#gonna think on it for a few more days probably

[norikuna]

THAT'S SO TRUE — toji fushiguro

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (e) and let the show begin !

prologue. → you vowed to yourself that you would rock toji fushiguro's world as a new year's resolution. but it's christmas eve already, and the year is almost over. by hook or by crook, you're gonna that gorgeous, buff older man in your bed tonight.

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns)

warnings. reader has never been chill a day in her life, áge gáp, dílf!toji, big díck toji (ofc), voyeurísm (sorta implied), másturbátion (f), jealous sèx, reader watches toji through binoculars, they match each other's freak, creámpíe, reader gets called 'slutty' and 'doll', orál (m and f. receiving)

word count. 9.4k! song inspiration. that's so true — gracie abrams

a/n. incredible art by sakimichan 🍃 i had so much fun writing this 😁 reader is an adult!! i imagined toji to be 35-ish, and reader to be 22...? its christmas day for me so i'm a tad late 😩

mp3. bet you're thinking 'she's so cool' kicking back on your couch, making eyes from across the room. wait! i think i've been there too!

if your friends knew what you were up to right now, they'd skip the intervention and go straight to dragging you to the nearest police precinct.

forget a lecture, they would slap a pair of handcuffs on you first, citing charges of being horny to the first degree.

officer! she just can't keep it in her pants!

but did you care? not in the slightest.

you adjust the blinds, nudging them just enough to angle your binoculars a little lower. focus sharpened, lens zoomed in, and there he was. the object of your totally healthy, not-at-all unhinged plan.

the target in question? toji fushiguro.

your next-door neighbour, who also happened to look like he'd walked straight out of a naked biker calendar. leather jacket snug over his broad shoulders, a frame built for sin, and pectorals that were so sculpted, you often dreamed of bouncing walnuts off them. just to see if the nuts would crack.

months ago, you had made a new years resolution to yourself that you wouldn't end this year without bagging the man at least once.

yet here you were on christmas eve, a few days shy of the year's end, still plotting and scheming like a bond villain on how you could charm the socks right off toji fushiguro.

but you feared that tonight was beginning to deliver a cold, harsh slap of reality.

your heart suddenly gives an undignifed lurch as toji swings off his motorcycle in one fluid motion. but your smirk — yes, you had been smirking and you wouldn't deny that, vanished the moment your binoculars caught sight of her.

right behind him, a woman dismounted with all the grace and mature confidence that you wished you could summon on a good day.

you twist the focus knob, an unfamiliar figure sharpening into clarity. tall, polished, probably closer to toji's age rather than yours, and way too pretty for your scheming, heinous comfort.

she's hooking her arm through his like they did this all the time, and her cherry-sweet smile beams up at him like he'd hung the damn christmas lights himself.

and then, then! she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, casual as a snowflake fluttering onto the concrete below.

your chest tightens oddly, though whether it was from jealousy or sheer mortification, you couldn't tell. and you didn't want to tell.

toji fushiguro, for his part, didn't seem fazed, at least, not outwardly. he turns his shaggy head away, smiling faintly with that gruff and polite expression he sometimes wore when someone cornered him into small talk.

not that it mattered. you couldn't stop the frown that tugged at your lips, watching the pair disappear out of view, the motorcycle keys still dangling from his thick fingers.

you sigh, setting the binoculars down with a little more force than necessary. tonight was supposed to be your night, the grand finale where you capped the year off with a big win in the shape of this six-foot-two man, with green eyes that could strike you dumb.

and you had even planned ahead! you'd been certain that there wouldn't be any pesky interruptions, particularly of the pint-sized variety.

not that you had anything against megumi fushiguro, he was a good kid — if a little unnerving with that brooding energy he carried around like a hefty backpack.

but still, you'd never really spoken to him much. call it morals or basic decency, but dragging a clueless kid into your schemes just felt a little wrong.

so when you had overheard toji casually mentioning that megumi was out for a sleepover with some friend, something about how nice it would be to have a night for himself, you had taken that as a sign from the universe. a green light.

fate herself waving you through the doors to make your move.

except now, traitorous fate had also thrown you a curveball in the form of the older, mystery woman who had been clinging to toji's back on the motorcyle. all expensive burgundy fur, and a darling blowout that was way out of a college student's pay cheque.

still, you're not the kind of woman who folds at the first sign of trouble. no, you think, squaring your shoulders. who would you be if you gave up now? perseverance is the backbone of triumph, or something like that.

the walls of this apartment are criminally thin, and you trust that the muffled thuds coming from next door are none other than toji fushiguro leading his...date up the stairs and down the hallway. the metallic jingle of keys confirms it, a sound that sends a pang of irritation prickling beneath your skin.

your gaze shifts to your desk, to the corkboard cluttered up with polaroids of your friends, random university flyers, and pinned up lecture schedules that you never follow. you press three fingers to your lips, in a respectful and solemn kiss, before tapping your photograph of aaron hotchner, in a promise for the near future.

"i won't give up, hotch," you murmur, the solemn, printed face of thomas gibson crossing his arms — gazing back at you, a beacon of motivational determination.

and with that, you grab a notepad and the first pen you can find, even though it's half-dried and it can barely write. you flip the pages open, and begin dotting down your back-up plan on how to score toji fushiguro tonight.

you're pretty sure it's been an hour since you started furiously scribbling on paper. five dried-out pens and a mountain of crumpled drafts later, each one titled with variations of how to get toji fushiguro in my bed, your notepad is starting to look like a pathetic manifesto.

you sip idly at your grape soda, the fizzy sweetness staining your tongue a violent purple. and listen, to be clear, you're absolutely a feminist. truly. you're not the type to believe in pitting women against each other. that's messy, unsophisticated, and frankly it's far beneath you.

but sadly, here's the other thing. desperate times call for desperate measures. and as much as you hate to admit it, toji fushiguro, your brooding and hulking neighbour with shoulders that eclipse the sun, has your resolve teetering right on the edge. the wanting and lusty human spirit is unbreakable, and the idea of losing is as appealing as licking sandpaper.

the sound of a low thud breaks through your plotting, as you drop the end of the pen out of your mouth. your ears perk up at the faint creak of a door opening. you recognise the gruff voice, muffled through the thin walls.

"damn heater's out again. 'm just gonna go check the switch downstairs."

uh-huh. that's what you thought. this was just act one of the stage play.

see, about forty five minutes ago, inspiration had struck. you'd realised you needed to get toji out of his apartment, and given his bear-like simplicity: eat, sleep, grumble, repeat, it wasn't exactly that easy.

but every man needed his rest, and no man could rest on christmas eve when the snow was sticking to the window pane from the cold.

so, you had snuck downstairs and flipped the heater's breaker to his apartment off, leaving the rest blissfully untouched. setting an ideal trap for the vast man.

you crack your door open, just enough to watch him lumber off towards the left staircase.

it's one of two routes down to the basement, and the fastest, if you hadn't intercepted fate. about twenty minutes into your plan, you had grabbed a handful of out of order signs (printed with comic sans, the true villain of typography) and plastered them halfway down the left flight of stairs.

you dart towards the right staircase, your knee-high socks skimming the concrete steps in a frantic descent. as you reach the halfway point, you hear the telltale grunt of a frustrated toji.

"damn management can't even warn people about closures," he's muttering to himself, heavy footsteps falling in line behind yours.

right on cue. by the time he reaches the basement, there you are, innocently peering at the big, clunky switchboard. like it wasn't you who had just broken into it to render toji's apartment a freezing chill.

your sweater's been strategically tugged off one shoulder, and you're pretending the icy air isn't slicing at your bare legs, left exposed by the shortest pair of shorts you own.

"what brings ya down here?" toji grunts, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

you count it as a small victory when his eyes sweep over you, slow and deliberate, before the older man coughs and shifts his focus back to the switchboard. you sidle closer under the guise of curiosity, so close that the fabric of your sweater brushes his arm. the steel biceps flexing under the tight, black fabric of his tee.

"i don't know," you sigh, feigning innocence with a touch of melancholia, "it jus' got so cold of all a sudden." you cross your arms over your chest, pretending to shiver just enough to catch his attention without looking concerningly ill.

toji glances down at you briefly, his brow furrowing, "mhm. yeah," he mutters, before turning back to the labyrinth of switches, "can't believe how these clowns the place."

you watch as the man leans in, studying the panel like it's some kind of ancient artefact. his expression is set in that serious, furrowed way men always get when faced with the unfamiliar terrain of household maintenance.

cute. almost.

you, of course, had done your homework. a quick google search of the model number earlier had led you to the manual, and you already knew it was the purple switch on the top right. but why rush, eh? if toji fushiguro wanted to play handyman, who were you to deprive him? especially when you needed a little more time to set the mood, to give him some ideas.

every time his fingers hovered closer to the correct switch, you leaned in, cutting him off with casual chatter. enough to have the man's eyes drop over you once more, before flicking away before he could break the bounds of propriety.

"so, are you doing anything tonight?"

"what?" his gruff tone reverberates through the dim basement, bouncing off the concrete walls.

you flutter your lashes at him, meeting his sharp, verdant gaze, "i mean, it's christmas eve. got any fun plans?"

he straightens slightly, his hand falling from the panel as he looks right at you, "nah. just stayin' in." but toji tilts his head and throws the question back at you, "why aren't you?"

"why aren't i, what?" you tilt your head to mirror the man, feigning confusion, "staying inside? i was, but then i got cold. y'know, busted heater and all."

toji exhales through his nose, and you watch mesmerised as the scar twitches over his lip, "no, doll. i mean, doing something fun. you're young. got your whole life ahead of you to be old and boring."

the faintest flicker of a genuine smile tugs at the corner of your glossy lips. if only he knew. you clear your throat, "i guess," and you shrug, the movement subtle, but just enough to let your sweater slip a little further off your shoulder, "it's just not my...taste."

your gaze trails over him, deliberate but not obvious enough to tip the scales out of your hand. you hope that you're not wide-eyed taking in how his broad shoulders ripple, almost tense?

"ah." toji fushiguro, everybody. a man of great wit, and even greater vocabulary.

he's tapping a knuckle against the switchboard, frowning at the rows of colourful levers like they've personally insulted him. you take the moment to edge a little closer, peering up at him with a deliberate and doe-eyed expression.

"need help?" you ask, voice sweet enough to break through teeth.

toji snorts, "you? help me with this?" he glances at you sideways, one thin brow quirking up, "i've got this, doll," but he seems to sober up, remembering that he does not have this, "unless you even know what this thing does?"

"of course i do," you shrug, feigning nonchalance, "i'm pretty good at flicking the right switch."

and what a sweet, untainted victory when toji's movements still. he doesn't tear his gaze away from the switchboard, but his hands pause and you see his lips twitch, "uh-huh."

"you should probably head back upstairs," he says gruffly, his tone almost concerned, "basement's freezin' and you're gonna catch a cold in, uh," and toji's gesturing vaguely at your thin ensemble, clearly trying to be polite.

"i know, but i was just comfortable in this," you run your hands, pretending to tug at the hem of your shorts. ignoring how the goosebumps are practically beating your ass right now, and you're about an inch of a temperature drop away from hypothermia.

toji fushiguro mutters something under his breath, something about attitude and young people these days, but he doesn't move away when you sidle back closer to him again, the faint brush of your arm against his making the great man stiffen up again.

"so, no christmas eve plans at all?" you press again, cocking your head, "not even a little festive cheer? eggnog?"

"festive cheer?" toji scoffs, finally pulling the purple switch as the low hum of the heater continues to chug away. dusting his hands off like he's just solved a national crisis, like you couldn't have solved that ten minutes ago, "i'm not big on christmas."

"that's tragic," you sigh, "and i was gonna ask you to stand with me under the mistletoe." your tone is teasing, light enough to deflect any serious questions but you let your lips form a soft pout. just enough to teeter on the edge of innocence. the faint, almost-whine in your tone is carefully calibrated: harmless on the surface but laced with the kind of undercurrent that can plant ideas in a man's head.

"ya' got jokes tonight," toji's gaze lingers, a little longer than necessary. you don't miss the way his shoulders draw tighter together. how his jaw ticks, but the real prize for you is when his hand slides up to rub the back of his neck, fingers kneading at the thick muscle, like he's trying to shake something loose.

the corner of your mouth twitches again, oh. you've got him now.

"imagine going through life, so lonely on christmas. that's gotta do something to a person." you're so not seeing the pearly gates, but you've come to terms with that.

"yeah? like what?" toji huffs.

you tap a finger against your chin, pretending to think, "well. for starters, it probably makes you very grumpy."

"tch, 'm not grumpy," toji rasps, but his tone says otherwise, as he runs a hand through sleek strands of dark hair, "yer' something else, you know that?"

"i've been told."

tojo shakes his head again, and you don't miss the faint smile tugging at the corner of his thin mouth, "alright, kid. time to head back up before you freeze to death down here."

time's up on this charade. you puff out a breath, your coy bravado dimming just a little bit, "fine, fine. but i'm not a kid, y'know."

toji's green eyes flick to yours, like chips of sea-glass as he holds your gaze, before turning back towards the stairs, "yeah. i know."

you follow him up in silence, the soft patter of your socks suddenly too cold on the pavement. at the top of the steps, toji pauses, glancing back at you with an unreadable expression, "get some rest. and make sure no-one's messin' with the switches."

"why would they do that?" you say, a touch too quickly.

"no reason," toji says, just as abruptly, stepping back as though putting physical distance between you two would help, "but it's all fixed now. go on, back to your apartment."

you blink, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift, "what? no thanks for keeping you company."

"thanks," toji fushiguro says flatly, but his gaze isn't unkind.

"wow. don't get too sentimental on me now."

"goodnight," the man deadpans, swinging your door open for you, just for good measure. before turning on his heel, and heading for his own room.

back to the drawing board.

toji fushiguro is convinced that the universe has it out for him. some karmic retribution is surely circling overhead, just waiting to strike. because really, what other explanation is there for his constant predicaments?

his life had been fine, a little lonely, sure, but manageable. until you moved in next door, perhaps sometime last year. sweet, maddening, entirely too pretty for your own good.

what the hell was toji supposed to do with that?

he's still rubbing the back of his neck, pushing open the door to his apartment. his date, right, was still perched on the old couch, scrolling through her phone. she's looking up at him when he entered, arching a brow.

"hey, you were gone for a while," she lightly comments, tucking her phone away.

"yeah, uh, sorry 'bout that," he mutters, crossing to the kitchen, "this place has a habit of breaking down on me."

shui had set him up with this woman, insisting that toji needed to crawl out of his self-imposed hermit hole and start living a little.

"you're not getting any younger, fushiguro," shui had snarked, as if toji didn't already feel every year weighing on him. so, fine. he'd agreed, figuring one dinner with a woman way out of his tax bracket wouldn't kill him.

and to be fair, the date had been...fine. the woman was attractive, sharp-witted, and she didn't pester him with inane questions. the kind of woman that most people would be thrilled to spend an evening with. but toji just couldn't shake the strange emptiness that had settled in his chest.

still, he had told himself to quit overthinking. maybe he was just out of practice. or maybe shui oddly had a point, and he needed to stop letting life pass him by. so, he'd invited her back to his place, hoping another glass of wine and small talk would lead one things into another.

what he hadn't counted on was running into you in the basement. how your light voice would replay in his head, that teasing lilt burrowing under his thick skin and leaving him restless.

tojo shakes his head, reaching for a couple of glasses and the half-decent bottle of wine that he kept stashed away from megumi's prying hands. kid was at that age where he was too damn curious for his own good about everything. his brain, however, was still stuck in the basement, circling around you.

what the hell had you been doing there anyway? sidling up to him all close, sickeningly sweet perfume or some shit that made his jaw clench. batting long lashes at him, and teasing him about mistletoe kisses.

civility. decency. that was the bare minimum that he could give you, wasn't it?

"you've got quite the collection of, uh, things up there," his date's voice pulls him back, gesturing to the open cabinet with a polite smile. toji glances at colourful boxes of cereal, and the little plastic bowls with cartoon animals splashed all over them. megumi's favourites.

"yeah," he says gruffly, pouring the wine, "got a kid. just the one."

she nods, taking the glass he hands her, "that's sweet. how old?"

"six. he's...not here tonight."

before his date can reply, catch the insinuation that he's thrown out, another sound filters through the paper-thin walls. a giggle, a sweet laugh followed by a voice he knows all too well.

"i know, right! he was like, totally into me!"

toji freezes, the wine bottle hovering mid-pour over his second glass. he sets the bottle down with a little more force than necessary, pretending not to notice the way his date glanced toward the wall, clearly having heard you too. fantastic. as if the universe hadn't done enough to torment him today.

his teeth ground together as your voice floated through again, a singsong lilt that made his chest thump, and irritation flare all at once. what were you even talking about? who the hell was 'totally' into you?

"uh-huh," you had been laughing, your voice carrying through the wall, "and then, he asked me out!"

toji's grip tightens on his glass, wondering who on earth managed to pull you into a date. wait, why did he even care?

his date seems oblivious to the internal war raging inside of him, taking a sip of her wine and smiling, "so, what's your son's name?"

"megumi," he mutters, absently, eyes flicking through the wall like he could see through it if he squinted hard enough. ugh, what an awful thing to think. what was wrong with him? acting like freak, not able to mind his own business.

his date's laugh is soft and polite, "that's cute."

cute, yeah.

you thought it was cute too, didn't you? he remembered the way your eyes lit up when megumi toddled after you once in the hallway, clutching one of his ridiculous animal-print bowls.

"oh, what did i say?" your voice drifts again through the walls, following by a light laugh, "look, he was cute and all, but he just wasn't my type."

toji rubs a hand down his face, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his noise. you're just his neighbour. you're entitled to have your fun, to live your own life. that doesn't mean he has to like hearing about it.

meanwhile, his date sits stiffly on the couch, politely pretending your voice isn't bleeding through the walls like a radio she can't turn off. she's doing a commendable job of feigning disinterest, but toji knows it's killing what little momentum the evening had.

he clears his throat, trying to salvage things, "so, uh, got any plans for tomorrow? something fun for christmas?" great, now he's stealing lines from you.

her smile tightens, polite but clearly wavering, "just lunch with my family. my sister's bringing her kids over."

toji nods, grasping at conversational straws, "that's nice. i've got, uh, a brother. and an annoying little cousin."

"right," and she's glancing up at the clock, her patience thinning faster than her smile.

"oh, come on," your voice pipes up again, clearer this time, "you know my type's never been those kinds of guys. i like the big, rough ones." there's a pause, and then you laugh, the sound both coy and infuriatingly knowing, "yeah, like a bit older. all muscles."

toji freezes, trying to pretend like his insides aren't doing the tango. his date, on the other hand, has clearly reached her limit. her lips purse into a tight smile as she stands, smoothing her dress, "look, you've been nice and all," she says, voice clipped, clearly cutting off the chances of a second date, "but i really should get going."

toji fushiguro doesn't argue. doesn't even try to stop her. just watches as her expensive-ass coat swings off his couch, her heels clicking toward the door and her figure vanishing down the hallway.

he slouches back on the couch, arms sprawled wide, feigning a calm that he doesn't definitely feel. in truth, he's seconds away from keeling over, his chest tight and his pulse betrays him.

"huh?" your voice filters through the paper-thin walls, questioning and laced with mirth. the sound sends a shiver down his spine, and down somewhere else, "oh, my neighbour? toji, yep, that's him!"

his head jerks up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, eyes boring into the wall like he can will it to dissolve. tch, he's being such a dog. his ears are straining, sharp and unreasonably hopeful.

"yeah, he's so perfectly my type. tsk! yes, of course, i wish he'd just...yeah. anyway. but," you sigh, a dramatic exhale, "but i just don' think he's into me."

toji freezes, as heat floods his face, creeping down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. there's a traitorous clench in his groin as his stomach flips in a way that's both exhilarating and completely unwelcome.

the truth — shameful and complicated as it is — is that he is very much into you. has been for months. and it's getting worse.

every time you lean into him with those wide, sparkling eyes, every time you tease him with some playful jab or brush your fingers against his arm like it’s nothing, it carves a little deeper into his self-control. you're sweet, bright, always full of questions and comments that manage to sound innocent and maddeningly suggestive all at once.

but there's a prickling shame that comes with it, too, a harsh voice in the back of his head that tells him to grow the hell up. he's a grown man, for crying out loud.

a grown man with a kid who needs him, who already has enough on his plate without the complication of a pretty little neighbour who could turn his world upside down without even trying.

what could he offer you, anyway? you, who barrels down the hall in the mornings with an oversized bag bouncing against your hip, always late for something important, always in motion.

your life is big and full and bursting with possibilities. his, by comparison, feels...worn. quiet. comfortable in a way that makes him feel ancient when he looks at you.

still, it doesn't stop toji from looking. or from thinking things he shouldn't, like how your laughter lights up even the dullest days. or sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, pulling his hard cock out to tug on it, imagining your doe-eyes peering up at him.

toji rubs a hand over his face, groaning quietly into the crook of his elbow. what the fuck is he supposed to do with this?

you're starting to lose precious steam. for all your big talk about not giving up and winning toji over, the spark of confidence that got you this far is starting to sputter out. the lines that you'd carefully scribbled in blue ballpoint ink, a full script of fake laughter and coy quips begins to feel...a little tragic.

half an hour of pacing your apartment and pretending to be on the phone has left you feeling deflated, and painfully self-aware. your voice has grown too practiced, too rehearsed and you're starting to wonder if you even sound convincing anymore. and for all you know, toji fushiguro didn't even hear one word of it.

he's probably in there, sprawled on his couch, having a great time with his date. maybe laughing, maybe pouring wine, or maybe he's taken her to bed. fuck, your stomach lurches as your insides flip for no good, kind reason.

you glance at the cooling grape soda on your nightstand, still fizzing lazily in its can, and suddenly feeling quite awful. disgusted with yourself for the plotting, the dramatics, and the fact that it hasn't paid off in the slightest.

with a sigh that's more frustrated and resigned, you flop back onto your bed, ignoring the slight bounce of the mattress as you land. your apartment suddenly feels too hot, the air sticky and stifling.

you kick off the blanket that's bunched around your ankles, and you lie sprawled on top of the quilt. head tilted back against the pillows as you take in the dull hum of the light fixture and the occasional creak of the pipes.

with a despondent sigh, you find yourself half-heartedly parting your legs — maybe to entertain some false fantasy instead. you could have gone out, maybe really lived a little, just as toji had suggested.

you roll down the waistband of your shorts, pulling at the soft, elastic band. just tugging them down enough so you can trail your hands over the flesh of your thighs. yeah, you were that morose right now.

perhaps, you should have accepted the invites to all those christmas parties. you could have dolled up a little, grabbed a sweet drink or two on the house, fallen into the strong arms of a stranger?

you trail your hands over thin, soft skin. nails gently grazing over your mound, as you quickly run your middle finger through your slit, already dewy and moist. you muffle a small whine, because for all your showmanship earlier, you weren't above decency. and these walls were truly that thin.

but it's hard to not buck your hips up into your own touch, working your puffy cunt open with steady fingers. one finger, and then a second, fluttering at a gentle pace. how telling that the mysterious stranger in your fantasies is suddenly far older, with hazy green eyes and charcoal hair falling over his face.

you substitute the slap of your fingers for his, pretending its a rough thumb that pulls at your clit, gently pushing the throbbing hood up to run misshapen circles over the bundle of nerves.

"hah," you try to gnaw at your lower lip, keeping your mouth shut, as you're desparate for the creak of your bed frame to not carry over into the apartment next door, "t-toji, please."

there's a faint thud from next door, like someone has just hit their head. but you can hardly register it in your own mind. shuffling whines leaving your lips, as you use your fingers to stretch out your slick, sodden walls. getting faster, and faster with each piston-like gesture to curl the pads of your fingers up. searching, keening around for that rough spot that makes you squeal.

your eyes are fluttering shut, lashes falling against your cheek as your jaw tightens, heartbeat beginning to race as you heave for air, back arching up as you use your other hand to furiously flick over your clit, building up a steady ache in your wrist that you ignore, "ah, ah, toji, r-right there, fuck, 'm close."

each press of your finger against the walls of your entrance results in a large squelch echoing through your ears, getting closer and closer to that devastating peak, all the while as hallucination-toji snickers down at you and —

"hey!"

and just like that, your long-awaited orgasm, your beautiful climax, well. she disappears with nary a goodbye. your eyes snap open, heart hammering as you blink up at the dull ceiling. your hand is yanked away from your cunt, the cool air suddenly hitting the slick that's coating your fingers. your mind stutters, scrambling for clarity as an all-too-familiar voice cuts through the quiet.

"hey! c'mon, doll. don't have all day."

toji. toji fushiguro. oh, shit.

the panic rises quickly, what are your options? dive out the window and hope that you land on your feet? or fake an illness so convincing that you convince him that's contagious so he leaves? you consider it for a moment, but something else takes over. far more brave, or just reckless and lust-addled. you pull yourself upright, tugging your shorts back up. you shift your sheets, making sure that the dark, translucent patch is covered.

you pad towards the door with the air of a man marked for execution. when you swing it open, you're met with a red-faced toji. is he flushed?

you drop any cute pretense, and instead, lock your petulant gaze on his chest, straight up with the no eye-contact rule. it gives you a real, shameless good look at those heavenly sculpted pecs.

"what do you want?" you ask, voice as flat as you can possibly manage. but you're keenly aware of that mirror-gloss still coating your hands, and you wonder if its too obvious to scrunch your fingers in your sweatshirt. gross, someone get you out of here. the misery of your own making.

toji stands there, entirely dumbounded, and you notice the flush creeping up the peachy tan of his neck, a shade deeper than usual, "what do i want? what do you want?" he says, his voice rock-rasp.

you swallow thickly, ignoring the addled scent of leather, musk and something far more faintly addictive, "i have no idea what you mean."

toji huffs, obviously amused, before mimicking your voice with exaggerated sweetness, "oh, toji, please. right there, toji." he's mocking you, and your skin burns with the recent memory of that exact tone.

you consider for a split second if you can just hand him your lease tomorrow morning and call it quits. but then, toji continues, "y'know these walls are thin, right?"

you cross your arms, trying to steady yourself, ignoring how your poor cunt clenches with the faint memory of her ruined orgasm, "really? i had no idea."

toji mirrors your actions, his arms folding, but the effect only pushes his pecs up, and you try not to get distracted. but it's hard, very hard, "don't get all smart with me now. been hearing you giggle all evenin' and being all slutty."

"thought you had a date," you mutter, the act of playing pretend has long since passed and you're too far gone now to pretend. you scowl up at toji, meeting his gaze head-on, feeling your heart race as his eyes narrow and his pink lips part slightly. you can almost feel the urgent heat of his gaze dragging over your hand, your damp fingertips.

"how'd you know about my date? suddenly real concerned for me?" toji tilts his head, voice laced with infuriating amusement, and you fight the urge to lash out, to throw yourself into him and kiss him fuckin' stupid. instead, you dig in your heels, staying put.

"no, i'm not concerned," you stutter, floundering for a reason, "i'm just, well —"

"who asked you out?" toji cuts through your flickering thoughts, an undercurrent of something sharper in his tone.

"huh?"

"who was it? the one who isn't your type?" toji fushiguro says this all so casually, making your stomach flip. so he had been listening, he heard every word of you flouncing around your room.

you swallow hard, ignoring the sudden fluttering in your chest, "why? you jealous?" the words spill out before you can stop them, you raise an eyebrow, feeling a small victory in the way his priggish expression falters just slightly, "just go back to your date, fushiguro."

"gettin' real bold now," he murmurs, and you realise just how close the two of you are. how you can feel his body heart radiating off him. the tension between you is suffocating to say the last, and you can't decide if you want him to step back or push closer. he doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"thanks to your pretty antics, she sent herself packin', and now i'm all on my lonesome."

"how sad for you," and you suddenly curl your lip, "get a vibrator."

toji's maw drops open for a split second, before he shakes his head, "you first. don't know how you were doing all that without one," and he nods to your hand, "and because i wasn't hearin' much else."

something bold and red-hot comes over you, egged on by the damp sticking to your thighs, "want a visual demonstration?"

you barely have time to form a coherent thought before toji moves, a low growl rumbling in his barrel-like chest as he surges forward. his hands, large and calloused and warm, cup your face with surprising gentleness, though the intensity in his gaze leaves no room for doubt. then, his lips crash against yours, rough and unrelenting. the faint scrape of the scar cutting across his mouth sending a shiver through you.

it's not careful, it's testing and tasting. as if he's waiting for you to push him away. but oh, you're not going anywhere. not when his kiss is setting your nerves alight, and sending your heart into a dizzying free fall. merry christmas to you, indeed.

you respond in kind, just as desperate, your hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders. the solid, hefty weight of toji beneath your fingers grounds you, even as the world tilts on its axis.

"ohh, look at you," toji all but purrs, pawing his hands over your back, your waist, settling over your hips as he pushes you further into your apartment. a strong arm stretching out to slam the door closed, tugging you further in. it seems he's too needy to even reach the bed, and you whine as you're shoved with your back to the wall. his hand coming up to make sure you don't quite slam in with too much force.

toji's lips are practically meshed to your own, and he's already pulling at the waistband of your shorts again. just as you were doing earlier, and you shudder, feeling thick fingers run along your hips.

"s-shit," toji gasps, "if ya' don't want me to —"

you groan, "no, n-no. want you," your voice quivers suddenly as warm fingers press into your soaked cunt. finding home right among your weeping slit. you don't even see where your shorts have been thrown, instead focusing on toji's hazy eyes flickering when they see that you've been wearing nothing underneath. all damn evening.

you don't think you've ever seen the man so dishevelled, heaving for air, as he tries to come to terms with all this, "so when you were in that basement, jus' tryna tease me? is that what you wanted?"

you can't help but laugh, but it's quickly cut off when toji's pressing a hot kiss to the very tip of your clit, it's so feather light and oddly gentle for the gruff man, and it has you keening over.

"that's it, gon' have you all in my mouth. gonna drink ya' up, it's what you wanted, right?" he uses two fingers to press right up against your entrance, parting your oozing folds so he can narrow his eyes at how ready you are for him, "gonna put this all in a cup, and drink it."

"t-toji!" you whine out, feeling your head go all light, and weightless, watching toji play with your core. seeing the older man gape at how you're soaking divots into his fingers, seeing emerald eyes darken with a carnal need to taste you. right now.

"stay still, doll. yeah, just for a sec," toji's hands tighten around your thighs, smacking a fat glob of spit over your trembling core, letting his index finger run the fluid up and down your pussy, a ragged laugh running raw from his smart mouth, "had no idea you were like this, been burying your pretty fingers in your cunt for me before, right?"

you need to get a hit of your own in, before toji fushiguro turns your mind to mush, "you been fisting around your cock for me, then too? bet it super hard when — fuck!"

your words are cut off by the flat pads of his fingertips coming down to deliver a jolt to your throbbing clit, slapping wet arousal around as toji almost glares up at you, but it's softened by lazy fondness.

"watch ya' mouth, doll. 'm wanting to go easy on you tonight."

he's delving straight into your cunt, like a man starved and searching for salvation between your thighs. you feel your mind go blank, that ruined orgasm of the past hour practically gaining a life of her own and cheering once more, coming back to you in embarrassing, full force as it barely takes a few, quick munches of toji's tongue around your sweet pussy.

that's all you need before you're quickly seeing flashing stars, and doing your best to hide the tremble in your thighs. but toji's having none of that.

his laugh is low, mocking and so ruined, "tchh, i really did interrupt ya' didn't i? must have been so close on that bed," but he's not stopping, practically speaking into your stimulated cunt, punctuating his words with buttery kisses, "must have caught ya' on the very edge for her to so ready for me."

"shut u-up."

"your wish? my command," toji snickers, letting your slick, running juices gather over his chin, "and you taste so good. she's a sweet thing, right," and you realise that he's not talking about you, but rather, about your weeping, glossy cunt that's shoved against his sharp nose. you've got the man practically pussydrunk already, and he's hardly gotten a good feel for it.

his hand comes to rest on your bare thigh, tapping it, "now 'm gonna need you to move that, yeah, that's right," you're slotting it over his broad shoulders, and it pulls him closer. and at this point, you don't even care for how you should be embarrassed, should be feeling some shame at having this rugged, older man salivating into your cunt. but there's a shocking glee instead, a quiet victory that's bubbling in your abdomen and already demanding an encore.

his tongue darts out again, this time he's prodding the muscle at your entrance, feeling for that slight resistance made weaker by your fingers earlier, all on your own. the very tip of his tongue in you has you whining again, slapping a hand over your lolling mouth.

"move that hand," toji grunts, punctuating each word with a flick to your clit.

"i c-can't," you gasp, hands finding a home in his clingy, dark strands, "people are gonna hear-ahhh," he's practically mouthing himself onto your pussy, slick strands separating from his lips each time he pulled away for air. the stimulation is making you so much more sensitive, tears springing to the corners of your eyes as the pleasure begins to sting so deliciously.

you pull fingers through ink-black hair, delicate threads that are soft to the touch and feather-light, "h-here, toji," you curl your fingers to angle him perfectly just so, and the burly man is letting you use him, letting you drag his mouth over your slippery folds. just so you can get him to flick his tongue over that spot that makes you cry out so perfectly.

and toji thinks he's never seen a greater sight. he feels a dizzy, heaving tightness in his jeans, that ache building in his groin like he's about to bust his load just from having you fall apart so prettily on his tongue. he ups the pace, making sure to nimbly etch patterns over your heated, swollen clit. he had you right where he wanted you, needed you, and he'd be damned before he'd left you high and dry.

"y'know, 'm thinking about to see this pretty pussy cum again," and toji sounds so proud, taking gratified in the fact that after only one taste, he's already attuned to the signs of your climax. the way your eyes roll back in your head, tears pricking at your eyes in a way that makes his cock ache even harder.

you're unabashed now, rolling your hips into him at a messy pace. letting spikes of white-hot and red-searing pleasure curl up in your abdomen, ready to burst. the entirety of his lower chin is coated in sweet slick, glistening his rough scar, with a clear drop just beading at his lip.

"i-i think 'm gonna, toji, toji - feels s-so —"

toji's mocking you, pitching his raspy voice up again to capture your tone, "oh yeah? 'm gonna, what? what are ya' gonna do? gonna cum, because that's what i'm here for, doll."

he's making a mess now, switching between a cool, short puff of air at your throbbing clit, and letting his tongue push into your gummy walls, unending pleasure until —

"aaand, cum. now, doll."

it bursts within you, swiftly and briskly. so intense that the edges of your visions become clouded with dark spots, a hazy vignette of sheer pleasure from toji's mouth running all over the filthy mess you've created. the gushing climax that must be soaking the scuffed, dark floorboards beneath toji's bent knees.

you don't even realise that you're still babbling his name, entirely lost in the daze of your second orgasm of the night. little cries of toji, like a prayer over and over, mantras that are making toji grin with his gleaming lips underneath you. all as he wraps his arms around your thighs, lifting you with brute strength. all the while not separating himself from your oversensitive cunt, petting soft kisses over your inner thighs, "gorgeous thing, aren'tcha? think ya' give me another one?"

you groggily lift your head as he sets you down on the bed, caging you beneath his considerable frame, "why? don't wanna, uh, stuff my stocking tonight?"

toji's green eyes flicker with mirth, amusement, only punctuated by him rolling them back in faux-disgust, "still runnin' that clever mouth, hah."

you squirm as he pushes his rough hands under your sweatshirt, letting both hands cup your breasts, pinching and twirling fingertips over your nipples, "are you a, mmph, a candy cane, toji?"

he doesn't break his concentration from where he's peeling your top off, "what nasty shit are ya' gonna say now?"

you giggle as he brushes past a particularly ticklish spot, "because i think you're s-sweet, and i wanna suck you."

"fuck."

in the blink of an eye, he's got you perched over on your knees, just as he hovers you. waistband pulled down enough to reveal black boxers, close enough that you could stick your chin out and press a soft kiss to the darkened patch of pre-cum that must be driving toji crazy.

and well, it's big. like it's jingle bells, jingle balls type of big. you drag your eyes from soft, curled black hair at the base of his groin and down an angry, thick red shaft that makes you clench your thighs.

"wan' me to slide over your chimney?"

that gifts you a barked, punched laugh out of the man — toji's got a large hand wrapped around his cock, "c'mon, doll. put that smart mouth to good use then," inching it closer to your lips in silent permission. you part your lips, anticipating the savoury pre that coats your tongue, the translucent fluid dripping from your mouth already.

he's thumbing down on your lower lip, easing the red mushroom tip into your waiting, eager mouth, "hah, think ya' were meant to take me. how's...how's this slutty mouth so perfect?" toji sounds ruined, all rock-salt rasp and his pink lips fall open, and a flush is painted over his tan skin.

you've never been one to give up, ready to angle your head lower, eager to take as much of him as possible into your mouth. but it's a hard stretch, as crystalline tears cling to your lashes, from the tight wrap of the back of your mouth around his throbbing cock.

toji's got his hand wrapped in your hair now, and you can tell that he's trying to be gentle with the strands as he angles your head lower, purring as you take him so well, "f-fuck, a perfect tease, yeah? fuckin' amazing," and you know he's telling the truth, for his cock is practically twitching with a life of its own in your mouth.

you've got this man hazy and drunk, just from sucking you off, and the realisation makes you whine all over again. reaching a hand down in between your thighs to rock up against your clit, all at the same steady pace.

and you know that toji is close, for those sculpted thighs of pure muscle tremble now, the powerful cords quivering as he bucks his hips, fucking your mouth in long, steady strokes. you also realise that you want him to cum, just like this, to have thick white fall from your lips to really seal and sweeten the deal.

but suddenly, you're left popping your lips shut, as toji groans, genuinely groans and shudders, pulling himself out of your mouth with a wet slop!

"don' give me that look, doll," toji chuckles, his chest heaving underneath the sculpted outline of his dark shirt, "can stuff ya' mouth with my cock later, if that's what you want. but 'm really gonna lose it if i'm not in her right now," and he's angling you back to give a loving, gentle pat to your glistening cunt.

rough, calloused hands slide across your bare back with an unexpected gentleness, against the soft curve of your spine as toji presses you into the mattress, so your head is finally resting back against the pillow.

toji's enjoying this, you know that, just from how he's taking your times to pull your thighs apart, sucking in a harsh breath at how your sleek entrance practically winks at him. tugging his hands roughly on his rock-hard cock, all so he can run the fat tip over your clit, making you mewl.

"don't t-tease, toji," you sniffle, feeling the searing tip push up against your clitoral hood, that nerves so stimulated that you're bucking up into him, wanting toji to just put the damn thing in already.

"fuck, doll," toji's taking a small mercy on you, pressing the first inch into your cunt, "i don't 'm the tease here, god knows how long you were jus' jacking off on the other side of the wall. hopin' that i'd come and stuff you like this?"

each inch that's bullying itself into making your head spin, making you wrap arms around his thick neck, just as he presses a soft kiss to the crook of your collarbone, "ya' good, doll? 's not too much for your, hnngh, tight lil' cunt, is it?"

you mewl as he bottoms out, and the stretch is unlike anything you've ever felt before. it's so deliciously big within you, scraping at the inside of your walls, "wan' be on top, toji."

"oh, yeah? lucky that i like ya' this much, givin' me orders and bossin' me around," toji huffs, using thick arms to pull you up instead, flipping you around so he's got you straddling his thighs, split apart so perfectly around his gliding cock.

"mmph, 's much deeper like this, toji," you chase after his lips, running your tongue over the taut, rigid scar that cuts over the right side of his mouth, all while he starts to set a maddening pace, bouncing you like a pretty toy over his cock, swabbing your insides with buttery wads of pre-cum, all sticky and loud in the silence of the night.

"lookin' good, doll," toji's grin can only be described as shark-like, and he's clearly pleased by the echoing squelches from the filthy mess that's dolloped between your groins, the smack of your ass against your thighs, tacky strands sticking to skin.

your chest is pressed against his shirt, and he's so enjoying the view. loves seeing how the swell bounces and hypnotises him, fuck, toji wonders how he's gonna go about the rest of his life away from you and your perfect pussy.

your eyes widen as you glance back, swivelling your head over your shoulder to watch the smacking movement of you against him, at how his thighs hold you up with a steady rhythm, "you're f-fuckin' me really well, toji," and god, he thinks he might just lose it all, then and there. the praise from your dewy lips is rushing straight into his cock, turning his mind to mush as he finds himself on some sort of autopilot.

he needs to cum in you, right now, needs to feel you milk him for all he can give. to stuff your syrupy cunt with mounds of weeping inches, and he's picking up the pace. smacking heavy, laden balls against your skin, so you whine and keen into him.

you're so caught up in the pleasure that you don't even realise toji had said something, words snapping around his teeth as he bounces you over and over, making sure that you ride him good, "w-what?"

"a date, doll," toji groans, smacking your hand away from your clit, just so he can toy with it, faster and faster, "lemme take ya' out properly, what'd ya' say to that, huh?"

"wanna take me o-out?" you all but weep over him, spearheaded on his tip, and raking sharp nails over iron abs, all underneath his tight top, "please, please, t-toji, wanna go out with you! and then," you hiss as he angles himself just right, curved sheath kissing that perfect g-spot deep within you, "and then i wanna do t-this all over again."

it makes toji's hips stutter, "yeah? pretty girl wants me to take her out, parade her around t-town, hah, i can do that. i can do all of that," he's gasping, feeling your tight heat snatch the life out of him. each girthy vein rubbing itself against your tacky cunt, "i can do all of that, and more. jus' lemme show ya', i'll spoil ya' for anyone else. those d-dumb college boys."

and you look at him with such gorgeous, pretty eyes that toji wonders how on earth he's gonna function now, with you so supplanted in his life. on his cock, even. he can taste something faintly sweet and artificial on your tongue, like tangy grape as he sucks on the muscle.

"never wanted a-any of them anyway, jus' you, toji. only you."

toji fushiguro loses his mind, he's cumming and his own orgasm is hitting him so hard that, in the back of his mind, he's concerned at how he's just filling you up. sloppy thrusts slowing down as thick, white translucent spurts paint your insides, right up to where he can see the divot of his tip through your abdomen. where you've taken in him so deep.

"s-shit," toji presses his mouth to yours again, harder, "look what ya' doin' to me, ruining me," and he also feels just a little bad for ruining your sheets, right as your own umpteenth climax for the night hits you, glossy and clear over the black tufts of hair. your pretty mouth pulled open in a wordless cry of his name, but toji doesn't let go. he lets you ride it out, that sticky mess becoming an afterthought for later.

in the hazy glow, toji's eyes wander over the mess of your room. but something else catches his attention, wads of paper flattened by an empty can of soda. he tilts his head, hair falling over his forehead, dampened by sweat. reaching for the paper with his curiosity piqued.

before he can fully read the words, you're suddenly pawing at his arm, practically leaping into him to get in the way, "wait, toji, don't! hey, that's private!" your voice is an odd mix of urgency and embarrassment, nothing like the angelic whimpers from a few minutes ago. you're swatting at his thick hand, trying to grasp at his fingers.

ignoring your protests and squirms, he crumples the paper open and reads the bold, hastily scrawled letters: how to get toji fushiguro in bed.

damn. so you had been responsible for that heater, the staircase, a fake phone call. he always did like them a bit cuckoo-bananas.

toji chuckles darkly, glancing up at you, barely able to suppress a grin. you're flushed, looking like you'd rather disappear into the floor, oddly shy despite the fact that you were so bold, and a minx riding him earlier to hell and back.

"look, i can explain. don't be mad, because i swear —"

toji groans, shifting you slightly in his lap, "mad? doll, 'm hard all over again. how'd you want it this time?"

[dirtypuzzle]

well, i hate to be the one to say it, but they burnt their political capital on something that was both incredibly necessary and unbelievably insufficient, further entangling american healthcare into unprecedented levels of tomfuckery. if you actually go digging into the myriad ways our healthcare systems is fucked, i don’t even think M4A would fix it without the kind of backend policywork that a) makes terrible campaign copy, and b) is really fucking hard to get right.

like. M4A is the end goal, in that i think single payer is the most likely thing to work once we get there, but getting from A to B isn’t just difficult, it’s fighting against all tenets of systemic and bureaucratic inertia in ways few people are really appreciating. if we were to slap M4A on this steaming pile of horseshit, it would probably fail hard, and then we’d be even farther away from decent healthcare.

the ACA is very similar. it did some of the backend work that nobody ever wants to explain or talk about, and no matter how good a tourniquet, those aren’t meant to stay on longterm. the ACA’s requirement that insurers spend 80-85% of every dollar on medical payouts, for example, while intended nobly, ended up incentivizing providers to jack up prices and insurers to allow it bc 15% of a big number is still more than 15% of a smaller number. most providers, especially hospitals, don’t even know what their prices should be, that’s how skewed it is, and they have no incentive to find out. hospital costs jumped 159% between 1997 and 2012. i don’t have the numbers off hand, but i’m sure even post-COVID costs have fucking skyrocketed.

the fight i’ve been fighting, and mostly losing, is convincing people to see both the macro and the micro, the newtonian politics and the quantum. you’re fighting on two fronts, and as with any war on two fronts, you can lose by losing either, but you can’t win without winning both.

you’re fighting a global wave of fascism, which is aided by wealth inequality not seen in centuries but whose bigotry becomes self-sustaining and which cannot be only solved by improving material conditions. you’re also fighting the corruptive force of late-stage capitalism, whose biggest players have incentive to fuel right-wing extremism and whose influence taints most aspects of society’s mainstay institutions.

on one side, the rhetorical fight to convince the populace to support you while protecting vulnerable populations and containing the spread of fascism. on the other, unknotting decades of bad policy, republican sabotage, and bad law—what to keep, what to throw out, and what to rewrite to be more tailored or targeted.

you have to be right, and you have to sell it; you have to be looking at the big picture, but that can’t come at the cost of day-to-day governance and politicking.

which is mostly moot now anyway bc trump won. we’re gonna be in survival mode for the forseeable future. but let it be said that leftists fight on one front, and liberals fight the other, but they rarely coordinate; both have sabotaged efforts to coordinate in the past, the macron situation in france being the most recent. of course, liberals in power aren’t the same as the liberal populace, but i think i’ve gotten off-topic enough on this post already.

I have more than one person in the notes of my post saying they did not in fact know that the ACA stopped insurance companies from being able to deny coverage for a pre-existing condition in case you were wondering where we're at. People don't know the ACA and Obamacare are the same thing, they don't know it's why they have healthcare, they don't even know what it does. How do you even deal with that?

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

(Recommended to read this fic first, if you haven't already!)

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[joelsrose]

Face Masks?

i need to stop writing this shit bc its making me depresseeedd i need himmm

my masterlist xxx

The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the room. 

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the wooden frame slightly chipped but charming nonetheless, humming a tune to yourself as you adjusted the headband holding your hair back. 

The faint scent of roses filled the air, delicate and warm, emanating from the homemade face mask you were mixing in a ceramic bowl Maria had lent you. 

You bit your lip in concentration, the wooden spoon swirling through the creamy mixture as you tried to remember the exact instructions Maria had given you earlier that day.

From the bedroom, Joel’s voice broke the peaceful quiet. He was grumbling, his tone steeped in frustration and exhaustion. “He’s a goddamn idiot,” he groaned, clearly talking about someone from patrol. “Told him to stay low, and what does he do? Barges in and almost gets us killed.” 

A muffled clink followed, the sound of ceramic touching wood as he set something down on the bedside table. Likely your tea, judging by the faint whiff of chamomile drifting into the room.

Then, his voice shifted, the sharp edges dulled by a tired sort of affection. “Baby,” he called, low and gruff, “you comin’ to bed, or you plannin’ on spendin’ the whole damn night in the bathroom?” The words carried a teasing hint, though softer, quieter, he added, almost to himself, “Your tea’s gonna get cold.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you called back, teasing, “You missin’ me already?”

There was a beat of silence, then his reply came, gruff but undeniably warm. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if I didn’t.”

Your heart fluttered a little, the way it always did when Joel said something like that—not exactly romantic, but the kind of thing only he could make feel like one. 

“Just a few more minutes,” you called out, “gotta make sure I’m extra soft and pretty for you.”

“Don’t need any of that,” he muttered, but it was loud enough for you to hear. “You’re already plenty pretty.”

Your cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment, even though his tone was gruff. You shook your head, grinning to yourself. 

“Alright,” you replied, your voice carrying through the half-open door. You set the bowl down on the counter and grabbed the jar of homemade moisturizer Maria had also insisted you try. The subtle scent of lavender and honey wafted up as you scooped some into your hands, rubbing it between your palms before smoothing it over your legs.

“So, what happened after?” you asked, keeping your tone light, though curiosity lingered beneath your words. Joel wasn’t the type to gripe unless something had well and truly gotten under his skin.

From the bedroom, you heard him sigh, long and heavy, the sound carrying the weight of his frustration. The soft rustle of the bedsheets followed—he was probably settling in, though you could imagine him rubbing a hand over his face, trying to shake off the day.

“What happened?” he echoed, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Had to clean up his damn mess, that’s what. Kid thinks he’s invincible.” The irritation sharpened as he went on, his voice rising as though he were speaking to the ceiling, reliving the ordeal as he vented. “Walked us straight into an ambush, and I ended up takin’ the brunt of it.”

“Wow,” you gushed aloud, unable to help yourself as you swirled the spoon in the bowl, your voice filled with playful admiration. “My man, taking on all those scary raiders. Bet you looked sexy doing it.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was silence. You smiled to yourself in the mirror, already imagining Joel’s reaction. The way his brows would knit together, that half-gruff, half-flustered expression he’d never admit to, and maybe even a quiet huff of disbelief.

From the bedroom, Joel sighed, loud and dramatic enough for you to hear. “Come out here, please,” he called, his voice carrying that familiar mix of irritation and something softer. “Christ, why’d I gotta beg with you?”

Curious, you leaned out of the bathroom just enough to catch a glimpse of him, careful not to draw his attention. There he was, sprawled across the bed in a way that was all Joel—equal parts rugged and weary.

His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his expression carrying that familiar blend of irritation and exhaustion that somehow made your chest tighten. Gosh, he was gorgeous, and the sight of him had your cheeks warming despite yourself.

And then there was his face—flushed in a way you recognized instantly. The kind of flush he’d get when he was flustered but too stubborn to admit it.

One arm was tucked behind his head, his elbow jutting out, while the other rested on his chest, fingers absently tapping against the fabric of his shirt. The movement was rhythmic, almost absentminded, as if it might somehow work out the frustration simmering beneath his skin.

His tousled hair framed his face in a way that softened his usually stern features, and the sight of him in a soft gray pyjama shirt and dark pants—clothes that clung just slightly to his broad frame—was disarming. There was something so ordinary about it, so wonderfully domestic.

The bed, far too small for a man like him, groaned faintly under his weight, his legs just barely hanging off the edge. He shifted slightly, a sigh escaping his lips, and for a fleeting moment, you felt like an intruder on something too personal, too real. But you couldn’t look away—he was an unexpected contradiction, all gruffness wrapped in quiet vulnerability, and it left you completely undone.

You smiled to yourself, biting back a laugh at how ridiculously cute he looked in that moment, before calling out teasingly, “So you yell at the poor guy?”

“Hell yeah, I did,” Joel shot back, his tone unapologetic, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Well,” you replied, finally stepping out of the bathroom with the bowl of face mask in your hands, the soft scent of roses trailing after you as you made your way to the bed. “I got somethin’ that might help you relax.”

Joel shifted at the sound of your voice, propping himself up slightly on one elbow. His gaze landed on you, and for a moment, his expression softened, the frustration from earlier melting away just a little. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured, his voice low and rough around the edges. His eyes swept over you, lingering for a beat too long.

You could practically feel the heat of his gaze as it took in the sight of you in his oversized T-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, the hem of the shirt brushing just above your knees. There was something unreadable in his expression, though the way his brow ticked up ever so slightly told you he probably had the wrong idea about how exactly you planned to help him relax.

The corner of your mouth twitched with amusement as you climbed onto the bed, careful not to spill the bowl in your hands. Joel’s eyes followed your every move, curiosity flickering in their depths as he tilted his head slightly.

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking from the bowl in your hands to your face and back again, his expression suspicious. “The hell is that?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with skepticism.

“A face mask,” you replied simply, your tone as matter-of-fact as if you’d just declared the sky was blue.

Joel’s brows knit together, his confusion almost comical. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were trying to puzzle out some great mystery. “For your face,” you added, enunciating each word slowly like he might not have understood.

His reaction was immediate—his lips pressed into a thin, stubborn line, and he leaned back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest. “No way in hell you’re puttin’ that shit on me,” he said, his voice firm, like he was drawing a line in the sand.

You pouted dramatically, sticking your bottom lip out just enough to make him groan, the sound low and reluctant as his head tilted back against the headboard. “Oh, come on, Joel,” you coaxed, your voice lilting with playful innocence. “It’s supposed to be good for your skin. Don’t you trust me?”

Joel groaned, a deep, reluctant sound as his head leaned back against the headboard. “An old man like me is way past carin’ about his skin,” he muttered, shaking his head.

His eyes snapped back to yours, narrowing suspiciously, but before he could protest again, you leaned in closer, letting your fingers brush ever so lightly against the hem of his pyjama pants. “Maybe if you do it,” you murmured, your tone teasing, “I’ll help you unwind another way too.”

Joel froze, his gaze locked on you as the faintest flush crept up his neck. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, visibly wrestling with whatever was going through his head. “You’re playin’ dirty,” he muttered finally, his voice low and gravelly, but there was no mistaking the way his jaw ticked, like he was trying not to let you see how flustered he was.

You tilted your head, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Is it workin’?”

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his hand over his face as though already regretting the conversation. “The things I do for you…”

Your face lit up with a triumphant smile. “Is that a yes?”

He grumbled something incoherent before sighing deeply. “Hurry up before I change my mind,” he said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the pillow.

You squealed softly, unable to contain your excitement as you settled closer to his broad body, the warmth of him grounding you. With gentle fingers, you collected the rose-scented mask and smoothed it over his weathered skin, taking your time to ensure every stroke was perfect. The contrast between his rugged, sun-worn features and the soft, floral scent of the mask struck you as oddly endearing.

Here he was, Joel Miller—the man who could take down an infected in seconds without breaking a sweat—now lying still and letting you paint his face with homemade skincare. The absurdity of it made your chest swell with affection, and you couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out as you leaned back to admire your handiwork.

You admired his face as he lay there, his features finally relaxed, the usual tension around his brow melting away. For a moment, he looked completely at peace, the lines on his face softer, his breathing slow and steady. Your eyes wandered over him, taking in the details you rarely let yourself linger on.

“You’ve got the prettiest eyelashes, baby,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could catch them.

Joel’s lips twitched, the faintest smirk forming, though he didn’t open his eyes. “Prettiest, huh?” he muttered, his voice rough but tinged with teasing.

“And the nicest lips,” you added softly, unable to help yourself as you leaned down, brushing your own lips against his in a fleeting kiss. His mouth curved into a smile beneath yours, the warmth of it sending a flutter of butterflies racing through your chest.

“Urgh,” you groaned, pulling back just enough to sit beside him, the bowl resting on your lap. “You’re so handsome.”

Joel’s hand moved without hesitation, even with his eyes still closed. His large, calloused fingers found your thigh, squeezing gently, the roughness of his touch making your heart skip a beat.

He chuckled low, a sound that was equal parts amusement and satisfaction. “Look at you, bein’ nice to me,” he teased, his eyes staying closed, though the smirk that tugged at his lips was impossible to miss.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you dipped your fingers back into the face mask. “Hey,” you said, swiping a playful line of the mixture across his forehead to smooth it out evenly, “I’m always nice to you.”

“Debatable,” he added lazily, the teasing warmth in his voice making you laugh.

“Shut up,” you shot back, still laughing as you set the bowl down on the nightstand.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, his hand brushing against his cheek as he frowned. “Is it meant to be this cold?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, batting his hand away before he could smear it. “Don’t touch it.”

He opened his eyes then, fixing you with a deadpan look that would’ve been more convincing if his lips weren’t twitching. “You happy now?”

You grinned at him, your smile wide enough to make your eyes crinkle. “Very.”

“Good,” Joel muttered, leaning back into the pillow with a soft sigh. “Gimme a kiss.”

You leaned in obligingly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back, your gaze lingering on his face for a moment longer than you intended. “Okay, my turn,” you declared suddenly, sitting up and setting the bowl down before flopping back onto the bed beside him, your eyes falling shut in a dramatic flourish.

Joel raised an eyebrow, his skepticism plain as he turned his head to look at you. “You want me to…?”

“Yes,” you said, cutting him off with a firm nod, your eyes still closed. “You. Me. Face mask. Now.”

“Fucking hell,” Joel muttered under his breath, pushing himself up onto his knees with a grunt. The bed groaned under his weight, but he paid it no mind, instead staring down at the bowl like it was some alien artifact. “What, I just… put my fingers in it?”

One of your eyes popped open, and the second you caught the unintentional innuendo, you burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room.

Joel froze for a moment, realization dawning as his lips pulled into a reluctant, crooked smile. He shook his head, groaning dramatically. “Christ, you’re dirty-minded,” he muttered, though the glint of humor in his eyes betrayed him.

“You’re the one who said it,” you teased, your laughter finally subsiding as you closed your eyes again, a grin still tugging at your lips. “Just spread it on my face, okay? It’s not rocket science.”

“Alright,” Joel said, his voice low and quieter now, tinged with something softer. He dipped his fingers into the bowl, hesitating for just a moment before shifting closer. “Stay still,” he murmured, his tone gentler than you expected.

“Hmm,” you hummed, relaxing further into his touch, the gentle strokes of his fingers soothing you like nothing else could.

“My gorgeous girl,” Joel murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.

Your lips curled into a small, pleased smile, the warmth of his words settling in your chest. “Hmm,” you hummed again, teasing now. “Am I the prettiest girl in Jackson?”

Joel hesitated for just a moment, and then he leaned down, his lips brushing your temple with a featherlight touch as he whispered, “Prettiest girl in the damn world, baby.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, a warmth blooming in your chest that made you feel like you might burst. “Joel,” you murmured, your eyes fluttered open, seeking his.

“Eyes closed, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice low but steady, a firm gentleness lacing his words. His thumb brushed against your cheek, the calloused pad grazing your skin so tenderly it made you melt.

You obeyed, closing your eyes again with a small smile, but you couldn’t help the way your lips curved up, warmth spreading through you from the way he spoke to you, the way he touched you.

He smoothed the last bit of the mask onto your forehead, his fingers moving gently, almost reverently. His eyes traced the lines of your face, committing every detail to memory.

“All done,” he murmured finally, leaning back just enough to give you space.

You opened your eyes, blinking up at him, and the look on his face made your breath catch. He was watching you with a softness that stole the air from your lungs, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice almost shy now, the intimacy of the moment making your heart race.

Joel’s lips curved into that small, crooked smile of his, the one that never failed to make your stomach flip. “Anytime, baby,” he replied, his voice low and warm, as he set the bowl aside on the nightstand. Without hesitation, he plopped down onto his side of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he stretched out beside you.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that felt easy and natural, until Joel’s brow furrowed slightly. He turned his head toward you, his expression equal parts curious and skeptical. “Now how long do we keep this shit on?”

You burst into laughter, the spell of the moment breaking just enough to make you grin. “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen,” you said, still giggling. “You’re already doing better than most.”

Joel huffed, shaking his head with mock exasperation, but the faint smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t really mind. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, leaning back against the headboard with a sigh.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, settling beside him, your shoulder brushing his. His hand found yours without hesitation, his fingers curling around yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world

[47lake]

payback

synopsis: you always loved it when she got frustrated, but something about this night specifically drove you absolutely wild. plus, you had to get your payback.

‼️: sub!top!billie, dom!bottom!reader, restraints, begging, tears, thigh riding, teasing, princess treatment(receiving), more that i’m probably forgetting oops ! w/c 2.6k

continuation of 'im sorry'

the two of you were at dinner with her team, a very classy restaurant with everyone’s tab covered by billie as a way to say thank you for all their hard work throughout the year.

you let your girlfriend pick your outfit for the night, she returned from the closet after very carful consideration with a sleek, long sleeve, deep crimson dress that you had gotten recently. you chuckled and smiled, knowing billie had been waiting for you to wear it. you paired it with some black louboutins bils has surprised you with a few days before.

“they were supposed to be for christmas but i was too excited to see your reaction so, do you like them?!”

she was always so sweet to you, spoiling you with anything she even thought you would like. you pick something up to look at it closer in a store? it’s practically bought already.

you hooked the clasp of a gold necklace you mentioned liking to her once. it arrived at your door a few days later along with the earrings and bracelet to match, accompanied by a proud billie.

you sprayed a few sprays of her eilish no 1 & no 3, the mix of the warm vanilla with the christmas-y scent mixing together in a way that billie loved.

you grabbed your purse, black leather with gold accents, perfect for any outfit. you stepped out of the closet, lipstick in hand, to find your girl adjusting her tie, the perfect shade of red to match your dress. she was wearing a suit, a little baggy to fit her aesthetic, with her new converse, ‘open up the door’ could be read along the side of the sole.

you stood there for a moment, watching her adjust herself, she was perfect. you cleared your throat to make your presence known, she practically did a 360, eager to see how you looked.

“you’re kidding… there’s no way i get to call this gorgeous girl mine, somebody pinch me.”

she took your hand as the two of you closed the distance between yourselves, she spun you in a circle, whistling as she took it all in.

“you know i could sit here and admire you for hours but we’ve gotta go or we’re gonna be late!”

she gripped your hand a little tighter and led you out the door, opening your car door for you and holding her hand out to help you get in. she shut the door softly and ran around to her side, throwing herself inside and slamming her own door.

she waited for you to buckle your seatbelt and touch up your makeup, watching intently as you outlined your lips. thumbing circles against your exposed thigh through the slit that ran up the side of your dress. just as you snapped the mirror shut she started backing down the driveway, her hand never leaving your skin as she turned out onto the street.

you both always had to be touching, you reached over to hold the back of her neck as she held your thigh. you scratched her neck softly, your red acrylics perfectly contrasting her pale skin.

you couldn’t help but watch her, it was your favorite thing. her side profile always so gorgeous, her resting face always seemed so focused, you wondered what she could be thinking about all the time.

the car ahead of you casting a bright red light across her features, helping you clearly see her face light up as she turned her focus to you.

“whatcha looking at?”

“just my girl.”

she smiled wide and returned her gaze to the road, such a sweet girl.

──୨ৎ──

throughout the night you could see your appearance was having more and more of an effect on her.

her eyes lingering on the deep neckline of your dress for just a little too long when you spoke to her.

her mind visibly wandering as you shot her knowing glances.

how intently she watched you even if she was speaking to someone else across the room.

everyone knew billie was infatuated with you, but tonight was something more. something that she couldn’t hide no matter how hard she tried.

her gaze currently fixated under the table, the slit of your dress falling to perfectly showcase your crossed legs and her hand atop your thigh.

“billie?”

“hm?!”

she snapped her head, tuggingher gaze away from your body. you giggled quietly as she ran her hand along your skin, giving you any attention she could.

“your speech?”

“OH! right yes!”

she stood up out of her seat and called attention to everyone within the private room. she thanked her team for all their hard work and patience with her and her career. she went on to tell a few funny stories between her and some of the crew, laughs erupting around the room. billie’s smile gleamed through all the chatter, she waited for everyone to settle down and turned to you.

“and i also want to thank my beautiful girl!”

she reached down for your hand, placing it in her own.

“this girl has helped me through thick and thin, kept me grounded, and helped me truly be me. she has done more for me than she will ever know, and i love her endlessly.”

you couldn’t help but smile, you loved how sentimental she could be, she’s so perfect.

everyone starts clapping as she motions to you after her little spill, smile still plastered on your face, you shook your head and squeezed her hand tightly.

she sat down and people went back to chatting amongst themselves, billies hand quickly returning to your thigh. she leaned closer to you, lips inches away from your ear.

“you look so beautiful, it’s driving me crazy.”

she slid her hand up just enough to show her intentions behind that statement, you laughed and told her to be patient. you loved when she got enamored like this, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from you if she tried.

you lightly placed your hand on top of hers, running your index gently across her middle & ring. you’d think something so simple wouldn’t bother her so much, but you could instantly see her her zone out, god knows what she could be recollecting.

you cleared your throat as someone approached, snapping het out of her thoughts instantly. amusement shown clearly across your features. you kissed her cheek, leaving a vivid red stamp on her face. it paired nicely with the rosy blush now coating her cheeks.

she stumbled over her words as you continued to trace over her fingers with your own, her eyes darting around the room as she tried to focus on what the poor girl in front of her was saying. she answered to the best of her ability and the girl walked back to her seat, billie shot you a look that clearly read ‘you’re so mean!’ you smiled innocently and leaned into her ear.

“i can’t wait until we get home sweet girl, you’re gonna be so good for me.”

her hand flew over her mouth, eyes wide as her mind ran with ideas of what was in store. she cleared her throat and adjusted her hair, trying to keep herself composed, much to her dismay her pink cheeks and hot ears were a dead giveaway.

──୨ৎ──

you and billie both stood outside the door of the restaurant saying your goodbyes to everyone, thanking them for coming and for everything they do. billies team was so big it felt like ages, especially since you were eager to get your hands on her.

the last person got in their car and drove away, billie snatched you up in her arms and practically flew to her car.

she set you down and opened the car door for you, like always, holding her hand out to keep you steady as you got inside. you buckled your seatbelt and she shut the door with care, despite her impatience, running around to her side and flinging herself inside. she started up the car and began to drive while simultaneously buckling her seatbelt, wasting as little time as possible.

“someone’s excited.”

you teased her as you ran your fingers through her hair.

“how could i not be? you only drove me absolutely insane throughout the entirety of dinner!”

“oh hush, you know you like it.”

she turned her gaze away, pretending to be focused on the road as she hid her smile.

she ran her hand up and down your thigh, traveling just a little further up each time. she wanted you so bad it was precious, tracing circles with her thumb and tapping the pads of her fingers against your skin.

you couldn’t help but smile, you uncrossed your legs, looking over to see her attention directed towards your thighs. you felt her hand travel further up than before, making sure to stop before she got carried away. her eyes fixated on the road, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she smiled.

she pulled into the driveway, getting out of the car quickly and running around to your side. she opened the door and undid your seatbelt for you, eager to get inside already. you giggled as she held her hand out, taking it and stepping out.

you held both sides of her face as she shut the door back, kissing her passionately. her hands cascaded to your waist as yours wrapped around the back of her neck, her touch fell down to your ass as she squeezed softly. you pulled away, thumbing over her cheek as you were met with her pouty eyes and swollen lips.

“my poor baby.”

she tried pull you back in when you grabbed a handful of her tie, leading her to the door. you held your free hand out expectantly as she scrambled through her pockets for the keys, handing them to you with a cheesy smile.

you undid the lock and pulled her a little harder as you led the way to the bedroom, opening the door and walking her over to the bed. you let her out of your grip and she flops down, looking up at you and waiting for her next instruction.

“help me with my dress sweetheart, i can’t reach the zipper.”

she jumps up and obliges happy, slowly pulling the zipper down with one hand, the other resting on your hip. her plump lips trailing soft kisses across your shoulder and your collarbone to eventually land on the nape of your neck. the zipper soon runs out and she pushes the sleeves off your shoulders, spinning you around, kisses now lining the edge of your jaw as she slips your dress off.

“i wanna make you feel good..”

you caress her shoulders and push her away gently, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of the sheets as she is sat on the bed again. you straddle her lap and watch as her eyes linger on your exposed figure, she’s always had a weakness for how perfect you look in lace.

“i know, you’re so eager my love. i promise, you’re gonna make me feel so good.”

she smiles looking up at you, her hands return to your skin, so desperate to please. you loosen her tie and pull it off, unbuttoning her shirt to join the pile forming in the floor. you slide off her lap and get on your knees between her legs, undoing her belt and and button of her pants, sliding them off and throwing them to the slide.

now that you had her on display to match yourself you told her to move back, her back resting against the headboard as she sat up straight, legs out in front her.

“i want you to close your eyes for me sweet girl, you can do that, yeah?”

she nodded intently as her lids fell closed, waiting for your next move. you got up off her lap and pulled the drawer of the nightstand open. you smiled as you pulled out a roll of ribbon, you told billie to be patient and quiet as you tied her wrists to the headboard in a pretty red bow.

you could cum right then, she looked so sweet. her eyes closed, bottom lip tucked between her teeth, your kiss stamp on her face, rosy pink cheeks flush as her arms remained above her head. you quickly slipped your bra and panties off and positioned yourself to be straddled across her thigh.

“open, my love.”

her eyes fluttered open, looking up as she gasped, the realization of her restraint washing over her. she tugged gently against the ribbon, looking at you with a pout painted across her face.

“babyyy?!”

“payback. pretty girl, don’t you remember when you just couldn’t help yourself?”

you watched as she became lost in her own thoughts, recollecting her apologies falling from her lips as she held you down.

she quickly snapped out of her daze when she felt your wet heat touch down on her thigh, her focus instantly fixated on the slow rhythm of you hips against her thigh.

“come on! please! just let me touch you please! i’ll be a good girl, i promise!”

you smiled, your hands finding stability in the sheets as you picked up your pace, dirty moans rolling off your tongue that you knew would drive her wild.

“i know you will, you’re making me feel so good, sweetheart. just sit there and look pretty for me, yeah?”

she nodded slowly and her attention instantly retuned to the puddle of arousal pooling against her skin. you began to roll your hips faster and faster against her. she repeated ‘please’ and ‘fuck’ over and over, not touching you was making her crazy. you loved it.

she started to buck her hips, loving that you were using her to get off.

“such a dirty girl. you’re just watching and can’t control yourself?”

her eyes locked with yours, she looked so sweet when she got needy like this, small droplets fell from her eyes in frustration.

“please let me touch you, please, it’s all i want, please, baby.”

oh. my. god.

you couldn’t refuse that, you untied her pretty bow and tossed it aside.

her hands flew to your hips, positioning one to be able to press circles into your clit with her thumb. she began to guide your hips, picking up at the pace where you had left off.

you laid your head against her shoulder as she rolled your hips faster and faster, moans and whines spilling out of you rapidly as the knot inside of you grew tighter and tighter.

“fuck bils! yes! make me cum!”

she pressed your hips down harder and kept her pace and your body shook in her grasp, she kissed your neck as her pace grew slow, letting you ride out your high. you sighed deeply and laid against her for a moment, catching your breath.

“don’t move.”

she nodded and waited patiently, you took one final breath and got off her thigh, positioning yourself a little further back between her legs. you looked up at her and held her gaze with yours, arching your back in front of her.

“fuck!”

she inhaled sharply as your warm tongue collected all of your pleasure off her skin. you sat up once you were finished, kissing her deeply.

“my good girl, you took your payback so well.”

this one is a bit long but i hope you all enjoy! 🖤

let me know if yall have anything yall wanna see with loser subtopillie 🧟‍♀️

send any requests to my inbox ! 📥

💋: @vharperr @brat-at-the-disco @thechipbetweenyourcarseat @dollyvuu @greenbttrflyy @eilishslut @karaeilishh @moralesluvr @anna-geeeezzzz @certifiedwomenlover @asterisk-eyes @mseilishmwah @eeuni @ohdoyoustillcry masterlist taglist

[toxycodone]

mouthwashing characters when you’re depressed

ship. tulpar crew x reader cw. sfw + fluff/comfort

an. s/o to @xyfanficarchive for the Daisuke ideas!!!! my muse…

Curly

Oh he gets it. Full understands what you’re going through. (You can’t tell me he isn’t on some sort of anxiety/depression meds or at least got a potential diagnosis).

Curly most likely predicted that a depressive episode was coming. Whatever your key “tell” is: whether you start pulling back, issues sleeping, more nonchalant, appetite changes, it starts setting off bells in his head and he’s prepping.

He doesn’t wanna outright ask “are you depressed?” (He doesn’t know how to approach the subject at first really). So he just acts/reacts accordingly. He makes meals, helps you shower/bathe (he’s not gonna force you every day but if you go 2 or more days without it he’s putting you in there himself).

He even does little things like making sure you wash your face at least once a day and brush your teeth too.

Honestly, he does enjoy taking care of you. I think this is how he’d show he loves you for real. Even when you’re at your lowest you’re worth caring for. (It also distracts from his own issues buuuuut. That’s another story.)

My only qualm is I think he has that “toxic positivity” mindset unknowingly. He’s always like “it’s gonna get better! you need to drink more water/take vitamins/work out!” (these are just things he’s constantly telling himself tbh).

But Curly isn’t stupid. Like he will quickly pick up that’s not working for you and not what you need to hear and shift into a “shut up and help out” mindset. He moves from self help mode to just being there for you. I really have this mental image of him just hugging you on the couch and talking about his day. Sneaking in a few kisses or just giving compliments. But also if you’re not into that he just rubs your back while you bedrot. You’re quiet but enjoying time together and you know he’s there for you.

Jimmy

Been there, done that.

Okay, but seriously. He’s not to pressed at first. He’s basically living between bouts of depression, general neutrality, and mania. So this just seems like an inevitable “phase” you gotta go through.

But this is what makes him the most realistic when dealing with this. Jimmy isn’t gonna baby you or anything. He’s just like “it be like that” forreal. And unlike curly he’s not gonna rebuttal with reasons why life is great and why you shouldn’t be sad, he’s gonna agree. You say life is shit? Yeah, Jimmy 100% agrees. You two commiserate and it’s actually really cathartic because for once someone doesn’t make you feel crazy for being so down when there’s “so much to live for”.

He self medicates when he’s depressed. You’re getting offered pills or alcohol or a blunt or something. Whether you take it is up to you.

I can say Jimmy, for once, would stay sober. If he’s in a good enough mental state he’ll take one for the team and trip sit you or whatever so you can get that nice dopamine rush in peace.

Jimmy thinks it’s insane that he’s doing this, but when you’re depressed, and like really depressed—going through one of those terrible phases he’s been through before, he genuinely feels sympathetic. And it prompts him to do things he never thought. By that I mean doing your laundry, cooking what he can, making the bed. He doesn’t really get why, but he wants to do this and only for you. He really is angry about the fact no one has done this for him when he was in the same boat, but the thought of you having to suffer like he did? Just no. He’s gonna pitch in. He just has to.

But again, he’s best for commiserating. You two bitch heavily about how much the world sucks over way too many beers on his back porch. Probably throw rocks or smash junk while absolutely hammered, too. Then the next morning you’re hungover as shit and spend the day recovering before it’s back to “it is what it is.” Like yeah, it sucks and you feel like shit, but at least you have each other in your corners. If one of you is still kicking, it’s only fair the other is too.

Anya

Like Curly, she knew this was coming a mile away. Anya is not stupid. She’s spent so much time with her nose in psychology books that she gets tipped off insanely fast.

Unlike Curly though, she wants to address the problem. Anya starts gently at first with a simple “are you okay?” It opens the floor for you to be honest. And if you aren’t willing to talk about it or if you mask it with an “I’m fine!” She just. Frowns. Anya does not believe it, but she’s not gonna force you.

Until you start with more textbook symptoms. Then she’s like “I think you might be having a depressive episode.” She’s not letting you dance around it by then. You two are facing this head on.

and the good thing is that you guys talk about it. Like actually talk. Anya listens, lets you say your peace. Nods in understanding and shows you she’s actively taking her time to understand you. Then instead of giving her two cents, she asks you what you want her to do. Anya wants to know how she can help you in the moment and in the long run.

And she does it! Whatever she’s able to, she’s gonna do it. Anya is a really reliable partner and just truly solid. It can be anything from sharing a shower, ordering takeout and chilling on the couch, or even if you just need her to be in the same room but leave you the fuck alone—she’s there for you.

She’s definitely recommending tips from psychology books too. Journaling, eating spicy foods, getting a little exercise if possible—you guys go down a laundry list to help kick this episode in the butt.

And then when the time comes, you two have a good conversation about therapy/medication. (Don’t worry she won’t offer to be your therapist and encourages you to see a neutral third party you can be honest with)

Daisuke

Okay…Daisuke is a bit of a mixed bag. I think he’s been sad, but not truly depressed.

He doesn’t catch the warning signs, so at first when it hits, Daisuke just thinks you’re in a bit of a funk. It’s okay! He’s been through this before. And he’s happy to help you out of it!

Daisuke takes you to the arcade, thrifting, maybe on a little shopping spree…but when that doesn’t work (or when he can’t even encourage you to do it in the first place), Dai hits a wall.

He’s confused. And worried. Really worried about you. This depends on you as a person and whether it makes you feel better or worse, but I think it’s very visible how your depressive episodes affect him. Until he really understands what it is and what it means, Daisuke’s really fretting when this happens.

And so…he voices that concern. “I just noticed that you seem sad. Like, really sad. And I don’t know what to do!” So!! He asks!! What can he do to help you? Or do you even want his help?

And whatever your answer is, he does it. He’ll give you reminders that he loves you, takes care of you, even binges shitty tv shows over even more terrible for you junk food. As long as he can just keep showing he’s there for you and that you’re worth it. That he loves you even when you’re at your lowest…that’s what matters the most.

And just being the goof he is, he’s gonna do things to make you smile. Dancing around the kitchen, showing you his playlist of funny TikToks, cracking some stupid jokes he may or may not have stolen from Twitter. Any time he can crack even a hint of a smile he’s fist pumping and celebrating.

And then…he is probably going to recommend therapy. (He has an awesome adhd therapist he’s working w so. He’s singing the praises for it to you.)

Swansea

Oddly enough I really see him similar to Jimmy. Swansea’s so realistic he’s just like “you’re depressed? Yeah life sucks, so what? You keep going.”

But he’s smart enough to not be like “just get off your ass”. He takes pity on you, whether he likes it or not. Seeing you out of your element does make him upset.

He’s a comiserater, but he’s always going to counter with like “but we keep going anyways.” And if you’re like “but why?” He’s like “why not?”

Like yeah, shit isn’t always good, so you settle for mediocrity. Because the mundane can actually be really nice. Swansea’s a simple pleasures man—good coffee, good food, good times spent relaxing either alone or with the ones you love. That’s what makes it all worth it.

Swansea’s like “you can have your little moments where it all seems like shit, but eventually you gotta face the music and go back to reality.”

He’s a very grounding presence, though. I’ll give him that. He’s also 100% going to cook for you. And you can tell he cares because he has difficulty leaving you alone. He hopes that you seeing him doing stuff. Persisting. That it’ll give you some hope.

and when you start getting more back to normal, showing interest again in your usual hobbies or responsibilities—you can see a weight visibly lift off his shoulders.

[v1rtualsalvat10n]

𓆩♡𓆪 how to tell you goodbye

— weeks after his mysterious disappearance, lu shows up at your door with a message for you.

notes :: TW FOR DUBCON. uh yeah I find the idea of him apologizing for doing what he has to do very hot. f!reader sorry guys this is self indulgent

You don't remember how long it's been.

But you know it'd been long enough for you to stop wondering if he was actually coming back or not, and try to cope with that fact. He was gone - there was very little doubt in your mind about that. He'd stopped responding to calls and messages, his socials went cold, his friends, at least the ones you knew, hadn't heard anything either.

He disappeared. And the last thing you ever heard from him was that he was planning on doing something... real. But he never told you what. He could be dead for all you know, and there was nothing you could do about it.

It took a pretty big toll on you. He was one of the few friends you had, and just like that he was gone. Just when things were looking up for you, your support system just had to vanish into thin air. You missed him, fuck, you missed him more than anything. You missed your little coffee shop dates, the weekend parties, playing games in your apartment when it was lonely, sitting in the park together just talking for hours.

You miss those little looks he gave you when he thought you weren't looking, the way that some of your mannerisms made him smile, the nights where your conversations would get real and you'd cry on his shoulder when it was too much for you. You miss how he'd let you.

You missed the moment when he made you look at him, and wiped your tears with his thumb, letting the tension between you two linger for longer than it should. You missed his warm, shaky breath against your cheek. But you missed the most that moment when you felt his lips on yours, just for that few seconds.

You didn't miss the way he seemed to have regretted it after.

But you remembered that the clearest of all... watching the guilt in his eyes set in as he moved away from you, standing from your couch and rushing for his bags, saying that "it was getting late" or some lie like that. You remembered how he didn't even look back at you as he walked out of your door.

And that was the last day you saw him. He texted you the next morning.

"Hey, I probably won't be able to see you for a while. Working on stuff. Gonna do something real with my life."

What the fuck did that even mean? It made you angry, irrationally so. It probably only made you angry because you thought it was your fault. But god dammit, that felt valid! You felt like you had a fair reason to be pissed. It was no secret you liked him - it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out either! He'd do something like that so carelessly, and then just throw you out?

You hated it. Maybe you'd feel better with an explanation, but the truth of the matter is that he kissed you and then mysteriously disappeared, not to be seen again. And how were you not supposed to make assumptions in that situation?

And so you'd spend your days by yourself. With no more Luigi to rely on to keep you from spiraling, you'd been curled up in your room by yourself, scrolling through his social media posts, rereading your message logs to see if there's something you'd missed.

You had a jacket of his he left at your place, and every night you'd wrap a pillow in it and breathe in the mix of cologne and his natural scent until it lulled you to sleep.

It wasn't enough. You wish he'd come back, but even if he did, what was there to say? Even if he apologized, you didn't know that you'd forgive him.

That is, until he actually did come back.

No, surely that was just wishful thinking - that knock was probably a salesman or someone stupid like that coming to bother you. You dragged yourself up from your bed and slowly approached the door, groaning to yourself before putting on a fake smile to answer it.

And sure enough, there he was. Cold and scruffy looking, his clothes ruffled and his hair matted, bags under his eyes. He pushed you inside, and slammed the door behind himself.

He kissed you again. But this time he didn't hesitate, and he wasn't gentle - he threw himself onto you, your lips messily colliding with his as he leaned into it, diving his tongue into your mouth. His hands slid down to your hips, grabbing the waistband of your sweatpants so tight it was like he might fall off the Earth if he let go.

The kiss was sloppy and desperate, and he hungrily pushed it as far as you'd let it go, which was admittedly pretty far. But then the shock faded, and you pressed your hands to his chest, shoving him back. He was weak enough that he fell back into the door, leaning against it to prevent from fully toppling over.

"What the fuck?!"

You'd never yelled at him before. Never even thought about getting upset with him. His face turned fearful, as he steadied himself and tried to walk forwards again. You took a step back for the one he took forwards.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Who do you think you are, fucking with me like this?!"

His expression shifted. He just stared at you, blankly, either too tired or too numb to show any emotion anymore. And fuck, that only made you angrier. "You think this is funny? I was worried you could be dead, and now you just- show up, months later, looking like this? Why didn't you say something? You just- just-"

"I'll explain everything. Just... I really... missed you."

"Yeah? You didn't miss me enough to at least give me a heads up that you were alive!" You hid your face in your hands, sighing deeply trying to contain yourself. What reasonable explanation could there possibly be? You couldn't reason with him surely.

You hear him step forwards, and he places his hands on your hips again. You reach down to pull him off of you, but the moment you move your hands away from your face, he's pressing more kisses to your lips. He holds you tighter, his arms wrapping around you. "Get off me," you growl, but he doesn't listen.

He kisses your neck, his warm breath shaking profusely. "Luigi," you say, and he can't even look up at you. You yank one of his hands off, only for him to put it back on you with more force than the last time. "I said get off!"

"Let me make it up to you," he begs you, his gaze meeting yours as he walked you forwards, pushing you onto the couch. You try to stand, but he's quicker, and he straddles you, hovering over you and pushing you down by your shoulders. He stops looking you in the eyes, too embarrassed at what he was doing.

"Luigi, stop! I'm trying to talk to you, god dammit!" He doesn't listen. He can't. He's already straining his jeans, grinding his hips into yours. It's warm. He's warm, and fuck, you can't lie to yourself. You missed this feeling. You missed the feeling of something real being there with you. You missed him.

Your body betrays you, and you softly rock your hips forwards into his, swearing under your breath. He smiles softly, cupping one of your hips in his hand. "It's okay. I know you missed this." He looked at you, a weird sincerity in his eyes, considering what he was actually doing.

"I'm not messing around. This- this isn't funny. Let go of me." At some point you had stopped struggling without noticing, and you squirmed again, causing him to push more of his weight down onto you. He spoke softly to you. "Shh, it's okay... It's okay, I promise I won't take long. Promise, promise."

He muttered some words in Italian, something that sounded along the lines of a prayer as he rutted into you, yanking your hips up to get more friction. "Stop it," you say again, covering your face with one of your hands.

The truth is that you'd dreamed of this moment for so long. So very long. You'd dreamed of what it would feel like when he finally touched you, his skin on yours, giving you all he had to give. But fuck, not like this, not like this-

He finished with whatever he was reciting, and slipped his fingers under your waistband, along with the one of your panties and tugged them down. You pressed your thighs together, but he was stronger than you and pushed them apart, leaving you exposed for him.

"You're beautiful..." He stared down at you, leaving a crimson shade on your cheeks. "I'm sorry, I just... I felt like I had to tell you goodbye." Your eyes widened as he said that, and you shook your head. "What are you talking about? Luigi, I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere either. You don't have to do this, please-"

By the time you finished, he was already unbuckling his belt, the sound of the buckle clinking against itself making you shiver. He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down, rubbing himself against your folds. He was big. Bigger than you expected. Big enough that it looked like this might leave you sore.

You tried to scoot back, but he reached for you and pulled you closer than you were before, gasping at the feeling of your wetness against his cock. He'd longed for this forever, maybe even since the moment he'd first laid eyes on you. It felt like heaven to him, despite how dirty he felt - despite the fact that he knew it was wrong.

Something about you looking down on him for this only made him harder.

He lined himself up with your entrance and parted you with just his tip, his nails sinking into your hips as he did. "Fuck," he whimpered, "I'm so sorry, amore."

And with that, he slid into you slowly. You sighed in relief, only to cry out when he was so overwhelmed by pleasure that he slammed himself into you as deep as he could manage, rolling his hips into you.

Fuck. You could feel him pressing against your cervix. His breath shook as he panted heavily, shutting his eyes tightly as he pulled out nearly all the way, only to slam back into you. He swore, leaving bruises on your sides from how hard he was holding you. It hurt but you didn't care.

He kept up this brutal force, moving all the way out just so he could thrust deep into you again. It took him a while to speed up just because he was so overstimulated by it. But when he did, he fucked you like a wild animal, slamming his hips into yours, the obscene sound of his skin hitting yours filling your apartment.

You looked up at him, who still had his eyes closed out of shame. You couldn't help but imagine what he saw behind his eyelids, what he was imagining as he fucked you in earnest. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he fought against them. "I'm sorry," he muttered, over and over again. He couldn't stop apologizing.

"It's- it's okay, it's okay... fuck-! I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you... oh god..."

That was too much for him. Your acceptance, that unconditional love of yours, the fact that he could do this, and you would still understand, pushed him over, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

His hands frantically slid up your sides as he leaned down onto you, both your chests pressed together, getting as much of his skin on yours as possible. He ran his fingers up and down you, committing every hill and valley to memory. "I'm sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you. I promise you. I promise."

He kept mindlessly apologizing as he used you, controlled by his own need. There was no stopping him now, and you didn't want to. He was beautiful even like this, even at his lowest point. You knew that you loved him in this moment.

"I'm gonna cum, please, please... I'm sorry, I need it, please, baby-" He kept babbling through his tears, which fell onto your cheeks. You closed your eyes softly, leaning into his touch, pressing your lips to his.

He devoured you in an instant, the kiss deeper than before, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared his release. "Perdonami, ti prego," he begged, speaking inbetween breaths.

"Lu," you cooed. "Go ahead. It's alright."

As soon as you commanded him, his eyes shot open and he threw his head back as he rammed into your cervix, spilling himself deep inside of you, his body shaking as he did. You tightened around him, the feeling of him finally letting himself go enough to make you cum too, as you called out his name.

He stayed tensed up over you for a moment, his arms struggling to hold his weight as his eyes shut, and he collapsed on top of you, his face in your chest. He started to sob, gripping you tight, one of his hands going down to entangle with yours. "I'm so sorry, amore," he repeated, over and over, "I'm sorry"s falling from his lips.

You pressed him closer, free hand stroking his hair softly as he crumbled in your arms. "It's okay. I forgive you."

"Please don't hold it against me."

"We'll figure it out, okay, Lu? We'll figure it out, together. Me and you. Because I love you."

"I love you too.... No matter what happens, remember that I love you."

[katsu28]

connection

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: when a holiday gala that neither you nor max want to be at brings two people from vastly different worlds together, you find out that you might have more in common with the four time world champion than you think you do. (3.6k)

warnings: swearing, creepy men (not max don’t worry)

a/n: day three with max :) somewhere along the way this became less of a holiday fic and more of me projecting onto my characters but fuck it we ball! 

You don’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, toting around trays of champagne flutes and painfully tiny hors d'oeuvres to fancy rich people is the last place you want to be on a Saturday night, but your friend had roped you into working this event with her and you need the extra money a holiday event pays, so here you are. 

You’re not even sure what exactly it is either. All you know is that it’s some gala for folks in a totally different tax bracket than you, and you need to be on your best behavior—which, you’ll admit, isn’t your strong suit.

Your loved ones would say your headstrong, take-no-shit personality is one of your admirable qualities, but you know they only say that because they know the real you. 

These people don’t. They don’t need to. All they need from you is whatever you’ve got on the silver platter you’re holding. 

You glide through the crowd like a woman on a mission, turning up the charm to an eleven to get rid of these beef tartare crostinis as fast as you can. 

It’s part of the job description, but apparently some of these old men think you’re throwing yourself at them. The amount of ass patting bordering on groping, and sleazy comments about how you’re young enough to be their daughters you’ve had to endure in the last few hours is astonishing, and not in a good way. 

What you want to do is slam them upside the head with your tray, but you can’t. So you grin and bear it, redirecting their leering as best you can without causing a scene. What a way to start the festive season…not. 

Soon enough you’re out of food and you’re glad for it, because it grants you even just a little reprieve when you return to the kitchen. 

“I swear to god, I’m gonna punch one of those old fucks,” You fume, having just pushed through the adjoining door leading from the ballroom. 

Your friend offers an amused snort from where she’s waiting on a refill of stuffed figs. “Yeah, don’t do that, probably.” 

“They’re disgusting.” 

“They’re entitled.” 

“Okay, so they’re disgusting and entitled. God, the nerve!” 

“Y’know what, maybe you should take your break now? Cool off a little bit before you rip someone's throat out and get us both fired?” She tips her chin towards your hands, and when you look down, your fists are clenched. You’ve got them clenched so tight your nails are starting to dig crescent shaped divots in your palm. Any tighter and you’re sure to draw blood. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s—I’m gonna go,” You mutter. You can’t afford to be dismissed from the event and lose out on the payday. The best thing to do is find somewhere quiet, somewhere you can be alone and settle your temper. 

-------

Max doesn’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, milling around shaking hands and making small talk with these people is the last thing he wants to be doing on a Saturday night, but he has obligations to fulfill, appearances he needs to make to cast Red Bull in an admirable light in this season of giving, so here he is. 

His suit is expensive but itchy, the starched collar of his crisp button up pulled too tight around his neck. What he wants to do is rip it off and go home to his cats, but he can’t.

So he grins and bears it, summoning all his years of PR training to get through the next few hours as best he can. 

“Max, there you are!” His press officer materializes right next to him, clamping a hand down on his arm. He bristles a bit at the sudden touch, but it soon dissipates as he realizes it just means he has yet another hand to shake and conversation to make. “There’s some people you should meet with. They’re from one of our smaller sponsors, but important nonetheless. Think you should have a conversation, find some common ground.” 

“Do I have to?” The question is a moot point, but Max feels the need to ask anyway. Just in case the answer has changed since the last time he asked. When all they do is fix him to the spot with a deadpan look, he sighs. “Yeah, heard. Lead the way.” 

Small talk comes easily to him at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t mind numbingly boring listening to the two middle aged men go on and on about something Max couldn’t care less about. 

To the untrained eye, it would appear that he’s listening intently, feeding into their words with every carefully timed nod of the head. A chuckle here, a smile there. All the while, he’s itching to get away. The itch grows and grows and grows until Max can’t take it anymore.

He has to go somewhere. Anywhere other than here. 

Before he can second guess his gut feeling, he excuses himself quickly and expertly, making his way carefully through the crowd and towards the nearest exit. Another glass of champagne couldn’t hurt, so he snags one off a tray on his way out, sipping on it leisurely as he searches for a place to be alone. 

That’s how he finds himself outside in this open area looking over the water, somewhere completely empty and quiet, save for the slight breeze sending tiny waves splashing against the rocks below. 

Max sheds his jacket, undoes the first few buttons of his pressed shirt so he doesn’t feel like he’s being choked anymore. His chin tips towards the sky, eyes scanning the sky above. 

The moon is out in full swing tonight, hanging big and bright in the sky, illuminating the beautiful architecture around him. Max has always liked the moon. It represents success and fulfillment and power, but also has an element of mystery to it. He thinks that, in a way, the moon is kind of like him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays here, just knows that he doesn’t want to go back inside. Finds himself dreading it, actually. Knows that inevitably he’ll have to make his return, but he’ll delay it as long as he can before someone comes looking for him.  

The sound of a heavy door creaking open draws his attention a little while later, and it makes him sigh. Looks like his time hiding out here is over. He pushes off the pillar he’s leaning on, ready to spin some half assed excuse, but then he hears it.

“Fuck!” You bite out, letting the door slam behind you. The empty area provides an echo to your dramatics. 

Max peers wide eyed around at the sudden expletive, spotting you across the way. So…definitely not his press officer. You’re already pacing back and forth, hands on your hips as you shake your head. 

He should say something, right? Announce his presence? 

He’s about to, but then you start muttering to yourself, something about old rich men thinking they can do whatever they want just because they have money. Colored by a plethora of choice swear words, you look and sound entirely pissed off. 

Probably best to leave you alone for the time being. He doesn’t know you, but he knows anger, and yours has a fire that almost rivals his. You’re also very pretty, but he pushes that thought aside for the time being. 

For the first time tonight, Max’s interest is piqued. Even so, he feels like he’s encroaching on something too personal, too private for anyone else’s ears. 

Maybe he can sneak away undetected? 

He doesn’t remember the champagne glass he’d set down until his foot hits it, and then it’s too late. Thankfully it doesn’t shatter, but the clinking against the cobblestones as it rolls away gives him up automatically. Your head snaps towards his general vicinity, eyes going wide with fear. 

Max imagines it’s probably scary for you to think you’re alone and realize that you’re not, and he’s not a monster. He has no choice but to step out from the shadows, raising a hand in awkward greeting. “...Hi.” 

“Jesus. Shit. Uh, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” You breathe, already slipping back into that carefully practiced professionality. Embarrassment and a little bit of shame runs through you at the same time as realization blooms of who this man is. Everyone knows Max Verstappen is, and you just cussed out his colleagues big time. Oh, you’re so getting fired. “Sorry you had to see that, Mr. Verstappen.” 

Max waves a hand in the air with a shake of his head. “Please, we don’t have to do that. Call me Max.”

It feels a little wrong to do so, but you oblige. “Right. Well, sorry you had to witness that, Max.” 

“Oh, that was nothing. Plus, god knows I’ve done worse.” Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better. Max steps out a little further into the light, stooping down to grab the rolling glass before it gets too far. “Is everything alright? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Does it look like everything is alright?” You shoot back, throwing your hands up into the air. Then you remember just who the fuck you’re talking to and you freeze. “Sorry! I am so sorry, I—” You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Max isn’t who you’re mad at. This has nothing to do with him at all. “You didn’t do anything, I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. I apologize. Again.” 

Max feels his lips quirk into a smile. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had spoken back at him like that. It’s actually quite refreshing. “No need. Probably very warranted too. I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener, if you need to let things out.” 

“I shouldn’t,” You sigh, pressing your lips together. Max raises a questioning brow. “It would be extremely unprofessional.” 

“You’ve just caught me out here hiding from doing my job. I think we’re past professionalism at this point,” He snorts. He takes a seat on one end of the concrete bench nearest, tipping his head towards the empty space next to him. “The floor is yours.” 

You explain your situation as best you can without getting too heated again, half expecting Max to grow defensive of his acquaintances—they always do. 

It’s a pleasant surprise when he does nothing of the sort. Instead he calls them all assholes, along with some other choice words you won’t dare repeat. He apologizes for them, says he’ll do his best to remedy the situation, but you’re sure all it’ll do is make things worse if he gets involved. 

“So…that’s why I’m out here. What’s your excuse?” You finish, letting your shoulders drop. It feels nice to get all of that off your chest for once, and to someone who actually gives a shit. 

Max sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. It probably makes it stick up at all odd angles, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I don’t really like these things. Talking to people, making small talk—between you and me, it’s the worst part of the job. Not my thing.” 

“You like to do your talking on the track,” You supply. 

Max lets out a sharp exhale, leaning back against his palms to regard you with careful amusement. “You watch?” 

“No, but I think I’d have to be living under a rock not to know a little bit about it. About you.” 

“And…what do you think you know about me?” He tilts his chin up almost in challenge, as if he’s daring you to analyze him. 

Challenge accepted. 

“I think you’re lonely.” 

A surprised laugh escapes from his mouth. He certainly wasn't expecting it, but quite enjoys your forwardness. “Well, that was unexpected. Why do you think that?” 

“You’re untouchable. A four time champion, I’ve heard.” 

“World champion,” Max corrects, but not obnoxiously. It seems like a habit to add that distinction, years and years of hard work and dedication and training for the recognition. 

“World champion, my bad.” You nod. “Congrats on that, by the way.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Like I said, untouchable. You’re the best of the best, and I’d assume even though it’s nice to be regarded as so, it’s hard for you to know when people actually want to know you, or if they just want something from you. Hence…why you’re out here.” 

“Whoa. Didn’t know this was going to turn into a therapy session.” 

“Am I wrong, though?” 

“No. You’re right on the nose, actually.” He shouldn’t be admitting this. He’s supposed to maintain the image that he has going for him, but something about you makes him feel like he can trust you with his true self. 

You’ve drifted closer together without realizing throughout your conversation, shoulders brushing, knees bumping. Max’s pinky moves to brush over yours. You let it happen. 

He’s got really pretty eyes, you notice, steel blue staring right back at you. Piercing the careful facade you have to put up when working these events. Some people are charming, and you’ve learned to keep yourself a closed book to keep yourself safe. But Max feels different. Max’s interest seems genuine. 

It only intrigues you even more. You don’t know him, but you want to. 

Max clears his throat suddenly. “I should go,” He says. 

You wait for him to back away, to put some space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks like the last thing he wants to do is leave. 

Part of you wants him to stay, but you know he shouldn’t. The same is true for you. He needs to get back to his job, and you need to get back to yours. 

“Me too,” You reply, taking careful notice to keep your tone from sounding too dejected. “Thanks for listening to me rant. I feel a little better now.” 

“I’m glad I could help.” 

You force yourself to climb to your feet, putting that distance between Max and yourself up before you have the urge to do something rash. A flash of your mouth on his zips through your mind for a split second. 

No. You can't do that. 

“Bye, Max. It was nice meeting you.” 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you too.” 

Now is the time for you to leave—one foot in front of the other, away from him, back to reality. 

“Wait!” He calls before you can get far. You turn on your heel like you were expecting him to say something else, waiting for him to reach you. He catches your elbow, squeezing gently. “What are you doing after this is over?” 

“Honestly? I was going to go home and pass out on my couch.” Max’s eyebrows pinch in the middle. “But I could be persuaded otherwise. Why?” 

“Would you want to get a drink? With me.” 

“Not really helping the lonely allegations,” You tease, smiling warmly despite your ribbing. Max rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.  “Yeah, I’d love to grab a drink. But I don’t get off until late, so it might be a while.” 

“I’ll wait.” His answer is immediate. Firm. 

“Okay. Okay, cool,” You say, fighting a smile. “I’ll find you after everything is over.” 

“I’m counting on it.”

The night flies by faster now that you’ve got Max to look forward to by the end of it. By the time you’re freed from the shackles of customer service, you don’t feel as drained as you normally do. You’re strangely excited to get to know him some more. 

You find Max waiting for you just outside the coat check, pretty eyes searching the dwindling gala goers until he spots you approaching. He smiles, nods his head in greeting.

“Hi. Everything alright?” 

“It’ll be better the sooner we get out of here.” 

“Let’s go, then.” 

Instead of a bar, he brings you back to his place. It catches you by surprise when he asks, but he assures you it’s more for privacy purposes than anything else, strictly two new friends sharing a drink and some more conversation. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting for a man of his financial standing, but a massive penthouse overlooking Monte Carlo makes sense. You do your best to tame your reaction, but it really is impressive. 

His living room is probably the size of your whole apartment, and that’s just what you can see right now. A pristine white couch sits in the middle of the room on an even whiter carpet in front of a sleek, top of the line entertainment unit, and there’s some sort of sim racing setup with a fancy chair nestled in the far corner near a wall of floor to ceiling windows. Surrounding the rig are a handful of trophies and racing helmets, each of them polished to perfection. 

Over in the far corner is a huge evergreen tree, decorated with twinkling lights and silver baubles. It looks extremely professional, almost staged, and the more you look at it, the more you’re sure he hadn’t been the one to put it up.

“What do you like to drink? I’ll make you something.” Max’s voice pulls you out of your gawking at his home. Your eyes snap over to him hovering next to a bar cart stocked with liquor, sweeping a hand along the bottles. Twisting your lips to the side in contemplation, you tell him your drink of choice and he smiles. “Nice one. I’m more of a gin and tonic kind of guy, but hey, to each their own.” 

You find your way to one end of the giant sofa not long later, aforementioned gin and tonic in his hand, your drink nestled in yours. “I did you, now you do me.” 

Max nearly chokes on his drink, brows flying high at your bluntness. “Sorry, what?” 

You look unphased. “What do you think you know about me?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what you meant. 

He takes a few beats to ponder your question, eyes squinting in thought. Then he fixes you to the spot with a decisive look. 

“I think you have big dreams. Changing the world, making it a better place—but you haven’t quite figured out how to do it yet,” He says, tilting his head. Your chest tightens at his words, because they’re true. “You’re going in circles, not able to figure out that one thing that’ll break the cycle you’re stuck in. I think once you do figure it out, you’re going to do great things. Big things.” 

Like before, somehow the space between the two of you has dwindled into nearly nothing as he looks at you so intently with those piercing eyes of his. You’re a little surprised by how on the nose he is about you, but it also makes sense. Max seems very observant. Perhaps it comes from being on the lookout all the time. 

“If the racing doesn’t work out, you might want to consider psychology,” You manage to say. 

He chuckles, nose scrunching. “Sure, I’ll think about it. Though I think it’s going pretty well at the moment.” 

-------

“When can I see you again?” He asks a while later, head lolling to face you lazily.

His hand has somehow found its way spread over your knee, nimble fingers tap tap tapping mindlessly. The first few buttons of his shirt have been undone, hair mussed from how often he'd been dragging his fingers through it.

Your drinks have worn off ages ago, but you still feel warm and fuzzy. Though you suspect it’s more from the man you’re with rather than the residual alcohol talking. 

You’ve been getting to know each other as the night goes on, swapping stories about your lives until you feel like you haven’t just met him a few hours ago. His are by far much more entertaining than yours, but Max seems to enjoy the mundane of yours. 

Part of you is surprised by his question. In your mind, you were expecting this to just be a one time thing. An easy way to fill a boring night, never to be thought about again. But Max does want to see you again. You don’t let it phase you. Instead, you raise an amused brow. 

“Why? You planning on kicking me out anytime soon?” You joke. Max’s fingers twitch, and he shakes his head. 

“No, I just—I’d like to see you again, is that so wrong?” 

“Not at all. I’d like that too.” You smile at him. “Though it is getting late, so I should probably head out anyways.” 

Max doesn’t push for you to stay, just nods understandingly. “You’re sure you’re okay to make it home on your own? Let me order you an Uber,” He says, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

“Yes, Max, I’m fine. And I can get my own Uber, thank you very much.” 

“Please, let me. I asked you here, the least I can do is pay for your ride home.” He seems like a very insistent person, so you sigh goodnaturedly, waving a hand for him to go ahead. When he’s done and a car is on its way, he turns to you, propping his chin up in the palm of his hand. “I had a nice time tonight.”

You scoff lightly, raising a brow. “I recall you saying something about how company galas are the worst part of your job.” 

“I dunno, this one wasn’t that bad.” Max shrugs, a fond smile playing at his lips. “I met you, didn’t I?” 

“Best night of your life then, huh?” You tease, winking at him. 

“It’s definitely up there.” 

“Too bad it’s ending soon.” 

“Too bad,” He echoes. He tilts his head, rubs at the smooth fabric of the sofa cushion just so he has something to do with his hand. “Looks like we’ll have to see each other again soon.” 

You have all the time in the world to unravel the mystery that is Max Verstappen, if he’ll let you. And judging by the way his hand inches towards yours until your fingers intertwine while you’re waiting for your Uber to come, he will.

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[sinstear]

ㅤ❝ I COULD DO THIS ALL DAY AND ONCE A WEEK FOR YOU ❞

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpairing. milf!abby x mechanic!reader

masterlist. warnings. 18+, sub!abby, dom!reader, milf!abby, mechanic!reader, dirty talk (a lot of it, oops), fingering, strap usage, abby just being a needy brat, breeding kink, there’s probably more a/n. merry christmas gays <3 this is a small installation to the milf!abby au me and @vifilms have created. if it’s a little confusing on the jump, don’t worry, you’ll get more parts explaining their relationship before or whatever soon. happy holidays, and if you don’t celebrate it, i hope you all have a blessed day either way <3

milf!abby who doesn’t hesitate to text you when it comes down to her friends having a small get-together, her first instinct was to ask you to come with her, and she was a little too giddy and excited when you replied with ‘of course, more time to spend with a pretty lady’ what she would never admit was that she spent an ungodly amount of minutes looking at your reply, apples of her cheeks crimson red before she replied with her own ‘sounds good, can’t wait to see you’ unaware that on the other side of town, you were already rummaging around in your closet, trying to find something perfect enough, that will go with whatever she picks, to wear. apart from ripped jeans, t-shirts, and a few jackets, you were at a loss. confused on what to wear to a small party with people who would dress up a little more … sophisticated-like. the bright colors, the pretty pearls. that wasn’t you. you were content with your hoodies, your jeans, your button-up shirts, and sweatpants. not what they love to wear.

milf!abby can’t focus the second you walk through the door that same night, dressed in a pair of jeans, heavy boots paired with a white shirt, and a jacket. she’s seen you in nothing but a tank top, oil and grease covering your arms, and even then you looked hot working on her car every day, you looked ethereal and more handsome tonight. abby doesn’t know how to react when she finds you talking to some of her friends, offering to help if they need it, seconds later. she thinks it’s kind that you are offering even though you were a guest. one of the many things she adores about you. always wanting to help.

milf!abby drags you away from the party not even 15 minutes later. her hands cupping your face, while yours are instantly pulling down the dress she was wearing, down over her shoulders, and bunching it around her hips as you cup both her tits and squeeze them in the palm of your hands, the second she pulls you into the bathroom. the soft sounds of her whines and whimpers fill the echoed room while you simply grin against her neck, pinching and pulling at her hard pebbled nipples. her head rests against the bathroom door, the whimpers tumbling from her shamelessly has you growling into her neck and slipping your leg between her thigh. a sinister grin appearing on your lips at her sudden gasp, wrapping her arm around your neck and holding you to her. “i bet if i put my hand up your dress right now, you’re gonna be soaked, hm?” you muttered against her flushed skin. “don’t even have to tell me, i know.” your mocking words had abby’s heart pounding in her chest, cunt clenching around nothing and cheeks flushed while she nods desperately. “love your tits so much, so fuckin’ pretty”

milf!abby’s eyes roll back in her head when you’re placing your hand over her mouth, muffling the sounds thats dripping from between her cherry red swollen lips as you bury your fingers deep in her cunt, groaning softly under your breath at the way she clenches around you tightly. “you know how much i love to hear you, but you gotta be quiet f’me, sweetheart, hm?” you coo, kissing away the tears streaking her face. “i know you can do it, don’t wanna get caught, do you?”

“m’sorry, just feels s’good.” abby whimpered against your hand, voice hitching when the palm of your hand rubbed against her neglected clit. fingers clutching at your crumpled shirt, knuckles white with the sheer iron grip she has on you. it makes you laugh, making her whine with a deeper blush knowing just how fucking needy she is. needy for you to touch her, making a mess of her, and have her weak in the knees. you only have to look at her, and she’s begging for you.

“yeah, i can tell, practically soaking my hand.”

that just makes abby clench around you harder. 

milf!abby clings to you for dear life and whimpers loudly into your neck when she gushes all over your fingers minutes later, slick running down the inners of her thigh and another whimper is ripped from her throat as you gently pull your fingers out of her cunt, bringing those fingers straight to your mouth with a grin. her pupils dilate more, if that’s even possible when you wrap your lips around them and suck. the moan you let out at the taste of her, has her rubbing her thighs together again. an action that you don’t miss. “taste just as sweet as last night, sweetheart.” you hummed with a cheeky grin, leaned forward, and kissed the side of her mouth. laughing at her whine. “patience, baby. just a little longer, and i promise, you can have my cock later.”

milf!abby is pathetic and whiny when you’ve finally got her bent over the sink, dress still bunched over her hips, panties in your back pocket for a keepsake, and she can’t hold back on those sounds you love to hear so much when your cock is deep inside her cunt. stretching her out perfectly, like her pussy was made for you. you could tell she was struggling to keep it down, not wanting her friends to hear. you on the other hand, were crazy. you wouldn’t care at all if they heard the pretty sounds you were pulling from her with each thrust of your hips. 

“wish i could feel you” you groaned, hands iron grip on her hips, pulling her back and down on your cock. your eyes dropping to shamelessly watching the way her cunt practically sucks your strap back inside of her. only for your eyes to snap up at the soft whine to find abby with her head buried in the bend of her elbow, trying to muffle her sounds. “lemme hear you, baby, yeah?” you cooed, tangling your fingers into her soft blonde locks and pulled her head back carefully. “yeah, you look so pretty like this” you smirked at her through the mirror. “look so sexy while i split you open on my cock.”

abby wasn’t sure whether to look at you or herself. her hair was disheveled, her light makeup ruined, cheeks flushed, hips bruised due to your grip, and her lips all red and swollen. if you both walked out of the bathroom now, everyone would know. they would all know what happened, and maybe that excites abby a little because her cunt clenches around your cock, gasps, and jolts against the mirror when you’re removing your hand from her hip, to reach down between her legs and rub light circles on her clit. “just needed to have all your worries and thoughts fucked out that pretty head of yours hm? don’t worry, sweetheart, m’gonna fuck you until you can barely remember your own name.”

the blonde opens her mouth to reply, brain completely empty and cheeks flushed darker red if that’s even possible, but her attempt at trying to reply to your words fail when you angle your hips just perfectly, your cock is deliciously rubbing that spot deep inside her and abby’s hand is quick to slip between her legs and rub circles on her clit with you. “fuck, fuck, right there, please please—” her voice breaks and her head slumps against her mirror, her breath fogging up the glass. “i need—”

“what do you need, hm baby? need me to fuck you until you can’t walk? mark you up? show everyone you’re mine?” you listed, groaning against her neck and fucking her hard, rubbing her clit faster. “need me to fill you up, s’that what you need? fill you up and make you a mama?”

“yes! yes yes, please—” abby’s chokes out, a little too late to warn you or barely registers a warning as her body tenses beneath you and gushes over your cock with a loud gasped whimper that has you putting your mouth over her mouth, not wanting her friends to know what was happening, even if it was something you so badly wanted deep down. “oh—” she sighs against your hand, eyes fluttering closed again as you slowly fuck her through her orgasm.  

“me saying i wanna make you a mama did it for you, huh?” you laughed against her ear, your breath fanning her skin hotly as you ran your nose up and down her neck. enjoying the way she lifts her head up and looks at you through the mirror. completely fucked out. only for you to groan softly when she’s pushing back against you with a whine. “sweetheart,”

“wanna make you cum” 

“later, you can do whatever you want”

milf!abby can’t avoid the grins and smirks her friends give her when you both finally make your way back downstairs to find them in the kitchen. they wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact that abby was patting down her hair, fixing her dress. or you, in all your glory, were butting up your shirt, not caring at all that they were grinning your way. “have fun, abby?” one teased, eyeing up the marks on her neck. “it looks like you guys both had a lot of fun”

glaring at her friend, abby simply huffed, wrapped her arm around yours and scowled. “stop it!” she mumbled, trying to hide the obvious blush coating her face. while you, being a shit, were just laughing softly against her head. “don’t encourage them!”

“m’not doing anything” you grinned, hand slipping down to her lower back and kissing behind her ear. a place you know that always has her melting in your hands. “you don’t have to tell me you had fun, the sounds you were making are enough for me to know, sweetheart.” you whispered in her ear before walking away into the kitchen. that stupid fucking smirk, a smirk she loves a little too much, resting on your lips.

milf!abby who cannot wait until this little party is over so that she can go home and hold you up on your promise of letting her do whatever she wants to do to you. for the time being, she’s just going to have to sit there and let her friends tease her about the sounds that were coming from the bathroom, and ignoring the way you simply looked at her, slumped between two of her friends, legs spread with a beer in your hand and a grin on your face each time she would grow redder at their constant teasing. she just needed to get this party out of the way so she could have you all to herself once again, free to do whatever she wanted, and you were excited, to say the least. 

[toast-on-dandelioms]

Ehat if reader got captured and turned into a Talon by the court of owls? Lets say they heard a scream for help and went to investigate but it was a trap and the got captured . Lets assume readers spider powers are still used as extra help . Maybe the batfam finds out when the court sends reader to a place that batfam was in. What would be the reactions and what would they do?

Songbird's Eulogy

I'm gonna be honest, I loved this ask and this will become a serie if you guys want to read it!

Dividers made by @thecutestgrotto

W.C: 8k

Tw: blood, description of dead bodies and their wounds, probably bad description of Alzheimer in a character

The air in the Batcave was so thick with tension that it could be cut with a knife, most of the family present except for Alfred, who was upstairs cooking dinner and Cassandra, who was in Hong Kong at the moment.

Tim was at the computer next to Bruce, who was observing Tim working while the younger vigilante was typing away and looking at several screens that played what looked like the same videos all at the same time, trying to find anything different in it even if the video kept showing the same things over and over again while mumbling stuff with Bruce, exchanging theories as to what was happening or if one of the two found anything that the other missed.

Dick and Damian were sparring but both were distracted, as they were both doing the same moves over and over again, their eyes unfocused as their minds were thinking of the case while Jason and Duke were both working on their bikes, exchanging tools and also sharing information of the case as Jason had some information thanks to the Crime Alley kids, even though it did cost him a lot since many of those kids had contradicting stories so knowing which ones were true or not was difficult and time consuming.

Stephanie was the only one who was sipping on some tea Alfred made her a few minutes ago while reading the same file of the case to see if the police missed anything or to see if her reading it for the 20th time would result in her finding something she didn't notice before, her eye twitching as she kept hearing the same ominous whistle from the speakers on the batcomputer, making it even more annoying and creepy.

The yet another ominous whistle is her breaking point. She suddenly slams the cup on the hard wood of the table, as if she wants it to tremble. Luckily the cup didn't break. As everybody realises where the sound is coming from their head snap towards that direction, as if snapping out a trance. This unexpected event pulled Dick out his alert mode, and as Damian's punch hit his side he falls down in pain, loudly complaining about the hit being "too strong" while Damian ignores him to walk up to Tim and Bruce. Jason and Duke also both looked up from their bikes with a concerned look, they were both tuning out the audio from the batcomputer for the twelfth time, and almost jumped at the sharp sound.

Bruce looked at Stephanie without saying anything as the girl glared at him and Tim, who just looked like he was on the bring of a nervous breakdown as he was replaying the videos at the same time to find anything that could be useful for the case, even though he was doing that for at least two days and nothing showed up, even though he sent all those videos through all kinds of analysis software the batcomputer had and even the Justice League had in the Watchtower.

"Can you please stop replaying that damn whistle?! I've been hearing that shit for the past week and I swear to god, if I hear that one more time I will kill you Timothy Jackson Drake and no Lazarus pit will be able to resuscitate you after I am done with you."

And Stephanie did look ready to kill, her eye twitching as she glared at Tim, who just sipped on a cup full of an overly caffeinated drink with eye bags so prominent that the girl wondered for a few seconds how long he'd been awake to study the security feeds from Babs, autopsy records, police reports and any leads the detectives had at the moment and whatever the vigilantes could find.

The girl kept glaring at Tim, ignoring Dick's groans and Damian's voice as he told him to stop being a baby, while Duke and Jason went back to take care of their own bikes while still talking.

In her frustration, she threw all the files that she was reading on the table, ignoring how all the papers and the photos in the files scattered on the table and made a mess.

"How the hell are we supposed to find this supposed killer?! The only thing we have is this fucking whistle" she started, her frustration clear in her face as she hadn't slept in days thanks to the extra hours of patrol and her refusing to go to sleep to help with the case, "and this!".

She stopped her rant to quickly search through all the files and photos for a specific one, stopping once she found two that she deemed good enough and grabbed them before walking up to Tim and Bruce since they were the ones who were the closest, ignoring Dick and Damian who were walking up to them to see what was happening.

The moment she showed them the pictures, everything fell silent. Faint breaths were felt in the air, like oxygen was slowly running out as tension and discomfort slowly grew as everyone stared at the pictures. The photos were horrid, whoever did that was full of rage as both bodies on the photos were scratched, especially on their sides, arms and chest, like the killer was scratching them while the victims were trying to cover themselves with their bodies as other areas of their body, like their chest and stomach was ok with no scratches present. But the most horrible thing that caught everyone's eyes just like the first time they all saw the bodies was that both victims sported the same killing method, with both of them having their necks cut open in the most gruesome way possible as the killer scratched the necks of the victims.

Everyone shuddered, except Stephanie, as they stared at the photos since the girl was showing them to everyone around her to make a point and to show how crazy it was to find any clues just from those wounds.

The older man stared at his kids without saying anything as Damian and Stephanie started arguing once again about who did it, with Stephanie accusing the League for all the murders happening in Gotham while Damian was defending the League as he explained that no good assassin trained under the League, and especially under his grandfather, would kill their targets in such a stupid and sadistic way since they were trained to kill efficiently and quickly while this killer acted like they were playing with their victims and wanted their deaths to be slow.

Bruce just sighed as he recognised how exhausted his kids were from the stress of the case while they kept fighting, with Dick joining Steph's side and Tim joining Damian's, knowing that they wouldn't listen to him if he told them to take a break or to stop fighting, especially since he was always the first one to ignore that suggestion when offered.

He quickly grabbed his phone once he heard it ringing, thinking and hoping it was Gordon or Barbara with any news about the case before looking confused and worried when he saw that it was Alfred calling him. He picked up and could hear a woman's voice in the background talking to someone as Alfred just said "Master Bruce, Miss Amelie has arrived with Boris and she wants to see you, it seems that she's having an episode" before hanging up, most likely to make some tea for the unexpected but not unwelcome guests that arrived.

He sighed before noticing Tim looking at him alongside the others who stopped fighting once they heard what Alfred said on the call, making him sigh once again since he knew he couldn't ignore Amelie to keep working on the case so he just started walking to the elevator to get upstairs faster instead of using the stairs.

He looked a bit surprised when both Jason and Damian also got in the elevator but didn't say anything to the duo, knowing how close the two have gotten to the woman after years of her coming to the Manor looking for him. He thanked Tim patience for managing to convince Alfred on getting a smartphone so he could call and text the rest of the bats without having to get down to the cave every time due to his old age, which proved itself useful as now the older man had now a folder full of recipes he and Jason share to each other, plus all the passive aggressive messages towards everyone or someone specific when he found them not taking care of themselves.

As the trio walked to the room designated for her when she decided to come they could already hear the woman talk to a man who was trying to calm he down, before stopping to look at the door once she heard Bruce knocking and then entering. The woman immediately ran to Bruce in tears, her beautiful hair in the messiest bun that made Bruce wonder what happened as he knew how attentive she was with her hair as a model, something that she now didn't do as much after the accident, and her eyes almost fully red from her tears.

"Bruce! Bruce you have to listen, my baby is out there, I know that [Y/N] is not dead! The hospital keeps telling me that my little star is dead but I know that they're lying! Bruce please, find our little star". She started crying once again, her face on his chest with her hands holding his shirt as she cried about [Y/N] not being dead, that her little star was out there and to not listen to the hospital and the police, begging the man to help her.

Bruce looked at Boris, who just sighed when he locked eyes with him and shook his head, looking exhausted with bags under his eyes that were challenging Tim's, before looking down at Amelie once again. He only now noticed that she was in her pajama, one of her slippers missing, and holding one of [Y/N]'s old plushie to her chest with one hand as she kept her tight hold on his shirt with the other hand, her hand trembling like she believed that he wouldn't believe her if she let go of him. "Amelie, it's ok, we're searching for [Y/N] along with the police, we'll find them soon" he murmured softly as he managed to untie her hair and brush it a bit with his fingers to help her relax, smiling softly as she visibly started to relax when she felt his hands in her hair and massaging her scalp.

"Find our baby, please" she mumbled, her hold on his shirt starting to loosen as he kept massaging her scalp, making Bruce hum and reassured her for a few minutes, knowing that it was helping as she slowly let go of him and just hugged the plushie close to her chest.

Once he knew she was calm enough after all the reassurance, he gently put his hands on her shoulders to lead her to the couch, where Damian and Jason were already sitting and waiting for her and Bruce. On the table in front of the couch were a few albums and after helping her sit down on it he handed one to her, opening it to a random page and pointing to a random photo of [Y/N], who was giving their biggest smile while on the car, their mouth and cheeks covered in ice cream. "Why don't you tell them who [Y/N] is, I'm sure Damian is curious to know about his older sibling," He suggested softly, smiling to her as she immediately started to talk about [Y/N] while leaning on Jason, the plushie now in Damian's arms as the two boys listened intently to the woman even though they probably heard the same story almost every month, but they didn't seem to care especially when the woman would remember new stories every time she came.

Bruce got up when he knew Amelie was fully engrossed in talking about [Y/N] and walked up to Boris, knowing the man was her caretaker and most importantly, he was the only person who knew her best. "Boris what happened? Are you ok?" he asked, mostly wanting to know if she was getting too hard to handle for him alone as he saw a bruise on his cheek and if he needed help, knowing how much he was already doing for the poor woman since the accident.

"I was making her lunch when she went in [Y/N]'s old room and started to call for them but I was too busy to hear her and distract her. She started crying and started to remember that night, I'm sorry Bruce but I can't do this alone anymore." was what the man said out of exhaustion, his eyes filling with tears as he tried to keep it together while in the same room of Amelie, probably not wanting to cause her distress if she saw him crying.

Bruce just nodded and patted the man on the shoulder before walking him to the kitchen, smiling at Alfred when he already had some tea ready for them and few sandwiches on a plate. He sat down on a stool next to Boris and offered him some of the little sandwiches, knowing the man probably skipped dinner to come to the Manor with Amelie at such late hour.

"Boris, we've been friends ever since Amelie came here for the first time after what happened, and you know I wouldn't say this if I didn't believe you could do this alone, but you need to hire another caretaker or at least a house keeper so she can help you with normal activities." He started, knowing the man was stubborn and also felt responsible of taking care of Amelie after the accident. "I mean look at you! Did she hit you or?" He asked, noticing that the bruise was already fading, which meant that it happened some time ago but still made it concerning since Amelie was never violent before.

Boris sighed once again, making Bruce wonder if that was the only thing the man did all day, before explaining "It was my fault, I entered the house late at night after having to run to the store to grab a few things that I needed badly for Amelie and for lunch but she thought I was an intruder, she didn't recognise me," he stopped for a second to take a deep breath, tears slowly running down his eyes as he remembered the look of fear in Amelie's face as she didn't recognise him, "I managed to take off my hat but she did manage to throw a small statue we had in the living room at my face" he finished.

Bruce patted the man's back when he heard Boris's sigh and offered him a few tissues, knowing the man was tired and would finally accept his help in the form of a caretaker or house keeper that he would pay for, even though he's already paying for his mortgage and every single bill without the Belarusian man knowing, not wanting him to feel indebted to the richer man than he already felt.

"Maybe a house keeper can help me, the house is honestly a mess and I can't keep up with it, plus I can't keep looking out for her when cooking, it's just impossible for me only" Boris said before starting devouring all the sandwiches on the plate, stopping once or twice to drink some tea so he wouldn't choke. He blushed when he noticed Bruce watching him "I haven't eaten in two days, Amelie has been incredibly difficult and I never found the time to eat" he explained and thanked Alfred when the older man presented him with a plate full of pasta that he made for the starving man once he heard his stomach grumble loudly when he entered the kitchen.

Bruce smiled at him and patted him on the back once again "it's ok Boris, I'll hire someone and pay for it, you just relax here for a bit and eat, you look spent" he said before suddenly hearing Barbara's voice in his ears, telling him that another body was found in an alley thanks to a few cameras around and she already notified the police but he should send someone there before the police ruins the crime scene.

The man quickly got up and escused himself out of the room to use the comms in his ear to tell Damian and Duke to go, telling both boys that this was top priority and to go immediately, ignoring Damian's complaints since he was with Amelie and she was finally telling him and Jason a new story about [Y/N]. He once again ignored the boy's complains and ordered him to go with Duke as he needed him to protect Duke while he was using his meta abilities as all the previous crime scenes didn't reveal anything so they needed Duke's abilities to know something.

As he finished speaking to Damian and receiving confirmation that he was going with Duke he went back into the kitchen to smile at Boris, who was at his second plate of pasta and absolutely devouring the dish, and gave him a quick excuse "sorry, some problems at the WE, make yourself comfortable and Alfred will take care of everything" before leaving to the batcave, sending a quick text to everyone currently in the Manor to not leave anything bat related upstairs as there were guests staying in the Manor. He sent the text as he entered the elevator, the doors closing in front of him as his thumb pressed sent on the text.

When the doors of the elevator opened again to show the familiar cave he quickly ran to the batcomputer to check the video that Babs sent, a bit surprised when he saw that Tim wasn't on the chair right in front of the computer like he expected but he quickly found him once he scanned the room, sleeping on the floor with Stephanie on top of him as she sipped on her tea and using her phone like she didn't do anything when she noticed Bruce looking at her with his usual dissapointed stare.

"Hey I warned him, he's the one who played that whistle again so I just executed on my threat" was the only thing she said before going back to using her phone like nothing happened, making Bruce sigh but he didn't do anything about it since Tim was sleeping instead of focusing on the case and drinking ungodly amounts of coffee and energy drinks. "Just move him to his room afterwards, don't want him to sleep in the cave" was the only thing he said as he sat on the chair and focused on the multitude of screens of the batcomputer.

He opened the new video once he finally received the notification from Babs, keeping his line with Duke and Damian open to be ready if anything happened to the two while at the crime scene, before sitting back to watch the video, hoping that it wouldn't be as useless as the others they had.

Duke was in his bike with Damian behind him with his own helmet, talking with Babs on the comms as she guided him to the crime scene, breaking so many laws as he drove since he knew that if he got there after the GCPD then the crime scene would be ruined and it would be difficult for him to use his ability with police officers walking around the crime scene.

As he took a very sharp turn he quickly switched his comms line to talk with Damian and asked "you ok there little man?", knowing that he was driving very dangerously but he couldn't afford to waste a single second by following the law at the moment. He laughed when he just heard Damian click his tongue and then just lightly hit the side of his helmet to say that he was ok.

The duo quickly got off the bike when they finally reached the alley and Damian quickly went around it to close off the alley both ways so the GCPD wouldn't enter it without his permission and mess up the crime scene while Duke set his bike in the other side of the road in another alley before finally walking inside the right alley, stepping over the yellow tape Damian quickly put before going to the other side of the alley, taking many pictures of all the blood he saw on the floor in small puddles, alongside a phone that he quickly put in an evidence bag so Babs could see if there was anything that could be useful.

He found a gun with only one bullet inside while the bullets rounds were lying around before the body, and as he grabbed it to put in an evidence plastic bag, alongside the used bullets rounds in another bag. He quickly found the bullets that were fired in a small pile next to the victim's body, all covered in blood and obviously having been taken out of whoever got shot, making him shudder when he saw them as he wondered who was crazy enough to actually pull the bullets out of their body and leave them on a pile like they were returning them.

When he finally reached the body he had to give himself a minute at the sight of the man's slaughtered throat, feeling bile coming up his throat as he couldn't manage to look away at the man's body, the terrified expression on the poor man's face as he died still impressed on his face, his clothes tattered and in some parts torn that Duke's first thought was that he got attacked by a wild animal but the clean cuts on his arms and cheeks showed that it wasn't an animal.

As he stared at the corpse his hand slowly travelled to his throat as he felt pain from it, like he was experiencing the same pain the man felt when it happened and he didn't even use his powers to see the past, making him even more horrified at what he was seeing.

With trembling hands he raised his phone to take some photos of the body and the black veins that showed on the side of his neck, making Duke think that the man probably got poisoned but he couldn't pinpoint the exact poison used just from the black in his veins and skin.

As he kept taking photos he noticed that the black travelled down to his right arm, probably where the man got poisoned with a needle or knife but he couldn't see it from where he was standing so he slowly encouraged himself to move, trying his hardest not to puke as he put on some gloves so he wouldn't leave any prints that could incriminate him or ruin the crime scene.

He slowly raised the torn sleeve of the man's shirt to hopefully find the knife or needle wound but instead he saw something that made him connect his mask camera's to the batcomputer so Bruce could see what the boy was seeing, as he was sure the photo wouldn't be able to capture everything he was seeing.

The right arm of the man had a bite mark that was obviously made by a human mouth, making Duke feel sick and almost puke as he could see how deep the bite was just by the skin around it broke, showing signs of struggle from the man but that didn't do anything to stop it or making it let go of him.

Duke got up and made a signal to Damian to stay alert as he was gonna use his powers and needed the boy to be ready since he would be vulnerable while watching what happened, afraid of what he was gonna see after seeing the man's wounds and bite. He also turned off his mask's camera to not worry Bruce once it all turned black from his powers.

He sighed and started using the shadows of the alley to use his Ghost vision, his eyes turning white completely as his body froze in place to watch and finally know who the killer was.

(this is what happened, it will be written with italics)

Duke opened his eyes and saw that he was now in the same alley and was standing right in front of the guy, now alive and animatedly talking on the phone with someone as he paced back and fort in the alley while smoking a cigarette.

Duke ignored the man's conversation with whoever he was at the other end of the phone call to slowly walk around the alley, mostly to see if there was anything suspicious that wasn't there when he first came to check the body but unfortunately everything was the same as when he arrived for the first time.

He kept looking around for a bit before stopping when he heard an ominous whistle, the same one he heard from all the videos Babs sent them, making him grab his eskrima sticks to defend himself and the man out of habit before remembering that this already happened and he couldn't do anything to stop whatever happened next.

Duke looked back at the man when he heard him stop talking after he heard the whistle, his face turning into a terrified expression, his phone dropping on the floor as he tried to grab his gun with shaking hands, making it more difficult for the man as Duke could see how nervous he was. Both men froze as they heard the same whistle from the same being but with more insistence to it, like they were asking permission or calling for someone with how insistent the whistle sounded to the African-American teen.

Both men quickly looked to the other side of the alley, showing a badly illuminated street thanks to a broken streetlamp that kept going on and off, showing an empty street but once it went off and on again a kid, maybe 14 years old or less was standing in the alley under the streetlight.

As they both stared at the kid, Duke tried to study the kid since the alley wasn't that big but could only see up to the kid's face, even though most of it was hidden by a white mask that was familiar but he couldn't really see it perfectly from that distance while the man was cursing under his breath in Italian, making Duke wonder who the kid was and how the man knew them and especially wanted to know why he was so scared of them.

Then, all of the sudden, a low whistle came from the rooftop of one of the buildings around them, making the kid jump up in joy before getting in position, making Duke curse under his breath as he managed to understand that the kid was he killer from how scared the man was after he heard the other whistle.

Everything else happened in such a blur that Duke thought Flash was in Gotham by how fast the kid was that even he had difficulty see them, before seeing that they were biting the man's arm, their teeth so deep in the skin that blood was already trickling out the kid's mouth and into the floor to form a few small puddles.

In panic and from the pain of the bite, Duke witnessed the man shoot the kid in the leg for two times and three times on the sides when he saw that the kid didn't even flinch from being shot in the leg but the kid remained attached to his arm, black slowly spreading around their mouth to the man's skin, making him drop the gun.

Once the kid finally pulled away from the man, Duke could see that the venom was already spreading from the black spreading through the man's arm and was slowly going to his head.

Duke kept watching in horror and in guilt as he could've been there to save the man but instead of patrolling the street he was back at the cave to help the others solve the case of these killings while the actual murderer was watching one of their many victims cry and beg for their life while smiling with their mouth full of blood of the victim.

He thought that would be the end of it, that the kid would kill the man by tearing his throat open but instead the kid skipped over the man, making the man stumble back before falling on the floor, claws coming out of their fingers like cats, and just started scratching the poor man body with no objective, their smile the worst thing Duke was seeing as he could see how the kid wasn't being forced or controlled by someone.

No, they were doing this because they liked it. They thought it was fun.

As the vigilante watched, he heard another whistle from the same person but it was shorter, like the person was calling the kid like it was time to go home and to stop playing since the kid looked annoyed when they heard that whistle since their smile got replaced by a pout.

Duke watched as the kid huffed and looked down at the man before smiling once again and leaned down as the man kept begging to be let go, that he wouldn't work for The Penguin anymore and that he was sorry for everything he did but the kid just kept smiling as they put their hand on the man's neck, their claws slowly retracting but not going fully back.

The kid kept smiling as the mask stared right into the man's eyes as he calmed down, thinking the kid was gonna let go of him, like he was spared and got lucky before his eyes got wide in fear and pain as the kid's claws came out and the kid tore open his throat, his hands trembling as he tried to cover the bleeding wound, his fingers and hands already covered in blood by how fast he was losing blood.

Duke just watched as the man's eyes filled with tears as he watched the mask of the kid and their smile, knowing that his death wasn't an act of revenge or because he was a bad person. His death was just the sick ending of a game the kid was playing and he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He kept watching as the kid then used a wall as support as they used their claws to pull out the bullets like nothing happened, leaving all of them on a small pile near the man, making Duke wonder once again what even the kid was when they weren't reacting to pain normal people would be screaming and crying from.

The last thing he saw before the vision stopped was the face of the kid staring directly at him, like they knew he was there since they gave him the biggest smile possible and even waved at him before his vision went black, their mask the only thing he could see as he was still trying to remember where he saw a mask like the one they were wearing.

(end of flashback)

Duke gasped as he finally woke up to the real time and not watching the murder happen before starting to hyperventilate and move around in the alley like he couldn't see as he couldn't figure out what was happening around him and he couldn't stop seeing the kid's smile and the man's face filled with terror as he couldn't do anything to help the victim and was made to watch a slaughter.

In his panic he didn't see Damian running up to him and calling his vigilante name but could feel someone pushing him and moving him before feeling himself getting carried somewhere, surely by Damian as he knew he was the only one there that could help him.

Everything else happened in a blur, he could feel himself being carried somewhere via grappling hook as he could feel the wind on his face and then the cold bricks of the rooftops under his fingers, making him calm down as he could feel that he wasn't in the alley.

He did relax a bit once he knew he wasn't in that alley but just couldn't calm down, his mind too focused on what he saw and wouldn't let him remember any of his calming techniques that Bruce and Jason taught him, his eyes slowly filling up with tears as he felt like he was gonna pass out as he kept gasping but felt like no air was entering his lungs.

Duke was still gasping for air when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Bruce's face without his cowl, making the poor boy surprised as he knew the man's strict rules on the masks when out on patrol before seeing the man breathing and gesturing the boy to copy him and after a few tries where Duke couldn't focus enough and started crying he managed to copy Bruce's breathing, his mind slowling down as oxygen finally started entering his lungs.

He smiled at the man when he finally calmed down enough to not need to copy's Bruce's breathing and just hugged the man, too grateful to care that they were on patrol and that he had important information about the murder that happened in the alley. No, he just needed a moment in his father's arms, even though his real father was still at the hospital but Bruce was there and he needed to feel protected and safe and he knew that Bruce's arms where he felt the safest.

As the two hugged, he looked at Damian and just smiled when he saw that the boy was standing next to them, hand on his katana to be ready if anyone suddenly came to attack them, making a mental note to hug the younger boy when they would go back to the Cave.

[Damian Pov]

He was annoyed. He was angry.

Those were the only two emotions he felt as he waited in the alley while Duke used his meta abilities for the case. He should've been home with Amelie, listening to another story of his older sibling and how they would climb stuff just to grab something because they refused to admit that they needed the small ladder they had in the kitchen that was there specifically for them.

But instead he was on a smelly alleyway in Gotham and waiting for the police while playing on his phone, acting distracted but he was still high alert and ready to strike anyone with a small batarang if they were going to attack Duke while he was watching.

While waiting he did feel watched but even after doing a quick check around the alley and the rooftops near the alley showed that there was no one the younger vigilante considered a threat to him and the yellow vigilante, making him even more frustrated as he was craving for a fight just to relieve some stress.

After a bit he noticed that the GCPD had finally came with Jim Gordon in one of the two cars so he quickly walked up to the detective so he could start the investigations right after Signal was done using his abilities, discussing with the older man about the murder and how the police should take care of the evidence as he saw in the other case files the detectives didn't take everything around the victim and there was some missing information because of the missing evidence, which didn't sit right with Damian and made him even more annoyed that the police wasn't doing its job right.

While talking he suddenly heard some noises from the alley and as he turned around he could already see Duke in distress by the way he moved and breather that he immediately ran up to him and after assessing the situation and how Duke was too much in distress to answer him he managed to pick him up and grapple away, using the comms to call Babs and how he needed someone to come help him as he didn't know how to calm Duke.

Once he reached a rooftop that Babs said was safe since it didn't have any cameras around, he quickly put Duke down and tried to calm him down using Dick's lessons but couldn't manage to get Duke focus on him as he kept moving and pushing him away whenever he touched the older boy and didn't listen to him.

As he kept trying to calm down Duke he started to grow frustrated, not towards Duke as he knew he probably saw something that shocked him deeply which caused the panic attack, but he was frustrated with himself as he couldn't remember Dick's advice and seeing how he couldn't help Duke made him feel helpless.

He was an assassin, he knew how to kill a man with just a pen and leave no traces. He knew every poison known and unknown to man and was incredibly smart for his age but couldn't manage to help one of his family out of an panic attack.

He felt useless but when he saw his father land on the rooftop he couldn't help but breathe out a sigh of relief as he knew Duke was in good hands now that he was here to help and moved out the way to stand guard and protect them as he wanted to do something and feel useful in his own way, walking around the roof to check if anyone could get there to attack them.

As he stood guard, a hand on his katana ready to grab it if needed and the other on a pouch that contained some batarangs in case, he suddenly felt a presence from behind him, making him quickly unsheath his katana and attack whoever managed to get behind him before standing there in shock as a Talon, more precisely a kid was standing in front of him and blocking the blade of his katana with their hands. As he stared he noticed that they weren't using their hands but some sorts of talon that were coming out of their fingers.

He glared at the kid and let go of his katana when he knew that it wouldn't be useful to fight and decided to use it as a distraction by letting go of it, smirking when he saw the kid look at the katana falling and used the few seconds to turn his body around to kick them on the chest with all his strength to push them away, watching as they tumbled a bit before falling in another Talon's arms in a dramatic way that Damian didn't notice, too occupied to stare at the other Talon who just arrived to think that the kid was being dramatic.

He quickly grabbed his katana and put it back in its sheath, keeping one hand on his birdrangs while he watched the masked kid and Talon look at each other via their mask before the kid started signing stuff that Damian couldn't understand as he recognise the sign language they were using.

As he watched them sign he turned to look at Bruce and Duke and was shocked to see Duke looking like he'd seen a ghost as the vigilante stared at the kid who was furiously signing to the Talon and looked frustrated when said Talon signed something that they didn't agree with.

He looked at Duke and Bruce and made a hand signal to Bruce to keep an eye on the duo as he checked on Duke, wanting to see if he was ok and could keep his posture if the two Talons decided to fight the three vigilantes, confused as to why they were there as they managed to take down the Court just two months ago and sent many Talons to a secret building out of Gotham, where they could be fee from the Court's influence.

Damian quickly walked up to the African-American male and grabbed his arm, forcing him to get up "Signal, report on what you saw in the alley, make it quick. We don't have time to useless details" he demanded, needing to know if Duke had some useful information to use in the upcoming fight and especially if the two Talons thee were involved in the streak of murders happening around Gotham.

Duke looked down at Damian as he was still looking at the kid and the Talon who were still fighting in their own sign language, his face looking like he swallowed a very sour candy before starting to talk "a Talon obviously but they're different from the other Talons we fought Robs." He took a deep breath to think about what he was supposed to say to be useful for him and Damian in the imminent fight.

"You have to be on your guard when fighting against that kid Robs, they're the ones who have been killing people in Gotham" he started, taking a deep breath as he tried to remember what he saw and staying calm, knowing he could seriously put Damian and Bruce at a disadvantage if he had another panic attack. "They're fast and have talons on their fingers that can be retractable. Their bite is venomous and it seems like the venom is very quick to spread if you get bitten." he explained, shuddering as he remembered the kid biting that man's arm.

The trio froze when they heard the kid whistle happily and jump around like they won something big while the Talon looked defeated, a hand on his shaking head but the three vigilantes could see by his body language that he was amused by the kid celebrating even though his whole face was covered by a mask.

Damian immediately got in fighting position with his katana and signalled for Duke and Bruce to do the same as he knew that the kid wanted to fight before watching, confusion clearly written in his eyes, as the kid started taking off parts of their armour like their chest plate and throwing it on the ground until their only piece of armour were two metal pieces on both arms and legs while everything else was left open and was just covered by some black clothing that looked too big on the kid.

By the way they were taking off most of their armour, it seemed like they wanted to feel every hit on their body like a sick maniac who is eager to feel anything that brings them joy or even just a thrill of excitement and the adrenaline that comes with it.

Duke was ready with his eskrima sticks in hand and stood next to Bruce, unsure on who the assassin wanted to fight first but he was ready to help if they suddenly attacked either Bruce or Damian. The older man grabbed his batarangs and glared at the two Talons, unsure on what they wanted but ready to fight if they tried anything to hurt his family.

Damian watched in silence as the kid finished taking off most of their armour before staring back at Duke and Damian with the same smile on their face, a bit confused when he saw them frowning as he watched them. He was too late to realise what was happening when the kid whistled two tunes at the same time and stood next to the Talon.

The youngest vigilante barely had time to warn his father before the Talon suddenly attacked the man, pushing the man to a part away from the kids on the rooftop while the kid applauded as he watched the two fight. He turned to glare at the other Talon and barely had time to raise his katana to protect himself as the kid was suddenly in front of him and used his talons to scratch his face.

He struggled a bit to hold his katana, his arms shaking as the kid was pushing their talons to reach his face. Fortunately for Damian, Duke was there to rescue him by kicking the kid on the stomach, making them stumble away while holding their stomach.

But they didn't back down as the Talon quickly recovered in not even a minute and this time attacked Duke with their talons, who was ready with his eskrima sticks and defended himself before pushing their talons down and managing to punch them right in the face.

As the three fought, Bruce was fighting with the older Talon before noticing that he wasn't trying to kill him like every other fight he had with his association but instead he was trying to keep him away from his kids and the shorter Talon that was with him, making the bat vigilante confused as to what their relationship was as he never knew that Talons could form familiar relationships in the Court.

Damian frowned as he and Duke weren't strong enough to capture the kid or not even manage to make them falter slightly. He glared at the kid who was looking at their nails while waiting for the two to regain their breath, making Damian even more angry as he knew the kid was obviously making fun of him and Duke by the way they were acting.

He made a hand motion towards Duke to tell him to get ready as he ran towards the kid, starting to fight them and keep them occupied as Duke made his eskrima sticks connect to turn them into nunchaku, starting to whirled around to gain speed until Damian managed to push them away and distract them for enough time so he could hit them in the face, and in the process made their mask fall off alongside their hoodie from the way they fell.

Damian stared as the kid laid down on the rooftop floor, completely frozen as their eyes were closed before suddenly opening them and getting up with a sick smile on their face, not caring that the two vigilantes could see their face, pushing some of their hair away from their face as the hoodie let their hair free.

Damian watched in shock as he was standing right in front of [Y/N], their older sibling who was believed to be dead or missing after they disappeared 8 years ago from a car accident while on their way home after attending the kid's dance recital. The same kid who was now standing in front of him, looking no older than 12 and wearing the Talon's uniform.

He couldn't do anything as they whistled and looked at the other Talon, who pushed Bruce away and walked up to them, grabbing their stuff in the process before picking them up and walking over the rooftop edge.

He finally managed to move once he realised that he was about to let his older sibling go without doing anything and started running towards the Talon, ignoring Bruce and Duke's voices before yelling out a "[Y/N]", reaching his hand out to grab them but was too late as the Talon jumped off the roof and as he looked down they already disappeared into the night.

The only thing that he could think as he thought of everything that happened was 'I need them back', especially now that he knew that his older sibling, the one he heard so many stories about and dreamed of hanging out with them. He refused to let them leave now that he knew he would have the possibility to have them in his life.

And he would do anything to have them back.

[thursdayinspace]

post-Milagro ficlet

I got an ask from a lovely anon a few days ago about *the* quote from Milagro: "Agent Scully is already in love." This is part of what will maybe turn out to be a larger WIP, or maybe not. It stands on its own for now. But who knows. Anon: thanks for the ask! I took a bit of a different turn with this, but I couldn't manage post-Milagro fic that didn't have some angst in it. tagging @today-in-fic

Agent Scully is already in love.

A look at the alarm clock tells her it’s 3 a.m. and she hasn’t managed to sleep more than a few minutes at a time. Every time she drifts off, the same thoughts jerk her awake again. She can still feel the hand around her heart, the horror and fear, the absolute certainty in her mind that this was it, she couldn’t fight this, nobody was gonna save her this time.

But she’s okay. She’s not even hurt. There’s even a decent chance that she’ll get the blood out of her clothes, even though she’s not sure she ever wants to wear them again. She’s okay, and yet she’s lying here wide awake at 3 a.m., the past few days replaying on a constant loop in her mind. She has no idea why she ever even talked to Padgett. Quite honestly, she has no idea why she did any of the things she did. She has no idea how she didn’t end up hurt or dead.

She knew the risks she was taking. Interacting with your own stalker—a really fucking terrible idea. But it’s only now that she’s truly afraid. Now that it’s over.

Mulder offered to stay with her. He would have let her stay at his apartment, but she had to get out of there, and he understood. A part of her wishes she’d have let him sleep on her couch the way he wanted. Having him close by might be a comfort now. Or it might not.

Agent Scully is already in love.

One more thing she can’t forget, no matter how hard she tries. Padgett was clearly not well, and she never should have listened to a word he said, but she did. She listened, and she heard things that were never meant to be spoken aloud.

And Mulder was there. Mulder heard. She turns her face into the pillow and squeezes her eyes closed. She doesn’t wanna hear it anymore. She doesn’t want those words.

If it weren’t for those words, maybe she could have let Mulder stay. Maybe it would have been okay.

Deep breaths, she tells herself. Breathe. Relax. Think about nothing. Think about puppies and nice hot baths and the smell of freshly baked cookies.

A hand around her heart, squeezing. She can’t move, the floor hard against her back, and she knows she’s dying, she can’t move, she can’t…

Fuck. She rolls onto her back and covers her eyes with her hands as if that could stop the images from flooding her tired mind.

Jolting back to consciousness, her body tight with fear and shock, and Mulder right there, Mulder with his worried eyes, Mulder’s arms around her holding her close, Mulder, Mulder, Mulder.

She wants Mulder. Oh god. She shouldn’t have sent him away when he dropped her off, when he asked whether she wanted him to come up.

She could call her mom.

She could deal with this on her own like a fucking adult who doesn’t need anyone to hold her hand every time she gets scared.

A tiny part of her brain reminds her that this was bad, that she has every right to be shaken up. But she wants her mind to be wrong about this. She just wants it to be over.

She wants Mulder.

Agent Scully is already in love.

Mulder is the last person she can call right now.

They have worked out a system a long time ago for when one of them can’t sleep. Call and let it ring once, then hang up. If the other one is awake enough to reach for the phone, they talk. Otherwise they let each other sleep. She could do that. He’d understand. Hell, he’s probably lying awake expecting her to call. Which makes her that much more determined not to do it.

The last digits she reads on her alarm clock before she drifts off into a restless slumber are 5:28.

At 7 a.m., her alarm rings. She feels terrible. Everyone would understand if she took a sick day. But then she’d sit here all day with her thoughts, with her memories, with nothing to distract her.

**

When she walks into the office, she doesn’t remember getting dressed, she doesn’t remember driving to work. She’s not sure whether she had breakfast or not. She’s not even entirely sure she’s awake.

“Scully!” Mulder sounds surprised, and she manages to lift her head high enough to look at him as he walks around the desk. He comes straight towards her to put his hands on her shoulders. “Scully, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m fine. Just. Didn’t sleep great.”

He doesn’t let go of her, just stands there biting his lip and giving her that soft look that makes her want to weep.

She doesn’t need this on top of everything. Maybe she should have stayed home after all. She’s so good at keeping her feelings locked away. Today, she barely has the strength to stand upright or formulate a single thought that isn’t Oh god, I’m so tired.

“Go home,” Mulder says. “I’ll drive you.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I need to… I just need to take my mind off things.”

A stranger’s fist inside her chest, forcing the life from her body, merciless, cold. Pain, panic.

Mulder squeezes her shoulders gently. “You shouldn’t be here. I didn’t expect you to come in. I’m sure neither did Skinner. Take a few days. You need rest.”

She shakes her head, regretting the movement as the room spins out of focus for a second. “What I need is to work.” What she needs is to know if Mulder knows. She knows her fear is safe with him. She doesn’t know about all the rest. She needs something to hold onto. Something stronger than the fear. “I’m not going home,” she tells him firmly.

He hesitates a long moment, an eternity. Finally, he nods. “Okay,” he says. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Mulder looks very unhappy, but she can’t do anything about that. She just needs… she just needs something to occupy her mind. Before she passes out on the floor and dreams of a hand around her heart, squeezing the life out of her.

**

“Hey, Scully?”

She blinks her eyes open, disoriented for a second. Her neck hurts and her head is spinning as she sits up. Mulder is standing in the doorway. She’s sitting behind the desk. Right. She wanted to check something. He went to… do something else that she doesn’t remember. “Sorry,” she says, and wipes drool from the corner of her mouth. Falling asleep at the desk is probably not the best way to convince him she’s okay to work. A quick look at her watch tells her she can’t have been out for more than ten minutes. “What is it?”

He waves a file in her direction. “I think we should check this out as quickly as possible,” he says.

“Oh.” She manages a nod. Do they have a case? She remembers talking about something earlier that they decided to dismiss. She can’t even recall what it was. But apparently they settled on something. “Yeah, absolutely.” She pauses, not sure whether she wants to ask. She really doesn’t want him to know that she completely zoned out on all of it. But then again, she can’t exactly do her work if she doesn’t know what they’re even working on. “What, uh. What is the case again? Sorry, I guess I’m a bit… distracted today.”

“Yeah.” He gives her a long look. “The haunted hotel, remember? And it’s just an hour and a half from here.”

“Oh!” she says, pretending to remember, deciding she can read whatever is in that folder on the way to… wherever it is they’re going. “Right. Yes. Okay. And you want us to go there right now?”

“Why not?” he says, shrugging. “No time like the present.”

“Good, yeah, okay.” She suppresses a yawn and tries not to shiver too obviously. She has reached the level of exhaustion where her whole body hurts and she feels like she’s running a fever.

“I’ll drive,” he says. She doesn’t argue.

**

Out of sheer stubbornness, she manages not to fall asleep in the car. She even manages to make conversation. Her speech is barely even slurred. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

Unfortunately, he put the file in the trunk of the car before she remembered to take it from him, but he’s telling her some ghost stories about the place while they drive, so she feels reasonably well-prepared.

“Here we are,” he says, pulling into the parking lot of an expensive-looking hotel that looks not even remotely like she imagined. But after all these years, she’s come to expect the unexpected.

“This is it?”

“Yup.” He smiles at her and gets out of the car. She follows, her legs heavy, but she gets them moving, gets them to carry her towards the entrance of the building.

The spacious foyer they walk into screams “I’m way out of your pay grade,” and she notices guests and staff who all look very happy and not at all like they’re being plagued by ghost sightings. Business seems to be going well. Which is also not what she expected from a place that is haunted enough for Mulder to open an X-file on it. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, and something in his voice makes her turn her head and study his profile carefully.

“Mulder, what aren’t you telling me?”

He stops and turns towards her with a sigh. “I may have done something rash and stupid, and please feel free to yell at me if I completely overstepped any boundaries here.”

“Oh god,” she says. “What did you do?”

“I, um.” He directs his gaze at the floor next to her feet and grimaces. “I may have gone to Skinner and told him we’re both taking the rest of the week off.”

“You…what?”

“And I may have called here and booked us a suite. For two nights. A… vacation, I guess.”

“Mulder…”

“Two bedrooms. And there are go ghosts here, don’t worry.” He pauses before he continues, his voice low and careful. “As long as we’re anywhere near the Hoover Building, you’ll work. I know it and you know it.”

“Mulder, seriously…”

“You need to sleep, Scully,” he says, finally meeting her eyes. “You’re dead on your feet. You can barely keep your eyes open.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. She’s so tired. So very, very tired. All she wants is a bed. All she wants is for her memories to leave her alone. All she wants is to sink against Mulder’s chest and cry with exhaustion and the emotional hangover from almost being murdered. Again. “…Okay.”

“Okay?” He looks so hopeful, so relieved. Another thing that almost makes her cry.

Agent Scully is already in love.

Shit. He makes it really hard for her to feel any other sort of way about him. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Good.”

She frowns. “What about all those stories you just told me about this place?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I kind of made them up.”

Her laughter turns into a yawn and he puts his arms around her shoulders as they get their key and find the elevator up to their floor. She leans against him, letting him hold her upright. Now that she’s given in to this, the prospect of lying down and closing her eyes seems so overwhelmingly wonderful.

“Oh no,” she says, suddenly remembering something.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I don’t have anything with me. No clothes, nothing.”

He laughs and pulls her tighter against him just as the elevator door opens and they step out. “I’m sorry. I honestly completely forgot about that.”

“Yeah.” She feels such a rush of fondness for him it makes her aching heart flutter in her chest. “I’m noticing you don’t have a bag with you either.”

“Well.” He lets go of her to open the door to their suite and lets her walk in ahead of him. “We’ll just have to spend the next couple of days in hotel robes.”

“Maybe we should go out and buy a few things,” she suggests.

“Or,” he says, “you go and lie down and I’ll go out and pick up a few things for us.”

“But—”

“Scully,” he interrupts. “Trust me. I think I can manage to find a pair of sweatpants and a couple of t-shirts for you that will fit.”

“Underwear,” she says and blushes.

“I can manage that too,” he says, and she’s too tired to feel embarrassed about anything right now.

Agent Scully is already in love.

“Mulder?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the best partner I’ve ever had.”

“That’s not difficult,” he says, “since I’m the only partner you’ve ever had. There’s not really that much competition.”

In lieu of an answer, she hugs him, pleased when he puts his arms around her in return. She doesn’t feel the hard floor against her back when he holds her, she doesn’t remember what it felt like when her vision went black and she felt herself dying.

She really wants to ask him if he knows who Padgett was talking about. If he believed it. But she won’t. Not right now. There’s time. And maybe she already knows the answer. Either way, it’s true. And she’s too weak to fight it.

“Thank you,” she says.

He pulls her closer and sighs against her hair. “I just want you to be okay,” he says softly.

“I will be,” she promises.

Agent Scully is already in love.

Whether it’s friendship or something else that he’s offering, she knows that whatever shape his feelings come in, she’s never been loved like this before. By anyone. And even with all the ghosts in her mind, she feels like she might finally get some sleep after all.

[strangemaleswaps]

Strange Christmas Family Swap 2

Last Christmas I gave you my heart….or my body more like. A year ago on Christmas day, my family woke up to find we had all swapped bodies with each other. My sister Em with my mom, my brother Calvin and sibling Sam, and worst of all - me with my grandpa Boris.

It all happened because of a magical Christmas knickknack that broke when my grandpa dropped it. We were all stuck in the wrong bodies permanently. Calvin and Sam adapted the easiest, being similar ages and looks, though with completely different styles. Calvin went back to college in Sam's body, and somehow managed to convince everyone that all he did was shave his beard and lose weight. He did gain a good amount back, much to Sam's horror. Sam immediately shaved the beard off once they found out this was permanent, and got their ears repierced. Surprisingly, they didn't seem too preoccupied with losing weight, and seemed to embrace being chubby. They did start to shave all the chest hair off though.

Em reapplied to the same college she went to, under my mom's name, and actually got in. I guess she didn't mind how much older she was, and what people would think of her. Me on the other hand…well let's just say it'd be so embarrassing being a fat old guy in college. Not to mention how hard it would be walking to each class lugging around a huge belly. My joints were so tight as well.

I started living in his house, and surprisingly he actually let me, probably because he knew that if he tried to fight back, the neighbors would take my side because they wouldn't recognize him. I knew he got an apartment somewhere, but other than that, I didn't know anything about where he lived or what he'd been doing. God I hope he was at least taking care of my body…but I guess that didn't matter now that I was permanently stuck like this.

This year I was the one hosting, since my grandpa's house was much nicer than my mom's. Of course he never wanted anybody there before but now that it was mine, I was happy to have everyone over. My mom came over early to help cook the food since I would probably ruin the dinner otherwise.

“Ferris, this place is a mess! Do you ever clean up around here?”

“Sorry.” It was still weird seeing someone that looked like Em, but knowing it was my mom behind her eyes. Being so close to the real Em made it hard to take her seriously sometimes when mom scolded me. It probably felt weird for her too. I was in the body of her dad!

“And are these ramen wrappers on the floor? I guess you do live like a college student afterall.”

“Yeah. At least the place doesn’t smell like cigarette smoke anymore.” My grandpa was an avid smoker, and when I swapped, I quickly began craving cigarettes. I gave in eventually, but managed to quit a few months ago. I guess since the body was the smoker but the mind wasn't, it was a little bit easier to quit.

A while later I got a text. I unlocked my phone to see it was from Em. My heart sank when I read the message.

“Hey Ferris, I'm gonna be bringing my new boyfriend if that's ok?”

I showed my mom the text and she copied my worried look.

“New boyfriend? Did she mention him before? I think it might be too soon to invite him to Christmas.”

“I think she kinda already decided before she even asked. I think it'll be fine. I mean we've been like this for a year so it can't be that hard.”

“If you say so. We could just pretend to be each other.” I'd mostly started a new life and identity in the past year, but there still were some times I had to pretend to be my grandpa, like with his neighbors. It wasn't that hard, and I guess I could always pretend I was going senile or something if it comes to it.

Sam and Calvin soon showed up and we were waiting on Em and her boyfriend. When we got the text that they were on their way, my mom began cleaning up a bit around the kitchen area.

“Ferris, go tuck in your shirt.”

“But mom, I hate doing that. It…makes my gut hang out.”

“I know, I know. But just do it because it'll look nicer. It's not every Christmas we spend with someone we don't know. You want to make a good impression.”

“Ugh fine.” She was right though, we did want to make a good impression, even if our family was definitely weirder than you'd think. I headed to the bathroom to straighten up. When I looked into the mirror, it reflected a face that I now recognized as my own. It felt weird to think I used to hate seeing it, both on me, and on my grandpa, back when it was his. I wanted to grow a beard to cover the double chin and wrinkles, only to find out I really couldn't - it just awkwardly grew in patches. So I settled on clean shaven. I was an old man; it's not like I needed to impress anybody with my looks anyway.

I grazed my hands through my hair, or what was left of my hair anyway, and combed it back a bit. I then pushed in my gut with one hand in order to unbuckle my pants. With the way my gut just hung down, I'd gotten used to wearing long shirts that covered it up entirely. Tucking in my shirt highlighted it, but I really had to now so I took it, tucked it into my pants, and buckled them back up. I hated the way it looked, my belly seemed even more round and obvious. At least my belly was tucked into my pants instead of it hanging out.

I walked into the living room to find that Em and her boyfriend had already arrived. He was a regular college aged guy; must've had a thing for older women, or at least physically older women. He walked up to me to shake my hand. Definitely not something I was used to, having someone around my real age act so formal.

“Ah you must be Grandpa Boris right? Nice to meet you. I'm Aaron.”

“Er yeah nice to meet you too.”

“Em told me all about you guys. You seem like a fun bunch! Someone's missing though.” We all went a bit silent for a moment, but I needed to ease the awkwardness so I kinda spat out my thoughts.

“Oh uh yeah Ferris. My…grandson. Hes uh not coming.”

“Aw why not? Em said he was her favorite brother.”

“Uhh rude!” teased Calvin. Em spoke up to finish the answer.

“He's got his own things going on.”

“Ah shame. I'd love to meet hi-” Just then the door suddenly swung open, and standing in the doorway was none other than my grandpa - and boy, had he changed. I barely even recognized my old body! The signature slim muscle and abs I had were replaced with a chubby stomach contained by a blue shirt. How did he even get that big in just a year? What had he been eating?

“What's everyone looking at me for? It's Christmas! Show a little cheer for god’s sake!” he shouted. I can't believe he did this to me! At least he kinda got what he deserved. He was super proud of his hot body but it looks like he just couldn't keep up with the work needed to maintain it.

“Hey, I'm Aaron, Em's boyfriend. It's nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you.” He replied hastily. My mom suddenly interrupted.

“Well uh. The food is ready now everyone so feel free to grab a plate!” My grandpa rushed to the kitchen to get his before anyone else. He stacked a huge amount of food on his plate. I never realized how much of an appetite I had in my old body. Maybe that's why he gained weight so fast.

When he sat down, I noticed he reeked of cigarette smoke. I was so angry I wanted to tell him off right there and then, but I held it in because I didn't want to upset Em. So I kept quiet throughout dinner until Aaron tried to make conversation.

“So Grandpa Boris, how are you doing? I'm sure having a nice family like this must be wonderful.”

“Uh yeah, it's-”

“He doesn't know shit about having a nice family,” interrupted grandpa. I had enough.

“You know, if you want a nice family, you kinda have to BE nice first!” I shouted. Everyone went silent until he fought back.

“I AM being nice! I came here for dinner after all!”

“Yeah, only to stuff your fat face and get presents!” He looked as though he was defeated for a moment, but then started up again.

“Hey, it's not my fault you got a SHIT METABOLISM!"

“I worked out everyday to get that fit. What's your excuse?” Aaron whispered to Em, in between yelling.

“What are they talking about?”

“It's uh complicated.”

“Well uh I do have a present for you Em,” said Aaron, trying to ease the mood back into cheerfulness. At the word “present,” my grandpa suddenly turned his attention toward Aaron. Em opened the gift to find a little knickknack of an elf wearing a purple outfit. Definitely a weird color for a Christmas thing. It reminded me of the knickknack from last year.

“Well where's my present now?”

“Oh uh sorry Ferris! I only got one for Em.”

“Dad, you're not getting a single present this year!” my mom shouted.“

‘Dad?’ What is she talking about?” Aaron was confused now.

“Go to hell all of you!” Suddenly he grabbed Em's present and unlike last year, smashed it- on purpose.

“Grandpa, what the hell!” Em shouted. Aaron looked shocked.“Why are you calling him grandpa? I'm really confused now.”

“It's um…” started Em. “We uh swapped bodies last Christmas.”

“WHAT?” The next couple minutes we spent reintroducing ourselves.

“Oh shit. So you're your own mom? That's freaky. Very freaky.”

“So wait, the real Ferris is Grandpa Boris? Oh man that's gotta suck.”

“And I was super skinny before he trashed my body,” I replied.

“Well anyway. We should clean this mess up,” started Em. “I don't know why we-” Suddenly it felt like pressure was building up inside my head and I noticed everyone else except Aaron got wide eyed.

“Uhh are you all ok?” The pressure feeling built up until it suddenly exploded and felt like I was flying across the room. My sight went dark for a few seconds until it all stopped. When I opened my eyes I was sitting at the other side of the table, looking at myself.

“What happened?” asked Calvin. “Oh shit a beard!” He grazed his hands over his beard. “Not again!”

It was then that we all realized what had happened. We were all back in our own bodies! Except…I was fat. I looked down at my hands to see a familiar freckle to confirm that I was back in my own body.

“Well this is awkward,” said Sam. “We spend the last year building new identities only for everything to go back to normal. That knickknack really returned to us again!”

“Hey at least we look like ourselves again! Well…poor Ferris.” I felt like I was about to cry. I began heading towards the bathroom to see the damage my grandpa had really done. I looked in the mirror and the sense of security I felt when I saw my own face was quickly shattered when I saw how chubby my cheeks were, as well as the double chin I didn't have before. I took my shirt off to find that my abs were completely gone, replaced with a flabby belly that hung over my belt. I had a pair of jiggly man tits as well.

I was used to being fat, but at least when I was in my grandpa's body, I didn't feel as insecure because most old guys are fat anyway. But now? I was just a young guy who really let himself go.

Suddenly I heard a door slam, so I put my clothes back on to see what happened. My grandpa was gone.“Yeah, he's never coming over here again,” said my mom.

“He's just…”

“Too much?” I replied.

“Yep.”

“Well, no need to be so down in the dumps everyone!” started Aaron. “It's still Christmas! Even better, the whole new year new you thing will be pretty literal with all of you.”

“Again,” replied Sam with a laugh.

“Merry Christmas!”

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-three of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I realize I am not letting this one go, but what do you think, are you more into the barbell look or should we put a ring on it?” Bernard muses, giving both his nipples a meaningful pinch as he does, and then a tight little twist. Kon isn’t actually sure if it’s more embarrassing to have someone pay so much attention to a part of his body that most of his other partners haven't, or if it’s more embarrassing how affected he is by the attention. How affected he is by the idea, even. 

“Told you I was the kept boy type, man, c’mon,” he says, trying for a laugh as he says it, and Bernard grins at him and cups his pecs and pushes them up a little bit again. Kon tightens his grip on his ass like–a reflex, maybe, or maybe more like a response–and lifts his cheeks a little bit more too. Bernard probably doesn’t, like, see that or anything, but–but it’s kind of embarrassing to realize, and he knows, like–obviously Tim saw, but since he’s straight behind him maybe he didn’t realize it was, like–like why he . . . 

“Yeah, so what if we kept you?” Bernard asks, his grin turning sly, and Kon stops overthinking because he is suddenly literally just incapable of thinking. That–that is–

It doesn’t help that he heard Tim’s heartbeat accelerate when Bernard said that. 

“Just saying, libido like yours, you’d do better if you were doing the kept boy thing for a couple,” Bernard mentions casually, since it’s apparently blatantly obvious that Kon is likelier to fall off his dick and also the bed than string together a coherent reply right now. “Or, you know, just getting regularly gangbanged by an entire superhero team, but that seems harder to arrange on the daily, you know? Like, more a special occasions kind of thing.” 

“I–you–” Kon attempts, face blushing and gut burning as his hips stutter, and Bernard just keeps up the light, easy chatter like he’s not literally on the guy's dick right now. 

“Like normally I’d suggest the Birds of Prey or just any Amazon expats, obviously, but right now I guess you’d be more into . . . I dunno, Young Justice’s always seemed pretty femme-heavy and I feel like Tim would have some weird feelings about letting Batman Inc borrow you, so maybe see about meeting yourself a few nice Titans?” Bernard suggests, squeezing his pecs again; rubbing and massaging at the muscle for a few moments. Kon is pretty sure he’d be boiling in the literal vacuum of space, hot as he suddenly feels. “Or maybe check if anybody in the Green Lantern Corps has some job-related stress to work out? Or like, what’re the Outsiders up to these days, actually, that’s also–” 

“Please,” Kon half-chokes, not even sure what he’s asking for, and Bernard takes his hands off his chest to wrap an arm around his waist and tug him in closer against himself, which isn’t even something the guy’s actually physically capable of doing but also isn’t something Kon is any kind of capable of not letting him do, and then wraps his other arm up around his neck to grip the back of it, and Kon somehow ends up less riding the other and more just–just rocking a little bit in his lap, pulled down fully onto his cock and just–just full of it. All of it. Just–all of it, while Bernard coaxes him into just–just barely rolling their hips together over and over and . . . 

“How’s that, boy?” Bernard asks, scruffing the back of his neck again. “Comfy?” 

Five seconds before the first time Bernard fucked him Kon would absolutely not have had any concept of having a dude’s entire dick up his ass be something that could count as “comfy”, but right now . . . 

“Don’t pull out,” he half-pleads, half just begs, and Bernard tugs his head down just enough to let him press a kiss against his temple and squeezes the arm around his waist again; rolls his hips up again. Kon stifles a whimper. 

“Naw, not gonna,” Bernard promises. “Not ‘til you’ve come again, at least.” 

“Not even then,” Kon half-mumbles, feeling a little bit–dizzier, kind of, every time Bernard’s nails scritch the back of his neck; slumping down heavier into him without really meaning to or anything. “Please? Please just lemme keep it a little longer? Feels so–feels so good, makes me feel like you want me.” 

“Aw, of course I want you, boy,” Bernard coos, and then just starts petting him outright. “You’re super cute. Super fun to pet-sit, too. And I already told you you could cuddle my cock if you wanted, didn’t I?” 

“Wanna,” Kon pleads, feeling all warm and melty and heavy and barely remembering to roll his hips in counter to Bernard’s; barely remembering to keep his hands on his ass where the other put them. “Wanna–lemme cuddle it, lemme cuddle you, I’ll be a good boy, promise, promise, promise–” 

“‘Course you will, boy,” Bernard hums, rubbing a flat palm up the underside of his fade. “Robin told you to be, didn’t he?” 

Kon melts.

[wikiangela]

Hi, a bit late but joining in on the @alliwantforchristmasislou project 🫶

I decided to donate to a polish organisation called the stonewall group (which is why the pic is in polish lol)

chose this one just because im the most familiar with this one, and they do amazing work in support of lgbt+ people and fighting for our rights in this... not so queer-friendly country 🫶

now, ive been in the 911 fandom for almost 4 years now (gonna be 4 in i think February), and i only started after the episode Buck actually bc it was allll over my dash. i binged the whole show in a week, before the next episode is even aired, I loved it SO much.

as most of y'all know, I initially shipped buddie - it was the big ship, ofc i did, i wrote so much fic for them and i had so much fun and met so many moots i still love seeing on my dash 🫶❤️ but it might've been obvious (or not, idk) i was kinda getting bored and losing enjoyment, more and more of my fics and snippets were focusing on other characters with buck or eddie, i wasnt really as into it anymore - but i still loved it and wanted to enjoy it (which ironically was killed dead later on by the buddie fandom itself lmao)

and then came bucktommy and everything changed. initially i tried not to give in but within a few days i had two fics and more ideas lol they completely took over my thoughts. ive never been this inspired to write, to create, I even learned how to make gifs for them (with lots of help from amazing talented friends 🫶🤣) during fall and winter I always get so depressed and sad and having very dark and depressing thoughts (last year my buck driving fic was a result of that lol), and its so hard to find motivation to do anything, even write. but this year, even tho I had a lil crisis moment, i wrote through it and im as inspired as always - i havent stopped writing since april. they're literally the most inspiring ship ever - and fun fact, usually i prefer writing about fanon ships, so this was a huge change and surprise

I always related to buck a lot, and especially once we got his bisexuality canon - checking out and appreciating hot people of the same sex and not realizing what it means is too real lol - and Tommy is so compelling and theres so much potential for so many stories there, I wish the show would do something interesting with him 😭 despite being so confident and cool, he feels like he's holding back some sad, maybe (probably) traumatic backstory that could be so good and interesting - and lou is such a good actor and itd be amazing to see more from him in this role

they wrote tommy as the perfect love interest for buck, and it was amazing to see it on screen, it was such a breath of fresh air to see this kind of queer representation on a network show, it was so gentle and adorable, and they initially handled it with so much care, and id love to see where they'd go from there 😭 the break up broke my heart not only because it happened, but because it felt ooc and abrupt and not at all like that's where the story was going. wish they'd fix it and give us tommy back 😭🙏

and lastly but most importantly - thanks to bucktommy, i met so many amazing friends ❤️😭 even when I was writing fics and interacting with mutuals on here, i was never really talking to a lot of mutuals, not for longer than a few messages, and now i got this wonderful community that i feel so comfortable in, everyone is so nice and friendly, and I love y'all so much, this is the best fandom experience ive ever had ❤️

thank you all, ive been having so much fun since april, i love y'all. here's to more bucktommy in 2025 ❤️

[lockes-woods]

10; Shelter in Place

!!!!!!!MDNI!!!!!!

Request: Here's my obligatory Mishanks (Sir, Daddy) request. It's not very exiting I know but I do love how you write them. A/ B/O dynamics heat, snowed in. I think i got everything. I’m looking forward to all your amazing stories. 💛

Requested by: @nocturnalrorobin

A/N: This kinda fully got away from me. The rest of the one-shots in this series will probably be around 1,500 - 2,000 words max. I think I'm so used to writing his pairing for Stuck that I was using chapter pacing instead of one-shot pacing.

WARNINGS: Anal, PIV, MxFxM, Threesome, A/B/O, Knotting, Snowed in, Smut, Heat/Ruts, Sir kink, Daddy kink, dp, creampie

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

-It’s the season’s first proper nor'easter and most likely the last one before the new year and it is a is a doozy! Northern winds have pushed the storm south at a breakneck pace. Those situated in any of the red and orange zones shown behind me on the map have been directed to shelter in place as the storm is scheduled to hit within the next hour.” Shanks clicked off of the news channel as the host transitioned from weather into a puff piece on dog safety during the winter.

“Well, it looks like we got an extension on our vacation,” Shanks said, he wasn’t wrong, your location sat right dab in the middle of the red zone.

“It’s supposed to be a record amount of accumulation,” Mihawk started reading off his phone, “I’d be surprised if we’re able to leave any time this weekend.”

“You won’t get in trouble at work, will you?” Shanks asked as the couple turned their attention to you.

“No,” you said shaking your head, “I cashed in all my vacation time. I’m not scheduled to be back until the 1st.”

“Okay, good,” Shanks nodded, “We should be fine on food and water. I’m only concerned about our access to firewood during the storm. I’m gonna bring in as much as I can before it truly starts to come down.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mihawk agreed, “This is some vacation, we came to ski and in turn roped you into being marooned with us.”

“Oh, no,” you joked, “How will I ever cope with getting to spend a few extra days with my closest friends.”

“Still, we should have been better at looking for the projected forecast; sorry Sunshine.”  Shanks said as he slipped on his jacket, before moving to put on his snow boots.

“Shanks it’s fine, really. We have a few more days together and I get to be doted on by two capable alphas,” you said with a smile, “I mean who would pass up that up?”

“We do not dote on you,” Shanks said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh? And who threw a fit when they found out I forgot my gloves at home?” You asked, teasingly.

“It’s below freezing! You could have gotten frostbite.” Shanks argued.

“I was going to buy a pair at the resort! How was I gonna get frostbite in the less than five minutes I would have been outside getting to the car and from the car to the resort?” you asked raising an eyebrow.

“Something else could have gone wrong.” Mihawk started in Shanks’s defense.

“Really Mihawk? I know it’s natural for you guys to want to care for me because of my secondary gender and all, but I’m not made of glass.” You said, rolling your eyes, “I swear I can’t tell if you’ve both gotten better or worse since college when it comes to taking care of me.”

“I feel like we’ve gotten better,” Shanks argued.

“I mean it’s not like either of you set a particularly high bar. Anything’s better than when you used to growl whenever another alpha got near me during my pre-heat.” You said, shaking your head.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing; you know we were only doing that because we care for you.” Shanks argued.

“Yeah, yeah,” you replied reluctantly, “I love you guys too, but it definitely hasn’t helped me try to find a mate. One of those alphas could have been it.”

“If our growling was enough to persuade them then they weren’t good enough for you,” Mihawk dismissed.

“Still, not all of us are lucky enough to find a mate that young. I mean fuck you both committed to each other by the time Shanks, and I graduated.” You pointed out to the older alpha, “Some of us are out here having to rely on heathub to get through our primal spells.”

“You’re not going to find a mate on heathub,” Shanks said, “Plus what’s your rush? It’s only been a few years since we graduated.”

“That’s not the point, I’m just saying you’re both very lucky. I barely have time to date in my free time. Which leaves heathub as my only option during my heats.” You sigh, “Speaking of my heat I’m gonna go take my suppressants.”

“Alright,” Shanks nodded, “I’m gonna work on the wood.”

“I’ll join you.” Mihawk said, grabbing his coat. You quickly retreat to the guest bedroom not liking the old emotions coming up with the way the conversation was heading. You took some calming breaths as you opened up your bag. You blinked away tears as you felt around for your suppressant bottle. You knew it wasn’t their fault for making you feel this way but fuck how were you supposed to cope with being in love with two of your closest friends. As much as it pained you to not act on your feelings you knew it would exponentially be worse to lose them all together.

You took one last deep breath before zoning back in at the task at hand. You furrowed your eyebrows as you felt around your bag still not touching anything remotely bottle-shaped. You had finished off a bottle the day before, but you always packed extra. Especially when you were going to be around either alpha, you had always been extra sensitive to their scents. To the point that when you were roommates you were sent into an early heat just by smelling the faintest whiff of their scent during their rut. You could feel your pulse spike as you turned over your bag and frantically shook out all of its contents. It needed to be here. Scratch that it had to be here. It had already been a little over 24 hours since you took the last pill, meaning that there was most likely none of it remaining in your system. Your breath turned sporadic as you cleared out all your clothing to the side along with your toiletries. Desperate, you picked up the bag and looked in every nook and cranny of each pocket hoping against hope that you missed it during your first pass.

You were in such a frenzy you hadn’t even noticed the souring of your scent as you went into the hallway to the bathroom to make sure you hadn’t just left it in there the night before. After giving the bathroom, a once over and finding nothing anxiety set in. Your breathing turned erratic. You had no idea how to cope. You were stuck here for the next 24-36 hours before the roads would be drivable again. You were so in your head that you hadn’t noticed the loud steps rushing towards you. You were in a blind panic. You could feel yourself becoming lightheaded one moment, to the next being held in Shanks’s arms. You took a deep breath of Mihawk’s earthy scent as you began to calm down.

“I’m sorry, fuck I’m so sorry,” You choked out, as your breathing began to even out again.

“Shh, it’s okay baby.” Shanks said, cupping your face and wiping away your tears. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until his calloused hands glided across your cheeks. You took a few more deep breaths as you felt yourself coming down to earth. Through your tears, you could just make out a concerned Mihawk hovering over Shanks’s shoulder.

“There we go,” Shanks said smiling down at you as your breathing finally evened out.

“Are you okay sunshine?” Mihawk asked. You swallowed a cry from deep in your throat as you blinked back tears threatening to spill again.

“I’m s-sorry,” is all you could make out.

“Baby, I’m sure whatever happened we can get through,” Shanks said, looking down at you with an emotion you couldn’t place.

“What has got you all riled up?” Mihawk asked.

“I-my I’m out of suppressants.” You manage to just spit out before your breathing begins to ramp up again. Shanks and Mihawk shared a look over his shoulder as you began to nervously ramble, “I’ll stay in my room. We could maybe barricade it? I could put the dresser in front of the door-”

You were cut off mid-sentence by Shanks’s warm, slightly chapped lips pressing against yours. Your eyes widened, as he slipped his hand behind your neck and tilted your head to deepen the kiss. It felt like your brain turned off as your eyes fluttered shut. You opened your mouth unprompted, letting the alpha dominate the kiss. A whine keened in your throat as he delicately pulled away.

“I-I” you stuttered as your brain began to buffer.

“I think you broke her,” Mihawk said jokingly, maintaining his monotone voice.

“W-what, why-” you started, still processing, “I’m sorry-” you started heading down a void of existential crisis; not being able to process what you never thought was an option.

“Shh it’s okay love,” Shanks reassured, gently, “We’re not mad.”

“What- but, I might trigger your ruts,” you said, still processing the situation.

“Darling, that’s okay,” Mihawk said, in a calming tone, “If anything this is a blessing in disguise.”

“A blessing?” you asked.

“We love you, baby,” Shanks said, explaining slowly as you began to truly understand the situation.

“But you’re married and mated. Why-,” you started.

“Love, we’ve been pining after you for a while now,” Mihawk cut you off, “We’d love to get you through your heat. That is if you’ll have us.”

“But, why now? How long-”

“Long,” Mihawk said, answering the unasked question.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you asked.

“We were too scared of losing you to make a move,” Shanks explained. You nodded understandingly as everything finally began to click in place for you.

“Would this just be a one-time thing?” you asked.

“No,”

“Fuck I hope not,”

Mihawk and Shanks replied simultaneously. You laughed at Shanks’s response, while Mihawk gave him side-eye. Your laughter was cut off by a sudden spark in your core, you suddenly felt very warm, as you clenched around nothing. The sole need of wanting to be filled floating to the surface. You bit your lip looking up at the two alphas, the tone in the room shifting as their eyes locked with your hooded ones.

“Alpha,” you said looking up between them, any lingering nerves long gone as your inner desire surfaced. The next few minutes were a blur as you were corralled into the master bedroom, sharing needy kisses while the couple took turns undressing you. You suddenly found yourself naked in between the fully dressed alphas. All you could do was whine as you ground against each of their clothed erections. You moaned at their size, too far gone to question how either, let alone both of them fit.

“Fuck, daddy please,” you begged as Shanks kissed over your sensitive neck. He honed in on that spot sucking and nipping at it until a sizeable hickey formed. You could feel him throb against your backside.

“How’d did you know to call him that?” Mihawk questioned, tilting your chin up to force eye contact.

“Thin wall,” you panted.

“Is that right?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you hummed, “yes, sir.”

Mihawk’s eyes sharpen at your claim of him as ‘sir’, he quickly tugged off his shirt before once again pulling you in for a desperate kiss. All you could do was moan into the kiss, your nipples rubbing against his chest, already hard from the drafty air.

“Fuck,” Shanks groaned behind you, “How do you want us love?”

“In me,” you begged, gasping for air as you pulled away from Mihawk’s lips.

“No which one of us baby,” Shanks clarified.

“I want both,” you whined.

“Darling there’s no way we’ll both fit in your pussy,” Mihawk soothed, attempting to stifle a groan at the feeling of your slick soaking through his trousers.

“Please,” you whine, “I want both my holes filled,”

“Have you ever done anal?” Shanks asked, needing your ass.

“Yes,” you gasped as Mihawk slipped his hand between your thighs, immediately finding and rubbing your clit.

“Do we need condoms?” Mihawk questioned.

“Mhm, no,” you whined, “I have the implant.”

“Fuck,” Shanks groaned taking in the sight of your wet pussy after Mihawk knocked your thigh apart for better access.

“There’s so much slick, I don’t think we need any lube,” Shanks said in awe, “Do all omegas produce this much slick, or is our baby special?”

You whine, burrowing your face into Mihawk’s shoulder as they talk about you like you aren’t sandwiched between them.

“Fuck, I haven’t fucked an omega in a while, but even in heat this is a lot.” Mihawk forced out, freeing his cock from his pants.

“I wanna taste; is that okay baby?” Shanks asked playfully, “It looks like you have plenty to go around.”

“Do be careful not to drown in it, that pool of slick’s big enough to warrant a lifeguard.” Mihawk teased, rubbing his cock up and down your slit. Shanks moaned unabashedly at the taste of your slick.

“Fuck, she’s as sweet as she looks,” he groaned, collecting a decent amount of slick on his finger tops before he began to tease your asshole. You needily ground back against his digits as Mihawk teased the head of his cock at your entrance. You rocked back and forth as their movements sped up. You were a moaning mess as you were manhandled, bouncing on and off their cocks. Your mind went blank as your orgasm crashed through you without warning.

“Fuck, where do you want us baby?” Shanks gasped out at your tightening walls.

“In me please daddy. Fuck please daddy I’ll be such a good girl.” You begged as overstimulation started to build. Shanks shot off first, collapsing against your back as his knot catches your entrance. You both moaned as Mihawk pressed on. Overstimulated tears kissing the corners of your eyes as he used you to get off. Just as you turned the corner of pain to pleasure Mihawk’s thrust began to get sloppy. He reached between you and began to stimulate your clit in rhythm with his thrusts. He held on just long enough to trigger another orgasm. Shanks whimpered in your ear as you once again clenched down on his spent cock. The three of you fell down on the bed in a connected pile of lust and years of repressed feelings.

There was no question if you were warm enough as your heat fully took over.

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

MASTERLIST

[tigirl-and-co]

Wahoo! Rainmakers fic is here! Merry Christmas! I spent highschool mildly obsessed with these guys, and now I'm proud to present what is probably the only Rainmakers x Reader fic ever written. I didn't check or anything. Who else would ever.

I tried to give everybody a distinct personality, please let me know if you think the vibes are coming through! It's meant to be set in a vaguely G1 universe. But more modern. Like if G1 took place some nebulous time after cellphones became common.

When I Think About Rain

Ch.1

"So what the frag is snow for?"

Watching a lime green robot kneel down in the snow and leave handprints the size of your entire body filled you with an indescribable emotion. Trying to figure out how to explain natural weather patterns to three of them gave you a feeling you could describe in a word: headache.

Looking from Acid to Nova to Ion, you tried to figure out how to respond. "Precipitation on earth just sort of happens, and life evolved to work around it. We don't really make it. We did try a few times but it just doesn't work."

Ion Storm spoke up from somewhere behind you, as blunt as ever. "That's stupid. You guys don't even control what weather happens on your own planet? Sheesh, talk about lower lifeforms!"

You shot the seeker a particularly unimpressed look, causing him to snort. He liked taunting you, and you weren't sure if it was because he had a crush on you or if he considered you 'one of the boys.' You were pretty sure it was the latter, but after Powerglide and Astoria became an item, you couldn't be completely sure.

Nova was looking up at the clear blue winter sky contemplatively, and it sort of hit you that Cybertronians don't have any childhood memories of winter. No snow days, no sledding, no digging caves in a snow bank. Snow wasn't magic to them in the same way it was to humans.

But Nova Storm didn't know what he didn't know as he turned to face his bluest brother. "I dunno, I think it's kind of cool. Having to live each day under a new set of circumstances, never really knowing what your planet's gonna throw at you. Be fun, at least for a while."

The leader of the group looked up from where he was poking at the snow to stare at you. "Sounds dangerous. Are you sure you don't wanna just move to Cybertron? We wouldn't even tell Shockwave you were there this time." You knew Acid Storm wasn't stupid enough to think it would actually ever work, but he hadn't given up hope yet that maybe you were.

Taking a swig of hot chocolate, you rolled your eyes at him. "Sneaking you lot through the spacebridge once every couple months is already risky. How're you gonna play off using it every week to get me food?" You gave a sort of faux-haughty shrug, playing at knowing better than the multi-million-year-old space warriors. "I don't see why you don't just switch sides so we can hang out more."

Suddenly, Ion Storm threw himself on his back, and even with the muffling of the snow it was such a powerful movement that you had to brace yourself to keep from falling over.

He lolled his head to look at you. "Because Optimus would probably make us actually do our jobs, instead of-" and Ion switched into an awful Megatron impression- "perfecting our acid rain formula."

You couldn't help but cackle at that, and all three seeker's optics softened. You were so small, smaller even than Soundwave's cassettes, but you weren't afraid to live loudly. To stare the Rainmakers, the flying horrors of Cybertron, right in the face and laugh about their boss with them. A life so fragile and fleeting that you refused to live in fear for it.

How were they meant to resist you?

Acid Storm found himself walking over to you. The loud crunch of snow being compacted prevented you from being surprised when he bent down to scoop you up and set you on his shoulder, you simply huff in amusement. So touchy.

Unable to protect your face from the sudden increase in winter winds from being up so high and simultaneously smile amusedly at Acid Storm, you ended up doing neither and gave him a bizarre and unreadable expression that stung your eyes and burned your lungs.

Laughing, he put a servo around you to shelter you from the wind. "Humans are all so weird."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure ours is the weirdest of them all," Ion Storm jeered from just out of your line of sight.

You couldn't suppress a snort at that one, and hollered a reply into the wind.

"Your human?" you couldn't help but call him out on that one. "Weird, I will own up to. But who ever said I was yours? I'm a free spirit, man, I belong to nobody but myself!" You hoped they could hear the smile in your voice.

Nova smiled back at you. "Well, we did capture you that one time," he rebutted, "which teeeeechnically makes you 'our human.'"

"Pfffft, no way! I bought my freedom fair and square! You let me go, so you don't own me!"

Ion stood up and reached over Acid's servo to seat you in the palm of his own, looking you dead in the eyes. "If you're not our human, how come we can just pick you up and you don't complain?" He narrowed his optics and sneered triumphantly.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head sympathetically. "Do you really think you're the only people who ever pick me up? Look at me, I'm adorable! People can't resist picking me up!"

You were too focused on Ion to notice Nova coming in from behind. "Aw, but we're your favourites, right?" He lowered his massive head down to your level, and if you didn't know him as the brains of the group, you'd almost think he looked like a puppy begging for praise. "We're the best at human-handling, yeah?"

After your heart climbed back down from your throat where the shock had chased it, you managed to feign being contemplative. "Hmmm... I suppose that's true. And I mean I did choose to spend a day hanging out in a snowy field in the middle of Fuckass Nowhere with you three, which probably has to count for something."

Now looking less like a puppy and more like the proverbial cat who got the cream, Nova grinned triumphantly. "See?" As he stood back up to his full height, satisfied with your answer, you simply had to giggle. In the low sun, his goldenrod colour scheme and general shape brought to mind a star at the top of a Christmas tree. His temperament certainly helped, of course. Giant killer robot or not, when he was happy, he had a sort of glow about him.

Acid Storm snorted.

"The Rainmakers: Scourge of Cybertron's Skies, and top-tier fleshy sparklingsitters." There was no malice in his tone- he really did just feel as comfortable joking with you as he did the rest of his trine. "I'm sure that'll put some real fear into the sparks of our enemies!"

You spun around in Ion's hand to give a witty retort. Ion fired a line at you, and you parried that, too. And so it went for the rest of the day. Eventually, enough hours had passed that your hot chocolate was gone and the stars had come out.

You smiled tiredly- you loved them and their banter, and you liked feeling like you actually belonged, but good God. There's only so many hours of witty banter in a snowy field the human mind can take. "Okay, boys. It's getting pretty damn cold out here, so we better get you home before I freeze to death."

Unable to tell if you were joking or not, they acquiesced. And in Acid's cockpit, on the long flight back to the spacebridge, you found yourself looking forward to the next meeting before they even left.