#i just think people would be better and that it would show

[caramelkoo]

be still my heart — jjk [one]

the one in which you get a sex dream about the grouchy hockey player you work for.

genre : childhood best friends to enemies to lovers, physical therapist!reader x hockey player!jungkook, slow burn, smut, fluff, angst

word count : 4.3k

chapter warnings : strong language, mature, slight smut (because im a tease), reader’s name is Destiny, jungkook is a bit grumpy towards her (she makes him nervous leave my boy alone), fat shaming (not by any of the main characters), oc had daddy issues, mentions of allergy. that’s about it, please let me know if i missed something.

a/n : here it isssssss drumrolls please because im so excited for this. jungkook as a hockey player??? *deep breaths* enjoy my lovely people. you’re so so loved. asks, reblogs and likes are much appreciated. kisses <3

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“Babe, you know you're not going to win right? Don't be wasting your breath.” Bella challenges.

You’re sitting on the chair in your office going through the personnel file of the players. Verifying their names with their contact numbers and photographs which, you’re not going to lie, look like mugshots. Jeez, does smiling a little bit cost them? Anyways, once you’re done you close the file and look up at your assistant bickering with her boyfriend. Phone pressed against her ear. 

You mime hanging up the call and she lifts her index finger, indicating for you to wait. She throws in words like hmmm, yeah, you don’t know what you’re saying, yeah i love you too. Once she’s done, she drops the phone on the glass table in front of you and leans back in her chair. 

“He thinks I will let him get away with anything just because I love him”  

You chuckle, “What’s going on?” 

“You know, I’ve been wanting a cat for so long I even made a pinterest board for that. Last Sunday he surprised me with one and when I told him that I lowkey manifested it, he was not having it. I even showed him the mood board and I NEVER show it to anyone. Evil eye is real.” she all but cries out. 

That’s Bella for you. Highly spiritual and a firm believer of the universe. She claims that everything happens for a reason. She’s like a little ball of sunshine. Ever since you joined the Ice Dominators’ hockey team as a physical therapist, she’s been assisting you and you couldn’t be more thankful seeing the lack of female workers here. Seriously, there's no other female worker here except yourself and Bella which is so diabolical to you.

And it’s not like the men on the hockey team are a bunch of misogynist jerks. On the contrary, they act like they’ve known you for years. It didn't take you long to feel like home here. They are obedient, friendly and pretty nice. Few of them are married with kids while the rest of them remain single. They’re not like a bunch of teenagers, they know what they’re doing.

Except one, what’s his name? Jeon Jungkook. You would describe that man as crude and closed off to a pathological degree. You still remember when you asked him to come to your office so you can look at any possible previous injuries, he lied to your fucking face. Claiming he doesn’t have any when you could clearly see him hobbling sometimes just a tiny bit when he walked away. Years and years of dedication towards your studies have made you capable enough to catch that it is an old injury.

Despite your better judgment, you blamed it on the fact that his team lost the game that day. Poor guy was having a bad day and took it out on you. Big deal. 

“Earth to Destiny” Bella waves a hand close to your face and you shake your head as you look at her.

“Leave the poor man alone” You plead and then ask, “Any details about the new player? I’ll have to add it in the file” 

“Not yet, as far as I know they’re still contemplating the guy named Park Jimin or something”

That gets you real quick. Park Jimin. The name feels like acid on your tongue .The last game being unsatisfactorily resulted in the federation trading one of the players. It was cruel but was done for the better. Bound to happen sooner or later. You had expected it but what you had not expected was you both sharing a same room, sharing the same air.

“Alright then. We’ll cross that bridge when it’s—”

Knock, knock

“Miss Kim, sorry to interrupt but the manager is asking for you” Taehyung’s head pokes through the door.

You stand, picking up the file and sliding it into the tableside drawer, running a free hand over your scrubs. Bella does the same as she plucks her phone from the table and puts it inside her back pocket.

You look at him. “Sure Tae, thank you for informing”

He flashes you a quick, pretty smile before leaving. Bella turns to you with a worried look on her face.

“What do you think it is for?”

You bite your lip. “I have no idea. I wanna say it's about the new player but who knows?”

You hope it is and as unfortunate as it is for you to discuss him, you will have to hold your own. You know better than to be invited into the manager’s office. Though, judging by the temperament of him you would not predict anything. Last time when he called you, it was about Jeon Jerk, asking you to be more serious about your job as if it was your fault the man spared you the necessary details.

The asshole asked YOU to do your job better by virtue of HIS player not being sweet enough to listen. Maybe, there is indeed a misogynistic asshole going around and it’s the manager. No wonder women don’t volunteer to work for him.

Since, You love your job —god knows you wanna keep doing it— you kept quiet and took every jab he threw at you.

“Wait, Do I have time to pray? Should I pray?” she’s clearly panicking and you pat her on the shoulder.

“Just hope my job is still intact” you say, warily reaching for your purse. You both head out.

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“Miss Kim, have a seat” James nods at the chair before him.

Once you’re settled, he continues, “I asked for you to join me here regarding the upcoming game. Care to fill in about the status of injury assessment?"

You clear your throat, “Absolutely, I was planning on getting on that today” 

“Well, I would love for you to do it soon as you know we have a new player in the team with us now”

You jerk, leaning forward. “We do?”

“Yes, and if you can please hurry with the assessment I would be grateful. You can do that right? Not too much of a work for you, eh?” 

Someone give him a medal from the way he's trying to hide the venom in his voice.

“Sure I can” you give him a firm nod. 

James Adams is an entitled, self centered asshole who thinks he’s above everyone else just because of his position. You reckon he does anything for the team besides talking bullshit. He kind of reminds you of your dad who also has the nasty habit of thinking the world of himself.

You’re all about self love but when that self love turns into chronically demeaning everybody in their close proximity, it boils your blood. This man in front of you is no better than your father. What's that saying? Out of the frying pan into the fire.

So you say nothing further and excuse yourself. You would have barfed in his face if you stayed there a second longer. Actually that's not a very bad idea. Bella is standing outside waiting for you as you close the door behind yourself.

“What did he say?” 

You bark, “Bunch of horseshit” 

“Typical” 

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Jungkook 

There is a buzzing noise somewhere around Jungkook. Fuck, his head hurts. He frantically searches for his phone, still not opening his eyes. When he finds it, he slides his thumb on the screen and picks up the call. 

“Dude, how big do you want your coffin to be?” He loves his best friend but right now he would rather be sleeping than listen to him bark in his own ear. 

He finally squints his eyes open, “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Have you looked at the time?” says Taehyung.

“What time- FUCK!!!” he shrieks as he looks at the clock.

Somebody kill him right now. No wait, he’s gonna die either way so why bother. If he didn’t scream loud enough before, he does now. He all but jumps off the bed when he sees the blondie on the other side sleeping like she fucking owns it, wearing nothing but a thong. She must have heard him malfunctioning because soon she stirs, groaning as she slowly wakes up like a Disney princess. Who the heck is she and how did she get in here? Then it comes to him.

“Please Jungkook just take me to your room and fuck me. Show me what those hockey hands are capable of.” 

He wants to swallow a fistful of iron nails. Speaking straight from his shoulders, he has made plenty of bad decisions throughout his career and this is not his first time bringing a puck bunny up to his room but it has never come to this. Missing his hockey practice because he was too exhausted to get his sweet ass up and run to the academy. 

Taehyung screams from the other side of the line, “Are you there? Hello?” 

Shit, he forgot he was on a call. 

“I’ll be there soon. Cover for me until then.” With that he presses the red circular button and ends the call with him muttering some curses.

He glances back at the blondie, “Why are you not gone yet?” 

She’s looking at him with those fuck me eyes she had last night but right now when he’s well aware of the fact that he’s in hot water, they don���t do shit to him. Coach will have his head on a platter today for sure. Honestly, they wouldn’t have done shit to him if it was not for the great deal of alcohol last night.

“I thought of you as a morning sex person” she twirls a strand of hair with her finger, sitting up now. Her tits hang free and he can see his hickeys decorating her chest.

He wants to laugh. She’s not even close to his type. His type is the woman in blue scrubs with her brunette hair slicked back in a ponytail. His type is the woman who looks like she could be watching grass grow rather than to look at him. His type is the woman who walks into a room and lights it up. His type is the woman who is too bright for him and his mundane personality, who has a face worth millions. His type is Kim Destiny. 

“No need to waste your precious time thinking about me. You can go” 

He places his phone back on the table and saunters over to the bathroom, not bothering looking back at her. He has boundaries and he intends to keep it that way.

He quickly goes through his routine of taking a shower, making a cup of coffee, sliding into a pair of sweatpants and the Ice Dominator’s jersey with his name on the back. Not in that order, of course.

The girl is thankfully gone by the time he finishes. Once he’s done with his coffee he picks up the car keys and a protein bar from the kitchen counter and heads to the academy hoping his limbs remain intact by the time he’s home.

The Academy is bustling as usual with players keeping themselves busy with hockey and their gym sessions. He heads straight for the rink not even bothering to change into the uniform. He needs to see for himself that everybody is still on the ice. Everything comes after that.

Surprisingly, he sees not a single guy when he reaches there. His heartbeat stops.

“Hey Pixie, where are the boys? Did they already leave?” he asks the brunette kid who looks like he just saw a ghost. Or it’s just Jungkook who he saw.

He shakes his head, “They’re all in the gym. The doc called them earlier, said she had something important to get done with them” 

Jungkook gives him a quick thanks and walks towards the gym. What could be so important that she had to call the boys mid practice? Is someone hurt? Is she hurt? His heart leaps in hid throat as he runs. Fuck, please let him be wrong.

The first thing that he sees as he enters the room full of equipment are his teammates. Taehyung and Yoongi are in the corner lifting weights, Namjoon is using the treadmill as he runs on it. The rest of the boys are all scattered around doing their own thing. He still can’t find Destiny anywhere but her assistant, Bella, is talking to Namjoon while holding a file so he lets out a sigh, relieved that nobody is in fact hurt and in need of help. 

“Do you wanna get a tattoo on the peni— oh look who’s here. Jeon Jungkook as I live and breathe.”

Taehyung drops the weight on the ground before walking up to him. He’s dressed in a black tee and sports shorts. The man looks good in everything. Bet he’d look in a sack too. 

“Whoa!! Why do you look like you wanna kill somebody or wanna get killed? Is everything okay?” 

Jungkook lets his face relax, focusing more on the eyebrows which had gone tensed due to his unnecessary anxiety. “Yeah, all’s good. The practice ended early?” 

“The practice ended just on time. It’s you who’s late” he pats my shoulder. 

He runs his fingers through his hair and walks towards the bench, dropping his bag on it. Taehyung follows him ignoring Yoongi who’s calling him back for the weightlifting. 

“Doc wanted to assess our injuries for the last time before our game if you’re curious which, I know you are. You’re always curious about her” 

He winks at Jungkook and he punches him on the chest. Taehyung laughs as he rubs the spot.

“Keep your voice down, will you?” 

Bella’s voice echoes across the room, “Jeon, you’re up next” 

He takes out his water bottle, takes a swig and stands. A wince leaves him as he gets a flashback of the last time he had to face her. It didn’t go very well and he’s sure she hates him now. He would too. After all, he not only talked to her rudely but also lied through his teeth about his injury. It’s pretty old so he had not felt the need to mention it. 

He sees a guy coming out of the office just before he’s about to enter. He has brown hair long enough to reach the nape of his neck. Even from where Jungkook’s standing, he can say the man doesn’t reach above his shoulders. Who the fuck is he? Oh wait, he must be the new player that got traded down here. The guy must have sensed him making a hole through his head by the way he’s staring because he’s begins walking towards him with a bright grin.

“Hey man, you must be Jeon Jungkook? Heard a lot about you. I’m Park Jimin” He holds out his hand, asking Jungkook to shake it and he gives it a firm handshake. Word to the wise : never give someone a weak handshake. His grandfather has been asking him to do that ever since he was 15, said it doesn’t leave a strong impression and he’s be lying if he says he was wrong.

He offers Jimin a nod, “Nice to meet you. Excited to get on the rink with you.” 

He takes his hand back. “Oh the feeling is mutual but—”

“Jungkook, please join me inside” 

Destiny’s voice cuts him off as she looks over to both of them with an eerie expression on her face. Her eyes bounce between them, resting a second longer on Jimin. Does she know him? Do they have a history? Wait, are they a thing? Even if they are, why does it bother him? Jungkook couldn’t care less about the pretty physical therapist who wears her blue scrubs like armor and white crocs with strawberries on them.

He gives Jimin another nod and follows her into the office. Although, he’s not sure if a massage table and a stool resting beside it counts as an office. The room which she works in is much better. This one is just for examinations and massage therapy so he guesses it doesn’t need that much of an upgrade.

She gestures towards the table, “Please sit”

He says nothing and settles himself up, clearing his throat.

“Look I know we got off on the wrong foot last time and it could have gone so much better, but we can still start over right?”

Destiny takes a deep breath, filling her chest with air. She’s wearing her hair in a bun today. It sits at the top of her head and some strands are set loose cascading down her face. God, she’s pretty.

He looks down and back up at her. “Sure”

Her face shows her annoyance with the one word response. He doesn't blame her. He'd be pissed too.

She’s quiet for a moment, “Why don’t you tell me about your knee injury to start with?”

“What are you talking about?”

She sighs, “You know what I’m talking about Jungkook. Please don’t make me work for it. It’s my job to know about your past and present injuries, if any. The manager has already given me crap about it”

He freezes. His hackles rising and his relaxed face long gone.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing”

He levels her with a stern face, “What.did.he.say?”

She’s not obligated to answer him. Hell, she could just slap him in the face and leave but he needs to know what went down with that son of a bitch. When and if she decides to let him in the details and it turns out something wicked, he’s gonna hunt that man down and make his life miserable.

Much to his surprise, she takes a step back and starts talking. "He called me in his office today and," she halts,

"Well let's just say there were some words thrown around which clearly meant he thinks of me as a feather brained bitch"

He might look unbothered from outside but the indignation inside him could just about burn the whole city down. He tries to keep calm and pries some more.

His jaw clenches. "What else?"

Destiny shakes her head, shuffling on her feet. “Jungkook it’s really not that seriou—”

“It is serious. You work for us, you tolerate our asses and in return if we fail to give you the respect which, you deserve by the way cause it’s the bare minimum, we might as well save everyone’s time and money by giving all of this up.”

“Why do you care?” she shakes her head.

He takes a step forward, “Because you— Because you work for us, Destiny. You look out for our bodies, our injuries, our fuckups. Is that not enough?”

She barely reaches his shoulders. It’s cute how she has to crane her neck up in order to look him in the eye. She keeps looking at him for a long minute, searching his face.

“You think I don’t know that? Do you really think I don’t have what it takes to ask for my own dignity?”

He takes a long step back. This conversation was as unforeseen as they come. The room gets filled with heavy silence and he can hear Destiny’s heavy breath. He can tell she’s trying to calm herself as if his words have blindsided her.

Needless to say she’s a tad bit taken aback. Jungkook would be too if someone who never bothered to speak a word to him and when he did, there was nothing pleasant about his tone suddenly started to care.

But that’s where she’s wrong, nothing about his care or concern for her is sudden. He still remembers the day she accidentally drank the almond smoothie Bella brought not knowing the fact that she’s allergic to it. She’d started choking the second it went down her throat. He also remembers how Yoongi injected the epipen against her thigh as she came back to life.

Meanwhile, he stood behind shaking in his goddamn boots. Too scared to let her out of his sight and too pathetic to hold her close. Yeah, he’s not proud of that.

He sighs, “You know that’s not what I meant—”

Namjoon walks inside with a hand towel around his neck “Doc, you about done? The boys are being incorrigible over there. If you don’t hurry, one of them is gonna call a tattoo artist and get their dick tattooed. Right here”

The room falls silent.

“Jesus” she looks over to where the guys are bickering about something, propping her hands on her hips. “Yeah, give me a minute.”

“Sure” and with that he walks away.

She picks up a blue file from the stool, not looking at him. Why is she not looking at him?

“If you don’t want to tell me about your injury right now, that’s fine. Since, I know it’s pretty old and It’s unlikely that you’re gonna get affected by it in the upcoming games, there’s no need to worry. However, I would still suggest you be careful. Anything can happen out there and your knee is in a vulnerable position. Don’t pick unnecessary fights, don’t let the opponent know your weak link.”

She glances at him, dropping the file back to where it was.

“You can go”

Without a preamble, he heads outside, passing Taehyung. He hears him cracking a joke about penis tattoos and piercings with his girlfriend’s name on it. Destiny cracks up and Jungkook wonders if she would have done the same, had he been the one cracking the joke. Only, he doesn’t crack jokes. Not around her at least. It’s not like he's some grumpy bastard who wants nothing to do with anybody around him and thinks of him as omniscient.

There’s just something about Destiny which puts him at loss of words. Knotting his tongue it in such a way where he can’t get an expression out. Only look at her and god, does he look at her. He's not stupid. He knows it’s a crush but she’s like a mirage to him. She’s unreachable, forbidden and so fucking beautiful.

Does he want to make her his? Yes, Is he going to risk his career and hers over it? Absolutely not. So, he makes use of the only right nobody can take away from him. Not even her. Admire her from afar. Fantasize more about tasting her, licking her slender neck and worshipping the ground that she walks on and one day if she lets him, Jungkook will do anything to turn all of that into reality.

He finds Yoongi seated on of the benches, scrolling on his phone.

Facing him, Jungkook speaks in a low voice. "Do you have any idea where James is?"

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Destiny

Never have you ever wanted to run away as much as you did when you saw Jimin in front of yourself, standing all tall and proud. You had wished it to be a dream, wished you just had a nightmare about him joining the same team you happen to work with but reality is a goddamn bitch and it bites hard when it does. He had grown out his hair longer but he still has the same smile, same eyes and the same charm he used on you back then. Park Jimin is a man people don’t ever forget once they see him. He has an aura which traps everyone so hard they can never escape. How do you know? You have been a victim yourself.

You meticulously go through the consequences and eventualities of being in the same room as him again. You seeing him everyday and him reminding you of every single detail you have tried so hard forgetting about, the boys finding out about you both and putting you through the wringer or worse, him. The possibilities are endless and you feel the sudden urge to square everything with him.

Contrary to what you had thought, he reacted pretty normally when he saw you as if somebody had already told him about you. You had expected him to get shocked or at the very least pretend to be shocked.

Having said that, he just gave you a single nod as if you're someone he passes by every morning at the park. Are you this forgettable? Are you someone people just brush aside like that? Your father’s words echo in your ears like loud drums,

“You know, nobody will love you if you keep looking like this. Eat less”

“Girl, do you ever stop eating? Every time I see you, you're stuffing something in that mouth of yours!!”

“Don’t come running back at me when no guy gives a shit about you”

You were 10 and he was an asshole. He still is.

Thanks to him, you now have a tendency to cook when you're stressed over anything. It brings you comfort and diverts your mind from the excessive overthinking. You would go bald if it puts the voices into silent mode.

After already wasting half of your life speculating what to eat, counting calories and whatnot, you came to the terms that you can’t actually operate that way and began eating whatever the fuck you wanted. Yet still, you need to go a long way in order to fully love yourself and your body. It's a journey and you're moving ahead step by step. One day at a time.

One would even say you're hot. You have received compliments from several people over the course of time except you don’t have a thigh gap, your arms jiggle and you also happen to have a love handle. You would have adored them if it wasn’t for your dad making you feel shitty about having them.

A knock on your door stops you midway as you're kneading the dough. Biscuit runs over to you, jumping on the counter.

“Coming”

The knock comes back again, this time slightly louder.

“Oh my god wait I’m coming”

The door swings open and you gasp. “Mina?”

She passes by you, dragging her suitcase along with her.

“Hey bestie”

You close the door and follow her further into the hall. “What’s going on? What’s with the suitcase?”

Your best friend’s sudden arrival must have caught you by slight surprise but your cat is rather pleased to see her. Traitor. She starts clawing at her feet excitedly.

“What a good girl you are? Yes, you are” Mina coos at her and then glances up at you from where she has biscuit nestled in her lap,

“I need a place to live for a few days because my shitty boss kept rejecting all my articles and I really wanna bring her something worth the front page. Apparently, writing about the famous coffee shop around the corner and their secret ingredient being maple syrup wasn’t good enough.”

You round the counter and continue kneading the dough for your strawberry pie. It’s not unlikely for Mina to show up unannounced. In fact, she has done that plenty of times but the suitcase was never involved. This one is new.

“So you decided to barge in here without even asking?” You tease.

She flashes you a dramatic look. “Look at us, Destiny. Aren’t we the same girls who giggled about living together after college? With matching slippers and movie marathons?”

“Okay okay you dramatic bitch. How long are you here for?”

Biscuit runs to do her business and she gets up, setting her suitcase to the side.

She sighs, “Not sure. As long as it takes me to come up with a new topic to write about–HEY— why don’t I just write on the hockey team you work with? What are they called? Ice…ice”

“Ice Dominators” you fill in for her.

She slaps her thigh. “That’s the one”

You shrug, “I mean you can, but you’ll have to call in on the coach first. He operates everything inside and outside the team”

Coach Ian is too nice to turn her request down. He’s one of the most genuine people in the federation. Maybe this is why the team is so strong and united. He respects every single boy and receives it tenfold. It's a mutual thing.

“Shit, How come I didn’t think about that” she bites her lip, her enthusiasm replaced by nervousness.

“Don’t worry. He won’t make you work for it. Ian is as nice as they come” you assure.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out. As you watch, she opens your fridge, taking out the box of frozen blueberries and pops one into her mouth.

“Do you want me to give you a hand?” she mumbles while chewing.

You point towards the bathroom, “Go and take a shower, right now. You stinky”

You duck the blueberry she throws your way, laughing as you do. Giving your cheek one last kiss, she excuses herself.

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Warm hands roam over your thigh, squeezing them. You muffle your moan with your palm and take every thrust. 

“Yeah, you like that? You like how I’m pounding into this ass right now?” 

You gasp. 

“Such a good girl” he praises.

The man behind you presses a kiss to your naked shoulder as he rasps in your ears, “Were you walking around all day dripping for me?” 

He pulls his cock out and thrusts again. You meet him with equal passion and hunger. 

“Tell me” 

You nod. 

“I need your words, Destiny” 

You cry out, “Yes Oh god, Yes. I wanted you in me so bad” 

He cups your pussy and rubs your clit with his palm until you're rolling your eyes to the back of your head and squirming. Thrust after thrust he brings you to your sweet release while talking dirty things in your ear. You're about to melt into a puddle of goo. He’s got you totally at his mercy. 

“So beautiful like this. Taking my cock so well huh?” 

“Ahh it feels so good, right there. Just right there, don’t stop” 

He bites down your shoulder, “Come for me and let everyone outside hear the name you’re screaming, you dirty whore” 

Your heartbeat picks up as you squeeze him with the tight ring of muscle, orgasm crashing over. 

“FUCK. Oh my god Jungkook!!”

Your eyes fling open and you sit up so fast your head starts spinning. Everything around you is pitch black. Wait, where am you? 

Mina is at your side in an instant, “Destiny, are you okay babe?”

You look around and release a sigh of relief. You run your fingers through your hair, ruffling them. 

“Yeah um… I’m fine. It was just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.” 

Except it wasn’t. It was one hell of a dream where you were getting fucked into oblivion by your player. You're not even going to lie and say that you didn’t like it. C’mon you're a woman of needs, it’s just that, him fulfilling those needs was not on the cards for you even if it wasn't real.

You check the time on your phone and wince at the bright light flashing up at you. It’s 2:45 am and you just had a back breaking sex dream about a man who you want nothing to do with. Who, as beautiful as he is, annoys the hell out of you with those one word replies and grumpy face. An edgy feeling threatens to rise.

Oh god it’s going to be awkward now. It’s only normal to walk on eggshells around someone people have these sort of dreams about. You have read your fair share of books where the female character gets a sex dream about a man and then they don’t talk to each other for the rest of their lives. Okay, that's a bit of a stretch but it might as well not be.

Yeah, you admit you guys don’t talk to each other a lot as it is, or are longtime best friends tiptoeing around their feelings, but you're afraid you're gonna have to ignore him forever for the sake of your own sanity. 

I’m so fucked. You think.

tags - @httpjeonlicious @lovingkoalaface @rpwprpwprpwprw

[chaotic-neutral-knitter]

listen I love stede a lot - I think he's the bravest character in the show. he changes everyone he meets for the better. he embodies what I think of as the thesis of the show. if he wasn't the way that he is, the show would not be very good, imo.

but in ep one he gives his pirate crew notes on the raid they just did as though they were a community theater troupe and his notes were 1) complimenting his own opening speech as "very inspiring" and 2) complaining that that the crew wasn't sufficiently enthusiastic about robbing two poor fisherman of a single plant.

during the raid his narration went "some men are born to be pirate captains, others learn on the job. me? well I'm a pretty solid mix of both" as though he has any idea what he's doing.

and AFTER the raid Olu has to gently point out to him that piracy isn't a game to the rest of the crew.

There's a reason that Rhys Darby was the only person capable of playing Stede without making him seem like a total dick. And I think that's bc Rhys was able to convey the idea that Stede's behavior in the first few eps is coming out of this deep sense of insecurity - he's doing some Stede-y things (flag making! paying the crew! bedtime stories!) that are great but he's also pretending to be this macho pirate captain who totally knows what he's doing. And it's the pretending that makes people cringe with second hand embarrassment. While also, often, seeing themselves in it and feeling a great deal of sympathy for Stede about it.

The reason Stede is like this is because HE thinks there's something deeply wrong with him, a belief that has been solidified by everyone around him his entire life, and therefore he needs to do everything he can to hide that deeply wrong thing about him. When he unpacks that and embraces the things about himself he originally thought were embarrassing (being weak, pathetic, soft, etc), he can stop pretending. And that's when other characters grow to love him! And so people will sometimes call him cringe because they aspire to be cringe like him, to embrace the parts of themselves that they were punished for and live more authentically.

because he changes! that's the point! he moves from cringe (pretending to be someone he's not) to cringe (being true to himself, always a deeply vulnerable thing to be) and it takes a lot of hard work. that's what makes me LIKE him as a character. that's what I think makes him the bravest character on the show. because he doesn't start out perfect. he's a puppet who grows into a real boy and that means that for a period of time he was a puppet, and that's okay.

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 2: The Neglect

The drive to the airport only made you feel more nervous about living here; you’ve only ever known Goodsprings, a town so small you could see everything in less than an hour, and now here’s a giant city that makes you feel like an ant. Even Vegas seems small to Gotham. And if their size wasn’t bad enough, the buildings’ weird stone creatures looked like they were waiting to fly off and scoop you up.

Luckily, your Daddy’s house is outside the city, surrounded by a wall with large fields behind them. It made you feel a little better that you wouldn’t be surrounded by so many people all the time.

“And here we are, Master Y/N,” mr. Pennyworth says as he pulls up in front of the massive mansion.

You get out and start to feel even more nervous. This isn’t a house, it’s a castle! Like the ones Momma showed you when she was researching stuff for her books. You’d probably need a map just to find the bathroom!

But, Mr. Pennyworth climbs up the stairs to the front door and you don’t want to make him mad, so you follow behind him. He opens the door and you’re inside a massive room with a giant grand staircase with a long red rug leading up to a second level that you can see leads to other places in the mansion.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Master Y/N. If you’ll follow me to your room, please.”

He leads you to the second level and down a few hallways to a room on the other side of the mansion. As you walk, you can’t help but think that all of Goodsprings could live here and there still be lots of room left.

“I apologize for the walk, but as Master Wayne and I have been the only two long term residents of the manor, the rooms meant for the family have not been in a suitable state for quite some time. And since it’s been some time since we’ve had guests stay over, the usual guest rooms have been repurposed for storage. I’m working on having one of the family bedrooms ready for you as soon as possible so you’ll be close to your father.”

“It’s alright,” you say, your voice almost a whisper. You really didn’t expect the butler to be so nice to you. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.”

He frowns a bit, but says nothing before opening the door to reveal a room smaller than your one back home. A bed sits in the far corner of the room with a dresser directly in front of it, a big tv sitting on top of it. There’s a door to the right where you enter the room.

“That door leads to your bathroom, Master Y/N. We have some time before the movers come with your belongings. Would you like to see the rest of the manor?”

“No, thank you. I think I wanna sleep after we put everything up.”

“Of course, you must be exhausted. If you want, I can handle collecting the boxes while you rest. I can leave them outside your door for you to deal with later.”

“I can help, Mr. Pennyworth.”

He seems a little surprised that you insisted on helping, but he says nothing before leading you back outside where a delivery truck stops behind the car. Since all you had was a few cardboard boxes that had nothing but clothes, toys, stuffed animals, books, and decorations, it didn’t take long to bring it all to your room and set everything up. As you look at your new room with all your stuff in it, you can’t help but feel like none of it belongs here.

That you don’t belong here.

“Do you need anything else, Master Y/N? Perhaps something to eat?”

“No thank you, Mr. Pennyworth. I just wanna sleep.”

“Very good. But just know, when you wake up, you will be eating something.”

You just nod and close the door, turning off the lights before crawling into bed. As you get settled, you can’t help but notice how cold the house feels. Yeah, you’re not in Nevada anymore, where it can go over a hundred degrees in the summer, but it’s like the house blocks any kind of heat, leaving only the cold. You close your eyes and drift off to sleep.

You wake up, dreaming of your Momma yelling for you and being in a car when something slams into you, and when you look around your room, you’re greeted by absolute darkness. As if the sun had completely disappeared. You jump out of bed and rush to the light switch, slapping it. When the lights come on, you realize that the lightbulb above you is dim and without the sun, it barely lights up your room. Wanting to be where it’s bright, you run out of your room and down the hall only to find the rest of the house is just as dim as your room, almost like no one in this house likes the light. Your little legs carry you down the same route you took earlier today and fortunately, the foyer is completely lit up by a giant crystal chandelier.

You run down the stairs and into another hall near the staircase. You pass by large room after large room and finally find yourself in a fancy kitchen, Mr. Pennyworth standing in front of a giant refrigerator.

“Master Y/N,” he says. “Are you alright?”

“Yes sir,” you say, not wanting to worry the man.

“But you’re out of breath. And you’re sweating.”

It’s then you notice that your forehead is slick with sweat and your chest is heaving. When you look up at the butler, you can tell he’s obviously worried about you.

“I got scared,” you admit. “I woke up and it was so dark.”

“I would imagine since it’s nighttime.” You jump a little at that. “You’ve been asleep for over twelve hours. I would’ve waken you up, but you looked like you needed the rest.”

“I haven’t slept so good since Momma…” You can’t bring yourself to say it. “Left.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about, my boy.” He walks over to you and bends down to your height. “I could tell that you and your Mother were close and losing her so sudden is something no one so young should go through. I know that she can never be replaced, but I promise you that Master Bruce and I will be here for you and will help you with whatever you need.”

You feel the empty feeling that’s been with you since Momma died shrink just a little bit. Maybe you aren’t as alone as you thought.

“Alfred,” a deep voice lungs from behind you. You both look back to see a tall man with black hair and blue eyes standing in the hall. “I’m about to head out.”

“Master Bruce,” Mr. Pennyworth says, standing up. “This is Master Y/N. He’s awoke from his nap just a moment ago.”

You feel your heart stop at the man’s name. This is your Daddy? A million different questions swirled around in your head, like what was he like, what’s his favorite thing to do, did he remember your Momma?

He looks down at you. “Oh,” he says, a blank look on his face. “Hello.” With that, he turns around and begins walking down the hall. “I’ll be in touch, Alfred. From the sound of it, it’s gonna be a busy night.”

You feel your heart split in two at the way he just completely ignored you. Did you do something wrong? But you didn’t even say anything!How can he be bad at you if you haven’t said anything? You do your best to not cry as you look up at Mr. Pennyworth, who’s very angry.

“I’m sorry, Master Y/N. I know he’s throwing himself into his work to deal with Master Jason’s death, but that behavior is absolutely unacceptable. I’ll make sure he apologizes for that in the morning.”

Unfortunately, your Daddy didn’t say he was sorry when you woke up that morning. In fact, he wasn’t there when Mr. Pennyworth brought you down for breakfast, his work said there was someone important at one of his offices outside the country, so he hopped in his plane long before you woke up.

You were hurt, but Mr. Pennyworth said that he’d make sure that when things calmed down, you and your Daddy would have a long talk. You could do nothing but nod, trying not to cry because all you wanted was your Momma to walk through the door and take you back home. You got even more lonely when you started your new school, Gotham Academy, which is where all of Gotham’s rich people send their kids; Goodsprings Elementary wasn’t even half the size of this school and to make things worse, you had no friends here. That’s not to say that people didn’t want to talk to you, somehow news got out that you, the love child between Bruce Wayne and some unknown woman, were attending Gotham Academy, older and younger students shared your the moment you walked through the door. Hearing them ask you about your Momma only made you miss her more, so you stayed quiet.

They found something new to latch on to later in the week when your Daddy adopted Tim Drake, a boy whose parents were just as well known as him; his parents were killed in a plane crash and Daddy took him in. When they found out that the famous Tim Drake was now the adoptive son of Bruce Wayne, you were forgotten about. They asked him what Wayne Manor was like, how’d he feel to be adopted by Bruce Wayne, and other questions you didn’t really understand.

You were excited about Tim joining the family, though; you often wonder what having a brother would be like and you two were very close in age. It would be nice to have someone other than Mr. Pennyworth to talk to. Maybe the two of you could play Pokémon together!

You walked up to him the day Mr. Pennyworth told you that he’d be living at the manor with you, excited to get to know your newest family member, but that excitement quickly died when he took one look at you and walked away, like you weren’t interesting to him. You tried over and over to get him to like you, to get him to play with you, to at least look at you, but he just pushed you away (very harshly). And if things weren’t bad enough, he and Daddy spent every night together, locked away in the library.

It wasn’t fair! You were here first and had yet to talk to him, but Tim gets to spend time with him! And every time you tried to join, they just pushed you away, like you were some kind of fly buzzing around them. When that door closed, you wouldn’t see them until the next morning, so they were probably watching movies in there or something just as fun. You lived with three other people and you somehow felt more alone than ever since Momma died.

You met Dick a year later, around the anniversary of Momma’s death. At first, you were excited because Mr. Pennyworth said he was very friendly and had grown up in a circus before being adopted by Daddy, so he could do all sorts of tricks. Maybe you’d finally have a friend who wasn’t the butler.

Unfortunately, this ended in disappointment, too. Sure, it started off nice, he greeted you warmly (at least more warmly than your Daddy or Tim had) and ruffled your hair. You were so happy, you thought you’d explode. Finally, you had someone that you can spend time with.

“Dick,” your daddy said in his usual tone less voice.

“Sorry, baby bird, gotta go! We’ll hang out soon, though, promise!”

“Soon” never came though. He came over a few times during the day to spend time with Tim, either helping him with homework or taking him to Bat Burger, but never you. He always said that he promised to hang out with Tim and he’d do the same with you, but after the fifth time it happened, you stopped trying. He also spend time with Tim and your Daddy in the library at night, none of them coming out for the rest of the night.

Barbara came into your life little bit after Dick. When you saw her rolling in her wheelchair, you felt bad and offered to push her around. She snapped at you, saying she was fine and didn’t need your help. That was the first, last, and only time you talked to her. When you saw her spending time with your “family” in the library, you weren’t even hurt because you had grown used to it.

Cassandra and Stephanie came in around the same time when you nine. Stephanie was a burst of energy and it actually surprised you; Wayne Manor seemed to cancel out all noise and forced anyone inside it to be silent (at least that how it was for you) and she seemed to be happy to meet you. That lasted all of a week, though, and she quickly lost interest like a puppy that had grown up and was no longer cute to its owners.

Cassandra looked at you once, like he was trying to solve some mystery, and that was it. Alfred told you that she was mute and you did your best to learn ASL to better communicate with her. You picked up some of the basics, but not enough to carry on an actual conversation, so you opted to carry a little notepad with you so she could write things down, but when she kept ignoring you in favor of interacting with the rest of the family, you got the message. And when she and Stephanie spent time with your “family” in the library night after night, you stopped referring to Bruce as your Daddy. It was clear he didn’t want the title.

You had Alfred, anyway. Spending nights baking, helping him with his chores, and talking about your day over tea was enough for you.

Jason came back (from the dead) when you were ten. You met him when you caught him trying to sneak into the mansion through a window instead of coming through the door like a normal person (then again, you’ve long since realized that no one in this place is normal. Except Alfred.). Your meeting ended when he gave you a black eye and told you to stay away from him when all you did was say hi. You cried the entire night because you had school pictures the next day. It was a while before Jason started making regular appearances, but when he did, you weren’t surprised to see him spending nights in the library. When he glared at you, his blue eyes turning green, you asked Alfred to let you eat in your room and the man agreed to bring your meals to you.

When you were fifteen, the last one of join the Wayne Family was your biological brother, Damian. And the day you two met, you became convinced he only existed to make your pathetic life a living hell because the moment Alfred introduced you to him, he pulled an actual sword on you, giving you a small scar on your left cheek. You could do nothing but fall on your ass and look up in horror as this ten-year-old boy from hell raised his sword, spouting some nonsense about him being the “true blood son,” that you were “nothing more than the son of a harlot,” and how he will “be the one to inherit his father’s legacy.” For a moment, you thought you were about to be killed by the little bastard when Bruce appeared from out of nowhere and carried him off, Damian shouting threats and insults at you the entire time.

“Sorry about that, Y/N,” Dick said as he helped you up. “Are you ok?”

“What do you think,” you shouted at him. “That monster just sliced my face with a sword and tried to kill me!”

“Hey, don’t call him a monster,” he responded, give you a look of disappointment. “He had a difficult upbringing and he’s having to get used to Gotham and living with us. You should try to be a good big brother and support him.”

For a moment, you thought you suffered from a stroke and had misheard him, but the look on his face said you heard him correctly.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? He tries to kill me and I’m suppose to just let it go?”

“There’s no need for that kind of language, Y/N.”

You deemed the “conversation” a lost cause and leave, Dick calling out to you before going to the wing that holds the master bedrooms. Fortunately, Bruce kept bringing in other people to be a part of this demented family, so you were stuck with the tiny guest room that didn’t even have a window. But, it was far away from them, so it was a good trade.

After that, it seemed like Damian made it his mission in life to make your life hell. You couldn’t pass by him without him insulting you, hurting you, or bringing up your Momma, which would lead to you crying your eyes out. And when he started collecting pets, he would send them after you, Titus and Alfred the Cat chasing you throughout the manor, forcing you to barricade yourself in your room.

That leads to today: you accidentally dropped your Momma’s pen while walking to the kitchen and unfortunately, Damian was around the corner, watching the entire thing. He was able to move faster than your eyes could follow and before you knew it, he had swooped down and grabbed it just as you were about to. You look up in horror as he stares down at you with his usual smug and condescending expression as he waves the pen around, clearly mocking you.

“Your reflexes are slow and pathetic, inferior. You’re a massive disappointment to the Wayne bloodline.” He stares at the pen with disgust. “While this pen is poorly made and lacks any craftsmanship, it’s still more than a failure like you deserves.”

You stand up to your full height, trying to ignore the burning desire to tackle the little brat and bash his stupid head in. “Give that back to me. Now.” You realize you’re practically grinding your teeth to powder.

“I don’t take orders from you, inferior,” he bites back, his green eyes glaring at you. “You’re far beneath me. I come from two perfect bloodlines and that makes me superior to you by rite of birth. Your whore of a mother somehow managed to slither her way into my father’s bed and bring you into the world. You might have Wayne blood, but your tainted blood dilutes it.” He gets in your personal space nod even when looking up at you, he still tries to assert whatever dominance he thinks he has. “We will never be equals.”

You use this opportunity to grab the arm holding your Momma’s pen. As expected, he does not take kindly to this.

“You dare lay your hands on me,” he screeches, wrenching his hand away.

You don’t know how, but the little shit has impressive strength. Sure, you’re not an athlete (you’ve stayed roughly the same height since you hit puberty and can’t build muscle mass to save your life), but he shouldn’t have this kind of upper body strength! But, you’re determined to reclaim the pen, so you grab his hand with your other one and start pulling with all your might, doing whatever you can to break his grasp of it.

“Let go of me, you filthy interloper!” With a big tug, he breaks your grip and you can only look on in terror as he walks over to the kitchen window. “If you want this pen so much, you can look for it out there!” In a flash, he opens the nearby kitchen window and hurls your pen outside, where a massive downpour drenches the yard.

You can’t help but look on as it flies far from the mansion and out of your field of vision; on the ground, you see a ripple in the middle of the massive lake of rainwater and mud that the storm has created over the last three days of nonstop rain, indicating that your precious pen is now underwater.

In that moment, you feel nothing but immense sadness at your pen’s loss and unbridled rage at the one who did caused it. Every last thing he’s done to you flood your mind and you feel your face becomes incredibly flushed, your vision goes blood red in rage, and hot, angry tears stream from your eyes; before you know it, you’re right behind him, his back still turned to you from throwing your pen.

“You son of a bitch,” you shout at the top of your lungs, causing him to turn his head as you quickly deliver a swift backhand to his left check, the sound of your hand striking him echoing in the kitchen.

You know he shouts something back, but you’re so filled with rage that his words fail to reach your ears. You know he’ll retaliate and probably get in trouble with Bruce and Dick, but you don’t care. You’re pissed off and want nothing more than to inflict even a small amount of pain onto him, so that he’d feel even an ounce of what he’s made you feel since you two met. Using your height advantage, you grab both his shoulders and with all your rage-enhanced strength, you shove him to the floor, loving the sight of him wincing when he lands on his rear, but instead of looking up at you in fear like you wanted, he has a pissed off look.

Realizing that finding your pen is more important than dealing with him, you sprint to the door, throw it open, and dash into the rain, not caring that your clothes were completely soaked after only a few seconds and the wind froze you to the core. All that matters is finding that pen, the only piece of Momma that you were able to take with you, something so precious to her she refused to go anywhere without it.

Except that day, when she was taken from you and your life fell apart.

You wade through the many puddles, your socks providing no support so you stumble and fall, getting even more wet. But you pick yourself up and keep running until your at the puddle far from the house and that’s when you get on your hands and knees and start waving around hoping to touch even a little bit of the metal. You feel nothing, but you don’t let up, moving around the puddle, not caring that you’re getting more and more soaked with every second and that mud is slathered over your arms and legs.

“Come on,” you shout to yourself, getting more and more upset. “Come on, where are you?”

Finally, you feel something small, metallic, and cylindrical. You latch onto it like a lifeline and pull it up so hard the force of it makes you fall on your back, the puddle covering your entire body. You quickly sit up to see Momma’s pen. Wet and covered in mud, sure, but it’s back where it belongs. Now that the urge to find it is over, your senses quickly catch up and your realize your freezing, shivering, and soaked to the bone.

You run back to the mansion and when you close the door, you see that everyone is in the kitchen, all their eyes on you. You look at Bruce and see him mad, you look at Damian and see a shit-eating grin, and you look at Dick and see disapproval.

“Did you slap Damian when all he did was ask you for a pen,” Bruce asks.

That little shit’s convinced them this is all your fault. Of course, you should’ve known that he’d make you the bad guy and deflect any blame on his part.

“He didn’t ’ask,’ he took—“

“But you did slap him over a pen,” Bruce cuts you off.

“Yes, but—“

“Wow, I’ve done some petty shit, but this beats all,” Jason mocks, acting like this was some show and not you being ganged up on.

“That’s so uncalled for, Y/N,” Dick chides you. “There’s no need for you put your hands on Damian, especially for something so small.”

Your breath hitches and all you want is for the floor to open up and swallow you whole. They say nothing to you and ignore your existence for years and now, the one time they notice and speak to you, it’s to do this?

“Master Bruce,” Alfred interjects. “You’re not being fair. I believe that pen—“

“Alfred, it doesn’t matter what’s so special about the damn thing, it’s just a pen.” He holds his hand out to you. “Give it to me. Damian asked for it and after what you just did, he’s going to get it.”

You see Damian’s grin grow and your rage comes back.

“Hell no,” you mutter, slipping it into your pocket. You see everyone’s eyes widen while Bruce’s frown gets more intense at your defiance.

“What did you just say?”

You can tell he’s pissed at you defying him. Oh well, you’ve already dug your grave, what’s adding a few more feet to it gonna do?

“I said hell no!”

“Oh, man,” Jason cackles. “You done fucked up, kid!”

“Go to your room,” Bruce says with clenched teeth. “You’re grounded.”

You quickly leave the room, wanting to put as much room between them and you as possible. As you leave, you hear them talking about you, asking what’s wrong with you, how childish you are, and other stuff you really don’t want to hear right now. When you close your door behind you, the dam breaks and you fall to your knees, letting out a wail and allowing tears to stream from your eyes like a waterfall. The last time you cried this hard was when you were told Momma had died and it’s in this moment you wish you had been in the car with her now more than ever.

A knock at the door brings you back to your harsh and uncaring reality.

“Master Y/N,” Alfred calls from the other side. “May I come in?” You get up and open the door. “Oh, my dear boy.”

You allow him to come in and he closes the door behind him before bringing you into a tight hug, which is when you resume your crying.

“I hate them,” you shout in between sobs. “I hate them all!”

“I know,” he says. “I tried to tell them after you left the room, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“Alfred,” you say, pulling yourself together enough to talk coherently. “When I turn eighteen, I’m going back to Goodsprings.”

He pulls away and looks at you. “I understand why you feel that way, but it’s been ten years since you left, Master Y/N. If you go back there, you’ll be alone.”

“I’m alone here, Alfred!” You pull away from him. “Ever since I came here, they’ve made it clear that I’m unwelcome here! That I don’t belong here! At least back home, I’ll be surrounded by memories of Momma.”

“But this has been your home for ten years.”

“This isn’t my home, Alfred. It never was and it never will be.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it. Instead, he pulls you back into another hug. “I understand. I’ll miss you dearly, but if going back will make you happy, I’ll wish you all the best.”

You can do nothing but cry. You’ll miss Alfred, the only good thing to come out of going to live in this godforsaken city and this manor from hell, but when you need to get out of here. The sooner you leave Gotham and get back to Goodsprings, the better you’ll be.

A/N: thank you all so much for the likes and comments on chapter one! I really didn’t think that so many people would like it, but here we are! I hope you all continue to enjoy this series!

Tag list: @minkyungseokie @solelifauna @nosyrobin

[sunny44]

Passenger princess

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Secret girlfriend!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Y/n releases her new song and the guy in the music video shocks everyone.

Inspired by the song Passenger Princess by Nessa Barrett.

Yourusername Instagram post

Liked by @dualipa, @charlesleclerc, @lewishamilton and others 9183891

@Yourusername Passenger Princess next weeeek 🏁🏎️

@lewishamilton can’t wait to listen

@yourusername I think you’ll like it

@dualipa yesss queen

@user91 I’m so exited to see the music video

@landonorris nice hair

@charlesleclerc counting the days to listen

Liked by @yourudername

@user0172 we can see that the f1 drivers are Y/n’s fans

The release of the *Passenger Princess* music video was about to happen, and I felt the nerves as if it were my first project. It wasn’t just the fact that it was a new song, but the fact that my boyfriend would be in the video, and people, besides not knowing we're together, would freak out once they saw the video and realized it was him.

I still remember when I suggested the idea of him participating.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Y/n,” he said, laughing, as we sat on my couch. Charles always seemed to find a way to make any moment fun, even when I was being completely serious.

“I’m serious! You’d be perfect for the role,” I replied, crossing my arms, pretending to be impatient. “The song is about a girl who loves being the passenger in her boyfriend’s car. Who better for that than my boyfriend, who happens to be one of the best Formula 1 drivers in the world?”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean it literally has to be your boyfriend,” he said, still laughing.

“Fine, but don’t complain after seeing me kiss and sit on some other guy’s lap in a skirt.” I said indifferently, and he immediately pulled me into his lap, kissing my face all over, making me laugh.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” He sighed, still smiling. “No one’s kissing your lips but me.”

“I knew you’d agree,” I said, and he kissed my face several more times.

“You know this is going to cause a storm, right?”

I knew. I knew the internet would go wild when they saw Charles as the lead in my video. But what they didn’t know was that Charles and I had been together for two years, and so far, no one had figured it out.

“I know, but just because you’re in the video doesn’t actually mean you’re my boyfriend. It’s just a role.”

“Alright then.”

Now, two months after we shot the video, the moment of the premiere had arrived.

The song was released last night, and people were already freaking out. Today, we were at the Monza paddock, where I’d be spending the weekend with Charles.

He was nervous, even though he wouldn’t admit it.

“Do you think they’ll notice we weren’t acting?” he asked quietly, as we sat in one of the areas reserved for the drivers, watching the preparations for the race.

I smiled.

“They’ll probably suspect and ship us because of the video, but if we don’t give any signs that we’re actually dating, they won’t be sure, love.”

Deep down, I knew the fans would go crazy. The song was already a hit, and the fact that Charles was the male lead in the video would only increase their curiosity. But our relationship had always been just ours. No speculations, no gossip.

The video was finally released, and as we stood in the Ferrari garage, surrounded by engineers, mechanics, and, of course, other drivers, I smiled as I heard my voice and looked up at a large screen where the video started playing.

I couldn’t help but smile. It was exactly how we had imagined it. Charles, next to me, shook his head with a small, restrained smile. His eyes met mine, and I could see how much he was enjoying everyone’s reaction.

The video showed scenes of the two of us, him driving a Ferrari while I sang, having fun beside him. The scenes of us exchanging knowing looks were filled with a naturalness that few could fake. Because, of course, we weren’t faking.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” Lando appeared in front of us. “How did you get Charles to do this?”

“I just thought he’d be perfect for the role and, with a lot of effort, I convinced him,” I replied, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Uh-huh, sure...” Lando muttered, glancing back and forth between Charles and me. Before he could say anything else, Pierre Gasly appeared with a mischievous smile on his face.

“Hey, Charles, since when are you an actor?” Pierre teased, giving Charles a light punch on the shoulder.

“Since Y/n convinced me to do it,” he answered, still maintaining his calm tone. But I knew how much he was enjoying this whole situation.

The confusion only grew as the day went on. The video was an instant hit, and soon, comments on social media started pouring in.

#YnCharles was trending, and theories about a possible romance between us wouldn’t stop appearing. The paddock was in constant buzz, full of journalists and fans speculating whether something was going on between me and Charles.

Charles and I exchanged discreet glances and smiles while keeping our secret. We had gone through this before, watching people try to guess what was happening between us. But we had always kept everything private, just for the two of us.

By the end of the day, as the sun set over Monza, Charles and I found a moment of privacy in the Ferrari motorhome. He pulled me into a hug, kissing the top of my head.

“So, do you think they’ll figure it out now?” he whispered.

“I think it’s just a matter of time before someone connects the dots.”

Charles looked at me for a moment, his green eyes shining with that soft expression he always had when it was just the two of us.

“I don’t care if they find out anymore, Y/n. I’m tired of hiding. I just want people to know you’re mine.”

My heart skipped a beat hearing that. We had always been so careful, so reserved. But I knew Charles was right. We couldn’t keep hiding forever.

“Maybe it’s the right time,” I said, holding his face in my hands. “But until then, let’s let them have fun with their theories.”

Charles smiled, pulling me closer. “Two years together, and still no one suspects.”

“We’re good at this,” I joked, kissing him lightly.

As we embraced there, away from the curious eyes of the paddock, I knew that when the secret finally came out, we’d be ready.

F1gossip Instagram post

“Everyone was shocked to see our Lord Perceval Charles Leclerc in the new music video of singer Y/n Y/l/n’s. In the music video, Y/n is the passenger of Charles Leclerc’s Ferrari and they act like a very sexy couple.

Who else has never imagined Charles doing something like this?”

Read the full articule in the link in our bio.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“Yes, I’m a passenger princess”

[the-flaneur]

if you seek it, why owe you? (mv1)

pairing: husband!max verstappen x wife!reader [smau]

summary: following the fia's controversial ruling on your husband's swearing, you find some creative ways to p*ss them off as well

warnings: swearing (duh)

a/n: sorry this is coming a bit late - was going to post it straight after the singapore grand prix, but here we are over a week late (but it guess it's just in time for max's birthday, so... it all worked out)

also if u saw me post this earlier, no you didn't... (tumblr is actually censoring me like MBS, and yeah it's actually getting annoying now, welp...)

[masterlist]

face claim: naomi schiff

-> twitter

-> daily mail

-> instagram

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, bestfriend and others

yourusername the FIA can't do 💩 against me, but because i do have a manager and a reputation to uphold - here's instead what i have to say:

[SEE IT ALL ON MY TWITTER 🤪]

view all comments

maxverstappen1 schatje, i appreciate the support, but i also do not want to be subjected to community service with you

yourusername woowowowoww, i defend u with my life and this is what i get 🥺 user1 HAHAHAHAHAHA MAX NOT WANTING TO BE SUBJECTED TO COMMUNITY SERVICE WITH HIS WIFE 🤣 user2 tbf, y/n would probably just be cursing them all under her breath the whole time, whilst max just laughs and points from the side

yourmanager babes, i'm this close to taking control of your social media accounts, just so the rest of the team doesn't need to be subjected to this torture 😔

yourusername i'm just exerting my human rights here 👉👈 yourmanager ok fine... but i expect a pay raise next month yourusername deal 👍 user3 i'm pretty sure i would develop an aneurysm from working with y/n every second day user4 SAME SAME 😰 like ily queen, but you're a PR nightmare

user5 nah but lowkey, people saying that she was going to be punished by the FIA are delusional. like she's not a driver, too many people love her and she gives zero 💩 - even if they gave her a punishment, she would have no qualms just 💩 on it

user6 SOOOOO REAL, like if they had any jurisdiction over what the wags or family said at the paddock, i think the FIA would be absolutely torn to shreds

lewishamilton 🤭 pt2 to the obligatory 💩 the FIA?

user7 this is why he's my GOAT 🐐 user8 bro still remembers the jewellery controversy maxverstappen y/n tried to convince me to get n*pple piercings in retaliation for that 😑 yourusername i was so close 😔 LIKED BY lewishamilton user9 the more i learn about this couple, the more i realise that max really does match y/n's freak

bestfriend POP OFF BESTIE! SHOW THEM WHO'S THE BADDEST B*TCH 😝

yourusername LOVE YOU QUEEN - WANNA COME OVER FOR DRINKS? bestfriend SURE 🙏🙏🙏 user10 i'm waiting for a drunk story that has yourusername and bestfriend flipping off the camera and saying 💩 MBS

redbullracing we love you queen 😘

yourusername love you too admin 💋💋💋 user11 are we interrupting something...? redbullracing yes yourusername yes maxverstappen 🤨

user9 can't wait for y/n to start a podcast where she just talks about absolutely whatever she wants - better yet, doing paddock interviews

user12 absolute cinema, would sell a kidney for that 😫 user13 wait for max to join her with his outdoor press conference: power couple move 💪

landonorris can i join in?

mclaren lando please no, please no 🙏 - pr manager user14 god, he's scared off his team as well user15 welp, guess we aint seeing y/nlando content anytime soon guys yourusername it's ok everyone, i know the back entrance to the mclaren motorhome - carlos told me carlossainz55 that was our secret...

-> paddock interview

-> twitter

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[magisland]

MESSY SURPRISE

pairing: seungcheol x gn!reader

wc: 0.5k words

lua’s note: HAPPY BDAY TO MY LOVELY @calicoups ❤️❤️❤️ hope youre having/had an amazing day love you mwwwwaaah 💋

“yn.. yn, my love, wake up” seungcheol said quietly while shaking your arm carefully to not scare you instead of waking you up, “cmon, love. its time to wake up”

“please, five more minutes” he chuckled when he heard your response, “hell no,” he kept shaking your arm, “open your eyes, love”

you slowly opened your eyes, your expression showing how grumpy you were because of your boyfriend not letting you sleep a bit more, but your expression and mood quickly changed when you saw him holding a birthday cake with a gentle smile on his face, “happy birthday, honey”

to be honest, a lot of people (but you) would find the cake far away from being the best looking cake ever, but you didnt mind. actually, you were pretty sure that it was the most beautiful cake you’ve ever seen, but that was your love for him speaking louder.

“cheol..” you pouted, “thank you, this is so cute!”

you hugged him, making him chuckle and wrapping his free arm around your waist, “its not as beautiful as i thought it would be, but i made it with all my love”

“what? the cake looks gorgeous!” you broke the hug to take a better look on the cake, “its the most adorable cake i’ve ever seen in my entire life! i dont even think i can bring myself to eat it, it looks so good that i dont wanna ruin it”

“dont say that! i spent good hours baking this cake for you” he pouted, “please tell me you’ll eat it…”

you laughed and nodded, “okay, okay. ill eat it”

“good” he said taking the knife he placed on the bedside before waking you up and cut a slice of the cake, “say ‘aaah’”

you chuckled and opened your mouth, letting him feed you. you bit the cake and your eyes widened when you felt the taste of it, “cheol, this is amazing!”

he smirked, proudly of his baking skills, “i know, right? im so good at it”

you nodded with a smile on your face, “honestly it doesn’t even look like youre the one who baked… it makes me wonder how is the kitchen looking like right now” you smiled mischievously when you saw seungcheol’s smirk dropping.

“yn, dont” seungcheol started to come closer to you, placing the cake on the bedside table. unfortunately, his careful attempt to take you in his arms and prevent you from going to kitchen was useless cause you ran out of bed laughing and ran towards the kitchen .

“yn! cmon!” he ran after you, but stopped when he saw your shocking face as you looked at the mess he made in the kitchen, “holy shit..”

“ill clean up later! i-“ he groaned and rubbed his forehead, “cant you just focus on the fact that i surprised you with a birthday cake?”

you chuckled and walked closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, which made him instantly place his arms around your waist, “what a messy surprise you gave me, huh? but thank you, love. i loved it”

he caressed your waist gently with his thumb and smiled, “the kitchen might be messy, but later i’ll look like i never even baked a cake here. i swear”

you smiled in return before cheol giving you a quick kiss, “there was chocolate here, yknow?” he pointed to the corner of his mouth with his finger, “i had to clean it up for you”

you chuckled and hit his chest playfully, “idiot”

[chrzzboo]

okay, hear me out. I've had this idea in my head for so long and have never found anything like it.

Lando Norris falls for a FAN! She lives in England or France or Monaco, they meet somewhere that’s not the racetrack and somehow he falls in love. He knows she’s a fan so it’s hard for him to admit that he fell for her.

Just another fan

Summary: when meeting a fan in an unusual encounter Lando couldn’t help but feel attracted by her presence. The only thing stopping him? Her being his fan.

Note: first of all I couldn’t be more thankful for all the support all of you have showed me on my comeback stories and I’m very grateful for that! Thank you for your request anon, I hope this lives up to your expectations! Have fun reading!

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff/angst(ish)

I was in a frantic rush. Late for my uni lecture again. The coffee cup trembling in my hand as I weaved my way through the bustling café. Engrossed in my thoughts, I didn’t watch where I was going, and then it happened – the inevitable crash. Coffee splattered everywhere, including all over the stranger in front of me.

I froze in horror, my face turning a deep shade of scarlet. "Oh god, I-I'm so sorry!" I managed to stutter.

Lando reacted with a bewildered expression, looking down at his now-stained shirt before turning back to me.

"It's alright," he said, an amused twinkle in his eye despite his coffee-stained shirt. "Accidents happen."

I fumbled for words, trying to apologize profusely, and yet, I was struck by his casual demeanor. This guy, this person I had just spilled coffee all over, was handling the situation so much better than I was, and it was only then that I glanced at his face. My heart skipped a beat. Lando Norris. I was standing in front of Lando Norris.

Lando chuckled again, the sound rich and warm, as he watched me struggle to compose myself. "You know," he said, the smirk on his face softening to a more genuine smile, "Most people would at least recognize me before pouring coffee all over me."

"I’m… I’m so sorry," I repeated, still struggling to overcome my shock. My brain was still trying to process the fact that I was standing in front of one of my favorite drivers, and I’d just managed to make a complete fool of myself in front of him.

Lando’s smile held a hint of understanding, and he waved off my repeated apologies. "Seriously, it’s fine," he reassured, glancing down at his coffee-stained shirt. "This isn’t the worst thing that’s been spilled on me, trust me."

In spite of the situation, I found myself feeling a little relieved at his casual acceptance. The initial wave of embarrassment was beginning to recede, replaced by a more manageable feeling of awkwardness. "Still, I feel terrible," I said, trying to force a sheepish smile. "Let me at least pay for the dry cleaning, or something…"

Lando shook his head, his expression growing more amused. "Dry cleaning’s not necessary," he replied, waving off my offer. "But considering you just soaked me in coffee, perhaps you can make it up to me?"

My heart skipped a beat at his words, my stomach twisting, already thinking of the worst scenarios.“How?” I asked weakly, trying to keep my composure.

Lando leaned against the wall, his eyes flicking over me for a moment, taking in my flustered state. "Simple really," he said, a hint of a challenge in his voice. "You buy me a new coffee, we’ll sit down, and you can make it up to me by keeping me company."

My breath caught in my throat for a moment, my mind racing. Lando Norris, asking to spend time with me? It was too much to process. But there was no mistaking the gleam of interest in his eyes. He was serious.

"Oh euhm okay," I managed to stammer out, my cheeks flushing under his gaze. "Coffee. I can do that."

Lando’s smile widened, a satisfied expression on his face as he gestured for me to lead the way to the counter. As I turned, heading towards the counter to order the coffee, I could feel his eyes on me, and my heart thumped in my chest.

This was really happening. I was about to buy coffee for Lando Norris. 18-year old me wouldn’t believe this.

As we waited for our coffees, the silence between us was filled with a tension that I couldn’t quite describe. Lando seemed relaxed, but I could almost feel the energy radiating from him. I couldn’t help repeatedly glancing at him, marveling at how someone could look so good, even after having coffee spilled on them.

After getting the order, Lando led the way to a small, secluded table in the corner of the cafe. I followed, trying to hide the fact that I was a bundle of nerves. Sitting down across from each other, I clutched my coffee cup like a lifeline. The silence was tangible, broken only by the soft hum of other patrons in the cafe.

Lando took a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving me. After a moment, he leaned back, a hint of a smile on his lips. "So," he began, his voice soft but clear, "You’re a fan, aren’t you?"

My eyes widened at his question, and a wave of unexpected shock washed over me. I hadn’t expected him to pick up on my fan girl status so quickly. It was obvious, I guess, but I also didn’t want to invade his privacy.

"I… uh… well," I fumbled for words, my face heating up. "I am a fan, yes."

Lando chuckled, his eyes never leaving mine. "It’s okay, you don’t have to deny it." He took another sip of coffee. “I could tell the moment you realized who I was."

I fidgeted in my seat, feeling exposed under his gaze. "Was I that obvious?" I muttered, cursing myself for my lack of subtlety.

Lando leaned back in his chair, that amused smile still on his face. "Let’s just say you weren’t very discreet. Your face lit up like a Christmas tree when you realized who you were dealing with."

I couldn’t help the embarrassed laugh that escaped me. "I guess I’m not very good at hiding things, also I didn't know you would be in England this week." I admitted, trying to play it down with humor.

"No not at all.” He laughs at my comment. “And yeah I came down to visit my family for a bit." Lando added, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "And don't worry about it, it’s refreshing, actually. Most people either don’t recognize me or try to play it cool when they do. You were like a deer caught in headlights."

I let out a soft groan, burying my face in my hands. "I must have looked so ridiculous," I mumbled, my words muffled by my palms.

Lando reached out, gently pulling my hands away from my face. His touch sent a shiver down my spine. "No, it was adorable," he corrected, his voice holding a hint of sincerity beneath the humor.

I looked up at him, my face probably aflame. Was he seriously calling me adorable? "You’re just saying that," I muttered, taking a gulp of my coffee to distract myself.

Lando laughed, a sound that sent a wave of butterflies flying through my stomach. "No, I mean it," he insisted. "You didn’t try to act all cool and casual around me. You just… reacted. It was honest, and it was cute."

And soon the conversation between us started flowing.

After some time, I glanced at my watch, my eyes widening at the time. “Damn, my lectures…” I muttered, realizing I’d missed my class.

Lando, who seemed oblivious to the time as well, shot a look at my watch. “Oh, right,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Guess we got carried away.”

I was gathering my bag and taking one last sip of coffee, my mind still swirling with questions when Lando spoke up.

"Before you leave," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I was wondering if I could get your number."

The casual request caught me off guard, but I quickly recovered. "My… my number?" I repeated, already pulling my own phone out of my bag.

Lando chuckled at my surprised expression. "Yeah, your number. You know, so we can stay in touch."

I fumbled with my phone for a moment, unlocking it and pulling up the new contact option. "Of course," I said, my mind racing. This was really happening. Lando Norris was asking for my number.

I slowly handed him my phone, watching as he tapped in his number. He handed it back to me, our fingers brushing together in a brief, electric moment.

"There," he said, a sly smile on his lips. "Now you’ve got my number, and I’ve got yours."

I looked down at my phone, seeing his contact information displayed. I couldn’t believe it. "Thanks," I said, the word feeling incredibly inadequate considering the whirlwind of emotions racing through me.

Lando pocketed his phone, his gaze never leaving me. "Don't mention it," he said, a genuine smile on his face. "It was… good talking to you. You know, despite the coffee incident."

I laughed, the nervous energy of earlier shifting into a more comfortable banter. "Yeah, sorry about that. I promise not to spill anything on you next time we meet."

Lando chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "I’ll keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want to have to start a coffee-stained shirt collection because of you."

The image of Lando with a closet full of coffee-stained shirts flashed through my mind, making me laugh again. "Trust me, that’s the last thing I want," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

There was a beat of silence, both of us seeming reluctant to end the conversation. Finally, Lando spoke up. “Well, I should let you get going,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of regret. “Can’t cause you to miss another uni lecture, can I?”

I nodded, although a part of me didn’t want the conversation to end. "Yeah, you’re right," I replied, a small sigh escaping me. “I had a really nice time talking to you.”

Lando’s smile widened, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “I enjoyed talking to you too,” he said, a sincerity in his tone.

After bidding goodbye to each other, I pushed through the door, the cool air of the city hitting me, but I barely registered it. My mind was still reeling, replaying every moment of our conversation on a loop. As I walked away from the café, I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.

As I walked, thinking about earlier events, my phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down to see a text message popping up on the screen. It was from Lando.

I smiled at my phone, still not believing that I met the Lando Norris who’s weirdly enough interested in me.

yourusername posted on Instagram!

Liked by bffuser, frienduser1 and others

yourusername Didn't skip class for a cute guy or anything 🤷🏻‍♀️

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bffuser: Girl u was literally fangirling

yourusername: Oh shut up you would act the same

frienduser3: Fangirling? Did we miss something?

yourusername: No no don't worry nothing special

frienduser3: 🤓

frienduser1: Why you always spilling coffee on people 🤣

yourusername: Don't expose me now, I told you this information in pure trust 🥲

frienduser2: Y/N it literally happened a week ago as well

yourusername: I don't like any of you 😒

Weeks flew by in a blur of texts, calls, and busy schedules. Work and uni left little room for much else. But despite the distance, Lando and I kept in touch daily.

One day, as I was buried under a mountain of notes and textbooks, my phone buzzed with a new message. Expecting another funny meme from Lando, I was surprised to see a different message.

With that decision made, the conversation shifted to practicalities. We discussed the details of my arrival, where I’d be staying, and what to expect during the race weekend. By the end of the conversation, the excitement had far outweighed any lingering doubts. The countdown to Silverstone began.

Meanwhile, Lando was caught off guard when his best friend, Max Fewtrell, came up from behind him and slapped him on the shoulder. “Oi, what’s got you grinning like that?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lando quickly composed himself, putting his phone away. “Nothing,” he said, attempting to play it cool. “Just talking to someone, that’s all.”

Max wasn’t convinced. “Is it a girl?” he pressed, a smirk on his face.

Lando cursed inwardly. Max had a knack for sniffing out stuff like this.

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice betraying a bit of reluctance. “But it’s nothing serious.”

Max’s eyebrow shot up again. “Not serious? Then why are you smiling like a fool over some texts?”

Lando huffed, running a hand through his hair. He knew he wasn’t fooling Max with this act of aloofness.

“Fine. There is a girl. But it’s complicated.”

Max’s smirk widened. “Complicated? That’s an interesting way to put it. Why is it complicated?” he asked, leaning against the wall, obviously enjoying Lando’s discomfort.

Lando hesitated for a moment, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Because… well… she’s a fan.”

Max’s expression turned a bit incredulous. “A fan? As in, a fan of yours?”

Lando nodded, a mixture of defensiveness and uncertainty in his eyes. “Yes. A fan. She was at a café where I was hanging out, and we just started talking. And now we talk all the time… but she’s a fan, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea to get involved with someone who already has an idea about who I am.”

Max’s smirk softened slightly into a thoughtful expression. “I get where you’re coming from. But just because she’s a fan doesn’t mean she likes you for the wrong reasons,” he said, a hint of reason in his tone. “And people change their perceptions. What if she gets to know the real you and falls even harder?”

Lando considered Max’s words, knowing he had a point. “I know… but what if she’s more interested in the idea of me, the driver, than who I really am?” he voiced his biggest fear.

Max shrugged, a knowing look in his eyes. “Then you’ll figure that out when you see her. If she’s serious about you, she’ll look past the whole ‘F1 driver’ thing. But if you keep worrying about what could go wrong, you’ll never find out what could go right.”

Lando sighed, torn between the possibilities and the risks. “You’re probably right,” he admitted, a hint of resignation in his voice. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it. I don’t know if I’m ready to take that gamble though.”

Max gave Lando a knowing look. “You’re already knee-deep in this mess, mate. You’ve been talking to her for weeks now, clearly you’re invested. If you wanted out, you’d have stopped talking to her ages ago.”

Lando sighed again, realizing the truth in Max’s words. He hadn’t even thought about ending things with her. “Damn it, I guess you’re right,” he conceded, frustration in his tone. “I’m already in too deep, aren’t I?”

Max chuckled, patting Lando on the back. "That’s right, mate. You’re in 'too deep' alright. You've been acting like a lovesick puppy every time you message her. It's pathetic, but also sickening cute.”

Max smirked, amused at his friend’s predicament. “Well, you’ve got your Silverstone race next week. Maybe that’s a chance for you to see how things really are when you actually meet in person. Then you’ll know if this is worth pursuing or not.”

Lando nodded, his face set in a contemplative expression. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll see how it goes when she comes to the race. If it feels off, I’ll end it. But I'm afraid it might be too late for that, I already fell for her I'm afraid.”

The day of the Silverstone Grand Prix finally arrived. I’d spent the morning getting ready, excitement and nerves bubbling up inside me. I checked my reflection one last time before grabbing my bag and heading out the door.

yourusername posted on Instagram!

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yourusername An actual dream coming true 🏎️

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frienduser1: Girl is this why you weren't present in class today?

yourusername: Maybe 🤷🏻‍♀️

frienduser2: Now how did you do that then

frienduser3: You could've atleast asked me to come with you 🤔

yoursername: Sorry girl was a last minute typa thing 😬

bffuser: Slay girl get that man

yourusername: 🤫

frienduser2: @bffuser what are you hiding?

frienduser3: Yeah I would love to know that too 🤨

bffuser: 🤐

With the sun high in the sky and the sounds of the race already starting to fill the air, I made my way to the circuit, following the signs and directions to the specific spot Lando had told me to meet him.

As I walked through the gates of the Silverstone Circuit, a sense of awe washed over me. The sights, sounds, and smells of a Grand Prix weekend surrounded me, and it was all so surreal. I had watched races on TV countless times before, but being there in person was a whole different experience.

The enormity of it all sunk in, making me feel both excited and slightly overwhelmed. It was one thing to see the action on a screen, but here I was, standing in the pit lane, surrounded by teams, cars, and the buzz of the event actually happening in front of me.

I continued to wander around, taking in everything. The mechanics working on the cars, the engineers huddled around strategy screens, and the drivers walking around with their confident strides – it was all so different from my usual life.

But what intrigued me most was the thought of seeing Lando in this environment, the stark contrast between the relaxed person I'd talked to countless times and the focused, professional driver he would become once he stepped into his car for the race.

I kept checking my phone, waiting for further instructions from Lando. He'd told me which area to meet him at, but I hadn't gotten any more specific details yet. I tried to distract myself by watching the practice sessions, but my mind kept wandering back to the thought of finally seeing Lando after weeks of just talking through a screen.

The practice sessions ended, and I still hadn't received any other instructions from Lando. I started to get a bit nervous, wondering if I was in the right spot or if something had come up with him. Just when I was about to reach for my phone again, I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"Hey, you looking for me?" Lando asked, his usual carefree grin on his face, looking slightly sweaty from the heat and the practice session.

I turned around, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. He looked every bit the professional racer standing there in his McLaren gear, but his familiar smile instantly made me feel more at ease.

"Lando! I was starting to wonder where you were," I replied, a mix of relief and excitement in my voice.

I was momentarily caught off guard when Lando suddenly opened his arms for a hug. But I quickly recovered, returning the gesture. His embrace was warm and firm, grounding me in the moment. We stepped back after a few seconds, both of us wearing grins.

"It's good to finally see you in person again," Lando said, his eyes crinkled with genuine happiness. "I can't believe you're actually here, at the race."

I chuckled, feeling a sense of disbelief myself. "Believe me, I can't believe it either. It feels surreal, being here in Silverstone, watching the race this close. And to think, I'm here because of you," I added, a hint of teasing in my tone.

Lando chuckled at that, seemingly enjoying the banter. "Well, what can I say? I have that effect on people." His playful confidence was undeniable.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes in mock annoyance. "Oh, don't get too big for your boots, Norris. I didn't come all this way just to inflate your ego."

He feigned shock at my words, a hand going to his chest dramatically. "How dare you! Are you saying my ego isn't already inflated enough?" Lando joked, his eyes sparkling with humor.

I let out a laugh. "Oh, it's plenty inflated, trust me. But seeing you in your element does inflate it just a bit more, doesn't it?" I teased back, enjoying the easy banter between us.

After some more light-hearted banter, the moment came when Lando was called back to his team for the pre-race preparations. He looked a bit reluctant to leave our conversation, but the responsibilities of being a racer were clear.

"I have to go," he said reluctantly, the shift in his demeanor noticeable. "They need me for the pre-race stuff. I'll be back after the race though, yeah?"

I nodded, understanding the necessity of his duties. "Go on, go do your thing. I'll be here, watching the race and cheering you on." I offered him an encouraging smile.

Lando returned the smile, a flicker of gratitude and something else in his eyes. "Thanks. And remember, if I win, you owe me an extra long chat tonight. Deal?"

I laughed, shaking my head at his request. "If you win, you get an extra long chat huh? But how about this? If you win, dinner will be on me."

Lando's eyebrows raised, intrigued by my counteroffer. "Dinner, huh? You know how to motivate a guy to drive faster, don't you?"

I shrugged, my tone light and playful. "Consider it incentive to win. Loser pays for the winner's meal, deal?" I held out my hand, waiting for his response.

Lando's eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and challenge. He took my hand, shaking it firmly. "Deal. Loser pays for dinner after the race. I better win then."

I winked, a confident smile on my face. "Just don't get too cocky now. I might surprise you, and you'll owe me a nice dinner."

Lando chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter and the friendly competition. "Just you wait and see."

The race was a whirlwind of tension and excitement, with each lap filled with nail-biting moments and heart-stopping turns. But finally, the race ended, and Lando emerged victorious.

I watched as he crossed the finish line, his car pulling into the pit, the radio buzzing with congratulations from his team. He made his way out of the car, helmet off, a satisfied but tired expression on his face as he spotted me waiting.

He jogged over to where I was standing, the adrenaline of his win still very clearly in his eyes. "Well, look who it is," Lando said, his tone filled with satisfaction and a hint of exhaustion. "Looks like I won. That means you owe me dinner, doesn't it?"

I put on a mockingly dramatic pout, playing along. "Oh, how will I ever recover from the shame of having to pay for a rich racing driver's meal?" I dramatically clutched my chest, feigning distress.

Lando laughed, the sound rich and carefree. "Come on, don't be a sore loser. You made the bet."

I sighed, pretending to give in. "Fine, fine. Loser pays. You drove a good race, I'll give you that. But don't get used to me paying for your food."

Lando's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Oh, I won't. But I'll definitely enjoy tonight's dinner, on your dime."

As we talked, the high of his victory was still palpable, but reality set in quickly. Lando was being called to attend his media duties, giving interviews and press conferences.

"I've got to go do all the media stuff, but wait for me in my room, alright? I won't take too long," Lando said, his expression still excited but a little distracted already.

I nodded, understanding that his responsibilities as a racer came first. "No worries, I'll wait in your room. Take your time with the interviews and stuff. I'll see you later."

Lando gave me a brief smile, a mix of gratitude and impatience. "I'll be there as soon as I can. See you later."

He quickly kissed me on the cheek before being whisked away by a member of his team, leaving me behind shocked after his little action but I quickly composed myself knowing I'm in public. I started walking to find my way to his room to wait.

As I was waiting in Lando's room, I heard a knock on the door. Expecting Lando, I called out, "Come in!"

But it wasn't Lando who entered, it was his best friend Max Fewtrell. I knew Max from the times Lando had talked about him, and I was surprised to see him. He too seemed to recognize me.

Max walked in, shutting the door behind him. He gave me a friendly smile. "You must be the girl Lando's been talking about," he said, his voice warm and amiable.

I smiled back, a bit embarrassed at the fact that Lando had been talking about me to his friends. "Yeah, that's me," I replied, feeling a bit nervous in the presence of Lando's best friend.

After Max and I started talking, he casually mentioned how Lando and I had gotten quite close lately. He then added, "Funny, I never expected Lando to go for a fan like this. He was a bit hesitant at first, worried you were going to take advantage of him or something."

His words shocked me. "Wait, what do you mean? He was concerned about me being a fan?" I asked, feeling a pang of hurt and confusion.

Max nodded, the honesty in his eyes clear. "Yeah, he was. Lando didn't want to admit it, but he was scared that you were just interested in him because he's a driver, that you weren't really into him for who he truly is."

I was taken aback, feeling the sting of doubt and hurt. "I can't believe he thought that," I managed to say, my voice soft. "I've been talking to him because I genuinely like him, not because he's a racing driver."

Max sighed, his voice softening. "I think he was just cautious, you know? He gets a lot of attention from fans, and he's had some bad experiences with people pretending to be something they're not. He didn't want that with you."

I was quiet for a moment, mulling over Max's words. A part of me understood Lando's worry – I could imagine the sorts of people he'd encountered – but it still hurt to know he had doubted my intentions all this time.

Max could see the mix of emotions on my face. "Look, Lando really likes you. He does. But he was just scared, that's all. He's been burned before, and he didn't want that to happen again. He didn't want to fall for someone who was only interested in his fame, and not in him as a person."

Max's phone rang suddenly, breaking our conversation. He checked the screen. "Ah, sorry, I gotta take this," he said apologetically. "Lando should be back soon, though. Just talk to him, alright?"

I nodded, managing a small smile. "Yeah, I will. Thanks, Max."

He gave me a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Good luck," he said before exiting the room to take his call.

Now left alone again, I was left with all the thoughts and feelings stirred up by my conversation with Max. Lando was on his way back, which only added to the whirlwind of emotions I was trying to sort through.

I leaned back against the wall, my thoughts chaotic. How could Lando have doubted me? Our connection felt genuine, didn't it? Was all of it just an illusion? Did he see me like just another fan of his? The idea filled me with confusion and hurt.

The sound of the door opening caught my attention, and Lando walked in, a smile still lingering on his face, his adrenaline from winning the race still evident. But as soon as he saw me, his expression faltered, replaced by a look of concern.

"Hey," Lando said, closing the door behind him. "Is everything okay? I just ran into Max, and he said that he talked to you before I got back. You seem upset."

I looked at him, the weight of my emotions clear on my face. "Yeah, Max spoke to me before he left. He told me a few things, about you being hesitant about us because I'm a fan, about you being worried I'm not interested in you but just in your career..."

Lando's expression changed from concern to a mixture of guilt and defensiveness. "That idiot," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I can explain..."

I crossed my arms, waiting for him to continue. "Explain, then. Was Max right? Were you really worried about me being just another fan interested in your fame and not in you?"

Lando let out a heavy sigh, sitting down on the edge of the couch. "It's not that simple," he began, his voice unusually serious. "I've had my fair share of people using me for my career. You have no idea the number of people who pretend to care just because being with a driver comes with perks. It makes you wary, okay?"

I tried to understand his point of view, but it still hurt. "I understand that you've been through stuff with others, but you know I'm not like that. I've been nothing but honest and genuine with you. How could you doubt my intentions, especially after all we've discussed and shared?"

Lando looked at me, his eyes earnest. "I know, I know that now. I was just scared, alright? I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you were like the rest. It was stupid, I know, but I couldn't help how I felt."

I pursed my lips, my hurt feelings still not fully soothed. "It's not just stupid, it's hurtful. It makes me feel like you didn't trust me this whole time, like all the things we've shared and the connection we've made didn't matter."

Lando groaned, his face a picture of guilt and regret. "You're right, okay? I was an idiot. I should've trusted you from the start. I shouldn't have let my past experiences color my interactions with you. I'm sorry, really."

I sighed, his words offering some relief but not erasing all the hurt. "I want to believe you, Lando. But words are just words. How do I know you won't keep doubting me in the future? How can I trust that you truly believe I'm here for you, not your fame?"

Lando stood up, moving closer to me until he was standing right in front of me. He looked me straight in the eyes, his voice soft but firm. "I promise you, I won't doubt you again. I see now how wrong I was to question your intentions. And I realize that you are not just any fan. You're special, to me. I never should have let my own fears and insecurities cloud that."

His words were sincere, the remorse and regret clear in his eyes. But a part of me still felt hesitant. "How can I be sure, Lando? How do I know this won't happen again, that you won't second-guess me every time we have a disagreement or a bad day?"

Lando took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "Because, the truth is, I... I have feelings for you. Real feelings. Feelings I can't ignore or deny anymore. And the thought of losing you because I was too scared to trust is... terrifying. And I may always joke around and not take things serious but the feelings I have for you are real how cringy it may sound."

My heart skipped a beat at his words, my eyes widening in surprise. I had suspected he felt something for me, but hearing him confirm it so openly caught me off guard.

"You... you have feelings for me? Are you sure?" I asked hesitantly, not quite believing what I was hearing.

Lando nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I've never been more sure of anything. I tried to fight it, to ignore it, but I can't. I've feelings for you, and they're stronger than my own insecurities and fears. I'm sorry it took me so long to admit it, and I'm sorry for doubting you. But please, believe me. This is real for me. You're real for me."

I looked at him, searching his eyes for any sign of dishonesty. But all I saw was vulnerability, sincerity, and a deep, genuine affection. "I... I don't know what to say," I stuttered, still processing his confession.

Lando stepped closer, his hands gently resting on my arms, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. "You don't have to say anything right now," he said quietly. "Just... don't give up on me yet, okay? Let me show you that I mean what I say. Let me prove to you that I do trust you and that my feelings for you are real."

Without any more hesitation, I looked into Lando's eyes and let the truth spill out. "I have feelings for you too, Lando. I have for a while now. I never thought you'd feel the same way, so I tried to downplay my feelings, to make them seem less real than they were."

Lando's eyes widened at my confession, a mixture of surprise and relief on his face. "You do? You really do?" he asked, as if he needed to hear it more than once to believe it.

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yes, I do," I confirmed, my voice filled with conviction. "And it makes what happened even more painful, knowing that you didn't trust me, that you thought I was just another fangirl."

Lando winced, the truth hitting him hard. "I was an idiot, I know. I should've just been honest from the start. I should've trusted my heart instead of letting my fears take over."

Lando looked at me, the guilt still evident in his eyes but mixed with hope now. "So... you forgive me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I took a moment to consider, thinking it over. "I do," I said finally. "I understand why you acted the way you did, even if it hurt. You've been hurt before, and it's hard to trust again after that."

The tension in the room lessened, and Lando let out a sigh of relief. Then he stepped closer, his hand gently lifting my chin. "Thank you," he murmured.

I could feel my heart rate increasing as his face moved closer to mine. His gaze was intense, filled with a mix of love and relief. Finally, he broke the remaining distance between us, his lips gently touching mine in a soft, lingering kiss.

The moment our lips met, it was like a spark ignited inside me. I felt a rush of emotions, a mix of relief, joy, and a deep affection for the man in front of me. I kissed him back, pouring all of my feelings into it, wanting him to truly understand how much I cared for him.

The kiss lasted for what felt like a sweet eternity, our lips moving against each other in a tender dance that expressed all the sentiments we both felt. When we finally pulled back, we were both breathless, our foreheads touching as we shared a look that was filled with newfound understanding and love.

After our heartfelt confession and that beautiful kiss, Lando looked at me, a small smirk on his face. "You know, we make quite a pair," he joked, his thumb brushing against my cheek. "A fan and a driver... pretty unconventional, huh?"

I laughed, swatting his hand away gently. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Just wait until the news gets out. The tabloids will have a field day."

Lando chuckled, pulling me closer to his side. "Let them talk. As long as we're happy, does it really matter what they think?"

I smiled, leaning against him, feeling the warm, solid presence of his body next to mine. "Maybe you're right," I conceded, resting my head on his shoulder. "Besides, I think I kind of like being unconventional."

Lando wrapped his arm around my waist, his chin resting on top of my head. "Good, because I'm not sure traditional would suit us anyway," he teased, nuzzling my hair affectionately.

We stood there for a moment, enjoying each other's embrace, the world outside the room seeming a little less important in this small, private moment of ours.

Just as we were basking in our shared happiness, the door suddenly burst open, startling us both. Max stood in the doorway, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Well, well, well, look who finally figured things out," he teased, his tone light and playful.

Lando groaned, rolling his eyes before grabbing one of the pillows on the couch and throwing it at Max. "You couldn't knock, could you?"

Max dodged the pillow with a laugh, holding his hands up in surrender as he backed out of the room. "Okay, I'll leave you two lovebirds alone," he said, his voice filled with amusement.

Lando and I exchanged a look, both of us shaking our heads at Max's antics. We had a feeling he would be teasing us about this for a while.

After Max exited, closing the door behind him, Lando and I were left alone once more. We both started laughing at the absurdity of the situation, shaking our heads at the antics of Max.

As our laughter subsided, Lando looked at me, his expression soft and affectionate. "I'm still glad he walked in and forced us both to admit our feelings tho," he said, pulling me closer.

I nodded, a smile playing on my lips. "Me too. Max has always been a bit of a nudge, but he means well."

Lando wrapped his arms tighter around me, his chin resting on top of my head. "He's also going to be a huge pain in our asses, you know that, right?" he said, his voice amused.

I chuckled, leaning back into his embrace. "Oh, I'm fully aware," I agreed, a hint of resignation mixed with amusement in my tone. "We'll never hear the end of it from him."

Despite the inevitable banter we'd be subjected to in the coming days from Max and undoubtedly others, we both knew that it was worth it. Being able to hold each other like this, the weight of unspoken feelings lifted, made everything else seem secondary.

We stayed there, enjoying the quiet comfort of each other's company, both knowing that our unconventional love story was just beginning.

yourusername posted on Instagram!

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yourusername Crazy to think that it all started because of my clumsy self ☕️

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landonorris: Never been happier with someone spilling coffee on my shirt! Love you gorgeous ❤️ by author

yourfrienduser: So this is what you've been up to huh 🤔

bffuser: Slay girl my bestie is a wag y'all

yourusername: girl chill 🤣

yourfrienduser2: Alright girlie I see you, I would ditch uni for that reason too 🫡

ln4youlover: Is this the girl he was seen with last time?

carlando554x4ever: Yeah that's her it was confirmed by Lando on his insta

formulaonemaniac4: They're so cute together!

lalalando4youx: She was his fan first y'all, do you know what that means?

landosbrokennose4: It means I have a chance with Lewis Hamilton

forformula81: Yeah no chill all of you 😳

landonorris posted on Instagram!

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landonorris There's nothing better then geting P1 in my home race, with the best support I could ask for!

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yourusername: So so so proud of you Lan ❤️ by author

maxfewtrell: Still haven't got my credit for helping

landonorris: oh shush mate 🙄

calossainz55: Well done cabrón!

landonorris: Thanks mate!

danielricciardo: Yeah we have much to talk about mate

landonorris: 👀

81osclvr: Brb going to sleep on the highway today 🙃

lnqdformulaone: They're honestly the cutest thing ever

love4ln4shoes: The fact that she was his fan made me more delulu 🤭

forwarverstappen1: This isn't some kind of fanfiction girl 💀

love4ln4shoes: Let a girl dream damn 🫤

The end

[gatorbites-imagines]

Ok so I know you said you have been unmotivated with smut lately, but you don't have to write this if you don't want to. But basically it's Scott summers x male reader where they are best friends, maybe they have some secret feelings that they have never confessed too. So male reader decided so bite the bullet and confess with out confessing, and is like " you know a few bounces on it never hurt a friendship", ( lol like the meme) and smut ensues.

Scott Summers x Mutant male reader

Headcanons

Readers got electrokinetic and magnetic powers, because I couldn’t think of anything original, and ice powers are already yoinked up by Bobby. So, ice cold head is gonna be saved for another day.

I feel like my Scott obsession shines through in this… enjoy some longer work

Feedback wasn’t the most original or coolest sounding name, but hey, it had been Scott’s idea, and you had a soft spot for him from the very beginning. So, Feedback it was. Seeing how Scott puffs up a little when you explain he came up with the name almost makes up for Logan picking on you for it.

Being great friends with Scott, makes most people assume you are a hardass like him. And yeah, you have your moments. You see how much Scott stressed about keeping everyone safe, as well as dealing with the US government and the likes, so yes, you take it seriously.

Your lightning powers lead you to also bond with Ororo, though you are not completely at her level. You cant control the weather, but you sure as hell can use electricity and lightning, and you’ve learned how useful it can be.

It took a lot of training, but who else can paralyze a person without it being lethal as easily as you can? Or fry most electronics or vehicles, even guns and other weapons? You are at least a little proud of your powers.

And maybe it has to do with the fact that Scott always seemed to preen, at least a little, with pride whenever you show how far you’ve come. You are the exact same with him, and your “broship” is kind of a thing in the X-men

To the point where the entire mansion, or island if its on Krakoa, get tense and start tiptoeing around when you two are fighting or arguing. Seeing you two not talking and avoiding each other is as uncomfortable as seeing Deadpool around, except its worse.

It always leads to some of the others, typically the younger mutants, trying to set up some kind of heist you get you two to get along again. Most of the times it fails, but the failure is what brings you together again, in a sense.

You also typically give Scott small zaps with your powers, to get his mind off whatever he’s too focused on. or the times where he lets you run light electricity through his muscles when they bunch up. Him groaning and huffing in relief is only an extra on top of the cake, since you already get to fondle his back.

Your feelings for Scott aren’t as much of a secret as you wish they were. Charles knew almost the very moment he met you. Apparently, you used to project your thoughts quite a lot, and he was growing tired of seeing your fantasies.

After that you got better at hiding. You especially worked hard to suppress and hide it when Scott got together with Jean. Yeah, it hurt your heart, but you never really thought you two would be more than bros.

But to show Jean some respect, you get less touchy and grabby with Scott. In the past you might have smacked his ass after training, or groped his pecs and arms, making some excuse about his gains. But with Scott in a relationship, it didn’t feel right.

Scott did the same thing with you, but… it was only because you did it first, right? So, its not like hed notice. Obviously, he does, Scott being so vigilant about the people around him means it takes him less than a month to be completely sure you’re avoiding him.

That doesn’t mean he says anything. Instead, he just kinda lets it stew. The relationship between you grows… tense in a way. Its not like you two are arguing, but you are trying to pull away enough to wash away whatever feelings you have, and Scott is sure you hate him for some reason, and he doesn’t know why.

In the end its actually Jean that confronts you about it, much to your embarrassment. She’s surprisingly kind about it, or you guessed it wasn’t surprising. Jeans an amazing woman, which was why it was no shock she swooped in and caught Scott’s heart.

Jean knows all about your feelings, but also Scotts. Scott loves her, very much so. But he loves you just as much, he just hasn’t realized it yet. Scott easily just pushes those feelings aside as platonic, or some deep loyalty to his best friend.

So, what if he sometimes has dreams about you holding him down and fucking him so hard he needs his visor, since his shades would be sent flying. Or his regular dream of you using small sparks of electricity to play with him.

But somehow Jean saves the situation. Being able to read minds is great, since it makes her feel safe and secure in her relationship, enough to know that you are both good men, and that you’d never act on your feelings with her in the picture.

This is how it continues for a while. Scotts with Jean, and you have some flings of your own. Over the years you kind of have a thing with Logan, then Warren, and a kind of “ill scratch your itch if you scratch mine” with Remy when he and Anne Marie have their moments.

And yeah, maybe there’s a couple of others on that list that you don’t speak too much about it. Its not your fault Deadpool can be weirdly charming and handsome sometimes. And that one time with Magneto is not something you’ll ever mention, to anybody. You get a feeling Charles knows about it though. You have a feeling Magneto told him.

All in all, you never end up with a long lasting “official” relationship. Its kind of hard to give your heart to someone else when Scott still has his name printed across it in big letters. You’re not like Scott, whose heart is big enough to fit multiple people

What you have with other people is always just casual and never means anything. Well, you do get closer to Logan. Its… a weird situation. He still has a thing for Jean, and you have a thing for Scott, and you help each other out when times get tough.

You thought Scott was gonna kill you when he caught you chewing on a cigar. It’s not like you were gonna smoke it, but seeing him huffing and puffing about you chewing on one of Logans cigars made your pants a bit too tight for comfort.

It really doesn’t help that Scott bulks up over the years. Logan may still call him slim, but there’s nothing slim about him. So, there might be more grope to the smacks you give his ass sometimes, how can you not, it’s so… grabble.

And you are always too distracted by his just… soft and big he is back there, hes even got butt dimples man. It means you never notice how Scott might just arch his hips back a little, or the way his thighs twitch when the excess electricity runs from your fingers into his skin.

Sure, him for thinking about those fingers inside him, its normal. He thinks. Its not his fault you have really nice hands, and the way electricity crinkles around your fingers is way too hot sometimes.

You once licked the electricity off your fingers, the sparks jumping from your fingers to your tongue. Scott knows its just for fun, or be a dick, but god does his front and back twitch think about it.

How you confess can happy in many ways. But the main factor is that Scott and Jean are no more. Maybe shes died, like she does in some comics. Or maybe they just broke up since they grew apart.

But one way or another you just confess. Maybe its after one of your rolls in the hay with Logan, and Scott finally doesn’t have Jean to redirect his attention too and his jealousy boils over. It leads to an argument, with you just spilling that you slept about because you couldn’t have him.

It hurts, after the confession leaves you. You’ve kept it tight inside you for years at this point, and seeing Scott just freeze up makes you feel even worse. You just get your keys into your hands with a flick of magnetic energy, before Scotts upon you.

The floors really uncomfortable, and the air is knocked out of your chest, especially as he places his bulk on top of you, Scotts hands on either side of your head.

Even with the visor giving off its usual red glow, Scott couldn’t get more handsome. The quiver in his lip and how he keeps nipping at its insides. “Scott…” you breath out, hands twitching at your sides, wanting nothing more than to settle on his nice, plush with muscle, hips.

Kissing Scott was everything you had ever imagined, and more. He tasted like the coffee hed been drinking, the brand you always hated but still bought because it was Scott’s favorite. The one he would always brew too strong, and never add any sugar or creamer too.

And yet, as his tongue rolled against your own, you couldn’t think of anything more delicious. It felt more like you two were trying to eat each other, to see who could devour the other one first after being starved for so long.

Any other time you might have been embarrassed about how wet and slick your kissing was, and just how loud it was. It seemed to ring through the empty room, Scotts hands already pulling at your shirt as you allow yourself to truly grope and feel that plump ass of his.

Youd touched Scott many times before. Hell, you’d even touched him naked here and there. But those times had been for medical reasons, or that one time to keep hypothermia at bay. This felt so much more intimate, so much… more.

The lamps in the room flickered as Scott pushed himself up to get fully undressed, your irises lighting up as you finally got to just stare. He was so hard, and with him standing above you he felt like a god, in his own way. You must have said this out loud, since Scott blushed and dragged you up.

It felt like being a virgin again, tumbling into bed and kicking off what clothes you had left on, hands groping and exploring. When it came to men, you had a lot more experience. You honestly only had experience with men.

That didn’t mean you almost didn’t bust on the spot when Scott sat himself down in your lap again, nothing between him and your cock. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel how his ass just draped around you, the smirk on Scotts lips so cocky you almost wanted to smack him.

With that thought, your body seemed to respond. Youd never really shot electricity from your crotch before, but the loud high-pitched yelp from Scott told you just that had happened.

You immediately wanted to apologize, fearing you had ruined the mood. A violent shudder ran through Scotts body, a deeper more guttural groan leaving his body as he rocked against you, precum spilling from him like a faucet. That had felt better than hed ever imagined.

The world felt like it was shrinking more and more until all you could think of was Scott Summers, and how felt against you. How he felt around your fingers as you stretch him open, and the loud wails of want he lets out, when you let the smallest flickers of electricity zap from your fingers to his prostate.

Youd always had a code of sorts, that your partner at least had to finish once, preferably twice, before you would enter them, or let them enter you. And with Scott it was so easy to wring them out of him. You almost wanted to just keep milking him for all he was worth.

Recognizing the look in your eyes, at least somewhat, had Scott tapping his foot against your tip, which was enough to remind you of how hard you really were, and how sensitive.

It gave Scott enough time to flip you onto your back, and with a recklessness you wouldn’t see from him every day, he just sank down on you.

All that working out made it easy for Scott to ride you, his thighs and hips working in harmony, his fingers digging into your pecs as you both groan and huff, letting out noises neither of you had ever let out before.

Kissing Scott as he rode you was a pretty name for it. in reality it was more just your open mouths pressed together as you both panted and drooled, tongues just rubbing together every now and then.

Having edged yourself until now meant you didn’t last long. As Scott shoved you over the edge your vision went white, and you had a feeling the popping noises you heard were the lightbulbs around the room.

It felt like Scott was draining your very soul of your body through your dick, his behind was diabolical. Part of you wanted to joke about him doing some other kind of training without telling you, but your teeth still felt like they were made of static, so all you could do was groan and gasp.

The high-pitched noises from Scotts mouth still registered to your fuzzy hearing, and the splatters of white against your torso made something inside you settle, knowing he had finished too.

The air was knocked out of your chest again as Scott slumped against you like a puppet getting its strings cut. The only noise in the room was the sound of your shared panting and wheezing, as well as the faint buzz of the ruined lightbulbs.

“you’re paying for that…” Scott finally mumbles breathlessly against the side of your neck. A snort leaves you, head still feeling like a thunderstorm and tv-static as you work your arms shakily around him. “Fine… but I’m picking the brand” you reply, voice slurred and tongue floppy in ways you hadn’t experienced in years.

Scott clearly wanted to laugh at your state, but he wasn’t much better himself. He couldn’t feel his legs, and it wasn’t completely because of the zap of electricity you’d sent through his entire body, as much as it was just how good it had felt.

You both needed to cool down, and maybe a nap. And then a good, long, cold shower. Scott lazily mentally noted down that he needed new sheets and lightbulbs, but not much else happened. For once his head felt blissfully silent, in the way only you could make it.

[kigieri]

Passenger Prince

Lewis doesn't enjoy driving, not on roads. Who drives him around if he sits in the passenger seat? A few moments showing a developing relationship and Lewis enjoying his time as passenger prince.

Aka. 4+1 times Lewis is a passenger prince.

This story on AO3.

People were talking, laughing and shuffling around. Other patrons of the restaurant are most likely happy that they are leaving. Lewis was still sitting in the booth, savouring the last of his drink. Over the years of his life birthday celebrations had become different. Whereas he still spent time with his family and partied in the night, a lot of his friends had settled down and were constructing tamer festivities. He had, however, nothing against dinner and a nightly session of golf. Even though it was far from his favourite sport. Quite a few people were standing already, still chatting but putting on their jackets, some had already gotten their keys from the valet and left.

A hand landed on his shoulder. "Lewis, you still got a seat left?" he turned around in his chair. He hadn't had the time to talk to all of his friends yet, but he had at least greeted all of them when he got to the restaurant. Behind his friend stood a woman he did not know. "She got a ride from me, but I have to catch a flight. Can't come to golf. Would you take her?" Lewis wasn't asked such things by his acquaintances often as they knew he was more than private with strangers. She smiled a little awkwardly. "I'm sorry, this is unusual. I was not aware he would be leaving so soon and had thought he would take me. So it seems, I need someone else." The man between them nodded his head. "I have to leave you, if Lewis can't, I'm sure you'll find someone else." He smiled lightly, tapped her shoulder and was gone.

She looked after him for a few seconds and then back to Lewis. "Quite rude, but he has other things speaking for him, even if his manners don't." Lewis nodded. "Where do you know him from? Must be close if he has taken you here and is leaving you behind." She shook her head, pulling the chair next to Lewis out and sitting. "Acquaintances from work, but he overheard that I have never enjoyed golf and decided that this evening should change that." Lewis nodded along, only halfway interested but wishing to be polite. "Your friends are all very nice, and I do like the atmosphere, so even if golf is still not to my fancy, I'll enjoy the evening." She raised herself lightly off her chair and tucked at her skirt. "Sorry, I complained about his manners and yet I haven't even introduced myself." She held out her hand, Lewis took it and shook it.

After a short exchange of their names she looked over to the door, more people were leaving. It became apparent that she would have to find a ride in the next few minutes. "Do you have a seat left? And do you mind taking me? Otherwise, I'm sure I can find someone else that can take me." Lewis shook his head. "I came alone so I can take you." He stood up and she followed. She looked at him. "You do not seem motivated to drive me." He shook his head. "No motivation to drive at all." She nodded. "Not a fan of traffic either?" He shook his head. "Can't see how people like driving on the street." He said. She grinned. "My own driving is hardly the problem, other people are. I would hope it's the same for you." A slight smile found its way onto his face. She looked to the wardrobe. "Let's get our coats, otherwise the valet will never get to us." He nodded.

After they retrieved their jackets, they stood by the door. The valet was still getting someone else's car, so they were left to wait. "You'd think they'd have a better system, especially with so many cars and people," she voiced jokingly. He looked outside. "That poor dude is giving his best." She smiled crookedly, one corner of her mouth lifting. "I know, didn't mean him. It's just a shitload of very expensive cars and people without patience waiting." Lewis lifts an eyebrow, looking at her sceptically. "I think it's pretty chill..." He held his tone neutral. She was nice, but he did not tolerate such comments towards his friends. Even if they were accurate for some of them. She nodded "I meant no offence, sorry." Her tone was light and apologetic. She did not want her passing comment to sour the evening. "None taken." He answered, while letting his eyes wander through the glass doors again.

"So..." She started after a few moments had passed. "Generally don't like driving or just in the city?" He looked at her in slight disbelief. His circle of friends and generally everyone in Monaco knew who he was. Her smile grew bigger. "I'm trying to be polite." Her face scrunched together a bit while she smiled, it was cute. "Thought people assumed enough about you, so I asked." He nodded. "Yeah, I like driving in very specific conditions and traffic is not one of them." She nodded. "Understandable."

The valet was finally on his way to get the car. They still waited inside, through the restaurant doors the night looked nice, and it was never too cold in the principality. There was however always a chance someone with a camera or phone was waiting outside and Lewis had no interest in having his picture taken right this moment. "The golf course is just up the mountain, right?" She interrupted his thought's, and he nodded at her. "I do have a licence if you don't want to drive." He raised his eyebrow once more. She raised her hands in defence. "Don't even want to know what your car costs. It was just an offer." She looked outside at the cars parked in front of the restaurant. "And I may not come from the most humble background but I don't normally get to drive such supercars." He regarded her from the side. She was not part of his friend group, but she was nice and his friend did trust her enough to bring her around. She spoke fondly of him, so they probably knew each other a bit more than she let on.

A car parking in front of the entrance brought Lewis out of his head. The doors were opened for them, and he let her step outside first. The valet stepped out of the car and around it, he nodded at Lewis and offered him the keys. Lewis took them and let the weight settle in his hand while the passenger door was opened for his new companion.

He turned around, feeling a breeze of youthful recklessness wash over him that so often reminded him of Sebastian. He held out the keys to her. She had already ducked lightly to step into the car, her eyes were bright, and a smile took over her face. "You sure?" He nodded. "Take 'em." She took them at a speed that would have been surprising for everyone that was not an F1 driver. He walked around the door and lowered himself into the passenger seat. She slid into place next to him and closed the door, the seatbelt was no problem, but then her eyes landed on the steering wheel. "Should have thought about the fact that you'd have a custom steering wheel.".

A grin took over his face. This evening would be way more fun than he had anticipated. While leaning over to show her how to use it, he considered being just a little more reckless a little more often.

***

Lewis checked his bag a last time to see if he had truly remembered Roscoe's vaccination-papers. After a few moments of looking around the kitchen, he decided that he had everything he needed, took his bag and walked over into the living room. "Roscoe?" The bulldog came over. It was apparent once again that Lewis was more stressed about these vet visits than his own dog.

He put on Roscoe's leash and walked into the hallway. "You're more stressed about his appointment than he is." the voice startled Lewis. She stood in the entryway, fully dressed, how he hadn't noticed her before was a wonder. "I thought you were getting ready for work?" She smiled lightly. "I'm driving you two to the vet." She dangled the keys that normally lay in a case, together with the others, in the cabinet next to her.

Lewis sighed lightly. "You didn't think I'd let you drive through work traffic, did you?" Her smile was slightly smug, he adored that look on her face. He shook his head. "I can drive. Better than you even." He tried to argue. A smiled laid itself over her face. "Yeah, but you don't really like it, and I'll still get to work in time, so it's no problem."

Lewis nodded. "Well, then let's go before we're late." Her smile turned brighter. He loved these minute changes in her face, he'd have to ask her to move in, just so he could see them every morning. He sat down on the bench next to the coat hanger to slip into his shoes. Roscoe had walked over to her and she had kneeled down to pet him.

As he got up she also stood straight again. His hand wandered around her waist, and he tucked her closer, kissing her lightly. "I adore you." The blush that spread up her cheeks made him laugh lightly. "Come on, we need to leave or we'll be late." She took Roscoe's leash out of his hand. "He's a big healthy boy, don't worry about the doc, will you?" She pinched his side lightly. A light flinch went through him, not having anticipated the gesture. She leaned towards him, stealing a quick kiss. "I adore you too." Her smile was bright and infectious.

Roscoe let out a huff, he had sat down next to the door, waiting to be let outside. Lewis looked over to him. "Yeah, little man, we adore you too."

***

Lewis tucked the hood of his sweatshirt further down over his head. Coming to the convenience store just before closing time may not have been their brightest idea. He walked a bit faster to catch up to her. The list in her hand, which she was scrutinizing closely, had most items crossed out. "We've got most of it." She pulled out her phone and looked at the recipe once more.

"Love, I watched you write that list. Everything we need is on it." She looked over at him, slightly sceptical. "Yeah, and when I looked over the groceries that were delivered, I was also sure we had everything." Her eyes wandered over the list again.

He didn't like the self-criticism she was exuding. "I quite enjoy this late night mission." He leaned over, trying to steal a kiss. "You are terrified that we are going to get run over by fans, don't even deny it." He sighs, "A bit, but we can't let our date night get ruined just because the delivery got mixed up." A slight smile spread over her face "Our own little mission to get celery and cheese." She walked around the next isle to get to the cooler section.

After comparing the different kinds of vegan cheese, she seemed satisfied with one and threw it into the basked that was hanging off her arm. It was quite full for the fact that they had come here to simply buy the last few missing ingredients for their dinner. She had however not been in a supermarket since moving in with Lewis and he long before that. So they indulged in a bit of aisle browsing since the store wasn't too crowded.

As he tried to continue down the aisle, he bumped into her outstretched arm. When he looked up from the shelves he had been looking at while walking, she was looking at him expectingly. The pen that he returned into his pocket every time after she crossed out an item on her list was handed back to her, and she let out a confirming hum, "That's everything." She closed the pen after crossing out the cheese and let her hand, with the list and the pen, slip into his pocket. "Let's get home. I'm starving." Lewis slipped his hand into hers as she was pulling it out of his pocket. "Yeah, let's head home."

They found their way to the registry and paid contactless in just a few minutes. Lewis almost let a sigh of relief pass his lips when they left the store. This may have been fun but there was a reason why he normally surrounded himself with security. Before he could relax however, he felt her tugging at his sleeve. "Lew..." He looked over at her, and she nodded to the other side of the entryway.

There was a little boy with his mom and while she was getting a cart the boy had seemingly identified Lewis and was now looking at him with big eyes.  His girlfriend was still packing the groceries into a bag, so Lewis walked the few meters over. The mother had come back at this point and looked quite puzzled at her son until Lewis tugged his hood back and recognition flooded her face.

"You're... hi," the boy stuttered. His mother, though still looking surprised, stepped next to him. "He's a big fan, could you take a selfie with him?" She looked down at the boy. "That's what you wanted, right sweetheart?" The boy nodded nervously, stepping from one foot to the other. Lewis nodded. "Yeah, no problem." Children were by far his most enjoyable fan encounters.

After a quick picture and signing the boy's shirt, which turned out to be a cars shirt hidden under his vest, he bid them goodbye and turned back around. His girlfriend had finished packing the groceries and was watching them. A sly smile had taken over her whole face. "I like seeing you with children." He walked over and poked her side. "You just moved in, I think you're moving a bit fast." She squealed lightly, "I moved in two and a half months ago, and I didn't mean that we should have some. I just like seeing you with them." He looked at her while they started walking into the parking lot. "Yeah, yeah..." A shit eating grin had found its way onto his face.

She pouted lightly, "Be nice, or I'll leave you here." She took out the car keys from her pocket. "Hey, that's my car," he lamented. She turned towards him. "Yep, and I'm driving it." And with that she took off towards the car. Lewis smiled, falling into a light jog behind her. This was a feeling he could no longer live without.

***

They were sitting on the sofa after dinner. Lewis had stopped by their favourite take-out place while coming home from the factory. They had eaten in relative silence and were now trying to find something to watch.

After arguing lightly over a few different shows, they settled on a National Geographic documentary, something light but slightly informative. Neither of them had the head for much action, both having had long weeks. Her at work and Lewis at the factory after the race last weekend.

He could not sit still and after having changed positions for the up tenth time she laid her hand on his knee to stop it from bouncing.

"What is it?" She turned her head towards him. He didn't reciprocate her look. "I forgot my tablet." A sigh left her lips. "You're sure it's not in your bag or that you left it in the car?" He nodded. "Noticed it when I got dinner, but didn't want to ride the whole way back to Brackley. Didn't want to keep you waiting." She smiled. "That is sweet." She leaned towards him and kissed him lightly, squeezing his knee in the process.

"Do you want to go get it?" He raised a brow at her. "It'll be ten until we get there and almost midnight when we make it back." She nodded, not breaking eye contact. "I know. I don't want you to work in your free time, but I know how important it is to you. You simply cannot switch off." Lewis chuckled, "My eternal flaw." She raised her hand and laid it on his cheek, stroking her thumb over it. "I like you just like this. Even if it is slightly unhealthy. But I'm here to remind you what matters beside racing, am I not?" Lewis smiled while leaning over to kiss her. His adoration for her grew every day.

"I'll get the keys, I'm driving." She murmured against his lips. "You don't have to," was his immediate reply. "You won't have a relaxed minute until that thing is inside this flat, laying on the table, even if you only look at it once," was her answer. Lewis nodded lightly. "Yeah, but I can drive." She had already stood up, but leaned back down to kiss his cheek. "You drove there this morning and came back afterwards. I'm driving us."

She walked over to the entryway of the living room, but turned back around before leaving. "It can be another one of our little adventures." Her smile was genuine and infectuous. Even though the exhaustion of the week was clear on her face. "I'll change, and then we get going." Lewis looked after her when she wandered off in the direction of their bedroom. He was neither feeling great nor ready to leave the flat once more, but he could do nothing else but smile.

***

Lewis had already put his seatbelt on while one of the Mercedes mechanic was still helping her get strapped in. Hot laps were something he enjoyed, especially since this one was not being filmed. The organization had taken some time, but he wanted to show her at least a little bit of his love for racing from inside a car.

He looked over at her while the car door was being closed. Her helmet had a 44 on it. He couldn't stop himself from commenting, "The most stunning passenger princess." She looked at him in disbelieve. "Really, I drive you anywhere you need to be and the one time you're behind the steering wheel I'm a passenger princess?"

"I have driven you before!" He said in mock affront. "Yeah, down to the beach to surf, but how many times is that compared to how often I drive us around?" He nodded lightly, admitting defeat. "Yeah, that's fair."

She looked out of the window at the track. "How did I let you convince me of this?" He padded her thigh. "You love me!" He said in a slightly mocking tone. Her head snapped to him. "That's not what I asked you." A belly deep laugh was his answer. "Enjoy it." "Oh yeah, I will. It's going to have to last me the rest of our lives, won't it?" A smile settled on his face. "Probably." And with those final words he stepped on the gas.

@kigieri 2024. All rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate or repost any of my work.

[ot3]

early in development the original plan for ace attorney 6 was setting it in an underworld court where everyone on every side of things was a criminal, but the pitch was rejected and im gonna be sad about it forever. it sounded like a WAY better premise

Yamazaki: We didn’t decide right away on the theme of "The Revolution of the Court". It had been seven years since Gyakuten Saiban 4 (Ace Attorney 4  - Apollo Justice) when we made Gyakuten Saiban 5, so we figured something with impact, which led to "The Destruction of the Court". At first, we thought that for this game, we didn’t need to focus that much on making an impact anymore… but after a discussion with the producer, we arrived at the conclusion we needed something that surpassed the destruction of the court. We came up with some ideas and decided on the revolution of the court. We also had rejected ideas. Something like an “Underground Court” or “Dark Court”, where Naruhodō would be taken to an illegal court for the underworld, and where he’d be forced to act as a defense attorney. The defendant would of course also be someone of the underworld, so it’d be difficult to just trust them. The prosecutor, the witnesses, they’d all be untrustworthy people and you’d never know what they might pull off. But then we thought about this seriously and figured this would be like a really, really enormous pinch for Naruhodō (laugh). Fuse: I still think it was a good idea (laugh).  It was also rejected because it didn’t tie up with spirit channeling though. Yamazaki: There was the idea that Mayoi had been kidnapped and Naruhodō was forced in taking part in the trials. X

you can see the remnants of the vibe they were going for in the early rayfa concepts. not 100% sure that's what these concepts were based in, but even if these weren't 1:1 intended to be for this setting i think the fact that this character design was in play just goes to show how significant the Pivoting was that happened during the dev process.

[seikosas]

Do it for you | A.A.

synopsis: How can she do for you, what she can't even do for herself?

contains: angst, homophobia, d-slur, Ow*n

pairing: Abby Anderson x Reader, Ow*n x Abby

a/n: based off cellophane by fka twigs!! I hope y'all enjoy.

"all wrapped in cellophane, the feelings that we had."

You were never really used to being the center of attention, the talk of the town. You tried your best to do everything in your power to not let it affect you, but for her, it was like she barely tried for you.

You knew that everyone always preferred Abby with Owen over with you. It's all their eyes say, what their expressions speak. You and Abby were friends before you decided to become something more. It's funny actually, she was the one who wanted to be with you, now it seemed every move she made in your small, prejudiced town, was to make them forget that she's with you. It was successful for her, of course it was. She's always been the town's favorite.

They loved her even more when she was with Owen, “such a beautiful couple”, was all that ever came out of everyone's mouth when they saw the both of them together. And sure, on the outside, they looked like a fairytale. But they didn't know how much it was eating her away, that the person everyone wanted to be with, wasn't who she wanted. And for a while, you didn't either.

“I don't want to be with him,” while your name spills out her lips, like the fountain that flows guilt, every syllable she made to form your name laced with shame, but moreso, hope. “All I want is you. I eat, sleep, work, fuck— even when we fuck you're all I ever think about. And it's eating me alive that It's not you everyone sees me with." You never knew until that moment that she felt this way, that she felt the same.

So you both decided to go against what everyone wanted. I mean, as long as you both had each other it would be enough, it could be. Right? Silly, young, naive. Just fucking stupid. You look back to the time you both were filled with hope that you could change everyone's mind about your 'unnatural relationship’, it's just comedic seeing it now.

Abby was a fucking coward. She promised. She promised that you both would get through this together, she'd do everything for you. But she couldn't even do this for herself. You were both inside her house arguing for what was what, the sixth time this month? It kept happening so often that you lost count. “You don't even fucking show them that I’m yours! You don't look at me when we pass by each other, you don't even hold my hand on the rare occasion that we're fucking walking together. You fucking promised me, Abby!”

“It's not that fucking easy, okay! It's not my fucking fault everyone preferred me with Owen.” Her face shows instant regret, and you just scoff, “so you wanna get back to fucking him or what?” “You know that's not what I mean—” “No. Fuck you, Abby. You don't get to tell me that you want this, want us, then start hiding all because you can't handle the older people in this fucking town to think that their little princess might be hanging out with that ‘homewrecking-dyke’ because she is one” she rebuts quick after you end your sentence, “they don't say that—” “Yeah, Abby. They fucking do. You're just not there to hear it. Not like you ever are.”

She stays silent. You're tired of her silence. Even when it's just the two of you, she can't bring herself to be true to what she feels. You decide to finally walk away from the living room and make your way to the door. But as you reach for the door, she grabs your wrist. You turn around and see tears hanging on to the edges of her eyes, threatening to spill. “I'll do better. I- I’ll hold your hand when we walk, I'll kiss you in front of anyone- I'll show everyone I love you, I don't care about what they think anymore. I just want you to be mine, please.”

How could you say no when she puts it all like that? So of course you pull her in again, feeling a type of happiness you haven't felt since the first month of your relationship, (that was because you kept it a secret in the beginning).

She was truthful to her words that first week. It honestly shocked you. She was so insistent in showing off your guys’ relationship that you started to become the more reserved one. Then she continued the next week, and the next, but weird. She seemed more cold as the days passed by, and then… ah, there it is. Out goes the new, In goes the old.

It was a quite stressful weekend, it was starting to overwhelm you again. The eyes of the people in your town starting to bore holes deeper than usual, the whispers seemingly growing louder, and Abby, growing colder, again. You decided to go to the local bar to get your mind off of things. When you get there you sit next to the bartender asking for the hardest alcohol he has in store. When he places it in front of you, you downed it in a second, then asked for another one. He probably should have told you how strong it was, but that would be bad for business. When you're on your third drink, you finally get up to go on the dance floor. Your body was moving freely, had you been sober you probably would have had more embarrassment in your body. But the alcohol let it all slide away.

Then when you stop for a moment, that's when you see it. Abby and Owen dancing together. Huh, she never took you out dancing. Then as the music grew louder, they got closer, until there was no distance at all. Abby pulls away first, and like an instinct she looks your way. You almost wouldn't have been able to see the blue in her eyes, as they were covered with guilt, shame, and fear.

Had she not cared about what anyone else would think, she probably would have punched Owen, run to you, apologize profusely, probably cry in the process, then laugh a bit, and kiss you until you both had to stop to breathe. But she did care. So, she gave in to the words of everyone, Owen is perfect for her. So she continued dancing with him, as tears fell from her eyes, watching you walk away from the bar, and from her life.

[wastemanjohn]

i'm not at all bothered about people disliking john because entirely valid tbh and someone else's opinion changes nothing for me. i just think the militant anti john brigade - that is, those that make up textually unsupported and entirely leftfield reasons to dislike him - are really missing out.

the thing is, we've got an absolute buffet of an interesting and irreparably fucked up character here. we could debate the absolute Horrors of john winchester and his a+ parenting for days on end literally from the two seconds of screentime he had. because he does suck! it's totally fair to say that canon john is selfish, neglectful and at best emotionally abusive. now i'm defo no apologist (see username) - but he's also the furthest thing from a cardboard shitty abusive dad. there is serious context for the things he does and the way he thinks.

john's life was hell man. his own dad, for all he knew, abandoned him. he went to war young and almost certainly came back with ptsd. these things alone don't exactly make life easy but then your wife burns to death on a ceiling and you're left a widower and a single dad to a baby and a pre schooler before you're even thirty? then discover that it couldn't even be a plain old housefire but no - there is actual Evil out there and you and your children are not safe and never will be?

the desire for revenge is understandable. the desire to do stupid and paradoxically dangerous things to protect your children are understandable. right, good or healthy? no. but understandable. and that's what makes a good sympathetic character.

basically i think a lot of negative readings of john exaggerate the badness of his intentions and ignore his humanity. it's also understandable that john is not a beacon of emotional regulation. it's also understandable that he cant always balance being emotionally and physically there for his kids with Fighting The Horrors. pour alcohol misuse onto this dumpster fire and you're not getting a perfect person, or a perfect parent. you're getting a broken human who was focused only on keeping his kids safe, alive, protected, and able to protect themselves. sure, he had tunnel vision about it. he did it very badly. he controlled sam as the youngest and parentified dean as the oldest. he made sam feel misunderstood and smothered. he made dean feel completely responsible for the welfare of his brother and dependent on john's praise and approval as his second in command.

john fucked his kids up IMMEASURABLY. he thought he was doing the right thing.

also - remember young john? remember how he's softly spoken and loves his cars and adores his girlfriend and respects his fucking elders and, to quote mary, "believes in happy endings"? remember the doting dad we see for like a minute in the pilot? is that not meant to show us that, had his life not taken the turn it did - he would likely have been an entirely different person? how is the tragedy of that not also completely DELICIOUS??

so why homophobic john? why john who beat dean senseless regularly? why john who gave no shits and wanted his boys to be miserable? why these embellishments that make him someone else, someone with nothing good inside of him, when what canon gives us is so much better?

come on guys. the tragic messy sad angry selfish HUMAN john we got in the show is an absolute treat. why are we making him an irredeemable, unfeeling and uncomplicated asshole who doesn't give a shit about his boys. ya'll saw him spending a good 50% of his screen time crying about how much he loved them right? and sam and dean KNEW he loved them. they also knew, or in dean's case came to realise, that he was a terrible father in many ways. real life is messy and nuanced. families are messy and nuanced. and imo spn got this so right.

[trippinsorrows]

through your eyes + au 4

authors note: thank you so much to all of ya'll showing interest in this little au 🥺🥺🥺 ya'll are the real mvp's.

masterlist

words: 4.5k // warnings: some smut, roman being possessive/borderline stalkerish

Solana is clearly naive.

Embarrassingly so, because for her to just assume she could dip out on Roman Reigns without there being any sort of consequence or him wanting to follow up was simply ludicrous.

It’s ludicrous and simply not going to fly for the Head of the Table, hence Solana’s current situation. Standing at the back of her store trying to convince Sami Zayn to deliver her very clear, unmistakable message to Roman who’s apparently waiting out back for her.

“Sami, I’m sorry you’re in….in the middle of this, but I—I don’t want to see Roman.” There’s a strange, borderline uncomfortable feeling that rises, even as the words leave her mouth. Solana knows that’s what she needs to say and should say, but there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to say it.

But, then she thinks back to Rosalia’s cruel words, hurtful but true. And it’s the reminder she needs. She swallows, reiterating, “please tell him I’m not interested.”

And while these may be words spoken from a sudden sense of finality, they seem to be more of a death sentence to the man before her. Sami’s face is growing red and ruddy by the minute. “Oh boy.” He blows out a breath and runs his hand through his still unkempt hair. “Ms. Miller—”

She gives him a small smile. “You can call me Solana.”

“I can’t call you anything if I’m dead.” Her eyes go wide, and he winces, apologizing. “I’m sorry. I just—I’ve been working hard to work my way up in the Bloodline and telling the Tribal Chief no….well, that sure seems like a good way to get my ass chewed up and spit out….or worse.”

A deep frown settles on Solana’s face as she nervously taps her fingers against the side of her legs. The last thing she wants is for Roman to take his anger at her ‘rejection’ out on Sami. She’s not worth that. 

At all.

Gasping quietly, she shares, “I have an idea.” She motions for him to follow her, Solana guiding them to her office in the back. Grabbing a pen and the notebook on her desk, she quickly gets to writing, not allowing herself to think too much. That’ll only cause her to second guess her decision, when she really can’t afford to do so. 

Roman,

I’m sorry for leaving abruptly, but that shouldn’t have happened. We’re two very different people. I’m not what you’re looking for. Let’s just end this now before it gets too far.

Sorry for wasting your time.

Solana

She doesn’t even give herself the chance to look it over, ripping it from the notebook, folding it over and handing it to Sami. “Just give him this.”

Sami looks down at the piece of paper like it may contain anthrax. He then sighs, heavily, accepting it from her. “Alrighty then.”

Grateful for his amenable nature, she offers a small smile of appreciation. “Thank you, Sami.”

He says nothing, just walks out without another word to deliver the message that will, hopefully, close up this strange, unexpected, brief chapter of her life involving a certain Roman Reigns.

Never mind the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach making Solana wonder if she’s made a mistake. 

But, she quickly pushes it away. The silly thing. Of course, she made the right decision. There’s no place in her life for someone like Roman Reigns.

It’s just better this way.

—--------

In recent months, it’s happened more often than not that Solana finds she has the condo she shares with two of her best friends, Rhea and Kayden, to herself. 

Just Solana and her 8 month old puppy, Dulce.

Tonight happens to be one of those nights. 

And she’s grateful. Because while Rhea still remains oblivious to Solana’s…..experiences with Roman, Kayden is aware and skeptical of Solana’s made up story about the evening not going well, hence her coming home early last night. It would be a believable story, especially considering this is Roman, but not for the fact that Solana sucks at lying and Kayden is a truth seeker through and through.

So having a night off of having to dodge her sly attempts to coax out the truth is appreciated.

Very much so.

Kayden is spending the night over at her latest fuck buddy's, and Rhea…..well, Solana doesn’t exactly know why Rhea has been coming home either at an ungodly hour or not until sunrise the next day. It’s sort of out of character for her normally antisocial friend, but Solana also knows that Rhea is the person who will open up about things when she’s ready, so she's just left it alone. 

But them being gone leaves Solana and Dulce with the condo to themselves. Hence her taking the opportunity to truly decompress from an eventful, stressful week. After her ‘everything’ shower, she puts her hair in space buns and pulls out the skimpy shirt and underwear set gifted to her by Rhea last Christmas. It’s not something Solana would ever wear in front of anyone, somewhat because of the emo design but mostly because it’s so revealing. A thong and barely there tee.

It’s also an intentional thing, walking around so exposed, more skin on display than usual. Something to aid in building back up her body confidence that was almost entirely squashed under the overwhelming weight of those infamous text messages.

Solana does her best not to revisit those dark times, arguably one of the hardest periods of her life. She can’t go back. Has come too far and made too much progress to regress. Even more, he isn’t worth it.

Never was.

Filling her Stanley cup up—a gift from her bougie ass cousin Jade—with ice, Solana grabs a water bottle and empties it, topping the icy water with two lemon packets. Tossing the used packets in the trash, she grabs her phone and ventures through her many Spotify playlists, settling on the R&B one. Turning on her Beats headphones, she slides them over her ears, smiling at the opening notes of Fantasy by Mariah Carey.

Walking out the kitchen, phone in one hand, Stanley cup in the other, she hits the lights and hums along to one of Mariah’s many bangers. Her smile grows and hips naturally move to the rhythmic, infectious beat as she hits the light switch in her bedroom, walking over to her nightstand where she deposits her cup.

Shuffling over to her attached bathroom, she flicks the switch and goes to put away some of the products used during her hour spent in there for the shower and everything after. Cleaning and Mariah end up being the perfect combination, Solana’s singing and dancing increasing and evolving into a brief, silly little moment of her using her hairbrush as a microphone. A nice, little nostalgic throwback to so many summers ago that she spent with her cousins, staying up much later than what they should have, giggling over trivial things like boy bands and school gossip.

Much simpler times.

Before she grew up and realized that maybe the idea of men—and love—would always be better than the reality. At least, for her.

Pleased with the clean state of her bathroom, Solana turns off the lights and dances and sways her shapely hips while sauntering back into her bedroom. 

“I’m in heaven. With my boyfriend, my laughing boyfriend. There’s no beginning, and there is no—AHH!”

Eyes wide, hand against her chest, Solana is rendered speechless and barely avoids a heart attack at the sight that awaits her.

Roman.

In her home.

In her bedroom.

Sitting on the chair by her vanity, Dulce in her bed just a few feet away, sleeping like everything is fine. Like there’s not a complete stranger in her room. 

Her brother and dad were definitely right about one thing. Dulce is for comfort. Not protection.

Solana just continues to stare, in a brief state of shock while Roman simply states with a smirk.

“Don’t stop on my account, baby.” Oh my God. “I was enjoying the hell out of that show.” His light brown eyes travel over her body, as she rips off her headphones. “Very, very much.”

It’s that statement that reminds her of her attire. Or lack, thereof. A humongous wave of embarrassment and borderline humiliation wash over her as she reaches for her robe on the bed, hurriedly putting it on and tossing the headphones down on the mattress.

Roman chuckles at the action, standing up from the chair, reorienting Solana to the situation. The potential severity of the situation. 

“Roman, what are you—how did you—” She has so many questions. A ton. A million. But, the first one is how. “How did you get in—I –made sure the doors were all l–locked.”

He stops halfway, scoffing, “sweetheart, you can’t be that naive. Locked doors don’t do shit. Especially not for someone like me.” A sort of frown then falls on his face as he shares, “you really should have a security system. I’ll have one put in tomorrow.”

Solana can barely process him telling her that he’s getting a security system installed in her home, because he’s back moving toward her, a small slice of panic forming. 

Moving back against the closest wall, she cautions in the least intimidating voice ever. “I–I’ll scream.”

Again, he pauses, that wicked smile reappearing. “Oh, I am going to make you scream, but it won’t be out of fear.” Solana’s stomach flutters, but she can’t tell if it’s because of his suggestive comment or just the asinine nature of this entire situation. 

And, it’s when he’s directly in front of her, one hand planted on the wall above her that she finds it in her to ask, “Roman, what—what are you doing here?”

In her house. In her room. In her life. She’ll take an answer for any of them at this point. 

Meanwhile, he simply responds like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve been avoiding me.” Solana wouldn’t call it avoidance as much as she would call it trying to pretend he doesn’t exist and what happened between them never occurred.

Tried to play all of that off as some bad dream. Or maybe just a dream, because nothing about how he made her feel back in that locker room could ever be even remotely close to bad.

But, she can’t tell him that.

Of course not.

So, she does the possible worst thing someone could do in this situation. 

She lies.

Sidenote: Solana hates that he’s so close to her for a plethora of reasons, the major one being that he’s close enough to touch her. A dangerous, dangerous thing. It's.....distracting

“I—I haven’t.”

Roman makes a ‘tsk tsk tsk’ sound. “Lying to me never turns out well for people, but you’re pretty, so I’ll give you a pass. This time.” She swallows, practically unable to stop their locked gaze. “Why?”

She didn’t realize the first statement was actually a question, but that’s irrelevant now. “I—I told you. I—” She blows out a breath. “What happened was—was a mistake.”

“Bullshit,” he’s calling her bluff. “You don’t believe that.”

Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. But, there’s nothing confusing or conflicting about her next statement. “I’m not—I’m not like that, Roman. I don’t…..sleep around. I—” Solana has to stop herself. The last thing she needs to be telling this man is that she’s still a virgin. Something tells her it’ll up the ante. “My fiancé or—”

He cuts her off, asking, “are you still engaged?”

That might be the easiest thing he’s ever asked her. “No.”

“Good.” He shrugs, adding casually while shrugging one shoulder. “Wouldn’t have made a difference. I would have just killed him anyway.”

Horrified. Solana should be horrified by that chilly statement. No doubt something he would 100% do. Men like Roman have no moral compass. They live by their own primal, selfish wants without regard for others. And yet, something within Solana, that might not be too far off from Roman’s lack of morality, causes her to mutter, “I–I should probably be more disturbed by that.”

Roman’s eyes narrow with curiosity. “Do you want me to kill him?”

“No.” That’s also an easy answer. Well. Sort of. “But—”

“But?”

She shouldn’t say it. Absolutely should not say it, and yet, something dark within her makes it creep out, sneaks it past her inner morality police. “If you had asked me a couple months ago, I might have given you a different answer.”

Awful. It’s an awful thing to say about another human being....even if that human being is a piece of scum.

Finding out the truth about her relationship, finding out the facade of her relationship nearly broke her. Solana's heart was shattered into a thousand pieces that she’s still working to regroup. She’s far from where she was when her world fell apart but is still not exactly who she was prior to the ruination.

She’s not sure she’ll ever be. 

Meanwhile, Roman makes a sound, sharing, “maybe I’ll kill him anyway.”

And this is why Solana didn’t want to say anything. Because it’s like dangling candy in front of a kid. Still, what motive would he have? 

Solana is partially confused and needs to not think about his touch, thus her going for a relevant distraction. “For what reason?”

With a dark chuckle, he traces random patterns against the belt of her robe. “He obviously hurt you. That’s reason enough for me.”

Solana frowns. This man makes no sense. No sense whatsoever. 

Her voice is low, heavily weighed down by confusion and something else she can’t identify. “Roman, what—what do you want from me?”

“A lot.” Her stomach is knotting all over again. That is not the answer she was expecting. “But, let’s start with why you left.”

“I told you—”

“The truth, Solana.” His voice goes hard as does his expression. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

She believes it. 

Swallowing, she realizes the truth is something that he’s going to get one way or another. Might as well concede now.. “Your…..your sister—”

He briefly looks away, muttering something in a language she doesn’t recognize. His gaze is then back on her. “What did she say?”

“Nothing nice.” It’s not the specifics, but it is an answer. A truthful answer, just like the next part of her statement. “But—but, she wasn’t wrong either.” Solana shakes her head, once again reiterating, “if–if you’re looking for an easy lay, then—”

“Solana, I can get that anywhere and with anyone. Respectfully, if that’s what I wanted, I wouldn’t be standing here in front of you.” 

She believes it. Because it makes sense. There’s no shortage of women who would gladly give Roman whatever he wants, however he wants it, and whenever he wants it. And yet, he’s here with her….for what?

It’s a question she finds herself verbalizing. 

“Why—why are you here then?”

Roman just looks at her, his eyes twinkling with desire. And right there, Solana knows she should have gone with the scream. 

The scream of fear.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you…..” His volume lowers, but Solana is too caught up on what he said versus how he said it. “How good you smell, how good you look….” She closes her eyes the minute he dips his head, Solana unconsciously grasping his shirt. “How good you tasted.” She releases a shaky breath that matches the light tremble of her thighs when he asks, “you been thinking about me?”

Yes. Far too much. An embarrassing amount. “N–no.”

Roman’s deep voice hums against her ear, like he can hear her betraying thoughts.. “Hmmm. I don’t think that’s true.” 

Solana should stop him the minute his hand starts to mess with the knot of her belt. Should push his hand away or offer a verbal protest instead of just standing there, letting the robe fall open, revealing herself to him. 

She opens her eyes just in time to see Roman soaking her in, eyes slowly and gradually going over her body the same way he’s done the past few times. 

“You wanna know what I think?” She’s so thankful he doesn’t wait for a response, cause he’d be waiting for a minute. It seems Mr. Roman Reigns is a voice snatcher, especially when his hand moves to her belly of all places, tip of his finger moving across her pudge. “I think you left because you liked it.”

Oh my God. 

Solana’s head falls back against the wall behind her, her hand flattening against his abs. 

Roman continues to taunt her and call her bluff. “You liked the way daddy made you feel.” She goes to grab his wrist the minute his hand dips inside her underwear. “The same way I’m making you feel now, huh?”

He’s not lying. Even if she wanted it to be a lie, the truth is unavoidable and inescapable, right there, real and tangible as he grazes his fingers over her lips. 

Soaked. 

Of course. 

“What you need to understand, baby, is that daddy can do this cat and mouse shit all day.” Roman’s words are accompanied by him moving his hand to slide her panties to the side as he slips one of those deliciously long, thick fingers inside of her, making her arch against him. “I always get what I want, and I want you.” She chews on her bottom lip as he enters another finger, her walls contracting around him. Roman groans, “that lil' dick fiancé of yours certainly wasn’t fucking you right cause this pussy way too tight.”

Roman practically growls, moving his other hand from the wall to lift her left leg, widening it, giving him more access to her, his reach inside of her deepening. “Look at how you’re gripping my fingers right now. This cunt needs me.” This new depth has her eyes watering as he thrusts his fingers inside of her, while his thumb flicks at her clit. “Got you this wet from barely doing anything, and you really want me to believe you ain’t been thinking about me?”

Rhetorical. It’s gotta be rhetorical. He can’t honestly expect her to say or respond to anything in a logical manner with how he’s making her feel right now. Overwhelmed. In a good way. A majestic, glorious way.

Solana goes to grip his arm, her fingers unable to touch. He’s so built. “Roman….”

“You said you don’t sleep around, and that’s okay, cause when it's all said and done, you still won't be sleeping around, because the only one who's allowed to touch you from now on is me." She whimpers, that familiar feeling from that night in his locker room coming over her all over again. Her thighs are practically jelly, those tears finally leaving the confines of her eyes. “This tight little pussy is mine.”

That one sentence, possessive and controlling, should not be the thing that sends her over the edge. That has her gripping onto him as her orgasm rips through her body, that has stars shooting behind her closed eyelids. But, that’s exactly the case. Roman has to practically keep her upright as he watches her come all over his hand.

His lips ghost over the outline of her jaw. “I could never get tired of watching you come.” But the minute he pulls his fingers out of her used, puffy vagina, and Solana opens her eyes to see him licking them clean, she nearly comes all over again.

This man is going to ruin her.

He uses that same hand, damp fingers going under her chin to lift her head, making her look at him.

“You ran because it freaks you out that you’re interested in me the same way I’m interested in you.” And before she can even begin to sit on that, he throws her for another loop. “I’m not gon’ make you do anything you don’t wanna do, but just know this, you will want it before it’s all said and done.” 

Solana swallows, completely wordless and wholly stunned at just how the hell this happened yet again. He says a couple things, gives her a few touches, and she spreads her legs without second thought. Like her vagina has its own mind and thought process, completely uninterested in whatever logic may be going on upstairs in her brain.

She’s (her pussy) just trying to get hers, and Roman just happens to be very…..very good at that. 

Unfortunately.

“Now let’s try this again.” Roman slides his arm through the back of her robe to pull her closer against him. Her hand moving up his abs to his chest seems to elicit the slightest hiss from him. A reaction that has her both confused and excited. “I’m asking you to have dinner with me.”

Her eyes widen. He’s asking her. Giving her a choice. Not a demand. And while it should feel good to some extent. Nice to have some autonomy. It’s still…

The answer is obvious. The same reason she ran out that night. The same reason she gave him that letter. Roman is not the type of man she needs to be messing around with. He’s dangerous. Beyond dangerous. Unpredictable. Older. She could probably create a generous list of reasons to tell him no. To take this 'out' he’s giving her.

And yet……

She’s briefly pulled from her thoughts when he brings his hand to her face, cupping her cheek. His expression is soft, such a marked contrast for everything about him that’s so hard and dark. “I just want to get to know you, La'u Ma'asoama.”

She hasn’t the slightest clue what he just said, but everything about it from the delivery to the almost pleading tone of his deep voice does absolutely nothing to help her resolve.

Solana’s voice is light. “J–just dinner?”

He nods. “Just dinner. I promise to not touch you.” Roman smirks, finger tracing the outline of her lips. “Unless you want me to.”

She closes her eyes. That’s the last thing that needs to happen. She needs to decline, needs to return back to the days where the thought of even entertaining someone like Roman would never even cross her mind. He represents everything in her life she never wanted for herself.

And yet, it’s hard for her to think of anything alarming that's happened that would justify her saying no. Not from what she’s personally experienced with him. He’s direct, yes. Has a filthy (talented) mouth, most definitely. But, he’s yet to be rude or mean or exhibit any of the other horrible things she’s heard about him making her wonder if maybe…..just maybe, there’s more to Roman Reigns than meets the eye.

He was right about one thing.

There's definitely an interest on her part. 

“O–okay. ”She finally concedes, stomach fluttering at his smile. He’s so handsome. “But, can—can it be some place private? I—” She’s not sure how to tell this man that at her big age of 28, she’s nervous about her family finding out about…..whatever this is. Doesn’t want to risk anyone seeing her with Roman Reigns, of all people. On a date, nonetheless.

Roman, however, just scoffs. “I hate people, Solana. I especially hate being bothered when I’m busy.” That’s not surprising at all.  “And I plan to be very busy with you.” His thumb caresses the apple of her cheek. “It’ll be private.”

He needs to stop touching her so much. She’d very much like to be able to think straight with lucidity, and that’s clearly not a possibility when he’s touching her. 

“O–okay.”

“Good girl.” And he definitely needs to stop referring to her as that for……reasons. “I’ll text you the details.”

Her brows furrow. “You–you have my number?”

He shrugs like it’s an obvious thing. “Of course.”

Never mind the fact that this man has her number, something she’s always prided herself on in only allowing those close to her have such close contact. It's besides the point, because she has another pressing question. “So—why didn’t you just….call or–or something instead of…..” She doesn’t know why she has a hard time finishing her sentence. Calling him out, in a sense, on literally breaking and entering into her house.

Cause that’s exactly what he did.

And yet, she’s still standing here, entertaining him when she should have just called the police or something. Not that that would make a difference. It’s a known fact that the Bloodline has practically the whole state of Florida on payroll. Police departments included.

Roman shakes his head. “A phone call doesn’t let me see this pretty face.” Her breathing is once again interrupted when he flits his thumb across her lips, separating them ever so lightly. “Or touch you….”

Lord.

He smiles at her poorly hidden reaction to such a touch, dropping his hand. “And don’t worry about Rosalia. I’ll take care of her.” If she wasn’t his actual freaking sister, Solana might be a bit fearful of what the ‘take care’ means. 

The Bloodline may be ruthless, but they don’t play about family. Going after blood is strictly prohibited outside of the most extreme cases. And Roman’s sister essentially calling her a whore is far from extreme.

“One more thing.” Solana gasps when he suddenly turns her around and tugs off her robe, the soft plush falling to the ground, leaving her exposed yet again in front of this man. 

“R–Roman!” Before she can try to cover herself, Roma tugs her close, her back pressed up against his front. Solana refuses to acknowledge the hardness pushing into her back. 

He then drops his mouth by her ear again, murmuring, “you don’t ever have to be insecure around me.” Roman moves his big hands over her thick thunder thighs. “These gon’ keep my face when I’m eating.” He steps back just enough to palm her ass, sharing, “I’m gonna love seeing the recoil of all this ass you got when I’m fucking you from behind.” More movement to the front and upward, Roman palming her breast through her flimsy top. “Can’t wait to feel all up on these big titties while watching you ride my dick.” And finally, he dops both hands to her belly, gathering her rolls. “And this……It’s all you, so I fuckin love it.”

She’s beyond grateful he doesn’t let those big, talented hands travel to the space between her legs, because it’s just plain embarrassing how he’s got her pussy throbbing and wet all over again from some not so innocent touches.

Roman Reigns is clearly no good for her. 

And yet, the slightest frown appears on her face when he releases her, stepping back, eyes quickly snapping back up from her ass as she turns around.

His smile is smug and borderline arrogant. Or maybe knowing. Because arrogance implies a greater sense of importance that doesn’t match actual abilities. And Roman most certainly has some sinfully delightful abilities. 

Their gazes are locked as he murmurs, “Goodnight, Solana.” She licks her lips, ready to return the parting term when he simply walks past her and out the door, closing it behind him.

It’s only then that she leans back against the wall, hands to her face, trying to process just what the hell just happened.

Because, truly, what the hell just happened?

[amoscontorta]

Not my type | ao3 | part 8 of this series

a tragicomedy starring Sylus and his clueless crush

Summary: Sylus pesters you on your day off while you're at the arcade until you agree to "lend your talents" to him for the evening. So of course you show up at the designated location only to discover it's a nightclub, and you're dressed for a murder, but not on the dance floor.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc This story contains: slow burn, angst, grief, banter, stalking (Sylus), an ongoing one-sided misunderstanding that will be resolved in the next instalment in a way that hopefully won't destroy the romantic tension, mc with self-esteem issues, mentions of self harm, Kieran and Luke and some ocs that hopefully you'll like.

In the days following your utter humiliation at the hands of the Hunter Association’s most wanted criminal, you’re doing fine. Really. You are Fine.

You had a great time at the bookstore with Xavier, who kindly said nothing about your state of dishevelment or the glaring human bite mark on your shoulder when you answered the door that morning. You both lazily wandered between the bookshelves, leisurely reading summaries and showing each other finds that you thought the other would also enjoy. You stopped at the bookstore café and loaded up on sugary iced coffee.

“Here, try this, I think you’ll like it,” you offer your iced mocha with caramel drizzle and whipped cream to Xavier as you begin walking back home together, each carrying a shoulder tote full of manga stuffed with hot guys and big swords, after having spent probably half of this month’s paycheck in one impulse-fueled spree.

“Okay, but then you also have to try mine,” he smiles, holding his own cup out to you. You look at it dubiously, recalling from hearing him order that it had some sort of peppermint flavor in it.

“No way I’m drinking sugar-flavored toothpaste,” you grimace, shaking your head.

“What? Noo, it’s really good, I promise. The peppermint is really subtle. You can’t only just consume chocolate and caramel in your desserts. You’ve got to be a little more adventurous, or you might miss out on something surprising,” he earnestly advises, blue eyes wide, a little pout on his lips.

You eye the offending drink again, and then figure, why not? You’ve gone through much worse, recently, in terms of unpleasant experiences. You should try new things, of the food variety. Because you’re done trying new things of the people variety.

You take his cup and hand over yours, and you both quietly sip for a moment. Your eyes meet again, and both of you grin. “That’s really good!” you admit, and Xavier gently knocks your shoulder with his. “I told you so,” he smiles serenely.

“All right, all right. I’ll listen to my partner more from now on,” you exchange drinks again.

It was nice. Back at his place, you both lazed around on his soft couch and bean bag chair and read until the sunlight drifting through his windows was the golden-tinge of the setting sun, and his persistent yawning was so frequent that you decided to put him out of his misery. You couldn’t punish him by overstaying your welcome simply because you didn’t want to go back to your empty flat with all of your racing thoughts.

“Thanks for today, it was a really nice break,” you tell him as you’re gathering your manga volumes and slipping them back into your tote bag.

“It was,” he yawns again, tears forming at the sides of his clear bright eyes. “We should do it again soon. But I’m going to be out of town for a little while, starting tomorrow.” He gives you an apologetic look.

“Hey, no worries. I wasn’t going to demand you spend all of your leave entertaining me,” you smile, genuinely. You always miss him when he disappears mysteriously, but he’s gotten so much better at telling you when he plans to be away compared to how he was when you first partnered with him.

“I know. I just…” he pauses. “If you need me. For anything. Just send me a text, okay? I’ll come back as soon as I can. I don’t like the idea of you being left to your own devices for too long.” He gives you a teasing smile. “Who knows what other strange companions you’ll pick up if left alone for too long,” he continues, obviously referring to how you stumbled upon him in the no-hunt zone so many months ago. However, the only thing that comes to mind when he says “strange companions” is the image of narrowed scarlet eyes, a laugh that warms you like a shot of whiskey, and big, big hands.

You chuckle, totally naturally, and not nervously at all, mind racing, trying to figure out if he somehow knows that Sylus was at your place last night, and if so, if he knows who Sylus is exactly. Shit. Shit. Nope. You’re not doing this. Xavier is making an innocent joke about how the two of you met, and Sylus does not get to bulldoze into your thoughts while you’re having fun with your partner.

“I’ll be the paragon of caution, I promise,” you say solemnly. “I promise I won’t talk to any shady strangers while you’re away.” You nod firmly to him.

He smiles, seemingly reassured. “Good. Try to get some rest over the next few days. The Captain is right, you need some R&R. Even I couldn’t decipher your reports, and I feel like I��ve gotten pretty good at translating your … particular style of writing under most conditions.”

“Hey, at least I use actual words when texting,” you roll your eyes, pointing at him. He snorts softly, and you wave and make your way back to your apartment, where you proceed to spend the next few days manically cleaning your apartment and researching online for advice regarding acting, bluffing, the subtle art of reading micro-expressions and how to control your own, and in general all things you tell yourself are useful for your undercover work, and not because you anticipate having to lie to everyone you know and care about for as long as a certain hooligan continues to insert himself into your life when you least expect it.

But as the days pass, you don’t hear anything from said hooligan. The only crow feathers outside your window are of the normal variety, swaying in the branches of trees whose leaves are falling as autumn encroaches on the last days of summer in the city.

You decide, once again, to grab the memory of him by the throat and shove it down deep, with all of the other things you refuse to examine too closely. You’re probably close to running out of storage room, but that’s a problem for future you.

For present you, it’s time to hit the arcade. You haven’t been in a while. So that’s what you do, enjoying the cacophony of games music and sound effects, people laughing and shrieking as they win and lose, the too-bright lights, the scent of fried food. The wall of sound and lights and other people just having a simple, entertaining weekend afternoon is enough to drown out any overthinking you might otherwise be sucked into.

It works for a while. You spend some time beating teenagers at some 1 v 1 fighting games, beat some younger kids at your favorite motocross simulation. You manage to not make anyone cry, although for one poor kid it seemed like a close call for a minute or two, before his buddies dragged him away to get some soda as a consolation drink for being beaten within an inch of his pubescent life by the adult weirdo who demolishes children in video games.

You’re finally trying your hand at getting a few new plushies to bring home when you realize you’ve managed to go a couple hours without missing your grandmother, or Caleb. The only people who knew you, really knew you, as a child, and were therefore the scaffolding holding up the unfinished architecture of the adult you, with all of its missing floors and windows, and all the storage rooms hidden behind walls with no doors. But that scaffolding is gone now, and you can’t turn to them and reassure yourself: I am still me, right? I am still the me who I always have been, despite the scarlet voices in my head that come to me in frightening dreams, despite the endless hunger, the exquisite drowning I felt the one time I resonated with Sylus…I’m a good person. I’m a kind person. I’m a loveable person. Right? You loved me, right?

There’s no one left to ask, now. Just you, looking at yourself in the glass reflection of a claw machine, in a noisy arcade filled with people having fun. You haven’t been able to win even one plushie yet.

You take your hand off the joystick, suddenly exhausted. You will not cry in front of the stuffed llamas and penguins. They don’t deserve that.

Your phone dings.

You fish it out of one of your cargo pants pockets, and scowl when you see the name of the person texting you.

Not My Sy: I feel that Ive been more than generous in giving you sufficient time to draft your little rules, but Im starting to get bored waiting for you to send them.

You just stare at your phone, as the door of the basement that you had just slammed closed where you stuff all of your unwanted thoughts bursts open, flooding you with feelings you’re trying so hard not to feel. Just the sight of the nickname he gave himself in your phone fills you with a rush of anticipation—a thrill that aches. And that is exactly why you hadn’t sent him the rules you had insisted on imposing on his surprise visits to your place. One, because you refuse to reach out to him first and therefore lose. Lose what, you’re not sure, but you’re tired of feeling like you’re losing to him. If he wants to talk to you, he knows your number. Two, there is no longer any point to sending him the Rules. He can’t come to your place if he wants to talk to you, because the deal’s off. He can find some other place to recuperate from headaches and papercuts and someone else to manipulate and to… kiss, and bite.

You will not allow him to affect you like this anymore. You stuff your phone into your back pocket and decide to save all the tokens you still have for another day. Time to pick up some tacos and go home to binge watch a series of films that make you yell at the screen because no one can get shot that many times and not fucking die, what a load of bullshit, but you’ll keep watching anyway because the gunplay choreography is pretty badass even if it’s completely nonsensical. There’s also a dog in it. You’ve never been able to resist an anti-hero with a soft spot for animals.

Your phone dings again. You tell yourself that you won’t look. You have plans, dammit. Ones you just made, granted, but you’re not going to get roped into whatever little scheme Sylus thinks he can run on you today.

You wrap your hoodie tighter around yourself in preparation for the rush of cool autumn air as the arcade’s door swings shut behind you. Your phone dings again. You grit your teeth and reach into your pocket to flick your phone to silent.

Almost immediately, your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket. And it doesn’t stop. It just… keeps going. You jerk to a halt and just stand there, feeling it vibrate against your ass, over and over and over again. What the fuck is this lunatic doing?!

Finally, you reach for your phone again and angrily open his messages as you start moving again.

Not My Sy: Hmm, I see youve been busy in your phone settings. Cant say Im fond of the change. Allow me to fix it for you.

My Sy: Much better.

My Sy: Oh, I see how it is. A certain kitten thinks I can be left on read without any consequences. Are we feeling a little sullen today, sweetie?

My Sy: Hmm, I see that you decided not to wear one of my gifts out today on your little jaunt to one of my establishments. Probably for the best. They fit you perfectly, but expose enough skin that theyre not very practical for a brisk autumn afternoon at the arcade. Good call.

My Sy: I also dont think the teenagers you just slaughtered at the arcade could have handled the loss and the gorgeous view.

My Sy: Ah, would we prefer vibration as stimulation this afternoon? Im happy to help with that.

My Sy: Pick

My Sy: Up

My Sy: Your

My Sy: Phone

My Sy: I

My Sy: Can

My Sy: Do

My Sy: This

My Sy: All

My Sy: Day

My Sy: You

My Sy: Look

My Sy: Adorable

My Sy: When

My Sy: Youre

My Sy: Mad

My Sy: Like

My Sy: A

My Sy: Fluffy

My Sy: Little

My Sy: Kitten

My Sy: Back

My Sy Arched

My Sy: Fur

My Sy: Puffed

As the wall of messages load, you stop so quickly on the sidewalk that someone bumps into you from behind. You barely resist the urge to launch them into traffic with a one armed shoulder throw. Two more messages pop up.

My Sy: Oh I like the look on your face now

My Sy: Makes me want to grab you by the tail

The person behind you has the good sense to just keep going without saying anything to you, but that may have something to do with the fact that you’re now spinning in circles, eye darting wildly in an attempt to locate Sylus, or Mephisto, or the twins, or some security camera, so that you can take out whatever eyes are feeding Sylus your image right now.

You: where is it?

Instead of an answering text, your phone begins to vibrate in your hand, and … a picture you did not take appears on the screen along with Sylus’s incoming call.

In the photo, Sylus is leaning against your pillows, one arm leisurely bent behind his head, his bare bulky chest on full display as he lifts the phone with his other arm. You are fast asleep on top of him, face turned so that all that is visible in the picture is your hair—bedhead on full inglorious display. It is clear from the photo that you have your face smashed between Sylus’s man tits. He is smiling wide, the laughter clear in bright eyes that stare straight into the camera lens and now into you, with your mouth agape at finding this as his contact picture on your phone.

He must be texting while letting the call continue, because the notification of a new text pops up over his contact picture.

My Sy: I can work with this facial expression too.

You shut your mouth so fast and hard that your teeth click.

My Sy: While I love your teeth most of the time, well need to work on that bite.

Before your brain melts from imagining what he could do with your open mouth and how he’d handle your sharp teeth, you slam your thumb on the end call button, power down your phone, stuff it back in your pocket, and begin marching toward the metro station to get home. Fuck him. Fuck the tacos. You’ll go to Xavier’s apartment with the spare key he gave you for when he’s out of town, order takeout, and hide for the rest of the night.

Suddenly, your phone begins vibrating once again. You stop again, this time startling a pair of teenage girls who take one look at your face and cross to the other side of the street before continuing in the same direction. Great, now you’re not just pummeling children at video games, but scaring them as well. You open your phone and see Sylus calling again. You stare at the one nipple you can see in the picture. Your mouth waters. You’re not even surprised that he has fucked with your phone to the point that he can simply turn it back on remotely if you decide to turn it off.

My Sy: I told you kitten, I can do this all day. Some friendly advice: might as well accept the inevitable and pick up. Im used to your attention now. I don’t like being ignored.

The phone keeps ringing, vibrating in your hand. You let your hands hang at your sides, and tilt your head to look up into the crisp, sunny autumn sky.

You wonder if you’re strong enough for this. You can eliminate wanderers in your sleep. You can outmanoeuvre, outfight, outgun and outlast most hostile humans. You can even outsmart and outplay most people you meet when you’ve had a proper night’s sleep. But you’ve never met anyone like Sylus Qin. You can’t hide in Xavier’s flat forever. No matter how friendly you’ve become since you first partnered with him, he’d probably throw you out the window if you tried. And eventually, Sylus will come to collect what he thinks you owe him for allowing you to shoot him through the fucking heart. Wouldn’t it better to pretend to be on good terms with him, to make it as painless as possible? Instead of being a stone wall, trying to keep him and all the ways you know he can already hurt you out, you can be like water. Let him and the pain he’ll bring simply… pass right through you. Water is resilient. And if he burns you, well. You already saw it coming, right? You’ll simply dissipate into a puff of steam and float away. With enough time, you’ll heal—you’ll re-coalesce in the atmosphere, and you’ll fall back into yourself like rain. You can survive him, if you can adapt quickly enough.

You lift the phone, dig your earbuds out of one of your pockets and put them in your ears, and then answer his video call.

“Took you long enough,” Sylus’s beautiful voice flows directly into your brain.

“Sorry, I was a bit busy. Can I help you with something?” You close your eyes and will your face to relax, let your shoulders fall. You breathe in, the earthy scent of dying leaves filling your nostrils. You are water. You open your eyes.

He’s staring at you through the phone, a slight frown on his severely handsome face.

“Sylus?” You hold the phone a little closer to yourself as people flow around you on the sidewalk. When you look back, he’s still just… watching you.

“I have to admit, sweetheart, that this is not the greeting I was expecting when you finally picked up.”

“And what were you expecting?” You decide to keep walking. You’ll be fine. This will be fine. Multitasking is good. One foot in front of the other, and Sylus’s face, so distant, but still in the palm of your hand, in a small way. You can be satisfied with this.

He takes a moment, seems to choose his words carefully. “A little more life,” he responds. You let your hand holding the phone fall to your side for a moment. It will take a little while, to fully get into the headspace where whatever he says, can’t affect you. You just need a little more time. You breathe, you breathe, you breathe.

You bring the phone back up to your face, make your way through the crowd on the sidewalk. People must be scrambling to enjoy the last few bright days of the year before the long slide into the dark fall. You hadn’t expected so many to be out and about on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

“One would think you’d be used to me disappointing you by now,” you say, shrugging. “Can you tell me why you called?”

Sylus suddenly looks angry, and you resist the fear-fueled urge to throw your phone. You haven’t seen him look at you like that since… well. For a while.

“Sylus?”

“In what universe have you ever disappointed me?” he asks, voice even, controlled.

You can’t help it. You laugh. The kind of laugh that can spiral into something unhinged, if you weren’t water. Instead, it sinks into you like a stone. “Oh, I dunno, maybe this one, when you literally said ‘How disappointing’ and sneered that there was something wrong with me when I couldn’t resonate with you,” you say drily. You are water. Whatever he says next will simply ripple through you, and then fade into stillness.

But he doesn’t say anything. You peek at the phone screen. He’s looking away, his hand covering his mouth. You can’t tell what expression he’s making. Maybe Luke and Kieran are doing something silly offscreen.

In the end, none of it matters. “Okay, well, if you don’t want to tell me, I’m about to head into the metro. You can send a text if you change your mind.” Your thumb hovers over the end call button.

“I need your … particular talents this evening,” he answers right before your skin makes contact with the screen.

Oh. He really did have a reason to call— he needed your help with something dangerous.

That’s fine. You hadn’t actually had the fleeting thought that maybe he was calling because he just wanted to hear your voice, the way you never, ever found yourself feeling. Even in the past few days, since the Unfortunate Event of the Other Morning.

“And Kieran and Luke are unavailable this evening? Or anyone else from your hoard of henchmen who you can order to come back you up?” You’re being herded in a mass of other bodies into the metro station. You notice for the first time that Sylus is dressed really nicely—some sort of vest over a button down shirt. You find yourself trying to hold the phone discretely to minimize other people being able to see what you’re seeing.

“Kieran and Luke do not possess your particular talents. And besides, why would I want to see them this evening? I have to look at them on a daily basis, the last thing I want is to have to see them on a Saturday night.”

“I see. Had enough of a break from seeing me that you can stomach it again?” You smile, smooth as ice. Ice is just frozen water, right? You can ask Zayne to help—pick his brain to figure out how he stays so calm, in the face of so much chaos, not revealing a damn thing.

Sylus is just staring at you again, silver brows furrowed.

“So is it like, bring a gun to a knife fight kind of thinking? Do you really think that whatever situation you want my help with is too dangerous even for your minions?”

He just continues staring at you, and if anything, looks more displeased. You have no idea why he seems so pissed off. Maybe he’s rethinking asking for your help. You might be able to watch those movies after all.

“I see now that I've made a grave miscalculation,” he finally answers, rubbing his forehead. He suddenly sounds … tired? Or sad? You're so bad at reading other people.

You have no idea what you’re supposed to say to that, but you feel bad that he seems to be so exhausted and it sounds like your fault. You decide that you’ll help him tonight, with whatever he needs. And then maybe you will have finally, finally balanced the scales between you. And then you’ll be free.

After a few moments of you just awkwardly watching him in silence, he seems to come back to himself. “Why bring a gun to a knife fight when you can bring a grenade launcher?” He adjusts the buttons on the deep red vest under his tailored black suit jacket. The black shirt underneath the vest has its first few buttons undone, exposing his pale throat and collarbone. He’s also wearing a black leather collar, and you once again imagine a cute, bell on it, chiming with every one of his movements. You do not think about slipping a finger under the thick strip of leather and pulling him down, down to your level.

You shake your head. “I’m the grenade launcher in this little metaphor? What about you?”

“Do you even need to ask?” He pulls a watch over his hand, something antique and mechanical that probably ticks loudly when its quiet, and it clicks heavily as he fastens it on his thick wrist. You suddenly think of the night you spent searching for his brooch, the handcuffs around those same wrists, how he let them hold him there for you as your hands ran along his arms, under his soft silk robe, across—

“Then I think you’ll do just fine on your own tonight,” you clip out, wondering how much it would hurt if you slammed your face into the metro car’s heavily smudged, reinforced window in an effort to dislodge the intrusive thoughts that have become alarmingly frequent the longer you let this man stay in your life.

“Violence should be used strategically, sweetie. I would prefer to reserve the nuclear option for when it’s actually necessary. And isn’t it your job as an upstanding citizen to de-escalate conflict? Having you by my side will not only be useful for me, but is actually a public service for any bystanders.”

“I serve Linkon City, not the N109 zone.” You don’t know why you’re arguing. You had already made up your mind to help him. But the return of this familiar, smug and argumentative Sylus seems to pull you back into the pattern that is so easily repeated between the two of you.

“What an appallingly shortsighted response from someone who I know has gone to other cities and even other countries to fight wanderers in order to protect non-Linkon City citizens. Are the people of the N109 zone not also worthy of your devotion?”

It’s hot in the metro car, and you’re relieved as your stop approaches. You wait until you’re able to shoulder your way out of the mass of bodies and can breathe fresh air in order to respond freely.

“For shit’s sake Sylus, how did we go from hesitation about whether you actually need me to serve as your bodyguard tonight to me failing my duty to protect innocent people?”

“Is that honestly the only thing you can imagine when I request your talents? When did I ask you to be my bodyguard?” he asks, but before you can respond, he continues, “You’re the one who insists that you aren’t available to help people in the N109 zone tonight.”

“You, Sylus. Not people, you.” You step aside to allow a man with an adorable tiny fluffy dog move past, but it stops and sniffs you instead of moving along. You glance at the man, who’s actually quite handsome in a Finance Guy kind of way, which means he’ll be handsome to you up until the point he opens his mouth, but you can’t resist asking “May I pet this cutie?”

The guy’s face lights up. “Go ahead! Cricket loves pats.”

“Aww, Cricket is such an adorable name for such an adorably doggy!” You kneel down and offer your hand for Cricket to sniff, and then run your hand along the dog’s soft fur. It preens and arches its back, and then curls its hips around to ensure that you give it scritches near its tail.

“Aren’t you a good doggy,” you murmur, feeling the tension melt from your shoulders. You would love to have a pet, if you only had the time to take care of it. You give Cricket one final pat, and then stand back up. “Thank you, I really needed that,” you smile at Cricket’s dad.

“Anytime! Do you live in the neighborhood? Maybe, if you want—”

Suddenly you hear a loud crash on the other end of the phone, and the shock makes you wince.

“Or not,” the man rushes out. “It was just a thought.” He waves awkwardly, and then continues along his way, having to pull on Cricket's lead a little bit as the dog only reluctantly moves away from you.

You’re left standing there, wondering what the hell just happened. You look back down to your phone, where Sylus is looking somewhere off screen with a bored expression on his face. “The fuck, Sylus?”

“My apologies for interrupting your little interlude. It appears Mephisto knocked my phone off my nightstand,” he shrugs. “He’s not as well-behaved as… Cricket, it would seem.”

Interlude? What interlude? Petting a dog? “Uh, okay? I thought Mephisto isn’t a pet.”

“Correct.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but he remains serenely silent. “So why are we comparing Mephisto to a random dog on the street?”

“We’re not,” he lies. You stare at him. He seems to think for a moment, eyes moving back to the screen, taking in whatever he’s seeing on your side. Probably an unflattering view of your chin disappearing into your neck as you look directly down at your phone, still trying to weave through people on the sidewalk to get to your flat. You lower your head even further, trying to give him a good view up your nostrils, as a treat. There is no universe in which you care about what you look like to him. None. Certainly not this one. Finally, he speaks. “In any case, back to business. How about I make you a deal?”

In your happy break petting Cricket you had forgotten about the world, including what Sylus is demanding of you.

“If you come to me… and lend me your talents tonight, I’ll owe you a favor.”

You snort. “You already owe me for every day I haven’t delivered your head to my employer.”

“Then I’ll owe you a favor that I actually acknowledge owing to you,” he responds calmly. “Because I think you benefit just as much as I do from not delivering any piece of me, including my … head, to the authorities.”

You do not imagine any pieces of him. Delivering them, or doing anything else with them.

You’re finally within sight of your building. “I see. So you’ll owe me a favor. Any restrictions? Or are you actually offering me anything I want?”

“Anything you want. No restrictions, no conditions.”

“What if I told you to turn yourself in?” you ask, genuinely curious if he actually has no limits on this so-called favor.

“Done,” he says easily. Your feel your eyes widen, and he continues. “But again, for the same reasons that you haven’t already betrayed me, I don’t think that’s the favor you’ll call in.”

“And you’re really willing to place all your bets on that? Maybe I just haven’t turned you in out of laziness.” You watch him slip a pair of gloves on one big hand, and then the other, the supple leather gliding over his hands like a second skin.

“I’m all in on that bet.”

“And why’s that?”

“You are the furthest from the definition of laziness that I have ever encountered,” he says gravely. “And let’s just say, aside from the aforementioned benefits you enjoy with me walking around free, I think you’re more fond of me than you care to admit, even to yourself.”

You make a disgusted noise. “Let’s hope for your sake that your confidence isn’t misplaced.”

“Oh, there is no question that my confidence, in all things, is justified,” he smiles, one corner of his mouth quirking.

His arrogance is so thick, even through the phone, that you could gag on it. “Ugh,” is all you can say.

“Excellent. See you at 23:00. I’ll text you the address. I advise dressing appropriately and to bring the toy I left you when I had a headache, kitten.” And with that, he disconnects the call, leaving you standing in your elevator, wondering what the hell you just agreed to.

And now, here you are. Black leather pants, combat boots, a semiautomatic with red flames engraved along the hand grip in your side holster underneath your black leather jacket, various knives strapped along your forearms and in your boots. You brought two duffel bags with you. One is full of toys that might be useful if things get really ugly. The other simply contains something of Sylus’s that you’ve been wanting to return ever since he left it at your place. As you were getting ready, it occurred to that this might be the last chance you have to give it to him.

You’re standing in line in front of some upscale nightclub, waiting for your turn to be judged by the bouncer and either admitted or refused. Likely the latter, if Sylus doesn’t show up soon.

You showed up at exactly 23:00, approaching the long line with trepidation. You hadn’t realized when Sylus sent the address that it was actually a nightclub called Amnesia—a rather exclusive nightclub, with a selective policy regarding who they allow in. You hadn’t realized this until you saw the subtle sign glowing softly in the N109 zone's perpetual gloom and did a quick search on your phone. Most of the club goers are dressed in surprisingly tasteful club clothes—tightly tailored pants, artfully low necklines and backless tops, sensual dresses, except the sequins—so, so many shiny sequins. You squint and wonder how the hell you’re going to get in dressed like you’re ready for a biker rally with an arsenal big enough to stage a small coup. Mission objective number one, adequate renaissance of the target location: failed. But it’s your bedtime and you don’t even want to be here in the first place, so this is Sylus’s problem to solve. You wait. And you wait. The line inches forward. The longer you wait, the more irritated you get. Where the fuck is he? You glance at your phone, but there are no new messages.

So you dutifully stand in line, which continues forward at a very slow pace, quickly outpaced by your anger. You notice that the group of women in front of you have clearly been pre-gaming pretty hard. They’ve noticed you, and are side-eyeing your outfit. You’re worrying they’re going to say something mean, when one of them glides over to you effortlessly on very tall high heels. You straighten your spine and prepare yourself. I am a role model for the Deepspace Hunter’s Association, I will not punch a civilian in the solar plexus for saying something mean to me about the fact that I am a fashion disaster. I will not—

“You look so badass,” she grins, tossing her silky brunette hair over her shoulder. One of her friends sidles up behind her. “For real, and like, really hot. This whole look is a vibe.” She waves one beautifully manicured nail in front of you, to encompass the whole of your outfit.

You squint again, wondering if they’re making fun of you, but the entire lot of them are nodding and chattering amongst themselves. “Is it like, a cosplay event or something? Did we miss the announcement on Amnesia’s socials? I want to dress like I can murder someone with a look too!”

“Hey, I think most of our heels are sharp enough to count as weapons, right?” the first one says to her friend, and then looks at you hopefully for… confirmation? Approval?

“Oh, definitely,” you encourage her, because she really does seem earnest. “You can stomp your opponent on the foot or go for the groin! And you know, if you hold your keys like this,” you say, fishing your motorcycle keys out of your leather pants and holding the long, narrow part of the key between the knuckles of your index and middle finger while clutching the wider base in your palm, “you can use them as an improvised shiv! Just go for the eyes! Or the throat!”

You’re met with a chorus of “Ooooohs,” and wide, perfectly winged eyes. You’re feeling like a pretty good teacher when your phone dings. You fish it out of the inside of your leather jacket.

My Sy: Youre late.

You glare at the screen.

“Can you teach us that look, too? You look like you really want to end someone,” one of the women asks hesitantly. You nod.

You: no, you’re late. i’ve been standing out front since 23:00.

You look back up to your new friend and point at your eyebrows, lowering them to an exaggerated degree. She nods and tries to mimic you. Her gorgeous, perfectly plucked brows form a scowl. You nod and look back at your phone.

My Sy: Youre standing in front of the club?

You: huh, mr. sylus qin’s not as omniscient as he likes to pretend. looks like you should fire mephisto.

My Sy: No such luck, sweetie. Ive decided to put him on permanent kitten observation duty after tonight. Why are you standing out front, instead of going inside?

You point at your chin now, and lower your head so that you’re looking at the club girl like a bull about to charge. She gives you a thumbs up and lowers her head, and then stomps her foot for good measure.

You: because there’s a line. which you’d know, if you bothered to show up.

My Sy: Of course. I should have known youd obey the rules and refuse to jump the line. Another miscalculation on my part. Stay put.

You roll your eyes. Of course he expects you to just keep waiting. Maybe he needs to find a parking spot. You turn to your friend. “Yeah, you look really intimidating now! Do that to the next person who hits on you and won’t take no for an answer.” You grin at her.

She laughs and you two proceed to try to out-glare each other, until you see her eyes go wider than previous attempts. You tense when you sense a large presence behind you, but calmly turn, hand drifting to your jacket holster containing the gun Sylus gave you.

It’s just the bouncer. Or at least, you think she’s the bouncer. She’s tall, muscular, and has a tight black t-shirt with Amnesia written in small, tasteful letters in the middle, right under the collar.

“Are you…” she pauses, and checks her tablet again. “The boss’s ‘sweet little hunter?’” she intones, clearly reading the words against her will, but she manages to keep the look of disgust that you’re pretty sure is trying to fight its way onto her face from appearing with admirable professionalism.

“By boss, you mean…?” You already know the answer. Of course you do. Your anger ratchets up another notch.

“Mr. Sylus Qin,” she says. “So are you the hunter, or not?”

You nod. “All right, follow me.” She lifts the velvet rope, and your new friends wave enthusiastically and cheer loudly for you as the bouncer leads you past the crowd and into the club. You stare at the bouncer's back, where her shirt reads ‘security’ in large block letters. She has an obvious pistol harness crisscrossed over her strong shoulders with two semiautomatics strapped into each holster. This is the N109 zone after, all. It doesn’t surprise you that Sylus’s bouncers are well-armed.

Once inside, she gestures vaguely towards the back of the huge space and says “He’s waiting for you in the Lethe VIP lounge.” And then she’s gone.

You quickly scan your surroundings, assessing threats, noting exits and bottlenecks. The atmosphere is completely different than THE BOOM BOOM ROOM, the only club you’ve visited recently. This place smells expensive. No stale beer and stale sweat, but probably diffusers hidden along the walls that emit the scent of sandalwood and other subtle spices. The music is full of reverb, heavy, with slow beats, sensual—specifically composed to make the listener feel reckless and sexy after a few strong drinks. The décor is a blend of vintage details and modern sleekness, and somehow it works to create the impression of tasteful decadence.

A long, dark wooden bar lines one wall, with standing tables and booths filling the space in front of it. Vases of fresh, dark-petaled flowers sit on each surface. Beyond the seating area, the dance floor spreads out in front of a slightly raised stage, where a DJ is playing to coordinated LED lights. Acrobatic performers, faces painted to resemble crying jesters and theatrical masks, hang suspended by hoops from the ceiling above the dance floor. They slowly twist and arch their bodies through, over, and off the hoops, spinning gently over the heads of the surging dancers.

If nothing else, it has been worth coming tonight to watch one in particular, with curly ginger hair, lean chest bare, arching gracefully through a sequence, bowing their back until their foot touches the top of their head. You wonder what kind of mobility exercise routine is required to attain that level of flexibility, and make a note to do an online search—but you’re here on a mission. Although the longer you look, the less you understand why Sylus asked for your help tonight. The place is crawling with security. He has a small army on staff. Why does he need you?

As your assessing gaze continues to wander, you see two familiar figures at the far end of the bar. And a third, unfamiliar person standing with them. From across the darkened, tastefully lit room, you see a beautiful woman. She’s wearing a tasteful suit, dark hair coiled in beautiful braids. She’s laughing at something one of the twins has just said, her slender hand on his shoulder. They have the easy familiarity of people who have known each other for a long time.

She looks like who you had imagined, as Sylus told you that you had the sophistication of a cactus. You look down at your scuffed combat boots. The clunky duffel bags clutched in your gloved hands, in this beautiful nightclub full of beautiful people. You look back at Sylus’s associates. One of the twins has his masked face turned towards you, but you have no idea if he has noticed you. You turn away.

You are water. You can drown in yourself, before anyone can drown you first. You won’t give them the satisfaction. You focus on the dancers again. The handsome ginger catches your eye, and smiles. Your heart hurts, they’re so pretty.

You haven’t heard shit from Sylus since he told you to sit tight. He didn’t bother to give you proper intel about this night at all. And he clearly already has all the security he could possibly need in this edgy, sensual monstrosity of an establishment. You’re suddenly so pissed you can hardly see straight. You could be watching John Wick 16: the Penultimate Chapter right now, but instead your heart is drowning in your chest and the person he was probably dreaming about the other morning is in the same damn room. You make a fist and pound your chest, once, hard, right over your heart.

The pain brings you back to your senses. You turn away from the dancers, find a staircase leading to the upper floors of the club, and take two steps at a time, relieved that the rooms on the top floor have elegant nameplates, each named after something in mythology regarding memory and the psyche. You stop in front of a black door with the plate reading ‘Lethe’, and kick open the door. What? Your hands are fucking full.

Inside, the room is as over the top and beautiful as the lower floors of the club. You have an impression of deep maroon walls, black leather furniture, low-slung and perfect for fucking, for an orgy really, your intrusive thoughts tell you. There are people: the twins, the woman. Huh. They must have slipped upstairs while you were staring at the dancers again. And there are two men, but you only catalogue the men long enough to determine that they are not visibly armed. No threats. All you can see now is the relaxed man straight ahead of you, at the back of the room, his arms stretched wide across the back of the black leather booth, manspreading as usual.

You reach down, fling the duffel full of weapons over your shoulder, and unzip the other, incredibly full one as you stride towards the smug asshole who summoned you here.

“Finally, I was starting to—” Sylus’s voice hardly penetrates the fog of rage coursing through you.

“I have a present for you,” you interrupt him, and he perks up, a subtle smile lifting one corner of his beautiful mouth, but that’s the last you see of him before you expertly launch the absolutely stuffed duffel bag at him. It lands on his lap, where you aimed it, and the feathers he left on your bed the other morning explode into the air and gently rain down on him, covering him from head to toe in a thick layer of black. At least the landslide that has spread from him to the booth are hardly distinguishable from the leather.

You were right. The only thing you can hear in the ensuing silence is the tick of his fancy fucking watch.

You close your eyes. That felt good. You open them. He’s still sitting in the same relaxed position, but now there are black feathers caught in his silky silver hair, dusting his shoulders, filling his lap. He makes no effort to brush them off.

“You really didn’t have to, kitten,” he says peacefully into the ticking, shocked silence. "You already had my attention without launching another aerial assault."

“I know. But I couldn’t bear the thought of how sad the feathers would be, separated from you. I couldn’t just leave them to suffer on my bed.”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you slam your hand over it. Oh shit. If that woman really is his actual object of interest, you just made it sound like something is going on between you and Sylus that most definitely isn’t. You glance at her. She’s watching you from between the twins, and has a grin on her face. Maybe she didn’t hear…?

Someone clears their throat. You turn again, this time sweeping your gaze over the two well-dressed, handsome men, one seated next to Sylus and (you wince) who caught some of the feather fallout, and the other seated across the low table from Sylus. They’re dressed sharply, but not like they’re going clubbing. Almost like this is a… business meeting. But the dude who got caught as collateral feather damage is seated like, really close to Sylus. Now that you're actually looking at him, you realize that he’s really beautiful. Like, as pretty as Xavier. He's looking at Sylus, grinning from ear to ear. His teeth are blindingly white. Maybe it’s not the beautiful woman who Sylus was dreaming about, but this guy?

Why do you even care? You are a waterfall, drowning out any inconvenient feelings about this wanted felon. You are not a psycho who assumes that everyone who breathes the same air as Sylus is a potential romantic rival. Not even a rival, because you’re not competing. This is not a competition, you have no horse in this race, this is neither your circus nor your monkeys, you were just the hired help for the evening and it’s clear that there is a surplus of staff in the security department tonight so you’re going to go home and watch a man murder a football stadium worth of humans because of a puppy.

“Well, I’m so sorry to have interrupted,” you say, as if you had just accidentally peeked into the wrong room, instead of careening in here like a cannonball and launching a full scale feather assault on the owner of the establishment like a lunatic. “I will get out of your feathers—I mean, hair.” You bow slightly, because why the fuck not, tighten your hold on your remaining duffel. Sylus can just keep the other one—you definitely do not want a souvenir from this night. You then stride back the way you came.

You refuse to turn and look at Mister Toothpaste Commercial sitting next to Sylus again as you go. But as you approach the twins, you can’t help but take one last look at the woman since she’s standing next to your exit. You’re just curious. Nothing else. Just a curious little… lake. Because you’re water. And nothing can hurt you if you’re just a placid lake in a serene forest.

Yikes, after getting a better look at her face, you realize she is young. Like, teenager young? Okay, age gaps are fine if both parties have a certain level of maturity. Who are you to judge? You hope if she is the one he wants to bite that they’re happy together. Really. You’re just the bottom of the ocean, and you can survive great pressure.

“Are you just going to leave right after giving me such a considerate gift, without allowing me to even thank you?” Sylus’s sardonic voice seems to fill the room.

You stop, but can’t bring yourself to turn around. “No thanks necessary. It's not even a gift. Just returning property to its rightful owner.” You take another step.

“What about our deal? You still haven’t given me what we bargained for tonight.”

This time you turn your head. “I’m pretty sure you have enough security for your needs tonight. Let’s just call everything off, okay? No one owes anyone anything, and you can offer that favor to someone else.” You look at the girl, but she’s not smiling anymore—rather, she’s looking at you with… confused disgust? Fuck it’s hard to read people. Maybe she’s suffering from intestinal gas. Maybe Sylus carries around lactase tablets for both the twins and his girlfriend.

Someone clears their throat behind you. “Sir, perhaps I should return another time when you’re not so entangled in… domestic strife,” a respectful voice sounds behind you. You whip around. The man seated across from Sylus and wearing a nicely tailored blue suit is glancing between you and Sylus.

“Oh no,” you say, holding up your gloved hands. “No, sorry, this isn’t .. a domestic anything. Like, we are not like that.” You shake your head. The man suddenly looks relieved. You feel encouraged. You don’t want Mister Toothpaste Commercial or Miss Jailbait to get the wrong idea. You’re nobody.

You look at Sylus. He just looks steadily back at you, as if waiting to see what the next spectacle you have to offer will be. Why isn’t he saying anything to deny such an absurd allegation?

“So you are not the partner he wanted to introduce to me tonight, is that correct?”

He wanted to introduce his partner to this guy? Who even is this guy? You know what? None of your business. All you need to know is that he does, in fact, have a partner, and that partner, is in fact, not you, and it doesn’t matter that he helped you fall asleep a few times and touched you like you were precious, because he has a partner and that partner is not you and might be the child bride over there in the corner or the teeth whitening product model on the booth next to him. You are water so deep that you’re the Marianas trench. You’re so deep, no life can survive at all. You ignore the fact that you think you read somewhere that little weird volcanic tube worms can survive down there. Because where there’s no life, there’s no pain: the only solace of death. You’re fine. No tube worms at all.

“That’s correct. Just ask him! I mean, I’m not his type. And honestly, he’s not mine.”

The man looks alarmed for a moment, like he is afraid for you to keep going. But you do anyway. You try really hard to think about why Sylus wouldn’t be your type, when everything about him is gorgeous and intelligent and fascinating and when he wants to be, so, so sweet. “I mean, I’m only interested in someone who is tall. And who clearly spends enough time in the gym. Like, ripped. And who’s actually incredibly bright, who can make running multiple businesses look easy. And someone who seems really scary at first glance, but is actually heartbreakingly sweet when he feels like it. And funny! Who can honestly make me laugh on the worst day of my life.” You trail off. Clear your throat. “So no. Sylus is not my type.” You snap your mouth shut. You rub your heart—it must still ache from when you hit it earlier. That’s all this pain is.

The man, who has nice dark hair, and nicely trimmed facial hair, and nice shoes that may be oxfords or brogues but you have no fucking clue which, nods slowly, as if what you just said isn’t wildly awkward. “Oh, so when you said you wanted to introduce us to your partner,” he looks back curiously at Sylus, then at the woman standing with the twins. “Are you who he meant?”

Okay, is this guy just going to ignore Mister Toothpaste Commercial as a potential love interest? Maybe he’s bi-phobic. You don't know where Sylus's tastes lie. Again, not your business. You’re going to stomp your phone to smithereens the second you get out of here, you’re not going to stay at Xavier’s, because it’s too close to home. You’re going to Rafayel’s, and you’re going to sell your place. You’re going to apply for a hunter position in the arctic. You will be surrounded by snow there, all the frozen water you could ever want, and you’re never going to find yourself in such a fucked up situation ever again.

“I’m afraid not,” Sylus says. “She's not my type.”

You pause, just for a second. You don’t actually want to hear why she’s not his type, because in the end, it’s not your business. And even if you thought she was his partner there for a few minutes, you don’t want to hear him say things that might hurt her feelings. Because you know how it feels to be on the receiving end of Sylus's disdain, and it sucks.

“I’m only interested in someone who is effortlessly surprising." He looks at you. "Who uses their strength to protect the weak, instead of exploiting them. Whose tongue is sharp enough to match my own. A tongue I don’t mind surrendering myself to, to be shredded on again, and again.”

Again, there’s only the ticking of that insufferable, sexy watch on his insufferable, thick wrist.

Your heart doesn’t hurt at his description. At all. You must have just really hit it a little too hard earlier. You're a raindrop. It's your job to splatter all over the ground. You're just doing your job. You've always been very, very good at doing your job.

The person he’s describing sounds fascinating, and the perfect match for him. He'll never get bored with them, and maybe their goodness will rub off on him. Good for him. You had wanted to be friends with him, right? Before you realized that you might actually have feelings beyond hate, beyond wanting to fuck his brains out and then never speaking to him again. This is good. Your friends deserve people they can care about the way he just described caring about this person. Everyone should get to experience that in their life, at least once.

The silence and your thoughts are shattered when Miss Child Bride snorts. “Thank fuck. Cause we already went over why that would be gross.” She turns to Kieran and Luke. “Now I see what you mean. What a shitshow.”

“Right?” One of the twins responds. “So are you in?”

“Yeah. But I see your two weeks and raise you two months.”

The other twin fist bumps her. “You’re on.”

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Clear the room,” he commands.

Kieran, Luke and Miss Jailbait all do little lackadaisical salutes and turn to leave. As the girl walks past you, she waves her hand in front of your face. You jerk back, hand instinctively going to the knife strapped on your thigh.

“Woah there, hunter. No need to get defensive.” She grins at you.

You suppress the urge to see how big she'd be smiling if you swept her legs out from under her sensible heels and then did a diving elbow drop onto her prone form as punishment for invading your space. She might be Sylus's partner and thus owed some respect because you respect him, but you don't like when people you don't know get in your space. “What the fuck was that for?” you ask instead, because you're polite.

“Just trying to see if you're blind.”

One of the twins puts his hand on her shoulder. “Rule number four: refrain from teasing boss’s pet hunter, or else he will get angry.”

“Yeah, cause he likes to do it himself.” The other twin chimes in, putting his hand on her other shoulder. “Let’s go get you to Linda before you're fired before you’re actually hired.” They guide her out the door.

You just stand there. You feel like what just happened is really offensive, to someone, somewhere, but you have no fucking clue why.

The two men have also gotten to their feet and are now moving past you, and Mister Toothpaste Commercial is grinning at you like you just made his night for some reason. Why is everyone in here a nutcase? you wonder hypocritically. You tighten your hold on your duffel and start trailing after them.

Only to be lifted in the air by the scarlet-ink tendrils of Sylus’s evol, its energy making the hair along your arms stand on end. “Not you, kitten.”

Against your will, you find yourself being carried gently to the booth and deposited onto the surprisingly soft leather, right next to Sylus. The feathers puff up, and then settle around you again.

Wordlessly, Sylus slips the duffel’s handle from your shoulder and with a little surprised grunt of effort, sets it on his other side. Yeah, it's heavy. You brought a lot of hardware in case things went south tonight. Which they did, just not in the way you anticipated. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him sweep a look from your head to your toes. “I tell you that I need your talents and to dress appropriately, and this is what you show up wearing?” he asks, as if all of the weirdness that just happened is of no significance. He sounds genuinely curious.

“Well, yeah. I can't wear my hunter gear into the N109 zone, and figured the leather was better than my usual cargo pants and harness. If we had to fight our way out of a group of assailants, or jump out of a window onto say, a gravel surface, this is still a lot more practical than…” you pause, eyeing his attire in turn. The black suit with the scarlet vest he is wearing is clearly tailored to fit him like the gloves stretching over his huge hands. You refuse to look at his hands. The fabric of his suit lovingly embraces his broad shoulders, nips in at his narrow waist, and leaves very little to the imagination regarding what he’s… packing, on both sides of the whole package. You will not think about what he is packing. What you felt against you, the other morning—

“I see. So this is what you consider your talents?” His voice mercifully interrupts your not thinking about bulges and the ‘Is that a billy club in your pants or are you just happy to see me’ dumpster fire in your head.

“This? What do you mean by ‘this’?”

“The ability to be prepared for any violent scenario and meet it with competence, in the service of someone else.” His blood bright eyes bore into you, and you know he’s not using his aether core on you, but it kind of feels like it.

“What else could you have meant?” you ask, genuinely confused. You eliminate wanderers. You fight, apprehend and on occasion, have had to kill humans who would have killed you if you had hesitated. You can’t think of any other talents you might possess that Sylus would want. Or any other talents, at all. Even if you could remember who you were when you were a child, you’ve been a hunter long enough now that it’s hard to remember who you were before you put on the uniform and dedicated yourself to defending those who are unable to defend themselves.

“Yes, what indeed? Good question, kitten.”

“And you didn’t tell me that you wanted me to meet you at one of your nightclubs,” you mutter, the irritation surging again. “If you didn’t want me to show up and embarrass you, ready for a fight, you could have just said so.”

“Is proper intel gathering before going on a mission not part of your hunter’s handbook?” Sylus asks, running a finger along your leather-clad shoulder.

“Of course it is.”

“Then why didn’t you investigate the location of our rendezvous tonight before heading out?”

You look away from him, staring through what you now realize is a one-way mirror. The room looks out over the two floors below, each with dance floors and bars, pulsating lights, tables adorned with those strange beautiful flowers. The undulating bodies of dancers are lit dramatically from the light show pulsing to the rhythm of the music.

You frown. “Since it was you, I just assumed it was some shady warehouse or something.”

Sylus is quiet, but you feel his finger continue drifting along your shoulder until his hand comes to rest on the back of the booth near your other shoulder. “That’s an unfortunate habit you’ve had, since the first time we met.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his face so close to yours that you can count the dark striations in his red, red irises. They’re all you can see for a long moment.

“What do you mean?” you whisper, because anything else would feel like shouting in the quiet of the room, with his face so close to yours.

“Assuming things about me.”

You’re alert enough to know that he’s not just talking about your assumption that tonight would take place somewhere dangerous. Your thoughts flit to your assumption that he had… that he had been responsible for the house explosion. For your grandmother and Caleb. Your assumption that he wouldn’t have a plan for dealing with his enemies at the auction. Your assumption that he would take advantage of your nudity in the hallway of your home by looking his fill. What else have you assumed about him? You remember his bite along your shoulder, and the assumption that it was meant for someone else. “You only tell me what you feel like telling me. How else am I supposed to fill in the blanks?” you ask.

Sylus’s hand along the back of the booth drifts back to your shoulder, over the collar of your jacket, up the sensitive skin along the back of your neck. His fingers find their way into your hair, and he gently runs them through its locks. It feels so good, you have to stifle a groan of pleasure.

“You could always ask me,” he says.

“Would you even answer me? You have a habit of answering questions with other questions,” you sigh, giving in to the temptation to let your head fall back into his big palm, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. You try to let your hands rest at your sides, but jerk a little when one of them lands on his big thigh. You move it, but he grabs it with his hand that isn't busy in your hair, and rests it back on his thigh again. He’s so warm, as always. You shouldn’t want to let him touch you like this if he has someone else. You can’t bring yourself to move.

“Well, you won’t find out until you try, will you?” he asks. You let your head roll in his hand, so you can see his face.

“Who was that man sitting next to you earlier?” you ask. Maybe if you start simple, you’ll lull him into telling you the truth when you ask him what you really need to know. What you don’t want to actually know, because then the illusion of Sylus treating only you like this, the illusion that you’re special, will dissipate like mist under sunlight.

His fingers pause, but then he continues caressing you. “That’s Aidan.”

You wait. He stares at you steadily. “You’re really going to make me ask detailed follow up questions, instead of just answering the question fully?” you scowl at him, but don’t move. His hand in your hair feels too damn good. He smiles, clearly amused by your frustration.

“I don’t give away intelligence for free. I need something in return for providing you thorough responses to all of your burning questions.”

You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“What do you want, Sylus?” you ask. If the price is too high, you’ll somehow stand up and walk away, and live with wondering for the rest of your life about who these people in his life are, and if he belongs to someone else.

“The price will depend on the quantity of intel you request tonight,” he gently tugs on a fistful of your hair. You are boneless. You are melting into the couch from the pleasure, despite the negotiation.

“I could always use the favor you owe me for even coming out tonight,” you remind him.

“I think not. You haven’t earned that favor yet. The only thing you’ve done tonight is show up late and assault me with plumage.”

“Excuse you, I was here at exactly eleven. It’s you who were late in realizing that you didn’t exactly tell me where to find you. And as for my present, just think of it as me contributing to a more environmentally sustainable lifestyle. I could have just trashed them, but instead I re-gifted them. Now you can stuff a fleet of throw pillows or the body of an enemy to display as a warning to others.”

Sylus laughs softly. “What a delightful image.”

“I'm fucking delightful,” you sniff.

He hums in agreement. You both sit there in companionable silence, with only the distant sound of the club below and his hands moving in your hair filling the space between you. After awhile, he says, “So what will it be? Are you willing to buy now, and pay later for the opportunity to interrogate me?”

You want to know. You don’t want to know. You follow the sharp lines of his face with your eyes: his panther eyes, his aquiline nose, his generous mouth, the cut of his jaw. You’re so tired of making a decision, only to fold and abandon it in the face of his indomitable will. You want off this roller coaster ride already. You need to decide whether you’re in, and want to be a part of Sylus’s life, in whatever form he’ll have you, or out. And then, once you’ve made your decision, you need to have the steel resolve that he so effortlessly displays—if you’re in, you’ll bury your affection and misplaced hope in him, and treat him like any other friend. If you’re out, you will destroy your phone. You will move. You will ask for a transfer that will put you out of his reach for a long enough period of time that he’ll finally lose interest in toying with you. You sit up, and his hand falls away from your hair.

“Do you have a coin on you? The one you do that little villain bit with when your mind is racing?”

His eyebrows lift a little, as if he’s surprised that you noticed that he tends to fidget when he’s thinking hard. The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Villain bit?”

“Do you have it?” you repeat.

“I do.”

“May I use it for a moment?”

He stares at you, amusement fading. Whatever he sees on your face has him letting go of your hand and reaching for his pocket, but suddenly your own arm is jerked forward.  

“What the—” you try to pull away, but only succeed in slightly pulling Sylus’s arm back toward you. You look down and find the scarlet-golden glimmer of the energy shackles linking your wrist to his. You haven’t been linked like this since the one and only time you managed to resonate with him.

“The fuck, Sylus?”

Sylus looks down as well, and then scowls deeply. “Why are you asking me? I was wondering what was on your mind, but was willing to let you keep your secrets for now. However, now I must insist on knowing what’s going on in that busy brain of yours.” He lifts your linked hands and gently taps your forehead with his index finger.

You try to pull away again, but he just grasps your hand in his, tightly.

You glare at him. He stares at you.

You stick your tongue out at him.

“Careful, kitten. Don’t make offers you’re not ready for me to accept.”

You look away. The club below is fascinating. You will not let him win. Finally, you hear him huff. He brings your clasped hands to his trouser pocket, slipping both into it. You feel his strong hip along the back of your hand through the cloth of his pocket. He pulls your hands out again and releases yours. And then, coin held between his index and middle finger, he solemnly offers it to you.

“Which side comes up more often than the other?” you ask as you take it from his fingers with your unlinked hand, careful not to touch him.

“Tails,” he responds immediately. You don’t trust him for a second.

If it’s heads, you’ll walk away from him and the life that allows him access to you.

If it’s tails, you’ll ask him who these people were tonight and whether he has a partner. You’ll be his friend, no matter what, and close off that needy, delusional part of yourself that hopes for more from him, and you’ll never think of it again.

You toss the coin in the air and watch it as it flashes, twisting in the air. You catch it in your palm. You take a deep breath. You open your palm.

You are the water in a bottomless well. All of the things that can hurt you are down so deep, you’ll never be able to access them again. You let the fledgling feelings for this impossible man slip quietly into the well. You’re a serene pond, reflecting an endless blue sky, and there’s nothing underneath at all.

“Who is Aidan?” you ask.

[demelzathemer]

I'm watching the Doom Patrol episode for the first time ever and LOSING MY MIND, why didn't anyone tell me this is GOOD??? It's written by Steve Yockey and it SHOWS because the dialogue is absolutely the same as in the netflix series

Crystal is so catty and Edwin is fed up with people while Charles mediates, they're the same characters just played by different people?? I'm gonna add some shitty screensnaps here to yell about it

Obviously spoilers if you care about that;

Crystal <3 She looks closer to her comicbook self but has the same amount of sass as her netflix self

I swear I'm so normal about this bit of dialogue. Crystal telling Edwin Charles will protect him (with a baseball bat, mind you, they're in the States!) and their responses, I wish I could see Jayden and George act this part.

(I can hear "I'd do it anyway, won't I?" in Jayden's voice... weeps)

Edwin sassing out little girls again??? I lost it with the pose and voice

WEAK FOR THOSE BIG BROWN EYES

(Jayden's voice again. I know you hear it)

He should've been allowed to drape himself over Edwin like this too. Why would Netflix do this to me

"Love this." EDWIN??? He's way too happy that they're gonna smack their client with a shovel.

And CHARLES (pulls it out without anyone asking, he knows what's going to happen next) HANDS IT TO CRYSTAL so she can be the one doing the smacking???

And she's way too eager as well. What is happening here. Though I love how seamlessly they work as a trio now. Even if it's for the purpose of knocking out their unsuspecting client

"The price to open the door to afterlife is pain, and I'm the only one who can do it."

With the door handle being a BABYDOLL HEAD. With HELL FLAHBACKS. What the actual fuck?

I thought the doll spider was netflix original character??

And Charles immediately being "you don't have to do it, we can find another way in" I might be crying

Charles is afraid of water??? That's CANON?? It has to be, nothing has been changed about the characters so far!

Charles (with red-rimmed eyes): "I'm not scared! Just so you know."

Edwin (lying to make Charles feel better): "We know."

They're so in love. But what do you mean with "I'll make sure he's fine"? What are you gonna do, Edwin? Hold his hand on the boat ride? (They didn't show that part, so that's probably what happened.)

They had ONE episode and they still had to make sure that we know Edwin's gay.

I'm OBSESSED with this line and this repressed version of Edwin, I don't have the words right now but I read someone's brilliant analysis about it. (Pls link if you find it)

"I used to think that, too. But it's not 1916 anymore, you know?"

"Well, I'm not like you. But thanks for the concern."

Edwin, oh my god that is so sad. What makes you think you don't deserve happiness? I need to study him under a microscope

...Then STRAIGHT INTO death flashbacks??? They didn't leave anything out, watching this one episode spoils 7 out of 8 episodes of the netflix series?!

"She's good." Edwin appreciates Crystal! I love that they genuinely are a trio here and the boys know about her quirks like they know each other

Also David lore is unchanged too and Crystal bonding with Dorothy was so sweet

...THE NIGHT NURSE IS HERE TOO?? I thought she was a netflix original character too (Cat King, Tragic Mick and Jenny are, at least?)

AND SHE'S RUTH CONNEL??? ALSO WTF JUST HAPPENED

Her character is pretty different alright, and played very differently by the same actress??? And Charles just WENT FOR IT unprovoked?! Do they know about her in this universe, is she like a monster that's actively hunting them down and can be alerted by killing(?) I literally don't know anymore this is crazy

(Edwin was so cute jumping up and cheering lol. A bit jarring how much more he curses here though)

This is actually an insane episode, the trio with their huge amount of lore just drop in in the middle of already established group of characters and their lore and then, they're never seen again after this??

And they had flashbacks to both of their deaths without explaining ANYTHING about what the hell was that. Just five seconds of "being chased and covered in blood", teasing something about their relationship, Crystal dropping her goal of beating her missing memories out of a demon, no conclusion of wtf was "spider-face lady" aka the Night Nurse, etc etc. They needed their own show really badly huh

So netflix hurry up and give us a second season! After seeing this I'm blown away by the execution of Dead Boy Detectives and how Jayden and George really brought the characters to life. I'm so thankful we have that. Their chemistry really is what makes the show.

[killerlookz]

It Can't Be That Easy | Joost Klein- Heartbeat! AU

another prequel in the heartbeat! au (makes most sense if read last) description: a month after breaking up with Joost, resulting in you in a horrible slump, you finally had built yourself back enough again to go and have a fun night out, but when Joost shows up to the same party with a brand new girl, you find yourself falling apart all over again.

content: angst!!!! drinking, cheating, hurt with *some* comfort/fluff, ankle injury?, THIS FIC CONTAINS RPF AND HAS BEEN TAGGED AS SUCH, IF YOU'RE HERE YOU SEARCHED FOR IT!!!

word count: 7434

Julie's words go in one ear and immediately escape out the other, her voice nothing but a droning hum against the thumping bass that pours out of some expensive speaker system and the voices of a few dozen people. You stare blankly at your friend, your gaze more focused past her shoulder, eyes fixated on the blank wall behind her. Intoxication has obscured the world around you, everything is so blurry, and out of reach. You can't even make sense of your own thoughts, the wires in your brain crossed and confused. The only thing clear to you is the sharp pang of heartbreak, a defined ache that splits through you. If you hadn't been so otherwise numbed you could cry now, at least the liquor in some way had dulled your need for any bodily reactions to your emotions.

You hadn't left the house much since breaking up with Joost last month- it was only until now had you put yourself together enough to be out for a few hours. Julie had invited you to a party some mutual friend of a mutual friend was having, and you had thought it as the perfect time to finally get out of the house, and try to have a little fun instead of being so sad all the time. Clearly, you had been wrong, going out tonight had been way against your better judgement.

You didn't know her. The girl Joost had shown up with. Nonetheless she was beautiful- the type of pretty that makes you want to crawl into yourself and wonder why you even bothered to show your face in public. He'd walked in with his arm already wrapped firmly around her waist, allowing nobody to make the mistake of thinking she had just been a friend.

You could still feel his presence somewhere around you, the two of them all over each other undoubtably. Her presence immediately making you question if you had made the wrong decision in breaking up with Joost, looking fondly upon the times the two of you would go out together.

But perhaps him jumping into it with someone new so soon had only confirmed you had made the correct choice- the mere thought of getting with anybody any time soon makes your stomach churn.

"Do you know who she is?" Your words are slow, confused, tongue tied with intoxication as you cut off whatever Julie had been saying. Her facial expression twists, eyebrows furrowing, lips pursing.

"What?"

"That girl that uh Joost came in with." You lower your voice and shuffle your vision around as you say his name, like you're a child saying a bad word and trying not to get caught by your parents.

"Oh, babe-" Julie sighs, tilting her head to the side, voice drenched in sympathy. You'd appreciate it more if you hadn't actually been looking for an answer.

"You don't know her?" You ask, trying to ignore the emotional aspect of all this.

"I don't think you should worry abou-"

"Julie." You frown.

"I have no clue." She finally answers, "Maybe she's some tinder girl."

"She's pretty," You sigh.

"You're pretty." Julie smiles, "Too pretty to worry about some stupid boy." She reaches out her hands, placing them on your shoulders, shaking you gently, "Tonight is about you, girl. Have. Some. Fucking. Fun."

Julie lets go of you, causing you to stumble slightly, you blink a few times, your vision blurring.

"Woah," You chuckle, "Don't think I'm meant to be moving that much." You clench your jaw, biting back the motion-induced nausea that was crawling up on you. You inhale, speaking again before Julie can get a word out, "I think I'm- I'll be right back." You don't really think you'll be sick, but you figure better to be safe than sorry, making a disoriented journey around the house to try to find the restroom.

You finally happen upon the door, tucked in a long hallway on the other side of the house. You press your fingertips to its wooden surface, left slightly ajar, you push it open so you can step inside.

Your blood runs cold as soon as you get one foot in the doorway, head peering into the tiny bathroom, witnessing what you could only describe as probably your worst nightmare, next to maybe like getting buried alive, or being back in high school again.

Joost had had the girl he'd come with seated on the bathroom counter, as he stood between her thighs, her legs squeezed around him. He's bent down slightly as their lips interlock, her hands roaming his back.

You're frozen stiff for a moment, paralyzed by a mix of embarrassment and heartache. Time seems to slow down, the scene in front of you now playing out in slow motion.

The girl is the first to break away from this kiss, flinging her head back to get a look of whoever had just walked in on her. The girls sudden movement grabs Joost's attention, whipping his head around, eyes widening in pure mortification once his gaze locks with yours.

"Like I didn't already need to throw up," You mumble, trying to lift your feet from their rigid position on the ground. Thankfully time had never really slowed down, and you're able to get out of the bathroom just as quickly as you had stepped in, slamming the door behind you.

Your hands tremble as your brain comes to recognize what you had just seen. The liquor you had consumed no longer able to hinder your bodily responses, feeling the fierce sting of the tears brimming in your water line mixing with your eyeliner.

You're startled once more when the bathroom door flings open, Joost stepping out with the girl behind him, his movements halting when he realizes you were still right outside.

You're like a deer in headlights staring up at him, lips parted slightly, the rest of your body unable to move.

Joost seems equally as stunned,

"Hey," He hesitates before he pushes his lips into a straight line, flicking his head upward, like he was greeting 'one of his boys', "What's up." It wasn't an apt way to greet you, but then again what was?

"Hi," You barely whisper out, your voice snuffed out by the sob that was scratching its way up your throat.

The hallway is silent for a moment, the girl looking between the two of you, oblivious and confused.

"Do you two know each other?" She giggles, damn her, even her voice is pretty, her laugh so infectious if you had heard it in any other context it surely would have brightened your day. She has an accent you can't exactly pin- German, maybe.

"Yeah," Joost caughs, "Yeah-um- she-" He can't seem to get the right words out as his gaze anxiously shifts between the two of you, not wanting to say too much to her, but not wanting to downplay your existence.

"Well, why don't you introduce us, silly," She smiles, swatting her perfectly french-manicured nails as Joost's chest. Her voice rings in your ears, silly, her acute flirtation bringing you dangerously close to tasting what you had for dinner.

"Uh-Right," Joost nods, "Right." He clears his throat, suddenly standing much taller now, much more assured of himself. He struggles to smile, "Lina this is y/n," He gestures towards you before moving his heads towards her, "Y/n this is Lina," He pauses for a moment, "My girlfriend."

Girlfriend.

The word echos in your ear. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your muscles tense.

Girlfriend.

It had seemed so soon, too soon, in fact that if you weren't so certain of how well you knew Joost you would have assumed this relationship had started before you had broken up with him.

"Girlfriend?" You try to chuckle, but your emotion is apartment, and your throat is far too dry, a scoff escaping your mouth instead, "Joost you fucking dog." Your lips curl up in a cruel smile, attempting to play your words off like a joke, but you and him both know you mean exactly what you said.

You divert your attention to the girl you now know as Lina, eyes narrowing slightly, failing at hiding your new found contempt for this random girl you had just met, "Good luck with this one, girl." You scoff once more at the absurdity of the situation before nodding, speaking slower this time, "Good luck."

Lina furrows her eyebrows, batting her long, mascara coated lashes, parting pink-glossed lips, looking for the right words to say, obviously confused.

"Good luck?" She repeats back to you, dumbfounded, on the cusp of realizing that you were far more than someone that Joost had "just knew".

"Yeah," You shrug, "Dating musicians-you know how they can be." You don't look at Lina as you talk, your eyes trained dead on Joost, "But I'm sure you won't need it." You lighten up, feigning nice, not yet drunk enough to actually go through with ruining a potential relationship for Joost.

"Oh," She smiles, "Sure." You can tell she's not entirely buying into your act, "And," She tilts her head in pretend sympathy, "I am so sorry, you walked in on that! Joost is such an animal sometimes, he cannot keep his hands to himself."

"Don't I know it." You nod slowly, biting at the inside of your cheek. You take the following few moments of silence as your cue to leave, the tension in that small hallway becoming suffocating.

You hadn't thought it was possible for your mind to race any faster than it did when you had first seen Joost with Lina tonight, but now your earlier thoughts had felt like slow motion compared to now. Girlfriend, you couldn't get the way Joost had said it out of your head.

Thinking about Joost having sex with another girl was heartbreaking enough, but with the potential of romance mixed in you wonder how you'll ever recover from tonight.

"I still can't fucking believe him," Julie throws up her hands, her frustration levels just about hitting yours as the two of you sit on some couch in the living room, a few more drinks deep. "The audacity for him to cry in your arms and beg you to change your mind about breaking up with him, for him to just have some new girl a month later."

"Right!" Your eyes widen, holding your hands up in front of you, "Like it was really that easy?"

"I'm going to kill him," Julie rolls her eyes, "Bringing your rebound around your ex so soon after breaking up is such a pig move."

"Total pig move," You concur, you pause for a moment, looking around, "Do you think I could homewreck their relationship?"

"Stop!" Julie giggles, "Don't be evil."

"I mean she was evil first, with her 'sorry you had to see that-Joost can't keep his hands to himself' bullshit." You bring your voice up a few pitches, making it whiny and obnoxious as you, perhaps unfairly, mock this girl you didn't even know. Had she even meant anything by that? By now you're convinced, convinced she had it out for you, like she didn't just become aware of your existence 30 minutes ago.

"Ugh!" Julie scoffs, "They're both evil, they were meant for each other."

"Totally."

"But yeah you could totally do some home wrecking." She shrugs, "Not that he even deserves you to try."

She's right. What good would hopping back into bed with Joost serve you?

"Right." You serve Julie a tight-lipped smile, "Think m'gonna get another drink."

"I'll be here," A wide grin on her lips.

Standing up from the couch you notice just how drunk you really were, the ground below you suddenly feeling unstable, like you were on a ship during a vicious storm. You try your best to retain your balance, your high-heeled shoes betraying you with each step forward.

Perhaps another drink was a bad idea, blacking out didn't seem like the greatest way to end your night. But then again, right now anything seemed better than being emotionally burdened with the antics of your ex-boyfriend, even if it meant getting drunk past the point of no return.

One more drink couldn't hurt.

You didn't remember the kitchen being such a far walk away, feeling like you were fighting against the crowd, against the music, against yourself just to get there.

You don't think you have the stomach for another mixed drink in its entirety, instead, once you make it to the kitchen, you opt to fix yourself a shot of whatever cheap vodka had been left out on the counter. Shaky fingers grab the mostly-empty bottle, pouring the clear liquid into the plastic cup you had been carrying around with you for half the night.

It's a little more than a shot, maybe a lot more that winds up in the cup- who knows? Your brain wasn't exactly cut out for measuring right now.

You raise the lipstick-stained rim to your lips, tipping the cup back, the bitter taste of alcohol attacking your tongue, and burning its way down your throat. You set the cup back down on the counter with a fierce swing, the plastic crushing slightly under the force of your movement. Your eyes squeeze shut as your body floods with an uncomfortable warmth. You try to shake off the initial sting of the alcohol, leaning against the counter for a moment to get yourself back together.

You take a deep inhale in, preparing yourself for the walk back to Julie, your balance once against escaping you as you step away from the counter supporting your body.

You keep your eyes trained on the floor, watching your own movements so you can correct them if needed, ignoring the people that surround you. That strategy almost immediately proving to be not the right choice when your stomach collides with someone else's elbow. You stumble backwards, the sudden movement making you lose balance all together, your ankle buckling, giving out below you. You're able to keep yourself from falling over entirely, but not able to save yourself of the pain of your ankle rolling beneath you, a slight yelp escaping your lips as you falter, the hurt hitting you immediately.

"Holy shit watch where you're-" The person you had run into suddenly halts their chastising of you, a voice you could recognize anyways. Damn your luck- colliding into the person you wanted to see least or maybe most right now. "Fuck," Joost mutters, "Sorry." His tone suddenly changing when he realizes who had hit him, "Startled me." You notice the way his words slur slightly, apparently intoxicated too, though, clearly not to the degree you had been.

You don't bother to look at him, eyes still glued to your feet, trying to ignore the pain in your ankle.

"No, sorry." You mumble, "Was in your way." You're ready to run from the building screaming now, or at the very least flee the situation to go find Julie. You're about to walk away, putting one foot forward, your body weight balanced onto the ankle you had just rolled. If you had been sober you probably would have managed to walk on it, but it seemed impossible now. You wince as the pain shoots through your foot, head finally flicking up, allowing you to get a look at Joost.

Damn him, he looked good. It was almost dark enough that you could ignore the pink sheen on his lips, you'd recognized the color, Lina's lipgloss apparently. Though, the lighting did little to hide the rough purple patches on his neck, glaring, obvious, letting everyone know just what he had been up to before he came here.

"You okay?" He asks, looking down at your feet, surprisingly concerned for the situation.

"Mmm," You hum, trying to press your weight back on your injured ankle, face immediately twisting as the pain hits your nerves once more, "M'okay."

"You don't have to lie," He chuckles, he seems so nonchalant, way more than you are, you don't understand it, talking like there was barely any history between the two of you, "I'll help you to the couch."

"No." You say plainly, forgetting to think of anything to say after that, fuck. You stare blankly at Joost for a moment, brain reeling.

"This doesn't have to be weird, you know?" Joost shakes his head, clearly a little uncomfortable under your un-breaking eye contact.

"It's weird."

"You're making it weird." That was probably true, but the nature of the situation was weird, how could you not make it such?

"You're weird."

"Just let me help you to the couch." He sighs.

"Fine." You concede, "So patronizing." As sick as the sight of him was making you now, you knew there was something in you that wanted his help- for him to put his arm around you once more, for maybe the last time- and care enough to want to make sure you're in the least amount of pain possible.

"Come on," Joost says, extending his free arm, a beer bottle held tightly in his opposite hand.

As if you weren't dizzy enough, you could lose all consciousness when he touches you, his side pressed snuggly to yours, arm tightly around your torso, his grip is firm. The second his skin touches yours you're flooded with memories, brain clouded by all the good times the two of you had had. You missed this, the reassurance of his touch, the feeling of being close to someone.

"You good?"

"Yeah." You mumble, "Good." You're nowhere near it, on the verge of tears again, the alcohol no longer inhibiting your emotional reactions despite how much more inebriated you are now. You shouldn't have let him do this, shouldn't have let him this close knowing damn well you're not the one he's going home with tonight, and you never again will you be.

"Good."

You begin your short walk over to the couch, trying to step as lightly as you can on your injured ankle each time you bring it forward.

"If it hurts too much I can carry you," Joost chuckles. Again, so nonchalant, like there's no implications behind that, like that wouldn't completely and utterly fuck with your feelings.

"No," Focusing more on your destination so you can finally get off your aching ankle.

Julie seemed to have disappeared off somewhere, her I'll be here statement clearly not meaning much. Not that you didn't expect as much, she'd have a habit of wandering when drunk.

"Thanks," you say shortly to Joost once you reach the couch, wiggling out of his grasp, as much as you don't want to.

You expect him to turn around and leave, but he doesn't, instead he sits himself on the couch, patting the cushion next to him, beckoning you to sit.

You're hesitant, looking down at him for a moment before deciding to sit. You're an awkward distance apart from each other, sitting on complete opposite ends of the small couch, a sizable gap between the pair of you.

You stare straight forward, as does Joost, watching the party, unspeaking. You wonder why he's here with you, he shouldn't want anything to do with you, just as much as you shouldn't want anything to do with him.

"You been okay?" Joost suddenly asks, turning toward you.

"Yeah, good." You can't bring yourself to look at up, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie. "Different, I guess."

"Yeah," He pauses, "Different."

And that isn't a lie, things had been different, waking up in a bed filled with nobody but yourself- no one waiting for you when you got off a long shift, no one to call at night and talk incessantly about every detail of your day- different, lonely.

"You too?" You ask, "Good?"

"Yeah." He sounds so sure of himself, like things really are good. "I'm good."

"Where's-uh Lina?"

"Outside." Joost answers plainly, "Smoking a joint with some friends, I think."

"Why don't you join them?" His absence from his girlfriend seemed peculiar to you, you'd always seen him as the clingy type.

"Meeting friends," He sucks in a breath through barred teeth, resulting in a slight whistling sound as he sucks in, "Sounds intense right now."

"You don't want to meet your girlfriend's friends?" The girlfriend word doesn't taste right in your mouth. It's bitter, and you almost have to refrain from gagging as it leaves your mouth.

"Not right now."

"Then when?"

Joost doesn't respond, perhaps not enjoying your questioning of his new relationship. Though it was odd to you regardless. To you, Joost had always been the one boyfriend invited to girls night, or brunch with your girlfriends.

You slump back into the couch, continuing to watch the partygoers, obviously in much better spirits than you are. You lay your head against the back cushion of the couch, turning to your side, facing away from Joost, unable to bear anyone's excited, smiling faces any longer.

That familiar feeling of crippling loneliness had finally fallen back on you, crushing you under its enormous weight. At a party, and here you were, near blackout and on the verge of tears on the couch. You want out, but you're not quite sure how to get there. At least at home you can sulk in your misery without dozens of other people around you shoving their happiness in your face. God you are pathetic.

"There you are!" There's that pretty voice again, Lina. "I've been looking all over for you!" You don't bother to turn around, you know she's talking to Joost, expecting any minute now for her to rip him away from you. Not that she doesn't have every right to, you are not his girlfriend any more. "What are you doing?"

"I kind of made y/n twist her ankle," You hear Joost say, "So I went to help her to the couch."

"Oh," She giggles, "So clumsy- is she asleep?"

"Just drunk," Joost chuckles. "Very drunk." You don't like the way they're talking about you in the third person, it feels patronizing, like you aren't even fully there, like they can't even give you the time of day ask you themselves.

You hear Lina laugh again before speaking,

"You should come dance!"

"In a bit, let me finish my beer first, m'kay schatje?"

You find yourself forcing your eyes shut tight, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and fold right into yourself hearing Joost call someone else such a term of endearment.

"Okay," She concedes softly, "Be quick! I'll miss you!"

After a few moments you deem it safe to look up, inferring that Lina has left and it's just you and Joost on the couch once more. You blink a few times, startled slightly when you finally turn to the side to see Joost had been staring straight at you. When your gaze meets his Joost's eyes widen, quickly looking away from you. This was weird. And you hated it more than anything.

You scan Joost for a moment, watching over his figure, noticing something peculiar,

"It's empty." You say plainly.

"Huh?" Joost furrows his eyebrows.

"The bottle." You stretch your fingers out, pointing towards the beer bottle in Joost's hands.

"So?"

"Said you'd go dance with your girly-friend when you're done." You hiccup, words slow, your tongue feeling like mush in your mouth.

"Okay?"

"Why'd you lie?" You ask, eyebrows lowering, eyelids forming a squint.

"I don't know." He shrugs, "Don't feel like dancing."

"Doesn't sound like you." A dry laugh leaves your throat, Joost, not dancing, that certainly wasn't like him. Joost had usually had trouble keeping still, always having to move whenever music was on, whether it was really playing around him or just in his head.

"Don't really feel like me." His voice is monotone, matter of fact, but it shows more emotion than he had all night.

"Sorry." You don't know what else much to say, just sorry, "You should dance with her, mmm prob'ly make her happy."

"What about you?" He looks over you, perhaps a little too intense for your liking, "Are you happy?"

"No," You respond plainly, without thinking much, not bothering to lie, "Party sucks. Think m'gonna leave."

"Good idea," He nods, and it stings a little. It's a good idea you leave? Does he want you to leave? Fuck. "Are you leaving alone?"

"Julie," You answer without context.

"Then that's a yes." The two of you well aware of Julie's drunk antics, how she'd wander off and make a whole new group of friends for a night.

"She's somewhere." You press your palm into the arm of the couch, stabilizing yourself so you can stand up. Almost immediately the room is spinning, and your vision is blurring- your injured ankle doing little to help you with your balance. Almost immediately you're falling right back onto the couch, the cushion bouncing beneath you as you hit the seat.

"Alright." Joost begins to stand up, "I'm taking you home."

"What?" You stare up at him, blinking up at him as you attempt to get your vision back.

"Look at you," He murmurs, "You're wasted." If he hadn't been speaking so softly you would have thought him to be angry with you. But he doesn't seem to be, just concerned.

"But Lina-"

"Is with her friends."

"You don't hav-"

"I am," You know you can't argue any further with him, nor do you really want to, part of you doesn't mind this, his concern for you, knowing that at least somewhere deep down he still cares, "Come on, up." Joost reaches out a hand for you to grab. It feels like the weight of the world is against you as you try to bring your hand forward to grasp onto Joost. But you manage to do it, his fingers firmly clasped around your wrist- pulling you up.

Joost doesn't relinquish his hold on you once you're up, instead he just moves to put his arm around your waist. If not for the nostalgic comfort of his touch, you're thankful for his support, knowing full well if he hadn't been holding onto you as like he was, you'd fall right back down again. You push your weight into Joost's side, letting him do most of the work to keep you upright.

"Mind staying with me tonight?" He asks, beginning to step forward, attempting to bring the two of you toward the door to leave, "I don't want you alone while you're so drunk."

Home? With Joost? You debate saying no, thinking maybe that was the right answer- who were you? Going home with the man you broke up with? Especially now that he had a girlfriend...

You can't really say no, you can't deny that you want to spend the night, and see if maybe, things would feel like they used to, you had to see it through.

"That's, 'kay." You slur, just ready to get out of there.

The Uber ride back to Joost's place had been nothing short of depressing, the two of you sat just about as far as humanly possible from each other. Which, admittedly was mostly your doing, facing your body away from Joost as you sat with your head pressed against the glass.

But now you were just glad to be somewhere other than the party, even if it was Joost's apartment.Joost's arm once again tightly wrapped around you to keep you from crashing down to your feet. Walking into Joost's apartment had felt like when you'd come back to your parents house for breaks in University, the distant warmth of memories of a happier, simpler time, reminding you of what used to be and how things have changed.

You're unsure of where to go, the walls of this home no longer as welcoming as they'd once been, feeling like you don't have the ability to roam like you'd used to.

"Tired?" He asks suddenly

"I think so." You mumble, unsure of the grogginess you feel is exhaustion, sadness, or intoxication, or a mix of all three.

"I'll help you get ready," He assures, "Think you left some stuff in the bathroom."

Joost's reminder that you had really fully removed your presence from your apartment, never bothering to come by and get your things, made you wonder if your memory still lingered here. Did he happen upon your things and remember the many nights and days you had spent here? Did he even notice at all?

Joost slowly walks you over to the bathroom, and you find yourself leaning against the sink, the counter helping you maintain your balance. Joost had been right, you had left some things at his house, finding a small package of makeup wipes under the sink. Perhaps for sober you this wasn't your ideal skincare routine, but for now it seemed perfectly adequate.

"I won't make you do it," Joost smiles, peeling back the cover of the package, and pulling out a wipe.

How often had you been here, usually unable to hold your liquor as well as Joost could, many nights spent with Joost looking after you when you'd had too much to drink. Though usually moments like these were filled with soft kisses and gentle I love you's- Joost musing at how beautiful he thought you were, something completely, and utterly missing from tonight.

Joost is gentle as he removes the makeup from your face, careful not to rub to hard as he swipes the wipe back and forth. You wonder if there's an undertone of intimacy to this, or if you're just drunk, but the way he has you leaned up against the sink, his hand on your waist to keep you stable, the two of you staring so intensely at one another. It all feels too intense.

"Close your eyes," Joost requests softly as he moves to take off your eye makeup. And you do so, lashes falling softly as he rubs over your lids. You can pretend now, with your eyes closed, for just a moment that everything is just like it used to be, you can slip away into your little fantasy where everything had worked out between you and Joost, and you had never had to make the hardest decision of your life to leave him.

Your eyes flutter open once Joost had finished taking off your eye makeup, blinking rapidly as you adjust to the bright white light of the bathroom once more.

"Almost done." He mumbles, placing the dirtied wipe on the counter.

Maybe still in your fantasy world you're unthinking when you place your hand on Joost's shoulder, his eyes darting to the side once your fingers graze him. He smiles slightly and halts his process of going for another wipe. You push your hand forward, letting the pads of your fingertips brush against the purple marks on Joost's neck.

You let your gaze linger on them, brain wandering about under what circumstances he'd gotten them, fingers absentmindedly drawing shapes over his skin.

"Stop that," Joost's voice is low, soft. "Don't need to see that."

"Hard not to." You hum, letting your hand drop back down to his shoulder.

"I know," He blinks a few times, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." You can't really appreciate his apology, a sorry not changing the fact now there's a girl other than you in his life.

"I am."

Things are silent for a moment between you, your ears filled with nothing but the sound of your own thumping heartbeat as you stare up at him. You can't tell if Joost has moved in closer to you, or if its your own lack of spacial awareness, but something is pulling you in, your neck craning toward him.

Joost tilts his head slightly, his eyes lingering on your mouth. You let your lips part, unsure of what is to come next. You feel his fingertips tighten on your waist, gripping at your flesh, his chest rising with a sharp inhale. He moves to almost dip down to reach your craning neck, almost like he's going to kiss you before he very suddenly pushes back, an uncomfortable chuckle filling the air.

"Um," He attempts to clear his throat, "Sorry, let me finish."

You feel the gaping hole in your heart grow, and you'd wondered if you'd come here with perhaps too much false hope. Stupid. You'd broken up with him, and here you were, expecting him to love all over you.

"I'll get you clothes." Joost nods, as he finishes up taking off your makeup. "And bring you to the bedroom."

Joost's leads you to his bed in the dark of his bedroom, motioning for you to sit down while he turned on the light and grabbed you something to wear.

Even more memories come flooding to you with the click of Joost's bedside lamp, the room bathed in a soft orange glow. You had probably spent more nights here than in your own room when you and Joost were together.

"This okay?" Joost sets some clothes down next to you. You lazily look through it, a black T-shirt and a pair of sweat shorts.

"Fine."

"Need help changing?"

"Don't think so."

"Okay," He nods, pulling his lips into a straight line, smiling slightly, "Don't worry I won't look."

"I don't care," Some strange part of you hoping he will look as you change, "Nothing you haven't seen before."

Joost simply steps away, heading back over to his dresser, presumably to find something else for himself to wear. You pull your shirt over your head, flinging it off somewhere in the room before replacing it with Joost's shirt. You slip your hand behind your back, up the back of the shirt, unclasping your bra, sighing as you do so, an acute relief as you slip the straps down your shoulders and shimmy out of it.

You go to bend down to take off your shoes, before stopping halfway, unable to handle the folded in half position in your drunken state, nausea creeping into you as your stomach touches your knees.

"Joost?" You ask softly, voice barely audible.

Joost turns around quickly, attention ripped from whatever he'd been doing.

"Can you help me with my shoes?" Your voice wavers, shy, like you're afraid to ask- and truthfully you are. You bite at the inside of your cheeks, painfully aware of how fast things had changed, never in your life did you think that you'd be apprehensive about speaking to Joost.

"Sure- of course." The floorboards creak under Joost as he walks over to you, getting down on his knees so he can help unbuckle the strap of your heels for you.

You stare intently at the top of his head, messy blonde strands pointing every which way. You picture yourself running your hands through it, feeling the strands under your fingertips, massaging the top of his head lovingly. You have to stop yourself from doing it, the familiarity of your surroundings combined with your drunken state- constantly having to remind yourself you're not his girlfriend anymore.

"You really thing I'm a dog?" He asks, slipping off your first shoe before pausing to stare up at you. He's asking like he really wants to know, though he was less a full grown dog now and more a puppy, looking up at you through big, blue wet eyes.

"Mhm," You hum, "Such a good boy." You giggle, lost in the way Joost looks at you, without thinking, running your palm over the top of his head like you'd pet a dog, messying his already unruly hair.

"Don't talk to me like that," Joost chuckles, "I'll cum."

"Ew," You wince, trying to stifle a laugh, pressing at Joost's chest with the ball of your foot as to push him away, "You're so gross."

"Mmm," Joost muses, "So you can smile,"

And that smile does linger on your face, for just a moment before Joost returns to taking off your shoes. You clench your jaw, sucking in a breath as Joost grabs the ankle you had injured. He quickly lets go,

"Sorry, sorry." He apologizes, letting his hand return a few seconds later, his touch lighter now. "Maybe I should take you to get that checked out in the morning."

"Maybe," You murmur, "Really hurts." The pain suddenly bringing you back to the reality of your situation.

"I'm sorry, lief- sorry." He coos, slipping off your shoe, "Can I get you something to take the edge off?"

You hardly notice the way he trips over his words, almost saying something he shouldn't have. Too focused on the prospect of actually being injured.

"Don't think so." You huff, "Know, you don't have t'do all this."

"Of course I do," Joost smooths a hand over your knee, shivers running down your spine as his touch brushes over you.

"Don't deserve it after-"

"Stop it." He immediately cuts you off, "You deserve this. And more, just sorry I'm showing you that so late."

You're not sure what to make of what Joost is saying, nor can you really make sense of his behavior. By now you've had enough of tonight, just wanting it over with.

"Just want to sleep." You don't bother responding to what Joost has said.

"Okay," Joost nods, standing up.

You shimmy awkwardly against the bed as you pull your skirt down your thighs, letting it fall down your legs once it reaches your knees, and kicking it off to the side. You don't bother to put on the shorts Joost had given you, preferring to not wear pants to bed.

Joost is standing next to the bed, bent over, peeling the comforter back from its made position so you can get under. You crawl up the length of the bed from where you had been sitting, laying down in the spot Joost had unmade for you.

"If you need anything I'll be on the couch." Joost says, pulling the blanket back over you, "Anything at all." You half expect him to finish tucking you in with a kiss and an I love you, but perhaps as much as you wish he would, those days were gone.

You let your head rest comfortably against the pillow, only humming at Joost's statement, ready to get some sleep. With another click the light is off.

"Goodnight," The floorboards creak once more as Joost heads towards the door, "Slaap lekker."

"Goodnight, Joost." You yawn.

You weren't sure how long you had been laying there restless, an hour, maybe more, maybe less. You couldn't sleep, unsure if your stomach was turning from liquor-induced nausea, or the never ending loop of you finding Joost and Lina making out in the bathroom that played every time you tried to close your eyes.

You're not sure what it is, but something is drawing you towards the light that peaks under Joost's bedroom door. You wonder if you should get up, see what Joost is up to, though you're sure he's probably passed out on the couch by now.

Though it doesn't matter much, you just need out of this bedroom. You rip the blankets off of you, the chill of the air around you hitting your exposed legs, causing you to shiver.

You're still vaguely intoxicated, evident by your dizziness as you sit up. You fling your legs over the side of the bed, careful as you step down on the ground, placing as little pressure as possible on your injured ankle as you teeter over to the bedroom door.

You stall for a moment as you touch your hand to the handle, inhaling before you finally make the decision to open the door. You peek your head from the room, then step out, feeling like a child walking to your parents bedroom to tell them you just threw up.

You peer out into the living room, noticing Joost is still awake, talking, on the phone you presume,

"Glad you got home safe," "Okay, goodnight schatje, yes, sleep well. Talk to you in the morning."

Right. Lina.

You quickly step away from the living room, hoping Joost hadn't noticed your presence. You tip-toe as fast as you can back to the bedroom, trying your hardest not to injure yourself further.

You collapse onto the bed, hot tears immediately beginning to spill out of your eyes. You shove your face into the pillow, trying to stifle your cries, your chest hiccuping as the tears continue to pour from your lash line. Tonight had been all too much, a complete, and utter mistake, truthfully you weren't ready for life after Joost, something you had barely thought of when you had decided to break things off.

You had thought things were supposed to get better after breaking off a toxic relationship, not worse. Yet here you were feeling just as low as the day you broke up, nothing had changed.

You're all too absorbed in your own emotions you don't notice when the door to the bedroom opens, a soft voice following,

"Did you need something?"

Shit. Joost. He had seen you enter the living room.

You sniff, raising your head from the pillow, thankful for the cover of the night not giving away your tear-stained face. You sniffle again, taking in a shallow breath as you try to speak.

"No-no m'okay." Your words are stuttered, clearly affected by your state.

"Are you crying?" He's suddenly concerned, and you feel the mattress dip next to you, presumably Joost sitting down on the bed.

Click. The light is on again.

The room is blurry, obscured by the heavy tears that hang from your lashes. You lower your head, quickly burying it in your hands to shield your face from Joost's view.

"C'mon," He urges. You feel his hands around your wrists, beckoning you to pull your hands from your face, "What's wrong?"

Reluctantly, you give into his touch, slowly lowering your hands from your eyes.

"Oh," Joost pouts, you're sure he's being nice, but right now it feels completely, and utterly patronizing, especially as you're crying about him and his new found relationship, "Why are you crying?"

"I'm so stupid," You sob, not having it in you to hold back your emotions anymore, "So stupid, Joost."

"No," He reaches out a hand, placing it on your shoulder, "Why do you think you're stupid?"

"Because," You choke, "Everything. Tonight. It's all stupid." You can't find the right words to tell him how you feel, knowing if you tried they would come out all wrong.

Suddenly Joost's hand on your shoulder turns into him bringing you into a hug, and pulling you onto his lap. You immediately bury your head into his neck, sobbing into the warmth of his skin.

Joost's grip is tight on you, holding you like you might leave him again, knowing you will.

You can barely find comfort in his touch, fearing how fleeting it will be.

"Crying because of me?" He asks like he already knows the answer, of course he knows the answer. You nod against him, holding him tighter, choking out a sob. Joost lets out a dry chuckle, "Not worth crying over. Wasting tears."

The idea of wasting tears had never made much sense to you, what were you meant to save them for? Something important? This was important, Joost was important, your relationship was important- and you had ruined it. That was worth crying over.

Joost rubs a hand up and down your back, trying his best to comfort you in your sorry state.

You want to yell at him, want to be angry at how he could have moved on and found someone else so quickly while you were stuck crying yourself to sleep at night. After all it had been his behavior that had lead to you breaking up, and still, he gets nothing for it? He just gets to walk away.

But you're too tired to be angry now. Not as you melt into him, his hand smoothing over the roots of your hair, his body gently moving back and forth, anything to relieve you of some of your misery.

All you can do is try to slow your breathing, try to regain some composure as you make your pathetic confession,

"Just so hard," You inhale sharply, anticipating your next words, "I still love you, I love you so much."

"I know," He sighs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder through the fabric of his own T-shirt, "I love you too."

a/n: haiii ^_^ long time no write.... i feel like for as angsty as the series is i haven't written straight up hb! au angst... so here we are... but be not afraid, i have another au! piece cooking up that is very much... not angst mwahhhahhah