#he hates me and you know it! and you leave me here with kevin who you NEVER see

[mariatesstruther]

thinking abt the maria’s outbreak night. having many thoughts

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand her horizons, gets her first tattoo from Simon. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

[incognit0slut]

BATTLE SCARS

Part 2 of kinktober | main masterlist

What started out as innocently counting body scars with your coworker, who you were stuck in the same bed with, ended far from being innocent.

sub!spencer x fem!reader; Face sitting, male and female oral, body worship, cockwarming

words: 6,300 (I couldn’t help it the buildup was fun to write)

a/n: I hope this shows up on your page because apparently this app hates me

"THERE’S ONLY ONE ROOM LEFT."

Of course, there is, you thought, eyes glancing over to your partner of the day. Spencer was the one you were partnered with when Hotch had sent you to check on the victim's childhood home. He's good at deducing clues, was what your unit chief had said, and although those words were well-intentioned, you couldn't help but feel slightly dejected.

One month of working in the BAU meant that everyone would scrutinize you, even when you knew you were more than capable of doing the job. It wasn't like you were randomly picked for this position. You went through the same process as everyone else did. You were as smart as everyone was but it seemed that your boss still thought you needed a babysitter to do this simple task.

One month of working as the latest addition to the team also meant you didn't know your colleagues that well, which was why you wondered what was going through Spencer's mind in this current predicament. What did he think of the sudden thunderstorm hitting this remote town just as you were about to leave? What did he feel about having to seek shelter because driving in this terrible condition wasn't a choice anymore?

And what ran through his mind when the guy behind the counter, who looked like he didn't even want to be here in the first place, said there was only one room left?

"Are you sure?" Your coworker pressed on, eyes darting across the computer screen sitting on the desk. "Did you check every room? All of them?"

The man in front of him quirked an eyebrow. "Are you saying I'm not doing my job right?"

"No, he's not," you cut in. You glanced at Spencer, noticing he was constantly fidgeting on his feet. You might not know him well enough, but you were a profiler, and with the way he kept shifting his weight from one leg to another, you could tell he was uncomfortable with the situation. You wondered what had him so worked up like this. Was it the idea of having to spend the night with a woman? 

Well, he did seem like the type of guy who didn't have his fair share of nights with the opposite sex, but then again, you weren't going to start guessing his personal life. Although you did once see him act all bashful in front of a witness who, you had to admit, was the epitome of sweet and innocent. Her traits were probably on the top list of his preferred type, exactly the opposite of yours.

Huh.

So was it just the idea of spending the night with you that ticked him off?

"It's fine," you said, looking back at—you narrowed your eyes at the name tag clipped on his shirt—Kevin. His name was Kevin. "We'll take it."

Spencer's eyes fell on you. "But—"

"But it's pouring outside and neither of us should be driving in this horrible weather," you added. "End of discussion."

He looked like he was about to retort a reply when a sudden string of light cackled through the night sky, followed by another heavy downpour. He winced as his shoulders slumped, another posture of discomfort but one with a hint of defeat. You saw him reluctantly nod from the corner of your eyes.

"Alright," he finally said. "We'll take it."

Kevin slid a key across the wooden desk. "Room 306."

You thanked him and grabbed onto the key before turning on your heels. The walk to the room was extremely quiet except for the constant sound of the rain pouring outside. Spencer shuffled his feet beside you, and even though you wanted to fill in the silence, the thought of him not wanting to room with you annoyed you more than you wanted to admit.

Were you really that bad? Was the idea of sharing a room with you repulsive for him to act this way?

When you finally reached your shared room, an immediate sense of awkwardness washed over you like an unexpected wave. The room, though not large, was well-furnished and neat. But what caught your attention was the sight that greeted you in the dimly lit space. In the center of the room was a bed—not large enough to be luxurious, yet not small enough to be cozy.

Your eyes met briefly with his and a moment of unease passed between you two. Finally, he broke the silence with a hesitant voice. "I can sleep in the car."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his suggestion. "It's pouring outside."

"Right." He sighed, realizing the impracticality of his proposal. "Well, then I'll, uh, sleep on the floor."

"Reid." Your narrowed eyes fixed on him, your patience wearing thin. "The bed is big enough for the both of us. I don't mind sharing."

He paused, clearly taken aback by your straightforward response. "A-Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't," you replied, showing your back to him. "I'm going to use the bathroom first."

"U-uh, yes. Sure. Of course," he stammered, his voice trailing off as he watched you leave the room.

You retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind you with a soft click. As you washed your hands and splashed some cool water on your face, you couldn't help but wonder what had led to his initial hesitance. The storm outside was fierce, and the idea of venturing into it to sleep in the car or on the floor seemed impractical, to say the least. You knew that sharing the bed was the most sensible option, but there was an unspoken tension in the room, and you couldn't quite put your finger on why he had been so reluctant.

Turning off the tap, you took a deep breath. Whatever. He could act all uncomfortable as much as he wanted and you could pretend he wasn't even there. So you decided to shed your jeans, leaving yourself in the oversized button-up shirt that served as your makeshift nightwear.

The shirt fell gracefully to the middle of your thighs, offering a sense of ease you couldn't find in your uncomfortable jeans. With them neatly folded and placed on the bathroom counter, you looked back into the mirror one last time, straightening your wrinkled shirt, and ran a hand through your hair before stepping back into the room.

You found him seated on the edge of the bed, his posture awkward and uncertain. You watched as he shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting toward the single window in the shared space, his eyes narrowing each time a particularly strong gust of wind rattled the pane.

You decided to break the silence. "You know, it's just a little rain. We'll be out of here as soon as the weather clears up tomorrow."

His gaze finally met yours, and you saw a mixture of frustration and something else, something deeper, in his eyes. "It's not about the rain," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation.

So it really was about you.

His gaze then traveled over your exposed skin, and you could see his eyes growing wide, clearly taken aback by your choice of attire. "W- What are you wearing?"

Unable to suppress a chuckle at his sudden shift in demeanor, you decided to play along. "Do you mean what I'm not wearing?"

He blinked, his response caught in his throat, leaving him momentarily speechless. His gaping mouth and wide-eyed expression only fueled your amusement. You shrugged in response, trying to play off his intense gaze, but you felt his eyes linger on your thigh, fixated on the long scar mapping along your skin.

"Reid," you called out, and he looked up at you, his expression wry as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have been.

"Y-yes?" he stammered, clearly flustered by being caught in the act.

You pointed toward the bathroom. "You can use it now," you suggested.

His face lit up with realization. "Oh! Right," he exclaimed, his flustered state evident as he stumbled on his way to the bathroom.

The awkwardness seemed to follow him as he disappeared into the other room. After turning off the main lights, you left only the soft glow of the bed lamp, which cast a warm ambiance in the room. The covers provided a sense of security and comfort as you finally settled beneath them.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a white shirt he seemed to wear under his button-down shirt. However, unlike you, he still had his pants on, although he did discard his belt.

Seeing him in this stripped-down, casual state was a bizarre sight. You had grown accustomed to his poised and professional demeanor, and the sight of him dressed in ordinary clothes seemed oddly intimate as if you were witnessing a side of him that few others had seen. It was as if you were seeing him naked even when he was still covered in most of his clothes.

He then settled onto the bed with a noticeable awkwardness, causing the mattress to sink down slightly under his weight. He lay far away from you, in a stiff and distant manner, clearly still grappling with the awkwardness of the situation.

"Reid, relax, I'm not going to bite you," you said reassuringly, trying to dispel some of the tension in the room. A small, playful smile danced on your lips. "Unless that's what you want me to do," you added, your voice taking on a teasing note.

A brief moment of silence followed, and it almost seemed as if he was contemplating your playful offer. You felt the tension shift into something else, but before it could further linger, you decided to break the silence with a forced laugh, shaking off the tension. You then rolled over to your side, closing your eyes shut, ignoring the sound of heavy rain hitting the window and the bolt of lightning occasionally flashing through the sky. You just wanted to rest. You just wanted peace. You wanted to sleep.

But sleep didn't want you.

About ten minutes later, you groaned softly and rolled over onto your back. "Reid," you said, breaking the silence.

He hummed in response.

"I can't sleep," you confessed, your voice carrying a hint of restlessness. Turning to face him, you propped yourself up on your elbow. "Tell me something about yourself," you suddenly requested, your curiosity cutting through the awkwardness.

He hesitated for a moment as if considering whether he should respond to you or not, but then he eventually asked, "Anything?" 

"Anything."

"Well, I—uh," he cut off, and with a faint hint of modesty, he began again. "I'm extremely smart."

From all the information he could share, he decided to share that. But it was still something, at least you could get your coworker to talk instead of fidgeting in discomfort. "Yeah? How smart?"

"Well, I have an IQ of 187 and three PhDs."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That's impressive," you responded, but then you let out a scoff. "And extremely conceited. Someone asks you to share a fact about yourself and you decide to brag about your brain."

Your remark earned you a small, amused smile from him. "You told me to share anything."

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you leaned in a little closer. "Alright, your turn."

He gulped at your sudden movement but kept his attention on your eyes. "My turn for what?"

You laid on your back again. "Ask me something," you suggested.

There was a moment of hesitation as if he had been contemplating whether to ask the question and then his voice filled the air. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" You asked, your brows furrowed slightly.

"Y-Your scar."

You couldn't resist a teasing tone as you turned your head toward him. "Spencer Reid," you taunted, a playful glint in your eye. "Were you checking me out?"

His response was quick and slightly flustered. "What? No!" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "It was a mere observation," he clarified, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush.

Your laughter filled the room, a light, and genuine sound that seemed to dissolve some of the remaining tension in the air. "Alright, alright," you conceded, still amused by the exchange. "Observation duly noted."

Without warning, you kicked off the covers, a spontaneous decision driven by a mix of curiosity and the playful atmosphere that had developed between you. Your actions were unanticipated, even to yourself, but perhaps it was his flustered self that had spurred you on.

As the covers fell to the side, you extended your leg, showing him the white scar dancing along the inner part of your thigh. His eyes widened in surprise, his gaze drawn to your exposed skin. For a moment, there was silence, as if the room held its breath, and then he met your eyes.

"Fell off a cliff from a hiking trip," you explained, your voice softening with the memory. "I was exploring a trail and had a bit of a mishap. It left me with this scar as a souvenir."

His eyes flickered over the scar. "Did it hurt?"

You shrugged. "It did, but I guess I got through it."

Then, to his surprise, you began to unbutton your shirt. His eyes widened in disbelief at your actions. "W-what are you doing?"

You merely grinned in response, your confidence unwavering. You pushed the material of your shirt off your shoulder, revealing another scar, smaller and darker than the one on your thigh. "This is the most painful one," you explained. "A bullet from a handgun."

He examined the scar intently. "What happened?"

"A chase with a suspect a few years ago," you recounted, recalling your life before you joined the BAU. "We cornered the suspect in an abandoned warehouse, it was a tense standoff. He was armed, and in the chaos of the moment, a shot was fired." You gave him a smile. "I was the unlucky one in the way."

Your eyes locked with one another in a moment of shared understanding, and then you asked, "What about you? Any battle scars?"

He paused for a moment, considering your question. He seemed hesitant at first as if debating whether to share, but then he slowly lifted his shirt, revealing a scar on his lower abdomen. "Flying bullet."

He turned slightly, revealing a slight scar on his lower back, the result of a sharp weapon grazing his skin. It was a subtle yet significant mark. "An Unsub armed with a knife." He then laid back on his back again and tapped his right leg. "There's another scar from a bullet on my knee."

You couldn't help but tease him lightly, your tone playful. "Well, aren't you a magnet for disaster?"

His expression softened at your teasing. You stared at each other silently, taking in each other's presence in the close proximity the bed offered. You weren't sure how, or when for the matter, but it seemed the distance you both created grew shorter in the span of time you were talking.

Your gaze drifted over his features, from his brown orbs to his pointed nose, then along his high cheekbones before settling on the small scar underneath his jawline. It was a subtle mark, but it caught your attention, and you couldn't resist reaching out to gently touch it.

"What about this?" you inquired, your finger tracing the scar. "How did you get it?"

His breath seemed to catch at your sudden touch, and he stammered slightly in response, "I-I cut myself with a razor this morning."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his explanation, and your finger continued to graze his skin, skimming along the faded scar in a circular motion. "And how bad did it hurt?" you asked.

"Not so much," he whispered, his breathing starting to become uneven and it was at that moment you realized how compromising of a position you were in. He was on his back, and somehow you managed to press yourself onto him with a leg resting on his, your hips flushed against his side.

Maybe the rain, the rhythmic pattern of the raindrops beating in synchronized with your heart pushed your actions. Or perhaps it was being in the same bed. Whatever it was, the undeniable proximity between you created a charged atmosphere in the room. Every breath felt heavy, and the air seemed to thicken with unspoken tension, drawing you even closer.

You wanted to kiss him. How could you not when he was looking at you with those eyes? It was hard to ignore this sudden pull of attraction, but Spencer seemed like the type of guy who rarely made the first move. Maybe you needed to initiate it first.

"You know..." you began, your eyes trailing across his tiny scar. "I was thinking of kissing it better?" Your words hung in the air, and you felt him stiffen beside you. "If it was painful, that is."

A charged silence enveloped the room after your suggestive offer. Your heart raced, taking a leap at the first step in crossing the line. He could either play along or push you away, it was a risk you were willing to take, and you prayed he was into it just as you were.

"A- Actually," he stuttered. "I think I'm starting to feel the pain now."

You bit your bottom lip to stop yourself from smiling. "Oh, you poor thing." And before he could respond, you bent over and pressed your soft lips against his scar. You felt him momentarily freeze. "Better?"

You thought he was about to back away when he didn't answer, but then his words had you grinning from ear to ear.

"...I'm not sure," he replied, his voice cutting through the silence. "I think it still hurts?"

Your smile grazed his scar again, softly, barely even touching it, before you trailed down his jawline, stopping on the crook of his neck.

"I.." He breathed out, his voice sounding strangled as you felt his grip on your hip. "I-I don't think that's where the scar is."

"I know." You opened your mouth, your tongue slightly tasting his skin. "I'm making a scar of my own."

Your parted lips were hot against his skin, his eyes fluttering close as you softly sucked on the spot below his ear. You always loved receiving neck kisses, but giving them? There was a certain sense of power to be able to make someone shiver under you, and it was what he was doing right now, breath hitching every time you sucked on a different spot.

You cupped his face as you continued to trail your lips along his neck, pressing your body closer to his. You moved your hand lower, fingers grazing his jawline before it rested around his throat, and as you put slight pressure on your hold, you heard him inhale sharply. You paused, not sure you were hearing right, but then you tightened your grip around his neck and a soft, strangled moan escaped his lips.

You smiled.

Spencer Reid, you naughty, kinky boy.

"We can stop if you want," you murmured against his skin because truthfully, you knew you couldn't restrain yourself after this.

"N- no," he sighed. "Don't stop."

It was enough for you to throw your leg over him. You lifted yourself up and straddled his lower half, stifling a moan as you felt the hard pressure between your thighs, and pressed your lips against his. You couldn't stop yourself from kissing him with so much fervor. Your lips collided with his as you pushed your tongue inside his opened mouth—tasting him, exploring him, devouring him. Who would've thought you would enjoy kissing your coworker this much?

You pulled away and studied him. Spencer was a blessing to witness. His eyes were heavy and hooded, his hair was disheveled with some strands stuck to his forehead and his lips were swollen and parted as he breathed slowly through them. His pale complexion bore the marks of a flush and you couldn't stop yourself from pushing away a strand of hair from his face.

"You're so pretty." Those words came out of your mouth without much thought in which you received a breathless sigh in return.

"You're.... you're more pretty."

You giggled and ran your fingers through his hair. "You understand I'm not going to stop now, right?" He faintly nodded. "And do you know what that means?"

He shook his head.

"It means I'm going to fuck you," you taunted, a wicked smile curling on your lips. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to use that smart brain of yours.”

The whine flying out of his mouth was enough for you to lean in closer, your lips extremely close to his but not quite touching. "Can I be rough?" His strangled whimper had you wrapping your hand around his throat again. "Use your words, baby."

"Y-yes," he breathed out. "Please."

"Good."

You pulled your hand back and brought it down sharply on his cheek.  The sound startled you because it sounded harder than it felt, ringing out loud with only the faintest sting on your palm.

Spencer looked genuinely surprised. His head turned with the impact of the slap, jaw falling open.  He blinked himself back into focus and you were about to ask if you were being too much, but then he looked at you in a way he had never looked at you before. The dazed and desperation of his gaze moved right through you, flushing you with heat.

"Such a pretty boy for me," you said, gently rubbing his cheek. You watched him, a curious smile playing at the corners of your lips. In that moment, you felt a peculiar sense of power and intimacy that was unlike any other you had experienced. It was an odd but exhilarating sensation, feeling an almost illicit delight in the power you held over him.

You then slowly straightened yourself. Taking your time, you began to unbutton your shirt as his gaze burned into you. You popped each button open until it left the sight of your black, laced bra on display for his eyes to devour. Your bra showed a hint of skin over the top, bouncing a little as you pulled yourself out of your shirt.

You reached behind your back to unhook your bra before slipping it from your shoulders, allowing your breasts to bounce free. Spencer couldn't help but swipe his tongue across his lips at the sight. Your breasts were on display with hardened, aching nipples to taunt him. You brought them in your palms, playing and squeezing your flesh for a moment just to tease him.

"Do you want to taste me?"

He let out a desperate sigh. "Please."

You placed the palm of your hands on his chest before leaning in, dropping your breasts right in front of his face. It didn't take him long to know what you wanted, and he quickly wrapped your right nipple in his mouth, his tongue hot against your skin.

"Fuck, Spencer," you moaned. You shivered upon the contact. His mouth sucking on your nipple was making your head delirious. Warmth spiraled from your core to the rest of your body as he tasted you, and when you thought you couldn't feel more aroused than you already were, he let go of your swollen nipple just to give his attention to the other one, sucking even harder.

You couldn't handle it anymore. A moment later your fingers ran down his chest, brushing over his stomach to feel him tense beneath your touch until the second you grip the hem of his pants. "Take these off for me."

You had never seen someone move so fast before. The moment you climbed off the bed, he started peeling his clothes from his body piece by piece. He left no article on before throwing his clothes to the floor, eyes raking your body as you stood before him in nothing but your panties. Those were quick to go, however. You pushed them down your hips and flicked the thin fabric past your feet.

A strained groan filled his chest as he looked at you, marveling at your naked form with wonder. Thoughtlessly he wrapped a hand around the base of his hardened cock and your eyes instantly take in the sight. The way he was biting his bottom lip, fingers around his thick, hard length had your mouth watering, but you stopped yourself from giving in.

"Who said you could touch yourself?"

His body tensed. He quickly placed his hands on the bed as you climbed back on the bed, the mattress sinking in from your weight.

“I like to be warmed up a little first," you told him as you settled on top of him again, but this time, you scooted further, putting your knees on either side of his head. Spencer's eyes went wide as he looked up to see you wet and bare, hovering inches away from his face.

"I'm going to sit on your face, and if you can make me come on your tongue..." You started to lower yourself. "I'll give you your reward."

You felt his breath on your center, and the minute his tongue touched you, you let out a moan. He worked his tongue over your clit, swallowing every drop of arousal dripping down his mouth. You gripped the headboard and rocked yourself back and forth while he continued to lap on your pussy without any care for the mess you made. You were wet and sloppy as his tongue moved in and out of you, up and down your folds while also sucking on your swollen clit.

"Oh my god," you moaned, looking down at where you could see the top of his face, his eyes closed as he groaned on your flesh, wrapping his arm around your thighs while never stopping stroking your wetness with his tongue. He held you tight, keeping you in place, and there was nothing else you could do but buck your hips as you ran your hands through his hair and tugged on the strands, receiving a deep, rough yet excited groan from him.

You exhaled his name, not being able to find the words or the breath in you to speak as you felt the familiar coil in your stomach. He flicked his tongue over your clit a few times before gathering up your juices and circling back to the swollen bud, massaging your flesh with the flat of his tongue. You felt the bliss swelling inside your body. You knew you wouldn't last much longer.

"I'm getting close," you warned him, beginning to grind your pussy against his mouth. He groaned against your flesh, sending vibrations through your body in return, and with a few more laps around your clit, you finally reached your high.

You felt the warmth from between your legs surge through your whole body. Your pussy walls tightened as you kept rocking your hips against him, whimpering, moaning, crying out that you were coming. You shivered and trembled above him, tossing your head back, gripping his hair even tighter, and pressing your thighs together around his head.

It took a moment for you to come down from your orgasm, and as you did, his motions slowed down, licking you gently, his hands soothing down your thighs. You finally lift your hips off his face, hovering above him on shaky thighs.

"You did so well," you cooed. You slowly shifted down his body, and when he thought you were about to straddle him again, you surprised him by moving lower.

“Let me give you your reward." You sighed while wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock in a firm grip. "You deserve it."

He felt so hot in your hand, so thick, so big, and utterly beautiful. You slowly moved your hand along his length, stroking him gently as you watched his lips parting open from the pleasure. You continued to stroke him, motions slow and steady, and he eventually closed his eyes, head falling back against the bed. You swiped your thumb across the tip, his eyes shot open as he looked at you.

"Keep your eyes on me."

He carefully propped himself on his elbows to get a better view just as you gripped him tighter while leaning close. The droplet of wetness on the tip looked too nice to be ignored so you leaned in and licked it up, your eyes meeting his gaze, and his jaw slacked open in pure pleasure. A pause settled in the room before you finally took him fully in your mouth, giving him an exploratory suck.

You kept swallowing him down, your jaw stretching wide as you struggled to get every inch of him inside your mouth, wrapping your hand around what was left. You hollowed your cheeks and greedily inhaled him. His smooth, warm length slid across your tongue and his cock hit the back of your throat.

Without warning his hips jerked up, and you gagged, rearing back off with a cough, eyes watering. "I'm s-sorry," he apologized.

"It's okay, baby, I'm giving you your reward," you whispered before holding his throbbing cock in your grip again. "Hold my hair up for me?"

He did exactly as he was told, gathering your hair in his hands. Your mouth enclosed around him again and you repeated the movement, trailing down his cock with your tongue, hands twisting back and forth, lips sliding back down until you had every inch of him in your mouth.

You glanced up at him, brow-raising mischievously as you moved your head in a rapid motion. He panted out a whine, his chest heaving as he inhaled a lung full of desperately needed air.

"Please..." he whimpered, bucking up ever so slightly. His cheeks burned at the sound of his own desperation. You gazed up at him, entranced by his sweat-slicked, heaving body, so pretty and needy. He blinked down at you, your cheeks flushed and lips stretched wide, an utterly obscene sight as you kept swallowing the entire length of him.

And then you felt him starting to shake,  his body trembling while the grip on your hair tightened at every stroke of your tongue. You could tell he was on the brink of exploding, yet you didn't want him to finish inside your mouth, so you pulled away just as quickly as you began.

You could tell he was about to whine a protest, but he immediately stopped himself as you climbed on his lap, gripping his cock in your hand and guiding it towards your aching pussy. But then you stopped, eyes meeting with his, your voice softening. "Should I use a condom?"

"You can..." he mumbled as if it was hard to even articulate any words when his tip was already brushing against your wetness. "You can do whatever you want."

You lingered for a moment, grinding yourself against the tip of him, getting wetter as your arousal dripped out. "I want to feel you."

The whimper he let out was loud, almost pornographic. "I want to feel you too."

Then you began to slide his cock into you, slowly, taking your time to draw the moment out. Your body went tense in an instant, you could hardly handle the way his size was pushing into you.

"Fuck, you're stretching me," you moaned the words, tossing your head back while closing your eyes. The content sigh leaving your lips was loud when his tip finally hit that soft spot. You had never felt this full before and you wanted to soak in the way he was filling you so deep, so you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent as you sit there with his cock stuffed inside of you.

For you, it felt nice, but for him, it was torture. As warm as you were, as tight as you clenched him, he still needed more. With urgency, he reached for your body before his eager hands landed on your hips, a groan of desperation built in his throat as you stayed there, not moving a muscle. "Can... can you move?"

You kissed a spot below his ear. "Why should I?"

"I-I..."

"Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want." Your tone was soft, but you didn't drop the entirety of your dominance. "Do you want me to ride you? Is that it? You want me to fuck you senseless?"

"Yes," he rasped out as if he had been holding his breath. "Please..." 

You gripped him by the throat. "Say it."

"Pl-please fuck me," he gasped, gulping for air.

You smiled.

"Good boy," you replied. You began moving against his cock, grinding yourself over his lap, feeling him fill you up and hit deep inside you. It was almost too much but you remained focused. Your palms pressed to his shoulders as you pushed yourself up, moving your hips against his body.

He could feel you squeezing him. Every roll of your hips, every flutter of your walls, and every moan that rumbled from your chest. His huge palms wandered over the small planes of your back, caressing every dip and roll of your body. His eyes glazed over to where you were connected, the sight of your pussy clenching around every inch of him lulled him into a bewitching trance.

Soon you found a somewhat steady rhythm, circling your hips and grinding down on him faster, picking up your pace. You felt your heart drumming against your ribcage and the concoction of arousal running down your thigh and dripping onto his legs.

"God, you're going to make me come so quick," you cried, your hand lowering between your thighs to reach your clit. With two fingers, you began to massage your flesh while bouncing down his cock, riding him, feeling the tip so deep within your walls. You let loose, moaning and whimpering. He couldn't help but groan, feeling your walls tighten around him, feeling your juices drip down his groin.

You felt him thrust upward towards you, following your pace, and a second orgasm started building low in your stomach. You felt it everywhere, from the tips of your fingers to the edge of your toes. It thrummed every nerve, vibrating you to the bone. "Fuck, I'm close."

His breath quickened as he felt your walls clenching him, his eyes brushing every inch of your body. You were such a sight to see. He was entranced by the way you were thrusting yourself on his cock, your breasts bouncing from the movement, your taut nipples begging for attention. He couldn't stop himself when he suddenly pulled you in, momentarily surprising you, and sucked onto your nipple hungrily.

You cried out when you felt his teeth softly tugging your nub. You were supposed to be in control, and you still wanted to keep your dominance, but it was hard to when he suddenly planted his feet on the bed and thrust his hips into you at a mind-numbing speed. Harshly. Roughly. Violently.

"Fucking hell, Spencer," you moaned, holding onto his shoulders. "I-I'm gonna—"

His fingers dug harshly into the tender skin of your sides, his hips were bucking up uncontrollably, desperate to reach the blissful relief. His tone became ragged as he groaned what sounded like your name entwined. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that began uncoiling in his entire body. You grabbed onto his unruly hair, tugging it back roughly before smearing open-mouthed kisses all over his throat and collarbones, voicing out your whimpers right into his ear.

That was enough for him—he came undone, allowing his muscles to contract one last time as he spilled into you, filling you completely with warmth with one last thrust. You followed him with a scream, wrenched from your throat so roughly it seared its way out of your lungs and into the air. Your movements became sloppy and uneven, clinging onto him as you chased your own high.

The room smelt of sex. It was your first thought when you finally felt your body relaxing, your mind coming back to its senses. Never, not even once in your life, have you ever considered kissing Spencer willingly.

Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he had the most amazing eyes, and yes, his soft demeanor did attract you the first time you met him, but that was it. He was simply your coworker, one you didn't know that well, one who seemed to make a big deal out of spending the night with you... and ironically, one who had you shaking in pleasure.

You weren't sure what would happen next. At first, you thought your presence ticked him off in the wrong way because you were the new, inexperienced member of the team... but now you couldn't help but speculate the way he acted differently towards you had something to do with what just happened.

Maybe he didn't think of you as a mere colleague... maybe he thought of you as someone potentially more? You could be right, or you could be wrong, and there was only one way to find out. You softly let your fingers brush his cheek.

"You need to take me out on a proper date," you suggested through the silence. Then a smile bloomed on your face when you felt him dip his head in your palm.

The nod he gave you couldn't be anymore faster.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Cold as ice

a/n I honestly hope you all will cry the way I cried writing this because now I genuinely need four to five business days to recover. Because never have I actually needed to take a minute to sob in the middle of writing.

summary: what happens when Ellie stumbles upon a memorial that turns out to have both your and Joel's kids names on it. When the past pain is brought back to the daylight even the coldest of hearts finally break.

warning: pain and suffering first and foremost, tissues ain't included. Blood, wounds, shooting, killing, multiple death, loosing your kids.

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Ellie had slipped out of the shower. She hated being separated from you and Joel. So the fact that you walked away from her, leaving her with Maria, didn't sit well with her whatsoever. You had hugged her tightly before leaving, promising to be back as soon as possible and that you three would eat dinner together as you always did.

She had gotten extremely close to you. Yet there was something in Joel's eyes when he watched you hug Ellie that told her that there was more than you two let her know. She was aware that you two had been together long before the outbreak; she assumed you were married from the bent ring that was on your finger. But besides that, she knew nothing. Well, that you could handle Joel's shit the best of anyone Ellie had met.

She had seen and heard Joel mumbling in his sleep. Watched you rub his back with a sad expression on your face. And the same went for you, just when your nightmare hit - they hit you hard. Ellie had been woken up by your screams in the middle of the night. Joel's calm voice tries to make you calm down. She had only once turned to look at all of this unfolding; most of the time she just pretended that she was fast asleep. "Don't let them, Joel", you cried, "Don't", "I'm so sorry", Joel would sway you from side to side. His own eyes glossed over with tears. "Should have let me die instead. I should have died," you choked out, clenching the shirt Joel was wearing. His face looked stone cold as you clawed at him, sobbing.

Ellie never brought those nights up. If she teased Joel for speaking in his sleep, she had never said anything about your nightmares out loud. After nights like that, she would shimmy closer to you. Making sure she would be holding onto your hand more often or just hugging you every moment she could. Ellie couldn't help the feeling inside her that told her that you needed her.

Ellie hurried down the stairs, zipping the pink jacket she despised solely because of its outrageously girly color. Maria had left the note that she was just across the street, and as much as Ellie enjoyed being alone. She needed to kill time before you two came back. Plus, being away from you made her rather uneasy. She knocked on the door a couple of times. Yet no one answered. After more failed attempts, Ellie just let herself in. "Maria," she called out, stepping into the hallway. The house looked nice and was well lived in. Ellie had never seen anything like it. Even the smell seemed homely. She stepped into the living room, where the fire was crackling in the fireplace. Her eyes fell onto the three names written down with white chalk, surrounded by candles. Kevin, Sarah, and Malakai. Ellie couldn't help but frown.

"Ah, good, here you are. Try it on," Maria said, making Ellie jump as she turned away from the bored and took the coat from her hands. "Well, it's super fucking purple," "Eggplant, fits well?", Maria questioned, and Ellie nodded her head. "Who's been cutting your hair?", Ellie gave the woman a crooked look. "Am… world-class salons," she sassed back, making Maria let out somewhat of a chuckle. "I'll go get my sizers," Ellie argued immediately, but Maria stood firm, "Just the ends I promised."

The sound itself made Ellie cringe as she held onto the side of the chair for dear life. She hated this. Hated getting her hair cut. "I saw you looking at the memorial Tommy made", Ellie swallowed hard once Maria spoke up once again. She hoped this wouldn't be brought up, but then again, she was snooping. "I'm sorry about your kids," Ellie choked out, thankful that she didn't have to look her in the eye. Maria's movements stopped. "It's okay and kid. Just Kevin. Sarah and Malakai were Joel's and Y/N's kids", and a cold shiver ran down Ellie's back. Kids. You two had kids and lost both of them. "I'm sorry, shouldn't have said anything", "It's okay, it… It explains Joel's behavior and why Y/N…", but her voice died down. Maria didn't need to know about your nightmares.

"Look, I won't ask you what you are doing with them, especially Joel…" "Good," Ellie bit back. "You need to understand my concerns", Maria walked right in front of her, but Ellie only glared her way, "Be concerned about your husband, who did the same shit, if not worse". Maria let out a surprised sigh, "You have one hell of a mouth," and Ellie quickly stood up, shrugging off the towel that was over her shoulders, "And you are one hell of a sister-in-law if all you can do is throw shit at Joel." The adrenaline rushed through Ellie the moment the words slipped past her lips. She didn't regret them, but at the same time, she knew she shouldn't have. It was, however, too late. So she quickly stormed out of the house.

Her breathing picked up as she ran. Quickly slamming the doors behind herself. "Ellie?", your voice rang through the place, and she almost sank to the floor with relief. Like a lost animal, she darted towards the kitchen, meeting you midway as you stepped out into the hallway. Throwing her arms around your torso as she pressed herself closer to you. You couldn't help but frown as your hands ran through her hair. Confused as to what had happened, "Love, you are worrying me. What's going on?" You tried to loosen Ellie's grip on you, but she just clenched your shirt tighter.

Ellie almost felt like she suddenly couldn't face you. She shouldn't have found out like that. So she quickly stepped back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The worry inside you grew even more as you watched her. "Sweet girl, should I go get Joel?", you asked, but Ellie quickly shook her head, only now realizing that this involved him as much as it involved you. "Okay, well, you know you can tell me anything. I can't help if I don't know what happened," you said, softly reaching for Ellie's hand. Just this didn't feel like anything. This felt like the biggest thing ever.

"I'm sorry," Ellie rasped out, "I wasn't… I didn't want to… but they had a memorial," Ellie cried out, and suddenly it all started to make sense. You moved to wrap her up in your arms once again, "No one is blaming you; you were bound to find out eventually." You ran your hands through Ellie's hair once again. With a sigh, you clenched the necklace that hung over your chest. "You want to know the story of me and Joel?", you asked, making Ellie look up at you with mixed emotions. You nodded your head, "Well, let's make tea and sit down somewhere more comfortable." You knew that this was going to be one painful set of memories to unlock. But she deserved it. She was part of the family now.

And what a journey it had been. You met Joel in a supermarket. Where he was frantically looking for baby formula. The baby he was supporting with one hand screamed bloody murder. "Hello," you said cautiously, not wanting to startle him any further. His helpless, tired eyes snapped your way. You could tell that he most definitely hadn't slept in more than a couple of days. If not his eyes telling you that, then his overgrown and unkempt beard did. This male was a mess. "Do you mind if I", you pointed to the bundled-up baby, "You're in distress, and they feel it. Babies are sensitive to emotions", Joel's shoulders sagged; it looked like your words had finally defeated him.

"Just stand here. If you even think about doing something to hurt her…," you looked at him with a knowing smile. Trusting your blood and soul with a stranger was no joke. Especially being a newly baked parent. Plus, fathers were already way more protective. Especially of their girls. You pressed your hand to the heart, "I'll stand right here, just want to help". Joel nodded his head. Dropping down the box of formula he was holding as he moved towards you, lowering the bundle into your hands.

Even with her face all red and screaming her little lungs out, she was so pretty. You gently rocked her in your arms, "It's okay, gorgeous girl. Why are you crying, love bug?", you cooed at her. Fingers carefully ran down her cheek as you wiped away her big tears. "Shhh, sweet girl, you've got your daddy all worried. We don't want that, do we?" The cries slowly died down, and her big, still-damp eyes stared right at you.

Joel felt like someone had sent this as a cruel joke. His wife, the mother of his child, should be doing this, not some stranger in the middle of the supermarket. "Grab the mixture on the second shelf, more to your right", your voice made Joel snap his head in your direction once again. "I assumed you were looking for a formula. So that one should do her good. Won't upset her stomach if she's also breastfed", Joel clenched his jaw at your words. No, Sarah was not. Her mother had vanished. She didn't even know what a mother was or what it would feel like to have one.

You sensed the tension. Slowly stepping closer to the male, one hand resting on his shoulder. "Don't take this as an insult because I'm sure you are an amazing father. But do you want me to pop by and help out while you rest a little?" You had an odd feeling that the mother wasn't in the picture. That he was all alone. And the baby wasn't older than a month or a bit more. If this man was juggling that alone. Well, that must have been hard.

You hummed to yourself as you fixed up a light dinner from whatever you managed to find in Joel's fridge. Considering the empty cardboard boxes all over the place, it's been a hot minute since he had a proper meal himself. Once he drove you back to his, you quickly ushered him upstairs. Telling him to take a bath and catch some sleep. You knew that he would have fought you on it. If only he wasn't running on the last bits of energy. And you weren't snooping, but while you were cleaning up the kitchen, you found an open letter. A letter you assumed was from Joel's wife. She had left them two without anything, not even a proper explanation. You knew it wasn't your place to judge; motherhood was tough. Not all women were built to be mothers. You had written down instructions for Joel. How do fix a bottle. What different formulas do get, and how to switch them up if Sarah got an upset stomach per se. You wanted him to know that he wasn't alone. Even if you two had known each other for less than a day.

Joel stepped down the stairs hours later. Beard trimmed, eyes less puffy. He found you on the sofa reading a book to Sarah. One of her tiny fists was wrapped around your finger as your soft voice filled the room, "Why are you smiling? Am I that funny?", you cooed at her, making Sarah let out a happy grumble, "Ah, we even lost the pacifier with all the smiling, huh," you pinched her cheek carefully.

Joel was lost for words, to say the least. This was how he saw his family. This was what he hoped he would come down to with his wife. A sob that had held up for weeks, now finally escaped his lips, making you turn his way in an instant. You carefully set Sarah down before approaching him. Opening up your arms in case he needed a hug but keeping a distance in case this was overstepping his boundaries. Yet Joel did fall into your arms. He mumbled out all of his worries and questions that had been bothering him. He had no clue what he was doing. How nothing made sense to him now.

That night, and the many that followed, completely transformed you two. You had practically moved into the Millers' house. You lived not that far away, but the apartment was small, and since the job, you had only managed to cover the rent costs; you were barely getting by as it was. Joel needed someone to look after Sarah while he worked, so having you in the house solved that issue for him. But with each passing week and more, you three fell into somewhat of a routine, and you couldn't help but notice how right this all felt. You always wanted to be a young mom anyway. Sure, the baby wasn't yours, but that meant nothing to you. You cherished Sarah as if she was your blood and flesh. Joel loved that Sarah would grow up having you in her life. A true mother figure and did not doubt that as soon as his daughter learned how to talk, she would without a doubt refer to you as a mother.

Now, almost 12 years later, you still found yourself smiling every time you thought back at the time you and Joel came together, clawing through the struggles as one. "Morning", Sarah ran down the stairs, quickly coming to kiss your cheek as she moved to grab plates for everyone. "Morning, darling, is your father awake?", "Banged on the door loudly, but he's getting old wouldn't be surprised if he didn't hear", you let out a chuckle at her words. She often teased Joel about getting old. Especially now that his first gray hair had sprouted.

"Is Momo up?", Sarah asked, missing the sight of her brother in the kitchen. You turned to the living room, "Tommy is watching cartoons with him." Malakai was a surprise baby, to say the least. You and Joel weren't trying to get pregnant, but at the same time, you weren't always all that safe when it came to sex. When you feel pregnant, you generally couldn't help but have the fear of Joel walking out on you. Yes, you two had gotten engaged not that long ago, but the conversation of having kids together was never a thing.

Yet Joel didn't do anything but cry once you told him. He wrapped you up in his arms as you two swayed in the kitchen at two in the morning, where you had waited for him to return from his shift. "Tell me again; I still can't believe it," he muttered into your ear for what felt like a thousand times, "I am pregnant with your baby." Joel shook his head still, "Baby Miller..", he let out a breathy laugh. Hands coming to hold his head. With you? A baby with you? The most amazing woman on this earth. He surely didn't deserve it, but he was more than grateful for it.

"I know we might get tight on money. I do want to work till I get too big..", you blurred out, letting your biggest worries out. Joel quickly cupped your face, "Don't you worry your cute head about that. I will take more shifts, and we will be fine", yet you still frowned at him. You didn't want him to work any more than he already did. It felt wrong to let him carry the income burden on his own. "I can still work", "I will only agree to that if you are feeling one thousand percent sure that you can do that. I would much more prefer you stayed at home." You did figure it all out, as you always did. Sarah was over the moon to get a sibling, and now more than ever, this felt like a family.

Joel hurried down the stairs just as Sarah came back with Malakai in her arms. Your husband quickly leaned in to kiss you as he grabbed a cup of coffee. "Birth-a", Malakai clapped. Sarah leaned in to whisper something into his ear once again. "Daddy Old," he said happily, making you let out a laugh, especially when that proud smirk painted Sarah's face. Joel shook his head, "I'll send Cooky Monster after you two. Come here and hug me, you crazy bunch." Watching your kids wrapped up in Joel's strong arms always made you feel some type of way. He was the best father a child could ask for.

"No pancakes?", Sarah grumbled as she looked at the scrambled eggs in front of her, "Frown at your father, he forgot to buy it". It was a tradition to have pancakes on birthday mornings. One that all four of you took very seriously. But with the job load only getting bigger, you couldn't blame Joel for forgetting to get it. "Will we at least get the cake?", "I'll buy one on my way home, I promise," Joel said, scuffing down the egg. Sleeping in meant more rushing, especially when he still needed to drop Sarah off at school.

"Good cause it would be a shit birthday if we didn't at least get that", she said in frustration, "Language young lady", you nudged her shoulder. "Your shirt is insane out, handsome", you pointed your fork Joel's way as he dropped the empty plate in the sink. "No, it is not," he argued, looking down, "Dad, you are seriously getting old," Joel grumbled while taking off his shirt. You moved to feed Malikai, trying to hide your smile.

"You and I, tonight after the kids are asleep. I have special plans with you", Joel cupped your face, leaning in to kiss you a couple of times. "Gross!", Sarah shouted from the hallway, making you two laugh. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Miller", you packed his lips one more time. God, was letting go of this man hard. "I know what I am still capable of," Joel teased back, making you raise your eyebrows, " I'll be the judge of that tonight, sir."

You three had already eaten dinner. Malakai had been sleeping on your chest for quite some time. Sarah dozed off slightly as you waited for Joel to come home. He was late. That, of course, upset Sarah. You wished it was different. That she would see more of him. You hoped that now that you had landed a pretty good job deal, you could balance it out. That Joel could be home more often, and the kids wouldn't have to miss him that much.

The sound of the keys jingling made you stir as you noticed Joel walking into the living room. He was tired, as always. Sarah stirred from beside you. "You're so late," she mumbled, leaning more into you as you ran a hand through her hair. "I know, baby girl; I'm so sorry." Joel kneeled in front of her, carefully tickling her side in hopes to make the grumpy go away. "Did you at least get the cake?", Joel cursed under his breath. All the way home, he knew he had forgotten something, but it only hit him now. "Are you for real, dad?", "I promise I'll get the biggest cake I can get for you all tomorrow."

Sarah looked up at him, letting out a sigh as she reached to wrap her hands around her father's neck. Joel pressed her close to his chest, holding her just a tad harder than most evenings. "I got you something but it's upstairs", she said rubbing her sleepy eyes. Once she had disappeared from the room, you turned to Joel. "I'm so sorry for messing it up," he muttered, sitting down next to you. "Jokes on you, you messed your birthday up." You leaned closer to him. Malakai grumbled in his sleep, his eyes opening for a moment. The sight of his father finally being home made him reach for Joel. He instantly scooped the boy up, pressing a loving kiss to the top of his curly hair as he rocked him a couple of times. Malakai eased into sleep immediately. And you weren't too surprised about it—the warmth Joel carried was enough to make anyone fall asleep within seconds.

"Open up," Sarah said as she handed Joel a box. He shook it a couple of times, trying to inspect it without seeing it. "I know it was laying in your drawer for some time now", "Where did you get the money for it?", Joel looked at the old watch that he had to give up on years ago. "Drugs," Sarah said casually, making you let out a laugh that Joel joined soon after. "I think you got mugged, though it's not ticking." Joel pushed the watch to his ear, and Sarah's face paled as she moved to grab it out of her father's hands. The sound of ticking filled her ears, making her roll her eyes and say, "Not funny, dad."

You moved to wrap your arms around her, dragging her onto the bed with you. She would be sandwiched between you and Joel. "How about a movie, and then I'll tuck my two gremlins into bed", Sarah playfully hit Joel's chest, "Mom, will fall asleep within minutes", she turned to watch you already almost dozing off. "I won't say I won't, but I'm giving you ten minutes, and you will be out as well", you hugged her closer, eyes falling onto Joel who looked down on you two fondly.

"If I knew what was going to happen that night… I would", your voice died down, "I don't even know what I would have changed, but I wish I could go back, you know? To try to do something differently", Ellie looked at you. If you had let yourself smile a little at the thought of the happy memories she knew that now was the time when the real shit was going to go down. Ellie inched closer to you. Leaving her cup on the table as she took a hold of your hand once again.

"I have four civilians by the river," the male said sharply into the radio. "Joel," you whispered, pressing Momo closer to your chest as your breathing picked up. Joel wished he could reach for you and hold you close as well, but he knew that now that was impossible. "We'll be okay, love. All of us will be okay," Joel whispered, his eyes not leaving the soldier in front of him. "Uncle Tommy," Sarah whispered, looking between you and Joel. "We'll get you two and mommy somewhere safe, and I'll go back to look for him," Joel said as calmly as he could, pressing Sarah even closer to him.

The soldier lifted the gun, making you shake your head. "We're not sick", Joel managed to say before the shots rang out. Everything that happened after that was a blur and a slow-motion movie at the same time. The fall off the curb. The cries from Malakai rang out even louder than the bullets. You fell right beside Joel, your hands clinging to the boy and pressing him closer to you. The light from the gun made you close your eyes once again. "I'm sorry", you heard the soldier rasp out, "No, please", Joel exhaled, moving as quickly as he could to shield your body with his own as yet another shot fired. Joel's hand pressed down onto you tightly, not even letting go when the sound around him died down.

"Oh god", Tommy's voice made Joel lift his head, turning his attention to where his younger brother was looking. And there was Sarah. Her breaths were shallow as she pressed down on her side, which was bleeding heavily. Joel felt as if his world stopped for a moment as he crowed towards her. "No… no," Joel breathed out, "You're okay, baby girl, you're okay." His eyes fell on the wound that was pouring out bright red blood. "Sarah", you called out, inching towards her, gasp leaving your mouth as you saw just how bad it was. Joel tried to move her up, but Sarah only screamed out in pain, "I know, baby, I know. I need to help you up."

Joel's eyes were on you as you sobbed by Sarah's side. Hands were now just as soaked as his with sticky blood. Joel looked at Tommy, who was holding Malakai, then back to Sarah, who was gulping down air. He couldn't let his baby die. Not here. Not now. Not his little girl. Not his butterfly. Joel pressed his palms to the shot wound harder, making Sarah roar in agony, "I know it hurts, but you will be okay". You brushed your hand over the side of her face, not trusting your words anymore.

"Tommy, help me!", Joel shouted, but once he turned his attention back to his brother, his breathing stopped. Your eyes followed Joel's gaze. Eyes grew wide at the sight of Tommy standing there with a gun pointed at his head. Malakai being dragged away by another soldier. You quickly rose to your feet. "Give me my boy!", you shouted. No longer sounding like yourself. More like a wild animal out for blood.

"That's a child. Are you going to kill a child?", you stepped closer, but only got met with the back of the gun hitting your back, making you fall back to the ground. "Please, please, I'll do anything," you croaked out, pulling yourself up as you watched the soldier stop in its tracks. The boy in his arms reached out to you as he cried. The soldier let go of Malakai, and for a split second, a rush of hope flowed through you. He was going to come back to you. Your baby boy was going to be okay.

You reached your hands towards him as he took wobbly steps towards you. "Come here, baby, come here, Momo," you called out, barely being able to see through the tears streaming down your cheeks. "Mama," he cried out, making you nod your head. And then the shot rang out. The sound that you knew was going to hunt you for the rest of your life. You saw the bullet pierce Malakai's head as his body sagged to the floor.

The scream that fell from you was far from human. The pain that pierced you was as outrageous. You quickly moved forward, ready to kill the man who had just killed both of your kids cold-heartedly. You didn't make it far as two hands quickly pulled you over to the side. Turning you away from the lifeless body of the toddler.

Joel knew he had to get to you before you joined the kids on the ground. He held onto you for dear life as you trashed in his hands, "I will fucking kill you, do you hear me? I will rip you to pieces, you fuck," you screamed, trying to get loose and out of Joel's embrace. "Let go of me, let me kill him," you spat, nails digging into Joel's arms as you tried to push them away. "I've got you; you need to breathe." His words made you stop. You looked him in the eyes for the first time that night. Another sob escaped your lips as you sank to the floor, hands ripping at the skin of your chest, "Kill me, let me die, I don't want to live", your words were broken in between harsh intakes of breath. Joel shook his head once again, wrapping his arms around you, "I need you, please, I need you".

The sound of the door closing made you jump. You had no clue when you finished telling the story. You don't remember zoning out. Ellie was still holding your hands, her own eyes puffy from crying. Joel stopped in his tracks. The sight of him was not something he imagined coming home to. Your face was pale. Streaks of tears are still visible on your cheeks. Ellie didn't look any better. "What happened?", Joel quickly closed the distance between you. "Did someone hurt you? Are you hurt?", he took a hold of your trembling hand before turning to Ellie. "I…", she started, but the world failed her. The panic inside Joel only grew.

"Ellie found out about Sarah and Momo," you whispered, closing your eyes in hopes to stop the tears from falling once again. To the sound of the names, Joel's jaw clenched as he sat down on the table that was behind him. "I'm so sorry. I just saw the memorial." Joel only shook his head. "I swear I didn't", "Ellie," Joel said firmly, making her stop.

He knew this day would come. He might be half deaf, but he wasn't blind. Joel knew that Ellie was up most nights when you would scream. And was quite surprised that she hadn't yet brought this up in any way. But then again, she wasn't a stupid girl; she knew her boundaries. You rose to your feet, and Joel was quick to steady you, yet you brushed his touch away. "I need some fresh air", "I'll come with you", Joel insisted, but you shook your head, "I want to be alone for a moment". He was going to fight that choice, but by now he had grown to understand that in moments like this, letting yourself feel it out alone, at least at the beginning, was the best option.

Ellie couldn't bring herself to look at Joel as she fidgeted with her fingers, "I didn't mean to…", "I thought I was going to lose her after it all", Joel's words took Ellie by surprise. She quickly turned her gaze toward him. Joel was staring blankly at the wall in front of him. "She did everything she could to die. I didn't sleep; I couldn't. Was too afraid that I would miss something, won't be able to stop her", he exhaled sharply, hands coming over his face for a second.

"You had the biggest impact on Y/N. I saw her smiling for the first time in twenty years when you came by", Joel shook his head. Ellie couldn't utter a single word as he continued to stare at him. "I never meant to hurt you," "You never did. I feel the safest with you. I love you both as my parents. You have been the closest thing to a family that I've ever had," Ellie blurted out quickly. Joel turned to her, his eyes glistening with tears. "I won't let anyone hurt you," Joel whispered, clenching his jaw. Ellie fell into his arms, wrapping herself around his torso. "I know because you've never let anyone down, and you're not about to start doing that now."

[arkhammaid]

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ THE LIGHTNING ON TRACK | THE WAIT FOR THE FIRST RACE

fandom. formula one & mcu

about. the waiting time between pre-season testing and first race is being filled

content warnings. the girls (men) are fighting and y/n gets a reality check

notes. another chat chapter because you guys liked it lol

george russell Welcome, @/oliverbearman and @/ynstark to the main Grid Chat. I will add you to the other ones as well.

daniel ricciardo WELCOME!!! We're so happy to finally have you here

Also, @/kevinmagnussen, welcome back you ass

Don't leave any groupchats again, it's a pain to add you back

george russell Considering I have to do the work, you're not allowed to complain Daniel

lando norris booo, let him have the fun

nico hülkenberg Oh no, it starts again. I'll mute you asshats if you don't stop this

lando norris you're just boring

oliver bearman thank you guys! very happy and honored to be finally part of the big guys 🫣

y/n stark thank you, george! and i'm excited to officially meet you all, until then, hello :)

charles leclerc Hello y/n, welcome to the grid! I hope you'll enjoy your stay here 😉

y/n stark thank you charles, i'm sure i will lol

kevin magnussen I swear I will block you all

daniel ricciardo Don't be like that, you love us

y/n stark lol, he actually hates you guys, won't stop whining kevin magnussen One day, young lady, one day... y/n stark y'all hear sum? charles leclerc Gagged. lando norris charles???

carlos sainz Can you guys just shut up for once, dios mio.

charles leclerc Aww, Carlos, you love us! carlos sainz Debatable. Sometimes I wish you would all crash and not survive to be honest oscar piastri We get it, you're an asshole carlos sainz Fuck off Piastri oscar piastri Right back at you Sainz

lewishamilton welcome to our new rookies! ollie, awesome to see you again, y/n, don't be a stranger, we haven't talked in ages!

y/n stark lew!! we defo have to, gonna hit you up for fashion show for sure, pepper has been planning something pierre gasly Lew 👀 y/n stark look who's here... the tripod.... pierre gasly Yeah yeah, shutting up. Welcome to the grid y/n y/n stark thank you pierre

sergio perez Welcome, rookies.

max verstappen From me a welcome as well!

esteban ocon Welcome, welcome!! This is so exciting, I've been waiting for a long time now 😋😋

lance stroll Estie??? esteban ocon Shht, Lancey, let me cook lance stroll 💀💀💀

lance stroll Anyways, all of them are idiots, as we already know, welcome to hell, y/n

y/n stark aww, thank you lance. so sorry you have to go throught this 🫂 charles leclerc We're not so bad?? lewis hamilton Well. charles leclerc Oh come on Lewis lewis hamilton I didn't say anything

fernando alonso Stark and Bearman! Welcome to the coolest people on the paddock 😎

oliver bearman thanks fernando! y/n stark thanks nando 😎

alexander albon Hi guys, so nice to see you finally in here! @/georgerussell you took your sweet time man

george russell You be Head of the GPDA then. alexander albon No thank you, I'm fine 🙃

logan sargeant Welcome, welcome, happy to see some new faces!

oscar piastri They're finally here. Welcome back Ollie and welcome Y/n to this shit hole

lando norris you know what osc? oscar piastri No, and I don't care. Save the talking for the track lando norris you do know i'm still zak's favorite driver? i could get you fired oscar piastri Please don't. charles leclerc This is what you get for lying in an interview. No groupchat with all of us is ever formal oscar piastri This literally isn't about you Charles charles leclerc Boo, you hater

y/n stark @/kevinmagnussen i see what you've said now...

kevin magnussen Never ever doubt me again, I've been with those fuckers for years now daniel ricciardo Hey!! That's not nice yuki tsunoda you know what else is not nice ricciardo? daniel ricciardo Yuki, drop it. Team orders are team orders yuki tsunoda i don't give a fuck old man, you behave like a bitch you get bitch behavior max verstappen Drop it or else I'll involve Helmut. yuki tsunoda fuck you dan-cocksucker max verstappen Yuki. We don't carry out team issues to the grid. yuki tsunoda he started first and i have proof daniel ricciardo I don't know why you're being so dramatic, it was only testing yuki tsunoda i give you dramatic you fucking asshole. you know what you did and i stand by my statement that this was a total asshole move. just because you got a big smile doesn't mean you're fooling everyone fucking ass george russell I will both kick you out if you don't drop this immediately.

carlos sainz And it starts again...

valterri bottas You're all children. Stop it

y/n stark so pierre was right huh 😀

kevin magnussen I told you so. pierre gasly Why am I getting involved in shit again?

zhou ganyu I apologize for their behavior. Y/n, Oliver, welcome to the grid, I'll be excited to race you both!

kev

are they actually children because wtf did i just witness.

Yeah... I told you drivers are dramatic. Well, most of them and other's are just their victims. Of course we have our moments and friendships but it's a ruthless sport

man tf. literal man children. i'm so glad i have you as a teammate kev. like seriously. i don't know if i could survive with someone like daniel or carlos

the passive agressive vibes <<<<

that's just not it tbh

I have no idea what you just said but I agree. Daniel and Yuki are not good teammates, it was already bad last year and now this.

To be honest, Nico and I often missed stuff like that since we were stuck at Haas and the upper dogs never really showed interest in what we thought or did but everyone knew what happened between them

pls don't tell me they have a clique here... oh my god and i thought the rumors were false

I mean.. not really but also kinda yes? Better drivers stick together since they're always spending time together, you know. No one cares about the ones who're limping behind, well besides Pierre and Esteban, but they're only kinda involved because they're close to Charles and Lance. And Lewis and Fernando aren't really on their level, they keep to themselves

why are men problematic

not you obvs, but like... jeez really felt the love here when we got welcomed

Welcome to F1 kid, it's a shithole

thanks, it's so lovely here

dad?

i think it's worse than we thought

Honey, what are you talking about?

everything. you should see the group chat with the drivers right now. i thought people were joking about f1 drivers being bitter and bitchy towards each other, but there are literally groups and alliances or whatever the fuck is going on there

and if that's only the drivers... i don't want to know how the teams are

Oh.

but also like, what is that going to stop us? we made plans, we know what to do but dear lord are men stupid. well not all but most of them. i literally had to watch how yuki and daniel were fighting because of a team issue in the GROUPCHAT with all drivers

and when max told them to drop it, he got called a dan-cocksucker, can you imagine??

everyone seems to know why they're fighting besides me and ollie, i knew there was tension in alpha tauri but this?? it's a new level of what the fuck is going on here

Are you alright?

i am

just

yk had to tell someone who's not kev since he has been involved in this forever and is used to it. but i still thought

well idk what i thought, maybe i'm just stupid for my wishful thinking

should've known all of this was pr and that most rumors are true. it will make our lives a bit harder

Don't worry, no matter what they throw against us, it's no alien invasion. They're just whiny little men after all and I'm literally Iron Man

i know dad

love you. and thank you

Of course, anything for you

taglist. @lilypadlover , @adorablezhui , @peqch-pie , @keyz-writes , @obsidianjewel, @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @akiraquote , @kiiyoooo , @nichmeddar , @nothingfuninthislife , @minkyungseokie , @fionaschicken , @lyrasconstellation , @spideybv28 , @keii134 , @starssfall , @tpwkstiles , @fangirl-dot-com , @lady-laura-speaks , @nikfigueiredo , @hinamesgigantica , @brakingboundaries , @almostjollypizza , @yoremins , @raizelchrysanderoctavius , @celesteblack08 , @watermelon-sugars-things , @lighttsoutlewis , @radiantdanvers , @vellicora , @sterredem , @hiireadstuff , @jolixtreesunn , @mypage-myfandoms , @nelly187 @greeneyesandsunshine , @fulla02 , @welovediaaxx , @whyamireadingthis , @67-angelofthelordme-67 , @blueberry64857959 , @winchesterwife27 , @six-call , @skywalker1dream , @mellowarcadefun , @cherry-piee , @peterholland04 , @motorsportloverf1 , @renarots , @msbyjackal , @woozart , @leclucklerc , @yl90 , @thebook-bitch

crossed off tags mean i can't tag you!

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE SERIES TAGLIST? please leave a comment on this post or send a non anonymous ask!

ARKHAM MAID 2024

[slightlyobsessedwitheverything]

a breakdown of tommy kinard’s past appearances

so. like many of you, i’ve been getting a little bit tired of seeing the same “wait wasn’t tommy a racist/homophobe? why do we like him now?” posts for the last few weeks. so i wanted to do a small breakdown of every time he has previously appeared on screen, along with his action and inaction regarding the casual bigotry of the 118 under captain gerrard.

this is gunna be a long one boys so, strap in lol

season 3 episode 12: chim begins

i’m going to go in chronological order here rather than episodic order just for character development’s sake

tommy’s first appearance in this episode is about 11 minutes in, after the first commercial break. the current 118 are sitting down to dinner when chim arrives. tommy spots him and asks, “hey eli, you forget to tip the delivery guy?” i would say this could be a genuine question based on the fact that chim’s in his civvies, but he’s got his go bag that says “FIREFIGHTER” on his shoulder so. seems like he’s just being a smartass.

(*edit: it’s been pointed out to me that considering they had ordered chinese food, this could have been an instance of casual racism, and i am inclined to agree)

he’s not seen much during chim’s montage of just doin’ shit around the firehouse, until the point where the 118 come back covered in mud. tommy spots chim and asks him, “you still here?” again, just kind of general dickishness. not really anything to write home about.

a small kind of background tommy moment we get after chim’s montage is right as the team is returning from a call, and chim tries to tell them about the older couple who he helped earlier in the day.

tommy: what about that burger place?

gerrard: tommy, you know i hate that place

chim: hey guys, weirdest thing happened today… *he is ignored*

gerrard: hey, wasn’t your girlfriend supposed to come and cook us dinner?

tommy: uh, next tuesday.

gerrard: promise?

tommy: uh— uh, yes. yeah, i will promise…

now. i’m going to leave that up to interpretation, however i have opinions regarding that bit going forward. but! that’s ultimately not what this post is about, so perhaps another time.

the next scene is a pretty major one. chim is getting ready in the locker room, and tries to strike up a conversation with tommy when he walks in to gather some things (deodorant, toothbrush, soap it seems like, none of these details matter i just think they’re fun).

chim repeatedly tried to get tommy to open up to him about the things he likes, saying “tell me what your thing is and i’ll make it mine.” though, tommy just ignores him. we see a close up of him closing his eyes and sighing in exasperation.

chim asks, “…you just really don’t like me much, do you?” and tommy, for the first time, responds to chim’s questions with, “if i thought about you at all, honestly, i probably wouldn’t.” and he leaves.

later, after eli recruits chim to be a paramedic, they have a conversation regarding what he witnessed in the locker room between chim and tommy. eli tells him that it’s not personal, and that “in this job, friends die. funerals are held. they’re not going to just give you their friendship until you earn their respect. they’re not just protecting you, they’re protecting themselves.” and this ultimately makes sense with what we saw in tommy in that earlier scene. he didn’t really seem annoyed or upset at chim’s insistence to get to know him, just apprehensive mostly. he wasn’t cruel to him, and he hasn’t been. just… kind of a dick.

in the fire truck, on the way to the barn burner, tommy is sitting next to him and looks over at chim, as chim seems to be exhibiting signs of nervousness (this is his first real call as a firefighter after all)

(however, this is a moment where chim’s reality and his past start to bleed into each other so i am not sure how accurate this is to the moment.)

we don’t get much in the next scene aside from tommy’s presence at kevin’s funeral. when chim is ringing the bell, tommy is behind him and briefly looks toward chim, likely noticing how chim is attempting to hold himself together.

the next major scene is the call at the shopping mall, where there was some sort of structural collapse. based on the symptoms of the people that were in the mall, chim assumes there is a gas leak, which gerrard waves off. he calls for tommy over the radio, and receives no response.

chim has a realization that they’re dealing with a methane leak, and runs inside the mall to retrieve tommy.

just as the building explodes, chim runs out with tommy over his shoulder. though in this scene “tommy” is clearly a dummy prop and it is so fucking funny once you notice how floppy it is.

then we get probably the greatest scene in all of 911 where chim is in the waiting room waiting for news on tommy and reality starts to bleed into the flashback while “exit music (for a film)” by radiohead plays . it has pretty much nothing to do with this post i just wanted to say how much i LOVE this scene. anyway.

the penultimate scene of the episode starts off with chim in the locker room tucking in his shirt. tommy walks in and, with no preamble, says, “love actually, monster trucks, craft beer.”

chim realizes that this is a response to their last locker room interaction. he asks tommy how his head is feeling, tommy replies, “still fat, but clearer. you saved my life. thank you.” and shakes chimney’s hand, before pulling him into a hug. this is where their friendship begins.

in this episode, i didn’t notice anything that could really be construed as bigotry (see edit*), he was just kind of a dick at first and most of that can boil down to him being closed off and not wanting to open up before there’s a level of respect there.

(though, keep in mind i am white so there is a definite possibility that i could have missed something more racially motivated, however i didn't see anything glaring)

season 3 episode 9: hen begins

tommy’s first appearance (ever) is about 13 and a half minutes into the episode when captain gerrard introduces the team to their new “diversity hire” (after greeting her himself with a few blatantly misogynistic comments)

when tommy first sees hen, he smiles and asks “who’s this?”

when gerrard calls her a “diversity hire,” the smile leaves tommy’s face and he looks back at gerrard with somewhat of a blank expression, contrasted with sal deluca’s disbelieving smirk and comment of “for real?”

chimney then defends hen, gerrard walks away after saying they’re screwed. tommy once again looks between hen and gerrard before ultimately following him away from the railing.

it is not clear what exactly his reaction to hen joining the team actually is at that moment, whether he wanted to speak up like chim or express disdain like sal, as he remained silent.

at dinner, tommy asks sal what he and his girlfriend did the night previous, where the movie “twilight” comes up. sal makes a comment about kristen stewart being hot, and hen joins in thinking she found something in common with these guys to talk about, but sal ignores her and she walks away. (i think the writers may have genuinely forgotten kstew was only 17 in that movie but that’s neither here nor there)

tommy chimes in saying he “doesn’t get that” and that she’s “too brooding” for him, to which sal responds, “maybe you’re more of a team jacob kind of guy.”

tommy says he has no idea what that means, and chim clarifies that sal is insinuating that he’s gay.

sal laughs at this and at tommy’s reaction, and tommy jokingly blows him a kiss, smiles, and goes back to his food.

(here is a gifset of the scene)

chim then invites hen into the conversation by asking where she’s from. when he tells her he assumed she was an east coaster and that it was a compliment, tommy replies with “new york bitchiness is a compliment?” (score 1 for the misogyny bucket)

chim calls him out, and he just kind of huffs and looks at gerrard, but ultimately moves on.

tommy doesn’t really say or do much else in this scene besides sit silently while gerrard is sexist towards hen and hen stands her ground. in the end, sal looks toward tommy and nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. they both get up and leave the table.

nothing of note happens in the mudslide scene with tommy, most of the conflict is between hen and gerrard. the scene where gerrard makes her man behind as well. tommy is in the background and sees this happen, but says nothing. though, i also need to add that in these moments, chim does not say anything either.

the next scene tommy is in is when hen makes her announcement to the team about how she is not going anywhere.

i once again want to point out the difference in tommy vs sal in this scene. sal has his hands on his hips and his lips tight in a somewhat annoyed looking fashion, and he looks to the side where tommy is to gauge his reaction.

whereas tommy, has his arms folded and is looking down at the floor at first, before looking up towards hen. and while gerrard and chim have their arms crossed as well, i want to point out that tommy is holding one arm while the other sits around his waist. he looks a bit sheepish if i’m being honest, like he knows they’re about to be scolded.

when hen says for them to “see me as i see you, as a proud member of this department,” tommy turns to look behind him and makes eye contact with chim.

now, there’s not a whole lot i can glean from this interaction as is, but as we know from “chim begins,” tommy trusts chim so it’s possible he wants to get chim’s opinion. he seems to do this a lot i’ve noticed, looking between the people around him to gauge their reactions to what is going on.

nothing much of note for the car accident scene, HOWEVER. in the scene immediately after, sal and tommy address hen directly for the first time to give her some praise for her call on that scene. sal tells her “nice work yesterday,” and tommy tells her that they would have found the other car eventually, but eventually would have been too late.

hen states she “just got lucky,” to which sal responds, “screw that. you’re good,” and both he and tommy shake hen’s hand. tommy even gives her a light smack on the shoulder as he walks away and hen absolutely BEAMS.

then of course, hen is told that gerrard was removed from his position because his conduct was reported and “more than a few of your fellow firefighters have your back.” we know chim is absolutely one of them, and i can infer that based on tommy and sal’s reactions to hen’s speech and their interaction with her just before this scene, it is very likely they are as well.

in this episode, there were definitely some more moments of blatant bigotry in this episode, but other than the “new york bitchiness” line, tommy doesn’t really directly contribute to any of it. he seems to be more of a follower, constantly gauging how others feel and just playing along. complicity is still an issue of it’s own, do not get me wrong, but considering i keep seeing people say he made racist/homophobic comments, i feel like its a reasonable thing to point out.

season 3 episode 16: bobby begins again

tommy’s final on screen appearance begins with hen taking bets on how long the new captain will last. tommy asks hen to put him down for 4 weeks on credit, and they (hen, tommy, sal, and chim) banter a little. they all seem to have a pretty good relationship with each other at this point.

bobby pops out of the firetruck and places his own bet on himself, and tommy just kind of looks sheepish since they got called out.

to be real, tommy doesn’t do a whole lot in this episode either. most of the conflict is between bobby and sal. most of what we see is him in the background silently judging bobby’s lack of LA knowledge along with hen and chim. he does have some silly little moments during the chicken chase though.

(here's a great gifset of that scene)

bobby calls out to sal to talk to him after the restaurant fire, and sal keeps walking but tommy stops and waits, looking between bobby and sal.

sal says, “you’re a piece of work. you come in here with your nose in the air and your eyes looking down–” tommy interrupts sal and tells him to stop.

sal keeps digging into bobby, and tommy in the background, looks to chim and hen and shakes his head, seemingly telling them not to get in the middle of it.

sal says he has the skill to lead the 118, bobby retorts with, “but not the temperament.” sal then drops his bag and stomps toward bobby so he can get in his face. tommy moves to go after him, but chim gets between sal and bobby before anything can happen.

bobby fires sal, and tommy is just standing there with the rest of his team wondering what the hell happened.

we then have the bar scene! chim, hen, and tommy hanging out at the bar before bobby ends up joining them.

they have a good time and show off their scars to each other. tommy quotes fight club, chim laughs, bobby leaves to solve the arson.

(again, here's another gifset)

at the end we see a bit more of the team together, bobby starting to cook for them, and finally the scene of chim and hen popping out of the ambulance with balloons and a cake for tommy as he transfers to the 217. they all seem to be fairly close at this point.

(another gifset for good measure)

and other than chim calling on him for a water drop in 2x14, that’s about it until he returns in season 7.

in conclusion

to me, it seems like tommy is a bit of a follower and tends to just go along with what the people around him are doing, ESPECIALLY under gerrard. captain gerrard fostered a really toxic work environment and its no wonder others like sal were never really called out on their shit. and tommy mostly seemed to follow sal’s lead or stay quiet.

“chimney begins” takes place around 2006-ish, “hen begins” around 2008, and “bobby begins again” takes place around 2017 i believe. and between 2006 and 2024, based on what we see, its easy to see that tommy has indeed grown and changed many of his attitudes, especially when in a healthier work environment. now can we please stop acting like he’s this irredeemable piece of shit and see him for what he really is: a flawed person who grows and learns from others, like every other character on this show.

[toffee-and-tandoori]

i’ve been reflecting on that tweet/article about esteban’s switch to williams being blocked by alpine over the course of this hungarian gp weekend and i am truly disgusted and angered at what alpine has been trying to pull with esteban this year. let me explain. and buckle in because it’s gonna be a long one.

[disclaimer i will not be touching on the logan and james vowles of it all in this post but i will say this: i wish him the best in his career and personally i would just let him finish out the season without worrying about his seat being taken at any moment.]

[also i want to use this bit to sincerely thank @macaiv @promiscuousasexual @lafaerie @pinkcarsupremacy @oconist and @starlightiing for their help with source gathering and proofreading - i truly could not have done this without you <3]

first of all, i think it’s important to clear up the misconception that esteban was “fired” by alpine. as the original statement reads, alpine and esteban AGREED to part ways for 2025. let’s also remember there were claims even before alpine launched their 2024 livery that BOTH esteban and pierre were looking for alternatives. and of course, esteban was quick to point out his mercedes ties. i think it’s clear that esteban was not planning to stay with alpine after 2024. but don’t feel like you’re at fault for thinking that esteban was “fired” - that’s exactly what alpine wanted you to think. they have never corrected this assumption because it benefits them.

now let me be clear here and say that esteban was at fault for monaco 2024 - he absolutely shouldn’t have done what he did and accordingly he took responsibility for it. however, the magnitude of vitriol directed at esteban for a lap one error (which can and does happen to any driver) was excessive and disproportionate. first of all let’s remember that in that exact same race, kevin literally crashed out himself, his teammate, AND checo but was completely overlooked by the public. and far more importantly, no one deserves death threats, racism, and xenophobia. it got to the point that he published a statement on instagram asking for the hate to stop and if you know esteban, you know that he does not speak up for himself like that. ever. 

and how did alpine respond to the hate directed at their driver after monaco? three blue heart emojis. no statement condemning the hate. no statement extending their support for esteban. just three blue heart emojis. oh and the formal announcement of esteban leaving the team, propelling a new wave of hate. convenient timing for alpine, don’t you think?

to fully dissect how the false narrative about how “esteban is a horrible teammate” and is “always hyperfocused on beating and crashing into them” and how “no one on the grid likes him” is a product of racism (due to his algerian heritage), classism (due to his family’s working class status), and f1 media needing a “villain” to editorialize the spectacle of f1, i would need a whole other post. not to mention that esteban has been paired with very accomplished drivers throughout his whole career and has performed roughly equal to all of them; unfortunately for him almost all of esteban’s teammates are drivers who are the primary representative of their country and therefore have very large and very nationalistic fanbases, which has typically amplified the hate. but i’ll say this. of the clashes with his previous teammates, esteban was to blame for two of them in the past seven years [baku 2017 and monaco 2024]; checo was recognized to be responsible for three [belgium 2017, hungary 2017, and singapore 2018]; fernando was recognized to be responsible for one [brazil 2022] ; pierre was recognized to be responsible for one[australia 2023, a racing incident but esteban is known to have vouched for pierre in the stewards meeting so he could avoid a race ban]. individuals on the grid who are said to currently have a “strong dislike” for esteban have had kind words for him in recent years: fernando and max. esteban also is clearly friendly with a number of the drivers: lance, mick, jack, oscar, nico, kevin, lewis, fernando, max, charles, guanyu.

this narrative began in 2018 and has only grown with the explosion in f1’s popularity in large part due to “drive to survive”, a highly-editorialized show that has capitalized on this perception of esteban in their most recent season. and although esteban has been affiliated with lotus/renault/alpine since 2010 (literally since he was 14 years old - about half of his life), they have never once tried to publicly show support for their driver in response to hate. their social media pages have been filled pure hatred directed at esteban for years yet they have never said a thing. almost all of alpine’s team principals and executives have never truly given esteban the respect he deserves: rossi, szafnauer, famin. yet esteban has largely stayed silent through it all. 

but when esteban finally chose to prioritize himself over the team he has been loyal to for over a decade, alpine chose to weaponize the narrative they allowed to take root.

those may remember a claim that james vowles was not considering esteban for a williams seat because of his “history of aggressive behavior against his teammates”. there was never a direct quote from james saying this but we do have video of him defending esteban after monaco. 

but now this tweet/article suggests that both james vowles and esteban were interested in a move to williams that was blocked by alpine because they were concerned that esteban could help williams in the constructors. it was initially assumed that alpine wanted this move to happen because they wanted to get rid of esteban so badly. so why didn’t they correct this assumption? why did they release the formal announcement of esteban leaving the team when the hate reached heights not previously seen before? because they knew it would weaken esteban’s position in the driver’s market. and even still, esteban has been actively sought out by haas and audi in addition to williams. he has been praised by many team principals of past and present: james vowles, fred vasseur, toto wolff, eddie jordan. esteban remains a well-respected driver in the paddock...much to alpine’s chagrin. 

i truly believe that alpine tried to take advantage of esteban’s reputation (a reputation that they have never tried to mitigate) to try to fuck over his market value...and failed. they effectively attempted to sabotage esteban's future in f1. it is truly deplorable of them to do this, especially with the driver who’s been with the project for 14 years and is their first (and so far only) victor in their current iteration. and if you think that it would be truly horrendous of a team to do that to one of their drivers, remember that alpine has done this to fernando, to oscar, and to kevin. not to mention the disrespect they showed to jolyon and to alain.

the bwt alpine f1 team has truly lost all of my respect with what they’ve done this year. and they barely had any of it in the first place.

[fatswaps]

Party Body swap weight gain

Kevin had always felt somewhat out of place in university. He was one of the only foreigners in his class, and was a pretty short guy so he often found it difficult to make friends with other people. He thought attending a party in the next-door dorm would be a good way to hopefully come out of his shell and befriend a few people so he put on some of his nicer clothes and went along with a few classmates.

The party itself wasn't particularly wild, but one guy specifically stood out among all the college students. He was a pretty hefty fellow, and Kevin recognized him as Brian- the guy who'd repeatedly failed to graduate and had pretty much made the college his home. It seemed his family was quite rich and the guy was pretty spoiled, so he never got any punishment for his continued failures. Worst of all, Brian was extremely loud and obnoxious which made him even more unpopular than Kevin.

Seeing as how the people at the party were all tired of Brian's annoying behavior, Kevin thought this might be an opportunity to finally make himself known to the student body and so, he walked up to the fat guy and spoke,

"Hey Fatty, why don't you go to a Wendy's or something. There's no more food left for you here."

"What'd you say to me, little guy?" Brian roared

"I said, waddle your fat ass out of here and stop ruining the night for everyone else, fatso!"

Brian muttered something under his nreath and stormed off, and as the crowd was cheering him on- Kevin, in a moment of boldness, followed after the guy he'd insulted.

Stepping out into the hallway, Kevin smugly walked towards Brian who seemed to have entered his own room. Shamelessly following after the man, Kevin was just about to insult Brian's weight again when a bright flash of light practically blinded him and he found himself losing his balance, and soon drifting off as he fell to the floor.

Coming to, Kevin groaned as he tried to push himself up- but found it was much harder to do so than usual. Rubbing his eyes, the young man finally managed to push himself up into a sitting position only to be met by a horrifying sight. There stood, his body- smirking at him. This wasn't a mirror's reflection... no that was Kevin standing right there at himself... or, more so- staring at whatever Kevin had now turned into

"You know, dude. I was gonna have you have your moment but you just had to follow after me, didn't you?"

"What... what the hell did you do?"

"I took your god damn body and out you in mine. So, who's the fatty now, shithead?"

Kevin took a moment to look down at his body, and immediately a scream followed his realization that he was now Brian, the fat failure! Pushing himself up, Kevin felt his disgusting body and turned to his old boy

"TURN ME BACK RIGHT NOW!"

"Turn you back? Fat chance.. hahah, get it, fat!"

"You're never getting this cute ass asian body back, enjoy your life as a 28 year old fatass!"

With that the new Kevin walked away, leaving behind a crying mess, which was the new Brian. To any observer, it just seemed like Kevin had put Brian in his place and made him cry like the man-child he was, but in reality- Brian had taken everything Kevin had and left him in a ridiculous body, which was 10 years older.

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

It had been 5 years since the swap now and Kevin had had a pretty hard time adapting to his new body. Despite his multiple attempts to get his body back, Brian had ridiculed Kevin publicly and left him even more hated, while Bruan grew more and more popular.

At the very least, Kevin was much better at his classes than Brian ever was, so he had actually managed to graduate and even lose a few pounds of weight in his time in Brian's body. He was about to move out of the dorms, and was just getting more comfortable with himself when he saw his old body... in a ruined state.

His beautiful hair had been shaved off on the sides and was shorter than he'd ever let it be, and his gorgeous fit body was now even fatter than the body Brian had left him in. And on hisface was the nastiest smirk Kevin had ever seen.

"Hey man. Heard you graduated in my body... I was thinking, you learned your lesson sooo"

"No, NO DON'T YOU FUCKING DA-"

That was all Kevin could say when he saw the flash again. In a few hours, he awoke in his old body, fat, sweaty and with a terrible haircut. 5 years of his life seamlessly taken away from him while he lost his only chance at studying at the university of his dreams...

[yeoosaangg]

Half of My Heart || Kinktober - Day 24

pairing ▸ jeong jaehyun × f!reader

now playing ▸ half of my heart - josh makazo

⤷ ❝know you still have things to say. it's different since i broke us apart.❞

genre ▸ non-idol au, jock!jaehyun, exes to lovers, smut

warnings ▸ period sex, praise, fingering, marking, car sex, mentions of blood (obviously)

── ⋆ ⋆ ── 𔘓 ── ⋆ ⋆ ──

You go to the skate park late at night to think.

It helps when you've got a lot on your mind and need to unwind, but you couldn't do that tonight.

A bunch of frat boys came together to throw a party, one you were invited to. It may not be your usual night out, but at least it was different.

Now alcohol can be your escape from a broken heart.

Kevin: Hey, you made it!

Y/n: I'm usually here skating on a regular night.

Kevin: Saved you a seat, right here

You roll your eyes as he pats his lap. You look around and see that there truly was no more space to sit and just take his offer.

Y/n: So, did I miss anything?

Kevin: Nah. Just a few guys on the football team having a chugging contest.

Y/n: Mmm, boring.

Kevin: It was.

You scan the park just to have something to do, but it proves to be a mistake when you spot your ex-boyfriend making out with one of the cheerleaders.

That hurts.

Kevin: Where'd your mind go just now?

Y/n: Saw Jaehyun playing tonsil hockey with captain preppy.

Kevin: Brutal. Need me to kick his ass?

Y/n: Nah. He'd squash you like a bug and I happen to love my best friend.

Kevin: I hate when you're right.

You guys laugh and you get up to grab a closed bottle of beer. When you come back, Kevin notices your ex staring at you two.

Kevin: He's looking.

Y/n: Don't care.

Kevin: He looks like he wants to kill me.

You roll your eyes and position yourself so you're straddling Kevin. He doesn't react, just holds your exposed hips so you don't fall back.

Y/n: You think from this angle it'll look like we're kissing?

Kevin: Yeah, why?

You put your thumb on his lips before kissing your nail, pressing your forehead against his. Kevin wraps his arm around you to make it look like he's pulling you in deeper.

You pull away and smile at him, a silent thank you for going along with your plan.

Kevin: He's coming over here.

Y/n: Don't lie to me, Moon.

So much for not caring.

Kevin: Just turn around.

You do and feel your heart drop as he strides over to you.

Y/n: Shit, gotta go.

Kevin: Have fun, bestie! Use protection!

You flip him off and hurriedly make your way towards the parking lot. Maybe you'll get home quicker if you run.

Jaehyun: Y/n! Wait up!

Why does he sound like he's right behind you?

You make a noise of surprise when he grabs your arm and turns you to face him.

Y/n: Oh, hey.

Jaehyun: Hey. Did you not hear me?

Y/n: Nope, sorry.

Lie.

Jaehyun: Can we talk?

Y/n: I don't think that's a good idea.

Jaehyun: Please? I swear I'll leave you alone after, if that's what you want.

You sigh.

He was using those stupid eyes of his. The ones where they get all soft and kind.

He still knows how to make you weak.

Y/n: Fine.

He smiles and guides you to his car with a hand on the small of your back. You feel his warm fingers curl around your waist, almost like he's afraid you'll run.

You curse yourself for wearing a crop top.

He opens the passenger door and you reluctantly get in.

There was an awkward silence when he gets in, locking the car doors. It was only for privacy reasons.

Jaehyun: I hate how we left things.

Y/n: How you left things.

He takes a deep breath and nods.

Jaehyun: I never wanted to hurt you.

Y/n: But you did.

He broke things off two months ago because he "needed to be with someone that matches his popularity", hence the bimbo he was making out with.

Jaehyun: It's just- I got lost in the glory of being the quarterback, that I became a different person. I let go of the one person who means the most to me because of it.

Stupid excuse.

Y/n: I get it, Jae. I'm not popular enough for you. I'm not drop-dead gorgeous enough for your new friends. But you didn't have to insult me when you broke things off. That was just cruel on your part.

He understands that.

He messed up so bad and it cost him the love of his life.

Jaehyun: You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met. That is a fact no one will ever get to prove wrong. My heart will always belong to you.

Oh.

He still has feelings for you?

Jaehyun: If you can give me another chance, I swear I'll do right by you.

Y/n: Don't you have a girlfriend?

Jaehyun: No.

Y/n: Then why were you making out with the head cheerleader? Thought she was your arm candy.

Jaehyun: I never made it official with her. Just let her kiss me in public, but nothing other than that.

Hm.

Jaehyun: What about you? Are you and Kevin Moon dating?

Y/n: Nah, I was just feeling petty. Kiss was fake; he'd launch me off of him if it was real.

Jaehyun: Now that sounds like him.

You both laugh, comfortable silence surrounding the once tense atmosphere.

It feels warm and familiar.

Jaehyun: Can I- Can I kiss you?

You nod, leaning in to meet his lips halfway.

You climb over and straddle his lap while he puts his seat all the way back. His hands roam your entire body, tongue exploring your mouth all over again.

You feel him getting ready to slide his hand into the waistband of your panties when you stop him.

Jaehyun: What's wrong?

Y/n: Nothing, I just remembered something.

Jaehyun: What is it?

You feel embarrassed to say this out loud. You're hot and bothered, but can't do anything about it because-

Y/n: I'm on my period.

He begins to laugh and kiss the skin underneath your jaw.

Y/n: It's not funny!

Jaehyun: It's kinda funny, baby.

You whine, hiding your face in his chest.

He wraps his arms around you and kisses the crown of your head.

Jaehyun: It's funny because you think a little blood's gonna stop me from fucking you.

Huh?!?

You yelp when his hand slips inside your panties and his middle finger circles your clit. You moan very loudly from not having been touched since he left you.

Jaehyun: Careful, baby. Wouldn't want anyone to hear your pretty sounds.

Y/n: Don't give a fuck.

You kiss him as his fingers get covered in a mix of your arousal and blood. Your pad gets scrunched the more his knuckles disappear in your cunt.

You sit up and take your top off, revealing you perky tits.

Jaehyun: No bra? What if you accidentally flashed everyone at the party?

Y/n: It is what it is.

He chuckles, helping you steady yourself as you get completely naked.

He lowers his jeans down enough so his cock springs free. He was hard and leaking, just how you like him.

You align yourself with his tip and slam down on his cock. He moans as you bounce without adjusting.

You were too horny and impatient to give a fuck about anything right now.

Y/n: Hated seeing you with that stupid, blonde airhead. Wanted to beat her ass everytime she passed me on campus.

Jaehyun: Aww, you didn't like how close she was to me? Then fucking mark me so she knows who I belong to.

You don't even have to be told twice. Your mouth litters multiple red hickeys all over his neck and chest.

God, he bruises so easily, it makes you needier.

You look so ruined already, but he wants to break you. Have you reduced to a drooling and whimpering mutt for him like he always does.

But not tonight.

Tonight is about getting you back and doing everything he can to show you he means what he says. He's going to love you despite what others say.

You're worth it.

He gasps when your teeth scratch against his jugular, lightly sucking on the skin there.

Y/n: I'm gonna cum.

He watches you bounce on his cock, tits matching the rhythm as you squirt all over him - you probably got blood all over him, too.

You get tired, so he slams his hips into you as the top of your ass hits the bottom of the steering wheel. Lucky it wasn't the horn, right?

Y/n: Want more. Please give me more.

Jaehyun: Such a good girl. Always taking what I give you and begging for more, not satisfied until everyone at this fucking party can see how thoroughly mine you are.

You scream as the tip of his cock hits your g-spot. It was a delicious repetitive motion that has you shaking in your ex-boyfriend's arms.

You press your chest against his, mouth attacking his neck as you meet his thrusts.

He tries to pull you off his neck by your hair, but you growl at him - mouth leaving him for only a moment to push his hand off before devouring him again.

His hands leaves bruises on your hips at how hot that was of you. Being on your period makes you even hornier than a bitch in heat.

Jaehyun: You’re my little whore, aren’t you?

You growl again, biting on his shoulder before nodding to his question.

Y/n: Only yours.

He picks up his pace, causing you to grip onto the handle above your head to steady yourself. His cock rams into you so rough, you're drooling and whimpering - just like he wanted.

Oops!

Both of you cum at the same time, not caring who hears you anymore. You just care about each other.

You bury your face in his neck trying to catch your breath. He leans back and massages your body to help soothe the shaking.

Y/n: I've missed you a lot.

He smiles, kissing your temple.

Jaehyun: Please give me another chance, Y/n. I can give you everything you need and want. Just give me one month and I swear I'll embed myself so far in you, you won't be able to breathe without me.

You giggle, resting your chin on his chest.

Y/n: Okay. But only one chance. If you blow it, you'll never see me again.

Jaehyun: Thank you, baby. I promise I'll treat you right.

He shifts a little and you whine. His cock was still inside you.

Y/n: Can we leave to get cleaned up? Cum mixed with blood isn't a pretty sight.

He laughs with his entire chest, kissing your lips with a huge grin.

Jaehyun: 'Course we can.

═══

a/n: get me away from pinterest prompts. this ain't good for my sanity. thanks for reading ‹𝟹

[itseyaaaa]

I wanted to share some of the characteristics I imagined in the Perfect Court appearance. Tell me if you agree or not and if you imagined something completely different bc im curious!!

#1 Riko Moriyama

He has the typical asian perfect skin and he hated it bc it made him look "soft." His best features are his eyes bc they are monolid eyes and this made his stares look more threatening but not enough since he's brother had the same monolid eyes but his were more sharp and looked more threatening. That's why Riko always preferred physical violence bc he knew his appearance wasn't as threatening as Ichirou's. He kept his hair short to look more menacing.

#2 Kevin Day

He is handsome. He is the classic perfect good-looking guy with green eyes, dark hair and eyebrows, a tall and well-built body, a sharp jawline, a perfect nose and cheekbones. When fans spot him in public and ask him for pictures there is always someone who sees the scene and wonders if he is a famous model or actor and when they discover that he's actually and Exy player they are shocked bc they would have never guessed it.

#3 Jean Moreau

He has pretty grey eyes and pretty eyelashes. After the first time Riko passed him around, his abusers started making jokes and call him names like "eye candy," "dollface" or "babydoll" and when Riko scarred his face he was so glad to hear ppl say "those scars ruined your pretty face". He has moles here and there in his body and he has pale skin that's why Riko loved using knives and leaving bruises on him bc the blood looked more red and scarlet against pale skin and the bruises had vivid colours compered to his skin tone.

#4 Neil Josten

He is good-looking but not in a stereotypical way. He has the classic ginger hair and blue eyes but not the white skin tone, but he has slightly sun-kissed skin. Because of that his scars don't look out of place like Jean's bc the colour of the scars' tissue (after healing ofc) fit the colour of his skin making them an attractive and interesting feature to look at. I know his best feature is his mouth bc he has nice lips that he likes to use to shittalk all the time.

[swampthingking]

do you know how beautiful it is to see that jeremy knox is, in fact, the same person off the court as he is on it. it is not an act.

the same jeremy knox that we knew on the court is the same jeremy knox that bought a stranger a gift card and said “i think you dropped this” and wasn’t any type of annoyed when the man just said “oh yeah, i didn’t notice.”

the same jeremy knox that we knew on the court is the same jeremy knox that has a fucking cardboard cut out of a golden retriever that he moves around the house to hang out with

but the thing is. the thing. is. jeremy does not shy away from jean’s sharpness. he accepts it, he challenges it. he shows jean that, no, not all people have public and private personas. no, there are good people. and just because there are good people doesn’t mean they are pushovers because of that. you do not have to be hateful and abusive to be respected.

HERE ARE SOME FUCKING EXAMPLES BECAUSE NOW IM. IM. IM

“I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me by my last name, just so it’s said.”

and

“When I’m what? I asked you a question.”

and

“You are not a Raven.”

and

“Say ‘yes, Jeremy’.” ​ (this had me…..feeling. things.)

and

[“You like men.”] “More exclusively than you do, I think. Does that bother you?”

and

“Away. You have to hook away from me, not toward.” “Away.” “Away, Jean. You’re hurting me.”

and

“I’ll call Kevin. I’ll ask him how he broke his hand. I’ll ask him who did it. What will he say to me?”

and

“You are Jean Moreau. Your place is here with me, with us. I’m your captain. You’re my partner. We’re supposed to be doing this together, aren’t we? Stop leaving me behind. Look at me.”

and

[“Stop looking if it is going to bother you,” Jean said.] Jeremy’s response was low but unhesitating: “I will not look away.”

and

[“If I asked you to kill me, would you?” Jean asked.]“Don’t ever say that,” Jeremy said, low and insistent.

oh god i could ramble for so long about jeremy but jesus christ

[koitarou]

|| fatherhood. ||

girldad!kiyoomi x fem!reader; wc: 1.2k of pure struggle; cw: reader is not present in the picture, imagine whatever happened to her, mid 50s kiyoomi, sad ish?, im thawing out cut me some slack, kiyoomi is a gorl dad missing you a/n: fuck you kevin hart, i wanted to watch a comedy movie and not BAWL. alexa play daddy issues

Kiyoomi guesses it’s been a while since he has missed you. 

Kokomi takes up every minute, every second he has to offer— not that he minds it. Maybe sometimes he hates it, hates being so preoccupied with her that forgets to miss you. The last thing he wants to do is forget you, even when he is old enough that his already greying hairs start to fall out.

You’ve been gone for long enough that he has forgotten what you felt like in his arms, how you smelled when he hugged you close to his chest. He hates that his senses are giving up on him.

But he hasn’t forgotten everything about you. He hasn’t forgotten the way you rolled your eyes at him whenever you disagreed, how you always latched onto his arm whenever you got scared watching a horror movie, how you kissed his forehead twice for each mole he has— because she does the same.

Kiyoomi is glad to have Kokomi in his life because everytime he looks at her, he sees you. It’s not a stretch when someone asks if he misses you and he says no, because he never will. He might forget what you feel like but he will never forget you, the you who gave him the best gift in the world, his daughter, his baby. 

The more she grows up, the more she resembles you. As he grows older, he sees Kokomi growing older and it’s bittersweet. He’s proud of her for everything she’s achieved in her life and proud of himself for bringing up his amazing daughter. It was tough at first, balancing his career and her, but with everyone's help, it was possible. It takes a village to raise a child, but what good is a village if it has no head. That’s what he felt like when he was just starting out, he felt lost without you to help him. He had his team, his village, to support him through thick and thin but he used to miss you. 

As the team grew and so did your daughter, he realised everything was indeed good. He feels proud of them as well, Atsumu, Bokuto, Hinata, Komori, everyone. 

He likes to believe you would’ve been proud too— of Kokomi, of the team. 

But he especially misses you today. Seeing your daughter off to college, he remembers your face glowing when you used to talk about milestones of your baby’s life and her going to college.

“Kiyo, she’s gonna be amazing I know it.”

“Yes baby, she will be,” “You have to lay off her though.”

“What”

“I know you'll be crying the day she goes to college and fussing all over her. Ugh, especially with boys”

“No, I won’t. Except boys, I don’t trust those hormone ridden monsters”

“Of course you don't, darling. Because you never were one, right? You were a toddler and straight up went to being an adult.”

And then you rolled your eyes at him the same way Kokomi is doing right now, “Dad, I’m going to be honest with you, I can’t swear off boys. I just can’t–”

“Yes, you can. Promise me.”

“Dad—

“Promise me that you’ll be my little girl forever, never leaving me, ever.”

“We’re literally standing in front of my dorm room. You’re gonna have to leave at some point.” She narrows her eyes at him, still holding onto his hand.

He notices that. There were a lot of things he saw of you in her but she was his daughter too, he notices the way she’s picking at her nails, a nervous habit she’s has had ever since she was 5. She doesn’t want him to leave, not with the grip she has on his hand. 

“You know I am here for you, right?”

“Yes, dad and I love you too.” Never good at words but they both managed, understood each other even though you weren’t there to do the talking for him.

“He’s bein’ mean again, y/n!”

“Tsumu you know he doesn’t mean that, he appreciates the thought you put into this gift.” “Yeah, I’m surprised he could think at all”

“Kiyo!– Tsumu, he means it’s great, he’s just affectionately dumb.”

He takes in a deep breath, the tingling sensation at the back of his throat feels familiar and he lets out a chuckle because he’s really going to cry now. Standing at her dorm room’s door, his heart feels heavy, and he’s looking at her now, ready to start a new chapter of her life, all on her own.

He cups her face and plants a kiss on her forehead, “One for me–” He kisses her temple, his hand holding the back of her head as she reaches out for a hug, “–and one for mom.”

She’s holding onto him tightly now, her fists balled up with the back of his jacket balled up in her fists, she mumbles, “I’m gonna miss you so much, dad. Promise to visit me, please?” 

“Every weekend, Kokomi, I promise.” He smiles and wraps his arms around her, cradling her head as he lets his jacket soak up her tears. He feels happy and he knows you would’ve been happy too and that’s all he needs to know.

Kokomi starts to draw back but he tightens his grip on her, and with a shaky voice, he whispers, “Give your old man a few more minutes more, please sweetheart.” 

Kokomi hums and they both stand there silently, until she breaks the silence with a ‘hey dad?’ and this time Kiyoomi hums in response, pulling away to look at her and finally let go.

“Mom would’ve been really proud of you.” 

Oh.

Kiyoomi doesn’t realise he is crying until he tastes the salty tears in his mouth and Kokomi wipes his cheeks, “And I am proud too. One more thing–” With a smile as she goes on her tippy toes to kiss his moles, “–One from me and one from mom.” 

Kiyoomi guesses it’s fine he didn’t miss you a lot, he never had to.

“And dad?”

“You weren’t serious about the ‘here every weekend’ thing though, right?”

“How much do you wanna bet at least one of your uncles will be here every weekend?”

Kokomi begins to whine in defiance to his response but is interrupted by a wailing Atsumu rushing towards them with Hinata, Bokuto and Komori in hot pursuit.

“Our baby’s all grown up!” Atsumu cries from behind Kiyoomi, sniffling and pushing him out of the way as he rushes to bring Kokomi into a bear hug and pats her head rather desperately, “Don’t forget about us, yeah?? And don’t forget us, we’re all here for ya. Also boy’s are disgustin’, ya won’t like ‘em anyways–”

“Why’s everyone obsessed with tha-”

In a flash, she’s squashed between 4 middle aged men bawling their eyes out and preaching they’re thoughts and views and promising to lay their lives down for her as she starts tearing up with them, telling them to take care of each other as well as her father since she won’t be there everyday.

Looking at this scene, Kiyoomi thinks his village did just fine. Plus he guesses it’s okay he didn’t get to miss you a lot because he believes it’s better to never not stop thinking about someone than miss them.

And he thinks– no he knows, you’re proud of him.

☆⌒ (ゝ。∂) ©️ all credits belongs to @koitarou 2022, do not repost, modify or translate my work on any platform. Plagiarism is strictly forbidden.

☆reblogs, likes and comments are super appreciated!

[i-did]

Hi! I wanted to ask you opinion on Thea. I have seen that a lot of people in the fandom kinda hate her but I dont share their reasoning so I was really curious about what you think.

I honestly have very little idea of what the fandom is saying, I stay out the tag mostly and just live in my little bubble. I saw what Nora responded with pre-TSC being upset with the fandom painting Thea as a groomer, which I also disagree with. I feel her and Kevin’s dynamic pre-canon was undoubtedly unhealthy due to the fact that they were in an extreme underground sport cult, and she was older than him but he was also #2, below only Riko and the Master himself, which gives him more agency than just a typical teenager. I don’t believe they are healthy – Kevin didn’t tell her the truth, and they had been a secret so long but also hardly communicate – but I don’t see it as one is the Bad partner one is the Victim partner, just… two people who are together in a super fucked situation.

That being said – I didn’t like Thea in TSC lmaoo. I thought she had a lot of wasted potential as a character. She is in and out, concerned but then gone– I wish she wasn’t someone who was so concerned for Jean, only to immediately disappear. Thea is written to be unaware / in denial which almost makes her parallel with Cass in some ways– clinging to an idea of what happened vs. what actually happened. I’m not saying these make her a badly written character– I think it could actually be really interesting to explore. Sometimes, characters fandom's hate are also interesting.

She was an opportunity to see into another ‘fallen Raven’s’ mindset. How is she coping with Riko’s death? How could she try to ‘help Jean adjust’ which actually makes him fall back into unhealthy Raven habits? Her texting or calling Jean could spiral into panic attacks or remind him of what he's trying to leave behind even if she was just telling him ‘remember the diet plan’ and was unhelpfully trying to be helpful <- these idea's coming from @hopingforcoordinates. It would have been interesting to see her more so we could see that she wasn't just someone ignorant but someone who also was desperately clinging to the illusions of the Nest needing to have been worth it, otherwise what was it all for?

Maybe in the next book we will see more of that but who knows! I hope we do because honestly seeing the Raven’s flounder and fall apart is interesting to me and I'd like to see it as more than just in the background, especially as a narrative foil to Jean's own healing journey.

So I don’t dislike her for moral reasons. She kinda rubs me the wrong way, but I want to hate her more and then sympathize with her and see that she’s also been broken by the Nest – despite having ‘made it’ similarly to Kevin. She ‘has it all’ but is still drowning.

I feel like TSC was written with an audience in mind, unlike the first AFTG books, which has shifted the tone significantly. The first three AFTG books exist in a different realm to me than TSC, tonally and more. I’m curious to see where Nora goes from here and will definitely read the next book too.

[toasttt11]

the truth

March 15, 2024

The Blackhawks had just played against the kings and had a great game. Lucky for the team it was a Friday and they didn’t have any practice tomorrow so most of the team all decided to go out to the bar that they usually go to as a team.

Trevor hadn’t really had a chance yet to go out after a game they won with the whole team, he mostly stuck near Maddox or was messing around with Kevin, Kevin the one Trevor has gotten closest with on the team so far.

Maddox stood up excusing himself from the table seeing a friend. Trevor frowned watching him leave and watched him walk over to a guy near the bar and they greeted each other.

Trevor frowned not liking what he was seeing but turned his attention back to Kevin who was goofing off but entertaining Alex, Lukas and Connor.

Trevor noticed that after a good while Maddox still had not returned yet and frowned deeper he turned his head and felt his heart drop.

Trevor glared feeling angry as he watched Maddox flirting with a guy, Maddox letting the guy whisper into his ear and kissing his cheek. Trevor could feel the realization set in that Maddox does likes guys just not him.

Maddox looked up feeling eyes on him and saw Trevor staring at him with a heartbreaking look on his face before leaving his glass on the table and rushing out. Maddox detached from the guy and rushed out after Trevor.

“Trev!” Maddox called out seeing Trevor starting the walk back to their apartment, Maddox could see how tense Trevor was walking and could tell he was ignoring him, Maddox jogged over and caught up with Trevor, he gently grabbed his arm stopping Trevor, “What’s wrong?” Maddox frowned wanting to know why Trevor is upset.

“You like guys.” Trevor whispered as no matter how angry he, he didn’t want to say it loudly incase someone was around.

Maddox tensed looking around, “Can we not did this here?”

Trevor responded with a curt nod and Maddox dropped his arm. They walked in tense silence all the way back to the apartment.

“Why didn’t you tell me.” Trevor demanded the second the door was shut.

“I have barely told anyone.” Maddox looked away from Trevor. Maddox closed his eyes taking a deep breath.

“Why?” Trevor questioned walking closer to Maddox, “Because years ago you acted different, you would sometimes flirt back and let me touch you without you tensing and moving away, and we use to text all the time, i thought we were friends and then suddenly you went cold and i always referred as your brothers best friend not your friend. Why.” Trevor tearfully demanded asking the things he has wanted to know for years. Trevor hated that one day he woke up and it was like Maddox was a different person towards him.

“I was scared.” Maddox emotionally choked out, he shook his head feeling his eyes full with tears, “It took me so long to accept who i was and you helped in a lot that, and i was ready to tell you how i felt about you and to come out to everyone else but Jack had said somethings one day and it scared me, it pushed back all the progress i had made and i wasn’t ready anymore for anyone to know and i was hurt and i couldn’t do anything with you because i didn’t want anyone knowing.” Maddox tearfully spoke feeling the tears run down his face as he looked at Trevor, who also had tears running down his face.

Maddox truthfully always hated that he shut Trevor out but he was so scared that someone would find out that he was Bi that he couldn’t take the chance with his feelings towards Trevor possibly showing to anyone was else, and he hated himself for shutting out Trevor especially seeing how much it hurt him.

“Oh Theo, what did Jack say.” Trevor frowned seeing how hurt Maddox looked as he talked, Trevor could feel a lot of the anger drain from him seeing the hurt and sadness from Maddox as he stepped closer to Maddox.

“It was after our last game in the NTDP, you um had fell asleep on my lap and the guys were teasing us and then asked Jack when they thought we would get together.” Maddox started explaining the day that was one of the worst days, Trevor frowned remembering how he had woken up with a blanket on him but Maddox no where to he seen, “Jack denied it saying i could never be gay, that Hughes aren’t like that and that i would never be with you. It scared me because i hadn’t come out to anyone yet so hearing what one of my brothers thought of me being bi or gay, it sent into defense mode, i’m sorry.” Maddox had his head hung sniffling.

Trevor felt his jaw clench in anger of what Jack had said and seeing how much it has effect Maddox and Jack is lucky he isn’t here right now or Trevor would punch the shit out of him.

Trevor took a deep breath forgetting the anger for right now more worried and Maddox, he walked over gently cupping Maddox’s face wiping his tears, “Look at me. Forgot what Jack said he’s a dumbass okay, you’re allowed to like guys and a Hughes can be gay. You have nothing to be sorry for Maddox Hughes, you were scared and you protected yourself. I could never be mad about that.” Trevor gently rubbed his thumbs against Maddox’s cheekbones as he spoke to Maddox, “Okay?”

Yes, Trevor was angry that Maddox shut him out for so long but Trevor also knew Maddox was scared and was trying to protect himself so Trevor couldn’t be that angry even if he tried too.

“Okay.” Maddox slowly nodded not knowing how much he needed to hear someone say that to him.

“Why don’t we get some sleep?” Trevor could see how exhausted Maddox was. Trevor also knowing being emotional makes Maddox extremely tired.

“Can you stay?” Maddox quietly asked knowing Trevor would understand what he was asking, remembering the days they used to fall asleep in the same bed. Maddox didn’t know if he had the right to ask anymore but he asked what he had been wanting for a long time.

Trevor could feel his heart soften completely, “Of course, just let me get changed.” Trevor smiled widely and they walked down the hallway to their bedrooms, Trevor headed into his room getting changed out of his clothes and into a pair of black sweatpants and ducks shirt.

Trevor walked into Maddox’s room seeing him only in a pair of grey sweatpants and laying down in bed, Trevor smiled slightly as Maddox lifted the covers on the other side of the bed, Trevor got into the bed and Maddox scooted a little closer to him.

Trevor slowly put his arm around Maddox and could feel as Maddox relaxed.

Trevor knew they had a lot to talk about but it was a good start.

[slasherscream]

the crazy ass boys gang or yandere until dawn boys spending the holidays with the reader/reader’s family? 👀

A/N: a little late on this but better now than never! happy holidays my loves (tried to keep the headcanons vague so you could imagine a variety of winter holidays in here, but i'm sorry if it's still christmas centric, honey, that's what i celebrate and so i tend to get carried away with it)

TIP-JAR

crazy ass boys gang + spending the holidays with reader

billy loomis:

It will be a hard sell to get him to enjoy the holidays with you. I won't lie to you. The reason? Besides the fact that he thinks he's too cool for the holidays, they bring up a lot of.... undealt with feelings regarding his own family. You might be tempted to let him grump it out because that will be easier. Resist! He wants you to pull him from his totally-not-seasonal-depression into holiday bliss with you. He just wants you to earn it.

So put on your working boots and get to it. Drag him into tradition, decorate the house, fill it with the smell of well-cooked food. Eventually, the cheer and vigor with which you do everything will get to him. He'll begrudgingly join in and find himself enjoying the holidays for the first time in years.

Pick one battle at a time and leave the roadblock of celebrating with your family for next year's holiday season. Trust me.

josh washington:

Polar opposite of Billy. He loves the holidays. All of the holidays! He's incredibly happy to spend them with you, no matter how many years you've spent them together before. Each year feels special to him, in the corniest way possible.

The biggest problem during the holiday season is deciding who you'll be celebrating with. Are you going to party with mutual friends this year? Go to his family's house or yours? Everyone wants to see you two during the holidays. You're everyone's favorite couple.

You two sometimes stretch yourselves a little thin, practically promising to be in two places at once! While that can add stress to the most magical time of the year, you try and relax and focus on what really matters in your few moments of downtime: each other.

stu macher:

Stu isn't one for traditional holidays at home with the family because that's never how he spent his growing up. The holidays meant trips around the world to far-off places. He doesn't want to give that up now that you're together. In fact, he wants to travel even more, especially if you aren't well-traveled.

The holidays for Stu are synonymous with adventure. If you humor him, he'll make it worth your while and let you pick the location of your trip. The best part is, no matter how expensive the trip gets, he pays for the whole thing.

His family has the money. Why not spend it? Actually, the best part is one of his love languages, as a rich boy, is gift-giving... and he does not consider paying for the holiday vacation his holiday gift to you. You're getting that expensive vacation plus a boatload of gifts under the Christmas tree. He knows how to spoil his partner when he wants to, that's for sure.

jd/jason dean:

Is completely willing to spend the holidays with your family (but I cannot stress this enough); do not take him home to celebrate with your family unless you have a perfect relationship with every single member. He will sense discord in relationships and he will choose to say the tiniest remark perfect for igniting holiday chaos and discontent.

Why? He couldn't tell you why. Maybe chaos is more fun than holiday harmony. When he senses a problem, his instinct is to dig into that problem to find its source. It's an addiction of his.

Other than that, during the holidays, instead of succumbing to melancholy over the past, he strives to make your time together as sweet as possible. He goes along with tradition with minimal cynical commentary and enjoys the happiness the holidays bring you. If you're content, he's content.

kevin khatchadourian:

As disrespectfully as possible, he hates the holidays and hates that you want to celebrate them. Any of them. The more you push, the more irritated he becomes.

Everything about the holidays highlights all the parts of society he finds most unpalatable. The fake cheer people greet each other with. Consumerism. The vigor with which they adore and worship their religious figures. It all makes him sick.

Still... there is a certain glow about you around this time of year. So when you ask him to do things, he goes along with your inane wishes with gritted teeth holding back the venomous words he wants so badly to say (do you have any idea how much he holds back for your sake?) Compliance is truly the best gift you can receive from Kevin any time of year.

nathan prescott:

Before you, he'd spend most of his holidays under the influence of whatever substance he could get his hands on first. He's slowed down on the abuse of most things since being with you. Still, the holidays are no walk in the park for him.

There's no way you'll spend the holidays with his family, even if his father "requested" his presence. He'd break his own leg to keep from having to look his father in the eye.

When you bring up the possibility of spending the holidays with your family, he's a little upset, he wanted to spend the holidays with you. When you clarify that you meant the two of you spending time with your family... well, he had a small panic attack, admittedly.

No matter how much you reassure him that everything will be fine, nothing helps until he actually meets your family and is warmly received. He'll be a little awkward the entire time, but the sheer warmth of love coming from everyone around him is enough to make him cry. Come next year it will be Nathan who suggests spending the holidays with your family again.

sebastian valmont:

To Sebastian, the holidays means receiving a few very expensive (but ultimately quite meaningless) gifts from his father which he reciprocates and then going back to pretending, like neither the holidays nor his father, exist. Cold? Certainly. Sad? Absolutely. But that's how it's always been.

If there was ever a Christmas full of love, it happened before he could remember, so it might as well have never happened at all.

Now you're here and things are different. There's a buzz in the air this time of year. You talk, you dance, you cook, you smile. You do everything together, attached at the hip. You drag him to spend time with your family and even that is tolerable, and Sebastian hates spending time with anyone's family (even yours.)

Being with you has been blissful, even with everything you had to overcome to be happy with one another. How well the holidays went will cement the knowledge in his head that you're what's it for him. You're what he wants, for now and always.

He'll surprise you on New Years Eve with one last tiny present, or that's what he tells you, as he puts you in the car and drives you to an unknown location, blindfolded the whole way there. When you arrive, he'll guide you tenderly up some steps and through a door, and then he'll take off the blindfold. You'll be standing in the most beautiful home you've ever seen. A place plucked directly from your wildest dreams (or all your late night talks with Sebastian).

"Move in with me?" He'd say, somehow smug and earnest at the exact same time.

It's a wonderful way to bring in the New Year.

david mccall:

Will insist on spending time with your family if your relationship with them is good. But if it's bad? Even better, he gets you all to himself.

Goes along with everything you want to do. He's at your beck and call. Whatever you want is yours and nothing you ask is too much. He'll cook with you for hours. He'll clean the house from top to bottom and then smile when you tell him you still have to decorate together. He loves the domesticity of it all.

When you give him his gift he'll be genuinely choked up. You'd already discussed the fact that you were exchanging gifts this year, but it still moves him to receive this physical reminder that you know him, and that you care. Frankly, he hasn't received many gifts in the course of his lifetime. Yours means everything to him.

Even though you both agreed to just one gift each, when you wake up that morning there will be a pile of gifts waiting for you. What can David say? He likes to spoil you.

sparrow!ben hargreeves:

The holidays are the busiest time of year when it comes to preventing crime. People are more desperate around the holidays, more prone to violence than words during the most "magical" time of the year. The holidays have never meant much, just a promise of more crime to fight. Still, this is the worst holiday for him yet.

Stuck in some strange, alternate world his father created, all his Sparrow siblings dead and all the Umbrellas having gone their separate ways? When he's not fighting crime, he's keeping himself wasted. Rebuilding a legacy for himself as a superhero when he did all this groundwork for himself when he was just a kid in the original timeline. It's brutal. It's humiliating.

It's not all bad though... there is, of course, you. The super-powered plus one that the Umbrellas had dragged along through two separate apocalypses until you'd apparently manifested into his reality. When everyone went their separate ways, you'd, for some reason, stuck with Ben.

He tries to pretend, but you both know he's grateful for your company, even though he's an asshole on his best of days.

You're not an Umbrella anymore. And he isn't a Sparrow. Now you're a super-hero duo and it works, somehow. You make a good team.

In a short time, against the odds (the odds being Ben's award-winning personality), you've become friends. Maybe even a weird, two-person family. Except he's pretty sure most families don't have the suffocating amount of sexual tension you do.

You've kissed before. Under the light of a dying universe, when you were pretty sure you were both going to cease to exist. You opened up to each other that night. But then there was the stress of... kinda saving the world? And then you wound up in this new, broken, strange one. You haven't talked about the kiss since.

He feels like he's going crazy.

Especially because you live together. He's not sure why he insisted on moving in together (because he's in love with you? because he's never lived alone before? because he misses his family?) but he did. Now he deals with the consequences every day. He hears you singing in the shower to start your day. He hatefully makes you cups of coffee that he insists are poison for the body (don't bring up the fact that he got blackout last night) when you have a long day ahead of you. He preps you for the interviews you two have started doing together, the whole world entranced by this new super-hero duo that the two of you make. He even holds your hand before your public appearances, because he knows you get stage fright.

There's something deeply wrong with him.

He tries to get you both to focus on crime this year, but you fight him every step of the way. Let's decorate, you chirp! Let's watch holiday movies, you smile. Let's cook our favorite foods together instead of getting them delivered, you beg. It's all maddening!

And now, having made it through all the holidays relatively emotionally distant and unscathed, you have the nerve to be laid up against him, staring up at him with big, drooping eyes waiting for midnight to hit on New Years Eve, and you ask him if he misses his family.

He snaps and finally kisses you, months of wanting and waiting and burning boiling over into this moment.

How could he miss his family when you're sitting right beside him?

[adoringsan]

new world 💌 choi san — 5

Y/n takes a deep breath as she looks at the reflection before her in the large bathroom mirror. Y/n isn’t trying to impress San, absolutely not. But Y/n takes great pride in her appearance, always going out of her way to make herself look presentable. With a large sigh, Y/n fixes the elegant white dress on her body once last time, double checking her hair and the light layer of makeup she had only minutes to apply before making her way out of the bathroom and downstairs to meet her faith.

“Morning my love” Y/n’s mother smiles ever so gracefully as Y/n finally arrives downstairs. “Say hello to your guests.”

Y/n turns her attention to the pair standing behind her mother. She see’s her father chatting to a tall man who she doesn’t recognise, who she can only imagine to be San’s manager. Her eyes then fall on him. Choi San. Standing awkwardly beside his manager, eyes wide as he looks at the beautiful interior of the palace.

“Hi” Y/n says bluntly in an attempt to get San’s attention, succeeding in her attempt.

“Ah Y/n” you father interrupts with a large smile on his face before San can speak, playing up to the audience. Y/n hates when her dad does that. Acts fake. “This is Hwan, San’s manager” the King points towards the man you rightfully assumed to be San’s manager.

“Nice to meet you” Y/n lightly smiles, extending her hand to shake a visibly nervous Hwan’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” Hwan replies, bowing respectfully.

Y/n removes her hand from Hwan’s, turning to face a shaking San. “Hi.”

San’s eyes grow wide in his head after being greeted by the Princess. How is this even real? “H-hi Your Highness, i-it’s so nice to meet you” San stutters, bowing to the Princess.

Y/n can’t help but to snort from laughing at San’s actions, earning a deadly glare from her parents. “You’re supposed to be my boyfriend but you call me Your Highness instead of Y/n?”

San’s cheeks are burning with embarrassment. Why is this girl so intimidating? She always seems so soft and sweet in the media, but standing in front of her and subsequently being laughing at by her is mortifying. “Sorry your h- Y/n.”

“Okay” the King intercepts before San gets even more embarrassed than he already is, if that’s even possible that is. “We’re going to go to the dining hall Y/n, why don’t you show San the garden hm? Get to know each other while we talk with Hwan. We’ll call you when breakfast is ready.”

“Okay” Y/n says softly before walking straight to the exit of the palace, assuming San is following close behind.

Y/n decides to take San to her old swing set, located in her favourite flower garden. The place she finds most comfortable. Tough façade aside, Y/n feels nervous. She feels scared, and she could really do with something to calm her down, so the flower garden is the perfect place for that. Y/n used to play in this garden for countless hours with Chanhee, and eventually Kevin and Eric once they received your father’s approval. It brings back happy memories for Y/n. Y/n sits down on her swing without uttering a word, swinging slowly, leaving San standing awkwardly, fiddling with the bracelet on his right wrist. “You can sit on the other swing, I don’t bite” Y/n jokes dryly, staring down at her swinging feet. San hesitantly accepts, sitting on the swing beside Y/n’s apprehensively.

“The garden is beautiful” San nervously speaks up, trying not to overstep any boundaries. “So is the palace, it’s really beautiful.”

“Mmh” Y/n responds, unable to help the small smile that appears on her lips at the mention of her garden. Whenever she’s stressed out she comes here to relax. Sometimes she comes out here to hide too when given duties she wants to get out of. Ironic, considering this time she’s brought the duty she wants to get rid of here with her. “Look San” Y/n sighs, “I don’t want to do this. For years I’ve dreamed of having my first boyfriend, falling in love, and honestly, a fake relationship with you wasn’t what I had in mind. I’m not trying to be rude, I’m sure you’re a great guy for someone, don’t take it personally. But just so you know, I hate this, and if you in any way test me I won’t take it lightly. I never, ever expected my father to do something like this to me, but here we are.”

San can’t help but to feel bad. Obviously this isn’t San’s fault, he knows that, but he can’t hide the feeling of guilt that it’s him that has to ruin Y/n’s life long fantasy of her first boyfriend. “I’m really sorry Y/n. It sucks that something you’ve dreamed of for so long has to be ruined by well, me. This is a big shock for me too. My manager didn’t really give me an option. I promise I’ll try and make this as easy for you as possible. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. I can’t even imagine how you feel that your father would do that to you. I’m really sorry Y/n.”

“Honestly San,” Y/n sighs, looking the boy straight in the eye, “all I need is for you not to be in my life, and I would do anything to go back to that. Again, nothing personal.” With that Y/n stands up and begins walking back towards the Palace, “Breakfast is probably ready.”

-

When the ‘couple’ sit down for breakfast, they aren’t expecting to be immediately bombarded with rules and regulations. “You’ll make appearances together regularly. San, you’ll assist Y/n in some of her schedules. Y/n you’ll attend some of San’s concerts and other events. San will come here at least once a week, ideally more. San, Y/n’s assistant and bodyguard Johnny will have your number and can contact you at all times. When Johnny contacts you, you must respond. When you are out in public together there is to be no tension or uneasiness. You should post regularly on social media. San, I trust you not to see anyone else romantically, I don’t think I even need to explain how terrible that would be for you. Y/n needs constant protection, and I am trusting you will never jeopardise her safety. Do I make myself clear to you both?” the King asks, completely bombarding the pair with information.

“Yup” Y/n replies, shoving another slice of mango into her mouth, hardly listening to what her father is saying.

“Y-yes of course Your Majesty” San responds with wide eyes. If San wasn’t scared before, he certainly is now.

—

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note: the first meeting! please let me know what you think🫶🏼

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