firmer this time. "There has to be some unidentified DNA on one of them."

"There are in one of the files on our computer. It was sent this afternoon." B hums. "The police are arriving. Come on."

Tim doesn't need to be told twice, yet he lingers, eyes trailing on the woman as he waits.

One of the policemen is an unregistered sex offender.

He clicks on his mask as he zooms in, a dark figure flying out of the alleyway at the man, and Tim watches as a claw digs into the man's genitals, ripping off with a sound that shakes the walls, followed by a guttural scream. The policemen shoot at the figure, but they don't react, only retreating back into the walls, seemingly unhurt by the bullets.

"Oracle, did you catch that?"

"No face was detected."

"How about figure?"

"Non-human." Oracle mumbles. "I can't identify anything."

"Tsk." Tim clicks his tongue.

"Though, it has to be a shadow ability. Perhaps something adjacent to it. They're gone, right?"

Tim hums into the mic. "Affirmative."

Tim ignores the way the shadow shapes weirdly underneath his feet.

"You can come out." He taps the corner of his mask for reinforcements, taking a step back into the moon as the shadow forms, a smile of white forming into a human.

"Can you—"

"Neither. All indications of sex are missing."

"Oh..."

Their voice is nothing short of horrifying to him.

"I caught a bird." It grins, and as Tim takes a step back, he finds that his other foot has a shadow warping around his ankle.

"Who are you?"

"We are the night." It sings. "We are the darkness..."

Tim knows what's next.

"We are... vengeance."

"That's rather cringe, don't ya think?" Tim raises a brow.

A batarang flies from behind him, and the shadows only create a hole for the weapon to fly through. The shadow splits into two people, and Tim smiles.

"Gotcha."

"Ah ah," The one on the left shakes its hand. "We were promised... freedom."

"Only where you belong." Batman shines a flashlight at the creature, and Tim watches as it retreats back into the shadows, his ankle free. "And you. Next time, just shine the flashlight."

"Are they weak?" Tim raises a brow. "Just to light?"

"It stuns." Batman nods.

"Go track the leftovers on your ankle back in the cave."

"Will do." Tim pauses before he goes. "Is it an alien?"

"No. Something worse."

Tim does NOT know what could be worse than an alien. (He lies. He does.)

The DNA tracks too many women to count. One shows up and then the next, and eventually, Tim has at least twenty women pulled up on his screen, all pronounced dead after being found used and discarded. It is horrifying. Tim may not understand just how terrifying it is to be a woman, but as he finds children, he seems to understand just how disgusting this is. Girl after girl, woman after woman, every last one of them were used and discarded bare for the world to see, photographed and made a case study out of — all who met their unfortunate end and their rapists never see the end of their life the same way they did.

It is disgusting, but something else is discovered.

He does not remember if it is something new, but it seems strange. It is not a shadow, but rather a composition of human souls forced to merge into an unrecognizable shape. It is science, not an alien, and Tim understands why it is worse. It is an unfortunate victim and not an alien. It is someone who had been forced to change into something unloveable. He wonders if the souls of the unfortunate make up the shadows.

Ah. If they are shadows...

Tim turns around as the shadows form a human again, shorter than he is, apple of its cheeks soft and gentle. A girl. It is a girl this time; not a woman.

"Are you a victim?"

It does not answer him.

"Tim? Tim, do you hear me? Red!"

"It has not attacked yet." Tim answers. "How many of you are there?"

The child does not respond, holding up one finger, and then two, and three, and eventually there are too many fingers sticking out of the hand that Tim had lost count.

"Many."

"What's the deal?"

"I matched the DNA." Tim swallows. "I won't hurt you, but please—"

The shadow dissolves, and Tim lets out a breath, staring at the faces plastered across the screen of the Batcave.

"Tim?"

"Oracle." His voice goes quiet. "They are all victims of... The computer just keeps going."

Eventually, B returns, staring at the wall of faces Tim left, finding the man in his room, glasses on as he stares at his PC, case file after case file being read, news article after news article. There is more than one soul occupying the shadows, and Tim reads one after the other of how they were murdered. Stabbed, strangled, shot, mangled, burned. None of the souls were able to escape death at the hands of their rapist. It was sickening.

"It is not a human." Tim speaks, staring at Bruce at the door. "We can not arrest it."

"Is it humanoid?"

"No. It is a shadow of vengeance."

"There has to be a way to stop it from collecting more souls."

Tim closes his eyes, brows furrowed as he sighs.

"And if I do not want to?"

"Tim."

"I know." He mumbles, exhaustion written all over his face. "How will we destroy the remaining souls?"

"How many women were identified?"

"There are currently twenty seven." Tim mumbles. "There may be even less if more of the men die."

"The vengeance of a ghost." Bruce mumbles. "Just find a way to stop the addition of souls. Surely, someone is collecting souls and adding them."

Tim finally closes his eyes when the sun starts peeking over the horizon.

"Sorry." Tim shows up to your meetup place, eyebags extra bad, and you raise a brow at him.

"Something up?"

"What would you do if someone was collecting the souls of the victims of rape and kill and turning them into a shadow of some sort to let them have vengeance on their rapist?"

"Wow, what a loaded question." You mumble.

"Thoughts?" Tim closes his eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Feel free to ignore it if not—"

"I mean... it makes sense." You hum. "Is it scientifically immoral? Yes. Is it in some way morally correct? Perhaps. Their lives were taken and their souls haunt the earth because they are still held down by things they could not resolve while they were alive. Perhaps to the living, they are a monster, but to the dead? to the dead, they are a savior."

Tim pauses to think. "Should the person be punished?"

"Under the law? Sure."

"How about according to yourself?"

"No." You mumble. "If I was raped like that, I would love to ruin the life of the man who ruined mine. I heard a police officer got his dick ripped off. Is he still alive?"

"Alive." Tim nods. "Vitals are stable, but he can no longer procreate... obviously."

"Deserved, maybe. I heard he got off with only two months of jail time after the initial trial."

Tim does not answer, pausing to mull over the case.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out." You stand up, stretching your legs. "Shall we get something to eat?"

"You have food by here?"

"No, but since you brought your bike, I can take us somewhere."

"It better not be the diner from last time."

It is NOT the diner from last time

Instead, Tim finds himself seated outside of a Batburger place, thanking you as you hand him his order, clear view of the alleyway.

"This place is a little..."

"It's where a lot of drug trades happen." You hum, staring at the alleyway behind him. "Also where a lot of sex trafficking occurs."

"Ah, right." He mumbles. "Red Hood manages that, no?"

"Not as much." You bite into the burger, humming happily. "Sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting."

"I think the burgers and shake could fix me."

You raise a brow.

"As much as it can try, of course."

"Nah, I have those days too." You hum. "Did you find much on the souls?"

"I just wonder if they are decreasing after extracting revenge on their former rapist." Tim mumbles.

"I heard somewhere they started off in the fifties." You hum, continuing with your burger.

"...fifties? Where did you even hear that?"

"Rumor gets around quickest at the racetrack." You mumble. "Cardinal kept closely with the news. Apparently the figure was as large as a human at one point."

"Is twenty souls not enough to form a full grown woman?"

"Perhaps it picks a child for other reasons." You reach for a fry. "Am I being of much help, mister detective?"

"Somewhat." Tim pauses when he hears rustling behind him. "...May I?"

"Careful, they carry stun guns."

Tim nods, leaving you alone, and you click on your phone as you watch Red Robin swing in, kicking and freeing the poor girl, handing her off to the police as you stare at the two men knocked out. Tim had overestimated just one thing.

From behind, a spike of darkness pieces through the men's hearts, killing them on the spot as Tim holds a hand over the eyes of the woman.

Dead. The two men are dead.

The shadow forms behind them, three young women who look no older than the one that Tim is covering the eyes of.

"How many of you are left?"

This time, the shadow forms a 24.

The number is going down.

So, Tim reports the findings to Bruce, changing out of his suit to get back to you, nodding as he sits down and sighs.

"Sorry, stomach died."

"Nah, don't worry about it." You sip on your shake, humming. "Duty calls."

"Are you racing sometime soon?"

"I think B's trying to have us race less lately." You hum. "I won't be racing for some time. The only reason we raced so often a while back was because there were so many upgrades being implemented."

"So you have more free time?"

"Yeah." You hum. "I was thinking of traveling."

"Where to?"

Tim knows something you don't. The gentle taps of your painted nails omit some eerie sense of death, and it seems that no matter how much Tim likes you and feels fine around you, it is impossible to ignore that eerie sense of death. It reminds him of the first time he met you, stare of a thousand souls. Yet, it seems that...

"Staring?"

"You're rather pretty." He hums, pressing his napkin to his cheeks. "Is it not normal to stare a little?"

"Oh, look at you and your smooth words." You hum.

"I mean them." Tim stares at you.

You only give him a weak look.

You don't seem to believe Tim when he says you're everything.

And maybe at some point in time, Tim had realized that your words swayed him harder than they need to. He does not know when he had ended up so deep with his fingers and hands stained with a passion for you, but as it drags him under, he finds that it's fine. Maybe you were just destined for him in some way. If he would be dragged under, then he would simply find a way to clear it out. He enjoys the sensation of drowning in you. Maybe he is just weak for you.

"Do you love me?" You tilt your head, milkshake straw on your lips as Tim sorts through his files.

Tim stares at you, pushing his glasses up. "Why?"

"Curious." You hum. "You've brought me to your place, after all. Isn't this the nice little boat you got with your boyfriend? I remember the media going insane."

"Perhaps." Tim mumbles. "I brought you here to help me with the case, though. I don't think love is the right word for what we feel towards each other right now."

"Mm." You nod slowly, picking up some papers. "The number went down?"

"Yes. The two men who were killed resulted in three less entities in the shadow." Tim mumbles. "I just wonder if the number is going to increase."

"You wouldn't want it to, huh?" You hum.

"Prefferably no." Tim pauses. "Though, I suppose if the entity is acting on its own, then I can not do much to stop it. Someone is letting the souls merge into the shadows."

"If it's just cells, shouldn't it be the act of a human? That must mean they have some sort of way of accessing the victims' bodies."

"That would be the case, but a further search indicated that they were not picking up the cells, but rather just souls. I don't know when we got an upgrade to be able to locate souls, but—"

"It was probably when you tried cloning your best friend." You don't bother letting him finish the sentence.

Your statement freaks Tim out.

"H-how the hell do you know?!"

"B." You puff out your cheeks, continuing with reading the file.

B does NOT have that information open to just anyone to access.

Yet, Tim shuts his mouth, continuing with the file, taking the chance to seal your fingerprint. He runs the match while you continue checking, and he ends up in a dead end again. You do not exist in the database. Your fingerprint is not a real person. Surely there was a chance that you were not quite human either.

"Just how cautious are you?"

"Very." You hum. "My fingerprint won't show up."

"What gives you the boldness to say that?"

"A gamble." You hum. "I race for B. Surely, he would not do something as cruel as that."

"He is consistently paranoid."

"That does not matter." You click your tongue. "He could not hold me down if he tried."

Tim senses that there is a certain level of untruth to your words, but he can not say just what it is.

Three days later, four more men are found dead by the docks. Tim checks them with the police, Oracle's voice in his ear as he observes them. All three have had their hearts pierced through, a gaping hole left behind. Tim looks to the side at the shadows brewing beneath the water, and he observes that the number shown is four less than before.

"These men have to be part of an organization."

"They are." Oracle notes. "Human trafficking. These are the men who are part of a human trafficking specifically for sex workers."

"So... rapists."

"Yes."

"Did we ever get a number on them?"

"No."

Tim nods at the police as they arrive, grappling away.

Maybe he's committing a sin by letting the shadow get away with the murders. It would be impossible to hold them down, but he wonders if he should ever shine a light on them when they kill.

Back at the cave, the young girl emerges again, smiling at Tim as he raises a brow.

"What?"

"Twenty." The voice speaks, much younger this time.

"Are you all children?"

The widening of the smile indicates a yes.

"How old were you?" He holds his hand out for the shadow.

His question goes ignored, the shadow disappearing as B returns to the cave.

"The number of shadows decreased again." Tim stares at B as he undresses.

"How do you know the shadows aren't lying?"

"Here." Tim shows B the newest scan of the souls, and the number has shrunk.

"How did you scan it?"

"I do not know. We hadn't been able to scan based on soul previously."

Bruce clicks on the computer, eyes focusing on the application, taking over as Tim sits to the side. He looks further, digging into the code as he pauses and points at a line.

"Moonknight."

"The racer?"

Bruce reads the code, and Tim follows, pausing.

"She's a computer system?"

"No, but you probably scanned some system in when you ran her through the system the first time."

"Just what is she?"

"I don't ask questions, and neither does she. Just a worker."

"Alright." Tim mumbles. But the issue was you do ask questions. You ask plenty of questions and each one brings you closer than the last. He had already lost his identity to you because of your charm. Perhaps Bruce was not far off. Though, if Tim could not find you, then Bruce probably could not either.

The next time he meets up with you, you finally let him into your apartment.

"Oh, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you love me." Tim hums. "What brings you to invite me here?"

"No, I didn't feel like going out today." You shut the door behind him. "Pizza's on the counter."

"Where are the others?"

"Racing." You hum.

"I thought you said there weren't any races?"

Tim finds that you're a liar.

Somewhere down in the place he's been pulled to, he finds that there is endless amounts of darkness, something brooding behind your soul as you talk to him, smile on your face. You called him the one, but if you were the one, he wouldn't feel so turbulent. Shaking waters. The water he's been pulled under is unmoving and serene, only in the middle of the sea, making the peace eerie rather than soothing. Rather than the liquid moving, he finds that he's spinning further and further down.

"I'm not racing for the time being." You hum. "The others are racing with their own bikes."

"Do you not own one?"

You shake your head. "I prefer other forms of transportation."

Tim raises a brow but doesn't question it.

Even when the two of you are tangled under your sheets and he listens to your heartbeat, the sense of uneasiness doesn't leave. You are too perfect. Even if you were to drag him down with you, he would only know how to hold onto you and not swim. Maybe this is his end. Unless you free him, he fears he will be stuck with you forever. Drawn to the beating of your heart, Tim is stuck being in love with you for the rest of his life. If you would drag him into the depths of your world and ruin his life, then so be it. As long as neither of you cross the line, neither of you would be hurt.

"Would you like to race?"

You raise a brow at Tim.

"Once in a lifetime." He offers.

"On the track?"

"We can race during the day." He hums.

"Not a day person."

"Then at sunrise."

You pause to think about it.

"If that's what you want."

"You make it sound like it's something I want to do." Tim whispers, chin resting on your chest as it rises and falls.

"Is it not?" You run your fingers through his hair, vibrations of your voice making him purr.

When Tim wakes in the morning, Oracle sends him a news article. Ten men found dead at the docks. Ten men were killed, and Tim can only wonder how many of the shadows found peace from their deaths. Though, as your fingers scratch at his scalp again, he could worry about it later. He'd rather not stir up deep waters.

"Ten died?"

"Mhm." Tim closes his eyes, mumbling. "Ten men."

"From the same organization?"

Tim is too tired to consider how you would know all the men are from the same organization when it has not been disclosed to the public.

"You seem to know much more than you let on."

"Of course I do." You hum. "But I won't race you until you find out."

"Then give me a month." He mumbles, eyes closing as he drifts back to sleep. You're warm, and for the first time in a while, he gets some rest.

The next race Tim goes to, he notices Spitfire and Lightwing are missing.

You tilt your head at Tim from the track, waving as he waves back, lips curled upwards in a gentle smile.

He refuses to meet the truth.

There is some sense of security that lies in playing stupid, eyes closed and fingers reaching out into a void of nothingness, knowing that as long as he did not know, he would be safe. Yet, there is always the nagging in the back of his mind, uncertain about his future, uncertain about what would happen if he continued to play dumb. He knows he'll get called out for it by Steph soon, but it really... he was only a fool in love. He can not do something so terrible to his heart.

Even as you bring back the trophy and greet Tim with a thrashing kiss against his lips, breath hot against his as he tries to ignore the truth of the world beneath his feet embedded into the shadows, he knows that he can only play stupid for so long. Soon, this racetrack will become empty, and one day, you too will leave him for the world that he refuses to uncover for his own safety. He loves you, but he can only do so much when he's young and stupid.

"Can I take you back to mine?" Tim whispers, eyes begging quietly as you lick your lips, helmet in your hand as you confirm with a kiss.

The gentle rocking of Tim's place is peaceful in the Gotham waters, port comfortable as he pushes back all of his knowledge. It is a curse to be wise, yet Tim finds that there is nothing he can do when he just refuses to. He would choose you even if it meant laying what he had known before down. It pains him to know that he should not, and you would not let him, but he is foolish and young, eyes gentle as he drinks up the way you lay beneath him, the moon coating you in a lovely white as he furrows his brows to forget about it all.

Your skin is soft against Tim's hands, plush of your waist filling the spaces between his fingers as you stretch your arms above your head, eyes half-lidded as he pleases you — himself. It makes no difference. Turbulent waters have long become the place where he finds his rest, eyes half-lidded as he listens to the way you breathe, both beneath him and in the dead of the night. Life becomes slightly more bearable with you around, exhaustion no longer as suffocating as he's used to. Perhaps he loves you or such. Perhaps he does not. Most certainly, he knows he cares.

In the afterglow of sweat and skin, Tim finds that you are no different from him.

"How many of them are left?"

Tim stares outside the window, recalling the last murder in Gotham.

"They're almost gone."

"That's good."

You close your eyes, lashes brushing Tim's neck as you rest your neck over his arm.

"When will we race?"

"I told you. When you find out."

"Find what, exactly?"

You do not answer, closing your eyes and succumbing to exhaustion instead.

Ultimately, Tim knows.

He knows what he's to look for, and he knows just what you might be. It scares him that you might have lied to him for so long, the shadows and souls lurking beneath the surface of the water finally snaking around his ankle and pulling. The big screen in the Batcave is of no help either, only a single person with an obscured soul, and Tim knows deep down that it is yours. You are a victim of the same organization, an amalgamation of vengeful souls all combined together for the sole purpose of seeking vengeance.

Tim stares at the shadow forming behind him, digits dropping by the day as he reports to Bruce about just what was happening in Gotham. The moral code to prevent murder is strong, but the understanding that a few lives of a few criminals for the cost of a safer Gotham was not a world-ending trade-off. Tim understands that much, at the very least. He knows Bruce does too. In a world where neither of them have to work against human trafficking as hard as previously, Tim finds that the waters are both comforting and vicious. He can not be touched in the warmth of your skin, but others will die from the toxin that he is immune to.

So, as Tim crosses off the final ones in the list of souls, he texts to let you know that the organization has been wiped, asking you which sunrise would work best for you.

You refuse to pick a time during the day because you are afraid of being burnt.

You do not exist in the database because you are not quite human.

You exist because you are someone's hatred and memories, manifesting in the form of the shadows and risking a life you do not have in order to see what is worth living for, vehicles meaning nothing to you as you speed through the racetrack at night, only Aquastar left next to you as she too disappears into the shadows after all the guests leave. There are barely any guests now that Tim looks. Perhaps more than half of them had been tired souls, begging for some sort of help, seeking refuge in the way you would risk your life for some sort of power above the law.

You are home to the souls, regardless of whether they are alive or dead. If someone seeks death, they reach for your arms, holding their hands around your shoulders as you stare past their skin, into the depths of the darkness beyond — something Tim is terrified of touching, Yet, with the feeling of your skin memorized between his fingers, he knows why people go to you to look for something.

You are so living yet so dead.

There is comfort only you can provide.

You meet Tim at the racetrack, sitting on your bike as Tim drives in past the gates. The darkness in your soul has grown lighter. Something has changed from when he first met you. You are still so lovely in his eyes, yet it seems that you can not be together in a case like this. It is a shame. At least he gets to race you, popping off his helmet as he notices how empty the stands are compared to when you used to race. The end of your need in Gotham has arrived, and the end of your services to WE has ended as well. There will be no more of you one day in the future, and Tim knows that one day, he too will be cursed to forget everything about you.

The people are gone.

The racers are gone.

And perhaps after this race, you will be too.

You enable the speaker, fingers clicking on the screen at the podium, giving the two of you a twenty-minute warmup.

Tim wonders just how fast he can go. He watches you from the side as you warm up your bike and drive, speeding around the track with practice that can only come from muscle memory. Yet, he drives around the track and gradually speeds up, trying to get a hand on how to race around. Tim finds that he's a little rusty, making several more rounds around the track as you sit on the side, clicking on your phone and scrolling through. Tim does not know how to bring it up.

"What does the winner get?" You look up from your phone, hopping on your bike as you wait for the countdown.

"Whatever the winner wishes."

"That's quite the bet." You hum, staring up at the light as Tim gets ready.

"Of course."

You start your bike, speeding past Tim as the light shows green, Tim tight behind you as he catches up to you. You wonder and think, leaning to the side as the bike follows, letting Tim pass you as you trail behind him. Tim finishes the first lap relatively quickly, and he realizes that you've fallen back a significant amount. He's unsure whether or not to speed up, but as he finishes his second lap, he finds that you're still far behind.

You cut him from the left, successfully stopping Tim from hitting a wall.

Tim speeds up to chase after you, wondering when you had the time to cut him off.

Yet, the end is evident, your bike parked at the end after your third lap, a grin on your face as he stares at you.

The souls are gone, and you look so, so lonely.

The lights shut as the two of you sit by the podium, tablet in your hand as you kick your legs, and you finally speak up.

"I know you found out."

Tim grimaces. "...why?"

You stare at Tim, peeling back your jacket, throwing it at him as he stares at you, watching as your eyes turn pitch black, shadows forming underneath your skin and turning the entire podium dark, some sort of ancient power creeping up your hands to your forearms, darkness evident in every blink at him, lips curled up into an apologetic smile, and Tim feels the water surrounding him drain all at once. If he would not leave you, then you would leave him. You would force him out of the comfort of your waters, knowing that it would drown him one day.

"The shadow moves with you." Tim stares at you, swallowing thickly. "There is only one victim left. We both know who it is."

You stare at Tim, lips curling upwards as he remembers why your smile started looking so familiar at one point.

"You are the last." Tim picks his words carefully. "Are you a shadow?"

"No. Just a medium. I am very much alive." You smile.

"Who are you waiting to kill?"

"No one." You hum. "I am alive because I must hold onto the shadows for the next ones seeking vengeance."

"You are the source."

You ignore him.

"Are you human?"

You blink at him again, ignoring him once more. "Luckily, it seems the victims have lessened lately."

"Why had there been so many at once?"

"There was an organization." You rock on your heels, lips curled upwards. "Everyone in the organization has been wiped. No fret. They alone resulted in over fifty deaths of women after they reached the age threshold."

"The youngest was ten."

"Yes."

"And the oldest?"

"Most of them were killed once they turned 21." You hum. "Occasionally, if someone looked young enough, they would be killed later, but the majority of them were killed at 21."

"How many souls were there initially?"

"Well over a thousand." You hum.

"And only you are left."

"Yes."

"Why play savior?"

"Why not?" You grin. "I have done nothing but host the poor souls. That does not warrant for my arrest."

Tim knows there is an argument against it, but he does not think too hard.

"Next time a soul finds you, notify me. Send me an invite to your race."

"You know, Tim." You hum. "B no longer needs me."

Ah.

"Will you be gone?"

"Very much so."

"To where?"

You do not tell him.

"Write to me." He speaks again.

You shake your head.

"I can not."

"Why not?"

"Send me some flowers when you see me on the news. That is my wish."

Tim tries to not think too much about your final words to him. You left the next morning, morphed shadows in the city leaving with you, and Tim finds that soon, almost everyone forgets you had ever existed. You had come and gone, shadow of death leaving with you, but he finds that occasionally on the news, he hears word about a new racer, gender unidentifiable, face consistently hidden, only known by their speed. You have become a criminal under the law, racing between the crevices of cities, fake trophy after fake trophy taken home, death following wherever you went, sex trafficking decreasing whenever you rested at night.

Tim tries not to follow you all that much, but when you show up on camera on accident, your home is raided and you are killed on sight by the same men who had killed so many others.

It hurts Tim in the head, eyes closed as he tries his best to not think too much about your death and how you had known all this time, but it would forever haunt him. He still remembers the way the waves would rock gently underneath the moonlight when he was engulfed by you, eyes always tired but comfort always found, knowing that you would be his rest when he needed it. So, for him to see you dead on the news, he finds that perhaps he was just cursed to not be able to hold onto you — that he was destined to be stuck in place and watch as you died because you had made a minor mistake. A mistake that would not have cost his life, but cost yours instead.

Yet, he honors your promise, white chrysanthemums placed at your grave as he holds onto the umbrella, humming quietly. The rain splatters gently against the plastic, quiet drumming calming him as he stares at the carving on the grave. The media had reported this was your place of burial, though Tim did not know if it really was you. He could have only assumed off of the information given, matching your age slightly, and he wonders if there is some sort of universe out there where he would be able to just stay with you.

"Here to see her too?" A masked woman steps next to Tim.

"Yes. I promised I would send flowers once she showed up on the news."

"How lovely of you." The woman hums, placing down a blue lotus.

"Did... you know her?"

"I knew her quite well."

Tim stares down at his flowers, finally looking up at the woman.

"It's such a shame, huh? That she would die to the very organization that she had been working to take care of."

"Well, perhaps she had just understood what it meant to live when she died." You turn to Tim, pulling down your mask as you wait for it to register in his head. "What do you think, Ca—"

You don't get to finish your words before Tim wraps his arms around you with closed eyes.

"I love you too, boy wonder."

#good morning tim drake tag did you miss me? no? GOOD.#tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #timothy drake x reader #tim x reader #☾.fics #☾.suggestive #contemplated not posting this but like. 10k words r NOT about to go to waste when my queue is empty

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