#i have a will one planned to complete the set i dunno when i’m gonna do it tho

[livingd34dgrl]

ethel cain and abigail hobbs make me feel things

[lollipopliccer]

𝔄 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔰𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔢 ❦

❦ warning lollipop chaos ahead! proceed with caution… ❦ light angst , happy ending , ex getō suguru , tattoo artist suguru , set in a tattoo parlour , soft dom geto , praise , cunnilingus , masochism , light sadism & impact play , ig semi public and i guessss office sex

the descriptions of this tattoo experience is not accurate, i dunno shit abt tattoos (even tho i rlly wanna get one). so don't bite my fucking dick off with the technicalities! lets just b happy that i acc posted this hehehe

word count ; 5k ish

black fem reader (still all can read)

lollipopliccer’s love letter ❦ … hiiiii lollipops 🪷 i just wanted to say thank u sm for the love on my debut fic i rlly appreciated it. i’m rlly excited for y’all to read this new one EEEEE. this one was also long as helllll (¬_¬), shit has just been ridiculous in my life rn so sorry abt the delay, i don’t even know y it took me this long just to write 5k ugh anywayyy. i’m excited, cus i always eat up geto tattoo artist head-cannons, mmmm they’re just so mm mm mm tasty. anyway this is my first time writing some angst, i usually stay clear away from any typa angst, i’ve already got enough of that in my life plss haahaa, i don’t even know what possessed me to dip my toe in it, but don’t worry it’s very light. okayy enough of the babble, pls enjoy my fic, and i’d appreciate all ur interaction, reposts, comments, feedback blah blah… mwah mwah mwah ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎°｡⋆♡‧₊˚

'i'm so excitteedddd' you squeal, as your best friend nobara parks her car, beside the tattoo parlor. you both had been planning your tattoos together for a few weeks now settling on the most beautiful matching heart design on both your bikini lines, whilst individually having unique patterns going through the (tatted) hearts.

"you better not fucking scream when you're actually under the gun" nobara chastises laughing.

"fuck you bitch, you already know i'm bad like that, not even gonna flinch" you taunt, as you both get out of her car.

you decided on wearing a fitted, short black dress, that accentuated your curves and hips but would also be easily manoeuvrable for your tattoo placement. shoko Ieiri your tattoo artist made sure you were comfortable with your design and placement.

underneath your dress, you wore bikini bottoms with side ties, for the same reasons as the dress - paired with some white trainers with pink embellishments. you complete your outfit with jewellery. including your pandora bracelet with silver and pink charms, a necklace, and stud earrings.

you both walk into the parlour, it's decorated all over its dark blue walls with a myriad of paintings, sketches, and different artworks. nobara leads you to the front desk as she had booked the appointment. you're greeted by a raven-haired girl with a short pixie cut.

"hey, are you guys here for your appointment?" she asks, as you notice her name tag- 'maki', and her tattoos and scars peeking through her top.

"yeah, um we had an appointment for 6:30 pm" nobara states, you can see her start to blush at maki.

"cool, yeah i'll check that out for you, umm..." maki responds

nobara so obviously interested in maki, decides to flirt, while you absent-mindedly look at the artwork placed across the shop. it's truly captivating, the deep dark hues and colours, so beautifully drawn, depicting what you could only describe as demons. they were more abstract than the stereotypical depiction, but these works somehow gave more meaning and conveyed more torment.

"so how long have you been working here, maki right?" nobara asks

"yeah, i started some months ago."

"that's cool, i love your tats”

“thank you, i um did some of em myself, nobara right?” maki responds getting nobara’s name from the booked appointment slot

“yeah…” nobara smiles shyly

“…are those your sketches up there? nobara asks, pointing to one of the sketches you've been staring at, there's a familiarity to the work displayed. but you can't put your finger on it.

"no um that's actually from another tattoo artist's, geto." maki answers.

you almost freeze, just from the mention of his name "who?!"

"uhh geto suguru, he owns the place, his artwork is all over these walls" maki responds to you.

a shiver runs up your spine "oh..."

"on that note, i'm sorry for the inconvenience girls, but shoko, your tattooist she had to take our other colleague gojo to the hospital- broke his arm doing some dumb shit. so she won't be able to actually give you your tattoo’s today, however we're able to swap her in for geto suguru, he just got back into town and is just as talented"

"shit" nobara turns to you, already knowing the issue from just his name alone, "yn i had no idea omg, i should've checked better, we can leave"

"nah there'll be no need for that, right yn?" you hear his voice. his silky deep voice, it always had that raspy quality that made your knees go weak. another shiver runs down your spine. you whip around.

"why tf are you here?" you sneer.

"uhh i work here…" he answers deadpan.

you turn back around, after giving him a lethal sneer, "hey um maki is there any other artist today?"

"no, i'm sorry, everyone else is booked." she apologises

"and anyway, it'll be a hassle for you guys if you were to reschedule," geto states

you simply stare at nobara refusing to even glance at him.

"come on yn" geto insists gently, leaning closer to you. your back to him. your name on his lips has you reeling, how softly he calls to you, like no other.

nobara waits for what you want to do, and if you're comfortable being tattooed by your ex in such an intimate area?

"let's get this done", you tell nobara, you turn around to face geto who has that enticing smirk.

as you follow him to his workspace, nobara hangs back reassured that you're comfortable being with your ex. you get the chance to truly take him in since last you saw him. his tattoo’s have grown, as he's painted a whole-sleeved dragon across his left arm, slithering out of his tight-fitted black t. your eyes roam all over his body, soaking in his confident stride, his height, taller than you remember. the way he ties part of his black, luscious hair in the bun is similar but different from the way you remember, leaving the rest of his hair to hang past his shoulders. but his right-hand tattoo is as you remember. a rose’s stem covered in thorns, wrapped around his hand, you can't help but still have your heart swell from that.

as he opens the door for you, you strut past him in silence, he of course responds with an eye roll to your petulance. his workspace is decorated with more of his works, some unfinished, yet so mesmerising you can't look away from them, they seem to depict a greater depth, too intimate for the outer world. the deep hues of dark royal blues, blacks, and green meld together, casting an otherworldly aura. the demons here have this eerie elegance, their features subtly tormenting, evoking such sorrows.

"if you're not comfortable with me tattooing you, we don't have to, i will let you reschedule free of charge-" "i know." you state, without hesitation. and with that, the silence returns as geto smiles slightly, he then grabs his equipment, lining them up, his needle gun, ink, etc.

"why did you insist on me not rescheduling then?" you taunt

"i wouldn't say i instisted" geto defends.

"mmm really? cus i'd even say you implored" you smirk. seeing you smile… he wonders how he could’ve forgotten how magnetic it is.

"i just wanted to see you…”

a pause.

"you broke up with me." you interrupt coldly, both of you are reminded of your separation...

… you begged him to stay. the pain you felt completely consumed you, leaving you empty…

geto holds your gaze. your eyes filled with anger, but also longing. you try to conceal your feelings by turning around.

"yn..." he calls out to you, but you ignore him, seemingly too entranced by a random splotch on the wall, while trying to hold it all in "...yn look at me", geto approached.

you turned around slowly. almost stubbornly, you made sure to look him in his eyes, those deep dark orbs that never failed to suck you into a world of intensity and sensitivity. you both hold each other's gaze, so much said between each other, longing, and regret.

"i am sorry yn, i-" in his attempt to express his apology, you immediately stride past to sit on the tattoo bed, too overwhelmed.

"-right so like from a scale of 1-10, 10 being i'm gonna need to b fucking sedated, how painful is this tat going to be" you ramble, trying to divert the conversation.

you ignore his sigh, as he walks to his chair. he then chooses to focus on preparing his equipment, sterilising them, all that shit. "the tattoo shouldn't be that painful, especially as you requested numbing cream."

"cool" you respond curtly, you follow his actions on focusing on the task at hand, and lift up the side of your dress, to expose the side you were getting tatted on.

when geto looks back he sees your pink bikini bottoms with string ties, he looks away trying to keep his composure "just want you to give me an idea where you want your heart and thorns”.

you clear your throat a little, to try and calm your nerves, “um just around here, i trust your um artistic inclinations. have some freedom with it, i know its kinda simple but i um- the thorns i want them to wrap around, please.”

“of course, yn”

geto trying his best to make this experience as comfortable as possible begins applying the numbing cream. he looks you in your eyes, to see if there were any remaining apprehensions, finding none, the gun comes to life.

“you tell me how you’re feeling throughout this process, if anything feels off with what i am doing, you tell me, do you understand?” geto instructs, his firmness, and apprehension to cause you any unnecessary harm stirs things in you. things you’ve tried repressing, tried to move on from, evidently unsuccessfully.

you nod in response adding a “yes”. and so begins the process, as geto brings needle to skin, his art begins to mark you. the initial twitch of pain you feel is subdued by the numbing cream generously applied. although you can’t help the slight yelp that falls from your lips, which geto catches onto and immediately soothes “shhh it’s okay, the cream will kick in soon won’t feel a thing hun”. his words soothe you, as they always used to, leading you to simply whimper in slight pain. you can’t help but look at him, at how he’s completely focused on your brown skin, that he marks by his hands.

…

as the hours go on, you slowly see geto’s work, his art come together, the red hues of the heart mixing together with slight pinks but also contrasted shades of black, to provide it with such depth, teasing the later depictions of darkness the thorns will add. you are in complete awe of this man, of his work, as you watch him work completely zoned in, despite any dull pain mumbling under the numbing cream.

as your focus lays on him- memories, old feelings of pain, sadness, and confusion begin to bubble again, and you blurt…

“why did you leave?”

a pause…

followed by silence… your demand for answers hanging over you both, while he still remains focused on your tattoo, you remain waiting. you know he heard you.

“i found myself in darkness again, yn, but that time it was even more challenging.. my hallucinations, my night terrors all came back, i was in it deep…” he pauses trying to find his words, and you give him that space “… i knew you were there for me, holding me when i woke up screaming. you stood by me…” he paused

“…however i couldn’t let you do that, i couldn’t bring you there with me. not when i couldn’t wear a heartfelt smile in this world. i needed to find myself again, my purpose. and i know the way i left you, was cold, and confusing, and i am truly sorry, but i had to do it for myself.” as you listen attentively, watching him intently, he slowly gazes at you, pausing his work. your eyes meet with such intensity, such ache, and you start welling up, finally understanding everything, no longer being left with nothing but a cold departure.

“i’m sorry- m’so- ‘m so so sorry geto” tears cascade down your face, geto is quick to wipe them away, softly holding your precious face.

“sshh, ssh baby, don’t be silly mmm, you did nothing wrong, and i’ve been doing better. so much better. finding new channels to express how i feel, what i see.” referring to the intricate art that decorated his walls.

you sniffle, you feel so guilty and ashamed, for the resentment you harboured against him when he was out there trying to fight his way out of such a dark mental space. “they’re beautiful.” you sniffle

“not a day goes by that i don’t think about you, that i don’t regret the way i left. i would’ve come back but i thought you would move on...”

“i didn’t.” you respond

“neither did i.”

with your admissions to one another, a comforting silence fell, filling the room with sweet serenity, and you both found yourselves tethered together once again, holding each other’s gaze, filled with yearning.

you were the first to break, averting your gaze, feeling like it was the first time meeting, how your butterflies bloomed and fluttered, riddled with carnal hunger for him. the paradox of your feelings for him always consumed you, almost driving you mad, only geto could set you so ablaze.

the needle resumed its course, mechanically piercing your skin. both your attentions returned to their original positions.

the only difference being the shift in the atmosphere, the reignition of your feelings for one another, but this time at a tenfold from the time spent apart, wanting no other.

“ahh it’s getting a little sore geto” you whine in slight pain

“sorry yn, we’re moving onto the thorns now, we’ll soon be done, why don’t you take a look at it for me, tell if you don’t like anything?”

as he wipes over the completed heart, filled with colours and dimensions, so deep and beautiful, truly depicting more than you could imagine, it’s medium-sized maintaining a slight cuteness to the art, but still depicts chaos within, which geto clearly understood about you, and so was best to depict it.

“i love it.” you squeal, looking into his eyes, as he looks for reassurance from you. his vibrant smile brightens his face, you hadn’t seen it in so long, and it warmed you.

“good, we’re going to move to the thorns, wrapped down your thigh, why don’t you tell me about your choice of thrones?” geto asked so he could understand your thought process behind the tattoo.

you were apprehensive to reveal your thorns, largely from a place of embarrassment. you didn’t want to show how much he had affected you, and still did, but you did not want to lie to him especially after, he revealed himself so intimately to you.

the thorns, um, i got them from you…” geto halts at this, looking at you in slight confusion “they stemmed from me just wanting to have a piece of you still with me, something that i remembered, that reminded me of you… the thorns, the ones you have on your rose.” in explaining, you feel bold enough to touch the inked rose on his right hand, grazing your fingers over the thorns

suguru can hardly conceal his feelings. “i missed you.” geto states. his dark, sleek eyes told you how he burned for you.

“i missed you too suguru.” you whisper. your feelings flood your body, making you tingly- his intensity holds you in place. you’re both focussed on one another, suguru begins to smile feeling the warmth of your fingers touching him so delicately.

"lets continue your tattoo, i don't wanna fuck it up" suguru states, slowly bringing his hand away from your touch, even though he wanted nothing more than to let you touch him all over. to feel how those pretty acrylics, decorated in bows and charms along his skin, but he didn't want to mess this up, he wanted to tattoo you perfectly.

"okay" you respond, almost dissapointedly. wanting to feel him under your fingertips. you'd settle for now to feel his hands on your thighs, holding them to get his angles right, you were beginning to realise that you wanted more than just to stroke his hand. you want him to mark you all over, with more than just his needle gun.

"you've gotta try and stay still for me yn, i know it hurts, but it'll be over soon" suguru soothed, as his eyes narrowed around the curves of your thighs, the way they flexed and trembled slightly as you whimpered due to the numbed pain.

"okay... can i hold onto you?" you ask. he responds with a nod. you grip his arm, wanting to feel tethered- you don't remember him being so well-built, his biceps feel thick and powerful, almost hard to the touch as he flexes per his movements.

...

you're now a few hours into the tattoo, suguru’s taking his time, to add such beautiful details. the tension between the two of you is palpable, but the air is no longer filled with animosity, but rather intimacy. knowing you though, and how impatient you are suguru already sees it coming when you-

"sug i'm fucking borreeddd" the numbing cream obviously doing its job to reduce the pain to something dismissible, suguru chuckles finding your impatience so familial and adorable.

"it's barely been two hours" suguru forever sassy, remarks, rolling his eyes at ur moodiness. "now stay still, you're messin up my work." suguru states, you huff and bite your tongue, as you don’t want to fuck up his flow, you already know he works best when he’s zoned-in on a task.

you decide to catch up with him, your curiosity building, you've both missed so much from each other's lives. "i like your parlour. i would've bet money you'd turn your art into tattoos, you were too talented to let your art hide in your sketches"

suguru smiles again, "yeah? it was either this or burning down the town", he jokes and makes you both laugh, due to the absurdity. however, you both knew, there was some truth to it, which honestly added to your laughs

"right, of course committing arson, and potential mass murder is an obvious alternative." you sarcastically quip

"what you don't agree, i know you're not much better at keeping your chaos in check," he teases, his eyes locking onto yours.

you feel yourself flush, feeling seen- so you try staying on track to your original plan to catch up with him, "when did you open this place?"

"well actually gojo was the one who invested in my passion"

"that's so sweet"

"yeah, he's a fucking asshole, always all up in my business," he remarks, with a small smile, feigning annoyance. you can feel the fondness behind his words.

you notice how suguru smiles, how he teases, just like he used to, & still has that assertive and confident allure to him, that natural dominance and assuredness in himself, that he almost lost. your conversation with one another continued, bantering off one another. you make each other laugh and snicker and your heart can’t help but swell.

...

your feelings for him set aflame once again. this time with a ferocity you could barely contain. only heightened by the dull pain that he controlled with his needle, marking you so prettily. the assured control suguru had over your body was so seductive, it made places other than your tatted thigh, start to ache, start to ache so badly.

finally, geto lays the finishing touches on your tattoo, clearing up the intricate lines, adding shadings and highlights, and then wiping over the tattoo.

"okay, it's done. you can go check it in the mirror, let me know if you hate it." geto keeping his gaze low somewhat anxious to see your reaction.

as you approach the full-body mirror attached to the opposite wall, you couldn't possibly understand his apprehension because when you lay eyes on your tattoo, you are completely awestruck. you fall completely in love with his markings, the way the thorns pierce through the heart and sliver down your left hip, and thigh, wrapping them gorgeously.

you are lost for words, your lips part with a gasp, and when you bring your eyes up onto suguru through the mirror, you see how he watches you. following from your thighs decorated in his work, marking your body so seductively. then he focuses on how your dress is bunched up on those hips, those hips he’s held, and soothed over for hours today, but his mind wanders... reminiscing about all those times he used to handle and caress all over your plump thighs. how he would mould your body any way he pleased.

he watched as you held the undone ties of your pretty bikini bottoms, it made him salivate. his eyes cast over your dress- the way it hugged your body so exquisitely, propping up your boobs so prettily. the way your butt peaks out of the bunched-up dress, and how your breathing picked up, flustered from his heated gaze.

"i love it sug." you whisper softly.

"yeah?" he smirks. growing bolder, he walks up to you, and you don’t dare avert your eyes from his, through the mirror. you love the way his top hugs his thick muscular shoulders. his broad upper back being so beautifully emphasised, and how his sculpted chest has his nipple piercings teasing through his top. you salivate at his slim waist. ugh he's such a slut. you love the way his body is perfectly decorated in his art, marking his skin; and adorning his arms, and his neck, which is wrapped with a chain, you remember gifting him.

when he reaches you, he has to crouch down, flexing his strong thighs and calves hidden under his baggy bottoms, but you still have to look up at him to maintain eye contact, which he demands with his own. suguru holds the bottom of your thigh just under where the tattoo ends.

"how does it feel?" he whispers into your ear, his sharp gaze still honed on you

you whimper faintly because of the dull sting and ache from the tat

"a little sore sug, but it feels good, i really like it." you say softly while you lean into him, wanting to be wrapped in his body, his warmth.

he smiles at your admission "that's good yn, i'm going to wrap it up now, don't want it getting infected." you love the way he says your name, the way he purrs, your name rolls off his tongue so tenderly.

as he wraps the tattoo you wince, he immediately soothes you, "i've got you baby, it's okay." your body relaxes in response. your eyes never leave each other. as the tension shifts you feel enthralled, wanting him to touch you all over.

"yn, do you want me to play with you?" suguru asks, having that condescending tone that never failed to make you falter. you almost shy away, but he holds your face, bringing his hand up under your chin, his fingers grip your cheeks slightly, making you look directly at him “i want to play with you, i want to help you forgive me baby...” he whispers into your ear. your breath becoming more uneven and flustered from his proximity, that you can practically taste his aroma, how he mixes his scents of minty, smoky notes and cinnamon, woody undertones - it intoxicates you.

“…do you want me to?”

geto waits for your response, not daring to touch you the way he wants, without knowing you’re aching for it. and you want nothing more than that, for him to take care of you how he once did, oh how you wanted to see if he still remembered how to make you cum so blissfully. you nod giving out a soft “please”.

suguru kisses the side of your head, sprinkling kisses down your face making you giggle and fawn, till he reaches your neck and you lose your breath. geto finds the sensitive parts on your neck, making you feel so tingly, it's almost ticklish. you almost forgot how much you loved when suguru kissed and licked across your neck, how he would bite and suckle, leaving you all marked up just how he liked. god he’d go fucking crazy for it too. to hear you whine and pant below him as he licked and sucked. it sent tingles all over your body, straight to your clit. you shuddered under him, leaning onto him- to give him better access to mark you. slowly he grips your hips grinding his bulge into you, he even bends you forward a little so that you can feel him, how hard he is for you- humping into you over your clothed body.

geto held you at an angle arched while both of you stood in front of the mirror so that he could have you grind right back onto his dick that was growing so achingly hard for you. the way he moved your bodies together was so disgustingly sensual, you had to look away moaning as you felt his clothed dick thrust into you, giving you that sensation you so craved. you were whining, you felt so depraved like you hadn’t been touched like this in so long- you just wanted him to rip you the fuck open.

“mmm nah baby look at yourself in the mirror…” he demanded, to which you stubbornly ignored, forcing suguru to grab your face so that you could look at how pathetically you had come undone for him, just from his dry humping. “… i said fucking look at yourself, mmm? you lost your manners baby?” he teases knowing exactly how to fix your attitude. he ends his command by giving your thigh (without the tattoo) a firm slap, making you cry out, you quickly try stifling it, remembering you’re still in his fucking workspace.

“you’re so mean” you whine and pout up at him, which makes him chuckle at you, his smirk unfurling so lewdly.

“i’m going to make it up to you mmm? you’ll let me make you feel good baby? gotta apologise for making my baby upset.” the way he talks to you feigning that concern, his fucking tone, makes you feel weak, and pliant for him. as you move your legs a little wider, and let go of your tied bikini bottoms so they hang down barely concealing a thing. geto watches how strings of your arousal are built up, clinging onto your pretty bottoms. showing him just how wet you are for him and you push your butt into him even more, nodding your head in invitation for him to remedy all the mess he’s made.

as suguru brings his rose-covered hand down to your aching pussy ready to soothe it. once he touches her, feeling your glistening folds, he hisses as his eyes glaze over, and lower so seductively. you see the way his hand flexes and his veins protrude. his long, adept fingers dip further, caressing and rubbing against your hard little clit. he can feel it pulse for him, making you whine as suguru increases the pressure of his fingers on your clit. circling around your throbbing bundle of nerves. his fingers collect the slick past your lips, down to your spasming, weeping hole, and brings them back to your needy nub.

his tight circles, pet your pretty clit so well, turning you into a mewling mess, you can’t help but move against and around his fingers, acting so bratty- but suguru couldn't give a shit, he'll mould you right where he needs you again holding you by your neck and continuing his strokes on that clit regardless of how you whine.

"sug- aaa-" such a petulant whine leaves your supple lips, begging for him to go further into your leaking hole, you needed him to be inside you, having your pussy drool on his pretty, tatted fingers.

"i know baby, you need it don't you? you need me to fuck you open mmm?" suguru whispers in your ear, kissing the outside of your earlobe so delicately, while saying such filthy things. you look at him through the mirror nodding your head so pathetically, and why would he deny you, his baby? nah never...

suguru brings his finger back down to your desperate hole. he eases around your pussy going around the edges of her, only dipping the tip of his finger. you can't take his teasing-

"sugu! stop teasin-" suguru immediately interrupts, plunging his fingers into you, making you gasp. he slipped into your soppy pussy giving off that mind-numbing squelching sound, having your pussy suck his fingers in so snuggly, has you moaning wantonly. the way suguru’s digits fill you, he’s able to add a finger, scissoring two fingers into your weeping cunt, the way he pushes in and curls his fingers to rub against your plush walls it has you mewling. as you feel him find and rub against that spot, that perfect spongey spot so easily, your eyes roll back. suguru was losing his mind, he rasped a soft moan right into your ear, he loved watching you buck on his fingers, the way you moaned and struggled to take him, it made him itch and drool to have you.

his fingers in your pussy stroking and pumping into your soft, wet pussy. his hand around your neck holding your face up to keep your eyes on everything he was doing. his deep, velvety voice right by your ear, whispering, and moaning sweet nothings. you were losing your fucking mind, you almost couldn't handle it.

"aaa- nngg, sug- sug!," you moaned shamelessly "f-ohfuck i can't-"

"sshh baby, tf you think you're doing mmm, whining like that in my office?" suguru whispers chastising you. your eyes look up at him, and the way you looked so doe-eyed, so pathetic- barely able to hold in your moans, gripped him.

"you struggling to take it for me baby, want me stop?" geto taunts, but you instantly shake your head needing him all over you.

“no please don’t stop sug”

"you can take what i give you princess?"

"i need you uhahh" you wanted him to have you however he pleased.

the way he moves has you humping and panting, you wine on him trying to get some friction against your slutty little cunt.

your moans grow louder and the pitch of your whines grow higher- you suck on your pretty fingers to try and get yourself quiet, your eyes glazing over as you watch suguru fuck you so good with his fingers and his hard bulge pushing up into you. the way he licks and bites all over your neck leaving a trail of his marks. suguru still never averts his dark eyes from yours. the purple glints in his eyes kind of sparkle in your head. all of it is bringing you right to the edge. your eyes roll back, your thighs shake, your knees buckle from the pleasure. so pliant and easy for him to manoeuvre you so he can hold you up and fuck you in just the right angles he needs, that he demands.

“fuckfuckfuc- aahh ohhhh sugie. daddy oh mmynghh” you whine and cry, your head lolling onto his shoulder.

right on the precipice of your orgasm, suguru watches how you get so close to cumming, he’s fucking salivating seeing how you become so undone, how you’ve gone fucking dumb on just his fingers, he can’t help but moan and groan right with you.

“mmm mmfuck, mine. mine.” he purrs, licking all up on you

but all too soon, it comes to a halt, and your orgasm gets snatched away from you. suguru wickedly decides to take his fingers out of you. you almost cry

“wha- no suguru fuck no don’t stop, mmmmnoo” you whine so pathetically gripping his arm, it’s fucking laughable trying to keep his fingers right where you needed them, gripping his sculpted arms so hard. your hands… the size difference makes him smile. no not smile, he’s fucking smirking. that little shit.

“fuck you, SUG HMPH!” you practically stomp your feet, pushing him away as you’re about to walk away, but of course suguru grips you against him, pulling you back so close, you are still as stubborn as ever refusing to look at him, while you’re face to face, which makes him snicker. he isn’t having any of that bullshit tho, he grabs your chin and cheeks squeezing as a warning. he pulls your face up to him again and kisses you on your forehead, the side of your head, and your cheek, and then he ghosts his plump, nude lips over your lips.

“if i decide you don’t get to cum on my fingers, you won’t. i don’t fucking care how close you are.” suguru states, locking his eyes with yours so intensely, while his lips and breath feel so close to your own, you almost feel faint. you want nothing more than for him to just kiss you, you want to feel his lips again, oh how you miss how soft they were, how you loved the taste of his mouth, the taste of the mint with his own unique feel.

suguru’s eyes flutter down to look at your lips so lushly plump and glossed he can’t help but lick his lips. he wants nothing more than to mess up your brown and pink lip combo. to bite, suck and lick all over you.

“tell me you understand.”

“i understand daddy, m’sorry i threw a tantrum, i just wanted to cum on your fingers so bad-”

suguru smiles feeling fucking delighted from your admission

“-can you please kiss me, i promise i’ll behave sugie” you whisper almost whining at the end, you rub your thighs together feeling how you made such a mess for him, as your slick trickles down your thighs.

suguru feeling so pleased with you, groans into your mouth, once your lips touch. he almost forgot how much he missed this. how much he missed you, your lips, those soft lips that melted against his. he loved the way you gasped and whined from your slow kiss, so sensual and intimate. but he knew you were such an impatient brat, his impatient princess.

demanding more, you lace your hands into his hair. you adored his long, luscious hair so much, (that you remember countless times joking about shaving it off at night and turning it into a wig. those playful moments would always have you both bickering and laughing together. it makes your heart swell remembering this).

you begged for more by stroking and tugging at the nape of his hair, making his body tingle, as suguru moaned into your kiss. he licked on your lips to get you to open up for him. he loves the way you whine and moan from frustration and neediness while running your fingers through his hair, it made him lose his fucking mind, so, of course, he had to express that by nipping at your bottom lip. his bite made you whimper and grind up against him but it wasn’t enough. you needed more. you wanted more. but suguru leads the kiss to hold that slow, deep and sensual pace, having your tongues dance together, lick against each other unhurried. which was mind-blowing but also so frustrating you wanted to just devour him, you couldn't get enough.

you moaned into his mouth as suguru sucked on your bottom lip, and then went back to your tongue, licking against each other. he spat in your mouth briefly separating your mouths from one another, and immediately resuming the kiss. at this, you snapped. whining wantonly, you gripped onto him and stubbornly clambered onto him so your legs wrapped around his waist. suguru was easily able to carry you. you were determined to make him fuck you.

“daddy” you whisper, opening your eyes to pout up at him.

“yes baby?” suguru answers, giving little kisses along your chin down to your neck. sucking onto your sensitive neck areas, he knew just the right spots to make you lose your fucking mind.

“i want you to fuck me…” you say grinding down onto the bulge you could feel through his sweats. you were sure you could feel a wet spot on them, but you weren’t quite sure of the culprit, as your wet pussy dragged and humped on his dick print leaking with pre-cum. you could feel his throbbing dick just aching to be inside you, pumping you full of his cum. suguru hissed from the feeling of your mess teasing his aching cock.

“… please baby, please fuck me again, i said i’d be good” you whined, moving closer to his ears so only he could hear how desperate you were for him. suguru moans, his voice breaks and rasps a little from you grinding on him and circling over his dick.

suguru fucking snaps, he closes his eyes while his mouth slightly hangs open, just taking in how your hips wined on him while he carried you.

he then cupped your face to him, “you’re such a fucking brat.” he moans, holding your face and caressing your throat, he watches how your breathing picks up, as you get so flustered. he brings you close, kissing you on your forearm, bringing his hand around your neck. then he carries you to his tattoo bed.

“i am not going to fuck you yn-.”

“-but su!” you begin to whine interrupting him

“be quiet.” suguru reprimands, gripping your neck just a little tighter after placing you to sit on the edge of the seat “i’m not gonna fuck you on my dick. when i have you like that, it’s gonna be on my bed, where i can have you screaming on it without any fucking interruptions. do whatever the fuck i wanna do without you getting all shy on me tryna muffle those pretty moans from me mmm, you understand baby?”

“yeah daddy” you answer feeling so giddy and light with him

“there’s my princess,” he smirks, “you’re really that fucking needy, want my dick here, right where my colleagues are downstairs mmm?” he says before kissing you again. “good girl” he praises while lifting off your dress and quickly bringing his lips back onto yours. slowly he brings you to lay back. he gets in between your thighs lifting one up over his shoulder while letting your tatted thigh rest over the edge of the bed. from this angle he could see your pretty glistening pussy, clenching around nothing.

“lay back baby.” he instructs, he sees how you wait in anticipation for him laying back on the bed.

he crouches down, kneeling in front of your exposed pussy, your slick brown lips he’s completely hypnotised by, they glisten from your wetness. you grow a little shy, you weren’t prepared to be eaten out today (૮꒰⸝⸝> <⸝⸝꒱ა). you bring down your hands to try and cover her up, feeling a little embarrassed.

suguru immediately dismissing your nonsense, and swats your hand away bringing them to instead hold your plush thighs “don’t piss me off today yn, it’s fucking mine.” you almost squeal in response to suguru, he gets so intense sometimes.

suguru is completely enchanted by your scent, the way your hole quivers and weeps for him he has to have a taste. keeping his eyes on you suguru takes the time to separate your folds with his fingers, he licks your swollen nub revelling in the way you gasp and twitch from the sensation, you feel so sensitive from the way his fingers had you shacking.

he then delves in, lapping and sucking on your bud making you writhe and moan from pleasure. the movement of his tongue has such an effect on your pussy, it's marvelling. he takes his time, really getting you sensitive, flattening his tongue on your clit and then straightening it to add pressure, circling perfectly around your bundle of nerves, it makes you gasp and arch your back so prettily

“fuck! sug-daddy aaaahhh” you release a raspy cry, gripping his hair and pulling him into you to, so you can grind on his face, which makes him moan into you, muffling a-

“fuck baby” into your wet pussy, he has to hold your hips down as you begin moving around too much for him to control, so he holds your thigh and places his other arm on your hip, pushing you down, so you stay fucking still for him to play with you properly. suguru brings his tongue down to your leaking hole, thrusting his pointed tongue into your pussy making you mewl and cover your mouth to stop yourself from squealing.

the way you’re panting and moaning, suguru can tell you're going dumb for him, aching to cum all over him. he takes his mouth off of you as your moans get higher. you whine from the absence of his tongue on your needy pussy but he makes up for it by spitting on her, letting his spit slide onto your sensitive cunt. the way his spit glistens and slides down your pussy, he pushes it back into your hole, thrusting his fingers and spit back into you. you react by clutching your thighs together from the sensitivity which makes suguru look at you sharply.

“open.”

you whine, separating your thighs, so he can dip his head back down onto your clit which makes you shudder, bucking your hips into his face. he continues thrusting his fingers into you while his tongue plays and toys with your sore little clit. you can feel everything, it's all so much, your eyes roll back as your mouth hangs open letting out a broken moan while you tug at suguru’s hair.

the way his fingers scissor your folds open, cunt drooling and sucking him in greedily, while he laps and lightly nips on your clit letting his spit drool on you, just for him to suck on your juices. he eats so sloppily it has your eyes watering.

“s’good sug—so fuckin’ good,” hips grinding into the movement of his lengthy fingers, chasing that ecstasy knotting in the pits of your stomach, you’re so close you start seeing white, suguru knows you’re about to cum from the way your fingers tangle and tug at his hair, struggling to either push him closer or away from you. his dark piercing gaze never leaves your face.

“daddy m’gonna cum! shit hah aa sug please lemme cum oh please” you sob, which makes suguru groan into your pussy. feeling the way your hole clenches around his fingers, leaking out so much wetness. the way your hard clit throbs for him, your juices covering, adorning his beautiful face, he looks so pussy drunk. the only thing on his mind is making you cum all over him.

“mmm baby, you gonna cum for me.. that’s my good fucking girl” he says pumping his fingers into you while moving his other hand to circle your clit in tight circles, so he can talk you through your orgasm.

“oh fuck daddy! oh my godnngh” your hands immediately grip suguru’s hands as you squeal and moan wantonly. your body arches and bucks as you dig your nails into him leaving little crescents on his skin. your vision dots, as your body tenses, lips parting into a silent scream as your release flies through you, wetting the tattoo bed. suguru watches your cream flow beneath you, all over his mouth. he pushes your juices back into your leaking hole, drooling at the way your hole squelches.

“there’s my good girl, oh you did so good baby mmmm” he praises lapping at your excess juices spilling down, you’re so fucking sensitive it hurts

“sug-ahh it hurts, fuckk” you whine, purring up at him as you watch suguru’s desire envelop you, you can tell he’s not done with you, but you doubt you could even take anymore.

suguru slithers up to you, kissing and licking up your boobs, making you squirm. when he reaches you he holds your face so gently, mere inches away from you.

“you forgive me baby?” suguru whispers gently stroking his nose against yours, almost purring against you like a cat “mmmm?” he purrs stroking the side of your face and caressing your limp exhausted body. you feel so warm against him, so lewd and yet so protected.

“i forgive you, you’re such an asshole” you giggle feeling a little shy again, only suguru was able to make you shy, and flush so easily. suguru whispers back a thank you and captures your lips into a searing kiss, melting you both together so passionately. you clutch onto the nape of his neck and run your fingers through his hair, earning you a moan, as suguru’s tongue dances with yours sensually. he grips your hips, pulling you against him. you can feel his bulge pulsing for you-

“suguru, aye we’re back! and u’ve got another appointment waiting!” you both hear from downstairs at the reception, shoko calling out to suguru followed by gojo following suit making a ruckus, throwing a tantrum about his arm

“dudeee, where tf r u? i coulda died!” gojo shouts out. you can hear him coming up the stairs to suguru’s office

“mmm fuck suguru, they’re coming up” you gasp up to suguru who still refuses to take notice of them. he smirks, choosing to still feel all up on you

“mmmm don’t care c’mere” suguru states, you roll your eyes

“suguruuu c’mon” you smirk, pushing against him

“ugghh for fucksake” suguru huffs moving off of you, taking your hand and pulling you up to him making you yelp with excitement. you both come to your senses though when you hear gojo’s footsteps up the stairs getting close, both of you scrambling to put your dress back on and get you both presentable.

suguru then holds your chin, so you both look at each other

“what?” you nervously laugh at his intense look

“let me take you out yn? i’ve missed you so much baby” suguru pleads while stroking the side of your cheek with his thumb

“mmmm i dunno sug, dependdss on where you’re gonna take me” you smirk up at him

“let me worry about that baby, i wanna treat you, try and make it up to you” suguru implores and then kisses your forehead just as gojo barges in-

“sUgUruUuu!!”

♡ ༺｡° .ᘛ𓆩♡𓆪ᘚ. ° ｡༻

[killakalx]

hiii !! i haven’t had a chance to send asks recently and it is a huge tragedy because ur very cool so here i am !! ^^ i hope the world is treating you nicely and that you’ve been having a good day!

your aus ( is that the right word? 💭💭 ) and portrayals are genuinely one of my favourites and i swear nothing beats ur writing it is ridiculous atp!! 🥹

ofc i’ve been thinking about bsf!dick and frat!dick recently and was wondering how differently they might respond to finding out the reader has a tinder account/is on a dating app or site n it’s been making me giggle, would frat!dick be completely unaffected by it? he’s probably using the same thing and js stumbled upon the readers profile 🤭 maybe not though i dunno.

OH !! also what’s your favourite song on megan’s album? i’m a big fan of where them girls at !!!

bye bye 🫶🥹

hello my love, thank you so much for sending a message and enjoying my writing!! i lost this ask for a bit but here i am :))) i try my best when it comes to portrayal and my au’s are never planned so it makes me all giddy that they’re your faves 🥰

for this i think i’m gonna focus more on bsf!dick because i miss him sm :( but babes, he’s the one that helped you make the tinder profile. nowwww depending on whether or not we’re talking aboht an experienced reader, this whole thing changes i fear 😭 so bsf!dick helps inexperienced reader set up a profile (against his best interest bc you’re both playing the long game on accident) but he’s the type that makes you pinky promise you aren’t ACTUALLY looking for anyone to date. he’s helping you with a few swipes and some chats with sucky men for shits and giggles, not bc he wants to help you enter the dating pool.

if reader’s experienced then i don’t think he’d trip over it. he’s convinced himself he’s fine with all your one night stands and situationships, so naturally he has to act like he doesn’t care about you looking for your next date. you two never even talk about it until he “finds” your account and sends a dm saying some dumb shit like “hey hot stuff 🥴” and later on he’s telling you he meant it. what he doesn’t tell you is that he noticed all the photos you chose are either photos he’s complimented or photos he’s in. frat!dick is sort of the same but instead of shooting you a dm he’s probably calling you a whore when he shows his brothers your account while also hiding the fact that he swiped left (or whichever way you swipe to say ur into someone i forgot)

lawddd my fave song off of megan changes every week. i have my top ones though!! i’m circulating between bas, find out, paper together, spin, downstairs dj and moody girl 😭 this week i think it’s downstairs dj/moody girl. STOP SLEEPING ON PAPER TOGETHER THOUGH!!

[imtryingmybeskar]

Come Home Chapter Twenty One

Joel Miller x F! Reader.

Word count: 4,941

We're starting to delve into the spiciness now, but just a little. As such, this really has very little plot besides Joel being an absolute sweetheart of a boyfriend.

Come Home

Chapter Twenty One - And Still

SUMMER

Sweat tickles as it beads on your forehead and trickles in irritating drops down the dip of your spine. Your hands are cramped and sore from being in one position for so long, your finally fully-healed shoulder twinging as a reminder that it wasn’t always so. The scythe is heavy and you prop it against the wooden fence for a moment to take a breath and stretch.

The sun is low in the sky, its golden rays stretching far across the fields, and the light breeze that skates across the landscape contains a chill of the night to come. You welcome it on your overheated body, peeling your work gloves off to wipe your brow and stand for a moment to cool off. The North Star has appeared in the deepening sky, despite the fact that it is still at least an hour until sunset and you stare up at it, a flock of starlings at the start of their murmuration flitting across its face occasionally. You're the last one out here tonight, and the tranquil peace of the pastoral scene in front of you seeps into your skin, quieting your soul as you take in its gentle beauty.

A polite cough from behind, and a smile tugs at the sides of your mouth. Even when he’s not speaking, you know that voice. You turn around to see Joel, leaning forward against the horizontal wooden bar of the fence, his muscular arms crossed and his chin resting on them, completely ignoring the splendour of the scenery in favour of watching you.

“You gonna help, Miller?”

“I dunno. I’m kinda enjoyin’ the view.”

You huff a noise of disbelief as you cross to where he is, and he hands over one of the water bottles that lies next to his feet.

“You like your women grimy, sweaty and with hay in their hair?” you ask before you take a swig.

I like you grimy, sweaty and with hay in your hair.”

“I’ll have to remember this look for the summer cookout then.”

“Promises, promises,” he smiles, his dimple showing deeply in his cheek. “You about ready to quit for the day?”

“Fuck yes. I just want a shower and bed.”

“Well, lemmie see if I can’t tempt you with a little detour from that plan.”

You raise your eyebrows at him in surprise and curiosity, but he merely holds the gate open in a silent invitation for you to come through. You grab the scythe and your gloves and return them to their proper places before you set off. He takes your hand as you walk through the town, his thumb brushing softly over yours as you head back.

He couldn’t mean what you thought he might. You hadn’t…well you’d discussed this. Several times. And he had always assured you that he understood, that he wanted to wait as long as you did. Surely he didn’t want the first time you slept together to be when you were exhausted after putting in several hours cutting hay by hand? And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to sleep with him. Oh Christ how you wanted this man. And that was part of what scared you. The depth of your feelings for him and the nagging insistent thought at the back of your mind that by taking that final step into full physical intimacy you were also giving up control, once again risking your heart and your mind being broken by giving your body over to him.

“You’re awful quiet,” he remarks. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just really tired,” you reply, not untruthfully.

“Well, I’m gonna help with that,” he says firmly.

“What are you planning, mister?” you ask suspiciously.

“You’ll see,” he says mysteriously.

He lets go of your hand in favour of sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him, heedless of your sweaty back and brow. You reciprocate, tucking your hand under his t shirt and resting it against the warm skin of his back. The setting sun is beginning to cast your shadows long ahead of you as you stroll through Jackson’s main street, and a few people raise their hands or voices in greeting as you pass. Out of nowhere, a figure steps into your path and slow as you’re walking, you and Joel still have to stop abruptly to avoid bumping into her.

“Hi Joel,” she says breathlessly, choosing to ignore you despite how closely you’re standing to him.

“Oh, hey Lydia,” he replies, his voice tinged with wariness.

She was short and slim, blonde wavy hair tied up in a ponytail that cascaded magnificently down her back. You’d seen her around town a few times and noticed with amused interest the filthy looks she had shot you during the movie night when Joel had kept you tucked so closely to his side. He was a good looking man, you couldn’t blame her for having a crush.

“Sorry to bother you,” she says, deigning to glance at you briefly and not sounding very sorry at all. “But the railing on my porch is broken. I think there must be termites or something. Do you think you could come fix it for me, please?”

“Uhhh sure,” he says, his voice dull and weary. “It’ll have to wait till tomorrow though.”

“Oh that’s fine,” she replies, eyes bright and voice high and excited. “Whenever you can is great. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll see you then.”

He clutches you a little tighter to his side as he moves past her, and you look up to see mild annoyance in his face.

“Bye Joel,” she calls after him in that same breathy voice, and he raises an arm in farewell to her without looking back.

As soon as he’s sure she won’t hear him, he lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You don’t wanna go fix her porch?” you ask, barely concealed amusement in your voice.

“Termites my ass,” he mutters darkly. “Last time she kicked out one of the floorboards.”

“Told you you look good when you’re working,” you smirk at him, and he looks down at you with amused exasperation.

“Well I can’t really say nothin’ since I told you I like you all grimy and covered in hay,” he says in a low voice, stopping you to pluck a strand of it from your hair and then cupping your face and leaning in to kiss you deeply.

“Mmmm,” you hum, your lips tingling from where they had met his. “You kissing me so she sees, Miller?”

“Well…not just for that,” he grins, giving you an additional peck on the nose. “But I need her to stop. She’s been at me for months, before you ever got here. There are only so many ways I can tell her I ain’t interested. This one just happens to be the most fun.”

“You got that right,” you smile back as you take his hand and set off toward your house again. “I noticed a few people seem a little…disappointed shall we say. You’re a popular guy.”

“Look who’s talkin’” he fires back. “Durin’ that time…well when we got back from the museum, I damn near clocked Jake Arnold in the jaw at the bar one night.”

“Damn! What’d he do to piss you off?”

“He was drunk. Came over to me askin’ about you. Noticed we hadn’t been together as much as usual, that kinda shit.”

“Was that all?!”

“It was enough,” Joel growls, his eyes flashing dangerously. “But what really got to me was when he started talkin’ about you…about your body. I told him to keep his damn eyes to himself or very shortly he’d need to be concerned about his teeth.”

It shouldn’t excite you the way it does – the thought of Joel being jealous. But you can’t deny the flare of excitement that settles somewhere between your legs when you think of him threatening violence against someone for looking at you in that way before you were even a couple. You grip his hand a little tighter, and he squeezes yours right back.

“Does this mean I gotta throw down with Lydia?” you ask slyly.

“I think if it comes to that there’s only gonna be one winner,” he grins. “And I don’t especially want you to be responsible for any murders in Jackson!”

Instead of departing when you reach your house he comes in with you, but before you can climb the stairs to wash the day from you he catches your arm.

“I uh…took some liberties in here tonight. I hope you can forgive me."

“Liberties? Joel what are you talking about?”

He merely grins and takes your hand again, leading you upstairs to your bedroom. Fresh underwear, shorts and a tank top lie waiting on your bed for you to change into and a newly laundered towel sits neatly folded on your dresser.

“Ohhhh, you’re good,” you say gratefully. “You’re very good, Miller.”

“I ain’t done yet,” he smiles as he opens the door to your ensuite.

Candlelight dances its golden glow over the tiled walls and rose scented steam rises from the tub, which is full of water and shining bubbles that glisten with rainbows. A fresh bunch of gorgeously colourful wildflowers in a vase you’ve never seen before sit on the window ledge, framed from behind by the soft glow of the fading daylight.

A lump forms in your throat, his thoughtfulness mixed with the bone weariness in your body combining to make you tearful.

“Joel,” you whisper. “This is amazing. Thank you so much.”

“You’ve been workin’ out in those fields all week,” he says softly, drawing you close to his side and kissing the top of your head despite your sweatiness. “You deserve this. And while you’re relaxin’ I’m gonna go make you somethin’ to eat, okay?”

“One of your famous big-ass sandwiches?” you ask hopefully.

“If that’s what you want,” he chuckles.

“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for-“

He stops your words with his mouth, kissing you slowly and so tenderly that you get a thrill through you, despite your exhaustion.

“No repayment,” he murmurs. “I told you before, this ain’t a transaction. I wanna do somethin’ nice for you. You’ve been workin’ so hard.”

“So have you,” you protest.

“Pfft I’ve been at the dam with Tommy and there ain’t much to do there right now. We’ve been on our asses more than we’ve been on our feet. Just…let me take care of you tonight.”

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently, the threatened tears pricking your eyes again.

Once he’s departed you strip quickly, throwing your dirty clothes into the hamper in the corner of your room and grabbing the towel from the dresser to hook it on the back of the bathroom door. Then you get into the tub and sit, sinking down into the bliss of the hot water and suds that immediately begin to soothe the knots at your back and relieve the tension in your neck.

Who would have ever guessed that Joel Miller could be so sweet? You’d always known he was kind, always seen the touch of it in his eyes. But this…this was on a whole other level. And the gruff, taciturn man that you knew resided in him too seemed a complete antithesis to the personality you had been experiencing since you had been together. You had heard rumours during your time here - quiet, furtive whispers about the man he had been back in Boston, how he had been universally feared in the QZ for his quick temper and propensity to violence. You would have thought them exaggerated, except Ellie had pretty much confirmed it one day when you were still in your sling and she had come over to help out when Joel and Tommy had been patrolling together. She had told you that he was a smuggler, along with Tess, and that he had been so successful partly because he was so ruthless. You'd seen a brief glimpse of it yourself today in the darkening of his expression at the recollection of someone talking disrespectfully about you and his immediate instinct to meet that situation with fists. It is clear, however, that he is still not the same man he had been, and you wonder if it's the passage of time, or being in Jackson, or Ellie herself that has mellowed him so much.

Your musings are interrupted by a quiet knock at the bathroom door and Joel’s voice emerging from the other side.

“I made you some tea. You uh…you want me to leave it out here, or…”

Or. That word stretched through the small space with growing possibility. In the past few weeks as you’d settled into your relationship many, many kisses had been shared and on nights when you were sure you weren’t going to be disturbed, hands had occasionally gone wandering a little. But neither of you had ever disrobed and it had never gone any further than some light, clothed touching. Your body had urged you forward, had wanted so much from him, wanted to move much faster than your mind would allow. He had been true to his word and never taken any steps to push the physical side of your relationship, and on occasion you had wondered if he had been feeling the same way you did. Nervous about giving himself over to another. Anxious about what deeper feelings might be stoked by doing so.

You had checked in a few times with him to make sure he wasn’t getting frustrated with your pace and each time he had reassured you that he was happy to go along with whatever you were comfortable with.

“I told you, I don’t wanna fuck this up. And if that means takin’ it slow, we take it slow.”

“Joel, if we go any slower we’d be going backwards!”

“I don’t care. I just want you to be happy.”

You were getting a little frustrated with yourself if you were honest, but there was an impasse in your mind, a sticking block that would not budge despite how much you wanted it to and you suspected that you would just have to take the plunge, no matter how much some of the darker recesses of your mind tried to hold you back.

You decide that tea in the bath wins out over everything else right now and settle yourself more comfortably in the tub, covering yourself over with the thick layer of bubbles that float in there.

“Come on in,” you invite him.

He enters holding a steaming mug, and you don’t miss the way that his eyes darken, nor the tiny curl to his lip.

“You enjoyin’ yourself in there?”

“God, yes,” you say fervently. “It’s perfect.”

He sets the mug down within easy reach and kisses you on the forehead.

“Good. Next, one big-ass sandwich comin’ up,” he murmurs before departing again.

You could have asked him to stay. Could have chatted with him about everything and nothing as you usually do. Could have asked him to massage the tension out of your shoulders with those skilled fingers of his, and part of you regrets not doing so. The luxurious feeling of being submerged in hot water is too good to resist though and you quickly return to enjoying it, closing your eyes and allowing the stress to seep from your body.

After exiting the bathroom and drying off, you dress quickly in the clothes that Joel has left on the bed and then call down for him to come up and join you.

“Thought about bringin’ you your sandwich in the bath,” he admits with a grin once he’s back in your bedroom. “But uh…well I know how messy you get when you eat so…”

“Dammit, you were doing so well tonight!” you joke as you smack him lightly on the arm.

“It’s downstairs in the refrigerator,” he laughs. “Biggest sandwich I could make.”

“You’re so good to me,” you croon as you catch his face in your hands and kiss him.

“Mmm, well I’m glad you enjoyed tonight,” he says softly. “I’m uh…I’m gonna head home now, I think.”

“You can stay for a bit if you want. I’m not so tired that I don’t want you here.” You kiss him on the nose and add softly, “I don’t think I could ever not want you here.”

To your surprise, Joel looks around a little shiftily. He doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact he doesn’t look at you at all.

“Hey, what’s up?” you ask suddenly worried that something was wrong.

“Nothin’…nothin’. I just…better go.”

“Joel, you’re being weird. What’s wrong?”

He looks down at the floor and bites his lip. Then he seems to come to a decision within himself and looks directly into your eyes when he answers.

“Trust me, nothin’ is wrong. I just…maybe picked out the wrong thing for you to dress in is all.”

You frown, and then look down at yourself. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Jesus, for someone so smart…” he huffs, a frustrated edge to his words as he folds his arms. “You look…good, okay. You look…you look more than good. And I gotta go.”

Christ, you really were dumb. Either that or your overly tired body had decided to turn off the part of your brain that dealt with understanding because you suddenly realised both what he was alluding to and also that this was the most bare skin you had ever shown him, including when you were literally just naked in the bathtub. It really wasn’t fair to make him stay if he was getting riled up by seeing you in your mismatched sleepwear, you knew that. And you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. But maybe it was because he’d been so damn sweet tonight. Maybe it was because he was in your bedroom. Maybe it was the thought of his jealousy, or maybe it was just because he was looking at you like that, but a sudden recklessness took over.

“I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you picked this out,” you tease flirtatiously. “And you don’t get away that easily, Miller. C’mere.”

Taking his hand, you draw him to you and he comes so willingly, his eyes openly sliding covetously over your bare legs and up your body. He slides a hand around your waist and his nose brushes over yours.

“What are you doin’?” he asks in a low rumble.

In answer you turn him and walk him backwards until his knees hit the bed and he sits down, his big brown eyes looking up at you with surprise and tenderness and fire in their depths. You hold his jaw and press soft, chaste kisses to his lips.

“You wanted me to relax, right?”

This all feels slightly unreal - the soft evening light spilling in through your bedroom window, the lingering rose scent of the bubble bath, the slight giddiness that always comes upon you when he’s this close giving everything a dreamlike quality. Suddenly, somehow, you’re sliding first one thigh and then the other forward, straddling one big, denim clad leg, and the soft, hitch of breath from his lips spurs you on like nothing else. His hands are fisted in the bedclothes either side of him, like he’s scared of what he’ll do if he actually touches you.

You want him to touch you.

Stroking one finger down the beautiful curve of his nose, over the warmth of his lips and then cradling his jaw in your hand, you give the command.

“Then help me to relax, Joel.”

His hands slowly release their grip on your bedsheets and he looks down as he places his fingertips tentatively on your knees, the feel of his skin against yours sending tendrils of electricity shivering through you. He slides his palms smoothly up the expanse of your thigh, taking his time, savouring every inch of skin that is revealed to him. You’re already feeling a little breathless and when his fingers dip under the hem of your shorts and press into the softness of your upper thighs they clamp together seemingly of their own accord, holding his leg more firmly between your own. Those beautiful dark eyes snap to yours, the desire within burning fiercely even through the half light of the room. One side of his lip curls, adding to the lascivious look on his face.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers huskily as he squeezes the meat of your thigh.

The press of your underwear and shorts bolstered by his thigh against you provides a friction that is good, but not enough and you grind against him shamelessly, angling into a position that sets a heat to flowing more forcefully through you, that makes you lightheaded and your breath shaky.

“That’s right, honey,” he breathes, his voice low and carnal and urging you on. “I want you to take what you want from me.”

You can feel him holding back from gripping you more forcefully, feel the latent strength in those strong, clever hands that are always so gentle upon you. Your hips are moving, your body’s needs taking precedence over anything else as you begin to rock yourself on him and fuck that feels so good. He feels so good. Your hands are around his neck, buried in his hair as you pull him to you for a bruising, searing kiss. And your lips trail further, dragging across his whiskered cheek, a stuttering breath leaving you as the scent of musk and wood and Joel fills you.

“Wanna hear you,” he murmurs, his beard scraping against your cheek as his deep, rumbling voice sends shivers through you. “Don’t be shy, honey.”

His lips ghost over your jaw, his teeth nipping gently at your skin until your mouths meet again and his tongue swirls over yours. He fills you, every sense captured by him and him alone, dizzying you as you roll your hips over his thigh.

Crackles of pleasure travel down your spine, from your mouth meeting his, from his fingers gliding softly over your ribs, from the heated pleasure between your legs. Somehow you’re no longer in control, no matter that you’re riding him, no matter that you started this whole thing. He moves with you, his large hands spanning your back and supporting you as you rise and fall above him. He mouths at your throat, the rasp of his beard a tang of sharpness that is just what you need to counterpoint the softness of his lips and tongue as he drags them over your skin and you whisper his name – the keening, whining sound falling from your lips in a desperate plea for him to continue, to never stop.

Greed seizes you. You need more.

You clutch at his arm and he allows himself to be manoeuvred. Guided by yours, his hand trails over your stomach and up, and he rumbles a ragged moan against your throat as he cups your naked breast. He tweaks your nipple softly, teasing, testing the reactions he can pull from you and shit, fuck that’s perfect. He’s learning your body so well already, making your toes curl with the sweet sensations he’s lavishing upon you. White heat slowly skitters through your nerve endings, moving through you to pool in your abdomen, fanning those sparks into flames as you rut against the firm muscle of his thigh.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whimper breathlessly as you feel the scrape of his teeth against your shoulder.

One of your hands trails down his body, down the hard planes of his chest and over the softer swell of his stomach until you reach the diamond hardness of him trapped and suppressed under the layer of denim that separates you. At the delicate touch of your fingers upon him he hums into your skin and bites down on your shoulder, the sensation adding a layer to your pleasure that you didn’t know you wanted until that very moment, and that is immediately soothed by his tongue laving over the spot. A shuddering groan escapes you as the heat flares in your abdomen, unfurling through your body under his expert attention.

Everything comes upon you so suddenly, you don’t have time to prepare. Denied of this for so long, having waited for Joel's hands upon you in exactly this way for weeks and months, the force of your orgasm hits you like a freight train. The moan you let out is filthy, desperate, and you arch your back and bare the column of your neck to him as you tip your head back, awash with pleasure, the breath punched out of your lungs as the shockwave ripples through your body. The rich timbre of his voice pierces the haze, adding to your exhilaration.

“That’s it honey. Fuck you look so fuckin’ good right now.”

His mouth has left you, but his hands haven’t and they continue to stroke your breasts, rubbing and tweaking your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until you’re overstimulated, shuddering and clenching around nothing as you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” you whisper in a shaky voice as you press your forehead against his.

“That feel good?” he murmurs, his hands now holding you around your waist and stroking softly over the skin of your stomach.

“Mmmm,” you hum, as the bliss ebbs through your body, leaving you loose limbed and even sleepier than before. But you want to make him feel as good as he’s made you feel, and you skate your palm over the bulge in his jeans again.

He catches your hand and kisses your palm before shaking his head.

“Nuh-uh. Tonight is about you, remember?”

“But-“

“No buts. I can tell you’re exhausted. And we got plenty of time for that.”

He’s right, you are exhausted, and worn out even more by the intensity of what you have just experienced. And you know that firm tone - he won’t budge on this. So you kiss him instead, pouring the gratitude and joy you feel at his sweet selflessness into him.

He all but tucks you into bed, smoothing the thin sheet over your body and stroking your cheek as he looks down at you with an adoration in his eyes that makes your chest grow warm and that has nothing to do with the afterglow you’re basking in.

“I’ll get you back for that, Miller,” you murmur sleepily.

“Oh I’m sure you will,” he says cheekily. “But rest up for now, hmm? You got that sandwich to tackle tomorrow!”

“You’re amazing,” you hum. “Everything a girl could need.”

He bends down and kisses you softly. “I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart.”

You barely hear the sound of his footsteps fading downstairs before you’re asleep.

The morning light streaming into your room wakes you the next day and you blearily sit up into its glare, realising belatedly that you didn’t close the curtains the previous evening. A sleepy smile tugs at your lips as you remember the sweet softness of the previous night’s encounter with Joel, but almost immediately a pricking of self-consciousness follows it. You should have made more of an effort to reciprocate. Coming and then almost immediately passing out was not the impression you wanted to leave him with, and you hoped he had been honest in his desire to take care of you and you alone the previous evening.

After readying yourself for the day and eating the enormous and delicious sandwich Joel had provided for you, you go next door to see him. Apologies are in the forefront of your mind, and they are tinged with a little awkwardness, a little embarrassment.

His face lights up when he answers the door to you, and the joy that is clear in his expression settles a wonderful feeling in your chest. He takes your hand and drags you to him, capturing you in his arms and settling your head against his chest.

“Mornin’,” he rumbles, the vibrations sinking into your skin. “You comin’ for round two?”

You can hear the joke in his voice, but it only serves to amplify the embarrassment you’re feeling again, and you must stiffen slightly in his arms because he draws back to look at you.

“Hey, everythin’ okay?”

You can’t look at him properly as you answer. “Yeah…yeah. Just…last night…”

“Oh. You don’t…I mean you don’t regret that do you? Did we go too fast?”

“No! No, definitely not that. I just feel like I was selfish.”

You still can’t quite meet his eyes, but he seems to understand what you're feeling because he cups your face with his big hands and kisses your forehead before speaking in an earnest tone.

“Listen, you don’t gotta be shy or embarrassed with me. Not ever. And last night was amazin’.”

“Well, yeah for me! You didn’t have much fun.”

“You think so?” he asks, his voice now low and with a touch of the sensuality you had heard last night. “I loved seein’ you like that. You have any idea how gorgeous you look when you’re comin’ above me? I had plenty fun and when I went home and took care of myself all I could see and hear was you.”

"I should have taken care of you,” you insist. “I wanted to.”

He kisses your temple and nuzzles your ear. “Like I said, we have plenty of time,” he breathes.

Taglist - @thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @shirks-all-responsibilities @deadhumourist @pedrostories @abbyhaslongshorts @celebrtyskinz @majahu @sanscas @myloveistoolittle @ohthemisssery @harperdoodle @hummelmi @casssiopeia @midgetpottermills @rivierasunsetdiner @starkleila @nunya7394

Next chapter

[bee-writes-stuffs]

hey, it’s okay- Javid

(Note: Enjoy some Javid comfort <3)

Everything’s falling apart.

Jack couldn’t stop the whirlwind of thoughts running rampant through his brain, worry and regret eating at his mind until he could barely hear a logical thought over the emotions screaming in his head. He’d just barely been able to find a place quiet enough to try and sort them out- little did he know that the isolation only served to worsen the spiral.

It must have been hours that he sat there, though it was probably only minutes. Eventually, the volume in his head lowered to a dull roar, and Jack stared numbly at the wall in front of him in the dark, lonely alleyway that he’d chosen to sit in. Despite the heat of the summer night, cold worry chilled his bones, seeping into his hands as they ran through his hair.

Everything’s falling apart. The strike was as good as over. They hadn’t even been able to get Brooklyn on their side, nor had that article gotten anyone else to even bat an eye at their cause. Crutchie was gone, his boys were beaten half to hell by Pulitzer’s goons, and Jack had all but lost hope.

He suddenly heard the crunch of a step onto dirt and gravel, and he glanced up to see Davey standing in the mouth of the alleyway, frowning into the darkness until his gaze caught the other boy’s.

“Jack?” he asked, and Jack didn’t dare answer for fear of his voice breaking in response. “Are you okay?”

Jack still didn’t reply as Davey sat down next to him, taking in his disheveled clothing and red-rimmed eyes. “You’re one hell of a sight,” Davey commented, trying to lighten the mood but failing as his pleasant expression turned to one of concern. “How long has it been since you slept?”

“Dunno,” Jack muttered. “Why do you care?” His voice came out more aggressive than planned, and he felt guilt stab through him at the sight of Davey recoiling. God, I can’t do anything right, can I?

“I’m worried about you, Jackie,” Davey admitted. “Well, I’m worried about a lot of things, but mostly you.” He took a deep breath before meeting Jack’s gaze with an intensity Jack had never seen before- a sort of caring look in his eyes that felt more like a glare. “Things aren’t great right out there right now, and those boys need their leader.”

“And it’s one hell of a leader they’ve got.” Jack sighed, trying to keep the prickling at the back of his eyes at bay. “I failed ‘em, Dave. It’s my fault that Crutchie’s locked up and the rest of them are hurt.” His voice wobbled, and he choked out the last sentence as if it were poison. “They’re better off without me.”

“Jack.” Davey’s voice was soft, and his words seemed more of a whisper as he set a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “That isn’t true, and you know it.” He smiled kindly. “It’s not like we’ve done this before, Jackie. When was the last time you led a strike?”

“Never.” Jack knew it was a rhetorical question, but he was too tired to care.

“Exactly,” Davey encouraged, wrapping his arms around Jack and pulling him close. He smelled of cinnamon mixed with fresh-baked bread, and Jack closed his eyes and relished the warmth of the hug.

“We’re all scared,” Davey admitted. “Damn it, I’d be lying if I said I’m not terrified right now.” He chuckled, and Jack couldn’t help but smile as he continued. “They need someone to let them know that they’re gonna be alright,” he said seriously, holding Jack at arm’s length to look him in the eye. “Your boys trust you, Jack. You make them feel safe, protected, cared for.”

Jack nodded, still not completely at ease. “What if I fail ‘em again?” He worried aloud, feeling helpless and humiliated that he couldn’t stay strong- even in front of Davey, even for the kids that were counting on him.

Davey shook his head. “You won’t,” he decided. “No matter what goes down after this moment, I know that you haven’t let us down. You’re going to be okay,” he promised, and Jack felt a strange but not unpleasant warmth blossom in his chest as Davey hugged him tighter, resting his chin on Jack’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Dave,” Jack whispered, and Davey pulled back with a smile.

“You’re my friend,” he replied. “I care about you.”

Jack closed his eyes and smiled as Davey pulled him into another embrace, laughing softly and burying his face in the taller boy’s neck. After a while, Davey stood up, offering his hand to Jack.

“So, what do you say?” Davey asked as Jack let him pull him to his feet. “Are we going to win this damned strike, or what?”

[ethereal-bumble-bee]

heyy uh… idrk how this works but could we maybe get some Javey hurt/comfort where jack gets really overwhelmed by everything during the strike and davey calms him down? something like that. if not that’s totally ok! love your work <3

(Note: Thank you so much for requesting something! Super sorry that this took a while, but I really hope you enjoy! Anyone who’s reading this, feel free to request anything you’d like to see- I’m always happy to write requests! 😁)

Everything’s falling apart.

Jack couldn’t stop the whirlwind of thoughts running rampant through his brain, worry and regret eating at his mind until he could barely hear a logical thought over the emotions screaming in his head. He’d just barely been able to find a place quiet enough to try and sort them out- little did he know that the isolation only served to worsen the spiral.

It must have been hours that he sat there, though it was probably only minutes. Eventually, the volume in his head lowered to a dull roar, and Jack stared numbly at the wall in front of him in the dark, lonely alleyway that he’d chosen to sit in. Despite the heat of the summer night, cold worry chilled his bones, seeping into his hands as they ran through his hair.

Everything’s falling apart. The strike was as good as over. They hadn’t even been able to get Brooklyn on their side, nor had that article gotten anyone else to even bat an eye at their cause. Crutchie was gone, his boys were beaten half to hell by Pulitzer’s goons, and Jack had all but lost hope.

He suddenly heard the crunch of a step onto dirt and gravel, and he glanced up to see Davey standing in the mouth of the alleyway, frowning into the darkness until his gaze caught the other boy’s.

“Jack?” he asked, and Jack didn’t dare answer for fear of his voice breaking in response. “Are you okay?”

Jack still didn’t reply as Davey sat down next to him, taking in his disheveled clothing and red-rimmed eyes. “You’re one hell of a sight,” Davey commented, trying to lighten the mood but failing as his pleasant expression turned to one of concern. “How long has it been since you slept?”

“Dunno,” Jack muttered. “Why do you care?” His voice came out more aggressive than planned, and he felt guilt stab through him at the sight of Davey recoiling. God, I can’t do anything right, can I?

“I’m worried about you, Jackie,” Davey admitted. “Well, I’m worried about a lot of things, but mostly you.” He took a deep breath before meeting Jack’s gaze with an intensity Jack had never seen before- a sort of caring look in his eyes that felt more like a glare. “Things aren’t great right out there right now, and those boys need their leader.”

“And it’s one hell of a leader they’ve got.” Jack sighed, trying to keep the prickling at the back of his eyes at bay. “I failed ‘em, Dave. It’s my fault that Crutchie’s locked up and the rest of them are hurt.” His voice wobbled, and he choked out the last sentence as if it were poison. “They’re better off without me.”

“Jack.” Davey’s voice was soft, and his words seemed more of a whisper as he set a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “That isn’t true, and you know it.” He smiled kindly. “It’s not like we’ve done this before, Jackie. When was the last time you led a strike?”

“Never.” Jack knew it was a rhetorical question, but he was too tired to care.

“Exactly,” Davey encouraged, wrapping his arms around Jack and pulling him close. He smelled of cinnamon mixed with fresh-baked bread, and Jack closed his eyes and relished the warmth of the hug.

“We’re all scared,” Davey admitted. “Damn it, I’d be lying if I said I’m not terrified right now.” He chuckled, and Jack couldn’t help but smile as he continued. “They need someone to let them know that they’re gonna be alright,” he said seriously, holding Jack at arm’s length to look him in the eye. “Your boys trust you, Jack. You make them feel safe, protected… cared for.”

Jack nodded, still not completely at ease. “What if I fail ‘em again?” He worried aloud, feeling helpless and humiliated that he couldn’t stay strong- even in front of Davey, even for the kids that were counting on him.

Davey shook his head. “You won’t,” he decided. “No matter what goes down after this moment, I know that you haven’t let us down. You’re going to be okay,” he promised, and Jack felt a strange but not unpleasant warmth blossom in his chest as Davey hugged him tighter, resting his chin on Jack’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Dave,” Jack whispered, and Davey pulled back with a smile.

“You’re my friend,” he replied. “I care about you.”

Jack closed his eyes and smiled as Davey pulled him into another embrace, laughing softly and burying his face in the taller boy’s neck. After a while, Davey stood up, offering his hand to Jack.

“So, what do you say?” Davey asked as Jack let him pull him to his feet. “Are we going to win this damned strike, or what?”

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 88

Chapter 88: “Rematch”

I’m glad Leuvis figured out and addressed why Nigel didn’t fire off the special gun during the barrage since it would’ve been a reasonable strategy, if only the kids did have more of those mask-breaking bullets. It’s kinda funny because hiding a secret shot among a ton of other bullets being fired all at once does work on Leuvis a bit later on when Emma uses the flash bomb from the pistol she has.

Oliver was feeling mighty confident if he really thought they were gonna have seven people standing at this point during the battle.

You don’t understand how happy I am to another smart as hell villain. & I can easily hear him say that “found youuu” in a singsong kinda voice.

The fact that Pepe’s messed up arm helps make his struggle and the misfire more convincing when it’s actually part of the plan to shoot at the ground is amazing. Poor Palvus isn’t a fan of water but leaving Leuvis’ shoulder does save him from the next attack.

Y’all would believe how much I’d be cheering and screaming for Emma the moment she pulled this fabulous counter move on Leuvis. The set up works out perfectly and I’m so damn proud of her!

From losing to Ray at chess to electrocuting a crazy demon, our girl has came such a long way. Her ability to learn and adapt is top tier.

I love her in this arc an unhealthy amount.

It’s bittersweet that Leuvis managed to block Nigel’s one special bullet from breaking the mask, but it’s also equally as impressive that Leuvis did so while completely stunned. Also, I never noticed Palvus freaking out like that before. I love it.

Thankfully backup arrives just in time to save Emma from getting her whole face slashed to bits. I assume Yuugo picked up one of the special gun from Sandy’s group? Because the gun Oliver used to break Bayon’s mask was originally Zack’s that Pepe had delivered to him and most likely the same gun that Nigel is carrying now since he took Oliver’s role. I think that makes sense with the number of bullets used too..? with Sandy’s group having three and only using two on Nouma & Nous while Zack had two bullets where one was eventually used on Bayon, so then ya got the remaining two shots from both groups which were fired off here, resulting in one miss and the final blow. It somehow took a whole lot of brain power for me to piece all that together, I dunno why..

Favorite panel/moment:

She is absolutely fearless!! Aaahh such a badass moment for her.

End of volume 10.

[butterpony100]

Hi this is a very late submission to @ninjago-oc-appreciation oc swap!

My blog to write for was @the-painted-siren and their characters!

(This is so late I’m so sorry ahhh)

——————

Where fools roam, Chaos reigns.

——————

The day started off slow. Dragging himself out from the comfort of his bed, Calem’s thoughts were muddled as he got dressed for the day. He wasn’t sure what, but he felt as though he was forgetting something important.

The feeling nagged at him long after the fog in his mind cleared, an answer just on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite place. Sitting down to eat breakfast was when an answer arrived for him, knocking at his door.

Opening it, he was somewhat surprised to be met with two familiar faces. One a full head shorter than him with platinum blond hair and thick brown roots, emerald cat like eyes sparkled with energy. The other slightly taller, with a split dye of silver and black hair braided off to the side, a set of ruby contacts glimmering.

“Lloyd? Lyra? What are you guys doing here?”

Lyra scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I told you he would forget.” She commented to Lloyd, as the blond huffed while passing her a five dollar bill.

The two let themselves in, scooting past Calem, and Lloyd not so subtly snatched up a slice of toast from the ready made plate on the table.

“Hey! If you're gonna steal my food, at least give me a straight answer as to why you guys showed up at…” he looks at the clock on the wall “7 in the morning?? Neither of you two are up this early, even on a good day.”

He raised his eyebrow at the two as they both shared chuckles and hushed whispers. Finally, Lyra decided to have mercy on him.

“Don’t you know what today is?”

“Uhhhh….” So what if he was a master of time? That didn’t magically make him better at remembering dates.

His hesitation spoke volume as Lloyd dramatically slumped over in mock devastation. “How could you, Cal! You would forget such a momentous occasion!?”

The gears in his head were stuttering like they were rusted shut until it finally clicked.

“Ohhhh…. It’s anniversary day, isn’t it?”

The other two standing in front of him burst into laughter, clearly taking much enjoyment in his suffering.

“About time! A full year of dating and somehow your memory is still garbage.” Lloyd jokes.

“I’m not even sure I have any tea on hand that would fix that.” Lyra adds on.

“Ok ok-“ Calem interrupts, face flushed with embarrassment. “Now that you’ve had your laugh, do we have any plans for today?”

At that question, Lloyds face shifted into a devious smirk. “Oh nothing much. But it just so happens that the rest of the team is staying at the monastery for the whole day, completely relaxed and not expecting any mischief whatsoever.”

Calem briefly gawked at his partner, turning to Lyra in confusion. “Arnt you supposed to be the smart one among the three of us? How did he get you to do this?”

At that, his other partner shrugged. “What can I say, he’s pretty convincing.”

“Cmon, Calem!” Lloyd pushes his shoulder. “We have the whole day to ourselves, but it’s nothing but yuck outside.” He gestures over to the window, where gray clouds gathered densely above the city.

“If we can’t go out, we might as well have some fun indoors!”

“I dunno..”

“Kai will be perfectly unsuspecting-“ Lloyd teases.

“I’m in.” Calem immediately agrees. After all, he has made it his life mission to annoy the fire ninja to his grave.

“Wow, you were right, it really was that easy.” Lyra comments.

—————

It was a quiet afternoon at the monastery.

Too quiet in Kai’s opinion.

Maybe it was just his paranoia acting up, but he swears that there was something about today that he forgot.

He’d brought it up to Nya, but she had dismissed him, saying something like “your just wound up too tight. Go blow off some steam.” Before returning to her workbench and tinkering away at some sort of mechanism.

Lloyd had plans out in the city for the day, and the other three ninja were all in the living room watching the new star fairer spinoff. Maybe he was being overly cautious.

Kai sighed and entered the kitchen, intending to grab a bag of chips before joining the others.

Of course, that's assuming he could get into the kitchen.

Distracted, he didn’t see the plastic wrap encasing the door frame until he smacked face first into it. He sputtered in disbelief, moving to try and tear down the ridiculous prank.

The plastic gave way easily as he stomped into the kitchen, now wary of any other tricks in hidden corners. From what he could see, there wasn’t anything else obvious.

Looks like some of the guys have been practicing their crappy senses of humor. He thought. Prepared to meet the others in the living room and give them a piece of his mind, Kai quickly flipped open the pantry to retrieve a bag of tortilla chips.

That was a mistake.

A small bottle of a foul smelling liquid tipped over into another bottle, the contents dyed green and suspiciously smelling of soap.

Kai had a split second to remember some obscure trend that Lloyd had shown him with something called “elephant toothpaste” before the result literally exploded in his face.

————

Jay, Cole, and Zane were just in the middle of criticizing the quality of the latest starfairer spinoff when’s loud shout came from the kitchen.

“Was that Kai?” Zane asked as Jay and Cole were already on their feet, rushing to the hallway. Jay made it out the doorway first, which might have been a poor choice.

The moment his foot made contact with the hallway floor, he knew something was wrong. His theory quickly proved to be correct as the spot where his foot landed quickly became the only spot he could stand, stuck firmly in place.

A noise of confusion came from behind him as he turned to Cole and Zane, seemingly not stuck and looking down at the floor with stupor.

“What is it-?” Jay was in the middle of asking before turning his own gaze to the ground to see…

Fly traps. Dozens of bright yellow fly traps were laid out on the floor. Jay just so happened to be standing directly ontop of one.

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me-“

—————

“What the heck is going on???” Nya shouted, emerging from her room to several commotions occurring in the halls. She turned to her left to see Cole race past her, a neon yellow piece of paper trailed behind him from the cuff of his pants.

She looked further down the hall to see Zane precariously tiptoeing through what looked like a minefield of the same paper, Jay even further behind him trying desperately to unstick himself from some invisible force.

She quickly turned to the direction Cole was running to see him meet Kai at the doorway to the kitchen, though you could barely tell who it was underneath the mountain of green foam that covered him from head to toe.

Silently, her mind clicked together the pieces and realized what was happening when another shout drew her attention. She quickly raced past a snickering Cole and a grumpy Kai trying desperately to remove the soapy substance.

Nya finally turned the corner of the monastery to see green eyes furrowed in frustration. Under a mountain of rainbow glitter was Pixal, her girlfriend.

“Pix! Are you ok?” Nya approached, stifling a few chuckles at the cute huffs the nindroid was releasing. “There is a reason why I feared to frequent the monastery on this day of all days.”

“Yeah, sorry for calling you out here. I just remembered myself.” Nya apologized.

“Wait, what’s today?” She heard her brothers voice question. Turning around, she could see the remains of several pranks on the four other ninja.

Kai and Coke were both covered in remains of the green soap, seeping into their clothes and probably leaving permanent stains. Zane, while making it through the glue trap unscathed, seemed to have run into a separate trap on his way through the halls, now covered in what distinctly smelt of soy sauce. Jay seemed to have the worst of it, covered in several sheets of neon yellow fly traps from head to toe.

Three sets of laughs drew the groups attentions as they looked to the side, towards a door that led into the monastery courtyard. From the doorframe, three figures stood cackling and shaking with laughter.

“It’s your anniversary, isn’t it?” Nya asked matter o factly to the trio of Lloyd, Calem, and Lyra.

“Mayybeeee” Lloyd teased in between giggles.

Kai was inches away from launching himself at the three before Nya strode across the hall and grabbed him by the arm.

“Pix, I trust you know what to do from here.” She gave her most menacing smile to the three in the doorway, their laughter suddenly cut short and replaced by looks of horror. Her lovely robot girlfriend mirrored her smile, also turning to the three. “Of course I do.”

Dragging her brother off in her iron grip away from the whails of teenage agony as the pranksters were assigned their various clean up duties, Nya pulled Kai into the laundry room.

Before Kai could sputter off a word of indignation, Nya threw a pair of clean clothes at him. “You’d better change. Master of fire or not, those ‘elephant toothpaste’ experiments generate a lot of chemical heat, and it’ll leave nasty burns if you keep those on.”

Kai muttered under his breath as he tossed off his sullied garments. “Why didn’t you let me give them a piece of my mind! Little pranks are one thing, but those guys could have endangered themselves and us if an emergency happened.”

As Kai prattled on, Nya set a hand on his shoulder. “But nothing did happen. Plus, how often can you say you’ve seen Lloyd smile like that.”

That got the brunette to shut up, turmoil clear on his face. Nya sighed. “Look, I know you have some issues with Calem, and maybe you think those three are getting themselves into trouble more often than not, but they’re all practically adults. They deserve to make their own decisions.”

Nya chuckled “And if they get in over their heads, that’s when we can swoop in and give them a piece of our minds.” At that, Kai chuckled along.

“I- I guess your right. I haven’t see Lloyd this happy since Sensei Garmadon.”

Nya nudged him on the shoulder. “When am I not right? Anyway, get your stuff together so you can come watch those brats clean up the mess they made. I know I’m making popcorn.”

Kai laughed out loud. “Ok ok. Now scram so I can find some actual clothes instead of the pair of pajamas you just handed me.”

Nya just shrugged “thought you’d want to lay down after all that excitement, old man.”

She laughed as Kai pelted his shirt toward her playfully.

In the hallway, Nya watched fondly as Lloyd and his partners in crime jokes and laughed with eachother, peeling the remaining glue traps off of the floor.

——————

[cassieuncaged]

Ghosts - Part 1

A Laurie Strode Character study.

1 of 2

TW: firearms, mentions of death, mentions of murder, PTSD, survivor's guilt, language, etc.

WC: 1.7K

A/N: Never cross posted this to the new blog. I'll do it now since I'm expanding it by a few chapters. Only assuming Halloween 1978 & Halloween 2018 are canon for the purposes of this story.

AO3 Link

2018

Highschool had been filled with promise.

It hadn’t felt that way until now, setting up another trip wire across the back of the sparse yard. The sun was hot, beating down on bare shoulders. Tank tops were a staple when Laurie worked out in the heat; harder to catch without sleeves.

Squatting down in the yellowing grass, old joints were starting to burn from the over exertion. Pushing back a curtain of gray tendrils, hardened eyes scanned across her kingdom. A trash heap, filled with chain link fences and sharp rusted edges of garbage that would surely maim an intruder.

Michael.

There was no one else out there she feared, no one she was convinced deserved her fear. Sam Loomis had agreed with that, seeing the evil deep in those empty and unfeeling eyes. Somewhere between calculating and unhinged. A feral wolf that had escaped its cage and wreaked havoc on an entire town.

Unfolding herself to stand upright, Laurie rolled onto the heals of muddy work boots. Liver spotted hands fell to denim clad hips as her gaze fell to the tree line. Those woods were rigged to the teeth, as far as the property line allotted. There were rumors about Laurie Strode in Haddonfield these days. The crazy hermit that lost her mind, scared her family away…

Who was worse? A man whose mind just snapped or a human who let their brain fall slowly unhinge and eat every ghost story and conspiracy whole?

There was never a thought in her mind that the moon landing didn’t happen or that Paul McCartney had died years earlier and was replaced by a double. That was lunacy. She wasn’t a lunatic. She was scared. The endless offers of true crime tv specials or podcasters that wanted to hear a ‘survivors tale’ didn’t consider that this wasn’t the boogeyman.

Michael Myers was real. And he’d robbed a child of her innocence.

He’d taken her sense of safety, normalcy, promise…

It was all gone now.

Laurie was as much of a ghost as the boogeyman himself now. A piece of brutal Americana that was passed around as local campfire tales that seemed farther and farther and away from reality.

1978

“Have anything special planned tonight?” Mrs. Strode asked with a wry grin, setting a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her daughter. Laurie was preoccupied, running her fingers through a mass of mousy hair. Linda and Annie had said it was too ‘valedictorian’ and that no guy 'in his right mind' would chase her looking like a grandmother.

“No guy’s ever gonna give you the time of day with hair like this .” Linda had grabbed a piece, completely repulsed by it. “God, you look like a crazy cat lady.”

“I dunno. Some guy might like to have something to hang on to.” Annie took another puff of her joint, letting the heady cloud drift out the cracked car window.

“Isn’t that what we have tits for?” Linda added vacuously before both girls laughed raucously.

Laurie hadn’t thought about their bawdiness as much as she did the way they mocked her appearance. Was she really that homely? Dating hadn't much mattered to her was all. Her mother squeezed one shoulder, pulling the girl’s attention back to Earth.

“You alright?” There was maternal worry etched across the older woman’s face.

“Hmm?” Stormy eyes were pulled from the oak tree in the yard, leaves dancing to the ground. Much thought hadn’t been given to the plate of eggs steaming on the table.

“You seem distracted. Are you feeling sick?” The back of one hand was pressed to a furrowed brow as Laurie gently shimmied away from her mother’s grasp.

“I’m okay. Really.” After that, Mrs. Strode seemed pleased. She and her husband bustled around the kitchen as their only child quietly nibbled at toast. There was talk about potential colleges, work, and chores. Goodbyes were exchanged as the remnants of breakfast were left, cardigan shrugged on, books gathered.

“You put in any applications?” Mr. Strode asked pointedly.

“A few. Mostly state schools. My counselor convinced me to apply to Brown.” For a moment, her mind was cleared of the comments of her friends as her parents jittered in excitement. The idea of even being considered for an Ivy League school was a thrilling idea.

Linda and Annie probably would end up at community college if they decided to attend at all.

But Laurie was going places. With her grade point average never dipping below four, the world was being offered to her on a silver platter. There were discussions about studying law or psychiatric medicine. The world was an oyster for a bright young woman.

The sky was the limit. 

At least it would be until the end of the night.

2018

Another row of empty bottles and cans were lined up across dead tree stumps and upturned buckets. The mannequins would make decent targets but those were bait. She needed those. Stubbing a cigarette out in an over-flowing ashtray, Laurie swiftly stood and grabbed her rifle.

Target practice. Preparation.

She was a decent shot. Especially for being self-taught. Proficiency was something that had never fallen short for the woman. Wrenching the safety off, the nose of the rifle was aimed first an empty can of soda. Half folded and harder to see, it was the closest emulation there was of a target moving through a tree line after dark.

Unattainable.

Looking through the crosshairs, it was perfectly lined in her sights. A sure finger pulled the trigger, heart leaping as the bullet grazed the edge of the can. Not enough to obliterate it though tinny shards exploded from one side.

Enough to wound not to kill.

Michael Myers had been littered with gunshots once and had survived. Sam Loomis had failed to end their shared nightmare. There wasn’t room for anymore close calls; not with those empty eyes that sought to wreak havoc and destroy. Reloading, she cocked the rifled before moving on to an empty glass bottle. A sure finger pulled the trigger, hammer clacking back as she did. There was an explosion of green, like a cloud of sea glass before tinkling to the ground. A startled squirrel darted out from a nearby bush, skittering up the fattest tree trunk that could be found.

Eyes studied the tree line, scanning for any lonesome critters. She wasn’t a hunter; no innocent blood would be shed. At least not by her. Sucking in a steadying breath, Laurie continued down the makeshift shooting gallery. It doubled as a distraction from the rest of the world.

Inside, the phone rang. It was likely unimportant. Shameless reporters that wanted a shot to interview the lone survivor of the fabled babysitter murders. There was the fleeting thought that it could have been Karen.

Laurie Strode was nothing if not intelligent.

She knew better.

1978

He’d been there, in Haddonfield.

It wasn’t her mind playing tricks anymore. The Boogeyman was real and he’d been watching. Sheriff Brackett hadn’t completely believed the words that practically had to be peeled from a near catatonic tongue. Tears had brimmed dark eyes, the lawman excusing himself every couple minutes to honk a sob into a handkerchief.

Statements still needed to be taken.

Dr. Loomis had milled outside the teenager’s hospital room, the Strode’s and sheriff asking that he be removed after all but shouting his incoherent ramblings. The doctor had threatened to cart the man off to the psychiatric ward if he continued.

Instead, he'd buttoned his lips and stayed quiet. At least for a moment. She preferred it that way. There was a strange camaraderie between the two, especially as the fragments of two separate nights fit together like a puzzle. The old doctor understood. Mr. and Mrs. Strode never would. They’d never understood what it was like to see their friends’ dead bodies displayed macabrely. To run for their lives and keep those kids safe. Tommy and Lindsey were alive. The Doyle’s and Wallace’s had given her parent’s endless thanks for that.

Laurie stared blankly at a new bouquet of flowers that sat in the hospital room. Sunflowers and Gerbera daisies, perfect for autumn. Blue eyes were drawn to the earthy brown pistils, wide and hollow like Annie’s had been. Mouth open in an endless scream.

That had almost been her. She wished it had been her.

Weeks later, when she started talking again, the psychiatrist had called it survivor’s guilt. People always said high school friends didn’t matter. Maybe so, but she didn’t wish them dead. Even with how heartless Annie and Linda could be, death had never been thought of. They were just boy crazy girls with a bookish friend.

Bob was practically a stranger.

But they haunted her dreams, like ghosts. Never nightmares. They were too mundane be nightmares. There’d been a fleeting image that she and Annie shared a Manhattan apartment, Laurie a fledgling playwright living with her actress friend. Linda had been conventionally prettier but the brunette was far more dramatic. It felt realistic, normal even. That was until those sad cow eyes were cast upon her.

“Do you miss me Laurie?” the words had been muffled, ethereal before lucidity pulled her into a dark bedroom. There had been another one where Linda and Bob had married. All scenarios that never would’ve happened if they lived. In fact, her friends never mentioned the future. It was like they were destined to die young.

And leave their meek companion alone.

Laurie didn’t have much of a future either, despite being haunted by the past.

The trajectory had changed now.

2018

Maybe she was crazy. Maybe she had pissed every opportunity away because of fear. It was easy to think that, lying awake in bed. Eyes searched the dark ceilings and the shadows in every corner. Every door was latched.

Was isolation better than death?

Laurie turned onto her side, staring at her phone.

Karen had called. Yet she’d been painfully elusive when her mother attempted to call back a handful of times. Probably a lapse of judgement, a result of Allyson’s goading. They didn’t even invite her to family holidays anymore. Just as well, she didn’t leave the house on most holidays. That’s when humans tended to let their guards down. Vulnerabilities were an impossibility in a life lived so securely.

For a moment, the woman imagined what it would’ve been like if she had gotten into Brown. If her friends hadn’t been slaughtered, if Ben Tramer hadn’t been burned alive, if Michael Myers hadn’t murdered his sister in fifteen years prior.

Karen had always berated her mother for not living.

How could she? Especially when there was so little stopping them all from becoming statistics.

[mybrokenveins3000]

I’m starting uni in just over 2 weeks too! How are you feeling about it? You probably get that question a lot, I know I do, I usually just say I’m excited but a bit nervous because explaining how I’m really feeling is too much haha. I’d love to hear how your really feeling about it though, I feel like it would be nice to hear someone else’s experience even if it’s just to remind anyone else going that we’re in the same boat :)

HELLO HI thank u for. talking to me, it's really nice to know i'm not alone out here on tumblr/the world :,) NOW get ready for an unnecessarily long + personal answer bc i love to talk 😀👍

ok so i'm in a bit of an interesting position because i took a gap year. sixth form burnt me out academically and emotionally so i knew i had to do something else for a bit to fall back in love with the idea of being student. AND I HAVE!! so like you, im immensely, immensely excited.

one advantage of doing this is that i got to watch my friends and how they got on in first year. i'm feeling quite confident because of how much i observed and learnt, how to avoid making mistakes/what mistakes i'm inevitably going to make. im quite lucky, im comforted by the fact that i already know a few people there bc i deferred, but im also able to make new friends. sorry, this answer is so niche and specific atm ANYWAYS I DIGRESS.

but like you, i'm so nervous. i cannot contain how genuinely terrified i am, the idea that MY WHOLE LIFE AS I KNOW IT is completely changing — im actually gonna shit myself. like this year i really got to a position where i really like myself, i feel on top of the world because i feel like i know myself and how my life looks like, WDYM THATS ALL GOING TO CHANGE. oh, the dread i feel when my parents with drive back home without me. i've really learnt to love so many things abt my pre-uni life as well, i wish i could set up myself up to not have my heart break, but that's inevitable and SCARY.

it's all so close as well, i think about what my life will look like in two/three weeks and i see nothing? in the least fatalistic way. it's both a comfort and a nightmare.

i'm moving from a small town to a big city (such a cliché), so of course i'm like. 🎶JUST A SMALL TOWN GIRLLL, LIVIN IN A LONELYY WORLDD🎶 excited, i feel like my life is expanding outward like a galaxy and that the next three years are a blank canvas for me to do whatever the fuck i want with, be whoever i want to be, study what i LOVE (english lit and film [ofc im doing film, reader in that fresher!ross oneshot is embarrassingly based off me]), take every opportunity that's available to me, do things i otherwise would never be able to do in this town. im so excited to meet new people and to talk (u can tell i like to talk 💀), it's just really nice to know i'm on the border of some of the best memories/most formative years of my life.

but im also grieving this idea of growing up. it will surely pain me to move all my stuff from my childhood bedroom to a new place, to not have my parents' cooking everyday, to come back an adult and be regarded to as an adult. ITS A REAL MIXED BAG. i dunno if any of this helps, im shitting it but i am so so so excited.

last thing i will say that might help anyone reading is that, hey, im a delusional girlie, i started a fanfic account of gods sake, so i tend to fantasise and fictionalise my life, have expectations on what my life or what this milestone should look like. eg. in uni i will find the love of my life and we will be together forever (exaggerated example but an example nonetheless) — im saying this more for me but the answer is to let go of expectations. operate on no plan. organise your academic life sure, but personal life wise, BE FREE! take every situation as it comes and don't give yourself a headache thinking too far ahead. from what i've heard and read, thats a big thing people in their twenties have to deal with, with some people having children, getting married, whilst others are job searching, still in school etc. ive only just turned 19 so that's far away from me atm, but it's just a good thing to remember that everyone's life is different, paced differently, and there's no fix structure anyone needs to follow.

that's about it, let me know your thoughts :,) sorry this was so long 💀 but thank you for asking that because i enjoyed answering 🫶🫶🫶 please know that you are not alone, if u need a friend during uni, theres a you-sized hole in my messages/asks inbox thats all for you.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Key Developments

Part Six of Long Shot

Reassessment | Masterlist

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. I will block minors interacting with this work.

Notes: Ahhh it’s the last part 🥺🥺🥺 of the Stewy Hosseini fic 🥺🥺🥺 Thank you guys so much for reading!!

Warnings: Cursing, light angst; mostly fluff; mentions of sex; nudity

Summary: Meetings are twice as insufferable now. It doesn’t matter if it’s over the phone, over Zoom, or in-person. Stewy slips in the odd innuendo as he asks about the pros and cons of a media plan.

It starts with Grant.

It’s not that you’ve avoided telling him about being with Stewy, it just hasn’t…Come up.

“Guess who asked to grab drinks,” Stewy says as you unload the takeout for that night’s dinner.

“Colbert?”

Stewy chuckles before correcting: “Grant.”

You go still for just a moment before setting down a container of white rice.

“You gonna go?” You ask.

“Thought I would, yeah.”

“Okay.” Then, before you can stop yourself, “You gonna fuck him?”

You feel more than see the way Stewy turns to look at you. You can imagine his expression—lips twisted into an intrigued smile, brows tipping skyward as he watches and waits for you to say something else. You stay carefully quiet, beginning to sort through the sauce packets.

“Do you want me to fuck him?” Stewy asks after a moment.

“Why would I want that?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes you feel bad when your friends aren’t gettin’ any.”

“Oh, please,” You scoff. “This is not that. I’m just asking, ‘cause…I don’t know, you two seemed pretty into each other in Vegas.”

“He’s hot.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Does he bottom?”

“You’d have to ask him, though I’m stunned that didn’t come up between the two of you before.”

“...Are you seriously sorting the duck sauce and soy sauce into different piles?”

“I like to be organized.”

You glance toward Stewy, and find him watching you with the stunned little look you thought he’d have. You sigh softly, looking down at the piles of sauce packets.

“Look, fuck him, don’t fuck him, whatever you wanna do. Just…”

“You wanna know if I do?”

“Yeah. Just…You know.”

“You don’t think he’d tell you if we did?”

“I dunno…Probably? I haven’t told him yet.”

“About?”

“This,” You wave a finger between the two of you.

“Oh, I see,” Stewy teases, sidling up beside you. “Are we engaging in a clandestine affair?”

“You’re such…” You start to call Stewy an asshole, but you stop, considering. He’s just teasing you; he’s not being mean about it.

“Such?” Stewy asks.

“A ham,” You insist softly. You reach up, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. Stewy hums, pleased, and wraps his arm around your middle.

“What were you gonna say?” He asks knowingly.

“Something mean and unwarranted.”

“Nice catch.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...Douche-canoe?”

“Oh, nothing nearly as fun as that.”

--

The text you get from Grant after he sees Stewy is fairly straightforward:

I FUCKING KNEW IT BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

--  

Michael finding out is a complete accident.

You’ve been working up to public affection with Stewy. It’s a little hard for it to be a ramping and not simply a launch. Stewy is so easily casually affectionate, quick to touch your arm, your shoulder, your waist; to drop a peck to your cheek or neck or lips; to cuddle up against you in line and make fun of the fellow patrons in murmured tones.

So you suppose that Michael’s finding out is sort of…inevitable. You blame yourself, honestly. You’ve started to relax, you’ve loosened up. You don’t look over your shoulder when you’re out in public with Stewy anymore. You let yourself get caught up in him.

So you don’t think anything of it when he turns you on line at Starbucks and leans in for a kiss. You do think, for a moment, that you’ve become the sort of gooey, dopey couples that annoy the shit out of you—the ones that are lovey-dovey in public, that feed each other off of their forks and use disgusting pet names like cuddlechops and gigglepuss.

“What was that for?” You mumble as Stewy leans away just a little.

“Why’s it have to be for anything?” Stewy counters, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You huff a soft laugh through your nose, giving his arm a squeeze to spur him on as the line moves forward.

“I thought that was you,” You hear. Your heart sinks into your stomach as you turn to see Michael standing in front of you at the line. If Stewy is at all concerned, he doesn’t let it show. He just curls his arm around your waist with a smile, greeting, “Hey, Mikey.”

Michael is smiling mirthlessly, his eyes narrowed critically at you. You feel about an inch tall under his scrutiny.

“Can we get your coffee?” Stewy adds, nodding toward the counter as you inch closer.

“By ‘we’, he means him,” You clarify.

“Won’t even spring for coffee?”

“They don’t pay me enough to spring for three of these, Stew.”

“Don’t get my coffee, just tell me what the hell is happening,” Michael says, waving his fingers between the two of you.

“What’s it look like? We’re getting breakfast,” Stewy answers breezily before stepping up to the counter as the person ahead of you steps away. Before Michael can ask again, Stew glances back and asks you, “Your usual, babe?”

“Uh-huh.” You fold your arms across your chest, glancing nervously at Michael. His face is twisting in confusion and shock.

“Mikey, sure you don't want anything?” Stewy adds. Michael just raises his hand, scrubbing his hands across his eyes as he turns to leave.

“I’m getting a headache,” He mumbles.

--

You go into the office on tenterhooks. You wait for a boss to call you into an office somewhere, to make you aware of company ethics policies. You do get a glare from over the top of Michael’s laptop as you pass him on the way to your desk, but he says nothing. The two of you work together in moderately stony silence for most of the morning, hardly meeting one another’s eyes, or speaking unless it’s absolutely necessary.

You dread your 11 o’clock meeting with him and one of your other clients. The two of you sit across from one another, each working with laser-focus on your laptops as you wait for the client to dial in.

You’d typically just let the silence hold, and sit and wait, but you can’t bring yourself to now. You feel ready to crawl out of your skin with the tension.

“So?” You speak up. Michael’s eyes flicker to you, brows arching curiously. You swallow thickly before pressing: “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“...Can we talk about it anyway?”

Michael sighs heavily, leaning back in his seat.

“Has this been going on since Vegas?” He asks.

“What? No!”

“You sure?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“The two of you were there together.”

“I swear to god, that was a coincidence.”

“When, then?”

“Uh…God, like…Four months ago?”

“Seems serious.”

“I mean…I guess.”

“You guess.”

“It hasn’t affected my work, it has not affected my contributions to their account—”

“Hell, I bet it’s made your work harder.”

“...C’mon.”

Michael rolls his eyes a little, turning back to his laptop.

“We’re even,” He mutters.

“What?”

“You didn’t tell them about me asking you to—You know. I won’t say anything about…You know. We’re even.”

“...I mean I’d say yours was worse…But thank you.”

Michael rolls his eyes, then springs into action as the client’s voice floats up from the muted conference phone.

--

“What’s going on up there?”

“...Hmm?”

Stewy presses a tender kiss to your temple, sliding his hand over your shoulder.

“Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” You laugh softly, tipping your head up to look at him.

“Your head is all over the place, baby.”

“...Yeah, a little. Sorry.”

“So?” Stewy asks.

“I don’t know, just…Running into Michael—”

“He say something to you?”

“We’re fine. That’s all fine.”

“You sure?”

“Totally fine.”

“Well you said ‘fine’ three times, so it must be true.”

“Don’t,” You groan softly, pulling yourself off of his couch.

“Don’t what!” Stewy laughs. “I’m asking a question. You’ve been distracted all night. I want attention.”

“So needy.”

“I can call Tiff over.”

You shoot Stewy an irritated look before reaching his bar cart.

“You want one?” You ask, holding up the bottle of scotch.

“See? That’s more like it.”

“Yes or no, Stewart.”

“Yes, and please.”

“Please, wow,” You mutter. “Good boy.”

“Careful, baby. I’m gonna get hard over here.”

“Shut up,” You chuckle, pouring Stewy two fingers worth. “Come and get it yourself, I’m still making my drink.”

“Why didn’t you pour mine right before you came back?”

“Cause I know you’re a lazy bastard and I estimate a minimum of six people have brought you drinks today, so come and get one for yourself.”

“How do you figure that?” He asks as he pushes himself off of the couch.

“Have you gotten your own coffee today?”

“...No.”

“How many did you have?”

“Four.”

“Aaaand did you have water at your office? The ones that come in those fancy-ass glass bottles?”

“...Uh-huh.”

“Two?”

“Do you have cameras installed in my office?”

“No, but that tells me that I’m right.” You give Stewy a cheeky smile as he comes to stand beside you. He leans against the counter beside you, watching you make your drink.

“...I talked to Michael today,” You admit.

“Sounds predictable, since you uh—you work together.”

“I mean I spoke to him about us.”

“And?”

“It was fine.”

“Fine again. So what’s got you all out of your head here?”

“I don’t know, I guess…” Your eyes train carefully as you fill your glass. “I guess…I’m just surprised that we’re still kinda doing this.”

“Being together?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Cause when we met, you drove me fucking nuts—Well, not exactly when we met, though you did piss me off during the presentation.”

“What! How’d I do that?”

“You fucking smirked, dude. I wanted to slap your stupid handsome face.”

“You can slap it now if you want.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“You’d enjoy it too much.”

--

Meetings are twice as insufferable now. It doesn’t matter if it’s over the phone, over Zoom, or in-person. Stewy slips in the odd innuendo as he asks about the pros and cons of a media plan. It used to be a little irritating, but it’s so much worse now that Michael knows what’s going on. He was suspicious of you and Stewy’s interactions before. Now, all of the signs seem so much more obvious; he seems stunned that he missed them at all. You can’t help but notice the way he bites his tongue or rolls his eyes.

Stewy notices it, too.

--

“You’re no fun anymore.”

“Tell that to my sore jaw.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Stewy groans, pushing your hip to turn you over in bed. You go, settling on your side and tucking your hand under your head.

“What do you mean, then?”

“When we’re at work.”

“I can’t just give into every single goad you level at me.”

“You don’t give into any of them anymore. That used to be half the fun.”

“What was the other half?”

“Making money.”

“Well, you’re still doing that.”

“That’s true.”

“Small wonder.”

You smile as Stewy’s eyes flicker to your face.

“I’ll start being a bitch at work again, okay?”

“Thank you,” Stewy sighs, flopping back in bed.

“You’re such a big baby,” You mutter, reaching out and skimming your hand over his middle.

“...Michael’s over it,” He comments. 

“Michael’s been over it. I think he’s been over it for a long time, you know. Before he really knew.”

You glance up and see Stewy’s brow furrowing as he repositions his head on the pillow to get a better look at you. You hesitate before adding:

“When you asked us to the bar on a Saturday, way back when, to talk about the strategy to take over ATN…He said that we’d been weird, and that he knew the difference between you flirting with someone and you fucking around with someone.”

“Which one did he think I was doing?”

“I don’t know,” You shake your head, “I shut the conversation down.”

Stewy is quiet for a moment, his eyes darting to the window as he hums thoughtfully.

“If you’re about to admit that this was all a She’s All That-esque bet, I’m gonna trash one of your bathrooms,” You add.

“What if I need that one?”

“You have two more.”

“That’s true. Go nuts.”

You smile, shaking your head and lowering your eyes to his chest.

“...Were you fucking with me?” You ask quietly.

“No.”

“Never?”

“Well, when you say fucking with you—”

“Oh, god.”

“No, c’mon,” Stewy pushes himself up to lean back against his elbows, and you shift back, eyeing him warily. “I didn’t fuck around like…For fun. I mean, watching steam come out of your ears like a looney tune, that’s one of my favorite things—”

“Great.”

“—But that’s like—I mean we fuck around with each other.”

“So you never did it just for fun.”

“...Look, was it immature, was it like pulling your pigtails on the playground? Yeah, a little. But you fuckin’ pulled mine, too.”

You consider and settle back onto the bed.

“That’s true.”

“Exactly.” Stewy slides down beside you, dropping a kiss to your neck and trailing them down to your breasts. You press up against his lips, running your fingers through his hair.

“Hey,” He murmurs.

“Mm?”

“I’ve got this conference that I need to go to next week.”

“Ugh, great. You gonna give me a key to get in here and drink all your alcohol and eat all your food?”

Stewy rolls off of the bed, walking over to his pants, and you frown, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and watching him rifle around in his pants pockets. Well—honestly, you pay more attention to his ass as he bends over, so you miss him throwing something under his arm and calling out, “Catch.”

You half-leap off of the bed, but your foot is tangled in the sheets. As you try to catch whatever it is, you topple onto the floor. You land on your ass in shock, but break out laughing, unable to help it even as Stewy runs around the bed to see if you’re alright.

“Are you okay?”

“Damn, Hosseini, warn a girl,” You laugh, looking up at him. “What the hell did you even throw?”

“You didn’t catch it?”

“I didn’t see where it went!”

“Oh, my god,” Stewy sits on the floor beside you, “Fuck, you’re awful. Did you hit your head?”

“I don’t think so.” You’re still giggling as you sit up, reaching up to unwrap the sheets from where they’re still wound around your foot and ankle. You glance at Stewy and find him gazing at you fondly.

“What!” You laugh, looking around, “What the hell was it, anyway? It was like…Tiny.”

“It wasn’t that small.”

Stewy looks around, frowning, before he leans forward, reaching out under the dresser.

“Got it?”

“I think so…It’s either that or a very cold, very long, very dead spider.”

“Fucking gross,” You mutter. Stewy leans back with something in his hand, and you watch him dust it off before he holds it up. Your eyes slide to it, but it takes a few moments for you to process what he’s holding out.

“...Where’d you get that?”

“From under the dresser,” Stewy deadpans. Your jaw works wordlessly for a moment, and when you take too long, Stewy takes hold of your hand and drops the key into it.

“...What’s this for?”

“For you to get in here and drink all of my alcohol and eat all of my food.”

“I wasn’t serious about that.”

“Well, I am.”

You look up at Stewy as he leans back against the bed.

“Since when?”

“Uh—Since I went to get the key made.”

“So it was a split-second decision?”

“Have you ever known me to make split-second decisions?”

“One word, Hosseini: Colbert.”

“That old excuse.” Stewy huffs a laugh through his nose before his eyes lower into his lap. “...Look, you don’t have to take it, but I want you to have it,” He admits.

You smile, getting up onto your knees and shuffling over to straddle Stewy’s thigh.

“Besides, I’ve seen your apartment,” Stewy adds, running his hands over your thighs. “I just think it would be nice for you to spend some more time in a place that isn’t, you know…A hovel.”

“Fuck, not this again.”

“I’m just–”

“Just because I don’t have central air–”

“Or a functioning kitchen. It’s like you live in the fuckin’ Stone Age.”

“So I shouldn’t make you a key to mine, too?”

“I mean it’d be a cute gesture.”

“Mm, but you wouldn’t use it.”

“Oh, I would. I’d order upgrades and let workmen in—You know what, make me two.”

“You know how I’ve been working on not unduly insulting you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re a dickhead.”

Stewy grins, curling his arms around your waist.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, baby.”

Tag list: @buckybarneshairpullingkink​​​​​ ; @mad-girl-without-a-box​​​​​ ; @revolution-starter​​​​​ 

[wheelsup]

kissing lessons

summary: one of your classic movie nights with spencer turns into a learning opportunity

A/N: this is really fluffy, but the whole story centers around kissing. use your own judgement! i’d say it’s at worst 16+

category: spencer reid x gn!reader, fluff (with a bit of spice)  best friends to lovers (sorta)

warnings: just kissing, a brief implication at the end

word count: 3k

Occasionally, the team will spend an extra night in their hotel before heading home from a case. Be it due to poor weather conditions, or the fact that your case wrapped in the dead of night, the reasons for flying don’t ever matter. Because the majority of the times when you have to stay that extra night, you and Spencer have sleepovers.

The routine is pretty much the same. You’ll stock up on gas station snacks – sour peach rings for Spencer, salted microwave popcorn for you – and reconvene in one of your hotel rooms. Preferably, whichever of you got the better deal that week – a bigger tv, a room further away from the ice machine. And you’d rent the cheapest movie available on-demand, the options spanning from low-budget sci-fi to poorly written rom-coms. That night, the viewing fell under the latter category.

Spencer perched at the foot of your bed with both feet tucked under his legs, criss-cross style, while you laid against the headboard to watch. Every now and then, you tossed out your commentary and he’d ignore it. He always says you’re too critical of movies and you’re of the belief that he’s too forgiving.

“I don’t think they should end up together,” you mumbled, words slurring around your mouthful of popcorn. You pulled a face right as the movie approached the romantic climax, after spending the past ninety minutes actively rooting against the couple. Spencer ignored you, pretending to be engrossed in the movie to spite your disparagement of it. “They both suck.”

You groaned, slumped further against the pillows, and shoved your sock-clad toes under Spencer’s left thigh in a call for attention. He jumped at the intrusion, but ultimately, your efforts were futile.

And then the big kiss commenced, and your booing finally piqued his interest. “Gross! I feel bad for people who kiss like that.”

A small bell went off in his head and he took a curious glance at you over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He stopped chewing and the piece of candy in his mouth pushed out his cheek, giving him an adorably innocent look. His brows scrunched in the middle and his nose had a tiny crinkle in it, utterly confused.

You scoffed and matched his expression. “Are you serious?” You jerked your head in the direction of the television and Spencer whipped his head back, squinting. He couldn’t figure out what you were pointing out, what it was that was so obviously wrong to you. “Spencer, he’s swallowing her chin!”

Oh. He hadn’t noticed.

Feeling dumb, he muttered, “I thought that’s how you’re supposed to kiss…” It wasn’t the deepest confession to admit to you that he lacked some knowledge when it came to kissing, but he still refused to look at you as he said it.

“Spencer, please tell me you haven’t been kissing people like that.” You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head, sitting up straighter in bed. He shrugged and lowered his head, focusing on his snack as his fingers dug into the packet of gummy rings in his lap.

He popped another piece into his mouth, pretending to be occupied with eating so as to avoid your prying. “I dunno.”

It didn’t occur to you until that moment that Spencer might have learned everything he knows about kissing – among other things – solely through watching movies. How else could he look at that and think it’s normal? And you’re left wondering if he’s ever even practiced it with another living human. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but unfortunately, that only heightened your interest. You had to know.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” You kept your voice low, your tone implying that you were ready to exchange this secret with him. You wouldn’t judge him if he admitted he hadn’t.

He scoffed loudly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you’re positive he rolled his eyes too. “Yeah, of course.” Then quietly, he added on, “But it was only like… for four seconds.”

You nodded thoughtfully, considering how this new piece of information adjusted your existing view of Spencer. For some reason, you couldn’t tell if you actually expected him to be experienced or not.

He didn’t exactly scream that he’d… gotten around, for lack of better words, but you’re still surprised to learn that he’s barely done it at all. You supposed he was objectively cute, that maybe you could see it if he weren’t your best friend. And yeah, he’s a little awkward, but he’s smart and kind, so he has three great things going for him, and you’re surprised more people haven’t swooped him up yet.

Your lips curled down in thought, brows raised in curiosity. “And was it good?” It was a genuine enough question, because you’ve never really thought about Spencer Reid and kissing in the same sentence before. As it turned out, there was a lot of missing information relating to those two things.

“I don’t know! I didn’t get, like, a feedback form,” he grunted, angling his shoulder even further away from you. If you could’ve seen him, you’d notice his face boiling and turning red with heat. All this inquiring made him think harder about his … talents … than he’s ever had to before, and he’s not a fan.

You were prepared to do some more digging when the slump in his back made you feel a tinge of guilt. It was your fault he looked so defeated. You pressed too hard, disregarding his boundaries just because you wanted to know more. And now, he was wondering if there was something wrong with him, because you wouldn’t leave it alone.

He barely noticed as you swung your feet from under his thigh and rocked onto your knees, leaning forward to nudge his shoulder with your palm. It hauled his attention out of his thoughts and back into the room. You wanted to apologize, but instead you settled with “I’m sure you’re fine, Spence.”

He nodded unconvincingly. By the glow of the screen, you could see he was still gnawing on the inside of his cheek, focusing his eyes as he played with a loose hangnail on one of his fingers. It made you feel even worse. “Are you actually worried about it?” you asked, laden with concern.

“What if I am bad at it?” He whispered, like saying it too loud would make it true. “And that’s why it’s only happened once?”

A large exhale puffed out of your nose as you weighed your options.

You could go back to your original plan and apologize for setting him down this path of doubt. But that wouldn’t do anything to stop him from worrying, anyway. You could tell him there’s no correlation between the way he kisses and how frequently it’s happened; that you’re sure the reason isn’t because he’s bad. But you don’t know that for sure.

So, fuck it, you thought, grabbing a fistful of his pajama shirt and tugging him closer to you roughly, pressing your lips onto his.

This way, you’d at least have an informed opinion to be able to tell him if he was good or bad.

His lips were softer than you expected – not that you’d thought about them often, they’re just impossibly softer than they look – and invitingly warm. But they were completely stiff.

You could tell he was trying to kiss you back by the way his mouth ferociously moved over yours. He was trying to be a passionate, engaged partner, but he forgot about the aspect of tenderness.

His lips felt like two solid objects just sliding around on your face. They didn’t move in any sort of accordance with yours. There was no push and pull, your lips didn’t mesh perfectly together to form a solitary unit as they moved in unison.

It felt more like his lips were your opponent, putting up an attack and defense play against the actions of your own.

You pulled away, resisting a giggle at his bewildered face. “You’re not so terrible,” you swipe the corner of your mouth, smudged with Spencer’s flavored chapstick, “But it could use some work.”

He was at a loss for words, mouth gaping open as his eyes darted around the room and all over you. Maybe he’d find an explanation for what just happened carved into the walls somewhere or written across your forehead.

What happened was that you kissed him. And he was a little bit bad. Simple as that.

“I-I wasn’t ready!” he stammered, chucking up his hands defensively. He’d process the fact that he’d just made out with his best friend at a later time, right now the bigger concern was the slight cringed look on your face. He sulked and folded his arms.“What was so bad about it?”

“Well,” you scratched the back of your ear, trying to gauge if he’d react well to getting some advice, “my first tip would be to relax your lips.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“And don’t think too hard. You should react to what’s happening in the moment, not worrying about what your next move is gonna be.” You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to envision what that would play out like in a real situation. “You wanna try again?” you offered, figuring he’d learn much faster if he was more hands-on about it.

He nodded, and you leaned in close, waiting for him to go for it. His heart quickened under the pressure of performance, eyes screwing shut as he closed the gap. His mouth smashed into yours as he dove in hard. It was toeing on the side of too harsh, but you let that one slide in hopes it was just a byproduct of his nerves.

You had to tap his knee to remind him to relax, and he loosened some of the tension he had in his lips. He slotted his between yours, allowing them to be pliable to your movements and remembering to react, not plan.

He moved his mouth leisurely against yours, trying to match your pressure and pacing. They actually started moving in time with yours at some point. The kiss took on a shape of its own as he started getting out of his head, letting himself enjoy the kiss for what it was in that exact moment.

It was already better than before. Leaps and bounds better. But then he tried to deepen it, building on its intensity but adding more… something into it. You couldn’t even tell what it was he was trying to do.

“Okay, second tip…” you inhaled sharply, pushing him off of you with a palm against his chest. Whatever it was, it needed to stop. “You kinda do this thing like… where you’re blowing air into my mouth?” You scrunched your nose, punctuating your dislike. “That feels weird. Don’t do that. If anything, do the opposite.”

“I’m supposed to suck the air out of your mouth?” His face contorted, voice already slightly exasperated. He barely understood what the air thing was that you claimed he did. He didn’t realize in the process of trying to add pressure to the kiss, he was just forcibly blowing against your mouth.

“Not literally, no.” You laughed a little, rubbing your palm in a comforting pattern on his chest.”But you can use your lips to suck on mine, or my tongue… just nothing involving the exchange of breath. We’re not in CPR training.”

He eased up a little with your joke, adjusting to your advice he gave it another try. After a few moments, he latched onto your bottom lip with his own, sucking it softly into his mouth. “Yeah, like that,” you mumbled against him, voice pitching high in encouragement. He sucked on it with a little more greed, holding it for a second, then eased up, varying the pressure of his movements just like you did before.

You made a mental note to praise him for that at a later time, deciding to instead part your lips to see if he’d venture into further experimentation.

He caught on quickly. He parted them further, prodding his tongue against them as you opened to allow him entry. Just as you started to really enjoy it, he ran his tongue over the inside of your mouth, moving it fast and roughly like he was a washing machine.

“Stop,” you grimaced, tearing away quickly. You had to swipe your hand over your mouth to get rid of the excess saliva that really shouldn’t have been an issue in the first place, given how brief the frenching was. “Your tongue is way too aggressive.”

Overwhelmed, he tilted his head to the ceiling and let out a frustrated grunt, slapping his hands down to the top of his thighs.

There were too many factors to worry about. He had no idea how you looked at him with a straight face and told him not to think too much when there were a million things he needed to remember all at once; he needed to vary his moves to keep it interesting, but make sure he’s not ruining the flow by changing things up too much, and to be gentle but not timid.

All of this was second nature to you, but it was brand new to Spencer. Could you really blame him for not getting the hang of it right away? You decided to stop your list of critiques short for this round to spare him. He’d get there eventually, but not if he felt discouraged too soon.

“I don’t see why people like it in the first place,” he huffed, his head returning to it’s normal posture. In Spencer’s eyes, there truly wasn’t any appeal to kissing with tongue; it looked sloppy and unnecessary, and as you’d just confirmed, it actually was.

You thought about his statement for a second. There’s a certain allure to it, and you didn’t know how to describe it to him. So instead you cupped his cheeks in both your palms and slid your mouth over his again. As his jaw slacked its tension, you slowly pushed your tongue past his lips and gently pressed it against his own before swirling them together.

You sighed softly into his mouth, running your fingers through his hair and tugging carefully at the ends. He made a small noise against you, something like a whimper, and you swallowed the vibrations of it. As you retreated, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth and gave it a light, teasing tug. You soothed it again with your lips before releasing it, a proud giggle forming in your chest as Spencer chased after your lips as you broke apart.

“That’s why.” You smirked at the dazed look on his face. His eyelids remained closed longer than necessary, still feeling the ghost of your mouth on his and a tingle where your fingers were in his hair.

“Oh.” His voice came out meek as he slowly came back to reality, brows wrinkling up his forehead as he opened his eyes.

He put both his palms down on the mattress, one laying flat on either side of you, and dove forward to resume the kiss right where you left it. A surprised squeak left you as his mouth collided with yours with an insatiable hunger. You brought one hand back to his hair, and he was a goner.

He unfolded his legs from under himself and shuffled onto his knees, following his hands until he practically crawled into your lap. Each of his legs hooked onto either side of your thighs as he hovered over your lap, leaning his body entirely into yours.

The physics of it didn’t hold up; he’s taller than you are, and his chest was too heavy for you to carry. The balance was off center and it sent you tumbling back onto the mattress, bringing him down with you until his chest laid on yours.

It was the perfect force – the weight of him on top of you. He tasted like peach candy and sour sugar, and you found yourself craving more of it.

You shuffled higher up the mattress, giving him space to stretch out his body as he followed yours. One of his hands found your waist, gripping tightly, while he placed the other on the mattress beside your head, using it to steady himself. Sliding your legs out from under him, you wrapped them on the outside of his hips, using them to pull him closer down to you.

It only broke off in moments when both of you absolutely needed to get air, gasping as you pulled apart for brief reprieve before colliding again. He followed every word of your advice, getting better with each passing second until he exceeded expectations by leaps and bounds.

Your fingers weaved through his hair, passionately tugging the wavy strands to angle him against you and igniting his nerves under your touch. A soft moan leaves him and you’re encouraged to tighten your grip on them. His hips bucked reactively at the sensation, and he quickly pulled back, a slight embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. He got too carried away.

You took in his flushed face and swollen, kiss-bruised lips. They’d turned a shade of red brighter than you’ve ever seen them, and it was all you could do not to dive for them again as his tongue sweeped over them, soothing the burning heat you’d left on them.

Before he could apologize for his eagerness, you nudged your nose against his, your smile skimming against his lips. “So what else don’t you know how to do?”

☆

☆

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[outerbankies]

You know how teenager rafe is gonna just be spiralling over reader going to prom with someone else? I’m going to cry cause like he’s a baby and he doesn’t know why he has these feeling for this one person that he’s always kind of orbited around?? And he knows she’s it for him but only deep down cause he’s trying to figure so much out and how could you know who you’re going to end up with at the age of 17 let alone 10 or 12 but he’s always known and aaaaah imagine that kind of love

an angsty little pre-series prom blurb partially inspired by this ^ ask that made me spiralll. thanks anon i hope u like this!

—

new light blurb: before we knew — rafe cameron

new light series masterlist

obv takes place pre-series in high school! referenced in part 1

warnings: underage drinking

“Top, it’s not fucking funny.”

“It’s kinda fucking funny, Y/n/n. Like, way more than a little.”

Rafe had ditched the last fifteen minutes of statistics when he finished his test early today, and he’d been messing around on his phone for ten minutes waiting for the rest of you to come and get in Topper’s Jeep so you could all go to lunch off-campus today.

Rafe stands up straight from where he’d been leaning against the hood when he hears your voice approaching, his smile matching yours once you see him. “Hey, Rafe. How did your stats test go?”

“Good, hey, Y/n. What’s not funny?” he asks, opening the passenger side door for you before sliding into the backseat behind you.

“Oh, get this, Rafe,” Topper says, laughing. You just groan again, clicking your seatbelt on. “Griffin is gonna ask Y/n to prom. Tomorrow.”

Rafe blanches. “Griffin?”

He knew Griffin thought you were hot. Certainly had to hear it enough times in the pool at practice every day. Rafe always found himself biting back a remark—well, almost always. As captain, Rafe was able to tell everyone to run another play whenever he felt like it. The extra exertion in the pool was nothing compared to having to tread water and hear his teammate talk about you like that.

But even after all of that, he still had no idea Griffin had the balls to actually make a move on you. Because Rafe could tell you’d seriously rather die than ever give Griffin the time of day. And Griffin had been pursuing you without luck for months, even though you’d been trying to gently show you weren’t interested. Half of the time, Rafe wished you'd just tell him to fuck off.

The other half of the time, Rafe was considering just doing it for you.

Rafe clears his throat after his outburst, a finger digging into a hole in his jeans. “How do you know?”

“He just told me in PE,” Topper says. “He said he has this huge banner, and speakers, and he’s gonna do it at lunch right in the middle of the quad—”

“Topper.” You cut him off a bit more seriously this time; Rafe can hear the shift in your tone. You've always hated being anywhere close to the center of attention, getting embarrassed by the smallest things others wouldn’t even think about. If Griffin actually knew anything about you the way Rafe does, he’d know you wouldn’t like something big and flashy. “Can you stop?”

“Hey, cut it out, Top,” Rafe is saying immediately. Topper just rolls his eyes, but Rafe doesn’t care. “You okay?”

“Yeah, Rafe,” you say, smiling over your shoulder at him. “M’fine.”

“Do you want me to tell Griffin to—”

Topper laughs from the driver’s seat, clearing his throat to cover it up when you look over at him. You look back at Rafe, and his heart breaks at the worry in your face. “Don’t, Rafe.”

“Are you gonna say yes?”

“No,” you immediately laugh, looking at him like the idea is preposterous.

“Oh c’mon, Y/n/n. Can’t say no to him in front of all those people,” Topper teases. “And where the fuck is Kelce? I’m starving.”

“You’re right,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna embarrass him. I’ll just find him after school today and tell him I’m going with Kelce.”

Topper’s eyes widen, Rafe catches it in the rearview mirror before he hurriedly looks away. Rafe clears his throat, settling back into his seat from where he’d been leaning into the front space to talk with you. “You—uh, are you actually going with Kelce?”

“Yeah,” you nod, distracted by your phone. “We said we’d go together if we didn’t find dates. Kelce didn’t really wanna ask anyone after what happened last summer. And after nearly being set up with Top last night, I’m about ready to throw in the towel.“

Rafe looks to his friend that sits in the driver’s seat, who's looking straight at his lap, the back of his neck bright red. “Wait, you two?”

“It was just our parents, dude. Went to dinner at the club last night and our moms brought it up,” Topper mumbles. You giggle at the idea, completely unaware of the energy in the car right now.

“Yeah, sorry, Thornton. But no thanks. You and Emily should be really cute, though,” you say earnestly, patting his shoulder.

Topper just stares straight ahead. “Thanks, Y/n/n.”

“And then this thing with Griffin—I’m just so over the idea of finding an actual date at this point,” you sigh. “Plus, I know Kelce won’t put up a fight about the color scheme. I’m thinking like, aqua. Or maybe pink? I don't think I'd look good in gold.”

You'll look good in absolutely anything, and Rafe will just have to watch you from across the floor of the Island Club, while Kelce twirls you around the dance floor or holds you close during a slow dance.

The guy in question opens the car door and slides into the backseat next to Rafe right then, sighing as he slides his backpack off. “Sorry guys, coach stopped me in the hall. Where are we eating?”

Rafe glares at him.

“I want a smoothie,” you declare from the front seat.

“Fine with me,” Topper nods, pulling out of his parking spot. “Guys?”

“Can we go to that place with the deli next door? I’m so hungry,” Kelce says.

“Yeah, I like their açaí bowls,” you say, twisting around to look at Rafe one more time. He must not be able to hide his emotions as much as he thought, because your smile drops when you see him. “Rafe? Does that sound good?”

He turns his body to look out the window, eyes flicking back to yours one last time. “Not hungry.”

—

Rafe meets Topper and Kelce at the dock later that night, the three of them intending to get drunk and maybe take Topper’s boat out if they felt like it.

Kelce is already there by the time Rafe pulls up, drinking a beer with Topper while they laugh at something on his phone.

And Rafe paces right down the dock, snatches Kelce’s phone out of his hand, and pushes him off the platform and into the water.

“Rafe, dude,” Topper says, immediately pushing him back by his chest.

“What the fuck?” Kelce sputters, spitting out water as he surfaces and climbs the ladder back up. “What is your fucking problem?”

“You couldn’t ask literally fucking anyone else? It had to be Y/n?” Rafe says, laughing indignantly. He looks down at where Topper is still keeping them separated. “And you—what the fuck—”

“I told you, man. It was just our moms. We didn’t even consider it,” Topper says, rolling his eyes.

“You both lied to me,” Rafe accuses. “Because you knew I’d be mad.”

“And why’s that, Rafe?” Kelce spits, reaching around Topper to try and push at his chest. “Why are you mad? Not like you were gonna ask her.”

“No,” Rafe says immediately. And he isn’t even lying; it’d never crossed his mind as a possibility. Which is why he can’t even begin to try and work out why he’s this upset about it. He didn’t do anything to stop this, but it’s still happening, and it’s making him crazy. “You know my dad’s making me take Reagan since we’re both on prom court.”

“That’s what I thought,” Kelce grumbles. “I was gonna tell you.”

“When?”

“Soon, I just—we made the plan so long ago, bro. Neither of us wanted to worry about dates… but I gave it time because I thought you might—I dunno,” Kelce trails off, shrugging. “I dunno.”

“Thought I might what?”

“Figure your shit out and ask her yourself,” Topper says, coming back from the boathouse with a towel that he passes to Kelce.

“Even if I could, Y/n/n would never say yes to me,” Rafe scoffs, shaking his head and reaching for the six-pack they were working through.

Topper scoffs back. “Oh, yeah ri—”

“Guess we’ll never know,” Kelce says, cutting him off while he dumps the water out of his shoes. He sighs at his soaked clothes before he looks back up at Rafe. “You know I’m not into her right? We’re just going as friends. It’s senior prom.”

“Why would I care what you’re going as?” Rafe says, shifting in discomfort, hand clutching his already-half-empty beer can a little tighter. “None of it even matters.”

“Whatever you wanna tell yourself, bro,” Kelce sighs, grabbing his phone out of Rafe’s hand and pushing past him to go change.

—

“Nice taste, Y/l/n.”

You whirl around from where you’d been adjusting Kelce’s boutonnière (you’d only pricked him twice, which was a personal record for you) at the sound of Rafe’s voice, plastering on a smile before you face him. Your eyes drop to his attire immediately. “Oh shit, Rafe. We match.”

“I know,” he laughs. “My step-mom wants a picture.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in your heels, the tule of your dress suddenly itchy against your legs. “Um. Shouldn’t you take one with Reagan?”

“We already took a million. From every angle. With every possible fucking pose,” Rafe sighs. “C’mon, please? Before the limo comes.”

Rafe grabs your hand and you look back at Kelce who just nods, downing some champagne. “Take care of my date, Cameron.”

You can see Rafe just shake his head where you trail behind him, leading you back to where Rose is talking to one of the other moms. “There you are. Your dress is beautiful! I wish we'd found one like that for Reagan. It looks great with Rafe's tuxedo.”

“Uh, yeah. It's nice to see you, Mrs. Cameron,” you say politely, ignoring the last half of what she said completely. She pulls up her phone and Rafe’s bringing you into his side, his hand resting in the middle of your back.

“This okay?” he murmurs, his breath fanning over your neck as he leans down.

“Yep,” you say quickly, but you can’t help but look around and catch multiple of your friends watching you, including Reagan, who promptly rolls her eyes once you make eye contact with her.

“Y/n, sweetie, just a few pictures for the newsletter,” Rose says, reminding you of your purpose right now.

“Right, sorry,” you say.

“Hey,” Rafe whispers. You look up at him, feeling his hand bring you closer to his body. “Take this a little more seriously, Y/l/n. Don’t you know that the next issue of the Island Club newsletter will be completely ruined without this one specific photo, that will probably be squished into the corner of a terribly- edited collage?”

You laugh in surprise, hitting him on his chest for joking about his step-mom right in front of her. “Rafe. Be nice.”

He just grins down at you, before straightening up and turning back to the camera. “If I’m nice, will you save a dance for me later tonight?”

You’re glad he’s not looking at you anymore, because then he’d see the way your smile faltered before you turn back to the camera as well. “Sure.”

—

“How is my flask empty?” Kelce groans, tipping it over and shaking it out for emphasis.

“That’s what happens when you drink it all, bud,” you laugh, patting his shoulder. He rolls his eyes at you, linking his arm in yours as you both pass through the crowd to find Topper and his date, Emily. You all watch Rafe up on stage, waiting to inevitably be crowned prom king.

He was a shoo-in anyway, but you’d definitely distracted your English teacher with a conversation about the 1984 essay you just turned in while Topper and Kelce stuffed the ballot box he was meant to be guarding.

Rafe seemed like he couldn’t care less about stuff like prom court, just shaking his head when his name was announced over the speaker as a nominee three weeks ago at lunch.

And he’d dragged his feet through finding a date, just shrugging whenever you brought it up to him, prying partially for your own sake.

You couldn’t figure out why he seemed so averse to the entire event, but you supposed that was better than having to hear him go on and on about Reagan and how he asked her and what corsage he bought for her and if he was bringing her to after-prom—or anything else that would’ve dragged up some feelings you thought you’d firmly buried at this point, telling yourself for years that you never stood a chance with Rafe.

But the closer graduation got, the more you’ve been realizing that things with your friends would never be the same. Things with Rafe would never be the same.

“Kildare Academy, your prom king is Rafe Cameron,” the DJ says, snapping you out of your thoughts. Kelce and Topper cheer obnoxiously while you laugh, a little grateful they’re both drunk and distracted—so happy their plan worked (Rafe subtly flips them off behind his back as he’s crowned) that they can’t notice the way your shoulders slump as Rafe leads Reagan, just crowned queen, out to the middle of the dance floor while some Ed Sheeran song starts playing through the speakers. You’d roll your eyes at the terrible music selection if that was what you could focus on.

All you could focus on was wondering if Rafe would even remember that you promised him a dance tonight.

Kelce is dramatically bringing you into his arms as the prom court dance takes place, subtly turning you around so your back faces the stage and the court, smiling as he holds your waist. “C’mon, dance with me.”

—

Rafe’s letting go of Reagan as soon as the song ends and everybody cheers, dashing off to the DJ booth after telling her he’d be back in a bit. She merely shrugged before adjusting her crown and going off to some friends.

“Hey man, can I pull some prom king privilege right now?” he says, leaning in to speak into the guys’ ear. “I have a song request.”

“Playlist is set, approved by the school,” he says dismissively.

“Thought you might say that,” Rafe grumbles, reaching into his breast pocket before he can take the time to wonder if he’s really going to do this—if he’s really going to bribe the DJ to play a song by your favorite band before he goes to cash in on that dance together that you’d promised.

He hands him a crisp hundred.

The DJ sighs, snatching it out of his hand and pocketing it while Rafe smirks in victory. “Alright, what song, country club?”

And then it's practically a race to find you before the Kid Cudi remix currently playing ends. Rafe heads off in the direction where Topper and Kelce had been yelling when he was on stage, evening his pace when he spots you jumping around with Kelce, your dress fanning around you while you laugh, the string lights illuminating your face.

You’re smiling so big that it stops Rafe in his tracks.

Guys had always shown interest in you, and you turned most of them down. Not all of them; Rafe still had to see you with guys who absolutely did not deserve you giving them the time of day, sometimes at parties or maybe at the Club. Rafe could usually lie to himself, write off these feelings as some protectiveness over you, a nice girl who’d been a good friend to him his entire life. Rafe was protective of all the people he held close in his life, why wouldn’t he look out for you, too?

But something must have changed, because now—now Rafe’s looking at you, and he knows time is running out before you both set off on your futures. He has three weeks of school left with you, then a summer of seeing you around. And then... that's it.

And now he’s looking at you, those feelings less and less ignorable with every single second closer Rafe gets to not having you around him every day anymore.

Those feelings are crowding every corner of his mind, finally coming to the surface after all of the drama with prom dates had forced Rafe to wonder why he couldn’t stand you going with Griffin or Topper or Kelce. Couldn’t stand thinking about you ever being with someone that wasn’t him—a reality he knows he’d have to get used to you a lot quicker than it took him to even realize he’d fallen for you.

Because the future’s coming, and maybe in the future you actually end up with someone like Griffin, or Mateo, or that guy from the party that one time, or that touron from New England that your parents tried to set you up with, some hotshot you brought home from California after a semester, or Kelce—even Topper. Your parents would love that one. And one day in this future, you’re running into Rafe on the soccer field; your kids play for the same team together. Rafe ended up settling for someone he could never like half as much as he loved you, and he sees you across the field with a sweater tied around your shoulders, chatting with all of the other moms. The lucky asshole you finally chose just watches you the way Rafe always had, the way he is now as you dance with his best friend, the way Rafe will probably never be able to stop himself from doing.

Or maybe there's another future without you, where you move away to somewhere that suits you; the Outer Banks had never good enough for you, in his mind. Maybe you stay in California after school. And you bring home that hotshot that’s perfectly matched for you, who gets to hold you and kiss you and have you. Rafe only gets to see you every once in a while, when you decide to grace the Outer Banks with your presence for the holidays or for Midsummers. Maybe in this scenario, Rafe was never able to find someone else, maybe he shows up solo while you flash your engagement ring when the old crew gets together for drinks—no, you wouldn’t do that. You’d be absolutely smitten with whoever won your heart, showing the ring he got you to your girl friends with an embarrassed little smile pulling at your lips while they all gush over it. And maybe one of your friends jokes about how Rafe used to have a crush on you. You'll just laugh and shrug it off, nodding—because you knew all along. Of course you knew, everyone had to know at this point. And Rafe can picture you merely laughing at his feelings for you as the other guy gets to pull you closer on his lap.

The opening chords of your song snap him out of his reverie. He can see the exact moment you realize what song it is.

Rafe beelines for you, holding his hand out as soon as he’s in your vicinity, fully pretending he hadn’t just realized he’s fallen for one of his closest friends in the middle of prom. Like he hadn't realized that he wasn't just into you, didn't just think you were cute or like the way you made him feel when you remembered his stats tests or wore his shirt to his water polo games. Like he hadn't just realized that no matter how many times he'd told himself it didn't bother him that much that you'd never come close to giving him the time of day, that he'd never forget what it felt like to not even be on your radar.

“You promised me a dance, Y/n.”

You look at him and his outstretched hand and smile, then look back to Kelce, who's quickly letting you out of his arms, casting an accusatory glance at Rafe. But then he smiles a little. “I'm gonna hit the restrooms.”

“Too bad our one dance is gonna be to a song by a band you hate,” you laugh, accepting Rafe's hand. Rafe’s on autopilot, his hands resting on your lower back while yours move to his chest, swaying the two of you in little circles. The song is already through with the first verse.

“I don’t hate this band,” he lies. But maybe it’s not a lie—how could he hate anything you loved?

“Okay, prom king,” you laugh, fiddling with his pocket square a little, the one that matches your dress. “Still can’t believe we ended up matching.”

“Great minds, Y/l/n,” he shrugs, eyes trained on your face. Your hands slip up around his shoulders, and you nudge the plastic crown on his head before leaving your arms to rest there, fingers locked behind his neck. Rafe pulls you closer. The second chorus was already starting up. Time was running out.

“I’m not sure what the optics are of our matching and you leaving the prom queen to come dance with your friend,” you say, your small smile turning into a frown. “Reagan already seemed pissed earlier.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Rafe says. “It’s just you and me right now.”

“When we go off to college, I think I might just miss you, Cameron,” you say, smiling.

And Rafe might not ever get to tell you how he feels, or ever be with you the way he wants to, but at least he got to dance with you at his senior prom.

“I know I'm gonna miss you.”

—

@moniamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @littlementalpolaroids @fangirlvoice @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @pogueslandia @loveylangdon @oopsiedoopsie23 @sodasback @rafeseggplant @cooper8224 @rafeyybabyy @lemur46 @cameronsrafe @theepoguelandia @judayyyw @irlpadfoot @synonymforlame @tinawhynot @mildkleptomaniac @ilymarkchan @sofiatheseconf @hockeyshmockey @supersouthy @coffeeandcrimeshows @emptyloverofmine @infinitleyethereal @nerdypartytrashpsychic @mrs-cameron @tcmhollnd @nicavass @sakikos @catonthesideoftheroad @jemimah-b99 @serrendipiity @depressinq @svechnibrock @julianakawaja @ctrlcherries @lostaurorax @wildflower98 @babygirl2022 @lieswithoutfairytales @painlesslies @messagesinthesky @orrsoared @destourtereaux @sammywilscn @tylernagle @anonymousobxfan @lilacsandwhiskey @raphaelcameron @mardema @princesspogue @alwaysclassyeagle @brittlehe-art @drewswrld

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

If you can (and if you want to), could you do one where whumpee passes out in the hallway and caretaker comes home to find their little brother, whumpee, unconscious in the hallway and takes care of them while they're unconscious and then whumpee waking an hour or so later to caretaker comforting them and checking their temperature and placing a new cold washcloth to their forehead, all while gently questioning whumpee on what happened.

Hi Anon! Sure I can! Thanks for requesting this, I’ll give it a try!

Whumpee staggered out of bed and into the hallway. He had planned on staying in bed all day, but when his stomach started growling, he knew he’d have to go to the kitchen sooner or later. Besides, it’s not like he felt that bad, he was just tired, that was all. Whumpee didn’t care that his skin felt hot even though he was freezing, or that his head was pounding. He was just tired, he’d feel better once he had eaten something. Whumpee hadn’t taken two steps when the world started to tilt on its axis. Whumpee felt a pain in his side and it took him a few moments to realize that he had fallen over. Whumpee went to stand up but was suddenly overcome by a wave of dizziness. Dark spots appeared in the corners of his vision as Whumpee tried and failed to keep his eyes open. Whumpee’s eyes fell shut just as the front door to the house opened.

…

“Whumpee!” Caretaker called, “I’m home!”

Caretaker waited for a response, but none came.

“Are you still in bed?” Caretaker called.

Caretaker shrugged and set the groceries on the kitchen table. Whumpee probably had his headphones on or something. Caretaker headed into the hallway to check on him when something caught his eye. Caretaker gasped as he saw Whumpee, lying on the hallway floor, completely unconscious. Caretaker ran down the hall and crouched down at his little brother’s side. He shook his arm in an attempt to wake him.

“Whumpee, hey, can you hear me?” Caretaker asked.

Whumpee didn’t stir. Without a second thought, Caretaker lifted Whumpee into his arms and carried him back to his bed. Caretaker bolted out of the room to grab everything he would need.

…

Whumpee stirred on a soft surface. Was he still in bed? That was odd, Whumpee could have sworn he had gotten up earlier to get something, how was he back in bed? Whumpee was roused out of his thoughts by the feeling of something cold being pressed to his head. Whumpee opened his eyes to see Caretaker looming over him, a look of concern etched into his features.

“Hey,” Caretaker said, “you scared me. Welcome back to the waking world.”

“Wha’ happened?” Whumpee asked.

Whumpee tried to sit up, but Caretaker gently pushed him back down.

“I was hoping you could tell me that,” Caretaker answered, “I came home about an hour ago and you were just passed out in the hallway. What’s going on, Whumpee?”

“I dunno,” Whumpee said, “I’m just tired.”

“We’ll see about that,” Caretaker said, pulling out a thermometer, “open up.”

Whumpee groaned but did as he was told. Caretaker gently stuck the thermometer in Whumpee’s mouth. After what felt like forever, the thermometer started beeping loudly. Caretaker pulled it out and winced at the number he saw.

“What is it?” Whumpee asked, craning his neck to get a better look.

“You’re not leaving this bed for the rest of the day, that’s what,” Caretaker said, though not unkindly, “you have a fever of one hundred and two. Whumpee, why didn’t you say anything before I left?”

“I didn’t know I had a fever,” Whumpee said, “I just have a headache and I’m a little cold.”

“‘A little cold’? You’re shivering!” Caretaker persisted, gesturing to Whumpee’s shaking form, “you probably caught that virus that’s been going around. Have you eaten anything today?”

“…no,” Whumpee answered sheepishly.

“Alright, I’m gonna go make you some soup. Try to rest and don’t leave that bed, I don’t want you passing out again.”

With that, Caretaker left to go make Whumpee a bowl of soup. Whumpee watched him leave with a glassy look in his eyes. If it were up to Whumpee, he would be making his own bowl of soup, but he knew it was no use arguing with Caretaker. Caretaker may be gentle, but he was also very firm. Whumpee snuggled deeper under the covers while he waited for Caretaker to come back. If nothing else, he was lucky to have a brother that cared.

[stay-midnight]

Spark of Possessiveness

> Requested

> Word# - 3.2K Words

> Minho and Jisung x Male Reader

> TWs - Possessiveness, Little to no plot.

> Kinks and Warnings - Top/Dom Minho and Jisung, Bottom/Sub Male Reader, Rough Sex, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Consensual, Spitroasting, Marks, Hair Pulling, Dirty Talk, Degradation (Prevalent, I mean alot), Punishment, Soft Aftercare, Jealousy, Cum Swallowing, Barebacking, Minsung is wild, wannabe dom reader.

> A/N - My comeback fic hehe, anyways I wasn't fond of the way I wrote it but hopefully it's enjoyable enough! Thank you anon for giving a Minsung request~

Minho was leaned back on the kitchen counter, gritting his jaw at their now-missing boyfriend, he felt the need to throw his phone away at 21st missed call.

Jisung was not as calmly angry as the other since he was frantically walking back and forth at the amount of time it has been since their boyfriend got coffee (3 hours to be exact).

Minho is incredibly worried knowing they were past idols knowing that people may exact revenge plots at them after coming out to the general public and disbanding the group after so.

Jisung look at the older, “He’s gonna be okay right?!” He asked in a worried tone as to which Minho just nodded and responded with a headpat, which eased Jisung for a bit.

Minho sighed at the unknown location of their lover till they hear a ring from the front door. Jisung with hastened feet and sharp ears, he rushed to the door immediately — leaving Minho in a second but the older shortly trailed after in a bit.

Jisung was fast in unlocking the door, thinking it was you forgetting the keys.

In a moment, Jisung was face to face with 2 familiar set of eyes and a missed gaze.

.

.

You were laughing happily with your two companions, jokes aside — you pulled out your phone at the thought of forgetting something and saw 21 missed calls and 15 unread texts in a moment you saw your lockscreen.

Stopping abruptly in your movements, you look towards yours and your boyfriends' front porch — You weren't ready for the anger of your boyfriends after just remembering that you didn't tell them about the sudden meetup. A smile passed your lips in a flash of excitement

You slowly walked up the stairs, gazing at your two friends with a forced smile but at the same time you couldn't ignore the bubbling of excitement from the pit of your stomach. “You good, Y/n?” they both asked in wonders to which you just smiled as a response.

“Yeah, I just forgot my spare key that's all. Do you wanna join for dinner later?” you asked with a bright expression but your mind is collapsing with unholy thoughts at the awaiting sight of angry lovers.

They both shook their heads, “We have things to do, but we’ll greet Minho and Jisung before leaving.” Jeongin answered and lovingly kissing you on the cheek.

Seungmin let out a silent snort before, continuing sauntering up the stair. With shaky hands, you press on the doorbell to which Seungmin and Jeongin just look at each other with confusion at the sight of your trembling fingers.

The door bursted open in a millisecond to reveal a Jisung looking ready to devour a prey or something. “Hi Sungie..”

Jisung eyes darted to the boys next to you before landing on you, “Hello, Y/n” He says, hiding a different tone of his voice before smiling light-heartedly at Seungmin and Jeongin before he looked at you.

“Are you both coming in?” he asked in a patient tone, but his hands were getting antsy.

“Nope! We’re just here to bid farewell after seeing you and.. Where is Lee Know-hyung? Is he here?” Jeongin asks curiously, trying to get a peek to the inside of the house by looking over Jisung’s shoulders.

Speak of the devil, Minho appeared behind Jisung shortly with a blank face before he turned to look at you with a totally-not-nice-and-has-evil-plans kind of glint.

To which you just ignore by letting out an awkward cough,

“Well, We have things to do right now.. Good seeing both of you after two years!” Jisung voiced quickly before basically grabbing the clearly nervous boy at the middle.

“You too—” Jeongin got cut short by a slam of the door.

“Is that how normally he greets old friends?” Jeongin piped up in question, looking at the taller for his reaction at Jisung’s unnerving dismissal.

Seungmin raised his shoulders as an answer before he turned to look at the younger, “Maybe he’s still mad when we plotted to bring him in a poly relationship.” Seungmin sighed, walking down the stairs with calm steps — seeming unworried and carefree at possible redflags.

“Plotted? You make it sound so evil—” Jeongin responded with a disagreeing huff.

Seungmin rolled his eyes, “Let’s just go~ I wanna rest at our new apartment.” He yawns, hooking his arm around Jeongin when he got into his reach.

“M'kay ” The other agreed.

.

.

.

“Will he be okay though—” Jeongin asks in a worried tone.

“Dunno, Minho and Jisung are a kinky bunch.” Seungmin responded calm as ever.

“How do you know that?!” Jeongin looked at Seungmin with his jaw dropped and like a snooping fox, he was curious for juicy information.

Seungmin let out an airy laugh, “Wishing I didn't know it though.” The older responsed, a flashback flying over his head as a frown on his lips appeared.

.

.

Jisung slowly led you inside your home to which he let you sit on the couch while he stared down at you impatiently with a raised eyebrow — repeatedly tapping the floor with his foot. Eyes piercing you.

Minho was not giving off as much presence as the quokka but his cold resting face was enough to send shivers down your spine

While you, a bunny clearly trapped inside a den with beasts hungering for you and a reason.

“I left my phone accidentally on silent...” you mumbled out, lowering your own head in embarrassment. Jisung clicked his tongue and Minho walks over, sitting right next to you. Looking at you with a glare that caused you to stay silent while Jisung licked his lips in anticipation, clearly turned on by the elder’s gaze.

He grabbed your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him. His hold forcing you to pucker your lips, your Adam’s apple bobbing at the fact your own dick was getting hard from this, too which Jisung immediately took notice, smirking at the small bulge appearing.

“That’s not a good enough reason, Y/n.” Minho said sharply, his voice dripping with arrogance. Minho doesn't like playing and you know that, his punishments are rough — you know that from experience. Jisung of course, was having a good time at how the elder was talking to you — his own length spraining against the jeans he was wearing.

“It’s the only reason I have—” You defended, earning a tight hair pull from Minho which made a whine escape from your throat. Jisung was also getting restless and impatient and Minho immediately took notice.

“Head to our room Ji. I’ll bring the whore in a bit.” He said in a tone which you both found frightening and a turn on. Jisung nodded and grinned straight at you before rushing to the room in excitement.

With Jisung gone, Minho initiated a rough kiss with you to which you tried to return as much as you could but it ended up being a messy and wet kiss.

Minho continued the kiss, pushing you down the couch in doing so. Bringing you closer to him before pulling away with a hum, “Don’t you have something to say, slut?” He asked, wrapping his hand around your throat — not squeezing but enough to make you constricted in a way as you rutted against his thigh that he placed between your legs. Your cock was throbbing inside your boxers as you already felt your high coming on in a bit which Minho didn't take notice off.

You opened your mouth but a moan slipped out causing your top to chuckle amusedly at how much needy you were right now. “I— I’m sorry...” you said in the sincerest way possible, you rutted against Minho’s muscular thighs and in a bit you came inside your boxers.

Minho looked at your blissed-out face and that's when he noticed a very small wet spot pooling on your jeans. “Ji wouldn't like this.” Minho laughed amusingly, knowing that Jisung doesn't like anyone releasing until he said so. (That also applies to himself.)

He withdrew his hand from your neck — you finally releasing a breath you didn't know you needed. He stood up soon after, gesturing you to follow to which you did — following him with small footsteps.

.

.

.

Jisung eyes lit as you and Minho entered the room, he was disappointed though that you both still had clothes on.

He was okay with it though, what he didn't like was the wet spot visible on your clothed crotch, his eyes looked scary, like a ferocious animal.

Jisung stood up to which you looked at him questionably, completely unaware of Jisung’s dislike of releasing before himself.

You watched as Jisung stopped in front of you and before you knew it, you were pinned against the recently closed door, his strong hands trapping your arms behind your back. “Kinda unfair, you came before us.” he said through clenched teeth, pressing you harder against the door.

Minho took a sit on the bed, letting the younger have his own fun.

“Taking our cum would be a great way to makeup, don’t you think?” Jisung said, biting the top of your ear softly.

“Y- Yes, Sungie..” You said in a small voice.

“Good.” he hums, satisfied a little.

He pulls away and sat down back slowly with Minho in a bed, the older wearing an obnoxious grin as he leaned to whisper words into the Jisung’s ear causing his face to contort into one of an amused expression.

They then turned to you standing there, looking confused of their secret conversation. Jisung didn't like that though, “What did I tell you, baby?”

Your mind was blank before you mumbled a “Sorry.”

Jisung huffs disapprovingly but inches you to continue.

You first remove your shirt, a little bit of marks appearing faded, now contouring a bit more into your skin tone. The marks are from last night’s wild but fun time. Jisung smirks widens, his pride getting uplifted by the marks he left on your clavicle, while Minho just smiled satisfied at the teeth marks on the outside skin of both your nipples.

You typically shy away from their stares but now, feeling a bit confident (and bratty), words leave your mouth that was unexpected by your boyfriends, “You seem to like what you see.” You said, filling your voice with a mocking tone that flared up both of them up.

“Maybe I should instead punish you both i— instead for being needy.” Your voice wavering at the middle of the sentence, but you expertly covered it with a cough.

Minho stood up suddenly,

His eyes, gazed at you, “Such a talkative slut, aren't you?” He stated, his face serious as he slid his hand down your pants before pulling you close to him. “Look at you trying to act all dominant, in the end though, you just want to be fucked.” Minho stated, sliding his hand now through your boxers.

“Is that why, you went out with Seungmin and Jeongin? To be fucked?” He asks, Jisung in your sideview staring at you with a glare as he waited shortly for answer.

Your still kept a challenging gaze on Minho, trying to keep composure and not give in. “No. I went out with them so I could fuck th—” Minho grabbed your dick, stroking it forward angrily before you could finish your sentence, a quiet mewl passing your lips.

Jisung grumbled something behind him.

“Watch your words.” Minho said bitterly, his other hand finding way to your buttocks.

Your eyes glazed over the dominant before he withdrew his hands inside your boxers, before he threw you on the bed, surprising you and Jisung.

You try to pull yourself up but Minho encased you, his strong chest making contact with your back.

“Stay still like a good little bitch, and we’ll actually let you cum. Unless you want the same thing to happen the last time we punished you, hm?”

Minho’s voice was slick, calm and punishing but at the same time, just really hot. Your bulge felt uncomfortable against the bedsheet.

Jisung wanted to join in the fun too so he moved closer and grabbed your hair making you look up at him, “He put you in your place so easily, Where did all your confidence go? What was that about fucking us?” Jisung mocked as you glared at back pathetically.

Jisung did the honors of pulling your pants down with ease, Minho went to grab items needed before Jisung landed a harsh slap on your ass, your lips bruising as you bit it to catch a moan from slipping out.

Minho smirked and signalled Jisung to get into position as the man complied, Minho already slicked two of his fingers before he placed his fingers between your crack teasingly wetting your twitchy hole with cold lube.

Minho rubbed your rim as you glared at your other lover at the front of you, you looked up to Jisung in feigned annoyance due to his hands pinning you down.

Jisung’s eyebrow twitched in irritation before he mumbled through soft lips, “Color?”

You look up at him throwing your act away for a moment, “Green.” you answered before gritting your teeth to which the Jisung noticed and his face shifted into exasperation of your attitude.

Jisung started to undress himself, first unbuttoning his jeans before throwing away his shirt, revealing his buff body and slim waist to which you tried your best not to gawk at.

Jisung then smirked, “You seem a bit dazed, pretty toy~” He said, mocking you as he noticed your submissive nature starting to unfold just from your expression.

Minho then heard what Jisung and his smirked widened before he finally inserted two fingers into your ass, Minho’s own dick was getting hard from your hole swallowing his fingers.

Jisung signalled Minho to do something before Jisung stood up and went away from your sight, clearly planning something.

You were irritated at the lack of attention to your prostate so you shamelessly push back against Minho’s digits to which Minho responded with a mocking laugh, “See. You like this, wonder how did you even think of fucking us. When we know how much you like having cocks fill your hole.” He said amused.

You laughed, “Oh really? Maybe I should fuck you dumb to pro—” Minho clearly had enough of your act as he jabbed his fingers as deep as he can making you choke on your own spit — not even finishing your sentence.

You felt both of them turn you sideways and flip you over so that your legs were spread and your head hanging at the side of the bed, you were faced with an upside down Jisung with playful grin as your own dick was laid flat on your stomach leaking precum against your tummy, smearing it white.

“I think the slut needs his mouth shut, don’t you think Min?” Jisung said playfully, sparing a glance at Minho before turning to you.

Minho looked amused by Jisung’s word before nodding at him in a very agreeing manner.

Jisung’s dick was very hard and approximately shorter than Minho’s size, red at the tip and veins prodding his side, it was curved outwards and pretty overall, matching his buff yet slim body.

His dick slapped against your face as he look at you teasingly, “Open your pretty mouth toy.” Jisung said roughly, slapping his dick against your cheek.

Minho saw this and clicked his tongue, removing his fingers to which you sighed at.

Minho removed his clothes swiftly as the wind, throwing away his shirt and showing his full body in display for Jisung to see.

He looked at Jisung with a glint in his eyes before his hand slapped your dick harshly to which you couldn't contain a loud moan in, Jisung took the chance and slid his dick into your mouth and down your throat, your neck slightly bulged from this man’s cock.

Minho took pleasure at the sight of Jisung’s dick fitting against your mouth, so too, he wanted to join. He quickly drizzled lube on his dick before pushing against your hole, eliciting a choked out sound against Jisung’s cock.

“Good little cockslut, taking both me and Sungie’s cock. See, look at your useless dick.” Minho said, grabbing your cock, squeezing your leaking tip while watching you choke on your words against Jisung’s cock with a satisfied expression

“Wet and messy. You can't even fuck a fleshlight properly, what makes you think you can fuck us?” Said Minho, his voice intoxicating and seductive as he continuously pushed until his hips connected with your ass and his dick pushed near up to your abdomen.

Jisung continued his thrusts, taking pleasure from your mouth’s wet cavern, he curses under his breath at how close he was already.

Minho took this chance to grab your waist, slamming into you vigorously at the same time Jisung pulled away. They both panted as they thrust in a rhythm.

After both were consumed by pleasure and lust, barely any words were exchanged — and the sound that were enveloping the room was the squelch of lube, skin slapping against skin, breathless pants, and your drowned out moans.

Jisung sighs after a while as he came down your throat as you swallowed it, though your mouth was probably gonna be sore in the morning atleast it was fun seeing them being possessive.

Minho took alot while to finish as Jisung already pulled out of your mouth as your laid your back tired as you just let Minho plow your used hole, pulling you back on his cock while you let out weak moans every now and then when your good spot was hit.

Your head felt funny and didn't even notice Minho pulling out and coming on your stomach with some his cum reaching up to your lips. “Fuck.” he groaned out as he panted after reaching his high.

Minho took a hold of your cock which he jerked off, “Gonna cum...” you mumbled to which Jisung had already returned from his small trip to the bathroom, “Cum.” Jisung said as he wanted to watch you release

Jisung smiled at both of you releasing, before he pulled you up so that Jisung could walk you over to the bathroom while Minho followed closely, laughing at the limp that was already noticeable. “Looks like Min fucked you good~” Jisung teased as you pouted and hit the man on the chest for his annoying teasing.

Minho snorted, “You did too, he may be silent as a bug tomorrow because of a sore throat~” Minho teased, laughing when you glared at him.

“I hate you both.” you said in an unusual raspy voice, to which both of your lovers just giggled at.

You three arrived at the huge bathtub that Jisung had already prepared, he helped you get settled on the warm water of it and soon after, both also entered the warm bath.

.

.

Minho pulled you up on his wet chest while Jisung laid his head on your shoulder, “Were you fine with that earlier, baby? Or should we tone it down a bit?” he asked, playing with your collarbone.

You smiled suddenly at the question, “It was okay, I had fun.” you answered him as you leaned further into Minho’s warmth.

Jisung suddenly snorted at the side which caught both your attention, “The little dom act that you put was kinda cute.” he said, giggling.

You look at him and huffed while Minho laughed with him as you splashed some water at Jisung’s face causing him to retaliate.

In the end, the bathroom floor was a mess.

[detroit-grand-prix]

Wildest Dreams Chapter 20 - Everything Has Changed

Chapter summary: The new race calendar has been set, and Phoebe heads to Austria to compete in her first-ever race: The 2020 Austrian Grand Prix.

Content warning: N/A

Chapter word count: 5,648

Author's Notes: Okay, this is where the real-world race results are going to start to deviate a bit from actual results and timelines a bit. More or less without being too spoilery, don't expect the situation at Williams to be quite the same as it was in real-time. I mean, they're not going to be competing for championships still, but I think their fortunes will fare a little bit better than they actually did in 2020. When I wrote this story originally, I didn't know much about Niki Lauda. Since working on "Star-Crossed" with @totowlff, I've come to have more appreciation and fondness for him, and wish I'd shown him more in the story leading up to this point, but it is what it is. I've written a new section in this chapter for him, though. I will also not do a complete chapter for each race like I did with this one, but I wanted to spend time here since it's Phoebe's first F1 race. Here's a picture of Susie Wolff's helmet from her time at Williams. She debuted this design in 2014. It was designed for her by Roland Mouret, a French fashion designer that Susie likes (or at least did in 2014). I thought since it was likely that she wouldn't be able to go because of restrictions, she'd like to do something special for Bee's first race. There are slight modifications just because Williams wasn't sponsored by Martini anymore. If you want to hear what Phoebe's engineer sounds like, he's in this video of all of the 2020 engineers. The link will take you right to the relevant part of the video. He's Latifi's engineer, but Phoebe is in Latifi's seat right now, so Gaetan is her engineer. If you've never seen the pit board group picture that's mentioned, here's an okay example of one. It seems like teams will take them after the race when they get a good result. Lewis and Valtteri are both in front of their pit boards here, but I think Williams getting into Points and Almost Points on their first outing of 2020 would have been HUGE for them after the 2019 they had.

Red Bull Ring, Spielberg, Styria, Bezirk Murtal, Austria July 1st, 2020

The revised season calendar was finally set, and the first two races would be in Austria, at the Red Bull Ring. The two races Bee was most looking forward to this year, in Suzuka and Austin, were both officially canceled, but Bee was still happy that she would get to race. She’d even had special helmet designs planned for those two races, specifically. At least they’d get to go to Monza, still - she had another special helmet planned for that race, too.

Rather than go back to the UK, Bee opted to stay in Stuttgart for the month between the calendar being confirmed and the first race. She had to make sure to be extra-diligent about working out and getting some limited practice in her at-home racing sim. It wasn’t the same as using the proper sim at the factory, but with lockdowns, travel restrictions, and mandated quarantine periods, going back to Grove would be more trouble than it was worth.

She checked in with Natalie via Zoom before she left for Austria. Bee felt a little bad for Natalie - she was apparently quite busy with a lot of her clients being other athletes that were temporarily out-of-work and likely not dealing well with being idle. Motorsport was one of the only sports that was planning a comeback. 

“I was so nervous the entire run-up to Australia, and it didn’t even happen.” Bee told Natalie. “And it feels weird because I’m not nervous right now, but I’m sure on Saturday and Sunday I’m gonna be a mess.”

“Well, what’s the absolute worst thing that can happen?”

Bee turned over the possibilities in her mind. Sure, the worst thing was probably any of the inherent risks of high-level motorsport, but those risks were always there, and had been there since she was young. 

“I dunno. Having a bad race, I guess. Finishing last.” Bee said. 

“And is it going to be the end of your career if you have a bad race, on your first race? Everyone has had bad races. Even Lewis. Even Max. And it’s your first one! The beauty of it being your first race is that you’re sort of free from any expectations of how you’ll perform, I think. Sure, Claire will want you to do well, and I’m sure you’ll want to do well for yourself, but you don’t have a baseline to live up to yet.”

That was true. It was freeing. It wouldn’t last, but even George had a very rough year and nobody was doubting his talent. Bee didn’t have quite the level of pure, raw talent that George had, but she certainly would try.

Instead of staying in hotels, a lot of drivers were planning on renting motorhomes for the race, and staying on the trackside campsites that fans normally used, since there would be no fans in attendance at this race. One of the other drivers put a link in their WhatsApp group to a company that did motorhome rentals in the area, and would even drop it off at the track so Bee wouldn’t have to worry about driving it there - she was a professional driver, sure, but a large motorhome was very different than an F1 car or her little Mercedes hatchback. 

Bee thought it was a great idea - she used to love camping with her parents and grandparents when she was younger. Every summer, Bee and her parents would take a long trip to the US, and it included a camping trip with Bee’s grandparents on her mom’s side to the Upper Peninsula, generally staying in a state park on the shore of Lake Superior. Plus, it would make social distancing far easier than it would be while staying in a hotel.

Bee arrived at the track on Wednesday, having flown from Stuttgart to Graz. It all felt almost routine at this point. Her visits to Austria had become frequent - she’d been making this trip at least once a year for the past six years, since her Formula Renault days, and she’d flown into Vienna last spring for Niki Lauda’s funeral.

That was a sad day. It was pouring rain in Vienna on the day of the Mass, which seemed appropriate for the occasion. Bee hadn’t been to many funerals, and certainly not one quite as massive. It had also been a long time since she’d been to church. Her mother had grown up Catholic. Bee had been baptized and her family attended Mass when they lived in Michigan, but they hadn’t bothered going since moving to Germany. 

Going to St. Stephen’s Cathedral was almost as awe-inspiring as meeting Niki the first time had been. The moment when Niki called her “The American from Stuttgart” and told her that he was happy that she was with Mercedes would stand out in her mind forever. 

Bee regretted the fact that she hadn’t gotten to know Niki as well as she would have liked to before he became too ill to attend races any more. Before his health took a turn for the worst, she had been at a few races that he was in attendance, always watching by Toto's side. There was something about him - maybe what he meant to the sport, maybe his famed swagger and bluntness, that made her a bit intimidated by him. Bee wasn't sure why she was so nervous around him. He never gave her any reason to be - he always was very kind to her, and he reminded a little bit of her grandfather, Daniel.

On one occasion, though, Bee plucked up the courage to ask him to take a selfie with her. It was during a rather dull free practice session, but she wanted to send it to her dad. Her dad had a hard time believing that she was working so closely with the Niki Lauda, one of his childhood heroes.

"Well, if he doesn't believe you," he said, with a wry smile, "I guess you could just bring him to the track."

She never got the chance after that, but at least he obliged her. As far as she knew, her dad's desktop background on his work computer was still Bee's selfie of her with Niki Lauda.

She always had found it touching that he knew of her before they’d even met, and remembered who she was just by description when Toto introduced the two of them at the first US Grand Prix she’d gone to, shortly after being made a Mercedes junior. The idea that she somehow registered in his mind, despite all of the people who he had known and met over the years, was jarring. Bee had never thought of herself as anyone exceptional, even though being a woman and gotten as far in racing as she had made her only one of a few. 

“He remembers everyone. Plus, as often as Susie talks about you to him, I’m definitely not surprised.” Toto said, when she mentioned it once.

During the service, she mostly stuck by George the entire time. She was nearly overwhelmed as she was introduced to a lot of Formula 1 luminaries of the past that her father had grown up admiring. She managed to avoid talking to Dr. Marko. She spotted Daniel Bruhl, who was one of her favorite actors, but couldn’t work up the courage to say anything to him, given the solemnity of the occasion. She spoke briefly to Toto and Susie. Toto looked sadder than she’d ever seen him, which was understandable, given how close he and Niki had been. Toto introduced Bee to his two older children, Benedict and Rosa. They were both just a few years younger than Bee was. Bee was surprised at how similar both of them looked to Toto, given how much Jack looked like Susie. 

The service was a fitting tribute for the man - maybe a bit more solemn than he was, but it an occasion befitting a giant of the motorsport world.

As far as getting ready for the race, there were seemingly a million little tasks to accomplish, which helped prevent her from getting too nervous. She had to submit a negative test to the FIA four days before arriving. She found her rental motorhome fairly easily as well. It was small, but quite nice inside - very modern-looking, certainly nothing like the old Winnebago her grandparents owned when she was young. She also rented a bicycle from the rental company with it - drivers wouldn’t be allowed to go out or do any socializing with each other, but she had started to enjoy biking during her free time over the pandemic, and Toto mentioned that there were some very nice trails and bike routes around Styria.

It looked like Emilia had already been by to drop off groceries and supplies for the week. Since teams would have limited staff, interaction would be restricted to team bubbles, and drivers wouldn’t be able to go out, she would have to fend for herself as far as meals go. Well, somewhat - Emilia would be doing the cooking, because she was in charge of Bee’s meal plan anyway, and Bee was a terrible cook. 

She started putting her clothes and things away when Emilia came in. 

“Oh, good, you made it. You found the groceries, I assume? And the bike? We can do a training ride later.”

“Oh, did you bring one too?”

“Yes, I thought it was a good idea, so I rented one as well. That way I can make sure you’re not slacking.” Emilia said, teasing Bee a little.

Emilia sat down at the motorhome’s kitchenette table and produced a stack of papers from her backpack with an official-looking FIA header and started flipping through them. 

“Now”, she said, “You’ll need to go to the garage once you get settled in here to check in with Claire, you’ll need to do a COVID test, and they’ve instituted some rules regarding team bubbles. You’ll need to observe social distancing rules - two meters apart from anybody not on your team, no going into other team garages or motorhomes or you’ll be subject to fines, no going out unless it’s necessary, all of the usual things. It sounds like other teams are setting up bubbles-within-bubbles, but I don’t think we are, but the sheet says to keep interaction limited to your engineer and mechanics. And your ‘manager, performance coach, and press officer are exempt from team bubble restrictions, along with team staff as necessary’.” She said, reading directly from the sheet.

“Well, okay then.” Bee said, putting the last of her things away. “I guess I’m ready, if you want to go over to the garage with me.”

Bee got checked in with Claire, went over and stood in line to get her test, nearly sneezed on the swab as they put it up her nose, and walked up the paddock, just to see who had all arrived. It was eerily quiet, without any fans and a limited number of staff for each team. The only press around was the media staff that worked directly for Formula 1.

When she thought about it, though, this wasn’t the worst way to experience her first F1 race. She would rather there not be a global pandemic raging if she had the choice, but with less of an audience at the track, there would be less pressure on her. Sure, there was a television audience, and she would need to be able to focus, but the atmosphere might be more akin to pre-season testing than an actual race.

She had some time to take a nap, and then Emilia got her up to go on a 30km bike ride (Emilia called it a “short ride”) before dinner. They rode in a wide loop around to the nearby town of Knittelfeld and back. They rode past the hospital Bee was taken to after her accident, just over four years ago.

“Did I ever tell you that the worst race of my life was here?” Bee said, while her and Emilia were taking a short rest under a tree.

“No, what happened?” Emilia said, handing Bee an brightly-colored electrolyte drink from her backpack. 

Bee took a long sip of the drink and said, “I was in Formula 3, so… it was just over four years ago now. I was about to overtake this kid - he was a Red Bull junior too, just like I was at the time - and he squeezed me into a wall, right at the Rindt corner, which is turn 9, I think. They had these big kerbs at the time called sausage kerbs - to prevent you from leaving the track to pass. Anyway, my car kind of vaulted over it a little and when I landed, I ended up in the wall. I ended up with a concussion and a broken wrist. They had to put my radius back together with a plate, and they had to take a graft from my hip because it broke my scaphoid, too.”

“Oh, yeah, scaphoid fractures take a while to heal unless you use a vascularized bone graft.” Emilia said, nodding.

“Yeah, exactly - that’s what my surgeon told me. Anyway, I was in that hospital that we rode past a little bit ago for almost a week. And then I got thrown out of the Red Bull program. Helmut Marko - you’ll see him around - called me before I was even out of the hospital, and left me a voicemail. They were my only sponsor at the time. I was convinced my career was over.” Bee handed the empty bottle back to Emilia and stood back up, ready to make the trip back.

“Well, it wasn't. And you’re here now, as a Formula 1 driver.” Emilia said, zipping the empty bottle back into her backpack and climbing onto her bike. “That’s pretty cool, I think.”

“Yeah, I think so, too.”

The next day was the track walk, press conferences, and strategy briefings, but there was a little more time between activities because of the lack of sponsor activities and press obligations. Bee and George were paired together for the virtual press conference, because the interviews were done within team bubbles. They were still on the stage like they would be for any other press conference, but reporters were asking questions via Zoom instead of being in the building.

Bee did get a few of the expected questions about it being her first race, how she felt as the first woman to enter a Grand Prix in a while, but to her relief, she got some questions that weren’t related, like what it was like to develop last year’s car, and how it was feeling this year. 

She saw Toto in the paddock as she was leaving the press conference. She waved, but he dashed over to where she was. 

“Bienchen! Good to see you! I know we can’t hug but we can -” He stuck his elbow out for a socially-distanced ‘handshake’ like she’d seen other people doing.

They tapped elbows, and laughed about it - it looked and felt a bit silly.

“Well, you’re my manager, so I think you’re allowed in my ‘bubble’, but better safe than sorry.”

“Oh, before I forget,” he said suddenly. “I actually have something to give you. Are you staying at the hotel, or at the campsite?”

“I’m at the campsite, I’m not far from the entrance. If you text me later, I’ll just meet you outside of my motorhome.”

As promised, Toto met her at her campsite later on, a large box in his arms.

“Now, this is from Susie, since she couldn’t come this weekend… just because of restrictions and all. She wanted to be here for your first race, but she said this would have to do. She said that the only stipulation is that you have to call her on FaceTime when you open it, and you can’t open it until Sunday morning before you head over to the garage.”

“Oh, intriguing. She must know how much I hate surprises.” Bee laughed. “Do you know what it is?”

“No. She wouldn’t tell me, I think she was worried I’d spoil the surprise.”

They chatted for a few minutes, catching up on what they’d been up to on their breaks. Bee thought Toto looked far more relaxed than usual, almost younger. He had a markedly shorter haircut, which likely had something to do with it. Apparently he and Susie had been staying in Austria, and it had been nice for them to be able to spend so much time together.

“But, I did miss all of this,” he said, waving his hand. “It’s nice to get back to racing. I don’t want to say I was getting bored, but, maybe a little.”

Friday rolled around, and it was time for free practices. It would be the first time Bee - or any of the drivers, really - would be in an F1 car in a while. For the first few laps, it felt very strange to be driving the car again. The first time she was on her brake, her head tilted forward, like she’d forgotten that she needed to hold herself upright. After that, though, she managed to regain her muscle memory and things were coming back to her. 

Bee wasn’t really nervous until qualifying, but she tried to remember what George had said - that it was fine if she didn’t have a great first run, she would have more chances. 

Unlike Formula 2 and 3, where qualifying was a 30-minute straight drive for lap time where your time determined your grid placement, Formula 1’s qualifying was a bit more complicated. For the first 20 minutes, all 20 cars on the grid try to set the fastest time, and the slowest 5 are eliminated from advancing to the next qualifying round. The same thing happens again, and then the final 10 move on to the third round, or “Q3”.

Bee was the third driver out on the track, behind both of the Alfa Romeos. It was best to try and get out of the garage as soon as possible to avoid getting stuck in traffic on the track. George managed to squeak by into the second round of qualifying by a fairly thin margin. Bee was eliminated in Q1, but her only goal was to not qualify in P20, and she ended up in P17, so it wasn’t an entirely unsuccessful session. For Williams, though, it was a massive improvement to even have a car in the Q2 round after not being able to do so at all last season, so the mood in the garage when Bee returned was jubilant.

Despite the suspense almost making her give in and open the box, Bee waited to see what was in Susie’s package until Sunday morning. She got up, got dressed in her team kit, and called Susie on WhatsApp while she was sitting at the kitchenette in her motorhome. Emilia wouldn’t be around for a bit, so she figured now was a good time.

She called Susie’s number, and waited a moment for the call to connect. Susie’s face appeared a moment later, with Jack sitting in her lap.

“Hi, Susie! Hi, Jack!”

“Hi, Phoebe!” (“Bee!” Jack squealed as he waved at her.) “Okay, I see that Toto gave you the package, and it’s not been opened yet, so that’s good.”

“And you wanted to watch me open it with you watching?”

“I did!” 

“Okay, let’s see.” She cut the packing tape on the plain cardboard box, and there was another, glossy black box underneath. There were no logos or anything on it, but she had an assumption on what was inside given the approximate size, shape, and weight of it. It was very familiar-feeling.

“Do you know what it is?”

“I have a guess.” 

“Go ahead and open it!”

She took the lid off the box, and removed the foam insert covering the top. There was a greeting card envelope underneath. She opened the card first - there was a message in Susie’s neat handwriting on a plain white card.

“Bee,

Today is the day of your first race as a Formula 1 driver.You were 15 years old when we met. I will never forget meeting that fierce, determined young woman who one day dreamed of reaching Formula 1. You’ve had a long, hard road to get there, but I never had any doubt that you’d make it one day. When I told you that you had the heart of a lioness, I meant it, and I still do.

The day you had your last race in Formula Renault, you gave me your helmet to thank me for my help. I still have it - it’s on a shelf in my office at Venturi. You’ve never had to thank me - I’ve always been happy to support you, and it’s been a joy to see your journey in motosport so far. I really wanted to see your first race and cheer you on in person, but that wasn’t possible, given the circumstances. You told me then that you wanted to give me one of your Formula 1 helmets one day, but I decided that I would beat you to the punch by giving you your first Formula 1 helmet. I hope you wear it during today’s race and know that I’m with you in spirit and cheering you on from Vienna. 

Go get ‘em.

<3 Susie :)”

It was signed with her signature and the trademark smiley face she always included in her signature.

She lifted the foam covering off of the top of the box, and saw a white dome with the number 50, in a neat, navy blue sans-serif font. She lifted it out of the box, and couldn’t help but gasp.

It was the brand and style of helmet that Bee wore, but it was painted to be a copy of the helmet Susie used when she was a Williams test driver in 2014.

It wasn’t an exact copy, of course - Martini was no longer Williams’ title sponsor, so a few things had to be changed out of necessity. The Martini-branded stripes had been changed to regular red, white, and blue stripes, which was convenient given that it was close to the original, and Bee was American. There was a single light blue star on the back, and one on each side below the visor. Each side of it had a pattern of red and blue squares and stripes that made it look like a modern art painting. Susie had told her the original design was made by a fashion designer that was a favorite of Susie’s, Roland Mouret. On the side, where Susie’s signature was on her original, she had signed the name “Phoebe” with the same smiley face. Other than those subtle changes and the current sponsor logos, it was a shockingly close replica of the original.

Bee had always really liked Susie’s helmet, and was disappointed when she joined Williams the year after they no longer had Martini as a title sponsor. 

Bee was speechless, and swallowed around the lump in her throat that had formed. 

“Susie, this is…”

“Do you like it?” She looked expectant, almost.

“I love it. It’s… I can’t even describe it. I’m so excited.” Bee’s vision was going a little blurry from the tears that had come to her eyes. “I was really upset when I realized that you wouldn’t be able to be here for my first race, but… this really is the next best thing.”

Emilia came in then. She was there to make sure Bee was up and ready and ate something before they needed to go to the garage. She had a few light media duties before she’d need to get ready today - her and George were slated to give a brief interview for the pre-race broadcast.

“Who are you talking to?” Emilia said, in German.

“It’s Susie, she’s on WhatsApp.” Bee said. “Look what she gave me!” she said, holding up her new helmet.

“Oh!” Emilia said, coming around to the front of Bee’s laptop. “Hello, Susie. How are you? I hope you’ve been doing well.”

“I’m good, Emilia! Nice to see you again! Take good care of Bee today.” Susie said.

“I will.”

“I have to go, Susie. I have to eat before we go over to the paddock, but I really appreciate this. I’m going to bring it to the garage right away so they can get the visor films on it. Call me later, if you get a chance.”

“I will, Bee. Good luck today. I’m rooting for you. I’ll be watching, and I’ll definitely call you later on.”

Bee had a protein shake with her breakfast, which was some oatmeal with some almond butter and berries mixed in. It wasn’t quite the same as peanut butter, but it was passable, and a good source of carbs and protein to keep her full and energized all day. She also started drinking the horrid isotonic drink to make sure she was hydrated. She’d be sipping on it near constantly until the race started.

“I have a question,” Emilia said. “I’ve been learning a lot about racing since you hired me, but there’s still one thing I don’t know.”

“Hm?” Bee said.

“Why do your drink bottles have those long tubes? I understand the bite valve, but not the tubing.”

“Oh. It’s so you can drink out of it with your helmet on, if you wanted, especially when you’re sitting and waiting in the garage before you get started, or between qualifying rounds, or something. There’s also a drink system in the car - there’s a tube that passes through your helmet and into your mouth, but I don’t like using those. They’re too prone to malfunctioning and then you just end up with a mess, so I don’t bother, unless it’s really humid out.”

They walked over to the paddock so Bee could do her media duties, and then she and Emilia went to her drivers’ room in the garage so she could warm up and change. She gave her new helmet to one of her mechanics to have the visor tear-offs applied. There was also a driver’s presentation where there would normally be a drivers’ parade,

Afterward, Emilia helped her with her warm up, stretch out, and gave her a brief massage, ironing out the knots in her shoulders and neck. Emilia was incredible at this, and Bee found it very relaxing. 

“Not too sore after qualifying yesterday? Do we need to tape anything? I know it’s been a while.”

“No, it’s not too bad, but we’ll see what I feel like after the race.”

“Are you feeling okay? Nervous at all?” 

“Strangely, no. Not right now. I just feel… I don’t know. I’m happy I finally got here.”

“Good. Get changed then, I’ll see you out in the pit lane.”

She and George both came out of their rooms around the same time. They gave each other a fist-bump, but George pulled Bee into a hug, social distancing be damned for the moment. They were both still masked, at least. 

“Good luck today, Phoebe. You’ll only get one first race, so don’t worry about the end result. Just do your best and have fun.”

“I will. Thank you, George. Kick some ass and get us into the points.”

They had to go out onto the start line for the national anthem. Each of the drivers was wearing a t-shirt given to them by the GPDA union in support of the Black Lives Matter protests happening in the United States - they were black t-shirts with “END RACISM” in large white letters. 

They all stood in a circle on the start line around podiums that held each of the podium trophies. A string quartet (plus an accordion and bassoon player) stood on a platform above the pitlane. They were wearing traditional alpine costumes - the women wearing dirndls, the men wearing lederhosen. A pair of skydivers drifted above the track, holding an enormous Austrian flag between them. The entire anthem was instrumental, which made Bee wonder what the lyrics for the Austrian national anthem were. The only part that was sung were the last words: “Vielgeliebtes Österreich!” (Austria, dearly loved!)

Finally, it was time. Bee walked back to the garage. She put her radio earbuds in, her HANS device on, put on her helmet, and pulled her gloves on.

She climbed into the car, and the mechanics went to work, getting the car out onto its place on the grid. 

“Radio check.” Gaetan, her engineer, said.

“Loud and clear.”

The nerves started to hit her with a vengeance, then. It was becoming too real. She tried to breathe, to visualize the racing line around the track, just like Susie had told her to do all those years ago. She wasn’t sure if it actually did anything to benefit her performance other than give her something to focus on, but it always seemed to work for her. 

Finally, the mechanics dropped her car off of its jacks and withdrew. She saw the marshal wave the green flag. Time seemed to slow as the starting lights turned on. She didn’t blink. Finally, it was lights out on her first race.

She got a decent start, but ended up in some pretty heavy traffic around turn 1. The first few laps went without incident, and without really any changes in track position. Eventually, Max and Lance had issues that caused their retirements. Gaetan kept her up to date on retirements, kept updating her on her pace. 71 laps was a long race, but once she got started, Bee didn’t even really notice how fast time was passing. George was right - it felt like any other race she’d done. There were more and more retirements - 7 in all, strangely none of them from collisions. She and George were both steadily moving up the grid. He was able to grab 9th place after Giovinazzi from Alfa Romeo had a fuel pressure issue. Bee finished her first Formula 1 race in 11th - just striking distance away from the points, following Sebastian, of all people. A double points finish for the team - even a points finish for her, would have been absolutely incredible, but she was mostly just happy she’d made it to the end and that her car had been reliable enough to get her there. Maybe she had gotten lucky with so many other retirements happening, but for now, she’d take it.

“Good job, Phoebe. There’s the flag, that is P-11. An excellent first race in F1, I think!” Gaetan said. She could hear clapping and cheering in the background of his transmission. Compared to last years’ races, Williams was off to an incredible start. 

“Thank you! That was fun! Let’s do it again next week.”

After the cooldown lap she pulled her car into parc fermé behind Sebastian’s Ferrari. 

She felt a bit bad, because P10 was not a great result for him, but if he was upset about it, he didn’t show it. He ran up to her as she jumped down from her car and pulled her into a hug, lifting her off of her feet briefly. He set her back down and she stood there for a minute, trying to contend with the fact that her childhood idol was still racing, and she’d only finished one place behind him in her first race. It was a little overwhelming.

She couldn’t hear if he was talking through her earbuds, helmet, and balaclava, so she just patted him on the back. He released her and gave her helmet a good-natured tap. He grabbed her arm and dragged her in the direction of what she assumed was the weighbridge where they needed to go and be weighed post-race. They stripped off their helmets and balaclavas as they walked.

“That was such a fantastic first race, Phoebe. I couldn’t believe it when I looked up at one point and saw you behind me.”

“Thank you. I still can’t believe I’m here. I know I probably just got lucky with all of the retirements, but… I’ll take it.”

“Ah, but, making it until the end is half of the battle.” he said. 

As she was on the weighbridge, the other drivers milling around congratulated her, clapping her on the shoulder. They didn’t say what for, but she knew it was because she got a decent result on her first race, and probably because she was the first woman in 30 years to run in a Grand Prix. The enormity of the moment hadn’t quite set in yet - she was too sweaty, exhausted, and somehow still buzzing from adrenaline. She and George walked back to the Williams garage to a cacophony of cheers. It was their best finish in a long time - almost a double-points finish. They were technically ahead of Red Bull in the constructors’ championship right now, as both had retired, so the mood in the garage was celebratory. Claire hugged them both at once, and told them she was so proud of them. 

“Can you guys do that again next week?”

They took a group picture with a pit board, like Phoebe had seen a lot of teams do (and she was in a few from Mercedes).

Someone had changed the sign to say: 

GEORGE P9 

PHOEBE P11 - 1ST RACE!

Bee was elated. She drove in her first race. She made it until the end. She was spitting distance of earning points, which hadn’t been done by a woman since the 1970’s. She and George had given their team a good result, which they absolutely deserved for all of the hard work she did. 

She couldn’t wait to do it all again next Sunday.